you know the first rule of combat?

"Yeah?" Dean asks, unconsciously shadowing her movements through the cramped space of the bathysphere. He remembers his shirt when the thing lurches back into motion, arms tangled in the sleeves and the winding straps of ammo he'd let fall to the floor.

Any illusion Dean might ever had of being smooth with a woman he cares for is just that. "What'd you tell them if you did get asked?"