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Taylor had brought it on himself. His ego hurt, he’d gone looking for trouble, and when he found it, he’d charged right into it without following procedure or using common sense. He hadn’t waited for backup, and he sure as hell hadn’t waited for Will. Taylor was a little headstrong and he was a little arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t reckless -- why had he done such a reckless, stupid, stupid , potentially fatally stupid thing?
    And Will knew why. Because of David Bradley. Because Taylor found out Will was seeing David Bradley, and he’d been…jealous. Which didn’t make a lick of sense. Taylor knew Will dated. Taylor dated. It was one of the first bonds between them: the fact that they were both gay. Not a lot of gay special agents in DS. They’d have been a good team in any case, and they’d probably have been good friends -- they shared a similar jaded worldview and sarcastic sense of humor -- but the fact that they also shared the same sexual orientation… Yeah, it forged that bond between them into reinforced steel.
    They were practically brothers. Brothers-in-arms.
    Less than two months ago Will would have said no one knew him better -- no one was closer to him --
    than Taylor. That was assuming he’d have been willing to talk about his feelings -- which he wouldn’t have, of course. They didn’t talk about that kind of thing.
    Will glanced over at Taylor. Profile hard, he was staring out the tent window at the rain thundering down.
    The last thing he’d ever meant to do was hurt Taylor.
    He still wasn’t clear exactly where he’d gone wrong.
    He’d mentioned David in passing a few times, mentioned that he was seeing him. Taylor had seemed --
    well, he hadn’t seemed anything in particular. Why would he? But that last afternoon, Will had mentioned he had seen David the night before, and Taylor had got kind of quiet and weird.
    “You’re seeing a lot of him,” he’d said, bringing it up a couple of hours later when they stopped for lunch.
    “Yeah? So?” Will had known immediately who Taylor meant; he knew Taylor too well to have missed that odd moment in the car earlier.
    “You…getting serious?” And Taylor’s face had been -- well, frankly, Will still couldn’t quite describe what Taylor’s face had been. Troubled? Uncomfortable? Hurt? All of the above? It had been a weird expression, and it had been weirder yet because he could tell Taylor was trying not to show anything.
    “Nah.” But then he had made the fatal mistake of being honest. “I don’t know.”
    And Taylor had gone white.
    White.
    Like Will had stabbed him. He looked stricken.

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    “What’s the matter?” Will had said. “What’s wrong?” Because something sure as hell was wrong.
    But Taylor had laughed, closing up instantly -- which wasn’t how they were together. “Nothing’s wrong.
    Bradley’s a great guy.” And he’d shrugged -- like a guilty little kid caught in a lie. And then he’d changed the subject.
    What. The. Hell.
    But Will had let it drop -- not like he had a choice. Taylor was talking himself away from the moment, whatever that moment had been. And, truth to tell, Will couldn’t get away from that moment fast enough himself.
    They’d been okay by the end of the day though, back in sync, back in step, and after their shift they’d gone for drinks at their favorite watering hole. Will should have realized then: Taylor was knocking back Rusty Nails like they were going out of style. His usual drink was beer. In fact, Taylor had a thing about trying every obscure import or microbrew out there. Whenever and wherever they traveled, Taylor had to try the local brew. The only time he ordered the hard stuff was when he was stressed -- or people had done their best to maim or kill him.
    But that night Taylor was putting the booze away like he had hollow legs. By the time Will had been ready to call it a day,