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undercoverwatermoon · 6 years

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Unexpected Dreams- CH. 2 (Jalton)

WARNING: The rating has been updated to a solid "Explicit" you guys. You've been warned :)

A million apologies for taking so long to update this story. To make it up to all of you, I am posting an extra long chapter, with an added bonus towards the end! (Hint: German Professor Adam!)

There is a lot more of Adam POV in this chapter, and we delve a bit deeper into Jaz's dreams.

SO MANY THANK YOUs to the rest of #TheFab5 ( @icarryyourheart16 , @chibisere23 @stupid-jeans and @kyrieanne) for putting up with ALL my rambling and crazy thoughts about this story. They helped so much that I don't think this chapter would be posted, ever, without them :) And as always, thanks to the awesome Nicole for the detailed and super fast beta!

Enjoy!!

AO3 Link Here

Exhausted, they all tumble out of the humvee and walk towards the picnic area by the Quonset hut. A long, competitive afternoon is behind them, and Team Patton is ready to celebrate their drill day win.

Despite the underlying awkwardness from that morning - that elephant in the room both of them have avoided since Tehran - Adam and Jaz are still a force to be reckoned with as a team on the training field, prompting some griping from the others about unfairness and team assignments being rigged.

Jaz walks ahead of them, muttering something cooking related to Amir. When she huffs out a laugh at Amir’s response, Adam lowers his head with a fond smile. Maybe he’s been reading too much into her actions, or lack thereof. Maybe he’s being paranoid and she’s just going through the normal phases of recovery after Tehran. Maybe none of it has to do with him. Feeling the frown on his face, he schools his expression as he catches up with the team.

“Patton, you’re such a cheater.” McG says, flinging a tactical glove at the dog’s head. Immediately after it lands, Patton snatches it up and runs.

“NO! Patton! Son of a--”

“Let it go, McG. It’s history,” Adam says, beaming proudly as he watches the mutt disappear into the hangar. “Besides, it’s not his fault you couldn’t hold your position quietly.”

McG turns to Adam. “He tickled me with his stupid nose!”

Apparently no one is done enjoying this because they erupt into laughter again, Amir and Jaz holding their stomachs and leaning shoulder to shoulder as they struggle to breathe.

Minutes later, once the jokes have died down, they stand around the picnic table, discussing possible options for the traditional team night out. Team Patton - Adam and Jaz today - is ready to enjoy the spoils of war.

Reaching into her camo backpack, Jaz pulls out her bright turquoise Hydro Flask water bottle - it’s new, and it makes her smile - and notices four pairs of eyes follow her movements as she takes a swig.

“What?” Jaz says warily, wiping at her mouth and eyeing her teammates standing across from the table she’s perched on. Adam is to her left, and as he crosses his arms over his chest, Jaz pivots in the opposite direction. It’s something she’s been doing - standing or sitting with her back to him when they’re not on mission- and Adam frowns, staring at her profile.

“That’s…” McG waves at her water bottle, “...colorful, Jazzy.” He tries to keep his voice neutral but fails miserably. Jaz rolls her eyes, her standard response to most things McG says when they’re not taking fire, but internally she flinches a little.

McG can be ridiculous, but they all seemed to notice the same thing- that the cheerful color is just not her. She remembers handing the $40 to the cashier with such excitement, but now she wavers as her hands wrap protectively around the bright bottle. Is this the new her? Is she now the soldier that wears hot pink underwear to feel feminine and buys eye-catching accessories to...what? Stand out? Hide? Pretend she’s fine? Whatever the answer is, she still has one more question: Why?

Jaz’s body language betrays her thoughts so subtly that only Adam picks up on the slight hesitation - because he notices everything about her these days- before she fires her witty comeback at McG.

“So are your canary yellow Spongebob boxers. What’s your point?” McG points at her, an affronted look on his face.

“Those were a gift, first of all--”

“From your mom,” Amir interrupts with an explanatory nod to the group, and they all chuckle because it’s probably not wrong. McG, however, is undeterred, so he speaks louder over the laughter as he punches Amir in the arm.

“And second...turquoise? Can’t you get your sniper card revoked for that? I thought only black, camo, and army green were approved colors.”

Jaz regards McG, unfazed for a second, then taps her chin and nods.

“Yep. I’ll just order you one then. You’re obviously jealous. Maybe in neon yellow, to match your underwear.”

McG’s grin is wide and triumphant.

“Why are you checking out my underwear, Jazzy? You interested?” His eyebrows raise suggestively, and Jaz’s eyes sparkle with the challenge. Just as she readies her response, a shadow expands in the corner of her eye and a familiar voice interrupts.

“So, Jaz. Are you? Interested?” Dr. Xander Martin points at McG as he asks, and awaits Jaz’s response with a teasing smile.

“In his dreams,” Jaz scoffs, and McG holds a hand to his heart. Laughing now, she turns fully toward Xander and greets him warmly. He says something about a Call of Duty rematch and Jaz asks if he’s prepared to lose again.

Adam watches the interaction with interest from his place now behind Jaz, and he doesn’t know why, but something about it unsettles him. Jaz and McG have always bantered like siblings, and Amir is fitting in better and better each day that passes by.

Preach however, seems a little off- Adam’s caught him giving Jaz that “knowing” look more than once today. Maybe Preach’s insight is exactly what he needs. Making a mental note, Adam shifts his attention back to the group as they start heading inside.

Xander hangs back, arms crossed, probing green eyes focused on Adam as he comes closer.

“Top.”

“You come around looking for patients?” Adam jokes, and Xander chuckles with a nod as he gives the outstretched hand a firm shake.

“Like you? No thanks.”

“You know, screwed up people like me are the reason you have a job. I’d be more careful with the insults,” Adam replies.

“Ah, yes. Supply and demand. I owe you my livelihood.”

“Damn right.” They both smile at that, but Adam knows they’re beating around the bush. Xander sees all, and in a much more infuriating manner than Preach, because observing and analyzing is his job. Adam braces for the question, but is surprised that he finds himself anticipating, rather than dreading it.

“In that case, care to tell me what’s on your mind? We haven’t talked since...” Trailing off, he waves in the general direction of the team walking away, but they both know what he means. Losing Hossein, surviving Iran, and...Jaz.

Adam stuffs his hands in his pockets and averts his eyes. This dynamic between them is always fascinating to him. They can joke one second and discuss the meaning of life the next, and it never feels forced or out of place, even in an open, dusty road in the middle of an Army base.

Over the years, he’s learned two things about Xander Martin: that avoiding him is a waste of time, and that everything he does is always with his best interests at heart, Army requirement or not. When he’d said to Jaz that Xander is good people, he’d meant it. So, he doesn’t deflect or lie.

“Honestly? I’m...I don’t know...I think I need a little time.”

Xander regards him for a second. It is not an overstatement that Adam Dalton has had a rough go in life. Being a special operations psychologist -so focused around post-mission diagnosis, solutions, and results- it’s sometimes easy to forget the incredible hurdles some people overcome just to get here. Nevermind the strength required to recover from the invisible wounds that war can inflict.

The Sgt. Dalton he’d met 15 years ago at SFAS -the one who’d already survived so much grief in his young life- isn’t even in the same galaxy as the Army Captain staring at him now with honest, thoughtful eyes. A true leader, in every sense of the word. So because of this, he lets it go.

“Understood.” Xander finally says, and Adam gives him a grateful smile. “You know where to find me.”

As his long-time friend walks away, Adam looks up at the sky as he exhales a long, slow breath.

It’s time for team night out, and he is ready to unwind. Or at least try.

__________________________________

“You didn’t.” Amir’s horrified expression causes more howling laughter around the high-top table where they’re standing in the crowded bar. Jaz is telling the story of that now-legendary prank she’d pulled on McG after she’d caught him stealing her iced tea, and the medic can’t help but laugh along with them.

“Alright, alright. That was brilliantly evil, Jazzy. I taught you well,” McG says, patting Jaz on the head. Swatting at his hand, she laughs and starts toward the bar in search of another beer.

Adam watches her. Preach watches him.

Amir and McG spot a pool table opening up, and are off to claim it as Adam hangs back, eyes still on Jaz. The bartender says something, and Jaz leans forward on her elbows, most likely to repeat the name of the beer she wants, this weird concoction they import, Adam thinks, rolling the standard IPA bottle between his palms. Predictable Jaz would say, and that makes him smile.

Long moments pass, and then the loud opening chords of the next jukebox song jerk him out of his trance. He looks around quickly, trying to recover from the momentary lapse, and is relieved when he finds Preach apparently immersed in something serious-looking on his phone. Lucky Adam thinks. If Preach had seen him spaced out staring at Jaz, he’d never live it down.

“Hey, Top,” Preach says, patting the stool beside him as Adam approaches him. Noticing the barely touched, almost warm beer in Top’s hand, Preach smiles to himself. It’s about time for some friendly advice, maybe even a little tough love.

Adam considers jumping straight into the topic that’s been dominating his thoughts the past few days. He is no stranger to PTSD, and while he’s not sure Jaz’s odd behavior stems from that, the possibility alone has him on alert.

A dozen questions race in his mind. Has Preach noticed the weirdness with Jaz? What does he think it’s about? Does he think she’s having second thoughts...about the team? About her life here? About him? Instead, he settles for the safest topic he can find.

“Hey, um, the change you made to the comms malfunction drill was clever. No question, the new gear could go haywire during an op like that.”

“Yeah, well. Not like the disruption worked on you and Jaz. From now on, we’re banning telepathy during team competitions.”

Adam’s wistful smile comes and goes in an instant, as he darts a quick glance at his sniper just feet away, waiting on her drink. He wonders if the thoughtful look on her face means she’s considering hopping up to sit on the wood bar top. Distracted, he absentmindedly starts responding.

“We can’t read each other’s--” stopping abruptly, he clears his throat, then mutters, “Well, I can’t…”

When he trails off, Preach notices the clenched jaw, the strain in his forearm muscles. Adam relaxes almost instantly, tapping his fingers against the colored glass, but it’s too late.

“Adam.” The use of his given name always has the desired effect. Top sighs, wondering why he even tries. Preach can read him like a book, and isn’t that why he walked over here in the first place?

“I’m worried, Preach.” That catches the older man a little off guard. Adam’s not even trying to be subtle, which speaks volumes about his state of mind. Still, Preach doesn’t press too hard.

“About what? McG’s susceptibility to street dogs during close quarter combat?”

Adam huffs out an obligatory laugh with a sideways look, and Preach nods as he raises his hands in acquiescence. It’s only been two weeks since Tehran, and Jaz’s recovery has been on everyone’s radar. Even without the intel he’s gathered by watching Adam and Jaz interact recently, Preach would’ve guessed what he’s concerned about.

“Alright. So, you’re worried about Jaz. What’s new?” Adam rolls his eyes, and against his better judgment tries to defend himself.

“I’m not always worr--”

“Top, this conversation will be a lot easier if you at least try to be honest--”

Adam flares. “Hey, I’m not-- ”

“--with yourself.” Preach finishes, knowingly. That seems to halt Adam momentarily, so he continues. “I don’t care what you say to me. I already know the truth. Do you?”

Adam seems to deflate visibly at that, running an impatient hand over his beard. Preach waits, and when Adam doesn’t speak, he prods.

“Tell me about the worst case scenario in your head.”

Adam doesn’t expect that. “What?”

“You’re worried. About Jaz. But what specifically about her? You think she’s slipping? Or you think she’ll shoot you in the ass accidentally?” Air quotes accompany the last word and Adam begrudgingly smiles.

“McG’s rubbing off on you,” Adam mumbles, but Preach knows he’s made his point. None of this conversation has to do with Jaz as a soldier, a professional, a member of the team. Jaz is the best sniper in Special Forces, and they are damn lucky to have her back. What happened in Tehran? It can’t touch any of that.

For a few seconds, Adam looks down, turns the green bottle fast in his hands, watches it spin like his mind.

“What truth?” he finally asks. “What truth do you know that I don’t?”

Preach considers that. It’s possible he might’ve overplayed his hand using that particular phrase. But after witnessing a completely spaced out Jaz that morning, oblivious to everything but Top, he feels a responsibility to the team, to them. Wisdom is knowing when to speak and when to let things be. And Preach is wise. It’s time for a nudge.

“You and Jaz...you trust each other when your lives are on the line. That’s the job. But real life? It’s...not that.”

Preach stands, strolling away casually towards his teammates, leaving Adam to mull over his words.

Real life. What does that even mean for him now? This is his real life. Is it not?

From experience, he knows there’s an ocean of difference between the connections that form after trauma, and the organic nature of normal friendships. So, him and Jaz. Are they bound to each other due to circumstance? If they weren’t soldiers, teammates, commanding officer and subordinate, would they meet at a bar or a restaurant and bond over everyday things?

Whatever the answer, Adam only knows one truth. Real or not, Jaz has become an essential piece of this pie chart he thinks of as his life. Obviously, a much larger piece than he’d realized. And the idea that the fallout from Iran might threaten that? He won’t allow it.

Jaz’s distant laugh interrupts his escalating thoughts. Startled, he lifts his head, eyes searching for her. He finds her leaning casually against the rounded edge of the bar, staring up at some stranger’s face.

The tall, well dressed guy -probably some IT contractor or a businessman- smiles down at her, his body language making his intentions clear as day. When he reaches inside his jacket pocket, Adam jumps to his feet, but freezes when he notices a harmless pen emerge. Not a threat.

Oblivious, Jaz looks down, clearly radiating amusement instead the annoyance Adam finds himself hoping for. The clean-cut man scribbles on the white napkin next to her beer. Adam shifts uncomfortably on his feet, taking a couple steps toward the pool table where Preach and McG are standing, as if he was headed there the whole time.

Surely, Adam thinks, Jaz will offer a polite smile and chuck the napkin when the guy turns around, like he’s seen her do countless times. But she tucks it safely in her jacket pocket instead, zipping it closed with a curious smile on her face, and it’s the second time tonight Adam has to force his body to relax.

Jaz is quiet, but pleasant, the rest of the night. Adam steals quick glances in her general direction, pretending he’s keeping watch over the front door to their left. She seems lost in thought, occasionally chuckling or interjecting one-word answers.

Since he’s known her, Jaz has always been an all or nothing kind of girl. Present or absent, engaged or disengaged. As her CO, his entire management strategy around her is based on this fact. Jaz is black and white. No gray area. No compromise.

But this Jaz, the one weaving in and out of his private thoughts, this is not the Jaz he’s used to. A whole new side of her is starting to show -since Iran- and it makes him wonder if a real friend would behave like him, watching from the sidelines while she morphs into whoever she’s gonna be.

As his internal dialogue takes on a life of its own, Preach regales Amir with more old team stories and McG tells inappropriate jokes. Before they know it, it’s time to head back to base.

Outside, they near their SUV parked on the street, and Jaz moves to take a seat in the back.

“Your long legs fit better in the front,” she tells Preach as she closes the car door.

Because he’s wise, Preach doesn’t miss a beat. McG and Amir follow his lead. “Not gonna complain.”

Adam hides his disappointment well as he climbs into the driver’s seat, but his hands tremble almost imperceptibly around the wheel.

On the ride home, it takes all his willpower to stop himself from looking back at her through the rearview mirror.

____________________________________

It’s late, and Adam tosses and turns in bed. Sleep has slowly returned to normal for him since Tehran -although the nightmares are not entirely gone, they are manageable now- but tonight, his mind is wide awake. He refuses to think about why, knowing it will take him down a path he just doesn’t feel ready to consider yet.

Jaz, standing at that bar tonight, smiling -genuinely this time- at another man. It’s not like she’s not approached on a regular basis when they go out. Jaz is beautiful, and there’s never a shortage of men circling around. Still, she’s never entertained any of them. Not on deployment. Or at least, not when she’s out with the team. With him.

Enough. God, he needs to clear his head. Shuffling out into the hallway, thinking a quick walk outside will help, he’s puzzled when he finds her door across from his slightly ajar.

A faint noise from the kitchen draws his full attention, and he quietly moves in that direction, reaching the living area in time to see Jaz walking away, crossing the plastic strip curtain, headed outside. Indecision paralyzes him briefly, but he follows her, feeling silly about spying, but unable - or unwilling- to make his body turn around.

He finds her sitting on the picnic table, legs crossed, her profile visible to him from his hidden spot by the door. Briefly, he worries she’ll notice him -because ninja skills- but after a few moments he thinks he’s safe, and finds himself just watching her. Memories of their talk by the fire wash over him, unabated, as he takes her in. When did this start to happen exactly? This need to be around her, understand her? Have her understand him?

The late evening breeze blows softly, the hair around her face fluttering, and his eyes focus on something square and white in her hand, the soft edges flapping lightly in the wind. From his position, he can’t read her facial expression, her long thick hair covering most of her profile, but her head is tilted down. The way his stomach drops when he realizes what’s in her hand doesn’t entirely surprise him now. A napkin. Most likely the one from the bar, with someone else’s phone number scribbled on it.

Preach’s words from earlier ring in his ears…what exactly is “real”? And if it’s not this... does Jaz want whatever real may be? Does he?

_____________________________________

The next morning, Jaz walks back from her morning run, and the 12’ x 12’ plankwood square that serves as their storage space on base catches her eye. The door is ajar, and seconds later she finds herself inside. Shuffling around the grimy, dark room, breathing in and out, gliding her fingers over the dusty edges of the cardboard boxes neatly piled and catalogued.. Not looking for anything in particular, she wonders what she’s even doing here.

A single box she finds halfway open draws her attention- “Undercover Props / Accessories” it reads in scrambled sharpie ink on the outside. Adam’s scribble. A few rows of bulk cleaning supply boxes are lined up next to it, and that old couch Elijah had begged them to replace frames the back wall. When she inches closer, a flash of light reflecting on something like glass catches her eye, and she reaches inside for it instantly.

Staring at the rimless, fake reading glasses- Adam’s- in her hand, her mind flashes back to that busy Tehran airport, the smell of jet fuel, sounds of rolling luggages and high pitched chatter. Closing her eyes she can recall every detail. It makes her stomach flutter, but not from the thoughts she expects- the botched jump from the hotel window, the torture room designed to strip her raw, or the almost impossible rescue by her guys.

Instead, she recalls unexpected images, grainy black and white daydreams. Adam’s strong hand on the small of her back, his warm breath on her cheek, the intoxicating feel of soft lips and his scratchy beard against her skin. None of these are details she consciously noticed at the time -her focus had been on playing the role, making it through customs untouched.

A mild sense of unease creeps in as she becomes aware of her thoughts. Her dreams- and fantasies lately -have been full of... this, she thinks a little bitterly. Loaded with an undecipherable fusion of images and thoughts and feelings that feel disjointed and unnatural to her.

Memories after a traumatic event can be a tricky thing, Xander says. It appears he’s right again.

She remembers sitting in her room that day, staring at the clothes she’d picked for their flight into Tehran, and feeling nervous and a little excited about the undercover assignment as Adam’s wife. The memories are murky- chronological snapshots of that morning’s events flashing in her mind -but what strikes her now is the feeling that comes with them, the emotion that floods her so unexpectedly as she stands there, lost in thought, in the middle of that dusty room with Adam’s glasses in her hand.

She’d felt...safe that day; walking through the shiny white corridors along the crowded airline terminals, Adam by her side, holding her hand. As dangerous as she knew it was, she couldn’t recall a mission where she’d felt more prepared. A 650 yard shot- she could execute that in her sleep. An airtight escape plan- undercover couple assignments were practically their specialty by now. The world a little safer with Jarif dead - finally getting justice for her fellow servicemen fallen at that beach.

The humorless chuckle escapes her as her focus returns to the present, a fingertip tracing the edge of the lenses’ frame. How wrong had she been.

Chatter from some soldiers discussing the lack of adequate soap choices at the PX makes her snicker, and she wonders how long she’s been in the storage room. With a quick shake of her head, she moves toward the open box to put away the glasses, but her hand freezes just above the opening.

No one will know if you take them.

The thought - and the accompanying chill down her spine- startle her. Jaz is not sentimental about these things, so it makes no sense that she can’t make her fingers loosen around the folded thin temples of the glasses. Even more illogical is that leaving them in that box feels like leaving him .

You’re being ridiculous she chastises herself, forcing her fingertips to let go, but the moment the glasses fall between Top’s go-to gray scarf and that curly hair wig she hates, she knows they’re going with her.

Walking out of the storage room, one hand wrapped around the smuggled prize in her pocket, Jaz runs straight into Adam.

“Hey,” Adam says. Calm, collected and steady. Under his piercing stare her cheeks start to burn.

“Hi.” Jaz says, scanning the space around him as if assessing threat levels. Adam wants to touch her shoulder, get her attention, so he shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“You find any treasure?”

“What?” It’s a little too quick, and Adam’s eyes narrow. Widening his stance, he considers her for a moment before waving a listless hand at the structure behind her.

“In the storage room?” Jaz just stares, so he continues. “You just walked out of--”

“Ah, yes.” She interjects, recovering with a nod. “No, I didn’t.”

“What were you looking for? Maybe I can help.” Damn him and his perseverance. The hand in her pocket squeezes involuntarily, reminding her to relax.

“Oh no. I found it.” Adam is visibly confused, so she amends, “I mean...I have what I need. Back in my quarters. I don’t even know why I...went in there.” The last few words uttered as she moves to walk away.

“Okay…” But it’s not, he thinks, and his brow furrows further. What does she have back in her quarters? And for what mission? DC hasn’t called in the three days since they’re last mission. On instinct, he takes a quick step to the side and blocks her path.

Jaz feels her temper begin to wind. All she wants is to be left alone with her illogical thoughts and inconvenient feelings, and yet, here’s Adam, being his steady, thoughtful self and her hand is burning in her pocket, and she just wants to snap.

“Did you need something, Top?” A bit sharper than she intended. Adam straightens.

“No, I just--”

“Because it seems you were waiting for me. Out here.” Adam starts to smile sheepishly, but stops at her look.

“Yeah. Listen, Jaz--”

“I’m fine.” Jaz interrupts, calmer now, realizing that flipping out on him only increases the chances he’ll figure out what she’s carrying in her pocket, and in her mind.

“Last night you were pretty quiet.” When she meets his eyes he feels the need to clarify. “At the bar.”

That catches Jaz off guard. Of course he meant at the bar , where else would she have been quiet last night that he would’ve noticed? Her head tilts, processing the information, and he swallows before averting his eyes so briefly she almost misses it. Whatever that’s about she’ll have to find out another time. Right now, she needs some space.

“I was tired. Listen, Top...” Adam waits.

Taking a deep breath, Jaz blinks a few times. She doesn’t want to have this conversation- about her fruitless attempts at distracting herself from thoughts of him- but if she doesn’t give him something concrete, they will dance this dance until she loses her mind. So, just like the morning before, she decides a partial truth is better than a lie.

“I just feel...different. That’s all. I’m working through it.”

“Different how?” There’s something like distant panic in his chest at her explanation, and it all starts to jumble in his head -Preach’s words about real life, spying on her under the stars, visions of her calling that other guy- but he catches himself, and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s fine,” she dismisses with a wave, and vaguely registers that her temper has all but vanished at the depth of his concern. “Just...you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“I do.” The lack of hesitation draws out a small smile as she looks up at him.

“Thanks.” Adam nods, and steps out of her way, following her with his eyes until she’s out of sight.

_____________________________________

The rest of the day is mostly routine. A solid morning run, sparring with her guys, chores and maintenance checklists for weapons and equipment, a short trip into the city for lunch and supplies. But now, as Jaz moves through her room preparing for bed, she feels anything but normal. Slipping on a worn long sleeve tee and tugging up her flannel pants, the barrage of thoughts and feelings that have swirled within her the past few weeks weigh heavily on her mind.

Tying her hair up in a pineapple bun, she plops down on the edge of her bed and her eyes can’t help glancing at the bedside table compartment where Adam’s glasses are now stashed away. She tells herself that she should be sleeping already, but her hand pulls the drawer open and a second later her finger traces the metallic edge around the lenses. Unbidden, a soft memory from hours before that fateful flight into Iran floats through her mind.

“Hey, Mrs. You ready?” Adam walks in, dressed in his preppy professor outfit, and Jaz grins.

“Well, well, professor. Been a while since you’ve gotten to play dress up.” Jaz eyes him up and down, and he smiles indulgently.

“Been a while since you’ve gotten to play wife.” She catches the smirk on his face as he turns to drape his jacket over the kitchen table chair.

“Such a privilege.” Jaz deadpans. Adam simply raises an eyebrow at that, and gestures toward her hand.

“The ring to your satisfaction, dear?” Jaz stretches her hand out and eyes her ring finger suspiciously as she shrugs.

“This cracker jack ring?” Adam chuckles. “It’s okay. For a professor’s salary, I suppose.”

When he doesn’t reply, she looks at him, and finds him lost in thought - that soft “Adam smile” she rarely gets to see visible on his face. Preach’s voice as he walks into the kitchen breaks Adam out of his trance and he walks away quickly, without meeting her eyes. Before she can process those last few seconds, Preach distracts her with talk about comms and Iran’s latest airport security protocols, and Jaz never gives Adam’s hasty exit a second thought.

Until now. The easy banter between them that day belied the seriousness and danger of the task they were about to take on. But it hadn’t mattered. Not then. Those moments - memories - feel so precious to her now. A reminder of a time when she could be around Adam, casually, without every nerve ending in her body awakening; without her thoughts drifting to the future possibilities, or lack thereof, between them.

Them. A kind of sadness swells inside her as she considers that. Somewhere deep down she knows the idea of Top as more than her CO has been dangerously hovering near the fringes of her conscious mind longer than she’d care to admit.

These days, though, it seems like the proverbial Pandora’s box has exploded inside her, and all the wishes she’s spent her life holding at arm’s length are now roaming around freely, mockingly staring her in the face.

She wants her simpler life back. The one where she felt balanced, prepared, in control. That black and white life where all but her next breath was expendable. This desire growing inside her- the idea that she could have more than just the Army as the backbone of her life - it translates into one thing and one thing only in her mind: risk.

Shaking her head, she stuffs the glasses in the drawer and flops backwards on the bed. Sergeant Khan, she mentally admonishes herself, get your shit under control. Now.

Satisfied with her stern internal dialogue, Jaz burrows under the covers, but as she reaches to turn off the lamp, she catches a glimpse of her bright turquoise water bottle and smiles. Maybe some changes haven’t been entirely bad.

The darkness and quiet seep in slowly as sleep overtakes her. And in spite of her logical conclusion that a simpler life is what she should want, the last conscious thought that swims in her mind’s eye is of Adam’s smile.

_____________________________________

“Jaz, what the…” The words die in his throat as his capable, lethal sniper struts into the room, wearing the shortest skirt he’s sure she’s ever owned, and a white button down shirt that barely covers her midriff.

“Yes, professor.” Adam’s hands ball tightly at his sides at the sultry tone in her voice, and he watches Jaz advance toward him. Slowly. Eyes on him.

“You don’t have to call me--”

“I want to.” Well damn. Adam swallows and manages to point at the classroom chair a few feet in front of him, but his eyes are locked on the exposed skin of her legs.

“There are… um, papers, uh, that list of...things for, um, today…” German language prep, is what he means to say -Jaz has been working on German quals and he’s been helping her in their free time- but his brain is scrambling to stay somewhat focused and the pitiful attempt is not successful at all.

Alarm bells start ringing in his head as she bypasses the chair and comes around to sit on the corner of the desk.

“I thought maybe we could...improvise.” It has the desired effect and Jaz smirks as she watches him take in a shaky deep breath. Momentarily, a fleeting thought reminds her of the last time they’d improvised. In Tehran. But right now, Adam is standing there in that checkered button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up with his veined, muscled forearms flexing as he tries to reign himself in, and Jaz just can’t find it in herself to give a fuck about Iran.

Still staring at his hands, Adam replies, “Uh, yeah. Well, no--” he shakes his head “--we should follow the---”

“Adam.” At the sound of his name, he turns his head to look her in the eye, gripping the edge of the desk almost painfully now. Jaz leans her upper body closer, staring up at him through thick, long lashes. She’s got him right where she wants him, and the anticipation bursts in her chest as her eyes explore his familiar face.

When she scoots over to the right, closer and closer to where he’s standing, Adam instinctively lets go of the desk and plops down on the chair behind him.

“Jaz, we should probably---”

“The door is locked. The guys are out at that beach soccer tournament.” Methodically, she’s been rearranging her position so that she’s sitting on the edge of the desk now, right in front of him. Long, lean legs crossed at the ankles, swinging back and forth playfully.

“It’s just you and me.”

Adam tries to speak, but no words come out. Instead his eyes roam over her, hungry and dark, and Jaz has to press her thighs together to stave off the want. Adam is slowly unraveling, fidgeting a little wildly and squirming in the leather chair, and Jaz thinks he’s never looked more unpredictable.

“Will you do something for me?” That gets his attention and his eyes fly up to hers. She reaches inside her white button shirt between her breasts, eyes never leaving his, and pulls out the familiar pair of glasses he’d worn that day in Tehran. Adam’s mouth opens slightly, and when she bends down to place the glasses on his face, Adam freezes as his gaze locks on the visible edges of the white lace bra under her shirt.

Jaz hums appreciatively at the sight of him and licks her lips on instinct, tracing her fingers lightly down along his cheeks, over his beard, caressing that distracting bottom lip of his with her thumb as she straightens.

“Where, um…how did you get…” Right now, he couldn’t string a sentence together to save his life.

“Lucky treasure hunt. Adam...” The soles of the white tennis shoes she’s wearing are now resting on his knees, and his body just moves on autopilot, leaning towards her like metal to a magnet. The leather chair slides forward as Adam runs his large calloused hands softly over her shins, around the back to cup her calves, squeezing involuntarily as he looks up at her, questioning.

“Jaz?”

“Please,” she breathes while leaning back, hands on the desk behind her for support. When he pushes her legs back and open, and anchors her feet on the edge of the desk, her head falls back with a slightly desperate moan. The sudden rush of air over her hot, aching center shocks her, but Adam’s deep raspy growl drowns out her strangled cry as he takes in the full sight of her.

“Fuck, Jaz…” Feeling the suddenly intense grip of his hands around her ankles, she chuckles triumphantly because that’s the exact reaction she’d imagined when she’d chosen to forego wearing panties under her bright pink tennis skirt.

“Surprise.” Jaz’s voice trembles with anticipation, and because she can feel his warm breath so close to where she needs him, her hips roll forward on instinct, back arching, searching for the feel of his mouth on her. It’s his turn to grin now at her disapproving whine, because payback is only fair and he’s going to take his time savoring this. Her.

Closing his eyes for a second, he takes in her scent- she’s been wet for him for hours it seems, and it makes his cock painfully hard. He’s immersed in the experience of her, the sighs and deep breaths as he rubs his beard over the perfectly smooth skin of her inner thighs.

Traveling up her silky tanned legs, his hands come to rest over her knees for a second before pushing gently, opening her wider to his gaze.

“God.. Adam, please…” Jaz has been planning this for days, dreaming about it, and if he doesn’t touch her soon- really touch her- she will implode.

“Shhh… Sei geduldig .” He tells her to be patient, in fucking German, and Jaz feels the heat low in her belly grow into wildfire. Without warning, he runs his tongue from her opening up to her clit and closes his lips around it, sucking hard.

The incoherent rambling coming from her lips is enough to make him lose some of his self-control, but he’s ready for her, and holds her in place easily as she jerks against his mouth, chasing the pleasure, moaning his name.

“Adam...I need.. Please… now.” Two fingers slide inside her, rough and fast, curling as he feels her clenching, and not a minute passes before stars explode behind her eyes, body going limp.

“Wow.”

“Just wow? Ouch.” Adam jokes, looking down at her, relaxed and beautiful, thick black hair fanning around her on the desk.

Jaz rolls her eyes and offers a mischievous grin. “That was a good start.”

It reminds him there’s still way too many clothes between them, and his eyes darken behind the glasses as Jaz hooks her legs around his waist for leverage, comes up to snake her arms around his neck, and pulls his face down for a kiss.

Adam makes quick work of her shirt and bra, and when she moves to take off the skirt bunched around her waist he breaks the kiss and stops her with his hand. “Leave it.”

At her raised eyebrow, he touches a finger to the glasses on his face and explains, “You’re not the only that’s fantasized about this...us.” He emphasizes that last word with a pointed look - his attempt at communicating so much more than he’s able to verbalize just then- and Jaz bites her lip.

“Good.” That’s all she can manage, because his familiar piercing stare that’s always felt a bit unnerving but reassuring, is doing nothing but making her wet and desperate for him again.

“So, professor,” her wicked smirk sends a blinding spark of need straight to his groin, “you gonna stand there and talk, or show me how it’s done?”

“Jesus, Jaz…” Adam growls as he threads his fingers through her hair, closes his fists around it, and proceeds to devour her mouth. Jaz never knew a kiss could feel like this, and while her head is swimming in delirious bliss, her hands are busy ridding him of his clothes.

The moment she wraps her fingers around his cock, Adam opens his mouth and inhales sharply, lips still brushing against hers.

“Fuck, Jaz...yes, baby….” Jaz hums her approval as he sweeps her tongue inside her mouth, and sucks on his bottom lip one more time before breaking the contact.

“Condom. Now. Drawer.” Adam fumbles to find it, too blind with desire to even register that she’d put it there purposely. Just how long has she been planning this?

“Let me.” Taking the foil square from him, Jaz rips it open. Adam brings his forehead down against hers, wide blue eyes focused on her slender fingers rolling the condom over his cock, and he thinks he won’t live another minute without burying himself deep inside her.

“Fuck me, Adam,” Jaz whispers as she looks up at him with hooded eyes, and that hot coil of desire low in his belly grows so strong he feels like a geyser on the inside, ready to erupt.

Spreading his legs wider, he leans his thighs against the desk, and brings his cock to her entrance. With a rough desperate hand on her ass, he pulls her forward to the edge, and then finally sinks into her, hard and fast.

Holding her head firmly in place with his other hand, Adam thrusts his tongue into her mouth in a blinding kiss. Jaz holds onto his shoulders for leverage, nails digging in, begging for speed as she tightens her legs around his waist.

The need for air forces them apart briefly as the pleasure and sensations overwhelm them both. Slurred, incoherent half-words mix in with the sound of their hips slamming against each other, filling the silence in the room.

“Oh, god. Jaz…you feel… incredible.”

“Don’t stop, please...Adam… more...”

Adam tucks his face in her neck, sucking and licking at her sweet-scented skin, and Jaz bites down on his earlobe, whispering unintelligibly as she nears her breaking point.

She meets him thrust for thrust a few more times, and together they slam into oblivion.

Later, Jaz lays straddling Adam’s thighs, sated and content. He traces small circles on her back, restless fingers teasing the hem of the pink skirt gathered around her waist.

“Don’t think my brain can take any german right now.” Adam’s laugh rumbles in his chest and she rubs her nose against the hollow of his neck.

The silence stretches between them. “I can hear you thinking, Top.”

The sound of his nickname on her lips is jarring. Reality explodes around her. God, what has she done? But she is frozen now, unable to make a sound as her brain runs through the countless ways this could go so very wrong.

Jaz is still, her insides now cold as ice. Adam shifts slightly in place, and exhales an agonizingly slow breath.

“I think---”

_____________________________________

“What? You think what?” Jaz murmurs as the embers of the dream dissipate and her eyes open to the stark, cold darkness of her quarters. A deep sense of dread envelops her as she registers the way her thighs are pressed together, her soaked underwear, and the vivid images in her mind of pink skirts, those damn glasses, and Adam’s face buried between her legs.

“God…” She breathes, still so aroused, and horrified. She rubs at her eyes with one hand as she fumbles for her phone to check the time. What the fuck was that, Jaz?

4:55 AM.

Time for a damn run.

#Unexpected Dreams #The Brave #NBC The Brave #Jalton #Adam x Jaz #Jaz x Adam #Preach #Amir #McG #UndercoverWatermoon Fic #German Professor Adam #Adam's Glasses

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