Author's Note: Wowie zowie! So much love and so many reviews! Thanks, all; it means the world to me and gives me such wonderful, warm feels. Welp, here's the second chapter. I hope ya'll like it. And as a reminder, I am not a medical professional, so I'm doing my best in these fics with what knowledge I have and can find. Anyway, enjoy! :)
Chapter Two
The sun reflected off dewy leaves, sending warm rays over the greenery. Morning birds chirped cheerfully, flitting from branch to branch as they chattered with their neighbors. It was quiet. Peaceful. Without disruption.
Except for an unmoving boot peeking out of the brush.
A heavy dew drop slid down a glossy leaf, catching onto the point and stretching as it desperately held onto the foliage.
Then it fell. Onto warm skin.
Adam stirred, clumsily emerging from the thick cotton of unconsciousness. His limbs felt weak. His whole body felt heavy and restrained, as if strapped to the floor.
Grasping onto a whisper of wakefulness, he fought his way into the daylight, meeting pain and bodily exhaustion. He groaned, struggling against the binds of oblivion.
His eyes peeled open to slits, immediately assaulted by sunlight. Though dimmed by the spotty cover of leaves, the light was almost blinding, and he felt slow and sluggish.
His mouth was dry, and he painfully swallowed against his sandpaper throat.
Shit, he felt like he'd been run over. A few times. Honestly, he wasn't even sure he was alive. Closing his eyes, he mustered what little strength he had before lifting his head and reopening his eyes to take in his situation.
And he was met with red.
Blood was smeared across and soaked into his clothes, and out of alarm, he hurriedly pressed a weak hand against his abdomen, awaking a fresh spike of pain. He let out a small cry, eyes drifting to his bloodied thigh.
He'd forgotten. He was shot. He'd gone down, and his team left without him.
As they should have.
Blinking harshly as he inhaled greedily, he moved his free hand to one of his cargo pouches, struggling to undo the snap with a sudden sense of urgency. Even in a moment like this, his training kicked in, telling him exactly what to do. Somehow, through his foggy thoughts, he remembered he had bandaging in case he was ever separated from McG. Like now. He wasn't exactly sure if he had the strength to apply it, but he had to try. He wasn't the type to lie down and give up.
Finally managing to undo the snap, he tried reaching for the packs of bandaging, straining against the binds of exhaustion and jagged stabs of pain. He could barely reach. Frustrated, he stretched further, growling in pain when his body protested the movement.
"Damn."
He frowned, both out of confusion and heavy discomfort. His voice sounded like rough parchment rubbing against itself.
"Command?"
It was hoarse and quiet, but it was something. He half-wished he could go back to sleep. Or at least not care for a moment. But he couldn't. He had to rely on himself for survival, even now, when his head throbbed and his strength was a small fraction of its normal capacity.
He tried reaching for the gauze again, and he could feel his fingers brush against the paper packaging. Progress.
Adam took a deep breath, feeling woozy and tired. Was he still alive? It was hard to tell. "Command?"
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Noah stared down at his coffee. It was a new shift. A new day. But that didn't erase what had happened yesterday.
Patricia had taken him and Hannah out for a decent meal, and the three had gone home to get some shuteye. And he'd tried. He'd really tried. But sleep wouldn't come, and misery just seemed to settle into his bones. Just thinking about how quiet Adam's team had been on the way back to base was difficult, and then all that was on Noah's mind was how much Adam's team had to be suffering.
Now he was here, eyes focused on the mug of black coffee. He didn't want to drink—or eat—anything, but he was awfully tired. And he owed it to Patricia—to Dalton's team—to be alert on the job.
With a sigh, he picked up the mug and took a slow sip, forcing his eyes to his computer screen. His brow furrowed at the sight of a new window, his brain sluggishly registering what it was.
Noah choked on his coffee.
Nearly slamming down his mug, he hastily clicked on the window, pulling up a background application as he shoved his headset over his ears.
"—ommand?"
His heart was in his throat, and he vaguely wondered if he'd somehow passed out at his desk and fallen into a dream.
There was a dry cough and a shaky inhale. "Any . . . anyone?"
"Dalton?"
The name fell out of Noah's mouth in a near whisper, as if afraid it was all a lie.
"Noah?"
Within milliseconds, Noah felt like he was both frighteningly awake and on the verge of passing out. Emotions crashed at the front of his mind, each of them pawing for purchase. His eyes watered, his throat constricted, his hands trembled.
"Dalton, is that really you?"
Another cough and a deep breath. "Last I . . ." A heavy breath. "Last I checked."
"Oh my G—how—I—" Noah scrambled for words, turning in his chair just in time for Patricia's somber entrance into the room. "Director. Director, he's alive."
She stopped, narrowing her eyes as she dropped a stack of papers on her desk. "What?"
"Dalton—Adam—He's-he's alive." The room went quiet, listening. Anxious.
Without missing a beat, she swiftly walked to his desk, pulling off Noah's headset to put it on herself.
"Dalton?"
"Still here."
She frowned. He sounded tired; his voice was painfully hoarse. Her heart sank—something was wrong. "Are you injured?"
There was a pause. The pause that always came before troubling news.
"Been hit."
"Where?" It was more of a demand than a question.
"Abdomen. Thigh."
His answers were short. Clipped. She wondered how bad it was. Most of the time, he was excellent at downplaying his injuries. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, taking a slow, deep breath.
"What happened?"
She knew she probably should've been more specific, but Dalton knew what it meant. He always seemed to know.
"Ordered the team to split," he mumbled, his voice gravelly. Breathy. "Got hit shortly after. Hid in the brush. Wasn't found. Guess I lost consciousness."
"How bad is it?"
Another dreadful pause.
"Not great."
"I'm going to need more than that, Dalton. We lost visual and GPS tracking; we're in the dark."
There was a soft cough on the other end, weak and tired.
"Wasn't able to apply pressure last night. Lost a decent amount of blood. Can't stand up. Don't think I have the energy. Attempting to apply bandaging, but not being very successful." There was some shuffling and pained panting for a moment, only adding to Patricia's concern. "Looks like the body cam was damaged when I fell. Same with the GPS tracker."
She swallowed her worry, focusing harder to ignore her emotions.
"You don't think you can get up at all?"
"Have yet to sit up, so we'll see."
Patricia sighed, pressing fingers to the bridge of her nose. Since it was a short op, Adam didn't have any supplies for extended survival. No food.
No water.
Probably part of why his voice sounded so bad.
"This goes without saying, but we're sending your team out ASAP to pick you up. Without GPS tracking, it may take time to find you."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Patricia pulled the headset off, handing it to Noah. "Put his audio up on the main system. I want to hear him at all times."
Noah took the headset and quickly did as he was asked. In no time, Adam's pained huffing was sounding over the main speaker, alerting the rest of the room to the newest development. The stunned silence lingered, a few soft whispers sweeping through the room.
"So what's happening?" Hannah asked eagerly, eyes flitting between Noah and Patricia. Noah simply looked at the deputy director, also curious to know what Adam told her.
Patricia didn't stop to look at them, instead going to her desk to retrieve her ear piece. "Dalton's been shot in the abdomen and thigh. Thinks he lost consciousness last night before he could apply any first aid. Camera and GPS tracker are damaged, and he doesn't have the strength to move." She turned to face the larger screen in the room, already putting her ear piece in. "So let's give his team a call to give them the news."
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Empty bottles sat on the table, ignored and already gathering desert dust. No one had slept. They couldn't have if they tried. Instead, they'd sat at the table together, conservatively sipping at beer and sharing memories in between sobering moments of silence. There had been tears, some laughter, and the odd instant of frustration.
But even after all that, it didn't change a thing. Adam was still gone.
And today, they'd have to get used to that.
Amir let out a long sigh, looking at his comrades with bloodshot eyes. "I'll make some breakfast."
Jaz shook her head, arms folded as she stared down at the table. "Not hungry."
"Me neither," Amir admitted. "But we've got to eat. We still have to take care of ourselves."
"Got a point," McG muttered.
Amir moved to get up, fighting the urge to sit back down. He didn't much feel like moving. The rest of the team probably felt the same.
As he was rummaging through their food supplies, a familiar beeping rang through the room. He froze, looking over his shoulder at Adam's laptop. They all stared at it, the four of them still and unmoving.
Then Preach moved to answer it, slow and steady as he trudged over. With a click, he took the call, expecting to see a professionally mournful deputy director.
But she looked as driven as ever.
"Director," Preach greeted, suddenly more tired seeing the resolve in her face.
"Good morning, team. I have . . ." She stopped, as if trying to decide how to put it. "News."
Jaz released a harsh huff. Probably wasn't anything good. "Great."
"Dalton's alive."
Everyone looked up at that, eyes wide and suddenly alert. There was a heavy pause as they digested the statement.
Elation bloomed in their chests, but it was quickly snuffed out by awful possibilities. Alive didn't always mean well. And in an instant, they were fighting with uncertain joy and wisps of dread. In a way, they didn't know how to feel, and everything just felt weightless. Up in the air.
But Adam was alive. They could work with that, right?
Right?
They tried to grapple on to some kind of feeling. Hell, there was just so much. Should they laugh? Cry?
Was he really alive?
And then it came crashing down. Hard. There was panic and restlessness and fear, unsaid and bottled up in their cores. They had to see him. They had to have eyes on him to really know if he was okay.
They had to take action or do something.
"Was he captured?" Jaz asked, leaning toward the laptop from her seat.
"No. He managed to hide, but his GPS tracker and body cam were damaged, and he lost consciousness, so we'd lost all contact."
"Lost consciousness?" Preach prompted. They needed to be there. With Adam. But there was no way they'd be allowed to take on the rescue mission. No way Patricia would let them do it.
"He was hit while making his way to exfil."
McG stood abruptly, though knowing there was nothing he could do in the moment. The rest were frozen, glued to their spots in fear.
"Says he's lost a lot of blood and doesn't have the strength to move much. So I don't think I need to tell you that time is of the essence."
Jaz frowned, her heart beating hopefully against her ribcage. "You're sending us out?"
"Who else would I send?"
Without sparing another second, McG, Jaz, and Amir rushed to get their gear together, leaving Preach on the call. Their team leader need them, and they wouldn't waste a minute getting to him.
"Give us a few, and we'll be ready," Preach reported, anxiously watching his younger teammates scrambling to get things together—even Preach's things.
"Before you do anything, I recommend putting in your comms. Maybe give your CO a hello."
Preach didn't miss the small smirk on Patricia's face, betraying her feelings. She quickly ended the call, taking that miniscule smile with her.
"Director says to put our comms in first," Preach instructed, trying to keep it cool as he walked to his own pack. But it didn't stop his heart from hammering against his ribcage. Didn't stop his mind from wondering if this was all real.
And every limb was abuzz with a relieved energy he just couldn't explain.
Immediately, the other three dug into their gear to pull out their comms, cramming them into their ears.
Adam was alive.
Alive.
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It had taken forever to get the bandaging out of the cargo pouch. He'd had to reach for it in rounds, feeling completely drained. Although, that was understandable. Adam wondered how much blood he'd lost by now. After some time, he'd managed to get some gauze pads and rolls out. Now, he just had to find the energy to actually dress his wounds.
Taking a few deep breaths, he pushed himself off the ground and through the brush leaves and branches, growling painfully as he forced himself to sit up. His stomach was on fire, and he could feel his muscles trembling under the strain. He'd pushed off his night vision gear some time ago, abandoning them on the forest floor. They only seemed to add to his headache.
"Adam? You okay?"
"Fifth time, Noah. I'm fine," he bit out, though every word shook. To keep himself upright, he clung to the pants fabric of his good leg, but he wasn't sure how long that would work.
"I know, I'm sorry, it's just . . ." Noah stopped, unsure of how to say it.
"We thought you were dead," Hannah finished, her voice firm but reverent.
Adam stopped. His head was already spinning from sitting up. Hannah's statement only turned it faster.
He hadn't really thought about that. Yeah, he knew his team had left him behind. It was expected. If he didn't make it to exfil, they were to leave. They had to leave.
But really, if he didn't make it to exfil, what were they supposed to think?
Shit, what were they supposed to think?
He could feel a rising panic in his bones, thinking about how his team had to leave him behind. How they thought he was dead.
For a whole night, they thought he was dead.
"Adam? You oka—?"
"I'm fine," he snapped. "Do they know?"
Thinking he was dead . . . that was a pain unlike anything else. He knew that.
"Deputy Director Campbell is on a call with them right now," Hannah provided, her voice strong but low.
Just now? What time was it? He struggled to look at his watch, barely able to lift his arm as he squinted against the daylight. Around nine o' clock. It'd been late when they'd finished their objective, but that didn't make this any better. He should've woken sooner. If only to give his team a couple more hours of relief.
With a grunt, he tore open a pack of gauze, pressing it to his bloody leg. Drawing whatever strength he could, he worked to thread the rolled gauze between the floor and his limb, trying to lift his leg as much as he could. It wasn't much. And the agony was overwhelming.
But he forced himself to wheeze through it.
"To be frank, you don't sound too good."
Adam squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to stem the sting of his wounds and frustration. But it wouldn't be fair to snap at Noah. He was just worried. Adam had been in those shoes before; he understood. "To be honest, I don't feel too good," he mumbled, panting as he carefully wrapped the roll of gauze around his leg. Maybe he couldn't apply pressure himself, but this was better than nothing. With some trouble, he finished binding his wound, fighting to still his shaking hands.
"Deputy Director just got off the call," Hannah reported softly. He appreciated the update.
"How did they take it?" he huffed, pulling up his shirt to unveil the bloody mess underneath. It looked bad. And he was feeling dizzy.
"I'd say very well," Patricia answered, sounding pleased. "They'll be ready to go in a couple minutes, I'd say. Your team moves pretty fast, Dalton."
"Have to on this job," he muttered, sucking in air through his teeth as he pressed another couple of gauze pads to his crimson-smeared side. Staying upright was becoming immensely difficult, and it took a lot of focus to wrap rolled gauze around his middle.
But somehow, he managed.
And just as he finished up the bandaging, a cacophony of familiar voices rang over the comm, loud and eager.
"Top?"
"Top? You good?"
"Adam? You there?"
"The deputy director said you were shot?"
Adam clenched his teeth, swallowing the whimper in his throat at a particularly painful ache. Bandaging his injuries had taken a lot out of him. His vision spun, and his body felt feeble. Overcome with lightheadedness, he collapsed back to the forest floor. Branches and thorns scraped against his bare skin as he fell, adding more scratches to the collection.
He desperately blinked away the spots in his vision, breathing heavily to try and regain control.
"Top?"
McG. The others were quiet, probably sensing something was wrong.
"'M fine," he huffed. "Jus' . . . jus' putting some bandages on." He continued to breathe heavily, greedily sucking in air.
"We're on our way," McG replied. "We're going to find you. You'll be back at base in no time."
He blinked, staring up at the sky, his breathing slowing. "I'm fine. I'm really fine."
Jaz scoffed. "That's not what we heard. Heard you were hit."
"I'm fine. I'm alive. I'm fine," he replied, lifting a shaky hand to press against his side. He wanted to reassure them. Tell them they didn't have to fake it for him. He knew it was tearing them apart to not actually be there with him. To make sure he was really alive. To see he was going to survive this.
But was he really going to survive this?
He blinked slowly, his hand barely pressing against his abdominal wound. He didn't know if the bandaging was enough. There was no way he was going to walk out of here on his own. And right now, it was hard to feel the pain through the dizziness and overwhelming wave of disorientation.
No, he had to live. He couldn't let his team go through this for a second time.
He coughed. His throat was so dry. He was so thirsty.
"Come on, Top. Tell us what's really going on with you," Preach encouraged, his low voice almost soothing.
Adam licked his lips, blinking rapidly to try and wake himself up. "Not sure I'm doing so hot," he admitted, hand feebly pressing at his side. It stung, but not as much as it should. Maybe he was just used to it. Or overly tired.
"Where were you shot?" McG asked, his normally casual voice serious and almost stern.
"Leg. Abdomen." He frowned. Hadn't he said this before? To someone?
"He sounds bad."
Was Jaz talking about him? He could hear the unmistakable whirr of a plane starting up in the background—they wouldn't be here for a while. He wasn't sure he could stay awake all that time, but he had to try. Breathing seemed remarkably difficult. No matter how much he inhaled, he just couldn't seem to get enough oxygen.
At least he'd managed the bandaging. It could slow the bleeding.
"We'll be there, Top. You just have to hang on until we are," Jaz urged. He could hear the desperation in her voice. Knew it was out of a fear of losing him again.
"Dalton, do you know where you are?"
Patricia again. He almost forgot DC was there too.
"Can't be sure. Prob'ly two minutes out fr'm exfil. If I were runnin'." His words were starting to bleed together, drowning between breaths.
"You mentioned you hid in some brush. Are you still hidden?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Stay there for now. We may need you to move later so the team can spot you."
He huffed. Wished it was easier to breathe. "Got it."
McG cut in, the steady hum of a plane behind him. "Did you manage to bandage both wounds?"
"Yeah," Adam huffed, staring up at the sky. He could only see bits of blue through the foliage, but it seemed like a beautiful day. He could imagine playing a friendly game of soccer with the local kids.
Then again, that sounded entirely too exhausting.
He shifted a little, wincing against the sparks of pain. His back was starting to hurt, resting uncomfortably on the network of roots beneath him.
A couple of soft coughs escaped him, reminding him just how dry his throat was.
But mostly, he was just tired. So tired.
His eyes drifted closed, the soft scrapes of the leaves above him lulling him into unconsciousness. An urgent voice buzzed in his ear, but it sounded so distant.
And just like that, he fell back into the darkness.