The house is empty and Mac is grateful. He's not feeling up to lying about his think tank work trip to Chicago, trying to remember the cover story they worked out in case Bozer was curious about the conference he attended in the Windy City. Lying to Bozer is going to be an interesting challenge. Bozer knows his tells, has been calling Mac out on his half-truths since they were kids.
He hasn't been able to be totally truthful about his actions in the past few years, but Bozer knew he was in the Army. Understood that there were things Mac couldn't talk about, and didn't press the issue. Now he's going to get some intensive cover story immersion training. He hopes that Bozer isn't going to press today though. He doesn't feel up to spinning a tale of adventures in Chicago.
Mac drops his bag next to the counter in the kitchen. His hands grip the formica as he rides out another wave of twisting, cramping pain. The nausea follows a moment later. He contemplates a ginger ale, and decides against it.
He should go to bed. Try to sleep off the mission. He's never able to sleep during the day, and the idea of walking down the hall to his bedroom seems like a task too difficult to handle right now.
Bed means real sleep. Sleep means nightmares, even on good days. This isn't a good day.
It's a controlled tumble onto the couch, and since no one is around, he allows a gasp of pain. Laying quietly for a moment, he tries to regain control over his body. Then pulls the blanket draped over the back of the couch across shivering shoulders.
The shivering is a new and unwelcome development.
Sunlight floods the room, piercing his closed eyelids. Jack told him to get some blackout curtains but he hasn't gotten around to it yet. He's barely gotten his stuff out of storage since he's been home.
He turns to face the back of the couch, trying to block out the light. Ignoring the pulsing ache behind his navel. He pulls the blanket more securely across his shoulders. Even if he can't fall asleep, he can hopefully close his eyes and rest.
"What's that?" Griggs asks sitting down at the table across from him.
Mac looks up at the other agent warily . "Swiss army knife." He holds it up for a second to allow a quick look before palming it, preparing for ridicule. It's been the same for the last three years. MacGyver and his knife, a joke with other EOD techs and their overwatches, other men in the barracks. Even some of his COs give him a hard time about it.
Usually, they backed off when they saw what he could do with it.
"I always wanted one of those as a kid," Griggs says. "My mom thought I'd slice my fingers off though."
Mac nods, still waiting for the teasing to start. "My granddad gave it to me when I was ten. We went through a lot of bandaids those first couple of weeks."
"Heard it's still your weapon of choice."
Mac sighs, now the teasing begins. He'd hoped Griggs would be different. The other man had defended Mac from Hadley's condescending comments, and Mac let his guard down. He hadn't imagined Griggs would be that ruthless, winning over his trust to use it against him. The man is a CIA interrogator though. Using people's weaknesses against them is his job.
"You really don't use a gun?" Griggs asks. "How does your partner feel about that?"
Mac's been wondering and worrying about that particular question ever since they started this new gig. It was one thing in the Army, when Mac was disarming bombs and Jack was his Overwatch. It's another thing in the field, just the two of them. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Jack that he could have prevented.
Jack keeps saying that the best weapon he could have watching his back is between Mac's ears. Mac just hopes it's enough.
"If I had your skill set, I wouldn't use a gun either," Griggs confesses. "I guess it's a good thing if you never get over taking a life."
"Are you out in the field much?" Mac asks. "I thought you guys were some sort of top interrogators?"
"Information Extraction. We go where we're sent," Griggs explains. "We both prefer the field over some black site. It feels, I don't know, more fair. Less torture."
Mac nods, digesting the information. It's one of his... concerns about his recent career change. Disarming bombs, it's easy to know he's on the right side, the good guys. Saving lives.
Covert operations is ambiguous. Morally gray at times. He and Jack spent numerous hours discussing the switch when the unique offers started rolling in. For being a black book operation, DXS was surprisingly transparent with them. It doesn't stop the niggling doubt in the back of his mind.
He realizes Griggs is still speaking, "And, don't tell him I told you, but we jumped at the chance to work with Dalton in the field. I couldn't believe it when I heard he was back. Thought he retired."
Mac schools his features. There is so much he still doesn't know about Jack, but hearing that he's something of a legend in certain circles, well, it makes sense, as much as it confuses him . He knows Jack's got a past. Knows that it's a dangerous one. Is very aware that a few months ago, all Jack wanted was to peacefully disappear. Doesn't understand why Jack stayed in Afghanistan. Definitely doesn't understand why he's stuck around now that they're home.
"I guess there are some perks of being boy wonder," Griggs says. "And having Jack Dalton as a partner. I just hope he's enough."
Mac looks up in surprise at the words.
"One gun to protect the both of you doesn't seem fair. Hope you don't get him killed like you did us..."
Mac can't protest the accusation. He's frozen in place, words stuck on a lump in his throat because what if Griggs speaks the truth. Hadley and Griggs had to provide cover because Mac was too slow. Jack could have backed them up and didn't. Because he didn't trust Mac to look after himself? Thought he'd get killed on his own?
That's what Jack said when he stayed back in Afghanistan. That Mac wouldn't last two days in the desert.
Mac knows that's true. Two days in the desert without Jack would kill him.
What it Jack's decision to stay costs him?
After everything Jack's done for him, what if Mac gets him killed.
"It'd be a shame, a legend like Dalton going out while protecting a bomb nerd," Griggs shakes his head. "What a waste. If only one of you lives, it should be him."
He startles awake, not sure what rousted him from sleep, but grateful to wake from the dark turn his dream took. Surprised to find that he had been sleeping. The jolting action causes the dull pain in his abdomen to come for the forefront. He hisses out a slow breath and drives away the memories of his nightmare. He runs a shaky hand through his hair.
"It's just a dream," Mac whispers, running a shaky hand through his hair. But the doubt remains, crowding the words of encouragement that Jack spoke this morning.
The front door slams, and Mac jumps. More proof of his inexperience, and lack of field readiness.
"Hey, Mac!" Bozer calls out excitedly as he enters the house. "You home already?
"Oh, yeah, Boze, hey. The conference wrapped up early. We caught an earlier flight," Mac says, sitting up on the couch, trying to ignore the way the small movement sends his pulse racing and his stomach churning. He glances at the clock on the wall. He's been sleeping over almost three hours and he feels worse. Definitely a bug... probably.
"You could have spent an extra day in Chicago for fun and you came home early?"
Mac shrugs. "It's cold there."
"Wear a jacket," Bozer suggests. He squints at his roommate, noticing a flush on Mac's cheeks. "Oh, but you're getting sick."
"I'm fine," Mac begins, then sees the skeptical look on Bozer's face and shakes his head. "Maybe something I ate." Not bothering to add how long it's been since he last ate something. Actually, he's not really sure himself when that would have been.
"Was it the deep dish pizza?" Bozer asks sympathetically . "Lake Michigan is cool. The Skydeck, while admittedly not your thing, is pretty amazing, but Chicago style pizza is a crime. Too doughy. Can't even lift it like a real slice. You have to use a knife and fork. A knife and fork, Mac. For pizza. The midwest is a weird place."
"That's probably it," Mac agrees.
"And you never do well with anything too heavy on the garlic."
Bozer is so adamant that Mac is half convinced of the accuracy of his statements, until he remembers that he wasn't actually in Chicago, and this didn't feel anything like what Jack referred to as "the bubble guts ." The flush deepens on his face.
"You want some Tums? Ginger ale?"
Mac shakes his head, his mouth is dry but his stomach aches at the thought of putting something in it. "I think I should probably just sleep it off."
"Yeah, alright, man. You let me know if you need something though," Bozer tries to extract a promise from his roommate.
Mac turns back towards the couch and feels Bozer drape another blanket over his shoulders . He thinks he should probably say thank you, but somehow drifts off before the word makes it past his lips.
In the back of his mind, he can hear Bozer puttering around the house. It's one of the reasons he likes sleeping on the couch. The sounds of home keep his subconscious from filling his head with flashbacks and nightmares.
"Told you that toy wouldn't be enough," Hadley glowers at Mac, ripping the knife from Mac's fingers.
"It's not a toy," Mac defends, trying to grab it back. "I've disarmed IEDs with it for years."
Hadley chucks the knife away. It kicks up a puff of sand when it lands. He continues to stare at Mac, fire in his eyes. "Griggs said I should cut you a break. Wonder if he'd still say that knowing that you killed him?"
"I did my job. I disarmed the nukes."
"Not fast enough." Hadley leans into Mac's space. "The truth is going to come out at the inquest. You aren't cut out for this line of work. They should send you back to the Army. If you mess up there at least you'll only get yourself and Dalton killed."
Mac wakes, crying out. While he slept the pain shifted from a dull ache mid abdomen to a piercing pain on his right side.
Lurching up from the couch. Stumbling through the now darkened living room. How long was he asleep? He headed to the bathroom but recognizes that he'll never make it. He manages to grab the trash can before his rebelling stomach empties itself. There's not much to come up. Bile burns his throat.
The muscles of his abdomen contracting forcefully, heaving, nothing to come up. He can't catch his breath around the spasms and he feels a panicking sensation. It feels like his insides are trying to force their way out through his throat, and he can't catch his breath.
Finally, the retching slows and he slowly stands. Not straight. That hurts too much. He accepts a glass of water from Bozer, rinsing his mouth, but not swallowing. He probably shouldn't put anything in his stomach.
"Hey Mac," Bozer says as his friend sinks into a stool at the peninsula counter, hands curled protectively around his stomach. He knows Mac isn't going to like what he has to suggest. "I'm not sure this is just something you ate. You've been sleeping all day and you look worse."
Mac shrugs. He's thinking the same thing.
"I really think you need to see a doctor," Bozer spits the words out quickly, as if he can say them fast enough the meaning will sneak past Mac and he won't argue.
Mac raises his head, misery written across his face. "Okay," he mumbles. He was about to suggest it himself.
Bozer freezes, half ready to continue arguing futilely. Not at all prepared for Mac to give in, and it worries him. " Really ?"
Slowly Mac nods. "Something's not right."
"Yeah, okay. You want me to call Jack?" Bozer asks, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He can remember, to Mac's embarrassment, Harry lamenting the fights that ensued trying to take Mac in for a check-up . Not to mention the time he broke his arm or dealing with the burns and concussions after the incident. The idea of Mac voluntarily agreeing to see a doctor stops him cold. Calling Jack for back up doesn't seem like a bad idea. Having Jack around these last couple of weeks has been like having a secret weapon in getting Mac to do things he doesn't want to, but really should do.
Mac shakes his head, declining the suggestion. "It was a long week. He wanted to sleep just as much as I did."
"You sure?"
"There's nothing he can do either way." He doesn't need Jack to come hold his hand. Doesn't need Jack to see his weakness. More of his weakness. That he can't last a few hours on his own without Jack having to swoop in and fix things.
Mac sits at the counter, wrapped in a blanket, watching with hooded eyes as Bozer scrambles around the house, putting together a few things they might need. He's pretty sure Mac's going to win himself an overnight stay. He has his own suspicions of what's going on. And he's pretty sure Mac's thinking the same thing.
The hospital is busy tonight. The triage waiting room is full. Bozer manages to maneuver them to a pair of chairs far away from anyone who looks particularly contagious. Mac looks pretty bad himself, beads of perspiration on his forehead, shivering despite the heat. Curling into himself in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Other occupants of the room are giving them wide berth.
Bozer taps his fingers nervously on the armrest.
Mac watches the movement hypnotically. Letting the rhythmic motion distract him, calm him. It's probably a bad thing that he's called back before the guy making a show moaning and groaning in pain. You never want to be rushed back in a busy ER.
Mac sits on the gurney, quietly explaining his symptoms, as the nurse wraps a blood pressure cuff snugly around his arm. Bozer interjects with his own observations from the last few hours.
"You've got a pretty significant fever, so something is going on," the nurse informs him. Mac nods. Between that and his racing heart, it's starting to make sense why he's feeling so awful.
She deftly starts an IV and fills colorfully capped vials with blood for testing.
She hands him an unmistakable plastic wrapped cup. "Think you can give me one more sample? So we can start to rule out the source of your pain and fever."
Mac pauses, considering before reaching out and accepting the cup, and the dreaded pale green one-size-fits-no-one hospital gown.
He's settling back onto the gurney, a few minutes later after handing off the sample to the nurse. Pulling the gown down to cover his knees and snagging the folded blanket at the end of the bed to ward off the shivers when the doctor walks in, and Mac is reviewing his symptoms all over again.
"When did your pain start?" The doctor presses his stethoscope to Mac's abdomen.
Mac tries not to wriggle in discomfort at the sensation. "A couple of days ago, maybe. It wasn't really pain then, just intermittently uncomfortable."
"And has it changed since then."
Mac grimaces. "It's pretty constant now, and a lot sharper. Mostly on the lower right," Mac gestures towards the area.
"Nausea?"
Mac nods miserably. "I threw up before we came."
"Any recent travel?"
"Ah," Mac pauses, glancing quickly at Bozer. He should have called Jack. Or just brought himself in. Or told Bozer to stay in the waiting room when they brought him back. While he's pretty sure this isn't some sort of gastroenteritis he picked up in Jakarta, he doesn't think he should lie to the doctor, just in case. He's not going to be able to explain how he went to Chicago by way of Jakarta.
A particularly painful spasm tears through him and he's saved from answering for a moment by trying to remember how to breathe .
"He was just in Chicago," he hears Bozer answering for him as the pain finally begins to subside. "And he got back, like a month ago, from Afghanistan. He was in ordinance disposal in the Army," Bozer proclaims proudly.
"Thank you for your service," the doctor says to Mac and Bozer practically cackles. It's become a running joke between them. Nearly everyone responds the same way when they hear about Mac's military career, and Bozer's keeping a running tally. He's at thirty-seven.
Mac uses that as an opening. "I was in Jakarta too." He shrugs when he feels Bozer's eyes questioning him. "Need to know, Boze," he says apologetically.
Bozer nods his understanding. There's a lot that Mac did in the Army that he'll never know about, even if it would make a great background for one of his movies. But the nightmares he's watched Mac suffer through, Bozer won't press Mac to relieve those moments. Not until he's ready. And he won't use Mac's trauma as fodder for a script.
"Let's have you lie back so I can take a look," the doctor says, help Mac into a reclining position. It takes everything in him not to immediately curl up against the pain. The doctor pushes aside the hospital gown. "I'm going to press on your abdomen," he warns.
Mac nods biting his lip, holding his breath, waiting for what he's sure is going to be excruciating pain. The doctor's hands are cool against his flushed skin. Mac releases almost a sigh of relief when the pain doesn't change with the palpating hands.
Until the hands pull away. Mac can't hold back a scream, immediately curling in on his right side.
Bozer's hand grips his shoulder.
"We'll get a CT scan to confirm, but between the rebound pain and your fever, I think we're looking at appendicitis."
The diagnosis isn't really a surprise. The thought crossed his mind several times in the last few hours. Not that Mac would admit that out loud. Bozer would be pissed that Mac waited so long. He might even ignore Mac's ban on calling Jack.
"It's got to come out. Tonight." The doctor leaves to consult the surgeon on call, while Mac waits to be collected for the CT scan. He doesn't know how he's going to lay still long enough for the imaging because the pain is excruciating. He can't stop the tears filling his eyes.
"You think maybe I should give Jack a call now? Just to let him know what's going on?"
Mac would really like to talk to Jack. Maybe even see him before he goes in for surgery. He's come to rely a lot on the older man in the last few months. It would be reassuring to have him nearby. But Mac can't be selfish. His partner needs his sleep. It's not like Jack can really do anything. He would probably insist on staying the night. Sit around in a waiting room in uncomfortable chairs, drinking weak coffee. Jack barely tolerates coffee anyway.
Mac's a grown man, he doesn't need his partner here holding his hand.
"I'll tell him in the morning," Mac says finally. The morning.
The debrief.
Bozer mistakes the widening of his eyes for pain, or maybe nausea. "You want me to see if they can give you something?"
"No, I'm good."
It's a whirlwind after that. The CT scan over quickly, and Mac returns to his curtain cordoned area to be scrubbed down with chlorohexidine, and hooked up to a bag of fluids . Consent forms signed. Bozer gives him a quick hug and claps him on the shoulder before they wheel him into the frigid surgical suite.
Between the pain, the medication rushing through his veins and the bright light in his eyes, it's difficult to track the bustle of movement around him.
He's going to close his eyes. Just for a second.
"I had to pull a lot of strings to get you, MacGyver, but Dalton assured me that you'd be worth the effort." Thornton pulls a surgical mask down from her face.
"Director Thornton," Mac says in surprise. Jack has told him stories of the legend of Patricia Thornton but to see her showing up now, in surgery shocks him. Her reach extends even beyond what he's imagined.
"So tell me, what does Jack see in you that makes you worth the effort? That makes you worth the risk? I have yet to see what inspired this blind faith from an agent like Dalton."
Mac's pulse races. Jack's faith in him is too much. He made promises Mac can't deliver on.
"Because you're one mission in and you go and get two CIA agents killed. How do I explain this? You can possibly imagine that Jack and I are going to be willing to keep cleaning up your messes."
"I- I didn't think-"
"You didn't think? That's one of the virtues Jack extolled, MacGyver is always thinking. Always comes up with a plan."
Mac runs a hand through his hair. She hasn't said anything worse than what Mac's been thinking the last few days, the last few weeks since he accepted DXS' offer . This is probably what Jack's been thinking all along. Wondering how he got saddled with a mess like Mac.
"And now this. I get one messy mission from you and then what? A medical leave? You aren't inspiring confidence, MacGyver. Nothing has shown that you are worth the favors I called in to get you for my team."
"No, I'll be fine. I won't need any leave," Mac assures.
Thornton raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "I can't risk Dalton if you aren't up to par."
Worry crosses Mac's face. "They, uh, they said it would be laparoscopically. Instead of a long incision, it's a few small ones. Tiny. Healing time is reduced. I can come back right away."
"I hope for both your sake's that you're right, MacGyver. I don't want to have to send you back to the Army. Jack especially. He was supposed to retire a few months ago, wasn't he? He stuck around for you. I hope you don't screw this deal up for him."
"I won't," Mac promises. "Even if you don't want me, don't send Jack back. He's worth more to DXS. He's wasted in the Army."
Thornton huffs a mirthless laugh. "That's what he said about you. That's why he bargained so hard to get you out of there. I have yet to see evidence of what you can do yet." Thornton leans in forward. "I just hope you don't get him killed."
Mac tries to protest but instead chokes and coughs. He can't get the words out.
"Mr. MacGyver," Thornton's voice echoes.
"Mr. MacGyver, try to relax. Take some deep breaths."