Just a little one-shot about the night they all returned from Tehran from Dalton's POV. I've always wondered what might have happened once they got home.
I don't own The Brave or any of it's characters... But I wish I did!
Keeping Watch
The moon's beams glowed through the window and illuminated what would normally be a pitch black room. The curtains on the window had been purposely left open, as had the window itself, allowing fresh air to flood the small, cramped bedroom.
Dalton sat on the chair in the corner of the room, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together and his head hung in silent acknowledgement of the enormity of the last three days.
Taking a long, deep and steadying breath, he raised his eyes to focus on the solitary figure, lying prone in the small bed against the wall. Jaz's long mahogany hair, was splayed across the pillow, making her look paler than usual, but her long breaths as she slept were the only comfort Dalton had truly felt in over 72 hours.
Granted, it was a sedative induced sleep that McG had given her, in consultation with the doctors on base and Jaz herself. She had initially been apprehensive of the sedative, not wanting drugs in her system. But when McG had spoken to her softly, explaining that her body needed rest to heal itself, Jaz had eventually relented.
Given the trauma she had been through, Dalton and McG had argued her case to bring her back to the Quonset hut that first night, Dalton had known there was no way Jaz would have wanted to stay in the hospital. And seeing her big eyes, clearly exhausted but looking haunted as she glanced around the stark hospital room, Dalton instantly knew there was no way he was leaving her there.
She needed to be with her team, and they equally needed her with them.
As he sat keeping watch over her, Dalton couldn't help but replay certain moments of the last few days, over and over again. Constantly questioning if he could have done anything differently. Wondering if he should have let Jaz engage in that situation in the first place. Dreading what would have eventuated if the team had left Tehran without Jaz.
That last thought drove him crazy. He knew he wouldn't have left without Jaz. But he would have sent his team home, away from harm's way. He had been willing to put his own life on the line, but not his team's. Losing Jaz would have been devastating and heartbreaking, but losing the entire team would have been catastrophic. And there was no doubt in his mind that if he had stayed, there was no way he would have gotten out alive.
But he would have done that for Jaz, without a shadow of a doubt, without a second thought. And that could be a problem.
The door creaking quietly open to the side of him had Dalton refocusing his gaze. He watched McG enter the room quietly, to check on Jaz, just like he had been doing every couple of hours throughout the night.
Acknowledging Dalton with a nod of his head, McG approached the bed to where Jaz still slept. He gently felt her wrist to check her radial pulse. He put a hand on her forehead checking her temperature, wary of any infection setting in where those monsters had carved her up.
Dalton swallowed deeply and clenched his jaw tightly just thinking about what Jaz had been through; what she had endured. What he wouldn't give to inflict the same pain, the same level of torture on each one of them himself. Arthur had gotten off lightly in his opinion. He deserved so much more than the relative quick death he had been given. But that was the element of his soul where the darkness sets in. The deep part of him where the need for revenge intermittently outweighed his usual level of integrity.
That part could be difficult to shake off, especially where someone he cared about was concerned.
Having finished up checking her vitals, McG glanced over to Dalton and gave him a small nod which Dalton returned.
McG had forsaken trying to get Dalton to get some of his own sleep tonight, knowing there was no way he was leaving Jaz's side. They all felt the same way, but they also knew that Dalton needed this for himself, not just for Jaz.
McG placed his hand on Dalton's shoulder as he left the room, giving it a small squeeze in solidarity. They all shared the same slightly unhinged feeling of how devastating this whole situation could have turned out to be. And this soon after a mission, it was still too easy to dwell on the 'what ifs'.
Dalton went back to watching Jaz sleep, reminding him of watching her in the back of the truck after they had crossed the Turkish border. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her for several reasons.
Firstly, she was alive. She was fucking alive. It had been extremely difficult to comprehend and appreciate at first, given the extreme complexities and challenges thrown at them throughout the entire course of this mission.
Secondly, she looked beautiful. Despite the multitude of bruises, abrasions and cuts, she looked ethereal sitting there as the first rays of sunlight reflected off her face. It had been obvious she needed to see, feel and breathe that sunrise. She had lived to see another day and had needed to welcome that day with her eyes wide open, breathing in the outside air.
Lastly, this mission had evoked feelings in himself that he hadn't openly acknowledged until now. His fear for Jaz, his panic for Jaz, his distress for Jaz and his willingness to give up his life for Jaz, answered a lot of questions that had cropped up. They were his own questions, but the sobering reality of the conclusions he had come to weren't to be shared. With anyone.
They couldn't be. It was enough that he was even acknowledging them. Acting on them was an impossibility. But he had accepted them. It was futile not to.
He had allowed himself one small gratification when he had cradled her in his arms as they sat in the back of the car on their way to rendezvous with Hossein's truck.
Feeling her eventually relax and give in to her body's exhaustion, as well as hearing her whimpering die down as McG alleviated her pain, had Dalton thanking a god he wasn't sure he believed in.
When she finally relaxed against his chest, he had allowed himself one small indulgence as he rested his own head on top of hers, breathing in her scent. The same scent that that bastard Arthur and his minions had tried to erase from her. He cradled her soft, but beaten face in one of his large comforting hands and held her, hoping his warmth would permeate through to her own skin.
He had needed that moment for himself, just as much as the need to provide her with the comfort she sought and deserved.
He had never once regarded Jaz as fragile, but the need to protect her from everything and everyone had stayed with him, well after they had crossed the Turkish border, well after they arrived back on base and well after she had received the all clear from the doctors who assessed her and let her come home to the Quonset hut.
He stood up and walked over to her bedside and stared down at her face, beaten and bloodied, but still of so much beauty and grace. Leaning down, he granted himself one last allowance, as he pushed her hair back off her face, letting his thumb linger on her temple and his fingers on her cheek. He let the smoothness of her skin and her presence in this room be enough; enough to ease some of his own demons and free him from a little of his darkness.
Keeping watch over her now; watching her chest rise and fall with each breath and her face illuminated by the moonlight, was a small solace for him. A small reminder of what he had nearly lost. A small reminder that he was unwilling to go through life without knowing that Jaz Khan was alive and safe.
Hope you enjoyed it. Tell me what you think...