3:28am – Jacksonville, SC; Three Weeks Ago
“Ike. Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he replies in darkness, sitting up in bed and trying to come to life. “I’m here. What happened?”
From the Federal Emergency Management Agency temporary command post, a frazzled coordinator looks over the screens, every devastating scenario they thought had died are rearing back to life. “Every worst case model is coming true,” the man replies. His voice is worn. “You need to get out here.”
“It’s that bad already?” Ike looks to Jessica who is curled in the covers beside him. She appears as if in a deep sleep, but Ike knows she hears every word.
The man exhales, wishing he had a better way to describe the situation. “Yeah. It’s that bad.”
---
Hurricane Lori made landfall in Sarasota three weeks ago, somehow miraculously sweeping east across the state before rapidly downgrading to a Category 1 storm. Its inexplicable path is one for the books. The damage is bad, but it’s nowhere near as extensive as the models predicted. Isaac’s friend was right – and wrong.
Nonetheless, Ike has done a marvelous job of creating the picture of Lori’s recovery. Ike’s specialty is imagery and, more than that, the networks required to keep drone video flowing.
The commercial drones and their networks are nowhere near as immense as the Global Hawks and Predators he maintained in the Air Force as a Tech Sergeant, but the theory is the same.
Ike enters a command post in Tampa, squeezing and shuffling through the crowded space before finding his guys. “How’re we lookin’?”
“Letting it load now, boss.”
The drone footage pops up on one channel, then another, the video of a maintainer's ugly mug dangerously close to the screen as their test connection continues.
There are high five’s and atta-boy’s. This simple connection took far too long for something so simple, but it’s notable.
Ike’s ‘Squadron’ of commercial drones have been flying for days, hundreds of small craft zooming over the swath of destruction to provide real-time imagery during the recovery. No one has ever established this much wireless video feed so clearly and so rapidly in such a communications-arid environment. What Ike has done here is more significant than his humble responses would lead others to believe. It’s a new standard that’s been established in FEMA’s recovery saga.
Eighty-five miles away, United Airlines flight 2817 touches down in Orlando, its flustered tube of passengers eager to disembark.
Grace’s phone finally connects to the network from seat 12C, a terribly disguised smile showing on her face.
@Grace: I’ve landed in Orlando. I’m coming toward Tampa.
Ike checks his buzzing phone, a brow rising from her random note.
@Isaac: I had no idea you even were coming.
@Grace: I know. They called me at the last minute. I thought you would be surprised.
Ike steps out of the command center and stands next to the cell tower, a hurried pace slipping around him. It’s a terrible lie to say that the idea of seeing Grace doesn’t bring him some happiness.
@Ike: You have terrible timing. There’s a meeting in Clearwater that I have to attend tomorrow. You’ll be stuck here in Tampa.
@Grace: I know. I’m eventually going to Clearwater, too. We have to meet up. Don’t say no.
Ike holds his breath before replying, unaware of his own hesitant reaction.
@Ike: Of course we have to meet up. See you tomorrow?
@Grace: Tomorrow.
---
Eight Years Ago – Kandahar, Afghanistan
It’s late in the evening for Hanger 10, but Tech Sergeant Isaac Newfield has nothing better to do. The desert heat and sands have done a number on a Predator drone’s camera housing. Everyone else called it a night hours ago. Well, almost everyone, as this little segment of the war goes unrecorded.
“I can’t find the long compressor hose,” Captain Grace Holmes admits from the toolroom, her voice echoing into the hangar. “To hell with that nozzle anyways. I can use the wide attachment to try and blow the sand out.”
Grace is the embodiment of her name. Possessing a curvy figure with well-rounded voice to match, she’s the desert queen of the 26th. Grace is aware that she holds the title, but her attitude is authentically dismissive to the notion. With her uniform top absent, the beige undershirt shows her figure well, a sturdy bra firmly holding the girls in place.
“Here.” Isaac extends earplugs Grace’s way as she approaches, the woman possessing a wonderful sway of round hips that captures everyone’s attention. Grace knows that Isaac has stolen a glance himself, but maybe that’s why she gives her walk a little more ‘umph’ in silent bootsteps.
She nearly shouts over the air compressor’s motor, the hose and nozzle in hand. “Hold the hose up for me?”
Isaac gives her a thumbs up.
Grace crouches down and gets to work trying to blow out built up sand around the forward camera’s seals. She may be a well-composed officer, but that doesn’t mean Grace doesn’t enjoy getting dirty every once and awhile.
Isaac has to stand close to Grace as she works below the aircraft, the hose and awkward squat making it difficult for her to work around the low camera housing.
Grace lets out a little whelp when she falls back, Isaac catching her. Her weight is easy to take on as she leans back against his legs. Grateful for his unwavering commitment, Grace continues settling her personal beef with the stubborn dirt. She continues her determined work, unafraid to harness Isaac’s loyal service as her personal brace.
It’s a subtle motion when Isaac puts a hand on Grace’s shoulder. She doesn’t change her pace or flinch, grateful for Isaac to remain with her tonight. Above the noise and motions of Grace shifting this way or that, Isaac gives her shoulder a light squeeze, calm fingers trailing up to a slender neck and soft skin.
Undeterred, Grace remains focused although Isaac’s gentle and wonderful touch is a reassuring notion that she correctly read a potential request in Isaac’s eyes for her to stay just a little longer and work with him tonight.
“Damnit,” she grumbles, rising from a prolonged crouch under the craft. Isaac remains standing, their bodies touching as the two are nearly the same height. “I was really hoping that would make this whole mess a little easier.”
Isaac knows that his commander is stalling, creating idle gossip to make up for the fact that she takes no issue with the touch of his body against hers or the feel of his arm slipping around her waist. Grace leans into Isaac, beautiful brown eyes remaining on the dirty buildup. When Isaac gently pulls on her waist, Grace allows it and calmly turns toward him.
Grace’s skin has tanned wonderfully under the desert sun, generations of Hispanic blood working beautifully in her favor.
There’s no denying it now. Something is bound to happen between these two.
He watches her eyes as she examines his baby blues. “We’ll try again tomorrow, then?” he asks, Isaac’s arms cinching around her curvy body.
Grace presses herself against him. Her reply is a simple nod without blinking, her horribly neglected body melting when Isaac kisses her cheek. This is it. There’s no going back. If there are consequences to be had for this, then Isaac will just have to deal with them later.
As it turns out, however, that doesn’t seem to be Isaac’s fate. He’s doing much better than that.
Never being someone to miss an opportunity, Grace blows a gust of compressed air in Isaac’s face. His jerked reaction is priceless, leading Grace to release a burst of laughter at his expense. “I’m sorry!” she laughs, glad that Isaac hasn’t released her from his grasp. She attempts to cover her humor with one hand, the air compressor nozzle weapon of choice held in the other. “I couldn’t help myself!”
Isaac opens one eye to check if the coast is clear, the front of his hair sticking up. He’s happy to be the butt of her joke as long as he gets to be this close to Grace. He can take the bullet.
At some point later, they’ll argue about what happens next, but it’s actually Grace who kisses Isaac first. Stubborn pride, memory bias, and machismo will make Isaac tell a different version, but it really doesn’t matter.
Grace involuntarily breathes deep from Isaac’s kiss, surrendering to his touch as they remain this way. His lips are warm and welcoming, his eagerness to show affection obvious by the way he gently plays with her lower lip. This isn’t some uncoordinated throe, but rather a confession that this moment has been coming for a long time. Fairly certain that they are alone in the hangar, their display of monthslong self-depravation goes undisturbed regardless of what the Uniform Code of Military Justice has to say regarding the affair.
Their kissing ceases, but they hold onto one another for a moment longer before separating.
Isaac clears his throat, grumbling something about apologies while trying not to think about what might happen to them next.
“No,” she replies, a long exhale following. “It’s ok. Fine. It’s fine.”
This is how their night ends, parting as two clearly frustrated souls, but they refuse to let events keep this way. The next night goes much the same, but the hangar is too public of a place for the types of thoughts both of them harbor for each other.
Thankfully, Grace’s accommodations are much more conducive than Isaac’s. Under cover of darkness, Grace leads the way behind buildings and temporary units, past tents and combat vehicles before slipping into a row of individual living units. They aren’t much to look at, just small, wooden buildings with sandbags stacked waist-high, but Grace has made it home.
The door isn’t locked for two seconds before Grace is all over Isaac. She nearly leaps into his arms, Isaac doing his best to support Grace’s weight as her boots leave the wooden floor.
He feels perfect. His lips are just as eager, Grace taking his tongue into her mouth and sucking. She won’t pretend to be some stoic figure for Isaac while they are in here. Grace wants to surrender herself to Isaac and show him how badly he makes her burn.
There’s an awkward moment of removing stubborn boots and buttoned pants, but it seems that hardly any time passes before Grace returns to Isaac’s arms wearing only her undershirt, bra, and panties.
Isaac holds on as Grace takes charge, feeling her push him back to a bed built for one. It’s not much, but it will definitely do. She climbs over Isaac, hauling her own shirt up and over. Grace exhales from the excitement, her eyes seeming to change entirely when she looks down at him. “Touch me.”
Isaac is greedy at her offering. His hands easily slip along her thick legs and into the back of her panties, taking hold of an ass that he has only fantasized about.
“Yes,” she moans, putting her weight onto Isaac for a hot, pent-up kiss. Grace licks Isaac’s lips, letting out a pleased sound when Isaac pulls her panties into a wedge between her cheeks.
Grace straddles Isaac’s lap, her bra now absent. He pinches her nipples and playfully jiggles them. “Oh, fuck, boy,” she groans, a smile on her face. “Don’t tease me. There better be more of that.”
Isaac pinches hard, loving how her expression changes. He knows exactly where she is right now. “Trust me, baby. There will be lots more of this. But first…” Isaac stands, Grace helping him free a stiff cock. “I need a little something, too.”
Grace is already sliding forward before Isaac finishes the thought, her hot mouth slipping over a beautifully stiff cock. His cock feels fantastic. It’s the best thing Grace has had in her mouth for months. She’d be able to concentrate better if she wasn’t rubbing a swollen clit in her panties, but she’ll try. Grace sucks while Isaac humps, this wild and quick succession of events nearly pushing them over the edge.
Isaac rolls Grace onto her stomach, spreading smooth legs as Isaac runs his hands and tongue from neck to lower back, kissing along a beautiful body until he makes it to her round ass. Isaac’s hands crack down to watch it jiggle.
“One,” Grace mutters. She completely relaxes. “Two…three…” Exhilaration flows through Grace as she counts to ten, Isaac able to read her mind and deliver exactly what she needs. His lips and hands are all over her ass, which she adores, a tingle racing through her body when Isaac’s tongue slips between her cheeks.
“Isaac,” she hardly gasps. “Baby…”
It’s too late, he’s already flicking his tongue between her cheeks, teasing her ass and slipping down to her pussy.
Grace buries her face in the pillow, quick squeals of pleasure muffled as her sensitive body twitches. Isaac is masterful between her legs. It’s the first tongue she’s had on her ass, but she’ll take it.
When Isaac gently fucks her from behind, Grace keeps her face in the pillow to keep anyone from knowing what’s happening. They both want to fuck as hard as possible, but they’ll just have to wait.
Isaac is balls deep, holding Grace close by pulling on her shoulders. Grace lets out a muffled squeal, both of them shaking and cumming hard.
There’s no way in hell Grace and Isaac are letting that first night stand by itself. From that point on, their workday becomes preoccupied with determining when their next encounter may come.
There’s pussy licking in the tool room late at night. There’s cock sucking in an empty Connex container that they found while walking one night.
Grace once held Isaac hostage for twelve hours after passing him a tiny note stating, “OMG I need to suck cock.”
Isaac claimed his girl after cumming in Grace’s bra early one morning, dispensing one of her punishments by making her keep it that way until she went back later that night.
They had to get creative in an austere environment. The back of some combat vehicles aren’t locked. Conditioner makes for half-decent anal lube.
As handsome as Ike is and as horny as Grace consistently remains, there’s very little keeping these two apart.
Good things like this seldom last, Grace and Isaac being no exception. People whispered and speculated about the two of them since their first night in the hangar. Sure, their deployment came and went without direct confrontation, but between the shadows of whispers regarding a possible investigation, Grace’s already established timeline to resign her commission and settle into civilian life was voluntarily expedited after her brief chat with the Wing Commander one Thursday night back at Nellis.
No dishonorable discharges. No demotions. No investigators. Into the wild blue yonder you go.
It seems to be just as well, though, Isaac and Jessica hooking up shortly after Grace’s departure. They made a beautiful couple, Grace serving as Jessica’s commander just as she was Isaac’s. To be honest, Grace didn’t even know about the two getting together until years after she left the service. They’re a great couple, truly, Ike and Jessica’s marriage seeming only natural.
A harmless email found Isaac sometime after his own departure from the Air Force. It was a note from Grace, currently leading one of FEMA’s departments, his recommendation seeming to have already been approved should Isaac have a sudden desire to apply for a newly created position. The opportunity was soon filled.
---
Ike’s phone whistles with ‘New Image’ piquing his curiosity. He lets out an honest, “Ha!” after clicking on the notification.
It’s them, Grace and Ike, a selfie before the existence of selfies and an obvious picture of a picture. They’re smiling, faces pressed together, their brown undershirts matching against a background of tool chests, cages, and polished hangar floors.
@Isaac: Wow! It lives! I can’t believe you still have that picture!
Grace curls her legs up close in the hotel bed, coffee hair falling beside an undeniable smile. She taps away with precision, the phone’s glow illuminating her face.
@Grace: You seriously thought I would ever lose that picture!? Not a chance!
@Isaac: Did you bring it with you?
@Grace: No. Sorry about that. We’ll just have to make a new one.
Isaac huffs a smile, his response not withheld.
@Isaac: Definitely.
Grace releases Ike to his own devices for the evening, happy to know that he will respond when called upon. Reaching into her bag, Grace lays back in the bed, holding the picture she didn’t bring of her and Ike in the toolroom back in Afghanistan. Her smile fades as she looks it over for the millionth time, the serious expression from memories returning as she runs a finger along his face. Giving up, she places their picture on the nightstand and rolls over…alone…while missing Isaac.
---
Like most days during the recovery, today’s events are a total shit-show of activity around the events in Clearwater. It seems that no one knows where to go or where to park. Isaac is one of those participants, illegally putting his car into “P” over a curb before closing the door in exhaustion.
@Isaac: You here yet?
@Grace: Not yet. Traffic.
Isaac vents frustration as his phone rings…again. His answer is sharp. “Hello.” The conversation doesn’t conform to Isaac’s plans.
@Isaac: As per the norm, all assed up. I’m already being called away. I’m so sorry.
@Grace: Go! I understand.
Through some universal anomaly, Grace and Ike simultaneously express their disapproval of such bad luck – Ike’s in a packed parking lot with, “Son of a bitch!” while Grace sounds off in traffic grumbling something to the effect of, “Fuckity-fuck-fuck!”
Perfectly illegal, Grace double parks her car after making pointless circles in an unfamiliar place. Go ahead. Write the ticket.
Dressed in a long, white sundress, Grace slips the tweed cap on her head while shouldering a small purse. She’s determined to make it to the Clearwater convention center and find Ike if it kills her.
“Shit,” Ike slips out as he notes the time. Grace is somewhere in the convention center, he’s sure, an unceasing and terrible feeling of letting her down coming over him.
@Isaac: You doing ok? I’m trying to get away and come find you.
@Grace: I’m fine. I actually found some people I know.
Grace stops for a moment, deciding to go along with what she really wants to say.
@Grace: I miss you. I hope I get to see you today.
Ike taps the back of his head against a wall, trapped in a sea of planners and officials droning on about something he just can’t focus on at the moment.
Hours pass by, but eventually their time comes. Isaac nearly runs into the convention center moments before the governor’s remarks begin. “Grace!”
There’s no need to call out to her. She knows. Grace trots through the crowd to make her way to Isaac. When she arrives, it’s difficult to explain why they both stop short. There are no words, just a beaming white smile from Grace as she folds into Ike’s arms. They desperately hang on, feeling like strangers who share a familiar past.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Isaac states with lips pressed against her cap.
Grace feels him squeeze, a pleased sound escaping her. “Mmm,” she hums. “Me, too.”
Ike leads Grace by a tight hand into the main room, the feel of his skin bringing Grace a happiness that she hasn’t felt in a long time.
They stand in the back as updates on hurricane Lori’s response continue, photographers flashing bright while the camera's role.
“Crap,” Ike groans as the comments continue. “Here it comes…”
The director of operations continues spreading the good news, a sturdy voice from a durable man. “It’s been an incredible effort undertaken here in Florida. We have assembled the nation’s best for our response. For the first time, we’ve commissioned a fleet of drones to capture and provide an unprecedented amount of video to support the recovery…” The details follow. “Ike,” he states, looking over the crowd until he spots him next to Grace. “Ah. Ike, if you would come on up and give us an update.”
There’s applause and murmurs of approval from those who know Ike’s work and personality, a contagious combination that draws followers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my head of video imagery operations, Ike Newfield.”
Their applause resumes, people doing their best to see the man at the podium.
“Do you know Ike well?” someone whispers to Grace.
Her reply comes with a genuine smile. “Yes, I do. Ike’s great.”
“I know. He’s brilliant, isn’t he? What a great guy.”
Grace listens to Ike’s initial statements floating over the silent crowd. “Yes,” she replies in a whisper. Her smile disappears. “Yes, he is.”
Ike shines on stage. He doesn’t falter or bend to negativity, nailing every answer with accuracy and precision. The man knows what he’s doing. After being thanked and led off stage, the conference comes to a close.
The cameras turn off and the hurried shuffle resumes, everyone having somewhere to be.
‘Ike!’ they call out, hands raised with accompanying questions.
Grace grips Ike’s hand. She knows full well what’s about to happen.
Ike is pelted with questions about what comes next, a host of problems posited his way with hopes that the man has answers. They’re still asking Ike questions when he exchanges looks with Grace. ‘C’mon, man,’ his expression reads. ‘Why us?’ hers counters.
“Tonight?” she asks after the list of questions ends.
Ike exhales, his eyes taking in hers. His voice lacks character. “No. Now.”
Unhappy but understanding, Grace exhales. She grips Ike’s hands and makes the decision to no longer be forced to stand this far apart from someone she wants so much. Wedding rings wrap around her waist and his neck, both of them aware that the winds have once again forced them into opposite directions. Their first encounter, it seems, is doomed to repeat itself.
---
Darkness falls over Clearwater, streams of headlights illuminating the night.
Ike and Grace stand next to the open car doors that will whisk him away in a hurried rush. There’s nothing to hide here. They’re kissing like lovers. They’re familiar like spouses. They’re desperate to go back. Desperate to return to the desert, to walk into that hangar, and to do it all over again.
Grace pulls herself into Ike, himself slowly turning them both side to side.
“I’m so sorry, Grace.” It’s not about tonight and it’s not the storm. It’s so much more than that. They’ll have to leave it here. They’ll strike today from the record.
Grace doesn’t reply. There’s no point. She just squeezes him tighter. Grace only allows Isaac enough room for another kiss. “Tell me something.”
Ike touches his forehead to hers. “Anything.”
“If things were different…if everything were different…would there be us?”
Ike’s reply is automatic. “Yes.” He looks to Grace’s closed eyes, her gold ring rubbing against the back of his head. “There would be us.”
Their kissing ceases, but they hold onto one another for a moment longer before separating.
Grace orders Ike to keep her posted and to not overwork himself. With a closed door and a wave, the procession of cars begins their fight against traffic.
Ike’s phone dings, a ‘New Image’ popping up. There they stand, smiling in the night, older than they were in that hangar, cheek to cheek, their new picture taken moments before one more kiss goodbye.
