This idea got into my head and wouldn't leave me alone, so I just had to write it. I don't own this show or the characters, which is probably a very good thing for them...
Jack needs to see her. Nikki, if that's even her real name. The traitor. He knows it's not a good idea, and so does Thornton, but she doesn't question it. She won't care what I do. She's as angry as I am, she just can't show it.
Jack wants to hate the woman in the cell, but really, the only person he can blame is himself. You had one job. Protect Mac with your life. And you failed.
When he woke up on that deserted road, his kid was gone. Vanished. He and Nikki both, off the face of the earth. Jack spent a month chasing down every lead, every possible sighting, every dead end. When he passed out from exhaustion and malnutrition in a Berlin hotel, Patty was at the hospital when he woke up.
"Killing yourself won't bring him back," she'd told him. And then she handed him a letter Mac had written for Jack in case something happened to him. They'd found it when they cleaned out his desk down in R&D.
Jack keeps it tucked in his mirror. His reminder, every morning, to put his gun in his holster and not to his head.
Jack, if you're reading this then I'm gone. I know you've stuck with me, kept watching my back, so I know that you're blaming yourself. But please, don't do that. I know that's a hard thing to ask. But please, do it for me. Don't destroy your life looking for revenge or anything like that. You wouldn't want me to do that if I lost you. So please. Keep living. For me.
Jack wants to argue with the words. "It's not fair," he wants to say, "you can't use that logic on me." Because Mac without Jack would still be a genius, still a brilliant, talented kid with the world and a whole life ahead of him. What is Jack without Mac? Just another old soldier with a talent for shooting people. People like Jack are a dime a dozen in any intelligence agency, any army. Mac, Mac was one of a kind. The world could afford to lose Jack. Jack can't understand how it keeps spinning without Angus MacGyver holding it together with duct tape and paperclips and that kid-in-a-candy-store smile.
And then Patty called. Told him that canister they lost resurfaced. It was against every protocol to bring Jack in on it, but Patty knew no one was more determined to get it back and see the people who destroyed his team brought to justice.
Jack even reconnected with his old girlfriend's daughter for help. Riley's never been his biggest fan, but she was his best chance of tracking down the canister and the man who stole it. The girl might be too rebellious for her own good, but she's got a heart. She couldn't turn Jack away when he told her the whole story. And when Riley ID'd John Kendrick and tracked him to a hotel in San Francisco, Jack followed the trail.
Which led him straight to Kendrick. And Nikki, who this whole time has been working with the Organization. The people who stole the virus, the people who took Mac away. Jack ran her down in the alley behind the hotel and brought her in. She'd known he wasn't bluffing when he said he'd shoot her. He'd already taken down Kendrick with a shot to the chest, and Jack had even more reason to pull the trigger on her. She'd handed over the virus, and Jack's never hated something so small so much. How was this worth all we went through? Was this really worth Mac's life?
He needs the truth. Because if Nikki's alive, Mac could be too.
He is, he has to be. Jack's never given up, not even when the Phoenix held a memorial service for him as soon as Jack was able to fly back to the states. Jack hadn't attended. He's not dead. I know it. Sometimes Jack catches himself talking about the kid in the past tense, and he cuts himself off and starts over. No matter what anyone says, no matter what logic says, Mac's alive. He has to be. Jack's got the completely irrational feeling that if the kid actually dies, Jack's heart will just stop beating. I'm here on this earth for one reason. To keep that kid safe. If he dies, my job's done.
And Mac's not a traitor either. A small part of Jack's mind whispers that if Nikki was, Mac could have been. But Jack will never believe that. He'd die first. And that's what scares him.
…
Jack's never been one to pull his punches. Today less than any other. "What did you do?" He asks, and when Nikki shakes her head and grins, his fist slams into her cheek. Let's see you smile with a few of your teeth on the floor.
Nikki spits out the blood. "What's this for, Jack? For Angus?"
"Don't call him that." Jack spits. "You don't get to say his name. Not after what you did."
"What I did?" She laughs, a hollow, chilling sound. "You have no idea what I've done."
"You betrayed us. And you took Mac." Jack can't bring himself to say 'killed'. He's not dead. He's not.
"Oh, I did so much more than that," she says, and there's cold steel in her blue eyes. "It was his own fault really. If he'd given in it would have been so much easier." She has the nerve to smirk. "But he never really did like doing things the easy way."
Jack flinches at the past tense. Oh God, please, don't let him be dead. Please.
"If you killed him I swear to God I'm gonna end you." Jack snarls. Nikki glances up at him, and there's a healthy fear in her eyes for the first time since the alley.
"Oh, he's still alive." She doesn't need to tell him what he's known all along, but hearing it is a relief Jack couldn't imagine. "Or he was when I left him. But oh, you're much, much too late anyway." The insane pleasure in her smile means Jack doesn't feel at all guilty for what comes next.
…
It takes three more hours and a drug Jack isn't sure is legal for the Phoenix to use, but they get a location. It takes less than half an hour for Jack to assemble and suit up a tac team. And even though he's been awake over twenty-four hours at this point, he spends the whole six-hour plane ride terrified of what's waiting at the end.
Nikki told him, maybe not everything, but enough. He'd only just stopped himself from being sick when she described how cruelly Mac had been tortured by the Organization. By her. She knew every weakness he had and exploited it. She spent two years learning how to break him. And none of us saw it.
She didn't just break Mac's body. She broke his mind as well. Jack can't get her words out of his head.
"The first few weeks, he screamed for you, when he couldn't take the pain anymore. But then I showed him pictures. Of the memorial. You decided not to go, of course, but it wasn't too hard to slip you into the photo. So touching that even then you hoped he was alive. But of course he didn't know that. And then when you didn't come...well...he knew I was telling the truth. You didn't care anymore. In the end, he just screamed for us to kill him."
Jack's spent three months waiting to bring his kid home, hoping he wouldn't have to do it in a box. Now he wonders if there will be anything left, even if Mac's alive. He's stronger than anyone gives him credit for. If anyone could survive that hell, it would be him.
…
The guards at the door of the old bunker never stood a chance. Jack's got a full tac team with him, but he's the one leading the charge, and his backup barely ever needs to get a shot off. There's a reason Jack was made an EOD Overwatch. He doesn't miss. Ever.
He's grateful Patty didn't see fit to give a standing order to leave anyone alive for questioning. She knows Jack would more than likely disobey it. These men are responsible for taking Mac away from him, for stopping Jack from doing his job. And...Jack doesn't want to think about finding Mac dead, but it's a possibility, after everything Nikki told them...if that's the case, then it will have been a good thing for them that those men all died from quick, clean headshots. Mac is the only thing that's kept Jack from falling into the darkness all these years. If he's gone, Jack has nothing left to pull him away from that edge. It will be their own fault if I tear the Organization apart limb by limb, if they killed him.
There's an eerie silence when it's all over. The team spread out, checking corridors and rooms, gathering any intel they can, but Jack and two of his men follow Nikki's directions. If this was a trap I'm going to do whatever I have to to go back and kill her slowly. Even come back from the dead.
There's a heavy metal door at the end of a hallway. Jack guesses there must have been a guard, but he probably came to join the fight when he heard how bad it was getting. He doesn't bother with thinking about sending someone back to look for a key, just shoots off the lock.
He stops dead at the pathetic whimper that comes from inside the room. It sounds like a frightened, dying animal. Like the ranch dog Jack had to shoot after it ran into the road and got hit by a car. Pops said when they sounded like that the kindest thing was to put them outta their misery.
He carefully pushes open the door, blinking as his eyes try to adjust to the darkness. He doesn't want to turn his flashlight on suddenly and scare Mac even more. Shooting off the lock might have been a mistake. There's a huddled shape in the corner of the room, and Jack moves toward it. He stops when the small heap begins to shudder and sob wordlessly.
"Mac?"Jack whispers. No, this can't be him. It's too small. And then he catches a glimpse of terrified but familiar blue eyes glancing at him from under ragged, long hair. "It's me. It's Jack. I found you, buddy. We're going home."
Mac doesn't react. He curls tighter into himself, making small keening sounds of distress and pain. Jack's heart is shattering into pieces. He kneels down, setting his gun aside, and puts his hand out gently. Mac flinches violently away with a gasping sob. Jack sees a dark stain on the floor where his arm was resting a moment ago, and when he puts his glove to it, he feels the slick wetness. Damn it, how bad is he hurt?
"Buddy, I've gotta get a look at you, figure out how we're gonna get you out. I have to turn my light on, okay?" There's no answer, but they need to get moving soon and Jack has to find out how bad Mac's injuries are. He was moving, so no spinal cord damage...I hope. Was he moving his legs? Jack doesn't remember and the thought scares him.
Jack flicks the light on and puts it at an angle so it won't hurt Mac's eyes. He immediately wishes he had left the room dark.
Mac's a pitiful sight, curled as far into the corner of the room as possible, a feral, mindless fear glimmering in his eyes. Jack can't imagine what kind of hell the past three months have been. And I left him here. He probably thought no one cared.
He's only skin and bone. Jack's horrified; these kind of skeletal figures were only supposed to exist in old photographs of POWs. It shouldn't happen to anyone. It definitely wasn't supposed to happen to his kid.
Not only is Mac starving, he's wounded and filthy. His skin is caked with dirt and dried, black and brown blood. His back is a mangled mess of scars, and the rest of his body is covered in scabs and gashes, long straight ones, deep, jagged, messy ones, a few that appear to be burns. He's shivering convulsively in the damp chill of the cell; what little is left of his clothing is doing nothing to keep him warm.
And then Jack sees his hands. Oh God no. Mac's fingers are twisted, one whole wrist bent at a sickening angle. Jack wants to strangle Nikki slowly. She really did know how to hurt him. Jack's no doctor but none of that looks good. And if Mac never gets back the use of his hands…
"Oh buddy. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Jack wants to scream and cry and beat his own fists against the wall until they're as bloodied and broken and useless as Mac's hands. This is my fault. I didn't protect him, and I didn't find him.
"J-jack?" the sound is fainter than a breath, the voice too soft, too broken.
"Yeah, Mac, it's me. I'm here."
"N-no." Mac huddles away again, useless hands clutched tight to his ribby chest. "Go away." He sniffles. "I hate you."
Jack thought his heart was as broken as it could be. He was wrong. "Mac, I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna get you out of here."
"You keep saying that!" Mac wails, his ruined voice rising. "You were gonna come. And you never did and I want you out of my head! Just go!" He sobs. "You're not even the real Jack. He doesn't want me anymore."
"No, no, no. Mac, it's me. I'm here." He knows it's a risk, but he pulls off his tac glove, reaches out and lays one hand on Mac's bony shoulder. "I'm here. I should have come sooner but I'm here now."
Mac flinches at the contact, but he can't move any further away. Jack wishes he could wrap his hand around Mac's so the kid could feel the calluses, the familiar roughness, but Mac's hands are so twisted and mangled...Jack swallows down the rising nausea and rubs gently at the kid's shoulder.
Mac looks up, and Jack wants to cry when he sees realization dawning in Mac's face. "I'm not d-dreaming? Y-you came?" He reaches for Jack's hand and then stops with a grimace. "I'm not gonna wake up? You're here?"
"Yeah, buddy. You know nothin' could stop me from comin' after you."
"What took you so long?" Mac whispers, and there's both a real, agonized question, and a bit of their normal banter, wrapped up in the same phrase.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. They hid you real good." Jack says quietly. "But I'm not gonna let you go again. I'm never letting you out of my sight." He continues to rub Mac's shoulder. "I'm gonna get you outta here now, but I gotta pick you up, okay?" Mac is in no condition to walk, not even if he starts insisting he is.
The fact that Mac doesn't argue or complain terrifies Jack. He never admits he needs help. Ever. Jack gently puts one arm under the kid's knees, one of them looks wrong; dislocated, broken?, and the other under Mac's side and back. He can feel every single rib, every bit of the kid's spine. Oh Mac.
When Jack picks him up it's effortless. He weighs nothing. As soon as Jack has him in his arms, Mac turns and rests his head on Jack's shoulder, sobbing quietly into Jack's shirt. "Please, Jack, I want to go home. I just want to go home."
"Yeah, buddy, that's where we're going." Jack takes a careful step, but Mac's right hand is hanging loosely down at his side, and the movement must jar it. Mac yelps and gasps, eyes wide.
"Burroughs, help me out here." Jack nods one of the tac team members, who's waiting in the hallway. The look on the man's face is a mixture of shock and grief. "I need you to put his hand up on his chest. Carefully."
Burroughs moves as slowly and gently as is humanly possible, like he's cradling a wounded baby bird. Even so, Mac cries silently the whole time, tears cutting tracks through the thick grime on his face. When Burroughs sets his hand down on his chest, Mac makes another keening wail.
He whimpers and buries his face in Jack's shirt again. "It hurts, Jack." That whisper cuts through Jack's heart like a knife. I can't even begin to make this better.
"Oh Mac. I know. I know it hurts."
…
The medical chart on the end of Mac's bed seems like it's a mile long. Starvation, three different wound infections, hypothermia, pneumonia (and a lung infection on top of that), eighteen broken bones and more that didn't heal properly and will have to be rebroken and reset… Jack can't help but shudder.
Mac's hands are wrapped up in casts; it took four surgeries to repair the worst damage and he's going to need more to keep them from healing into unusable fists. Somehow, out of all the horrible, life-threatening injuries, Mac's hands are what Jack's fixated on.
Because if his hands don't heal, then that's the entire life he's known, gone. What's gonna happen if he can't do his weird, quirky, Mac thing? Jack's all too familiar with what can happen, he's seen it happen to too many guys he fought beside. He's felt it happen to himself. Lose part of yourself, you start losing all of it. You retreat and withdraw until there's nothing left.
Mac's still asleep. He passed out before Jack even got them out of that bunker and hasn't woken up yet. Jack hasn't left the hospital the whole time. He spent three months waiting for me. I can wait three days.
Jack's watching when Mac's eyes flicker open. He brushes the now much-shorter hair away from Mac's forehead. "Hey buddy."
"You're still here," Mac whispers.
"Hell yeah I am," Jack says quietly. "I'm not going anywhere. Never again."
"It doesn't hurt so much anymore," Mac says quietly, looking down at his hands. I'm real glad those casts cover most of the damage. Jack's pretty sure if Mac could see how bad it is he'd start crying again.
"We're gonna have you back to rights in no time," Jack says. "But that doesn't mean you get to try and check yourself outta here before they say you're ready, got it?"
Mac gives him something that Jack will count as passing for a smile. And then he winces and curls up as much as he can in the bed, riding out a wave of pain. Jack rests his hand on the kid's shoulder and stays there until Mac's breathing evens out. He's asleep again.
Jack wants to burn the Organization to the ground. But that can wait. Because the kid in that hospital bed is the most important thing in the world right now. And he always will be.