Page 64 of Crocodile Tears
“Becci, when someone’s dying, I need the hemostat pads, not a chemistry lesson.”
“Cal, when I’m doing groundbreaking research, I need containers that haven’t been violated by whey protein.”
Dr.Rodrigo, our lead biologist, started a betting pool on our daily fights.Yesterday’s winner correctly guessed that I’d relabel Cal’s flash-bang grenades based on how big their boom was while Cal would color-code my microscope slides for “maximum tactical grab-ability.”
The research team has learned to evacuate whenever our organizational philosophies reach critical meltdown levels.Last week’s “Great Classification Showdown” cleared the lab tent while we fought over whether venomous specimens should be grouped by family tree or how likely they were to kill you.
“You can’t put a deadly nightshade next to antivenin just because they’re alphabetical neighbors,” Cal argued while implementing what he called “basic survival logic.”
“You can’t sort millions of years of evolution by ‘murder potential’ without destroying actual science,” I shot back while fixing his chaos.
We eventually worked out a compromise with double labels that keep both science and survival happy, though the negotiations made peace treaties look like casual chats.
“Becci,” Dr.Rodrigo calls from the comm tent, “package for you.”
Getting mail in the Amazon requires actual coordination with supply drops, so packages feel like Christmas morning.I wipe frog guts off my hands and head over to where Cal’s already examining a box with the same focus he uses for potential bombs.
“No explosives, biohazards, or questionable supplements detected,” he says while handing it over.
“Thanks for the security sweep, though you missed scanning for Red’s emergency relationship advice materials.”
“Those count as biohazards.”
The return address makes me grin.Red somehow managed international shipping to our jungle hideout, which probably involved bribing half of South America.Inside, I find a framed photo that cracks me up completely.It’s our official “success story” shot for Red’s wall, except unlike all the other polished couples in nice clothes, we’re still in our escape gear—dirty, beat up, exhausted but grinning like idiots who just won the lottery.
Cal studies the photo with obvious amusement.“We look like disaster survivors celebrating something.”
“We look exactly like what we are.”I examine the picture with scientific appreciation.“Two people who found each other during impossible circumstances and decided to keep the crazy.”
There’s also a box of Red’s emergency caramels with a note in her enthusiastic handwriting:“For your next adventure!Love is the best research project ever, though it needs less control and more chocolate.—Red”
“Tactical candy,” Cal says with a hint of amusement while examining the caramels.
I grin and unwrap one carefully to ensure I don’t smear whatever is on my hands on the chocolate.“Yummy emergency relationship fuel with optimal sugar for emotional crises and organizational wars,” I say while impolitely chewing.
“Same thing.”
I plop down next to Cal on the bench outside the comm tent.The Amazon sunset turns everything gorgeous with bird calls mixing with bug sounds and distant water rushing over rocks.After months of lab silence, the jungle soundtrack feels alive.
“Cal,” I say while sorting caramels by flavor, “I need to tell you something.”
His casual mode switches to full alert faster than I can blink.“What kind of something?Please tell me you didn’t turn my MREs into research samples again.”
“It’s not about your military food, though their chemical preservation is fascinating.”
“Then what kind of something that needs serious conversation buildup?”
I think about how to explain news that’s going to change everything in ways involving tiny humans with potentially weird reptile powers.“The kind that’s going to mess with our planning in ways that involve little people with enhanced abilities.”
Cal’s expression shifts to full tactical mode.“Becci, you’re building suspense that’s activating my paranoia unnecessarily.”
I pull the pregnancy test from my pocket and show it to him like I’m presenting research results.“I’m pregnant.”
He stares at the test like it’s written in code that requires decryption.I watch his brain calculate travel implications, security needs, medical stuff, and operational flexibility while his emotional side apparently crashes entirely.“You’re pregnant.”
“About six weeks, based on math and symptoms.”
“We’re having a baby.”
