Author's Note: Yo! Finally have another one for ya. This one was very difficult, but I did my best. I hope Adam isn't too out of character. Also, I'm putting a trigger warning on this for mentions of child death.I know that can be a lot for some folks, so best be warned. Anyway, thanks for reading, as always, and I hope ya'll are having a great week. :)
11. Psych 101 (Defiance | Struggling | Crying)
Adam ran with everything he had. There was screaming in his comm, demanding that he get back to the team for safety. But he couldn't.
He couldn't leave kids to such an awful demise.
Their mission was complete, but it wasn't a win. They'd managed to smuggle out a field operative before a suspected enemy attack on the innocent, blissfully unaware town. To send a message to rebellious civilians.
But Adam had seen the orphanage. And it was at the heart of where the attack was meant to take place.
He couldn't live with himself knowing he'd left them to die when he'd had the intel to save them.
So he was running with everything he had. Everything.
"Dalton, get back to your team. It's too dangerous."
"Top, you'll be killed in there!"
"Get your ass back here, Top!"
It didn't matter. He had to.
He had to.
He saw the kids running of the building, their caretakers urging them to escape as they brought up the rear.
Then the RPG hit.
And it felt like his chest had been ripped completely in half as he watched. He saw every excruciating detail as the explosive hit. He witnessed the aftermath.
It was something he could never unsee. Never.
"Top, get back here. We've got to go."
He couldn't move. It felt wrong to leave. To just abandon these broken bodies. Someone should retrieve them. Pay them the respect they deserve.
"Fine. Then we're coming to get you."
His breath quickened, and he realized he had to leave. "No," he ordered hoarsely. "I'm coming back." His team couldn't see this. He couldn't let them.
Trying to blink back the burn in his eyes, he turned his back on the carnage.
And he unsteadily walked back.
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"You okay, Top?" Jaz asked as she munched on her toast. She watched him warily from the kitchen table, tracing the defeated slump of his shoulders as he stared blankly at his laptop.
"Yeah, fine," he grumbled, wearily putting his hands on the keys. But he didn't type. He didn't know how to word it. There were no words to describe what he'd seen. Actually, there were a few.
Unforgivable.
Cruel.
Inhumane.
Those were really the only words he could think of. And that wasn't enough to write a full report.
"You sure?"
He pursed his lips, his unbalanced emotions quickly giving way to frustration. The team had been on his back since they'd gotten back, especially Jaz.
He was getting tired of it.
Why couldn't they just leave him alone?
"It's just . . . you seem . . . off."
Bristling, he slammed the laptop shut. "I'm fine," he snapped, walking straight out the door into the desert.
Jaz didn't know what she'd said wrong.
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Adam grew more and more reserved. He avoided the main area. He said little.
His eyes were darker.
And he hadn't smiled since their return to base.
Something had happened.
But every attempt to find out what was met with rage and frustration. He was distancing himself.
On top of that, he hardly ate. He hardly slept. It wasn't difficult to tell, with the darkening smudges under his eyes and his hollowing frame.
The team worried.
But they were at a loss.
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It was late. But Amir was determined.
He sipped softly at his tea, watching the mouth of the hallway. Everyone had gone to bed, but if his suspicions were correct, Adam would show up soon. Alone. Trying to find solace in the faint remnants of team camaraderie.
It was something Amir had noticed. After tough missions, Adam often came back to the kitchen in the middle of the night, as if clinging to the ghosts of something warmer. Something safer and more comforting than his own room.
So Amir waited. Because this couldn't go on any longer.
His heart stuttered when Adam's familiar figure silently emerged at the hallway entrance, but Amir didn't say a word, simply watching Adam with patience. Their eyes met, and Amir saw something akin to fear in the other man's eyes.
Adam remained silent. Then he simply turned away.
"Wait," Amir said firmly. Adam stopped, his shoulders tense. "Just . . . sit with me for a minute. No questions."
Adam stood still for a few minutes, as if thinking, then he slowly turned around and hesitantly moved to take a seat at the table.
Silently, Amir pushed a second mug of tea toward his commanding officer.
Adam stared down the cup with a confused frown. "Were you expecting me?"
"Something like that," Amir replied, smiling some into his own cup as he took another sip. "Just thought you could use some quiet companionship. We don't have to talk."
He watched Adam carefully, steadily drinking his tea. And Adam seemed to change under his gaze. Slowly.
At first, Adam seemed to be holding tightly onto that angry persona. His expression twisted into a faint scowl. But then the scowl peeled away, revealing the haunted look underneath.
And Adam's shoulders dropped. A slouch bent his strong frame. And the haunted look gave way to sorrowful agony.
Underneath all that anger was a silent anguish, hidden away with carefully constructed layers.
Amir painfully wanted to ask. He wanted to know what it was. So he could help.
But he'd promised silence. No questions.
And that was when the first tear slipped down Adam's face.
As if ashamed, he hid behind his hands, his spine curving further into itself as he tried to hold in the ball of sadness in his chest. But it was no use. It broke free, and Amir was surprised to hear a quiet sob escape the blond.
Abandoning his tea, he stood to move closer, offering a warm, steady hand on Adam's shoulder.
And the man cried.
Really cried.
Amir closed his eyes against it, hoping to stave off the burn in his own eyes. As they'd expected, Adam was hurting. And all it took to unwrap it was a small, quiet moment in an empty, dim kitchen in the middle of the night.
"You can tell me what it was," Amir prompted, opening his eyes. "I can take it. Promise."
Adam's tears slowed, but he still hid behind his hands. Eventually, one hand fell away while the other continued to shield his vulnerable eyes from Amir. Amir noticed a slight tremble to his commanding officer's hands, but he didn't mention it.
"Maybe you should drink some tea. Does wonders," Amir urged softly sitting just to Adam's left. He pulled his own tea toward him.
As if encouraged by the understanding, unquestioning companionship, Adam finally gave up. His other hand dropped, exposing the reddened, broken eyes behind it. Amir felt privileged to witness it.
He made a career out of reading people. It was what kept him safe in the field. It was what led him to the most valuable secrets.
And as soon as he'd joined the team, he'd gotten to work. He'd watched them. Carefully. To learn what kind of people they were.
In some ways, Adam was the easiest to read. He was protective. Loyal. And most of all, self-sacrificing. Every choice he made was for his team. He urged them to be better. He challenged them. But he also protected them. From everything.
So Amir knew. Adam didn't hold all this in to be stubborn. It wasn't to prove a point. It was about protection. Protecting the team from knowing what he did. Or what he saw. It could've been anything.
"I know you don't want us to know," Amir sighed, reaching out again to rest a hand on Adam's shoulder. "But you can't keep something this bad to yourself. You have to tell someone. And I'm happy to volunteer."
Adam looked to him, looking like a wounded animal. "No, you shouldn't have to," Adam replied, his voice raw.
"I don't have to, no. But I choose to," Amir countered. "I know I said I wouldn't ask questions, but . . . why did you go back?"
Adam pursed his lips, swallowing as he stared down at his amber tea. He was thinking. Deciding. And Amir could've marked the exact moment Adam had made his choice.
"An orphanage."
Amir frowned, sensing where Adam was going.
"I saw it before. I knew it was in the suspected attack zone. And I couldn't . . . I couldn't leave them there."
"So you went to get them out?"
"I . . . tried," Adam answered brokenly. "I didn't get there in time. An RPG . . . hit them directly."
Adam looked up to stare into Amir's eyes, relaying what he couldn't bring himself to say.
The kids. Adam had seen their violent deaths.
A vivid image of war.
Amir said nothing, simply keeping his gaze locked with Adam's. Until he couldn't keep his silence anymore.
"You did nothing wrong," he finally said. "You did your best with what you had."
"I keep telling myself that," Adam muttered, finally looking away. "But I don't think that's the problem." He eyebrows dipped downward as he contemplated his complex thoughts. "I think it's just the notion that humans can be so . . . unfeeling toward each other. It's what people are capable of when they're caught in war." His eyes were reddening again, his expression twisted in muted disgust at the very idea. "For some . . . nothing is off limits. And that's . . . that's hard to accept."
He was quiet for some time. Motionless. He didn't drink his tea. He didn't move. And his eyes were distant. Empty. Eventually, he mustered the strength to speak again.
"These are—were—kids that had lost everything. Everything. Their families. Their homes. And the people that cared for them, they . . . When we passed the orphanage the first time, I could just tell. The workers at the orphanage cared. A lot. And they gave those kids something to hold onto. A life to love. And one violent act took it all away."
A lone tear slipped down his face. "I don't even know how to write the report. How can I . . ." He shook his head, bowing further in a hopeless slump. "I just hope . . . All I can even hope for at this point is that Command didn't have to see what I did. I hope nobody did."
"Why didn't you tell us?"
Adam pressed fingers into his eyes, and Amir was reminded how tired Adam truly looked. "You guys deal with enough. You don't need this too."
"To an extent, I see your point," Amir muttered. "But you're our commanding officer. Our teammate. And more than anything, we need to make sure our own is taken care of. That you are taken care of."
"You shouldn't have to," Adam again disagreed.
"But we want to," Amir answered, pushing his tea away. "You carry everything by yourself. But maybe, sometimes, you could let us help."
He took a deep breath, eyes on the broken figure of the man before him.
"Look," Amir sighed forlornly. "It helps to talk about things like this. But if you don't want to talk about it with us, then go talk to the base psychiatrist. Find someone. But at the same time, you've got to eat. You've got to sleep. If that means getting sleeping pills from McG or some other medical professional, then that's what you've got to do. And if there's only one thing you want to eat, tell me and I'll make it happen. Just don't . . . don't let yourself waste away like this. It's . . . it hurts to watch and not be able to do anything about it."
Adam let his words sink in before sliding his gaze to Amir. There was something achingly vulnerable in his blue eyes, and it painfully struck Amir just how sensitive Adam could really be at times.
Sensing that Adam's walls were once again crumbling, Amir leaned forward, eyes boring into Adam's. "We're worried about you. And we just want to help. Let us help."
Adam looked down at his tea, which had cooled considerably. "I don't know how to tell them. I don't know how I can . . ."
"Then let me," Amir volunteered. "I'll tell them. I'll open up the discussion. But only if that's what you want."
With a somber expression, Adam contemplated Amir's proposal, trying to weigh all the pros and cons. Amir could watch the blond's mind at work and the fear that had snuck into the mix.
"Okay," Adam agreed quietly, the word small in the quiet of the room. Amir's heart lurched at Adam's decision, and he felt such unexpected relief at the small step forward.
He wordlessly settled a warm hand on Adam's shoulder, and the two fell into companionable silence.
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Amir found his opportunity when Adam went for a morning walk. It had become part of the blond's routine in the last few weeks, possibly as an escape from the worried eyes of his subordinates. And it ended up being the perfect moment, with everyone already gathered in the kitchen.
So Amir told them. Everything. He phrased Adam's account delicately, and he carefully took in the somber and horrified looks on his teammates' faces. Patiently, he navigated their questions. And finally understanding the problem, the four discussed a plan of action, careful and thoughtful with every idea.
When Adam pushed his way through the front door, they shifted gears, acting as though it were any other day. If only to spare him the embarrassment for a little while longer.
He retreated to his room without a word. And they made their decision.
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Unsurprisingly, Adam couldn't sleep. His exhaustion was starting to war with his emotional anguish, and he found himself frustrated, distracted, and distraught at different times of the day. He could feel himself unraveling, fraying at the edges of his mind as he desperately held onto his unwavering determination in the face of hardship.
But this was a hardship he couldn't seem to shake.
His chat with Amir had actually helped somewhat. But not enough to lull him to sleep as the horrifying scene played over and over in his mind. He wondered if or when Amir would go through with his offer. Adam still questioned if he made the right decision to share all this with his team. But ultimately, it came down to being honest with them. To trusting them. And that's what it took to get him through the occasional surges of panicked regret. They should know. If only to clarify his state of mind and reciprocate the faith they often put in him.
Unable to sleep, he rolled out of his cot and tugged a pullover over his torso. He always preferred the kitchen on nights like this. There, it was easier to remember brighter memories when darker ones threatened.
Adam wondered if Amir would be waiting for him again. He couldn't decide if he was hopeful or fearful of the idea. While it had been surprisingly soothing to have someone to sit with, Adam always panicked somewhat when sharing personal weaknesses he hadn't yet overcome. He didn't want them to think he was weak. Not because of pride, but because he wanted them to have someone they could trust and rely on during the darkest missions. And if they saw him as weak, they wouldn't find that solid comfort in the field that he aimed to be.
But nothing could be done now. He couldn't take it back.
With a huff, he quietly pushed his way out of his room. There was a dim light from the kitchen, but that wasn't ordinary. They always left it on in case someone needed a snack or a drink of water in the middle of the night.
Again, Adam wondered if Amir would be waiting for him.
Uncharacteristically nervous, he approached the kitchen, his tread slow and silent.
When he finally reached the kitchen, it wasn't just Amir.
It was all of them.
Waiting in a silent vigil.
"Top," Jaz announced, a hint of surprise in her voice.
He stopped at the end of the hallway, eyes darting between them. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, and he was tempted to turn and hastily retreat back to his room. But then he'd be a coward.
So instead, he awkwardly stayed where he stood, stiff and apprehensive.
McG was sitting on the table, and he moved to stand, taking a careful step toward his commanding officer. "Amir told us about what happened. About what you saw."
"The orphanage," Jaz added.
Adam could feel that distinct feeling of panic. He felt exposed.
It was one of the few things that truly and deeply frightened him.
"Tell us how we can help. And we'll just listen," Jaz offered, a glimmer of desperation in her eyes as they all took in the gaunt, dark look to his face.
Preach was near the fridge, furthest away, and recognizing Adam's plight, he moved slowly around the table, getting closer.
"Did you really see all those kids . . . die?" McG asked, his voice low. Reverent.
And for Adam, the vivid memories came flooding in. In the darkness of the evening, he couldn't seem to hold back the torrent of emotions that overtook him. His careful defenses crumbled involuntarily, and weakened by weeks of anguish and sleeplessness, his eyes watered. Then the tears overflowed.
The dam broke. And before the first sob escaped him, he covered his face to hide his weakness.
And like the night before, he cried brokenly.
He felt strong arms wrap around him, pressing him against an equally strong shoulder. Preach. Adam knew this was why Preach had moved closer. Out of all of them, Preach had seen this before.
Strangely, Adam felt safe enveloped by his best friend. Hidden away. Protected.
Something he didn't often need but needed now.
Still, he didn't move into the embrace, even hugged close to Preach. He kept his hands over his face, covering the raw emotion as he sobbed into Preach's shoulder.
Then he felt another small hand on his back. And another larger hand on his shoulder. There were noises in the kitchen, and his senses steadily pieced themselves back together.
"I can't even imagine," Preach muttered, as he held Adam. "You have every right to be upset."
The permission. Adam suddenly felt incredibly safe. Just knowing that he was allowed to feel the way he felt. Something he often denied himself.
Reigning in his emotions, Adam gently pushed away from Preach's hold, unsurprised to find Jaz and McG on either side of him. He sniffled, wiping hastily at his eyes as he cleared his throat. "I'm alright. I'm fine."
"It's okay if you're not, buddy," McG replied, still keeping a friendly hand on Adam's shoulder. "We see some pretty shitty things out there. We get it."
"At least sit your tired ass down," Jaz pressed quietly, gently pushing him toward the table. Touched by their kindness, Adam could feel a fresh burn of emotion in his throat, but he fought hard to contain it.
Just as Jaz guided him into a seat, Amir set a fresh cup of tea in front of him.
"You didn't drink yours last night," Amir reminded him. "But it does help. Promise."
Wearily, Adam gripped the cup, not yet ready to drink. The warmth felt pleasant in his hands, and the gesture meant more to him than he realized.
Amir busied himself in the kitchen making toast, but Adam could still catch the worried glances the ex-spy sent his way. The rest of the team took seats around the table, trying to tread lightly enough to keep Adam somewhat comfortable.
"Hey, man, you don't have to say much if you don't want to. But if you want to talk details with us, we're happy to listen," McG said, attempting to look casual in his seat. Adam could see past his posture, finding the tense, worried stiffness in the medic's shoulders. "We just want to help."
Adam looked at each of them carefully, eyes resting longest on Preach. The older man raised his eyebrows with his head tilted forward, as if encouraging Adam to open up.
He thought about it, his head foggy with weary emotion. Honestly, he wanted to. Selfishly, he wanted to dump every detail on his team, just to have someone know. Just to have someone see his anguish in perfect detail. But he had to think it through. He had to decide if he really wanted to do that to his team.
But looking at them, he realized that he'd already burdened them, with his secretive sorrow and distancing. For the first time, he could see just how heavily their concern weighed on their shoulders. They wanted this almost as much as he wanted it.
And the absolute relief that rushed through his chest at the realization . . . it was overwhelming.
Quietly, he sipped his tea, letting it burn away the fading lump in his throat.
Then he told them. Everything. Every detail. At times, he couldn't stop the tears that threatened, and at other times, he had to stop for a moment to recollect himself. But they listened. Intently. And as they selflessly took on some of his grief, he felt lighter. Better than he had since they'd completed their mission.
When he'd finished, he sat quietly, wondering if he'd ruined that strong image he'd carefully built for his team. But when he looked up, all he saw was respect. Genuine kindness.
"Man, I don't know how you held onto that for so long," McG muttered.
At Adam's side, Amir set down a piece of buttered toast, giving Adam a soft glare to encourage him to eat it. Reluctantly, the blond obeyed.
"Have you been sleeping at all?" Jaz asked. "If it were me, something like that would keep me up at night."
Adam didn't answer, not entirely sure what to say. Instead, he took a subdued bite of toast.
But damn, he was tired.
"I'm glad you told us," Preach muttered. "Couldn't've been easy." He leaned back with his arms folded. "But you know that we're not going to sit back anymore, right?"
Adam's chewing slowed as he looked questioningly at the bigger man.
"You eat every meal with us, even if you don't feel like it. Understand?" Preach pressed gently, a small, friendly smile on his face. "And you've got to start getting some sleep."
"I can get sleeping pills," McG offered in a singsong voice. "And before you scowl at that, know that we've all been there. Sometimes you need a little help to get your Zs."
Adam breathed deeply, wiping again at his eyes. "Yeah, okay."
"Hey."
He turned to look at Jaz at his left, just as she reached forward to put a hand on his arm. "We're here to help. Okay?"
Feeling another unwanted wave of emotion, he looked away, down at his toast, though still managing a small smile.
It felt good to be supported.
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For the weeks after, someone always stayed up in the kitchen on the off chance Adam couldn't sleep and needed someone to sit with. Most of the time, he didn't say anything, and that was okay. But as time went on, he became more comfortable asking McG for sleep aids, and the nights in the kitchen became less and less.
And with each passing day, he ate a little more. At first, it was reluctant and almost painful. He'd force himself to eat as much as he could, but it wasn't much, and he'd hesitantly admit that he couldn't keep eating. Of course, they worried. But it was unfounded. After a several days, he was eating better and better, getting over that initial difficulty, and the team could finally relax as they watched his thinning figure regain its strength and stature.
He'd still have moments of intense grief, but he was much more open about it, and the team was better about reacting and ensuring he knew he was permitted those lower moments. They'd quickly learned that he'd deny himself important segments of downtime or reflection because he didn't think they were acceptable. So subtly—or not so subtly—telling him he was allowed and should take those moments was the best way to help him deal with his feelings.
After several weeks, he was much more like himself, and the team had come out of the experience more familiar with their CO and much more adept at handling his disquieted times of turbulent emotions.
One morning, as they packed up for a mission, Amir noticed Adam was moving a little more slowly than usual, wearing a darker but familiar visage.
"You good, Top?" Amir asked casually, glancing occasionally at the blond as he packed his own things.
"Yeah, just . . ." Adam paused, frowning some. "Just a tough morning."
"If you want a moment, we can get your things together for you," Amir offered, zipping up his bag.
Adam smiled some and shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I've got a handle on it."
Amir stopped briefly, watching his commanding officer with careful eyes. "Okay, but if you change your mind . . ."
Adam's smile widened, and Amir immediately felt more at ease. "Yeah, I know where to find you. Thanks, Amir."
With his own curve of his lips, Amir slung his bag over his shoulder.
Adam was on the mend and doing better all the time.
And it started with one quiet night in a dim kitchen.
Fin.