Set vaguely at some point in mid season two, because I am a coward who likes the status quo.

I've been trying to write this story off and on for the better part of a month now, but for some reason it's been uncharacteristically difficult to get done, hence why I set it aside to do the Whumptober one-shots instead. I apologize if it still sucks. I tried.

Everything would have gone fine if it weren't for the goddamn dust devil.

As he and the rest of his grimy, dejected team trudge back in from the failed mission, Clay keeps repeating that to himself. He needs to be able to believe it, because the alternative is that he just blew an incredibly important mission that Mandy had spent months planning and gathering intel for.

It wasn't his fault. Right?

He wants it to not have been his fault.

This particular mission was pretty straightforward. Their objective was to eliminate Mustafa Rahman, a prolific terrorist and human trafficker whose actions had negated his right to continue to breathe air.

It was Clay's responsibility to take the kill shot. The conditions were less than ideal - long distance and lots of bystanders - but it was the best opportunity Mandy could come up with, and Clay absolutely believed he was up for the challenge. He wouldn't have pushed for the role if he hadn't. Hell, he wouldn't belong as a sniper on a Tier One team at all if he didn't trust that he could make the difficult shots.

And he would have. He's sure of it.

When Rahman appeared and chose where he was going to sit, Clay took his time evaluating atmospheric conditions, adjusting for distance and angle, making sure he lined up the shot perfectly. They had just the one chance, so it was crucial that he get it right - especially with the high risk that a missed shot could hit an innocent civilian.

Their target sat at a table in an outdoor market, surrounded by airy canopies and tables loaded down with wares. He'd come to share tea with a well-connected merchant who served as one of his local contacts, facilitating meetings with arms dealers, human traffickers, and anyone else who could sell or transport something that Rahman wanted to buy or move.

The weather was hot enough to make them all sweat their asses off, but otherwise not too bad. Low humidity, little wind, no clouds. Visibility was good.

Concealed beneath an overhang of rock on the barren hillside across from the bazaar, Clay settled, readied to take his shot-

And Rahman suddenly startled and jumped up from his seat, turning to look at something to the west.

The massive whirlwind came almost out of nowhere, slamming into the marketplace like the fury of God. Canopies soared, tables overturned, and all visibility vanished in an instant, swallowed up in the vortex of swirling sand. Comms went out too, the connection dissolving into a crackle of interference.

Realizing the dust devil was headed his way, Clay ducked down behind the rocks, pulling the collar of his shirt up over his nose and mouth. The whirlwind dissipated soon after it hit the hillside, but lasted long enough to make Clay's skin feel scoured raw, to leave him coughing and half-blinded.

Below, the market had descended into chaos. When comms came back up, HAVOC confirmed what Clay already suspected: Rahman was gone, and they had no idea where. He was in the wind. So to speak.

When Clay descended the hillside to meet back up with his team, he could feel their frustration from a yard away. No Tier One operator was ever going to be okay with complete mission failure - especially not when the stakes were this high.

They'd already been a little off even before the mission, cranky and tired and out of sorts, with tension brewing between Jason and Ray that left all the rest of them on edge too. This just escalated things, made it all so much worse, and Clay couldn't shake the sense that a lot of the frustration was aimed at him.

His teammates weren't overt about it. Nobody made any cutting comments or direct accusations, but they seemed to be rather pointedly not looking at or talking to him all the way back to base. He spent the entire trip running it over and over in his head: Did he wait too long? Try too hard to be perfect? If he'd taken his shot 10 seconds earlier, would the world now be a safer place for all the people whose lives might be shattered by Mustafa Rahman's evil?

Now, as they walk back onto base, the uneasy frustration still crackles between them like static electricity. Mandy is visibly annoyed as well, waiting for them with her arms crossed. Clay doesn't want to talk to her and also doesn't much care to hear the explanation Jason is going to give her as to why things went wrong, so he goes straight to debriefing, where he says as little as possible, then heads off to the showers with his head down. No one tries to stop him.

When Clay peels off his clothes, sand goes all over the floor. It takes a while to scrub the grime off his skin and out of his hair. Even after he's clean, he just stands there for a while, bracing himself against the wall, letting the steam ease away the lingering urge to cough from all the fine grit he inhaled.

Rahman has been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people who were just trying to live their lives. He sells children into sex slavery. Children.

That was all supposed to end today, but it didn't, because Clay took too fucking long to line up a shot. Not wanting to admit it was his fault doesn't change the fact that it was. Freak weather or not, this is on him.

Eventually, Clay has to force himself to turn off the water, get dressed, and go face the world.

Doesn't end up being that much world to face, at least not for the moment. Jason and Sonny are nowhere to be seen; Brock is already sound asleep in his hammock with Cerberus; Trent has headphones on and his eyes closed. Ray is the only one who seems to notice Clay's arrival, tracking his movements while wearing an enigmatic expression.

Clay really doesn't want to have a conversation with Bravo Two right now. Either Ray can sense that, or he doesn't really want to talk either, because after a minute he drops his gaze and just lets Clay continue on to his cage.

With the two of them both being snipers, it's inevitable that there's going to be a degree of tension sometimes when it comes to who gets to take the important shots. Clay pushed hard for this one. In hindsight, everybody would probably be a lot better off right now if he hadn't.

Clay climbs into his hammock, determined to cope with the crushing weight of failure by just sleeping it off and hoping things look better in the morning.

Turns out to be easier said than done.

He feigns sleep, but it doesn't come. Jason straggles in, and Sonny. The room fills with Clay's teammates' snores, and still he stares at the ceiling, restless and unsettled, trying to muffle occasional coughs. The tireder he gets, the more the sense of guilt takes on a life of its own, its tendrils reaching into the past to draw in other failures. Adam. Stella. His own mother.

Clay knows his confidence can sometimes - okay, maybe a lot of times - verge on arrogance. He loves to insist he's the best and demand opportunities to prove it, yet when it comes down to it, he always seems to ultimately fail the people who matter most to him.

Maybe he is more his father's son than he wants to admit.

Haunted by that thought, Clay drifts into a few hours of uneasy sleep, waking at dawn to find that he's chewed ridges into the insides of his cheeks. He's just gotten himself into a sitting position and is rubbing at his blurry eyes when Mandy throws open the door.

Every trace of dejection from the night before has disappeared. She's focused, gaze bright and sharp as diamond. Ignoring Bravo Team's half-clothed status and Trent's sleepy protests about how she's making him feel objectified, she marches into the room and announces, "I know where Rahman is. We've got another shot at this, but we have to move fast."

There's semi-organized chaos after that, everybody scrambling to get dressed, grab coffee, get briefed, prepare for the mission. Rahman apparently has gone to visit his cousin in a nearby town, and Mandy feels confident they should be able to get a clear shot at him when he leaves.

While they're gearing up, Clay edges over to Jason, clears his throat, and says, "Hey, boss, I think... uh, I think maybe this time Ray should-"

Jason is already shaking his head. "This is your shot to take, Bravo Six." He holds Clay's gaze. "Unless there's something I need to know about why you can't."

Forcing himself not to look away, Clay slowly shakes his head. "No," he says. "No, I'm good."

Hayes gives him a hint of smile and claps him on the shoulder. "Good. Let's go get this son of a bitch."

Clay nods, takes a deep breath that burns his dry throat, and follows his boss out of the room.

They won't fail this time. He'll make sure of it.