Mac could hear the TV from Jack's room, not Die Hard any more … some sort of sporting event by the sounds. That meant Jack was awake again.
Mac leaned against the counter next to the sink with a tired sigh. He should just finish the breakfast dishes he'd been putting off and go check on Jack. He looked at the clock. He needed to start lunch too.
He reached up with one hand to rub his forehead.
He couldn't decide if he wanted to blame the headache on the side effects of the completely useless until at least next Monday and therefore totally unnecessary typhoid shot, or the fact that Jack was moaning and groaning like he was dying and being a giant baby.
He sighed again. That wasn't fair, not really. Mac was just grumpy as hell and he knew it. Jack was still pretty sick and his woes were compounded by his injuries. And the thing was, the poor guy wasn't even being all that dramatic about it, just every time he so much as mumbled in his sleep, Mac was on his feet and at Jack's side in a flash. That impulse and the ensuing headachey exhaustion probably contributed more than a little to his uncharitable thoughts, he supposed.
Last couple of nights Mac was pretty sure he hadn't slept more than twenty minutes at a time. It was a little bit of a blur though. Jack had definitely needed his help a fair amount, but the fatigue Mac was wandering around in a haze of today was multiplied tenfold by the fact that he hadn't slept much all the preceding weekend worrying about Jack and that missed check in and the fact that he now had a low grade fever from the vaccine to go with the headache that he was more than half sure was caused by the same thing. Not to mention an angry red welt on his arm where Demon Tinkerbell had cheerfully stabbed him.
He laughed at himself a little then, picturing his grandfather's No Whining poster from their garage. He remembered sullenly insisting it wasn't really whining if he didn't say it out loud and Harry had chuckled and told him he'd have to work on thinking more quietly then. Mac couldn't remember what he'd been grumbling about that particular day, but right now he would admit to whining a little, even if it was just in his own head.
Momentarily shaken out of his exhaustion-fueled funk, he donned some gloves, put extremely hot water and some bleach in the sink, and started washing dishes. At least Jack's appetite was returning. That was a good sign. Maybe by tonight, Mac thought, he'd feel good enough about Jack's condition to let himself really sleep.
Dishes done, gloves disposed of, apartment obsessively cleaned and sanitized for the third time, and a frozen macaroni and cheese in the oven, Mac was contemplating lying down on the couch for a few minutes to maybe close his eyes until the timer went off. He'd made it as far as sitting, then decided since Jack was awake anyway maybe he'd vacuum. He'd gotten the machine out of the closet when Jack's voice drifted out of his room.
"Hey, Mac, buddy?"
Mac sighed, marveling again that there were entire professions dedicated to taking care of sick people. Who chose to do that for a living? If he didn't care about Jack on a personal level no amount of money could have convinced getting up and down five hundred times the last two nights was a good idea.
He had a couple of friends who were at the starting to have babies stage of their lives and he suspected this was what having a newborn was like. Good grief. And people decided to do that, too? Either all those people were nuts or Mac was, and he didn't think it was him.
He got up, went to the fridge for a cold ginger ale and walked it into Jack's room, adjusting his expression to just communicate his concern and willingness to help. It wasn't Jack's fault he was in a mood, he thought to himself. When he walked through the door, Jack was frowning a little.
"How you doing, pal? Thirsty?" Mac asked, setting down the can of soda on Jack's nightstand.
Jack smiled slightly. "Nah, kid, I've still got some, but thanks." He gestured vaguely to the gatorade sitting behind the can that Mac just set down that he clearly hadn't noticed.
Now Mac frowned. "You're supposed to be drinking …"
"Yeah, yeah." Jack shook his head at Mac's fussing.
He felt like he should have, instead of merely complaining that Mac could be a bit of a mother hen, explained to Thornton that first, if Mac had a job to do, he was an all or nothing guy, and second if he cared about you he would absolutely put himself on the back burner. Since there wasn't a good way to tell that to Thornton without sounding like he thought Mac couldn't be trusted to take care of himself, he figured he'd just have to remind Mac that they'd been down this road before.
"Jack …"
"I'm drinkin' plenty. Just like I'm supposed to. What you're supposed to be doing is …"
"Taking care of you." He sounded about as grouchy as he felt.
"And yourself." Jack almost cracked up at the eyeroll he got in return.
"Hey man," Mac tried a slightly joking tone. "I'm not here for fun. Boss told me to do what I'm doing! I'm just being a good employee. I'll pretend you're not ignoring me being a good friend." Jack raised a single eyebrow. Mac added. "And I'm taking care of myself just fine thank you very much."
"I hear you rattling around out there. And I know just how much of a pain in the ass I was the last few nights." Mac cracked a smile at that. "I also seem to remember you have a tendency to forget you exist when you're worried about somebody. Remember after that dustup in Helmond? You ran yourself about into the ground looking out for me and the rest of the guys …"
Mac grinned then. "After I knocked you on your ass, you mean?"
Jack chuckled and shook his head. Damned kid was way too proud of that little incident. "Yeah, after that, you little shit. Just remember kid, payback's a bitch."
Another eye roll, but this one came with a grin. "As if I wasn't paying you back at the time. If I were you, I'd call it before I have to engage in some classic barracks-level prankery."
Teasing was much better than worrying. Although, once Mac pranks had been threatened it was a fine line between getting the kid out of his own head and starting a war. He held up his hands in surrender.
"Uncle."
Mac laughed.
"But c'mon Mac, you're driving me crazy today not to mention tiring yourself out for no good reason. You could ease up a little, right?"
Mac was smiling now, just a real genuine grin. If Jack was fussing over him instead of moaning and groaning, he felt worlds better. "I could be persuaded … After you eat lunch."
"You didn't go out and find some MREs to butcher just to remind me how this sort of thing usually goes, didja?"
"Jesus, no. That's your thing. Frozen mac and cheese is as close to committing atrocities in the kitchen as I'm willing to get." He shrugged. "I mean, I've been known to trash a kitchen. But not for food. Should probably learn to cook something other than experiments like I used to appropriate Gramp's kitchen for."
Jack suddenly had a picture in his head of much younger Mac and a blackened kitchen, only his blue eyes staring out of a cartoonishly soot covered face and it struck him as so funny, it set him laughing and he couldn't stop.
After a minute or two Mac just grinned and shook his head, saying, "I don't think I want to know," and he went to the kitchen to pull their lunch out of the oven.
After Jack had eaten, and Mac had in all honesty moved some food around on his plate, Mac once again cleaned up the kitchen, and pretty much re-sanitized the whole apartment. Then out of a combination of extreme boredom because he really did feel pretty good, and a desire to see Mac sit for five minutes, Jack talked him into moving the Xbox from the living room to his bedroom.
Mac did it gladly, thinking that between Jack worrying that Mac was doing too much, the amount of food the man had put away since morning, and him being bored enough to want his video games, he must really be feeling better. He also knew Jack thought he felt well enough to just be moving around the apartment freely again. Mac had vetoed the impulse first thing that morning, saying typhoid was extremely contagious and he was still all sweaty and feverish and there wasn't enough bleach in the whole neighborhood to keep sanitizing things if Jack just went running around. But he also thought that by Friday when Jack was supposed to check back in with the doctor, he'd probably be cleared to go about his business.
When Mac showed no interest in Jack's extensive library of first-person shooter games, even Halo, which Jack just couldn't seem to comprehend, he offered Madden, NHL, and NBA as less attractive but more Mac-friendly alternatives. Mac declined, thinking mostly that trying to concentrate on a video game was outside of his brain's current capabilities.
Jack finally gave up and suggested a dvd instead, but said he wanted company, not for Mac to clean his apartment again. They finally agreed on The Avengers. Mac made popcorn at Jack's request, then he brought in cushions from the couch for both of them to prop themselves up on against Jack's head board. Mac even kicked off his shoes and actually got comfortable to watch the movie.
They hadn't been watching long when one of Jack's favorite topics came up. "So, now that they've made a decent movie with these characters, you still think Hulk would be cool if you had to be a superhero?"
Mac snickered. "And here I thought your memory was going, old man." Jack punched him lightly in the arm; fortunately it wasn't the one that felt like someone had held a lit cigar against it after punching him with a fistfull of nickels. "After you finally saw that godawful piece of crap movie that came out when I was in high school do you still think the Punisher would be cool?"
Jack grinned. "See now, I knew I didn't need to worry about your memory, wunderkind. Yeah, I still think Frank Castle is a badass. Crappy movies can't ruin a good book, comic or otherwise."
They quieted during another action sequence where Thor's mischievous, if not downright evil, little half-brother was getting up to no good. Jack tipped the popcorn bowl in Mac's direction. Mac waved him off. "No thanks, pal, I'm all set."
"Dude, have some popcorn. You went to all the trouble of doing the coconut oil and rosemary thing you love. You don't need to leave it all for me just cuz you're all worried about making sure I eat."
"Seriously, dude. I'm good." Mac shook his head at the stubborn look he could see Jack giving him out of the corner of his eye. After a full minute of Jack staring at him instead of watching the movie, he finally turned and looked at him. "Dude, I'm not sharing a bowl with you. You're contagious."
Jack frowned. "Still?"
Mac nodded. "Some people are contagious forever." Jack's eyes widened with something like real horror. "It's not common or anything, and you got treated right away, so probably by the time you're done with your medicine you'll be clear."
Jack looked relieved, if not altogether happy with his situation. Then he made a face that was somewhere between confused and afraid he was going to get a lengthy explanation. "But you should be good anyway, even if you do share my popcorn. You got the magic Jack's germ repellent from the Princess of Darkness."
Mac rolled his eyes. He'd already gone over this with Thornton, then the nurse, and both those explanations had been right in front of Jack. Then again, Jack had still been pretty feverish at the time. "The inactivated vaccine doesn't reach efficacy for one to two weeks, Jack. And it isn't the world's most effective vaccine either; seventy percent tops. And any immunity I got from the series from when I got deployed is long over. That was like four years ago now. That's just how the immune system works."
"Well then, if it wasn't gonna do you any good, why'd you get the shot?"
"Seriously?" Mac's eyes widened a little. "How often do you argue with Patricia Thornton?"
Jack grinned a little. "More than is probably good for me, kid, but I see your point."
Mac shrugged. "Besides the infirmary staff agreed with her. Hard to make a good case when the available experts are against you. Even if they are wrong."
"I refuse to believe you couldn't have kept it up and convinced them. You're great at science stuff." Jack not so secretly though Mac was about the smartest guy in the world, and trusted his scientific knowledge as much as he trusted his own tactical training.
Mac laughed, but it was a slightly embarrassed sound. "Not Biology. And I'm sure Thornton looked at all my transcripts, high school and college. I got a C in Bio in high school and other than some equipment stuff I helped my friend Frankie with, I stuck to engineering at MIT. I think that's enough to undermine any biology-based assertions from me."
"How did a big ole giant melon having brain genius like you get a C in the easiest science class they let anybody take?" Jack asked, plainly curious. Mac didn't talk about his past much and Jack was always intrigued by the details about what made Mac Mac as they emerged.
Mac's ears went a little red. "I guess I didn't try that hard. And at college I thought I knew what I wanted to be. And what I didn't."
Mac's gaze returned to the tv screen. Jack continued to study him. Something was fishy about that answer. Jack decided Mac was more inclined to be patient with him than usual right now, so he decided to try asking a little more. "You're always kind of proud of the grades you made, kid. So I know you worked hard. Why not in biology?"
Mac didn't turn toward him, just shrugged. "Call it a little teenage rebellion." The words were those of a casual amusing comment. The tone was not.
"You rebelled against what? Science? And wound up with a C in bio?"
Mac sighed. "My dad was a biochemist, and chemical engineer."
Something about that didn't sound right either. And Jack once again lamented how little he really knew about Mac. "Was? What's he do now? Or … oh man … did he pass?"
Mac shrugged. "I dunno what he's doing now," he mumbled. "My grandfather raised me. I'm pretty sure I told you about that."
Not exactly, Jack thought. Something happened to Mac's dad and I can't even tell if he's mad or sad about it.
"Oh," sounded really inadequate, but Jack really didn't know what to say. He wanted to ask Mac more about his family, but that was something that Mac had made clear very early in their association was a topic that was off limits. "Well, if the explanation you ran through about that vaccine is any indication, I guess you've learned your bio since then, kid."
Mac shrugged again, but gave Jack a wan smile. "I've learned a few things I suppose."
There was a tightness there, a reserve, that felt distinctly un-Mac-like. So Jack decided to drop it for now. Mac was trying so hard to avoid more conversation because of the uncomfortable territory it had wound up in by staring at the tv that his eyes were getting unbearably tired.
His blinking got longer and slower and by the time Loki's lackeys were really wreaking havoc in Manhattan, he had dozed off, his excessive worry, his exhaustion, his need to take care of Jack, all back burnered by the overwhelming need for sleep.
Jack glanced at him occasionally, thinking the young man currently passed out next to him looked like a kid when he was asleep … well, more like a kid. Then a crease, well-worn if the depth of the line was any indication, spread across his forehead. This was followed by twitching limbs, and distressed, unintelligible mumbling.
More dreams.
Jack frowned, considering waking Mac up from what was clearly turning into a nightmare or already was one. But his guilt over how hard Mac had been working to take care of him told him to let the kid get some sleep and wake him up if it seemed to be getting bad.
Jack didn't know that when it came to dreams of the Mazari, of any of his time in Afghanistan really, that Mac had, usually 'getting bad' was a very relative term.