Jack is tense.

The rain taps a staccato beat against the van roof. A dark, damp night, on a lonely stretch of road. No streetlights, and very little traffic since the soiree started. Occasional breaks in cloud cover allow the only light, but even then, the rain, the downpour prevents him from seeing more than a few feet outside the van.

Jack doesn't mind stake outs.

What Jack does mind is being the man in the van. Sitting in the van, parked blocks away listening to his teammates on comms and waiting. It's better than waiting in the war room because at least if something happens he can be boots on the ground in moments. But he hates the waiting.

He taps the steering wheel in time with the rain, filling in a backbeat, and wishing their contact would hurry up.

"Buy you a beer when this is over?" He hears Mac say to Riley.

"I will take you up on that. I don't think I'll ever get used to champagne." Jack can imagine the faces Mac and Riley both make, as they sip champagne to help blend into the ballroom.

"Is anyone invited to your after party?" Jack asks.

"If you provide the pizza," Riley replies. "I'm starving."

"Don't they have any snacks at your fancy shindig?"

"Pate and escargot," he hears the disdain in Riley's voice.

"Fancy house, all that money, and those people are eating slugs and greasy goose liver," Jack makes a face. "Not even a cocktail weanie or anything?"

"I'll pass along your displeasure at the menu options," Mac replies.

Jack sighs. "Any sign of your contact?"

"Not yet," Mac replies slowly.

Jack sits up straighter at Mac's tone. It's subtle, but he recognizes it, even over comms. "What's up, hoss? What's got your spidey sense tingling?"

"Mac?" Riley questions.

"I don't know. I've just got a bad feeling about this."

"Damn it, Mac, you know it all goes to hell after you say something like that. You guys about to get eaten by a space slug?"

"Since this isn't Star Wars, I think we can rule that one out," Mac's tone is terse.

"You wanna call it?" Jack asks. He slowly pats down his tactical vest, as if taking inventory of what is stored there. He doesn't need to. He is meticulous about his gear, but the action gives him something to do as Mac assesses the situation. He waits, ready to follow Mac's lead. He hates waiting.

"We're gonna make a quick exit," Mac says. If Mac is calling it then he expects something to go wrong. Really wrong.

"Tell me what's going on, Mac. Am I gatecrashing tonight?"

"Let's not make a scene. We're going to try to come to you."

The comms are state of the art, and Jack listens intently to the ambient noise that drifts over. He hears Mac murmur quiet directions to Riley. Soft music, and laughter of other guests. Nothing distinctive alerts him for trouble. Still, the hair on the back of his neck stands up.

There is a pop.

A series of pops.

Mac is yelling.

A loud crash and glass shattering.

Screaming in the background.

"Go!" Mac shouts.

A thud. And Riley grunts.

"Mac!" Jack shouts, already starting the van. "Riley!"

Riley smiles as she and Jack invite themselves over to Mac's for pizza and beer as soon as this op is finished.

Not on the deck tonight; the storm clouds ensure that. But Mac's living room is cozy, and his Netflix queue is extensive. Though she and Jack retain veto power, because about half that queue is documentaries. And the best part is that she can shed the formal gown for some leggings and an oversized hoodie.

She glances up at Mac, knowing that he'll be grateful to get out of the formal wear as well. But black on black is a great look for him. She only just refrains from rolling her eyes. Let's be honest, there probably isn't much that's not a great look on him.

She grimaces around another sip from the champagne flute, using the motion to hide her covert survey of the room. When she turns back to Mac his expression is unreadable. No, it's a look she's seen before, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, something about the room has changed. Mac is tense, uncomfortable, waiting.

Her eyes scan the room again quickly, but nothing immediately raises a flag. She doesn't know what he sees, but she trusts him.

Jack, with his sixth Mac sense, seems to notice even over the comms. He's asking Mac to make a call.

"We're gonna make a quick exit," Mac says finally.

Riley's heart pounds.

The rough material of Mac's suit coat brushes against her bare shoulders as he tightens his grip on her, steering her through dancing couples of the crowded room. Bright silks and taffeta swirled around them. Mac leads her towards the french doors of the veranda where they can slip outside and make their escape when his eyes land on a pair of men, just feet away. One man already reaching into his coat when his eyes lock with Mac.

Mac's hand grasps Riley's tightly, roughly pulling her away from the sudden chaos, gunshots echo through the crowded ballroom. Mac shoves her ahead of him through a doorway into a hallway. Riley hits the wall hard, ducking her head as Mac covers her body with his own. The crack of gunfire continues.

Glass shatters, screams fill the air. The sound of panic and pandemonium.

As the gunshots slow, Mac grabs Riley's hand and pulls her further down the hallway, toward the back of the house, looking for an exit.

Riley's ears ring. The chaos of the house feels distant, as if she is watching the events in a dream, the dim lighting of the hall does nothing to dissuade that notion.

Her stilettos sink into the plush carpet, and she nearly loses her balance, but Mac's arm catches her.

Between the ringing in her ears and the loud swish of her dress the rest of the noises of the house fade away.

Mac quickly pulls Riley into a room, cautiously closing the door behind them. He holds up a hand, and eases the door open to peek out again, footsteps hurry past their hiding place.

Riley lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding and leans heavily against the door.

She's vaguely aware of Jack yelling in the comms.

Mac is animatedly assessing the room, his hands waving, obviously on the brink of an idea. She's just having trouble focusing on the words either of them are saying. And Mac is moving way too quickly around the room.

Then, he's striding toward her. His gaze never falters, his face frozen.

He spins her around, lifting her arm.

It breaks her trance.

"Mac? What are you-" Riley's question breaks off in a yelp.

Mac's hand presses against her side. Hard.

"I've got blood." His voice steady, calm.

Riley twists to see what Mac is looking at. The adrenaline masked the pain, until he pressed on the wound. It burns now. She hisses, and tries to pull away. Mac's strong arms hold her steady.

She's dimly aware of Jack yelling again, but his voice is far away.

"It's a graze," Mac says. She's not sure who he is trying to reassure, her, Jack or himself.

"Come here," he gently leads her to a chair, and lowers her to sit. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to the wound.

"Riley," Mac says slowly, waiting until she looks up at him, her eyes blown wide. "It's a graze. It hurts like hell, but you're going to be fine. Slow deep breaths, okay?"

She nods but each breath still comes in short shallow burst of adrenaline and pain.

The room is spinning.

"Breathe in with me," He says, taking her hand and placing it against his chest.

She focuses on matching his breathing. "I'm okay," she says after a moment.

Mac takes her hand again, pulling it from his chest and placing it against her wound. He covers her hands with his, she notices her fingers are trembling. Or maybe his are too.

"Put pressure on this."

She's starting to shiver now. Shock.

He slides his suit coat from his shoulders and eases it over Riley's, rolling up the sleeves so she can use her hands.

Her eyes are still wide, still focused on him.

"I'm gonna get you out of here. I promise."

The first pop of Mac's flash-bang grenade and they're running out the door. Rain dumping in steady buckets.

Mac hears squealing tires on wet pavement as Jack guns the engine. The van explodes through the gate, tearing it from it's hinges. Metal catches on the underside of the van, dragged along with shrieks and sparks flying.

Mac grabs Riley's hand, pulling her along, ignoring the stitch in his side. His breath comes in short quick gaps, he can see puffs in the cold night air. His hands are frozen from just the few seconds he's been outside.

The van careens to a stop.

"Come on," Jack shouts, ready to provide cover for the retreating agents. Hopefully, Mac's distractions are enough to keep the gunmen occupied, but the crash of the gate won't be ignored for long.

Mac pulls the van door open and pushes Riley inside ahead of him. He's heaving the door closed when their escape is noticed and bullets ping off the frame. Mac flinches and ducks.

"Go, go, go, go!" Mac yells.

Jack spins the wheel and burns rubber.

"Are you alright?" Jack yells.

Mac falls hard against the side of the van, as Jack takes the winding road like a stunt driver.

"Riley!" Jack's voice sharp, he turns to look back at them.

"Eyes on the road, Jack," Mac yells, pulling himself to sit upright.

"Then answer me!"

"I'm fine, Jack. It really is just a graze. Honestly, I hardly feel it right now."

"Mac?" Jack questions.

"That's probably shock and adrenaline," Mac replies, taking Riley's wrist in his hand to count her pulse. He let Riley get shot. It was his job to protect her, to keep her safe. Jack will never trust him again. Matty will never trust him again.

"No, hoss, I'm asking about you now."

Mac is startled. "I'm fine," he says by rote. He doesn't need Jack worrying about him. He doesn't deserve Jack worrying about him, especially since he is fine. Jack should be focused on Riley.

Jack accepts his answer and turns his attention back to the road, on getting them back to the Phoenix.

Mac leans heavily against the wall of the van. Rain dripping from his hair and running down his collar. His black dress shirt is soaked. He shivers.

Riley leans her head on his shoulder. He doesn't deserve her trust.

"I should look at that dressing," he says slowly, but doesn't move, doesn't want to disturb her.

"It's fine. It's holding," Riley says, her hand coming up to rest on his chest to ensure he doesn't try to move. "I don't even think it's bleeding anymore."

"I'm sorry, Riles."

"If it weren't for you, I'd probably still be in there. I wouldn't have noticed what was going on in time," she says.

But Mac still feels guilty. "I wish I had noticed sooner. I wish I could have kept you from getting hurt."

"Oh, come on Mac, you threw yourself over me, to protect me. There isn't anything more you could have done."

Jack makes quick work of getting them back to the Phoenix.

Despite Jack's attempts, Riley insists on walking down to medical under her own power. He's about to follow Riley into the exam room when Reese, a phoenix medic stops him.

"Where do you think you're going?" She asks, barring the door.

"My teammate was shot."

"And were you injured as well?"

"No," Jack says, not liking where this is going.

"Then you'll have to stay out here," Reese says, drawing her petite frame up to it's full five foot, two inch height. She's former Navy. She's stared down scarier men than Jack Dalton.

"I always go in with Mac," Jack protests.

Reese makes a show of glancing behind her to identify the room's occupant. "That's Riley," she gestures with her thumb over her shoulder.

"She's my team. I go in with my team."

"Oh, I am very aware that you think so. Poor Mac gets zero privacy when he's our guest. It's too late to curb your bad manners with him, but we're gonna do our best to give Riley a fighting chance at some privacy." She points down the hall. "I know you've never used it, but the waiting room is back there. Crappy coffee and old magazines. You'll love it." She firmly shuts the door in his face.

Jack thinks for just a minute about barging in, but he's seen Reese in action. Not that she could take him in a fight, but she would definitely fight dirty.

It's a tactical retreat back to the waiting room. Reese lets him break quite a few rules, best to keep on her good side. The room is empty except for Mac. He's huddled in one of the chairs. His hair wet, hanging limply across his face. The few minutes he spent in the down pour running to the van left him soaked to the skin.

He's shivering and a little pale. His big blue eyes filled with guilt when they meet Jack's gaze.

Jack drops into the chair next to him, clapping a hand on Mac's shoulder. "You did good. You got her out of there. She'll be okay."

"I didn't think she got hit. I tried to keep her covered. I just, I didn't even see it happen."

Jack can see it's time to do some damage control. "It's not your fault she was hit."

"I was supposed to protect her!"

"Yeah, I get it. But it's a dangerous job. Stuff happens."

"You're taking this surprisingly well," Mac glances at his partner.

"Am I upset that Riley was shot? Hell yeah," Jack sees the pain flash in Mac's eyes and quickly continues. "I'd hoped that maybe she'd go her whole career without feeling the burn of a bullet. But like I said, it's a dangerous job. And I'm definitely not upset with you."

"You should be." Mac's eyes are on the floor, his voice quiet.

"What are you talking about? You got some sort of head injury?"

"It was my job to keep her safe. I was her partner."

"How many times have you gotten hurt under my watch?"

"That's not-"

"How many times?" '

Mac shakes his head. "That's different," he insists.

"Why?"

"Because it's Riley. Because you trusted me to keep her safe. And I failed."

"You trust me to keep you safe," Jack says. "Do you blame me when you're hurt?"

Mac shakes his head again.

"If it had been me in the house, and you in the van, would you blame me for Riley being hurt?"

"No," Mac replies slowly.

"Even you can't stop a bullet, Mac," Jack says. His hand tightens on Mac's shoulders. He let's Mac digest the words.

Mac gives him a small half smile. "I guess I have a new appreciation for your job now."

"About time you give me a little credit. Maybe you'll take it easy on an old man and stop throwing yourself head first into danger."

This pulls a full smile to Mac's face. "I can't promise that." He can't stop the full body shiver that rattles him.

Jack stands up, his hand brushing droplets of water out of Mac's hair. "Come on, let's get you into some dry clothes."

Riley reclines against the gurney, resting her eyes. She feels like, finally, the world is slowing back down to normal speed.

She is acutely aware of the graze. It doesn't hurt, at least for now. The area numbed to allow cleaning and stitching, but that is almost worse. She can feel the stitches tug when she shifts position but otherwise it is like a gap where a small area of her body is just gone. It makes her move gingerly, waiting for the moment the lidocaine wears off and the burning comes back.

The ride back to the Phoenix was a blur. Jack yelling. Her head resting on Mac's shoulder. His hand holding pressure to her side. She feels like she was watching this happen to someone else.

She cracks an eye open and peeks at the IV snaking it's way into her arm. A dose of IV antibiotics, and she estimates another ten minutes on the IV. A prescription for oral to take home with her, and also an analgesic. Then home for pizza. Mac's home. Semantics. It's home.

She's not going to let Jack try to bully her into skipping pizza and going home, to her home, to rest. She was promised pizza after this op. She deserves pizza. She knows they will definitely not let her have one of the promised beers, even though she's watched Mac and Jack break those rules a number of times after a mission and subsequent trip to medical.

Since it's her first real injury in the line of duty she'll follow directions. This time.

While she is acutely aware of the graze, and wonders if she'll ever stop thinking about it, she hopes the guys don't make a big deal about it. She doesn't actually want to talk about it, at least right now. She doesn't want this to change anything for future missions. She doesn't need them worrying about her. Doesn't need them second guessing themselves in the field because they want to keep her safe.

"How are you doing?" Reese asks popping her head through the door, interrupting Riley's thoughts.

"Great," Riley answers. "When can I get out of here?"

Reese smiles. "Wow, you fit in amazingly well with Team Improvise."

Riley smiles back.

"As soon as the antibiotics are finished, you can bounce," she says. She holds up the dress Riley was wearing. Between rain, blood and the bullet hole it's pretty well destroyed. "It's a shame, this is gorgeous. Great color on you."

"Yeah, I really liked that one," Riley says.

"Maybe they can save it. I'll make sure it's gets down to wardrobe. The jacket's definitely salvageable though." Reese says, holding up Mac's suit coat. Her finger poking through a hole on the flank. "Probably only needs a few more stitches than you got."

Riley frowned. "I wasn't wearing that when I was hit. Mac didn't give it to me until after."

Realization dawns and Reese is already bolting from the room.

Mac is cold. Through sheer willpower he's keeping his teeth from chattering, but he can't keep the shivers from rolling over him. He can't wait to get into dry clothes.

He's absentmindedly paying attention to Jack's steady stream of one sided conversation. He's having trouble following it. Jack doesn't seem to mind his lack of response though, so he's not going to worry about it.

Mac stands in front of his locker, unbuttoning his dark shirt. It's still soaked through. He peels the damp material from his goosebumpy skin.

He can still feel drops of rain running down his side.

He swipes at it. It's warm.

He glances down to figure out what's still dripping.

He's surprised that it's red.

He frowns. He didn't think Riley was bleeding enough for it to get on his clothes.

The water is still running down his side. Not just down his side. It's coming out of his side.

Another swipe, another streak of blood.

His brain is having trouble processing the information. He must be colder than he thought.

"Hey, Jack," Mac says, slowly turning toward his partner sitting on the bench in front of the lockers.

"What's up, hoss?"

Mac holds out his hand, tacky with blood.

Jack is at his side before Mac even saw him move. Which is good, because suddenly Mac's legs don't want to support him.

Jack is lowering him onto the bench. His hand pressed tight against the graze on Mac's side.

The door to the locker room bangs opened, startling both men.

Mac is impressed that Jack is able to summon a medical team with his mind.

"Told you you couldn't stop a bullet," Jack mutters, trying to corral his two younger team mates into Mac's house. "Park it." He says, it's just short of a growl, as he gestures toward the couch. "Herding a litter of puppies would be easier than you two."

Riley sinks gratefully onto the couch.

Mac looks reluctant for a moment, then follows Riley's lead.

"You sure you guys wouldn't rather just call it a night?" Jack asks, concern written on his face.

"I was promised pizza," Riley says curling up on the couch, ignoring the pull of stitches. The lidocaine has definitely worn off now. "You're not getting out of paying just because we got shot."

"I think we need some breadsticks too," Mac says, handing Riley a blanket, and pulling a second over himself.

"Alright," Jack agrees, secretly pleased that they want to stick close. He feels better knowing that he'll be able to keep a close eye on both of them. He's also pleased that they're both up for eating. It doesn't take much to put off Mac's appetite and an injury is usually a sure bet that Jack will be coaxing food into his partner.

"Pizza, breadsticks, anything else?"

"A beer?" Mac asks hopefully.

"Ha ha. You're funny," Jack says heading for the kitchen to grab the number for their favorite pizza place.

After ordering, he escapes down the hall and locks himself in the bathroom. Once safely out of earshot, Jack allows himself a moment.

He scrubs his hands under a stream of scalding water. Even though he scrubbed his hands several times at the Phoenix, blood still clings to his cuticles and under his nail beds. Pink-tinged droplets splash against the sink. He's tired of washing team mates blood off his hands. They were lucky. They were so lucky tonight. In his line of work, almost doesn't count. It doesn't pay to worry about what might have been, but tonight that advice is harder to follow than usual. It's always hard to follow when one of his team is injured.

Everybody is getting body armor for Christmas this year, he decides, no exceptions.

He splashes some water on his face.

"Hey, Jack," he hears Mac call. "Pizza's here."

He must have been in here longer than he thought.

One more splash of water on his face. One more deep breath before he opens the door.

"Thought I told you two to stay parked on the couch," Jack grouses when he enters the kitchen and sees both Riley and Mac standing at the counter eating.

"Someone had to answer the door for the pizza guy," Riley says, licking sauce off her fingers.

"You'll try anything to get out of opening your wallet," Mac teases.

They look... fine. They look healthy. No one would know an hour ago they were in medical. It looks like a typical Friday night.

Jack gives himself a little shake. He heads for the cabinet, returning a moment later with a glass of water for each of them, and a white bag from the pharmacy. He pulls out a few orange pill bottles, reading the labels.

Mac makes a face as Jack grabs his hand and shakes a pill from two bottles into his palm. Then repeats the action with Riley.

"I don't really need the pain meds," Mac protests.

"Here's how tonight's gonna go, hoss. We're gonna eat some pizza. You're gonna swallow those meds. Then you and Riley are going to drowse in front of the TV for an hour or two before you go to bed and Riley takes the guest room. I just realized I'm not quite ready to let either of you get out of earshot tonight."

"Jack..." Mac begins.

"Swallow them."

Mac and Riley exchanged glances then obey the order.

Between the pills, and stomachs full of pizza, and the after effects of an adrenaline crash, neither of them make it through the prologue of Lord of the Rings. Jack can't help but smile as he rousts them from the couch and sends them to bed. Mac's hair already sleep mussed and Riley rubbing tired eyes.

He makes up the couch for himself, but sleep doesn't come as easily for him. His mind too busy reliving being on the other side of comms when things went bad. The race back to the Phoenix, and Mac nearly passing out in his arms. He doesn't know what he would do if something happened to either of his kids.

He can't help but smile at that thought.

His kids.

He pads through the house to check on them one more time. Once he's reassured that they're both sleeping peacefully, he finally surrenders to slumber as well.