Conquer the Flames (Langs Down) (12 page)

“Did you not see when the rest of your crew pulled back?” Thorne asked. “Don’t try to talk, just nod.”

Ian shook his head. He hadn’t been able to see much of anything beyond the trees right in front of him. He shuddered as he remembered how thick the smoke had been, how choking. His throat tightened up at the memory, and he coughed slightly.

“Easy.” Thorne dropped Ian’s hand as he stood up and helped Ian lean forward. “Slow, deep breaths,” he urged, rubbing Ian’s back encouragingly. “Just relax and let the oxygen in. There’s no smoke now. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

The coughing subsided, but Thorne gave no indication of wanting to move away, so Ian let himself rest in the strong arms, cradled against the rock that was Thorne’s chest. Ian wasn’t a bodybuilder, but life on the station kept him reasonably fit. Thorne, though, felt like he didn’t have an ounce of softness anywhere on his body.

Except his hair,
Ian’s traitorous libido pointed out. Thorne’s hair, when Ian had tangled his fingers in it while they kissed, had been soft as silk.

Ian thought he felt Thorne’s lips brush against his hair, but he didn’t turn to look. It felt too good to simply sit there. A moment later, he felt the slight prickle of Thorne’s beard against his scalp, and this time he did glance up to see that Thorne had rested his cheek against the top of Ian’s head as he held him.

Ian had no idea what was going on between them, but when Thorne lifted his head at Ian’s movement, the expression on Thorne’s face assured him of one thing. Whatever this was, he wasn’t alone in feeling it.

“Do you want to lie back down?” Thorne asked.

Ian shook his head. He felt bad about making Thorne perch on the edge of the bed instead of sitting in the chair, but he didn’t want Thorne to move. In the hours since he’d collapsed from the smoke, Thorne’s arms had come to represent safety, and while Ian knew he wasn’t in any danger in his hospital bed, he was still shaken up enough to crave that comfort.

“What did they give you?” Thorne asked with a chuckle. “You’re positively cuddly.”

Ian shrugged again. The doctors had told him what they were giving him to make sure he wasn’t allergic to anything, but the chemical names went right over his head. He wasn’t allergic to anything, anyway, so he had no real reason to retain all the names. Later, when he went home and had to manage any remaining medication on his own, he’d worry about it. For now, it was their problem.

There was no mistaking the kiss to the top of his head this time. “Close your eyes and rest,” Thorne said. “I’ll stay until someone from the station gets here.”

Ian didn’t just want him to stay. He wanted Thorne to keep holding him, to keep talking to him, but apparently Thorne’s presence was what his mind and body needed to finally relax, because before he could figure out how to make that clear to Thorne, he fell asleep in Thorne’s arms.

T
HORNE
didn’t know quite how to react when Ian fell asleep so trustingly in his arms. He was gratified that Ian could relax so completely around him even after seeing him lose control twice the day before. He couldn’t decide if that meant he had been less out of control than he thought or if it just made Ian naïve. Either way, he could certainly live with the results.

He shifted on the bed a bit so Ian rested more comfortably against him. He should lay Ian back against the pillows so he could sleep in peace, but he was loath to release him.

Ian’s color was better, his skin not as pallid beneath the layer of soot that hadn’t been wiped completely away. When he could do without the oxygen for a few minutes, he’d need a shower. Neil had said he’d call Carley to have her bring a change of clothes, but Thorne didn’t know how long it would take her to get to the hospital. He supposed Ian could wear a hospital gown until then, if necessary. He had a bed and sheets to preserve his modesty if it came to that.

Remembering his own hospitalizations and how quickly he’d become bored, he cast around for something to give Ian to help pass the time. Thorne could justify staying until he was sure Ian was stable and until someone else got here to sit with him, but Captain Grant would expect him back eventually, and if nothing else, Neil and the others would want to know Ian’s prognosis. He was somewhat surprised they hadn’t called Ian’s phone yet to check on him, but maybe they couldn’t get a signal, although that didn’t bode well for Carley coming with a change of clothes, or maybe they were too busy with the fires. That thought wasn’t particularly reassuring either. In the three days he’d worked with the men and women of Lang Downs, he’d come to appreciate their determination, their friendliness, and their sense of community. A blow to any of them would be a blow to all of them.

He wished he knew more about Ian and what he did with his free time besides work with wood. The hospital staff wouldn’t appreciate Thorne bringing Ian a carving knife and a block of wood, but Ian hadn’t mentioned any other pastime. Maybe he could ask Carley when she got there. He didn’t know how close they were, but she had a better chance of knowing what he liked than Thorne did.

He wished he had his Kindle, but it was with the rest of his nonessential gear at a buddy’s house in Wagga Wagga. He never brought anything he couldn’t stand to lose to a fire site. He’d lost too much to fire already.

Ian shifted in his sleep, turning his head toward Thorne’s chest. The oxygen mask dug into Thorne’s sternum, but he didn’t move away. If Ian needed to nuzzle closer to feel safe, Thorne would bear it and be grateful he could give Ian the comfort he needed. He wasn’t sure Ian realized yet how close he’d come to dying, but at some point he would, and when he did, he’d need all the support he could get to cope with it. Even battle-hardened as he had become in the Commandos, Thorne still had moments of terror when a situation forced him to stare his own mortality in the face. For Ian, who had no training and no expectation of finding himself in such a situation, it would be a hundred times worse.

He’d seen his team seek comfort in a bottle, in the arms of a loved one, in the willing body of a stranger, and he’d seen one of them seek it in drugs. The ones who had a loved one to turn to coped the best, but Thorne already knew Ian had no one special. He refused to hope he could be that someone special, but he’d be the willing stranger if it made a difference. And if that wasn’t what Ian needed, Thorne would figure out what he did and he’d move heaven and earth to get it for him, because Thorne hadn’t been there to watch Ian’s back and he’d nearly died because of it. The twenty men Williams had sent from Taylor Peak weren’t worth Ian’s life. He should have left well enough alone.

He could feel his hands starting to tremble as the rage that never fully left him built toward a boiling point. He couldn’t lose it here with Ian relying on him. He had to keep it under control for a little longer. When Carley got here, he could go take his frustration out on the fire front where it belonged.

He focused on slowing his breathing, on dropping into the battle-ready mindset that gave him complete control over his body and settled his mind. When he attained that plane, nothing could sneak up on him, nothing could ruffle him. He became a machine, capable of anything required of him, from complete stillness for hours on end to lethal motion designed to put an end to an enemy as quickly and cleanly as possible. He had no enemy to fight here, but he had an innocent to protect, and that required complete stillness. It took longer than he would have liked, but he settled into the zone finally, his body coming back under his command so he could sit motionless and hold Ian while he slept.

In his hyperaware state, he heard every footstep in the hallway outside Ian’s room, the beeping of monitors, and the sound of voices in soft discussion, but none of them posed a threat to his charge and so none of them disturbed his stillness. As time passed, he separated one set of footsteps from another—the short crisp steps of someone wearing heels, the slightly shuffling tread of someone in gym shoes, the heavy clomp of boots, another set of heels, but this one slower, as if the wearer had all the time in the world to get where she was going. He’d identified fifteen different people by their footsteps by the time a new set of footsteps paused outside Ian’s door.

Every muscle in his body tensed in preparation so he could protect Ian if necessary, but he held himself still until he could assess the threat. The door opened and a familiar face peeked around the jamb. “Can I come in?”

Thorne nodded, trying to diffuse the adrenaline that had swamped him at the fight-or-flight reaction. “He’s asleep,” he said, as if Carley couldn’t see that for herself.

“Good, I’m glad he can rest.” She carried a small duffel bag in and set it on the chair Thorne had occupied earlier. “There’s a change of clothes for him, and one for you, as well as the book he asked for. I’m going to find something to eat before I relieve you. I skipped lunch to get here. Do you need anything else while I’m out?”

“No,” Thorne said. “We’ll be fine.”

She looked like she wanted to offer again, so Thorne turned his attention back to Ian, dismissing her silently. He couldn’t deal with her right now, even knowing she was friend, not foe. Everything felt like a threat in his current state. He had to let it go, but he didn’t know how. When he was still in the Commandos, this kind of situation either ended with a fight or with his entire team needing the same release, which they got by beating the hell out of each other in the guise of hand-to-hand combat training. He heard the door close behind her and let out a shuddering breath. He had to find a punching bag or a treadmill or a set of weights so he could release some of the tension before Ian woke up and expected him to be normal.

Carefully, so he wouldn’t disturb Ian’s rest, he laid him back onto the pillows. His boots weren’t ideal for a run, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d worn them. He’d do laps around the hospital grounds until he could think straight again, and then he’d come back and keep Ian company.

Nine

I
AN
looked up from his book when the door opened. Carley had come and gone with the promise of someone coming to visit again tomorrow. She’d also told him Thorne was still around, although she wasn’t sure where. Ian had nodded at that and tried to ignore the implication in her smile. He’d sought refuge in his all-time favorite fantasy novel instead, and as always, he’d got lost in the story of Sioned and Rohan and their struggle to protect their lands from the forces aligned against them. He’d only read about fifty pages, not that he needed to finish it when he could practically retell the story scene by scene, but when he saw it was Thorne, he put the book aside and smiled behind the oxygen mask.

“Have a good nap?” Thorne asked.

Ian nodded and gestured to the chair where the bag Carley brought still sat.

“Yes, she told me she’d brought me clean clothes,” Thorne said. “I thought I’d wait to put them on until after I showered. I worked up a bit of a sweat.”

Ian raised an eyebrow in question. It seemed an odd time to go for a run, or whatever Thorne did for exercise, but he was clearly sweaty and slightly out of breath, so he’d obviously done some kind of exercise while Ian slept.

“I went for a bit of a jog,” Thorne said. “Post-mission stress. I have to burn it off somehow, and running is a safe way for everyone involved.”

Ian pointed to the door into the en-suite bathroom.

“Thanks. I will rinse off, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

Ian shook his head and shooed Thorne toward the bathroom. Thorne grinned and grabbed the bag, so Ian settled back into his book. He was so caught up in the story he didn’t hear Thorne come back out until he spoke. “
Dragon Prince
. I haven’t read that one. Is it good?”

Ian nodded enthusiastically and handed the book to Thorne. He really wished he could talk at the moment. All the wonderful things he could tell Thorne about the book and the series, all the questions he wanted to ask about what books Thorne had read, since his choice of words implied he was a fantasy reader, piled up behind the oxygen mask. He looked around in frustration for something to write on, but he didn’t see paper or a pen.

“This looks pretty interesting,” Thorne said. “Maybe I’ll borrow it when you’re done.”

Ian gestured for Thorne to take it now.

“Then what will you read?” Thorne asked. Ian glared at him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ask questions you can’t answer with a shake of your head. Maybe the nurse has some paper so you can write what you want to say. Want me to ask?”

Ian nodded emphatically and watched as Thorne set the book carefully on the chair before leaving the room. Ian appreciated the thoughtfulness. Some people weren’t as careful with their books as Ian was. He’d watched other jackaroos on the station toss a book on a table or a chair like it was nothing special, and maybe that particular book wasn’t special to that particular jackaroo, but as far as Ian was concerned, all books were special and deserved to be treated that way. Thorne seemed to agree, or at least he was careful enough to treat other people’s books with respect.