Hours passed. Mac's hands were stiff from making rope and lashing broken branches together to form a sleigh type conveyance for the nearly quarter ton of money. There was nowhere he didn't hurt from the miles of hiking and the frequent beatings. He was hungry. Worse, he was thirsty. And he knew he was dehydrated from the excessive activity combined with being given extremely spare amounts of water. His physical condition was keeping his thoughts from being as clear as he liked them.

One thing he was sure of though, he had to act. Gio had shown himself to be capable of cold-blooded murder. Mac figured that as soon as Gio got a good look at how Mac used the sled he'd made it wouldn't be long before Gio figured he didn't need Mac anymore. And it was pretty obvious at this point that help wasn't coming. A gunshot close by made both he and his captor jump. Gio was looking around wildly and Mac figured it was now or never.

In a last ditch effort to gain an advantage, Mac dropped the rope, laced with fireweed, into the fire. It caught immediately and spread quickly to the crate. Gio screamed, "My money!" and started toward the crate, more on greedy instinct than with any kind of plan.

Mac used the man's single minded distraction and threw himself at him in the kind of running tackle Jack always seemed to favor. They skidded across the damp ground, locked in a grappling struggle, throwing punches, elbows, whatever either could do to gain advantage over the other. Mac had youth and strength on his side, not to mention years of training, but Gio had his rage and an all consuming desire to walk away with that eighteen million dollars. It made them more equally matched than Mac had been hoping for.

They struggled for several long minutes, gaining their feet and then tussling on the ground again. When Gio got his hands back on his gun and turned it on him, Mac did what he could to keep it from being a kill shot, but he sort of knew he was going to be hit even before Gio squeezed the trigger.

It was weird. He could feel warm blood oozing down his cold leg, but at the moment it didn't hurt. All it did was reaffirm his certainty that Gio would be more than happy to kill him. Mac knocked the gun away and got back on his feet more easily than he had before the bullet ripped into his leg.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he missed, Mac thought.

Then his brain answered him in Jack's voice, something it often did when they were separated on missions. Or maybe that's adrenaline, dumbass. Put him down before he finishes the job.

He realized at least part of his brain knew he'd been hurt even if he wasn't feeling it yet, because his imaginary partner's voice had the pissed off freaked out sound it had in the real world at places like Lake Como, or after the VX gas in New York, or … or Cairo.

You bet, Sarge, he bantered back in his head.

He took a swing and connected solidly with Gio's jaw, sending the man stumbling. Mac had a half second to feel victorious over the hit before his leg started to buckle. Gio saw his advantage and kicked out, sweeping Mac's legs out from under him.

Mac nearly fell in the fire. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gio scramble back to his feet and scoop his gun up off the ground. Instead of rolling away from the flames, he rolled toward them. Without really thinking, he grabbed a hot coal and hurled it at Gio.

He was vaguely aware of his enemy screaming, clutching at his face, and still, working to level his gun at Mac. Operating on sheer will and adrenaline, Mac got to his feet again, palming a rock on his way up. Gio squeezed off another shot, but this one went harmlessly into the ground. He brought the barrel back up again, but Mac managed to get close enough to crack him in the temple with the rock.

Almost as soon as Gio crumpled to the ground, Mac was overwhelmed by the burning pain in his leg. That, combined with hunger, thirst, and the rest of what had happened to him started his vision graying around the edges. He took one more stubborn step, not even really sure what he intended to do next. Then, his world went from grey to black.

He had no idea how long he lay there like that. Being cold wasn't a good metric. He'd been cold for hours and was probably at least mildly in shock. Then he processed hands on him.

His immediate mental impulse was to pull away, to scramble back, digging for purchase with his feet. His body didn't support that course of action. So instead of hitting fight or flight, he tried to pry his eyes open. Kind of.

He heard panicked breathy calling of his name in two familiar voices. "Mac! Mac! Mac! Mac! Mac."

He wanted to respond to the concern he heard there. He tried harder to open his eyes.

"He's been shot."

"He's still alive."

"Mac." He tried to answer. He couldn't quite get there though. His mind rebelled at waking fully to the pain he knew he was in for.

Then Ri said sharply, "Mac!"

Independent of any conscious thought, his eyes slitted open "Hey," he rasped.

"Hey," Riley grinned on pure relief.

Mac took in Bozer's tattered coat and the hint of pain tightening the corners of Riley's eyes. He managed blearily, "You guys are okay?

"It's not us we're worried about," Riley said with a combination of amusement that his first words were about anything other than his own condition and frustration about the same thing. She realized she sounded more like Jack than she was entirely comfortable with.

Before she could tease him about turning her into a Dalton, Bozer interrupted, "Okay? You got a bullet in your leg."

Mac groaned, making himself open his eyes to get a look at it. "Yeah, I guess I do."

He winced and puffed out a short pained breath when the movement sent a lightning strike of pain up and down that leg. That's not awesome. Something else occurred to him suddenly. "Jack?"

Riley tensed fractionally. "He's on his way, Mac." She fervently hoped that was true. "Do me a favor and don't hit me."

"Why would I ..?"

"I'm gonna take a look at your leg." She didn't give him any time to protest. She look out the pocket knife he'd given her at the trailhead and cut away his pant leg enough to assess the damage. "Shit," she mumbled more to herself than anything. "There's just an entrance wound."

"Mmmm," was all Mac managed. Just her jostling it felt like someone holding a blow torch against his thigh.

Bozer sounded freaked out enough that Mac made himself pry his eyes open when his roommate practically begged, "You need to tell us how to take it out."

Mac tried to sit up and wound up just groaning loudly. "You don't." He shook his head to emphasize how very bad that particular idea was, eyes closing again with pain and fatigue.

"We stop the bleeding, as much as we can. Then we get him the hell off this mountain."

Mac's eyes flew open again. "Jack! You're okay. Ri looked like she was lying when she said you were coming."

Jack gingerly lowered himself to the ground next to Mac. "Jesus, kid, you've had the worst luck with firearms the last couple years. You break a mirror again or somethin'?"

Mac actually smiled a little at that. "Usually." He realized he was shivering now. Not good, Mac. Get a move on. "Belt?"

Jack was already taking it off. "Way ahead of you, pal."

When he pulled it free from his belt loops, his breath hissed through his teeth.

Riley turned. "Jack?" She realized he was sticky with fresh blood. "Jack!"

Mac forced himself up on to his elbow, gasping with the effort. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," he said with an unconcerned wave. "Most of this ain't mine," he gestured at his bloody T-shirt.

"Most?" Mac demanded, Then was forced to lay back down by a nauseating wave of pain. Getting shot really sucked. This one felt worse than when Murdoc tagged his shoulder, probably because the bullet was lodged in there moving every time he did. Pretty sad when your life included enough bullet wounds that you could play a game of comparative misery in your head.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder. "I got a little dinged up, knocked around. The blood is from that brick shithouse losing a wrestling match for his crappy .38. Like who still uses revolvers anymore?"

Mac chuckled his relief that Jack wasn't hurt worse, then bit his lip, moaning softly. "Ah, Hell."

Bozer ripped some more fabric off his already threadbare jacket. "We should get him bandaged up. That's a lot of blood."

"Have to dress it," Mac said, shaking his head. "Bullet's still in there. More bleeding, high risk of infection."

"What do we dress it with?" Riley asked. She was reasonably comfortable with the emergency aid basics, but only when there was a kit at her disposal.

"Yarrow," Mac breathed after thinking about it for a long minute.

"Yarrow?" Bozer looked a little incredulous that they were still being expected to forage in the face of a gunshot wound.

"That the plant you used when I got hit with that arrow in Wales?" Jack asked.

Mac nodded, eyes closing again, most of his will focused on regulated his breathing and not just passing out again. "Helps prevent infection, encourages clotting," he panted, unable to turn off his need to explain, to tell, to teach.

Jack patted his shoulder again, and started to rise. "It's white. Grows in clusters."

"Sit!" Riley snapped at him, giving him a Matty-worthy glare.

Mac looked at both of them at the heat in her voice. "Jack?" was all he could manage at the moment.

Riley answered for him. "Dinged up is Dalton for sliced from hip to hip with some asshole's dirty boot knife!" she said hotly.

"Aw, I'm alright, honey," Jack replied, starting to his feet again.

"I said sit, goddamn it." It was an order; maybe the first real one he'd ever heard her give. "You're bleeding again. You've got more training than any of us at field medicine. Do not make it any harder for me to get Mac off this mountain."

Chastened, Jack just nodded, "Yes'm." He almost smiled then. She wasn't treating him like Jack, she was treating him like an asset. Well, mostly. She was worried about him too. But ahe was keeping a tight lid on it in the face of Mac's much more serious injury. All grown up. Damn. "You guys get the plants then. I'm gonna get a better look at Mac's leg."

Mac groaned, and Jack wasn't sure if it was in fresh pain or in anticipation of what he knew was coming. Regardless, Jack moved closer as Bozer and Riley scattered to find the plants he wanted.

"Hey, bud," Jack said softly.

"You really okay?"

"Course I am." Jack shook his head. "You know talkin' is not a good stalling tactic with me, right?"

"Stalling?"

"I've gotta get some pressure on this, kid."

"Mmmmm," he agreed, his jaw already tightening. Then he forced his eyes open again to look at Jack. "I know."

Jack took the scrap of jacket Bozer had torn off, eyeing the dirty fabric dubiously. "I'm sorry as hell, kid," he said and without further preamble, he pressed it to the wound. Mac's head snapped back, scraping the ground again and he bit back a groan. "Too much?"

Mac's eyes squeezed shut tighter for a second. He could still feel blood oozing around Jack's fingers. "I … No. Not enough." He gasped. "Still bleeding a lot."

Jack nodded, not much liking it, but also trusting Mac's judgment. "Alright, bud. Here we go."

Mac panted through the first second or two of increased pressure, glad Jack knew what he was doing and kept it steady so the bullet didn't wander around any more than it already had. Then the pain got to be too much and he cried out. If his eyes had been open he'd have seen Jack grimace almost as much as he was. Mac managed not to just pass out, but he thought it was a pretty near thing.

"That's more like it," he said opening his eyes and forcing the grin that made Jack grin back reflexively.

"You are seriously a glutton for punishment, Mac."

"Learned from the best," he said, letting his eyes close again.

Riley came back over with a handful of dingy damp plants. "Is this it?"

Mac squinted at it. "Yeah."

"Boze! I got it," she called and he trotted back over from where he'd been scouring the bushes.

"What do we do, now?"

"Okay," Mac said more as a mini pep talk to himself than anything else. He moaned a little as he rose on his elbows. "Now pack the wound and wrap it tight."

"I got this," Jack said, taking the plants from Riley. "Why don't you guys go see what you can do about making that sled thingy he was building a little more comfortable?"

"What for?" Bozer asked. Riley has already figured out Jack's plan and headed over to the contraption.

"We're miles out." Jack thought he did a reasonably good job at sounding like that didn't worry the living hell out of him. "We can't carry him that far … Well, we could, but we're more likely to move that bullet around and hurt him more if we do. Go help Ri, wouldja, Boze?"

Mac gave Jack a slightly grateful look for giving their teammates something to do that wasn't right on top of him. This was going to suck. He let out a long breath.

Jack squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. "You ready?"

"No …" he said, only about half joking. "Yeah."

"Okay, kid. Here we go," Jack said, partially warning Mac it was about to get miserable and partially to give himself another second to get his head right.

Mac's lips thinned into a tight colorless line and he just gave a nod, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw.

He groaned as Jack packed the yarrow into the wound. Things went grey in him again and he was only dimly aware of what Jack was doing. "Mmmm," was the most he said, more of a pained exclamation that an acknowledgment of any of Jack's familiar gentle chatter.

In a distant disinterested sort of way, Mac heard Jack call out to Riley, then her almost tentative question, "What can I do?"

His face was almost as sympathetic to Riley as it had been to Mac a moment ago. "I'm gonna need you to press down on this real hard while I get the belt around it."

"Like a tourniquet?" she asked a little shakily.

"Not quite that tight if I can help it. Think maybe he'd like to keep this leg." She widened her eyes. "The bleeding's not that bad, Ri. Just pressure. It'll keep the bullet in there stable and once it's on there it actually helps the pain a little. Gettin' there just isn't a lot of fun."

"Okay." She placed her hands where Jack's were and pressed.

"Harder," Jack encouraged.

She cringed but applied more pressure.

"That's good," Jack said when Mac moaned quietly. He cinched his belt around Mac's leg and Riley removed her hands at the last second so Jack could pull it tight.

Completely unable to help it, though he tried, Mar cried out sharply several times as Jack got the belt buckles. "Sorry, Mac," he said, really sounding it.

At least the pain had focused him this time rather than loosening his tenuous grip on consciousness. "That's okay," he assured them both.

Jack tugged Mac's pant leg up over his calf. "What're you doing?" Riley asked.

"Making sure he still has a pulse in his ankle. Like i said ... Pretty sure he'd like to keep the leg, huh, Mac". Mac rolled his eyes, then winced as Jack accidentally turned his leg a little. "That'll do," Jack said as soon as he felt the rapid beat under his finger tips. He glanced up as Bozer dragged the sled up next to them. "Now the hard part, pal."

"Getting down off the mountain?" Mac asked almost lightly.

"Getting your sorry ass the the nearest hospital," Jack said, groaning a little himself as he got to his feet.

"That's harder than climbing down this mountain?" Bozer asked, stepping around the sled and positioning himself by Mac's feet.

"Usually," Jack said with a teasing double raise of his eyebrows as he got his hands under Mac's arms.

"Jackass," Mac groused. "I'm not that bad and you … aaaaahhhh!" He cried out as they lifted him, coordinating their movements through some unspoken communication Mac had missed.

"Sorry, kid," Jack said as they eased him onto their makeshift stretcher.

Mac didn't answer or try to reassure him; he was afraid if he opened his mouth he was going to throw up. He closed his eyes again too, leaning his head back against the rough wood frame. He couldn't even find it in himself to protest when they laid their coats over his shivering form.

"Which way gets us out of here the fastest?" Riley asked, not liking the sort of grey green color Mac had just turned when they moved him, or how still he was being.

Jack waved in the general direction of the trailhead. "If we head that way, it should be pretty smooth going and it'll take us right back to Freddie's place." He moved to get behind the sled to push it, but he stumbled, clutching his middle with both hands. They came away bloody.

Riley wasn't about to even argue with him. "Hey, Mac, scoot over a little if you can."

"Hmm?" he asked vaguely, but did inch to one side just a bit.

"Alright, Old Man, climb on."

"I'm fine, Ri," he protested. "I don't …"

"I dont wanna hear it." She held up a hand. "Didn't I just hear you pick on Mac for being terrible about going to the hospital?"

"I … I'm not …"

"Now."

"Fine," he huffed, carefully arranging himself on the sled next to Mac.

"You can tell yourself you're riding along to keep him from falling off if that makes you feel better."

He glanced at Mac and seeing how his features had gone slack again and noting that he wasn't getting in on the conversation he realized that might be true. "Alright," he sighed. "Let's move out."

Riley and Bozer shared a concerned glance as they started pushing the sled down the mountain, going as fast as they dared.