Author's Note: I did a lot of research about VX nerve gas. Then I threw most of that out the window, and wrote a whumpy, angsty self-indulgent story, and I regret nothing.
Jack hand presses hard against the glass.
"Come on, Mac," he whispers, watching Mac hobble around the office.
He's so close to breaking through the door, consequences and containment be damned. He can't stand on the other side of the glass and watch the gas slowly seep from the container, filling the small room, exposing Mac to potentially lethal doses.
He's seen this movie. It doesn't end well.
Mac swallows a cry of pain as his leg buckles. He stumbles and would have fallen if not for the strong grips of Jack and Cage. Mac's arms stretch across their shoulders, supporting his weight. His strength flagging, and he's relying on them to keep him upright.
The boarding stairs loom ahead of them. A light sheen of perspiration on Mac's forehead.
Jack takes one look at Mac's discouraged face and sweeps him up in his arms.
Mac opens his mouth, ready to protest.
"Don't you dare tell me you can walk," Jack interrupts whatever argument Mac was going to make. He shakes his head. "You did good, kid. You saved the day. You made it this far. Let me take care of things the rest of the way."
Mac's eyelid twitches. He slowly nods his acceptance of Jack's help. He doesn't really have a choice. He's not making it up those stairs on his leg.
Jack carefully climbs the stairs, trying not to jostle Mac. He can feel the younger man trembling in his arms and knows the effects of the gas are beginning to take hold. He can't help the cold dread that races down his spine.
Jack's watched Mac do some of the most ingenious, craziest, ridiculous stuff in the years he's known him. Watched him throw himself into high risk situations with nothing more than a swiss army knife and a paperclip. Jack doesn't know if watching Mac lock himself in a room full of nerve gas is the most stupid thing he's watched Mac do, but it definitely ranks high on the list.
Coming in right under that is agreeing with Oversight's decision to fly back to the Phoenix for medical treatment and observation rather than hightailing it to the nearest hospital. It's not like the man... woman... committee, even after all these years Jack isn't quite sure who exactly holds the position, had the decency to tell them himself... herself... whatever. Just relay the highly suggested course of action through Matty.
Matty, at least, talked through the options with Mac, stating that she would back up whatever decision they made, regardless if they listened to Oversight's recommendations or not. She'd also gotten a doc from medical on the line to review symptoms, timelines and treatments before they made the final decision.
Jack watched Mac calculate flight times in his head. Then weigh that information against his self-assessment of his symptoms, though he'd not as of yet shared with them which symptoms he was experiencing.
Jack ran a hand over his face, trying to rein in his concerns. Mac didn't need him freaking out right now, but he hated even the idea of taking a risk with Mac's health.
Risks Mac was apparently willing to take, if Oversight asked.
He can see all of Mac's insecurities laid out before him. His desperate need to be useful, to prove his worth, to please this mysterious boss, all stemming from a lifetime of abandonment issues.
There have been times over the years where Mac has been asked to do crazy things. Take insane risks, above and beyond what would be expected or asked of anyone else. Jack can't help but be suspicious that Oversight is, at least peripherally aware of Mac's desire to please, and wonders if he uses that knowledge to send them into futile situations because he knows Mac won't say no.
Jack is staring at Mac, hoping that maybe in this instance to use his own sway over Mac's decisions as leverage to get Mac to, for once, think of his own wellbeing first.
"It should be enough time," Mac conceded.
"I don't like the 'should be,'" Jack growled, all but pacing the floor behind Mac, listening to the conversation, weighing in with his own concerns and doubts. He's sticking close, in case Mac's leg decides to go out on him again.
"It will be," Mac emphasized. He sighed. "It just won't be pleasant." It's an understatement and they both know it.
"Matty, if I ever meet Oversight in person, he and I are gonna have a nice long chat."
Mac talks Jack and Cage through a quick and dirty decon with a bleach and water mixture before they head out for the airport and a med kit.
The door to the plane is latched immediately after they board, and they start taxiing moments later; everyone all too aware of the urgency of this otherwise calm exfil.
Jack gently deposits Mac on the couch, his usual post mission seat, trying to help him lay down.
Mac protests, wriggling out of Jack's grasp.
"I want to stay sitting up," there's a slightly breathless quality to his voice, which has Jack's worrying ratcheting upward.
Cage hands him the medical grade field kit. Jack's eyes flash up to her. He'll never admit it, but he's looking for some reassurance.
Cage shrugs, glancing down at Mac, then back to Jack.
"However he's most comfortable," she replies to Jack's unasked question. "Breathing might be easier sitting up."
She slips a pillow behind Mac's back to keep him upright but allowing him to recline and relax. She helps him settle another pillow under his injured leg.
"If you need anything," Cage's voice trails off, and she gestures to the back of the plane. She gives Mac a sympathetic smile. She's seen VX nerve gas up close, and knows what lies ahead. She slowly walks down the aisle, removing herself to give Mac some privacy.
Jack cracks open the kit, pausing for a moment to stare at the vials and equipment in the case. He takes a deep breath. The Phoenix physician talked him through treatment protocols and it's far from the first time he's had to provide medical care for his partner in the field. That doesn't make it any easier.
"Dalton, do you feel comfortable using the autoinjectors?" The doctor asked as he reviewed the plan. If either one of his teammates is going after Mac with a needle, it's going to be Jack.
"Mac's talked me through this kind of thing before. I'll be fine," Jack replied, trying to sound unconcerned. Pretending that his palms weren't sweating and his mind wasn't racing.
There was a long pause over the line.
"Ah, Jack," Mac began slowly, knowing Jack was not going to react well to the information he was about to share. "You're going to have to be pretty confident. Best case scenario, I'm still conscious and coherent enough to tell you what to do until we're home."
"You bossing me around sounds like normal."
Mac leveled his gaze at Jack. "The more likely scenario, I go out about halfway home."
Those words were not what Jack wanted to hear, and haunt him even now as he picks up the first vial. He mumbles to himself.
"Two milligrams atropine and six hundred milligrams of pralidoxime every fifteen minutes times three doses. Repeat after sixty minutes." He carefully snaps the first cartridge into the injector.
Jack flashes Mac a grin in an effort to calm his own nerves.
"See, I got this."
"You still managed to mangle those names pretty well," Mac teases but his words are slurring. Increased saliva. A flush creeps up his face, still feeling embarrassed even if it was from the effects of the gas.
"Just me, but I'd be nice to the man about to stick needles in you." Jack grabs the bandage scissors and slit cleanly up the leg of coveralls they'd stolen from a supply room at the water treatment plant. Mac's own clothes cut to ribbons by Jack during decon, and waiting to be incinerated. It's too bad, Mac liked that shirt.
They'd told him he could use the injector through clothes but the coveralls are so thick and Jack doesn't want anything to go wrong. He quickly cleans the site, and presses the injector firmly against Mac's thigh. He lets out a slow steady breath, and like he is sniping rather than injecting a medication, waits for a space between heart beats before pressing the button, holding it there for the required ten seconds. He quickly repeats the action for the second medication. Pretending he can't feel the trembling muscles under his hand. That he didn't feel Mac flinch each time the needle pierced his skin.
Jack notes the time for the next dose.
He turns back to the kit, wraps an automatic blood pressure cuff around Mac's bicep and hits the cycle button.
Mac watches Jack's movements. He can see the tension radiating off his partner. Jack's face set, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
"I'll be okay, Jack." Mac tries to reassure his partner.
Jack closes his eyes and lets out a bitter laugh.
"Don't." He points a finger at Mac, then curls his hand into a fist. "Don't." Jack takes a deep breath. He reaches for the buttons of the coveralls and opens them to reveal Mac's chest, aggressively attaching leads for the heart monitor to Mac's bare skin.
"I don't know if you think you're being reassuring, telling me you're fine, or if your brain is already altered from the nerve gas or what. But you are not okay. And we've still got a few hours in the air. And if this goes bad," Jack presses his lips together firmly and shakes his head. He can't finish that thought. "I appreciate the faith you have in me, kid but this is so far out of my wheelhouse. We should have told Oversight to stuff it and just went to a hospital. We still could."
"I'm sorry I'm making you do this."
Jack lets out a frustrated sigh.
"I'm more than willing to do this for you if it was our only option. I don't appreciate Oversight asking you to take this kind of risk with your health, man."
"If word got out there would have been a mass panic. This way we can contain the situation."
"And Phoenix doesn't have to explain why they let a known terrorist walk out with a canister of VX that they had in their possession."
Mac shrugs. He's feeling a little winded from trying to argue his point.
Jack shakes his head again, and reaches for Mac's hand, rolling up the too long sleeve and inspecting his arm. Jack can feel Mac's frown, but doesn't look up as he answers the unasked question
"Doc said IV was the best route for diazepam. I might not have understood everything you were saying about absorption rates, and thresholds, but I understood what he said about seizures."
Mac makes a face.
"You doubting my skills?"
"It's been a while since you've used them."
"And who got the start in your crap veins in a helicopter in the middle of a hurricane?"
"Tropical storm, more of a heavy down pour, really," Mac baits him.
Jack looks up at him seriously. He recognizes what Mac is trying to do, get him chatting, ranting, arguing, because if Jack is making a fuss then things aren't serious. When Jack gets quiet, then it's time to watch out.
"You think you're distracting me, but I was listening. Seizures, Mac."
"With any luck we started the antidote quickly enough. If it happens at all we'll probably be back at medical long before that." Mac says recognizing that his ploy didn't work, and attempting reassurances.
"When have we ever been that lucky? I'm getting that line in if I have to poke you a dozen times." Jack's voice is deadly calm.
Mac closes his eyes and rests his head back, trying to remain relaxed. He can feel the tremors increasing, and knows that will make this more difficult for Jack.
Jack cleanly slides in the needle. He frowns, trying not to immediately panic and call it a failed attempt. He fishes for a second, and feels Mac tense, before achieving flashback, and securing the line.
Jack glances up ready to gloat, then notices moisture on Mac's face. "Aw, Mac." His thumb gently brushes against Mac's cheek.
"They aren't tears," Mac explains quickly, sniffling. "It's the effects of the gas. Increased production of tears, saliva, nasal secretions." He accepts the tissue Jack hands him and wipes his nose.
"Hmm... gross," Jack replies.
Mac's laugh breaks off with a cough.
"How are you doing?" Jack's eyes narrow at he studies Mac's face, watching for pain, for how Mac's lips purse as he exhales. He wraps his hand around Mac's wrist, counting his pulse.
Mac licks his lips, taking stock of how he feels. "I've been better," he answers honestly.
Jack nods, but doesn't release Mac's wrist, finding too much comfort from the slow steady beat under his fingers.
After a minute he glances at the clock again.
"About time for another dose," he says, slowly releasing Mac.
Mac pushes himself to sit up straighter, biting back a sharp intake of breath as the motion jostles his injured leg.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Mac says waving Jack back. "Just moved wrong."
"I should probably clean and rebandage that leg now that we've got an actual med kit," Jack says as he preps the auto-injector and administers both meds as deftly as the first doses. "One more dose in this round, then a break."
"Good, I'm tired of being a pin cushion," Mac's voice sounds exhausted.
"Who told you to expose yourself to nerve gas?" The words come out sharper than Jack intends. He can't help it. He is scared. He rummages through the medkit in an attempt to distract himself, to calm down before he turns back to face Mac.
He slits Mac's other pant leg, and gently peels back the old dressing, revealing the scissor stab wound. "Oh man, Mac, don't ever do that again either, okay?"
"It was effective," Mac says. "Needed the adrenaline." There is a wheeze that seems to rattle in his chest. He wants to cough but can't find the strength. His chest is too tight.
Jack cleans out the wound, trying to be gentle. Mac tries to hold still, but can't help flinching each time Jack touches his leg. It burns and aches.
"Who knows what was on those scissors," Jack grouses. "You're going to survive nerve gas only to come down with some 'Outbreak' level shit."
Mac rolls his eyes. As much as he wants to verbally spar with Jack his energy is flagging. Each muscle is contracted and tense. Even his skin is starting to hurt, nerve endings on fire. Jack's gentle ministrations on Mac's leg make him want to jump out of his skin. He squirms beneath Jack's touch.
Jack finishes dressing the wound and looks at the time. He turns back to the med kit. He quickly administers the third dose of each drug into Mac's uninjured thigh
"First round's done," Jack says, cycling the blood pressure cuff again. "You, uh, want to eat anything?"
Mac shakes his head, nausea rolling through his belly. "Better not. I'd probably just bring it up again."
Jack nods sympathetically. "You want to try to get some rest?"
"Yeah, I guess," Mac says, slowly shifting position on the couch. He grimaces as spasms tear through his body. Slow breaths in through his nose. Jack rests a hand on his shoulder. "I'm good."
Jack rolls his eyes but refrains from commenting.
Mac lets out a half-choked cry, one hand splayed against the back of the couch, fingertips digging into the leather; the other reaching up, grasping Jack's hand as he rides out the sharp, twisting pain of a muscle spasm.
For both men it seems like an eternity before Mac relaxes back against the pillows, panting.
"Wow, that sucked." There is moisture on his face again, this time he isn't sure it was just a side effect. Tears continue to leak from his eyes and he can't catch his breath.
Mac had managed to sleep, or at least rest, until it was time for the first dose of round two. The spasms mild enough to allow him to escape to that place between wakefulness and sleep.
Jack sat across from him, monitoring mild twitches of muscles. Mac was a restless sleeper at the best of times, but now a frown fluttered across his features for a moment before his face smoothed out.
Cage made her way to the pair while Mac slept. Jack had nearly forgotten she was on the plane with them. She handed him a protein bar.
"I can sit with him for a while, if you need a break," she offered.
Jack shook his head. "I don't feel right leaving him."
Jack checked in with the Phoenix while Mac slept, updating them on the symptoms, the ones Mac admitted to, and the ones Jack observed. The physician was, well, not exactly pleased, but not dismayed. Mac's condition was still serious, he was exposed to a nerve gas, after all, but his condition remained relatively stable so far. Actually, what the doctor had said was Mac's condition hadn't deteriorated as quickly as he'd feared. Which meant he expected things to be a lot worse than this, and still agreed with the plan to make Mac fly across the country.
Jack wasn't sure if he trusted Phoenix med now. He had half a mind to land the plane at the next largest city and take Mac to the nearest level one hospital.
Reluctantly, Jack woke Mac for the next round of meds. The first jerking, breath-stealing spasm started not long after that. It seems that whatever reprieve Mac had been granted was now over.
Moments later another spasm rips through him. Mac tries to curl into himself, but his injured leg lets out a screaming protest.
"Son of a bitch," he forces out through clenched teeth.
"Keep breathing, Mac" Jack coaches. "Breathe through it."
"I can't." His muscles relax fractionally.
The pulse ox on his finger beeps. Jack frowns looking at the number.
"Mac, bud," Jack says slowly, waiting til Mac's eyes are on him. Jack knows he's not going to like this suggestion. "I'm gonna give you a little oxygen."
Mac frowns. "No, I'll be okay."
"It'll help you feel more comfortable."
Mac shakes his head. "If I need it, I'll take it, but not yet," he pants.
Jack frowns, but lets Mac win the argument for now. He knows how much Mac has always hated the claustrophobic feeling of having a mask covering his nose and mouth. That's only gotten worse since El Noche.
They're just past the halfway point now.
Mac closes his eyes and focuses on breathing, on pulling air into his chest. He's imagining the molecules entering his lungs, oxygen, carbon, argon, and nitrogen.
That last one is a mistake. Because suddenly he's in a villa in Mexico, struggling to hold his breath as cool air brushes against his face, and even though he gasps in a breath of that cool air it does nothing to sate the feeling of suffocating.
He's panting, his lungs aren't responding, and he can't escape the rising panic.
There's a hand in his hair. And all he can remember is El Noche grabbing a fist full and pulling, hard. His head jerks back, neck exposed, and nothing he can do to stop it. He thrashes, and cries out in pain as his body protests the movement. But the hand moves away.
"Mac," the voice is fuzzy in his ears, but it commands his attention anyway.
He slowly opens his eyes.
Jack is in front of him, not in his tac gear, and he's not in Mexico.
But Jack has an oxygen mask in his hand. Mac's eyes widen.
"Mac," Jack's voice firm. "It's okay. Please, let me give you some oxygen."
"No, please, no," he pants. "I can't."
The muscles in his chest seize. He can't exhale. The need for oxygen great but he can't release the spent carbon dioxide. Short, gasping breaths, but the air won't go in. He feels a rising panic.
And Jack is positioning the mask over his face. He tries to push Jack's hands away, but they won't cooperate.
"Please, Mac, don't fight it," he can hear Jack whispering over the rushing sound in his head.
Somehow the words break through the fog.
Mac takes a few shallow steadying breaths. He catches Jack's worried eyes, and nods softly.
"Just rest, Mac," Jack's voice low and comforting.
"Easy, easy, hoss." Jack whispers. As much as he hates being the one to provide care, at least it gave him something to do. Now all he can do is wait. They'll be home in less than an hour, it's still much too long in Jack's mind. He is going to try to requisition a new jet again this year. A faster one. One that can make a trip cross country in minutes rather than hours.
Jack will gratefully hand Mac over to a medical team who knows what they're doing. He scrubs at his eyes for a moment. He is going to hold it together until then.
Jack brushes a hand against Mac's forehead, pushing back sweaty bangs. Mac pushes his head into Jack's hand as if searching for comfort and relief.
Mac's eyes are opened again, pupils pinpoint. Unseeing eyes rove the cabin. Lids twitching.
Slowly Mac's eyes close, lids dragged down, only to spring open again, filled with fear. He pants, little puffs fogging the plastic oxygen mask.
Jack knows Mac is trapped in a private horror of nightmares based in reality and far too altered at this moment to comprehend the difference. He alternates;
Yelling for Jack to save him.
Begging for El Noche to stop, to let him breathe.
Choking and sputtering from the time Jack wasn't fast enough to keep him from waterboarding.
Gasping and asking Jack to find Nicki as he remembers his lungs filling with water and blood.
Earlier Jack hoped Mac would be wrong. That he would be conscious through the flight. But this was so much worse. Now he prayed Mac would pass out. That he could sleep through this torture.
Jack eases Mac up and slides onto the couch behind him. He pulls Mac against his chest, hoping the familiar touch will help ease the kid into a restful sleep. He murmurs into Mac's ear, quiet familiar words.
This scene repeats itself too often after missions and tears at Jack's heart. He wishes Mac wouldn't be so quick to sacrifice himself to save the world.
Mac saves the world. Jack saves Mac.
But the cost, for both of them is great.
Jack tries to keep from looking at the clock. He's counting the seconds until they're back at Phoenix.
Mac's hands twitch. And twitch again.
Even in sleep the young man is never totally still. Jack is hopeful that the worst is over and Mac has fallen into an easy sleep.
Mac gives a gurgled cough.
Then a second.
"Mac? You okay, bud?" Jack whispers, not wanting to disturb him.
Mac's arm jerks upward forcefully toward his chest.
His head swings back, clipping Jack's chin.
Another gurgled cough.
Jack just barely dodges another blow.
It takes Jack a second to realize what's happening, that Mac is starting to seize.
The world slows and Jack can't breathe, can't move, can't process what's going on.
Suddenly, Cage is there again. "Put him down, don't try to hold him!"
And Jack releases the strong grip he didn't even realize he had on Mac. Jack tries to ease out from behind his friend, trying not to hurt him.
Mac's body losing control.
Muscles contracting, jerking, spasming in tandem.
Eyes staring blankly ahead.
Neck straining; veins bulging.
His whole body tremors and shakes.
Head thrown back in the throes of convulsions.
Arms and legs, tensing and releasing, over and over in frenzied bursts.
Jack's heart pounding in his chest as he stares transfixed on Mac's movement. Terror squeezes in his chest. Helpless.
He isn't equipped to handle this. He can't move, just stare at Mac.
"Give him the diazepam," Cage's voice solid, strong and Jack mentally grasps that link to pull himself back and take action.
Hands clenched into tight fists as Mac thrashes.
Finally, finally after what seems like much too long Mac's movements begin to slow.
When Jack looks at the clock again the whole episode lasted a minute.
Mac's eyes slowly open. He too easily recognizes his surroundings as a room at Phoenix medical. Calling it a room though, is generous. He seems to be alive, to have survived. He hurts a little too much to be dead, but a not quite enough to be dying.
Apparently, they made it back in time. He doesn't remember much from the flight, but his body aches like he's just completed an Iron Man without training or warming up. His muscles feel tender and tight. He can't withhold a groan as he shifts in the bed.
"Hey, Mac, you here this time?" Jack's voice comes from the side of his bed, as quiet as Mac's ever heard it.
"Yeah," Mac coughs, his voice raw. He turns to look at his partner. "I think so."
Jack's eyes are red.
"That's what you said last time." Jack's eyes search Mac's face. "But, you look like you're here this time."
"How long have we been home?"
"A couple hours," Jack's voice still soft, quiet.
"I don't remember what happened," Mac says, searching Jack's face.
Jack runs a hand down his face. As his hand covers his mouth he mumbles.
"I wish I could forget." He clears his throat, and forces a smile. "Yeah, the doc said you probably wouldn't, something about past Icarus."
Mac's brow furrows interpreting Jack-speak before realization dawns. "Post-ictal."
"That's the one." Jack leans in close, frowning, breathing quickly. His voice still soft, Mac has to strain to listen to it. "I did not like that, Mac. I can't ever do that again. Do you hear me?"
Mac flushes.
"Watching you seize, man. Why do you keep putting me through things like that?" Jack scrubs at his face again. "I don't know if I've ever felt more helpless. Don't make me do that again."
Mac is surprised by the seriousness of Jack's tone, the hurt in Jack's eyes. "I won't," he promises.
Jack leans back.
"Yeah, you say that now..." He puts a hand on Mac's shoulder.
"So, I'm okay..." Mac asks, his voice trailing off.
"You're spending the night here. Most of tomorrow, at minimum," Jack says firmly. "You'll probably have muscles spasms for a few days. But we made it in time. You're gonna live."
Mac has seen Jack angry, has seen him worried. He remembers after Lake Como, the frenzied panic of Jack pulling him from the water. And through a hazy cloud of anesthesia, devastation and tears of loss. He's seen him ranting and raving about something stupid Mac's done. He's seen him quiet and deadly serious, also related to something Mac's done.
He's never seen Jack this subdued. This shaken.
"Jack, I'm sorry."
Jack nods, but doesn't say anything.
"Are you mad at me?" Mac asks, feeling panic rising in his chest. He's not sure what he would do if Jack was truly angry with him.
Jack shakes his head.
"Please, say something." Mac says.
Jack's mouth opens, then shuts. He shakes his head again.
"I don't know what to say, hoss." There are tears in his eyes. "I was scared, Angus." Jack says finally.
Mac's eyes widened in surprise at the use of his full name. Since Jack made the decision to stay as his Overwatch, Mac can probably count on one hand the number of times Jack used his first name. "Because I don't know if there's anything scarier than seeing a seizure up close for the first time. Oh maybe there is, having it be your best friend."
Mac can't help it. There are tears prickling behind his eyes. He wants to think that it's still a side effect of the nerve gas, but he thinks it's more likely the guilt he feels about putting Jack through that.
"I'm just worried one of these days you're going to pull an Icarus, because you think you're indestructible or that you're dispensable. You're gonna fly too close to the sun on one of your plans and I'm not going to be able to catch you. And I'll have to watch you fall."
"I've never really put myself in the role of the father in that story," Jack says, almost as an after thought. But the words snag in Mac's mind, turning them over and over. He holds onto them to be analyzed another day.
"Everyone in the water treatment plant would have died, me included, if I didn't contain it. It would have gotten into the water, and killed hundreds of thousands."
"There's always going to be people who need saving. Just don't destroy the one named Mac to do it."
"Okay, Bones," Mac says, with a slight smile at Jack's slight pilfering of a Star Trek quote.
"He's a smart man. Only one in the bunch with any common sense." Jack shrugs. "I don't know how us charming Southern boys always end up with blond overachievers with no sense of self-preservation, getting dragged into danger left and right."
"You mean crotchety old southern men?"
"Don't you disrespect Bones, man. He's the only reason Kirk and company are alive to have any of those adventures. He's the real hero."
"Since I'm going to be out for a couple of days, at least. We could start a Star Trek rewatch," Mac suggests.
"Yeah," Jack agrees slowly. "But Wrath of Khan and Into Darkness are out. Those going to hit a little to close to home for a while. Watching you on the other side of that glass." Jack visibly shakes himself from the memory.
Mac ducks his head, and then stifles a yawn.
"Alright, time for another nap. I'll be here when you wake up," Jack tells him.
And he is.