Mac rounded the corner to their bunk room at a brisker pace than was probably warranted by his current mission (or lack thereof). Everyone else who shared the eight man room was either on duty or, in Reynolds case, still off at the base hospital. Being on duty restrictions and more or less stuck in the barracks had worn thin for Mac after a couple of days. Now, as they neared the two week mark, he was about going out of his mind.

Jack on the other hand seemed to be in his glory not being on patrols. His ongoing flirtation with Trisha had yielded him all sorts of companionship, which certainly broke up the monotony of mostly staying off his feet. No pleasantly distracting female company had been forthcoming on the Angus MacGyver front, unfortunately. And Jack was watching Die Hard on a continuous loop on the portable DVD player Gramps had sent, so when he didn't have Trisha, he had John McClane. Mac liked Die Hard well enough, but he was kind of over it at the moment.

Jack was talking along with the dialogue now, and Mac had just seen Trisha, so it was just McClane and not a combination of him and the pretty nurse. "Welcome to the party, pal," was followed by Jack laughing to himself over one of his favorite parts of the movie. Mac breezed in and tossed some peanut M&Ms onto Jack's bunk on his way to his own. "How are things in Nakatomi Plaza?"

Jack looked up with a grin, tearing into the candy. "Bout the same as they were at Christmas, kid," he replied, offering some of the chocolates to Mac who just shook his head. "How were things … wherever you snuck off to this time?"

Mac sat down on his bunk and pulled a bottled water out of his stash underneath it. He took a couple of pulls off it before answering. "I didn't sneak off anywhere. I went to the chow hall and then over to the infirmary …"

Jack shifted the ice pack he was using and grimaced before he could stop himself. "You didn't get dizzy again, did you?"

Mac chucked his now empty water bottle at Jack. "I'm fine! I don't need a mom here for Chrissake. Jesus, that's a bad habit." His elaborate frown was somewhat spoiled by the sheepish hand that ran through his short hair, knowing just exactly why that was Jack's assumption. "I haven't gotten dizzy in a couple days. I went down to see if I could get somebody to maybe clear me for at least desk duty for tomorrow. I'm going nuts sitting on my ass here."

That last was said with a sullen huff, and Jack couldn't tell if it was put on for effect or if Mac's boredom was really starting to fry him a little. "What'd the doc say?" Jack asked mildly.

Mac sighed. "Nobody with the right rank or credentials was free to do anything other than give me dirty looks. Trisha said I could tag along when you get your knee looked at again tomorrow and if …" He paused, rolling his eyes.

"If what?"

Mac flushed, "If I look like as much of a puppy as I usually do …" Jack's cackle interrupted Mac's grumpy statement. Finally Mac just spoke over him. "Maybe somebody will take pity on me and shine a light in my face."

"What else?" Jack prodded.

"She said not to get my hopes up. 'Cause concussion restrictions blah blah blah," he groused.

"I knew I liked that woman."

"Oh, so cuz you're stuck warming your bunk on a semi-permanent basis, I have to be, too?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. That sounded like actually angry Mac as opposed to just grumpy or disgruntled. And they both knew it wasn't about Jack needing company. He'd been given a variety of duties that didn't involve mobility. Just his knee was swollen again, which was why he was in the barracks this afternoon. And half the time when he was stuck there, he had a very nice visitor. Mac, who swore up and down he felt fine, was still completely off the duty roster. Mac didn't want to talk about this being his second concussion in just a few months, didn't especially want to acknowledge it at this point, but their medical staff was obviously conscious of it.

"It ain't about me one bit. That ginormous brain a yours is too damn important to keepin' an awful lotta people alive to have you treatin' it like anything other than the absolute military asset, not to mention personal gift, that it is. I gotta get my nana to holler at you again?"

Mac just sighed. He did not, in point of fact, need any of Jack's relatives chewing him out over video chat. Not again, anyway. He flopped back onto his bunk in a way that made Jack want to remind him that the reason he'd been spending so much time in it was a freaking concussion. But he didn't. He was pretty sure saying such a thing would get his head bitten right off, the mood Mac was getting himself into. Mac knew he was just in a foul temper, so he scrubbed his hands over his face then sat back up, adjusting his expression so he was pretty sure it was only an eighth as pissy as he felt.

"How much longer for you, do they think, before they clear you?" He tipped his head at Jack's knee and refrained from commenting that the brace he'd been given looked tight around it this afternoon and was cutting into his leg a little. Mac hadn't actually seen the knee, but Jack had kind of been living in his PT gear when he wasn't on duty so mac had a fair idea of the good days and bad days Jack was having with the injury. Today looked like a bad one.

Jack shrugged. "I dunno, kid. Doc said to try usin' it a little and I got up on it long enough for a shower this morning without the crutches just to see how it felt and I'm maybe wishing I hadn't. But based on what they already told me, I probably better get used to not likin' how it feels since I'm probably gonna have to start rehabbing it anyway."

"Mmm," Mac said noncommittally. "Somebody said Seavers got a copy of True Grit in his Christmas care package when it finally showed up. I could probably go bum it off him."

Jack's face lit up. "I know I usually say remakes suck, but …"

"Sometimes they're even better," Mac nodded. "Gramps liked it when it came out in the theater, and I've told you how he feels about remakes."

Jack nodded. "Have you heard from your grandad lately, kid?"

Mac shrugged and shook his head. "Nah. Gramps is like that though. He really wanted to have a talk over Christmas but then I was so banged up … I'll give him a call the next time there's room to sign up." He shrugged again. He was actually a little worried about Gramps, though he couldn't have put his finger on why. "You want me to go borrow the movie or what?"

"You tired of Die Hard, are ya?"

"I think after how similar the day we got blowed up at Christmas was to this last thing … I think I need the similarities to stop," he said with an unusual amount of vulnerability.

"Alright kid, let's see if the reboot does the Duke justice."

Mac was grinning again as he headed out to bother one of the other "bomb nerds" for a movie, pleased to have something to break up the afternoon that didn't feel like Groundhog Day.

0-0-0

"Seriously?" Mac asked heavily, forgetting to add a ma'am or that he was anything other than a regular guy who liked to be in a state of perpetual motion, and reminded acutely that following orders was not something that came especially naturally to him.

He moved to slide off the gurney he was sitting on, but Captain Carver stayed in his way, very stubbornly forcing eye contact again. "Very seriously, Specialist."

He let himself relax back to fully seated like he wasn't in a hurry to leave and like he hadn't forgotten that he needed to be dismissed to do so. "Even if I feel fine, ma'am?" he asked politely, remembering himself after her sharp tone.

She was suddenly profoundly grateful that her husband was a civilian and doing the vast majority of the more active parenting now that their kids were in their middle teen years. "MacGyver, has anyone actually explained to you why the month restriction was set to begin with?" she asked, patiently, she thought, given that she wasn't especially accustomed to being questioned or pushed back against these days.

He frowned. "Not really, ma'am. Just that I have a concussion. That's all anyone has said. On an endless loop."

"Well, then maybe someone should," she offered. "Are you familiar with Post Concussion Syndrome?"

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't add that it was the other thing that had been repeated to him over and over the last couple of weeks.

"Did you know that you're more likely to experience it if you don't allow your brain time to heal?"

"Well, yes, ma'am, but …"

"A hundred days."

Mac's eyes widened. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

"A hundred days is the amount of time you can typically expect to continue suffering concussion symptoms if you don't rest your mind as well as your body. If you do neither, you could find yourself with permanent difficulties and a medical discharge."

He swallowed hard. Then he tilted his head, listening to a voice just audible through the thin wall. That sounded like Jack. He refocused on the doctor though. "What if I …"

"Following concussion protocols, the majority of those studied were symptom free in forty-three days."

"Forty-three?" he sputtered. That was almost a month a a half!

Then he very distinctly heard Jack's voice say clearly. "Fuck that."

Or maybe 'say' was kind of an understatement. Snap, growl, shout - those all worked.

"Hence the month restriction," she said with a nod.

Mac was now more interested in trying to overhear whatever was going on with Jack than arguing with the doctor. "Okay … I mean … yes, ma'am."

"That loud voice belong to you?" she asked, amused that suddenly the young man's laser focus was so easily transferred to something else.

"Pretty sure that's my Overwatch, ma'am."

"Go rescue my colleague from your Overwatch, Specialist. I'll do what I can to get you cleared for something as soon as I can. As I understand it bored bomb techs can equal messy pranks that color up my days more than I generally like." He had to smile at that. He couldn't help it. Especially because it was true. "See us again next week, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said hopping up the second she was out of his way.

In the hallway, he nearly smacked into Jack's current crush. "Lieutenant," he greeted almost formally. Trisha was just Trisha outside these walls. Bustling around the infirmary, however, her demeanor begged for some acknowledgement that she was his superior.

"Mac," she replied with what could only be described as relief. "You are still here. Good. I've got a job for you."

The twitch of her lips made him smile in return. "Where is he?"

"In there with Major Richards," she said, tilting her head. "Trying to get himself in deep shit."

Mac frowned. "What's up?"

"Do you know what joint effusion is?"

"In this case?" The frown deepened. "Water on the knee?"

"Mmhm. Know what arthrocentesis is?"

"Gross."

"Okay so you do. Dalton is having none of it and seems to be trying to get himself kicked out of the Army to avoid it."

Through the door she'd indicated, Mac hear the familiar voice raised again. "That sort of explains a few things actually." He sighed. "It's been nice knowing you."

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna go butt in to a Dalton irrational Hulk out. And Jack'll probably kill me so …"

She laughed. "Hulk out … oh that's perfect."

Mac put on his game face and tapped on the door, entering without waiting for an answer. He was generally an observant guy, but the first thing that took up his attention was the look in Jack's eye. It was definitely angry, with the dangerous sparkle that he got when he sensed trouble. But it was also flatly terrified. Mac knew the look because he'd seen it when he'd gotten hurt at Christmas and Jack thought he was going to bleed to death.

It made him want to put some distance between him and his partner. A scared Jack Dalton was about the most dangerous thing he could think of. Then he felt bad. Jack's last impulse on earth if Mac was afraid would be to leave. Besides, he'd now also gotten a look at Jack's knee without the brace, so whatever had him in full fight or flight was probably unavoidable.

"Morning, sir," Mac said to the doctor pleasantly, just like the man didn't look about ready to throttle his partner. He got a nod in return.

The doctor looked at Jack, a sort of long suffering expression coming over his face. "I'll be back in five minutes."

After he was out the door, Jack mumbled, "And I'll be gone in five minutes."

"Probably not without these," Mac said, and rolled his eyes, picking up Jack's crutches from where they were leaning against the table, and started attempting to use them in the small room. They were too tall. As he predicted, Jack had to laugh at him.

"What's it to you anyway, Carl's Junior?"

Mac put the crutches down again, but leaned them over against the counter, several feet away from Jack. "Well, I met Trisha in the hallway and she seemed to think you were in here bucking for an Article 92 for some reason. And I just figured I'd come put the brakes on whatever had you swearing so I could hear it through the wall before I have to break in a new Overwatch."

Jack sighed and started strapping his knee back into its neoprene brace. "I'm not gonna get court martialed over not letting some hack turn my knee into a voodoo doll."

"So you didn't get ordered to …"

"I'm not doin' it! And it ain't the same thing as an order in the field and …"

Mac noticed when Jack was tired or stressed at all the Texas got so thick in his voice it was like a foreign accent. "Whether it's out there in a fight or in a crappy poorly lit exam room on base … Pretty sure it's still an order, pal."

Jack swung his freshly braced leg off the table and motioned for Mac to hand him the crutches. The expression on his face said that if Mac wanted to continue metabolizing oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide the crutches had better get handed over. On the double. "Yeah, like you're one to talk about ignoring orders."

Mac reluctantly passed Jack the crutches. "Only if they're dumb," he grinned.

"Well, I think these orders are dumb. So there. Besides, you're the one who pointed out we ain't government property and …"

"Whoa! All I said was that you can't get cited for damaging government property for doing something dumb like playing pickup football!" Mac interrupted, holding up his hands. "I never said the Army can't order your dumb ass to let somebody fix up your leg before they have to kick you out with a permanent limp!"

"Yeah, well, I think I'm startin' to like the MacGyver method," Jack said, getting the crutches under him.

"And what's that?" Mac asked, cocking an eyebrow, fairly certain the answer wouldn't be flattering.

"Arguin' every damn time I don't like somethin'," Jack said, unable to help grinning at the slightly offended look he got from the younger man. "Doc's gettin' me a dose pack of prednisone to take the swelling back down instead of …" He waved vaguely at a small wheeled table currently covered with a small paper drape. "That."

"Oh," Mac said with sudden complete realization. He'd suspected this was the case, but he was pretty confident he'd just confirmed it. "Okay. I get it. Prednisone is good. Worth a try anyway."

Jack didn't like the suddenly sympathetic look Mac was now giving him. He sort of understood why his own fussing made Mac so defensive at that moment. "Why're you lookin' at me like that?"

"Nothing, man. Just … Nothing." Calling Jack out openly for the sort of thing guys would give each other endless shit for seemed like a good way to spend the day with Jack pissed at him instead of the doctor.

"Dude!" Jack absolutely hated it when Mac clammed up. Especially when he got that slightly intimidated look about him. When they'd first met, Jack would have paid good money to intimidate the stubborn little shit into just half behaving like he expected him to, but now he didn't like it. Not at all.

Mac put up his hands again. "I just didn't realize you're … you know … someone with trypanophobia."

Jack glared at him. "I am not!"

"It's actually kind of a debatable accurate term. It means fear of ne...,"

"I know what the hell it means, smartass! I'm no afraid of any damn thing. I just don't want some former ROTC nerd screwing up the rest of my career cuz he has shaky hands or somethin'!" he declared defensively.

Mac suppressed a smirk. The fact that he hadn't had to translate the term said he'd just hit on exactly why he'd been able to hear Jack swear though the wall and had him looking vaguely like an animal caught in a trap. "Okay, sorry," was what he said instead. And he mostly managed to sound like he thought he might be wrong, despite the fact that Jack did always seem to find somewhere else to be of sharp objects might be involved.

He was going to hedge that it was a perfectly understandable fear, if someone, not Jack of course, but someone happened to have it. But he was interrupted by the none to impressed doctor coming back in. With no preamble he thrust a card of pills at Jack who had the good sense just to take them from him. "You, take these as directed and get yourself back over here in two days. Barracks restrictions until then."

"Alright, but," Jack started.

"Do you have questions about this medication, Sargent?" he interrupted.

Jack's eyes widened just a little. "No, sir."

"Good. Then the rest of those orders should pose no problem for you either." He turned to Mac. "You."

"Yessir?"

"Your orders are to haul him in here two days from now whether you have to drag him or not."

Mac just nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," the officer said as he turned to leave, altogether done with argumentative dumbasses or their too damn young to be in a war zone sidekicks.

"Let's go," Jack said, stuffing the meds in his short's pocket and angling one of his crutches to hold the door.

As Jack gained ground quickly headed back to their room Mac just sighed and shook his head. Jack had thrown him a look like he, too, was now one of the enemy. Sure, Major, Mac thought. I'll go ahead and drag Jack back here in a couple of days. Because I've always wondered what it would be like to not have thumbs.

The prospect was more intimidating that a month and a half of boredom. Hell, at the moment, it was more intimidating than a streetful of IEDs.

Maybe it won't matter, Mac consoles himself. Maybe the course of steroids will work. He nearly had himself convinced, but as his mind started turning over the strange similarities to their situation at Christmas it also started contemplating Murphy's Laws.

When he entered their bunk house a minute or two behind Jack, it was to find him already complaining about the day to Kendrick who was not helping matters as he described having an ankle drained after a football injury in high school.

Mac just stretched out on his own bunk with an arm over his eyes against the mild headache that was trying to make a comeback. He grumbled to himself as he dozed off for one of his concussion induced unplanned naps, "Fucking Murphy was an optimist."