A/N - Seems like everyone was interested in more sick grumpy Mac. I hope this delivers! ~ J
Jack was sitting in the waiting room of the company infirmary, which functioned as doctor's office, emergency room, small hospital, and research facility given the nature of their work (public and otherwise), thumbing through the latest issue of Guns and Ammo, when one of the other security guys sat down next to him, a badly broken hand wrapped and iced while he was waiting for them to book a surgical repair for him.
"Hey, Daniels," Jack said without really looking up.
"Hey, Dalton. How you doing? I heard your last assignment had more than its fair share of local color."
"You could say that. But I'm good. Better," he answered, not entirely paying attention.
Ross Daniels made a face. He hated being the bearer of bad news. Especially to Jack Dalton who was well known for his temper and a tendency to act before he considered consequences thoroughly. Made him a hell of a security guy but also made knowing him a little complicated. Ross was also pretty full of pain medication for his absolutely mangled hand so he knew his thoughts and reactions weren't exactly up to speed. He decided to approach this slowly. "Your little science nerd buddy is MacGyver, right?"
Jack looked up like something startled him. "Yeah?"
"Um, so I just overheard two of the nurses talking …"
"About what? Is he okay? Is he …"
"Calm down, Jack, Jesus," the man said starting to chuckle. That wasn't pissed off about to flip out Jack Dalton, that was something Daniels wasn't familiar with; tentative, worried Dalton. Hmmm. "Anyway," he said once he was sure he had Jack's attention again. "These two nurses were talking and I guess a certain lab tech just told off Don Foster none too quietly and is either going to walk out or get bounced from the infirmary if whatever's going on between the two of them keeps up."
Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a split second in an 'of course that's what's happening' expression. "Shit, man, if I'd known Foster was the doc on duty I'd have taken the kid to the emergency room instead."
"Too late now, Dalton. But, you know how Foster is. You might want to go talk the kid down."
Jack got up, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. "Thanks, Ross," he said, heading through the doors an unfamiliar buzz cut-sporting ginger guy in the company's ubiquitous green scrubs led Mac about a half hour before.
Only one of the doors was closed, indicating an occupant, so Jack figured he'd found Mac pretty quickly. He tapped on the door and heard a sharp, "What now?" that told him he was right.
Jack knew that tone. It was the voice of one completely done with everyone Angus MacGyver that didn't show itself that often. He opened the door slowly just in case Mac had decided to get inventive with his displeasure. Nothing fell on him and there was no fire or small explosions so he figured that was a good sign, and stepped inside.
He'd seen Mac injured before, seen him sick even, and he'd certainly seen him unhappy, but Jack didn't think he'd ever seen a more forlorn looking human being in his entire life, if it was possible to look forlorn while also looking so pissed off the drapes were in danger of catching on fire from the glare Mac was sending toward the door.
The second he realized it was Jack though, his expression changed into one that was both hopeful and wary. He tossed the pen and clipboard he'd been holding off toward the foot of the gurney he was resentfully sitting on. "Jack!" he said with forced cheerfulness. "Awesome. I was hoping somebody found you for me so we can get out of here."
Jack took in the unused IV kit still sitting on the counter, the unworn hospital gown wadded up next to it, and the half filled out paperwork Mac had just casually discarded. "If you're okay to get out of here, how come you didn't just come find me?" Jack asked, sitting down in the chair off to the side of the gurney, making it clear that there was a minimum of a conversation between Mac and his objective of going through that door.
Mac puffed out a long sigh through his bottom lip, making it blow his hair out of his face as his eyes searched the ceiling like the answer to Jack's question might be found there. Finally, he looked at Jack again. "Okay, so maybe nobody has said I can leave, but they already ran all their tests, so there's no reason I shouldn't. I work here. It's not like they don't know how to get ahold of me if something's positive."
Jack didn't say anything for a minute, just looked at Mac until the younger man shifted uncomfortably. Deciding directly contradicting Mac wasn't going to end well at the moment, instead he asked, "What's with the paperwork?"
Mac rolled his eyes. "The same forty freaking pages I filled out when I started working here is what. I bothered to look up all that garbage when I wanted the job and came in here to establish a health record for the employee clinic, but if they want to know it again they can look it up."
He didn't add that he'd thought it was ridiculous to begin with. He didn't need a health record at work. He built things in a lab. He wasn't about to seek medical treatment for a papercut. He also didn't add that his headache was breathtaking and the idea of squinting at all those lengthy, specific questions again nearly made him want to cry. Or throw something. Yeah, the second thing. Definitely.
"That's fair," Jack said with a nod.
That stuff drove him nuts, too. If they weren't going to save the information in some way that was easy to access then they could do without it as far as he was concerned. Jack hated paperwork in all forms anyway. Generally he got creative with it to entertain himself. Of course, he more than half suspected that medical types made you fill out tons of paperwork and answer a million questions to distract you from either how long you were waiting, or what they wanted to do to you.
"What about that?" Jack tipped his chin at the IV kit on the counter.
Mac glared at him for a second then grumped. "Not a chance. I'm conscious, able to eat and drink on my own, and they are so bad at finding a vein I think I would have been better off if they'd turned out the lights and just thrown darts at me to get me to bleed."
Jack processed for the first time that Mac was wearing his coat and it was zipped up, either because he was cold, or to make it clear that anything under it was now off limits. Jack decided not to ask which. "So they took some blood? What for?"
Now Mac got up and just leaned against the bed, jamming his hands into his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting in real irritation. "To test for typhoid, which is the stupidest things I've ever heard a medical professional try to justify in my entire life." Jack didn't ask the question out loud, but he did ask it with his expression. Mac huffed. "First of all even if we hadn't been being insanely careful which we have been, I've only been anywhere near you for four days. The minimum incubation period for typhoid is eight to fourteen days, so even if I'm actually sick, which I'm not, I couldn't be sick from that. Secondly, Thornton made me get the vaccine which is maybe the second stupidest thing I've heard all week relative to medicine, because that takes fourteen days to be effective and can show up as a false positive in lab tests for typhoid! And by the way causes fevers just like this!"
Starting to understand a little more why Mac maybe lost his temper a bit with Dr. Don 'It's Standard Protocol' Foster, Jack asked, "Did you happen to mention that to the doc?"
Another deep eye roll. "Of course I did," he snapped.
Mac was not one to keep quiet if he thought he was right or thought protocol should be questioned, even in Basic, if everything Jack had heard from Mac, and elsewhere, was true.
"And what did he say?" Jack asked calmly, pretty sure from the flash in Mac's eyes that this was the moment Foster had lost all hope of a cooperative patient.
"That bone marrow is a more accurate tissue to look at to assess early typhoid infection," he replied, his eyes narrowing once again with anger, and a little something else.
"Wow. Was he serious?" Jack said, mildly horrified that either such a thing was necessary (or likely to be proposed to clear him for duty) or that a doctor would say something like that just in response to being questioned.
"Probably. The asshole." Mac's frown deepened. "Just … you know … I came in here trying to be a responsible person, take care of myself, make my friend feel better, too, and what do I get? Threatened. That's what that was, Jack. A threat. Of something unpleasant and unnecessary because he figured it would shut me up."
Mac swallowed hard then, wincing a little at the slight twinge it caused. If his throat hadn't hurt before, it did now, after it had been scraped with what felt to Mac like a wire brush, no matter how much it had looked like a cotton swab. He didn't have to say to Jack that feeling a little like medicine was a threat was not a new feeling for him, nor was it one he intended to relive for no good reason. He could tell from Jack's expression that the conversation they'd had back at his place was still are the forefront of his mind.
"I'm sorry as hell kid, cuz it sure sounds like it." He paused. "So why didn't you just tell 'im no and avoid bleeding at all?"
Mac sighed, sitting down again on the edge of the gurney. "Because as stupid as testing me for typhoid is, the nurse said it was also for a complete blood count and other stuff, in case it was something else. He said it would be bad if you got another infection right now, which makes sense since your immune system is compromised by both the infection and the high doses of antibiotics and …"
"Thanks, kid," Jack said with a soft smile. Count on Mac to put up with something, even if it made him miserable, if someone else was involved, too.
Mac shrugged, looking around the small room, mostly because the fond way Jack looked at him at times like these made him feel … well, he didn't know exactly, but he didn't know how to deal with it either.
When Mac didn't explain further, Jack asked, "If they were going to poke you anyway, why not just let them start the IV, Mac? I mean … You were … are if how red your cheeks are is any indication … kind of burning up, and you were out cold for a really long time … Seems like maybe some fluids wouldn't be the worst thing that ever happened to you. Remember when we both got heat exhaustion hiding out in those metal garbage cans up in Kunduz?"
"Yeah, well, they didn't decide it was a good idea until after the clearly nearsighted and bad at listening nurse had already stabbed me about fifty times. Seriously, darts in the the dark would have left less damage."
Jack noticed that now Mac looked half amused at his own metaphor which was a good sign that fever and fury aside, he was probably thinking pretty clearly. Jack imagined fifty was an exaggeration, but also figured that however many times he'd been poked was probably a little bit of why he had his coat on at the moment. Jack knew from a couple of notable and frightening experiences as the kid's overwatch that he had rotten veins and no patience for anyone sticking them even if they were good at it. "So after using you for a voodoo doll, that's when the doc decided to order an IV, huh? That what you told him off over?" Jack asked.
Mac ran a hand through his hair, making a face at how damp and sweaty it was and how clammy his skin felt, even to him. "Who says I told him off?" he asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.
"Apparently everybody who could hear you through these not terribly well insulated walls," Jack chuckled. "So was that it?"
Mac shrugged. "Among other things ... He threatened to get me in trouble with Thornton, too, because he said this was … I don't remember what long winded bullshit he wrapped it up in … Jesus that guy loves the sound of his own voice and somebody ought to point out that it sounds like biting on foil feels … Anyway ... it amounted to 'it's work related' and implied that if I wanted to keep my job I was just going to have to cooperate with whatever he said and then he stomped out. I was just sitting here deciding if he was serious and if he was how much I actually like working here when you came in."
The long speech seemed like it took the last of the wind out of Mac's sails and his shoulders slumped a little. Jack got up and leaned against the gurney next to where Mac was sitting. "Thornton's not gonna get on your case on the word of Don Foster, kid," Jack offered. "Guy has a bit of a reputation with a certain element around here."
"So why doesn't she fire him if he's just miserable to people and makes them want to not access basic health care?" Jack considered that question a bit of a victory, because it was more or less Mac acknowledging that he knew coming in had been a good idea, he just didn't like how things had gone up to this point.
He grinned. "She keeps him around because he's actually a hell of a trauma doc and that comes in handy sometimes."
Mac frowned at that revelation. Then Jack winked at him, like he was letting him in on a secret. Something about it made Mac want to grin, but his head was too fuzzy to sort out what at the moment. "So I'm not gonna get in trouble with the boss, you get that this guy is the world's biggest shit … Can we go now? I'll chug NyQuil and lay on your couch until you give me your personal blessing to move, I swear."
Jack's smile said he was sympathetic, but that he wasn't about to just agree with Mac. The younger man did what he thought was an admirable job at keeping his eye roll to a bare minimum. "How about I go talk to Thornton and make sure I wasn't putting the cart before the horse saying you're all good? Then, we'll maybe get a doc in here you can stand the sight of … and a nurse who doesn't desperately need glasses, just to be sure you're actually good to go before you decide to go for an afternoon run across town just to get out of here. Okay?"
Mac shrugged, not concealing his sigh particularly well, but also not inclined to argue. What Jack was proposing was shockingly reasonable. "Fine."
Jack moved to go take care of things, but he turned back to Mac before he opened the door. He thought maybe Mac would take it better coming from him this time. "Unless you're actually cold, you might want to consider taking off your coat, bud. I don't want to be the one to break it to you, but based on the last fourteen or so hours, between your fever and how long you were out …"
Mac didn't even bother to conceal his annoyed puff of breath this time. "Yeah, you already said all that," he grumped, but he did start to unzip his jacket.
"You could just make everybody's life easier and make yourself less sweaty and uncomfortable and change …"
"No," Mac said flatly.
"I thought you'd decided to be all reasonable now, Mac," Jack said with a grin, knowing he was just poking the bear at this point.
"Jack if I opened those cabinets there's probably at least six things I could use to blow a hole in this wall and just leave without ever having to walk by the front desk. Don't test me." He was smiling, but his eyes said he wasn't really in the mood for Jack to start kidding around at the moment.
"Probably? Like you didn't look the minute they left you alone in here," Jack snorted and Mac was surprised into laughing a little too. Part of it was how Jack said it, and the other part was that it was absolutely true. And there were only four things that would be even remotely useful. But still.
Mac smirked this time and despite his somehow sweaty and dried out all at once appearance and his coal red cheeks, the expression made Jack feel about ninety percent better. "Fair enough. So you know I'm prepared."
Jack chuckled. "Alright, kid, I'll be back in a few. We'll get you all sorted out."
Mac's face screwed up into an expression that was at once tentative and stubborn. "I'm not staying here."
"Jeez, bud, how fast do you want me to move, you just barely agreed to let me go get someone …"
"I meant overnight, Jackass," Mac laughed a little.
"Alright, I hear ya," Jack said, about to close the door behind himself.
"And if someone thinks that IV is still a good idea they get one try. One. I mean it."
"I will be sure to pass that along," Jack said, actually really grinning now.
He had the door almost closed when something else occurred to Mac. "And if Foster walks back in here … I'm going to pretend I'm you after you got grounded in Nari Saraj."
Jack turned back around fully. "I thought we agreed we'd never talk about that again."
"You said I could mention the part where you clocked that second lieutenant." Mac grinned. "The terms were that I couldn't mention you being a big baby and me decking …"
"If he comes back, you'll punch Foster. Duly noted," Jack interrupted. He closed the door before Mac could mention any more details of that particular story.
0-0-0
It was dinner time and Mac was still occupying a bed in the infirmary.
Jack had gotten a replacement doctor who had made himself a friend of Jack his first week working here over an incident he couldn't yet tell Mac about and who Mac seemed to take to almost immediately. Reassuring but matter-of-fact and he answered questions immediately even admitting if he didn't know instead of deflecting.
Mac still hadn't changed into a gown. But he had agreed to move to one of the treatment rooms, taken off his boots and gotten comfortable in the bed, letting the nurse bring him warm blankets after she'd expertly started his IV in the back of his hand where he asked her to do it with one nearly painless stick. Jack thought that the fact that she was fresh out of college and very chatty about how much she loved her science coursework, and was also sweet, smart, and extremely pretty may have had something to do with Mac's agreeability.
Jack nearly cracked up when Mac gave the nurse his most charming grin as she delivered his dinner. "Thank you so much, Rachel."
"You are so welcome, Mac," she said with a very genuine smile. Then as she was fiddling with the IV, she added. "I don't know what Anthony was talking about. You're a model patient."
Mac glared at Jack when the older man barked a short surprised laugh. "I guarantee that is the first time Mac has ever heard those words, ever in his whole life."
She narrowed her eyes at him and he couldn't tell if it was teasing or if he'd actually bugged her a little. "I'll remember to use my experience with your friend here as a metric for the next time you're here with us, Mr. Dalton," she said sweetly.
"Yeah, do that. Jack's never heard he was a model anything. Except maybe prisoner …" This time Mac laughed.
"Keep it up, kid. I'm your ride home, now, remember?" Jack said with a grin, pleased to see Mac relaxed and acting more like himself again.
He almost immediately regretted bringing up the ride home because Mac immediately looked at Rachel and Jack could almost hear him mentally calculating how charming he needed to be to get the information he wanted, to get his way but not come off like he was flirting with her. If he met her in a bar he'd definitely flirt with her, and that was pretty obvious, but here, sick, sweaty, and feeling less than dignified, knowing other staff had talked trash about him, he wasn't about to so much as suggest they have coffee. Ever.
Then Mac cleared his throat. "So, hey, um … how come that IV is taking so long to finish. I've gotten fluids before when I was in the Army and I was in and out in like an hour. This has been …" He looked around the room and frowned when he noticed for the first time that there wasn't a clock. He also realized his coat was hanging on a hook across the room and had his phone in his pocket. "Um … longer than that," he finished with what he hoped was another charming smile.
The smile she gave him back said so far she liked him very much as far as patients went, but that she was wary of any pushback after the storytelling Tony had done and the way Dr. Foster had been harumphing around before the end of his shift. "It's taking so long on purpose, Mac. We don't have your labs back yet and your fever is pretty high. You may need medication yet. Don't want to throw your electrolyte balance off by administering too many fluids, but Dr. Anderson didn't want to wait because you were starting to show signs of dehydration and …"
"How long?" he interrupted, softening it by maintaining his smile, but his tone implied that his patience was starting to think a little.
She turned to face him fully so he wouldn't feel her answer was dismissive. "Until we hear what Dr. Anderson recommends, Mac. Right now I've got you set up for about ten milliliters per hour. Just enough to get you fluids and keep the line open."
Mac squinted at the bag hanging on the pole next to his bed. The headache, which he would freely admit did feel better now that he'd been resting and getting fluids for a while, made reading taxing. "Ten an hour? That bag is two hundred fifty milliliters! I already said I'm not …"
"Relax, Mac," she said, patting his arm. "Nobody has said anything about trying to keep you here tonight, right?"
"No, but …"
"Then why are you worried about it?"
One corner of his mouth lifted, and Jack thought maybe the kid blushed a little, but the fever made it a little hard to tell. Mac shrugged. "Always be prepared?" he said with another charming smile.
"What? Were you a Boy Scout?" she asked, going about taking his vitals again while he was distracted by their conversation.
"Never voluntarily," he said lightly and then he paused when she put the digital thermometer in his ear. "Better?" he asked when it beeped.
"Not worse," she said pleasantly. "I'll go see if your test results are back and maybe find Dr. Anderson for you, Mac. He'll be able to give you a better time frame."
He sighed and started poking at his dinner with his fork. "Thanks," he said in a voice that had her exchanging a look with Jack.
After she left, Jack watched Mac move food around on his plate for a minute or two. "You know what's really good for convincing medical types that they can cut you loose?"
"Lemme guess. Eating your dinner?" he said with an almost irritated smirk, but he did shovel a bit of mashed potato in his mouth.
He'd managed to eat about a third of the food, despite having literally no interest in it when Dr. Anderson entered at almost the same moment as he tapped on the door, followed by Nurse Rachel. "How are you feeling, Mac?" he asked, studying Mac's face carefully, but not in a way that made Mac feel like he was prying for hidden meaning in his response.
"Okay," Mac shrugged. "Pretty much wondering when I can get outta here more than anything now. Which you're here to tell me is soon, right?"
The doctor who had at least ten years on Jack chuckled in a way that could only be described as with fatherly amusement. "If that slight note of desperation I hear is about whether or not I'm going to try to hold you prisoner in the infirmary overnight, you can relax." Mac's face immediately brightened. "The beds here are lumpier than my bunk back in my early days in the Navy. I try not to inflict them on anyone, even patients I don't like, unless there isn't any other choice."
Mac grinned then and looked over at Jack as if to say, 'See I don't have to stay, so there', and it made Jack almost want to laugh, and if he wasn't plain relieved that Anderson didn't think Mac was sick enough to need to be here, he would have. Outwardly, Jack just chuckled. "You mighta just made yourself a friend for life, Doc."
"Besides, rumor has it that even if I tried you'd use whatever is in the cabinets to blast your way out … that was it wasn't it?" He smiled at Mac's reaction to Jack ratting him out. Mac's expression said he'd only been kidding. Probably. "Just want to verify, no antibiotic allergies, right?"
"No, sir, not that I know of," Mac answered. Questions like that meant they were headed into treat and release territory. He was all about the release part.
"Good. Rachel if you would, please?" He nodded toward the nurse who immediately hooked up a small bag of something to the existing IV and made a few adjustments.
"It'll go much faster now, Mac," she said with a bright smile, which he returned, much happier with that than her earlier answer.
More concerned with the why of it than the how fast Mac could get out of here, Jack asked, "What's he need the antibiotics for, Doc? He didn't get sick takin' care of me, did he?"
"No, Jack. He's got a mild strep infection. Combine that with a nasty reaction to the typhoid vaccine and getting a little run down looking out for a friend, it's no surprise he spiked a fever." He switched his attention to Mac who was clearly more interested in the problem solving aspects of the situation than the clinical details. "We're going to push some antibiotics and antipyretics for the infection and fever now that we know what the cause is, and then we'll send you home for some enforced rest for a couple of days. Sound good?"
"Yeah, sure." He took an iced ginger ale from Rachel almost without thinking and started sipping through the straw. She'd figured out early that if she asked if he needed anything he'd say he was fine, so she stopped asking and just started bringing him what she knew he ought to have. She'd gotten several approving looks from Jack that made her feel better about releasing her patient into his care. "Thanks," Mac said after the first blessedly cool drink.
Jack waved for the doctor's attention again. "We're sure he didn't get typhoid … because …"
Anderson shook his head. "There's no way he'd be symptomatic based on when he could have been exposed. Besides, I reviewed his service records and in all likelihood still has some protection from the series he received when he was deployed." Anderson paused. "There was no point in administering that vaccine on Tuesday and certainly no point in testing him today."
"That's what I said!" Mac agreed enthusiastically. Then he sat back a little. "Sorry, that was loud."
"You weren't loud, bud, just very convinced you were right," Jack said fondly.
"It felt loud. My head is killing me," he admitted.
"You sure he should leave, Doc?" Jack asked, suddenly worried again. Mac admitting to pain in front of a medical professional was enough to give him fits.
"Oh no you don't, Jack! He said home, and I'm going, and you have to drive me, you already said you would if Dr. Anderson said I could go and he did. Get your keys, old man." He glanced over at the IV. "Better warm up your car in like twenty minutes, tops."
The doctor patted Mac's shoulder this time, thinking to himself that he'd seen Mac around the building and there was always something strangely old about him, like he'd experienced more life than someone should be able to pack into twenty-three years. But right now, sick and vulnerable, and definitely overly focused on going home because something about being here just bothered this young man in a way he wasn't saying, he seemed almost impossibly young. "Speaking of going home, son, I do recommend that you not stay alone. Your fever is still quite high. I'll feel better about cutting you loose if I know someone will be around to keep and eye on you until it comes down and stays down."
"He can stay with me," Jack answered before Mac had a chance to reply that he had a roommate.
"That is a plan I definitely approve of. Both of you come in tomorrow at your scheduled time, Jack, so we can reevaluate that fever. Agreed?" he asked Mac.
"I ... I mean … will you be here though?"
The doctor concealed his smile. He could hardly blame the kid. "I will be, by special request of Director Thornton."
Mac didn't even care if his boss was butting in at this point. He wasn't in trouble, he did sort of feel a little better, and he was getting to go home. Okay, not home, but Jack's couch was the next best thing, and Jack was definitely a less irritating pinch hitter as a nurse than Bozer, who would call Mrs. Bozer and the two of them would fuss over him endlessly. "Okay, then yeah, agreed."
Not long after, Mac was in his sweats, with a t-shirt borrowed from Jack because his were all dirty or sweaty, under a heavy knit comforter, on Jack's couch. He was dozing off almost as soon as his head hit the cool pillow. Jack dimmed all the lights and got changed for bed himself, checking on Mac one last time before heading to bed. He smiled slightly when. without opening his eyes, Mac reached out for the orange gatorade on the coffee table, took a long sip through the straw, put it back, and rolled over, looking content.
"G'night, kid," Jack said quietly before turning out the last light and heading in to bed, too.