~A/N In my timeline, the Kazakhstan mission is set 10 days before ep1. It is Amir's first mission with the team, and Hannah's 3rd. Her state of mind is much worse than what we see in the pilot. I plan on exploring what that means, but what we see here is some pretty raw PTSD.
Amir's been in Turkey all of eight days when the team is activated for his first mission with them; he's spent the time organizing and reorganizing the daunting collection of tactical gear he'd been issued upon arrival to the Incirlik Airbase. Racks of nondescript civvies suited to different climates clutter the floor near the weapons cache, but those he's used to. He slides a few hangers of his size to one end of a rack. What gives him pause are the fatigues, the layers of bulletproof vests and body armor. The camouflage patterns stand out as he regards the clothing with sneaking apprehension.
It's not like he hadn't known what he was getting himself into when he accepted the DIA transfer; Dalton's briefings had been extensive to say the least, on top of the weeks of thorough combat refreshers and specialized training after he'd been cleared.
Physically, the training was demanding, but nothing he couldn't handle. The difficult part for Amir was rearranging the way he mentally approached situations from the covert to the tactical.
"Look, Amir, I want you on this team because of why you're different from the rest of us. If you can bring another dimension to the way we approach an op, that's what I want." From the very beginning, Dalton never saw Amir's lack of military experience as a negative.
So he trained hard, memorized combat protocols, and more often found his mind further and further away from the dark memories three years undercover left him with.
Amir runs a hand over the oiled metal and plastic of his assigned HK416; the curves and grip of the carbine are just beginning to feel familiar. He takes the time to carefully collapse the stock and attach a loaded mag as the rest of the team collects their own gear around him. Jaz shrugs by him to the weapons locker with a quick, calculating look.
In the little more than a week he's been on base, he thinks he's only exchanged 4 or 5 sentences with the sniper. She plucks her preferred short range ISR from the rack, but after a quick deliberation switches it out for the LRT-SASS she uses less often.
When she breezes back by him, he doesn't even get a glare. Amir sighs. Either he's making progress or Jaz is determined to forget his existence. He knows better than to suspect the former.
The mission is quick and dirty, a straightforward extraction of American hostages from armed dissidents in southern Kazakhstan. Nothing goes too awful wrong, but Amir adds 5 names he'll never know into the kill list he pretends he doesn't keep in the back of his mind.
The compound is all corners, and each one he rounds there seems to be another tango in ratty fatigues. He puts them down because they've been cleared to do so, and he knows there's not enough time for less lethal methods. They have to be in and out. The more time they spend fucking around, the higher the chance the hostages get capped, according to McG.
So Amir puts a bullet in the chest of each dissident that confronts him, knowing that even though he won't remember their faces, they'll show up in his mind the next time he tries to sleep.
Anonymous kills are easier than most to put behind him. His list isn't even that long; he's sure it would be dwarfed by the list of anyone else on the team. On a covert operation, the least amount of bodied dropped is directly related to how well you accomplished the mission. A trail of corpses does nothing to strengthen an undercover identity. Here, in the company of former special forces, the difference between them is palpable. He finds grim comfort in the lives they were able to restore, but making peace with taking a life has always come slow for Amir.
Still, it's his first mission with the team, and a successful mission brings its own satisfaction. The voices in their comm feeds congratulate them as they usher the hostages onto the bird for transport to the nearest U.S. airbase. Throughout the op, Amir absently pairs the main voices with images of the few coordinators he's met in DC; Deputy Director Campbell has a very distinct, intense quality to her tone that made her easy to recognize. Many of the voices blend into the background as Amir works, shrinking into little more than tactical instruction. There's one though, that leaves the vague impression of interest; a woman's voice, calm and understated.
Amir contemplates the voice while he muddles his way through filing his first mission debrief, if only to get his mind off McG's disruptive snoring; the medic is sprawled across the worn couch in the hangar's living area. Amir settles in at the communications area on the opposite end of the hangar, but the distance doesn't do him any favors. As he logs into the team's encryptedd server, the snores float his way through the otherwise silent space.
They've been back for four hours; enough time to grub, shower, and tumble into their respective bunks (or in McG's case, the middle of the common area). Preach, Jaz, and Dalton all opt for that choice (considering the Chinook they hitched a ride back to base on wasn't especially conducive to napping) but Amir is still a little buzzed on the action.
So instead of hitting the sack, he files paperwork. Dalton waves a hand as he passes by on the way to his quarters.
"That'll be there when you wake up, grab some shut-eye while you can."
"It's ok Top, I just want to get into it."
"First op down, not a wrinkle. You'll be riding that high for a few days, man," McG claps him on the shoulder before passing out on the couch.
He's not wrong , Amir thinks, as he stares at the same question he's been reading for the last five minutes. His body feels wired, despite the exhaustion beginning to set in. Local time, it's about ten in the morning; any normal day not preceded by a 17 hour long op they might be out running maneuvers. Today though, Amir is the last man standing. McG got it half right at least… but instead of a high, what's keeping him up is the lingering unease about what he might see when he starts to drift off to sleep.
The reinforced laptop hums on the table in front of him, spitting out warm air as he tries his best to fill out the official mission report. Snoring still emanates from the couch area.
Amir scrubs a hand over his beard and closes out the form. He knows he should go to sleep, but he dawdles at the table. Pale golden light filters in through the plastic flaps that drape over the few windows in the hangar; aside from McG's noisy breathing, everything feels still, almost frozen.
Until Patton presses his cold, wet nose into the crook of his arm, and Amir jerks away, violently knocking into the laptop keyboard.
" Crazy dog , " Amir mutters in Arabic, reaching down to ruffle the mischievous dog's fur. "What are you doing in here, huh? Jaz was meant to put you out before she fell asleep…"
Patton's tongue lolls out as he nuzzles into Amir's lap. Amir chuckles and gives him a good scratch behind the ears.
"Alright, fine. Stay while I'm awake."
It takes a moment for the trill of the laptop's comm alert to register as Amir pets Patton. When he does finally notice, it's not without a tiny rush of panic; the comm system is telling him there's an incoming call, and that number is DIA Operations. Amir keys the accept pattern in, anticipating to see Deputy Director Campbell appear, telling him they made a terrible mistake on the op.
When the call waiting screen disappears though, it's not the bespectacled blond Deputy Director.
"Amir?" The look on the younger woman's face is similar to what he's feeling: mild alarm with a hint of confusion.
"Ah, yes. Yes, I'm Amir…" he says, turning to fully face the laptop. He does manage to restrain himself from grabbing the screen in a fluster, and counts that as a win.
"No, I know that. Is everything ok?" She's in the Operation Command room, dark circles under darker eyes. Amir blinks.
"I, well yes. Everything is—why? It's fine, everything's fine but why…?" He's stammering, and he hates it. He glances toward the common area, but his concern is less than warranted; at that moment McG lets loose the loudest snore yet. The woman must have heard, because when he turns back to the screen one side of her mouth is quirked like a half of a smile.
"Copy," she says, and puts something down off screen. From the clicking sound, he thinks it must be a phone. "You um, you activated a secure line. Then hung up. I thought maybe—"
"Oh! No, that was a mistake. The dog surprised me and I… how on earth… I must have accidentally sent that call. I apologize." He can feel his face warming. Of all the ridiculous things that could have possibly happened, of course Patton accidentally calls the DIA.
"No worries. I mean, I was worried, so I guess. One worry?" The woman is smiling fully now, and Amir can't help but return it. She sounds as tired as he does, with the same near-delirious undertone; he thinks she must have been one of the coordinators on the op. It then occurs to him that this is the voice he remembered from his in-ear feed.
"Well, that one worry can rest," he answers, before something else occurs to him. "I didn't realize anyone from command would still be in Operations. Is everything okay on your end?" Incirlik is about 8 hours ahead of DC; it would have to be two in the morning Eastern Time. She sighs and rubs the side of her neck, nodding before he finishes his sentence.
"Yeah. Almost everyone is gone, I was just checking up on some things when I noticed your call." She sips from a bright green mug. "So. You have a dog?" She smiles, in an absent kind of way.
Amir, keenly aware of the fact Patton has now flopped himself down on top of his feet, holds back a laugh.
"Oh, yes. A stray. He's made himself quite at home with us though." Patton chooses that moment to let out a soft whine. Amir raises an eyebrow. "And also somehow knows that we are talking about him," he murmurs. The woman laughs, and Amir all at once feels lightheaded. I should really be asleep , he thinks, as his heartbeat picks up slightly.
"I'll add him to the official team log, then," she teases. "What's his name?"
"Patton." He pauses. "Dalton named him," he says by way of explanation. He pauses again while she shakes her head in amusement. "Can I ask… sorry, but I don't know your name."
"No, it's ok. It's Hannah, Hannah Rivera. I'm new. Like you, I guess."
Hannah is still smiling. She's beautiful , he thinks.
Amir clears his throat and shuffles his feet, disturbing Patton, who gives an affronted growl before settling back down.
"It must be late there; I'm sorry for troubling you, Hannah." He shoots a quick glance around the hangar. "I won't keep you though, thanks for checking in—"
"No, it's alright, don't. Don't go on my account. I can keep talking. If you want to." She interrupts him, and mild alarm which had initially faded from her voice is back. Amir is startled. Something must be off for her to react like this. He doesn't even know this girl, but she's willing to continue an accidental video chat at two in the morning, 4 or 5 hours after most of her coworkers had probably left. She doesn't want to leave , Amir realizes.
He and Hannah are kind of alike.
"Sure. I'd like that," he says, and finds himself wishing they were in the same room.
"Thanks," she says, a little meek; a little shrunken into herself, like she hadn't meant to say any of that. "I'm sorry, I—I've just been a little off all night. Still adjusting to being on this side of things." Before Amir can ask, she adds, "I was CIA too."
It all falls into place. They're a lot alike.
All of a sudden his mind floods with dark suits and blood and so much guilt he can't see straight. He knows how a memory can cut a person from the inside out, the habits that form. Amir takes a deep, cleansing breath.
"Undercover?" He asks. Hannah nods, solemn."Mexico. It's been 6 months, but I…" She let's her sentence trail, but Amir knows what she means to say. What she can't say. It's so very clear when he looks at her, the trauma in her past. Clear in her eyes, and the way she won't meet his right now. Clear in the way her hand travels to touch one side of her neck, where he now notices the jagged scar. "I'm sorry. Again." Her voice is small.
"There's no need for that, Hannah." He tries very hard to pour all the empathy that is welling up in his chest right now into his voice, because she's still looking away and he wants, needs her to understand.
"No; I mean, here I am, a stranger trying to monopolize your time after you've clearly been through the ringer yourself," she starts.
"Hannah—"
"And tonight of all nights, when you've just been in a literal fire fight, while I'm locked up tight safe in a damn control room—"
"Rivera, stop." Amir feels his heart ache, thinking of what she must be going through; having to from the precipice of undercover work to behind a computer screen… His transition was tough, but hers was monumental. "Look, I mean it okay? There is never any apology needed for working through the pain in your past."
Hannah won't look at him, and he hates that she's feeling embarrassed for venting in front of him.
He know's he's dangerously close to letting this devolve into some sort of enabling self-therapy session—for both of them—and this is so not the time or place, so he takes another deep breath to compose himself. Hannah does the same, and he's struck again by how strange this whole situation is, but at the same time… oddly right .
"I think you may know a little more about my past than I know about yours, so you can trust me when I say, these things you're feeling? I understand. I know this hurt. I hurt for you, to have it in your mind, your heart… on your body." Hannah finally meets his eyes again, and for the first time since this conversation started, the concern of waking up another team member doesn't even enter his head. "Go home. Sleep. I will too, okay? We should talk, but not like this. I think right now we both need rest more than talk."
He wants so badly to reach through the screen, over the thousands of miles between them.
"Amir… thanks." Her voice is still small, but not as strained as before. He's glad of the low quality video connection; he doesn't want her to see how he flushes when she says his name. "Ok. You're right. I will. I'm so…" She runs a hand over the scar on her neck again, voice becoming a little stronger. "I'm glad everything went smoothly today. Or yesterday, for you."
"Believe me, you are not the only one," he says, testing out a smile.
"Same here. The analysts on victimology wanted to send you all flowers."
"You know, we don't actually have so much use for flowers over here. Chocolate cake on the other hand…"
"Another thing to enter in the official team file: chocolate cake." She rolls her eyes. "God, I'm exhausted. You've got to be, too. You're the one out in the field." She's got that half smile on again. "And you're right, I have read your file. The parts that aren't redacted anyway." She laughs, soft as she teases him. The same laugh as earlier.
The same laugh Amir is just now realizing had been the thing making him lightheaded.
"I'm sure it's not that interesting of a read," he says, smiling back. Hannah laughs.
"Say goodnight to Patton for me," She shifts in her chair. Amir's eyes never leave hers.
"Patton says sleep tight." Another smile from Hannah.
"I'll be in touch," she says, and then ends the connection.
"I look forward to it," he mumbles to the blank screen. Patton, having heard his name, sits up and leans heavily on Amir's legs. Amir rubs the dog's back, yawning.
He let's Patton sleep at the end of his bunk. When he dreams, he doesn't see cowled faces of dead men; he sees dark circles under dark eyes.