Part 11: Early March

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Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Swearing, alcohol, hospital setting, medical conditions/injuries, mentions of mentally abusive relationships.

 Swearing, alcohol, hospital setting, medical conditions/injuries, mentions of mentally abusive relationships

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Like his jet in the final moments of the mission, Jake was running on empty. He'd spent the last few days in a daze, trying to come to terms with it all. Ella had almost certainly saved his life, and now she was fighting for her own.

Jake didn't know it at the time, but seconds before Ella's jet plunged into the Pacific Ocean, she had found the fortitude to trigger an emergency ejection. Upon yanking the lever, her jet canopy blew open and she and her seat rocketed into the air with extreme force. Her parachute deployed, but there wasn't enough air or time to grant her a semi-graceful landing. Her aircraft met its watery demise, and, not long after, Ella did too.

Sea rescue mobilised in record speed and fished her limp, unconscious body from the water and into their helicopter. She was whisked away for treatment as soon as the copter's skids hit the helipad, its rotary blades still spinning.

The USS Powell's crew had been on anxious tenterhooks for what felt like an eternity, awaiting news of Commander Crawford's final fate. Faces were grave, but everybody only spoke of hope, as if giving voice to the likely reality would make it immediately true.

Jake was barely holding on to sanity. He knew if the roles had been reversed, if Ella hadn't insisted he land first, he could have been the one forced into an emergency ejection. He would have been the one clinging to life by the thinnest of threads. Peace of mind eluded him. His emotions were completely unregulated, and he struggled to force himself to eat, move, or conduct a conversation. He missed Flick to an extreme degree and yearned for her touch like a heroin addict yearned for the bliss of their next hit. Sleep visited him rarely, but when it did, it was only to plague him with nightmares. His pre-existing fears of Flick coming to harm compounded with Ella's crash, except he, Flick or both of them were in the cockpit.

Somehow, Jake garnered enough clarity to continue his duties. After completing his mission report (in which he expressed grave concerns about the quality of intelligence the strike teams had been given – why didn't they know about the enemy's anti-aircraft capabilities?), Captain Goodyear pulled him into her office for a debrief. It took one look at his gaunt expression and the bags under his eyes for her to decide to stand him down.

"There's no need, Captain, I'm fine."

But Goodyear knew better.

"No ifs, no buts. You're exhausted, Lt Commander. You need rest and time to recuperate. There's no shame in that. I'm a firm believer that the Navy is only as strong as its personnel, and mental strength is as important as physical strength. Both need to be replenished from time to time. I'm transferring your squadron leadership duties to Lt Machado. Your new mission is to eat, sleep, clear your head, and report to Captain Gill in Medical for a wellness check tomorrow."

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