Quantico, Virginia – 1992
The cold March wind blew hard that morning, making the bare tree branches creak like old wooden beams. The gray sky covered Quantico like a heavy blanket, and the scent of impending rain hung in the air.
Jason Gibbs stood on the porch of the small house he shared with his father, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his green military coat. The thick fabric helped block the chill, but did nothing to calm the unease boiling inside him.
He stared at the narrow road leading to the house, watching the yellow grass sway in the wind. The world seemed still, but inside him, everything was spinning a mile a minute.
Today was the day.
At 18, Jason was about to take a step that would define the rest of his life: signing the 18X contract, which would guarantee him a direct path to the Special Forces Assessment and Selection (SFAS), the United States Army Special Forces selection process.
It was a difficult path, one few managed to complete. But he was determined. He needed this.
"You're awfully quiet for someone who's going to make a choice like that."
His father's voice sounded behind him, husky and firm as always. Jason turned and saw Gibbs standing in the doorway, holding a mug of coffee. His hair now had a few gray streaks at the temples, and the wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced. But his presence was still solid, as always.
Jason shrugged.
"There's not much to say. I've already decided."
Gibbs nodded slowly and took a sip of his coffee.
"And I know there's no point in trying to convince you otherwise."
Jason smirked. He'd gotten that stubborn streak from his father.
"Exactly."
Silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a silence filled with understanding. Gibbs leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and looked at his son carefully.
"You know what this means, right?" he asked, his voice thick with something Jason couldn't immediately identify.
"I know."
"I'm not just talking about the training. I'm talking about what it's going to cost you."
Jason frowned.
"I know."
"You really do?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "This isn't just about enlisting. It's not just about putting on a uniform and carrying a rifle. You're putting yourself on the hardest path there is. You'll be cut off from everything and everyone. You'll miss important moments. You'll lose people."
Jason looked back at the road again. He knew it. He'd spent nights awake thinking about what this path would demand of him. But none of that changed his decision.
"You did it," Jason murmured.
Gibbs pressed his lips together, looking at his son with a weight in his eyes that only someone who had seen the worst of war could carry.
"And that's why I know what comes next."
Jason turned to face him again.
"And you regret it?"
Gibbs was silent for a long moment before answering.
"No. But I also had nothing left to lose when I did it."
Those words hit home. Jason knew exactly what his father was talking about. After Shannon and Kelly died, Gibbs threw himself into his work. First as a Marine, then as a special agent with NCIS. He found purpose in the pain.
Jason felt like he was doing the same now.
"You don't have to go down this path because of me, Jay," Gibbs continued, his voice softer.
Jason shook his head.
"It's not for you, Dad. It's for me."
Gibbs stared at him for a few more seconds and then let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Then I guess all I can do is tell you what my Sergeant said when I enlisted."
Jason raised an eyebrow.
"And what was that?"
Gibbs gave a small smile.
"Good luck. You'll need it."
Jason let out a short but sincere laugh.
"I know."
Fort Bragg – July 1992
The heat was stifling, heavy as an invisible wall. The humid air made every breath seem to draw in steam, and the blazing sun turned the dirt floor into an oven.
Jason stood among a group of recruits, all dressed in Army camouflage uniforms, caked with dust and sweat. Basic Combat Training (BCT) had begun a few weeks earlier, and it was already clear who had what it took to last and who wouldn't last long.
He adjusted the strap of his M16 rifle as he heard the sergeant yell from the front of the platoon.
"WHO HERE WANTS TO LEAVE?!" The voice of the instructor, a nearly seven-foot-tall infantry sergeant, echoed across the training ground.
No one moved. No one dared.
"THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT!" he growled, walking slowly among the recruits, his eyes scanning each face. "IF YOU THINK WHAT YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH SO FAR WAS HARD, YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! YOU STILL HAVE A LOT TO GO, YOU WORMS!"
Jason remained motionless, his face impassive. He had expected this kind of approach. Gibbs had given him some informal "training" when he was younger, and now he was seeing that it was all worth it.
"Gibbs!" The sergeant stopped in front of him, eyes narrowed.
"Sir, yes, sir!" Jason answered automatically, maintaining his firm posture.
The sergeant stared at him for a long moment before nodding.
"You look like you've been through hell before you got here."
Jason didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The sergeant smirked.
"This could be useful. Or it could destroy you. We'll see which one."
He continued walking through the platoon, continuing his yelling, while Jason remained impassive.
He knew the road would still be long.
Basic training would last a few more weeks, followed by Advanced Individual Training (AIT), where he would learn more specific skills for his role.
After that would come the real test: the SFAS.
But Jason had already made his decision.
And he wasn't going to stop until he got there.
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