As Nikki skidded to a stop by the DXS jet, Mac managed to rouse himself from the semi-conscious state he'd drifted in on the bumpy ride. He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. It was definitely broken. He had no idea how long it had taken them to get here and on a good day without having to weave through the protest-filled streets (avoiding the police who were definitely fanning out looking for anyone they considered suspicious after that explosion) it would have taken at least a half an hour.

Jack's eyes were closed and Mac was worried he'd lost consciousness again. As he moved closer to try to rouse his partner, Jack let out a snorting snore. Mac smirked and shook his head. Only Jack could manage to just take a nap after getting beaten, blown up, and having a badly dislocated shoulder.

Mac felt a little bad having to wake him up to move. He reached out tentatively to shake Jack's arm, but Nikki pulled the van doors open at exactly that second and startled Jack awake.

"C'mon, guys, we've gotta move before they ground us," Nikki said urgently.

"Aw, Hell," Jack groaned. He pushed himself up to sitting with his good arm, biting back a cry of pain as it jostled his other side.

Mac saw the way Jack's arm hung limply at his side, his stomach did an unpleasant flip. "That about covers it," he said thinly.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "You look like I feel, kid."

Mac ignored the statement, figuring they had at least eleven hours for Jack to fuss at him before they got back to DXS. Mac started to get his feet under him, flinching when he reminded himself that he had a bullet graze almost exactly where he'd gotten tagged at that warehouse all those months ago.

Jack moved to try to get up, too and promptly lost his lunch.

Mac's eyes widened. "Nikki, gimme a hand."

She climbed in the back and between the two of them they got Jack on his feet. "Well, this ain't awesome," he mumbled, trying not to lose any more of his stomach contents.

"You've got a concussion."

"So, now you're not just the tech nerd, you're the medic, too?" Jack grumbled as they helped him out of the van.

"Of all the times to not have a medic!" she snapped. "Your pupils look like they belong in two different heads, Jack."

"That explains why there's two jets," he said mildly. He rested his good hand on the railing of the stairs, trying to talk his sluggish feet into moving up them.

"You need help?" Mac asked, coming around to Jack's good side. Then he swayed on his feet and nearly went down himself.

Jack was with it enough to release the railing and catch Mac by the arm to steady him. "Hey, whoa, there, buddy. Maybe slow down a sec."

"I'm okay." Mac shook his arm loose from Jack's grasp to prove it. He blinked a couple of times as a passenger jet went screaming overhead. He was actually pretty sure he had a slight concussion himself.

"Guys, let's go, c'mon," Nikki prompted again, looking nervously around the airport.

Jack gave her a look. It said pretty plainly that she best stop worrying about her own hide and more about how her boyfriend just almost ate shit trying to do exactly what she was harping on. But he kept the communication to just a look. He didn't want to start a fight right now. His head hurt and his shoulder was throbbing, and Mac looked like he was ready to pass out about any damn second. "A'right, man, let's get inside and get the Hell outta here, huh?"

Mac nodded, closing his eyes for a split second when the world swam in front of them again. He made himself start up the stairs "If I never see Egypt again, it'll be too soon."

Not asking if he needed help, Nikki got an arm around Jack's waist. "Let's go, Jack."

"I got it," he said testily.

"If you just fall on your ass, Mac's gonna come running and he'll probably just keel over if he does, so move your ass so we can get in the air."

He didn't like her tone one damn bit, but she wasn't wrong, so he let her help. But the time the door was closed, he was glad he had because he definitely wouldn't have made it on his own.

Nikki glanced toward the back of the jet where Mac was sitting on one of the couches, digging through the duffle of first aid supplies. "Can you make it back there on your own? I'm going to let the crew know we're ready for take off and try to get Thornton on video call to bring her up to speed.

Jack nodded. "I'm good. Thanks for the assist."

Jack limped along back to the couches and sunk down onto the one opposite Mac. He was getting more sore by the minute and more than a little worried about how badly dislocated his shoulder was. He'd had a number of partial dislocations, but this? He couldn't move his arm at all and holy hell it hurt. But he didn't want Mac to help him deal with it until the kid had patched himself up a little bit. He was still bleeding and it had been at least an hour or more since he'd first gotten sliced up and, as Mac had put it, "slightly shot."

Take off stalled everything but Mac digging around in the bag. When they leveled off, Mac looked up at him. "How you holding up, Jack?"

"Aw, I'll be alright, man."

Mac gave a little head shake. "You let Nikki help you in. So, I'm maybe not buyin' it, pal."

Jack sighed. "Yeah, well, if you're not buyin,' how about we just mark this whole package 'Return to Sender,' kid?"

Mac blinked hard against a momentary wave of dizziness. "If we could, I'd be on board for that."

Jack tried to adjust his position on the sofa to get even marginally more comfortable, but it moved his arm just a little and he sucked in his breath, holding it until his vision started to go black around the edges, reminding him he had to breathe even if it hurt. "Shit," he said softly.

Mac frowned and dug deeper in the bag. "Don't keep moving that," Mac said absently.

"I'm not tryin' to, Genius." He took a measured breath. "After you clean up that knife wound and your leg, could you maybe help me get this back where it belongs so I've got one less thing makin' this flight miserable?"

Mac pulled a sling and several ice packs out of the duffle next to him. "Jack, we can't just jam that back into the joint."

"Mac … Buddy … That's what we do with this. If we wait to let somebody do it back in LA, it's gonna be—"

"Hate to call a flag on the play, man, but they're not gonna be able to just do that either." Mac got to his feet, swayed again, then brought the sling over to Jack. "You need imaging before anyone decides what to do with that."

"Are you—"

"Yes, I'm sure." Mac sighed. "I wanna immobilize it for you and get some ice on it to try to keep the inflammation down, but … It's gonna suck."

"Yeah," Jack sighed.

Mac hesitated for a second, then figured he might as well offer. "There's morphine syrettes in the kit."

"No." Jack snapped and gave him a glare normally reserved for less popular staff at Medical.

Mac shook his head, doing his best not to laugh. "I was just giving you the option, man. Jeez. Count your lucky stars you haven't needed to go anywhere near Medical since that new nurse came on. She'll have a field day with you." Mac knew he'd let his expression slip into slightly amused because Jack's glare intensified just a little. "And before you make up your mind about meds, I'd like to point out that if you take a swing at me, you're probably gonna connect because I'm too kicked to crap myself to get out of your way."

"I'm not gonna take a swing atcha. Promise."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "You better not. Because I'll tell Medical to find extra reasons to get stabby if you do, and Sullivan is super into it as her baseline," he said lightly. Then he grew more serious, more focused on the task at hand. "I'm gonna get the sling on you," Mac said, holding it up. Telegraphing everything when somebody like Jack was hurt was the best way to not wind up picking up your teeth. "Then I'll get your arm in it, and I'll do my best not to move it more than I have to, but with no pain relief on board, it's gonna be awful no matter how careful I am."

Jack nodded slowly. "Let's get it over with, hoss, 'cuz I want you to bandage yourself up and—"

"And we're getting you on ice before I do anything else," Mac said firmly.

Mac slung the strap for the sling around Jack's neck first and let it out as far as the buckle would let him. "Do you want to try to move your arm into it yourself, or is it okay if I do it?"

Jack puffed out a long breath. "I can't really move it."

Mac shook his head. "No, I figured that, but I meant with your other hand."

"Sorry, Mac. My brain…"

"Is swelling?"

"Probly. But generally a lot slower than yours on a good day."

Mac didn't feel like his brain was moving at even a quarter of his usual capacity. "Um, what do you want to do?" Mac asked, only sounding about half as done in as he felt.

"Lemme try ta do it myself. I don't wanna go back on my promise not to make the concussion you're obviously rockin' yourself any worse."

"Alright."

Mac backed up to give Jack some space. He didn't necessarily know if it would make it any easier for Jack to deal with. But Mac hated anyone in his space, especially if he was hurt. He just expected things to be worse if anyone was there. Jack had asked why he was so intense about his personal space in difficult situations when he clearly didn't mind people being near him otherwise.

Mac didn't know how to articulate that he didn't really know how to deal with that either, but Jack and Bozer were innately affectionate people. Bozer's parents were, too. So were a lot of Mac's other friends. It wasn't natural to him, but it felt rude to say no to the random hugs, the fist bumps, the companionable sharing of communal popcorn on the couch when they were watching TV.

Mac's mom had been an affectionate person. But the rest of Mac's family wasn't especially demonstrative. Harry could be. Sometimes. But after Mac's dad left, Harry seemed to sense Mac's reserve, his distancing of himself from others. And after Mac had walked in on a phone call he was sure was between his father and grandfather when he was an early teenager, Harry had stopped even trying to break down those walls.

But when Jack tried to maneuver his arm into the sling with his good hand and immediately swore and then retched like he was going to throw up his toenails, Mac just sat down next to him and squeezed his good shoulder. "You okay?"

"No, and I might as well not pretend I am, 'cuz I can tell how I look by how you're lookin' at me."

Mac made himself flash a grin. "Well, you are hard to look at, pal."

"Very funny."

"Can I help or you want to try again?"

Jack swallowed at how tentative Mac sounded and also the way Mac was just kneading his good shoulder like it was the only thing he could think to do to offer any comfort. "I think you've gotta try, Mac. I … I can't even make myself touch it again."

Mac looked at him for almost a full minute. "Okay." He sighed softly. "I'm really sorry about this, Jack."

Jack was about to tell him that it was okay, that he knew it had to be done. But Mac just grabbed his hand and pulled it into the sling so fast that Jack didn't have time to process how bad it hurt, how sneaky his partner was, or even to take an involuntary swing at the kid. He just kind of blacked out for a minute, and by the time his vision cleared, Mac had tightened up the strap and was packing him in ice.

Mac leaned down to really look him in the eyes. "Still with me, Jack?"

"I guess," Jack managed.

"You sure you don't want—"

Jack cuffed him gently on the arm that wasn't bleeding. "How many times I gotta tell you, kid—"

"Just the once, man. Just don't hit me even like you're kidding, okay?" Mac swayed slightly. "Nope. Don't start looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you oughtta take a job at Medical with the rest of those traitors," Mac said with a forced little laugh. "You good though?"

"Yeah, I think I'm good."

Mac passed him a baggie full of blister packs. "There's all kinds of stuff in here. Should be some halfway decent pain relief in here that doesn't require any stabbing. I'm gonna—"

Nikki headed their way with her laptop. "Hey guys, Thornton is getting Medical on to take a look at—"

"Great." Mac got up. "I've got Jack packed in ice. He can't move that hand though." He picked up the duffle and turned his head toward Jack as he got a move on. "Hey, man, I'm gonna go take care of this crap." He gestured vaguely toward his various bloody wounds. "Um, make sure you tell them whatever you plan to take."

"Mac, don't you think you should—"

"Yeah, no, I'll talk them through whatever when I get back."

"You just said yeah, no."

"Yeah, no, shut up," Mac grinned, as he dipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself, grateful he'd thrown some superglue into his pocket from the desk as soon as he'd gotten onto the jet.