It was very hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure last night was a dream.

Logic wasn't on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn't have imagined — like Colonel Flag's smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own.

I remembered the fabric of his shirt clung to his perfectly muscled chest. It was a colossal tribute to his face that it kept my eyes away from his body.

As I tried to gather my jumbled thoughts, his smile interrupted them all, sabotaging any efforts I had previously made to avoid him. It wasn't really his fault that his voice was so irresistible. Or what his eyes were capable of. I hadn't imagined that the Colonel could be so compassionate and understanding, he wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud.

I skipped to the shower block, my emotions unrecognizable. I didn't know myself, inside or out.

The face in the mirror was practically a stranger — eyes too bright, hectic spots of red across my cheekbones. After I brushed my teeth, I worked to straighten out the tangled chaos that was my hair. I splashed my face with cold water, and tried to breathe normally, with no noticeable success.

The olive shade of his eyes as we stared at each other for an immeasurable period of time-at least I did in my dream last night. His smell, his smile, his eyes. He stood like statue of Adonis again, staring abstractedly as the blonde woman tried for this attention, and failed.

Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.

I stared at myself in the mirror closely, trying to forget anything I was feeling for Colonel Flag.

But instead, flashes of my dream last night invaded my thoughts. I caressed his cheek, delicately stroked his eyelid, the purple shadow in the hollow under his eye. I traced the shape of his perfect nose, and then, so carefully, his flawless lips. His lips parted under my hand, and I could feel his warm breath on my fingertips. I wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of him. So I dropped my hand and leaned away, not wanting to push him too far.

He opened his eyes, and they were hungry. Not in a way to make me fear, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of my stomach and send my pulse hammering through my veins again.

I shook my head violently to clear away the images. I smiled to myself, thinking I would get over it- it was just a little infatuation, probably because he treated me with respect.

But I felt something...a pull, a want, a need to be with him. When he was gone, even in if it was just a meeting, I felt so lost. It hurt. No matter who was here to cheer me up, no matter who was babysitting me, no matter if I was conscious or unconscious...I always knew whether or not he was near me.

I closed my eyes, testing the feeling in the room around me. It was chilly, too chilly in comparison to the heat that I was used to. I felt isolated, I felt somehow very alone. As if something were wrong with the balance of my life. As if a whole side of me was missing.

A reason for balance in itself. It was as if I was completely incomplete.

So was this - whatever this was - is it love? Or was it just a need to be near him because he was the only true and familiar thing that I seemed to recall at all from the life everyone was trying to get me to leave? Did I love him? Or did I need him? Or...was it a little bit of both? Maybe the question should be rephrased. Did I love him because I needed him, or did I need him because I loved him?

After Flag's suggestion to get some "help", I found myself sitting in the waiting room in the mental health office.

My foot was relentlessly tapping on the floor, waiting impatiently for someone to come out and talk to me.

I had made it too hard for anyone to get to know me, it seemed. The hands on the huge clock on the wall didn't accelerate. With relentless, uncaring force, they turned inexorably toward the end–the end of everything as I knew it.

Busy people passed by the waiting room window, idly looking at me through the glass as they strode by.

Empty faces with no emotion; little surprise that a woman would be in there, I thought.

I looked at the frosted door of the therapist's room, which remained closed and unmoving, much like my emotional wellbeing. This is stupid. I thought, as I got up and walked out of the room.

As frustrated as I was at that point, I couldn't even locate one single person I knew. Not even someone as insignificant as Nicole Ellis, a fellow woman.

I grunted in frustration at the loneliness that seemed to follow me like an unwavering shadow.

I trudged off to the common room with a grim expression. This was the place where I'd expect to see someone.

It had been weeks, maybe months, since Hayes had even greeted me when I passed him in the

hall. I knew I had offended him with my antisocial behaviour, and he was sulking.

It wasn't going to be easy to talk to him now–especially to ask him to be listening ear.

I weighed my options carefully as I loitered outside the barracks, procrastinating. I wasn't about to face the Colonel again without some kind of social interaction to report.

The wall found my back, as my brain scrambled to remember some of the crap the Staff Sergeant rattled off in Green Team.

I am an American soldier, I am a warrior and a member of a team.

I serve the people of the United States, and live the Army values.

I will always put the mission first.

I will never accept defeat.

I will never quit.

I will never leave a fallen comrade.

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills.

I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.

I am an expert and I am professional.

I stand ready to deploy, engage and destroy, the enemies of the United States of America in close combat.

I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.

I am an American soldier.

And I suddenly felt stronger, remembering the oath I took as I enlisted so many years ago. It seemed more like a year ago rather than forteen, but I still remembered every word. It was permanently ingrained into our skulls-something no soldier could-or would want to forget.

"I, Jaz Chapman, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." I had said it aloud, and it wasn't until I looked up from the concrete path that I realised I had an audience.

"Wow that was perfect." Colonel Flag stared right back at me, his eyes soft." I can't say I remember it as well as you do, though."

Something stronger than butterflies battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach, my almost confession with the therapist already a distant memory.

I looked down, flushing, of course. "Sorry, I didn't know anyone was here." I said in a tiny voice.

He raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"Really, I'm not crazy," I protested.

"You should be — a normal person would be. You don't even look ...psycho." He seemed unsettled. He stared into my eyes, and I saw how light his eyes were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, juniper green.

"I feel very safe with you," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth.

That displeased him; his brow furrowed. He shook his head, frowning.

"This is more complicated than I'd planned," he murmured to himself. Flag's head tilted slightly, in interest or confusion-I could tell which one. "Everyone has gone home for the week. Except you, obviously."

I took a deep breath and stood up straight, staring at him. "I sold my apartment while I was in Green Team I expected to be stationed in Turkey or something. Wait-why are you here, then?"

"I usually do paperwork on weekends. I practically live here." He replied with something akin to pleasure.

"Oh." Was all I could utter.

"How are you feeling today?" He asked, his voice full of interest. He beckoned for me to walk along with him. I noticed two large folders in one of his arms, thick and worn.

It seemed he didn't want to talk about work, or anything war related, so I assumed he was in a good enough mood to talk to. The thought made me feel almost… hopeful.

Maybe it would be the same as yesterday. Maybe I wouldn't have to remind myself to look interested and to nod or smile at appropriate intervals, the way I had to with everyone else. Maybe… but I wouldn't trust this to last, either. Wouldn't trust it to be the same–so easy–as yesterday.

I wasn't going to set myself up for disappointment like that.

"I went to see a therapist today," I began.

Flag's eyebrows shot up in surprise, I didn't seem to like his advice last night. "Oh?"

"They took forever, so I gave up on it. The idea of being on pills or thrown into a padded cell doesn't appeal."

He scoffed. "Therapists aren't available weekends. It says so on the door."

I looked away, embarrassed. "Oh."

Flag led the way into the barracks and slapped the folders on the table before heading toward the coffee machine. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, we all end up there from time to time. That's what keeps us human, I guess."

I laughed humourlessly. "Said you, who refused to talk to a shrink for a three years."

Flag frowned, pouring two cups of filtered coffee, and gently put them on the table.

I sat down and took a cup gingerly wrapping my fingers around it.

"So, you read my file then," he smiled into his cup.

"It's my job, Colonel." I replied coyly.

"It's Rick. Yes, it is your job to listen to your team mates bitch and moan about their problems… but I can do the same for you. It seems hard for you to express yourself. I had the same issue, and once I began talking to you, I knew I was going to be fine."

"It's my job, as your medic… talking to you about my feelings ain't in your job description." I laughed.

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled.

I sipped the hot black liquid carefully, deep in thought as Flag began to flip through the folder before him.

"You know that letter the NSWDG make us write that goes in our package in case we don't come back home? I never wrote one."

Flag didn't look up from his files, just nodded, taking a swig from his mug.

"I wish I had." I muttered, afraid to say more. My stomach was contorting strangely and I thought my voice might crack. I was terrified. I tried to tell myself that the fear was pointless. I'd already lived through the worst thing possible. In comparison with that, why should anything frighten me now? I should be able to look death in the face and laugh.

My stomach wasn't buying it.

His face fell. I caught the expression in his eyes before he dropped them to look at the ground. "Last time I wrote a letter and not pack it… was five years. My mom… every time I'd deploy she'd send me a box with a meal and I'd facetime her and I'd eat it. And the rest of my family would watch me eat and I'd watch them. You know, it's like we were all together. My mom gives the same speech."

"What was the speech?" I asked. Flag folded his arms, motionlessly leaning against his chair, like a marble tribute to some forgotten pagan god of beauty. The dream had not done him justice. And he was there for me just the same as yesterday.

Despair momentarily vanished; wonder took its place. Even after a few months with him, I still couldn't believe that I deserved this degree of good fortune.

He let out a deflated laugh. "We're a military family, so you can imagine. Faith, honour, all that crap."

"How's that crap, Rick?"

"Well, it used to keep me going. Thinking I was some kind of hero." He paused, looking blankly at the paper on the table." These covert ops…" His face lifted to look at me, "Yeah, half the time we don't even know what we're doing. Just shoot, don't ask questions." He scoffed. "Look at where it got us."

He went silent, releasing a heavy breath as though it look all of his will power to say it.

His eyes kept looking at me, waiting for a reply.

I simply looked away, almost disappointed he didn't walk on water with the amount of skill and experience he had.

"I don't know what I have faith in anymore." He added.

I looked back at him, almost angry. He sounded almost defeated.

"I have faith in you."

"That's sweet." He smiled crookedly. "Hey, I'll stay with you, okay."

"Okay," I agreed, unable to smile back. "I was going to see mental health but-" I paused, now with a feeling at all scrutiny was long gone. "What was I going to tell them? The only one I can talk to is you. Am I one step closer to heroic?"

"We're not heroes, Jaz. We're soldiers. We keep our mouth shut…we forget."

I nodded slowly, beginning to out the pieces of Flag's mind together like a 3D puzzle. "Is that why you never talked to anyone? Before me?"

Flag folded the papers in their binder and pushed it aside, giving in to my persistent jabbering. "Call it what you will; but I have trust issues. I know the protocols of confidentiality and all that-but the shrinks have no idea what it's like to be out there. They can watch Hacksaw Ridge and think they understand. But what we do is real. And permanent."

Last night all the walls were down… almost all. I didn't know if we were still being as candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for him to speak.

He turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?"

"Do my questions bother you?" I asked, relieved.

"Not as much as your reactions do." He looked like he was joking, but I couldn't be sure.

I frowned. "Do I react badly?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly — it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"I always tell you what I'm really thinking."

"You edit," he accused.

"You don't want to hear it," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope he hadn't noticed it.

He didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. His face was unreadable as he sipped his coffee once more. "Another reason I only talked to you and not them, is because you know what death looks like. You stood at the gates."

"My friend died in my arms. I'll never get his blood off my hands. You know, every day I look down and I can imagine it." I half expected Flag to look at me as though I had lost my sanity all together, but he simply nodded. I think he understood better than what I gave him credit for.

And that he didn't watch me out of the corner of his eye, waiting for me to do something that would mark me as crazy or depressed.

"I wish I were you." He replied in a soft voice.

"Why?" I asked, completely an utterly confused. Why would anyone want to be me? Half the team doesn't like me, my family doesn't even know where or what I am, and my best friend was KIA (Killed in Action). What was there about me that had even appealed to him at all?

"Because you have nothing to lose. I have a thousand ghosts in my head. This life is normal; but it isn't."

The Colonel was beginning to make a lot of sense. I was turning to another screwed up soldier, and only a few months in. They wouldn't fix me, and it was time I accepted it. "As a soldier, it's your instinct not to feel. No guilt and shame. No regret. But I tell you what I see in you, Major,"

My eyes widened in expectation. If anyone saw something in me, would I be surprised, or disappointed?

"It's your fire that's the weapon."

Effortlessly, without a conscious command to the muscles around my lips, my answering smile spread across my face. A strange feeling of warmth bubbled up in my throat. "A little gun don't stop the devil," I laughed.

Though his eyes were still anxious, the crooked smile I loved best flashed across his face.

"I admire your determination. On the outside, you maintain this staunch attitude and you don't give a fuck. So no one even knows the pain you're suffering. I know, because I did the same thing. On the outside, no one would even think that losing Kowalski really hit you hard."

I nodded slightly and stood up to place the now empty mug in the sink. Leaning against the counter, I stared outside at the empty base. Everything seemed much brighter after talking things through with Flag, and I very much doubt anyone else would have had the same effect on me.

"I'm probably not the best role model to be honest with you. But I can only try right? And missing Kowalski isn't a bad thing. It can make you stronger."

My head bowed as I thought about it. Make me stronger? I could barely live through it.

He stood up to stand next to me and put one big arm around me comfortingly. "It's what we're made for, Jaz. We're strong, too. I wish you would have told me that you were so alone. You didn't need to be."

"If you weren't around," I mumbled, lost in thought. "I may have not decided to come back."

"I'm glad. Because I did wonder for a while if you had decided you weren't strong enough to go on. I'm glad I didn't have to try to talk you back into re-joining us."

"I'm sorry you thought that. I would never abandon the team. It's not in me to do that, it never even crossed my mind."

It was very quiet. For a minute I could hear the beating of his heart, quick and even.

"Tell me the worst part for you," he whispered.

"I think that might be a bad idea."

"Please."

"I think it will hurt."

"Please."

How could I deny him anything at this point?

"The worst part . . ." I hesitated, and then let words spill out in a flood of truth. "The worst part is that I saw the whole thing - our whole lives, but now Kowalski is missing from it. And I want it bad, Flag, I want it all. I want to stay right here and never move. I want the nightmares to stop and I want to carry on as if nothing happened. But I can't, and it's killing me. It's like you - I never had a choice. I always thought nothing would change. Maybe that's why I was fighting against myself so hard."

He seemed to be concentrating on breathing evenly.

"I knew I shouldn't have told you that."

He shook his head slowly. "No. I'm glad you did. Thank you." He sighed. "It'll be good now."

I looked up, and he was smiling. And the emotions that were emanating from him was like nothing I'd ever felt before.

When I walked into the gator cages on Monday to restock the batteries and hydrogel, Ellis was sitting in the back table, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible.

"Tell me everything!" she commanded before I was in the seat.

"What do you want to know?" I hedged.

"What happened the other night?"

"We went to Kowalski's site. And we talked." I watched Hayes slither out the door, but Perry and Spenser were still talking inside Spenser's gator cage lowly. They were in earshot, so I mumbled my answers.

She glared at me, her expression stiff with scepticism. "How did you get back so fast?"

"He drives like a maniac. It was terrifying."

"Was it like a date — did you tell him to meet you there?"

I hadn't thought of that. "No — Flag and Hayes took me there."

Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice. "So are you going out again?" she probed.

"He offered to drive me to the market Saturday because he thinks my truck isn't up to it — does that count?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Well, then, yes."

"W-o-w." She exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Colonel Rick Flag."

"I know," I agreed. Wow didn't even cover it.

"Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has he kissed you?"

"No," I mumbled. "It's not like that."

She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did, too. "What did you talk about?" She pushed for more information in a whisper. Most of the men had left for the gym, Spenser and Perry weren't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking.

"I don't know, Nicole, lots of stuff," I whispered back. "We talked about my family little." A very, very little. I think he mentioned it in passing.

"Please, Trig," she begged. "Give me some details."

"Well… okay, I've got one. On Saturday I ran into Flag at the barracks, and we talked things through. I had no idea he could be so wise, for someone so young. Talking to him makes me feel better."

"Even better. He must like you."

"I think so, but it's hard to tell. He's always so cryptic," I threw in for his benefit, sighing.

"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him," she breathed.

"Why?" I was shocked, but she didn't understand my reaction.

"He's so… intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to him." She made a face, probably remembering the overwhelming force of his eyes.

"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around him," I admitted.

"Oh well. He is unbelievably gorgeous." Ellis shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.

"There's a lot more to him than that."

"Really? Like what?"

I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping he'd come in the door and put this conversation on its end.

"I can't explain it right… but he's even more unbelievable behind the face." The killer who wanted to be good — who ran around saving people's lives so he wouldn't be a monster… I stared toward the front of the room.

"Is that possible?" She giggled.

I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Spenser.

"So you like him, then?" She wasn't about to give up.

"Yes," I said curtly.

"I mean, do you really like him?" she urged.

"Yes," I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts.

She'd had enough with the single syllable answers. "How much do you like him?"

"Too much," I whispered back. "More than he likes me. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, one blush blending into the next.

"Well, I think it's great. He'll be all loved up and it will take the fire off us. And I think you need someone to talk to now that Kowalski is gone."

I nodded, and stood up in a hurry. "I've got a lot to do."

"Sure. Tell me about it later." Ellis got up and left, finally leaving me to get on with the task at hand. I replaced the batteries in all of the digital units, the comms, night vision, lasers, pretty much everything even if they didn't need it. I even decided to restock the bullets in each magazine. By then, I looked up and everyone was gone. But inside the door, leaning against the wall — looking more like a Greek god than anyone had a right to — Flag was waiting.

"Sorry, I'm done now. I'll get out of your way." I stepped out of the cage that wasn't been assigned to anyone yet- Since Kowalski was gone, and I hadn't been replaced. I wasn't even sure if they were going to replace me either.

"Not necessary," he said, unfolding his arms. "I need you back on duty. Any chance of getting cleared?"

He seemed so different from the man I talked to on the weekend, making me think my dream was totally made up.

"I have to see the physician later today, I will let you know what the verdict is." I sighed.

"You feel up to it? You looked fine in the gym earlier." Flag looked down at me from his enormous height.

I nodded. "Not 100%, but pretty close to it. I have more movement in my shoulder now."

Flag stood up straight, off the wall. "It would be great to have to back on board."

"Thank you sir," I pushed past him and escaped, feeling awkward.

I didn't get him- he was cold and arrogant one minute, then suddenly he wants to be my best friend? Then back to his stone cold cover-up.

No one could replace Kowalski…ever. But it was inevitable that he will be replaced. For the last two months, some poor souls in Green Team have been covering for me and Kowalski.

I was happy to know Flag was waiting for me to return, it must have been hard for the entire team to continue without two vital members again. At the same time, I relived that they wouldn't have been as affected this time, not knowing us for that long and we hadn't really bonded.

I sat outside in the sun, and pulled out my phone flicking through the photo gallery. Mostly photos of Green team, and some of Kowalski and I. My last visit with Andy at home in Florida was there too.

But I flicked back to Kowalski and me, and we were laughing. I couldn't remember the joke-but it was enough to make me hysterical. I sighed, staring at the screen, brooding.

"Hey, are you okay?" Hayes asked, sitting down on the bench beside me.

I quickly looked up, surprised. "Yeah of course."

"Messages from home?"

"No. just looking at photos of Kowalski. I miss him, that's all."

Hayes looked at me sadly. "I'm sorry you missed the service, Trig. It was beautiful. You would have loved it."

"I'm kinda glad I wasn't there," I joked. I winced at the thought.

Hayes put his arm around my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. "I don't need your pity, Hayes. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It's hard to tell with you."

I scoffed.

"You have this face and it reminds me of Flag. You don't have to turn into another version of him. We're all here for you. I am here for you."

How could I not turn into another version of Flag, when I was already there?

Hayes had no idea what Flag was capable of.

"You don't have to be there for me." My voice was angry. Hayes was trying to downplay Flag as a bad guy? This was really upsetting me, Flag was the nicest one of them all, and that infuriated me even more. Who did this soldier think he was?

"I just want to help," he started defensively.

"Well don't. And talking down the Colonel like that will only make you look worse to me."

I snapped at Hayes. I stood up and turned to leave, bumping into Flag.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I pushed past him and ignored the lingering stares. I could also guess what Flag had overheard while I'd been yelling at Hayes. My face burned with chagrin.

I walked forward without thinking. I could not do anything else. I had to keep moving. If I stopped looking for him, it was over.

Brotherhood, life, meaning… over.

I walked and walked. Time made no sense as I pushed slowly through the thick grass. It was hours passing, but also only seconds. Maybe it felt like time had frozen

because the desert looked the same no matter how far I went. I started to worry that I was traveling in a circle, a very small circle at that, but I kept going. I stumbled often, and, as it grew darker and darker, I fell often, too.

Finally, I tripped over something–it was black now, I had no idea what caught my foot–and I stayed down. I rolled onto my side, so that I could breathe, and curled up on the dry bracken.

As I lay there, I had a feeling that more time was passing than I realized. I couldn't remember how long it had been since nightfall. Was it always so dark here at night? Surely, as a rule, some little bit of moonlight would filter down through the clouds, and find the ground.

Not tonight. Tonight the sky was utterly black. Perhaps there was no moon tonight.

It was black for a long time before I heard them calling.

Someone was shouting my name. It was muted, muffled by the sand that surrounded me, but it was definitely my name. I didn't recognize the voice. I thought about answering, but I was dazed, and it took a long time to come to the conclusion that I should answer. By then, the calling had stopped.

There was a knock on my door, and I heard my name on the other side.

"Yeah," I yelled, sitting upright.

Flag walked in, and closed the door behind him. "Hey, Jaz"

"Hey," I replied, sliding my legs over the side of my bed. They hit the cold wooden floor.

"Sorry, if I woke you." He said, sitting in the patient's chair.

I shook my head. "It's okay, I'm glad you did." I smiled. It had been two months since the explosion, and I had been confined to strictly medic obligations until I was cleared for duty. Since then, Flag was a frequent visitor to my clinic. Says he doesn't like the attitude of the hospital personnel. Remembering this made me smile.

"Kowalski." He whispered.

I nodded.

Last night had been particularly brutal, even after the pain had subsided enough for me to sleep, it wasn't over. Like I'd told Flag after I left the hospital wing, there was never any doubt that I would have nightmares.

I always had nightmares now, every night. Not nightmares really, not in the plural, because it was always the same nightmare. You'd think I'd get bored after so many weeks, grow immune to it.

But the dream never failed to horrify me, and only ended when I woke myself with screaming.

My nightmare probably wouldn't even frighten someone else. Nothing jumped out and screamed, "Boo!"

There were no zombies, no ghosts, no psychopaths. There was nothing, really.

Only nothing.

Just the endless maze of sandy hills covered in dead grass, so quiet that the silence was an uncomfortable pressure against my eardrums.

It was dark, like dusk on a cloudy day, with only enough light to see that there was nothing to see.

I hurried through the gloom without a path, always searching, searching, searching, getting more frantic as the time stretched on, trying to move faster, though the speed made me clumsy…

Then there would come the point in my dream–and I could feel it coming now, but could never seem to wake myself up before it hit–when I couldn't remember what it was that I was searching for.

When I realized that there was nothing to search for, and nothing to find. That there never had been anything more than just this empty, desert, and there never would be anything more for me… nothing but nothing…

That was usually about when the screaming started.

"The op went well, but I have a new wound." He pointed to a gash across this nose like a small child to his mother. He was kind of showing it off, actually.

I grinned. "You don't need a medic for that, Rick."

He stood up and took off his shirt, and pointed to another wound on his side, just above his stomach. He looked at me with a straight face. "This one is worse."

But my eyes were riveted on him, and I saw the muscles in his chest tighten.

I was in shock of how perfect his body was—tanned, smooth, and polished as marble. I ran my eyes down his thick chest now, tracing across the flat planes of his stomach, just marveling.

A light shudder rippled through him, and I looked away.

My fingers fumbled to gather what I needed to treat the wound.

He smiled slightly, and I was suddenly looking at a charm I wasn't at first sure I saw. Not that I was necessarily attracted to it, but there was something there.

I wonder, I thought slowly, would I be able to fall in love with someone I hardly know? Someone I tried to avoid? Love? Is this what it feels like?

Maybe I would just love Rick Flag more than anyone in the history of the world had ever loved anyone else.

I could live with that.

When I turned around, he smiled. "I like it when you call me Rick."

I was nervous again as I watched the thick muscles in Flag's arm roll, but I kept my face smooth.

"First name basis." I laughed. "They boys would think we're friends or something. How odd would that be?" I sat in my chair and turned to grab the disinfectant and a swab.

"We're friends, aren't we?" He asked timidly.

I shrugged. "I guess so,"

"Well, I call you by your given name rather than nickname," He answered politely.

"Because all commanders do?" I smiled weakly, and began to dab his wound with the disinfectant, hoping it would sting. But he didn't even flinch.

I grunted and gave up. "You're not here for that, are you?" I figured it out. It looked fresh and it would need stitches, but he didn't seem bothered by it.

I loved the emotion I saw playing across his eyes. It was something close to smugness and awe. Could he really be so surprised I'd finally figured it out?

"I came to see you, actually. You look better, at least. Besides, I needed to make sure I wasn't going to get infected by some airborne disease that'll turn me into those zombies Taylor keeps talking about." He laughed.

I giggled, imagining that was exactly what Taylor would have said. "You'll need stitches."

Flag sighed. "Okay." He grunted. "I don't need anaesthetic."

My eyebrows flew up in surprise. Was he just showing off now?

I prepared the supplies, and leaned close to examine his wound. . It was the same exquisite scent that clung to his jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, thoroughly dazed. He leaned away.

I was unable to move until my brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. I could feel the shock frozen on my face, and I tried to compose it. I doused a gauze pad with alcohol, and dug it into the wound with one finger, making sure it was clean before I began stitching.

"How are you doing, Rick?" I asked, looking at his face to see is he was in pain. Flag's face was like stone.

"I'm fine." His voice was reasonably steady, which pleased me. But his jaw was rigid; his eyes burned with the intensity of the sharp hook.

I could feel the faint stirrings of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I was determined not to let my usual squeamishness get the best of me.

The only sound besides our quiet breathing was the soft grunts from Flag's chest each time I punctured a new hole on either side of the wound.

"How can you do this?" I demanded, no daring to look at him now. Not many people could tolerate stitches without anesthetics.

Clearly, this was much more difficult than he made it seem.

"Years and years of practice," he told me. My hands paused, and my eyes panned his skin for scars, and he had plenty of them.

"You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault," I suggested while a tugging the thread through his skin. "What I mean is, it's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this kind of result, and yet you have to work so hard to be successful."

"I don't know that I'm making up for anything," he disagreed lightly. "Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was given."

"You make it sound too easy." I examined his wound again. "There," I said, snipping the thread. "All done." I wiped an over sized Q-tip, dripping with some syrup-coloured liquid, thoroughly across the operation site. The smell was strange; it made my head spin. The syrup stained his skin.

"In the beginning, though," I pressed while I taped another long piece of gauze securely in place, sealing it to his skin. "Why did you even think to try a different way than the obvious one?"

His lips turned up in a private smile. "It seemed like a natural selection to me. Service runs in the family." His face was suddenly serious again, and I wondered if his thoughts had gone to the same place that mine had. Wondering what I would be thinking when–I refused to think if–it was me.

I nodded and put the supplies away. "Doc says I'm squared away," I changed the subject, trying not to look at him. But I failed miserably. He was doing this on purpose. I ran my eyes down the contours of his chest, and there was a catch in my breath as I turned away.

"That's great news," he said and sighed. "I hope Andy has forgiven me."

My eyes narrowed. "He hasn't, and he still won't tell me why he punched you." I wasn't about to let on that Andy had disowned me completely. A conversation I was so willing to avoid, in case he figured out the reason why. I turned back around, hoping he put his shirt back on, but he didn't.

Flag bit his lip. "It's nothing."

"So you keep saying." I folded my arms. I decided it was safe enough to look into his eyes, but I wouldn't let myself look any lower.

"Fine," he gave in. "He punched me in the face, because I had to…" His face went red.

This made me fight back a smile.

"I had to remove your vest and shirt to stop the bleeding on your shoulder. And you arrived at the hospital wing without a shirt. But I didn't remove anything other than that." It almost looked like he was blushing, but it was hard to tell when he looked away from me. "Your uh…undergarments were intact but blood stained I'm sorry."

I laughed humorlessly to myself, still gasping for air. "Rick Flag, the first man in Alpha Dogs to take my clothes off." Now there was a hopeless proposition.

The dark humour distracted me, and the distraction eased the pain. My breath came easier, and I was able to lean back against the seat. Though it was cold today, my forehead was damp with sweat.

I concentrated on my humour to keep from sliding back into the excruciating memories.

Flag looked back at me, face flushed. "It wasn't like that." He said seriously.

"I'm sorry, I can't believe he punched you just because of that." I sobered. "I mean… you were the one who got me out of there. You saved my life." I was now feeling a little less awkward standing in a small room alone, with a half-naked man. I decided he wasn't going to try anything, and I was at ease.

Flag shrugged. "Do you think it makes up for everything else?" His eyes slowly moved from my nervous hands to my face.

"Yes, absolutely."

Flag's eyes brightened at my words. He was smiling so big it looked like it would hurt his cheeks. "You know, I was worried I had lost you that day."

"Oh no, your favourite medic." I rolled my eyes.

He didn't reply.

I lightly traced my finger along one of his scars on his chest. "What's this from?" I asked, looking up at him.

"A Somali rebel with a machete, he killed half of an innocent family by the time I got there. This is what it took to save the other half." he answered nonchalantly, taking my hand off his chest.

His warm hand enclosed around mine, and he rubbed my fingertips with his.

We stared at each other for a very long time. His olive green eyes had specks of gold in them, something I hadn't noticed before.

It was quiet except for our shallow breaths, although I was 100% positive he could heart my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. Finally, his expression softened.

"When you look into my eyes," he paused. "What…what do you see?" He placed my hand against his cheek and held it there.

I was suddenly hyper-aware that Flag was standing less than a foot from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be more aware of him than I already was.

A crazy impulse to reach over and kiss him, to stroke his perfect face just once, nearly overwhelmed me.

I was losing my mind.

His face startled me — his expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to kiss him flared as strong as in Friday night's dream.

"I see someone who wouldn't let anyone outside the job understand. Because it's better to only share with someone on the inside, who already knows." I stopped to think to myself.

Why was Flag suddenly so nice to me? Even before Kowalski was taken from me, he was the only one to take me seriously.

He was the first one who got to me after the explosion. The only one in the room when I woke up. The one who consoled me and made me understand…

Red flags shot up in every part of my head as I remembered he was the only one who knew about my mother. The only one who referred to me as Jaz and not my pet name.

"You really do care about me?"

"I don't know why." He laughed nervously. "I like the way you look at me. No one admires me like you do."

He was right about that too. I did admire him. But for his skill and tact, and because he respected me more than the other Seals. I let out a quick breath.

Flag took one step closer to me, and looked down at me. Beads of sweat was dripping down the side of his face, but I could still smell his after shave. "I was hoping you felt the same way."

I had no reply. No smart mouthed or crude remark to spit back. I knew he was right. How did I feel about him, and a man I only gotten to know two months ago?

Did I want to? What kind of signals was I giving off that gave the impression I was remotely interested? I knew I couldn't hold this off forever. What if I gave in to the temptation? I hadn't made that decision yet.

At least I was comfortable around him, and that was a start.

it was one of those things that were too good to be true.

But it wasn't too good to be true. Which was fucking phenomenal. And it wanted it, I wanted him because it had been a long time since I'd felt so light and buoyant.

The rarity of the feeling made it more difficult to manage.