Jack's uncontrollable shivering had made him ache all over. He hovered in that place between awake and, not so much asleep as, unconscious. He jumped when warm fingers touched his wrist.

"It's okay, Jack, it's just me."

Jack pried his eyes open and was both relieved and dismayed to see his partner. Through chattering teeth he said, "You look like shit, kid."

Mac looked up from his watch and released Jack's wrist. "And here I was gonna tell you you look like a million bucks."

Jack snorted a laugh, just like he wasn't pretty sure he was going to die. "When you're this pretty, even super soldier serum that got left out in the sun ain't gonna change it."

"Left out in the sun at least," Mac mumbled. "Speaking of which. Give me the rundown."

"It's not all that much to run down."

"Sit rep! All your symptoms. No bullshit either, Dalton."

"Look who's been working on their superior officer impression."

"I could crack out my drill Sargent for you. Got yelled at by enough of them, so I think it's pretty good. Or you could just tell me what I need to know to fix this so I don't rupture where my tonsils used to live."

"Hey, man, where is everyone? Phoenix, I mean. Like, we gettin' outta here?"

Mac gave Jack a very pointed look, then slid his eyes over to the far corner of the room so Jack would note the camera and mic there. Then he heaved an exaggerated sigh. "It's just me and Oversight. Those were their demands to keep you alive." He gave a minute nod he hoped Jack would understand meant there were other things in play, but they couldn't discuss them with the bad guys' eyes and ears wide open. "He's looking at the current KX7 formula. So he needs specifics about your symptoms."

"'Member that time we split a bottle of mezcal and a sixer of Dos Equis?"

"No and neither do you. All we have is the evidence of those empty bottles."

"That and the worst hangover in history."

"Yeah."

"I feel like that."

"So … digestive symptoms. Headache?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Sweating and chills?"

"Yeah."

"Chest pain." This time it was a statement.

"Hurts to even breathe," Jack admitted. "And my heart feels like it's tryin' to play the world's shittiest drum solo."

Mac nodded. "According to your pulse it kind of is." Mac paused, deciding how to phrase what he needed next. "So … um… Oversight said a blood sample would be helpful."

"Oversight wants to bleed. Cool. Send him on in and I'll bust 'im in the lip for ya." It was said lightly, despite Jack's chattering teeth, but he curled more tightly into himself.

"Jackass," Mac said in an equally light tone, though it took some real effort as he observed Jack's color worsening and had the sinking feeling that the pallor had nothing to do with what he'd proposed. "Much as the thought occasionally crosses my mind myself, he's the KX7 expert, so he's got all my good will right now."

"I guess I can save bustin his chops for another time then."

"I mean, if you asked him he'd probably tell you to go ahead and take your swing today, because I don't think it would result in a busted lip with the shape you're in." Mac sighed. "But we both know what I meant, so if you could just fork over an arm, I'd really appreciate it."

"Come on, Mac. You gotta make me suffer, too?"

Mac shook his head. He was really too beat himself by the surgery for their usual banter, and his sore throat had him short on patience, but he knew the shortest route to what he needed was on the other side of a little kidding around. "Hey, you've spent the day letting strangers stab you. What's the world coming to when your best friend can't get in on the fun, too?"

"Fine!" Jack huffed, offering up an arm that Mac wasted no time encircling with the tourniquet he'd brought. "But I get to revenge stab you at some point."

"Like Hell," Mac said comfortably. "No one who can't keep their eyes open for it gets to go anywhere near the BS my body calls a circulatory system with sharp objects."

"Could I revenge shoot you so where then. Like just clip ya maybe?"

"Sure," Mac said absently, too focused on finding a vein and steadying his hands so he wouldn't have to stick Jack more than once. Not only did Jack hate needles even more than Ri, he'd also never let Mac hear the end of it. The throbbing where the RFID chip hid under an inconspicuous band aid made it more difficult to do than he cared for. Once he had it, he said, "On three, okay?"

"I guess."

"One, two—"

"Sssst. Damnit Mac, I hate when you do that counting fakeout thing!"

With blood quickly filling the tube, Mac felt slightly smug at his success. He flashed an apologetic grin at Jack. "I can't help it. It's hilarious that you fall for it every time." Mac even managed a chuckle as he pulled the tourniquet loose. "Like how many dislocations have a fixed for you now?"

"Enough so I know why you got a C in biology," Jack grumped.

"I may have slightly tanked that class to piss off Oversight." Mac pressed gauze onto Jack's arm and withdrew the needle. He set it aside and wrapped more cause to hold his makeshift bandage in place.

"Yeah, right. That's why you just turned green."

"Okay. Fair. Dissection wasn't my friend. Probably didn't help that I maybe knew more about math and chemistry than my bio teacher."

"Did you explain that you can't give more than 100 percent to them, too?"

"I saved that for Basic," Mac mumbled distractedly. He reached out again and fiddled with the bandage he'd fashioned on Jack's arm. "Shit," he growled under his breath and winced at the pain in his throat.

Jack glanced down at his arm. "What the Hell, Mac?"

Mac pulled off the bandage and mopped at the blood pouring from the single tiny puncture in Jack's arm. "You're not clotting. I should have known from how bruised you are. You barely ever bruise badly no matter how much somebody kicks you around." He chewed his lip for a split second then snugged the tourniquet back around Jack's arm.

"You're not stabbing me again now," Jack snapped as his stomach did a slow left roll, not at the sight of the blood, but rather the implications of what Mac had said, and the look of sickened horror on his partner's pale face.

"Just trying to slow the bleeding …" Mac re-bandaged the spot, got up, swayed momentarily like standing made him dizzy, then plastered on a reassuring expression Jack could see right through. "I'll be right back."

"Where you goin'?" Jack had been alone a lot, in some pretty extreme conditions, sure he was going to die that way. And he'd made his peace with it. But right now he couldn't stand the idea. In this place, with the hopeless, fearful look Mac could keep off his face but not out of his eyes, Jack was suddenly terrified. And angry. "You don't get to start me bleedin' out and then take off!"

"I need Dad to have a look at you, whether Murdoc and Walsh want to let him out of the lab or not."

Jack noted the use of 'Dad', not 'my dad', not 'Oversight'. And for some reason the vulnerability filled him with dread.

He bent to put a shaking hand he tried hard to steady on Jack's shoulder. "I'll be back in less than five minutes. With superglue. It's never let us down before."

He forced a reassuring smile that didn't reach his eyes any more than his previous expressions and Jack managed a half smirk in return.

"Double time, MacGyver," came out not as the joking order pulled from their younger days, but as a plea."

"You got it, Sarge."

Mac strode across the room and banged on the door hard with the hand that wasn't currently throbbing. When there was no response he hit it again. "Now, Goddamnit!"

When it opened a full minute later he pushed past the guard, casting one more look at Jack over his shoulder before he bolted down the hall to get his father.

Jack closed his eyes and focused on controlling his breathing in an attempt to slow his pounding heart that continued to force blood from his punctured vein, even with the tourniquet in place.