Written bc there's no way that MacGyver just walked away from that train fight with no repercussions. Also, shoutout to TinkerBella7, bc their fics make me want to write more MacGyver fics, which makes me happy.

After Jack dropped Riley off at her house he began to head towards MacGyver's house. When had he become the chauffeur for the rest of the team? Probably around the same time MacGyver first drove me somewhere, he thought. That had been a terrifying experience, and not one he was anxious to relive. Jack preferred to be the one with his hands on the wheel rather than trusting people over ten years younger than him.

Jack's passenger shifted in his seat, muttering under his breath, before falling back into a deep sleep. Jack glanced over at the sleeping man, biting back a grin at the sight that greeted him. MacGyver's head was resting partially on the seat belt, partially against the window. The kid was obviously exhausted.

Another twenty minutes and they had arrived at their destination. Jack reached over to wake his friend, shaking his shoulder lightly. True to nature, MacGyver shot up in his seat and then-just as quickly-slouched down in it with a breathless yelp of pain.

Jack frowned.

He reached over to pull MacGyver's shirt up to take a peek at his ribs-the only thing he could think of that would cause such a reaction. However, MacGyver batted Jack's hand away before he could grab the hem of the shirt. The younger man turned to pull the handle to open the door of the car as he breathed out a rushed, "I'm fine, thanks for the ride, see you later," and attempted to make his escape from his worried friend.

Jack rolled his eyes as he grasped the collar of the blond's shirt and hauled the kid back into the car. "Not so fast there, buddy. What's up with you?"

He felt a twinge of guilt as MacGyver winced, the sudden change in direction obviously aggravating some injury, but pushed it down. He wasn't going to be able to help MacGyver if the kid was gone. He added, when no response was forthcoming, "Well?"

MacGyver sighed huffily as he sank back down in his seat, striving to find a more comfortable position."Nothing. I just got into a fight with those guys on the train, and they got some good hits in. I'm just a little sore, it's no big deal."

Jack frowned. After years of dealing with MacGyver's aversion to being given both help and attention, he knew how to read between the lines. "And I guess that's why you look like you're in pain every time you move? Because someone got in a few good hits?"

MacGyver picked at the edge of the seat for a moment without replying, then said, "I can take care of it myself."

Jack scrubbed his hands over his face roughly in frustration. "Oh, yeah, sure. And what are you gonna tell Bozer, huh? That one of the ideas you pitched to the think tank was so dumb you got beat up for it?"

MacGyver slumped even lower in his seat, looking every bit a sullen teenager. He wasn't actually that much older than one, Jack realized with a sigh. He was brought out of his thoughts quickly, however, when MacGyver made a quick movement towards the door of the car.

Jack simply reached out and hauled him back towards the center of the car. MacGyver finally turned to face him, a furious look on his face. "Would you just leave me alone? I said that I was fine, and I meant it!"

Jack released the kid's shirt collar to angrily slam his hands down on the dashboard of the car. The younger man flinched at the sudden movement and the noise that accompanied it, then stilled. He knew how frustrated Jack could get. Jack took a calming breath. "Look, kid. I'm not gonna let you go in there and try to take care of yourself. You're not fine, and you need to quit being so stubborn about it!"

The blond finally slumped down in the seat at an angle that couldn't be good for his spine, with a resigned, "Fine."

Jack nodded to himself, satisfied with his victory, and turned the car back on. As he started to drive towards his house, Angus turned his face towards the window in what could only be described as a massive pout. Jack snorted mentally. Real mature, kid. Real mature.

After a short fifteen minutes they arrived at Jack's house. It was a small, two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom affair, but it was the perfect size for a bachelor such as Jack.

Also, a smaller house meant less cleaning, which was something that Jack tended to look for in a house.

The car was parked in the driveway, and MacGyver silently shuffled along, trailing after Jack as the older man found the key he had hidden under a rock in the garden and unlocked the door. "Home sweet home. Go sit on the couch, buddy."

MacGyver, still slouched in a way that looked extremely uncomfortable and only served to make Jack more sure than ever that the kid had done something to his ribs, sat on the couch.

Jack grabbed the first aid kit that he kept in his kitchen and then headed to the living room to be greeted by the sight of his friend leaning against the armrest of the couch and looking like he was in serious pain. The older man winced in sympathy, then approached Angus. He sat on the ottoman and rested the first aid kit next to him. "Alright, shirt off."

MacGyver scowled, then went to obey him. However, as the blond attempted to lift his arms over his head, he hissed in pain and dropped his arms to his sides, now looking too miserable to be angry. Jack huffed a small sigh. "Here, let me help."

He helped MacGyver to awkwardly shimmy out of his shirt. The blue fabric was dropped to the side, forgotten for the moment. Jack sucked in a breath as he took in his friend's severely bruised torso. "Crap, kid, what happened?"

MacGyver looked down at himself, about to poke one of the bruises, but Jack grabbed his hands before he could follow through with that extremely stupid idea. The older man leaned forward to press lightly on the areas around the bruises. The kid hissed sharply, trying to squirm away from Jack's gentle but firm touch, but only succeeding in causing himself more pain. Jack sighed as he finally let go. "Well, two things. One, you need to eat more," he gestured to his friend's skinny torso, his ribs a little more visible than was healthy. "And two, your ribs are cracked. What happened?"

MacGyver looked miserable, as well as a little cold. "Those thugs had steel-toed boots."

Jack cursed. "Okay, look. Life lesson here, since obviously no one taught you this when you were young. Well, younger."

MacGyver frowned at the poke about his age, but seemed too exhausted to actually protest. Jack pushed on. "If you get hurt like this, you need to tell someone. Got it?"

MacGyver hesitated a moment before nodding. "Okay."

Jack clapped his hands on his knees, then turned to the first aid kit. "Good. Well, I can't wrap your ribs, because of pneumonia risks and whatnot, but I can give you some painkillers. Here."

He handed a few pills to MacGyver, who swallowed them dry. The older man ran his eyes over his increasingly more exhausted looking friend and leaned down to pick up the kid's shirt from the floor, only to find a few blood stains on it. He sighed, then turned to stand up. Angus made a protesting hum at the thought of being left alone, and Jack allowed a smile to grow on his face. "Don't worry, kid, I'll be right back. I'm just gonna grab you a shirt."

True to his word, he was back in a few minutes with an old shirt of his. When he helped the blond into the shirt, he had to hold back a laugh. The kid was swimming in the material; Jack was much broader and more muscular than MacGyver.

It looked pretty cute, he had to admit. As did the glare that he was being given for laughing at the blond. Jack noted, however, that the kid's eyes were drooping, and he helped his friend off the couch. "C'mon. You can stay with me for a few days while you heal. The guest bedroom is still set up from last time you stayed here."

As he led his friend towards his spare bedroom, Jack took comfort in the warm weight against his side. There had been a few times during the mission-right after the train had stopped, especially-that he hadn't been sure if his friend was alive. And, though he might not like a hurt Angus, it was better than a dead Angus