Anyone who's ever stayed in one knows hospitals are terrible places to get any real rest. And Mac had an above average amount of difficulty with sleeping in general, say nothing about the location-specific challenges. So he was surprised that when he opened his eyes again, it was to a bright room, well after dawn.

He rolled carefully onto his back, pleased to note that he wasn't as sore as he expected to be. The safety harness in the truck had bruised him a little when it rolled, his arm stung and itched along the long line of stitches, and he still had a headache, but even that was fairly minor.

Mac could hear Kendrick and Reynolds talking on the other side of the room. Then he heard Jack join the conversation. He realized he could smell coffee, and what actually smelled like real eggs. Given how nauseous he'd been by the time he laid down last night he was almost hesitant to let himself want any. But when he cautiously pushed himself up to sitting, he felt fine. Good, even, all things considered.

He glanced at the stand next to the bed and instead of his own filthy and slightly bloody ACUs, a clean set were folded neatly in their place. His name and EOD insignia patches had been pulled off his uniform blouse and left next to these new clothes to be attached later. Mac grinned and got out of bed, dressing carefully, so as not to rattle his head around too much, or make too much noise before he was ready for the other guys to know he was up.

He had a bad moment when he realized his vest was gone. But a small plastic bag was sticking out of his boots with his personal stuff in them. His Swiss Army knife found its way into one of his pockets before he even bothered putting his socks on.

He was lacing his boots before anyone interrupted him. He heard steps and looked up as Major Donaldson, who had pretty obviously been up all night, was about to tap on the wall just outside the edge of the curtain around Mac's bed. "Morning, sir," Mac opened, feeling like it gave him the conversational upper hand.

The sort of appreciative smirk he got in return let Mac know he'd read the guy right. "How you feeling this morning, Specialist, and don't, or I swear you will think I missed my calling and should've been a drill instructor, don't say, 'ready to get out of here'. Honest answer. Facts only."

That was a request Mac could actually relate to. He shrugged. "Like I got a little blowed up yesterday, sir, but pretty good if you take that into account."

"Specifics?"

Mac thought about it. "Stitches itch. Ribs are kind of sore. Headache, but not a bad one. Not dizzy. Also, hungry. And possibly willing to kill a man for some of that coffee I can smell, sir."

"It's shitty coffee, but I second that last part."

Mac grinned. "No such thing as shitty coffee, sir."

When Mac pulled back the curtain around the bed he was definitely a hundred percent kicked out of a few minutes later, he nearly laughed at the hangdog expression his Overwatch was wearing. "Hey," he greeted cheerfully. "How you guys doing?"

"Not nearly as good as some lyin' assed skinny bomb nerds I know. 'Golly, doc, I only nearly got blown to bits last night but I've never felt better in my whole life'," Jack said with a little bit of a glare thrown Mac's way.

The two other men and Mac all cracked up simultaneously. Mac picked up Jack's paper cup of coffee and drained it for him. Just like he figured, it was cold and untouched. "I take it some of us haven't been cut loose yet?"

"Some of us didn't just bullshit our way into getting cut loose."

"You can't have it both ways, Jack. Either I'm the terrible liar you always accuse me of being, or I'm so damned good I can convince my pupils to dilate evenly over brain swelling. Pick one."

Finally, Jack grinned. "I think you switch it up, just to keep me guessin'."

Mac laughed. "You stuck here again?"

Jack shrugged. "Apparently not everybody hops outta bed like the guy in charge of your busted head. I'm still waitin'."

Mac nodded at the other guys. "How about you?"

Kendrick shook his head. "Stuck here. Couple days, probably."

Reynolds rolled his eyes. "Caught a bullet. So no idea. Aren't I lucky?"

Mac looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry guys. I'm waiting on orders. Lemme know if you need anything. Gonna head down to the DFAC, see if the coffee's any better down there."

"It's not," said the tall blond man in a white coat entering from the hall. "But there is an omelette bar this morning."

"You just made my morning, sir," Mac said with a nod, and slipped out the door as Jack started to take up whatever argument he'd apparently left off with the night before.

Jack and Mac made it back to the FOB the following evening with a supply run. For probably the first time in his life Mac was grateful to have a little time off. Just getting back tired him right out. He guessed he'd been too hurt otherwise at Christmas to appreciate the concussion symptoms. He'd blamed the fatigue on the pain meds.

However, he was having a hard time being as inactive as the lecture he'd gotten both at the base hospital and from at least three different medical staff here said he was supposed to be.

Jack was having a hell of a time getting around. It wasn't the crutches. He had experience with those. But even with the brace they'd wrapped his strained knee in, he was hurting enough that holding it off the floor kept hanging him up.

Mac being Mac kept hopping out of his bunk to run for water or food or even just to help Jack get around. Jack finally pretended to doze off under a magazine just to get the kid to sit for five minutes. Once he finally sat, he huffed a long sigh. Then he lay down, and Jack was somewhat amused to note, he was mumbling softly to himself in real sleep in less than a quarter hour.

Jack on the other hand lay there for a long time, counting his heartbeat by the throbbing in his knee. He contemplated his partner racked out nearby in the middle of the afternoon. He was glad Mac was actually listening to the doc. Stubborn little shit was giving him grey hair these last few months. He thought maybe Major Donaldson had scared him a little with his talk of lasting concussion damage.

It wasn't exactly easier to think of than the pain in his leg, but it was nice to reassure himself that at least Mac wasn't as badly off this time as he had been at Christmas. And everything had worked out alright. In fact when Mac had been recovering, that was when he started to let his guard down a little. It was when Jack thought they'd truly become friends. Even as he mulled it over, memories slowly morphed into dreams.

Mac's eyes fluttered open. "Fuck," he said so softly that a half sleeping Jack almost missed it. Mac tried looking around, but everything was blurry. "Jack?"

When Jack didn't immediately answer he sort of wanted to cry. He'd done everything he could to push Jack away since the minute they'd met and still Jack had hung with him every step of the way. Mac was certain he was alone. And suddenly he didn't want to be.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to start crying like a kid and he really wasn't sure if it was relief that he was still alive and hadn't burned to a crisp or the general misery he was becoming increasingly aware of. Either way, he wasn't about to just give in to it.

He jumped a little when a hand very softly touched his shoulder. Jack's voice followed. "Hey, kid."

"Jack," he whispered. He sounded hoarse and his voice was shaking. "Where?" was all he had in him at the moment.

"Kabul," he answered.

Mac lay still for a couple of minutes. "Everybody?"

"Alive," Jack said. He didn't want to go into details but at least it was true on the surface.

"You?"

"I'm fine, Mac. Barely even disrespected, so not even close to hurt."

Another couple of minutes passed. Finally Mac breathed in and out slowly, like he was testing it. "How long?"

Jack half smiled, now fully awake in the chair he'd parked to nap in when they'd finally gotten the kid more or less patched up. What the kid was asking was how long had he been out, what he meant was how badly was he injured. "Oh, not all that long, Carl's Junior." One corner of Mac's mouth curled up. If Jack was using nicknames he was either dying or he was going to be fine. And he hurt all over, but he didn't think he felt bad enough to be dying. "We've only been here a few hours, I think. You've got some first degree burns from the flash, some smoke inhalation."

Mac didn't have to open his eyes yet to know Jack shrugged. "If that's all, what the hell am I doing in Kabul? You just described shit that'd get you screamed at for trying to go on sick call for."

This time when Jack hesitated, Mac opened his eyes. Things came into focus, although they all had sort of a fuzzy halo around them. He took in the amount of visible bandages on himself and raised an eyebrow at Jack.

"You took a lot of shrapnel, lost a lot of blood."

Mac frowned. There was something about Jack's expression. "What?" he asked.

"Concussion, too."

Mac just nodded. His head hurt and felt like it might be stuffed with soggy cotton balls. Then he asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?" in response to Jack's furrowed brow.

He didn't really want to tell him, but he also didn't want Mac all agitated, sure Jack was keeping something from him. "You … um … you weren't exactly with it before you finally just clocked out, kid. I couldn't get you to stop tryin' to just run into the fire and save somebody who wasn't there."

Mac closed his eyes again. He thought he'd been dreaming of Al's death. Apparently he'd been awake though.

Seeing a line that was becoming familiar forming across Mac's forehead, Jack decided joking with him a little was the best option. "And like i said, you got cut up pretty good. So much blood all over I nearly fainted. Cuz you know what delicate sensibilities I have when it comes to blood being spilled."

Mac snorted laughter and his eyes opened back up. "You were probably just worried they'd try to borrow some of yours. Somebody must've noticed by now that you always find someplace else to be whenever they run a blood drive on base. Gotta get you to pull your weight somehow."

Jack laughed even though he didn't feel much like it. "You're too observant for your own good, kid."

Mac was trying to think of something else to say. The open concern on Jack's face made him feel … he wasn't sure. Not uncomfortable … Sad. And he really couldn't say why. He thought maybe he'd come up with a good way to change the subject away from his injuries, to something that might get Jack to stop looking at him like that. But first he just needed to rest his eyes for a couple of minutes …

Jack jerked awake with a gasp of pain. He'd rolled half onto his side, onto his bad knee. Not that he'd wanted to argue with the doc about just heading back up here with the standard RICE protocol for the damned thing, but it felt worse than just a sprain or a strain or whatever the hell.

Mac's voice piped up from his other side. "You okay, Jack?"

"Yeah. Rolled funny."

He heard Mac sit up, heard his boots hit the floor. "Want a water or something?"

"You don't have to go running all over for me again, you know."

"Yeah, but I was going to wander down to the infirmary. That lieutenant you've been flirting with offered to snag some of the good Gatorade powder for you."

"I got plenty in my bag."

"Yeah," Mac said with a grin Jack could hear. "But I told her you like the fruit punch. I'm not above using your ability to be charming to improve my own situation."

"Alright, then yeah. A water would be great. And if you were to mention that it's real lonely down here and maybe hint at how a visit from someone even half as pretty …"

Mac shook his head. "I'll mention my Overwatch is a shameless womanizer," he laughed. He added, "Maybe I'll tell her orange drink powder could cure you. They never have orange."

He headed out the door to Jack laughing, which seemed how they always tried to do for each other.