Jack normally enjoyed the lead up to an op. He liked the building tension around him, the way it put people on the razor's edge of bringing their absolute best or crumpling under the pressure. It usually relaxed Jack to no end.
Not this time though. This time he just wanted to get where they were going and get Mac back.
He was frustrated by the slow crawl from the forward operating base they were now working out of, but there was little he could do about it. Getting there by air was apparently not an option for a number of reasons. There'd been a lot of ground to air fire in recent weeks, and it was decided that they couldn't risk the noise, the visibility.
The team Jack and Elliot had been sent to join up with believed Mac to be a high value asset. Jack was still pretty pissed at the boss and the boss's boss for trying to pull him out of here, for not giving him a full Tac team. But he was grateful at least that the boots on the ground here had been told Mac was important to the government. And as far as Jack was concerned that wasn't even a lie. He was an agent, a representative if you will, of that government, and Mac was sure as Hell important to him.
Now they were taking trucks about two and a half hours from base, as close as they could reasonably get to the camp where satellite images had confirmed the chatter Vis had picked up that Mac was being held. O'Neil had been in one of those photos, too. Jack really wanted a word with that asshole. He hoped the son of a bitch was still there.
The couple of trucks began to slow and Jack took in the view.
There were several lighted areas dotting the hillsides around them. Jack was pretty sure he knew which one was the small collection of houses they were headed to. He slid out of the truck and started checking his gear along with the other guys. It was a feeling as familiar as slipping on a favorite pair of shoes.
The moonlight was so bright it almost made the imposed light discipline feel moot. Almost. Jack didn't want these bastards to see them coming. He wanted to comfortably get the drop on them so he knew he could get to Mac. The last image they gotten of the kid he looked beat to hell and was shackled and handcuffed, moving from one of the small houses to a nearby barn. His apparent condition had Elliot stocking extra supplies in his bag even though the team had a medic of their own.
The team leader motioned for the group to move out. As one, they silently made their way up the hillside. Part of Jack still wished he had a DXS team to strike this place and take it apart. Another part appreciated the familiar movements and tactics of these career soldiers.
They were pretty close when suddenly the lights in all of the small group of houses went out. They were far enough away that they couldn't make out words, but they could hear the shouts of men in the camp calling out to each other.
Jack just had time to process that things weren't exactly going to plan when an explosion lit up the night sky like Fourth of July out in Corpus Christi when he was a kid. When a second and then a third followed about thirty seconds apart, Jack's face split into a grin. That was the signature of a certain blond genius with a silly hamburger name if ever he saw one.
Jack was aware of the other guys fanning out, executing their plan. He didn't pay them much attention as he made a b-line for the barn he recognized from the images Vis had gotten to them. It was burning with an aggressive blaze in one corner from one of the explosions. And unfortunately the fire had already engulfed the entrance. Jack swore and started to haul himself up onto one of the window sills.
Elliot's voice called out from behind him, "Here?"
"Last place we saw him; might as well start here as anywhere." Jack used his elbow to break out the glass.
"Good luck. I'll check the other barn and be right back."
Jack didn't turn to see what direction Elliot had left in. He slid down into the gathering smoke and growing heat, hell bent on finding Mac as quickly as possible, hoping his instincts were good and this is where he'd find the kid.
The place was a crowd of stacked boxes and crates. From the smell it had probably housed goats and maybe even horses at some point in the recent past, but now it looked like the only thing this particular piece of property grew was weapons.
Gun drawn, Jack made his way through the building, sweating buckets in the intensifying heat and doing his best not to cough up a lunch in the thickening smoke.
Over the crackle of the fire, Jack heard movement. He was hopeful for a split second, but he then heard a snarling mumbled curse that might or might not have been in Pashto, choked as it was by a restrained cough. Then he was absolutely certain he heard the beginnings of Mac saying something, followed by a sharp crack, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Jack threw caution to the wind and rounded a stack of crates in time to see an imposing bearded man standing over the body of a filthy, bloody, and hopefully only unconscious blond, with a Liberator pistol aimed at the kid's head.
Jack squeezed off a shot and dropped the guy where he stood without breaking stride. He did pause long enough to kick the bootleg old school CIA knock off gun well away from the terrorist. He was clearly dead, but Jack was a big believer in not taking chances. Especially not during an extraction. If he wasn't concerned with conserving ammo he'd have but another round into the guy just to be sure.
What he did instead was drop down into a crouch on the floor next to Mac and reach out and touch under Mac's unusually scruffy jaw to feel his pulse. It was rapid, and it felt a little irregular, but sure as the dawn, the kid was alive. Once he had that tactile reassurance, he processed the panting rise and fall of Mac's chest.
He first tried rousing Mac, gently jostling his arm. "Hey kid, c'mon. You with me?"
Mac's already ragged breath hitched but he didn't stir beyond that. "Elliott!" Jack called out, and when he didn't answer Jack just called more generally, "Medic!"
At Jack's shout this time, Mac flinched. His eyes moved rapidly behind his lids, then they fluttered open and went wide. He couldn't process the familiar brown eyes and stubble covered jaw as real, couldn't believe he could possible be out of danger. He'd dreamt of rescue so often over the last however many days only to be dragged back to consciousness for more pain, more questions, that he thought it was another dream, that Zahir was back, or another or O'Neill's cronies, and this time that would mean death after what he'd done to their camp.
Mac started scrambling back, digging with his bare feet, trying to get up or at least get to sitting and he couldn't quite make it. He breath was coming in uneven strained hitches.
Jack reached out and firmly grasped Mac's forearm. He spoke sharply, "Mac! Mac! It's Jack." Then he gentled his tone. "We're here. The cavalry's arrived. You're okay, bud."
Mac blinked a couple of times, looking at Jack like he didn't believe he was real; but he'd stopped his frenzied ineffectual efforts at getting away. His mouth opened, but he hesitated. Finally he whispered in a husky croak, "Jack?" Entirely against his will, his eyes filled with hot tears that were part relief at being rescued and part shock that someone had come for him. So many times people had left Mac. So many times he'd just been on his own. And he'd been here … forever, it felt like. "You came," was whispered with something like awe.
"What was that, bud?" Jack asked leaning in closer.
"Nothing," he shook his head. "Help me up."
"Medic's on the way, kid. You should …"
"Should what? Stay here and cook? Help me up," he repeated a little more forcefully and tried again to get his feet under him.
Jack half smiled. This kid had a yard of guts. It was one of the first things Jack had realized when they met, although at the time he'd taken it for general dumbassed stubbornness rather than the tenacity and bravery that it was. "Alright," he agreed, and shifted to take his friend's weight.
Mac reached up to grasp Jack's arm and wound up crying out in pain from the wound to his shoulder. He bit it back quickly but not quickly enough to keep Jack from zeroing in on it and trying to force Mac back down to the ground.
Jack looked around, a little desperate. "Medic!" he tried again.
Mac paused in his efforts to move, knowing once Jack was in full Overwatch mode arguing with him would be irritating and fruitless. But when no one answered Jack's call, Mac said, "See, your crazy ass was the only one dumb enough to come into a burning building after somebody who was probably dead. Now help me, just maybe come around the other side."
Jack did so reluctantly, and Mac gripped Jack shoulder and got himself as far as really sitting.
Jack looked around hopefully one last time, but seeing nothing but rolling smoke, he got an arm around Mac and hauled him to his feet. Mac gasped and Jack thought he'd hurt him, but he found Mac once again backpedaling, a look of horror on his face. It only took Jack a second to realize why. The dull, black eyes of Mac's dead tormentor started up at them.
He reaffirmed the hold he had around Mac's shoulders. "Whoa, Mac, whoa, he's not gonna hurtcha anymore, kid. That hole in the middle of his forehead ain't a third eye."
Mac deliberately slowed his breathing and nodded. He leaned heavily against Jack and allowed himself to be led to a broken window. He stepped on a piece of glass and swore.
"Shit," Jack mumbled, realizing for the first time that Mac was without shoes or socks.
Mac, with his inherently practical nature, just picked up his foot and pulled the glass out of it, breath hissing through his teeth. Afterward, he forced a sideways smile. "Glad it's not Christmas or the Die Hard references would probably be coming hard and fast now."
"Well, now," Jack said, boosting Mac up over the glass on onto the sill before the kid could protest the assistance, "I wouldn't hate dropping that sonofabitch O'Neill off Nakatomi Plaza now that you mention it. But I'll take bustin' a cap in him if that's all I can get."
"You're gonna have to wait for that, pal. Bastard hasn't been around in a couple days." Mac dropped down onto the ground outside and his knees just buckled, sending him back to the ground. "I'm okay, I'm alright," he said quickly as Jack seemed to materialize beside him.
Jack ignored Mac's assurances, and kept a firm hand on his shoulder in a effort to keep him on the ground. Earning a slight eye roll from Mac, Jack once again called for help, this time trying Elliot by name.
They didn't get to wait for help to arrive though because another explosion went off, causing them both to flinch and debris to start raining down on them.
Mac slipped free of Jack's grip. "Forgot about those charges. Run!"
They did, and as they cleared out away from the barn, Jack saw Mac's slight grin when a cascade of explosions went off behind them. They were about halfway to the trucks when Mac finally stumbled and went down again.
The next thing Mac was really aware of was lying on his back on the ground. Someone was handling his arm gently, but that was sort of ruined when there was a stabbing pain followed by a grumbled, "Son of a bitch. I blew another one."
Then he heard Jack say, "Is today your first day? Jesus!"
"I'm good at this! Damned kid's veins are like freakin' fiberglass, and he's twitchy as hell even out cold."
Mac peeled his eyes open. "The damned kid would rather you just used the back of his hand, if you don't mind," he said wryly.
Jack chuckled softly. That was total Mac. Even half unconscious there was something that wouldn't let his internal smartass quit.
The medic raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "We can give it a try, but …"
Jack interrupted by shouting, "Elliot! Mathers where the hell did you go?"
Mac almost laughed when Elliot appeared as if by magic right beside Jack and Jack nearly jumped out of his skin; almost. Really just breathing hurt, so Mac felt like laughing was maybe out of the question.
"Hey Mac," Elliott said pleasantly. Then he waved toward something outside Mac's field a vision. "Got a shrapnel wound over there they could maybe use your help with," was his mild suggestion to the medic. "Besides, this one is my patient already."
As Elliot squatted down next to him and picked up his arm and started looking it over, mumbling darkly about the entirety of military medicine as a discipline, Mac tried to focus, to articulate what was going on in his head, with little success. He was coughing from the smoke, he knew he had a fever, and he hurt everywhere. But he also knew he was missing something important. "Hey, um, hang on a minute," he finally managed. "Wait."
Elliot gave up on that side and moved around to his other arm. "Wait for what, Mac? You to spontaneously grow a non-frustrating circulatory system?"
Without further comment or searching, he started the IV line and got fluids started. "Ow," Mac groused, more because he'd expected it to hurt than because it actually had. Mac tried to finish his previous thought, but goddamn he just hurt everywhere, his mouth was so dry, and he was tired, just so damned tired. "Just … Um …" he trailed off, frowning. "I need to … um … tell you guys …" he trailed off, having lost the thread again.
Jack squeezed his free hand trying to get him to focus a little as much as reassure the kid that everything was really going to be okay. "This team's gonna clear the camp now, Mac. Any more fun bombs they oughta know about."
Mac blinked, thinking hard, trying to pay attention to what Elliot was doing, to what Jack was saying, to what his brain was trying to get him to remember, all with little success … Bombs. Okay, that he could handle. "No ...they've all been … Aahhh, Hell," he gasped as Elliot peeled back his tattered sleeve and pressed a clean bandage to his oozing shoulder.
"What the hell happened here?" Elliot said more to himself than to Mac, but Mac glanced at him then away.
Mac spoke in an almost hollow voice. "I got hurt." He pushed the doctor's hands away with a scowl and pressed the bandage down himself, breathing deeply to keep from just having to roll onto his side to be sick.
Jack was getting up to go tell the others that Mac thought all the armed explosives were already detonated. He said as much, but Mac only half heard him. He did process Jack moving away and he grabbed the tail of his shirt that had come untucked at some point. Jack dropped back down, giving the kid a reassuring pat on the arm. "I'll be right back, bud. I just gotta go pass on that info. Elliot won't let 'em transport ya without me, okay?"
Mac nodded, his eyelids starting to droop. He'd remembered something, but it had slipped away again almost immediately. "'Kay," he agreed, as though that's what he'd actually been worried about. It hadn't been, but right now saying so would have taken too much energy.
Jack had made it about three steps away when Mac suddenly bolted upright, startling Elliot and causing an unwelcome reminder of every cut, bruise, scrape, or other memory of mistreatment to rip through his own body making his words a breathless gasp. "There's another camp nearby … O'Neill … Zwickey …"
He trailed off and sunk back, with Elliot supporting him, quietly directing and reassuring him. He wasn't sure if it was just his general poor condition and overwhelmed nervous system or if Elliot had put something in his IV, but his eyes felt like lead weights were attached to the lids and he started to drift having not quite managed to articulate his thought that Jack and this team needed to know Zwickey was still alive, hurt but still alive, and O'Neill had taken him with him when he'd left here.
Mac could tell when Jack spoke that he thought Mac was just hurt, maybe even delirious. Once again he'd tried to get Zwickey help, and just like five years ago, he was too injured and out of it for anyone to take him seriously. Mac was vaguely aware of being moved, but as he finally went out more completely he vowed when he woke up he would make someone listen.
Jack would, once Mac wasn't a bloodied mess and sounded more with it, Mac was certain. And if even Jack wouldn't listen he'd go get Zwickey himself. He wasn't going to let the man down, to leave him here at the mercy of these evil men again.