Final chapter time! This one is based off the finale, and I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has supported this story, it really means a lot and I really love this little fandom! Just a little note, the part about Dalton's sister, the one who died, Dean Georgaris tweeted a week ago now? Sometime recently. Anyway, he tweeted some pics of the script from 1x13, the scene with Dalton and Hoffman, and one of the lines originally said that Dalton's sister died in a car accident, so I took some liberties with that!

I also have two more short sequel stories planned set after this fic! I won't make any promises, because I'm a busy gal (aka in my last semester of undergrad right now), but I really do hope to get them up soon! And those two fics will be much more Jaz and Dalton centric, and also fluffier! (In some parts anyway, because I really can't go fully angst-free lol).

Thanks again to my bestie luverofjamesandlily for proofreading this for me!

Enjoy!

-:-

"Dalton, Campbell and Preach aren't responding to their coms,"

They were out in the yard, about to get into the SUV McG had pulled around when the message came through. Dalton felt his team tense up around him as Hannah paused on the other end of the line. He could see it in their faces, the seconds it took them to process what Hannah had said, and the way they reacted, hands twitching towards guns ready to fire on an enemy they couldn't see. Just a moment ago they had been victorious that their submarine hadn't landed in enemy waters. Now, his team waited for him to respond, to do something.

But he was frozen. Patricia and Preach weren't responding, and they'd been alone on base with Alex Hoffman. Dalton clenched his jaw, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. He didn't know what had happened, but his stomach twisted and a bad taste rose in his mouth.

"Dalton—"

"Yeah, I copy, Hannah. We're moving out now," he responded robotically, keeping his voice carefully controlled.

He lifted a hand, signaling for his team to move. They did, Jaz guiding Varina around to one side of the vehicle and urging her in, Amir climbing in beside them. McG took back the driver's seat, and Dalton grabbed the passenger seat, McG hardly waiting for him to close the door before he was driving off the warehouse lot.

Dalton rubbed a hand across his jaw, clenching his other fist where it rested against his leg. Hannah updated them through their coms as they drove, telling them that she still hadn't heard from Preach or Campbell, and now she was waiting on news from any of the other personnel on the Incirlik base. Out of the corner of his eye he could see McGuire's hands tighten on the wheel.

"Easy," he told the medic. He probably didn't have any right to judge, because he was tense, wanting the vehicle to go faster, but driving recklessly wouldn't do any of them any good. "Varina, when we get to base, I need you to stay in the car while we check on something. Can you do that?"

Dalton twisted to look at the girl, seated in between Jaz and Amir.

Varina's brows scrunched together. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Jaz said, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders. "We just need to make sure the situation is clear before we bring you in."

Varina nodded slowly, probably too tired and in shock to ask anymore questions. Dalton looked up and met Jaz's eyes, dipping his head gratefully. She was holding Varina close to her, but had a defiant fire in her eyes that told Dalton the only thing keeping her together in that moment was the girl in the seat next to her.

When Elijah died, it had been no more than a moment. Gunfire, Jaz's panicked voice over the coms and, later, the blood on her hands from when she'd tried to staunch the flow. It had hurt but the moment itself had been quick. This, the waiting, it killed him. He knew Jaz, Amir and McG, they felt the same. It seemed like they'd been doing a hell of a lot of waiting lately and Dalton was reaching his limit. He couldn't stand it if someone else got hurt. He turned back around, staring out the windshield at the road as they got closer and closer to base, praying to Preach's God that he and Patricia were okay.

When they got to base, there were already two ambulances out front, lights flashing, and other soldiers and medics were milling around the section of base they called home. The tires squealed as McG pulled to a quick stop. They clambered out, Dalton taking a moment to look back at Varina again. Jaz squeezed the girl's hand, but then she was out of the vehicle and shutting the door.

"Varina, stay here," he said gently but firmly.

"But—"

"Please, stay here," he told the girl, and she sat back in her seat giving him a jerky nod. "I'll send another team over here in just a few minutes to come and take you somewhere safe, okay?"

"Okay."

Dalton gave her a tight smile before he followed his team out of the car. They were waiting for him, though he could tell they were all itching to move. He walked in front of them and then they were on his heels, following his lead. Nobody tried to stop them as they made their way into base. Even before they got through the door Dalton could smell the explosives. He picked up his pace a little, the others following suit. They made it into their Quonset hut just as medics were lifting Preach and Patricia onto gurneys.

He stopped in his tracks, looking first at Patricia, before he turned his attention to Preach. Dalton's vision narrowed in on the blood on the side of his friend's face. Jaz made a little noise at his shoulder. McG was the first to move, asking questions as he followed the medics out of the building as they carried their teammates out. Amir started walking the space, but Dalton couldn't seem to unstick himself from where he stood. He looked around, noting the rubble, the water on the floor. Hoffman's chair was tipped over, the restraints cut, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

Dalton's panic, his fear, it washed away and was replaced by cool, simmering anger. He ground his teeth together, and turned to find the nearest person who could tell him what happened. The nearest soldier told him that they'd heard the explosion on base, and made their way to the Quonset hut as fast as they could. The soldier didn't mention Hoffman, but no one else on base was supposed to know he was there. Hoffman must've gotten away before the medics and other soldiers showed up. That was good, Dalton supposed. He didn't want anyone else involved with the bastard.

Preach and the Deputy Director were both alive, is what the soldier told him, and they'd found Patton barking in his kennel where they'd left him before leaving to get Varina back. At that, Jaz went to find the dog, who the soldiers had left in his cage so he didn't get in the way. Dalton nodded, and informed the man that Varina was in the back of their truck.

"We'll have a medic here on base check her out until we can get in contact with a family member," the soldier said.

"Thank you," Dalton muttered.

The other man departed with a polite nod of his head. Dalton stared at the ground, trying to cool the rage in his chest. His fingers itched to grab his gun, a knife, anything. Hoffman hurt Patricia and he hurt Preach, and Dalton wanted him dead. He knew the man was too dangerous to be kept alive, and Hoffman had just proven his point further. He'd been pissed when Hoffman had been verbally targeting his team members. It had set everyone on edge. Just hours ago, Jaz had stomped off in frustration, and Dalton had followed, because he shared those same frustrations. Words were one thing. But trying to blow up his friends, his teammates—

"Top," Amir's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

McG was coming back into the hut, too, and Jaz, in the corner, just out of reach of the damage, murmured some final soothing words to Patton before relocking him in his kennel. The dog laid down with hardly a sound.

His team gathered around him, waiting, expecting him to have answers. But he didn't have any. It was just like when Jaz had been taken. They had all looked to him—as they should have because he was their leader. But his emotions were overriding his rational brain. He was just as pissed off and confused as they were. That just made him more frustrated. He wanted to have answers. He wanted to tell them everything was going to be fine. But he couldn't do that. He heard the sirens of the ambulance start up, glanced through the door to see the lights flash blue and red before disappearing from view.

McG too a step forward. "Top—"

"Don't," he cut the other man off firmly, raising a hand. "Don't. Just—give me a minute."

McG blinked, but didn't say anything. Dalton paced out of the little circle they'd created around him. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, walking the area as Amir had been doing. He looked around, and his eyes landed on Hoffman's chair again. He'd told Jaz about his dark side, that part of himself that emerged for the first time in Fallujah and that hadn't gone away since. That part of him was always there, slumbering, waiting for the right moment to wake. And he could feel it, slowly rousing inside of him, sliding through him thick and hot and full of rage. All he could see was Preach's blood and Hoffman's empty chair.

This was the moment when he would look to Preach, or the other man would come to him with some words of wisdom, to help calm whatever storm was brewing in his mind whenever he was frustrated or couldn't figure something out. Preach had been there when Jaz had been taken, to snap him out of his stupors and make him take a step back so he could try again, and because of that, they'd gotten her back. But Preach wasn't here now to help him, and he didn't know what to do. In many ways, Preach was an anchor for him, his best friend who knew him best, and could generally tell what he was thinking before he did.

Dalton took a breath, put on the face of team leader, and slowly turned. Preach wasn't here, but he had to be strong for his friend, for the rest of the team. He tried not to look as tired as he felt, which was probably a little hard. All of this, the news about Preach and the Deputy Director, it exhausted him, and it didn't help that they'd all been awake for nearly forty-eight hours. He'd taken one short nap since this mission had landed in their laps, and he was sure he would've conked out once they'd gotten Varina safe, until this.

"Get your gear put away," he ordered them, giving McG a brief apologetic look. "We'll worry about mission reports tomorrow. Jaz, I want you to grab Patton and take him to another hut on base. Amir, McG, check in with Varina. Make sure she's got everything she needs. When you're done, head on over to the hospital."

Dalton started stripping some of his own gear. This time, Jaz moved first. She met his eyes and gave his arm a squeeze as she walked by, heading to Patton's cage. Amir followed, shedding some of his gear and stowing it away.

"What about you?" McG asked, a hint of caution in his tone. Behind Preach, McG had known Dalton the longest, and Dalton knew how to recognize when the medic was worried about him.

Adam removed the rest of his gear, leaving his sidearm on him. He took out his com last, putting it down on one of the empty equipment tables in the cage. He'd take care of it later. He looked at McG as he headed for the door. "I just need a little time. I'll meet up with you guys as soon as I can."

"Top—"

"McGuire." Dalton stared at his teammate, daring McG to challenge him. But finally, after a long moment, McG backed down with a nod. Dalton took a step forward and clapped McG on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon. Go be with Preach."

He barely waited for McGuire's response before he was heading out into the yard, watching the last of the soldiers mill around. He headed for one of the trucks they'd prepped earlier, and got in, starting the engine.

His team wanted answers, resolution, and he was going to make sure they got it.

-:-

"God, I hate hospitals." Jaz muttered, half to herself, but loud enough that Amir could hear. "The smells, all the machines."

She was purposely not looking at Preach, at all the said machines he was hooked up to. She knew they were keeping him alive, but the noise, their beeping, it was all just a big reminder that he was in a coma. Hoffman had put him in a coma. Jaz was pissed, of course. But more than anything, she was trying not to collapse from exhaustion and worry. The whole team had been going non-stop for 48 hours, with minimal rest in between. They'd done it before, but usually they could wrap up the mission, relax, and then crash. But this, Hoffman's bomb hurting two members of their team, it was the final straw. It was pure determination keeping her eyes open at this point. That and the fact that she didn't want to fall asleep for fear of nightmares. It had only been a few weeks since she'd been taken and now this.

"Has anyone contacted his wife?" Amir asked, getting up from the chair beside Preach's bed and coming to stand beside her.

"I was waiting for Top to do it," she replied.

But Top wasn't there. He'd said he'd meet them at the hospital, but they'd been here for almost two hours and there'd been no sign of him. Jaz wasn't really surprised. Preach was his best friend. It had been a rough couple of months and this was just another punch in the gut. She had her suspicions as to where he was—they'd all seen Hoffman's empty chair, so she knew the thought had crossed their minds. Still, no matter where Dalton was, she just wanted him to be there.

Gently, Amir said, "I think you should just go ahead. He's gonna be awhile."

She nodded, exhaling. Before she lost the will do to it, Jaz headed down the hall and pulled the sat phone from her pocket. Jaz glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn't even 9:30 yet. It felt so much later. And it wasn't even lunch time in California where Preach and his family lived, but she figured if Preach's wife, Angela, saw the sat phone number, she'd pick up. Jaz took a deep breath and dialed.

The phone started to ring and she shifted on her feet. She'd talked to Angela before, had seen her on Preach's skype calls, and she'd always been pleasant and incredibly nice. But Jaz didn't feel like she had any right to be making this call. It should be Dalton doing it, since he'd known Preach and his family for a decade at this point. Before she could second-guess herself, someone picked up on the other end.

"Hello?" Angela said, a little warily, which made sense. It was a sat phone number, but it wasn't Preach's or Dalton's, which would reasonably cause a little confusion.

"Hi, Angela, it's me, Jaz." She bit her lip, a little impressed at how she'd managed to keep her voice from shaking. But she had to stay strong, for Angela and for Preach.

"Jaz, hi," Angela said brightly. Then there was a pause, a sharp moment of realization that Jaz felt on the other side of the world. "What happened?"

Jaz had to give it to the woman. Her voice was steady, with only the slightest tremble beneath her words. She was smart, too, knowing that Jaz wouldn't normally have called if everything was fine like normal.

So Jaz told her what happened, that Preach was in a coma, that he was stable for the moment, but the doctor's were keeping an eye on him for the next 48 hours to be able to give them a better estimate of whether he would wake up or not. Jaz hated being the bearer of bad news, but she kept her voice calm, and her words didn't shake. She only wished she could be there in person to give Angela a hug. Instead, she told the other woman that her husband was one of the strongest people she knew, and that if anyone could pull out of this, it would be him.

Not long after, they hung up, and Jaz took another deep breath. She tucked her phone back into her pocket, blinking away the tears beginning to burn in her eyes. She couldn't do this. She couldn't lose another team member. She believed that Preach would pull out of this—she had to. Because she couldn't stand another death, not right now. In six weeks it would be the one year anniversary of Elijah's death, and she was already starting to feel that weighing down on her.

Once again, she wished Dalton was there. He always knew the right thing to say to her, even if he was feeling the same way she was. He just had that ability to calm her down and ease her worries even in the worst situations. Instead she was just standing here worrying about him, about Preach, about the Deputy Director. She was stuck in the stupid hospital, with the bright lights and the godawful smells of cleaning supplies and antiseptic.

She felt helpless, waiting around like this. She needed to do something. Not ready to go back and stand vigil at Preach's side, she made her way to the front desk, and asked for Preach's personal effects. She rifled through them, taking count of what was there.

"And his sidearm?" she asked the nurse at the station.

The woman shook her head. "He didn't come in with a sidearm, ma'am."

Jaz blinked, her brow furrowing. "You're sure?"

The nurse grabbed a clipboard, flipped a couple sheets of paper over, eyes scanning down a list of items. She glanced up, looking a little apologetic. "Sorry, no sidearm."

Jaz's stomach dropped sickeningly, panic rising in her throat. She pushed the bag of Preach's stuff back towards the nurse, muttering a quick thank you before walking quickly back towards Preach's room. There had to be some kind of reasoning behind it. It could've fallen out of his holster in the explosion. He could've set it down while on base, for some reason, and didn't put it back before Hoffman's bomb went off. Either way, there was an explanation, there had to be. Then she thought of Hoffman's empty chair, the cut bindings. The thought of Hoffman walking over to Preach's unconscious body and grabbing his weapon made her angry—and scared.

"Preach didn't have his sidearm on him when he was brought in," Jaz told Amir as she came into the doorway of Preach's room, trying to remain calm. She didn't know anything for sure yet, so there was no use getting worked up over nothing.

Amir angled in his seat towards her. "What are you talking about?"

"When Preach was brought in, I just checked with admitting, he didnot have his sidearm on him," she repeated, Amir's reaction heightening her worry. "Did you see it?"

Amir stared at her for a moment, clearly trying to put the pieces together. A little sluggishly, he shook his head. "No—"

Jaz leaned against the door frame, looking over at Preach's bed, trying to keep from panicking. Her palms were sweaty, so she wiped them against her pants.

Amir stood, approaching her. "Jaz,"

"Preach didn't have his gun on him," she said again, "and Hoffman's chair was empty. The bindings were cut. If you didn't see the gun and—I mean we both know Preach wouldn't have just left it out and—"

She blew out a breath as Amir grabbed one of her hands. She squeezed his fingers back, reassured by the touch. It was hard to ever think she'd disliked Amir. He'd wiggled his way into her life so quickly, and she was more grateful than she could say that he was there.

"He's going to be okay," Amir told her gently, and she knew they weren't talking about Preach anymore. Amir had clearly put everything together, and could tell exactly where her mind had gone.

"Yeah." She tried smiling, tried to release some of the tension knotting in her chest.

She let Amir guide her into the room, and together they stood watching over Preach.

-:-

Dalton was utterly calm as Alex Hoffman sat across from him at the table in Varina's apartment. Sometimes the calm scared him more than getting angry, because it was the worst kind of peace, knowing what he was about to do. He didn't have qualms about killing people who deserved it, not anymore. But when that dark part of his surfaced, awakened inside of him, he almost enjoyed the kill. A hell of a lot more than he should. Those were the moments when the line between him and the bad guys blurred, and they were all just people killing other people, awash in so much blood that it became impossible to tell whose it was or how many lives had been taken.

But there were times when the calm helped, like right now. He could tell that Hoffman was surprised by his presence, and no it didn't necessarily make him better than the rogue agent, but it did give him a sense of satisfaction, gave him the upper hand. Because he came here with one purpose, and it wasn't what Hoffman had come for. Adam didn't doubt that Hoffman would kill him given the chance—he would probably try before this was all over—but all Dalton could see was a target on Hoffman's forehead. He didn't care about the intel or the laptop or any of it. All he cared about was the fact that his best friend was in a hospital bed. He didn't know Preach's condition, but it didn't matter. Preach and Patricia were hurt, and Hoffman would pay.

Dalton made that clear when he told the other man that he wasn't better, as Hoffman had implied, just that he'd live longer.

"I guess this is how it ends for guys like us," Hoffman said. "Not some 21-gun salute and a field full of weeping loved ones."

"Yeah, just in a dark room," Adam mused, his gun quietly trained on Hoffman, "with another quiet professional."

Hoffman looked at him, probably trying to read something in his features. But Dalton was steel. He wouldn't give this man anything more than he'd already taken.

"You know I grew up in California," Hoffman said suddenly, changing the subject. "You?"

"Pennsylvania," Dalton indulged him.

"I wanted to be an astronaut."

Dalton nodded a little. "Firefighter."

"Only child? No, that's right, you had three younger sisters. One of them died when you were sixteen, thanks to your dad, the drunk." Hoffman said, and there was a strange glint in the other man's eyes, and Dalton could only imagine it was the look Alex had given his team members as he'd toyed with them all for the past two days.

Dalton had no idea how Hoffman knew about his sister—the only people he'd told the whole story to was Patricia and Preach. And even then, it had taken him years to tell Preach. Patricia had asked when she'd seen in his files that the oldest of his sisters was deceased, and he'd trusted her enough to give her the details. It was a long time ago, but he remembered the car crash clear as day. Adam and his sister, Sarah, who had been twelve at the time, had asked to go to the movies. Dalton had been sixteen, but he still had hope that his father would get better, that if he kept trying, kept doing things with his dad, the drinking would stop, and so would the beatings.

Their dad had been sober when he took them to the movie. But not even halfway through, he'd started bouncing his leg, getting agitated, and left. When the movie was over, Adam had waited with his sister in the lobby for nearly an hour, and when their dad finally pulled the car up in front of the theater, he was slurring his words, smelling like beer and whiskey as they'd climbed into the car. Dalton had sat in the back with Sarah, behind the driver's seat. She was still young enough that she didn't fully understand why their dad was the way he was. And what she did understand, Adam tried to protect her from, as much as he could.

He still thought about the fact if he'd just switched seats with her, if he'd been on the passenger side instead…Dalton hadn't noticed the red light as his dad ran it, but he remembered the bright yellow beams of the other car as it sliced through the windows of theirs. He remembered the blaring of the other car's horn, and the moment of fear right before the other car hit theirs. The cars made a terrible crunching noise as they hit, glass shattering. Adam had been jerked around, seatbelt tightening across his chest and lap. When the car finally stopped spinning, he first noticed the pain in his own head where he must've hit it against the window. He looked at Sarah next, fear spiking in his chest when he noticed the blood on her half shattered window, the small trickle of blood at her nose, the stillness with which she sat slumped in the seat.

He remembered the medics saying later that she died on impact, hitting her head hard enough that it killed her, but all he could think was that it wasn't the car crash that killed her. It was their father.

The memories flooded his brain in a manner of seconds, but he refused to show any sign of it to Hoffman. The other man simply regarded him and asked, "Do you think that's what makes men like us? Pain like that?"

"I think it definitely fuels the fire," Dalton responded, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. "But I believe we are who we are."

"Nature over nurture."

"Mm hmm."

Hoffman smiled a little. "I'm inclined to agree. You know, it's funny. I'm looking around the room memorizing all the details. But you don't have memories when you're dead."

"You know, maybe, hell is the perfect memory of everything we've ever done," Adam said.

"You better hope not, for both our sakes," Hoffman replied, looking more panicked than Dalton had seen yet.

The corner of Adam's mouth curved up a fraction. "I think I'll take my chances."

He didn't have much of a relationship with God to begin with, but if he did, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be going anywhere high above. He'd done some bad things in his time, but as long as he'd done a little good along the way as well, he was at peace with that, so it didn't matter where he wound up in the end.

Hoffman settled back into his seat, hand twitching in his lap, minutely reaching for the gun Dalton suspected he had. "So? You're not gonna take me in, are you?"

Instead of answering his question directly, Dalton stared at Hoffman, his own gun not wavering as he reached down into the dark part of himself. "There's this quote that I love," he started slowly. "It says, uh, 'people sleep peacefully in their beds at night, only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf'."

Hoffman raised his eyebrows, hand moving another fraction of an inch. "Is that what this is? Violence on their behalf? Nice try, Adam. Nice spin. It doesn't matter how dangerous I am. This is simple. It's just murder. Basic murder."

Dalton had to give it to Hoffman for trying to get into his head. But Adam was waiting for it. Had been waiting for it since Alex arrived on base. So when the other man reached for his gun, Dalton was ready, and fired, the gun skittering away as Hoffman dropped it and cradled his now injured hand gingerly in his lap.

Hoffman looked up at him, giving Adam a look that said he couldn't blame him for trying.

Dalton just gave him the tiniest of wicked smiles. "I won't say anything if you don't."

There was the slightest hint of fear in Hoffman's eyes as Dalton raised his gun and fired once. Hoffman's body tipped back out of his chair, a trickle of blood flowing out of the hole in his head.

Dalton swallowed and leaned back in his chair, holstering his gun. The calm washed over him again, satisfying the pit in his stomach that had been eating away at him since he'd heard Hannah over the coms. He knew the calm, the rage and the darkness would evaporate soon enough, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

But for now, he took a breath, sitting in the dark and silence once again.

-:-

When Dalton returned to base, it felt like it had been days since they'd rescued Varina, since Preach and Patricia had gotten hurt. Walking into the Quonset hut, even that looked different. He'd been so stuck on Preach when they'd arrived there a few hours ago, so filled with rage and determination to find Hoffman that he hadn't really taken everything in. Now he noted with more detail and clarity the rubble covering the floor, the puddles of dirty water, the smoky smell that still lingered in the air.

He knew he should head to the hospital, but he hadn't fully calmed down yet, and he wanted a little more time alone before he went and joined his team. And maybe a small part of him also didn't want to know what kind of condition Preach and Patricia were in. They'd both been alive, but unconscious when the ambulances had taken them away. He wanted to believe they would both be all right, but a part of him still feared the worst.

Putting it off would only make that feeling grow. With a deep breath, Dalton was about to turn and head outside to where he'd left the truck when his eye caught on something on the floor. Taking a step closer he saw Patricia's watch, the locket she always had with her. Bending down, he pulled the necklace out of the murky water puddling on the floor and wiped it off. Just like that, some of the tension released from his body. He could feel the exhaustion setting in, but also the need to be with his team. He'd been gone from them without a word for far too long.

When he arrived at the hospital, he checked with the front desk to see what rooms his friends were in. The nurse relayed the information to him, also telling him that Patricia was stable, and probably just resting in her room.

"And Chief Petty Officer Carter? What's his condition?" he asked carefully.

The nurse gave him a gentle look. "Short version, he's in a coma. He's stable for right now, but we're going to be monitoring him over the next couple days to see how he progresses."

Dalton swallowed, bobbing his head, not quite looking at the woman at the desk. "Thank you," he said, heart sinking in his chest. He took a shaky breath, offered one more thank you, and then turned, deciding to check in with Patricia first. The halls were quiet as he walked to her room, the early morning sun filtering through the windows. He couldn't help but think that they should be celebrating, sleeping in or having a nice breakfast after getting Varina home safe. Instead they were camped out in a hospital, exhausted and desperate for good news.

Quietly, Adam slipped into the Deputy Director's room. She was curled up in her hospital bed asleep, looking smaller than he was used to seeing her, but other than that she was fine from what he could tell. He stepped right up to her bed and poured the locket into her palm. She stirred, slowly blinking her eyes, her fingers twitching and closing around the locket. He slipped his hand into hers, crouching down next to her bed.

She was awake now, watching him. She clenched her fingers around the necklace, eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. Whether those tears were for what happened, for Preach, for him, or for Alex, the agent she lost years ago, he didn't know. What he did know, as Patricia scanned his face, is that she knew exactly what he'd done. She gave the slightest nod of her head, and that was all he needed to know that, despite him going dark to do it, she approved.

He squeezed her hand in response.

"Go be with your team," she told him, voice barely above a whisper.

Adam gave her a small smile. "Yes, ma'am." He touched her shoulder as he stood, adjusting her blanket a little higher. "Get some sleep."

She didn't close her eyes, but gave him another small nod. Dalton looked at her one more time over his shoulder before he left, and then headed down the hall towards Preach's room. He could see his team in the room, standing vigil over Preach in a loose circle. Jaz was saying something about how quiet it was as he came in. The exhaustion truly settled into his bones as he looked at his best friend, unconscious, in a coma, so still and silent in his hospital bed.

"You know he'd have something to say right now, right?" McG said, trying to joke, but his voice not quite shaking the serious tone. "He'd be like, 'McGuire, baby, you know it's always darkest before the dawn'."

"No, he wouldn't," Dalton jumped in automatically, quietly, eyes glued to Preach as he shifted on his feet. "It makes way too much sense. It'd have to be, uh, be a little more cryptic. You know, like, um, 'the sun and the moon are twins'."

Jaz smiled a little at that.

"'Trials are the precursors to triumphs'," Amir added.

"'The river of life runs through the rapids we call adversity'," Jaz said with a dry chuckle as she tried to imitate Preach.

McG shook his head a little, smiling. "Man, where does he even come up with this stuff?"

"Certainly not from books," Amir said quietly.

"No," Adam agreed, moving the chair against the wall closer to Preach's bed and sitting down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jaz inch a little closer to him, and he was grateful for her—for all of them—for being there. "He's tapped into something else entirely."

They fell silent after that, and Dalton reached for Preach's hand with both of his. He squeezed his friend's hand lightly. He blinked, his eyes burning. He heard Jaz swallow thickly at his side, probably holding back her own tears. Dalton didn't believe in a higher power, but he bowed his head, and prayed again. He'd prayed more in the last couple hours than he had in years. He did it for Preach, for his team, for Patricia. They'd been through so much in the last few months, the last year. They deserved better than this.

Dalton had meant what he'd said to Hoffman. Hell was probably the best he was going to get at the end of this, but Preach deserved better, his team deserved better. And he hoped with everything he had that Preach would be okay. Because he couldn't take losing someone else. He was their leader and he was supposed to prevent this from happening.

Like she could sense his thoughts, Jaz reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just so. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch. He had to believe that everything would be okay.

-:-

Jaz didn't know how long they stood around Preach's bed in the silence, just listening to the beep of machines. Dalton held onto Preach for a long time, like if he just kept holding on, he could will Preach into waking up. She'd had a similar thought, like if she just stayed there, kept watching and waiting, eventually he would open his eyes. But the machines kept up their steady beeping, breathing for Preach and keeping him alive.

It had to be at least an hour, though it felt a lot longer, when Dalton lifted his head. He looked at all of them. "We've been going non-stop for nearly 48 hours, why don't you guys go get some rest? They've got some extra bunks in Captain Reynold's Quonset hut on base."

"No can-do, Top," McG said gruffly but politely, with a small shake of his head. "We're staying right here."

Jaz watched Dalton. She was pretty sure he wanted to say something about disobeying orders, but he looked too tired to even pull rank on any of them right now. "Okay, fine. At the very least, go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. If you're gonna be here all night, might as well make sure you don't pass out from hunger."

McG looked like he wanted to argue some more, but Jaz shot him a look over Dalton's shoulder. Whatever he was going to say died on his tongue. He closed his mouth, and nodded. Amir clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, McGuire," Amir said lightly. Amir looked over at her, the question clear in his eyes. You coming? Jaz shook her head. Dalton could argue with her all he wanted, but she was staying right by his side. Amir seemed to understand this, and she gave him a grateful look as he and McG left the room and disappeared down the hall.

Jaz ducked into the hall so she could grab another chair, when she brought it back in and set it down next to Top's, he looked up at her. If he was surprised or upset with her staying, he didn't say anything. She knew he might want a minute alone with Preach at some point, but right now, he didn't seem to have it in him to protest. Jaz understood. She was exhausted, probably a little hungry herself, but she didn't want to leave right now. Partly because she didn't want to risk getting nightmares if she got some rest, but also because she wanted to check in with Dalton. He'd do the same for her, so she could only return the favor.

They sat in silence for a moment longer, Dalton's hands folded in his lap as he stared at the medical machines.

Jaz swallowed, looking over at him. The last time they'd sat like this, side by side, it'd been on a bench in front of a fire, with the stars glittering overhead. She thought about how, just earlier that day, she'd come out with her hair straightened, make-up done, wearing that outfit, how Dalton's eyes had lit up, just so. Enough for her to catch. McG had whistled and given her a high-five, telling her she looked great and that he would be honored to play the role of her asshole of an ex. She'd just laughed as Amir rolled his eyes. She tried not to think too much about how when she went over to Dalton, he gave her a quick once over, eyes scanning her top to bottom, and then back up.

Victor would be an idiot not to take the bait with you looking like that, he'd said, giving her a crooked smile.

It had made Jaz glad they'd been out of view and out of ear-shot of Hoffman. The last thing she needed were more boyfriend comments. Still, she'd grinned and said, Was that a compliment, Top?

Maybe, had been his only response, blue eyes sparkling a little brighter.

And she'd smiled, but then it had been back to business. And everything had been going so well until it all fell apart. She remembered how McG said Dalton would be right behind them when they got to the hospital, and then he didn't show up. She thought about how, barely an hour ago, she'd thought she might lose Dalton, too, because Hoffman had gotten away and Preach's gun had been missing.

Part of her was pissed with him. She knew it was because she'd been so worried, but it didn't change the fact that she'd been a little angry when he went off by himself. They were a team. And though he was fine, if he'd been seriously hurt, they wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing about it. She thought, for a moment of the photos that Arthur had shown her, namely the doctored one of Dalton. She still hadn't mentioned the photos to anyone. They hadn't been real, and she knew that, so it didn't seem to make sense to bring them up. But she thought of them now, and she imagined finding Dalton, bloody and beaten with Hoffman standing over him. It made her angry, and scared, and just about ready to pick a fight right there at Preach's bedside. Looking at Dalton, though, he was exhausted. And so was she. She didn't have it in her to start anything.

Instead, she looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. "Preach didn't have his sidearm on him when he came in," she said softly, breaking the silence.

Dalton shifted in his chair, not looking at her. He ran a hand down the side of his face, exhaling slowly. "I know."

That didn't surprise her. If he'd gone and done what she suspected, Hoffman would've tried to pull a gun on him, would've tried to kill him. She tried not to let the thought scare her too much, tried not to think any more about Dalton getting hurt, because he was there, next to her, unharmed. "What happened?"

"I did what needed to be done," he said quietly.

He still wouldn't look at her, and it was starting to frustrate her. She wanted to talk to him, wanted to tell him that she was seconds from breaking apart. She wanted him to say something to make her feel better, to tell her that it was going to be all right. She didn't care if he had the answers or not, she just wanted to hear him say it would be okay.

"Adam," she said softly. She never used his first name, because it always felt like she was crossing a line, the line that they'd carefully—maybe a little subconsciously—drawn between themselves.

But it did the trick. Surprised, Dalton looked at her. She could tell how closed off he was, how he'd stacked his walls up high, expression so different from the teasing glances he'd given her earlier when she'd been wearing that amazing black top. He didn't want to draw her into whatever he'd done, whatever dark part of himself he'd had to tap into to get it done, she understood that. But she was here, and she wasn't going to leave him. He hadn't left her when she'd been taken.

He ducked his head away from her again. Realizing that maybe he really didn't want to incriminate her in any way by telling her what he'd done, she lowered her voice, "Did you kill him?"

He was silent, and for a moment, Jaz wasn't sure if he would answer. If that was the case, she wouldn't push him. Like Xander had told her, just having him here was enough. She was grateful that he had walked out of the fight in one piece.

"Yeah," Adam whispered finally.

"Good." He looked at her again, eyes shining. She meant it. After everything Hoffman had done, he deserved what he got coming to him. She felt her own eyes sting, the past 48 hours crashing down on her. She shrugged one shoulder, trying for a smile. "Job done, right?"

It was what he'd said to her in the back of the truck as they'd escaped Iran. It was what she'd said to him afterwards, on base, when he'd been blaming himself for her getting captured. And just like those times, it seemed to do the trick. He swallowed, and then nodded. "Yeah."

Jaz let loose a breath. She was still worried as hell about Preach, but she was glad that Dalton was safe. Even if she was still a little pissed at him for going off by himself without back-up and without telling them.

"Just…" she started saying, pausing to consider if she wanted to tell him as much. "Don't do that again. Don't take off like that."

One side of his mouth quirked up in half a smile. "Why, were you worried about me?"

"I'm serious."

Her voice trembled a little and the tears she'd been fighting back for hours filled her eyes, blurring her vision a little. The smile fell from his face instantly, and he turned his body towards her.

"Hoffman could've killed you and I—I can't lose anyone else," she whispered, a few stray tears slipping down her cheeks. She lifted a hand to defiantly wipe them away, pressing her lips together.

And then Dalton was lifting a hand too, cupping her cheek and wiping more tears away with his thumb. His hand fell from her face quickly, but it was enough that she could feel his touch lingering against her skin. She tried not to think too hard about what that meant as Dalton held her hand, holding tight. She squeezed back, grateful for the supporting touch.

She knew what Xander had said, about just being grateful that she had her guys in her life, and she was. She was more grateful than they could ever know for every second, every moment she got with them. But she still didn't want to lose them. She couldn't imagine her life without them. It was bad enough that they'd lost Elijah, she couldn't stand it if she lost Dalton too.

"You won't lose me," Dalton said finally, his fingers warm and a little rough against her own. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah?"

He smiled. "Hell yeah."

And there, in that hospital room, that was all she needed to hear.