Come In
By: MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Since the breakup and all the confusion in Mexico, Clay's place didn't feel like home anymore; until he let Bravo come in.
The door was ajar, but he knocked anyway…not sure of his welcome if he were to just enter uninvited. Listening carefully, he could hear no answer forth coming; no shout out from inside; no soft music playing or the muffled sounds on television that would indicate life beyond the door. There was nothing at all; only silence.
As was his way, he wondered if he should just ignore the kid's right to privacy and bulldoze his way in.
Maybe something was terribly wrong. Maybe he wasn't here at all and forgot to close the door behind him. Maybe he wanted to just be left alone. He could understand that.
Leaning against the door frame, Jason thought about what he should do. Things had been strained between him and Clay since Adam's death. The kid blamed him, he could tell. And his own feelings of guilt, which ate at him incessantly, didn't help matters much.
In Mexico, things had finally come to a head. He had expected some level of resistance, but out and out insubordination had caught him by surprise. The blow up had been sudden and erupted without warning in the midst of chaos. Almost like a grenade exploding in his hand.
In that moment of rebellion, he thought of Nate…impulsive, bull headed; hard to contain. The resemblance between the two was uncanny. His approach would have to be deft, firm; compassionate if he was to keep the kid alive. He could not make the same mistake again and survive it.
To his credit, the kid had settled down without too much of a confrontation; but even after their heart to heart, he could still feel the kid's anger simmering beneath the surface. It would seem that life and the job was taking a toll…on everybody.
In time, the kid had finally opened up to him about Stella; the admission awkward and hesitant. Ray had already shared that Clay had told everybody about the breakup…he being the last to know. There was a time when Clay would have come to him first or confided only in him. Those times were over he supposed and he couldn't blame him.
For months now, he had been unreachable; lost in wave after wave of grief. His mind on Alana – how he had failed her, come up short when she needed him most. And now, his priorities had shifted to his children. On how to keep it all going without alienating them in the process and screwing up their lives.
His neck and shoulders ached with the tension of uncertainty – just like before a mission. Rubbing the knots at the back of his neck, Jason deliberated about his next step. He had come here without hesitating. A member of his team, his brother needed help. Only he wasn't convinced that he was the right man for this job.
Shrouded in darkness; sitting alongside Alana – talking of mundane things, remembering her smile, her strength, her exasperation with his obsessive nature and broken promises, he had received the call from Sonny.
Clay was a no show to his "intervention" and he was worried. "I don't like seeing him this way Boss. I'm not use to Mr. Sunshine being so down and out."
The tone of his voice, the fact that he even called had Jason's senses tingling. Sonny was not one to reach out on his own behalf, let alone someone else's. After a rocky start Sonny and Clay had irrevocably bonded. Their dynamic was an odd one, but strong none the less. So, he took the man's concern seriously.
And here he was at the door – unable to enter. Thinking that perhaps he should call Ray; who had a way with words; who was an expert at listening – gauging people's emotions. Who knew when to be still and when to fill up the spaces of silence with a smile; a touch or a quick joke to illicit a laugh. He wasn't that person.
It wasn't his way. He had said what was needed back in Mexico. What more could he say?
But Sonny was adamant. "I think he needs you Boss." And so he came – the door was open. Only, what now?
Entering his apartment was surreal.
Heart in his throat, Clay moved from room to room…hoping she would be here. That she had somehow changed her mind and decided to stay.
They could work it out. He would do anything. He loved Stella. She loved him. They had declared it many times, right here in the kitchen; on that very couch; in this bedroom – brushing teeth at the bathroom sink…side by side.
But as he pulled open the closet and saw her side empty of clothes – the side she had fought so loud and hard for, he knew she was really gone. The material things that tethered her here had vanished. Her clothes; laptop, papers strewn on the kitchen table; her soft down comforter with the gold fringes, tooth brush; creams and shampoo…all gone.
It was as if she were never here. Only she was. Their smiling picture a tangible, stark reminder of happier times. Holding the frame tightly, he touched her face, willing her to be here at his side. Because he could still feel her, smell her, hear her voice calling to him – "Babe, come sit next to me." And he did; flopping down on the couch expecting her to materialize and kiss his temple.
What was he going to do without her? Why stay here in this place, which was no longer a home? These walls now only housed rooms where he would eat, sleep and see the ghost of her.
Maybe he should call Sonny and take him up on his offer. Getting plastered sounded like a plan, but he didn't have the energy to get up from the couch. He could see the door was still open, but he didn't care. He could see darkness overtaking the sun, casting the room in shades of gray, but he didn't care. His chest ached and he needed to get up and rub on the ointment that helped to ease the pain, but he didn't care.
He went to text her, to know that she was okay; but deleted the message before hitting send. Her voice was what he needed. But he didn't have the courage to call; fearful he would break down and be reduced to begging for her to come home.
Instead he sat very still, leaned back his head and tried to blot out the image of Adam limbless in the street; being pinned down by gunfire in the house of God; Martinez bleeding out in pain, anxious to save his country from corruption; a drug lord dead at his feet – his brains blown out, pink mist spreading across the floor; Stella close…her warmth heating his skin – her reassuring voice in his ear whispering, "Everything's going to be alright."
Jason tapped on the door again and getting no response decided to just take the bull by the horns; pushed the door open and stepped into darkness.
Flicking on the lights, he squinted through the florescent glare and caught a glimpse of Clay asleep on the couch.
Moving with stealth, so as not to wake the kid, he stood over Clay, frowned and noticed his awkward position. The kid sat straight up, cell phone in one hand; framed picture in the other; with his head thrown back. He wondered how he could even rest this way. He supposed Clay had learned this lesson from Sonny, who could sleep in any position; on any surface in all kinds of weather – night or day.
Mind made up and in one swift motion he grabbed a hold of the back of Clay's neck, lifted beneath the kid's knees and expertly positioned him on his back. This trick, Alana had taught him…how to not wake sleeping children when moving them from one place to the next.
"That's better", he noted aloud, and watched as Clay groaned and shifted to lay on his side; phone and picture thudding to the floor – his breathing deep and even…uninterrupted; the sleep of the exhausted holding him under.
Jason let out a breath and turned to survey his surrounds. Everything here seemed quiet, and Clay was resting peacefully. Looking down at his feet he considered if he should stay or go on home. Checking his watch, he could see how late it was. His kids were settled in for the night, his mom a continuous blessing, watching over them in his absence.
Body weary to the bone, his eyes heavy, Jason vigorously rubbed the side of his face. Driving home seemed a monumental task. Decision made, he sat down at the end of the couch…careful not to jostle the sleeping occupant and drifted down into that other place where Alana waited; her hand outstretched to welcome him.
Just as the helo exploded, not ten klicks from the exfil point, and Doza keeled over with his brains splattered out on the floor – Clay woke with a start.
Sitting up quickly – heart racing; mouth dry, he wondered how it was Bravo would get out of this predicament. Someone grabbed a hold of his leg – so he raised his hands, ready to strike.
"You're home." Jason murmured.
Clay frowned, confused as to where; no when he was. Scanning the room, he saw that he was in his apartment, on the couch – Jason sitting at his feet; a vice like grip on his leg. In the distance a plume of black, orange and red filled the night sky causing the ground to rumble.
"You're home", Jason repeated, who then let go of his leg and pat his knee with reassurance.
Leaning back, Clay flung his arm over his eyes and nodded slowly. The smell of wafting smoke and fire; sweat and copper assailed him on the fringes of his dream. He took deep breaths, slow and easy, eventually getting his heart beat under control.
Looking from beneath his arm he studied Jason closely.
What was he doing here? How was it that he sat here in his apartment?
"The door was open", Jason offered, "So, I let myself in."
Clay sat up deliberately, planted his feet on the floor and regarded his shoes with intensity. Why was Boss here? The confrontation between them in Mexico still weighed heavy in the air. He had apologized and even now could not explain his outburst; resentment; irritation toward this man whom he deeply respected. He thought things were better.
Is that why Boss was here; to be sure all was good between them? Was it all good, he wondered?
"Sonny called", Jason began. "He was worried, so I stopped by to check in on you."
Clay nodded again, and sighed with relief; glad to not revisit his mixed up emotions where Jason was concerned. But still, there was so much he wanted to say. That he was okay, and there was no need to check on him. He had overcome relationship problems in the past and would do so now. He was angry and hurt that Adam was dead because of him, but he would move past it. He always handled his problems alone…this time would be no different. Jason had his own pain to work through.
Standing to make his case; shifting from foot to foot, palms clammy; his nerves on edge – Jason interrupted his speech before he could even get started.
"You don't need to do this alone Spenser", he admonished softly. "None of us do."
A knock at the door broke the contemplative silence flowing thoughtfully between them; and in like a tidal wave spilled Bravo Team – Sonny leading the troops – dragging Davis along by the hand. "The door was open", he yelled over the noise of hungry invaders, who occupied the kitchen; raided the refrigerator; and then captured the t.v. remote. "So we just came on in", Sonny finished with a flourish.
Hands on hips, Clay laughed softly; and with resignation beckoned to his team sincerely, "Yeah, come in everybody…come in and make yourself at home.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a review to let me know what you think. I enjoy reading your comments, and do so over and over again. Also, I wanted to be sure to say thank you to everyone who read, favorited, and wrote a review for 'Charlie Mike'. Your comments are greatly appreciated!