So funnily enough I was actually planning on combining the next two episodes. Didn't think there was anything to focus on in episode 1x09 and was just going to skip ahead to a piece based on the next episode after they find her. But then I had a little piece of writing left over that I didn't use in the last chapter and I thought maybe I could do a short one based on that… and then it grew and took on a life of its own and I enjoyed the hell out of writing it because there is just an awesome amount of angst and team chemistry to play with in this episode. Not sure what I was thinking almost missing out on it. So here we are with a little interlude that starts between 1x09 and 1x10.
*** warning: description of panic attack***
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McG is worried
Okay, that's the understatement of the year.
It's almost comical how inadequately that covers it. Except that nothing is really funny right now.
He is always a little concerned when one of his teammates is injured
It goes to a whole other level when they are injured and he is powerless to help them
This… this is ….
He's not really sure he has the right words to describe just how much worse this is.
Jaz is in enemy hands.
They are probably doing God knows what to her and the team is completely helpless to do anything about it.
Their highly trained unit is rendered completely useless. They are utterly lost and directionless, no matter how much they pretend otherwise. Relegated to busy work in an attempt to stay sane and pretend that they are doing something useful. When really, if they are honest with themselves all they are really doing is waiting.. hoping, trying not to drown in the futility of it all. Just trying to stay ready just in case the chance somehow comes around that they might be able to rescue her. And desperately trying not to think about the much more likely scenario that is looming where they will be forced to exfil without her.
Right now it kind of feels like they are the ones being tortured. Judging by the rest of the team's general demeanour and restlessness he knows he is not alone in that feeling. Sitting here passing time while his brain conjures up every possible way they could be hurting her, how much she could be suffering, how alone she is. It is worse than anything he could have imagined. Infinitely worse than losing Elijah because as shitty as that was at least he knew the man wasn't hurting anymore. He could believe that Elijah was at peace and in a better place even as they were left behind to mourn his loss.
He tries to be naive and optimistic and consider the fact that maybe they will just question her and imprison her and hold her for trial. That maybe some sort of diplomatic dealings will be able to save the day. But that lasts less than a second...who is he kidding. It's Iran, and she is American and eventually they will see past her french dialogue and figure that out. And when they do, it's the Quds, they will want answers and all the information she can give them. Plus its Jaz so she won't play nice and she won't give in so she will probably tell them to go pound sand at every opportunity which will just make everything worse and make things harder on her.
And there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.
Except feel guilty.
When his brain gets tired of obsessing over what might be happening to her it switches to berating himself…Firstly for having the audacity to feel sorry for himself and the team because no matter how agonizing this is for them it can't even compare to whatever Jaz is probably going through right now. And then it moves on to hating himself for not doing something differently to stop Jaz from going in to the hotel in the first place, and for failing to get her out when it all went to shit. Maybe if he had just cleared one more floor, taken out one more guard, or stayed with her through one more set of stairs the outcome might have been different.
His monday morning quarterbacking of the mission is interrupted by Hossein's return and Dalton reigniting conversation with the team to grasp at some more straws. Their leader is desperately trying to regain some control, some sense of purpose, to believe that they are making progress.
McG gets it. It always feels better to try to believe you are doing something productive in situations like this.
And its Jaz.
He gets it. He really, really does.
That's why he bites his tongue when Top snaps at him, relegating him to check the meds supplies even though it's already been done.
Dalton is not himself right now. None of them are if they are honest. And that's not even opening the can of worms that is Dalton and Jaz.
McG can think of very few occasions where their CO has raised his voice, even fewer where it has been directed at his own team. Top, as they know him, doesn't usually rely on volume to get his message across. The way he is talking to command, the way he is talking to them, this is unchartered territory right now.
So he dutifully goes and preps his medical kit for if they find her.
When, they find her.
When.
The problem with this task though is that..A) he already did it so he is really just pulling items out of slots and sticking them right back in. And B) going through the supplies yet again just gives his brain more ammunition to obsess over. His medic's mind kicks back into overdrive. As he replaces the gauze rolls he is imaging the different types of wounds that could be inflicted to cause maximal pain or blood loss. And then when he gets to his section of splints and slings he starts to wonder if he really has enough. A person can break a lot of bones in a short period of time if they are actually trying to. The ventilation kit and chest tubes section of his kit actually makes him shudder and he wills himself to stop thinking like this. Not wanting to consider in detail how bad of shape she might be in that he could need these items. He is going to drive himself crazy if he keeps at this, conjuring up all the horrible possibilities.
So instead he tries to focus his attention on something else. On someone else that maybe he can actually help right now. He turns his attention back to his leader, studying the man, maybe there is something he could be doing to make sure the man keeps functioning because God knows he isn't focusing on his own health right now. He will probably need to make sure the man eats and sleeps at some point in the coming hours, but it could be a scary prospect trying to get him to do so. It will take a creative approach and maybe a team effort, to avoid any bloodshed. He winces at his own word choice. It isn't nearly as funny when that probably is actually occuring to one of their own.
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Holy shit.
When he comes back from their visit to Hossein's contact, he is long past concerned and miles and miles past worried. He has officially arrived at full on panicking.
They just shot someone…. With no warning….. In broad daylight…. With no exfil plan…
Adam could have killed the guy. They could easily have been caught and arrested.
And Top planned it too.
That's why he brought the medic along. He knew exactly what he was willing to do.
It wasn't the man losing his temper or acting in the moment.
McG had been surprised when Dalton had called for him to come with him and Hossein to meet the contact. Amir was the much more obvious choice both for his language skills and ability to blend in this environment when it was imperative their presence go unnoticed. Preach and Amir had seemed just as surprised as him, but like McG they knew better than to question it at that moment. Most of the time Top is open to input from his team members and supports people respectfully raising opinions that challenge his so that they can discuss all sides and make the best decision as a team. That had not been one of those times. It would not have gone well for anyone to have questioned that decision at that moment.
But now in hindsight it's all so clear what was behind it.
Holy Shit.
Immediately upon their return Dalton had stormed out of the room, muttering something unintelligible that McG took to mean to give him a minute. McG slumps in a nearby chair, also needing a minute.
He can feel Preach and Amir's questioning gazes on him. Wondering what the hell happened on their excursion. How exactly they got the address that they relayed over the comms.
He would be concerned if he was them too. He knows their sharp eyes will have
picked up the blood on his sleeves and that they probably have a suspicion about what might have occured.
McG thinks it might be more concerning actually knowing what happened. He wishes he was still in the dark, thinking that maybe they just roughed the guy up a little. Maybe he should have expected this and he is just naive and has never actually been in that position before. But as a medic it's hard to get past intentionally injuring when it was so unprovoked and so severe. He knows exactly how much muscle and tissue damage a bullet causes. How the only difference between a clean through and through and a bullet that shatters the femur or knicks the femoral artery is a matter of inches. He's not sure why, it just felt so different than beating someone for information.
But there was no arguing it was effective and he just keeps reminding himself that it was for Jaz, and that the guy had ties to the quds and was no angel.
He leans forward into his hands, scrubbing them over his face as if he can erase the last couple hours from his memory. Or hell maybe the last couple days if he is really lucky.
Preach and Amir are still staring at him wanting updates. Preach mutes the link to the DIA. Correctly surmising that there are things that occured that they don't want the higher ups to know about.
McG stands and paces for a second, trying to find the words to describe it. What it looked like to watch your leader go off the rails, to cross a line you never thought he would cross. He doesn't know how to convey the darkness he just witnessed come out of the man. The remorseless look on his face when he stood over the bleeding man and promised to let him die there. McG doesn't think it was a bluff and that might be what scares the shit out of him the most. Not so much what happened but what could have happened.
He was all for doing whatever it took to get Jax back, even if it meant that. He just wasn't sure there would ever be any going back to normal at this point. That ship has sailed. Lines had been crossed and even if they somehow succeeded they would never be the same and admitting it out loud makes it seem more real and more permanent.
McG opens his mouth and then closes it. Words getting stuck in his throat again, still too rattled.
He gives them an apologetic glance and then follows Dalton out the door. It's not really his story to tell anyways.
He heads through the pantry area that they had been using to rack out in and comes to the top of the staircase that leads to the back door. Dalton has escaped to this spot on several occasions throughout this fubar mission, whether it was to communicate with Patricia alone or to think he doesn't know.
McG pauses at the top of the stairs evaluating the situation.
Dalton is at the bottom, leaning against the wall and bent over with his hands braced on his knees.
The man has been running on empty for weeks prepping for this mission. And now it has all gone to shit and one of his team members is missing.
Dalton always seems to think he can fix things through sheer willpower but as McG studies him, he starts to wonder if cracks are starting to form in that indominateble self assurance.
The man hasn't eaten, or slept, or paused in days. And it looks like it has all finally caught up to him. The stress, the strain, the decisions, the mistakes, all tiny fissures wearing away until maybe the weight is just too much to keep carrying without something giving out.
Even from a distance he can see that Adam is shaking. The man is muttering to himself and taking harsh breaths. If McG had to guess he is probably telling himself to get it together. Not willing to allow himself even the slightest moment of weakness. Maybe the reality of what they just did is catching up to Top now leaving him temporarily rattled just like McG.
It's one thing to do it in the moment it's another to live with it after.
McG resolves to go, wanting to give the man some privacy. Dalton doesn't show emotion or weakness or anything like this very often. He deserves to be able to breakdown and put himself back together in privacy without feeling like he is being evaluated or judged on it.
But as he is turning he sees the man's leg's buckle out from under him sending him down to the ground and he suddenly isn't so sure if leaving him alone is the right course of action.
Dalton tries to get up, pushing against the wall and he gets halfway up before his legs give out again and he ends up slumped back against the wall firmly on the ground. He runs his hands up his face in frustration, knocking off his fake glasses he evidently has forgotten were on his face. He picks them up with a shaking hand and throws them against the far wall in frustration.
The medic grimaces when he sees Dalton start to take shorter choppy breaths, well on his way to hyperventilating. The man's shoulders and neck are tense as clumsy fingers work their way up and struggle to undo a few more buttons on his collared shirt. Finally succeeding he pulls at the sides of the shirt, opening them wider and then when that doesn't help begins trying to shrug out of the restrictive jacket he is wearing.
His arms get caught in the jacket sleeves and he struggles against it, movements becoming more and more desperate until he finally yanks the fabric, tearing it slightly but arriving at his goal. Now with the jacket off and shirt more open he tries to muscle through some deep breaths, neck and shoulders straining at the effort.
McG has seen enough. Its typical Top to try and grit his way through anything through sheer force of will. But you can't will your lungs to function. That's just not how it works. Especially when tension and stress is the problem, it actually will make it worse.
He knows that vicious cycle well, where stress and panic combine to tighten your stomach and your chest. It can be so minimal at first you don't even realize that it's happening. Everything maybe just feels a bit clenched and tense so you ignore it. But when that tension is prolonged and severe enough it restricts your lungs just enough that you short yourself a little bit of air on each breath and soon your body starts to really feel the lack of oxygen. Your chest starts to burn, your head starts to swim, your heart starts to pound sounding the alarm that something is terribly wrong. Ironically the only response your body offers is to try harder to pull in more air which means more shallow breaths, further exacerbating the problem until it feels like the world is ending.
Its nasty and its scary and he isn't going to leave Adam alone to deal with it.
Decision made, he heads down the stairs, sliding down the wall next to Top and bumping shoulders as a tactile way to announce his presence and support.
Dalton continues to breathe irregularly fast next to him, starting to gasp for air and shooting a panicked look at McG,
"McG, somethings wrong, can't breathe…."
"It's ok, you will be able to."
He aims for simple and reassuring. Hoping to set a calming tone for their interaction.
He knows there is nothing worse than telling the person to "just breathe", it isn't that simple, and and it sure as hell doesn't help to be told it is in the moment.
"Try to slow your breathing rate. Bring the air in in nice and slow, hold for a second. Blow it out through your mouth."
"No, McG", Dalton somehow manages to strongly convey exasperation that the medic is missing the point even though his words are weak and breathy. " My chest … s' tight… hurts"
He has to look away to hide his facial expression, because its completely unsurprising that Top refuses to consider anything other than a physical cause of his symptoms. But showing his amusement won't help either so instead he reaches over and humours the man. Making a show of checking his pulse, listening to his chest and ruling out the standard causing of chest pain and breathing difficulties.
"I don't see anything wrong, Adam."
He waits a beat before trying to gently broach the subject.
"Is it possible that maybe things just got a little overwhelming? That this is your body's way of saying take a break?"
That question has Dalton looking away from him, refusing to make eye contact and shaking his head slowly but firmly.
"Alright. Alright... Just take some time, it will pass."
That gets a more fervent shake of the head
"Don't… time… Jaz...doesn't 've time"
It's impressive how Dalton manages to sound so firm, even a tad snarky while hyperventilating, because the subject of Jaz has his breathing rate ramping up even higher. Anxiety level evidently skyrocketing as he focuses on the source of his stress.
McG sighs, taking a long breath and trying to find the right words.
"You can't help her until you take care of yourself"
He waits patiently, letting that sink in past the surging panic, until eventually Dalton's head turns back towards him and he gets a short nod.
"Okay, so in through your nose, nice and slow, hold it for 2 and then breathe it out through your mouth"
He models the nice controlled breathing as he coaches, over emphasizing each part and the desired tempo.
He feels Adam make an effort next to him, struggling to break the rapid cycle he is locked in on. The man succeeds in bringing the air in through his nose, but he shudders, breath hitching before he releases the air in a quick burst. He automatically inhales a short gulp of air again rapidly after.
Top tries again, getting a very similar result and he shoots McG a look of frustration, clearly dismissing the tactic as ineffective. Jaz had not so affectionately dubbed these techniques "McG's hippie breathing shit" on a previous instance where he had needed them with her. Dalton looks like he shares the same opinion of it.
Adam scrubs his hands up and down his face as if he can rub away the foreign sensations that are plaguing his body and when his hands come away they are visibly shaking. He glares at them traitorously and folds them into fists that he rubs up and down his legs in agitation.
Then he turns his anger to the man beside him
"Doesn't…. work…"
This time the medic doesn't try as hard to hide his eye roll. McG is done with sugar coating… although he keeps his tone light and pleasant even as he lets a little sarcasm creep in.
"Okay fine. Just keep doing what you are doing. Its working real well for you so far."
That gets him another scornful look before the man closes his eyes and takes a few more wheezing breaths, sounding as out of breath as if he was running a marathon.
He lets it go on for another minute or so. Knowing Dalton is stubborn and there is no point in pressuring him until he is ready to accept help.
Still there might be a different way to speed things along…
He lets his fingers drift obviously to Adam's wrist, spending an excessively long time taking his pulse. Then he makes a purposefully grimm noise that has Adam's eyes opening and studying him in concern.
"Top, this is getting serious, maybe it's time to take something?"
He sees Dalton's eyes narrow, and he grits out a single slurred phrase "mfine"
"Are you sure, there is no shame in a little extra help"
He easily translates the next look to mean fuck off.
Perfect.
There really would be no shame in it. And honestly the man could probably use it at this point. But he knows Dalton will never accept that as a reasonable option in the present circumstances. He is counting on that stubborness to kick in and get the man focused on proving him wrong rather than the anxiety that is currently crippling him.
Call it reverse psychology, call it Dalton psychology, call it a distraction technique, call it whatever you want… but he sees it working.
The man grinds his teeth and gestures with his hand for McG to go again. Suddenly McG's breathing techniques are the better option and Dalton is willing to apply himself a bit more to them.
"Okay take a slow breath - in through your nose, nice and deep, hold it, hold it and out nice and slow through your mouth…. That's it"
He repeats the sequence a few times and slowly Dalton, manages to get the pattern down even if it is still fast and shaky. He successfully pulls the air in through his nose and blows it out in a stream of air through his lips.
"That's a good start, now lets get that air deeper down."
he places his hand firmly on the man's stomach.
It's weird, he can admit it, and Dalton clearly thinks so too, raising an eyebrow at the medic.
McG ignores him, continuing to talk him through the breathing pattern.
"In through your nose, hold it, and out through your mouth, Good." He praises… "Now this time, bring the air all the way down, as deep as you can, and make my hand raise"
This time it's Dalton rolling his eyes. But McG is a big boy. He can take the skepticism because he knows the man is actually listening and if an eye roll helps him save face or feel in control then go for it.
Top doesn't respond to McG, but his breathing slowly becomes deeper as he focuses on getting the air deep into his diaphragm. Gradually his breathing rate slows closer to normal, it loses the raggedness and falls into an easier rhythim, coming closer and closer to matching McG's steady pace.
They sit for a moment in their own little bubble. Top is seemingly oblivious to the world around him, focused entirely on the specific task of pulling in air in the way he is being instructed to. He is entirely focused on that rhythm instead of all the issues plaguing his team right now.
McG slowly trails off, letting the man continue on his own without instruction.
They sit for a few moments in silence.
He can feel Dalton's thundering heartbeat slowing as the adrenaline eases and the man's body relaxes slightly, sagging back against the wall. Soon his head tilts back, lolling side to side until if finds a comfortable spot to rest against the wall. His eyes close in exhaustion as more of the tension releases it's hold. McG hardly dares to breath himself, willing the man to get a few seconds of peace and quiet. Just a few minutes of rest. He really has no idea when the man last slept.
A few minutes of rest while they wait for the DIA to work up the possible blacksite location is not too much to ask.
Except apparently it is, because far too soon,their comms flare, requesting Dalton go to a private channel and the sleeping man beside him man jumps to alert and sits upright immediately. Its an abrupt end to a peaceful moment and any hope of him resting is now long gone.
Dalton reaches out a hand giving McG's knee a grateful pat, and then uses that same knee to leverage himself up to standing.
He wavers slightly before taking a deep breath, one that goes all the way down.
Top sets his shoulders back and McG watches the man put his game face back on piece by piece, face losing all emotion until just the usual calm, assertive and controlled facade is left. Only then does he key his comm and respond "Go for Dalton."
The pause is over. It's back to the real world now. And McG isn't really a big fan of the real world right now
Dalton drifts away to converse in private. McG grimaces, knowing that that probably means the news he is receiving on the other end of the line is not positive.
If the team has to go home without Jaz, it will be devastating for them all.
Preach, Amir, himself, they will all miss Jaz dearly. A piece of their family will be gone. Their competitive, fiery, brazen, lively, annoying little sister. God, they will miss her.
But he is absolutely terrified at what it will do to Dalton.
If these last 10 hours are any indication, McG is pretty damn sure that it will break him.
The medic can repack his supplies as many times as he wants, but he doesn't have anything in his kit to fix that. There isn't any medicine, any fancy equipment or any amount of breathing techniques that will be able to put their leader back together again if he loses her.