BLACKOUT
SUMMARY: Bob's nightmares are out control and he can't handle them when he gets some unexpected help.
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own CBS or The Unit...sadly enough.
A/N: Special thanks to Fido02 for all her help with this fic! I told you I'd get it done eventually! :D
"And I like it Jonas. God help me Jonas, I like it." (Last Scene of 'The Unit'; Episode 'Gone Missing')
"You like it Bob?" The young man's voice rang out clearly. "You liked hearing the idea of killing us? You liked planning it? You liked pulling the trigger?"
"That wasn't what I meant." Bob tried to explain.
"Of course it is. You like it and that makes you just as bas as the people you hunt." The voice accused.
"NO!" Bob protested. "I'm not like them! I'm nothing like them!"
"But you liked killing us…right Bob?" The voice taunted.
"I didn't mean it like that." Bob was growing angry.
"Sure you did." The young man stepped into the light, a bullet hole showing where his heart should have been. "My little brother hasn't been the same since you killed me. My mom hasn't stopped mourning for me. My dad can barely makes ends meat since I'm not there to work and help him with money! Did you know any of that Bob?"
OoOoOoOo
Bob woke up with a start. He looked around the room before running a hand over his face. He was covered in a sheen blanket of sweat. His wife, Kim, stirred but was oblivious to her husband's plight.
Bob moved slowly out of the bed and quietly into the bathroom. He couldn't believe he was still having nightmares. Having talked to his team leader, Jonas, just the week before Bob had hoped that the nightmares would disappear.
They hadn't…if anything they'd gotten worse over the course of the week. Realizing he'd never be able to go back to sleep and not wanting to wake Kim up, Bob threw on some work out clothes, wrote a note to his wife, and slipped out the door.
Knowing that the sound of the car would wake Kim up, he took off jogging heading towards the unit's gym. When he got there he had to pick the lock before entering. He headed straight for the punching bags, needing to work out his aggression.
OoOoOoOo
Hearing rustling from one side of him Mac sat upright on the couch he'd fallen asleep on. His eyes instantly recognized the shadow in the hallway.
"What's wrong," He inquired of his team leader, Jonas Blaine.
Jonas's deep voice rumbled, "The MP's called; it seems someone on my team broke into the gym."
"Well it wasn't me," Mac joked as he stood up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"What do you think you're doing?" Jonas asked watching the younger man throw his shoes on.
"It's probably just Grey, go back to bed," Mac offered. Seeing Jonas still staring at him he added, "I owe you for letting me crash on your couch this week instead of the BQ."
"Good man," Jonas clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll leave a light on."
Mac nodded his head and made his way out of the house and into his truck.
OoOoOoOo
Bob stormed into the unit gym and headed straight for the punching bag. His thoughts still on the nightmare he didn't even bother to put on gloves, a mistake he would later regret.
Without another thought he punched the bag full force. Had anyone seen there would have been do doubt in their minds that Bob could be lethal without a weapon fore if the bag had been a person, it would have been knocked out.
He struck the bag with a fury many wouldn't believe him capable of. In his mind there was no bag, there was only his nightmares. Talking about them didn't help…maybe fighting them would be better.
He punched the bag, muttering to himself, "not my fault." punch "I was doing my job." punch "I didn't like it." punch "It's just a nightmare." punch "It's not real." punch, punch, punch, punch
The words fell out of his mouth almost as fast as his fist hit the punching bag. He didn't stop, not even when he felt the skin on his knuckles break for the first time. He punched the bag until his arms could no longer move, until his knuckles were bleeding…until his legs refused to support him.
OoOoOoOo
Mac turned off his truck and gave a wave to the MP who was still standing guard, signaling that he'd be handling the break in. He'd expected to see Grey inside as he knew the younger man liked to work out his extra energy, so he was more then surprised to see Bob Brown having a go at the punching bag.
He was ready to barge in and demand to know what Bob was doing but stopped when he heard the younger man muttering to himself. He listened for only a few minutes before stepping back outside hoping Bob would stop by himself.
Fifteen minutes later he realized that the younger man wasn't going to and he stormed back into the gym. He was tired, it was late, and he had no patience to handle a temper tantrum over nightmares. After all everyone, including him, had nightmares over the jobs they had to do.
"What the hell is going on?" Mac demanded to know upon storming inside the gym.
He faltered seeing Bob on the floor but seeing the blood on the man's hands his temper flared back up. There was no way in hell he was going to be the one to explain this to Jonas.
"Stand up," Mac ordered; not bothering to ask questions or explain why he was there despite the looks Bob was giving him.
Bob slowly stood up, the pain in his hands still not completely registering. Mac started to walk away but stopped when he heard the sound of a fist meeting the punching bag once again.
Realizing that Bob wasn't about to stop he ordered, "Tape up and put gloves on."
Bob didn't listen as he punched the bag repeatedly. Mac, getting more and more pissed off with each punch, spun him around and shoved boxing gloves towards him.
"What do you care?" Bob asked through clenched teeth, wrenching his shoulder out of Mac's grip and going back to punching the bag before him.
"I don't," Mac shrugged. "Call it self preservation."
Bob stopped punching the bag long enough to give the older man a mystified look. Mac smirked seeing the look on his face causing Bob to glare at him. After a tense moment of staring Bob's glare turned into one of questioning. Taking silent pity on the younger man who looked dead on his feet Mac explained.
"You keep going without tape or gloves you're likely to break your hand. While I don't care I don't think Top will appreciate losing a team member because of stupidity."
Bob shrugged, "I'll tell him it was my fault."
"That's gonna go over real well," Mac snorted, "I'll get blamed because I was here and didn't stop you."
'Not to mention Molly and your wife killing me for not taking care of you,' Mac silently fumed to himself.
"You know the way out," Bob gestured towards the double doors before taking another punch at the door.
Mac angrily grabbed hold of the punching bag and held it as far away from Bob as he could. "Put the damn gloves on."
Bob stared at the older man for a split second before spinning on one foot and kicking the bag. Mac, realizing what was happening, let go of the bag moments before the foot collided with the item.
Mac glared and advanced on Bob before he could stop himself, "What the fuck was that!"
Bob didn't say anything as he spun around and stormed towards the handbag. He was tired, had a headache, his hands were aching, and he was furious. Listening to Mac, at that point, simply took too much work.
Mac watched his teammate storm away in shock. Bob may have been a hothead, something he too was, but the younger man had always been able to keep his temper under control unless he knew that showing it would work towards their advantage. Losing control of his temper now meant that he'd lost control of himself.
Snapping out of his reverie Mac snapped, "I didn't say you could walk away from me Staff Sergeant."
Bob froze in his steps noticing the tone to be not that of a teammate but that of his superior. Hearing Mac's footsteps getting closer, instinct took over and he stood at attention.
"I don't know what the hell you think you were doing but you ever try that again and you won't be around long enough to regret it! You got me?" Mac stood toe to toe with the other man.
"Yes, Master Sergeant," Bob sounded off.
"Follow me," Mac spat out before spinning around and storming towards another door.
Bob followed, albeit reluctantly, as Mac led the way into the gym infirmary. Bob was half tempted to go back to venting but the looks Mac was giving him made him decide against it.
Bob sat on the chair Mac kicked out to him. He watched as Mac strode back and forth gathering the first aid supplied needed.
"Clean yourself up," Mac ordered dropping the supplied on the desk beside the younger unit member.
Bob did as he was told quickly. "You can leave now."
Mac didn't say a word as he cleaned the supplies up and grabbed Bob's hands in his own. Bob tried to pull back but Mac's hold was too strong. Bob could only watch warily as Mac taped his hands up and tossed him the boxing gloves.
"Let's go," Mac walked back into the gym.
Bob put the gloves back on, his anger starting fresh, hoping that Mac would box him. He wasn't disappointed. Mac threw his own gloves on and went into the makeshift ring. Bob stalked in, his anger returning once again.
OoOoOoOo
Mac watched him warily. He knew that in the condition the younger man was in, he wouldn't care about getting hurt; nor would Bob care about hurting him. With that in mind he decided not to spar with his teammate but instead to guide him…at least in his own way.
Mac pointed to the spot where he wanted Bob to stand. Bob walked over, his eyes dangerous, and stood, ready and wanting to fight.
"You're spin kicks are horrible. My little girl could do them better then you." Mac taunted. "Hell, I'm sure Kim could do better then you."
Bob clenched his jaw, his anger raising. The lack of sleep, due to his nightmares, was making it harder and harder for him to control his temper.
"…spin hard…foot connects…listening?" Mac's voice brought Bob back into the present.
"What?" Bob spat out, oblivious to what was going on around him.
"Spin kick with your left foot…NOW!" Mac's voice thundered through the empty gym.
Bob reacted on instinct, grinding his right foot into the ground and kicking with his left. When he landed he unintentionally left himself open. Mac lightly clipped the right side of his head.
"Keep your arms up." Mac ordered, "Do it again."
Bob followed Mac instructions, too stunned at the turn of events to protest. He once again ground his right foot into the ground and kicked with his left. This time Mac clipped him on the left side of his head which he had left open.
"Keep your arms up." Mac ordered again. Mac took a few steps back and demonstrated the move, making sure to keep his own guard up. "If you don't and you don't bring your man down, then he punches you here," Mac put his gloved fist to Bob's temple, "then guess what? You're done for. Try it again."
Bob nodded his head in understanding. He waited for Mac to take his position again before performing the kick, this time remembering to keep his guard up. Unconsciously, he looked up at Mac for approval. Mac bonked him gently on the forehead with a gloved fist, his way of showing the approval Bob wanted.
"The other foot," Mac ordered getting back to business.
Bob hesitated; his right foot was his weakest. He stood back, laid his left foot flat onto the ground and spun. Mac grabbed his foot, while it was in the air and Bob went down none to gently.
"You move that slowly and you're dead where you stand," Mac's voice was stern.
"Get off me!" Bob yelled, yanking his leg out of Mac's grasp and standing up. Gone was his need of approval and back was his anger.
Mac didn't let it faze him, "Do it again."
Bob scowled. He hated feeling weak. Not being able to do the spin kick was the least of his problems. He'd had enough; he turned to leave but Mac's voice taunting him, made him stay.
"What's the matter little girl? Too much for you," Mac inquired. He knew Bob was still angry and wanted the younger man to release the anger now rather then later when at home "Does Jonas' golden boy need me to hold her hand?"
Bob turned and glared at the older man. Without so much as another thought he again kicked with his right foot. And again, Mac grabbed it and knocked him down.
"What are you doing wrong?" Mac asked, releasing his hold on the younger man.
Bob closed his eyes, visioning the movements in his head. He wasn't sure what he was doing wrong.
"Do it again," Mac ordered, "this time, pay attention to what you're doing."
Bob wiped the sweat on his forehead with his arm before doing as he was ordered. Mac let him finish the kick this time. When he was done he realized he'd left himself open but other then that he could see nothing.
"What are you doing wrong?" Mac asked again.
Bob's eyes darted back and forth while he thought. His eyes squinted; sleep working its way into his brain. "I…"
"Think about," Mac said gruffly. "What did you do wrong? If this were real, why is it your fault, I have to go and tell Kim that she's a widow?"
"I was too slow," Bob questioned, stunned at the words 'your fault' that fell from the man's lips.
"What else?" Mac inquired, knowing full well that Bob was dwelling on those two words. He wanted Bob to understand everything he was gonna say without saying.
"I…I left myself unguarded." Bob answered hesitantly.
"What else?" Mac took a step closer. He kept taking small steps closer and closer to Bob. "What else?"
"I…" Bob took a step back, not wanting to be standing toe to toe with the master sergeant. When he realized Mac wasn't going to back off he finally lost his patience. "I don't know!"
"You hesitated!" Mac stepped closer and jabbed Bob in the chest. "When you're in this job you don't hesitate and you don't question yourself. You kill or be killed."
"Yeah but…" Bob's voice trailed off as Mac took an impossible step closer.
"If you'd hesitated to shoot that boy while we were trying to get Hector out, what do you think would have happened?" Mac's voice was dangerously low.
"He'd still be alive," Bob mumbled, having forgotten that, with as close as Mac was, the older man could hear him.
"Yeah, he'd still be alive," Mac agreed. "Then when roll call was given and the colonel called for Sergeant Brown no one would have answered; just like no one would have answered when he called for Jonas, Grey, and me. Today Widow's Blaine, Gerhardt, and Brown would have been forced off the base. You do not hesitate."
Bob nodded his head in understanding. He was shocked to realize that he really did understand. It wasn't his fault that those people had died. Much like he, those people had choices. They chose to be where they were and in doing so they chose to die.
Still the words 'I like it' ran through his head. How could he like killing people? Bob wanted to ask his teammate but didn't dare. He didn't want to seem any weaker then he thought he did in front of the more seasoned man.
"Try it again," Mac ordered, going to stand back in own spot.
Bob did as he was ordered and this time Mac didn't grab hold of his foot. When he was done he stood grinning. For the first time Bob had performed a nearly perfect right footed spin kick.
Mac raised an eyebrow and clipped the younger man on both sides of his head, "Keep those arms up pup or you're gonna lose your head."
"Sorry," Bob replied, raising his hands instinctively.
"Do it again," Mac ordered, this time lightening his tone, "This time grind your left foot into the ground like you did your right when you were doing the left footed kick."
Bob's head bobbed up and down in understanding. It took a couple tried but finally he was able to ground his left foot into the ground and spin quickly, performing the kick perfectly.
Bob grinned at Mac, unable to stop the smile. His anger slipped down completely. As his anger finally left he felt exhausted. Still the smile stayed on his face.
Mac gave him a light thump in the chest. "You still keep your extra clothes in your locker?" Bob nodded and Mac gave a jerk of his head, "Grab them and take a shower here so you don't wake Kim."
The younger man tiredly walked out of the gym and into the showers. Mac sighed and slumped onto a bench. He hadn't wanted to get involved in Bob's problems but, contrary, to popular belief he wasn't that cold hearted. He knew that there was one more thing on Bob's mind and he hoped to help with that.
'If I can't…I'm sending him to Jonas' Mac mused to himself.
OoOoOoOo
Bob dragged his feet back into the gym, to tired to pick them up. Mac chuckled softly at the site of his teammate looking more like a teen who stayed up to late then a member of an elite special force team.
Noticing Bob's hands were un-bandaged Mac led him back into the gym infirmary. This time he fixed the hands himself.
This time while he was applying an ointment Bob spoke to him. "I shouldn't like it."
Mac didn't look up from his administrations as he replied, "Don't mix liking the job to liking to kill."
Bob stared at him in shock. He'd never thought of it that way. He didn't say anything else as Mac finished with his hands and then led the way to his truck. Mac held the passenger door open for him, not trusting Bob to shut the door safely in his tired state of mind.
By the time Mac pulled up to Jonas' house Bob was half asleep in the passenger seat. He got out and walked over to the other side and opened the door.
He shook the younger man awake, "Come on pup, time to go home."
Bob opened his eyes and got out of the truck. Mac stayed by his side until they reached the Brown house hold across the street. Mac opened the door and let Bob walk in.
He was just about to shut the door and leave when Bob turned to him, "Thanks Mac."
Mac glanced at him but said nothing as he left.
OoOoOoOo
Mac let himself quietly into the Blaine house and, after kicking off his shoes, lay down on the sofa. He was half asleep when he heard his team leader's voice.
"You take care of him?"
Mac nodded, "He's a young pup; he'll be fine top."
Jonas chuckled as he went to bed, leaving Mac alone to fall asleep himself.
The next morning Bob woke up and looked at his clock. He was stunned to find that it was eleven o'clock. Under any other circumstances he'd have been at the unit gym finishing up his two hours and waiting to see if the team would be called.
It wasn't until he was in his car on the way to the cave when it dawned on him. For the first time in weeks…Bob Brown had slept for eight straight hours with no nightmares.
THE END