Mac didn't want to get up.

Not even a little.

But if he didn't, he knew for a fact that Jack would be right back at DEFCON 1 on the skinny blond bomb nerd defense system.

He suppressed a groan. He'd finally slowly started to sort through everything, mentally and physically, late yesterday. Physically he felt like he was on the mend, more or less. The mental aspect of things required a lot of effort and recalculation. He didn't like anything he'd come up with.

He'd been restless, unable to sit, but still too sore all over to do much else. He decided he was just done. DXS would get O'Neill and Zwickey was home. He could just move on. And that's what he was trying to do.

He'd flaked on his agreement with Jack to either go to the infirmary or talk to Elliot about different pain relief.

He said it felt better.

What he meant was the pain was steady enough that he was learning how to put it into the background, to ignore it enough or accommodate it by changing his movements or avoiding a task. He figured that was good enough.

This morning his shoulder was yelling at him about it.

Loudly.

Probably shouldn't have lugged the laundry or made up the bed last night, but I'll be damned if I admit it to Jack.

He heard the hiss of steam that told him the automatic coffee maker had kicked on and seconds later the smell of the dark roast he'd picked up yesterday when he'd gotten a case of cabin fever and walked to the store started to spread through the apartment.

That meant Jack would be up any minute. He was supposed to go in to the office today for some briefing or other. Mac knew because Jack mentioned it at least three times, with the question did Mac want to just wander in with him and hit up the infirmary. Foster wasn't working, he said. He'd checked. Mac's third 'no thanks' morphed into a 'no, shut up', because he was fine, thank you very much.

Jack had gotten up, crutches and all, and come over to sit next to Mac on the couch. "You do know Sissy's office is over in that part of town, too, right? And there's absolutely nothing wrong with maybe trying therapy out again after everything that …"

"I'm fine, Jack," Mac interrupted.

Jack sighed none too quietly. "Bud, I keep hearin' you say it, and I half think you really believe it."

Mac closed his eyes and took a long breath.

"Hey, look at me, kid."

Mac did, although his expression had gotten a shade more disgruntled.

"Thing is," Jack went on, "I'm pretty damned sure it's bullshit, because nobody who went through what you just went through is fine, physically, mentally, or any other way. And I know, cuz I've been there."

"Jack, it's … I'm seriously good. I'd tell you if I wasn't, okay?"

"First of all, no you wouldn't because you're Mac. And second of all … You know what, I don't need a second of all. Bad things happened to you and you're going to 'I'm fine' yourself into a nervous breakdown, kid. For real now. Trust me, I know."

Jack's expression said he was going to expound upon things, either how he knew, or how bad Mac looked, and Mac didn't think he could handle either thing. He didn't want to know about Jack suffering, it was bad enough that he knew it happened, he couldn't hear about it. Not right now. And he was fine, he'd swear in front of anybody it was true. Well, mostly true. Okay, maybe he wasn't fine, but he would be. He just needed time.

He sighed. "I'll think about it. Does that satisfy my Overwatch?"

Jack looked at him for a long silent minute. "I guess." He paused for a minute, looking almost longingly at the pillow on the end of the couch. "You headin' to bed soon?"

"I wasn't." Mac frowned. "You tired?"

"Little bit."

"I'll take the couch tonight, Jack. I'm not ready for bed. I've got to text Boze in a little bit and keep up the whole out of town for work thing. And I might watch the news, if noise out here won't keep you up."

Jack studied him again. "Sure, bud." He got his crutches under him and started for the linen closet. "If you're gonna camp out here, I'm gonna change the bed and then crash."

"I changed it a while ago. I meant to mention wanting to stay out here earlier, but I forgot."

"I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to be doin' stuff like that that's gonna pull on that shoulder or jostle those cracked ribs."

Mac grinned. "I'm pretty sure you can't actually change a bed while you're on crutches either."

"Yeah well, you let ole Jack decide what he can and can't do."

"How about you extend the same courtesy to ole Mac?"

Jack chuckled. "Ole Mac, huh? You are at least ten years from using that as anything other than a joke."

Mac picked up one of the throw pillows off the couch and hit Jack in the middle of the chest with it. "Go to bed, old man," he laughed.

After Jack closed his door, Mac sat up for a long while, just thinking, trying to decide if all the concern was just Jack being Jack, or if he had a point.

When he realized time had ticked on from late night to very early morning, he'd finally curled up on his good side, pulled the knitted afghan off the back of the couch, wrapped it around himself, and sunk into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep.

Now he lay on the couch listening to the sounds of Jack getting up, moving around his room, swearing, and finally caving and getting his crutches. He sighed and started to push himself up to sitting, swearing softly at the way his whole body was still protesting even the smallest most careful movements.

"Mornin' kid," Jack greeted, heading toward the counter for coffee.

Mac forced himself to his feet. "Sit; I've got that."

Jack tipped a grateful grin. He kept breaking coffee mugs by dropping them trying to drink and walk at the same time. He perched on one of the stools at the counter, resting his leg on the nearest rung on the stool beside him. "Thanks, bud," he said with another smile when Mac handed him his coffee. He took a sip. "Damn, this is good. Whadja do to it?"

"Bought decent coffee," Mac laughed, sitting on the only other available stool. "Glad you approve."

"Mmmmm," Jack agreed, taking a long sip. He always needed some caffeine to really get his ass in gear in the morning, but he rarely actually enjoyed his coffee and more than one made his hands shake slightly. No big deal for most people, but for a marksman it was disquieting. He'd probably have a second cup of this though. "Thanks, man. I gotta head out in a few, and waking up to this helps." He paused. "What're you planning today while I'm gone?"

Mac appreciated that Jack wasn't starting the day with another 'you've got to deal with this before it deals with you' push. He gave a safely comfortable one shouldered shrug. "Hanging out. Maybe seeing how hard it would be to cover up these bruises so I can go home and sleep in my own bed. They aren't all that dark, but they'd screw my work travel story with Boze. I hate bullshitting him like this, but even if I could tell him, all it would do is freak him out."

"Am I such a crappy roommate you're really ready to resort to wearing makeup just to get away from me?" Jack teased.

Mac took the question seriously though. "I need to get back to normal, Jack. I feel … I just … I'm ready to go back to my normal life, maybe just pretend this was all another bad dream."

Jack nodded. "I understand the impulse, kid. And who knows? Maybe it'll work for you. Gettin' back at it has worked for me often enough."

Mac flashed a quick smile, but didn't say anything else. He stared into his coffee cup for a few minutes.

Jack let him have his silence.

He finished his coffee, checked his watch, and realized he didn't have time for a second cup. He got to his feet and sighed as he got his crutches. He was already tired of using them.

"Take it easy, kid. I gotta head in or Patty's gonna spend the first ten minutes of this briefing chewing my ass."

Mac looked up. "Have a good meeting or whatever it is you're doing."

"I better not come home and find this place top to bottom cleaned or anything. Watch tv, maybe grab a nap. You don't look like you slept."

There was the Overwatch tone. Mac nearly laughed. "Be bored. Got it."

As Jack was heading out the door, his house phone rang. "Hello … Yeah, he's up. I don't know if he's … I'll ask him." Jack turned back to Mac. He looked both vaguely apprehensive and determined. "Hey Mac, Elliot got the whatever specialist he told you about to agree to see you at DXS and she's passed Patty's vetting. If you come in with me, she could see you today, and afterward you could start debriefing stuff …" He paused at Mac's expression because he couldn't read it at all. "If you want."

Mac nodded and got up. "Can you give me ten? I'll go get cleaned up and dressed."

Jack relayed that to whomever was on the line and then listened for a moment before ending the call. "Take your time, kid. I just got reassigned to debrief with you anyway, so we can get there when we get there. They'll just book the doc for the whole day anyway."

Mac headed for the shower.

0-0-0

It was well after lunch time when Mac finally escaped the infirmary. Well, not so much escaped as he was finally released, but it felt like an escape to him after hours of not hearing any news that was particularly welcome.

He was headed to Thornton's office when Jack appeared apparently out of nowhere and fell into step beside him. "Nice sling. You look more comfortable. It's almost like you should have been wearing one of those from the get-go."

Mac tossed him a semi-embarrassed but mostly rueful smile. "You're a real jackass when you think you're right, you know it?"

"Sargeant Jackass, reporting for duty," Jack grinned. "What'd the doc say?"

Mac sighed as he hit the button for the elevator. "That there's a little bit of muscle and ligament damage but the tendons are fine, that the bone got a little scratched up which is probably why it still hurts like holy hell, and that I can do intensive physical therapy or I can get it surgically repaired and then do some recovery physical therapy." He shrugged with his good shoulder and stepped into the elevator.

Jack followed. "And which did they think was a better idea?"

Another shrug. "I didn't ask. And before you decide for me, I'm thinking it over. There's positives and negatives to both."

"Mmm." They stepped off the elevator. "Like what?"

Mac sighed as he started down the hall. "Well, the major downside to either one is that I'm sure my Overwatch is going to question my decision no matter what it is." He punched Jack lightly on the arm, careful not to unseat his hold on his crutches.

Jack chuckled. "Probably. How's it feel now?"

"Like I let somebody pummel it all morning after a dude spent hours pretending I was a bottle of Bordeaux about a week ago. How's your leg feel? Like you half got blown up and part of a building fell on it?"

That was defensive Mac, but it didn't sound bad tempered.

"Pretty fair description. And I actually let somebody fix it for me already."

Mac laughed. "You can't even help it, can you?"

"Help what? Lookin' out for my best friend?"

Mac's breath caught for just a split second. Best friend. He was reasonably comfortable with the fact that Boze often said that. Boze had a lot of friends, but Mac was the only one who knew what lay behind Bozer's broad smile and boisterous, almost over the top persona. And before he met Jack, Bozer was the only one who really knew why his eyes so often went distant or sad, why he avoided conversations about family. They'd called each other best friend since they were maybe twelve.

But Jack … Mac felt like he'd mostly been a trial for Jack to endure when they met. That feeling slowly wore away. He'd known Jack really cared about him when he re-upped as his Overwatch instead of just going home. For a lot of people 'best friend' was just words, just something to say. But Jack had been showing him that he meant it for a while now. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, that."

He'd tried to keep his tone light, and knew he'd failed miserably, so he especially appreciated Jack just smacking him on his good shoulder and laughing. "Well, kid, you're officially stuck with me and my inability to help it."

He managed a grin this time. "Guess I'll learn to live with it."

When they finally got to Thornton's office, the door was closed, so they settled into the waiting area around the corner from it. Mac sat looking at his phone and Jack sat looking at Mac.

After a few minutes, Jack asked, "Whatcha lookin' at?"

Mac glanced up. "My options." That wasn't going to be enough for Jack; he could tell. "Like just physical therapy could take several months, but there no real risk involved, whereas surgery has some risk but would probably have me squared away in weeks as opposed to months."

"What do you think you want to do?"

Mac raised and lowered both shoulders in a sort of reflexive shrug, grimacing at the shooting pain there. It was so sharp and overwhelming for a split second he was back in that basement with Zahir.

He shivered and Jack obliged him by pretending not to notice.

"My first impulse is that surgery that's not explicitly necessary is just … a bad idea. But I told Dr. Rawson I'd look over all the materials she emailed me, so I am."

"You are one for keeping promises, kid. I've always liked that about you. Anything you read change your mind?"

"Oh, hell no. Besides, I'm not an athlete or an operative like you or anything. I work on cars part time, so it's not like I need to be in a hurry with it. And I met the pt while I was there. I could be convinced that spending a couple months hanging around her is downright brilliant as far as ideas go."

"Shelly?" Jack laughed. "Don't let her fool you, kid. She looks all pleasant and adorable, but she's a pt."

"Which means?"

"That she's got a sadistic streak a mile wide and probably should have gone into enhanced interrogation instead of any kind of medicine. And the other guy in physical therapy here, Stan, makes Shelly look like fluffy bunny by comparison."

Mac laughed. "Still beats getting into a knife fight I'd definitely lose since the plan would be to be unconscious for it."

Jack joined his laughter. Mac was taking this pretty well. This morning when Thornton's assistant had called, Jack was afraid Mac was going to balk at coming in, not so much for the debrief, but to deal with his shoulder. Jack knew how it had gotten hurt now so he wasn't surprised that Mac had been trying to box up the pain right along with his memories of his captivity. Neither was a good idea, so he was grateful things were going the way they were.

"That's … okay, that's damned funny."

"I'm capable of being funny on purpose … Occasionally." Mac grinned. Then he looked up to see several people coming out of Thornton's office. "Zwickey!" he called in surprise, getting to his feet and closing the distance between them.

"Hey there, Hollywood, how you doing? You look a little worse so wear, kid." Zwickey gestured toward Mac's newly acquired sling.

"It's just Mac these days, man. And I'm doing okay. They didn't have me for all that long." He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Then to cover his strained emotions he gestured to Zwickey's crutches and bandaged hand. "Looks to me like I got off light at that little shindig, Big Z."

"I'm finally home so it's just Zack now," he said with a smile at the younger man. Mac thought he looked like a different man, cleaned up and groomed with almost a weeks worth of good meals behind him. He looked more like the guy Mac had known when he was first in country. But ...

There was something so sad about the smile, it made Mac's heart race with the brief panicked certainty the the man was going to break down right here outside Thornton's office and if he did, so would Mac. He couldn't deal with that at all, so he tipped Z a grin. "Zack Zwickey? Damn. That's a mouthful."

The man grinned and it looked more natural this time. "This from Angus MacGyver? Seems to me maybe we both pissed off our parents before they ever took us home the first time." He paused. "Speaking of, that's where I'm headed next, to see my folks. I have a feeling my mom is gonna want to call you up and thank you personally for not giving up on me. Would that be alright?" he asked a little stiffly.

Mac forced a smile then. "Of course. And you, too. If you need to ... Coming home … it's not always .., I mean it's great, but …" Mac had the unwelcome sensation of wanting to break down again. He cleared his throat. "Call if you need anything."

"That's a two way street, Mac. I'd still be over in that shithole if it wasn't for you and your friend here. You ever need anything, up to and including a kidney. You'll know where to find me."

Zwickey's right hand was bandaged and Mac's left was tied up in the sling, so rather than a handshake they settled for a slightly awkward fist bump. "I'll be in touch," Mac promised.

Jack interjected, "And when we get O'Neill maybe we'll get together and celebrate a little, huh?"

"You got it."

They headed down the hall then. The two men in nondescript suits that flanked Zack were clearly security and the woman in crisp slacks and an immaculate linen blouse moved like an agent. DXS and maybe the Army were making sure Zack got safely to his family. That made Mac feel better. He hoped both organizations would keep an eye on him, help him adjust. Mac felt like his brain was made of wet towels soaked in gasoline and tied into knots that someone might set a match to any minute and he'd only been captive for a couple weeks. He couldn't imagine what Zack felt like right now.

Thornton stepped out of her office then, the evaluative expression she so often wore fixed on her face as she took in Mac's appearance. "Good afternoon, MacGyver."

"Ma'am," he said pleasantly. "Jack said you wanted to start debriefing everything with me today. Is that still convenient for you?"

She smiled slightly. "I would like to talk to you this afternoon. Why don't you both come in?"

They followed Thornton into her office and sat around a small table scattered with papers and several computer tablets. She looked at Mac in silence for long enough that he felt generally uncomfortable. The expression reminded him of the assistant principal at his middle school every time the fire alarm went off. He cleared his throat and glanced at Jack.

Finally Thornton spoke. "How are you feeling, Mac?"

"I'm well, ma'am. How are you?" He was not letting her turn this into a 'poor Mac' discussion.

She ignored his question. "You look tired," she observed.

Okay. Fine. She wants to make a big deal out of a civilian getting hurt on an op he shouldn't have been involved in. Honesty was likely to move this conversation along and get him out of here faster that deflection. "I suppose I do, Director Thornton. I haven't been sleeping particularly well, as I'm sure you can imagine."

She and Jack exchanged a look then. Mac read it as maybe Jack had told her he wasn't doing as well as the face he presented to the world indicated. He was partially right. What Jack had told Thornton was that the inaction was eating the kid up, that he was worried.

"Because of the pain?" she asked, nodding at his sling. "I'm sure Dr. Rawson could be helpful with that, if you'll let her."

"We already spoke about that today," he said, then added without thinking, "and my shoulder is the least of my sleep problems."

Another long silent consideration. This time it didn't make him uncomfortable though; more irritated than anything. "Nightmares about what happened?" she asked, her tone entirely neutral.

"More like about what's likely to happen," he said almost under his breath.

Dalton's assumption was correct then, she thought. "You're worried that O'Neill got away again."

He met her eyes. "Yes, ma'am. I am. And I understand I need to back off, to stay out of it. My lack of training and insistence on being involved has gotten people hurt, put lives at risk." He glanced at Jack but was quickly distracted by the pleased expression in Thornton's face.

"Would you like some? Training, that is."

Mac frowned. "Are you offering me a job again, Director?"

She smiled her Cheshire Cat smile. "I'm offering you the opportunity to maximize your potential and use that potential to put an end to a very serious threat to our national security." She paused but he didn't respond. "I'm offering you a chance to finish what you started when you were nineteen, Mac. Not just getting O'Neill, but saving lives. Every day. No training at all except the rudimentary sort the Army gives you and you were a deciding factor in three separate missions now. DXS needs you, Mac. And your inability to sleep, your need to keep people safe tells me that you need us."

"I …"

He stopped himself and studied the back of his hand for a minute, mentally cursing the sling he was planning to ditch as soon as he was out of the building. What did he really want? Was taking this job the right thing to do? He suddenly wished he could will his grandfather's voice to chime in like it did sometimes when he was under extreme stress.

He glanced at Jack. He saw only care for him in his friend's face, not an investment in how he answered. But if anybody knew how much he'd been struggling it was Jack. And although Jack hadn't directly shared his own experiences in anything more than the most general terms, Jack had shared that taking action, doing something that felt important could go a long way.

He returned his gaze to Thornton. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in the job now, ma'am. But if I take it, I have some conditions."

One corner of her mouth crooked up. "Do you?"

"First, no firearms. I don't use them. That's not negotiable for me."

She was silent for a moment, glancing at her laptop. He was struck with the certainty that someone was listening to all of this and guiding her responses. He remembered thinking that the last time she'd offered him a job. He wondered what kind of control freak her boss really was. Since he was putting conditions on his employment he supposed he should be happy whoever was in charge would know about it.

"You wouldn't be the first agent that made that choice I suppose. It's rare, and I don't like it, I believe we can accommodate it if that's what it takes to bring you in. Although I would have to insist on personal security in the field."

"That's another condition. If I work here, I want to work with Jack. I trust him to have my back. And I don't really want anyone else to watch it."

The other side of her mouth joined the first one in a real smile. "Yes, well, Dalton has already made that a condition as well. Done."

Mac tossed Jack a grin. Jack returned it. The moment Mac had acknowledged that he might want the job, Jack had seen the kid relax in a way he hadn't since before the warehouse incident.

"And finally, I'd like to be involved with the think tank part of the organization too. I'm good at that, especially engineering. And I think DXS should take that part of the organization as seriously as the covert operations wing. I'd like to be part of making that happen."

There was another pause and she didn't even pretend to not be looking at her screen this time. "That's consistent with our current organization objectives as well. Or it will be as soon as Oversight and I present it to the board. You've got it. Anything else?"

Mac was a little stunned. "I … um … No ma'am. It'll take some time for me to get myself back into working condition."

"That'll be your job to start with then. Get yourself mentally and physically fit as expediently as possible, and the moment you're cleared, you can attend our training school. The moment you pass, so long as Dalton is back on both feet, you can go after O'Neill."

Mac grinned. He was surprised at how good he felt about this decision, considering how he'd rejected the idea in the past. But she had given him everything he asked for, so, he felt very much like he'd one some sort of victory. "Yes, ma'am."

She stood and extended a hand. He rose to do the same.

"Welcome to DXS."