All Part of the Service

by Objessions

For fanoftheboyz - She was hoping for some shoulder surgery related loopy Mac/protective Jack bromance/fluff. Who can resist that? Anyhow, I hope this delivers. This is a little bridge one shot between For My Next Trick and the spy school story I'm planning to write, tentatively titled What Remains. As always, I own nothing, but I am having a hell of a good time.

A/N - For fanoftheboyz - She was hoping for some shoulder surgery related loopy Mac/protective Jack bromance/fluff. Who can resist that? Anyhow, I hope this delivers.

This is a little bridge one shot between For My Next Trick and the spy school story I'm planning to write, tentatively titled What Remains. As always, I own nothing, but I am having a hell of a good time. ~ J

When Jack pulled into the driveway at Mac's the sun wasn't all the way up yet, but Mac was already outside, waiting. If Jack had to guess, he'd have said Mac had been up for a while, if he'd slept at all, and had probably gone for a run in the dark this morning.

Mac's shower-damp messy hair, combined with an oversized light grey MIT hoodie and dark blue sweatpants, not to mention slip on sneakers the kid had stopped and bought on the way home yesterday, and a sling that was sort of crooked and bunching up the hood of his sweatshirt under the strap, all conspired to make him look very young.

Hell, he was very young, Jack thought to himself. The kid had just crammed in an awful lot of living into twenty-three years. And he looked about as happy to be up and facing the day as Jack had expected to find him.

Jack turned the key to kill the engine, and Mac came over and pulled open the passenger door. "Morning, Jack," he said, sliding into the seat and pulling the door closed.

"Hey, kid. You didn't have to wait around out here in the almost dark for me, you know."

"I didn't want you to have to come looking for me. Crutches are a pain."

"I appreciate the thought." He paused. "Um, do you have a bag or anything, Mac?"

"What for? I'll be home by dinner at the latest." Mac frowned and Jack didn't even think he was aware of his expression.

"If everything goes okay, yeah, but if it doesn't, you might want … you know, possibly … an overnight bag. Or at least bring some stuff to to in case you get bored waiting around."

"It's shoulder surgery, I don't need extra stuff. I won't be there long enough to get bored either. Besides, just in case Boze is still here when I get home this afternoon I don't want to have to explain a bag. Since it won't be necessary anyway."

The tone told Jack that his friend was not in the mood to discuss the possibility of anything other than being home in his own bed tonight. And realistically he probably would be. Jack decided the best course would be to just agree with Mac now and if anything came up, he could come get anything Mac needed later.

"I'm sure you're right, bud. I just usually go into stuff like this packed for the zombie apocalypse."

Mac flashed a little grin as he fastened his seatbelt. "Got my Swiss Army knife in my pocket. I'm apocalypse proof already."

Jack chuckled. "Yeah, you probably are." He turned the car back on. "So … you remember the whole nothing to eat or drink after midnight thing?"

Mac gave him the look. "Obviously," he said sounding a little annoyed.

"Even after your run?" Jack asked innocently.

Mac laughed a little ruefully. "Yes, even after my run. Jesus," he shook his head. "I'd ask how you even know stuff like that, but I'm sure you'd just say …"

"My spidey senses were tingling?"

"Yeah, that."

After that Mac got quiet, fidgeting absently with one of the random loops on his sling. Jack glanced at him a few times but didn't try to start a conversation. After about ten minutes Mac sighed heavily.

"You okay?" Jack asked, figuring Mac could read that as a simple yes or no if he didn't want to talk or as an invitation to share what he was thinking. Mac was always more likely to talk if he didn't feel you were pressuring him.

Mac looked at him with half a smile. "Yeah. Just thinking that it's always a little weird when there's not much traffic out here and you realize LA is a normal sized city and not the overpopulated country it feels like at rush hour. We're already halfway there and I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing this morning."

"Nervous?"

Mac raised an eyebrow at him. "No," he said simply, then realizing how totally unconvincing he sounded, he amended, "Not really. Just not looking forward to it."

"I'd think you were crazy if you were, kid."

"Based on how I got here, maybe I am crazy," he said with another sigh.

"Nah, you're not crazy, bud. Just brave as a honey badger and maybe a little reckless. But not crazy. Believe you me, Jack Dalton knows crazy."

Mac's smile became a little more fully realized. "I've noticed. Especially when Jack Dalton starts talking about himself in the third person." He smirked momentarily, then thought about things for a minute. "I'm sorry you're gonna be stuck waiting around and chauffeuring me all day."

"No trouble at all, kid. I'd do it just because we're friends. But now that you're coming on at DXS, I'm also officially your bodyguard guard, so it's kind of part of the job."

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?

"Bodyguard. It sounds … I don't know … just … don't call it that. I'm not some rich kid, famous guy, or politician. Say Overwatch like you used to … or …"

"Personal security?"

"Security. Okay, that's a little better, I guess."

"I still like bodyguard. You know, cause of that movie with …"

"I swear to God, Jack if you start singing Whitney Houston, I will absolutely …"

"Aaaaannnndddd I-ay-ay-ay-ay will always …" Jack began, off key and at the top of his lungs.

Mac reached across his body with his free hand and punched Jack in the arm. "Quit it. Jackass."

Jack laughed, pleased that Mac looked a little less wound up, a fraction more out of his own head.

Mac managed a little small talk after that. Mostly they argued about the game of Madden they'd played last night and then discussed their real world teams chances for playing half as well as they had in their game. It was a pleasant distraction, Mac realized. Much nicer than listening to his looping obstinate thoughts.

When they got to the small private hospital DXS had arranged for Dr. Rawson to perform the surgery, Mac was temporarily busy with paperwork which caused enough eyerolls that Jack really didn't want to tell the kid about the amount of forms and reports being an agent for DXS came with.

Mac didn't manage to sit for more than two minutes in the waiting room. He paced around, mostly eyeing the water fountain with longing. When the nurse came to take him back to the surgical holding area, Mac asked Jack to hold his wallet and phone.

"Sure, kid. Want me to hang onto your pocket knife, too?"

He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and needing to be brushed aside. "That's okay. I'll keep it with my other stuff."

Jack noted the way Mac didn't quite make eye contact. "You carry that thing as a good luck charm."

Mac rolled his eyes. "There's no such thing as luck, Jack."

"Okay. Okay, sure. Then since it's one of your valuables, why don'tcha leave it with me?"

Mac flushed. "No. Shut up. Jackass." Then he laughed, mostly at himself. "I feel better when I have it. Not because it's lucky though."

The tone was defensive and Mac knew it, but at the moment he couldn't be bothered to care.

Sissy often recommended external objects as a focus for dealing with troubling emotions. Maybe the kid picked it up from her. Or maybe he'd started believing in luck, he just wasn't ready to admit it. "Alright, kid. I'll believe in luck for both of us and I'm countin' on yours bein' all good today."

"Thanks, Jack."

Mac turned to follow the nurse. She offered, "You can have a family member back there with you, you know."

Mac glanced between her and Jack. Instead of correcting her that Jack was a friend, not a family member, Mac just shrugged, wincing when for about the millionth time he did so with both shoulders. "That's okay. Those crutches are a pain for him to get around on." He forced a smile then, "Catch you on the flip side, old man."

Jack tipped a wink and gave a reassuring nod. "I'll be here, kid."

Jack watched them walk away and chuckled when before they turned the corner she Mr.-Macgyver'd the kid for about the fifth time and he heard Mac snap, "It's just Mac. Maybe write it in my chart or something." They rounded the corner but Jack heard Mac add. "Sorry, I didn't sleep much." Then he heard the nurse apologize for forgetting his preference to begin with and assure him she didn't take him being a little grumpy personally. He was the one here for surgery who'd been denied coffee and breakfast.

The kid was definitely more wound than he was admitting, Jack thought.

His suspicions were confirmed about twenty minutes later when the same nurse reappeared. "Mr. Dalton?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Everything okay?"

She smiled her reassurance at the look of frank concern on his face. "He's fine, sir. But he has changed his mind about not wanting a family member to sit with him. He said only if you wanted to though."

Jack was up and had his crutches positioned before she finished speaking. "Lead the way," Jack said, already half a step in front of her.

When she drew aside the curtain on the small cubicle where Mac was waiting, Jack thought Mac was asleep. "You guys give him something already?"

She nodded. "He was very anxious, although he was loathe to admit it. He should be dozy and relaxed now. If he asks, I'll be in shortly to take him to the OR."

Jack sat down next to the gurney, trying to do so quietly but one of his crutches clattered to the floor. As he was picking it up, Mac managed to peel his eyes open. "Hey," he said quietly. "What're you doing in here?"

"I heard you said you didn't want to sit here alone."

"Did I? Hmmmm," he murmured.

"How you doin'?"

Mac blinked slowly. "Feel sleepy. Maybe kinda drunk-ish. And like I wanna go home."

"I know you do." Jack wondered vaguely if Mac was medicated enough for a little unvarnished honesty. "You are always in a tare to get out of these places. And I know it isn't cause you're a big chicken like your ole buddy Jack. So why is it, Mac?"

Mac's eyes looked heavy and when he blinked slowly again Jack thought maybe they were going to stay closed, but he managed to get them open again to answer Jack. "I hate these places."

"I know, kid. I think everybody does a little. But not everybody stages daring escapes from them for no reason." He smiled fondly at the owlish annoyed expression on Mac's face.

"I had reason … reasons, I mean. I wanted to help you get Zack home."

"How about when you bailed from the infirmary when we got back to LA? Did you have reasons then?"

"Yeah … no … I don't know …"

"You started to tell me once …"

Mac's eyes closed again. After a minute, he said sleepily, "I spent too much time in the hospital when I was little. With my mom, I mean. I'd stay and sleep next to her sometimes. They tried to stop me but I'd sneak out of my house and walk all the way there … It made my dad furious and scared my Gramps something awful … but I think … um … I think …" he trailed off.

"What do you think, bud?" Jack asked quietly.

"It made her happy. But then, in the end, they wouldn't let me stay no matter what I said or did. My dad … She … I couldn't … And she was alone when …" There was a catch in his voice then, but he was just dopey enough that the slip of emotion didn't just shut him up like it normally would have. "I think of that whenever I'm … That's why I hate it, I guess."

Jack reached out and patted Mac's arm. "Well, kid, you're not alone. And you never will be. You hear?"

"Mmmm."

The nurse was back a couple of minutes later. Jack listened to Mac drowsily answer her questions. As she started to wheel him away, Jack patted his arm again. "I'll be right here, Mac."

When they disappeared into the elevator, Jack got out his phone.

"Hey, Patty. I need a favor."

0-0-0

Mac slowly became aware of soft noises around him. There was faint beeping. Is that the alarm clock? he wondered. No, too slow. What the hell is that?

After a little more time he felt something trailing across his face. He moved to brush it away, but something prevented him from raising his hand. Then he remembered he was supposed to be trying not to use his left hand anyway. He thought hard for a minute. But it doesn't hurt … Why doesn't it ..?

Another couple of minutes and it slowly started to come back to him. The room felt spinny and he was vaguely nauseous, afraid to move lest either sensation get worse.

This was waking up from anesthesia.

Ugh. God, he hated that feeling. He'd only experienced it a couple of times, but in his opinion once was one time too many.

As he started to become more fully conscious, he realized the sounds were the monitors they left on you until you were really awake, the odd itchy sensation on his face was probably oxygen, and undoubtedly his shoulder didn't hurt because it was numb from the nerve blocks his surgeon had told him about before he'd been too dopey to care.

He mentally prepared to get his eyes open and deal with the post-surgical recovery room bs, which was at least as annoying as the pre-surgery stuff … no, actually, it was worse. Mostly because if you were awake again you were in your way toward the door and every question they asked or milestone they expected you to meet was like a hurdle you had to leap over. At the end of the race. When you could see the damned finish line, but your legs were tired and your lungs were burning and all you wanted was to cross it and get your bottle of water and your damned free banana but someone kept putting things in your way.

Mac finally pried his eyes open, first taking in the clock on the wall and blinking several times to get it to come into focus. Three hours since he'd last checked the time. A little longer than he was expecting, but it wasn't bad, he figured. Those times they gave you were always an estimate anyway. And Mac was convinced it was always on the side of optimistic to make you feel better about it.

Then he looked around for the monitor he could hear. Hmmm. That's low, he thought, looking at his heart rate. Then again, his resting pulse was usually decently low, thanks to all the running he did. It had just been stupidly high when the nurse took it when he got here. No surprises there really.

His shoulder was packed in so many bandages and whatever it looked like he had on half a set of football pads. He tried moving it again, but still couldn't get it to cooperate beyond wiggling his fingers. His other hand was cooperating again though.

Good.

He reached up and pulled the oxygen tubing off his face. He startled just a little when an unexpected but altogether welcome voice said, "Hey, bud, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to wait and let the nurse do that. And they said you'd still be out for a bit."

"Jack," he rasped. His voice was barely audible. He cleared his throat with some minor difficulty and tried again. "What're you doing here? They said they'd go get you after I was awake." He still sounded terribly hoarse, but at least he was loud enough to really be heard this time.

"Advantages of having Patricia Thornton for a boss, kid. I told you I'd be here, that you wouldn't be alone. Patty made it happen. She's a good boss, kid, even if she seems a little frosty. You know I'll always look out for you. Now you've got people at DXS who will too."

Mac had the sudden, overwhelming, and inexplicable urge to cry. He blinked quickly to keep it from happening. "Water?" he asked, pleased this time that he already sounded rotten so there was no chance his emotions could be heard in his voice.

"Lemme get the nurse, kid. Be right back."

Jack disappeared out of the small curtained cubicle. It gave Mac a minute to get on top of his feelings. It was very similar to the way he'd felt that day at the FOB when Jack had climbed into the Humvee beside him and said he'd signed on for another hitch to continue being his Overwatch. Mac was used to people leaving. Someone who came back, who kept promises, well, it was as unfamiliar and unsettling as it was warm and welcome. The idea that there could be multiple someones who gave a damn overwhelmed him.

He smiled to himself a little, remembering bits and pieces of Jack sitting with him earlier. He couldn't remember what they'd talked about, but he did remember the sort of concerned sympathetic smile Jack had given him as they'd wheeled him off for surgery.

He knew he'd been pretty out of it. When the anesthesiologist had come along and said he was going to give Mac something to help him relax, he'd argued about it. The guy said it wouldn't knock him out or anything, but it would reduce his distress a bit. Mac figured either the doctor hadn't been entirely honest, or he'd just been tired enough from his sleepless night that whatever it was … and he couldn't remember that either, although he did remember asking … hit him hard.

He should have expected Jack to be here when he woke up. That was totally … Jack.

When Jack came back with the nurse, Maria, he remembered her name a split second before her name tag came into focus, Mac was treated to an almost maternal lecture about taking off the oxygen, although she conceded that his numbers were reasonably good. He said he noticed his heart rate was low for him, and she told him it was probably because of the amount of anesthesia it had taken to keep him under. He'd 'surfaced' several times.

"I appreciate not waking up in the middle of it," he said, really meaning it. "I don't need to put the oxygen back on do I?"

"Not at the moment." She adjusted the bed for him so he was sitting up a bit, then went through the usual routine, asking him questions he could only about half focus on. Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't dying, she offered to get him a drink and ran through his options.

"Cranberry juice, please," he nearly whispered, then frowned. "Damn," he said more to himself than anything.

"The nerve blocks may make you hoarse for a little while. Your chest might feel tight off and on, too."

"It doesn't."

"It can make breathing a little difficult."

"My breathing feels fine."

She smiled at his defensive tone. "That can come and go for several hours. We'll just keep an eye on you in case you do need the oxygen again for a little bit, Okay?"

"I guess. How long … I mean when can I get out of here?"

"That's a question for Dr. Rawson. I'm sure she'll be in to see you shortly. It's not usually too long after a procedure like this so long as your pain is under control when the nerve blocks wear off." She didn't miss his frown, but she also saw how heavy his eyes still looked. "I'll go get your juice, Mac. If you don't have any trouble swallowing that, I can get you a little something to eat, too."

He smiled when she remembered not to call him Angus or Mr. Macgyver. "Thanks."

Jack took some pleasure in filling Mac in on how frequently Patty had texted to check on Mac's condition and the way the hospital staff had snapped to when Thornton had called and told them Jack was to be allowed immediately into the recovery area. He was amused by Mac's expressions as he described things. The kid was trying so hard to focus and pay attention, but he was clearly too sleepy.

The second the nurse came back he looked more alert though, and took the juice with quick thank you before draining the whole cup in less than thirty seconds.

"Pretty thirsty, huh?" she asked when he was about halfway through. He nodded absently and just downed the rest of the juice. "You might want to slow down a little bit, honey."

Mac shook his head. "What's next?"

He ignored Jack, who was quietly laughing. At him. He was pretty sure it was at him.

Maria said, "Pardon?"

"You know, next. Like I know you have this list of stuff I have to do before I can leave. And I'm up so I figured I might as well get things going."

"Start by talking with Dr. Rawson. That's item number one. I'll help you get through the rest after that," she said gently.

Mac looked a little sheepish. "Okay, thanks. Um … but I'm supposed to eat, right? That's on your list." He gave a charming tilt of his head and put on an expression that all but shouted, 'How can you say no to this face?'

She had to laugh. "It's unofficially on my unofficial list. Toast?"

"Yes, please."

"More juice?"

"Thanks."

"What?" Mac asked Jack as she left.

Jack's grin spread. "You … you know what? I think you're secretly a player."

"Huh?" Mac was genuinely confused.

"You come off as a little reserved, maybe even shy. But you get a little medicated or a little drunk and suddenly you get all charming with everybody and … If you loosened up a little … Why you lookin' at me like that?"

Mac just shook his head. "Just don't say what you were going to say." Jack snickered. "I wasn't flirting."

"I didn't say you were. Just kinda interesting how smooth you can be when you chill a little. That's gonna be a good skill on the job if you can figure it out."

Mac grinned and shook his head. Once again Mac was distracted from his own uncomfortable memories and thoughts. But only for a minute. He was awake, he didn't hurt, and his ride home was sitting right here. Mac squinted at the clock again. "Is that right?" He felt like he'd been awake for hours, but only a short while had ticked off the clock.

Jack checked his watch. "Looks like." Mac sighed, and peeled the top off his cup and sucked on a piece of ice. Then he started crunching on it; a habit Mac occasionally indulged in when he was sick or stressed. Jack made his most reassuring face. Everything had gone well. Nothing was going to keep him here too long. "You'll be outta here in no time, kid."

Mac yawned and it was clear he was still a little foggy. "I hope so. I wanna go to bed. Mine, I mean."

"We'll getcha there."

0-0-0

No time turned into quite a number of hours. Mac dozed off several times which slowed down his relentless pursuit of the promised discharge.

Once the anesthesia wore off enough that he could force himself to stay awake, the nerve blocks started to wear off. At first it was just a twinge, then a few minutes later, heat. After that it felt like someone was drilling into his shoulder again. But maybe with a blow torch.

Actually, he thought, if he hadn't escaped when he did, that would probably have been Zahir's next move. That idea set him shivering and it took him a full five minutes to make himself stop. Fortunately, Jack had stepped out to take a phone call and the nurse was busy with another patient, so he didn't have to explain himself.

He tried to ignore it, but as good as he was at concealing his feelings behind a neutral expression, he couldn't conceal the flush the pain caused or the beads of sweat that sprang out on his face. There was no amount of teeth gritting or deep breathing that would let him ignore it.

Maria summoned Dr. Rawson at his first tight assurance that his pain was there but manageable. "Rate it again for me, please?"

"Three?" he managed in a convincingly normal voice, but then suppressed a sneeze caused by the dry air and made in incoherent sound that Jack was pretty certain might have been one of his favorite four letter words but which he rarely heard Mac use.

"I'll let the doctor know you might need to revisit your pain management plan."

"I'm good."

Jack jumped in then. "Now kid, I don't know this nice lady all that well so I can't say for certain, and she may have been born at night, but I'd bet a year's pay it wasn't last night, if you get me."

Mac attempted a glare but his eyes were clouded with both screaming nerves, fatigue, and his unspoken, racing thoughts. He also had noticed Jack was more prone to calling him kid when he was worried. Knowing there wasn't anything for it, and stubborn or not, that he couldn't go home a cope with this on his own, he just sighed, "Fine."

The result was Mac being moved to an actual room while they figured out how to get on top of it for him with medication he could, and was willing, to tolerate.

At first he was too miserable to argue much. After an hour or two and some fractional relief accompanied by an evolving plan, he started to get impatient. Jack got calls about something for DXS several times and went outside to talk, and the more Mac was on his own, the more the walls started closing in. Being told he wasn't "allowed to leave" didn't help matters.

The medication was making him drowsy and sleep was an attractive alternative to the sights, sounds, and smells around him that always, no matter what mental gymnastics he tried, always caused a flood of memories about his mother, that made him feel about six years old if he didn't keep his guard up.

Lately he felt relentlessly pursued by the events and experiences from his past, both recent and distant. The third time he dozed off, those things caught up with him again in his dreams. And it was so vivid, so real, it was like a perfect trap, set to snare his mind and push him past rationality.

He walked down the hall alone.

Everyone was so tall. They all looked the same to him. Legs clad in dark blue or light green, or once in a while pink. White coats. Shoes that clicked or shuffled almost silently.

He was crying but no one seemed to notice.

She's gone, Gus. That's what Gramps said.

He wanted to stay last night. He'd snuck out of the house twice. The second time he'd had to climb out on the porch roof and down the white alder tree in the front yard. He'd been absolutely terrified and he'd gotten his hands all sticky in the climb, but there was noisy stuff stacked in front of the door downstairs, preventing him from leaving that way. And scared didn't matter, he'd told himself harshly in a disapproving tone he would have recognized if he'd thought about it. Scared wasn't allowed when you had something that needed to be done.

When his father had come for him at the hospital the second time he'd yelled. All the short ride home. Gus wasn't speaking to him. Maybe he never would again. His father had stolen his goodbye from him, taken his last night to go to sleep with her holding him and brushing his messy hair off his forehead. He hated him. For taking that, for yelling, for always yelling.

He plodded along through the halls, through the haze of tears until he heard the voice from behind him bark, "Angus! Get back here!"

He ran then. He knew it would get him in trouble. But he didn't care. She'd gone to sleep alone, probably sad, probably hurting, and so had he, crying into his pillow quietly, lest his father hear him and yell at him about that, too.

He skidded around the corner toward the open elevator doors and tried to dart inside. He just wanted to go outside, to get away, even for just a minute. But little Gus was hauled off his feet when a big hand grabbed his collar.

He was spun roughly around. He went cold all over and started shaking. This wasn't his dad, angry or otherwise, this was Zahir, huge and frightening, and he couldn't even struggle, couldn't fight back because he wasn't Angus MacGyver EOD tech with plenty of training, attitude, and at least a little experience. That guy didn't exist yet. He was just Gus, small for his age, quiet, nearly friendless, except for Bozer and Penny Parker.

Zahir threw him to the ground and towered over him. In his hand wasn't the corkscrew Gus's brain told him to expect and brace for, it was a railroad spike, but rusty and dull looking. Little Gus tried to beg the monster not to do it, but when he shouted 'NOnononno!' no sound came out, and the spike was thrust through his tiny shoulder like a spear.

Mac woke abruptly, sweating and gasping. He was alone. Jack must have had to take another phone call. He lay there for a minute, thinking, thanking his body for finally responding favorably to the medicine and allowing his pain to come down to an actually tolerable level. Then he looked at the clock and made a decision.

When Jack stepped back into Mac's room after making a quick cafeteria run, the curtain was drawn around his bed. He shook his head and smiled a little when he heard the still slightly hoarse mumble of frustration from behind it, "Damnit!"

Not wanting to startle the kid, Jack noisily closed the door again and called out, "You awake, there, Mac?"

Silence.

Then, "Um, yeah."

"Can I come in?"

"I guess."

Jack stepped behind the curtain and found his young friend pale, exhausted, and looking a little defeated as he leaned against the hospital bed, shirtless and heavily bandaged with a t-shirt wadded up in his good hand. Good hand was a relative term, Jack realized, as that had been the hand with the IV in the back of it, and it had clearly not been taken out by a professional because Mac was already bleeding through the bandaid he'd slapped over it. He had gotten as far as his sweatpants and slip on sneakers, although his socks were visible in the trash can next to the bed. Apparently, like the shirt, those had proven too much for him.

"Whatcha doin', kid," he asked carefully.

Kid. There it was again. From most people It would have pissed him off, but weirdly not from Jack. Maybe he was too irritated by himself to fit any grouchiness for anyone else in his brain.

"Right now? Questioning all those tests I took as a kid that said I was smart, because not only did I wear a T-shirt to get home from shoulder surgery with, I wore one of the tighter ones I own and I can't get it on myself."

"So the nurse who came and took out your IV, because they clearly came and told you you were getting discharged or of course you wouldn't be out of bed, wouldn't help you?"

"Um … No?"

"Mac, seriously?"

Mac sighed, but met his eyes. "Yeah, seriously. I want to go home. I … I had enough of being held prisoner in the last month to last me a lifetime, okay?"

It was more complicated than that, but he didn't have it in him to explain it right now.

Jack looked at him for a long moment. "Pain any better?"

"Yeah, some," he said honestly. "It's not any worse than i expected losing a knife fight to be I guess."

That had been the right thing to say and the right way to say it, he thought, because Jack took his t-shirt from him and stretched it between his hands, then further stretched the neck and the arms. Mac was pretty sure it would be ruined for anything else, but he thought he could probably wear it home now.

"You want some …"

"I've got it," Mac interrupted, snatching the shirt back and trying to maneuver himself into it without causing any new flares of pain. After several more frustrating minutes, he leaned back against the bed again, puffing out a frustrated breath. Asking for help tasted bitter; asking was something he'd learned long ago was perceived as weakness and would come back to bite him later. But this was Jack. He managed, "Okay, help?"

"Yeah?" Jack wanted to be sure he'd heard him right.

"Please."

With extra hands that had frankly dealt with dressing around a shoulder injury more than once, it only took about four times as long as Mac felt like it should. Jack took a step back and watched Mac obstinately struggle into his hoodie and pretend that leaving it unzipped didn't annoy the hell out of him. "Thanks, man."

Mac sat down on the edge of the bed to rest for a minute. Just getting dressed had been exhausting.

"You good?" Jack asked.

"Mmmm," was all he had for a minute. Then, "You think we can get out of here now?"

Jack frowned. "Gimme a couple minutes, okay?" Mac nodded, but as Jack started out of the room fishing his phone out of his pocket he turned back. "I mean it now; you stay right there. On that bed."

Mac's mouth twisted into a teasing smirk. "What if I need to use the bathroom?"

"Nope. Don't you move, Carl's Junior or I swear when you get cleared I'm gonna call in a favor with the head of physical training and you'll think you're back in boot camp from the number of push ups she'll throw at you!"

Mac winced dramatically. "Okay, okay. Right here. On this bed. Push-ups hurt to think about right now."

Jack grinned and stepped out.

0-0-0

Mac had fallen back asleep before they were out of the parking deck. His hand was properly bandaged, he was strapped into an immobilizing brace and sling, and full of a fresh dose of pain medication so Jack was reasonably satisfied.

He'd run up against a surgeon who really didn't want to let the kid go after the amount of anesthesia he'd had and how difficult it had been to get his post-surgical pain under control. Jack didn't argue and he kept his theory that Mac might currently be more sensitive to pain in his shoulder because of his experiences that brought him here than the surgery to himself. He'd called Patty who pulled the necessary strings to get him cut loose with the agreement that his friend Dr. Mathers would be by in a few hours to check on him, and that someone monitor his medication and hand it to him on schedule so he didn't sleep through and wind up back in agony that would hinder his recovery.

Mac had immediately said yes to all the conditions. By then Jack thought Mac would have agreed to just about anything to get out of there. He hadn't even balked when Marie came in and cleaned up his hand or when she brought the wheelchair to take him to the door. He said a pleasant thank you as he slid into the car and again when she leaned in and helped him with the seatbelt. She closed the door and stood there for a minute talking to Jack and Mac just leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

He woke up long enough to shuffle inside. Jack made the turn on the hall for Mac's bedroom but Mac's voice stopped him. "I think I want to sleep on the couch."

"You sure that's gonna be comfortable, kid?"

"No, but I can leave the tv on and … I'll sleep better."

"You know I'm not goin' anywhere, right? Before you try to kick me out and tell me you're fine, that was part of the deal."

Mac brushed past him for the couch, giving Jack his back, but there was an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice when he said softly, "I know. I sort of … want you to stay."

Crutches and all he got Mac propped up comfortably on the couch and had to chuckle a little as Mac's good hand came up to try to rub sleep out of his eyes.

"What's so funny?" he asked, pleased that his voice was starting to sound normal again.

"Only that it would drive you nuts to see how young you look when you do that."

Mac found he couldn't comfortably keep his eyes open. He decided to let them close. "Is that when you always call me kid? Or is it just a bad habit everyone gets when they get old."

"You're such a little shit. Call me old? You just wait, Carl's Junior. You're all doped up and I'm gonna get a picture of you lookin' like a freaking toddler and I'll show it to every girl you ever date from here to the end of time," he teased, putting a glass of ginger ale with ice and a straw down on the coffee table and scooting it closer so Mac wouldn't have to stretch for it.

"I'm gonna have both hands back in no time. You really want to fire off the opening volley in a prank war with Angus MacGyver? That'd be a bold move, old man." His eyes were closed but he was smiling, Jack was pleased to note.

"Okay, I'll keep my camera in my pocket if …" Jack hesitated. He was worried he was going to speak and Mac was going to bolt upright and forbid what he was about to suggest, hurting himself in the bargain. But in reality, it needed saying. "If you let me tell Boze you had surgery today and let him help look out for you."

Mac tried to peel his eyes open and got as far as one of them. He sighed. "I guess you probably have to. I didn't think the bandages were gonna be this noticeable and I definitely didn't think I was coming home with that cryosleeve … Just … don't let him freak out."

"I won't, kid. I'll tell him if he freaks out and wakes you up, I'll break his thumbs."

Mac snickered. "He'd believe it, too."

"That's because I won't be lying." Jack turned the tv on with the remote and propped his leg up on the coffee table, careful to not knock over Mac's ginger ale. "Get some sleep, kid. I'll take care of things and I'll wake you up when Elliot comes by."

Mac yawned. "'Kay." He started to drift off, but then he couldn't remember if he'd said so yet. "Hey, thanks for everything today, Jack. Especially getting me home. I … my brain isn't always an advantage. Just … thanks."

Jack smiled at him fondly even though the kid couldn't quite get his eyes back open to see it. "What'd I tell you, kid? I'm your bodyguard. It's all part of the service."

The End

Stay tuned for the next installment, What Remains coming as soon as I figure out how to start it.