You’re not here to get chewed out.”

That was a relief. Quarles had a drill instructor’s bark, when roused to use it. At the best of times his voice was somewhat like an 18-wheeler shifting gears.

Quarles popped his humidor and withdrew a Punch. Winter arched an eyebrow at Nic. The captain was in a contemplative mood. The cigars only came out for promotions, strategy sessions or the rare moments of unwinding. Was the scotch next?

As Quarles snipped the end off his stogie, he began. “Got a question for you jokers. Take a look at each other.”

They did so. Nic seemed perplexed. But Winter could gaze into her eyes as long as necessary.

“Good. Don’t look away. Now tell me — could you put a bullet between those eyes?”

They both flinched. Then smiled ruefully.

“Haha... That’s what I thought.”

Quarles looked genuinely amused as he lit his cigar. “You two have been paired up for more than a year. Make a great team, no question. Good example for the others. But that’s too long.”

Reassignment. Winter couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this possibility. He knew they kicked ass together, so he just assumed they’d be partners for the foreseeable future. But of course THIS was what landed them in Quarles’ office... The standard duty assignment was six months. 

“You’re too fond of each other. If one of you gets the bug, the other one has to pull that trigger without a moment’s hesitation. Lives could be at stake. Now, I don’t blame you. I might hesitate to put bullets in you, too. But I’m not on the street with you every day, so I won’t have to.”

Winter knew the regs. If your partner was infected in the field, you were obligated to carry out summary euthanasia without hesitation. There is no cure, he thought hollowly. Why was the government’s favorite catch-phrase rebounding in his brain over and over today?

Even if it was hopeless, Winter had to argue.