Despite the million questions running through Mac's head, and the combination of fury that Jack had let him believe he was dead and the overwhelming relief that he wasn't, Mac was silent on the ride to Reacher's base of operations.
No one else talked much either, though Reacher did ask Jack a couple of questions about whether they'd need any tech to get at the information hidden in the painting in the trunk.
"We will for some of it, but we can get started without it."
Jack glanced at Mac in the mirror, then over his shoulder. He was sort of staring out the window, apparently lost in thought, or trying to compartmentalize pain, though whether from catching that bullet in the garage parking lot or from a sense of it betrayal that Jack had allowed him to think he was dead, was impossible to tell.
"Hey, kid, I'm…" Jack began, but Reacher interrupted.
"Turn in here."
They pulled into a parking space in front of a collection of rooms with roofs of varying heights. It was obviously a motel, but one that had been formed by some structures just being close together rather than being purpose-built.
It was one of the seediest places Mac had ever laid eyes on, but the crowded parking lot, and the motley collection of all manner of people coming and going certainly made it a good place to go unnoticed, even if you were basically the Incredible Hulk.
Reacher was the first out of the car. "Let's get that intel inside."
Jack walked around the back of the car, grabbed the painting out of the trunk, and followed Reacher into the room.
Mac trailed a few steps behind, letting his eyes scan the parking lot once more before closing the door behind them.
One corner of Mac's lips lifted when he entered Reacher and Neagley's motel room. All the furniture had been shoved around into unpredictable places, and extra linens hung from the windows to preclude shadows being obvious from the outside.
How many times had he and Jack done the same thing in some random crash pad, just in case the bad guys were more astute than they seemed?
Reacher started digging through a duffle bag on the precariously cheap looking desk and tossed a travel-sized first aid kit onto the foot of one of the beds. He didn't say anything, just tipped his chin in Mac's general direction as he pulled his phone from his pocket.
Mac read the gesture and carefully slipped out of his coat, hissing in pain and sitting down hard on the edge of the bed when the jacket's zipper connected with the wound on his upper arm on its way off. Mac did remember he had some superglue in his jacket pocket, so he got it out with his good hand, held it up so Reacher would see it, then tossed it lightly across the room for the big man to catch.
The movement jarred his injured arm and made his stomach churn unpleasantly.
Jack must've read his expression, because he quickly leaned the painting against the wall where the bed Mac was sitting on was probably supposed to be and stepped hesitantly closer. "You okay, kid?"
Mac gritted his teeth for a second. "Yeah, I think so." He tried to see if the wound in his arm well enough to actually assess it, but the movement hurt enough that he swore and stopped trying, closing his eyes for a minute.
He was vaguely aware of Reacher talking on the phone. He was also aware of Jack standing close, silent, but hovering.
He made himself open his eyes and look up at his partner. "You know staring at a guy who's trying not to lose his lunch over a gunshot wound is almost as creepy as when you do it while that same guy is sleeping, right?"
Jack flashed a small nervous little look that might have been the beginning of a smile. "I … I didn't want to piss you off."
Mac smirked. "Too late for that, old man."
Jack looked somewhat taken aback.
"I've never been more pissed at anybody in my life than when they told me you were KIA … No, that's not true. I was almost that pissed at you one other time. When you took off for that bullshit Kovacs task force without me."
Jack reached up and ran a hand over the back of his head. "I'm sorry, kid. I-"
Mac tried to move then to get himself out of his flannel and wound up swearing again, a little more colorfully this time. He puffed out a long breath. "Better than an apology right now? Gimme a hand getting a real look at this?"
Both eyebrows went up. "Yeah?"
Mac nodded, trying again to get his flannel off to no avail. "Yeah," he groaned.
Jack leaned closer. "I'd like to tell you this looks like a graze, kid, but-"
"Great," Mac sighed, craning his neck and biting down on the urge to swear again.
"Got your little red knife? I could cut your sleeve away and get a better-"
Mac fished in his pants' pocket with his good hand. "Good idea," he said, handing it over.
Jack carefully sliced through the sleeve all the way to the collar and helped Mac free himself from the bloody fabric, trying to minimize how much he had to move it. "Shit, Mac, I think-"
"That superglue isn't going to cut it," Reacher interrupted, rejoining the two of them.
"That's what I was afraid of," Mac sighed. Fortunately, he could see that it wasn't bleeding badly, all things considered. "So-"
"Whadaya think, kid? Would Phoenix Medical be better or you wanna take your chances with the emergency room?"
Reacher and Mac responded almost in unison, "Neither."
"I thought we just covered that superglue ain't gonna cut it."
Mac took his sliced up shirt out of Jack's hands and pressed it into the wound. "Phoenix is compromised, or at least it's potentially compromised or you wouldn't have played possum," Mac began.
"And emergency rooms have to report GSWs," Reacher finished.
"Mac, if you think I'm gonna use that little red knife of yours to dig another bullet outta your hide…"
"Another?" Reacher sniffed what Mac was pretty sure was a laugh, and started digging through their first aid kit and frowning when he didn't come up with much beyond Neosporin and Bandaids.
"It's kind of a long story," Mac said. "Well, no … the bullet part is actually pretty short. The rest of the story on the other hand…" He pulled the improvised bandage away for another look.
"War and Peace," Reacher guessed. "Why do I have a feeling a lot of your stories are like that?"
Mac couldn't help the slight smile tugging at his lips. "I'm guessing because, based on how much getting sliced up with somebody's dirty boot knife got out of you for a reaction, that you've got more than your share of those, too." He gasped as Reacher took hold of his arm at the elbow and turned it, without any warning. "Don't-" he started to say, then just pressed his lips together in a thin line.
"Hey, hey, hey," Jack said, like he was seriously thinking about stepping in between the two of them.
Reacher spared him a glance. "What?"
"Mac doesn't like anybody in his space unannounced like that." Jack's eyes flicked to Mac's face like he was waiting for him to be mad for saying something. Mac was distracted by Reacher getting a look at his current unfortunate encounter with a projectile. But he gave the barest indication of a nod, so Jack kept going. "You gotta warn a guy … You know, with combat experience. You of all people should know that."
"Usually warnings lead to arguments. We don't have time for arguments if we've already got armed company looking for us."
Jack shook his head. "Mac doesn't just argue."
"So, everything you told me about your bomb nerd back in the day was a lie? Good to know."
"Ow, damnit, are you done staring at that yet?" Mac snapped, reclaiming his arm and pressing his ruined shirt to it again.
To give Mac a second, Jack went on, "Oh, Mac'll definitely argue, but only when something seems like an arbitrary order or doesn't make sense."
Composure regained, Mac joined the conversation. "What Jack is trying to say is, don't touch me unless you've asked if you can. Especially if I'm injured. Because unless I think you're just causing me trouble, I won't argue about it."
"Okay," Reacher agreed without any additional commentary. He gave Mac's arm another look, but refrained from touching it. "It's not great," Reacher said, half to himself.
"What?" Mac asked, trying to get a look at his arm to see what had the big guy grumbling.
"It was small caliber or a fragment, and your jacket slowed it down. Bullet's still definitely in there."
"Shit."
"That about covers it," Reacher said. "Keep that on there," He gestured at Mac's wadded up shirt. He stepped away again, drawing out his phone. "Neagley. ETA? … We're going to need a little more in the way of first aid. No, superglue will cover me, and our new friend even had some on him, but we've got to go digging for him. Preferably with something that could preserve ballistics."
Reacher listened for about five seconds, then ended the call and went and grabbed a t-shirt out of his small bag. "Hopefully, she can come up with something." He gestured with the t-shirt. "I'll be right back. Neagley has a key so if anyone knocks…"
"Copy," Jack said, nodding his understanding.
Suddenly something occurred to Mac. He half stood, then thought better of it. "There's a full field kit at my house. Closet by the front door."
"Good thinking, kid," Jack said, still looking at him nervously but not getting too close.
Reacher stopped at the bathroom door and got out his phone again, relaying that information. He looked back at Mac. "Neagley must like you. She wants to know if there's any pain relief in the kit or if she should try to acquire some."
Mac closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. "I think there's usually …?" He puffed out a long breath. He'd been just holding steady for a while now, but all the adrenaline had started to wear off and he was starting to really feel the injury and the fight that led up to it. "Jack?" he prompted.
Jack glanced between Mac and Reacher. "Sometimes there are topicals, locals. Not always. Usually some emergency and acute pain options. Antibiotics maybe. Depends on who stocked it, and when it was last stocked." He looked at Mac more carefully. "Has it been out with you guys since the last time Medical stocked it?"
"I don't remember. I don't think so." Mac shook his head. "Not unless Boze took it."
Jack nodded, "That's our best bet then. Should we head over there instead..?"
"Jack, if they came looking at the garage, those guys could've been waiting to ambush me at my place, too."
"Shit."
"Neagley can make a detour. And she knows there could be company. Alarm code?"
Mac took a pen out of his discarded jacket's pocket and wrote his security code on a scrap of paper so Neagley could get in and out quick and clean.
Jack still just stood there, awkward and uncertain.
Mac squinted up at his partner, any hesitation he might once have felt in asking for help dissolved in how desperately he'd wished Jack had been there to ask for so many months. "Water?"
Jack looked around, but didn't see so much as a plastic cup.
Despite being on the phone with Neagley again, Reacher got a cold water out of their cooler, the closest thing they had to a mini fridge in this beyond-budget motel room. He passed it to Jack so Mac wouldn't have to try to open it, then he finally headed to the bathroom to patch himself up.
Jack put the water into Mac's good hand with the top off.
"Thanks."
Mac couldn't help the couple of greedy swallows he pulled in. It never failed. Every time there was any kind of action in the field, a little slice of his brain went straight back to Afghanistan, and water seemed like the only antidote to it he'd ever found. Especially cold water. Nothing said you weren't really in a war zone quite like cold bottled water.
"Take it easy, kid," Jack admonished. "If this back alley bullet extraction doesn't go to plan, there's still a hospital in your future."
Mac shook his head. "We've already covered why that can't happen. So whoever does the honors just better have steady hands." He glanced at the wound again as best he could. "It's either small caliber or a fragment like Reacher said. Otherwise based on where I'm hit it should've been a through and through. It shouldn't be a big deal."
Jack gave Mac the look he associated with his Overwatch genuinely freaking out a little. Mac pressed the cloth to his arm again, wincing a little as he did so. Jack mirrored his expression of discomfort. Mac forced a familiar smirk onto his face.
"It's not that bad, Jack."
"It's bad enough," he said tightly.
"It's not your fault."
Jack cocked his head to one side, but didn't say anything.
"Reacher and his buddy Neagley suspected you were alive and they were looking for your intel. I tumbled to their operation and butted in. We were getting jumped at that garage. That was happening. You being there kept it from being worse than one of you needing to pick a little shrapnel out of me. Okay?"
Jack's mouth twitched, but he didn't get quite to a smile. He did finally sit down next to Mac though. "You've got about the worst luck with bullets I ever seen, kid."
Mac flashed a grin. "But I haven't gotten blown up lately. Well, not like badly, anyway."
Jack finally managed a half smile. "Am I gonna get to hear that story?"
"I mean … there's kinda more than one." He shrugged. "Ow, damnit." He took a short, sharp breath. "But only one of them was almost a nuke," he finished.
"Jesus, kid. You're givin' me grey hairs and I ain't even been around."
Mac, who'd been trying for a little of their usual slightly teasing banter grew suddenly serious. "It all would've been a lot easier if you'd been here to grey up in person, man."
Jack put a tentative hand on Mac's good shoulder and squeezed. "I know. I know, Mac. I'm really sorry. I wish I could've come back sooner. But once I was onto this case, I couldn't come in from the cold until I knew who to trust."
Mac's eyes tightened with real pain. "You didn't know if you could trust me?"
Jack squeezed his shoulder again, making sure his gaze held Mac's. "Of course I knew I could trust you! But I couldn't trust Phoenix. And I was in deep, Mac. But now I'm back and we're gonna figure it out." He paused, then said very pointedly, "As soon as we get you patched up."
"There he is," Mac said with a rueful little eye roll.
"Huh?"
"My helicopter parent." Then he gave Jack a real smile. "I'm sure this isn't gonna last, but I've honestly missed it."