Top rolled over in his bunk. Something felt off but he couldn't really put his finger on what it could be. Until the sound of muffled laughter caught his attention. Years of special operations training had tuned his ears to detect the slightest disturbance. But this wasn't the sound of danger, this was worse. This was the unmistakable sound of his team cutting loose. And was that...did Amir...just snort?

He glanced at his watch: 0234 hours. After months of back to back missions, they should all be dead asleep. Top rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his joints protesting slightly. Unlike his younger teammates, he couldn't bounce back quite as quickly anymore, though he'd never admit it.

As he shuffled down the hallway, the giggling grew louder, punctuated by what sounded like a spray can and more laughter. He paused in the kitchen doorway, blinking at the scene before him.

His elite top of the sphere team, some of the most highly trained operators in the U.S. military, were sprawled across the kitchen floor like teenagers at a slumber party. The counter was littered with open bags of chips, popcorn, and several empty ice cream containers.

Jaz was currently aiming a can of whipped cream into McG's open mouth while Amir looked on, clutching a family sized bag of sour cream and onion potato chips to his chest. Preach sat cross legged in the corner, serenely observing the chaos while occasionally reaching for a handful of M .

And Patton, their loyal canine companion, was sporting what appeared to be a whipped cream mustache.

"What in the name of all that is holy is happening in here?" Top asked, his voice gruff but lacking its usual authoritative edge.

All heads swiveled toward him, eyes wide like children caught raiding the cookie jar. For a moment, no one spoke.

Then McG broke the silence with a spray of whipped cream and laughter. "Couldn't sleep, Top," he managed between chuckles, wiping his mouth. "Thought I'd grab a snack."

Jaz nodded vigorously. "Same. Found McG out here and decided to join the party." She aimed the whipped cream can at her own mouth and took a long squirt, then offered the can to Top with a raised eyebrow. He declined with a slight head shake.

"I heard them and came to investigate," Amir added primly, though the effect was somewhat diminished by how protectively he was cradling the chip bag. "Then Jaz started putting whipped cream mustaches on Patton, and I got... distracted."

Preach shrugged philosophically. "Someone had to supervise. Make sure Amir didn't stress eat all the potato chips." He raised an eyebrow at Amir. "Like last time."

Amir clutched the bag tighter, stroking it gently. "That was a difficult mission. I needed the salt."

"My fault... I asked," he muttered, turning to head back to his room but stopped and took another look at his team.

Behind the sugar high giddiness, he saw something that concerned him. Jaz, usually the most physically fit and quick reflexed member of the team, moved with a slight sluggishness as she reached for more popcorn. Preach, normally full of wisdom and insight, had been quieter than usual lately, less forthcoming with his philosophical observations. And here was Amir, the team's most disciplined eater, clutching snack food like it was a lifeline.

Even more telling, McG had been spouting actual wisdom lately instead of his usual wisecracks. Just yesterday, he'd said something about the fragility of human connections that had made Top do a double take.

"We've been going non-stop for months, Top," McG said, suddenly serious despite the whipped cream mustache. "That last mission went so far sideways... we're just creatively blowing off steam."

Jaz nodded, her usual sharp gaze softened with fatigue. "Sometimes you gotta laugh or you'll cry, right?"

"The body and mind require release valves," Preach added, finally sounding a bit like himself. "Pressure builds up otherwise."

Top couldn't deny it. The signs had been there for weeks. Slower reaction times in training, shorter tempers, less banter. They were all professionals who would never complain, but their bodies were sending clear signals.

He scratched his bead and headed back to bed then called over his shoulder "Clean up when you're done, and try to get some sleep. We still have training at 0600."

"Yes, Dad!" McG called after him, setting off another round of giggles.

Top shook his head but smiled as he walked into his bedroom and head back to bed.

0600 came far too quickly. Top awoke refreshed, having fallen back asleep with surprising ease. The kitchen party had actually reassured him; team bonding was essential, even if it came with whipped cream and midnight snacks.

He pulled on his training gear and headed to the common area, expecting to find his team bleary eyed but functional.

Instead, he found... nothing. The hut was eerily silent.

"Hello?" Top called out, his voice echoing through the empty space. Even Patton was nowhere to be seen.

The kitchen had been cleaned up, at least, no evidence remained of last night's impromptu party. But there was no coffee brewing, no sounds of movement, no complaints about the early hour.

Top frowned and scrubbed his beard. This wasn't like his team. Even after late nights, they always rallied.

He started methodically checking rooms, pushing open Amir's door first.

Amir was still in bed, covers pulled up to his chin. At the sound of the door, he stirred weakly.

"Come on, Amir. You stayed up late, you get up early. That's the rule," Top said, clapping his hands.

Amir turned toward him with glassy eyes, his normally precise movements sluggish. "Top, I don't feel good," he rasped, his voice rough with congestion.

"Go find McG," Top instructed, concern creeping into his voice.

Amir dragged himself out of bed, swaying slightly as he made his way into the hallway. Top followed, watching as Amir shuffled toward McG's room and knocked weakly.

McG appeared in his doorway, looking just as rough as Amir. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, his face flushed, and his usually bright eyes dull with fatigue.

Amir looked him up and down. "You look like how I feel," he croaked.

McG reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Amir's forehead. "Yep, fever," he confirmed. Then he held up a thermometer displaying 101.2F. "I've got one too."

Top was walking down the hall toward them when Preach emerged from his room, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

"McG, man, I feel bad," Preach rumbled, his usually commanding voice reduced to a gravelly whisper.

McG almost slapped his hand to Preach's forehead. "Yep, fever for the big guy too," he confirmed, looking at Top with apologetic eyes.

Top stared at his three sick operators, realization dawning. "Really? You're all down?" he asked incredulously. "Okay, I'll go get Jaz up and—"

Before he could finish, Jaz appeared in her doorway, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. She took one wobbly step forward before her knees buckled. Top lunged forward, catching her before she hit the floor.

"Why is it so cold in here?" she mumbled, shivering despite the warm morning temperature.

McG reached over and touched her forehead. "Yep, fever number four," he announced grimly.

Top helped Jaz to her feet, keeping a supportive arm around her shoulders. "So I am the only one well on this team, and I now have to play nurse to all of you?"

Four miserable nods answered him.

"Alright, everyone back to bed until McG can check you all out," Top ordered. "McG, take whatever time you need. I'll help you as soon as I call command to tell them we're down."

Before they dispersed, Top noticed one team member still missing. "Where's Patton?"

Jaz pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. "I was cold," she explained simply. "He curled up with me."

Top looked toward Jaz's room and, sure enough, spotted the dog's tail hanging off the edge of her bed.

"Great," Top muttered. "Even the dog is compromised."