You Are Not Alone
Title: You Are Not Alone
Rating: PG
Fandom/Pairing: The Losers (comic 'verse), Jake Jensen/ Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Genre: Ficlet written for hc_bingo for prompt "Nightmares"
A/N: Set after the events from the "Anti-Heist" storyline.
Clay shook his head, trying to clear it, knock some wakefulness back into place. The rum he'd downed at Jensen's beachside resurrection party had worn him down ages ago, but he still had an hour and a half before Pooch was scheduled to take over watch patrol.
They'd all been relieved to find out that Jensen had made it off the ship, that Roque's bullet had taken out someone more deserving, but Cougar had been thrilled, jumping up and tackling the other man in a tight hug.
And a near miss with a submarine that could have blasted them out of the fucking water hadn't done much to spoil his mood, either. "Madre," he'd laughed, as they clocked a hundred miles with no incident, "we may have some luck yet!"
The funny thing? Their luck? It held. With Jensen navigating, Pooch had managed to get them to the Azores. They were on dry land in less than three hours. Within four, they'd scored fresh clothes and rooms in a tiny hotel, about as far from the resorts as it was possible to get.
Within seven, they'd mostly been drunk, out around a fire on the shore, down the ways a bit. Hell, even Aisha had been laughing.
So it was strange, now, Clay thought, to see Cougar out here like this. It wasn't like he didn't know that they'd set up a perimeter around the hotel, since he'd drawn the long straw. He just didn't seem to care that he was being observed.
Strike that, he just didn't seem to notice. And he didn't even have his fucking hat on, either.
Mindless of the dark, he sat himself down on the cement block porch and began stripping down his sidearm. Clay had seen him do that blindfolded, but he'd also seen him do it three times already, today. The first two times should've gotten the salt out just fine.
It was happening again, then. The nightmares.
Clay wasn't an idiot, he noticed things. Since Roque had turned on them, he'd made it a point to. And he'd known about Cougar's nightmares ever since they'd regrouped. He didn't know how long he'd been having them, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out.
It did, however, take a genius to actually try dealing with them.
Clay stepped back into the shadows, grinding his cigarette out underneath his heel and then wishing regretfully that he hadn't. At least he didn't have long to wait.
Down below, there it was. A light in the window and then an opening door. Jensen staggering out in his boxers and boots, scratching at his head as he surveyed the landscape.
Clay was pretty sure he'd been spotted, but Jensen gave no indication. It didn't matter, anyway. He wasn't close enough to hear anything, and even if he could, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Seeing this was probably already too much.
It wasn't like Clay was one to mind his own business. This was simply intel that he had no practical use for.
Jensen stood behind Cougar for a few moments, watching him. Eventually, he sat down- closer than he'd sat before, when the fire had been going- and picked up the gun oil, handing it over when Cougar reached for it.
The wind shifted, and part of Jensen's voice carried to the rooftop, but not enough to make any sense. In the unlikely event that Cougar responded, it was lost in the air somewhere, but he leaned against Jensen a bit.
When the gun was whole again, Jensen took it carefully from Cougar's clenched hands and set it aside, before pressing his mouth against his hairline. Cougar seemed to wait for a moment, before twisting to get his arms around Jensen- holding tight, from the looks of it, like he had no plans on letting him move for a while.
Jensen, for his part, just kept stroking his back, and Clay was pretty sure what he was hearing were the words it's cool, I'm here. Not even a little bit dead.
It was a fucked sort of thing to be watching, and Clay wasn't the only one who knew it, apparently. When they eventually pulled apart, Jensen waved Cougar inside, before stooping to pick up the cleaning supplies.
When he straightened, his eyes were locked on Clay's position, and he tapped his forehead in some semblance of a salute. From here, it was hard to tell, but the odds were that he'd used his middle finger.
After the door shut behind them, Clay shook another cigarette out of his pack.
Another hour and change, and he'd be done for the night.
---
Rating: PG
Fandom/Pairing: The Losers (comic 'verse), Jake Jensen/ Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Genre: Ficlet written for hc_bingo for prompt "Nightmares"
A/N: Set after the events from the "Anti-Heist" storyline.
Clay shook his head, trying to clear it, knock some wakefulness back into place. The rum he'd downed at Jensen's beachside resurrection party had worn him down ages ago, but he still had an hour and a half before Pooch was scheduled to take over watch patrol.
They'd all been relieved to find out that Jensen had made it off the ship, that Roque's bullet had taken out someone more deserving, but Cougar had been thrilled, jumping up and tackling the other man in a tight hug.
And a near miss with a submarine that could have blasted them out of the fucking water hadn't done much to spoil his mood, either. "Madre," he'd laughed, as they clocked a hundred miles with no incident, "we may have some luck yet!"
The funny thing? Their luck? It held. With Jensen navigating, Pooch had managed to get them to the Azores. They were on dry land in less than three hours. Within four, they'd scored fresh clothes and rooms in a tiny hotel, about as far from the resorts as it was possible to get.
Within seven, they'd mostly been drunk, out around a fire on the shore, down the ways a bit. Hell, even Aisha had been laughing.
So it was strange, now, Clay thought, to see Cougar out here like this. It wasn't like he didn't know that they'd set up a perimeter around the hotel, since he'd drawn the long straw. He just didn't seem to care that he was being observed.
Strike that, he just didn't seem to notice. And he didn't even have his fucking hat on, either.
Mindless of the dark, he sat himself down on the cement block porch and began stripping down his sidearm. Clay had seen him do that blindfolded, but he'd also seen him do it three times already, today. The first two times should've gotten the salt out just fine.
It was happening again, then. The nightmares.
Clay wasn't an idiot, he noticed things. Since Roque had turned on them, he'd made it a point to. And he'd known about Cougar's nightmares ever since they'd regrouped. He didn't know how long he'd been having them, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out.
It did, however, take a genius to actually try dealing with them.
Clay stepped back into the shadows, grinding his cigarette out underneath his heel and then wishing regretfully that he hadn't. At least he didn't have long to wait.
Down below, there it was. A light in the window and then an opening door. Jensen staggering out in his boxers and boots, scratching at his head as he surveyed the landscape.
Clay was pretty sure he'd been spotted, but Jensen gave no indication. It didn't matter, anyway. He wasn't close enough to hear anything, and even if he could, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Seeing this was probably already too much.
It wasn't like Clay was one to mind his own business. This was simply intel that he had no practical use for.
Jensen stood behind Cougar for a few moments, watching him. Eventually, he sat down- closer than he'd sat before, when the fire had been going- and picked up the gun oil, handing it over when Cougar reached for it.
The wind shifted, and part of Jensen's voice carried to the rooftop, but not enough to make any sense. In the unlikely event that Cougar responded, it was lost in the air somewhere, but he leaned against Jensen a bit.
When the gun was whole again, Jensen took it carefully from Cougar's clenched hands and set it aside, before pressing his mouth against his hairline. Cougar seemed to wait for a moment, before twisting to get his arms around Jensen- holding tight, from the looks of it, like he had no plans on letting him move for a while.
Jensen, for his part, just kept stroking his back, and Clay was pretty sure what he was hearing were the words it's cool, I'm here. Not even a little bit dead.
It was a fucked sort of thing to be watching, and Clay wasn't the only one who knew it, apparently. When they eventually pulled apart, Jensen waved Cougar inside, before stooping to pick up the cleaning supplies.
When he straightened, his eyes were locked on Clay's position, and he tapped his forehead in some semblance of a salute. From here, it was hard to tell, but the odds were that he'd used his middle finger.
After the door shut behind them, Clay shook another cigarette out of his pack.
Another hour and change, and he'd be done for the night.
---