Brock touches down underground, dropping softly onto his feet and then down further onto his knees and leaning his chest forward so Cerberus, still clipped securely to his chest, can get it's paws can down to the ground as well. Four furry feet immediately start scrambling, stretching out to find purchase on the ground and instantly trying to set off. His dog pulls impatiently in the opposite direction, leaning and sniffing and ready to start exploring the tunnel.
He murmurs soothingly under his breath "hold… hold" and loosens Cerb off the carabiner on his vest but is careful to still keep him secured on a short line.
Less encumbered now, Brock pivots smoothly, turning on one knee and raising his gun to set security on their position.
Cerb crouches down next to him, quivering with eagerness but staying in place as commanded.
"Thats it," he praises quietly. "That's it."
He glances up, watching Sonny slowly pick his way down the ladder, The broader man is having a much harder time with the descent and is unsteadily making his way through the tight space bumping and scraping into walls with no shortage of audible curses and a few loose rocks sent crashing down from above.
Peripherally he sees Cerb crawl one step forward while his attention is elsewhere. When he glance down again the dog freezes in place. Busted. His sometimes scarily human like dog glances guiltily back up at him and then whines softly and lowers its head to the ground with a distinctive grumble.
Brock has never sympathized with his dog more.
He too shifts impatiently, eager to head off after the fading footsteps of the three tangos they are pursuing.
Brock has never considered himself a vengeful person.
He takes great pride in maintaining his even disposition as a matter of course and always taking the extra time to consider both sides of any situation. Bravo 5 has on more than one occasion stared uncomprehendingly at Sonny as the short tempered man went off the rails over one thing or another or lost himself on some sort of half cocked revenge mission.
Right now he kind of gets it though.
Maybe for the first time in his life he really gets it.
There's a previously undiscovered part of him rising to the surface right now that he isn't proud of and will try to shove back down again when this is all over. That side of him is finding something incredibly satisfying about the very idea of this hunt right now. It longs to let Cerb go and follow in his partner's wake as the dog chases and runs down anything in his path. He won't be in a hurry to call the dog off either when it finally catches his prey.
He doesn't like it though. Because its also the same part of him that has made him say and do things he normally wouldn't on this mission. Picking fights with teammates, arguing with his team leader. That's not usually him. It's not normally this team. He doesn't like what this situation has meant for everyone involved and isn't proud of how this regularly unbreakable group has collapsed in on itself in a hurry when they should be leaning on each other the most.
Down below the surface here, maybe this is the perfect place to cool off. To find some much needed calmness, to collect themselves and find clarity in the mission again so that they can regroup and get through the reality that awaits them at the surface.
Finally, with a grunt Sonny navigates the last few rungs of the ladder and makes a not so delicate landing. He taps Brocks shoulder and Brock rises, unclipping Cerb in one fluid motion.
He doesn't even have to give the command.
Cerb is off like a hair missile. Flying down the path, straight and true.
The tunnel ahead of them is dark. It's simply lit in a few sporadic places and even with their nods it's hard to see. The walls widens in some spots and narrow in others and there are uneven parts of the walls that jut out unexpectedly and are hard to distinguish in the eerie green lens offered by their head gear.
Despite all that they make quick work in pursuit.
A few minutes in Sonny breaks off to clear an alcove.
Brock proceeds carefully ahead, following the skitter scatter of Cerb's claws on the hard ground.
Back a ways now he hears Sonny swearing softly. He has a sneaky suspicion the man just just stubbed his toe and he smothers a laugh.
Pushing onwards behind his four legged partner who still leads the way ahead he continues on following the faint footsteps still further along in the distance.
Suddenly footsteps register much closer, a movement come out from behind an unseen part of the wall. A heavy weight blindsides him, slamming him across into the opposite wall and dislodging his helmet and nods with the impact of his head into the hard rock side.
The sudden darkness is disorienting, a weight pushes down on him, twisting and driving them both to the ground. He struggles to find his footing, to find the threat but then the threat finds him. Strong, powerful hands at his throat, crushing and sealing off his airway and his world narrows further.
Brock tries desperately to get his hands loose. Failing that he tries to make a noise, to call for help from Sonny or Cerb, but he has no air. All that comes out is a strangled sound that is a bit like a pitiful whine
It's really not funny. But it is.
Oxygen deprivation is a funny thing because he really should be panicking right now. But somewhere, some delirious part of his brain thinks its funny. He's going out with a whimper, not a bang like Jason.
And then a blur of fur he'd know anywhere is in the mix. Biting, snarling. Snapping.
He has no idea how Cerb knew or maybe he was just on his way back to check on his human anyways, either way dammit he loves that dog.
The hold releases, enough for a blessedly cool whistle of air to go through his abused throat and into his burning lungs. There is a slight improvement in clarity and he works to get his arms up and out from underneath, ready to prevent a second attack, except the weight is still pressing down. He can't quite find the leverage he needs.
He hears his name shouted, it rings painfully loud in the confined space.
Sonny has caught up back and the guy goes flying off him, Cerb too. There's a yelp as his dog gets caught in the frey.
That gets him fighting to get up. Still gasping for air, vision blinking in and out on him in a blurred spinning lens that won't find its focus. He pants and sways as he gets to his knees, pushing himself himself up and off the wall. He needs to find his dog. He needs to help Sonny. Brock's eyes squint in the darkness fighting to adjust so can make out any familiar shapes in the chaos around him.
There.
Sonny is down grappling on top of his attacker, wrestling, reaching for weapons he can't get out. The Texan gives up and uses what God gave him, laying into the tango with hard blows from above. He's got the upper hand until another, and a third emerge from the shadows ahead and piles on top of Bravo three. Now its three on one and they are around Sonny's neck, pulling at his arm, sending blows to his stomach and ribs. Slowly Sonny loses his position on top of the one guy after taking a few hard blows to the chest from the man in front. Cerb goes at that one, attacking the offending limb, except that gives the one at the back a lane to get in closer. Brock makes it to his feet, pulls his sidearm but wavers. He can't see straight even, his nods are long gone and even if he could aim properly in these close quarters, with this much movement, it's a no go.
So he does what he can, follows Sonny's example and takes a running tackle into the pile, taking the top guy, the one draped over Sonny's neck from the back, off of the pile of wrestling limbs.
They roll and struggle, and this time Brock is ready for it. He pulls the guy against him, flipping them both onto their backs, pulling the buddy down on top with an arm securely around his neck. Brock's radius crushes down into his carotid.
The guy thrashes hard, his head coming back hard driving the back of his skull into the front of Brock's face. It explodes at impact, a shock of pain, a wash of blinking stars across his vision and a deluge of blood pouring down into his mouth, trickling into his throat, making him gag on the metallic taste. He presses his lips firmly closed and struggles to breathe through a rapidly swelling nose and already abused throat.
His vision swims, distorting oddly, but he doesn't release. He can't release. Hands reach up and claw at his face, the guy's legs kick and flail trying to find leverage but he counters with his own limbs pinning, hooking on and refusing to be dislodged. Brock rides out the bucking form above him counting down in his head.
A few feet away, Sonny roars out in pain and Brock's swivels his head around to see a knife now somehow involved in the fray. It swings out and away covered in blood.
Shit. Sonny.
He's almost there, just a few more seconds and then he can help.
He sees more teeth flashing. Breathes out as he sees Sonny wrestle the knife to a safer distance from his body but he still can't seem to fully gain control of it. Keeps taking blows from the other unarmed guy who is fighting off the furry menace at the same time.
Finally, finally his guy goes limp.
Brock frantically tries to detangle himself. Desperate to get out from under the now deadweight laid across him and go to Sonny's aid.
And then Clay comes rushing in and enters the frey out of nowhere. He grabs the hand with the knife, twisting and reposesses it to drive it down into the guys throat, quickly ending that side of the fight.
Sonny's left with just the one now and makes quick work of him, swinging the only remaining assailant headfirst into the nearest wall where he drops like a rock. Clay steps over and zap straps his hands and feet. Clambers over the dead one he disposed of and does the same to Brock's unconscious friend and then leans over hands, on knees and takes a few deep breaths.
For a few seconds there's only the sounds of panting that fill the space, from three exhausted men and one very content looking dog who lies in the middle of the carnage proudly as if to say "look, I found them all"
Brock, spits out a mouthful of blood and then pinches gently, wincing as he tries to get the blood to stop flowing from his nose.
"You guys alright?" Clays tone is slightly panicked, making it clear they gave him a bit of a scare. To be honest it gave Brock a bit of a scare too.
He tries to sound more calm than he feels "Yeah, all good." Clay doesn't quite seem to buy it and Brock can't really blame him. The blood streaming down his face and shirt doesn't quite make that a convincing statement. But its just a broken nose. There's nothing they can do about it here. And its nothing he can't ignore once he gets the bleeding stopped.
Sonny on the other hand. He's worried how much damage that knife did. Clay obviously feels the same, turning his sharp gaze to Bravo 3.
Sonny also waves him off. "Just a gash" He tears off a pieces of his t-shirt and wraps it around his arm.
Clay and Brock roll their eyes, neither missing the way the man is hunched over slightly and still breathing a bit funny.
Clay's inspecting gaze lingers on his friend for a second, obviously trying to decide if it's worth pushing the issue. Maybe weighing the likelihood that Sonny's carefully placed arm is in an effort to hide something more serious like a penetrating stab wound underneath it. Short of strip searching the man, which might set off a whole other type of combat situation, Spenser evidently decides to take his word on it for now and his eyes finally break away, roving further down the tunnel ahead of them where Cerb is now sniffing curiously a few feet away.
Brock can tell Clay wants to follow the dog. Wants to explore it the tunnel to see where else it goes and what other secrets its hiding. But instead the man shakes his head seemingly coming to the conclusion that other things need to be prioritized right now.
They hogtie and haul the two unconscious men upstairs leaving the body where it is. Above ground they happily hand off their cargo to the local police. Then in unspoken agreement they hightail it back to Jason. This time the decision is crystal clear, there's no discussion, no arguments needed.
He is right where they left him.
And just like that all the extra energy, the anger, the drive, all disapates. The team seemingly deflates, nothing left to do now but wait for Blackburn to come with casualty assistance to move Jason and that ride is still approximately 60 mikes out.
There's nothing left to say and in that silence, whats left of the team separates, drifting apart with no apparent need to be together right now. Its hard not to see that as a sign of something more than just this moment. Trent never even came back with the team, instead choosing to stay behind to help with the medical efforts at the other building. Clay quickly confirms the body is still in place, still there, still dead, and then leaves the room and can be heard pacing in the hallways, communicating with Havoc and local police on scene. Sonny in contrast pulls up a mangled piece of what looks like it used to be a chair and sits next to Jason, clearly not going anywhere anytime soon.
Brock remains for a while too. But Cerb is anxious in the room, whining and crying and refusing to settle. No amount of cajoling or commands will convince the dog to relax.
He wonders if it's the explosives residue is triggering this response from his dog. It's strange though because he isn't indicating as he's trained. And Cerb doesn't usually react to already exploded ordinances.
It could just be the smell in general.
Brock is having a hard time with the nauseating smell of death in the room and Cerb's nose is something like 40 times more sensitive.
So he takes pity on the dog, and himself, and goes outside to wait.
Wonders around in the early morning light, taking in deep lungfuls of crisp, non tainted air. Watches a few bystanders starting their work day at nearby building. They all glance curiously at the police tape, gazes lingering for a moment, hoping to see something before they finally go inside probably for a lot of very interesting water cooler discussion gossip to come. He wonders if they had any idea, any inkling at what has been occurring for months just a few doors over. Wonders if they ever speculated, debated at lunch or dared to peek in a window, if they didn't they certainly will feel like idiots when this all hits the news. If they will go home and tell their wives, their kids about it at the dinner table.
The thought of happy domestic bliss like that. A wholesome family with all its pieces sends a renewed pang of grief through him. Sharp and hot, like a bullet that goes in through his abdomen and then ricochets around in his internal organs. It ping pongs around in his stomach, travels up and does a number on his lungs, before heading down over to his kidney for a little punching bag practice. It leaves a dim, lingering ache in its path that doesn't fade away even once the sharp pain finally lodges itself somewhere in his low back. He almost wishes this was something physical because then Trent could shoot him up with some morphine, dig around in his stomach, maybe stick in some staples. There would be a lot of little painful rehab but eventually it would be over. It would pass.
He knows from experience that this kind of grief won't.
And that whatever he is feeling it's going to be a hundred times worse for Emma and Mikey. He may have lost a mentor and a friend, the country may have lost one of its finest, but beyond all that and infinitely more importantly than any of that, Jason's kids just lost a father.
That kind of pain is unfathomable. He knows that from experience.
And while the team will do the best they can to be there for them, it will be a drop in the bucket against the waves of grief and upheaval that will be trying to drag them under for the rest of their life.
They were still trying to claw their way back up after Alana. Trying to find a lifeline back to normal and now they've just lost one of the only things keeping them a float.
Now all they will have to hang on to is a folded up flag, some charred dog tags, and Alana's rings.
Some fabric and metal on a bedside table or a bookshelf instead of living, breathing, loving parents.
Brock frowns slightly, trying to remember if he they recovered Alana's ring earlier.
He vividly remembers Sonny holding up the tags. That image is burned in there, will always be the moment he associates with realizing what happened. Who it was on the floor in front of them. He doesn't remember if they got her rings though. If they found the other chain, ever present around Jason's neck these days. Thinner, gold, and with two rings that they all pretend not to see him hold on to sometimes.
The more he thinks about it the surer he is that they didn't and that its probably still in there. Either still around his neck or maybe dislodged, but either way he wants to make sure they get it. Its not much, but its better than nothing, and maybe it will bring them some small amount of comfort down the road.
So he forces himself and Cerb to go back inside, just for a moment. A small unpleasant mission that he can carry out while they wait.
Ends up standing there over the body, trying to make himself actually do it. He was really hoping the chain would be obviously visible and a quick inspection tells him that is not the case. Which means its burried somewhere under layers of charred skin, and melted fabric and everything in him revolts at the idea of digging around in there.
He is already gagging and he hasn't even started. Can't figure out where to start. How to do this.
Sonny's voice interrupts his internal debate. "What'r ya looking for?"
He answers a question with a question "Sonny where did you find his tags?"
Sonny lifts his head from his hands, confused and then shrugs, seemingly deciding he doesn't actually care. He gestures unhelpfully in the general direction of the body.
Brock feels his blood pressure rise, swallows down the biting retort he wants to give and turns back to his self appointed task. Fine he will do this on his own if he has too.
A few seconds later Sonny surprises him by following it up with something a little more specific "By his hand."
Well at least thats something more to work with. Brock scrubs a hand over his face, wincing at the pain it reignites in his nose and the throbbing headache that's forming.
Nothing left to do but actually do it, he crouches down and starts searching around Jason's right hand, trying to breathe through his mouth as much as possible.
He fumbles around unsuccessfully, getting frustrated and swallowing hard against his gag reflex that is vehemently objecting to this plan.
After far too long a delay, Sonny offers something more helpful. "Left hand"
Left one…Fucking hell. Brock says a prayer for patience, shifting over from the right side he's been searching futilely, and ignoring Sonny's unhelpful addition of "or what's left of it"
Patience.
Don't say it.
Don't start something.
They are all grieving in different ways and he is sure Sonny isn't purposefully trying to be a dick. At least probably not, anyways.
Brock digs around as much as he can on the correct side. Unable to bring himself to actually move anything or disturb anything too deeply.
Finally he sits down, slumping back, exhausted and resigned. It's just not going to happen. They aren't on his neck, they aren't where the tags were. They aren't anywhere around his hand(s) which he can say with confidence since he searched both. The ring could have been blasted into the next room for all he knows.
Cerb whuffs in discontentment at his side. He runs a hand down over the fur, long soothing strokes. "I know buddy, I know…"
His dog ignores his attempts at comfort, staying rigid and tight under his hands. Cerb whines again, nose tilting into the air, wiggling as it sniffs over and over and his toungue coming up to lick it in a nervously.
Brock keeps petting, rhythmically stroking and taking deep breaths, in an effort to soothe himself if nothing else. He focuses on the feel of the warm, familiar fur under his hands and tries not to get swallowed up whole by all the frustration and anger and unfairness of this stupid situation. He can't even find the damn ring. Can't even pull one little miniscule silver lining out of all this. He tilts his head back stares up at the ceiling, willing the moisture back into his eyes.
It doesn't work. The tears still wiggle out and one or two slips traitorously down his cheek. At this angle its hard to breath around to his swollen nose and his headache cranks up a notch or two more so finally he gives up, bringing his head back down to level and blinks heavily. Now isn't the time for this. They still need to hold it together for a little while longer. The job is not done yet. They can't stand down yet.
He glares around him at what used to be an office, before it was blown to smithereens, trying to focus on literally anything else than what (who) is in front of him. Brock can't help but notice this room has some distinct similarities to the room he and Sonny found the tunnel entrance in at the other building. The office layout looks practically the same so even with most of the walls missing he can still figure out where the back wall was. And in front of that should be...yep, there's the debris of some sort of shelving system. Which means over in that far corner was where the trap door was. His gaze holds on that spot looking at the piles of rubble that have been blasted into the area. Who the hell knows whats underneath all that.
And then something glaringly obvious clicks into place. A possibility they hadn't considered yet.
The tunnel.
This building was connected to the other by a tunnel. And if one of the bad guys escaped through it...
Is it possible?
They thought there was no way out of the room, but what if there was.
Suddenly hope flares, bright and painful
An idea so implausible that he instantly dismisses it. The sheer absurdity of it actually makes him annoyed because Jason is right here in front of him dead, dog tags and all so his brain is just being stupid and spiteful.
He tries to squash it down, forget about it and move on to something else.
Except he can't let it go either.
Because there's no ring. Which is just enough room to allow a niggling little doubt to root its way in and take hold. It's like he just left the house and now is sitting in the driveway second guessing whether he left the stove on. He knows he turned it off, remembers pressing the button, remembers double checking and yet still can't drive away.
It also doesn't help that he desperately wants it to be true. That level of desire certainly does not help with his attempt at rationality. Instead it fans the tiny little embers of hope until they are starting to catch on, crackling and warming him from the inside out. He feels like he's overheating, suddenly hot and sweaty in the previously very cool room.
He also knows with complete certainty that if he goes home before putting this feeling to rest he will never be able to not wonder.
Because it's Jason Hayes. And if anyone could pull off the improbable, impossible feat his brain is conjuring up, it could be him.
He gets up, just to check, that all. He needs to go check the stove one more time for his own peace of mind, to put it all to rest one last time.
Just a quick peek.
If there's no trapdoor here in this room then that settles it no harm no foul except his own damn hopes crushed and devastated again.
Brock wanders over casually to the corner and starts lifting a few pieces.
Sonny's head pops up, face comes out from under his hands "What now?"
"Nothing, just want to see something."
He lifts a few more, and feels Cerb pushing in beside him, snuffling eagerly around the piles at his feet.
Brocks lifts another larger slab off, and Cerb begins to whine. The dog starts digging frantically at the area and the flames inside him roar higher now, his heart beats faster.
He lifts off one more, feels a hint of cool air on his face.
"Brock, seriously what are you doing?"
Bravo 5 ignores Sonny's demands for an answer because he's frozen in place, staring at the corner of a very familiar tunnel entrance.
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Yes, I am well aware I am a horrible person who is dragging this out entirely too long but everyone demanded to get their due in this one. And who am I to deny Brock and Cerb a little time to shine. On a good note the last couple chapters are all pretty much written so updates should hopefully be a bit more frequent