Author's Note: Huzzah! Another chapter. I really struggled with this one, so I hope it doesn't disappoint! And I'm sorry I didn't post quite as fast as my other chapters. I went out of town for a long weekend and spent time with family, so I got a bit behind. Forgive me! Also, this chapter isn't really all that action-packed, so be prepared for the change in pace. You are all wonderful, and I really hope you all find this chapter enjoyable. :)

CHAPTER 4

This was unbearable.

Patricia watched McG's and Jaz's body cam footage, a fist pressed against her mouth. The whole room was tense, her team staring at the screens with anxious eyes.

It was clear Adam had passed out, most likely overwhelmed by blood loss and the painful journey to the truck. But they had seen it all. The trails of blood on too-pale skin. The battered ribs and discolored hand.

The price of Adam's protective side.

Patricia knew the risks of Adam's need to keep his team safe. It made her uneasy, but she understood. She knew she couldn't keep him from fulfilling what he felt was his duty.

And honestly, it was one of the things she appreciated most about the team leader. It said a lot about his character, and she was proud to have him on her team.

Then there were times like this when she wished he wasn't so quick to sacrifice himself. But then he wouldn't be Adam.

She pursed her lips when McGuire started setting Adam's hand, her eyes focused on what bruising she could see in the evening light. From the corner of her eye, she saw Noah look away, most likely closing his eyes. Hanna didn't move, forcing herself to watch.

"Command, we've made it out without further incident."

Preach's voice brought Patricia back to the big picture. She suppressed a sigh, determined to stay strong.

"Once we get back to the base point, we'll prepare for departure."

She could almost hear what he wasn't saying. Adam was their priority, and there was no way the team would leave before he was as ready as he could be for the long flight back to Turkey.

She eyed the pale face of the team leader, pallid skin lit only by the soft shine of the moon.

"Understood," she replied, folding her arms. "We'll cut contact for now, but we'll be on standby."

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a half a second of silence. "And Preach?"

"Hm?"

"Keep us updated on Dalton's condition."

"Of course."

There was a soft rustling as the team turned off their comms, plunging the command room in silence.

Patricia glanced down at her desk, trying to focus on the successes of the mission. Her eyes moved to look at Dalton again, guilt nestling in the center of her chest.

She should've pushed back. She shouldn't have let him go in alone.

One by one, the team turned off their body cams, leaving a black screen behind.

This time, Patricia didn't stop the sigh.

"Great work, everyone."

Her voice was hollow, a shadow of her usual confident tone.

Noah and Hannah didn't say a word.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The old, abandoned building came into view, the worn, ancient walls a welcome sight. Amir slowed the truck to a stop, parking as close to the door as he could manage.

Adam was still out, looking more than a little worse for wear.

Hell, he already looked half dead.

Overcome by a moment of fear, Jaz reached out to brush her fingers lightly through Adam's hair. Thankfully, he was still warm. Still alive. She glanced up at McG to see if he noticed her touch, somewhat relieved when he wasn't looking.

This was so out of the realm of normal, Jaz didn't know how to react. None of them did. Most times, Adam had an almost superhuman strength. In China, with cracked ribs, he'd climbed up onto a horse and made it back to Mongolia without a complaint. He'd even laughed.

In a way, they'd gotten used to his seemingly invincible behavior. He'd take risks, he'd throw himself into danger—but in the end, he was always okay.

Jaz thought back to Adam's small whimper as they pulled him into the truck. Her chest tightened at the memory, her heart aching.

It was the most painful sound she'd ever heard.

Preach pulled down the tailgate, hopping up into the truck bed.

"Grab his legs. I'll get his shoulders," McG instructed, moving to Adam's head. Jaz was forced to abandon her post, taking her hands off Adam's thigh. Luckily, the bleeding had slowed. Eager to get out of the way, she climbed over the side of the truck and jumped down to the dusty dirt, gaze catching Amir's.

The ex-spy was watching Preach and McG carry Adam out of the truck, the team leader's body limp. Amir's stare swirled with vibrant emotions. Worry, anger, fear. Over the last few months, Jaz'd quickly learned that Amir felt more deeply the most—he was just good at hiding it. Like she was.

They were a lot more alike than she'd originally thought.

Amir turned to her, his sharp eyes softening. He dropped a comforting hand on her shoulder, leaving it for a few understanding seconds before moving to follow Preach and McG. Somehow, the small gesture gave Jaz a bit of warmth she didn't realize she needed. Her heart slowed, the tightness in her chest lessening.

Taking a deep breath, she moved to follow, clenching her hands into fists.

Amir opened the door as Preach and McG maneuvered Adam into the old building, being as gentle as possible. Their careful movements spoke volumes, testifying of their respect for the blond team leader.

Jaz slipped in behind them, feeling Amir's own unease as she passed him. She stepped further inside, just as Preach and McG gingerly set Adam on a cleaner patch of old flooring.

The medic was quick to shrug off his pack, rifling through the contents. He pulled out a headlamp, hastily stretching it over his head as he reached in for antiseptic solution, scissors, and sutures, carefully setting the items on the floor. Without another thought, he retrieved a bag of saline, quickly slipping an IV into Adam's arm, handing the bag to Preach.

"What first?" Preach muttered, crouched down next to Adam with the bag of saline held high in his hand. Jaz and Amir stood with their arms folded, both trying desperately to smother their anxious feelings.

McG breathed in deeply. "I'll start with this leg."

Preach nodded, taking Adam's uninjured hand. "Let me know if you need help."

McG nodded grimly, ripping off his tactical gloves to snap on clean surgical ones. Sighing, he pulled at the gauze around Adam's left leg, grimacing at the bloody stab wound underneath. It was raw and ugly, the edges ragged and rough. McG's thorough training was both a blessing and a curse.

Just looking at the wound, he could almost see the twist of the knife.

Clenching his teeth, he tore the hole in the fabric wider, thoroughly cleansing the injury and checking for debris. After a little preparation, he began stitching the wound, steady and careful with every knot.

Behind him, Amir and Jaz slowly removed their tactical gear, their movements reverent and tired. Besides McG, there wasn't much any of them could do but wait and watch.

Preach observed McG's face as he worked, seeing every pinch and grimace. He knew how hard this was on the medic. While Joseph was happy to be of help at any moment, stitching teammates back together was personal. More emotional.

Free of her tactical gear, Jaz moved closer to see McG work. She bit her lip, eyes outlining the bloody, jagged edges of the injury. "That must've been excruciating."

Amir huffed through his nose with an uncomfortable empathy as he tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. They were all intimate with pain, and it was hard not to imagine the hell Adam had been put through.

It had been the same when Jaz was taken. Every knife wound and bruise drew a vivid image in their own heads, and it took weeks to push those thoughts to the back of their minds.

Satisfied with the stitching, McG moved on to the other leg, following the same procedure. The team tried not to think about the amount of blood in the surrounding fabric. Adam had lost so much.

The minutes felt impossibly long, and Amir took to pacing to walk off some of the sting of worry. Jaz stood still, forcing herself to watch every stitch. To see the wash of crimson on McG's blue gloves.

Time passed slowly, tormenting the team with every minute and second. As the first pale light of the day peeked over the horizon, McG had managed to stitch up both legs and one arm.

All that was left was the long, bloody lines.

Adam was still unconscious, his limp hand held tightly in Preach's own. The stillness ate away at Jaz and Amir, but McG was almost grateful for it. It was hard enough to be this close to every bloody tear. Having to witness any more of Adam's pain would only make this harder.

He peeled away the bandaging around Adam's left arm, wincing at the three lengthy slices. For such precision, they had to be carved slowly.

McG suddenly felt sick.

Breathing through the new feelings of discomfort, he prepared his needle and carefully cleaned each stripe.

How did they get themselves in these situations?

McG swallowed thickly and pushed one end of a wound closed, poking his needle through with practiced ease and pulling the thread.

Just as he was about to go for the second stitch, Adam awoke with a gasp, his blue eyes foggy as they stared at the ceiling. His uninjured hand curled tightly around Preach's, knuckles white. His breathing was suddenly rough and uneven, full of agony.

"Top. Adam, you're okay," Preach said quietly, squeezing Adam's hand to offer what support he could. "We've got you. You're okay." Adam eyes shut tightly as he let out a pained, hoarse growl. They could tell he was trying to stay as still as possible, his body tense with the effort.

McG hastily searched for something to numb the pain, a low buzz of panic under his skin. Worried, Jaz crouched by the team leader, settling a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Just breathe through it, Top. Come on, take it easy."

Amir moved to stand quietly on his other side, watching McG dig into his pack.

"Alright, Top. I'm going to give you a general anesthetic. You're just going to feel a small prick, and then you'll be out," the medic explained, his voice even and controlled.

Adam shook his head. "No," he muttered. "Local."

McG paused, giving Adam a hard stare. He looked up at Preach, something vulnerable hidden behind his dark eyes. "I only have enough local to stitch up this arm."

"I's okay," Adam mumbled, clenching his teeth as he pressed his lips together stubbornly. "Don' wanna be asleep."

Biting his lip, McG retrieved a syringe from his pack, ripping open the packaging before checking for air bubbles. He inserted the needle into Adam's arm, carefully applying the local anesthetic where it was needed.

McG faked a smile, quickly continuing with his sutures to get it over with. He hated this. Dammit, he hated this. In some ways, Adam's pain was his pain. "You're one stubborn bastard, Top."

Adam fought to get his breathing under control, finally managing semi-even respiration, each inhale shaky. "Can't sleep on the job," he replied tightly.

"I think the director would understand," Preach reasoned quietly. "And we completed our objective. I would consider this mission essentially over."

Adam shook his head. "Won't do it." He opened his eyes, staring back at the ceiling.

Preach looked at McG, their eyes locking. The larger man had his own suspicion of why Adam opted to stay awake. It was clear that Adam's top priority with every mission was the team's safety. And after Jaz's capture, he had a greater need to keep everyone safe.

Most likely, he refused the general anesthetic to make sure everyone made it back home in one piece. To see it with his own eyes.

Preach exhaled through his nose, nodding. "Whatever you need, Top."

The team suffered through the last hour, listening to Adam's shaky breathing as McG carefully stitched each long cut. There was a quiet anger in the team leader's huffs, a sign of his own rebellion against the pain of his other injuries.

Honestly, the team wouldn't expect anything less.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"I can help," Adam croaked, breathing deeply with his eyes closed. He sat against the wall with his head tilted back, the bag of saline hanging on an abandoned nail in the wall, nearly empty.

McG shot him an exasperated glare, gathering his gear with abrupt jerks. Everyone else shared a look of quiet frustration.

"Top, you look like shit and you can barely walk," Jaz huffed, forcefully shoving her clothes into her pack. "You're not leaving that spot."

They were moving as quickly as they could, eager to get Adam back to a familiar territory. He'd refused any kind of painkiller and was stubbornly trying to stay conscious for as long as he could.

While McG was confident that his stitching was tight and clean, Adam's pallor worried him, and he was anxious to get a blood transfusion going.

But that was difficult when no one on the team shared Adam's blood type.

Adam listened to the shuffling movements of his team, his body weighed down by weakness and blood loss. Moving even an arm was surprisingly difficult, and everything seemed to ache.

He felt so helpless, and he hated it.

With a slow inhale, he opened his eyes, looking down at his bandages. In his mind's eye, he could see each injury with vivid clarity. He remembered the blood. The pain.

The loneliness.

Adam winced as the memories assaulted his thoughts, violently shoving their way in.

He hastily tried to push his mind somewhere else.

Eyes on his team, he could feel himself fading. But he'd fight it as much as possible. His eyelids felt heavy. Hell, everything felt heavy. And leaning his back on this wall only made it worse.

But he'd insisted on it.

He could barely stand the thought of lying on the floor while his team moved throughout the room. And the last thing he wanted was to get in the way. Still, he wanted to be beside them, working with them. Not here, left sitting against an old, crumbling wall.

The place smelled dustier than he remembered. Older. Wearier. If he had the energy, he would've laughed. He could relate.

His gaze fell lazily to his hand, vibrant bruises hidden behind somewhat stiff bandaging. Of course the bastards broke his left. What a time to be a lefty.

Foggy thoughts filtered through his head, confused and lost. He knew he wasn't all there. The bag of saline wasn't enough, and the blood he had left struggled to pick up the slack.

He closed his eyes. If he stayed still, the pain would fall into a muffled hum, and to be honest, it wasn't difficult to be motionless.

"How you doing, Top?"

Gentle hands checked the bandaging twisted around his palm and fingers, making sure it was secure.

Adam slid his lids open, looking at McG. "Peachy." He took a moment to look at the medic. To really look at him. It took a lot of focus, but he managed a careful inspection. "McGuire, you look like shit."

McG raised his brows, leveling a look at his team leader. "Says the guy who can't stand by himself."

Adam smirked, closing his eyes again. "Jus' a technicality." There was a beat of silence before he squinted up at the medic. "But really, you look terrible."

"How about we focus on you first, hm?"

McG didn't like how Adam looked. It was clear the blond was resting on the thin line between awake and unconscious, and Adam's pulse was a bit fast for McG's liking.

And yet, the stubborn man was still focused on everyone else's wellbeing.

"I'm fine, McG," Adam croaked, an obstinate edge to his voice. McG shot him a glare, his frustration bleeding through—just when he'd finally gotten a handle on it.

"We'll have a medical team on the ground as soon as we land to start you on a transfusion. Then we're heading straight to the hospital to get a cast on that hand," McG explained, lifting Adam's shirt to check on the bruising.

Adam sighed. "Really? The hospital? You're not going to make me stay there, are you?"

"If it's necessary, I will."

Blue eyes moved to McG's, tired and pained. And yet there was something else in the blue. Something vulnerable. Something dark.

"You okay, Top?" McG asked. Adam knew the medic wasn't talking about his physical injuries. There was a unique tone of worry weaved into McG's simple question, speaking of something beyond what was visible.

"I'm fine," Adam replied quickly. Too quickly. The medic didn't buy it, but it was clear Adam didn't want to talk about it. Without a word, the medic removed the IV for the empty bag of saline, bothered that Adam didn't look much better than when the IV went in.

"We're ready to bug out."

McG looked back to see Jaz standing there with her pack slung over her shoulder, and Adam didn't miss the worried shadow in her eyes as she glanced in his direction.

"Think you could help me get Top into the truck?" McG prodded tiredly. She nodded, handing her pack off to Amir as she moved to Adam's side.

The two of them got into position, both looking grim. This was going to be awful, and they both knew it.

McG inhaled through his nose, eyes on Jaz. "Alright, Top. You ready?"

Adam nodded shallowly, closing his eyes.

With a silent dip of McG's head, he and Jaz pulled at the same time. A rough, guttural noise escaped Adam, pushed through clenched teeth, and by the time he was on his feet, he looked nearly gray. He closed his eyes as Jaz and McG moved to support him, and the three of them made their way outside.

Adam was wheezing, stumbling as small noises of pain scraped up his throat. The short walk from the building to the truck drained his meager energy reserves, and Jaz couldn't help the uncomfortable bloom of worry behind her ribs.

They sat Adam on the tailgate of the truck, and both Preach and Amir helped Adam further into the bed, situating him in a corner to give him support on both sides.

McG was at his side in an instant, checking his heartrate and looking him over for any changes. "You good, Top?"

Adam was listing a little, his eyes falling shut as his breathing slowed. "I'm fine," he rasped, his voice fading into a nearly silent whisper.

And just like that, he was out.

McG clenched his teeth, his stare lingering on the bruise creeping up from Adam's cheekbone.

Even at a time like this, Top insisted he was fine.

The medic shook his head in weary concern.

Unbelievable.