IV.
The day before the new guy arrives, Dalton pulls her aside and tells her point blank not to scare him off.
She bats her eyelashes at him innocently. I would never!
Sergeant, he says sharply, I mean it.
She sobers almost instantly. He's never called her that before, never been one to draw attention to rank or titles, and she realizes then just how serious he is.
Jaz, he sighs, running a hand over his beard. I'm not asking you to be his friend. Or even to like him. He looks her in the eyes and softens his tone. I am asking you to remember that it's not his fault Elijah died.
There it is. That petty, irrational thought that's been nagging at her for weeks now.
She knows she has no reason to hate this stranger, but a part of her already does. Why should he get to join their team, why should he get to take that spot, why should he get to live while Elijah's gone?
But this isn't about Elijah.
And it's not about her.
It's about the team.
And what the team needs most right now is another person – another pair of eyes, another set of skills, another weapon in a fight.
Jaz? Dalton repeats, a question in his tone. He doesn't say anything further, but she knows what he's asking.
He's asking her to trust his decision and his judgment.
He's asking her to trust him.
And she does.
...
The thing is, she really did plan on giving Amir a chance.
She reminds herself that, like it or not, he's a part of the team, and it's her job to have his back, just like she has everyone else's.
In the heat of the mission, with enemies in front of them and bullets raining down around them, it's easy to do. Her instincts kick in and she can save his life, act as his cover, and do whatever else needs to be done to ensure they all make it back alive.
It's the quieter, slower moments that are harder.
...
Jaz has never been good at waiting.
She was impatient as a kid and she's impatient now, and it's one of those things she's just learned to accept about herself.
It's ironic, considering most of her job as a sniper is to watch and wait for signs of danger. But there's a difference between being perched up somewhere high with her eye through the scope and being stuck on the ground awaiting orders.
Amir, she comes to find out, is very good at waiting.
A little too good.
He sits, still as a statue, his face betraying no emotion, but his eyes are always sharp, always alert, always watching. He's so quiet and serious, and she can never really tell what's on his mind. As someone who's usually good at reading people, she's frustrated by this most of all.
She's not sure she can trust someone with a poker face that good, so she throws in a little dig here and a little jab there, trying to get a rise out of him. She wants to see who he really is underneath the mask, underneath that calm façade.
Much to her disappointment, he takes everything she throws at him in stride. He never raises his voice at her, never gets annoyed with her.
At least, not until Paris.
...
She hates the Paris op from the get-go.
It's the perfect storm of things that could go wrong – questionable intelligence from a shaky source, a kid suicide bomber, and the fact that their success relies solely on Amir reusing an old cover.
She spends most of the trip restless, but that night in the rain, watching him leave the kid there – in that warehouse, surrounded by people who would be happy to let him die – she finally snaps.
And this time, Amir snaps back.
He yells at her about the mission, arguing that she just doesn't understand, and honestly, if she weren't so furious, she might be a little impressed.
She didn't know he had it in him.
But what he had, it turns out, was a sister who died. And maybe, if he'd done things differently, she could've lived.
Suddenly, Jaz understands him all too well.
...
That first week after losing Elijah, she thinks of all the things that could've been different.
There are endless possibilities, so many different scenarios – one where she never told the joke that distracted him, one where she went through the door first, one where they went in together, one where they weren't there at all.
That first week after losing him, she almost loses herself in that terrible, impossible what if.
...
Jaz finally understands Amir after that.
She understands that it's grief and guilt he hides beneath a stoic, even-tempered mask.
And she doesn't blame him for taking Elijah's spot.
Not one bit.
...
They start sharing breakfast duty on Saturdays.
She chops and he cooks and they both yell at McG and Preach whenever they try to sneak a taste.
They're not quite friends, not yet.
But almost.
Almost is as good a place as any to start.