He found Zwickey first.
He felt like he should have been more relieved Z was alive. After all, he'd been losing sleep over his fate for the last five years and had made Jack angrier than he'd ever seen him by slipping out of the field hospital to come here and help rescue him.
He was too preoccupied for relief.
What Mac really wanted was to find Jack.
He'd had a few minutes where he was busy getting pressure on a penetrating leg wound and reassuring Z that help was in the way. But once he'd handed Zwickey off to the medic, who was a little worse for wear himself, Mac had a moment of sinking I've-swallowed-an-ice-block kind of unproductive certainty that his obsession had gotten Jack killed.
Jack had been so worried about Mac that Mac was afraid he hadn't been paying complete attention to what he was doing himself. Jack could be like that when he got into protective Overwatch mode. Mac's worry increased as he went from place to place and found nothing but the team they'd come in with rounding up the living or photographing the dead for comparison with watchlists.
The last place to look was the smoking wreckage of a barn where, much like the camp where Mac had been captive, it appeared the Mazari's stash of explosives must have been stored.
The closer he got the more sure he was that no one could possibly be alive in the stinking, burning, smoldering shell of a structure. It was pretty dark inside with the smoke and the dim red light of the fire. Then as flames caught some sort of accelerant and flared up a brighter yellow orange, Mac saw an unmoving black clad leg sticking out from under some boards.
"Oh, no, no, no, no," Mac breathed, not even realizing he'd spoken aloud. "Please don't be dead, Jack."
A second later he was on ground next to Jack, on his knees in the hot ash, moving debris off the motionless man. "Jack, c'mon pal, don't do this," he pleaded softly, reaching out and putting a hand on Jack's chest.
At first he didn't feel any movement and the stillness made him feel sick. Jack was never not moving. He'd tease Mac for his fidgety restlessness but didn't seem to notice that he was always moving himself. Then there was a soft sound of complaint and Jack shifted underneath his hovering hands.
"Jack?" His relief made his voice sound strained. "C'mon buddy we gotta get you outta here." Mac shook Jack's shoulder gently. "Jack … Jack!"
Jack's eyes fluttered open. He groaned, then processed who was looking down at him. "What part of stay at the truck confused you, kid?"
"The part where you were getting yourself blown up without your bomb nerd," Mac said trying to sound just light and teasing. "Now that you've got him, he can tell you there's other stuff that could still go up in here. We need to get you out of here, pal."
Jack's ears were ringing and his head, Hell, his everything, hurt. And part of his brain knew he was more than just a little knocked around. That part stalled for a minute. "My bomb nerd shouldn't be here."
"Don't start. I don't need an Overwatch right now. I need to get you out of here."
"I didn't find your buddy, Mac. I'm sorry," Jack said, more to distract Mac from his gritted-teeth pained expression than anything else.
Fortunately for Jack, it was too dim and he was too dirty for Mac to tell. Mac just shifted to help Jack up. "Don't worry, pal, I found him. He's with the medic. Here. Let's get you up."
"Alright, let's do it," Jack said with resignation. Then as he tried to get up, his body announced the something more that he'd sensed before, and he nearly screamed. He let go of Mac who then struggled to keep him from just crumpling to the floor.
"Jack!" Mac practically shouted.
For at least a full minute Jack just clutched his leg with both hands, panting. Finally he managed to speak. "Fuck," was all he could come up with though.
"Talk to me, Jack."
It took a couple seconds of careful breathing but he finally managed, "Leg."
Mac mumbled, "Yeah I got that far on my own," to himself as he moved to try to get a look at the leg. "Lemme see," he demanded as he tried to push Jack's hands away.
"Don't, man. Don't touch it, please."
"I won't," he lied smoothly, the way everyone lies in those situations. "Just let me see what we're dealing with."
Jack knew the lie. He'd spoken it countless times. He'd used it on Mac at least twice. But he also knew the necessity of it, the lie and what it would accomplish. So despite wanting to call Mac out for having a full on pants on fire moment, he made himself take his hands away.
Mac was gentle, Jack had to give him that. But when Mac started to try and push his pant leg out of the way, Jack still swore and broke out in a cold sweat. Mac could see the shine of it on his friend's face even here in this dim flickering hellhole.
Mac grimaced at the sticky wetness on his hands. "You're bleeding."
"I just got blown up. I imagine I am a bit."
"You know what I mean. Jackass," Mac grumbled. Once again a memory oh Harry saved the day. A tool for every situation … Just take a deep breath. As he took his pocket knife out it seemed to settle something in his brain and improve his reasoning. He finally thought to shout for the medic.
"Jackass? That's not a new nickname is it, kid?"
"Depends on how hard a time you give the medic," Mac said with a reasonably sincere grin. His expression changed when he got Jack's pant leg cut away. "Oh Jack, this is …" He paused then said, "bad, man. I can see some bone sticking out on your shin and …" Mac couldn't finish the sentence.
He thought he might be sick. He'd seen some bad injuries during his stint in a war zone. But this was … stuff like this was as much why he'd done poorly in biology as his desire to demonstrate to both Harry and (if the bastard ever showed back up) his father that apples could fall miles from their trees if they put their minds to it.
Jack's voice was a little shaky. "Thanks for the warning. I was about to look." He sighed. "Same damn leg I busted before. Ahhhh, Jesus, what're you doin'?" Jack gasped.
"Stabilizing the break. Sorry. I would have warned you but I'm too tired to argue and the fire's almost to those crates in the back."
"And then kaboom?"
"Pretty likely, yeah."
"Okay," Jack said, breathing for a moment like a boxer preparing to go back into the ring knowing he's about to get his ass kicked. "Let's get out of here."
The second time he went down, he did scream; no other word for it.
Panic flashed in Mac's eyes as he took in the fire, the crates, Jack's clear inability to support any weight on that leg. He didn't think he could carry Jack on a good day, and today was not his best day ever. Still, the medic hadn't come when he'd shouted, so it looked like they were on their own.
"I'm sorry about this, man. It's bound to hurt, " Mac offered as a warning before he just hauled Jack up and got as close to throwing the larger man over his shoulder as he could.
"Gaaahhhh," Jack groaned. "Put me down, dude, no way you can get us both out of here. Get out and go get somebody. If you don't make it back before … it'll be my own damn fault for comin' in here."
Mac grunted with the effort of trying to carry Jack. "No way. What is it you always say … if you go kaboom I go kaboom."
Mac stumbled. They both went down this time, but Mac was able to control the fall and keep the impact off Jack's bad leg. He shivered and had a second where he thought that wasn't great, but jack distracted him by once again insisting that he just go.
"No. Shut up."
He looked around frantically for a second, trying to see some way out of this. Then he swore. Jack wondered why until he saw Mac take out the radio he'd given given him a little bit ago out of one of his pockets and call for help.
They relaxed for a second, knowing help was on the way, but then one of the boxes exploded. It wasn't a big explosion and although it was loud it didn't really hurt them more other than tossing some hot debris their way. But when another of the crates started making a whistling sound and smoking, Mac apologized but got behind Jack, grabbed him under the arms, and dragged him free of the building.
Jack passed out before they were clear of the building. He knew he had, because one minute he was in agony, definitely calling that poor skinny bomb nerd all kinds of names that would definitely make his nana blush, or get her to threaten to cut a switch, and the next he was outside on the cool dusty ground. He could hear Mac's voice before he opened his eyes to verify that kid made it out too.
"I could see bone," was the first thing Jack heard.
"I'm not gonna take off the splint if I can help it then. Looks like you did a good job."
"I'm afraid I made it too tight."
"It's good, kid," Jack managed, forcing his eyes open.
"Hey, there, Dalton," Thompson, the medic, said. "Gonna make you hate me for a second."
He pulled Jack's boot free and Jack shouted something insulting but he couldn't remember what he'd said later.
The medic made him feel a little better by patting his leg a second later. "That was the worst of it, man. Pulse is good in your ankle. I can leave you wrapped for now and get you some pain relief."
Jack had a split second where he very nearly argued about getting jabbed with the morphine, but when he shifted position slightly his leg felt like it had caught fire. Not feeling that again for a while seemed like a better idea than arguing.
He drew the line at not arguing about a freaking IV though. He started laying out reasons it was absolutely unnecessary at least at the moment, Then Mac thoroughly pissed him off by saying, "That's it; Jackass is officially your nickname now. Jackass."
Jack's head snapped back in Mac's direction so he could glare at him. His pupils were already constricted down to what looked like pinpoints to Mac. Some of that was the lights from the vehicles, but most of it was probably the pain killer.
"You little shit, you don't get to give me mean nicknames because I argue with a medic. All you do is argue with medics and … OW!"
"You're welcome," Mac said to the medic with a smirk. "He didn't hurt you, ya big baby," Mac teased.
"When did you get so mean?"
"Probably around when you and Elliot decided it was okay to dope me without asking so you could come here and try getting killed without me."
"Guess that's fair," Jack conceded. "What's that noise?"
"Evac," Mac answered before the medic could. "Team took a couple heavy hits and you've got a bad fracture. So they're getting us a flight to the base hospital down south."
Jack closed his eyes. "That's probably good."
He knew he must have drifted a bit. Next thing he was sure of was that they were in a helicopter. He wouldn't have known for certain, but from where he was laying he could see Mac's profile and the particular set of his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw, and his determined studying of his hands said they were in the air.
Mac saw him watching and moved to sit next to him. "Hey, pal. How's the leg?"
"Don't hurt much right now, I guess. How bout you? How you doin'?"
"I'm fine. I mean I'm like 'Mac in a helicopter' fine, but on balance that's not awful."
"You look like shit."
"Says the guy on the stretcher. I'm fine, Jack."
Jack managed a convincingly threatening stare although it was rendered much less effective by his inability to really focus and and overwhelming sleepiness that characterized aggressive pain management.
Wanting to make Jack feel better about both of their circumstances, he offered, "Elliot's already at the base, making sure Thornton knows what's up, getting things in place to get us all back stateside, make sure you get fixed up, all that stuff."
Jack wanted to say something else but he couldn't quite put together what that might be. Drugged to the gills, he grinned to himself. And while he didn't like the way Mac looked at the moment, he knew if the doc was already waiting on them at the hospital, Mac would be okay.
Damn it. There was definitely something he needed to tell Mac. But he dozed off again before he remembered what.
When the got to the hospital it was determined pretty quickly that Jack was going to need a little bit of surgery to set and close up his leg. Mac followed Jack as far as they'd let him, then he checked on the status of the team that had raided the camp. Finally, he checked on Zwickey. He didn't go see him, didn't want to get in the way, but he was reassured that he could recover physically just based on what he overheard.
Mac wandered around aimlessly for a while, having to assure several people in scrubs that the blood all over him wasn't his. He was still hungry and thirsty, but he was also too tired to care to find where he could get food and water.
He found himself sitting in a plastic chair in what he supposed you could call a waiting room. He didn't remember getting there or sitting down. But he was pretty grateful to be sitting. His head hurt and everything sounded slightly under water. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.
He gasped and pressed his hand to his shoulder. He knew from the warmth of the sticky blood he found there that Jack wasn't the only one who'd bled. Realizing that he was bleeding seemed to bring a flood of memories from his time as a captive boiling to the surface, and it set the wound throbbing again.
He sat staring at his feet, breathing deeply for a couple of minutes, trying to get on top of the pain enough to go into the nearby bathroom so he could decide how bad it was and figure out whether or not he could get away with ignoring it.
He realized after a minute or two that there were feet other than his own in his field of view. He blinked slowly a couple of times. He looked up, blinking some more from the overhead light. "Elliot!"
Mac's surprised exclamation was enough to elicit a smirk. "Hey, Mac."
He stepped back. He been about to shake the kid awake when he looked up in surprise. He'd been nearly tipping over in his seat.
"Jack's doing well. Break isn't really all that bad. Just close to the surface. Which is good news since it means we'll be able to head stateside in the morning if it's safe to fly out."
Mac murmured some agreement, nodding slowly.
"Hey, you know the thing you did where you ignored everything any of us said to you and snuck out of bed and jailbroke yourself and followed Dalton?" He waited for Mac to glare at him and then squint because the expression hurt his head. "You still feel like that was a good idea?"
Mac rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair crossing his arms. He frowned at the shooting pain the motion caused in his shoulder. He gave an embarrassed little smile and shook his head. "Probably not my best one, no. I feel pretty lousy, which you already knew by the way you were looking at me."
Elliot eyed him suspiciously. "Pretty lousy? In Mac speak does that mean you're in agonizing pain, or bleeding out, or any of the other catastrophes the must be outside of your definition of fine?"
Mac chuckled and shook his head. "I am not that bad."
"If I'll pretend that's true will that mean you're going to accept my idea that you can go crawl into one of the nice beds here for the night since you'd definitely still be in a somewhere if you hadn't given me the slip."
"Really Elliot, I'm okay. I think maybe it'd be good to rebandage my shoulder but other than that …"
"Stand up."
"Huh?"
"You're all good? Great. If that's true, we can go get a coffee and wait around for Dalton to get out of surgery. Shouldn't be long. Once we find out when Jack can be moved so we can arrange to fly out we can find a bunk somewhere."
He tilted his chin toward the doorway across the room. Mac finally noticed the little sign directing people to the Mess. Still he looked up at Elliot, like he wasn't sure what he was suggesting. "I'm not really feeling coffee."
Elliot's friendly smile became a knowing one. "We'll how about some water? You look thirsty, Mac."
Mac shrugged. He was. He just didn't know if he was more thirsty than he was tired and sore.
"Mac, c'mon. Keep me company at least."
"Why won't you just let it go?" he grumped.
"Mostly because I want to see you stand up," he answered honestly. "So you can see that I'm right about the sagacity of letting me get you a bed."
"You're wrong." Mac huffed with irritation and immediately got to his feet just to show Elliot how ridiculous it was to still be fussing over him. He'd been out of bed for hour and participated in the extraction and been a help to the team.
The minute he drew himself up to his full height, Mac knew he'd made a mistake. He dropped back down into the chair with a heavy sort of overbalanced thump. Elliot was right next to him almost immediately. Mac mumbled something.
"What was the, Mac?" Elliot asked, prompting him to lift his head.
"I said maybe you're not wrong?"
"Yeah?"
Mac nodded, sighing a defeated sort of sound. "Yeah."