A/n: Jaz lives in the Pacific Northwest—Oregon somewhere maybe? As far away from New York as possible but not be in California...

Also, slight trigger warning for a little motorcycle whumping...poor Adam can't catch a break!

Adam stared at his computer screen. An email seemed so...insufficient, insulting even. The events of the last week had worn him out and frustrated him at every move. Not only had he totally screwed up his last opportunity to apologize Jaz over his unacceptable behavior in Tehran, but he hadn't even made it to breakfast, something he hadn't done ever. He could only imagine how hurt Jaz must feel.

After missing his flight because of his idiot move of forgetting about his handgun, Patricia had called the head of airport security and gotten him released. He had a new phone in his possession and had tried calling Jaz but after five tries with no answer, Dalton realized she must be screening her calls. And since his first few weeks of leave were booked solid, an email it was.

Dear Jaz...

The cursor blinked accusingly at Adam. He'd been sitting there for a good portion of the last hour and all he could get down was "Dear Jaz."

Adam sighed and stood. He had to get out of his tiny apartment and move around. He felt stifled in the city. He had dinner with his sisters planned for the evening but the day was his. Maybe after getting some air the email would come easier.

Wind whipped around Adam's torso, and he was thankful for the thick leather protecting him from it's bite. His helmet provided the comforting, heavy weight that he'd grown accustomed to associating with the freedom of the ride. His bike was something his sisters hated, but he figured in his line of work, he was more likely to get hurt on the job than on a twice yearly motorcycle ride through the country roads of Pennsylvania. The ride exhilarated him, cleared his thoughts and gave him perspective.

Jaz would love it out here. Adam didn't know if she had ever ridden a motorcycle but he could totally see her loving it and probably even smoking him in a race. It had been eight days since he had seen her last, the longest he'd gone without talking to her in over two years, and it left him strangely lonely. He hadn't spoken to Preach or McG in that same time either, but he didn't feel their absence the same.

Jaz consumed his every thought, except when he was speeding down the highway and all he could think was breathing and balance. She was there haunting his dreams, she was there at the supermarket, there at the subway, there at the restaurant when he should have been focused on the family and friends that were actually there.

He slowed his bike as he rolled onto a side road, heading towards the lake he would swim at when he was a kid. It was always a good spot to gather his thoughts and write out whatever was going on inside his brain. Maybe that place would give him some clarity as he attempted writing a letter to Jaz. He could transfer it to the computer when he got home.

Dear Jasmine,

Adam wasn't sure why he used her full first name, but that's how it came out.

I know my actions of late have been conflicting. On one hand I've confided in you and chosen to share parts of my heart with you that I didn't even know still existed. And at the same token, I've belittled you in front of the team, mistrusted your work, and worst of all, thrown all your kindnesses in your face. There is no excuse for my avoidance of you that last night at the club, or of my absence at breakfast the day you left DC. I've been a complete jerk, and I'm deeply sorry for the way I have hurt you. It breaks my heart to realize that I am the cause of hurt in your life. Please know I never set out to hurt you. I hope someday I can make it up to you.

Can I see you? I'd love to talk face to face and sort this all out before we come back to work in half a year. I don't want to leave things unsettled between us. Please think about it.

Adam

Adam wasn't sure about the salutation. He'd have to try out some different taglines once he put it on his computer. Obviously "love, Adam" wasn't quite appropriate. "Sincerely, Captain Dalton" left a formal, insincere aftertaste. Maybe "Yours, Top" would work to convey both the genuine investment he was putting in but keep it somewhat neutral too. Adam stuff the notebook and pen back into his bike bag and remounted the motorcycle. Time to get home.

Adam had stayed at the lake longer than he meant to, and now he was running late to be home and ready for dinner with his sisters. He gunned the gas and sped down the highway, not noticing the semi coming around the curve a little too fast. Before he knew it, he was spinning out of control, his bike going in one direction and his body in another. He saw grass and trees and road flying by before the ditch came up to greet his sprawling limbs.

Being shot was painful, but being hit by a semi was like being shot all over your whole body all at once. Adam lay motionless in the ditch where'd fallen, overwhelmed by the pain throbbing in his legs and chest. Every breath was a chore.

A Good Samaritan that had observed the accident scrambled down the ditch to look for Adam. She checked Adam's pulse and found it thready. His thigh was gushing blood and his face was chalky and beaded with sweat. The woman uncircled her scarf from around her neck and pressed it onto his thigh, leaning her body weight onto the bleeding wound.

"Hold on, man. The ambulance is coming. Just hold on." She stayed at Adam's side applying pressure until the paramedics arrived on scene.