Trent is scared.
Give him bombs and bullets and blood and guts. He knows what to do with those. He knows how to triage a severed limb or a gunshot wound or a head injury.
This is so very different. And Trent feels like he's treading water, barely keeping himself afloat.
He's used to threats attacking them from the outside. That's what they're trained for – what they know how to handle.
But this is an enemy from within.
There's a ticking time bomb inside his friend. He can't see it and he can't fight it, and he knows with absolute certainty that it's going to go off.
That it's going to win.
After Brock throws up the little bit of water he's been able to get down for the second time, Trent resigns himself to the fact that he needs to stop drinking. It's clearly doing more harm than it is good at this point. That's tough to admit because he knows his friend is already dehydrated, and Trent only has one bag of fluids in his med kit.
He can tell the pain and discomfort are immense, but through it all, Brock never complains.
They all carry morphine, and as badly as Trent would like to give him some, he knows he can't. Brock needs to stay awake, aware and alert enough to continue on under his own power. He never asks Trent if he can have any. Hell, he has his own dose he could inject himself with at any time. But he doesn't, seeming to understand what the consequences could be.
He just keeps steadily walking on.
The few times someone tries to talk to him, Brock doesn't respond. Trent suspects he's zoned out, caught up somewhere in his head, or just fully focused on the effort necessary to continue hiking. If that's what it takes to keep them moving, he's not going to argue.
Like all of them, Brock has the ability to push past his mental and physical boundaries. And Trent knows he'll take every step he's physically capable of taking. Maybe more than he should.
Brock is walking in line behind Clay, and Trent notices that he follows every footstep the younger man makes exactly, boots connecting with the ground in the same spots, his stride completely in sync with Spenser's. It feels symbolic somehow. Brock is completely trusting Clay's steps to be sure and steady, just as he's trusting his team to get him to safety.
Trent's determined to do just that. He knows Jason, Ray, Sonny and Clay are too. As soon as they realized what was going on – how serious Brock's illness was – their objective changed immediately. Getting Brock to the help he so desperately needs became the new mission. There was never any question that they would drop anything to help him. The same as they would do for any one of them. Because they take care of each other. The team comes first.
Trent knows Brock is beating himself up over the aborted op. He probably would be too if their roles were reversed. But he also knows Brock's concern runs deeper than that. That he's self-conscious about his place within the team dynamic, and he lets those worries overwhelm him sometimes. That's nothing new. Brock has had that issue since he's been with the team, and Trent's starting to think they need to have a good talk when this is all over.
Trent's grown very close to their canine handler over the last couple years. That's partly because they're often naturally paired up - Jason and Ray are best friends, and Sonny and Clay have become very close, so that's left him and Brock. But mostly it's because their personalities complement each other well. They share similar interests and can spend hours talking about everything and nothing.
There are a lot of ways to describe Brock. He's passionate and loyal. Exceptionally intelligent and highly driven. A perceptive observer who knows more about what's going on in any situation than he ever lets on. Athletic and strong and determined. But he can also be goofy and awkward. Self-effacing and unassuming, but also self-conscious and doubting. He's surprisingly quick-witted and has a penchant for mischief-making, even though he's a tried and true rule follower when it comes to things that really matter.
But mostly, Brock's just a genuinely good person. There's no bravado to him, which can be hard to find in the operators working at their level. It isn't about ego or macho, alpha displays of strength or aggression. He's a man who has a pure and true love for what he does. He's trustworthy and steadfast, and Trent greatly values his friendship.
That's what makes his current predicament so heartbreaking. And Trent is determined to do everything he can to help him, even if that means making hard decisions he doesn't want to have to make. He owes him that.
#####
Deep in the middle of the night, something changes. Brock's pace slows – enough that Trent has to signal to Ray at the front of the line to slow things down. He can hear the younger man's heavy, labored breathing from where he's following closely behind.
For the first time, Brock's steps falter, and when he eventually stumbles, Trent is right there ready to catch him and prop him up. He pulls their NODs up and turns on his headlamp so he can get a good look at him. Brock's eyes are big and wild and slightly unfocused, darting around in the dark, and he reminds Trent of a caged animal.
In a sense, he supposes that's probably a fitting analogy. Brock's trapped in his body, probably in more pain than he's ever been. Add in the fever, dehydration, exertion and exhaustion, and Trent imagines he feels like he's lost all control. He's surprised he's even made it this far.
"Need to stop?" he asks, reaching to gauge his friend's temperature again.
He shakes his head no.
His skin definitely feels feverish, but not alarmingly so.
"Just can't block it out anymore," Brock says stoically, pulling in some small gasps. "Too much."
It's a statement of fact, not a complaint. And for some reason that irritates Trent. There's a part of him that wants Brock to scream and yell and be angry. That wants him to seek out sympathy and comfort from his brothers.
More than anything, Trent wants to call it over. He wants to dose Brock up with some morphine and let him be done. But as painful as it is to make him keep going, Trent knows he has to.
"Okay," he forces out with regret and an infusion of as much calm and confidence as he can manage. "Say something if you need to stop."
Brock nods jerkily and starts walking again.
Sonny grabs Trent's arm before he has a chance to fall into place behind him.
"Please," he begs, and there's an uneasy tremble to his voice. "Can't you give him something for the pain?"
"Not yet," Trent says firmly.
The guys know what's happening here. They understand what needs to be done. Sonny knows. As hard as it is, it's imperative that they all stay strong, encouraging Brock and offering him support but also making sure they continue to push him toward the objective. Brock needs them to be able to do that.
"He needs to keep moving for as long as he can," Trent emphasizes again. "It's the fastest way to get him out."
"But Trent, he's -"
"I know what he is!" he shoots back, the intense emotion and enormity of their situation momentarily superseding his forced calm. "What do you want me to do, Sonny? I hate it too. But every minute counts, and I'm trying to keep him alive. He understands that," he gestures to Brock ahead of them.
Trent knows at some point they'll likely need to carry him, but until then, the most important thing is speed. Pain has to come secondary to that. It's awful, and it physically makes him ache to force Brock through it, but it's crucial that they move as quickly as they can while they can. Regardless of how it makes them feel. Or how it makes Brock feel.
The Texan lets out a frustrated growl but capitulates, forcing a nod and scrubbing his hand over his face as he falls back to the end of the line.
Trent feels bad for snapping at Sonny. He understands the man's heightened concern because he feels it just as intensely, probably more. He doesn't even know for sure if he's making the right choices. If he's doing what's best for Brock. That uncertainty plants an uneasy, gnawing pit in his own belly.
He's unsettled by Brock's absolute trust in him, especially because he doesn't even know if he trusts himself. His friend has wholly shed any need for control of the decision making, instead following Trent's lead without question. He's willingly putting his life in his hands.
The weight of that responsibility in the midst of so many unknowns is nearly crushing.
#####
They don't make a significant stop again until the sun starts to make its way through the trees and the morning chorus of birdsong begins to fill the air. The light, airy tones feel contradictory to the dire urgency the team is facing.
Brock's stride has slowed nearly to a crawl, and Trent calls for the break just as Jason doubles back from farther up the line to check on them. Jason reaches for Brock's shoulder to steady him as he wavers, and it's like the small gesture strips away any self-consciousness the younger man was still capable of possessing. He immediately sinks into their team leader.
His forehead burrows into Jason's shoulder, the arch of his back painfully tense and rigid. His hand grips knuckle-white into Jason's sleeve, like if he let's go he'll be swept away by the unrelenting agony. He gasps for oxygen in small, harsh bursts, and Trent's afraid he's going to hyperventilate.
"Take a minute and just breathe," he says, stepping closer and putting all of his effort into maintaining a calm and soothing tone.
Brock whimpers, and it sends a dagger of pain through Trent's heart. He knows Brock has an enormously high threshold for pain, so to see him like this steals Trent's own breath away.
"Breathe through it," he instructs, gently resting his hand on Brock's back and leaning his head down so he's speaking into his ear.
The younger man hitches a few aborted gasps, forcing himself to smooth them out into complete inhalations. Trent feels him working hard to gain control and to climb above the pain.
"There you go, nice and steady," he says softly. "Try to fill yourself up with it."
"Hurts so much," Brock grits out, rolling his head to look at Trent. The suffering in his eyes is devastating, and Trent's throat tightens with the magnitude of it.
"I know. But you're doing so well," he forces out. "You're amazing."
Jason's hand comes up to rest in Brock's curls, trying to offer some comfort, and the older man's eyes look suspiciously wet.
The other guys don't look much better, their worry permeating the air. They're giving Brock space, but they're staying near.
"Okay, let's take a break for a bit," Trent decides. "I want to get some fluid into him."
He's betting on this being the right time to use it. He's hopeful that giving Brock the hydration will offer his body a boost. It's still too early for them to have to carry him. There's just too far to go.
Brock doesn't protest the break or the fluids, and that says more than any words possibly could about how he's feeling and how he sees his own situation.
Once they're settled, Brock curls up on his side and closes his eyes as Trent gets the IV set up. He can't seem to stay still, moving restlessly as his body fights the pain, eventually adopting a rhythmic, rocking motion.
He needs rest. Trent knows it. And he's faced with a decision he absolutely can't get wrong. Ultimately, he doesn't think he has much choice. Brock is barely able to move at this point. If he's able to get his strength up even slightly, the payoff should be there in the long run.
"I want you to rest for a bit," Trent says gently, once he's made up his mind. "So I'm gonna give you some morphine."
"But…" Brock questions, looking confused.
"Just for a little while, so you can get some strength back," he says, pulling the auto-injector from his pack. "Then we'll keep going."
Brock looks like he's going to argue but ultimately just nods, head sagging back down like he doesn't even have the energy to hold it up as Trent administers the drug.
It only takes a few minutes for Brock to drift into a fitful sleep, exhaustion and the opiate enough to briefly dampen the pain.
Trent sits and watches him, wondering if it was the right decision. Was it truly the best thing for Brock, or did he do it for his own comfort? So he could get a reprieve from seeing his close friend in such pain.
"You too," Jason pulls him from his self-doubt, lowering down next to him.
Trent raises a questioning eyebrow.
"You do the same," Jason clarifies. "Get some rest."
"I'm fine," Trent replies, shaking his head.
"I'm not asking," Jason says, eyes drilling into him. "You're the closest we have to someone who knows what the hell we should do here. I need you clearheaded. Try to get some sleep. I'll watch him."
Trent knows it's pointless to argue. And he does feel the exhaustion weighing him down. He's used to staying up for days at a time, but this is different. The emotional weight of what they're dealing with has left him feeling tired in an entirely new way.
He's asleep the moment he closes his eyes.
#####
"Trent?"
Ray's voice penetrates his troubled sleep, hand on his shoulder bringing him back to reality, and Trent is wide awake instantly. Based on the position of the sun through the trees he doesn't think he was out for more than a couple hours.
"It's Brock," Ray says, and Trent's heart drops into his stomach like a stone, the world tilting alarmingly around him. He's afraid to hear what's happened, and he's already beating himself up for falling asleep.
But when he turns to look at where he last left Brock sleeping, the younger man is sitting up. His face is flushed and he looks utterly exhausted, but the pain lines around his eyes have lessened some.
"It's not as bad now," Brock shrugs. "I feel a lot better."
"God bless the good drugs," Clay says with a small smile.
But Trent's heart thumps wildly in his chest. He's afraid it isn't that simple.
"What do you feel?" he makes himself ask.
"It still hurts, but the really sharp pain is mostly gone."
Trent clenches his eyes shut, and he can feel the color leave his own face.
"That's good, right?" Sonny asks, confused. "The morphine helped?"
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
Trent looks back over at Brock. He knows he wouldn't want him to sugarcoat things. He can't afford to anyway.
"Probably means it ruptured," he says, keeping eye contact. "Less pressure means less pain."
The news settles like a lead weight among the group, and Brock just stares back at him like his brain is struggling to make sense of things.
"So what does that mean?" Clay finally asks.
"It means bacteria is going to spread quickly. And infection along with it," Trent says, making himself speak directly to Brock. "Through your belly and eventually into your blood. We need to get to a hospital."
Brock pulls his eyes away, looking up to the towering vegetation above them. He takes several seconds to steel himself before nodding his head shakily.
"What's gonna happen?" he asks, without looking at any of them.
"The pain will probably increase again. The fever too. Before that happens, we need to cover as much ground as we can."
"Okay," he says resolutely, wiping his face. "I can do it. Let's go."
Ray and Clay are already helping him rise to his feet as Sonny moves to pack up his things.
Trent is filled with a new sense of urgency, even stronger than before. He knows Brock isn't going to keel over and die. It's going to take time for the infection to spread. But he also knows that every minute they're still out here the worse his situation is going to get. And his chances of a successful recovery go down. Taking too long to get him to help could absolutely kill him.
As they set off again, Brock moves far more quickly than he did previously.
Trent prays they'll be able to keep up the faster pace, because he knows they're running out of time.