when he was joking.
Hagan was alternately tapping at his computer and
reading a notepad on his desk, probably filling out a report
or transferring notes. Kelly glanced around the room. There
were more pods of desks like this one, in various degrees of
organization. Nick’s desk, in comparison to the others, was
very clean. It was almost empty, in fact. There was a large
doodling pad in the center with notes and rough sketches all
over it. There was the regular desktop fare, such as a stapler
and a cup of pens and a computer. Nick had been back at
work for several months, but most of that time had been spent
doing desk work. Kelly could imagine him sitting here, bored
to tears, organizing everything again and again.
A single photograph adorned the desk, in a simple
black frame. Kelly reached for it, letting a finger run across
the faces of his brothers-in-arms. It was a photo of the six
men of Sidewinder, all of them ten years younger, all of
them grinning at the camera, dressed in their combat gear.
They’d taken a picture before every mission, just in case no
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one came back. This had been their last mission before being
decommissioned.
Nick stood in the middle of the back row, a smile on
his grease-painted face. Ty had his arm around Nick’s
neck, and Nick was resting his elbow on Kelly’s shoulder.
The other three members of the team, Owen Johns, Elias
Sanchez, and the Cajun they’d called Digger, were kneeling
in front of them.
Kelly glanced at the desktop again. No pictures of family.
None of Nick’s sisters, whom Kelly knew he loved dearly.