Guard Your Heart

By: Ridley C. James

A/N: I said I wasn't going to do another multi-chapter so quickly, but then the muse decided otherwise. This is set before Director Thornton's exit because I wasn't sure of our feisty new director's personality yet, so the time-line in this one is a little off. This may also become a crossover at some point(insert evil grin here). Thank you to all who have written lovely encouragement. I hope you enjoy the new story. Maybe it will make the weeks until we get another new episode pass a little more quickly.

RcJ

People did crazy things in the name of love. Jack Dalton was no stranger to strong sentiment or a bit of crazy. He'd often been described in his regular mandatory psych evaluations as a man who at times was ruled by his feelings, one who tended to listen to said emotions when he should be following orders. Jack figured that like most people his biggest weakness could also be his greatest advantage. Take for instance, Jack would do anything, and he did mean anything for the people he loved. It was a short list, but the lengths he'd go to in the preservation of any person on it, was staggering, even to him at times. Sometimes his actions weren't exactly wise, nor were they always logical. When it came to love, Jack merely saw things in black and white.

He always liked the way kids thought about love. Sometimes simple. Most often profound. He'd read an article not too long ago in which the writer had interviewed children, asking them to give a definition of real love. The answers ranged from love being when you go out to eat with your best friend and give them most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs to when you tell somebody something bad about yourself and you're scared they won't love you anymore, but then you get surprised because not only do they still love you, but they love you even more. Simple yet profound.

Kids often got what adults had a hard time grasping. Matters of the heart seemed to grow not clearer as one gained wisdom and years, but more convoluted. Love became a thing of games. Smoke and mirrors. It could be used as incentive or twisted for advantage. If a person knew who or what someone loved most, it easily gave them a bit of power, and sometimes a whole lot of leverage. In the wrong hands, love became a very dangerous weapon.

And like with most deadly games, there was always an element of surprise, so the unlucky prey in the crosshairs didn't see what was coming until it was too late. Take for instance when it's a typical Wednesday evening and a guy is leaving his favorite Chinese restaurant, full of Mongolian Beef and having a hell of a fine time giving his best friend grief about the ridiculous fortune he'd just gotten from a damn cookie, and how said best friend was completely oblivious to their waitress who'd been flirting with him, or at least attempting to throughout their entire meal. Then the unthinkable happens.

The bullet came out of nowhere. Or more specifically, as Jack would find out later it came from the barrel of a rare ASVK Russian sniper rifle, atop the roof of the thirteen story building across the street parallel to where he'd parked his Mustang.

At first Jack didn't realize what had happened. He'd reached into his pocket to dig out his keys, passing the takeout boxes he'd promised Bozer to Mac. Only when MacGyver dropped the boxes to the ground did Jack look up, only then did his confused gaze go from Mac's wide blue eyes to the quickly spreading red stain on his partner's shirt.

It wasn't like how they portrayed in the movies. A clean shot from a sniper's rifle didn't always instantly drop the person it struck or send them dramatically careening back against a wall. In actuality a well-placed bullet could slice through clothes, skin and bone silently, with a beautiful precision that although left untold destruction in its wake was almost a work of art.

Jack had put bullets in people, through people, and watched them stand shocked for a moment, even as the projectile pierced their brain or penetrated the pericardium to stop their heart. They sometimes had a look of stunned surprise on their faces, although seeing the expression up close on the face of someone you loved most was a hundred times more horrifying than watching it through the removed distance of a scope.

"Mac!" Jack dropped his keys, reaching for MacGyver, who stumbled slightly, bringing his hand up to touch the bullet wound high on the left side of his chest as if he still wasn't quite convinced of what his body was obviously trying to tell him. He was shot.

The windshield of Jack's Mustang exploded as Jack pushed them both to the ground, covering as much of Mac as possible as the back glass was also obliterated. Somewhere someone screamed. The well-traveled street busy on a perfectly warm full-mooned southern California night was now alight with scurrying, people running in panic, ducking into one of the many stores or restaurants, sadly aware of what was taking place. There was a time when people wouldn't have understood so quickly, when a city street in America was an unthinkable place for an act of terror.

Jack scrambled to get him and his partner on the other side of the car, out of the line of sight, praying whomever was shooting at them, wouldn't hit the gas tank with their next shot.

"Jack, what the hell is going on?" Mac bit out, just as the street light above them was blown out, shattered. Shards rained down over them, blanketing them in glass and blessed darkness.

Jack leaned forward, using his body as a shield. He stayed that way, knowing his gun was useless, counting under his breath. Even if he could pinpoint where the shooter was, distance would have prevented any kind of success in return fire. Besides, a sniper wouldn't stick around, not in downtown L.A. where everyone had a smart phone and police patrols were numerous.

As if to prove Jack right, silence came as quickly as the chaos. The sound of his and Mac's heavy breathing filled the quiet. Then sirens blared in the distance, ensuring if the gunman hadn't hightailed it yet, he would be abandoning his post now. Still, Jack stayed where he was for another long moment until he felt Mac push against him.

"Jack?" His partner's pain-filled voice had him moving, bracing his hand on the side of his car so he could move back enough to meet Mac's gaze. "Are you hit?"

Of course Mac would think to ask, even as he was bleeding onto the pavement. Jack shook his head no, but couldn't quite get words to form just yet. He leaned back on his heels, popping buttons on the over-shirt he was wearing as he stripped it off, leaving him in just the tee shirt underneath. Starting at the bottom Jack tore the material in two.

Mac wasn't wearing a jacket. His blue shirt made locating the source of the blood all to easy. He was sitting on the pavement, his back against the car, one hand pressing against his shoulder. Even in the semi-dark, Jack could see the red liquid seeping from between his best friend's fingers. Jack, gripped Mac's good shoulder and eased him forward. The wet smear on his car shown in the moonlight, proving the bullet had passed straight through. If they were lucky it hadn't struck bone or anything vital as it passed.

Jack placed one of the balled up pieces of his shirt on the exit wound, easing his partner back once more. He then carefully pried Mac's hand away and used the other half of his shirt to push against the point of entry, effectively applying pressure to both wounds.

Mac sucked in a breath, bit his lip as his head banged against the door as he tried to channel the pain the needed measure was causing.

"I'm sorry," Jack said, through clenched teeth. It was funny that the rush of adrenaline he'd usually feel now, the body-born buzz that typically kicked his training into high gear, allowing him to distance himself and do whatever it took to deal with the situation had seemingly failed him. He felt like a fresh-faced kid finding himself in a fox hole surrounded by enemy fire for the first time.

"Are you sure you're not hit?" Mac must have been just as confused by Jack's lack of cocky banter and snarky comeback or maybe he was going into shock.

It was the thought of the latter that had Jack using his free hand to reach for his phone, to punch in the numbers that would connect him to help.

"We have an agent down." He held Mac's gaze as he gave appropriate codes to alert the right people to what exactly had transpired, and then told them their location.

"Calvary's on the way, buddy," Jack told his partner as he put the phone on the ground beside them.

"Good to know." Mac looked as about as stunned as Jack felt. It was one thing to be hurt during a mission, to be sacked by your opponent on a playing field where you were both engaged in battle, quite another to be blindsided when your guard was completely down, in a place in which you, however naïve it may have been, felt relatively safe. "You think the shooter's gone?"

"I think if we were his targets, then yeah," Jack nodded, keeping up the pressure on the wound, bringing his other hand to rest against Mac's throat. The pulse he felt there was fast but strong. "It seems if this was a crazy psycho on a rampage he'd been shooting at someone else besides us and my car."

"Or we're just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Mac mused with a touch of humor. "Run of the mill for us."

"How you doing, Kiddo?" Jack's voice sounded wrong to him, so he forced what he hoped was a convincing grin. "Because my car has seen better days."

"Your dad would be pissed."

Mention of Jack's father had his chest tightening, his loss an all too recent ache, especially in light of what had just transpired. "He's not the only one."

"It's not that bad." Mac closed his eyes, steadying his breath. His fists were balled, pressed against his jean-clad legs.

"You talking about my car or you?" Jack moved his fingers from Mac's pulse, but let his hand come to rest at the back of Mac's neck, offering whatever grounding he could to the younger agent.

Mac opened his eyes, grinned up at him. "Nothing a good body guy can't take care of."

"I don't let just anybody under my hood, Dude." Jack felt a bit of normalcy settle between them at the teasing. He blocked out the way Mac's breath hitched ever so often, the fact the kid hadn't rebuffed Jack being in his personal space. It spoke to how bad he was hurting, or maybe to how shaken. Either way, it pissed Jack off and he longed to get his hands on who had taken the shot and effectively ruined a perfectly good Wednesday night. "Come to think of it, I'm pretty picky about who puts their hands on you, too."

"Really." Mac snorted. "I hadn't noticed."

"You saying I'm not exactly subtle when it comes to your welfare?"

"If you call a bull in a China shop subtle?" Mac raised a brow. "Then sure."

"I think I've mellowed." Jack was thankful the sirens had grown closer. He saw lights flashing just down the street. When he found the shooter, he'd show them exactly what bull in the China shop crazy looked like. On the list of 'people Jack Dalton would do anything for', Angus MacGyver's name was very first.

"Since you knocked out that medic back in the desert? Maybe." Mac's smile twisted into a hurt-filled grimace and he shut his eyes again.

"How about you cut the chatter and leave the reminiscing to me, brother." Jack gave Mac's neck another squeeze and removed his touch when he heard a car breaking behind them, car doors slamming. He reached for his weapon out of habit, but it was only seconds before two police officers made their way towards them, guns drawn. Jack would have rather have had an ambulance but back-up was a beginning.

"Agent Dalton?" The uniform knelt by Jack, glanced to MacGyver.

"That's me." Jack relaxed his stance, nodding to Mac. "He's MacGyver."

"I'm Samuels." The officer touched the radio attached to his Kevlar vest, reporting he'd made contact with Mac and Jack. He gestured to the other man. "My partner, Neely."

"Your boys have any eyes on the shooter?" Jack asked.

"One visual from a witness," Samuels said. "Lone male fleeing the building across the street with a large duffel before blending into the crowd. SWAT's just now on it. We have a chopper in the air, and patrols at every intersection."

"You got any better news about the ETA on an ambulance?"

"Right behind us," Neely replied. "Are you two FBI?"

"Something like that." Jack knew Phoenix sometimes ran through more well-known channels when needing assistance from the locals. It was easier to be vague.

"Do you think you two were the primary targets?" Samuels asked, looking puzzled by the idea that two 'sort of government agents' could garner such attention or gather as much tactical support in the amount of time they had. "We have no other reported casualties in the initial sweep."

"Right now I only care about one casualty." Jack glanced to Mac, willing his temper to hold. He didn't want to speculate on possible scenarios with a uniform that would be excluded from the investigation as soon as other agencies arrived on the scene. "My partner's been shot."

"Rescue personnel are here," Neely told Jack.

Jack's phone rang just as a three man team of paramedics piled into the small space behind Jack's car. He and Mac exchanged glances as one of the men slid in beside Jack, asking him to move back so he could check Mac over.

"Talk to Thornton," Mac said, apparently recognizing Jack's hesitancy in shifting focus. "She needs to know our status."

"I'm coming with you when you transport," Jack told the paramedic as he released the hold he had on the makeshift bandage he'd been pressing to Mac's shoulder. He would allow the trained professionals to take over Mac's care. But like he'd told his partner, it wasn't a position he turned over easily and he wasn't going to be left standing on the corner, counting on a ride from one of the squad cars.

"I'm not sure we'll have room in the rig," the guy's partner was saying.

"Good thing I'm on the small side and don't take up too much room." Jack winked at Mac, who rolled his eyes at the gross understatement. Jack was well over six feet and even if he hadn't weighed in at 190, his personality tended to suck up space. He grabbed his phone before Mac attempted to say as much and stepped away to talk to Patricia in relative private.

"We're in route to the hospital, Patty." Jack hit the button that would connect him with their director and spoke before she had a chance to begin the conversation. In situations like these, when someone had dared attack one of his own, he felt much more comfortable doling out the orders. As reported by reputable CIA psychoanalysts, it was an attempt to exert some kind of control on things that were so obviously out of Jack's control, but what was a guy to do. "Meet us there ASAP."

RcJ

To be continued...