Strike Back: The Journey

The Journey - Chapter 1

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Their journey began in Johannesburg

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In the midst of a rather...explicit dream, Damien Scott groaned, rolling over—and nearly sent himself tumbling to the floor. The sensation of falling startled him mostly awake, and he instinctively shot an arm out, connecting with something hard that brought him to an abrupt halt. Groggy, he blinked repeatedly until his blurry vision wavered into focus, the remnants of his pleasant dream fading away.

Where the fuck am I?

He lifted his head and realized his hand was resting on a low coffee table, upon which he could just make out several empty liquor bottles in the semi-darkness of the room. With another groan, he pushed himself back up onto the couch, cupping his forehead with his hand as the events of the previous evening came rushing back with the pounding in his temples.

He was in Michael's hotel room, where he had apparently passed out on the couch after consuming at least half of the contents of those empty liquor bottles, his partner having consumed the rest, celebrating Dalton's news that Section 20 still had a future.

Damien blew out a breath and dropped his hand to his stomach, his eyes drifting closed once again. It had been good to spend time with Michael. He hadn't seen much of his partner in the last four days, after the end of their mission. After Michael had killed Hanson.

He was concerned about his partner, about his mental state, but didn't want to push, understanding Michael needed to process his grief and anger at Kerry's murder in his own way, now that he had time to do so. So he gave him space, but also let him know that he was here for him if he wanted to talk. Or just get drunk.

While Michael kept mainly to himself, Damien had occupied his time with Richmond and Baxter. But mainly with Baxter. The young sergeant had made quite an impression on him during the mission and Damien made it his mission to get to know him better. And boy, did he. In every sense. In his bed and Baxter's. A smile slid across Damien's face and he drifted his hand down toward his groin, replaying their last encounter in his mind. It was nothing serious between them—just fun, casual, no-strings attached sex. Exactly the way Damien liked it. He had tried once again to entice Julia into his bed, but she wasn't biting. Yet. Though Damien bet it wouldn't be long before she succumbed to his irresistible charm and—

A noise behind him pulled Damien from his thoughts and he opened his eyes, catching sight of the digital clock on the end table near his feet. The display read 4:21 am. The sound again, like someone speaking quietly, had him pushing himself up and looking over the back of the couch.

He spied Michael in his bed, eyes closed, sleeping. Damien's brow furrowed as he watched his partner. Correction. Not sleeping. Having a nightmare. The sheet was pushed down off of Michael's bare chest, where it was tangled around his legs. He was shifting, his arms and legs twitching, his head moving against the pillow, a distressed expression on his face, mumbling.

"Kerry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

Michael's anguished whisper hit Damien low in the gut and he rose quickly from the couch. He crossed the space in a few long strides and sat down on the side of the bed. He put his hands on Michael's shoulders and squeezed gently.

"Mike... Wake up, Mike..." he said quietly.

His partner startled at the touch, his body jerking, his eyes flying open. Still caught in the grips of the nightmare, he threw himself to a sitting position, reaching his hand out...and closing on nothing but air.