March 2007
Jack clutches the strap of his pack a little tighter as he winds his way through the base. It really doesn't look much different from every other base he's been on. The stifling humidity and actual trees scattered around are about the only differences from the desert bases he's been based at for the past few years. That and the fact that this base technically doesn't exist on paper, he supposes.
He finds the brick building housing command without issue. It's the largest structure in the place and probably the only one with air conditioning. It sticks out like a sore thumb from the run-down wood structures surrounding it. He's betting the other brick building he's seen, the one right off the airstrip, is the hospital.
He stops for a moment outside the door, trying and failing to take a deep breath in the heat; the thick air getting stuck in his throat instead. He can feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and does his best to ignore it. He takes a decisive step forward, despite the dread in the pit of his stomach.
It's just a new assignment. He's done this before. He'll do it again. There's no need to be nervous. Sure, it's the first time he'll be permanently assigned to a black ops unit, but it's not the first time he's been pulled to do the work. He may not have been given much information about what the unit does or why the sudden transfer, but command would not have moved him if they weren't sure that he could do this. He can do this.
He has no reason to be nervous.
Jack pulls the door to the building open and strides inside. He gets directions to Petras' office from the staffer at the entryway and climbs the stairs to the second floor.
Jack forces a smile for the assistant sitting outside Petras' door, who waves him through.
"Sir." Jack stands at attention in front of a looming wooden desk, happy to hide behind the formalities for a little while.
The stern, grey-haired man in spotlessly clean fatigues at the desk flicks the barest glance up from the paperwork he's reading. "At ease, soldier."
Jack relaxes a bit, waiting out the man behind the desk. He flicks his gaze around the office. It's stark, impersonal. No photos, no decorations, not even the medals he's seen in many other commanding officer's offices.
Petras goes back to his paperwork without another word and leaves him standing there long enough that Jack has to quell the urge to fidget, which is something he thought basic had drilled out of him years ago.
"Right." Petras flips the papers he was reading over face down on his desk and finally looks up at Jack. "Morrison, right?"
"Yes, sir." Jack hikes the strap of his pack further up his shoulder when it starts slipping down.
"You're the Blackwatch team's new medic."
It doesn't sound like a question but Jack answers him anyway. "Yes, sir. Along with whatever else they need, from what little I was told."
"Small unit," Petras agrees. "Everyone takes multiple roles." Petra turns his attention to his computer. "Hopefully you'll last longer than the last one. Heard you're new to this."
Jack startles briefly, but tries to keep his outward expression collected. He hadn't heard much about this assignment or the team before he was pulled out of Iraq just as his unit came back from a patrol. No explanations, no warning, nothing. Just the team name and where to report.
"I'm not sure what's holding up Major Rodríguez, but he should be here soon," Petras says shortly before Jack can muster up a reply to his last statement.
"Of course, sir." Jack glances around the room again, feeling dismissed despite the fact that Petras hasn't said the actual words. He's about to offer to wait outside when there's a short rap on the door, and the most gorgeous man Jack has ever seen strides into the office.
He's a match for Jack's own height, but broader through the shoulders. He's dressed in fatigues that are smattered with mud in places and torn in others, obviously having seen hard use recently. His dark hair is buzzed off short. His dark eyes have bags underneath them, like he's been awake for far too many hours or hasn't slept regularly in a long time.
Tall, dark, and handsome, with something else that pulls Jack's attention. Jack has a type and he knows it, even if he also knows he can't act on it. And this man is it.
Jack forces himself not to stare—but doesn't avoid a good look, either. He's well practiced at this game, even if the fact this guy ticks all his boxes raises the difficulty level. He's a damn adult though, not a teenager; he can control himself. He's been doing it for years.
The man comes to attention in front of Petras' desk, right next to Jack.
"Captain Reyes," Petras says, turning away from his computer. "I was expecting Rodríguez."
"The Major was held up this morning, sir. We just got back, and he had some things to handle." Reyes' voice is deep, with a slight hint of an accent. Jack would guess English either isn't the man's first language or that he doesn't spend a lot of time speaking it now. "He sent me to pick up our newest medic."
Petras looks interested for the first time that Jack can tell all morning. "Anything he needs help with?"
"No, sir. He said to tell you he's got it handled. He'll be by later for a debrief. He just didn't want to leave Sunshine standing here all morning until he would get free." Reyes shoots a look at Jack at the tease, coyly assessing. Jack fights to hold himself steady under the man's dark—and alluring—gaze. This assignment is going to be the death of him one way or another, Jack's sure.
"All right." Petras dismisses them with a wave. "I'll speak with him later then."
Jack settles his bag more securely on his shoulder and follows Reyes out of the building. The humidity hits him like a brick wall as soon as they make their exit. He may have spent the past few years in the desert heat, but he feels like he's drowning every time he steps outside right now. He's hoping he'll adjust quickly.
"What's your name, Sunshine?" Reyes asks with a hint of a smirk. Jack would bet anything that he noticed his reaction to the heat. Reyes himself doesn't look affected at all.
"Morrison," Jack replies before realizing he might mean his first name. "Uh, Jack."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Gabe." Gabe leads him through the base to a small cluster of buildings isolated by a large training field.
Jack follows him inside, confirming his suspicion that the building doesn't have air conditioning. He idly wonders if their last medic melted.
"You'll meet everyone later. They're all asleep." Gabe pokes his head in an open doorway pointedly and shuts off a light. "Or they should be, assholes."
Jack hears something smack the back of the door as Gabe closes it. Gabe mutters something under his breath in what sounds like Spanish based on Jack's rusty high school level Spanish class knowledge, leading Jack further in.
"Rodríguez should be done with everything by dinner, so you'll meet him then. For now, you're in with me." Gabe pushes into a room with two bunks and a fan struggling to adequately circulate the air. Jack drops his bag on the bunk on the empty side of the room, trying to ignore the sweat sticking his shirt to his back. The other side has sparse belongings, but still somehow gives the semblance of looking lived in. "We'll get you squared away later. You're supposed to be in with Martínez, but well…" Gabe trails off. "We'll get you moved later on."
Jack holds in the sigh of relief that wants to escape him, knowing that he won't have to room with this man permanently, along with his questions about why Martínez wasn't the one to come get him. He's not sure he could keep himself in check, if had to bunk with as well as work with this walking wet dream. And he's certain any curiosity he shows about Martínez, or what he's busy with, will be squashed ruthlessly.
Gabe starts stripping down and Jack automatically averts his gaze, trained by years of locker rooms and communal living.
"We just got back in this morning," Gabe says, slightly muffled by rustling fabric. "I'm grabbing some fucking sleep while I can. Make yourself comfortable. Sleep. Or there's a common room down the hall. Do whatever the hell you want. Just keep it down, Sunshine." With that, Gabe flops down and turns on his side to face the wall.
Jack allows himself one long look at the expanse of dark skin and defined muscles that comprises the broad back on display before turning away and staging a strategic retreat. He's not tired, especially not now. And he doesn't want to unpack into temporary quarters. So Jack grabs a book out of his pack and makes his way to the common room.
He collapses on the couch and looks around to make sure he's alone before groaning. Just his fucking luck. His first permanent assignment since he completed his medical training, and it has to be with the biggest temptation he's seen in a long time.
Jack's determined not to fuck this up. He crushes any thoughts about the gorgeous Latino man asleep in his room—oh, the irony—and opens his book. It takes effort, but he forces himself to focus on the words on the page and not on the vision of perfection that is Captain Gabriel Reyes.
May 2007
Jack grunts with pain as he hits the mat in the training room. Again. Martínez stands over him, holding out a hand. Jack takes it, graciously ignores the smirk, and lets Martínez help him up.
"Are you okay, Sunshine?" Martínez asks, taking a step back after making sure that Jack has his balance.
"Fuck, fine," Jack grumbles and rolls the shoulder he landed on. "How the hell did you do that?"
"You fight like I speak English," Martínez says with a softer grin. "Precise and proper. It gives you away every time. You need to learn to fight dirty. You—" he jabs a finger into Jack's chest—"fight like this is basic. That is going to get you killed." Martínez tosses Jack a bottle of water. "And I do not want to break in another new roommate."
Jack snorts and nods at Martínez's assessment, accepting the criticism. He thought he was doing fine until he met these guys. This squad raises the bar all the way up to elite. Luckily for Jack, Martínez took pity on him and offered to train with him outside of the group exercises. So far, he's the only one willing to do so. But Jack feels like he might be slowly catching up anyway.
Jack drops back to the mat with his water to take a break, wiping the sweat off his brow. Almost three months in and he's still not used to humidity here. He feels like he's melting all the fucking time, much less when he's doing anything physical. Even though everyone else is starting to layer up in what they claim are the dropping temperatures. Lying assholes.
"Where'd you learn English?" Jack asks, not expecting a real answer. One of the first things Jack's learned about Blackwatch is that they don't trust outsiders. He definitely hasn't gained their trust yet despite three months, a few missions, and technically being one of them. He's still not sure if the last few medics were casualties of missions or if they were driven out by the squad.
He's curious though, and Martínez brought it up first. Martínez's Spanish and Portuguese is ridden with slang and swearing spoken like a native, from the very little Jack has been able to understand. His English is not. So Jack takes a chance and asks.
Martínez looks at him for a long moment. Long enough that Jack thinks he's not going to answer, as usual. But then Martínez surprises him. He settles onto the mat with his own water and says, "I had a British au pair as a child. She taught me English, proper British English. I spoke only Spanish outside of those lessons as a child and teenager. I had no reason to speak English regularly again until I was already an adult."
Jack nods. He thinks of the little bits of Spanish he learned in high school and how woefully underprepared that left him for actually speaking or understanding the language in practice. "So you never learned the slang."
"I did not. I understand a lot of it now," Martínez gestures around the room and Jack gets that he means here with Blackwatch. "But I still miss some of it. Using it takes more concentration than I feel like giving it when speaking English, unless I need to for a cover. And that does not always go well."
"I'll make you a deal," Jack says after finishing off his water and burying any questions he has about past missions. "You teach me to stay alive out there, and I'll try to catch you up on the English slang."
Martínez grins. "That is a deal I will make, Sunshine, since that is what I was already trying to do. You might be nicer about it than the rest of the assholes here." Jack almost snorts at the precise pronunciation of 'assholes.' Martínez holds out a hand and Jack shakes it. "Shall we keep teaching you how not to die?"
Jack laughs. "Sure. Let's do this."
A couple hours later, Jack pleads for mercy. His entire body feels like it is going to bruise, and he's sure that moving tomorrow will not be fun. Jack lies flat on his back on the mat, trying to catch his breath before crawling to the showers.
"Did you kill Sunshine?" Jack hears Reyes ask, his voice unconcerned. Jack picks his head up long enough to see the man standing in the doorway to their training room. He's sweaty, shirtless, breathing a little heavily, and way more than Jack can take. He drops his head back down to the mat to avoid the sight.
Jack hears Martínez reply in Spanish, but trying to translate the little bits that he can takes too much brain power right now.
"Sunshine?"
Jack opens his eyes again and sees Reyes standing right over him, face stretched into a grin. Wide, bright, and—is it a trick of the light or is Jack imagining things?—fond.
"Yeah?" Jack manages to keep his voice steady, but damn this man is trying to kill him.
"Mission planning in an hour. Rodríguez wants you there. You gonna be alive for it?"
"I'll manage," Jack replies, pushing himself to his feet. He's not about to pass on an opportunity to be more involved and prove himself to these guys. "See you there."
Jack manages what he sincerely hopes is a natural goodbye to Martínez as he leaves the room post haste. He's not running; he's retreating before he does something stupid. Like jump Reyes, vision of sweaty perfection that he is. Hopefully, he's fast enough in the showers to avoid that sight again and test the last of his self-control for the day.
March 2008
Jack flips through a Spanish-to-English dictionary, fumbling the pages deliberately. He's sitting in a little café across the street from what they believe is the headquarters of the Los Muertos gang. According to Reyes, Blackwatch has been keeping tabs on their activity for years, but has never been able to get close enough to find out who the gang heads are in order to take them out.
Jack is their latest attempt.
He's posing as an American tourist, on vacation from a high pressure sales job. Taking a week from the constraint strain of his job to relax in Dorado. Late nights out in the bars nearby, days spent exploring the city.
And if the bars and cafés that he frequents happen to all be near what they believe are the headquarters and hide-outs of the gang? Well, that's just a coincidence.
Reyes said that they've been trying to get people in close for years. And they're discovered every single time. No one on the team has been able to figure out how yet.
So now they're trying a new approach. Jack is so far outside of the norm for a Blackwatch infiltration that he should be unexpected, a safer bet. He also isn't getting too close. The goal is to use this set up for years to come. They're playing the long game with Jack.
As much as the team wants more information, to close this case once and for all, they just can't risk sending someone in closer until they figure out how the gang heads keep identifying their operatives.
So Jack's the first step in a very long, multi-step plan. And despite the danger, he's excited about it.
Jack looks up from the dictionary as his waitress approaches, deliberately fumbling a greeting in Spanish. He recognizes her as one of the potential operatives that Major Rodríguez gave him to memorize.
"What can I get you?" the waitress asks in perfect English.
"Oh thank god." Jack breathes a sigh of relief. "You speak English." Jack flips his dictionary closed, flashing the waitress what he hopes is a flirty smile. He knows it's probably not. Flirting with anyone, much less women, is not his strong suit. But the ineptitude should just play further into his cover story.
"Some," the waitress replies with a smile of her own. It only looks a little forced. "I learned in school."
Jack nods. "I wish I paid more attention in Spanish class. I remember nothing." She gives him a polite laughs and Jack picks up the menu, knowing he doesn't need to push too hard today or even this week. This trip is to lay the foundation for him to return here time and time again, to keep their slim information on the gang up to date. "What do you recommend?"
Jack agrees to her suggestion. It isn't anything he recognizes, but he's sure he can eat it so long as it isn't completely covered in chilies. His cover phone rings as she moves away and Jack answers it not breaking character, well aware of the people surrounding him. And that he can't trust any of them. "Fletcher."
"Dick, we need you back immediately," Rodríguez says through the line. Jack represses a cringe. He knows Reyes and López were screwing with him when they created his cover name.
"I'm on vacation," Jack protests.
"I understand that and I'm really sorry," Rodríguez says, sounding anything but. "We've had an emergency."
Jack keeps up his side of the conversation, doing his best to sound disappointed even as he forces down the initial panic. What could have happened that they're pulling him out? What do they need him on? Was his cover blown?
"We already got your flight changed. You just need to get to the airport in the next hour," Rodríguez tells him before hanging up.
Jack huffs and pockets his phone, pulling out his wallet instead as his waitress returns with his meal. Her smile fades as he stands and he flashes her an apologetic look. "Work emergency," Jack says, fighting to stay in his cover identity even as his mind is racing. "Thanks, but I have to go." Jack pretends to fumble with the unfamiliar money, deliberately handing over more than his meal cost. "I'm sorry."
The waitress pockets the money, not mentioning that Jack handed her far too much. "Hopefully, you can return."
"I hope so," Jack says, looking around like he's making sure he didn't forget anything. Really, he's looking to see if there's any evidence that he's been made. He takes the dictionary the waitress hands over with what he hopes is a sheepish smile, not seeing anyone or anything suspicious or out of place. "I didn't get to see much this time."
Jack turns and walks away. He can feel her gaze on his back as he goes. He hopes his cover is still intact, but there's nothing he can do about it now.
Jack checks out of his hotel as quickly as possible, accepting a partial credit for the rest of his week with a show of gratitude. He gets to the airport with just enough time to board a flight to Mexico City. He stops his fidgeting at the glare from the elderly lady sitting next to him, but his mind is still racing. He's trying to keep an eye on everyone on the flight, making sure no one's watching him too closely. He wouldn't put it past Los Muertos to take him out on the plane, outside of their known territory, if his cover really is blown.
He makes it through his flight unscathed. He holds himself back from rushing off the plane, walking with a feigned calm through the airport. He collects his bags and sees Martínez standing with a group of chauffeurs holding a sign with the name Fletcher on it.
"Sir?" Martínez says as Jack walks up and Jack gives him a nod. "There is a private flight waiting for you at a nearby airport. This way, please." Martínez's precise English fits in with the other drivers, his suit pressed and crisp.
Jack hands over his bag. He knows he's going to pay for that later, but he can't help having a little bit of fun with the man. Martínez, ever the professional, takes the bag calmly and without a word.
They make it to a generic car without issue. Martínez stores Jack's bag in the trunk as Jack slides into the back seat. Martínez pulls away from the airport and drives for some miles before he speaks. "We should be safe to talk now. The car is as soundproof as possible."
Jack leans forward with a frown. "What the fuck is going on? Was I made?"
"No, you are still good, Dick," Martínez chuckles and Jack pulls a face. Sunshine is bad enough. But Martínez's grin evaporates as he says, "Reyes got made in Chile."
"Fuck." Jack wracks his brain for the details of Reyes' assignment. Interrupting a drug and arms shipment along with Medina and López, if he remembers right. "What the hell happened?"
"Reyes was out scouting the area before the shipment came in. Medina called when he missed check in. They found signs of a struggle and tracked him back to a compound."
"Fuck." Jack signs leaning back in the seat.
"We are planning a rescue tonight. Fio is waiting to take us there. The rest of the team is already in position," Martínez adds and pulls into an empty field. Jack recognizes the plane and pilot waiting for them. He gets out and watches Martínez hand over the keys to a man he doesn't recognize.
Jack spends the flight pouring over the plans with Martínez. They know where Reyes is being held. They have a general idea of the resistance that they're going to encounter. The plan is to get in and out quietly, hopefully before the dealers even realize Reyes is gone.
Jack's going in with them because they don't know what condition Reyes is going to be in when they get to him. Arms dealers aren't exactly known for being nice to their prisoners.
Rodríguez and the rest of the squad are waiting for them at the landing strip. Jack takes the pack Medina hands him, grateful that he always keeps it stocked. It's a matter of minutes for him to double check that everything is where he left it, instead of wasted time having to scramble for supplies.
He tosses it into the transport and accepts Martínez's hand up, along with the guns and ammo he passes over once Jack is up.
Jack's cover meant he went to Mexico unarmed, and he's glad that Martínez grabbed his personal guns when they left base. Jack can shoot with anything, but he'd rather not have to. He feels better with weapons he's used to using.
Rodríguez goes over the plan one more time en route making sure everyone is on the same page. Quiet in and out. Medina on lookout from the outside. Martínez disabling the locks and security on the way in. No shots fired unless absolutely necessary. Teams of two searching the complex for Reyes. And whoever finds Reyes alerts Jack, unless he and López are the ones to find him. Or unless there's no need for a medic.
Jack really hopes there's no need. And not because they're hauling back a dead body.
Their transport car stops a little over a mile away. Everyone but Sanchez, who's guarding their way out, gets out and starts making their way through the forest like ghosts.
Medina breaks off first, finding a good spot to watch the likely access points and the guards around the complex.
Jack follows along as silently as he can, cringing at every stick he steps on. He knows this is his biggest weakness now. He picks his footing with care, just about stepping in Rodríguez's boot prints, while still keeping watch on his surroundings. And despite his efforts, he's still the loudest one in the group.
They reach the building unseen and Jack holds his breath, watching for guards during the long moments that it takes Martínez to disable the electronic lock.
No alarms go off and the door swings open soundlessly.
They break into pairs without a word. Jack and López find the nearest set of stairs and head down. Reyes is most likely being held in the basement, so that's where they are assigned to search.
The first few rooms are a bust, but they plow through. Jack slips the mechanical lock on the next room. His heart stops when he opens the door and takes in the sight.
Reyes is, at best, semi-conscious on the floor. A puddle of blood surrounds him, the amount of which explains his lack of alertness. He's also soaking wet and breathing rapidly. There's bruising already showing up on his face. And Jack doesn't doubt there are more injuries hidden by his clothes.
His doesn't see a source of the blood yet, after all.
Jack jumps right in, trusting López to watch their backs and signal the team while he works. He knows he needs to be quick. It looks like his captors left Reyes not too long ago, but that doesn't mean they won't be back soon.
"Reyes," Jack calls as loudly as he dares. He checks a pulse and thankfully finds it only a little weak and slightly tachycardic. "Gabe." He gets no response.
Swearing under his breath, Jack rubs Reyes' sternum hard. Reyes lifts a weak arm and tries to smack Jack away. "What the fuck?" Reyes slurs.
"Hey, Reyes," Jack says. He moves aside torn clothing with quick and efficient sweeps, looking for the source of the blood puddle he's kneeling in. He finds a plethora of cuts and bruises. Some of the cuts are deep enough to still be bleeding, but they don't seem to be the main source.
Reyes' eyes drift open and land on Jack with an unfocused gaze. "Sunshine?" he says, even more slurred than before.
"Yup," Jack replies absently. Jackpot. He found the blood source. Reyes' left leg is a litany of cuts, some deeper than others. One or two might have nicked an artery with the way they're spurting. Despite the amount of blood on the ground, it couldn't have happened to long ago or Reyes would be dead. "Here to bust you out," Jack adds, opening his pack and considering his choices. A tourniquet would work the fastest, but he knows Reyes will most likely not be able to walk on the limb that way.
Jack wrinkles his nose. He's not sure Reyes is walking out anyway, but having him able to at least help them drag him out would be better than not.
"Sunshine?" López hisses from the door.
"Give me a minute. I gotta stop this bleeding before we move him," Jack calls back, keeping his voice low.
López nods and resumes his watch without another word.
Jack tears open the quick clot and dumps it on the arterial bleed. He grabs bandaging and dressing and gets the rest covered while the quick clot works. Reyes can't stand to lose any more blood. And they don't need anyone tracking them by the trail.
Reyes doesn't so much as twitch while he works.
Once his wounds are dressed as well as they're going to be here, Jack shakes Reyes' shoulder. Bleary eyes blink back at him.
"We gotta get you up," Jack says, slinging his pack onto his back.
Reyes doesn't reply, but he doesn't fight Jack either. Once Jack starts pulling him to his feet, Reyes does his best to help. It's uncoordinated and weak, but it's a good sign.
López comes up on Reyes' other side to help, reaching out to grab his arm. Reyes flinches away hard enough that he almost falls back down. Jack steadies him as best he can, but they end up hitting the wall harder than anyone would like.
They pause, listening for any indication that they've been found out. Jack holds his breath and expects hostiles to rush in immediately. When silence reigns, he breaths out in relief.
López shoots Jack a concerned look from the other side of the tiny, bloodstained room. Jack shrugs. He has no idea what that was about. Instead of trying to figure it out, Jack just helps get Reyes back on his feet and shoulders more of his weight.
Reyes isn't a small man by any means, but Jack's trained for this. He balances both of them and nods López out of the room in front of him.
López stares at them for a moment. But he turns and checks both ways down the hallway before leading them out and back to the stairs.
Jack feels completely exposed. His guns are holstered and both hands are occupied keeping Reyes vertical, steady, and moving forward. Reyes isn't fighting him, but he doesn't have the strength to hold his own weight. And Jack's sure that it hurts like hell trying right now.
Jack pushes down his fear and keeps both of them moving forward. He sticks as close as he dares to López. He doesn't want Reyes freaking again, but falling behind isn't an option.
The stairs back up to the main level are a trial until about halfway up. Reyes seems to realize what they are doing and reaches out his arm on Jack's opposite side to steady himself. With that as a stabilizer, Jack at least doesn't feel like they're going to fall every other step.
They emerge from the gloomy building after climbing what feel like an endless number of steps. The rest of the team has rendezvoused and is waiting, still within the grounds of the complex. Jack's skin is crawling. There are longer sightlines now, more places from which the dealers could spot them.
As soon as López, Jack, and Reyes fall in, Rodríguez signals them off and back into the woods towards their waiting transport vehicle. As Jack resettles Reyes' arm over his shoulder, trying to get him a little steadier for the hike, he catches a sharp movement from López out of the corner of his eye. But López isn't quick enough to stop Martínez as he comes up on Reyes' off side, clearly intent on helping.
Reyes jerks back away from Martínez and this time Jack can't keep them upright. They end up in a pile on the forest floor. Jack stifles the grunt he wants to let out as Reyes' entire weight comes down on him. Reyes himself lets out a soft noise of pain. But their luck holds and the scuffle doesn't seem to attract any unwanted attention this time either.
Jack takes a second to breathe, so he can think. The others give them space, the rest of the crew picking up that something isn't right beyond the obvious injuries. One answer comes to mind: Jack likely looks nothing like Reyes' captors. The rest of the squad does. Reyes must know López and Martínez would never hurt him, but Jack bets his subconscious mind is having trouble differentiating that at the moment. Which means that Jack needs to carry him out of here on his own.
Jack squirms out from underneath Reyes' dead weight. He crouches back beside Reyes and rolls his shoulders, readying himself for the lift.
A tug on his pack stops him. He looks back and sees Martínez pulling on the shoulder strap of his pack. Jack stares at him for a split second until understanding dawns. He shrugs off the pack and hands it over, grateful. Martínez passes it off to López, who isn't carrying anything of his own beyond weaponry. Most of the squad isn't. Only Martínez, with his supplies to get them in the building, and Jack, with the medical supplies, are carrying packs.
No need to weigh themselves down for a quick in and out.
Without the additional baggage, pulling Reyes to his feet is easier. But it doesn't make getting back through the forest any less of a challenge. Reyes gets weaker with each step, leaving Jack to shoulder more weight as they go on. If it were flat ground, that would not be an issue. With the choked forest floor, the incline up to the high ground where they left the transport, and the suffocating dark of night, it's a miracle Jack doesn't trip every few steps.
He stumbles through. The journey not as fast or as quiet as any of them would like it to be. But they get there unscathed, their plan to be quiet and unseen working out against all odds.
Jack slumps against the hood of the vehicle, breathing heavily and trying to figure out how he is going to haul Reyes in by himself. Rodríguez moves slowly to Reyes' off side, coming closer when the man doesn't twitch. Jack frowns. As much as he's relieved to have help getting Reyes into the vehicle, it's a worrying sign.
They load up and Jack gets to work, checking what he can while bouncing through the forest in the back of a transport. Reyes is still breathing well, his pulse okay for the situation. The bleeding hasn't started back up that he can see. And he'll respond to pain, staying awake for short periods of time as they drive. He's lucid when he is awake, so Jack's not worried about a head injury. He's pretty sure it's the blood loss that is the biggest issue.
Reyes lets Rodríguez help Jack pull him out of the transport and into their plane. There, Jack has more supplies and more space to do some real work. He gets Reyes laid down and secured for take-off before hooking him up to the monitor in the plane, glad to see what he expected in his vital signs. He grabs his kit to start an IV. Then Jack tosses a bag of one of the blood replacement solutions and a bag of normal saline to Medina to spike and flush lines on.
Jack waits out the take-off and starts two IVs on Reyes as soon as the plane steadies, running the blood replacement into one and the saline into the other. He wipes away sweat that stings his eyes, grateful for the synthetic blood replacements. From what he's seen, they work and he can't exactly store blood or cross-match in the field, even if he had training in how to do that. Which he doesn't.
He pushes Zofran in through the saline line as a preventative measure, before sitting back to check Reyes over again. To make sure he didn't miss anything. He'd love to get the man some pain meds, but that's not an option with the amount of blood he's lost. He's just not stable enough for it right now.
Jack finishes, reassured that he's found the injuries. Reyes' lungs are clear, luckily. The soaking wet state Jack found him in had him worried.
"Sunshine?" Reyes slurs, focusing for the first time since his cell after receiving about half the liquid in the first set of bags. "That you?"
"Yeah, we got you," Jack says, checking a pressure dressing on Reyes' leg.
"Good," Reyes says, quiet as a sigh, and reaches out weakly with a hand. Jack pauses in his work and takes it. He knows it's just the blood loss, but Jack can't help his heart skipping a beat anyway with want. Reyes slumps against his arm and Jack steadies him, making sure the IVs are still flowing and keeping an eye on the monitor that shows Reyes' vitals. There's nothing else that he can do here and now. He just needs to keep him stable until the hospital can confirm there's no internal bleeding. And stitch up the external wounds.
He pushes down his stupid crush. It can wait.
The plane lands smoothly. Jack's glad to see a team from the hospital waits with a stretcher on the runway, ambulance poised to head out. Jack detaches the auxiliary stretcher that Reyes is strapped to and Medina takes the other end, helping him carry Reyes off the plane. Martínez follows hot on their heels, holding the bags of fluids. Reyes has slipped back under again and doesn't protest the jostling.
Jack relays all his information on Reyes' condition to the waiting team. They listen intently before wheeling Reyes off, taking him to the hospital for an actual transfusion and more testing, Jack's sure. And yet Jack stands on the runway, watching them go. He has an irrational urge to follow them. He knows he doesn't need to be there, but letting Reyes out of his sight right now is more difficult than Jack had expected.
A hand on his shoulder breaks his concentration. Martínez doesn't say a word. He just passes Jack his pack and physically turns him towards their part of the compound. He steers Jack at a brisk walk, only letting go once they get in their barracks and Jack breaks off to go to the infirmary. He needs to restock his pack, to make sure he's ready for next time.
He may not want a next time, but he knows that it's going to come no matter his feelings. It's the reality of what they do.
Jack replaces his used supplies and leaves his pack in its place in the infirmary. He debates the merits of just collapsing face first into his bunk, but decides against it. His pants are covered in blood from the puddle he kneeled in to stabilize Reyes, now dried and stiff to the touch. He's sweaty and dirty from the hike. And as exhausted as he is now that the adrenaline has worn off, he knows he needs to shower. So he forces himself to keep walking right on by his room.
He scrubs the blood, sweat, and dirt off mechanically, not thinking too hard about what is what and where he acquired it. He knows that scene in the compound is going to haunt his nightmares for years to come. No need to let it start any earlier than necessary.
As clean as he's going to get, Jack creeps into his room as quietly as possible expecting, correctly, that Martínez is already there and seems fast asleep. He strips down and falls into his bed, hoping for long, uninterrupted hours of sleep.
He's drifts into a hazy, dreamless fog for awhile until his body starts waking up without his input. Jack scrubs the crust out of his eyes as he comes to full alertness and sees Martínez still passed out in the other bunk. He's not sure how long he slept, if he can even call it that, but now that he is awake he needs to know how Reyes is doing. He quickly dresses and sneaks out of the room.
Jack grabs a protein bar and a mug of coffee from the kitchen in deference to the screaming demands of his body for food. Then he makes his way across the compound to the hospital, no longer drenched in sweat halfway there. He's finally adjusting to the climate. He wishes that he had the energy to be excited about that.
The nurse waves him right into Reyes' room when he climbs the stairs to the correct floor. Jack pushes the door open, immediately assessing Reyes appearance.
"Hey, Sunshine," Reyes says. He's sitting up in the hospital bed. He looks much better than when Jack last saw him. There's color to his skin, his eyes are no longer as sunken, and he's alert. Jack feels like he's letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Take a seat." Reyes pats the starchy covers next to him.
Jack pauses, boot scuffing on the tile floor. There isn't a chair nearby. His only seating option is the bed itself. He takes a seat on the very edge.
"Really? I don't fucking bite." Reyes pauses and smirks. "Not unless you ask me to."
It takes everything Jack has to let that slide with a roll of his eyes. But he uses the excuse to slide a little further onto the bed. "How you doin', Reyes?"
"Gabe," Reyes says.
"Huh?"
"You can actually use my first name, you know." Reyes leans back a little bit, and Jack can see the grimace that he's fighting to hide.
"Sure, Gabe," Jack laughs. "Do you even remember mine?"
"Nah. What the hell is it again?" Gabe smiles. "I guess you aren't bright and squeaky clean anymore, Mr. Dick Fletcher."
Jack shakes his head. He still doesn't know where the damn nickname came from, but his cover alias is worse by far. "Fuck you. Not that." Jack smacks at Gabe's right leg, about the only part of him that he remembers not being cut up or bruised.
"How was Mexico?" Gabe asks, kicking at Jack's hand to fend him off.
Jack's in the middle of relaying what little information he was able to gather before he was pulled out early when the hospital room door opens again.
"Well, you two look cozy," Martínez says from the doorway, still looking exhausted. "I was coming to see if you needed company, Captain, but Sunshine apparently beat me to it."
Jack is jerked back to reality from the little bubble he didn't realize he'd entered. He abruptly remembers that he's sharing a bed, however innocently, with Gabe and tries not to blush bright red. He almost trips over his feet as he stands up, putting a bit of physical distance between them.
"Ah, going so soon, Jackie?" Gabe looks like he's fading fast despite the teasing.
"I'll be back later," Jack says, stepping further away. "See if I can't smuggle you in some actual fucking edible food. The stuff in here is shit." Jack flees the room before either of them can say anything, and does his best to ignore Martínez's all too knowing smirk.
April 2009
Jack slumps down next to his kit, staring at his hands. The rational side of his brain knows that he washed all of the blood not caught by gloves off of them. But he can't help seeing flecks dotting his fingers, feeling the sticky slide of it on his skin, tasting a coppery tang in the air. And seeing blood on his hands is better than the other images trying to crowd in.
If he washes them any more, they're going to get even redder and chapped. They'll betray his state of mind and he can't have that. Especially now. He can't give anyone reason to question his mental state. The team is already in shambles. He can't leave the survi—Jack swallows hard. He can't leave the others without him as well.
He needs a distraction.
He pulls his kit over towards him and dumps everything out, organizing it so he can figure out what he needs to replace. He honestly can't remember everything he used. It was all too much, too fast for him to have kept a mental tally of supplies.
The rest of the squad is busy sleeping or processing in their own way. Except Gabe who is still away on emergency family leave, even if it is unofficial. Jack can't decide if he's glad Gabe was absent from this mission, or if he's mad that he wasn't there for them. That he missed it all, that he's not here now for the aftermath.
Jack thinks back to the all the blood and squeezes his eyes shut. Glad. He's glad.
Either way, no one should be in to bother him for a while. He'd already checked over the rest of the injured, walking two over to the hospital on base for the docs to check out, because he just wasn't sure.
He knows his guys hate the hospital and he tries to keep them out of it. They've finally learned to go when he says they need it, even if he does have to physically haul some of them over to get them there in a timely manner.
Jack spreads everything out over the floor around him, losing himself in counting and checking the equipment, occasionally stretching to reach a cabinet to replace lost equipment. Mundane tasks in an effort to calm his mind, to block out his thoughts.
The door to their makeshift infirmary opens and Jack glances up.
Gabe strides in. And despite everything, Jack can feel the hiccup in his heartbeat. He blinks a few times, surprised. Gabe looks almost as bad as the rest of the squad had when Jack sent them off to get some sleep, worn down to the last after the long drawn out debrief with Petras. He tries to think, to trace how long it's been since the mission went to hell. The days have run together, and he honestly can't remember. He knows, logically, it took days to regroup, pull back, and find a secure way back to base. So a week, maybe? It somehow feels like it just happened, and at the same time like it's been an eternity.
Gabe cuts right over any greeting Jack's foggy brain could dredge up. "I just got done meeting with fucking Petras. How much of a shitstorm was it? Really?" Gabe crouches on the floor, close to where Jack is sitting. Jack distantly notes that he takes care to avoid the piles of equipment spread all around, and he appreciates it.
Jack shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the images that immediately flood his mind at Gabe's question. Major Rodríguez's body blown into several different pieces from a trap no one saw until it was too damn late. Martínez bleeding out right fucking in front of him, life slipping through Jack's fingers, as he scrambled to stop it in vain. He still hears the whispers of the man's last words, telling Jack it was okay, that he knew there was nothing Jack could do. Half of the rest of the squad sporting injuries that will keep them out of the action for weeks, and Jack can picture every last one in horrifying detail. Nobody came out of that hellish debacle unscathed, and the ones that did walk away barely came out alive.
Los Muertos had gotten the jump on them once again. And they'd known where to strike, all but eliminating the chain of command in one blow. The Major was the first to fall, and Martínez had been serving as his temporary second during Gabe's leave. It'd taken everything Jack had left to pull the straggling remains of the team together and get them to retreat, a hailstorm of bullets on their heels.
Jack steels himself before laying the entire mission out for Gabe. He buries his emotions and just pushes through the explanation, trying to treat it like a standard debrief. Same as he had done with Petras, but twice as fucking hard because these are people Gabe knows and cares about. Jack knows him well enough now to see it written all over his face, in the deep furrow between his brows, the miserable twist to his mouth, the heaviness in his eyes. Unlike fucking Petras, who Jack's pretty sure just sees them as fucking chess pieces in some goddamn game.
And Gabe's likely going to get command. He should get command no matter what Petras thinks of his so called disappearing act after Petras delayed signing for his leave. He's going to need to know what happened to pull the squad back together.
"Okay." Gabe nods when Jack runs out of words, when he can't explain anything more right now. "You almost done here?"
Jack looks around at his supplies, things half packed, and shrugs. He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to stop working, to let his brain think about things again.
"Come on, Sunshine," Gabe says with a little smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You need to get some sleep, too. I saw you got everyone else squared away."
Jack narrows his eyes at the nickname. No one in the squad has used it for months. Not since they started trusting Jack to actually have their backs. And Jack gets it, really. He's the blond haired, blue eyed farm boy running spec ops in Latin America. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Everyone else can blend in, some better than others. But Jack is marked as an outsider from the moment someone sees him.
They've all learned to work with it. To use it as an asset. But it's taken time. And it took someone reaching out first, like Martínez—
Jack clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his thoughts back on track. The squad is close knit enough to not accept outsiders easily. Jack's on the inside now. But he paid his dues. If Petras tries to assign them a new commander from outside, it is not going to go well.
It's taken Jack two years, and his biggest role is pulling their asses out of the fire and patching them up. How long would it take them to accept someone new, and accept them enough to follow them into hell?
When he opens his eyes, Gabe stands in front of him holding a hand out. Jack looks at the piles around him before accepting it. He knows Gabe will stand there as long as necessary. Stubborn son of a bitch.
"It'll still be there in a few hours. No one's gonna mess with it," Gabe says, pulling him to his feet. "And no one is shipping out any time soon. It can wait."
Jack nods, accepting that Gabe is not going to just leave him the hell alone, and lets Gabe lead him out of the room with a hand on his shoulder. It takes more effort than Jack has left to not lean into that hand. He hopes Gabe will just read it as exhaustion.
Over two years in and Jack's helpless crush hasn't gone away. If anything, it's gotten progressively worse as he's gotten to know the man. He doesn't think Gabe's noticed, and Jack plans on keeping it that way.
The only one who knows is—was Martínez. Jack swallows roughly and forces that thought away.
Gabe wraps an arm around his shoulders when Jack stumbles in the hallway. Maybe he is more tired than he thought.
Gabe pulls Jack through a doorway and he goes without protest. But he stops in the middle of the room, blinking as his brain registers the unfamiliar surroundings. This is not the room he's shared with Martínez for two years.
An involuntary laundry list starts rolling through Jack's brain at the thought and he swallows hard. He needs to pack up Martínez's belongings and find an address for his sister to send them to her. He's going to need to get someone to translate a letter of condolence into Spanish for him, too. He doesn't trust himself to do it, even if his Spanish has improved, and he doesn't want to send her some clinical note in a language that's not her first. Not for this. She and Martínez deserve better.
"You don't need to be alone right now," Gabe cuts into Jack's thoughts. He sounds so reasonable about it that Jack can just nod, no argument coming to mind. He wants nothing more than to pretend none of this happened, to delay his responsibilities a little. He wonders if Gabe gets it. "Especially in that room."
A hard lump lodges itself in Jack's throat as he stands still, unable to move from the spot in the middle of the room. His chest tightens and his emotions threaten to overwhelm him. He's apparently reached the end of his rope. He looks around quickly, breath starting to come short. He needs to get out of here before he breaks. This can't happen here. He needs to get somewhere, anywhere that isn't here. He needs to get away from everyone. No one can see.
"Hey, hey, Sunshine." Gabe is suddenly right in his face, hands gripping Jack's shoulders. "I got you."
Jack tries to pull back, to run away. Gabe is having none of it. He wraps him up in a hug before Jack can escape. And Jack just loses it.
Jack breaks down sobbing into Gabe's shoulder, no longer able to contain himself, to hide away. Despite the initial efforts Jack made to keep him at arms length and avoid anything embarrassing or potentially career threatening from his stupid crush, Gabe is arguably his best friend here or really anywhere, outside of maybe Ana. But Martínez was a close second. He was the first to reach out and befriend the out of place white farm boy with a warmth that was genuine. He taught Jack more about how not to die out there than he's picked up anywhere else. He split his care packages from his sister with Jack. He shared his life with Jack.
And what did Jack give him in return? Not one fucking thing. Instead Jack let the man bleed out, unable to do anything except hold his hand and listen to him in the end.
Rationally, he knows that nothing else had been possible. That Martínez had lost too much blood already and was losing more at an uncontrollable rate. But he's having a hard time forcing himself to believe it.
Seeing Rodríguez blown apart is one thing. Nothing he can do there, even though he's sure he's going to find every angle of that later.
Martínez, though. That was something he could have been able to help. Sure, he would've had to be right on top of him to get to the femoral bleed in time. But he could have stopped it. He just fucking couldn't get to Martínez in time.
Jack squeezes his eyes shut, tries to take in gulps of air that won't come. Could've, should've, would've. So many facets to Jack's failure. He should have been in the right spot, but he wasn't. And Martínez paid for it with his life.
Jack has no idea how long they stand there, Gabe holding him up in a patient embrace until he can get a handle on his tears and his breathing quiets. Then Gabe takes charge, backing him up with careful steps to set him on the edge of one of the bunks. Jack vaguely registers his voice, but he's emotionally and physically exhausted and has no idea what Gabe is saying. It sounds soothing, but for all Jack knows it might be an order to rest, to get some sleep. Jack tries to find it in himself to feel embarrassed, to regret his uncontrolled display. He doesn't have energy left to care, so he just sits and waits for Gabe to pat him on the shoulder and leave him in silence.
But Gabe sits down beside him. And despite the emotional mess, he stays. He doesn't back off at all. Just stays right there with him, an arm around his shoulders, listening. Jack's sure he's had a hell of a week of his own, based on the man's appearance. But he stays and listens to Jack. And gives him comfort.
Eventually Jack registers that he runs out of words and tears. His voice is hoarse, and he's wrung out. He feels old and tired. He knows that Gabe somehow gets him laying down. But everything is vague and confused as though he's experiencing it through a thick, dense fog.
Instead of trying to figure it out, Jack follows the pull of sleep. He just doesn't care anymore.
Jack wakes sometime later, limbs feeling like they weigh hundreds of pounds each. He's not sure he could move if he wanted to. He blinks a few times, trying to clear the grit out of his eyes. He recognizes he's in the barracks from the generic, familiar furnishings, but he can't pinpoint the specific room. It's definitely not his own. Window's in the wrong spot and the sun isn't hitting him right in the eyes as it rises. If it even is morning right now.
The bunk he can see across from him is neat and empty, and it's clear no one has occupied it for some time. Definitely not his room.
As his surroundings start to register, he realizes that there are a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, and another body presses up against him. Jack snorts a little. The bunks are barely big enough for one person. Jack's not sure how another person is balancing on the bunk with him without sending either of them toppling.
Jack stiffens as some of the details of last night crash into his brain. He's not sure he wants to know what he said because that can only be one person behind him. Unless he's forgetting a whole hell of a lot more from last night.
His suspicion is confirmed when he hears Gabe chuckle in his ear.
"You're okay, Jackie." Gabe's voice sounds rough with sleep, but awake enough that he could have moved before Jack got up; Jack's sure he would have slept through someone climbing over him, no problem. Instead, Gabe's arm tightens around him.
"How—" Jack clears his throat when his voice comes out unintelligible.
Gabe rubs a hand up and down Jack's arm in what he suspects is supposed to be a soothing manner. But it just makes Jack freeze up more.
"You kind of held me hostage last night," Gabe answers the question Jack tried to ask.
Jack groans, finally waking his limbs up enough to pull away from Gabe and sit up. He can't believe he did that. "I'm so sorry." Jack says, hoping that he can come up with some reasonable explanation for this in the next few seconds. They've shared quarters before on missions without Jack forcefully cuddling the man. His brain is still a fog though and nothing comes to mind.
"Hey, you needed it." Jack feels Gabe shifting around behind him. "It's not like I minded. Would've moved you or me, if I did. Pretty sure I can take you. Especially when you're half asleep."
Jack feels himself blushing and he buries his face in his hands. Even his damn ears are burning.
Gabe chuckles and shifts some more, and Jack feels a hand on his back. He raises his head enough to see Gabe sitting next to him now. He seems to be watching Jack, gauging him for a response. When Jack doesn't say anything, he says, "We can write this off, if you want. Comfort after a hard mission. One time thing. Never has to happen again."
Jack meets his eyes and can't look away. Gabe's words are loaded with meaning, and he tries to force his brain to parse it out. Something in Gabe's deep gaze makes him whisper, "Or?"
"Or." Gabe starts leaning a little closer and Jack can see affection sparkling in his tired eyes. "We can both admit we've been hiding some pretty big feelings here." Gabe pauses. "And use this as a starting point. Come clean to each other."
Jack stares at Gabe in shock, unable to believe what he hearing. Gabe is hiding nothing right now, and his emotions are clear to see on his face. Jack might be pretty bad at reading people, but he'd have to be blind to miss this one.
Jack stops himself when his brain tries to spin into overdrive and overthinking. He knows what he wants. It might not be the smart option, but he's going to take it. Consequences be damned for once. He clears his throat before speaking. "I'll take option number two."
"Yeah?" Tempered though it is by their losses, Gabe's grin is blinding. And Jack can feel himself returning it before he meets Gabe halfway.
They're both smiling too much for it to be much of a kiss, but it still feels like a promise to Jack.
Unfortunately, reality comes crashing back in far too soon. Jack pulls back and takes a good long look at Gabe. Despite the hours of sleep they've stolen, Gabe still looks like shit. He still has deep circles under his eyes and looks pale and a little shaky. Like he's been too busy to eat and sleep before now.
It reminds Jack that he had disappeared with barely a word to anyone, despite Petras denying him any kind of leave. No one in the squad knows why, but Jack has the feeling Gabe's desperation was spurred by some kind of bad news.
"You okay?" Jack asks, holding back the urge to reach out and touch. He doesn't want the first thing he does to be overstepping the bounds of this new thing between them.
Gabe shrugs, folding inward a little. "Nothing a little sleep and some food won't fix." He shifts away to lean back against the wall and Jack fights the instinct to follow him. "Found my nephew," Gabe says and it surprises Jack. Gabe swallows. "Got custody sorted. Took him back to LA. My mamá's taking care of him for now."
Jack opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a pitiful little, "Ah." Something must have happened to his nephew's parents. Does that mean the kid is Gabe's responsibility now? On top of everything else? But from the look on Gabe's face, it's the last thing he wants to discuss so Jack nods and files that thought away for later.
The thought of Gabe with a kid puts a funny feeling in Jack's chest, but he squashes that too, not sure how he feels about it. He's not sure he has any reason to feel anyway about it either. This relationship, or whatever, is way to new for Jack to start thinking about what a life together would be like with a kid or kids. He may want to plan forever and ever to have and to hold after one half-assed kiss, but that doesn't mean Gabe does.
Jack pushes the thoughts away. Either way it's too damn early to worry about. He may be too far gone too quickly. Doesn't mean Gabe is too.
"And Petras?" Jack asks, focusing on the here and now.
Gabe growls low in his throat. "He had no fucking reason to deny me leave. And can't write me up for it without making himself look like an incompetent ass. It'll be fine. I'd love to know why he fucking denied it in the first place. There were no grounds. But I doubt the ass will ever tell me." Gabe reaches over and tugs at Jack's arm, pulling him back to sit against the wall with him.
Jack goes easily, leaning into the contact.
"How are you?" Gabe asks, gaze searching Jack's face.
Jack shrugs. He doesn't want to rehash everything he broke down over last night. "I'll be fine," he answers instead, looking anywhere but at Gabe.
"You sure?" Gabe threads an arm around Jack's shoulders but doesn't force Jack to face him.
"I will be." Jack pauses. "I have to be."
Gabe huffs, but it sounds tired. "Don't we all?"
Jack gives him a weak smile, grateful that Gabe doesn't push. He bites his lip and then says, "Got a favor to ask though. Can you translate a letter to Martínez's sister for me?"
"Of course." Gabe pulls Jack a little bit closer and Jack goes willingly. "We'll pack his stuff up later today, too."
Jack nods, glad that he doesn't have to face that task alone. He sinks into Gabe's embrace and relishes the warmth. He could stay here all day, if only—
A knock on the door thunders loud and harsh in the still room. Jack's heart pounds in time with it, panic flooding his chest as he leaps to his feet. He takes two long, silent strides to the other bunk and slides in, pulling the covers up and doing his best to look like he's been there all night.
He glances back at the other bunk once he's settled. Gabe hasn't moved, but Jack can see the tense concern mirrored on his face. He nods once Jack is ready and only then does he get up to answer the door, movements sluggish enough to suggest he just woke.
Jack knows that if they are going to do this, this is only the beginning.