It took longer than Jack thought it would.

The first night, as Mac predicted, DXS infirmary staff noticed his absence around dinner time. First they had to contend with phone calls. Then Thornton tried sending one of the DXS medics out to Jack's to just stay and 'monitor both of you'. Mac was damn near furious Thornton would push like that. He'd left a very strident voicemail on the subject after the medic wisely left without arguing.

Thornton herself had come by after getting the message. She'd given Mac the 'You did something truly heroic now let us treat you that way' almost motherly speech that was both out of character and clearly genuine. She even managed not to sound irritated with him that he'd just kind of freelanced the whole thing regardless of what Jack or Elliot or anyone else had said to him.

That encounter had ended late, with Mac promising he'd stop in at the infirmary if he felt like he needed to, and would definitely be available for the debrief whenever she wanted to schedule it. He'd told his part time boss he needed a few weeks off. Thornton asked what reason he'd given and asked how he'd explained his sudden unannounced absence. Mac smirked. "I told him an old girlfriend was in town. It's not even a lie. My friend Penny lives about ten miles from my place."

Thornton had looked at him in a way Jack didn't quite know how to interpret, but he thought she was impressed. Mac had moved past it quickly by asking where DXS was at in IDing the people and bodies from the second camp.

When she confirmed that O'Neill had once again escaped, Jack saw something darken Mac's features, but whatever it was the kid clamped down on it fast. He reiterated that he'd speak to anyone she wanted him to for however long they needed if he had any information that might help them get O'Neill. And whoever the bastard was working for.

He'd yawned then and apologized to Thornton, saying he was still really tired. Thornton gave him a distinctly disapproving look and said, "I imagine sneaking out of hospitals you definitely belong in is a terribly exhausting hobby. Perhaps you should try something else for recreation. Model cars? Building miniature drones, maybe?"

"Very funny, ma'am," Mac said with the appropriate subdued chuckle. "Although I imagine it gets easier with practice."

"I imagine you're right. Although I sincerely hope you won't find out," Thornton laughed softly with a small head shake.

Mac couldn't tell if it was an at him or with him laugh, so he just shrugged and added, "I won't find out tonight anyway. I'll be crashing on the couch. And it's right near the door. No sneaking necessary."

"You can have the bed," Jack tipped his chin in the direction of the bedroom. "I got the couch, kid. I'm only banged up in the one spot."

"False. Those Mazari guys kicked the hell out of you when they locked down DXS," Mac argued.

"Yeah dude, almost two weeks ago. I'm pretty well healed up. Other than the leg, I'm good. You are all freshly busted …" he stopped in his intended listing of Mac's injuries at a look from Mac. "Just take the bed."

Mac sighed, looking from Jack to Thornton and back again. "Alright. Thanks, man."

Mac headed for the bedroom. Thornton's eyes followed him, taking in the stiffly squared shoulders, the overly sure gait, the deliberation with which he shut the door. She looked at Jack. "You know him, rather well. Is he alright?"

Jack smiled a little. "You already know he ain't, just from lookin' at him. But he's safe here. That's gonna have to be enough for now, because it's all he can accept at the moment."

"This isn't new behavior."

He wasn't sure if it was a question, but he answered it anyway. "No, ma'am. Mac's … real independent," he said almost carefully. "He has a hard time accepting help … admitting weakness. Heaven forbid the kid's sick or hurt. Takes an act of Congress just to get him to slow down long enough to take a Tylenol and he'll still insist it's to make you feel better rather than admit that he's got a problem."

She nodded slowly. "While his physical condition is certainly a concern," she began.

Jack interrupted. "I let his friend Elliot know he took off outta the infirmary. He's gonna stop by tomorrow and check on him. Mac likes Elliot, so he'll probably put up with it."

"Dr. Mathers will be looking after him?" Jack nodded. "That does make me feel somewhat better." She paused. "I was talking more about his mental state, but Mathers has some experience with that too, I suppose."

Jack wondered what Thornton knew about Elliot, wondered what there was to know about him. But he felt like he needed to say something on the topic of Mac's mindset more than he needed to express his curiosity. "I think Mac thinks he's okay, and he might be. He's bounced back from tough experiences before."

Thornton's face said she was familiar with Mac's history, but she didn't offer anything.

"But if he isn't okay, I'll make sure he gets there, Patty. Count on it."

She gave him a very catlike smile. "I'm Patty permanently now aren't I?"

"Director Thornton, I have no idea what you're talking about."

She laughed and got up to leave. "Call if you need anything, for either of you. Bring him in if he needs it, whether he likes it or not."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, not saying that Mac would be the one to decide how the weekend went, short of the kid just passing out. Nothing like captivity to make you feel out of control. Mac needed some control back, and Jack was going to make sure he got it.

The following day, Jack almost thought he'd stumbled upon a start to getting the kid to open up. Mac had agreed to just rest on the couch, although it was clearly killing him to do so, but he looked up when Jack paused in what he was doing in the kitchen, leaning his crutches against the counter and sitting down on a nearby stool.

Mac was on his feet and on Jack's elbow almost instantly. "You okay, Jack?"

Jack massaged his forehead for a minute. "Yeah, yeah I'm alright. Got dizzy for a sec. That little bitty concussion I got just keeps kickin' my ass every once in awhile."

Mac frowned. "Do you need to go back to the infirmary? I can drive you," he hurried to offer.

"I think I'm okay, kid."

The frown deepened. "Are you sure? Maybe I could call Elliot. He could come over and make sure you're really all good."

Jack smiled then. "That's not a bad idea at all."

He and Elliot had tried to come up with a good reason for him to just happen by so he could check on Mac. This was perfect. And Mac himself was making the phone call, so Jack thought he couldn't even be mad about it.

That's where Jack was wrong. Elliot had come over at Mac's request to see about Jack's minor head injury. When he suggested that since he was there he have a look at Mac too, Mac's face had creased with suspicion. When they owned up to having maybe talked about Elliot keeping an eye on Mac since he was against staying in the infirmary, Mac was … well, he said irritated, but ragingly pissed off matched the fire in his eyes more accurately.

"I don't need a babysitter," he growled. "You know damned well if I need a doctor I'll call you, Elliot. You guys don't need to …" He trailed off for a moment, then looked them each in the eye in turn. "I appreciate the concern. But it's not warranted."

Elliot had assured Jack that he'd just keep stopping by until Mac either relented and let him look him over or they knew he was okay through other avenues. Jack sat on the couch next to Mac after Elliot left. They were quiet for a while. Then Jack attempted to pry up one of the edges on the lockbox of Mac's emotions. "You're always so worried about everybody else, Mac. Why's it piss you off so much when someone worries back?"

Mac frowned at him; it bordered on a glare, but clearly he was trying to keep the expression in check. His reply was stiff. "I don't know what you mean."

Jack shook his head. "Sure you do. First ya ghosted out of the field hospital to come out and save Zwickey."

"And you," Mac interrupted. "You almost got yourself blown up!"

"That's true. Very nearly did. You know who's fault it woulda been if I had? Mine."

"Jack, that's not even … Shut up."

"Because you know I'm right."

"You were on your own out there."

"Nosir, I had a whole unit of guys who knew what they were doin' out there with me and …"

"None of them was looking out for you. You'd have died in the barn."

"Now, Mac," Jack began, noting the tension in Mac's posture.

"You came for me. I was just returning the favor."

"Aw, now, listen kid …"

Mac was on his feet. "I'm gonna go grab a shower. I'm supposed to change the bandage on my shoulder anyway. Wouldn't want you tattling in me to Elliot again," he said. The smile was genuine this time, but it also told Jack that while he might be forgiven for calling the doc, the conversation was over.

Another whole day and quiet night passed, reasonably uneventfully. Mac finally admitted to feeling a little rough when Elliot came back the following day to "visit". The result was a bag full of medicine Mac should have been on all along and a fairly stern talking to from Elliot about wanting to keep Mac among the living. He liked the diversion of having a patient who backtalked. It kept his life interesting.

Mac said he'd do his best, but he'd rather not be a patient at all. Elliot laughed at him and said that he'd better stop making bonehead moves and if he was going to he'd better start listening when people told him how to heal from it because he'd be a patient a lot less if he toes the line rather than pretending things were fine.

Mac shrugged, like he thought Elliot was being unreasonable. The flush that crept into his cheeks, however, said he knew Elliot was right. Elliot took advantage of the moment of weakness and told him he'd set up with Thornton to have someone who really knew what they were doing look at his shoulder. Mac sighed, but agreed to go.

There was a lot of Die Hard, Star Wars, and Star Trek the Next Generation watched from the couch. Jack also ordered enough take out for a battalion of active troops as opposed to the two sedentary injured guys it was actually feeding. And his neighbor's kid happily ran to the store for Gatorade and ginger ale repeatedly and Jack was pretty sure Mac was finally decently hydrated. He made sure he tipped the kid well for playing gofer so he'd stay willing.

It was Sunday night when the dam finally broke.

Mac had been quiet all day. Jack asked if he felt worse, running down a list of possible symptoms Elliot had lectured him about. Mac rolled his eyes and said he was okay, not great, if admitting that made Jack feel better, but okay. He mumbled that he hadn't slept well. Jack suggested a nap and Mac immediately agreed.

Jack was actually pretty sure Mac didn't really go to sleep. He didn't try to call him on it though on the off chance that he was wrong and the kid was actually getting some rest. He got up for dinner when the pizza guy knocked, glaring at Jack for not waking him and trying to just hobble over to the door himself.

Uncharacteristically, Mac put his slice on a plate and ate with a knife and fork. Jack had known Mac long enough to know that was a tactic for just moving food around and covering the fact that he didn't really eat much.

It wasn't even full dark when Mac looked up from playing a puzzle game on his phone. "You mind if I abandon you? I'm just … I'm beat."

"You sure you don't wanna call Elliot, man? It's early and you know he won't mind."

"Nah, I'm good. Just tired. You know my sleep sucks sometimes. This is just one of those times."

Mac headed toward the bedroom.

"You take your meds?"

Even though his back was to him, Jack knew Mac rolled his eyes before he turned back. "I took my antibiotics after dinner."

"You're movin' real stiff, man. You maybe want one of the pain pills he left ya?"

Mac shook his head. "I took some Advil. I don't like the prescription stuff."

Jack frowned. "Dreams?"

Mac shrugged. "G'night, Jack."

Jack had dozed off on the couch by the time the shout and crash came from behind the closed door of his room. It should have startled him, but it didn't. He'd been waiting for something like that to happen since Mac had shown up in the parking garage and picked up his keys.

He struggled to his feet and got his crutches under him, levering himself over to the door. He didn't knock, just opened the door. It was dark, but the light from the living room was enough for Jack to see Mac sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, clutching the sheets in his fists, head hanging forward, hair obscuring his face.

"Mac?" Jack said softly.

A sniffle. A deep breath. "I think I broke your lamp," Mac nearly whispered. His voice was thick with tears he was very clearly trying unsuccessfully to keep unshed.

"That's okay, kid. I never liked the damn thing anyway."

He started over to that side of the bed to sit next to Mac. Mac got up hurriedly. "Don't! You'll hurt yourself on the shards."

Mac immediately crouched down and started picking up broken ceramic aided only by the living room light. He was no longer successful at concealing the sound of quiet weeping, but he just kept up doggedly picking up broken pieces of lamp and putting them into Jack's small plastic trash can.

Jack kept right on going until he was right in front of Mac. "See this is what I was talkin' about the other day."

Mac glanced up, then quickly back down again when he knew Jack had seen the sheen of tears on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jack leaned his crutches against the foot of the bed and carefully leaned forward, tugging on the sleeve of Mac's T-shirt until the blond stood up. "Then, I'll tell ya. Have a seat." Mac hesitated. "By which I mean get those bare feet of yours up outta that broken shit. You already got stitches in one foot. You lookin' to have a matched set?"

Mac sighed. But he also sat. "Not especially."

Jack sat down and studied Mac's profile. Mac was very determined not to look his way, was studying the backs of his still bruised hands with silent intensity.

Jack hesitated for a second, then put an arm around Mac's back, resting his hand on the kid's uninjured shoulder. "Bad dreams, bud?"

Mac shrugged. "I'm okay. Sorry I woke you … and you know … broke your stuff."

"There it is," Jack observed conversationally.

Mac cleared his throat and sniffles quietly again. "There what is?" He already sounded defensive.

"That thing with you putting everyone else in front of you and getting mad or at least upset when anyone calls you on it or tries to make you a priority." Jack squeezed Mac's shoulder gently so the kid would know it was being said with affection and not criticism.

"I don't do that!" One hand came up to absently wipe at his face.

"No training, no weapons, no back up, you went to that warehouse in LA." Mac shrugged. "Shot in the damned leg, you still hauled yourself up on that catwalk to disarm that bomb." Another shrug. "And the second I got hurt you wouldn't even let the medics touch you until you knew I was okay, and I still had to more or less guilt trip you into putting up with so much as a bandage." Mac's shoulders tensed but didn't get to a shrug this time. "You hopped right out of bed the next morning too, just to try to go bail me out with Thornton."

"You didn't deserve to be in trouble because I made a stupid mistake."

"Any more than you deserved to get shot for tryin' to help people, for not givin' up in those men you served with." Mac looked away, toward the darker part of the room. "And then you came in to DXS to help me. Thank heaven for small favors you at least got yourself some help that time, but that was all you had. No training, no weapons, and knowing they were gunnin' for you, you showed up anyway."

"I didn't know what else to do. I actually tried to get outside help first Jack, I promise you I did. Bus and Miles couldn't get anyone to help with no alarms coming from DXS. We had to come in."

"Elliot couldn't have done it without you? Cuz that's one spook I bet could get in and out of just about anywhere and not get caught."

"I … I was afraid if he just sounded the alarm and they still had you … I was afraid they'd take you hostage to get away."

"You mean like what they did to you?"

Silence.

"Speaking of, you held out from so much as giving them your middle name for over a week. Then they hurt somebody else. And you couldn't have that. But you're such a goddamn Boy Scout that even when you let 'em think they broke you, you turned around and blew up their happy little bomb factory."

"I got kicked out of Boy Scouts," Mac said. Jack could hear an almost smile behind the words, and when Mac's head tilted back to center, he could see it, quirking up the corner of his lips ever so slightly.

"How does somebody like you get kicked out of Scouts?"

"I suck at rules. And people telling me what to do. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jack chuckled just a little and gave Mac's shoulder another squeeze. "Jesus, kid, the Army must've been a helluva ride."

Mac shrugged again. "I sort of hated it. I made some good friends though. Carlos, Miles, this kid Ricky. Good guys. And now there all getting married, having kids … having good lives."

"Lemme guess … you did more of that stuff I was just talkin' about and saved their asses at some point?"

Mac just shook his head. But he didn't answer so Jack figured he was at least partially right.

"Which brings me around to you skatin' out of that field hospital and sneaking into that truck and …"

"I had to make sure Z made it out. I had to …"

"We covered that before I left, Mac. I thought you trusted me to do my job but you showed up any way and what you …"

"I do trust you!" he interrupted hotly. "I just, I needed to see for myself …"

"What you said at the time, what you every time in fact amounts to 'yeah, but'." Jack paused. "You're important. People … Hell, not just people, but me … I care about you, kid. I need you to do the same."

Mac leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His whole body hummed with tension, and Jack could tell, through the hand now resting in the middle of his friend's back, that he was trying almost desperately not to break down.

"So we're gonna try this again. Bad dreams?" Jack asked in exactly the same tone he'd asked before.

Mac let out a shuddering breath, then another, more even one, before answering. "Really bad." He paused, thinking. "Like I said, I think I broke your lamp jumping out of bed. I should pick it up. Then you can go get some sleep."

"Or you sleep on the other side so you don't accidentally step in broken glass and leave it right where it is and I'll get the lady Patty hired to clean the place while I'm laid up to take care of it tomorrow."

"I …"

"Talk to me, kid."

"I don't think I can sleep in here right now without the … Nothing. Never mind. It's stupid."

"I'd bet my whole Vegas fund that you've never said anything really stupid your whole life. Tell me."

"I don't want to sleep with no light. Okay?" He sounded angry, whether at Jack for making him say it or himself for feeling that way neither man was sure.

"Makes sense to me, bud. I sleep with the light on most nights. Makes it easier to know if I'm really awake if my dreams are bad."

"Do they happen to you a lot? The dreams?"

"Often enough, kid. C'mon out into the living room. You can have the couch. I'll take the recliner. It's easier to keep my leg elevated in the chair anyway."

Mac dutifully followed Jack into the living room, although he avoided looking Jack fully in the face. He'd been crying and he felt like he might start up again. He just curled up on the couch, facing the back cushions, wrapped in the knitted blanket off the back, as hastily as possible.

Jack arranged himself in the recliner thinking he was glad it actually turned out to be comfortable because when he'd made the suggestion he was expecting it to kind of suck. He left the dim reading light on the end table by Mac's head on, but turned off everything else on his way to the chair. He sighed contentedly to be off the crutches for the night.

He listened to the soft rustling of Mac trying to get comfortable. Finally, after several minutes of it he made a gentle suggestion that Mac maybe take a pain pill.

"They make the dreams worse. I barely slept at all last night," he admitted.

"Okay … But, and I'm only saying this cuz I really do care, maybe you need it anyway. I'll wake you up if you start to …"

"No. I'm fine."

"Fine again is it?"

A heavy sigh. "Okay I'm not fine. I hurt all over and I can tell you my pulse accurately because my shoulder is making sure I know it. But I don't want the pills, Jack. Because I can either hurt or I can keep reliving what they did to me, what being captured and tortured by them was like, what drowning five times a day was like, in full dream technicolor surround sound. On balance, I'd rather have the pain."

That was the first time Mac had said he'd been tortured, or even alluded to being waterboarded. He also openly admitted his pain. That was a big step. "Okay, kid. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push. But maybe tomorrow you could talk to Elliot or, ya know, maybe go in to the infirmary, and somebody could get you different pills."

Mac shifted under the blanket. After a minute, he conceded, "I guess."

"That'd go a long way to showing the people who care about you that you care, too."

"I already said okay, Jack. Jeez."

The slight affectionate irritability was a welcome, familiar sound.

"Okay, kid. Get some sleep."

Several minutes passed. Jack thought maybe Mac was starting to doze, but he heard a very quiet, "Thank you, Jack."

"Always, bud. I have always got your six."

Mac turned his head to be sure Jack heard him. "Me too. I mean, I'll always have your back too."

Jack almost sighed. That was Mac speak for see you in the next exploding warehouse or burning barn. But he supposed he'd take what he could get.

"Thanks, kid."