"Any dizziness?"
"No, sir," Mac said again, somehow managing not to sound annoyed that the doctor was now repeating himself. He knew it was part of evaluating for concussion, but that didn't make it any less irritating. "I feel fine, sir."
Maybe 'fine' was an exaggeration, but it wasn't much of one. He just wanted to get cut loose so he could go check on Jack and the other guys, maybe grab a coffee, and go crash for a couple of hours in a chair somewhere.
"But you did lose consciousness at the scene."
"Um … I might have. The vehicle rolled and it was disorienting. So I might not …" Mac stopped at the look he was getting. "I probably did, sir."
"And again on the flight in."
Mac shook his head, and sort of regretted it because it made his statement a few minutes ago that he wasn't nauseous a little bit of a fib. "No, sir. I fell asleep on the flight in. I didn't lose consciousness. Sir," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Kind of an odd place for a nap," he observed.
Mac couldn't stop his eye roll. Soldiers slept when and where they could. And since the doctor was one, too, the man knew it. But somehow he still felt the need to defend himself. "I'd put in kind of a long day, sir. Probably fifteen hours of disarming IEDs. And that was before we got ambushed. I was beat, sir. I'm still beat. If I were trying to minimize my injuries, I wouldn't have mentioned that I hit my head, sir."
"Alright," he shrugged. Then he started making a note on the clipboard he'd brought into the exam room with him. "Observation for the rest of tonight. I'll check back with you in the morning. Someone'll be along in a few to take you to a room."
"Major Donaldson, I bumped my head. A little. I don't need to be taking up a bed for that, do I, sir?" he protested.
An eyebrow went up. "You can't get a transport back to your posting at least until tomorrow anyway, so … You got someplace better to be, Specialist?"
"I suppose not, sir." He sighed. "But … The guys I came in with …"
"Are probably arguing with someone who outranks them, too. Even though there were definitely a couple of bullet wounds in your party. I swear there's some kind of gung-ho crazy bug you all catch out there. Take a night in a decent bed and food that just shows up hot because somebody actually cooked it without being a pain in my ass. The Army will get by just fine without you for a day or two. Or thirty."
Mac blinked. "Excuse me, sir?"
"Unless things change drastically overnight, I won't make you hang around here too long. But, I don't want it to come as a surprise to you … You're probably looking at few weeks light duty at least. You have a concussion on record from the end of December already. We are trying to make sure fewer of you guys go home with your eggs scrambled these days. Concussion recovery means you'll be restricted to things that aren't physically or cognitively demanding. The more you follow the restrictions, like real rest, for example, the faster you get back out there."
Mac sighed. "What's the risk of permanent injury, sir?"
The Major studied him for a moment. "I wish I could quote you some reassuring statistics, MacGyver, but there's just not enough good studies on causal relationships between concussion and the long term effects. Post concussion syndrome is a real risk though, especially if you push yourself, based on my experience. So do yourself a favor, get some rest, and follow the discharge instructions when we kick you out, alright?"
"I guess I wouldn't object to a bed and a hot breakfast," he said with a pleasant, self-deprecating smile. "But … um … do you know how Sargeant Dalton is? He came in with us. He's my overwatch, sir."
"Dark hair? Big mouth?"
Mac actually grinned. "That's him, sir."
"Annoying one of my colleagues loudly when I was coming down the hall. Don't suppose it'd make you happier if I said you could bunk in with him."
"Not especially, since I'm still not thrilled to need a room at all, but it'll probably make Dalton happier, sir. He gets touchy if anything blows up near me, sir."
"Yeah, those guys are like that," the major chuckled. "You want anything for the nausea?"
"Sure … I mean … I'm not … Sure." He sighed again. He wasn't going to mention that particular symptom, and it made him wonder exactly what shade of green he currently was.
"That's what I thought. I'm prescribing antibiotics and something light for the discomfort for your arm, too. How's it feeling now?"
Mac shrugged. He was already busted as far as the minor head injury went, and he was stuck here anyway, so he didn't see much percentage in bullshitting the guy. "Still numb at the moment. But that was a pretty big piece of glass so I don't imagine that'll last, sir. "
He sighed again when Donaldson didn't even pretend to disagree. By the time he was deposited in a room some time later, the lidocaine was wearing off, and he was happy enough to accept the cup of pills, even if all there was for pain was what appeared to be Tylenol. Two of the other guys from their detachment were already in the room, curtains half draw around their beds, and already out cold. Jack was purportedly there, too, but the curtain was pulled all the way around his bed.
Mac waited until the nurse had disappeared out the door, closing it behind her as things had gotten pretty busy and noisy. He slipped out of bed and over to where Jack was apparently sleeping. "Jack?" he whispered.
"Hey, kid," came the tired, but also wide awake, sounding reply.
Mac ducked behind the curtain. "Ah, man, that looks … less than ideal."
Jack's leg was packed in a pile of ice packs, an IV was taped down in the crook of his elbow. "That's one way to put it," Jack said, sounding about fifty percent less grouchy than Mac expected to find him. So decent pain meds were part of the package, Mac was guessing.
"How bad is it?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed carefully.
Jack clicked on the dim light above the bed. "I'm dinged up some, but not too bad." He shrugged.
"No, Jackass. Not the rest of you. The leg."
"Oh. That."
"Yeah that. You passed out from pain. Remember?" Mac's volume had ticked up a notch.
Jack gave one of his patented 'everything's fine' smiles. "Just tweaked it really bad. Nothin' much on the x-rays. Doc doesn't think it's too serious. But it's seriously swollen."
Mac frowned at him. "What's with the IV then, Sargeant Not Serious?"
"Hey, now, I'm the Overwatch here, or do you need remindin' again?"
Mac just gave him his most stubborn look. "Not gonna avoid the question by pulling rank, Jack, so don't even try."
Jack sighed and shifted a little, grimacing when it moved his leg. "It's some thingy for the swelling and some other thingy for the way it feels like someone's takin' a chainsaw to it. Doc'll take another look at it tomorrow. Probably be able to get outta here then. Light duty until it heals up though, probably crutches for a minute, which means we're probably gonna be stuck shufflin' papers cuz you damn sure ain't goin' out without me."
This time Mac sighed. "I'm probably gonna be on restrictions anyways. Maybe not even paperwork if it's a lot of reading."
Jack cocked a eyebrow. "How come?"
He shrugged. "Little bit of a concussion."
"So you aren't just in your pjs as a show of solidarity?" he chuckled.
"Funny. Hilarious even." Mac groaned quietly as he got up. "Ow, Hell."
"You okay? You know, other than that egg on your melon?"
"I got blowed up, so not in general, no," Mac said with a snort of laughter. "Didn't realize I had a piece of glass stuck in my arm about the size of a damned windshield until we got here either. So all things being equal," Mac's mouth quirked up at one corner. "I'd rather be in Philadelphia."
Jack put out a fist and Mac bumped it. "Does that mean we get to watch Die Hard on the portable DVD player your gramps sent you when we get back?"
Mac grinned. "It's only fair, since you introduced me to it."
"That's only cuz it was Christmas. And it is a Christmas movie."
"Of course it's a Christmas movie. Who said it's not a Christmas movie?"
Jack grinned. "Bout everybody else on base who knew we were watchin' it."
"Screw them. What do they know?" Mac paused. Then he rubbed his forehead and puffed out a long breath. That was maybe more than Tylenol. He should have asked. Because right now he felt a little looped. "Night, Jack. I'm gonna crash. I can hardly keep my eyes open."
Jack raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment on Mac's unusual admission. "Night, kid," was all he said instead. He listened as Mac climbed into bed and heaved a deep 'I really don't want to be here' sigh, rolled onto his side, and grew quiet. Jack just lay there thinking about the last time they'd found themselves laid up. Honestly it wasn't so much him. Jack had hardly had a scratch on him, but Mac … Jesus, Jack thought the kid was going to bleed out right in front of him.
Jack had plenty of nightmares since that RPG had hit their transport the week before Christmas. But between the pain in his leg, and the jitters whatever they were giving him for the swelling were causing, he didn't need to worry about dreams. Memories on the other hand, he was somewhat at their mercy as sleep eluded him.
"So," Jack tried for about the fifth time. "You gonna put in for some call time on Christmas or what?"
Mac didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. Jack noticed that the kid was chewing his lip.
"Kid? You listening?"
"Mmmm."
"Is that a yes or a no? Damned if I can translate Mac-speak today."
A quiet sigh. "I put in for it already after you harped on the holiday. Gramps wants to talk and Boze thinks our friend Penny might be willing to speak to me again."
"Why isn't your friend speaking to you? Dija date her sister or something?"
He expected a laugh, but Mac just shook his head. "She's mad that I'm here."
Jack frowned and his eyes were a little angry. "She's mad at you for wanting to serve your country?"
Mac smiled this time. But when he spoke, his tone was serious. "For starters, she was my first girlfriend. Sort of. We've been friends since middle school. And … She's mad that I could die … and that I'm willing to." He paused, just staring ahead at the road and the lights in front of them. He was glad he could pick out the base perimeter. He was bone tired. Finally, he just shrugged. "She's not just being random. She's into a lot of causes. Like she's a vegetarian because of animal rights … She's a vocal pacifist …"
"You're a pacifist," Jack interrupted.
"I'm not a pacifist," Mac replied with an eye roll Jack couldn't quite see in the dark.
"Course you are. You don't carry firearms here in a forward area and …"
"I'm not a … You know what? I'm not gonna argue with you."
Brake lights came on ahead. "Wonder what's …"
The flash of fire and deafening bang. Mac slammed on the brakes. Jack was already out of his harness, sliding out of the truck, readying his weapon.
Mac got on the radio to call it in.
Another blast in front of them shook the glass and made him jump. There was gunfire now, too. Jack shouted something from outside and the voice was coming back over the radio. Reinforcements were on their way, they could see the activity from the northern guard posts. Mac was about to respond when suddenly the world was on fire, tumbling end over end, in pain and heat.
Mac might have screamed. He really wasn't sure. Later, he would ask Jack, a sort or embarrassed flush creeping over his badly bruised face, but Jack would just change the subject. What he was sure of at the time was that he was on fire, and he was going to die that way, and that he couldn't breath and he was terrified. Then he blacked out.
Jack had just cleared the vehicle when it was hit. The blast knocked him on his ass, and even though he'd almost instinctively ducked and covered, something hot and sharp sliced through his forearm.
He swore, watching in an icy sort of panic as fire engulfed the truck, and it tumbled end over end, finally coming to rest upside down farther away than made sense in his head. He could see lights already approaching from the base. He shook himself. Only seconds had passed but he was already blaming himself for any of a thousand scenarios in which Mac wasn't okay. He ran the distance between where he'd fallen and the truck, not even really paying attention to what was going on around him.
Mac had somehow managed to extract himself from the harness and climb out the open driver's side window, but he lay there in the cold dirt unconscious. The truck was no longer in flames, but it had been and even in the dark, Jack could see that his hair was singed. He carefully got his hands under Mac's arms and dragged him a safe distance away from the truck, just in case there was anything that might go kaboom still hotter than it ought to be.
The younger man was completely limp. Jack got the kid behind a good sized rock and gently laid him down on the ground, mumbling half remember prayers mixed in with inarticulate admonishments that he better not be dead. He was just kneeling down to take the kid's pulse when a pained moan let him know his partner was indeed among the living.
Jack took a deep breath and made himself slow down and get out his flashlight. Jesus, he whispered. Mac was bleeding from multiple shrapnel wounds. Bleeding a lot. And all his exposed skin was too pink like he'd been at the beach way too long. The sounds of a fight had faded and Ortiz had limped over looking nearly as bad as Mac. "Dalton? What can I do?"
"Get the damned medic over hear the second they pull up," he said, pressing on the worst of the bleeding with his bare hands since he didn't have immediate access to anything else. Ortiz just nodded and headed back in the direction he'd come from.
The pressure on his shoulder might have woken him up, or maybe he came around naturally, but Mac gasped, and bolted upright. "Pena!" He shouted, or something similar, Jack was almost positive.
Jack put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to lay back down, as his movement had caused another gout of blood and Jack could see where the ground was wet where he'd been laying. "Mac, buddy, it's alright, man, help is on the way."
Mac shook his head vehemently, eyes on one of the other humvees that was burning brightly a short distance away, and stinking up the night like diesel and burning rubber. He started, trying to scramble to his feet, and fought furiously when Jack tried to pin him to the spot. "No! I've got to help! Got to …" He wrenched free and somehow managed to get somewhat drunkenly to his feet and start toward the burning vehicle.
Jack leapt up after him and moved in front of him. "Mac, calm down, you need to …"
"Get out of my way! He's still in there," he insisted.
"MacGyver!" Jack barked, figuring his best 'I outrank your ass' dressing down voice might get through whatever haze his injuries had him in even if nothing else would. "Stand the hell down!"
Instead of responding Mac moved to duck around him. "Stubborn little shit," Jack growled and lowered his shoulder, throwing the younger man up over it. He was expecting another fight, but the kid just went limp, and he could feel his partner's warm blood already soaking through his uniform.
Ortiz was at his side seemingly out of nowhere. "Got a medic, but …" Jack glared at him. "Rawson's down with … I think his leg …"
Jack realized the man's hands were shaking. "Where?" was all he said.
Ortiz motioned for him to follow and led him to where the medic was working on one of the other med who … Jack had a strong urge to throw up. And he was kind of glad Mac was out cold because the kid had absolutely no stomach for blood and guts shit. At all.
He got Mac down on the ground nearby. The medic kept doing what he was doing, but also started kind of eyeballing triage on the newest casualty. He reassured Jack, "More help right behind me, Dalton. And I've got a medevac in bound."
Jack just nodded, watching Mac's face grow paler by the minute.
