It takes two weeks in bed for Jaz to feel like she is going mad.

It's her own fault, probably. Right at the beginning, Director Campbell had rung her and given her permission to go home for a while; in fact, the director had insisted that she take time off. Jaz wholeheartedly refused at first, and then the second time she asked - after her conversation with Dalton about her future on the team - she had been even more adamant about staying with the team, even if she had to miss out on a few missions. Something about the thought of going home made the situation more real to Jaz: she could just imagine the fuss of her family, the questions and coos and the, "Poor girl!" comments that would be thrown her way. While the team was more cautious with her than she had remembered, they knew better than to dwell on what happened more than they needed to.

So she chose to stay, and with that choice came the requirement of following the doctor's orders - and her doctor happened to be McGuire, who she was convinced was secretely set on her being bed ridden for the rest of her life. She understood being in bed for a few days, even a week - but when fourteen days since her rescue had passed and he was barely allowing her to get her own food and take a walk around the base herself, she felt like challenging his medical expertise for the sake of her sanity.

"I'm not telling you I want to climb Everest, McG," she hissed, growing increasingly perturbed with the smirking man. While he had come in her room that morning to check on her, expecting her to be tucked under the covers with a coffee by her side, he had instead walked in on her struggling to pull a t-shirt over her body. She was still restricted by her wrist, her ribs still healing, and it was clear in her pained stance and jilted movements that she wasn't anywhere close to completely healed. When she managed to finally get the shirt over her body - glaring daggers at him the whole while - she immediately began her rant. "I just need to do something. Let me lift weights or walk the dog or something - anything, man. I'm dying here."

"You're definitely not dying; as your doctor, I can guarantee that."

His attempt at a joke was met by a pinch on the skin of his forearm, hard and sharp. Satisfied by causing him pain, Jaz smiled and sat down on the bed, reaching for the pair of sneakers that sat on the bedside chair. Again, he saw evidence of her injuries in the movement - it was clear her ribs were screaming at her at the movement, but she did her best to try to hide it in an attempt to show strength. He knew his friend well enough to know that she wasn't going to take no for an answer and she'd be more likely to hurt himself proving that she was okay than if she were doing something small to regain her strength.

"Fine, fine," he conceded, throwing his hands up in surrender. She didn't look up at him but he saw that she grinned as she began slipping the sneakers on her feet and tying the laces, and it was a welcome sight. While her spirits seemed to have lifted during the past week or so, there was still the lack of her smart remarks and the easy laughter he was used to. "Definitely no Everest yet, though. A walk might not be too bad of an idea."

When her shoes are on and tied, she pushes herself off the bed slowly and stands up straight, apparently taking it as an invitation to get going right then. Before she can step past him, he puts a hand out to stop her.

"Woah, woah, slow down Khan. How about grabbing Dalton to go with you? And not for long. I don't want to come back here in two hours and see you still missing, got it?"

She rolled her eyes but allowed a small smile to tug at her lips. As irritating as it was to be confined, she knew that McGuire had only the best intentions. It reminded her of being a teenager and needing her coach to practically drag her off the field the time she tried running through the pain of the stress fractures in her legs. Typically, she wasn't one to let the pain of an injury keep her on the sidelines for too long: there was something especially jarring to her in seeing the people around her participating when she physically couldn't.

"Okay, doc, whatever you say." With that, she squeezes past him and out the door.

XX

When Jaz asks Dalton to come for a walk with her, he looks surprised but pleased. She makes sure to mention that McG gave her the green light as long as they didn't run a marathon or anything. When she asks him, She doesn't miss the shared glance between Amir and Preach, who had both been sitting perched at the couch, each clutching a book. There is an urge to roll her eyes at their juvenile behavior that she has to fight: if anything, they could hide their eavesdropping a little better.

Dalton is already dressed and just has to put on a pair of sneakers before he is ready to leave. When they go, the first moment that the door swings open nearly takes Jaz's breath away. As she inhales the cool air and feels the warmth of sun on her skin, She realizes that this was the first time she had actually been outside the base since they rescued her. She attempts to remember the last time she remembered being outside: it's not when they took her into the base, because she was sleeping, but when McGuire rushed her to the car after finding her in the cell. There is a phantom feeling of rocks against her bare feet, aches shaking her body, but she clears it out of her mind quickly and instead looks at Dalton with a small, satisfied smile before taking the first few steps from the door.

They don't talk about where they will go, or how long they plan to walk - it's silent, but comfortable. Their base is in a relatively rural area, but there is a public park nearby that had a walking path and a track around it; she doesn't know who leads who, but they end up with their feet meeting the cement of the walking path that snakes through field.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jaz is surprised when Dalton breaks the silence; he wasn't typically one for prying unless given the right signals, and she didn't mean to be hinting that she wanted to talk now. When she looked at him, a side eyed glance as her feet continued even steps along the pavement, she found that he was staring at her, seemingly measuring her every movement as they went along. He noticed everything wrong about the way she was walking: the way she was attempting to conceal the limp, the bruise on her brow that the sunlight highlighted, the way her broken wrist rested uncomfortably at her hip. It was as if every time he thought she looked like she was better and rid of a majority of the physical reminders, they became more obvious in his eyes. It was when he saw her scratch at the spot of her jawline where McGuire had to apply stitches that it all became too much; he couldn't help the words from escaping.

"What do you mean? I thought we talked about it already," she nudges an elbow into his side, an attempt at maintaining the relatively lighthearted air between them. There hadn't been much conversation since they left the base, but there wasn't anything uncomfortable about it. "We already did the whole 'fight and make up', right?"

"That's not what I mean, Jaz," he sighed, stopping halfway through his stride. He caught her off-guard, reaching a hand out to grasp her good wrist but clearly surprising her. The second his fingers made contact with her skin, she found herself flinching away from the touch, a reaction he hadn't even considered. It takes only another second for herself to realize her actions, and almost immediately, she's shouting curses at herself in her mind. "I'm sorry," he mutters, not giving her the chance to talk before turning his head away. He brings up a hand to scratch at his growing beard, a nervous habit that seems to have become more common since Jaz had been taken.

"No, no, don't be, it's my fault." Her face is red, embarrassed and frustrated with herself. "I'm just - I'm trying to be as normal as I can."

"Please, just stop blaming yourself for everything, Jaz. If I hear you apologize one more time, I'm going to go crazy." She is looking up at him with those big, brown eyes, and he realizes that what had happened the last time they had a serious conversation was nothing compared to what was to come. He can practically feel the air being sucked out of the space around them, and he realizes that on the path of some public park is possibility the worst place it could take place, but life doesn't seem to have much regard for what is ideal. "I know you signed up for this life and you understand the risks as well as everyone else, but I can't help but feel like I need to do more to keep you safe."

She opens her mouth to speak, likely to argue about how she is worth no more than anyone else on the team, but he cuts her off before she gets the chance. "What I feel for you Jaz..." he trails off, shaking his head. She still looks like a deer in headlights, wide-eyed and lip trembling. He doesn't want to make her cry, but he can't seem to stop himself from continuing.

"You're not just my partner or teammate or even my best friend. I don't know when it all changed, Jaz, but I know I truly realized it for the first time when I heard you scream over the mic. Thinking of what could be happening - seeing what was happening over that video...it was like a whole chunk of my heart was ripped out. And I don't know what that means, but I know I've never felt that way before. And I know this is the worst time for you and I don't want to any pressure on you because it is the absolute last thing you need, but I also need you to know why it kills me to hear you blaming yourself. I just want to help you, Jaz. Whatever you need. You know I'm here, right?"

And that's when the dam finally breaks and, for the first time, it all truly seems to crash around her. She had felt pain in the cell, and she had shed a few tears with McGuire, and there had been familiar faces of real demons in her dreams, but this was the first moment that the mental anguish seems to overtake her whole being. Dalton seems to sense it before she does: before she is tumbling to her knees, the weight of the world coming down on her shoulders, he steps in front of her and allows her to fall into his chest. As the sobs begin wracking her body, her fingers grasp at the cotton of his t-shirt, bunching up between her knuckles. His arms immediately wrap around her, shielding her from the world and any prying eyes that may exist outside. He knew how she would feel about people seeing her, how she would probably even resent the fact that he was seeing her that way.

"Shhh, I'm here," it's a whisper in her ear and, if anything, it seems to make the crying more intense instead of calming her as he intended. His hand rubs the small of her back soothingly and she keeps her face buried in his shirt. "I'm going to start walking us back, okay?" There is no response, so he knows he must make the move without her permission this time. He shifts so that she is still attached to him but faces towards his shoulder rather than chest, and with an arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, he begins leading her back to the base. They hadn't been walking for long and thankfully the park isn't far, so even with their slow movement, they manage to make it back within a few minutes and they don't encounter anybody on their way, thankfully.

XX

Jaz sees nothing, feels nothing; her feet are moving but she doesn't seem to be controlling them. It's not until the light that blind her disappears into a dim burn that she gets a dose of reality: Dalton has led her back to the base.

If the team is milling around the front room of the base, Jaz doesn't notice. She doesn't notice that they move towards the back room until she feels her knees knock into the plush of the couch they had set there, and even then, her eyes are too clouded and her head to dizzy from the breakdown for her to truly take it all in.

He lays her on the couch and sits down at the other end. When she begins to scramble over on her own accord and wraps her arms tightly around his neck, he can't hide the surprise on his face. Still, his arms instinctively wrap around her and he feels her shuffling so that, though she faces him, she is practically kneeling on his thighs, body all curled up in a ball as she sniffles into his neck. He feels the wetness of tears against his skin; though the sobbing has stopped, it is clear that the tears are continuing to fall.

He doesn't know what it was that started it all, but guilt tugs at his heart. It had to be what he was saying - either because he overwhelmed her or upset her.

"Jaz," his voice is soft, hesitant. "If there is anything I can do - "

There is the distinct feeling of her shaking her head against his skin. "Just shutup and hold me, Adam." Her voice is weak and tired and it cracks with her words, but the snarkiness remains and something about it, despite their current position, brings a small bit of relief.

He complies with her request and he isn't sure how long they sit like that, her curled up and gradually stopping the flood of emotions, but not moving from her spot attached to him. There comes a point where it begins to feel uncomfortable, the weight of her body solely on his thighs, but he knows he is in no position to complain about pain, nor does he want to. It seems that with her tears has come his own little breakthrough: in that moment, all the pain in the world wouldn't make him let her go, and he gets the inkling that whatever is in his heart for her is something more than a easy crush between friends. Its as if the fate of his own health and well being depends on hers, a connection that he would have never understand if he weren't feeling it in the moment.

There is the sudden feeling of absence all at once when Jaz finally untangles herself from his body and sorts herself. Her face is red, puffy, lips chapped. She brings up her sleeve to wipe whatever wetness is still beneath her eyes and sniffs once or twice, but the look in her eyes is less sad than he expected to see, given the past hour or so.

"I feel like I don't know what to do with myself," she whispers to him, surprising him with her admission. "I know I need to feel it to cope with everything, but once I start thinking about it, I just want to push it out of my mind. If I stay in that room I'm going to go crazy, but I am terrified of breaking down like this everytime someone brings it up."

"Jaz," he takes her good hand, now released from him, and holds it in two of his own. Both of his completely encase her small hand. "If that's what it takes, you know me and the rest of the team will help you through it. You're allowed to feel these things, J."

"I don't like feeling weak, Adam; and I know you say you know what I mean but I don't think you do." She lets out a shakey breath and gives a few more sniffles. "I feel like I've always had to work two times as hard to get where I am because I'm a girl, and I always have to be two times as strong so that no one takes me as a joke. If it was you, Dalton - you would have gotten away, wouldn't you? They wouldn't be able to grab you and throw you down like that, to completely overtake you. It's like...I'm just having all of these awful thoughts that maybe this isn't for me. As much as I want it, maybe I am not good for it."

"I'm a little biased, clearly, but I can't agree with that at all." Dalton gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "You're one of the best soldiers I ever met; this whole thing doesn't change that. I told you before that I can't help but worry about you when we're out there, but that's because of how I...feel about you. It has nothing to do with what I think of your abilities."

She looks away, pursing her lips like she is in thought.

"Can you do me a favor then?"

Dalton narrows his eyes slightly, brows furrowed at the anticipation of what she may ask for him. He probably doesn't have it in his heart to say no to her even if he should, so he finds himself nodding despite his hesitation. "What is it?"

"If I get like that again, just promise you'll be there? I don't need a speech or anything, top. I just want to know that if I break down, I'll at least have someone there next to me to pick up the pieces."

Dalton's heart breaks a little at her words, at her anticipation of another breakdown and at the thought that she wasn't convinced the team would be there for her in it's entirety. He nods and, despite himself, finds himself pulling her into a hug and mumbling an agreement into her neck. While she is stiff at the movement at first, she eventually sinks in, melting into his body like she had when she was crying. It's different now, more tense now that she is completely aware, but she feels warm and safe and cared for in the grasp more than she had felt before. There is an apparent softening of Dalton that is happening right in front of her, and a part of her wonders how far she could push it.

She pulls back and there is a slight hint of disappointment on Dalton's face at the lack of contact.

"Can you do me another favor?"

His skin feels like it's on fire. She looks so small and soft and if she hadn't pulled away, he would have never let her go. Something in the air has shifted; there is no longer the sense of this being only about her comfort. She has something playing on her face - a fire in her eyes, a newfound sense of strength in the way she sits - that has him following her commands, letting himself be molded to her whims like a piece of putty in a child's hands. He nods again.

"Can you kiss me now?

It's the last thing he expected and it's the only thing he needs to hear: he has to remind himself to be gentle with her as he complies with the request, moving quickly to cup her cheek in his hand and bringing her lips up to meet his. There is a combination if shock and wonder and strangeness in the feeling of her lips against his, a familiarity that shouldn't be there and the clouded thoughts that maybe this shouldn't be happening. He pushes that thought away - they could deal with that later - and dares to bite at her lip, deepening the kiss; she responds as he hoped, a hummed sound of pleasure against his lips as she sinks further into the moment.

Sadness has somehow formed into lust, and while Dalton knows better than to take it further than a kiss, he can't help it when his free hand that isn't against her cheek finds the bare skin at the hem of her top. He makes no move to lift it or to explore further, but the feel of her soft skin against his rough hands sends shock waves through him: he feels like a teenage boy having his first kiss. There is this feeling in the bottom of his throat, butterflies escaping from his stomach, and it's a feeling of hope and relief that he hadn't felt in ages. If one thing is certain to him, it's that he can't picture a future now that doesn't have Jaz in It, and he can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing.