by Laura Acton
Along that vein, Jon’s biggest pet peeve with Dan was his almost nonexistent regard for his own safety. The kid took some damned unacceptable risks protecting others. Jon now recognized why Dan’s spontaneous risks angered him so much … they were similar to Joe’s.
His over-the-top attitude and reactions towards Dan’s risk-taking stemmed from his failure to protect Joe. Jon discussed this revelation with Nick several times attempting to discover a way to curb Dan’s inexcusable risks—a challenge he now accepted. Nick counseled him to remember Dan came with a set of ingrained behaviors, just like him, and it would take time to help Dan transition. Nick recommended he be patient, reminding him Dan still grieved for his best friend and they were still in the process of repairing the damage they caused by treating Dan like an outsider.
With his newfound knowledge and attitude adjustment, things appeared to be improving, but they still hit bumps in the road—like today. Jon found it challenging to quell his knee-jerk reactions, and tonight he had been such an absolute ass to Dan before NRB took Dan away for the interview.
Jon stopped and surveyed the room. Sighing, he started to turn to leave. Dan’s not here either. He wanted to speak to him about an upcoming warrant call and ask for Dan’s input on Zulu positions. One skill in which Dan excelled. It took him mere seconds to assess the right place. Focusing on Dan’s strengths might help smooth over his screw up with the rookie. He needed to begin to allow Dan to choose his positions routinely. If he had on the last call, perhaps things would’ve ended differently.
Nick glanced up when Jon entered. “Jonny, what are you doing?”
“Searching for Broderick. Have you seen him?”
“No. Did you checked the gun range?”
“Yeah, I checked there, the live fire room, the cage, the lockers, the track, and Loki’s tech room. I lit into him damned hard before NRB took him. You don’t think he might’ve quit and walked out, do you?”
Nick took off his hat and rubbed his face. He didn’t think Dan would be the type to take off without telling them. “No. You want Tia to page him over the loudspeaker?”
“No. I doubt that would go over well. It’s lunchtime anyway. I’ll keep searching. Dan is here somewhere.” Jon pivoted and left the room.
Nick called out to him, “Let me know if you need help.”
“Will do,” Jon responded over his shoulder.
TRF HQ – Heading to Conference Room Three – 2:10 a.m.
Jon searched everywhere except the locked soundproof room. He even went up to the rooftop where the rookie liked to stand. He didn’t quite understand why Dan chose the roof, but Jon began to notice a pattern. When Dan became upset, he would often go up there to calm down. That was okay with him. Everyone needed a place to go to deal with their emotions.
He used the heavy bag himself. Pummeling something inanimate helped release his anger and clear his mind. Now that his head was out of his ass, as the rookie aptly put it, Jon realized that since joining TRF Dan often tore into the punching bag like the hounds of hell nipped at his heels. After seeing Dan’s abraded knuckles on the day they learned about Brody, Jon liked it better when the rookie went up top instead of using the bag.
Jon inserted the key and turned the handle. This was the only place left in headquarters where Dan might be unless he had actually walked out. If Dan resigned, Jon accepted the fault would lie squarely on his shoulders. Before Broderick left the crime scene with NRB, he yelled at Dan for moving positions without saying anything and for putting himself in the line of fire in the process. The lethal force was ruled justifiable, so NRB cleared Dan, and he rejoined them right before lunch.
During debrief, Bram and the others reamed him about laying into Dan about his decision to move. Bram saw what Jon missed. Dan needed to make an instantaneous decision, leaving no time to call out positions. Jon admitted Dan’s swift reaction saved Nick’s life and he regretted yelling at him. Changing behaviors was hard, for him and Dan alike.
He avoided Dan when he returned from NRB, needing time to put his thoughts in order. That is when he decided he would request Dan’s input on their upcoming warrant. He hoped to show Dan he valued his skills, and move them past the earlier ugliness.
TRF HQ –Conference Room Three – 2:12 a.m.
To do that, I must locate Broderick first. Jon pushed open the door. He scanned the interior and finding no one in the room started to exit. As he turned, his eyes caught the sole of a boot near the opposite wall.
What the hell? He moved silently around the table, or so he thought. For a split-second, he glimpsed Dan on the tile floor with his eyes closed. Jon could’ve sworn Dan was fast asleep, but the next second, Dan stood at rigid attention appearing wide awake.
Dan shot up hearing someone entering. He faced the entrance as his body snapped to attention. Ah crap! Jon. The last team member he wanted to find him sleeping, stood in front of him. Crap! I have the worst damned luck. He braced himself for Jon’s inevitable dressing down.
Jon glimpsed the surprised expression followed by dismay. Emotions so fleeting as to be non-existent before being covered with a neutral mask. Damn! What type of training produces something like this. For the first time, Jon sensed something more profound dwelled in the psyche of his rookie, but he had no clue what. Keeping his tone level, Jon asked, “What are you doing in here on the floor?”
Dan’s mind raced searching for a plausible and truthful excuse or deflection. Coming up blank, he opted for simple honesty. “Taking a catnap, sir.”
“A nap?” Jon’s brows rose surprise.
“Yes, sir,”
“Why?” Jon queried, but he could see why. Those ever-present dark circles under Dan’s eyes gave the impression he had not slept in a week. Hell, Dan always appears like death warmed over.
“Been a rough shift, sir.” Dan relaxed his body marginally.
Jon nodded. “Yeah, it has. Rough week. I’m so wrung out it isn’t funny. Makes it hard to think clearly sometimes.”
Surprised at both Jon’s answer and the absence of a banshee’s wail heralding the death of his career, Dan was at a loss for words, so remained silent.
Jon noted something akin to surprise cross Dan’s face. Dan probably thought he would lay into him again. He needed to begin to change Dan’s expectations of him. Jon decided he should try humor.
He chuckled and smiled. Amusement expressed in his eyes and voice, as he said, “God, I could use a nap, too, but for the record, Dano, conference room three is an unacceptable nap location. The floor is too hard. The briefing room chairs are much comfier. How the hell can you sleep on the ground?”
“Practice. Not as uncomfortable as some of the places I’ve slept.” Dan relaxed more when the tactical lead’s demeanor remained calm. The lack of anger and shouting and Jon’s use of humor were perplexing yet nice.
Jon nodded. Yeah, a Special Forces soldier is bound to have slept in some rather unpleasant places. Noticing Dan relax a slightly, Jon pushed forward with his idea to show Dan he valued his abilities.
“I wanted your input on our warrant later this morning. We need to place two snipers, and you have an excellent eye for Zulu positions.” Jon took a seat at the table and opened the file he carried with him. Retrieving two aerial photos, he slid them towards Dan. “Where would you suggest?”
Staggered that Jon asked for his opinion, Dan managed to pull out a chair and sat across from Jon. He began to review the photos. Perhaps things might work out here after all.
Weather Forecast … Abysmal
6
November 23
TRF HQ – Locker Room – 8:00 a.m.
Today sucked! Dan shut his locker and leaned his back against the door. Yesterday not any better. The day before worse. The last six days … abysmal. Tomorrow is gonna suck, too. According to the weatherman, there would be no change, cold and rainy with possible sleet. Essentially, a continuation of the same sucky weather.
The irritation in the back of his throat wouldn’t
go away either. He coughed several times then glanced around, glad none of the guys remained in the locker area. They all left for home while he lingered in the shower enjoying the warm moist air which relieved the tightness in his chest.
He hated colds and luckily had not had one in years. The hot, dry climate of Afghanistan prevented bugs from multiplying. Another factor might be his lack of exposure. In a sniper perch most of the time, his contact with others was generally limited to a combat unit.
Dan bent to grab his go bag and slung it over his shoulder. Running home would be no fun. Typically, he enjoyed the time to decompress, but perhaps he should buy a truck for severe weather. He forgot about this kind of weather when he moved back to Toronto. In the desert, lousy weather included broiling under the sun or cleaning grit out of every crevice after sandstorms. His body acclimated to living in a desert with two seasons—hot and hell.
Here the icy rain-soaked and chilled him to the bone. At least it was not arctic weather like he experienced twice in his life. He first dwelt within the frigid walls of the Special Forces Arctic Training Base, a remote base in the northern part of the Yukon Territory, as penance for Sara’s death. He endured a parentally-imposed seven-year incarceration. From age nine to sixteen, he lived alone with the general, while his mother and Becca stayed in Ottawa.
His second exposure at least was voluntary. SFATB Yukon was his and Brody’s home during their Guardian unit training. The temperature in summer never rose above sixty degrees Fahrenheit and winter always registered in the negative.
As a kid, he viewed the arctic base as an ice prison. Trapped there with no one his own age, no kids at all. Until Private Brock came along, he spent his days with tutors. Brock became his godsend. His love of running developed under Brock’s influence. They took long jaunts outside each day. That is, every day without a blizzard, but on those days, they went to the gym and used the treadmills. Running in frigid conditions was familiar, but his body had not reacclimated to cold weather. So, the run home would suck.
Realizing further delay would not be beneficial and might make his trek more treacherous, Dan started for home. On his way out, he waved goodbye Sergeant Colton Harmon of Charlie Team. Passing the dispatcher desk, he said, “Catch ya later, Peter.”
Peter glanced up. “You jogging home in this weather?”
“Yeah.”
Colton overheard and came to the desk. “Dan, we’re patrolling today. One of the guys can give you a ride home.”
“Nah, I’m fine.” Dan stifled a cough.
Colton assessed Dan carefully, noting something appeared off. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Lexa offered earlier. No worries it’s only water. I’m not gonna melt.” The tickle in his throat got the upper hand, and Dan coughed several times. Needing to depart before Colton offered a second time, he hurried to the stairwell as he called over his shoulder, “Keep the peace.”
By the time he reached the first intersection, Dan was soaked through and cold. Running home sucked as he predicted and he wondered if he should’ve called a cab. Dan dismissed the thought. If I push a little harder, I can reach my apartment faster and reward myself with a hot shower.
Half Mile from Dan’s Apartment – 8:55 a.m.
With only about a half a mile left on his frigid trek, Dan realized he was off his pace ... way off. So far off as to be laughable, that is if he could laugh. Unable to draw a deep breath because of constant coughing, his run slowed down to barely jogging and to be honest, it was more like a fast walk.
Fortunately, his lack of oxygen did not affect his senses, which went on high alert. Apparently, rain caused people to forget how to drive. Either that or the sirens called to assholes encouraging them to climb behind the wheel and become idiots. This brought about the second reason his pace nose-dived, he had to watch out for inattentive drivers more than usual.
He already experienced two near misses, dodging motorists who failed to see him in the crosswalk when they turned left. And four vehicles appeared to go out of their way to speed up to hit the puddles in the road at the exact time he approached them. Each spray drenched him, adding another layer of muddy grime. Now, not only was he a drowned rat, but a dirty one as well.
His hacking became worse as he continued and he didn’t try to stifle them. He suppressed his cough at work to prevent Jon from thinking he was becoming sick. Dan needed to suck it up and perform his job regardless of a little annoying cough. With Loki and Ray out, the team couldn’t afford another member to be off. Ray had been down with the flu for the past two days, and Loki went home ill mid-shift today.
Seized by a coughing fit, he halted a moment to catch his breath. Regrettably, as he stopped next to a huge puddle, two vehicles doused him. First a bus. As it passed, Dan thought he should check out bus schedules and ascertain if one passed anywhere near TRF and his apartment. If a route existed, next trip he would be warm and dry instead of cold and soaking wet.
The second drenching appeared to be deliberate. A four-by-four truck swerved into the puddle when he could have easily avoided it. Unluckily, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The plume of dirty water forced up by the truck’s wheels cascaded over him just as he drew in a deep breath, virtually drowning him as he inhaled the filthy rainwater. It took him several minutes of harsh hawking before he could expel the unwanted liquid from his lungs.
As he crossed the next intersection, Dan dove over another car turning left in front of him. As he flew over the hood, he wondered if he had become invisible because this was the third damned time a vehicle almost hit him. He tucked, rolled and came to a stop on the opposite side of the crosswalk against the curb—face down in a puddle of foul water.
His face landing in water caused visions of there to flash in his mind. After a split-second freak-out, Dan picked himself up, wiped the muck from his eyes, and cursed loudly at the driver as the car sped away without slowing down. Now, not only wet, frozen, and barking like a seal, his shoulder and back ached. With six blocks left to reach home, he set out at a slow jog wondering if he would make it without further incidents.
Dan’s Apartment – 9:05 a.m.
Exhausted and washed out, he contemplated taking the lift as he approached his apartment complex. Though he usually avoided small, metal boxes ever since the Humvee incident with Mason—confined spaces tended to freak him out. Pausing inside the lobby to hack up a lung and labored to breathe, Dan noted the lack of electricity … no lights were on.
Can this day get any worse? Dan headed for the stairs. No power meant no elevator. Ten flights later, gasping for air like a fish out of water, he barely managed to control his shaky hands enough to insert his key.
After scanning the interior as usual upon entering, he shuffled, dripping wet, to his bathroom. He dumped his waterlogged go bag on the tile floor, turned the faucet all the way to hot, undressed, and dropped his sodden clothes in a heap. I’ll pick them up after my shower.
Naked and shivering, Dan tested the water temperature for the fifth time. Becoming frustrated by the continued presence of frigid water his muddled brain finally realized the complex’s furnace must be out too. Crap! I had to ask if today could be worse.
He slammed the valve off, grabbed a towel and briskly rubbed his short hair dry. Next, he dried off his shuddery body. His movements became lethargic, drained, he braced himself on the counter as another round of coughing sapped his little remaining energy. Dan abandoned his clothes on the bathroom floor instead of wringing them out and putting them in the hamper.
Customarily he slept au naturel, but as chilled as he was, he chose to put on a long sleeve thermal shirt and thick sweatpants. He ignored his growling stomach, crawled into bed, and pulled two blankets over his quivering and aching body hoping to warm up. Today truly sucked.
TRF HQ – Locker Room – 5:00 p.m.
Dan couldn’t believe he fell asleep so quickly when he arrived home this morning. He never ate dinner—or breakfast? With his nights and days mixed up, working
the seven p.m. to seven a.m. shift, he was unsure which meal he should be eating.
When he awoke this afternoon, eating and drinking were unappetizing. He forced himself to eat two slices of dry toast and drink some water. Jon would have a hissy fit and lay into him if he failed in his job because he didn’t have the energy to do what might be required.
Pulling his workout shirt on, Dan stifled a cough. He reached into his locker for a lemon drop and popped the candy into his mouth. Sucking on hard candies allowed him to keep his hacking at bay.
Though he went to sleep shortly after arriving at his place, Dan had not slept well. He kept waking up coughing and one minute he was too hot, the next too cold. At the moment, he felt heated and wrung out as if he ran twenty miles carrying a fifty-pound pack under the blistering desert sun.
Dan coughed a few times and ran a hand over his chest trying to ease the tightness. Glancing around to check if he remained alone, he sighed in relief finding no one else in the room.
In a happy mood, Bram entered the lockers. Only one more day until he would be able to spend three full days with his beautiful girls. Bram grinned at the rookie. “Hey, Dan. Can’t believe it is pouring like crazy again today. Did you run in this weather?”
Dan closed his locker and turned to face Bram. “Took a cab.”
Strolling in and overhearing Dan, Jon joked with a broad grin, “What? You decide you would melt?”
“Something like that.” A small cough slipped out. “See ya in the gym.” Dan traipsed out, moving slower than normal.
After tracking Dan as he went, Jon glanced at Bram. “Is he alright?”
Bram pulled on his t-shirt. “Seemed a bit off to me. We might want to keep an eye on him.”
A few minutes later, Nick wandered in with a thoughtful expression and set his bag down. “What’s up with Dan?”
