Author's note: Heya. So I did say I had some stories cooking for The Brave, and to be frank, I keep jumping between four. I've finally settled on one long enough to crank out a finished chapter with a nearly finished second chapter, so I thought I'd post the first chapter to motivate me to crank out more. Hope ya like it, and remember, this is not a death fic. Much loves to you all.
Chapter One
If even one mission could go smoothly, Adam would be immensely grateful. But with this job, that was a nigh impossibility. They'd completed the objective—by all intents and purposes, they'd succeeded. But on their way out, they were spotted, forcing them to simply run toward exfil through the forest.
Boots pounded the terrain; enraged shouting rang out behind them. They were running for their lives, banking on their enemies' lack of night vision gear and clumsy sprinting. The team skillfully weaved through trees and brush, moving quickly and quietly. Slightly ahead of them, Adam silently signaled for them to split up, anxious to get his team as far out of harm's way as possible. If they separated, it could increase their chances and get them to the exfiltration point more safely.
As they moved away from one another, Adam purposefully stomped on a thin, fallen branch. The snap nearly had an echo. And it worked.
A couple stragglers chased after Preach and Amir, but a majority of their foes stayed on Adam's tail. As long as his team was out of danger, he could handle the repercussions.
From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a look of worried anger on Jaz's face. He wouldn't be surprised. But she obediently carried on, melting into the darkness as she pressed on toward their escape.
Pushing harder, he picked his way through the complex clusters of vegetation, picking up his feet to avoid stray roots and shrub branches.
And then they started shooting.
Panic bit at his chest, his thoughts going straight to his team. If the guys behind were shooting blindly, there was a chance one of his teammates—one of his family—could catch a bullet.
He should've been more worried about himself.
Pain exploded from his abdomen, sharp and sudden. It didn't register at first. Even the white-hot strike to his thigh didn't quite sink in. Then it hit him. The delayed agony. And he fell.
Hard.
Rocks and pebbles dug into his flesh, stinging and bruising. But his mind was in hyperdrive.
Thinking fast, he rolled into a nearby cluster of brush. Thorns ripped at bits of bare skin; still, it was nothing compared to the excruciating throbbing of his abdomen and leg—not to mention the violent wave of adrenaline pulsing in his veins.
This was it. He just knew it. Hiding in the bushes only put off the inevitable. They'd find him here, and he'd die the soldier's death he knew would come someday. He thought about his team. They'd mourn him; he knew. But they'd have to move on. They'd have to survive and keep going.
Otherwise, this would've been for nothing.
He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing past suppressed cries of pain. His mind flashed back to Jaz's worried scowl. At least he'd die in a flurry of action. As long as they all made it safely.
Heavy footfalls ran past him, soon fading into the dark.
Adam blinked harshly, hand scrambling to find the hole in his side. Did their pursuers miss him? Were they already gone?
Sweat dripped into his eyes as the adrenaline quickly began to wear down into nothingness.
Did they see him fall?
He closed his eyes tightly, wincing as he pressed the torn flesh in his side. It wasn't an immediately fatal wound, but he was still bleeding. Heavily.
So they hadn't seen him. They hadn't known he'd been hit. Somehow, he'd dodged what he thought was a certain death.
And now his very real plight was starting to sink in. He began to shiver against the pain and the steady dribble of his blood, left vulnerable and weak without the boost of adrenaline. He attempted to lift himself up on one elbow, finding his body was too focused on other things to manage it. Instead, he fell back to the root-tangled floor, attempting to breathe steadily as he weighed his options.
He wouldn't make it to the exfiltration point. At least, not in time. His team couldn't wait; they'd have to leave him behind.
So now, he'd just have to focus on survival until they could come back and get him.
"Status."
Adam licked his lips, wincing against the voice in his ear. Noah. Always checking up on them.
"Team had to split. We're heading to exfil now."
Preach's whisper floated through the comms, punctuated by his labored breathing. They were still running. Adam could only hope they were still safe too.
Black spots dotted his vision, and he could feel his body weakening. His hold against his side was beginning to loosen, and his brain felt foggy. His consciousness was slipping away.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
He tried to fight through it, attempting to further press his hand against his bloody side. A soft groan escaped him as he wearily pushed the night vision goggles away from his face with a quickly weakening arm.
"Top? What's going on?"
Jaz. But he knew the question was on all their minds.
And he would've answered.
But waves of darkness washed over him, pulling him into the tide of unconsciousness.
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The team had lost them. They could still hear the angry shouts of their pursuers, but they were distant. Off track. Getting further away.
And as the exfiltration point grew closer, the four of them converged again, eyes forward.
"Top?" Jaz tried again, listening intently to the stray noises from her comm. She looked around, hoping to see him trot up from behind to join them. But he was nowhere. Where he should've been, there were only trees, darkness, and brush.
They could hear the starting hum of chopper blades just ahead, and she knew Top's window was narrow now. If he'd gotten behind, he'd have to quickly make up the time. They could only wait so long before their pursuers heard the chopper and headed their way.
The team broke into the clearing, heading toward their escape. They looked around, searching for the same thing. The same person.
"Where's Dalton?"
They could all hear the notes of concern in the deputy director's stern voice. Nothing could be said about it. They all felt it too.
"No visual. If he's close, we can't see him," Amir reported, dark eyes peering fervently into the darkness as the four of them waited by the chopper.
"We've lost GPS tracking for Dalton," Noah muttered. Silent hesitation followed. They all knew what was coming. "If he doesn't make it in the next ten seconds . . ."
A pause.
"We'll have to leave him behind," McG mumbled.
And the thought hit them all at once.
He could be dead.
Or if he isn't dead, he will be if he doesn't get to exfil in time.
They'd heard shooting before. Maybe . . .
Jaz's breath came hard and fast, and a gnawing pain of realization settled into their chests.
"Team, you have to go." Noah sounded apologetic. Sad. His voice trembled a little, as if he was trying to keep it together.
"No, just a little longer," Jaz demanded, a hint of pleading in her voice.
"You can't wait. You have to go."
"Please. Please, just a little longer."
The four of them searched the trees, desperate. He had to be out there. He was Top. He always made it. He always got out alive. He had to.
"Go now. That's an order."
Patricia sounded as firm as ever. But there was something softer behind the command. Something sorrowful. Mourning. They could all feel it.
With trembling hands, they climbed into the chopper, settling in as it rose above the trees. They looked down over the terrain, searching. Hoping.
But they knew it was too late.
Top was gone. It was the last they'd ever see of Adam Dalton.
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No one said a word when Amir forcefully threw his pack to the floor. They were safe and sound on base. With one less.
The common area felt dark and empty already, and they all dropped their gear to the floor, not caring where it lay. Amir was left to confront his own anger as he kicked his bag. McG headed straight to the fridge to drag out a pack of beers and place it on the kitchen table. Preach and Jaz sat down, already reaching for a beer before it had touched the tabletop.
Amir kicked his pack again, pressing an angry fist against his forehead. They'd give him another minute. Then they'd force him to come sit down and drink to the memory of a good man. A great man. An outstanding commanding officer.
The three at the table stared down with empty eyes, letting the news finally sink in its teeth with full force. Even in the chopper, they hadn't allowed themselves to give in and accept it. Not until they were back on the ground and settled in a proper seat.
And the time was now.
Amir gave an angry shout, driving his foot into the bag again. And then he stilled, as if drained. Slowly, he made it to the table, taking his seat with the rest of them and wearily reaching for a bottle. A hand went to his face, covering his eyes.
Tightening her hold on her beer, Jaz's face crumpled and she turned away from the group, trying to find some privacy without shunning them altogether. McG looked to the ceiling, tears gathering in his eyes.
Some would say loss was just part of the job. But that didn't make it easier.
That didn't make this easier.
"Top . . . Adam was an admirable man," Preach said quietly, his low voice rumbling through the dim room. "He'd always put the mission first. But he'd also find a way to put us first. Always willing to put his life on the line. For us. For others. And tonight . . . tonight . . ." His voice shook a little. "He put his life on the line and ended up making the ultimate sacrifice."
A small whimper escaped Jaz as she closed her eyes, her brows scrunched up together.
Preach held up his bottle, and the others followed. Jaz wiped furiously at her eyes, determined to be strong as she joined in. There was a glisten of tears in their eyes and an air of weary defeat. There was nothing they could do. They knew the odds. And the odds were that Adam was gone.
Gone.
Forever.
They held up their bottles in a silent toast, and they let the quiet linger. They drank in peace. Tears silently fell from their eyes, with the exception of Preach, who's tears sat reverently on the edge of his eyelids.
Jaz looked down at a pullover on the floor. Adam's. It had fallen in the flurry of mission prep, and he just hadn't had time to pick it up and put it away. And now it was mocking them, reminding them of a man that gave everything his all.
A man who cared even when it was more convenient not to.
He should've been on the chopper with them. He should've been there.
They shouldn't have left him behind.
She gently pressed her thumb and index finger into her eyes, hoping to stem the fresh wave of emotion. As much as they would've liked to stay—to find him—they couldn't have. To risk the many for the few was not the DIA's way, even if the few was Adam Dalton.
And truly, they couldn't fault Patricia or Noah for making the call. It was procedure, and it was there for a reason, as heart-shattering as it was.
Looking back, it was easy to be critical. They shouldn't have split. They should've kept eyes on each other. They should've waited. They should've hid.
They've should've done anything other than what they did.
But that didn't change things, and it never would. Out in the field, you do your best to make the right choices, and sometimes, you just can't know which choice is the right one.
Jaz stared at the lip of her beer bottle, eyes unseeing. There was a time when Adam had been staring this very same moment in the face—her abduction. He almost had to leave her behind. He almost had to face these same what ifs and regrets. These moments of angry minutes of defeat. Of knowing you had to somehow accept such an awful outcome.
This wasn't almost. This was real.
She absently rubbed at her jaw, letting her thoughts run wild.
"Hell, I wish I knew what to say," McG huffed, running his fingers through dark locks. "All I can think is Top would know what to say."
Jaz smirked, despite herself. "He would. Always did."
"I mean, when Preach was in a coma . . ." McG began, gesturing to the older man. Preach looked up, those damn tears still clinging to his eyes. ". . . it just felt hopeless. And Top was nowhere to be seen. Then he was just there and it . . . just felt better. Like everything would be fine."
Amir let out a sigh through his nose, slouching dejectedly in his seat. "It's hard to think that this is permanent."
"It feels wrong," Jaz agreed, taking another swig of her beer.
The quiet returned, dusting over them as they fell into a shallow contemplation. It was a still night. Dark. Empty.
"Top wouldn't want us to sulk," Preach offered hesitantly. "He'd want us to move on. To welcome growth and change in our lives."
McG smiled humorlessly. "And tomorrow, we get right on that. But I don't think I'm quite done feeling miserable."
Amir raised his bottle, eyes dark yet soft. "Hear, hear."
The older man leaned back, eyes to the ceiling. "Can't say I am either."
And so they mourned in intermittent moments of silence, holding on to the cold, bitter evening and dreading the warmth of the sun.
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The bag of pork rinds lay forgotten, abandoned and steadily growing stale. A mug of coffee sat beside them, cold and dark.
They don't exactly teach you how to deal with death on the job. And somehow, being miles and miles away when it happened made it just a little harder.
Noah's eyes had settled on a little spot of empty desk, unfocused and dull. None of them had seen it coming. All of a sudden, Adam's dot on the screen had blinked out of sight, and his body cam went dark.
In an instant, every visual they had on Adam Dalton had disappeared.
There was a groan, presumably from Adam, and then nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing but the rustle of leaves in the wind.
After listening to that for nearly a half an hour, Noah'd made the call to turn off the audio. To spare the room the mental image of Adam just . . . just lying there. Left behind. Abandoned.
He turned on alerts in case the comm picked up anything, but he wasn't hopeful. Somewhere in that wilderness was Adam. Or more like the shell he left behind.
It was never easy to lose a teammate. No, a friend. Adam was a friend.
Hell. Noah had lost a friend.
He messily pushed a hand under his glasses as the tears hit him. A sob stuck in his throat, his stomach turning at the very thought of what was lost.
He'd lost a friend today. A friend.
A small hand settled on his shoulder. He didn't bother looking; he knew who it was. Instead, he focused on composing himself. On finding some kind of peace.
Once he'd somewhat pieced himself back together, he straightened his glasses, sat up taller.
"There was nothing you could've done."
The deputy director. Always the one with the strength and the reassurance.
He looked up at her. "But how can you know that?"
She smiled comfortingly as she pulled up a spare chair, settling in gracefully. "Let's just say, I have a lot of experience."
Noah looked down, nodding softly. A feeling of hopelessness settled into his chest, weighing heavily on his heart. "What now?"
Patricia breathed in deeply settling her hands on her knees. "You honor their memory. You live on, but you don't forget them. And you do them proud."
Do them proud. Do Adam proud. Noah thought about what that meant. What that would mean to Adam.
And the first idea that came to mind was to take care of himself.
With every mission and every task, Adam put his team first. He encouraged them to be healthy. To be happy.
Noah looked down at the pork rinds. He didn't feel like eating. But he could almost hear Adam, like he'd heard Adam so many times before asking his own exhausted team: "Have you eaten?"
Or even: "Get some rest."
The tiny nudges for self-care.
Noah lifted his gaze to Patricia. She smiled sadly.
"Have you eaten?"
He couldn't blink back the tears fast enough.
