McG doesn't want to go back in
He finds himself still standing for far too long outside the hospital room carefully balancing a tray of four rapidly cooling coffees and four supposedly cranberry bran muffins. The weight of the beverages is starting to cause his wrist to cramp, a very painful reminder of just how long he has been dawdling there instead of heading inside. He has already studied every inch of the walls outside the room. Carefully observed and noted this ward's weekly nurse rotation and read through the specific schedule and instructions for patient care.
But mostly he has found his gaze drawn to the name on the door - Ezekiel Carter.
Peach's real name gets used so infrequently that it's easy to pretend that it isn't actually him the label is referring to.
Except it is.
And that fact is exactly why he is rooted to this spot, shamefully and undeniably reluctant to re-enter and stand vigil at his fallen teammates side. Preach was why he had left in the first place anxious to find something to be useful at, anything to be useful at. The reason he had been unable to sit in that room another second just watching that damn pump force air into the Preacher's non-functioning lungs. He had found it completely unbearable to spend another second doing nothing and just hoping for another erratic heartbeat to register on the monitor.
Normally, McG handles these kinds of situation better. It isn't even remotely close to the first time a teammate has been injured on his watch. Yet for some reason this one really knocked him off kilter and sent him reeling as surely as if he had been in the blast radius with Preach.
He found it weirdly discomforting that the explosion occurred so close to home. Not in the middle of nowhere. Not in some foreign country or in the midst of a war zone like they were accustomed to.
Literally in their home.
He should have found relief in that because it meant that Preach had been able to get the best medical care possible within mere minutes. A luxury that was practically non-existent in their line of work. It was also probably the only reason the man had survived to this point.
But for his part it put him thoroughly out of his element and he found himself irrationally wishing that it had actually happened out in the field. At least there he could have done something to help. He could have done his job and been able to sit here afterwards knowing he did everything he could to make sure his teammate survived and made it back to get the care he needed. But this time he had done nothing for Preach except leave him all alone with a mad man to get blown up. They all had. And they all had been unable to do anything for him after, relegated to the sidelines as the base paramedics took control. Left to do nothing but make their way to the hospital and wait, and wonder, and wait, and wonder some more.
How much smoke had Preach inhaled?
What degree burns did he have?
Over what percentage of his body?
McG had done nothing and therefore knew nothing about the man's condition either apart from the quickest of glances before the ambulance doors slammed shut.
These were just some of the questions that had plagued the medic as he sat in the hard plastic chair in the waiting room with his overactive imagination conjuring every possible injury and outcome based on a standard blast trauma. The wait for an update had been long and agonizing giving him way, way too much time to think. It was actually impressive how quickly he had cycled through different scenarios and prognosis, each a little bleaker than the previous one. The pragmatic side of his brain repeatedly stomping on that small, resilient part that wants to be hopeful and imagine a rosier alternative or a less bleak outcome.
In those seemingly endless hours he would have given anything to just know what was going on. Because surely the absence of information had to be worse than having the facts and being able to adjust his expectations more accurately.
Or not.
He was so wrong.
He knew that now.
This was worse. Way worse
Because now he knows exactly how bad it is.
And it's bad.
There is no living in ignorance anymore. Or allowing himself to indulge in a fairytale ending for just a few minutes about how maybe things will turn out alright. This isn't the hollywood film or made for tv show where the hero walks away from a blast relatively unscathed and has the happy reunion.
No, the living, barely, breathing proof is in front of him and it was exactly as bad as he had feared. And he can not stand to look at it. Can't stand to see his strong, powerful, unflappable teammate reduced to a shell of himself, completely reliant on machines and even then possibly still losing the battle.
So instead he had tried to focus on the medicine. Catching up on his charts, obsessively checking the machinery and the printouts and the monitors. But that wasn't much better because he better than anyone knew just how bad those numbers were. How much of a fight the man had ahead of him. And how powerless he was to help his friend.
It was that helplessness that drove him to leave to go try and do something useful. There was nothing he could do for Preach so he had gone in search of coffee and food for his teammates. A tangible way to help, given that none of them would be leaving anytime soon tonight, doctors suggestion be damned. Jaz and Amir… and Dalton if (when) he returns should get some food in their system even if they didn't feel like it. And the need for coffee, well that was pretty self explanatory.
Sighing, he takes one last breath and leans slightly forward to trigger the sensor for the automatic door. It opens with a hiss and there is nothing left to do but take the step across the threshold. So he finally takes it, and then another and another heading pointedly in the spy's direction and focused on the smaller man in the chair rather than the one in the bed.
He comes to a stop directly in front of Amir, but the CIA operative's position doesn't change, head remaining heavily at rest on his hands, leaning forward in the chair with his elbows on his legs. The spy continues to stare in the direction of the hospital bed even though McG's large frame, is now directly obscuring his line of sight. After a second or two, when it becomes clear that whatever Amir is looking at may not actually be in this room, the medic carefully extricates one of the coffee cups and waves it in front of his face a few times. On the third swing Amir finally snaps back with a subtlety he has come to expect from with his newest teammate. With barely so much as a blink, the spy's eyes come back into focus and lock onto the coffee cup dancing in his face and he reaches out to grab it with a grateful smile.
"Thanks McG"
McGuire returns what he hopes passes for a smile, before pulling out his own coffee from the tray and settling into the seat beside Amir.
Amir quirks an eyebrow, and gives a slight smirk at the two remaining cups left unclaimed in the tray McG deposits on the side table.
McG grimaces ruefully, and waves vaguely in their direction "figured we better double Jaz up"
They both know its a lie.
And they both know it was a fool's errand to think that Dalton would be back anytime soon. The coffee will be long cold before he is back to drink it.
Whatever he had left them to do, and they all had some idea of what that was, it would likely take many hours. Days even.
But Jaz he hadn't expected to go far.
"Where did she head off to anyways?" he asks aloud.
Now it is Amir's turn to grimace, expression souring as he answers the question "She went to call Preach''s wife"
McG struggles to swallow the sip of coffee he just took. Grief tightens his throat thinking about Preach's wife picking up this particular phone call only to have her whole world come crashing down. Then it takes a couple of swings at his stomach when he imagines her trying to find a way to break the news to their kids.
He places his still full cup back in the tray, decidedly done with it.
There is silence for a while, save the incessant noise of the machines, and after a few minutes McG runs out of things to look at other than the obvious in the middle of the room. So finally he gives in and allows himself to look in that direction but trains his gaze on the machines surrounding the bed instead. Conscientiously studying the digital numbers, watching the fluids drop down the tubes drip by drip. After what feels like his 400th visual sweep of Preach's cardio monitor Amir finally speaks again.
"You think he will come back?"
At first McG thinks they are still talking, or rather not talking, about Dalton going dark. However when he tears his eyes away from the machines and sees what Amir is back to staring at it becomes clear that their leader isn't who he is referencing.
Like usual Amir is already a few steps ahead of the situation. He has already decided that Preach is going to live. Or maybe he is just ignoring the possibility that he might not, and has moved on to what his injuries means for the future. He is already considering the possibility that this damage might end Preach's career and what that means for their team unit going forward.
"I don't know… he was getting pretty close to that age anyways. He might just want to spend more time at home."
McG actually finds it comforting right now to picture Preach convalescing at home and then formally retiring and spending his days with his wife and beautiful children in the Californian sun. Coaching them at soccer, taking them to the mall and spoiling them rotten with new clothes, going to church as a family on sunday mornings. He will take that outcome right about now.
Amir doesn't seem to share his opinion on that being an acceptable option. He looks disappointed by McG's answer for a second before his typical mask shutters in into place just like it does on missions. His voice is clinical when he finally responds.
"Well he will be hard to replace. His skill sets are valuable and it will be a challenge for you guys to find someone with similar abilities."
If McG didn't know better he would think Amir was talking about just another one of his assets. He is calm and emotionless like he is offering a tactical assessment of some non related issue that he is studying from afar. It also doesn't go unnoticed that he appears to have removed himself from the equation too. Referencing the team as a separate entity rather than something that he is a part of.
It's almost like he had reverted back to the same cold, detached CIA operative that first arrived at their barracks. The one that kept to himself, divulged little and rubbed Jaz entirely the wrong way every time he did open his mouth. For most of the first few months it felt like he had one foot in the door and the other in his old life, ready to cut bait and run at the first opportunity. McG had honestly been surprised some mornings when the man came down for breakfast, half expecting him to have stolen away in the night.
Once they made an effort to get to know him, or at least Preach and McG had. It had been readily apparent that there were many layers to the man. Many painful things buried down deep and powerful emotions ruling most things he did. And over time Amir had shared a bit with them. Learned to function in a team environment, to trust them and let them carry some of the burden alongside him. He liked to think they had taught the spy how to be part of a family, that they could do more together and the operative had finally embraced that concept. Unfortunately they were paying the price of that camaraderie right now. Facing a disruption to their stable nucleus. And maybe Amir was finding it easier to go back to being detached. To pretend not to care so much. To imagine that he could escape and go back to his old life working solo and not have to feel what he was feeling right now.
McG couldn't fault him for that. For however he wanted to cope. If the man wanted to pretend for a little while it might not be the healthiest thing but he wasn't going to judge today. That said, it didn't mean he had to make it easy for the man to distance himself either. So he slings an arm around Amir's shoulders. "Well whoever the replacement is. There is one positive"…. He waits until he is sure Amir is actually listening. "At least you won't be the new guy anymore. And you can watch and sympathize from a far as whoever it is deals with the wrath of Khan".
He gets a small snicker for that. But it's not quite as big as he was hoping for given what he thought was a pretty awesome star trek pun He sighs internally… not everyone appreciates his genius.
Regardless, his point is that whatever changes come, Amir is still be a part of the team, nothing has to change there. He hopes the former spy at least picked up on that.
There is a comfortable silence for another minute or two and McG is on his second sweep of Preach's vitals when Amir finally speaks again.
"You know I didn't peg you for a sci-fi fan McG..."
The medic grins, "Oh thank god, you did get it! I thought maybe your butler didn't let you watch Star Trek or something. Talk about a deprived childhood."
Amir lets out a suffering sigh, accompanied by a familiar put up on eye roll "We didn't have a butler McG. We had a cook. Big difference."
"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to."
The medic stands and stretches, ready to move on and go check in on Jaz. "Well obviously some things never change. You still get waited on hand and foot, coffee deliveries and all…. On that note I better go find Jaz before her coffee gets too cold or I won't get a good tip. Us poor people got to work for a living you know."
"Har Har"
Amir's words are dripping with fond exasperation and as McG pulls Jaz's coffee out of the tray the smaller man raises his cup in thanks before pivoting back towards the bed to resume his vigil.
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McG finds the ninja a few hallways down, pacing as she talks quietly on the phone.
He observes from a distance, giving her time and space to finish up the call. When she finally does he watches as she leans heavily against the wall and then slides bonelessly down until she is sitting on the floor. She brings her hands up to her face, the phone still clasped between her fingers is pressed into her lips, as if she can hold in whatever words or emotions want to escape next.
He waits a few seconds, and then approaches, sliding down the wall to join her in what is apparently becoming his patented move.
Just as he goes to open his mouth she holds up a finger in a crystal clear gesture that says give me a minute.
So McG just hands her the coffee and waits. He sits patiently while she takes a couple sips and then places it on the ground beside her. He doesn't comment when she leans into him, shoulder coming to rest against his. And likewise pretends he can't feel her body shaking through the contact point, or tell that she is using sniper breathing techniques to try to ground herself.
Finally when he feels her relax slightly, he asks gently
"How did she take it?"
His question is instantly met by red rimmed eyes and a clear are you an idiot look.
Okay he deserved that. That was a dumb question.
He shouldn't be surprised to see that the predominant emotion bubbling at the surface for her is anger. He didn't know why he had assumed she was battling to compose herself because she was devastated from the call. He should know better with their fiery sniper. She lashes out. She fights back. Preferring to stay mad rather than to allow herself to feel grief or despair.
He sighs and takes a deep breath because honestly he has no idea what to say. Clearly.
There is no way to make this situation better. Her anger is well deserved.
He doesn't know what to say about Dalton. He is mad about that too.
And he sure as hell doesn't know what to say about what Hoffman did to Preach. Because … Fuck.
He also doesn't have a way to erase the damage that's just been done to Preach's beautiful family. The trauma and uncertainty that Jaz was just forced to unleash into their world.
Maybe he is off his game. Floundering just as much as anyone and no use to the team when they need him most. Who they really need right now is Preach. He would have known exactly what to say.
Unexpectedly Jaz throws him a line.
"I shouldn't have had to make that call."
He breathes out a heavy sigh, "No, no you shouldn't have"
"I'm going to kill him."
He can't help but laugh softly at that declaration. At the heat she manages to put in it even as a few tears leak out and betray her attempt at a hard exterior. He has a suspicion most of her anger towards their CO is probably overcompensation for some other feelings they all pretend don't exist between the pair. That there is a reason she is extra worried, sorry "mad," about him going off on his own. But now is so not the time to broach that subject.
So this time he the throws her a bone and doesn't question it.
"Me too... After I make sure he is in one piece" He adds as an afterthought.
Jaz looks at him incredulously. And then a snorts with amusement.
"God he is an idiot."
"Amen to that sister." He channels his most devout, reverent church voice, mimicking the parishioners at the church his mom used to drag him to every sunday.
His impression makes Jaz full on snicker, and he joins her in letting a dry chuckle escape. It feels wrong, but also feels kinda good and before he knows it they are both somewhat laughing, shoulders shaking side by side for a different reason this time. It continues on for a good couple minutes. Each time one manages to stop the other starts again. And if there are a few tears streaming down their cheeks mixed in with the hilarity they both pretend not to notice. It's therapeutic or some crap like that.
A few nurses walk by and their reactions to the scene run the gamut from confusion to pity. There is one clearly who clearly thinks they are crazy. Another looks a little scandalized by their antics, and seems to be biting her tongue not to scold them. The last one who passes doesn't even seem at all phased by them. The still somewhat rational part of McG's brain can appreciate that two individuals sitting on the floor, dressed in all black fatigues, hysterically laughing and hysterically crying all at the same time probably should have garnered at least some sort of reaction. But maybe she has just seen it all before. The thought that other people have looked as ridiculous as they probably do right now makes him laugh even harder.
The next person who walks by doesn't react to them either. Except this person isn't wearing scrubs and McG knows that stride anywhere.
It sobers him up immediately.
Dalton is back.
Jaz stiffens next to him. Her laughter dying out as well. Anger rehardening her features. Now that he is back and apparently in one piece she can just be straight angry with him for a few minutes. He can feel the heat of her glare from beside him as she tracks their leader's movements.
He doesn't even acknowledge their presence or her glare, which is concerning on several levels. Usually Top is completely in tune with his surroundings. Even more so with knowing where his teammates are. And he definitely should have picked up on the possible threat coming from the very hostile military age female staring at him with a look that promises retribution. Right now though, Dalton is oblivious to any of that and is solely focused on his mission of getting to Preach.
Well he is about to get an unscheduled interruption to that operational plan because the medic launches into action, pushing himself up off the wall and setting an intercept course. He is not as willing as Jaz to take the fact that their CO has returned as proof that he is actually in one piece. The man has been doing God knows what for the past 8 hours and is not particularly good at taking care of himself at the best of times. Never mind when his head is who knows where.
He times it perfectly, coming in from the side and stepping in front of Dalton. The man is forced to pull up at the last second to avoid a collision. He doesn't look up though, just steps to the right to go around whatever is in his way. McG steps that way as well and its proof of how rattled their CO is that he tries the other direction as well before he realizes this isn't an accidental collision and finally raises his eyes to see who is purposefully blocking his path. When Adam finally recognizes his medic, he gives the man a nod of acknowledgement and then goes to try and leave again.
Nice try.
"Hold up a second there Top, need to check you out first" McG doesn't wait for him to respond or agree, just grabs his arm and pulls him towards a nearby alcove with a bench.
Dalton's arm muscles vibrate with tension beneath his grip but he doesnt pull away, doesn't fight the direction change or argue that its unnecessary. Weirdly, enough he allows the medic to seat him on the bench and then sits apathetically while the medic gets on with it.
Maybe the man is just too tired to argue, or maybe Top figures the quickest way to continue his mission is just to let the medic get on with it, either way McG will take it.
Top sits rigidly on the edge of the bench as if he refuses to get comfortable, determined that he won't be here long. He stares off into space, ignoring the medic as he flits around doing a cursory inspection of his patient.
His pulse is slightly elevated but that's not entirely surprising given the day they've had. What is surprising is that their leaders usually rock steady hands are trembling beneath his grip on Adam's wrists. When he lets go Dalton quickly closes them into fists and buries them in his lap, continuing to avoid the Medic's eyes.
There are no bruises or cuts on his hands. So he wasn't working a bag ... or someone's face over. That's something to go off at least.
He forces the man to take some deep breaths. Nodding with relief when they sound good.
Dalton apparently picks up on his approval and interprets that as permission to leave.
"Not so fast. I've got a couple more things to check." McG is quick to counter the man's attempted movement with a forceful hand on his shoulder.
He doesn't get a response except for the man slumping back onto the bench and blowing out an audible breath of frustration. Then in an unexpectedly childish move Dalton slouches down, leaning back against the wall as if to emphasize that he might as well get comfortable if this is going to take all day. However his dramatic exaggeration is short lived and the man only lasts a second or two of feigned relaxation before his impatience gets the best of him and he sits back up, leg beginning to bounce in agitation.
McG ignores the theatrics and proceeds with a quick concussion check that satisfies him his leader doesn't have any brain damage, despite the current behaviour that might indicate otherwise.
Top's blood pressure is a little lower than normal. He frowns at that but it isn't entirely unexpected considering the length of their recent mission, and the extended one Dalton just undertook. The man is probably running on fumes by now.
He sighs, not overly happy with the results but not finding anything glaringly wrong either. Feeling the man shift restlessly beneath his hold, he knows it is time to wrap it up. Their leader needs to see Preach.
"He is in room 1032. ...Make sure you eat something"
Before he can finish the sentence Dalton is up and off the bench.
"Seriously top. Eat something. There are muffins in the room" he calls out, yelling futilely at the man's back as Dalton hightails it down the hallway.
He gets a hand gesture in response that could have been an acknowledgment. Or quite possibly a wave of dismissal. McG doesn't care to try to figure out which.
When he looks back at it later, it pains him to admit that Dalton fooled him. He bought the act hook line and sinker. It's embarrassing, but he can't deny that Top would have gotten away with it thanks to to dark clothes and pure stubbornness and possibly some super human ability to regulate his own vitals. Honestly he wouldn't actually put it past the man to have figured out how to do that to help him pass a medical check up.
Dalton is fond of reminding his team that emotions and mistakes often go hand in hand.
That assessment rings true here because as far as McG can figure, it was Top's brief outburst of frustration that did him in. The man's dramatic slump back against the very white wall was the brief tactical error that ruined his otherwise masterful performance.
Its the resulting streak of fresh blood starkly evident against the white paint that catches McG's eye just before Dalton finishes his escape. The medic stares at the undeniable evidence disbelievingly, mind re-running all of the tests he just ran and coming to the only possible conclusion. His stomach drops but then he manages to call out just in time.
"Stop!"
His angry shout catches Dalton just before the smaller man can disappear around the corner. He sees his CO's body language stiffen as he realizes he is busted and yet Adam still makes one more attempt to play it off and turns to face the medic with an innocent expression.
When McG points to the traitorous red mark on the wall Dalton gives up on that gig. Expression hardening into a defiant stare. Daring him to question. To scold.
McG just takes a deep breath. Reminding himself to pick his battles.
Dalton isn't going to get the fight that maybe he wants. That won't get either of them anywhere. Except maybe thrown out of the hospital for shouting the way this day has gone.
So instead he just motions to the bench. If there is any doubt that Dalton didn't know what he was hiding that goes out the window when he gives in without protest and silently resumes his spot on the bench.
Apparently silent is the name of the game so he just motions for Dalton to lift his shirt. Now with that the gig is up Adam doesn't work as hard to hide it and McG can see the movement causes him some discomfort. When the shirt finally lifts it reveals a hastily applied bandage over his midsection that has bled through. The medic is one hundred percent certain he won't like what is underneath but he needs to know so he carefully peels back the gauze and wrappings.
Jesus.
The man had been shot.
Unfucking believable
McG takes several deep breaths As he feels his blood pressure rise.
He actually believes it easier than he wishes he did. Damnit Dalton.
He takes another couple breaths because the first few don't seem to have actually done anything.
Of course he had been shot. And of course he hadn't said anything. And probably not been intending to say anything anytime soon.
If there was any doubt about what he had been up to over the last few hours, it's gone.
He gives up on the deep breathing and tries counting backwards from 10 in an effort to not give his leader a good shake and maybe a long scolding. A tiny, still rational, part of his brain knows that won't help right now so he settles for a few internal expletives that make him feel better if nothing else. Then in preaches honor he says a few prayers for patience. Maybe they will cancel each other out. When he no longer feels the urge to strangle his CO he manages to spit out his first question in a voice that hopefully sounds semi-calm.
"How long ago?"
"2 hours."
"You clean it?"
"Yes."
Dalton's answers are calm and succinct. Like he is doing an after action report for a thoroughly uneventful mission.
The best McG can manage in response to such blatant lack of care is a non-committal "hmmm" while he takes a closer look at the wound.
It actually isn't too bad which is a minor miracle for Dalton. Normally when he is hiding an injury its way worse than this. In this case it's a through and through and right above his hip, just an inch away from missing him altogether but also an inch or two away from being way worse. The medic can tell at a glance that it hasn't hit anything vital but it still has to hurt like a bitch. McG almost is impressed by Dalton's ability to hide it during his exam. Almost. He must have moved so carefully. Breathed so carefully so as not to give it away. Then again maybe the man was just numb right now. Or a feeling a completely different type of pain so vast and so expansive that this didn't even register on his radar.
Still it would need a proper clean out. And stitches. He knows it. Dalton knows it.
But it could wait.
He rechecks the man's vitals. They are steady enough. Adam doesn't appear to have lost too much blood thanks to somewhat effective self first aid.
He studies his CO and for the first time Adam actually met his eyes. The pain there is devastating and it isn't physical. It's speaks to the fear that your best friend might never explode a weird colour smoothie in the kitchen again. The idea that he might never offer a sage if somewhat confusing piece of advice when you least wanted it but probably most needed it. The knowledge that there won't be a very necessary calming presence the next time tempers rise or egos clash. The inconceivable truth that the unofficial father of their team won't be skyping his kids again at their pre-set daily time and even worse might never go home to them ever again.
By rights he should drag Dalton's sorry, lying, shot butt over to the emergency department and get him looked at. It's the smart, by the book decision he should make.
But sometimes in battle, a medic has to make operational decisions that a doctor in a hospital with all the resources in the world would never do. Like the book might tell you you should keep someone still and apply pressure, and yet the bullets whizzing by your head and the lack of cover say otherwise. And no where in any medical handbook does it suggest sticking a straw in someone's chest but on the other hand oxygen really is kind of important and sometimes your teammates prefer to be able to breathe when their lung collapses.
Being a medic is constantly making those kind of hard choices in less than optimal circumstances that have real consequences for your friends.
Right now Dalton needs to see Preach more than he needs the wound treated.
McG's decision is anything but textbook, probably way less than optimal, but it's the right one in his book.
He fixes Dalton to the spot with a glare that would make his mom proud, it promises severe consequences should he try to make a run for it. The man seems to respect the unspoken threat because he shifts his weight uncomfortably but stays put while McG bustles around a few cabinets scrounging for supplies. When he returns he makes quick work of bandaging the wound and then stares Top down again " This is will need to be changed in a few hours and to get stitched up."
He gets hum that he takes as an acknowledgment. And then the man is pulling his shirt back down. Taking off down the hallway with a renewed purpose.
"Dalton"
Adam freezes again….
"You get him?"
Top turns slightly to face the medic and after a long second he gives a sharp curt nod in response to the question. McG can't decipher the expression that accompanies it, some combination of sadness or satisfaction playing across Adam's face, or maybe just emptiness. Whatever it is it vanishes quickly as the man pivots and continues off down the hall in search of his friend.
The medic is left standing in the hallway. Feeling a little bit better, and also a little bit worse. His job is done now. He has checked in on everyone, yet he still finds himself one person short and it's the one who he knows he can't do anything to help.
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McG hesitates again at the threshold of the room. Pausing this time to study his handiwork on the board.
Ezekiel "Preach" Carter
That's better.
Smiling with satisfaction, he re-enters the room just in time to catch Dalton downing the cold cup of coffee in one swig. Amir meets his eyes and they both share a knowing grin. That coffee is probably ice cold and disgusting, but in the end Dalton was back to drink it. McG's optimism had paid off. Preach would have called it faith and would have been proud. Actually Preach probably would have told him never to count Dalton or his stomach out.
The imagined "Preachism" breaks whatever wall he had built and he finally turns to look at his friend. Not at the patient and his injuries, or the monitors and machines surrounding him. Actually at his friend, at their teammate, their rock.
And he is still there. Beneath all that crap. All those tubes and wires. He is still there. McG is all of a sudden more certain of it than ever. He feels it, the man's presence in the room completing the team. They are all back together again and without a doubt he knows the man would know the exact words for this situation to say to comfort the team. The thought makes him smile
and it catches the other's attention so he figures he might as well share with the class.
"You know he would have something to say right now…. Something like McGuire baby, you know it's always darkest before the dawn"
He can almost here Preach's deep gravelly voice saying it along with him.
"Trials are the precursors to triumph" Amir joins in with his best imagined Preachism as well. Moving from his chair, he comes to join the rest of his team in the circle around the bed
Jaz, not to be outdone attempts her own, piping into the conversation with "the river of life runs through rapids we call adversity."
Out of the corner of his eye, McG notices the sniper drift over to stand beside Dalton who has taken a seat next to the bed. Her hand reaches out to rest gently, almost affectionately on Adam's shoulder. Pretenses are gone. Forgiveness and something more unspoken but evident in the contact. McG raises an eyebrow when Dalton allows the touch, even leans in slightly towards it.
Damn! it looked like he was going to owe Preach 20 bucks. They all knew it was inevitable but McG had put money on not until after this deployment. Should have known better than to bet against the house, or Preach in this case.
McG pulls his attention away from the pair and shakes his head "man where does he even come up with this stuff" he asks fondly.
Amir is quick to answer that one too "Certainly not from books"
Dalton breaks his silence, fondly weighing in his agreement "No, he is tapped into something else entirely." Their leader reaches out to take Preacher's hand, grasping it tightly as if he can tap into it as well. Or maybe just hoping to tether his friend to his world through sheer force of will.
'Show me a man who believes in something greater….' Amir trails off, unable to finish. Turning his face away from the team for a moment.
But McG knows where he is going with that. He remembers going out on Amir's first mission way back at the beginning of this deployment. More specifically he vividly remembers putting his foot in his mouth asking Amir how he could be a Muslim in their line of work. It feels like a lifetime ago. Yet he remembers what Preach said like it was yesterday as well as the exasperated look sent in his direction. The older man had managed to bail him out and diffuse the situation and make their new teammate feel accepted.
Show me a man who believes in something greater….
"…. That's a man I'll fight beside." He finishes it off for Amir, and for Preach, with conviction and with hope.
Because they would fight beside him. Come what may, he is confident their team will face it together.
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That's all folks. Apologies for the long wait. I definitely was a little blocked on the last episode(s) and had pretty much given up on finishing it. Thanks for all the reviews and kind prods to finish it and a special shout out to burnmedown whose review kind of kicked me in the butt because I have been reading and enjoying their seal team stories so much. And once I finally got going… it just kept going. So hopefully this long one makes up for the equally long wait and provides a little closure.