Oh boy. Here we go again with dem flashbacks. I'm sure most you are like 'GOD DAMN IT WOMAN HOW WE SUPPOSED TO KEEP TRACK OF THIS SHIT!'
quite simple-If its in Miami, it's little Jay (whom I for some reason think was probably the cutest kid) and if it's in the desert then its big Jay who is a hunk and who I really want to know what the fuck happened to his convoy. And mouse. And like everything. Swear to god I wish my wish my story line for his time in Afghanistan becomes canon because the whump-*takes deep breath to stop rant*
Warning: strong themes in this one-tiny mentions of sexual abuse
Song: First Transmission - Battleship OST (best soundtrack ever just saying)
Please enjoy. And Revieeeeeeewwwwwww.
Armed Convoy, just outside of Nuremberg, Germany.
"Commence mission debrief."
"At zero two hundred hours last night, a distress call was received in place of a blacklisted base in the benghazi province. The communications device was code name Santi, and until three seconds before the call, it's status was deemed unusable and for lack of better term, dead."
United Nation's Embassy Building, Single Trials Meeting Room. Berlin, Germany.
3,544 miles Northeast of the Afghanistan Border.
Jessica's P.O.V.
The room is designed like a small court intended to have no jury. Six people sit at a table that rounds to form a half circle. In front of them is another table,moon and straight, that seats five or so army generals. The seemingly most important one, that sits in the direct center of the straight table, talk with an annoying haughtiness.
"Fifty six people have died miss Novack, that's not something I take lightly."
She simply smiles and continues chewing her gum, her pair of aviators hiding her eyes.
"Neither do I, general. That's a pretty decent kill count for only one person with a knife." The sarcasm dances in her voice, tap dancing closely with disdain.
"It is unclear who or what exactly transmitted, the only clear message was a Morse code S.O.S."
"Ever since Corporal Longsworth died and Constable Braddock left, your team has been far past reckless."
"Hey sweetheart? You bring up my team like that again and I promise you, you will find out what your left ball tastes like." The disdain has faded now, to be replaced with searing anger. The man trying to reprimand us already has our disgust. Now he has our hatred too.
"Lieutenant!"
"Oh I'm sorry! Did I offend you? I thought that was the whole point of this conversation! My mistake, I suppose you must've actually dragged us in here to discuss something more important than how my team operates!" It is clear now. There will be no paid respect to this man, now or ever. Most of us have no tolerance for greed and politics. I am no exception.
"Halstead-"
"Second lieutenant actually. And general if you really wanted to discuss my behavior, you could have just called." The man sitting to my left speaks up suddenly, one foot on the rung of my chair, allowing him to slouch in his. You couldn't tell if you didn't really know him, but he's only doing that as to hide his pain. Behind his own pair of circular aviators lies a lot of discomfort in his eyes. The last mission didn't go so well for him. It wasn't bad, but it was enough that we are all pretty protective of him right now.
"This province is home to the most insecure area of the Middle East ever to have an American soldier walk foot on it more than once. Almost worse than Baghdad."
"How is that? Baghdad is a modern day death camp."
"Yes. The fun part about it though, is you can see it coming. When you are traveling to an lost military base rumored to be controlled by people worse than Isis, the threat won't be so nice as to walk up to you with a gun."
"He killed-"
"Thirty six people in less than two hours without using more than his bare hands and two double sided k-bars, yes I am aware."
"And you approve of his actions." She leans forward, placing two bruised knuckle hands on the table in front of her.
"Every one of those people had a direct hand in kidnapping, torturing, and/or raping and killing American soldiers. One of them specifically put a bullet through Corporal Longsworths head. Yes general. I approve of his actions."
"The only piece of information given to the identity of this communication was the signature left in coded in the message."
"And this was?"
"A Ranger sir. It was opened using an outlet from their database."
"Corporal Langsworth was killed by friendly fire."
"That's the official statement, yes."
"That is what really happen, Lieutenant."
"No sir, that's what you wanted to happen. That's what you let your son believe happened. And the second I can prove it, will be the last second of your military career as well as the end of any relationship you have with your son. Now. Any more questions or can we get back to work?"
"This is not what we authorized your team to do." Another smirk. This guy's a real idiot. Sorry Sam, but for a guy not to be able to read our body language when we are this obviously riled up, he must need his eyes gouged out because they weren't working in the first place. Every one of us is tense, Jay is trying hard not to say anything, and Jess on the other side of me is trying hard to control her breathing as to not kill anyone.
"Not you, no. But I do believe that the commander and chief of the American Army has a higher authority level than you."
"You're sure of this?"
"We checked six times sir. There is no mistake. It was a Ranger distress call."
"Where are they now?"
"The joint black op special mission task force out of the fifty fourth regiment is currently in a commanders meeting in Germany."
"All of them accounted for?"
"The remaining members yes."
"You will be court martial end for this!" The general should get angry more often. I think the shade of red his face is turning is fantastically hilarious.
"No, actually we won't. You need us too much. Especially for that odd looking transmition you just received from the benghazi province." Gotta love when people think we don't know everything.
"How the hell do you know-"
"No worries general Braddock, we'll be on the ground by O two hundred, Berlin time. I'll be sure to leave no blood stains this time. Hopefully that will sedate your press issue."
"Are they aware of the situation?"
"Last I was informed, they were leaving the meeting as fast as possible, aiming on gearing up by zero one thirty."
"I understand that Baker, but are they aware."
"That it was a Ranger signature? No sir. They are not aware."
"Damn."
"Sir? What does this mean? I've checked every known position of every active black op. team...everyone's accounted for by word of commander, no one coded in as under duress."
"...call everyone in."
"Sir?!"
"I don't care the priority of the mission. Everyone comes back into safe zone. No one goes back to their base. Do it quickly, do it quietly."
"Yes sir. Dark run protocols initiated."
"Sedate my press issue?! The press isn't the concern! The problem is your team just killing everyone and doing everything you want without command!"
"This is about interrogations?!" I blurt out. Everyone stares for a moment before what clicked in my mind, clicks in theirs. Rachel sits back in amusement, staring at the generals in front of her, seemingly awed at their audacity.
"If you wanted people to punch you coulda just said so. "
"Yeah, What's the matter? The psychos at Guantanamo getting hungry for fresh blood?" I smack Jay in the stomach, giving him a look. He jerks straight up, shifting back in his seat with a barely audible hiss of pain, making me instantly contrite.
"Nah. He's just mad we've been keeping him out of the loop." Adams jumps in, mock answering Jays question. The four other commanders haven't said a word this whole time, just simply watched the fight with a hidden delight. Even his peers don't like Braddock senior.
"Have you gotten a call in to Rachel yet?"
"No sir, signals still being block. Must still be in the meeting."
"I thought you said they were leaving as soon as possible. Who's the meeting with?"
"Um...the four assisting commanders as well as General Braddock."
"Fanfuckingtastic."
"Sir once they leave that building they will turn off all communication in preparation for the op. If then go in…"
"There is no possible way that's one of our own sending that signal. It's the most blatant trap there could be."
"Baker?"
"Yes sir?"
" I'm aware."
The General stiffens, his face morphing into a look of cold hatred.
"If you think Matt or my son would approve of what you are doing in their absence-" Rachel stands abruptly, knocking her chair over in the process.
"YOU SON HELPED ME PLAN THE GOD DAMN MISSION!" She roars, white hot fury evident in every muscle, every outline of her body. The rest of us either cringe or stay statue still at her tone. It's a scary thing when Rachel gets that angry. Bowing her head slightly she takes a deep breath, seeming to compose herself.
"The next time you dare to threaten my team, I will personally throw you into a pack of wild hungry dogs in the middle of the afghan desert. Now. You can go fuck yourself. We have work to do." We do not wait for her to tell us when, we all just stand and follow her out, as if silently commanded. As I stand I discreetly move forward and grab Halsteads arm, pulling him softly towards the door. I fucking told him not to go to the meeting, but does he ever listen to me? Nooooo. And now he's as white as a piece of chalk, is shaking, and we are about to go on a mission to one of the most dangerous places on earth.
Fucking great.
Jays P.O.V.
I really, really hate morphine. Like. With a passion. Partly because whenever I can feel the effects of morphine, it means I'm in a hospital. And I hate hospitals.
Also partly because of what morphine does to me. For a lot of people it makes them really loopy and they can't control their tongue. For others everything is the funniest shit ever.
For me, everything is really, really heavy. I can't really make my body move without some supreme effort. Just simply keeping my eyes open is something I normally can't manage for more than five minutes. It's as though somebody put a ton of heavy warm blankets over me. My body and subconscious absolutely love it. Two thirds of my whole being too comfortable to care how messed up I really am.
Which is why I hate it so much. My thoughts and memories and reason in general tend to float like a balloon filled with sulfur hexafluoride*. Everything is deeper, easier to sink down into my diluted memory so that I only remember it in some fucked up dream three months from now.
Needless to say, the drug makes me feel so good it's like nothing matters anymore. Which includes basic bodily functions. I've actually been tested to see if I was allergic to morphine because when one time they gave it to me and I stopped breathing.
What can I say? I felt really, really good. Who needs oxygen anyway? Besides all those heavy blankets they had on my made it hard to expand my chest.
So, the previous would be why I was vaguely surprised and concerned that there was no tube down my throat when I woke, but then again, I simultaneously didn't care.
Another cool part of drugs is that it allows my consciousness to float from subject to subject without a care.
"Jay. Jay wake up." That voice. I know that voice. It's from something. A memory, something triggered from long ago. She said the same words then as I was returning from a groggy unconsciousness.
You know what else morphine does? It tears down my so carefully constructed walls, the ones that protect me from what I've seen and what I've done. Which means I just kinda drift through memories while asleep.
"C'mon Halstead I don't have a lot of time." Ironic how a ten year old can be running late for something. And it's definitely not school because she doesn't go.
Wait. Wait, wait, wait. That voice isn't ten years old.
"Jay your team is going to be in here any second, I need to know your ok."
Wat.
With a moan I peel open my eyes, blurred blobs of color being my only result.
"Rachel?" I whisper, voice rather weak. And painful. I feel as though my throat is made of little needles that prick with every vibration of the word. I cough, but only once as fire tears through my body for a moment before the drugs in my veins quel it to a dull smolder.
"Hey, Jay." The reply comes from my left, a blond haired person standing in the shadowed corner. She walks up and squeezes my hand before rubbing her thumb back and forth across my wrist. I relax under the motion that has always meant a simple yet rare concept for us: 'safe'.
"You're gonna be okay. "
"Yeah." I murmur, my tongue feeling awkward and, you guessed it- heavy. This seems different though, even in my doped up state I've never been so...wrong. In fact my whole body feels weird, like it's disconnected from something. I have the vague impression that she says more words, but the colored blobs mix and suddenly I'm dragged under again, only feeling a slight uneasiness at what part of my life sleep will bring for me.
…
The car moves smoothly along the cracked pavement, only small bumps and inertia change being the only things that alert me to the fact that we are moving. Turn after turn, the city lights just barely shining through the blacked out windows.
We must be in Dare's car. The black Camaro has always been a favorite between Rachel and I. Ironically we're another small enough to fit in the back seat. So then it must be her cradling my head in her lap, holding my head still and whispering reassurances in my ear.
Not that they help. In all the beatings I've received, I have never, ever, felt this kind of pain. It's like my entire body was subject to a meat pulverized. Every bone, every muscles pulses with deep, screaming aches and this pressure that I know means I'm in shock. If I wasn't I'd be able to feel every pinpoint of white hot fury that my father inflicted on me.
This all is nothing compared to my chest and back, where agony spikes with every breath. It feels like I'm broken, like something important in me is shattered and out of place. I let out a moan, fear shooting through my bones. Am I dying?!
"No. No your not. I won't allow it." A reply comes, one that I wasn't expecting. I said that out loud? Damn. Something wetlands on my cheek.
"Ray?" I whisper, this time with more intention than before.
"Yeah Jay?"
"Are 'u cr'n?" There's a pause, followed by an indignant 'no.' Then as if just to spite her, more teardrops land on my face. The salt stings my face were it was cut by his ring. I feel like I'm floating, drifting into a place where nothing is obliged to exist.
"Jay! Jay, stay awake!"
"'m aw'ke." My lips feel heavy and the words seem to combine into one slur of sound. I wonder if I even talked at all, or if my thought are just swirling around to much. A few minutes later, I feel the car stop. My eyes, which had been cracked in slits, slid closed. It's too much work to open them, it too much.
Too much pain. Too much that is broken. I can't fight anymore Rachel, I can't. I'm so sorry.
The very last thing I hear is a spoken apology directed not at me, and a statement of forgiveness that seems to jump right past me in disgust that I could ever think I was worthy of it.
Erin's P.O.V.
"April?" Antonio's head jerks from its position on the wall. I glance at the clock on the wall, cringing at extremely early hour, before giving Dawson an apologetic look. The nurse stops her brisk walk at my call.
After some time debating our next move, we all settled on tag teaming the hospital, doing as much research as possible on the gang we fought against. My fingers still hurt from typing for so long. We looked up every possible angle, from the video cameras stationed on every floor of the building (Mouse was right, Ruzek did get his ass handed to him), to the symbols on the ways and the tattoos on the bodies in the morgue.
Unfortunately, for a while we got no where. At around nine, all the coroner's reports came in, giving us more information on each man, but identities of them were hard to come by. It seemed as if everything, every tat, every scar, every face just never existed. No priors on any of them, no prints in the system, no affiliations. Nothing.
Needless to say, by teen we were all too tired to continue the search, but too restless to go home and get some rest. Which left most of us battling the shit ton of paperwork we had to do. It was too our relief however, when the doctor Rhodes dude came in around midnight, informing us that he took Jay off the ventilator. Something about his stats being higher than expected. They wanted to get him off the machine as quickly as possible so his body wouldn't become dependent on it.
That said, Rhodes informed us he didn't expect Jay to wake up for a while, and tried to encourage us to go home. When met with condescending stares, he just smiled wryly.
"Didn't think so. I'll send a nurse to bring you to his room once he's situated." Was he said before exiting. We packed our stuff as well as possible in the conference room we had basically confiscated for the total of the eleven hours. And likely more.
But that conversation had been an hour ago and I am starting to wonder exactly why it takes highly trained hospital staff a full sixty minutes to move one man in a bed with wheels down one floor.
"What's up?" I look behind me, seeing the rest of the team stirring from whatever twilight they had allowed themselves to drift into. Turning back to the dark skinned woman I lower my voice slightly.
"Do you have any information on Jay? Rhodes said they'd let us know what room he was in but it's been a while and no one's said anything. Did something happen?" Despite my low tone I can feel the perked ears behind me, most of the guys standing and stretching before walking slowly to join me. Not that I'm entirely focused on them, I can just feel the presence of bodys standing behind me, just as interested as I am to find out the answer to my question, especially since Sextons face is painted with surprise.
"Nothing happened. His vitals have been holding steady for a couple hours now. He was moved about forty five minutes ago." She glances at us in confusion.
"You didn't know?" I shake my head, putting my her confusion down to the thought that one of the staff must have forgotten.
"I was under the impression she was with you guys. She said she'd tell you." I fell Alvin shift next to me, the rest of the team just as confused-and worried-as I am.
"Who's she?" He asks. April just shakes her head.
"I don't know, didn't get a name. Blond girl, kept her hair up in a high ponytail. Had a weird outfit on too."
"You give patient information to everyone you meet? Don't even bother with a name?" April looks at Ruzek, an angered look on her face.
"Yeah smart ass, I personally mail it to all your enemies too." She throws the sarcastic remark at him before rolling her eyes and turning back to me.
"She had a badge. And I was told by my superiors and him-" She nods to Voight..
"-that you guys are all his family. So I didn't see a reason not to tell her the room number. She said she'd tell you guys so to spare me the trouble." There's a pause, then realization dawns her features.
"She's...not part of intelligence is she." I grab her shoulders, fear for my partner in my next sentence.
"What room?!"
"316. Upstairs on the left." Instantly I'm running down the hall, slamming my shoulder into the stair access door, Alvin, Dawson, Ruzek and Atwater all jogging after me. I know Voight is probably starting to ask her about the appearance of the girl, but I give little thought to it as I run up the concrete steps, instead mentally berating myself over the mistake.
'Stupid, stupid, stupid! We didn't even think of someone coming after him-or us! We go against a secretive gang that beheads people and don't expect any retaliation!? Call yourself a cop?! He could be dead because of you! Why did you wait so long to ask!?'
Bursting out of the stair well, I sprint down the higher corridor, my eyes skimming the left side as the number go by in a blur.
'310...312...314…316-'
I skid to a halt outside the doorway, my hands catching the doorframe. Quickly looking through the window, I can only see a body lying in the dimly lit room. Calmed slightly by the absence of anyone else in there with him, I silently open the door, pulling my gun. Panting behind me quiets, then Antonio and Ruzek follow behind me in a similar manner, guns drawn as they check the bathroom and closet.
"Clear." I call out, standing up from my crouched used to check under the bed. Two more yells just like it sound from the room. Slowly we congregate around the bedside, holstering our weapons as Ruzek walks in.
"Nurse at the station says no one's been in or out of here in the last half hour."
"Before that?" Dawson asks, Adams shaking his head and shrugging.
"She was helping with a patient. I can check with the security office, but the nurse was almost positive the cameras didn't cover this part of the hallway, since there's no way out down this side. A cool breeze gently tickles my hand. I turn, searching for the source before sighing. Walking over the slightly moving curtains I tug them aside, revealing an open window. Outside it the roof of the first floor reception area that juts out of the front of the hospital. Resisting the urge to throw something I grit my teeth and turn back to the crew.
"Or so they thought." I growl, Dawson offering only a curse before exiting the room in anger. Alvin walks past me to the window, reporting no signs of disturbance on the gravel that covers the flat roofing. He turns around to share a look with me, then a soft noise sounds from across the room, drawing both our gazes to the figure in the bed.
My heart leaps in my chest, thudding hard against my rib cage as my feet bring me swiftly to the cause of my distress. My hands roam his body without touching him, unsure of themselves until I see his eyes fluttering. Gently I sit on the edge of the bed, the other two in the room forgotten as my finger softly cup his face.
"Jay?" The word, though barely a whisper, sounds like a shout to my ears. Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes peel open, a whirlwind of emotions exploding like a stampede of butterflies in my stomach. The feeling spreads through my veins as my entire body is impossibly tense as I stare at the dull, clouded blue eyes.
Something is wrong though, because there is something in them that shouldn't be there. A longing, but really more of a soul deep hurt, an anguish that shouldn't be there in his eyes, because it wasn't there before he was shot, and it wasn't there when we first met. It's terror inducing, because the last time I saw anything even remotely close to this was when his brother died*.
His mouth open in a harsh cough that brings his head off the pillow, but is quickly dropped back as his face scrunches in pain. Finally though, I am able to make out a word, one that seems to melt every fear in my body.
"Erin?"
Wow, I'm on a roll right? No. Not really. This just had been started while doing chapter five, but I found it didn't fit, so now its here. And its the only one I have started so Extreme Ways and The Fall will take longer. That said-
Hoped you liked. Drop me a REVIEW on the way out if you would. ;)
*sulfur hexafluoride is the gas that when inhaled makes your voice deeper
*this is referring to my other story 'The Fall' but you don't necessarily have to read that to understand this