Hi guys, I just want to apologize for the lack of timely updates and the not so great quality of this chapter. Life has been crazy and I'm trying my best. Thank you for your continued support and I hope you all enjoy.
x
When he walks in and sees Jaz for the first time since just after her rescue, Dalton is caught off guard by the recovery she seems to have made in just three days. She is laid on the bed with a soft-looking blanket thrown over her feet and dressed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt that looks three sizes too big for her body size. The sleeves of the sweatshirt hang over most of her hand, but he can see the blue color of the splint that McGuire had applied peaking through.
Most of her skin is covered, so he knows it may be misleading, but her face shows fading bruises and healing cuts far less severe than when he had first laid eyes on her in the compound. There is still a bit of puffiness around her eyes, and he has never seen her look so tired or worn out, but she manages to greet him with a small smile as she recognizes his face coming through the door, and the lifting of her lips does wonders to bring the lightness back to her face. As he returns the smile, he sees her shift and shuffle so that instead of lying flat, she is leaning her back against the pillows behind her and sitting upright.
"Hi, Top," she says, her voice sounding rougher than he remembers. Maybe it's because he is used to her constantly talking in a frenzy around him - he's barely heard her speak in the past week and there is something unfamiliar about it. "I was wondering when you'd be stopping by."
He chuckles and shakes his head, slowly making his way over until finding himself near the chair that was placed next to the bed. With one hand, he turns it to the back is to the bed and throws his legs on either side of it as he plops down. His hands rest on the top of the frame and he places his chin on his clasped fingers.
"I got the feeling that I wasn't the person you wanted to see." He means it as joke, a lighthearted jab, but her smile vanishes and is replaced by the slight pursing of her lips. He can't help but notice how pink and glossy they look, like she just put on some type of makeup, but he knows that isn't the case. "Or that you didn't want to see anyone at all," he continues, shrugging.
Jaz sighs and turns away from him, the slightest shake of her head visible beneath his gaze.
"You know it's not that, Adam."
"Then what is it?" He told himself prior to going in that he wouldn't allow himself to get frustrated, angry - she doesn't deserve that and she certainly doesn't need it while she tries to get better - but it's hard to control his emotions when his heart feels like its going to beat out of his chest. "Why did you apologize to me back there? Do you think I blame you?"
There's a brief period of silence and tension fills the air like thick smoke between them. Jaz refuses to look in his direction, eyes narrowed as she states down towards her covered feet rather than at him. She shifts on the bed once again, wincing at the movement. Though she is healing well, the pain still dwells and rears its head at every slight twist or turn of her bones. Dalton watches as her uninjured hand moves to prod at her abdomen, earning another grimace from her lips as she finds the current sore spot.
"The last thing I want to do now is fight, Jaz," he concedes, sighing. He surprises her by tentatively reaching a hand around the back of the chair to rest it on her forearm, an attempt at comfort. While she initially flinched at the touch, it takes only a second for her to find warmth in the touch and she wishes she could sink into his grasp. Jaz is terrified of breaking down - it was bad enough that she let herself break in front of McGuire; she felt that if she didn't want Dalton to change his outlook on her, she had to stay strong and refuse to break.
"I'm sorry, I don't want to fight, either." His hand still rests on the material of her sweatshirt and she finds herself moving her splinted hand so it is nearby, her fingertips just barely brushing the rough skin of his hand. If he notices the feather-light weight of her fingering skimming across his hand, he doesn't let on. Jaz squeezes her eyes shut tight for a few seconds and forces out a long breath before allowing her eyes to migrate in his direction. "I just feel so...i don't know. It all happened so wrong, didn't it?"
"Of course it was wrong," Dalton hissed, shaking his head. She felt his hand squeeze a little on her forearm where it still rested - not in anger, or meant to hurt her, but an effort to keep her sealed to him. "They attacked you and kidnapped you, Jaz. You did nothing wrong - you know that, right?"
When she lacks any sort of reply - a rarity from her, the girl who usually has the sharpest tongue he knows - he realizes she doesn't believe that, and he knows he has to make her see it.
Usually, Dalton wouldn't think twice about putting himself physically close to Jaz. They barely had boundaries between them, especially within the past few months. He couldn't point out what it was, what exactly caused the change from partners into some strange, sexually charged friendship, but it hadn't always been that way. While they had always worked well as a pair as long as she was part of the team- if there were to be an undercover pair, it was almost always them as a romantic duo - there became a point where the lingering touches and meaningful glances morphed from contrived identities to reality. There was no arguing that both he and Jaz weren't romantics - he could never imagine the day where they would have a candlelit dinner that turns into soft touches and pet names - but there was still something tangible between them that didn't exist between her and Preach or Amir, or even McG. Still, despite this, he found himself unwilling to move from his spot without first asking her permission. With her being taken and abused, he found himself needing to ask, needing to hear from her own mouth that it was okay.
"Can I?" He doesn't explain but instead gestures towards the bed she is laying on, but it is clear she understands his intentions as she nods and scoots over as best as she could. Her side is nearly pressed against the wall now and she finds herself uncosciously pulling the blanket tighter around herself, a small shield of isolation between her and Dalton as he pushes away the chair and takes a seat on the bed. His movements are slow in an effort to keep Jaz calm: while he could have quickly swung his legs up and laid more easily with her, he takes the time to gauge her reaction before finally getting both legs straight in front of him on the bed so that their positions are mirrored and they are side by side. She gives him the smallest nod, barely perceptible, but he knows he has her permission.
She surprises him by casting him a spare glance and then lifting the blanket she is using up ever so slightly, a silent offer. It's as if lifting the blanket is a physical symbol of her opening up the smallest layer of himself to him, and he feels like he has to accept if he wants to get anywhere with her.
When he moves under the blanket, they suddenly seem closer than they've ever been before; surely, that's not actually the case - he can't count the times she has fallen asleep laying on him during long car rides or flights, her body leaned against his side or his chest - but there is a new sense of electricity where their arms are against each other, even through the layer of her sweatshirt. He doesn't know what he expects - maybe more silence, or some sort of explanation. He certainly doesn't expect to feel her move on the bed beside him, turning so that pain makes her grit her teeth but so that she is facing him completely. Before he can tell her to roll back over, not because he doesn't want it but because there is clearly discomfort at the movement, she is tossing one arm over his abdomen and laying the rest of her upper body on his chest wordlessly. He brings one arm to snake around her body, bringing her tighter against him.
"I'm sorry, Dalton. I know that's not what you want to hear, but I can't help it." Her hand tightens its grip on his shirt and her voice is muffled. "I just don't want things to change."
"They don't have to change," he replied, tentatively reaching up a hand to run across her face, brushing the stray hairs away from her skin with a gentle touch. "I just want what is best for you, Jaz. I don't want to make this about me...but it killed me. That video. I was sure they were going to kill you, and at the same time, I was scared that they wouldn't and you would have to live with that memory. If anything like that were ever to happen again..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"I know, Adam, I get that," she attempted to move her head to look up at him, but couldn't shift her body the right way and settled back on his chest. "But if I lose this team, it's all for nothing, isn't it? We all take the risk everyday and I'm no different from you or Preach. It would be awful for anybody, but we would get through It, right?"
A sigh falls from Dalton's lips and she feels his breath on the top of her head. "It should be, Jaz, but it's not. Not for me."
"That means you don't want me here anymore?" It amazes him, how quickly she can turn from soft to outraged. Her voice is high, concern mixing with pain and anger. If this is it, if this is how he kicks her off the team, she can't see how she could ever get over it.
"You know I want you, Jaz." There's a long pause while she waits for the 'but' of the statement and she finds that it never comes. "And I care about you enough to let you choose what you think is best for yourself. If it's really what you want, you know me and the team would be behind you one hundred percent. I just don't want you to regret it."
Something about the admission makes Jaz's heart calm; though she had been wary the moment he stepped through the door and it was clear he wasn't completely okay with everything that was happening, she was confident now that Dalton would support her rather than rushing to get rid of her to avoid another catastrophe. Despite the relief rushing through her, she feels the strength within her sway. It doesn't take much to have her feeling weak at the moment, and the relatively brief conversation with Dalton has, as simple as it's been, taken the energy right from her core.
Dalton doesn't get an sort of reply, and he doesn't press, assuming maybe she needed some time to think it over. It isn't until he hears the soft, even rhythm of her breaths beneath him that he realizes she hasn't answered because she has fallen asleep on his chest, still wrapped tight around him.
He doesn't know what is yet to come, but for now, he realizes that these are the moments he must learn to appreciate and relish in. If the taking of Jaz had taught him one thing, it was that he shouldn't take things for granted - specifically those that meant the most to him. With the ghost of a kiss placed on the top of the sleeping girl's head, Dalton finds himself struck with a newfound wonder and a strike of concern at the thought of what was next to come.