A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted in my poll! This story won with 16 first place votes!
—dedicating this one to burnmedown,
for always leaving the kindest, most well-thought reviews, for the wonderful PMs we've exchanged, and for being the absolute sweetest peach.
also, #mandyellisdefensesquad activate. she's babey and we must protecc.
1. CHAPTER ONE.
"You're really gonna sit there and tell me that you're thinking about walking away from your dream?"
Clay's words were a hollow-point bullet through the space between Lisa's fourth and fifth ribs—sudden and sharp, straight to the heart. Her face flushed with shame; She was so wrapped up in her own problems, and so lost in her own head, that she hadn't realized how selfish she must sound to Clay.
At the end of the day, Lisa knew that she had a choice. She could quit OCS, or she could stay—the choice was there, and it was hers alone to make.
Clay Spencer didn't get a choice. His dream of being of Tier One Operator, one who ran with the infamous Bravo Team, had been blown to hell by a cleverly hidden IED. There was a good chance that Clay would never walk without the help of a cane again—and there Lisa sat on the edge of his hospital bed, talking about walking away from Officer Candidate School because she was too much of a damn coward to face her fears.
Petty Officer Lisa Davis wasn't a Navy SEAL, but she had the emotional availability of one; The angry, defeated look in Clay's eyes set her teeth on edge, made her want to bolt out of the room and into a hail of gunfire. At least a spray of bullets would make her feel at home. She curled her fingers into the faux suede of the little grey seal plushie that she bought Clay and held her ground. As much as it hurt to see a close friend confined to the hospital, so battered and broken down that he was almost unrecognizable, walking away would hurt even more.
Walking away. . . Lisa thought about that particular course of action a lot lately: walking away from OCS, from her fledgling relationship with Sonny Quinn, from what little family that she had left. But what would that say about her as a sailor in the world's greatest Navy? As an officer in that Navy?
"I'm sorry," She said. The words tasted like gravel and smoke on her tongue—acrid, chalky, and liable to choke her—but it was all that Lisa could think to say.
Clay glanced down at his bruised hands. Lisa glanced out the window. They sat in silence.
She missed Sonny so much that it ached. She would've given anything for one of his big, warm bears hugs, for the sound of his thick texan drawl in her ear reassuring her that everything would be alright.
"D'you. . . I can call the boys, if you want," Lisa offered. "You could say hi to Sonny. He's been asking about you."
"No," Clay said vehemently, eyes glassy and bright. "I appreciate the offer, Davis, but. . . No. Tell him I'm fine."
"You could tell him yourself, you know. He misses you. So does everyone else. Apparently Jason is running himself in circles, Brock too."
Clay shrugged, but said nothing. Lisa sighed in resignation. She'd hit a brick wall with Clay, and she knew it. His physical injuries might've been on the mend, slowly but surely, but inside he was still an open wound. And the boys of Bravo Team? It didn't take a Master Chief to see that they were the sorest subject of all. Lisa wondered if Clay felt as lost as she did. As alone.
Silence fell between them again. And, like before, Lisa was unsure of what to say. What could she? Nothing short of a miracle from God could help Clay now. His doctors, surgeons, and nurses have done all that they're able. Only time would tell if Clay could operate again. Or stand on his own two feet.
'What would you want to hear if you were the one stuck in this bed?' She thought to herself. 'What do you need to hear now?'
Lisa didn't have an answer. Sometimes words weren't enough; She knew that better than anyone.
'What would you want to hear. . . what would you. . .'
She couldn't focus, all of a sudden. She was too light-headed. Pain radiated around her midsection; The cramping in her abdomen that had plagued her since her flight landed had gotten worse. . . a hell of a lot worse. The pain made it difficult to concentrate.
Lisa knew that her bruise still looked nasty, as expected, but should it still be hurting? It'd been a couple of days since the accident. Should the pain be wrapping around to her lower back, too? She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that would alleviate the discomfort.
Clay noticed.
"You okay, Davis?" He asked.
"Yeah, yeah. Just—during my last firefighting evolution, I don't know. . . I guess I was a little nervous," Understatement of the 21st Century, but Lisa wasn't about to let that secret slip. "I didn't have a great grip on the hose and when I turned it on it slipped out of my sweaty ass grip and started. . . thrashing around. You know how those damn hoses are. It nailed me right in the gut before it hit the ground. I've got a really gross bruise."
"Did you get checked out?"
Lisa scoffed. "I was already humiliated enough, Clay. If I sulked off to medical over, what, a bruise? I could never show my face at OCS again. I'd be laughed off the compound."
An expression that Lisa couldn't quite place flicked across Clay's face. It was an odd blend of emotion; a little sad, a little fond, a little worried.
"I think you've been spending a little too much time with Jason." He finally said.
Lisa shifted in place again, this time curling her fingers into the seal plushie. She held onto it like a lifeline. The pain was gradually getting worse. The room spun around her. Even sitting, she felt off balance.
"Lisa?" Clay asked.
The concern was clear in his voice. He sat up a little straighter.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," She said, though she wasn't sure if she believed herself or not. "Just, the pain is making me a little nauseous. My stomach has been bothering me since this morning."
"Over a bruise? That's. . . Something isn't right. You need to be looked at. Now. How hard did the end of that hose hit you?"
"Yeah, maybe I. . . I. . ." What was she going to say?
It didn't matter. She was going to be sick.
Lisa stood so that she could make her way to the bathroom, but she only made it a few steps before her knees gave out. She crumpled slowly to the floor.
Pennies. Why could she smell pennies? It was overwhelming. Was she bleeding? She could vaguely hear Clay yelling for help, and yelling something about blood. Blood. . . Where was the blood coming from? Why was she bleeding? Everything below her breastbone hurt. Why did everything hurt? She'd never experienced such painful, debilitating cramps in her life. She couldn't stand. She could hardly breathe.
God, that smell. Pennies. She dry - heaved twice before vomiting on the tile floor.
Time passed quickly after that. The distant sound of Clay's voice mingled in with a chorus of others. Lisa could feel herself being moved onto a gurney, and more latex - clad hands on her skin than she could count. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. The disorientation was getting worse; The room wouldn't stop spinning. Fear, as white hot and all consuming as wildfire, burned through her veins. What the hell was going on? What was happening to her?
The last thing that Lisa heard before being wheeled out was Clay saying, "You're gonna' be okay, Davis. You're gonna' be fine."
She wasn't so sure.
This is my first time writing an entire chapter from Lisa's POV, I hope I did her justice! It's late, but I'm posting this update now because I've got a busy day tomorrow, so if you notice any typos or awkward/choppy sentences—never fear! I'll likely come back later and rework any odd sentences and fix any typos I missed. And as always, better summary to come.
Let me know what you guys think! Luv u.