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Being confined to medical was never a fun time. Mac hated the constant noises, the lack of privacy and the helplessness. Never mind that being stuck here always meant some kind of injury or illness.
The highlight of the previous day had been his first time back on his own two feet. Okay, so he needed to grip the i.v. pole tightly and had the speed of a particularly ambitious snail, but he was up and moving. From the bed to the bathroom and back, but as Jack kept reminding him no big steps without small steps.
It was weird. Being back in LA. Back at the Phoenix. The relationship with his team, with Jack , was still very much strained. And the less said about Oversight the better.
This latest injury certainly didn't help matters. Especially when his lacerated liver had decided to drop him quite spectacularly just as they were reaching exfil. He didn’t remember much from the rush to the hospital, just that he felt guilty for being glad Jack was there with him. Despite having taken off to the other side of the world and basically ghosting his partner. He’d still been there by his side until the anaesthesia pulled him under.
Since then it had been…. Off. Jack was here, he was hovering, but their awkward distance and still not voiced issues caused a strange tension to build. Neither of them really knew how to be them anymore. And Mac was terrified the next time someone left it would be Jack. Wouldn’t that be just deserts after what he’d done to the man who had always stood by him for years?
It was likely that fear, mixed with pain and frustration from a slow recovery as well as lingering guilt for what he’d put Jack through, that caused him to lash out at his partner. And the thing was, in the past, if he’d snarled at Jack like this, the older man would have responded with inappropriate humor or an annoying hair ruffle or growled back to give Mac a target for his frustration. He wouldn’t have stormed off. Left the room. And Mac couldn’t help but wonder if this was it. He’d pushed too far.
The icy dread had joined the maelstrom of conflicting horrible emotions boiling in his chest while freezing his body. He simply lay there half-reclined in a hospital bed, staring unseeingly at the door. He didn’t know for how long. Long enough for his eyes to start burning. At least that’s what he tried to tell himself as he roughly rubbed his hand over damp lids.
He needed to move. He couldn’t remain in this bed a moment longer. Carefully heaving himself into a somewhat upright position seated on the edge of the bed, just as the physical therapist had shown him, he bit back several swear words. Abdominal injuries sucked. Slightly hunched over to not pull on the wound and stitches, he allowed himself to simply breathe, his bare feet barely touching the floor.
Technically, he wasn’t allowed to get up by himself yet. Technically, he should have hit the call button for the nurses’ station. Technically, Jack would have been by his side to help or restrain with a steady hand the moment he tried to sit up. Well, reality just didn’t match expectations sometimes.
Taking a fortifying breath, he tugged the i.v. pole closer, getting ready to try standing again. He was just getting ready to push himself up, when the door opened again. It was embarrassing how quickly, how eagerly Mac looked up, hoping to see his partner in the doorway, only to immediately reign in his expression when he realized just who had decided to grace him with his presence.
“Angus. I do believe you’re not allowed to get up on your own yet.”
Oversight. Of course. His father was exactly what he’d been missing. Several responses to the man’s presence flitted through his mind ranging from impolite to very impolite. Eventually he settled on a forced “How would you know?”
James walked closer, the ever present sense of superiority wafting in his wake like a nauseous perfume.
“I have been keeping an eye on your recovery.”
Great. Not creepy at all.
“Why?”
Mac honestly expected some impersonal line about valuable assets, but the blandly delivered “You're my son, Angus.” was almost worse. From the emotional involvement carried in James’ voice he might as well have been talking about the neighbor’s dog.
For a long second that statement stood awkwardly between them. Then Mac huffed.
“Right. Great for you to notice. Took you long enough. Now what do you want?”
There was the slightest tightening around the older man’s eyes and Mac fought back the urge to cower. He wasn’t a child anymore, damnit.
“You got injured, Angus. I’m here to see how you are doing.” Here James stopped for a breath, before adding in a “I worry about you.”
“Since when?” The question slipped out before Mac could reign in his incredulity.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Angus. I’ve always worried about you.”
Yeah, no. The utter disbelief was quickly changing to anger.
“No you haven’t. You don’t. You weren’t there to worry about me.”
James tsk’ed dismissively.
“I have been keeping a close eye on you. I have read every report and file on your escapades.”
Escapades. As if the dangerous missions Phoenix, no Oversight sent him on, all the life-or-death-situations, all the horror and blood shed, all the lives he’d saved were nothing but a child’s fancy.
Furious with the man who was supposed to be his father and finally faced with an outlet for the pent up frustration of the past months, Mac suddenly found himself standing several steps closer to the man. The hand holding onto his i.v. pole with a death grip was shaking from both the pain of moving too quickly and his seething anger.
“Well, good for you, dad . I’m sure it was a real ordeal to read a mission report from the safety of your desk. Something to be real proud of. Good job keeping track of your assets. Now why don’t you get out and do some more reading?”
James crossed his arms, expression set in that damn neutral mask. No word was spoken. Mac could feel his chest heaving with harsh breaths. The older man looked at him as if he were waiting for a child to finish their tantrum. This was his father, damnit! But there was no warmth, not an ounce of genuine care shown in the man’s words or behavior and Mac was torn between the urge to scream and punch him or break down sobbing.
Since one option was likely to cost him the job he’d barely gotten himself to admit he wanted back and the other was not happening where Oversight could watch on disapprovingly, Mac opted for a tactical retreat. Using the still roiling fury to fuel his movement and numb the pain, he clenched his teeth and shuffled with as much dignity as he could manage towards the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, Angus?”
“Out.”
James still stood between him and the door which unfortunately was the only viable escape route if he didn’t want to lock himself in the bathroom. The older man sighed.
“You’re being unreasonable, Angus. Get back to bed.”
Hell no. He was not backing down now and he definitely wasn’t going to recline all vulnerable in a hospital bed for Oversight to loom over. Not happening. The fresh surgery wound on his belly burned, but he ignored the pain and maneuvered past the disapproving scowl he remembered from his childhood.
He almost hoped that James would try to restrain him with a hand on his arm or shoulder. Just so he could rip out of the grip. Nevermind that a move like that would definitely tear a stitch or two and get him in trouble. He was feeling reckless. And petty. And so, so mad about the other man’s lies and manipulation.
But Oversight did what he did best. He simply watched him struggle from a distance.
It only made him angrier. The hurt. And the vicious knowledge that had he not driven Jack away, his partner would have intervened the moment he’d tried to get up on his own.
He must be a pathetic sight. Barefoot, too pale and clinging to nothing but an i.v. pole and his stubbornness to stay upright and keep moving. The open-backed hospital gown had long since lost its embarrassment factor, though. What little modesty had survived the army barracks and desert tents had withered and died over countless missions with questionable attire or accommodations. The only thing he was grateful for was the fact that after yesterday’s successful bathroom venture, the nurse had rid him of the blasted catheter.
“Angus, seriously!”
He reigned in the urge to close his eyes in aggravation, not wanting to risk missing the doorway and clipping the wall in his unsteady state. Just keep walking.
“Angus! You…”
The sudden trailing off stopped Mac much more efficiently. Even though he really, really didn’t want to. Something still compelled him to ask, although he didn’t bother to turn around.
“What?”
There was another drawn out silence and Mac was getting ready to walk out and try to find a nice quiet broom closet to collapse in, when James spoke with a strange undertone.
“Where did you get those?”
What? He frowned. Still not turning around fully, he glanced back at the other man with a frown. James was staring at Mac’s back. It seemed his confusion was obvious, because after a moment James added “The scars. Where…? They look like whip marks.”
Oh. Oh! Those scars.
A grimy dungeon-like basement, coarse ropes cutting in his wrists where they were bound to a large wooden beam. Cruel laughter and jeering. Snide comments in broken English. And the bite of the first lash on bare skin.
“Oh.” The scars were old. A sad trophy from one of his earliest missions with DXS. Which made no sense, because “Shouldn’t you know that? Or were you looking the other way at the time?”
The older man’s face clouded over and for a moment he appeared almost human. It made Mac wonder distantly, painfully if their expressions in this moment looked in any way alike.
“It appears someone left out crucial details in their debriefing.”
Someone. Right. Jack had done the debrief for that whole mess. Mac had still been recuperating and had only been asked to give a short statement. One that basically consisted of mission went wrong, shit hit the fan, Jack got us out. Knowing his partner and the worried wreck he’d been at the time his debrief likely followed the same broad strokes.
“If you ever get into a mess like that, and hell, I sure hope you never do, hoss. But if, then keep your mouth shut and your head down.”
A conversation from long ago, both of them dressed in their army fatigues. Another EOD reported taken by insurgents.
“Don’t draw attention. Don’t piss them off.”
The words drifted through his mind as the whip sliced into his back.
“If ya need to scream, scream. No dignity or honor in torture anyway. No need to draw it out.”
He screamed. They didn’t stop.
“Remember, hoss, the only thing, the only thing you gotta do is survive. Okay?”
He had survived. The scars on his back were proof. He had survived long enough for Jack to find him. For Jack to mow down his torturers, yet treat his wounds with shaking hands and infinite care. Jack who had led a one man search party for his missing partner. Who wouldn’t have given up. Who would have torn the country apart to find him.
At the same time, James, his actual father, had been cozy back in LA waiting on some piece of paper to report on his son’s actions in the field. If his rescue had relied on Oversight, on the man who was keeping a close eye on him , then Mac would be dead now.
His strength was flagging more by the second, but he was too stubborn, too heartbroken, too furious still to give in to his body’s demands. Slowly he turned to face the man he’d spent so long searching for. The father he’d longed to see again for more than half his life. The cold mastermind who used people however it suited him. Who used Jack to get Mac in line.
“The details of my injuries were not important.”
He cut off whatever retort James was about to offer, his own voice a dangerous icy tone.
“I was captured and held captive, yes. But the mission was successful. Everyone left alive was taken into custody, all intel was retrieved. Mission success. That’s what my statement said. That’s what Jack recorded in debrief. Not everything is documented. Things get left out, things that aren’t mission critical aren’t important. Isn’t that right, Oversight? ”
James drew himself up to full height. Something glinted in his eyes and Mac ruthlessly hoped his words hurt, if only a fraction of the pain he’d suffered over the years.
“Dalton should have-”
“No.” Mac had no idea what his face was doing, no idea how the feeling of being absolutely, entirely done with the older man’s bullshit translated into his expression, but it was enough to cause the man to falter slightly. But Mac was done. He knew he was barely keeping himself standing. There was no way he was escaping the room anymore. He’d likely not make it back to bed either. But he refused to show any kind of weakness with James in the room. “Get out.”
“Angus-”
“No! Get out.” He could feel his control slipping. Distantly he was aware of footsteps outside the door.
James took a step closer, a hand twitching to reach out and Mac snapped.
“Get! Out!”
The older man recoiled, but caught himself quickly. Mac was only vaguely aware of it, though. The strain of standing, moving and yelling finally snapped something under the bandages. Pain shot through his middle as uncomfortable sticky warmth spread along the incision. He stumbled. But before he could fully hit the floor and likely do even more damage, the door was wrenched open and two strong familiar arms wrapped around him.
—---------------------------------
The kid was hurting. Jack knew that. He knew Mac was hurting. And frustrated. And they still hadn’t gotten their groove back. They hadn’t cleared the air.
But he’d naively thought that they hadn’t lost so much ground work that his partner would try to hide an injury from him. More fool him. He should have known. Should have checked. Mac was wonky on the concept of self preservation on a good day and they hadn’t really had much good days lately.
So, really, Jack was mad at himself. He should have noticed. Should have been more vigilant.
That horrible moment when his kid simply keeled over mere feet from the exfil chopper played in gruesome technicolor in a loop behind his eyes.
Then there was the rush to the first viable hospital. Emergency surgery. A medical transfer flight back to LA for more treatment. One uncomfortable waiting room chair exchanged for another. And through it all the knowledge that he might never get to put things right with his kid.
Mac was going to be fine, though. He simply had to remind himself of that fact. Repeatedly. Mac was going to be fine. He was awake and grouchy and Jack had quietly relished in listening to the kid complain about medical regulations. Just the day before Mac had aced the slowest bathroom shuffle in history with Jack hovering as close as the kid and Mirco, the physical therapist let him.
All in all, it had been some very emotionally taxing days. After several devastating months of emotional rollercoasters.
He should have expected Mac to lash out sooner or later. Yet it still caught him off guard.
He knew the kid needed someone to match his snark, offer him a target for all that hurt and frustration, a verbal sparring partner. Yet Jack could barely contain the need to wrap his boy in the tightest hug and never let go. That wasn’t what Mac wanted, though. And Jack didn’t want to overwhelm him or worse make the kid run again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away a second time, would violate the kid’s request for space and Mac had his agency restricted far too often already.
He had not been able to put up a convincing facade this time. He couldn’t be the opponent the kid needed to vent to right now. So before he could do anything rash, Jack was loath to admit he’d fled. Not far, of course. He wasn’t leaving medical without his partner right there beside him. Just down the hall. And if he hid out in the staff break room only to gloomily stare out the window, the professionalism of the nurses on break would mean nobody learned of that. Hopefully.
What was he going to do? He needed to talk to the kid. Really talk. The kind of horrible, painfully honest talks that left festering wounds raw, but were essential for proper healing to begin. Jack just hated the thought of doing so when Mac was still laid up in a hospital bed. But then, he’d been putting off this conversation for too long already and mere days ago he’d almost been robbed of the chance to ever talk thimgs out.
Jack sighed, leaning against the window sill. What a mess their life had become.
He needed to get back there. His protective streak was already howling that he’d been away from his kid too long. He needed to go back there and apologize for leaving Mac hanging earlier. He would try and explain. Small steps.
Taking a fortifying breath, he steeled himself for the emotional battlefield he was going to enter. Then he slowly set off back towards his partner’s room.
He was mentally preparing what he could say, what might be too cheesy and what might actually make it through the kid’s defenses. Distracted as he was, he didn't immediately notice muted voices coming from the room. That was until a very familiar but absolutely seething voice cut through the quiet of the med bay.
“Get! Out!”
Jack was running before he fully registered what he’d heard.
He pushed the door open with too much force, barging into the room and allowing his training a second to take in the scene and scan for immediate danger before zeroing in on his first priority.
Mac was barely upright, stumbling and about to crash to the ground. It was reflex that took Jack across the space and to his partner’s side, catching the blonde with a muttered “Easy, Mac”. He could feel the kid trembling through the thin gown and he did not like the grey tint of his skin one bit.
“Jack?” The question was a mere whisper, blue eyes hazy with pain, but overflowing with conflicting emotions.
“Sh, kiddo. I’m here. It’s okay.”
“Dalton.” Jack barely refrained from openly growling at what was basically their boss. His glare hopefully spoke for itself. “I’m getting the doctor.” With that MacGyver sr. swanned out of the room and Jack was glad for it, not trusting himself around the man that had apparently waited for him to step out to accost Mac when the kid was already vulnerable. His protective rage and guilt about leaving his partner in the first place would have to wait, though.
“Mac? Buddy? Eyes on me, kiddo, c’mon.”
He side eyed the distance to the bed for a split-second and decided that with how much Mac was shaking and the low pained whines the kid was trying unsuccessfully to hide, it was too far.
“Don’t fight me on this, now, okay? Just relax. Let ol’ Jack do all the heavy-lifting.”
Before Mac had fully tracked the words, Jack had carefully adjusted his hold on the kid and lifted him bridal-style. Mac offered a sharp yelp that was part surprise, part protest and part pain and Jack had a sinking feeling the surgery incision had not appreciated his partner traipsing around on his lonesome. This dread was fuelled by a suspicious lack of arguing from the blonde.
Hooking his foot around the i.v. pole to nudge it in the right direction without loosening his hold he carried his precious cargo gently back to the bed. Once deposited there, Jack took a moment to really take in the kid. White as the sheets, sweaty and with obvious pain lining his face, hands twitching into the direction of his belly, legs pulled up the lessen the strain on his abdominal muscles, the most telling sign of all was the studiously averted eyes.
“Mac?”
The kid breathed in a familiar pattern, a technique Jack had once learned in Delta to help control physical pain.
“Hey. Look at me, please.”
Blue eyes flitted in his direction, glancing at him from below long lashes. It was in moments like this that the comparison of his partner and a puppy was the most obvious. It would have been funny if the situation wasn't so serious.
Jack crouched down to be eye level with the kid.
“Hey there.”
A hint of a smile came and fled, but Jack counted it as a success.
“Let’s be honest now, hoss, okay? You pulled your stitches, didn’t you?”
Mac winced, but deliberated for only a moment before nodding tiredly.
“Yeah.”
Jack refrained from sighing openly, not wanting to put the kid even more on the defensive when his walls were already at DEFCON 1. Curse Oversight. And damn himself for leaving his partner to deal with the man on his own.
“Alright, kiddo. Doc’ll wanna take a peek at the damage.” He gently tugged at the hospital gown. “Pull up or draw down?”
Mac followed the motion and frowned.
“Down.”
They carefully maneuvered the sleeves off the kid’s arms and were just drawing down the fabric to reveal the gauze pads speckled with blood when Doc Martens walked in followed by Ruth, one of the seasoned Phoenix nurses. James MacGyver didn’t return with them and Jack was both glad and mad for that fact.
“Well, then, Agent. It appears you were a little too excited to recreate yesterday’s successful walking exercise, huh?” There was no reprimand in the doc’s voice. And no mention of Oversight himself coming to inform the staff.
Mac met the doc’s raised brow with a resigned tired little smile.
“Sorry.”
Martens waved the apology away.
“Eh, it was about time to redress the wound anyway.” It wasn’t, Jack knew. He also knew why he actually liked the doc.
The dressing came off, revealing three ripped stitches at the lower end of the incision, the wound seperating and bleeding freely. Jack felt his fists clench and had to lock his knees to resist the urge to march up to Oversight and punch him square in the face. For whatever the bastard had said to piss off Mac enough to yell. For cornering the kid when he was already down. For not calling in a nurse immediately when Mac refused to get back in bed. For everything the man had put his own son through.
He wouldn’t. Not now at least. Mac needed him here. Had needed him here all along and Jack would not move an inch from his spot by the kid’s side.
The wound was cleaned and restitched and the administered painkillers knocked the younger man out immediately.
Jack dragged his chair closer again and let himself sink onto the hard plastic surface. He would wait here. For however long it took his boy to wake up.
And then they would talk. It would hurt. It would be awkward. And painful. But they would get through it. And they would heal.