Infiltrating proves to be almost suspiciously easy. Or maybe the militants didn't expect anyone to be stupid enough to try anything in broad daylight, McG muses as he watches Dalton descend to the floor beside him from the windowsill. Either way, they make it inside with out any trouble. The window they used as an infil point dropped them into a long hallway, dim except for a few flickering light bulbs hanging from stripped power cords along the ceiling. Everything looks a little run down and disorganized, like the building was thrown together without much thought. Like hundreds of these complexes that emerged from the desert in the span of only a few months, constructed to house the hundreds of Jihadi fighters which flocked to Syria and Iraq in the early days it was probably built quick and dirty. It's warm too, air thick and suffocating. When McG brushes against the wall the exposed concrete façade is hot against his wrist from baking in the sun all day and he almost flinches away.

Dalton taps his shoulder lightly then gestures for him to follow as he turns and starts to crouch-walk forward. McG complies, shifting the bulky med pac into a better position on his shoulders. The weight of it is already starting to drag on him, his spine curved awkwardly into a shape it's really not supposed to be in, but there's nothing in the bag he'd be willing to leave behind. He hopes Amir'll be mobile when they find him, it'll be a pain in the ass if they have to carry him out. The comms crackle in his ear for a second and then Jaz voice cuts through the static, focused and tight.

"Looks like they have two patrols on rotation around the perimeter. They make the rounds every five minutes, and I see at last four more tangoes gathered at the northeast side of the compound. None of them look spooked though, I don't think they're expecting anything."

Neither of them reply, but McG hears Top key the comms once in acknowledgment. They reach the end of the hall and McG smoothly slips behind Top, one hand reaching for the door handle and the other keeping his M16 level. Top positions himself to the side and then glances at McG holding up three fingers and slowly counting down. Neither of them speak, neither of them has to. At the count of one McG yanks the door open and Top swings through gun raised. A second later there's a quiet clear and McG slips in behind him.

The door opens up into a cramped room. There's a small folding table tucked into one corner with a few chairs haphazardly shoved around it. On the table there's a few cards lying discarded, like someone had been in the middle of a game. A tiny window set high in the wall lets light filter in. Beside the table a worn pair of boots sits discarded, one knocked on its side with the laces spilling out. The whole scene feels eerie and abandoned and it makes McG uncomfortable. A glance at Top tells him he's feeling the same way. They've both seen enough set-ups to recognize one a mile away, and this has all the trappings. He thinks about the fact that they still don't know who burned Amir, back in Tunisia.

On the far side of the room from where they entered there's another door, this one cracked open. Top jerks his head toward the door, lips tight. McG nods and follows. This one leads to another hallway, narrower then the first. There are no windows here, and along the right wall facing outwards is a row of ten or so doors. Silently Top reaches out and tries the handle of the first door, there's a dull rattle as a lock catches. He looks over his shoulder at McG, raises his eyebrows. The only reason to lock a door is to keep something (someone) inside. Hope swells in McG's chest and he swallows hard. Top reaches into one of the pockets on his vest and pulls out a set of lock picks, slinging his gun over his shoulder. McG moves to take up position behind him, M16 up.

They crawl along the narrow hallway, Dalton leading and McG trailing behind. The first four doors were a bust. There are six more leading off of the hall and no way of knowing which one of them Amir's behind if he's even behind any of them at all. It's like the worlds worst version of Let's Make a Deal. Behind door number one, 50 grand. Behind door number two: the dead body of your teammate. Sorry, better luck next time pal.

It's a painstaking process; every time they hit a new room they have to stop, McG covering the hallway while Dalton jimmies open the lock. Most of the time there's nothing inside, just dust and debris building in the corners. In the seventh one there's a body lying facedown on the floor. When McG first breaches the room all he sees is a dark head of close-cropped curls. He already knows before he feels for a pulse he won't find anything. He releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding when he turns the body over and stares into the blank eyes of a stranger. It takes a few minutes for his heart to start beating evenly again after that room.

Finally, after maybe 10 minutes of searching that feel much longer then that they reach the last door in the hall. There's still been no sign of any movement in the building, not even the sound of voices, and while theoretically McG should be grateful for that it just makes him nervous. Jaz has been silent in their ear as well except to inform them that the patrols have continued and two more men have joined the group to the northeast.

It seems to take forever for Top to pick the lock, the quiet rattling of metal against metal grates in McG's ears. He keeps his eyes forward, fingers tightening around the barrel of his gun. Finally the scratching stops and there's the sound of the tumbler clicking open. McG turns quickly as Top reaches up to the door handle, fingers wrapping around the dull metal. They exchange a glance, and McG thinks he can see the desperation in his own eyes reflected back at him. Top pulls the door open and McG slips in.

The room is empty except for a ratty mattress in the far corner. Amir's laying motionless on top of it, body curled loosely on his side and bound hands blocking McG's view of his face. He's alive though; McG can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His own breath stutters abruptly. He hears a soft exhale from his right, then a hum as Top taps their comms.

"We have Amir, repeat, we have Amir."

McG doesn't wait for the replies to come, looping the strap of his M16 around his shoulder as he hurries forward. Amir's still wearing the same clothes as when he was grabbed but they've taken his shoes. For some reason that bothers McG. How's he supposed to walk if he doesn't have his shoes?

"Amir, Amir, you awake?"

He whispers when he's close. Amir shifts slowly but doesn't respond. His stomach clenches. Not a good sign. Kneeling beside the mattress McG reaches out, carefully rolling Amir onto his back. He complies easily, body moving bonelessly with the gentle pressure of McG's push. As he rolls, his hands fall away from his face and McG winces. It's covered in bruises. His lip is split, and blood is drying in arcing loops beneath his nose and a ragged gash above his eyebrow. Some bruises are fresh, but there's others fading into green and yellow that disappear beneath the stained neckline of his shirt. His eyes flicker open at McG's touch but they're blurry and unfocused, pupils dilated so wide his irises look black. Concussion, maybe, or maybe something else. Something worse.

"Hey, Amir, buddy. You with me here?"

He whispers as he pulls his ka-bar from its holster and saws through the rope around Amir's wrists. The skin underneath is red and raw, possibly infected from the cursory glance McG gives it. Not great, but not a pressing issue, not like this weird haziness.

"McG?"

Amir says finally, the word rasping in his throat. He pauses, swallows, tries again. McG manages a smile. He recognizes him at least, that's a good start.

"Yeah that's right. We're gonna get your dumb ass out of here alright?"

Amir just stares dully up at him, no spark of understanding in his face. McG frowns, concern gnawing at his stomach. Reaching up he runs his hands over Amir's head, feeling for any bumps or fractures in his skull but finds nothing. Amir flinches slightly when he pokes at the cut in his forehead, but otherwise submits to the hasty examination.

"'Ant ... yjb 'an la takun huna…"

He manages finally, in that horrible dry tone. McG shakes his head, concern mounting.

"Hey, hey Amir. I can't understand you alright. Gotta speak english here man we don't all know 10 languages."

McG replies, trying to keep his voice light. His fingers reach down to Amir's neck to feel for his pulse. It's fast, bordering on tachycardic if McG had to guess. Not terrible, but he'd like it lower. His skin is warm, even for the desert.

"You hurt anywhere Amir?"

McG asks, fingers still on Amir's carotid. Amir shakes his head again, one hand coming up to wrap around McG's wrist. His grip is surprisingly strong. His palm is hot and dry against McG's skin.

"You can't be here, none of you can."

He says weakly, breathing hard. At least it's English this time. A horrible thought blooms in McG's mind.

"Hey, what did they give you Amir? Did they give you something?"

Amir's grip relaxes, slips from McG's wrist. He shakes his head, face pinching in confusion.

"I-I don't know. I can't remember."

He pauses, then his eyes widen like he's remembering something important.

"What day is it?"

He bites out, voice edged with tension and something else McG can't put his finger on. Before he can reply Dalton cuts in from his position by the door, eyes still focused on the hallway outside.

"McG, how's he doing?"

"He's dehydrated, beat to shit, but he'll live."

Dalton nods sharply, risking a glance back at the two of them. His mouth is tight.

"Is he mobile? We have to get moving."

"I can walk."

Amir says. He sounds more lucid now, more like Amir. Reaching back he starts to push himself to his feet. Or at least he tries too; about halfway his arm falters under him and he starts to tumble backwards. McG reaches out and manages to grab a hold of his collar with one hand and the waist band of his pants with the other, easing him back down to the mattress.

"Woah woah woah, take it slow buddy."

Amir doesn't respond, eyes shut and face screwed tight with pain. One hand is pressed to his ribs and he's breathing like it hurts. McG frowns.

"What's going on, Amir, talk to me."

Amir doesn't respond though. Just keeps panting raggedly, face pale. Reaching down McG gently pulls Amir's hand away from his stomach and lifts up the hem of his shirt. He can't bite back the curse that flys to his lips at what he finds. There's thin but deep stripes of bruising all across Amir's chest and stomach. He's been beaten, badly. And repeatedly if the different levels of healed bruises have anything to say. It's harder to find unmarked skin then not.

"Jesus…"

He breathes. Amir finally opens his eyes, looking wanly up at McG.

"It's fine. I can walk."

He repeats, between pants. McG bites his lip hard because maybe he can but he definitely shouldn't. Who knows what kind of internal damage Amir has in there, let alone any broken or fractured ribs. What he really needs is a bag of morphine, a stretcher, and a helicopter ride to a hospital. Unfortunately they can't give him any of those things.

"McG,"

Top says tightly from behind him, warning. McG grimaces.

"I know. Let me just get some water into him and then we can go."

"Two minutes."

Is the only reply. Sliding his pack halfway off McG unzips it and pulls out his canteen, unscrewing the lid.

"You need help?"

He asks quietly, holding out the canteen. Amir shakes his head determinedly, reaching out and taking the water in one hand, the other still dug behind him into the mattress to prop himself up. He tries for a second, but his hand is shaking so badly most of the water trickles into his beard and down his shirt instead of ending up in his mouth. Neither of them say anything when McG leans forward and takes the canteen from Amir, one hand on his shoulder. It's theoretically for support, but there's a little part of McG that just wants to touch Amir to make sure he's real and warm and alive and it's silly but he can't help himself.

He pulls back reluctantly after a few seconds, screwing the lid back on the canteen and shoving into his bag. Amir's probably been dehydrated for weeks now and the last thing any of them needs is Amir throwing up everywhere and messing up his insides even more then they already are. He still looks pale and dried out, but there's not much else McG can do right now. He clenches his teeth. Takes a deep breath.

"Ready to get outta here?"

He asks, trying to keep his tone light. Amir nods sluggishly, moving slowly to get up again. McG shakes his head, hand on Amir's shoulder pressing him back into the mattress.

"Uh-uh, not gonna try that again. I'm gonna help you up alright?"

Amir nods again. It worries McG that he doesn't seem to have the energy to talk. A lot worries him. His eyes look hazy again, unfocused and still blown out and when he tilts his head up at McG it seems like he's looking right through him. Turning around McG sits down on the mattress next to Amir, grabbing his arm and lacing it over his shoulders.

"On the count of three I'm gonna get up okay. Help me out as much as you can but don't strain anything. One, two, three."

On three McG pushes upward, pulling Amir with him. Amir bites back a groan but McG can feel him struggle doggedly upwards. It's a painful awkward process but eventually they're both standing, Amir draped over McG's shoulder. Amir's never been a big guy but now he feels like he barely weighs anything at all.

"Alright," he says tensely, "Ready to go."

Amir hangs heavy and warms at his side, and McG can't decide if the weight is comforting or frightening. Dalton nods, eyebrows knit into a furrowed line across his forehead as he looks at them (looks at Amir) and lips tight.

"Preach? How's our ride looking?"

"Just about ready."

Is the quiet reply.

"We'll be heading your way then. Get ready for us. Jaz, hold position until I say so, I don't trust these guys"

Then turning to McG and Amir,

"Keep low, keep quiet. Amir, let us know if you need to stop."

Amir doesn't reply, head lolling a little against Mcg's shoulders and eyes at half-mast. McG exchanges a grim look with Top over Amir's curls. Top turns back to the door, one hand reaching to open in.

"Alright, stay sharp guys we're oscar mike."