Chapter Text
John sometimes wondered who Mark Snow had pissed off in upper management to get himself and his team assigned to this case. It was routine recon, just making sure there would be no surprises. It was the CIA equivalent of paperwork. Not that John minded; going undercover in the military wasn't exactly hard, and it was a relief after all that wetwork. But after being assigned as Harold Crane's security detail, John almost missed Kara. She was cruel, but predictable. Crane was pretty much the opposite.
"Mr. Randall, are you certain that you wouldn't prefer to sit down?" Crane patted the space beside him on the bench. From anyone else, it would have registered as a come on. From Crane, it was a simple expression of concern. "I think I have a bottle of water in my bag somewhere, and I'm sure the medic will be here soon."
John resisted the urge to grit his teeth and politely declined. Again. It was ridiculous, this man was fucking ridiculous. John wanted to shake him until he understood that this was a dangerous place, the whole world was a dangerous place, and if he wasn't careful he was going to get himself killed.
Instead of behaving like a normal pencil pusher sent by his superiors into an unstable region in the Middle East, Crane had (somehow) slipped his escort after a meeting he'd had earlier today and gone walking around. Alone. After a frantic half hour of searching, John had found him with some random kid, the two of them trying to coax out a stray dog that had become trapped under some barbed wire. He had refused to leave until the dog was safe, so John had needed to crawl in there to free it, getting a few scratches on his back and arms for his trouble.
Crane had been dismayed upon seeing the scratches and, after using a handkerchief to wipe away blood from the areas with exposed skin, insisted that they wait for medical assistance. John had briefly considered telling Crane that he'd had lovers that had scratched his back worse than this, but he had figured that Crane might have fainted and there had been a kid present (because of course the kid was still present, "We can't let a minor walk around unaccompanied, Mr. Randall!" dear god). John decided he would look for her parents, but only after getting Crane back to his nice safe hotel room.
The kid had pet the (largely unscathed) dog while Crane had held the bloodied handkerchief gingerly and looked around. It had taken John a moment to realize that Crane had been looking for a trash bin. John had inwardly sighed and silently held out his hand, quickly pocketing the ruined piece of cloth. It had felt soft and luxurious in his calloused hands. John thought that it was probably worth more than his gun. John had eyed the man's expensive looking suit and guessed that the amount of money it had cost Crane could probably outfit a couple of platoons completely.
'His cane definitely could,' John thought. It was black, propped up against the bench, and it had the look of discreet wealth to it, like an Omega watch, not a Cartier.
John noted that Crane's suit had been immaculate this morning, but now the knees were all scuffed up, and there was tear in the right sleeve.
John had parked Crane and the kid ("Her name is Amira, Mr. Randall, say hello.") on a nearby bench, before calling in for backup and a medic (because Crane had insisted, and now the medic was going to laugh at John for calling in because of a few scratches, he just knew it).
Now here they were. John waited, standing at attention, mentally prepping himself for the dressing down he was about to get from his SO for losing Crane. (John wasn't worried about the CIA, Snow would probably just tell him he was losing his touch, then offer him some awful Polish alcohol.)
John did his best to ignore Crane chatting with the kid in a mix of English and Arabic (John was surprised Crane knew Arabic). John also did his best to ignore the damned dog that was still there, sitting happily at Crane's feet. The kid scratched behind the dog's ears.
A bottle of water tapped John's arm a few minutes later. John took a couple of sips, more for Crane's benefit than anything else, before handing the bottle back.
It wasn't long before two up-armored Humvees rounded a corner and entered John's line of sight, kicking up dust behind them. The Humvees pulled up in front of John and the first door to open had a man in combat medic uniform behind it. He ran straight for the kid, pulling her into his arms while speaking in rapid Arabic, too fast for John to catch.
"It appears that Amira is his daughter, Mr. Randall," Crane murmured to John. "Dr. Madani is the best surgeon in Tekrit, and he's very happy that his child was with us and has come to no harm."
Crane moved to stand in front of John as the rest of the escort approached. John was surprised to see that Crane only came up to his chin. Crane had seemed taller. Dr. Madani, daughter's hand held firmly, motioned for John to get into a Humvee.
Did Madani want him to leave Crane? John shook his head no. Crane did his painful looking half-body turn to nod permission at him and before John could think about it, he was following Dr. Madani to the vehicle. They left before any words could be exchanged between Crane and John's SO.
By the time Madani was done looking John over (and as John had expected, his back had what amounted to a few papercuts and nothing more), everyone was returning to the vehicles. No one appeared angry and Crane's dog had followed him into the car where John sat. The soldier that had driven the Humvee they were currently in rode in the other vehicle, so Dr. Madani took the wheel while John rode shotgun. In the back, Crane and the kid continued to talk, petting and scratching the dog between them.
"You were following the kid, weren't you?" John said, becuase he had to be sure. "You left the secure military zone because she told you about the dog and you knew she was going for it."
Everyone in the back seat of the Humvee seemed to freeze. Even the dog. John thought that was funny. Apparently, so did Dr. Madani because he snorted in laughter.
"You found Harold in half an hour, soldier. The last one always took at least two." Madani took his eyes off the road for a second to give John a quick smile. "Looks like you're a keeper."
John looked at Crane through the rear view mirror. He was studiously staring out the window now, his cheeks and the tops of his ears tinged slightly pink. John couldn't help but notice that his hand was still petting the dog. John looked down at his own hands. Less than a week ago, John had used them to break someone's neck, because using a gun would have been too loud and too messy. And he had been sick of cleaning up blood. Kara had approved.
Someday soon, he'd have to leave this cover, and go back to being a killer. But for now he would protect this ridiculous man, who watched over children, had ruined his very expensive suit for a dog, and then fussed over his very expendable bodyguard.