***This is for a prompt from Dwells51, enjoy!
"Holy hell!" Jack groaned rolling over. He coughed and winced. He hurt everywhere. That RPG was a little too close. He glanced over at the pick up he and Mac had escaped. It sat upside down a black smoking corpse. If Jack hadn't spotted the contrail out of the corner of his eye, they'd be barbequing inside it. Jack pushed himself up on shaking arms. He wiped dust and grit out of his eyes digging into rubble scattered around him until his Baretta was safely in his fist. Jack staggered to his feet and scanned the environment.
"Mac?" Jack called. He could barely hear his voice over the ringing in his ears. His eyes scanned the narrow dirt road. They'd been on their way to exfil, they'd lost the Myanmar government troops, or thought they had. The trail had a cliff on one side, a gently sloping hill of gravel on the other. Jack was lucky he hadn't tumbled off the cliff. He knew Mac had lept from the other side. "Mac!" Jack called louder jogging around the truck. The fire was hot against his back. He saw movement across the valley. Good news that was too far for the troops to attack, lousy news he sincerely doubted they'd run out of RPGs.
Once on the other side of the truck, Jack slid his pistol into its holster. He hoped their pursuers assumed they were dead in the explosion.
"Mac?" Jack called again, worry starting to edge toward panic. He heard a rustle of stones and followed the sound to gravel piled behind a boulder the size of a tank. Jack breathed out in relief. Mac was leaning against the boulder with one hand. "There you are, you had me scared there a minute!" Jack stepped forward, his relief kindling to fear. Mac bent forward puking. "Mac?"
Mac didn't seem to notice Jack until Jack touched him on the shoulder. Mac twisted in surprise and fell back against the boulder. He cried out, and his knees buckled.
"Oh, whoa, easy kiddo." Jack managed to catch Mac and ease him away from his pile of vomit. Jack breathed out with relief, no blood in the mess. Jack's fear still grossly outweighed his momentary relief. The entire right side of Mac's face was one pouring smear of blood. Jack could see a bump the size of a cantaloupe behind his ear. Mac's left eye was blown wide while his right eye looked like an ant's footprint. Massive head wound. So not good. "Here buddy, sit here." Jack guided Mac to the ground bracing him so he wouldn't fall. Mac stared at Jack blankly, blinking slowly. The kid raised his hand to touch his wound. Jack gently held it down and leaned in close until Mac gradually focussed on him.
"Hey, brother, do you know who I am?" Mac blinked at him too dazed to answer. Jack's heart thumped with barely controlled panic, "Ok easier one, what's your name? Can you tell me?" Mac blinked at him then slowly shook his head. Shit. "Ok don't panic, stay right here, ok?" Mac stared at Jack frowning, "stay!" Mac slowly nodded and winced his hand moving to the base of his skull. Jack searched the ground around the wreck until he found the survival pack he always took with them on missions. Jack ran back to Mac who was having trouble staying awake. He swayed. Jack gently let him lay down. "Stay with me, ok?" Mac's eyes slowly opened and he nodded once wincing with pain. Ok, Jack babbled to himself, call Phoenix, emergency medical evac, he's gonna be fine, he's always fine, he's gonna be fine...Jack hit the speed dial on the sat phone. Matty answered on the first ring.
Jack was babbling before she got a word out.
"Matty, it's Mac he's got a bad head wound, Mac says he doesn't know who he is, I need help like yesterday!" Jack thanked God for Matty. Her calm helped him reign in his panic.
"Ok, Jack. I'll have your ex-fill team get you. Don't hang up!"
"No, Matty it's really bad, I don't know if…"
"Dalton! Get a grip. You aren't going to help Mac by spazzing out."
"You're right, sorry, sorry…" Matty's tone softened.
"Ok, I'm patching in Doc Carl talk to me what does the wound look like…" Matty kept Jack talking for the next half hour. Jack managed to keep Mac minimally conscious. Jack almost whooped in relief as a team of Nightstalkers circled his position. The Nightstalkers or the Army's 160th Special Aviation Regiment were the most special of special forces. Others like the SEALS or even Delta may be the names in the headlines-on the few occasions there were headlines, but none of them could do their jobs without the elite airborne corps. They transported squads into and out of hellholes and fire zones; they rescue soldiers or sailors from all manner of deadly situations even being the unit to fish landing astronauts out of the oceans. Without them, there would be no successful operations.
"You ok?" Commander Blue, a code name obviously, hissed his eyes constantly roving the environment around them. Jack nodded his focus on Mac. The medic had a neck brace around Mac's neck, and an IV was going. They slid him onto a stretcher, "Ok let's move. We have unfriendlies coming." Jack ran alongside Mac's litter not liking the stillness or blood that seemed to gush out like a sprung oil well. Jack stepped into the helicopter and slid to the side he crouched and clung to Mac's limp hand as if he were pulling him from an impossible fall. Jack didn't like how grim the medic looked.
"How is he?" The medic's eyes were sad, his mouth downturned.
"Not good." Jack felt tears stack behind his lower eyelids. He nodded and took a steadying breath. He found himself staring at Mac's chest. Every pause between breaths was a grand canyon of time filled with fear.
Jack paced the hall in Phoenix medical. His face was red from spilled tears; he felt like a dried out husk. Mac had been evac'd to a carrier doing exercises in the Bay of Bengal. After they stabilized him, it took 13 hours to get Mac to an elite neural specialist in Germany. Mac had surgery to remove a large hematoma and had been in ICU for two weeks before he was cleared to return to Phoenix. Jack still wore the clothes crusted with Mac's blood and dirt from their ambush site. He knew he stank, his chin sprouted the wild fur of a bushman, and probably looked like an insane homeless bum, but he refused to leave Mac's side. The terror of a doctor coming out to tell him Mac was awake and he wasn't here... was paralyzed and brain dead...or finding out he'd died just because Jack wasn't here...or...
Matty threw open the doors and strode down the hall, her size belied the speed she could move when needed. Behind her, pale with their own panic, trailed Riley and Bozer. Jack grabbed the first one he could and squeezed tight clinging to something solid in the center of his tsunami of fears. Bozer took a beat to get over his surprise then hugged the man back. Riley replaced him a second later, keeping hold of Jack's white-knuckled grip. When Jack looked down at Matty, he was a second away from crumbling like a shattered vase. Matty's voice was soft as she took his hand.
"C'mon, Jack sit down." Jack blindly followed her and sat in a chair along the wall. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He looked at Matty.
"Matty, I can't lose him, I can't…" Matty grabbed his face with both hands and leaned in close.
"Shhh...it's ok, Jack. Doc Carl brought in a neurologist he trusts; they are doing everything for MacGyver they can. You need to take a beat and take care of yourself."
"Matty, I…"
"That wasn't a suggestion, you stink." Matty smiled taking away the sting. Jack blinked at her then after a long minute nodded his head. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, "Go get cleaned up and eat something; you look like a bag of bones. You aren't going to help Mac by killing yourself. If anything comes up, I'll make sure you know, ok?" Matty waited the minute it took for Jack to process everything she said. He sighed and stood up. The rest of the team noticed the slight wobble as he limped toward the locker room. Matty looked at Bozer and nodded after Jack.
"I got him," Bozer said turning and jogging until he caught up with the Delta. Matty turned to Riley.
"I need you to help Sally slip him a mickey."
"You want me to do what?" Matty rolled her eyes.
"You heard me. If Jack doesn't rest, he's going to fall apart...more." Riley nodded grimly.
"You got it."
M
He woke up slowly moaning. Everything swam under layers of blurriness and pain. He groaned and reached up to touch the most significant source of pain. He frowned to find his wrist stopped by a foam restraint. He studied it curiously and twisted his wrist. In a few minutes, it was loose enough he could work his hand free. He smiled and turned to undo the other arm. He sat up and almost puked. He closed his eyes. An ax chopped his head in half. He found himself picturing a watermelon the size of his head on a guillotine about to fall. He frowned unbidden equations flooded his head causing hot flashes behind his eyes. He calculated the size, substance, and shape of an ax that would be most effective; then he calculated the differences in force needed to overcome the differences in structures of the watermelon vs. a human skull. He shook his head and yelled clutching his head as agony rippled down his neck and shoulders. He slid his feet over the side of the bed. He was in a hospital gown. He frowned. What had happened? How hurt was he? He took in the surroundings, basic hospital room. No clues there. He stood up and swayed a long minute. His eyes fluttered and his mouth watered. He realized his body wanted to faint. He gritted his teeth and started moving anyway. Everything swayed and rippled with double outlines.
He couldn't avoid it. He leaned over a small trash can and puked. He spat. Vomiting sucked, especially since he evidently hadn't eaten anything in a while. He straightened and took another step. Pain in his arm made him pause. He frowned. IV. He followed it to a pump with three bags hanging off of it. He knew pulling it out would send off alarms. He pulled the pump closer using the tubing. It took him all of two seconds to figure out how to turn it off. He then grabbed the cords and yanked. Blood spewed from his inner elbow. He frowned and grabbed a pillow emptying it from its case. He rolled up the cloth and tied it around his arm using his left hand and teeth.
He shuffled to the door. The corridor was the obnoxious white he'd seen in every hospital, but it was dimmer, moodier. Odd for a hospital. Either his eyes had been somehow affected by whatever the hell happened or they dimmed the lights for some semblance of night time. Another odd thing for a hospital to do. He began to wonder what kind of hospital he was in then shrugged. No one was in sight, move now think later. He frowned. He knew the voice he mentally heard speak. It was painfully familiar, soothing...he ached to remember. He rubbed his forehead as lightning streaked across his vision. He blinked away the pain and with one hand balancing against the wall slowly zombi-walked down the endless hallway.
He closed his eyes periodically to stop the floor from tilting under him. His stomach churned and twice he stopped thinking it was going to demand release again, but he managed to quash the feeling and keep moving. He reached the end of the unit and peeked out. There was a short hall with sets of double doors in all direction except one. Ahead of him was an elevator. He shrugged and hit the up button. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall slowly breathing and shrugged trying to ease the agony settling across his shoulder. Nothing helped. His head felt three times as heavy as it usually did. He stepped into the elevator and frowned.
There were too many buttons. Ten floors underground? What kind of hospital was this? He sighed and went to push ground floor. He paused and hit B3 instead. His knees weakened at the movement of the elevator, and he leaned over to puke almost wishing he had something in his gut to expel. The lift opened to a hallway identical to the one he had been. He staggered to the one marked "Motor pool." He smiled knowing he was almost free. He walked the parking garage lifting himself over a concrete Jersey barrier. He frowned facing a locked rusty door. He knew he had to go through the door to escape. His head exploded as a klaxon sounded above his head. He held his hands over his ears and squinted against the agony. A female voice came over the blare. He couldn't follow the words, but it apparently was some code. His heart pounded. It didn't matter what the alarm was for, the pounding of his heart told him it was a bad thing. He looked down and smiled. A crumpled soda can had been thrown over to the side of the Jersey barrier. He bent, having to lean his hand against the door to keep from headbutting the concrete. He yanked the tab off wishing he had his Swiss army knife. He gritted his teeth bending the metal loop from a rectangle to a long oval. He leaned forward and with a practiced move picked the lock. The door squeaked open. A light automatically came on. He sneezed at the mustiness and locked the door behind him.
Facts scrolled across his head. He knew this tunnel led down to the vast machinery that keeps the building comfortable and safe. He could feel the vibrations rattle his bones. No one came in here unless they were going to do repairs. Motion sensitive lights lit along a long dingy corridor as he walked and turned off as he passed. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Exhaustion dragged every muscle. He just wanted to collapse. He forced himself to keep going. He couldn't get caught. Images of being tied up and...tortured was the only word he could come up with, although he hated that word. It made the pain and shame of being caught worse somehow. Adrenaline was dumped into his bloodstream keeping him moving. He cried out as he picked another lock and ran into a room claustrophobic with the palpable hum of machinery. He didn't think his head could hurt more.
He found a waist-high metal door and again picked the lock and crawled in shutting the door behind him. It clicked and latched, but he couldn't lock it. The door relieved some of the hum vibrating his sore skull. The crawl space had a dim blue glow of processors. He smiled. It reminded him of Christmas lights. His brain flooded with memories of people he almost knew. His eyes burned with tears. The schematic of the maze of tunnels scrolled across his mind. He had no idea where he was going but followed his instincts. Finally, his path ended at another door. This one lined with outdoor light. He stepped out and grinned breathing fresh air. He leaned his back against the side of a glass building. He frowned. It didn't feel dangerous; it felt familiar and secure. But he still had to escape. Soldiers in black armed with automatic rifles his brain automatically cataloged as M-5s (with accompanying spec and statistics) ran past in jogging formation. They searched for him. His breath caught, and his heart pounded. He ducked behind a shining dark blue Chevy Silverado. Flashes of an explosion drifted through his head. He closed his eyes gasping in agony.
After it lessened to tolerable, he picked the lock on the Chevy wincing at the time it took and the tears his roughly made pick dug into his thumb. After an eternity, the door clicked open. He scampered into the cab sprawling across the front seat. He closed the door quietly and ducked low as another group of guards stomped past. Who were these people? Where was he? What had he done?
He pushed himself upright and clung to the steering wheel a minute; everything sloshed and spun. With practiced ease, he pulled wires out from under the dash and sparked them together. He smiled as he drove across the park to the exit. A metal gate that could withstand a tank's charge crossed the drive. Again whispers of information rattled through his skull. Tungsten layered over an iron alloy...the periodic table, images of the molecules how they worked to strengthen each other...He winced and rubbed his forehead begging his sluggish mind to help him not hurt him for once.
He frowned at an electric code box. His code drifted across his mind, but he
paused. He knew the numbers shifted every 72 hours. He frowned. Knowing that didn't help. He had no idea what day it was. He frowned grimacing against the waves of pain crashing against his cranium. Formulas and statistics buzzed across his head. He knew the algorithm the gate computer used to find new codes. He grinned suddenly knowing what the most statistically probable numbers probably chosen. He typed it in and was delighted to see the gate slide smoothly back. He put the truck in gear and drove away.
Discomfort aside the feeling of freedom was intoxicating. He wound down the window and sucked in the cool if a bit polluted, air. He couldn't put a name to the city, but knew it enough he could automatically drive to a house. He parked in the drive and grinned. He was home. He bent, knowing exactly where the spare key was. He breathed in the familiar and comforting smell then giving in to exhaustion stretched out on a worn leather couch. He tugged a fluffy blanket off the back of the sofa and curled up, asleep in seconds.
