Author's Note: Technically, this chapter is just a brief continuation of the last chapter, but it can also stand alone.

26. If You Thought the Head Trauma Was Bad . . . (Migraine | Concussion | Blindness)

It started off as a bit of neck stiffness.

Adam had noticed it one evening when he was manning the barbeque. He'd turned to say something to Preach on the other side of their outdoor area, and he winced when it pulled uncomfortably at his neck.

The next morning, he felt . . . noticeably moody. Adam took pride in his complete control over his emotions. It made him a good soldier and helped him effectively take command of a difficult situation. Plus, it came in handy when he needed to influence the team's mood—usually when they were left with idle hands on a high-pressure op.

But he'd distinctly noticed the swing of annoyance when McG reached around him to grab the salt and pepper. The action was innocent and common, so there was no need for irritation. But Adam couldn't seem to control it, and he started to track somewhat wilder highs and lows as he interacted with his team.

By noon, he'd felt a growing ache in his head. A couple hours later, the pain had spiked into heavy, rolling waves that pulsed around his entire cranium. Light tortured his retinas, and he felt the unfortunately familiar flip of nausea in his belly.

He'd had to park it on the couch, cradling his head in his hands. He hadn't expected to be so overwhelmed, thinking it was only a passing headache. After all, he'd sustained that troubling head injury just last week. Still had the stitches to prove it.

But this was more than just a headache.

"Head hurt?"

He winced as McG's voice seemed to slice through his brain. God, why was it so loud?

"Ah, damn. This looks like a migraine," McG observed, closer but quieter this time. "Hey, Preach, can you help me get him to his bunk?"

There was quiet shuffling, and Adam felt gentle hands pull him up from the couch. The world tilted, and the light slipped through his eyelids with a piercing glare. He sucked air in through his teeth, clenching his eyes shut.

This sucked.

He felt himself stumbling through the hallway, one hand shielding his eyes from the streaming daylight.

Then he was in his room and gingerly deposited on his bunk. Someone moved to adjust the blinds, choking out the light in the room, and the other person moved him down toward his pillow, lifting his legs onto the bunk. There was a whispered conversation, but Adam couldn't hear over the all-encompassing pain in his head.

"Take it easy, Top," McG muttered quietly. "Probably just your brain struggling with last week's hard hit."

Ugh, the heat in his belly was growing stronger, and Adam felt entirely too pathetic. He swallowed convulsively, effectively tamping down the nausea.

There was another series of unclear sounds, some closer than others, and he felt McG's hand patting his shoulder.

"There's a bucket beside your bed if you feel sick," the medic explained softly. "I'm going to give you something to help—you just have to keep it down."

Adam didn't make a move to answer, but he sat up just enough to swallow whatever pills McG gave him with a few careful sips of water. He laid back down, focusing hard on staving off the churning queasiness.

There was another pat on his shoulder. "Try to get some sleep. I'll check on you in a few hours."

When McG left, Adam did try to fall into a painless slumber. But the ache kept him awake, even after it'd dulled some with the medication. He twisted and turned slowly and steadily, trying not to jolt his aching head too violently.

And finally—finally—he fell asleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Every visit to the surface of consciousness was murky, uncoordinated, and painful. But he didn't linger long, dipping back into slumber after a moment of blurry, aching existence. At the same time, his sleep was shallow and plagued with unrest, depriving Adam of any kind of relief.

This was . . . the worst. As if his head injury wasn't bad enough, he got this delightful, little gift.

McG had been there at least once, a muddled presence in a dark room. And then, at some point, things started to level off. The ache was still angry and sharp, but the world was clear again, if not a little too bright.

McG revisited sometime after that point.

"Feeling better?" McG asked in a near whisper.

"Yeah," Adam muttered, the side of his face pressed unabashedly against his pillow.

"It might stick around for a while, and you might feel hella tired after it passes," McG explained. "Just . . . remember to take it easy." The medic grimaced a little in the dim light of the room. "Amir's making some soup. Want any?"

Adam frowned, not entirely sure if his stomach was up for it. But maybe he could try. "Just a little."

"You got it." McG smiled warmly, moving out of his field of vision and toward the door.

As the door clicked closed behind him, Adam let out a billowing breath.

Hopefully, this was the one and only migraine to spring from his head injury. But he had a feeling he wouldn't be so lucky.

At least he had a good team behind him to help.

That was one thing he never had to worry about.

Fin.