Preach stretches out his cramped back. It's been about thirty minutes since Adam and Jaz and left for the city and command had basically zipped up, saying there were no other immediate messages to convey but to keep their comms open. He's not too concerned, he trusts Hannah and Noah and Patricia will have their backs. They've never let them down in the past and he doesn't expect them to start now.

The sound of shifting in the other room reminds him of the other occupants of the building. Pushing himself to his feet he walks to the next room to check in on Amir. As he rounds the doorway he's pleased to see that Amir's not doing a damn good impression of a sheet anymore, there's some color in his face again and he doesn't look as still and dead as he lies there, blood dripping slowly down the IV into his elbow.

"He wake up yet?"

He asks McG, pulling a rickety looking crate up next to the other man and taking a seat. McG nods,

"Yeah, you just missed him. He was up for a few minutes."

McG sounds less excited about the development then Preach would have expected and he raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"So, how's our boy doing?"

McG shrugs slowly, reaching over to fiddle with the IV.

"His vitals are up, and he was pretty coherent. Seemed to know what was going on which is a good sign."

All of these are positive things, but McG still looks troubled as he sits back, his mood unusually solemn. It's obvious there's something else going on but Preach is nothing if not a patient man and so he doesn't push, instead he settles into a more comfortable position and waits. It only takes a few minutes, and then McG breaks the silence that had settled between them.

"Hey Preach, uh-" he pauses, like he's looking for the right words to say. "You ever think about the shit Amir did before he joined up with us? You know all that CIA deep cover stuff."

It's Preach's turn to shrug.

"A little. He doesn't like to talk about it. I don't want to pry."

McG barks out a laugh, but there's no joy in it.

"Yeah, you can say that again. Getting anything personal out of him is liking trying to get Patton to sit. It took him months to even mention his mom..."

He trails off again, and for another long moment there's silence. When McG speaks again it's quieter.

"I think we might have dropped the ball on this one."

Preach takes a second before replying.

"What makes you say that?"

McG scrubs a hand through his hair, sighing.

"I don't know, the fact that he just apologized to me for having a moment of weakness after three weeks of fucking torture and abuse. I mean, come on Preach we all saw him in Paris, we saw he wasn't right after that. And we didn't do anything about it. We just let it slide."

"We all have our demons, McG, it comes with the job."

Preach says quietly.

"Yeah, we do. But we talk about them. To each other. To our families. Even Jaz talked to that therapist on base. Who does Amir have? Who does he go to? He doesn't. He just keeps all that shit bottled up and man, I think it's gonna kill him."

Preach sighs again, reaching up to run both hands down his face, trying to wipe at the dust and grime that's seemingly embedded itself in his skin. He feels old and tired, older then his years. He misses his daughters, misses his wife. He looks at Amir, lying there on the pool table looking very young. Someone's tucked their rolled up boonie under his head as a pillow.

"You're right. I've noticed it too, I think everyone has."

McG looks at him, askance in his eyes.

"So why haven't we done something?"

"Because…because sometimes people aren't ready for help. Sometimes you need for them to reach out first."

McG scoffs, shaking his head.

"Oh yeah, that works out so great."

"Listen. The world breaks everyone-"

"Preach, I really don't think right now is the time for one of your weird platitudes okay-"

Preach holds up a finger at him, shaking his head.

"Hey, just let me finish alright. And it's not mine it's Ernest Hemingway's, I know you're from Montana but I'm pretty sure they still have schools there last time I checked."

McG rolls his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut and that's something for McG. Preach starts again.

"He said, the world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken places. But those who will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Preach sighs again, and looks at Amir's battered face.

"It means, I think we need to start giving Amir a little more credit."

McG looks like he wants to say something more but they're interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs just outside of the door. They both fall silent, hands instinctively reaching for their weapons but a familiar voice rings around the corner.

"It's just us."

Jaz calls as she walks in, Adam falling into step beside her.

"Tank is filled."

He says succinctly and then nods towards Amir.

"How's he doing?"

"Better. Vitals are up."

Is all McG offers, still uncharacteristically somber. Adam frowns but doesn't comment.

"Alright everyone, we've got about three hours till our rides here. Rest up, get some food in you. Day's not over yet. And if anyone has ideas about how we're going to light up that runway, speak up."

There's a few scattered nods, but nobody seems particularly interested in the idea of resting. Preach understands, he's exhausted, but he doesn't think he could sleep if he wanted too. Too wired and unsettled by the events of the day, too eager to be home. McG stays seated next to Amir's side, fingers reaching out occasionally to take his pulse. Jaz wanders over to the other side of the table he's laying on taking a seat against the wall and rummaging in her bag for an MRE. Every few seconds her eyes flicker to Amir, like if she looks away for too long he'll disappear. Preach notices she's missing her hat.

Preach pushes himself up off the crate, wandering over to stand by Adam. For a second neither of them say anything, watching the rest of their team. McG and Jaz clustered around Amir, like planets caught in his orbit. It doesn't seem to be a conscious thing, more like a circling of the wagons. Like a wolf pack drawing close, something more instinctual then choice.

"They're worried about him." He offers finally, "and frankly so am I."

Adam lets out a long breath, nods.

"I know."

"Look, I know it's not really our place but maybe-"

Preach pauses, and for once feels himself at a loss for words because he truly doesn't know what Amir needs. He needs help, that much is clear, because whatever he thought he was handling he is obviously not handling and the last three weeks aren't going to have helped any. But what kind of help Preach isn't sure.

"…I don't know, Adam. But I think McG is right, I think we may have dropped the ball here. I just hope it isn't too late to pick it up again."

Adam lets out a tired mirthless chuckle.

"You know things are getting grim when McG is right."

Preach huffs out a laugh he doesn't really feel.

"Don't I know it." He pauses then, looking over to his old friend with solemn eyes. "He listens to you, Adam. Talk to him."

Adam takes a long look at Amir, at his silent white-faced team, and finally he nods.

"Okay. I'll talk to him."