“Yes, Sergeant,” Bailey said. He turned and walked back toward the tablet, his boots echoing on the concrete.
“Bailey,” Hunter said.
Bailey stood. A ghost of a smile—the one Hunter had only seen twice before, once in a supply closet during a tornado warning, once in a hotel room on a three-day pass—flickered across his face. Active Duty - Hunter And Bailey -Gay- - Checked
One line remained, handwritten in the margin in Bailey’s neat, cramped script. “Yes, Sergeant,” Bailey said
“Then mark it ‘CHECKED, GHOST’ and initial it,” Hunter grunted, twisting a wrench a quarter-turn. “I don’t need the Captain having a meltdown at oh-four-hundred.” Bailey stood
Hunter sat up slowly. He took the pen from his chest pocket—the one with the chewed cap—and very deliberately, with Bailey watching his every move, he drew a single, firm checkmark through the last line.