Extra warning on this chapter for the mention of the death of a child. Also, things get a little darker. Thanks so much for reading, and to those who've left encouraging words. I really appreciate it :)
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Sonny paced Bravo's cage room like a bull in a pen. He'd come here for some space, some air, but he was finding neither as the room felt too small and stuffy, despite the day's chill.
It was three PM, and Clay had been missing for five hours now. Five hours since he'd failed to turn up to Sonny's to watch the game.
Five hours wasn't a long time, and yet, right now, it felt like an eternity.
Sonny glanced towards Clay's cage - as he had done multiple times since entering the room. Clay's belongings were exactly where the younger man had left them, all stashed away tidily. Meticulous. Anal, as Sonny sometimes referred to it. Despite the belongings, the cage felt empty. And somewhere in the very back of Sonny's mind, in a place he barely dared to look, he worried that his little brother might never return to it.
A low growl rumbled in his throat, and he resumed pacing.
Blackburn's words echoed through his churning thoughts;
The authorities so far hadn't found any evidence of foul play at either Clay's or Ash's homes. They wanted to wait twenty-four hours at least before filing official missing person's reports. NCIS were in agreement, and weren't jumping to any conclusions due to lack of evidence. And it had even been suggested that perhaps Clay and Ash were somewhere together, by choice.
In other words, for at least the next twenty hours, they were on their own looking for Clay – unless they turned up anything solid to indicate that their boy was definitely in trouble.
Sonny halted at his own cage, bracing against it and leaning forward. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his temples. He attempted to bore a hole through the floor with his gaze.
Davis hadn't managed to find much in the way of security footage. Clay's apartment building was fitted with cameras, but only on the inside. And Ash didn't have cameras in or around his house. The best they could do were traffic cameras – the nearest of which was a block from Clay's apartment, at a busy intersection, and then two blocks from Ash's house. But so far, even those hadn't been helpful.
They'd been in contact with Rebecca, but she hadn't heard from Clay in weeks. They'd checked with the local coffee shop, convenience store, and even the bar close to Clay's apartment – stabs in the dark, all of them, but they'd felt the need to check, regardless. Not surprisingly, none of them had offered any revelations. They'd placed a tracker on the bottom of Clay's and Ash's vehicles, in case anyone moved them. And Ray had asked Naima to call if either of the missing men turned up in the ED at her hospital.
On one hand, it bothered Sonny how few significant people Clay seemed to have in his life. No family, no close friends outside of Bravo. It was a catch twenty-two; fewer places to check made their search quicker and easier, but when each of those stones had been turned over and there was still no sign of Clay, it made it difficult to know where to turn next.
Despite how much Sonny wanted to point the finger at Ash, he had to agree with the general consensus that abducting his own son wasn't something Ash Spenser seemed capable of. The man could barely see beyond his own nose; he was far too self-involved to sabotage the success of his book by doing something so drastic. And it wasn't even a possibility that the opposite had occurred, and Clay had abducted his father. They all knew Clay couldn't stand to be around the man, and wouldn't, under any circumstances, voluntarily spend time with him. So, who the hell was responsible, then?
The door to the cage room clicked open, and Davis entered.
Sonny glanced up briefly, but didn't hold her gaze. He returned his eyes to the floor with a heavy sigh and drummed his fingers against his cage.
A gentle hand landed upon his shoulder, a light squeeze. "Thought I might find you here. You doing okay?" She asked.
Sonny blew out an unsteady breath, shook his head. Nope. No, he was not. He pushed up from the wall, straightened, and turned to face her. Leaning back against the cage, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Thought you were getting coffee?" He asked, noticing that she was empty-handed.
Davis huffed, turned and leaned back against the cage beside him, her shoulder pressed up against his arm. "I was," she answered simply. "But Jason broke the coffee machine."
Sonny arched a brow.
"I believe he punched it," she stated.
Sonny chewed his lip. Yeah, that seemed like a Jason thing to do, given the circumstances. "He's gone into protective-Dad-mode."
Davis pushed her hands into her pockets, let her head drop back. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling. She nodded slowly. "Never would have guessed, that Jason would end up becoming so attached to Clay."
Sonny snorted. "Can't imagine Jason would've guessed it either." He allowed a sad smile. "Same goes for all of us, I suppose. Spenser's an annoying little shit, but he grows on you."
That drew a small laugh from her. "Yeah," she agreed. "He certainly does."
"I keep hoping he'll just walk on in, you know," Sonny admitted quietly. "Make fun of us for panicking."
Davis regarded him gently, her eyes glinting, betraying her own worry. She didn't reply, just gave a slight nod.
They stood in silence for a few moments longer, each lost in their own thoughts – each lost for what to say. Shallow reassurances weren't working, and they'd given them up early on. But despite the weight of their worry, each member of Bravo was determined to do whatever they could to find their missing boy. They were trained to operate under a multitude of uncomfortable circumstances – this was no different. At least, that's what they kept telling themselves.
Each of them knew, however, that this was very, very different.
"I'm gonna head back," Davis announced, breaking the silence.
Sonny blew out a rough breath, cleared his throat. He tried to swallow against the threatening lump. He should head back as well. He wasn't going to find Clay here.
Straightening, he attempted to shake his head back into gear, and followed Davis out of the room.
They reached the team room door at the same time as Derek and Full Metal.
"Hey," Derek said, expression set with concern. "Heard Clay was missing?"
Davis slipped him a look. "Good to see the old grapevine is working as well as ever."
Derek allowed the comment to slide. Nodded his head towards the door. "We're here to help."
Sonny's eyes met Metal's.
The taller man's expression was often hard to read, but today it was dangerously shadowed. "Happy to help dismantle whoever took him," Alpha One stated coolly.
Sonny quirked a lip. "Get in line," he muttered, before opening the door and ushering them inside. "Not sure what you can do to help though. We got squat."
Derek pursed his lips, nodded a silent greeting to Jason and Blackburn. "Well," he said flatly. "I have a feeling I was the last one to see Clay, yesterday afternoon. He and Ash had a heated discussion outside our apartment building. I heard him tell his father to stay away from him."
Sonny felt his skin crawl at the mention of Ash. It was becoming a reflex reaction. He raised a brow at Derek's words.
"We haven't found anything to suggest Ash took Clay," Jason spoke up, from where he sat perched upon a table. The knuckles of his right hand were red, betraying his recent altercation with the coffee machine. "But we also haven't found anything to suggest he didn't."
Blackburn rubbed his chin. "We're in agreement that it's unlikely. But it's worrying to know they had an argument only yesterday."
"I'll go back through the traffic cam feeds from this morning," Davis offered wearily, moving towards a set of laptops on a nearby table. "We've gotta be missing something."
Sonny could only hope that she was right.
People didn't just vanish without a trace. But then, he thought nervously, Clay had never been one to do things half-assed.
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"HAVOC, this is One. We have our target. Heading to exfil."
Ash swung his rifle around, covering their six, as his team hurriedly made their way out of the Colombian village towards the waiting chopper.
Their HVT had been heavily guarded, more heavily than they had anticipated. Someone would answer for the bad intel, he was sure.
Smoke and dust swirled, drowning out the stars above. Villagers had woken – some still screamed, terrified by the sudden firefight. Others cowered in shadowed doorways, peeking through curtained windows.
In the area surrounding their target building, bodies littered the street. A small house was on fire, angry flames licking through cavities where windows had blown out.
Movement at Ash's three o'clock caught his attention, and he dropped the armed man before the enemy bullet could find its mark. Their HVT had lots of friends, it appeared, and some still hadn't got the memo that the fight was over.
Ash's finger twitched against his rifle's trigger, thirsty for more action. This was his first op in nearly a month after being sidelined with a concussion. He hadn't done well, twiddling his thumbs waiting for the all-clear. He'd bent the truth, slightly, in order to return to the field as soon as possible. His blurred vision still came and went. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been - but it wasn't entirely gone, as he'd claimed.
Another man attempted to go after their restrained target, darting out from a doorway and failing to notice Ash bringing up the rear of the group.
Pop-pop.
The man bit the dust.
Sometimes Ash wished he wasn't such a good shot. There wasn't much fun in someone going down so easily. His fists tingled for a fight.
An aggressive, frantic yell from behind him had him spinning, rifle aimed and ready. His vision blurred against the glow of the burning house. He saw the shape of someone rushing towards him, cursing wildly.
Without thought, he pulled the trigger.
The figure crumpled.
Ash's vision cleared as two more people rushed into the street, screaming. A man and a woman. They fell upon their knees beside the tango he'd just put down.
No.
Not a tango.
He flipped up his NOD's to see a boy – a teenager at best, lanky arms and legs.
Fuck.
He'd shot a boy.
The woman scooped up the crumpled body, wailing hysterically. The man was on his knees beside her, blood staining his hands as he frantically pressed them against the boy's stomach.
Ash's mouth felt dry. His head spun. His judgement had been compromised due to his vision blurring right at that moment – because he was operating when he should never have been cleared for action.
"Bravo Four, what's your status?" His team leader's voice cut over comms.
Ash snapped himself back to reality. He'd fallen too far behind his team. Hastily, he flipped his NOD's back into position and turned his back to the family he'd just destroyed.
Setting his jaw, he keyed his radio. "One, this is Four," he replied tersely, resuming his path through the village at a more rapid pace. "I've had contact, multiple tangoes. I've taken care of it. Continuing to exfil."
There was a pause, and Ash could feel his heart pounding in his ears.
"Copy that, Four," his team leader replied. "Get your ass to the chopper. Let's get out of here."
Ash swallowed roughly, resisting the dull urge to turn and look back in the direction of the dying boy. He'd become an expert at muting his emotions, allowing numbness to take the place of attachment, care, and vulnerability. There was a reason he was so good at his job. He'd flicked his heart off at the switch years ago, and he'd never bothered turning it back on. Detachment was an artform that he'd mastered completely.
Ash wouldn't lose sleep over his mistake tonight. As far as he was concerned, it was a secret that would die here, along with the boy.
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Ash shifted uncomfortably against the concrete wall, shaking free of the memory, the metal cuffs digging into his wrists at the movement. The temperature had dropped, and the room was even duller than before. In the heavy silence he could just make out the sound of rain spitting against the high louver window.
He'd worked out who the dark-haired man was.
The Colombian had left the room a handful of minutes ago, when Clay had passed out, announcing that he would be back shortly – and muttering that there was little satisfaction in killing Clay while the younger man was unconscious.
Ash regarded his son. Clay was on his back, face tilted away. His chest rose and fell with shallow, even breaths, and a fine tremor ran through him. His fingers twitched every so often, arms stretched above his head, chains taught. The debris of his shirt lay around him – strips of fabric damp with blood.
Ash had watched, unblinking, as the Colombian had come at Clay with a knife. Clay hadn't stood much of a chance, what with the restraints and the remnants of the drug coursing through his veins. His chest had been sliced, the blade tearing his shirt. The cuts had been deliberately shallow, but even shallow cuts bled and stung.
Clay had done an admirable job of not crying out, managing only a few muttered curses here and there, but otherwise denying their captor the satisfaction of knowing that he was suffering.
The younger SEAL had performed admirably, right up until the Colombian had exited the room, and returned with a cattle prod.
Ash had never seen a cattle prod used on a human before. The dark-haired man had torn away the remainder of Clay's shirt, allowing the charged end to connect directly with his skin. Clay's body had jolted involuntarily, and finally, after the third shock, he'd let out a strangled, breathless scream.
The man had stopped prodding then, letting a twisted smile brush his lips. His gaze had traveled to Ash. "How does it feel, seeing your son treated like an animal? His flesh bloody and singed?"
Ash hadn't replied. He'd held his expression firm, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he'd glared back at the man.
Clay had chosen that moment to pass out.
"Don't worry," the Colombian had said, as he'd rested the cattle prod over his shoulder and stepped towards the door. "It will be over for him soon." The shadows in his eyes had darkened. "And then it will be your turn."
Ash had inclined his chin stubbornly, holding the man's gaze right up until the moment the heavy door was latched closed.
Now, he watched the jerky rise and fall of Clay's chest, surveying the multiple cuts and singe marks covering his boy's skin. Involuntarily, his mind drifted to the day his son was born, and he narrowed his eyes, chewing over the memory.
He'd never wanted a child. He'd told his wife that much. But somehow, she'd 'accidentally' fallen pregnant, and when Clay had come into the world, Ash had felt the ground torn from beneath him. Because he'd realized that loving people hurt. And he knew, beyond a doubt, that the hurt wasn't worth it.
Too many times, he'd cared about people, only to have them taken away. Caring about people hurt more than any knife wound, or bullet, or bomb blast. Love came like a thief in the night, taking root on the inside with invisible thread, and that thread pulled and pulled and pulled – tangling, binding, fraying, breaking. A man could completely unravel, because of love.
Ash had loved Clay, for a moment. And it had scared the life out of him. As he'd stared at the tiny baby on his wife's chest, he'd realized with horror that he was suddenly vulnerable. Breakable. He had fallen out of love with his wife long before, and she'd known it. She'd admitted to hoping that a baby might bring them closer. But, as it happened, the opposite occurred.
Ash refused to be weak. He would not be threatened by the likes of a tiny boy. He'd severed the threads before they could bind him, and his love had turned quickly to anger.
It was easier to be angry, than to care. It was easier to be numb, than to feel. He'd pushed Clay away and had turned his back on his wife, because it was safer. He'd felt nothing when she'd sent Clay to Liberia to live with her parents. And he'd felt nothing when she'd died of an overdose six months later.
Ash Spenser had learned that it was far better to avoid caring for others, than to risk vulnerability. His empty heart had served him well. He'd become a stronger operator - a better operator - because of it.
Now, staring at Clay, he tried, but failed, to feel anything. The space where paternal love should be was nothing but a hollowed-out shell. He knew that most fathers would do anything for their children. But he wasn't most fathers.
Narrowing his eyes at Clay's twitching fingers, Ash felt his lip curl. "I know you're faking." His voice was sharp in the otherwise quiet room. He kept his volume low. "I know you're awake."
Clay didn't move, or acknowledge the words.
Ash continued anyway. "I'm sure you're thinking that your brothers will come and save you." The word brothers tasted bitter on his tongue. "But the only one you can rely on, right now, is yourself."
Clay had always been weak. Foolish. He cared too deeply for others.
"My father used to say, 'Love many. Trust few. Always paddle your own canoe.'" Ash huffed a small laugh, recalling his own arrogant, aggressive, poor excuse for a father. "I never agreed with the first part. But the last two points are accurate."
Clay still didn't stir.
But Ash felt sure that his son was listening. "You're one of the best the Navy has to offer." Once again, the words left a bitter aftertaste. "You've been trained to fight."
The rain drummed harder against the louver window.
Ash felt his heart drumming against his chest. He hated having to rely on someone else to save his life, especially Clay - the boy who'd brought him so dangerously close to unravelling, all those years ago.
He dropped his voice to a growl. "So, show this monster what you're made of," he stated sharply. "And fight."
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A/N I'm not sure which team Ash used to run with, and which position he held (feel free to let me know if you happen to know!) but for the sake of this story I've given him a history with Bravo :)
