Jack felt like the trip back to the base took about ten years. Mac looked awful. His sleep was restless and he frequently mumbled some nonsense that Jack couldn't quite make out. He was filthy and bloody and he looked too thin. Too young.
Elliot contemplated Jack for a long moment as he took his patient's blood pressure. The man was doing a decent job keeping it under wraps, but Elliot couldn't miss the worry in Jack's eyes. "He's okay, Jack," he said mildly. "This looks a lot worse than it is. Physically anyway."
Mac's brain chose that moment for something less than fun to play in his dreams and the resulting whimper made Jack cringe. "Mentally, I'm guessin' he's gonna need a minute," he said softly, stealing a glance at Elliot's face.
Elliot nodded. Anybody who walked away from a week of being tortured and basically blowing themselves up to get away was bound to struggle. Although Elliot had a feeling the kid would be okay. When he'd agreed to look after Mac's injury when he quit X-com it had been on the condition that he actually be a decent patient since Miles had told him all about Mac. Mac had been shockingly forthcoming. If the kid could overcome emotional obstacles like the ones in his family history to be a soldier, to be any kind of functioning adult, he could probably overcome this.
Mac groaned and looked like he was trying to pry his eyes open. Then he let out a long breath in what sounded like a frustrated sigh and seemed to give in and doze more deeply. Jack frowned at Elliot. "Did you dope him?"
Elliot shrugged. "It was that or strap his arm down. That medic Dillon blew enough sticks before you yelled for me that there aren't exactly a lot of good options left. And Mac was pretty squirmy from all the adrenaline. Didn't want him pulling that IV out. He needs fluids, antibiotics. Sooner is better and we're a ways out from facilities."
Jack nodded, still frowning. "He's gonna be pissed."
"Probably less than if he blew another vein and I had to use his foot or his knee. Or worse, resort to a central rather than peripheral line. Easiest site for that's the abdomen."
"Dude, gross."
"Pretty sure Mac would agree with you, Jack. Which is why …"
"No wonder Mac likes you even when you're being a doc. You're as nerdy as he is," Jack interrupted, not really wanting to know more about IVs because it sort of made him want to puke. Not a lot, but at least a little.
Elliot grinned. "For a living breathing patient, Mac's pretty alright, too. I thoroughly enjoy not having to dumb down my explanations and he never whines. Half of why I went into pathology is I can't tolerate whining. I bet you're a terrible patient. You look like a whiner," he teased. Jack was a man who needed out of his own head. Kid looked rough, sure, but Jack looked like he thought he'd caused every scratch or bruise Mac had.
Jack smiled slightly. "Oh yeah. I'm the worst," he chuckled. "I caught a cold on a mission one time and my friend Sarah never did stop pickin' on me for being prone to man-flu."
Elliot laughed. He could absolutely picture that. He suspected Jack would be dramatic for its own sake or to deflect attention, whereas Mac was likely to be dangerously stoic. Both types of patients presented their own sort of challenges and he was glad he only had to contend with one of them. He glanced down as Mac shifted in obvious discomfort.
Mac mumbled again. This time Jack caught, "Zwickey, no, run," before Mac sighed again and relaxed.
Jack supposed he should have known that being back over here under these circumstances would bring back up what happened his last go round with the Mazari. Poor kid. Probably seeing all kinds of ghosts after what he'd been through. "Maybe you should have given him more. This doesn't seem all that restful."
Elliot shook his head. "I've given him all I'm comfortable with out here. It's … he's apparently not easy to medicate. He told me he woke up during minor knee surgery when he was a teenager. He ought to be out cold right now. Stubborn doesn't just apply when Mac's awake."
Jack was thoughtful. When Mac has gotten kind of blown up when they'd first met (a turn of phrase that drove other people crazy but which made perfect sense to the two of them), he'd refused anything other than Tylenol, saying stronger meds wouldn't really work for him anyway so why force his liver to metabolize it?
Jack was quiet for the rest of the ride back to base, studying Mac's face thoughtfully and listening to his fevered sleep mumblings.
0-0-0
Mac woke up completely after several hours back at the base. Well, base was generous as anything more than an expression. It was a few commandeered buildings and some tents and shipping containers. Their field hospital was rudimentary at best, but was more than sufficient for their immediate purposes. Air fire had been heavy enough over the last few days that the only way they were risking a flight out was for life or death emergencies.
Mac was happy to not be one of those. He was also not as pissed at Elliot as he might have been for medicating him without asking because he had only the vaguest of memories of getting cleaned and stitched up and settled in a bed. He didn't hate having not really been with it for all of that. He did know that Jack had hardly been out of his sight. The hovering might have annoyed the younger man if it had been anyone else, but Mac found he didn't mind so much.
He didn't feel like he was firing on all cylinders yet though. Coffee. He definitely wanted coffee. That was unlikely to happen as it was pretty clearly still dark out. And the lights in the tent like structure his bed was in were dimmed. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and looked over at the source of the soft snoring that had woken him up. Jack was parked on an unmade-up gurney next to Mac and since it lacked sheets and Jack was still fully dressed, including his side arm, Mac felt reasonably certain Jack wasn't hurt. But he looked as scruffy as Mac felt.
Speaking of, Mac ran his hand over his jaw. Ugh. He hated not shaving. Compared to Jack's almost instant five o'clock shadow, Mac had what Jack would still derisively refer to as peach fuzz, but he wanted a shower and a razor more than he wanted coffee. Okay, so the middle of the night was maybe not the time to ask for any of those things, but he was starving. Food was all he could think about. That and maybe a cold drink that didn't taste like chlorine tablets or goat drool. And that wasn't going to keep until sun up.
As far as Mac could tell, this was sort of a temporary hospital, more of a collection of tents from the look of his "room" and the muted sounds now, and his few memories of coming here, so he wasn't entirely surprised there were no call buttons, no automatic bed adjusting buttons either. Fortunately he'd been sleeping already mostly sitting up so he didn't immediately need to test how miserable moving might make him. But lacking staff poking their heads in here, he had one way to get himself some food. "Jack," he began. He cleared his throat and tired again. "Jack." Still no luck. "Dalton!"
Jack snorted awake, sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face, looking startled. When he saw Mac sitting there looking at him expectantly, his face cracked into a million fine lines in his familiar broad grin. "Hey there, kid. How ya doin' after that nice nap?"
Mac shook his head with a small smile. "Not too bad, considering. Sorry to interrupt your nap, but um, do you think there's anything to eat around here at this time of night?"
Jack started to rise. "I'm gonna go let somebody know you're really awake so they can …"
"Or you could pretend I slept through the night and just go steal me a protein bar or something from somewhere. You know, if you wanted to. Instead."
"Really hungry, huh?" he asked instead of arguing with Mac about getting staff to look in on him.
"You have no idea, man."
Something passed over Jack's face then. Mac took the shadow to mean that Jack did in fact know exactly what Mac had been through, knew exactly what it was like to be fed nothing but brackish water and moldy old stale bread or maybe some bones with little fat or meat on them for days. He was about to rephrase that when Jack just said, "I'll be right back with something, kid."
He wasn't gone long, but what he brought back wasn't a protein bar. He returned with a tall dark haired man he introduced at Captain O'Hara. Mac gave Jack a half-hearted side glare as he tolerated what he thought of as unnecessary medical rigamarole, including having to tell the guy four times to please just call him Mac.
"So, Doc," Mac said, ignoring Jack and pretending he hadn't heard O'Hara ask him to rate his pain for the third time. "Other than starving I feel pretty damned okay. Any chance I can get some food and take care of the one thing actually bothering me at the moment?"
Considering what he knew the young man had been through just from evaluating his physical condition, he thought MacGyver seemed remarkably well, and he was certainly disinclined to accept any more medication as all attempts to ascertain his pain level had been met with subject changing. High value asset was a designation that didn't surprise the captain at all. There was something more to this kid than his almost painfully young features would lead you to believe. He didn't want to encourage him to push himself though. "All we've got are MREs … not a great variety of them either …"
Mac shrugged. "I don't even care if it's the freaking eggs, Captain. As long as nobody's bogarted the tobasco out of them, I'm okay with pretty much whatever you've got."
"If you haven't eaten in a few days, clear liquids …"
"I've eaten," Mac interrupted, almost sharply. "I mean, not a lot, but … Just … I can't face bouillon and victory punch, alright? Real food. Please."
He said please, but the tone was more of a demand. The doctor glanced at Jack who shrugged. He'd back the doc up if he told Mac no, but he wasn't overly inclined to challenge the young man himself at the moment. "Alright. If you keep it down you can have as much as you want."
Mac grinned and Jack had the brief thought that even with the split swollen lip and the back eye he looked entirely like himself in that moment. "Thanks!" he said, sounding genuinely grateful.
"Dalton, come with me and I'll show you where the stash is. That way you can keep him in chili and macaroni without having to ask one of us. We got another crew coming in from a raid so it may get a little busy here for a while. Your buddy Mathers is sleeping next door if you need anything. Your boss called and had us show him around so … Like for example if Mac decides he needs something for pain …"
"Don't be passive aggressive," Mac said with another small grin. "I don't need anything but food. And if there's any bottled water around here I …" He felt a little panicked talking about water for some reason. His heart started hammering in his chest and it took everything he had to not just start panting like he was terrified. Stop, he ordered himself, and he was mostly successful in slamming down the lid on that feeling. "Okay, I maybe need a bathroom, too," he said, because for one thing it was true, and for another it would distract their looks of concern from him just trailing off.
Jack came back a few minutes later with an armload of bottle waters, a couple of MREs, and some protein bars. Despite his claims to the contrary, Mac really did mind any number of types of MRE, but Jack had dug up a beef stew one. It still needed tobasco, but the stews were the least nasty as far as Mac was concerned. And it had M&Ms. He remembered trading stuff with other guys for the M&Ms back when he was first in country. He'd given away whole entrees for the chocolate before. Something about it just tasted like home.
Once he'd eaten, his thoughts started to slow down a little and he began to really sort through his memories of the last twelve hours or so. He realized he'd almost done the unthinkable and let the most important thing slip into the haze in his brain from the meds and the concussion. He couldn't let that happen.
"Jack!" he exclaimed, just as the older man was dozing off on his makeshift bed.
"Yeah, bud?" he mumbled.
"I can't remember if you know, if I told you … Zwickey is alive, Jack, and O'Neill …"
Jack sat back up. "Hold your horses there, kid. When we found you, you were about delirious. You've got a pretty good infection some busted ribs, a concussion, and where your shoulder got all torn up, ya might need surgery when we get you home …"
"That's not important right now. I need you to …"
"And you were starved, evidenced by the fact that the catfood the Army's callin' beef stew didn't make you hurl all over this place. Do you think maybe …"
"I'm not delirious now. And I wasn't then," Mac said forcefully. "Zwickey is still alive. I don't know how or why. I do know he didn't look like he'd had a decent meal since the last time I saw him. And he'd only a few years older than me but he looked older than you."
"Hey!" Jack said, pretending to be offended, mostly to buy a second to really study Mac's pale bruised face.
"He's alive and O'Neill shot him. Twice. Right in front of me. Then he took him with him when he left a couple days ago. Said since I broke so easy Zwickey was finally pulling his weight." Mac swallowed hard, his breath hitching with self-recrimination. "I did, too. Break easy."
Jack got up and sat on the edge of Mac's bed facing him. "You didn't though. Didja, bud? You didn't tell them squat I bet. You just told 'em you'd do their dirty work for 'em and it got your hands free and you used that to light that place up like the mall at Christmas."
Mac studied his hands for a moment, then looked up at Jack again. "I might have … said more … if they'd shot him again. It … that sound …" Mac closed his eyes. He wasn't going to talk about that. Not now. Not ever. Jack thought Mac hated guns because he was a pacifist. Better to let that be, he thought. "But you're right. I didn't tell them much of anything." He forced a small smile. "And I did blow the hell out of that place."
Jack patted Mac's unbandaged shoulder. "You sure did, kid."
Mac tilted his head to one side. "I'd like the chance to do it again to the other camp."
Jack chuckled and shook his head. "I got a briefing with some of the mucky mucks here later in the morning. Patty greased the wheels for me to finish this with the guys here."
"Great. What time is the briefing?" Mac asked, eyes looking truly clear for the first time since he opened them. As soon as he realized Jack was accepting what he said about Zwickey still being alive, he felt himself relax at least partially.
Jack shook his head. "It's at Mac will still be keeping his ass in bed o'clock."
"Mac doesn't need to be keeping his ass in bed even now, dude," Mac returned, a line forming across his otherwise smooth forehead.
Jack laughed outright this time. "If you could see yourself, kid, you'd laugh at ya too," Jack said in response to Mac's singularly grumpy expression.
He knew Jack was being completely reasonable, knew that if Jack believed Zwickey was alive he'd convince anyone else that needed convincing that their mission went from just capture or kill the bad guy to a rescue, too. But Mac still shifted uncomfortably at the thought of not making sure himself that Zwickey got to come home this time. Mac sat back at little with a sigh. "Fine. But you'll let me know what the plan is at least, right? And I can maybe get on the radio with you guys? They have all kinds of explosives, Jack and …"
"And this place has its own bomb nerd. But I'll see what I can do, if you'll try to get a little more sleep, alright?"
Mac nodded. "Okay. I guess." He lay back and found as soon as he'd shifted himself onto the pillow he was too sleepy to even contemplate anything other than closing his eyes.
The speed with which Mac was back out cold told Jack it would be a little while before the kid was ready to do much more than kick up a fuss. Action, and maybe even a radio connection to the action, were out of the question. Knowing he was likely going to be part of that action himself, Jack kicked back for some more sleep himself.
0-0-0
When Mac woke again he insisted he felt like a million bucks. Sore, sure, he'd admit to that, but other than that, he was great. So he could definitely go to the briefing. No reason why he couldn't.
"Why are you guys looking at me like that?" he'd asked Jack, Elliot, Captain O'Hara, and a nurse whose name he thought was Wells, but he couldn't see his uniform patch and he didn't want to ask and admit that he was having some short term memory problems because heaven knew they'd make a big deal out of it.
Jack spoke first. "I'm sorry kid, but you didn't have the training for this kind of gig when you were active duty. And, not to beat the same dead horse I've been whalloping on all morning, but you're hurt. Whether you want to own up to it or not."
"I'm fine," Mac insisted. He just wanted to go to the briefing. He honestly didn't see what the big deal was.
Captain O'Hara just shook his head. "You're not military so I can't order you to stay in that bed, which you very kindly reminded me, twice. I've already told you what I think. And your guys agree with me." He nodded at Jack and Elliot.
Both of them folded their arms simultaneously. Straightforward was clearly not the way to go about this. "Fine. Jesus. I'll stay right here. For now."
"Will me saying I arranged for you to get a shower and borrow somebody's electric razor wipe that disgruntled look off your face at all?" Elliot asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Completely," he said unnecessarily, as the grin that spread over his face got all the way to lighting his eyes.
O'Hara left, satisfied. Elliot supervised Mac's limping journey to the showers. Jack walked with them that far, pleased that Mac finally left off pestering to be included in the next phase of this operation. Jack patted Mac on the back, and his expression said it was as much to assure himself that Mac was really there, was really solid as it was to offer any comfort to his injured friend. "I'll let you know what's what before I go anywhere, Mac."
0-0-0
When Mac saw Jack again, Jack thought the kid looked worse all cleaned up. But he was sitting up, talking to Elliot about something he'd read about thermodynamics as it applied to the human body as a system, and shoveling in another MRE. "You part hobbit or somethin' kid? Cause that's what second breakfast?"
"Elevenses," Mac answered around a mouthful of what he thought was supposed to be chili. "I knocked out second breakfast right after my shower."
"Which seems to have done your disposition a world of good," Jack observed. "You're downright chipper compared to earlier."
He chucked a salt packet at Jack and missed. "If somebody would have gone and gotten me some actual clothes I might make it all the way to cheerful." He gestured at the gown he was still wearing and half-seriously glared at Elliot.
"You and I both know it would have been a short trip between you dressed and you crashing the briefing," Elliot laughed.
"I wasn't looking for clothes clothes necessarily. I'd take an APFU or … hell, anything closer to not naked than this get up would be great."
"I'll see if I can drum up somebody's pt gear for your flight home before I head out," Jack said.
"Head out? Flight home?" Mac looked back and forth between them.
"You didn't fill him in?" Jack asked Elliot, running a hand over the back of his head. He'd hoped to dodge this particular bullet.
"I figured we'd blow up that bridge when we got to it," Elliot answered, looking equally uncomfortable and moving around to the other side of the bed so Jack could step closer.
"Guys? C'mon."
Jack sighed. "Patty's arranged for us to get you out of here and grab a flight home from the permanent base a couple hours from here. Elliot is going to make sure you get home in one piece. Patty's even said he can have privileges at the infirmary if that'll keep you happy with getting taken care of. Of course they want to debrief you too."
Mac's frown lined his whole face, but instead of making him look older, it highlighted his youth, made the swelling and bruises stand out even more. "And you?"
"We got some updated intel on another location that's been suspected of housing these guys for a while. Gonna head out there and see what we can smoke out, see if your friend Zwickey is there. Patty's lettin' me stay and she's made it good with the brass here because I told her walkin' away from your friend again wasn't an option and I told her that I knew you'd trust me to get the job done for you since you're not up to it. I wasn't wrong was I? You do trust me, right?"
That was so unfair. But he didn't say so. Jack probably wasn't trying to be manipulative anyway. More the man was still worried out of his head and really wanted Mac to do what everyone was telling him for a minute and also really wanted to take care of business so Mac felt like he could do that. He met the older man's eyes. "Of course I trust you, Jack. With my life, man."
Jack gave him a nod and a smile. "Good. I'll take care of everything. If I find some clothes when I gear up, I'll send somebody along with 'em. And I'll call in to the infirmary as soon as we're back. Okay?"
Mac nodded and extended a hand to shake Jack's. "Good luck, man."
The hand shake morphed into a fist bump. "When you're this pretty you don't need luck," Jack joked. "You stay put, ya hear? I mean it, now."
"You bet, Sarge," Mac smirked with a sarcastic sketched salute.
Elliot moved to leave with Jack, grinning in a way Mac wasn't sure he liked. "I'm gonna go catch a nap for a bit, Mac. Holler if you need anything. Wells will check on you while I'm in the rack."
Mac shrugged, pushing aside the remnants of the bulk of the MRE in favor of the tootsie rolls that had come with this one.
When Elliot and Jack got a few steps down the hall, Jack stopped and gave Elliot a very severe look. "You really think it's a good idea to leave him alone in there and just go get your beauty sleep, do you?"
Elliot chuckled. "Wouldn't be if I didn't hit that IV he hasn't convinced anyone he doesn't need yet with some of the sedatives that mostly work for him. He needs the rest and he isn't going to get it knowing you're going out on an op. Not without help anyway. It'll keep him where we want him at least until our transport's ready in a couple hours."
"You are one sneaky bastard. I like the hell out of you, Mathers. Even if you are kinda creepy."
Elliot just laughed again. "Kid's already having a hell of a week, Dalton, so do him a favor and stay alive out there, huh?"
"Bet on Jack. I keep tellin' y'all, I'm a good risk."
They parted company then, Jack for the armory and Elliot for a bunk. They were both so confident in their plans, so certain they'd worked things out well for Mac, that neither of them had noticed him slip from his room and head in the opposite direction, nor did anyone see Mac pick the lock on more than one locker until he found clothes and boots that mostly fit. Certainly no one saw him climb into the back of one of the team's transports where the sedative Elliot had given him finally tool hold of him and he fell asleep lying across someone's duffle.
It was full dark again when Mac opened his eyes to the rush of cool night air from opening the compartment and Jack Dalton's loud, irritated voice.
"Son of a bitch!"