Mac hadn't thought much about what he was going to find when he pushed into the wall of scorching smoke, but after less than a second in the blinding chaos he realized he was going to have to do something about his innate impulsivity if he wanted to stay alive. The heat and speed with which the fire was spreading suggested thermite or some sort of similar compound as the source of the blaze. The metallic, almost blood-like, smell confirmed it. Mac was thinking that if any of the various crates visible through the smoke contained explosives, this cave was going to get way too exciting way too fast. At that moment, he was proven right by an explosion about ten feet away. Something hit the wall near his face and a chunk of debris cut his cheek just under his already-blackened eye. He dropped down to the floor, below the smoke and out of the way of flying rocks, shrapnel, and the occasional bullet. If he was right and Jack was hit, the floor was where he was going to find him anyway.

He belly crawled along slowly because, even low, the smoke was becoming impossibly thick. Between the physical demands of moving that way and the occasional body-wracking cough brought on by the hot dense air, Mac was starting to be very aware of his bruised and fractured ribs and his head was pounding again. He was mentally conceding that maybe sneaking out of the hospital hadn't been his best idea when he put his hand into an icy puddle of water. When his other hand moved forward through the smoke, it connected with a motionless leg. It wasn't Jack, who had been dressed all in black, and it wasn't one of the Taliban since it was clad in dirty, ripped digital camouflage. It had to be Thompson. All thoughts of his own ordeal, his own discomfort immediately pushed down into the back of his mind, Mac got as close as he could to confirm the identity of the form on the floor in front of him. It was definitely Ricky. His fingers went to the younger man's wrist. There was a pulse. Then his hands strayed to the kid's chest, finding the shirt soaked. He wasn't breathing. Mac began the resuscitate his friend, acting more on the instincts of deeply ingrained training than any cool measured thinking that he might be credited with later. After less than a minute, the kid coughed out a bunch of water and roused himself to tenuous consciousness, weakly trying to get away from whoever had their hands on him.

"Rick … Ricky … chill … It's me; it's Mac."

Despite the chaos, explosions and gunshots peppering the background over the roar of the flames, Ricky knew without a doubt that he was hearing the voice of Angus MacGyver. His breath was still coming in irregular agonized gasps, but knowing it would only make it worse didn't stop the relieved sobs from escaping. "I thought you were dead … I thought I was dead … I thought we were in hell …"

"No way, man. Alive and well, the both of us. We're gonna get out of here." He squeezed the kid's hand, more than a little worried that Thompson hadn't even tried to sit up, just kind of lay there on his side, right where Mac had rolled him when he started coughing, but he felt a solid squeeze in return, so he probably didn't need to be panicking that he'd moved someone with a spinal injury. "Punchy!" he yelled. Then he started talking, just to reassure Ricky before the medic got there. "This guy Punchy is a medic, part of the team that came after me, the whole bunch of them are really good guys, gonna help us get back to base, buddy, and …"

"Mac, you're freaking out. You talk a lot when you're freaking out." Now Ricky started trying to sit up. Mac thought that he should try to stop him, but he was too busy realizing that Rick was right; he was losing it just a little. And it was the kid's shirt, still wet from what they'd been doing to him when the raid started, that was causing it.

"I'm okay, buddy," Mac reassured him, and after a few deep breaths, it almost wasn't a lie. Punchy arrived a few seconds later and began quickly questioning and examining Thompson. Mac stayed to hear the answers for himself and to be sure Ricky was okay being left with the medic. He asked if anyone had seen Jack and was met with just a sharp head shake.

Then Punchy said, "One of the Terrys took off. Other guys were in pursuit last I saw when I heard you yell. Didn't see Garret, but that doesn't mean much; can't see shit in here anyway." Another loud explosion from a short distance off shook the whole cave and some debris fell around them. "You think you can walk with my help, Private?" he asked Thompson.

Ricky was already slinging an arm over the medic's shoulder. He didn't really know if he could or not, but if Mac was here, bruised and beaten up just to get him out, no way was he not going to try. "Yeah, like I said, they stopped the bleeding real fast with a road flare so leg's already kinda healing up."

Another explosion rocked the cave and a large piece of the ceiling landed a few feet away from where the three of them were crouched on the floor. Punchy started hauling Thompson to his feet, as he said, "Let's get out of here." Mac started to obey when he heard, what was to him unmistakably, Jack's voice, cussing up a storm through the cacophony. He took off into the smoke. Punchy yelled, "Goddamn it MacGyver, that was an order! You hear me? It was an … you know what I give up." He was more than half talking to himself as he helped Thompson limp out of the cave, hopefully to a place of relative safety where he could begin treating him more aggressively. "If he doesn't just die in there I oughta give him morphine again so he's good and awake for the holy ass chewing he's gonna get all the way back to base …"

"You've got morphine?" Ricky asked hopefully and Punchy almost had to chuckle.

Less than ten yards away, which might as well have been ten miles for all that could be seen and heard, Mac tripped over something, and the pained yell that he heard as he fell told him he'd found Jack. Mac was quickly on his hands and knees, "Jack, are you okay? Are you hit?"

"Ummmhmmm," was the mumbled reply.

"Where?"

Jack was propped up against what, through the smoke, looked like a desk. "Leg. Through and through. It's bleedin' bad."

Mac fought his way through another miserable coughing fit and tried to get close enough to assess the damage. Despite Jack's own belt cinched tight around the wound (which probably accounted for the swearing that had tipped Mac to his location), it was still bleeding freely. It was bright red, too. Damn it all, Mac cursed internally. That meant an artery most likely. He shouted for Punchy again, but heard nothing. Probably outside with Ricky already, expecting the rest of his team to do what they did and look out for themselves, and Mac wasn't sure he could find Jack again if he went out to get the medic. So it would be up to Mac. He didn't see much point in lying to the Delta, who had to know what he was looking at or he wouldn't have tried to apply a tourniquet. "I think it got an artery, Jack."

"Oh yeah. Pretty sure it did. And I don't think I hit the sonofabitch when he was runnin' off either. Damn shame I couldn't take him with me."

The forced bravado in Jack's voice made Mac like him even more. It was the sort of tone he'd taken, or at least tried to take, with Zahir and his men. "You're not going anywhere, Jack. I'm pretty sure it's just a nick." He thought hard for a second, looking around, trying to think of how he could use the environment to his advantage. Then Ricky's words came back to him. "They used a flare on Ricky. I'll see if I can find another one."

Mac didn't even process that his statement would be without context for Jack, just started off into the smoke to search around the desk. He tripped again a moment later and Jack heard a splash, followed by Mac's almost panicked gasp, and the scrambling, thumping, and splashing of the kid climbing back out of whatever held the water he'd fallen into, a washtub by the sounds. They'd been drowning someone as torture, and based on Mac's reaction to coming into contact with the water, that had happened to him recently as well. He didn't have time to think much about it before Mac was back by his side looking miserable and at a loss. "Nothing," he said apologetically. "Punchy!" he tried yelling again, but with the same result. Jack almost felt worse about the look on Mac's face than he did about the prospect of dying here on this dirt floor. He was about to say something, when even through the haze of the smoke, Jack saw the kid's eyes light up. "Your gun!"

Mac looked like he'd just found a winning lottery ticket in his pocket. He took the small sidearm out of his belt and emptied the bullets onto the ground. He counted them and looked like he was doing some mental math. Jack couldn't be sure, but the kid's eyes said the person in charge of the blackboard in his mind even erased and started over a couple of times. Then, Mac pulled out the Leatherman Jack had given him and flipped open the knife. He started to cut away Jack's pant leg and the confused look Jack was giving him made him decide it would be better if he explained what he was doing as he went. "We're not close enough to help for a tourniquet to do you much good. Cauterization is about the only way to keep you from bleeding out. But we don't have anything. Maybe there's another flare around here somewhere, maybe not, but we don't really have time to look." Mac put away the knife and took out the pliers on the multi-tool. He began unscrewing the primers and pins and pouring out the powder. Jack didn't want to interrupt because talking seemed to be helping the kid focus. "I've heard you can use gunpowder to seal a wound. Based on the temperature it burns at, as long as it doesn't stay in the wound long enough to get too wet from the blood, it should work ... They do it in the movies all the time."

He paused and Jack could sense that he was doubting himself. Neither of them could afford that at the moment. "Like Rambo," Jack offered.

Mac flashed a nervous grin. "Yeah … I'd say you've got nothing to lose, but whether it works or not, it's gonna hurt. A lot." Jack just nodded for Mac to go ahead, setting his teeth against any sound he might want to make. "Okay … Okay …" Mac was clearly psyching himself up to do something he didn't want to do. He was finally ready to tip the powder into the two wounds but stopped. If he'd had a free hand, his expression said he would have smacked himself in the forehead with it. "Wait. Do you have a lighter?"

Grimacing at the movement, and all too aware of the fresh gout of blood the subtle shift in position caused, Jack fished a lighter out of the back pocket of his pants. "Don't tell Alfred. We have a bet about which one of us would go back to smokin' first. I lost, but he doesn't know it yet."

Mac took it from him, wishing his hand wasn't shaking and hoping Jack didn't notice. The way Jack was talking, nothing bad was happening, or would happen, to either of them. Mac knew about that skill, but when he did it himself it always felt like a lie; when he heard Jack do it, it felt like, not just truth, but a fundamental law of the universe. Mac applied the powder a moment later, and Jack gasped loudly and then moaned quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. When Mac lit the powder a second later and it flared into light with a bright burst, Jack lost all composure and screamed; there was no other word for it. Mac lost track of how desperately they needed to get out of there, forgot all about his own aches and pains, and just fumbled a repeated apology several times as Jack got his breathing back under control. After a minute, both men were back in the moment, with Jack squinting for a better look at his leg and Mac scrutinizing his work, hoping against hope that it had been worth what it cost Jack. It appeared to be working. Then he removed the belt to see how the seal held up. Satisfied that it had stopped the bleeding almost completely, Mac told Jack that he would probably live long enough to get him court-martialed and Jack said since he wasn't gonna die in this shit hole all was forgiven, or maybe they'd go to military prison together since Jack had more or less let him tag along. Mac helped Jack get up and argued until he let Mac help him walk. Mac wouldn't admit that helping hurt as much as Jack had been worried it would. When they got outside, the cool, smoke-free air was like heaven. Now that Jack could see Mac properly, could see how pale and pinched his face was, how much difficulty he was having moving, so he stood up and limped along under his own power. He was pretty sure he could talk Mac out of any kind of trouble he might be in at the moment, especially since he'd made the decision to tag along under the influence of medication he didn't know he'd been given at the time, but he was going to make his help contingent upon Mac spending as much time in the base hospital as the most conservative doc Jack could find recommended.

They rejoined the group a short distance away from the cave. Thompson was on a portable stretcher, on an IV drip, and pretty clearly mellowed out on the good drugs because he gave Mac a dopey grin as they approached. Punchy moved away from the kid quickly to check Jack over, but Jack waved him off. "I want a status report first, Punchy. Then, by God, I want you to dope me up until I forget I've got a damned leg."

Mac didn't catch the report, because he was too focused on seeing how Ricky was doing. If he had been listening he would have known that Ricky's drug-addled trauma-fueled rambling was just that, but while Mac had a brain that could go in a thousand directions at once, when it was truly focused on something, the whole rest of the world just fell away. "'M glad you're 'kay, Mac. Deeds said they killed you, and Sarge even cried. But I tole' 'em those dirty …"

Mac's eyes went wide as Ricky's started to drift closed. "What do you mean? Were there other guys with you here?"

"Sure … the whole time … Never leave a man behind …" Then he drifted out.

Mac was on his feet, ready to run back up the hill almost immediately, heedless of the fact that they had no idea where the rest of the mines were buried, that one of Zahir's men was unaccounted for, that there was the welcome sound of a distinctly American helicopter approaching in the distance. All he was thinking about was that Ricky thought other members of their squad might still be alive. He wouldn't leave anyone in a place like that for anything. Even injured Jack caught up with Mac before he'd gotten ten feet. The kid's injuries were starting to really catch up with him. "Kid, where do you think you're going?"

Mac tried to pull away from Jack. "Ricky thinks some of the other guys …"

Jack shook his head, "I'm sorry kid, but nobody made it. I didn't want to tell you before, but everybody else in your party that day was KIA. No reason for you to go back in there, man." His voice was quiet, laced with regret.

"No, I don't believe it." Mac stubbornly pulled away, successfully this time. Then the loss registered in his eyes, but still he shook his head. "I've got to be sure. I'll never forgive myself if I don't check. Go let Punchy take a look at your leg."

Mac started up the hill. Jack limped next to him for a couple of steps, grimacing and swearing under his breath about stubborn geniuses who should have been doped into a coma back in Jalalabad. Mac turned and glared at him. "This place could go up any second. You can barely walk. Go see the damned medic."

"You did somethin' stupid and followed me and I swear to God I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you never do anything dumb without me again just to teach you a lesson. So, if you go back in there and you go kaboom, I go kaboom, too. Capiche?"

Mac just sighed and resigned himself to having Jack follow, but when the hill got steeper, Jack's leg buckled and he went down on one knee. Mac took it as an opportunity to take off running at top speed toward the cave, knowing it was probably a futile effort, but slightly desperate to prove Jack wrong about the fate of his squad after the dizzying moment of hope Ricky's words had given him. He thought he saw someone move in the flames as he approached the mouth of the cave, but before he could process whether it was an illusion of shadows, or even question what he was doing, a huge explosion tore through the side of the mountain, scattering debris, burning detritus, and smoldering dirt and stone in all directions. Mac was thrown ten feet or better. The pain was so great his vision was blackening around the edges and he thought gratefully that he was passing out, but he didn't, just hovered there on the edges of it, feeling a burning in his chest that he wanted more than anything to stop. He wasn't aware that he was clawing at the source of the pain until he felt Jack pulling his hand away.

"Holy hell kid, quit movin'." Jack's voice sounded tight with pain. Mac wanted to ask after him, but couldn't get himself to talk; a sense of dread overwhelmed him as he took in his own injuries. Jack saw the look on the kid's face and felt him struggling to get his right hand free from Jack's gentle grasp. He tried to tell him what was happening in hopes it would calm Mac down. "Got a nice souvenir almost in your chest, bud. Right by your shoulder. Can't tell how deep. You must think you're Iron Man or somethin' … Medic!"

Mac forced himself to speak now. "Jack … Jack … I can't feel my arm … Like nothing … I can't move it. Whatever hit me must've severed the nerve. The brachial plexus. That can result in the complete loss of use of …" Jack could hear the panic that underscored the coldly rational self-assessment of his injury.

"Slow your roll, Mac. Let's leave diagnosing to the docs. Save your brain for bombs okay, kiddo?"

Jack dragged Mac as far away from the cave as he could and was quickly joined by Wash. They got him back near where they had been before Mac had recklessly run back toward danger. The medic arrived then and Mac was aware of the flurry of activity that surrounded emergency medical attention, but wasn't giving it much thought. He was mostly concerned that he couldn't move his left arm and that Jack wouldn't let him move his right again. "Mac," Punchy said quietly, to get his full attention. "Stop trying to pull that piece of metal out. I know it hurts like hell, but it's near an artery. I don't think it's cut, but we're gonna let a surgeon do the work, buddy."

"I can't move it; I can't feel it, I …"

"Can't feel it or it just hurts too much to feel anything else?"

Mac just shook his head. He didn't know, and everything about the last two weeks was crowding his brain for attention, not to mention scenes from his past that he thought he'd buried long ago. And he couldn't shut it off like he usually could. That hurt more than anything that was happening to his body at the moment. As soon as the kid was strapped securely to the portable stretcher, Jack sat down hard on the ground next to him, resting his hand gently on his arm, not wanting to move away or be treated until Mac was either out cold or at least a little calmer. The kid looked like he wanted to squirm as Punchy tried to find a good place to start an IV again and was almost sheepish when the medic mumbled about all the blown out veins and bruises. "I didn't mean to pull them out, I … Hey, ow!"

"Sorry," Punchy said, truly sounding it as he taped things down. "Back of the hand always hurts, but it's kinda what I've got left."

Suddenly Mac laughed, and Jack gave him a surprised raise of his eyebrows. "Jeez, you're fast Punchy. Didn't even see you slip him any happy juice yet."

"I didn't."

Mac shook his head, the feeling of relief overwhelming his pain for a moment. "That hurt."

Punchy and Jack continued to look confused. Punchy said, "Yeah, like I said, that spot's no fun, but it's a pretty good vein, for you anyway."

"No ... I mean I can feel my hand. I can move it too. I was just freaking out a minute ago."

Punchy secured his wrist with a piece of Velcro just to be sure. "Well, that's great, Mac. Just don't go moving it a whole lot. You pull that one out and the options get less and less pleasant, buddy."

Mac nodded, but, holy hell, he hurt. The pervasiveness of the pain made it difficult to even default to drawing inside his mind, a coping mechanism he'd been practicing since he was about five when his mother got sick enough that he knew she wasn't going to recover. He heard the helicopter landing close by and the sound of more personnel approaching. He blinked and realized Punchy was about to inject something into his IV. "Hey, please don't give me that stuff again … I know it's supposed to help, but it didn't, it made everything worse, and I couldn't think, and …"

Punchy ignored him for a moment, then patted his free hand. "It's not morphine. It's the same stuff Captain Michaels gave you at the hospital, kid."

Mac frowned, feeling drowsy already, and appreciating that the white hot pain was beginning to fade to a more tolerable fiery yellow. "So that's just part of your kit anyway?"

"Nope."

"Well, then how come ..?"

Punchy gave him a little grin, knowing he was about to get himself in trouble with Dalton. "For one thing, I was born at night, but not last night, MacGyver; and for another I usually sit in the back of the transport. We were idling for a while. You might think you stayed awake back there until we rolled out, but … you talk in your sleep, kid."

Mac's eyes slipped closed to the sounds of Jack chewing out Punchy for not telling the team Mac was in the back of the truck to begin with and Punchy replying only with an offer of some pain meds before he took a good look at his leg and to make transport easier. Jack was more worried about being ready if Mac needed him. "I don't need anything, Punchy. I'm fine."

"You're as bad as the kid, Garret. Now, hold still."

"I said I don't ... Ow!" Then a pause. "Oh, hey, that's a lot better, man. Thanks. You're the best."

Mac didn't remember anything else until he woke up to Jack's quiet voice at the base hospital in Bagram.