Author's Note: Salutations, delightful humans. I've done it again, and I feel like such an irresponsible flake: I'm so sorry it took forever for me to post this. October has turned out to be an emotional roller coaster in a lot of ways. There's been tragedies, bittersweet memories, and wonderful social experiences. It has been . . . a swirl of everything life has to offer. So I offer my sincerest apologies, and I thank you for your kind patience! It can be immensely frustrating waiting for the next chapter of a story, so thank you so much.
Anyway, on with the tale, my friends.
Chapter Five
All Preach could hear was the high-pitched, steady beep.
Clean. Uninterrupted.
Solid.
His brain kicked into overdrive. Adam couldn't be gone yet, could he?
He listened to the medical team on the other side of the door communicating frantically. He heard the unmistakable whine of a defibrillator. The doors were thin. It was a basic hospital at best made from cheap materials and simple blueprints.
And Preach found himself hating those thin doors. He hated how close he could stand to the operating room.
And he hated there were windows to those thin OR doors. Because he couldn't keep himself from looking.
His feet dragged him to the glass and he reluctantly looked in.
Just in time to see the jolt of the defibrillator.
Adam's body jerked with the electricity, and the movement felt violent and desperate to Preach. It left a mark on his memory he wasn't ready for. An image of Adam he could never un-see. An image he'd remember every time he looked at the blond.
But the beep persisted.
And the whine of the defibrillator started again.
They gave him another jolt. Preach flinched. Painfully. Crumbling under the very idea that maybe Adam was too far gone.
More of the steady beep.
Another electric whine.
A third zap of the defibrillator.
Preach looked away, as if slapped. The long beep continued, loud and cruel. He knew what this meant. A man could only be shocked so much.
Preach wished he could block out the sound of that awful flat line. It pierced his eardrums. Felt like a scream in his ears. His heart was steadily tearing. Adam was gone. They'd made it to the hospital, but he was gone.
He'd disappeared behind that flat line.
. . . There was a pleasant blip. A familiar sound.
The sound of a heartbeat. And another. And another.
Adam was back. He'd made it.
Preach forced himself to look again. To see the rhythm on the monitor for himself. To truly see that Adam was alive.
That he was still here.
He looked at Adam's face. Half of it was hidden behind an anesthetic mask, and the rest was pale and lax. The urgent buzz of the medical team died down as they fell back into their usual tasks. And they were careful. Gentle. Respectful of the human life on their table.
And that was all Preach could ask for.
He wanted to stay, but as soon as the panic had begun to die down, he again heard Jaz's cries down the hall. Heard her fear. And her pain.
Preach looked back at Adam. He knew where he was supposed to be, but he felt so torn. He knew where Adam would tell him to be.
But he couldn't leave. Not now.
And then a thought pervaded his mind. Did Adam sometimes feel like this? Feeling pressured to be everywhere at once, regardless of his own feelings?
Preach knew, in a situation like this, Adam would've left. He would've gone to Jaz. He would've had to prioritize by who he could help rather than his own feelings.
But Preach . . . he couldn't. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving Adam. Couldn't bear the thought of not being here if something else happened. Part of it was his deep respect and care for Adam. But the other part was his own selfishness; if anything happened to Adam while he was away, Preach would never get over that. He'd carry on. He'd still live his life. But he'd never get over Adam's lonely death. He knew that. Knew himself well enough to understand what he felt.
And maybe that made him a lesser man than Adam. But Preach also knew Adam wouldn't fault him for being true to himself.
So here he would stay, keeping a watchful eye over the team leader. He'd simply have to put his trust in Amir and McG.
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Amir tightly gripped Jaz's hand, hoping to offer some kind of anchor. He could see the confusion in her eyes, brushed over with fearful rage. She was falling back on her fighting spirit in an unfamiliar situation—something they all understood.
But this wasn't just confusion. Amir could feel her pain too. McG had been sure to administer local anesthetic to her leg before they started stitching her up, yet surviving a nearby airstrike was sure to come with bumps and bruises. Waking up so suddenly would certainly jostle tender injuries.
That's all it was, right?
As McG grabbed her other hand, Amir set to calming her down. Preach hadn't come back yet, which was another concern entirely, but they just had to focus on the here and now. They'd have to make do without the steady presence of their older teammate.
Amir tightened his hold on Jaz's hand, leaning in closer.
He knew what to blame for half of her panic. He knew what she needed to hear.
"You're okay. You're fine," he muttered gently. "Top is just down the hall. You didn't leave him. He's just down the hall."
At first, it didn't quite register with her. She kept crying out and flailing, clearly confused amidst the pain and exhaustion.
"Jaz," Amir said firmly. "Jaz, you stayed with him. You stayed with him. He's just down the hall."
She quieted a little, squirming as she gasped for air.
"You didn't leave him. Top is just down the hall," Amir repeated, holding her hand tightly between both of his. "Breathe. Relax."
Her breathing slowed, finding something closer to a healthy rhythm. Her hand clung to Amir's, and she continued to squirm where she lay, though not nearly with the same violence as before.
"Wh're 'm I?" she huffed, looking to Amir before glancing at the others in the room. McG slyly slid away from her side, again helping to stitch up her leg.
"We're at the closest hospital," Amir answered patiently.
"An' Top?" She shifted again, face pinched tightly. Breath still coming hard.
"He's in surgery."
A beat of silence.
"'S he 'kay?" Her words melted together, another sign she wasn't quite herself.
Amir wasn't exactly sure how to answer, but he figured honesty was best. "We're not sure yet. Preach went down to where he is. I'm sure he's keeping an eye on things."
Jaz nodded, wincing more sharply.
Amir frowned. "What is it? Does your leg still hurt?" Maybe the local wasn't quite working.
She shook her head, sucking air in through her teeth. "No, m'side . . . hurts." Her voice was tight, and her breaths became measured, as if she was trying to bury the pain with what little focus she had left. Jaz's breath hitched sharply, and Amir's eyes met McG's.
The medic drew closer to her side. "You mind if I take a look?"
When Jaz shook her head dizzily, he carefully pulled up the hem of her shirt. Spectacular bruising painted her side.
McG pursed his lips.
"What is it?" Amir asked quietly, his large eyes wide with concern.
McG turned to one of the medical personnel, his expression serious. "She's going to need surgery. She's got an internal bleed."
Jaz's fingers tightened weakly around Amir's, and his own body stiffened at the news. "What?"
As a nurse ran from the room, McG turned back to Jaz and took another look at her side before meeting her eyes. Amir could see the urgency in his posture, but McG still managed some semblance of calm. "Okay, Jaz, I need you to just relax. It's going to be fine. They're going to take you into surgery, but you've got nothing to worry about. They're going to patch you up, okay?"
She nodded, but her eyes were getting foggy again, and her head was starting to droop a little. Amir's chest tightened. His worry doubled—tripled, even. Shit, this was hard. Shouldering this terror while being constantly bombarded with the next harsh blow. He was at his limit. He couldn't take any more of this.
"Amir, you've gotta stay here," McG muttered, looking apologetically at the ex-spy. "I'm sorry, man. But they'll need all the space they can get."
Amir ignored the burn in his eyes. He understood. He didn't like it, but he understood. "You'll keep an eye on her, right?"
"You know I will," McG answered softly.
Between them, Jaz groaned in pain, and nurses started to bustle around her to prepare her for movement. Seeing his cue, Amir reluctantly released his hold on Jaz's hand and moved back and out of the way. He and McG looked at each other, a silent promise between them.
Then Jaz was pushed out of the room with McG at her side.
And everyone was gone.
Amir was left in a vacant, quiet room.
He felt useless. His hands were empty. Unused. He wished there was something he could do. He wished he had some power to help.
But right now, the only thing he could do was wait.
Breathing deeply to compose himself, he thought about Preach. The man still hadn't returned, and that frightened Amir more than he was willing to admit. If there was good news, Preach would've came back to tell the rest of the team.
If there was bad news . . .
Amir didn't dare speculate. That usually did more damage than good. And he couldn't handle any more damage.
Overwhelmed by the day's events, he dropped into a chair, holding his head in his hands. He was tired. So tired. It reminded him of Preach's coma, of how he'd felt then. Useless. Empty. Helpless.
He found comfort in being of service. When Jaz was captured, he could at least put his energy toward finding clues. He had something to do. And when Adam disappeared into the forests of China, he could at least take steps to help his team leader from the shadows.
Here . . . he was no medic. No surgeon. Here, he was just a worried teammate with empty hands and hours of useless time.
Amir's eyes burned again, and he quickly blinked it away. Maybe he couldn't do anything for Jaz or Top. He couldn't even help McG.
But he could at least be there for Preach. They could wait together, hoping and praying for the best.
That was something, wasn't it?
Amir dropped his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. With a sigh, he stood, wandering out of the room. He spotted Preach further down the hall, leaning stiffly against the wall as he stared straight ahead.
There was something in Preach's expression Amir had never seen before. A vulnerability that was different from Preach's usual humble air.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Amir apprehensively approached the older man, unsure of what he'd find. When he got close enough, he slowed, standing next to the older man as he followed Preach's gaze. His lips parted in surprise as his eyes forlornly drank in the scene.
He was watching Top's surgery. And hell, if Adam didn't look half dead as it was.
Composing himself, Amir leaned up against the wall beside Preach, staring through the same OR windows. "How's it going?"
The other man didn't even turn to look at him. "He flatlined. Took them a few tries to get him back." The words were flat. Measured. Intended to mask Preach's true emotions.
Amir tensed at the news, turning wide eyes to Preach. "What?" Another blow. Another punch to the gut.
The ex-spy watched Preach blink once. Twice. Several more times. Focused on staying composed. But he didn't say another word.
Sighing heavily, Amir bowed his head and stared at the ground. This was hell. This was literal hell.
"How's Jaz?" the larger man asked, his arms folded tightly against his chest.
Amir shook his head, drawing in a breath through his nose. "They had to take her to surgery."
Preach frowned. "Is she okay?"
"Not sure yet. McG said it was internal bleeding."
A defeated silence fell over the two of them, weighing heavily on their heads and shoulders.
"So I guess we wait then," Amir muttered sullenly.
Preach nodded. "It's all we can do."
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After some encouragement from nurses and other staff, Amir and Preach had finally returned to Jaz's empty room to wait. For hours, they sat in the cheap, poorly cushioned chairs, staring at white walls to pass the time. But their minds were with Jaz. And Adam. And sometimes even McG.
The halls had quieted as the evening settled in, leaving an eerie stillness behind. All that remained was the occasional tapping of computer keys and Preach's and Amir's own thoughts.
Just when they were sure this day would never come to an end, they heard footsteps.
And a familiar voice.
"You did great. Now all you have to do is take it easy for a few weeks."
McG. Jaz must be out of surgery.
Preach and Amir stood as Jaz was wheeled back into the room. She looked exhausted and out of it, but somehow better than before. The lines of pain on her face were softened and nearly gone, and for once in the last several hours, she looked . . . peaceful.
"Top?" she croaked.
McG smiled sadly at her side. "Still in surgery. But he's tough. You know that."
The medic glanced up at his other teammates, looking a little less worse for wear. Knowing Jaz was going to be fine seemed to have lifted a lot of the burden from his shoulders, but the lingering sorrow over Adam was still there.
"How is she?" Amir asked quietly, taking a couple steps toward Jaz.
"She's all stitched up, and everything's looking good," McG answered, his smirk small and emptier than usual. "We'll just have to make sure she doesn't overdo it before she's all healed up." He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Any word on Top?"
"Not yet," Preach replied, his voice low. He settled a gentle hand on McG's back. "Take a walk with me." Suspicious, the medic obeyed, and the two of them stepped out into the hallway, leaving Amir and Jaz alone in the room.
Amir knew what Preach meant to tell McG. About Adam's surgery. And he hoped McG had the strength to take it. It had been a long day. Possibly more so for McG than Amir could ever know.
The shorter man looked at Jaz. She was fighting to stay awake but was clearly on the edge of unconsciousness. Fortunately, she was too out of it to catch Preach's questionable behavior. Amir pulled a chair up to Jaz's bedside.
"Go to sleep, Jaz. I'm sure Top will be out of surgery by the time you wake up, so might as well pass the time," he muttered softly, slowly taking a seat.
"W'ke m'up if somethin' 'appens?"
Her words slurred together heavily, but Amir managed to decipher it.
"Of course. You have my word," he promised, offering a small smile.
Satisfied, she gave in to her exhaustion, falling deeply asleep. And he watched over her.
To be useful.
