Author's Note: I know this fandom is a few years past its popularity peak, but it's the home of some of my most favorite stories. Now that I write my own, I couldn't resist making a contribution. Even if one person reads and enjoys it, that's good enough for me.
"I'm just ready to get this over with and finish the paperwork on this new temp," Clay sighed, running a hand down his face. It was too damn hard to keep a tech on his team and relying on a random one to do the job from base was too risky. He knew it wasn't typical for the brainy guys to go the Spec Ops route, but they'd gone through enough of them to know they existed. They just never seemed to fit in with the team.
You'd get the guys who thought they were better than everyone else, since they were smart. Or you'd get the guys who just skated by on the physical training because the Army needed them for their technical skills. Or you'd get a combination of both.
Their last tech, Lake, had been one of the worst. Cocky about all of his skills, but disappointing in most areas. Roque had taken to "accidentally" calling him Lack, for the short time they had him. The last mission was the last straw, with only Cougar's expert marksmanship getting them all out alive. Lake was booted back to the tech pool to be someone else's problem and Clay was in the base office to sign the paperwork for the new guy. It was beginning to be quite the joke around here.
"Maybe we should have Roque learn about computers? I can just picture him trying to stare at a little screen," Pooch joked, laughing at the image in his head. He was coming with him to complain to whoever would listen about the shitty phone service they were getting in the mess hall. His call had cut out in the middle of his conversation with his fiance Jolene and that was just unacceptable to the younger man.
"That would be an easy way to put us out of our misery," Clay scoffed, pushing the doors open with a tad more force than necessary. Maybe if the front desk could see he was annoyed from the beginning, they'd be more amenable to push him through quickly. Things rarely worked out that way.
Ten minutes later he found himself off to the side filling out some paperwork while he waited for some pencil pusher to come out with more. Pooch was arguing with a guy who could barely be bothered to look up from his computer, placating him with "sure" and "uh huh" every few minutes.
"There's really no use arguing with these guys," a man off to the side chuckled. Clay had noticed him sitting in the corner when they got there, but he hadn't moved or said a word before now. As long as he wasn't bugging Pooch, he'd allow it.
"Excuse me?" Pooch asked.
"They won't do anything to help you, unless they actually feel like doing it. I once had to wait for two months to get a pair of replacement glasses after mine got broken. They said I'd reached my quota of glasses for the year and I'd just have to make due, which doesn't even make sense! How am I supposed to do my job if I can't see properly? Just shoot and hope for the best? It wasn't my fault I went through five pairs in a month!" the man exclaimed, shooting daggers at the man behind the desk. He couldn't care less though.
"So what did you do?" Pooch asked, sounding slightly bemused.
"I snuck off base when I wasn't supposed to and went to LensCrafters," he stage whispered, laughing at the desk clerk's little growl of annoyance. "That's how I got these sweet frames instead of the lame standard issue."
"And you didn't get in trouble?" Pooch questioned.
"Not really. After I explained why I did it and the need for vision, they saw my side. Still had to do a shit ton of PT though. Oh well, who cares about a little more exercise?" the man snorted.
"How did you break so many glasses anyways?" Pooch asked. Clay noticed the man look away briefly in embarrassment before he slapped on his earlier jovial smile.
"Just happens sometimes," he brushed off. "So what are you in here for? Just the phone thing? I could probably help you out with that if you want. I've been trying to convince the brass to let me fix them, which I probably could in like ten minutes, but they say they have to go through the proper channels and blah blah. I should just do it anyways, but I'm kind of on thin ice as it is, so I don't really need anymore shit to deal with. There are ways around that though." He brought his voice down toward the end of his spiel, wagging his eyebrows at Pooch.
"I think I'll pass," Pooch said lightly, turning back to face the counter. The other man kept the smile on his face until Pooch wasn't looking, then let it fall into something that looked more dejected. Clay went back to ignoring them, growling at his paperwork. He filled this out enough times that they should be able to copy and paste everything they needed without him coming down. It wasn't like much changed, besides the names of the techs.
This particular tech had a bit of a bad reputation. Clay didn't usually hold those kinds of things against people, wanting to judge for himself. And all of his team probably had the same note in their records. As long as someone did their job and got along well enough with everyone, that was all he could ask for.
"You can't do this!" an irate man screamed, slamming out of one of the back offices. The man he was yelling at was hot on his heels, pointing toward the door.
"I will not be spoken to like that, no matter what your ranking is. Now get out, before I have you escorted out!" the man, who Clay vaguely recognized as a Colonel, commanded.
"You won't get away with this!" the other man seethed, smashing his fist against the wall.
"Get military police in here now!" the Colonel directed, snapping his fingers at the desk clerk. Clay stayed back, motioning for Pooch to do the same. They were unarmed, but that wasn't too big of a concern. What he really wanted to avoid was more paperwork. The man kept hemming and hawing, lacking the common sense to settle down and not make things worse for himself. It would already be pretty bad for him, but having to be escorted by the military police was a really bad look.
The officers came a few minutes later and dragged the man out as he fought every step of the way. Clay really hoped he wasn't waiting on this particular Colonel for anything, because now the man would be in too bad of a mood to help at all.
"That was exciting," the man from earlier muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.
"You usually get that much action around here?" Pooch asked the clerk, trying to cajole him into talking about anything. It didn't work.
Clay was about to raise a bit of his own hell, at least a subdued version of it, when there was a commotion outside of the office. He barely had time to react before the angry man from earlier stormed back in, this time with a gun. Clay felt like he was stuck in slow motion, watching the man bring his gun up, preparing to aim for the Colonel who was still standing in front of his office door, browbeating some lower ranking soldier. Either the man didn't see or didn't care that Pooch was in the line of fire, but that fact wasn't important. It wouldn't change that Pooch was in danger.
Before Clay could say anything, a shot rang out. He focused his attention on his training and went to eliminate the threat before things got worse. Clay barreled into the gunman, grabbing at the outstretched arm and pushing it to aim toward the floor. He pushed on the man's forearm, not stopping until he felt the bone snap and heard the man shriek in pain. Clay quickly got the man fully subdued, wrenching his arms behind his back and securing them with the zip ties he always had in his pocket. With the team he had, they were a necessity.
"Pooch! Talk to me!" Clay barked, needing to hear the voice of his man. If he could talk, he'd be okay.
"Jeez dude, how much do you weigh?" Pooch wheezed. Clay snapped his eyes up, taking in the sight of Pooch face down on the floor with the chatty man from earlier sprawled on his back.
"I can assure you I fall well within the healthy BMI range, even though that system of measurement is inherently flawed. It doesn't take muscle mass into account the way it should," the man babbled, rolling off Pooch's back.
"Be that as it may, I think you knocked the wind out of me," Pooch groaned, propping up on his elbows and grimacing as he rubbed at his chest.
"Pooch, were you hit?" Clay asked, pushing at the man who was trying to wriggle beneath him.
"Not by a bullet," Pooch grumbled.
"I'm sorry, I- I just reacted, you know? I didn't mean to hurt you," the other man stammered, looking away.
"Are you kidding? I'd take a tackle over a bullet any day," Pooch laughed, bouncing up to his feet. He reached a hand down to the other man, who hadn't made any moves to get up yet. "Let me help you." The man took Pooch's hand and let himself be pulled, hissing quietly as he stood. Clay swore when he looked at the spot the man had been laying moments before, tipping his head up to look above the counter.
"Get a medic in here now!" Clay demanded.
"I didn't hit him that hard," the man whined, still oblivious to what had happened. Pooch understood his tone though and spun the man around, gaping at the sight of his back.
"Shit dude," Pooch mumbled, quickly shucking off his outer shirt and balling it up. He pressed it against the man's back and he yelped in surprise, trying to escape the source of the pain. "Stay still man, you're bleeding like a stuck pig! Why didn't you tell me you were hit?"
"I didn't-" the man started before his words were cut off in a whimpering moan. He leaned against the counter, trying to twist his neck to see the damage. "Is it bad?" Just then a couple of military officers stormed in, finally taking the shooter off Clay's hands. He made his way the few steps over to where Pooch and the wounded man were standing. He wanted to get a better look for himself.
"What's your name, soldier?" Clay asked, putting his hand on the man's arm to gain his attention and stop his fidgeting.
"Corporal Jake Jensen, sir," the man, Jake, replied with a tight voice. Clay didn't take offense to that.
"You ever been shot before, son?" Clay asked, recognizing the beginning stages of shock.
"Is it that obvious?" Jake murmured, panting slightly. "It burns more than I imagined it would."
"Easy there, you'll be okay," Clay said, looking into the kid's face. He couldn't have been older than his early 20s at most. The team liked to razz Pooch about his baby face, but this guy's was ridiculous. The glasses and spiky hair were not helping in that regard. He was probably fairly new and barely saw any action, especially with his earlier tech talk. Not the normal type to be jumping in front of bullets.
"Where are the damn medics?" Pooch shouted, slapping his palm down on the counter in frustration. Jake jumped a little, then hissed as he aggravated his wound in the process. "Shit, sorry!"
"Might be quicker to just take him ourselves," Clay muttered, checking for signs that the Corporal was about to suddenly pass out in front of them. He hadn't seen the wound yet, but by the way Jake's fatigues were rapidly getting darker, it wasn't good. "You think you can walk?"
"Sure," Jake breathed out, taking two steps toward the door before his knees buckled and he was headed to the floor. Clay grabbed him by the arm and held him upright, putting his shoulder under the kid's armpit.
"I meant with help," Clay scoffed, waiting for Pooch to get into position on his other side.
"Sorry. I've always been on my own before," Jake whispered, wincing as they started their journey. Clay bit his tongue before asking what he meant by that, figuring that was private and he shouldn't press on the kid while he was somewhat incapacitated. He didn't deserve to be grilled after possibly saving Pooch's hide.
The medical building was only a few buildings away, which made their lack of assistance extra annoying. The distance was short but the trip dragged a bit, with Jake losing his footing a few times along the way. He never complained or gave up though, which Clay could commend. He knew some soldiers who would be blubbering and refusing to move without an ambulance to take them to the hospital. This kid might be tougher than he looked.
They finally got some help when they made it into the building. A nurse sprang into action as soon as she saw the blood, calling for an orderly to bring out a gurney. They helped the staff get Jake situated on his side before they rolled him away, stopping Pooch from following after them.
"He'll be fine," Clay assured Pooch, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder.
"That kid took a bullet for me, a complete stranger. And I couldn't even be bothered to have a conversation with him," Pooch muttered, looking down at his ruined shirt.
"Come on. Let's go get cleaned up then go back to the office to fill out all the new paperwork that's just fallen into our laps. When we're done, we'll come back and check on Corporal Jensen, okay?" Clay offered, steering Pooch back toward the door. As much as he wanted to let Pooch stay and do whatever he wanted, they had responsibilities to take care of first. But he wasn't going to forget about the injured soldier.