Author's Note: Thanks for continuing to read! My love for Jack knows no bounds, both for his role in the show and his relationships to the other characters, but also as a breath of fresh air who obliterates stereotypes (hello Mr. Macho Man calling out another man on the friend zone? Um, yes please give it to me right now). So, because of that, his is the longest chapter. My apologies if any word choices or actions are inaccurate re: soldiers in an active war zone - I have no experience with that and did my best to do ole Jack justice. Reviews are, of course, appreciated though, if you have tips for making it more accurate, or want to see more of Jack (like I wish we could, but alas he is gone from the show).

Disclaimer: disclaimed

JACK

"How much ammo we got left, boys," Jack asked tiredly, looking around at his Delta unit. They were holed up in some middle-of-nowhere village in Afghanistan, hunting down a rumor of a reported possible sighting of a man who may or may not be a former al-Qaeda lieutenant. Jack hated the vagueness of the intel, but it was better than nothing (which was sometimes all they had) and this is what he and his team did best (tracking barely-there trails to major baddies, pulling off daring rescues – basically, the impossible stuff no other team could dream of accomplishing).

"I have one clip," reported Thorpe.

"I'm down to three grenades and my handgun," Fitzy said.

"I think I've got about 7 bullets," Deacon said grimly.

"What about you, Big Boy, what you got left?" Jack asked, turning to Lanier.

Lanier shook his head. "I'm out."

Well, shit. Jack had certainly faced more with less, but this op was quickly making its way to the top of the no bueno list of ops he'd run.

"Come on, Carson, tell me you got something left we can use," Jack said, turning to the final member of the team.

"Two clips for the rifle," Carson replied, shaking his head. "But that's all, and I don't know how useful it's gonna be at close range."

"Alright, alright," Jack said, nodding slowly, thinking. "I can work with that." He turned and looked back out at the street, where it had gone suspiciously quiet. They were pinned down in an abandoned house, having fortified the front room as best they could when they started taking fire from three different locations across the street.

"Hoss, I've got movement," Carson whispered, staring through the scope of his rifle.

"Alright here's what we're gonna do. Fitzy and Carson, stay here and provide cover. Deacon, Big Boy – you're with me. We're gonna run across and get behind them, quick and quiet. Big Boy, you're going for the target, Deacon, you're with me clearing the building."

"I don't like it," Carson muttered. "We are ridiculously outgunned and outnumbered here."

"We ain't got much of a choice, man," Jack replied. "Alright, everyone ready?"

His eyes swept the room, taking in his team's grim nods and set faces. He nodded, and they moved out.

Jack wasn't sure where things started to slip truly sideways. He, Deacon, and Lanier had made it across the street, which was surprising enough, and from the sound of it, Fitzy had only used one of his remaining grenades, so he knew they were being smart and conserving ammo as much as possible. He could hear Carson's rifle going off occasionally, usually followed by a grunt or a scream, and knew he had cover.

He and Deacon were clearing another room of the house when they heard the distinctive sound of a bullet being chambered on a rifle. They looked up to see they were surrounded by insurgents, and a lot of gun muzzles pointed directly at them at uncomfortably close range.

"Uh, boys," Jack said into his comms. "This party just got super lame, could do with a bit of party-crashing right about now."

"Shit," he heard Fitzy's voice in his ear, then a lot of scrambling.

"Carson, no!" Fitzy shouted, the voice loud in his and Deacon's ears.

"Doesn't sound god, Hoss," Deacon muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Jack, both of them with their hands in the air as the insurgents pointed their AK-47s at them.

"Don't I know it," Jack grit back. He glanced around at their captors and tried a friendly, we're-all-buddies-here smile. "This is all just one big misunderstanding," he started trying to talk their way out of it – or at least buy some time for whatever Fitzy and Carson were planning.

A spray of rapid gunfire sounded on the other side of the wall of men he and Deacon were facing, and several of them went abruptly rigid, then crumpled to the ground.

"Hey fellas, this is some party over here," Carson said grimly.

"Boy am I glad to see you, ya party animal," Jack said, jumping to his feet and grabbing his gun from where he'd dropped it when captured. Then he went ahead and picked up a couple of rifles from the dead insurgents, too. No sense wasting perfectly good ammo. Deacon quickly did the same beside him. "Place must be clear now, let's boogie."

"Where's Big Boy?" Carson asked, restless sniper's eyes scanning the room and the hallway leading off from it.

"Big Boy, you copy?" Jack asked, tapping the comms in his ear.

Silence.

"Not good," Deacon said. "Come on, let's see where he got to."

Before they could move, though, their comms crackled.

"Hoss, target acquired," they could hear Lanier panting. It sounded like he was struggling with a heavy load. "Could use some help with – grunt, sssccrraaaaape – extraction." Another grunt, another sound like cloth being dragged over a dirt floor. "Middle house, back."

"On it. Let's go, Deacs. Carson, cover us."

Jack led the way out the back of the house they had entered and to the house in the middle of the street, around the back where Lanier had reported his location. They saw him struggling to pull along behind him an insurgent captive by the ankles, whose hands had been tied with a zip tie.

Jack wondered why Lanier wasn't carrying him, like he easily could have done. Lanier caught his curious look and grimaced.

"Took a bullet to the shoulder," he explained. "Couldn't just throw him over, didn't have time to figure something else out."

"Alright, Deacon, come on, let's help the man," Jack said. Jack took the captive's legs, while Deacon lifted the man's shoulders from being dragged along on the floor behind Lanier. "Let's blow this popsicle stand!"

They made their cautious way to the side of the house. Carson scanned the street with his scope, then waved the others across. Lanier went first, hand to his shoulder, crouched low. Deacon and Jack followed, the man's deadweight swinging awkwardly between them as they ran in a low crouch back to the house they had commandeered.

"Come on, Carson," Jack muttered, turning from where he was stood in the doorway, waiting for his last man to make it back across.

Carson nodded, crouched low over his rifle, and began to run over to them.

Until suddenly he wasn't anymore.

Jack heard the crack of a high-powered rifle, then watched in slow motion horror as Carson crumpled to the ground. He could see Carson's chest moving, but he lay perfectly still.

"Hoss," Deacon growled at him.

"I know," Jack snapped. "Alright, Fitzy, you got that last grenade left?"

"Right here," Fitzy replied immediately.

"On my count, throw it over there, and give me as much cover while I grab Carson as possible. On my count, ready."

Jack counted and on three, Fitzy lobbed the grenade to the side of the street the shot had come from. In the same instant, Jack took off for the middle of the road. Within three seconds, he had one of Carson's arms slung over his shoulders. Within five seconds, he had dragged him inside the house. Jack didn't remember if he'd even breathed in all that time, but as he set Carson down on the ground, he took a shuddering breath.

Carson's chest continued to heave in and out with labored, painful breaths. His wild eyes glanced around the room at the unit.

"Get me home," he said through clenched teeth. "Please - you gotta get me home."

"Hey, hey!" Jack said, grabbing his chin so Carson looked at him. "Don't say shit like that, man. We're all going home with discharge papers in hand, that's the deal."

But Carson was already fading. "Get me home…please…" His eyes closed.

"Carson!" Jack squeezed the other man's chin, shook him a little, but Carson's eyes remained closed. He was too still. Jack angrily let go of his chin and pushed two fingers against his neck. He couldn't find a pulse. He tried several places, then Carson's wrist.

He was gone.

Jack closed his eyes and hung his head. He knew that being part of a team – especially one as elite as his Delta unit – meant that some of them wouldn't make it. These men who were his brothers were each of them ready to lay down their life for any other of them in the unit. That's what it meant to be a team. Jack knew all this, but it didn't make it any easier when one of their own died.

Jack clenched his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to hold back the tears. He wouldn't waste Carson's sacrifice getting them out of that house by sticking around, crying over him instead of working on getting them back to base, and Carson back to his family States-side.

He sniffed, and took one more shuddery breath. Glancing up, he caught the misty eyes of everyone else on the team.

"Let's go, boys," Jack said, his voice like gravel. "You heard the man. We need to get him home."

"Hey you know that bomb we were lookin' for?" Jack said quietly.

"Yeah," crackled the young voice in his ear.

"I think I just stumbled right on top of it," Jack choked.

"Alright hang tight I'm on my way."

"No no no," Jack said, his voice feeling tight. "Do not come up here, you hear me? Stand down!" He took a shaky breath. "This is the moment of truth. I'm a dead man." Jack hung his head. He knew this could happen one day, he'd just been so, so close to making it out of this hellhole alive and back to Texas he could almost smell the bluebells on the Texas summer breeze, taste his Aunt Lynne's apple pie. At least he could do as others before him had done, and use his death to save others. That is, if his dumbass EOD tech would follow a damn order for once in his life. "Just go on, get out of here, save yourself."

"Hey, Mr. Careful," Jack heard from behind him. He glanced over as the kid knelt down beside him.

"Carl's Jr.?" No, no, this couldn't be happening. "Can't you follow one simple order?" How was Jack supposed to make his sacrifice if the kid was right there? "How's the slowest bomb tech going to defuse this thing in a minute and a half you see that?"

"I know, I'm just gonna have to figure it out, aren't I?" the kid snarked back, his voice steady in that unnerving way bomb techs had about them.

"What is the matter with you?" Jack studied the kid and made one last appeal to the kid's common sense. "The only reason I'm not running for my life is cuz I'm sittin' directly on top of it. You're not. Get outta here."

Mac, however, continued working his hands over the device. Jack couldn't take it anymore and grabbed the too-young tech by the shoulder.

"Don't you know a lost cause when you see one?" Jack asked. He couldn't help the slight tremble in his voice as the words the preacher back home had often used to complain about him to his momma slipped from his memory and out his mouth in this desperate moment. He had to agree with the man this time, at least – he was a goner for sure.

"No, I don't," Mac replied wryly. "One of my many character flaws. This is how it works: you watch my back, I watch yours. I'm gonna need that arm to do it, though."

Jack glanced down at the tech's arm, immobilized in his grip, then back into the kid's steady, unwavering eyes.

And let go.

Jack watched in disbelief as the kid set to work defusing the IED he'd activated. Jack had been on a lot of ops, a lot of missions, a lot of tours of duty. He'd been part of groups and partnerships forged in the heat of battle, and had accepted the sacrifice others made to keep their fellow soldiers safe. But Jack had never met someone like his kid-EOD tech.

The kid who refused to let Jack sacrifice himself to save him. The kid who refused to accept that anyone needed to die that day.

14 days later, Jack was still alive and walking onto his transport back to Texas – finally.

He didn't even make it past the first aisle before he turned around and walked off it again.

More tours than he cared to count had taught Jack that being part of a team meant being willing to lay down his life for his brothers in arms. But damn if one stubborn, too-young, too-smart-for-his-own-good, couldn't-follow-a-damn-order-if-his-life-depended-on-it bomb nerd hadn't shown him that maybe, being part of a great team meant living for his brothers in arms. After all, who else was qualified to keep watch over a bomb tech with no sense of self-preservation?

Jack sighed and headed straight to Command and re-upped – with some conditions, of course.