Work Text:
“Hey, man, you still with me?”
Mac’s eyes flickered open at the almost-harsh, definitely concerned voice of his partner in the driver’s seat beside him. His head was pressed against the side window, clammy skin against overheated glass. It felt nice, and in that moment, it was the only thing in Mac’s world that wasn’t pain.
His hand squelched against Jack’s ugly Hawaiian shirt he had pressed to his own bleeding side. Jack claimed that he only purchased the hideous thing because when in Rome and all that, even though they were not in Rome, and weren’t even in Hawaii, they were in Havana.
Havana.
Previously the home of one of their best missions, and now maybe one of the worst.
Maybe.
Mac wasn’t sure yet. At least, he wasn’t dead yet. But dead didn’t always mean worst in their ranking system. Neither of them died in Cairo…okay, maybe he technically did die in Cairo, but it’s not like he stayed that way for long. Jack got him back. And then, of course, the doctors got him back when he crashed that second time, but who was really counting.
Jack was, but Mac had years of practice ignoring his partner’s almost - but not really - annoying, and definitely - even though he would never admit it - appreciated, helicopter parenting.
He couldn’t really ignore it now though. He was a little preoccupied with trying not to bleed to death. And, damn it, even he could see that he was failing.
If there was ever a time for that compulsive, overbearing worrying his partner always seemed to reserve for the worst of their missions, it was now.
If the bleeding would just stop, or if the pain would just let up even a little, everything would be okay. They’d talk about this mission with the same “we don’t talk about it, even though we’re currently talking about it” quality as so many of their other work-related disasters, and that would be it.
Maybe not this time, though.
Mac didn’t have to look at the wound to know he was cutting it pretty close.
“Damn it, Mac, keep talkin’ to me.” Jack reached over and shook Mac’s arm with enough force to knock his forehead against the window. He hissed, pulling away from Jack’s ministrations, but it woke him up a little - that was something. “Let me know you’re still with me, kid, please.”
It was the “please” that forced Mac more fully into awareness. It wasn’t the word itself but the way Jack said it. He didn’t think Jack ever sounded like that before. Was he really that close to the end? That thought alone scared him a little more firmly into the direction of consciousness.
“Here,” Mac whispered, forcing out the syllable through lips that felt too numb. Warmth coated his hands, ran over his fingers, stained everything around him bright red.
“We’re almost there, man, I swear we’re almost there.” Jack’s hand didn’t leave his arm. Instead, his fingers slid down to his wrist. They slipped in the blood, but he soon found purchase at the pulse point in Mac’s wrist. Mac wasn’t sure what he felt there, but based on how terrible Mac himself felt, and the way Jack’s fingers tensed against his skin, it wasn’t good.
He already knew that, though.
Just like he knew he couldn’t leave like that. He wasn’t done, not yet, and not for a long time. He needed to stick around to make sure Jack was okay. Riley. Bozer. He didn’t want to think about who would have to deliver the news to the Bozer’s. They took him in when he had no one, raised him like he was their own, and had already lost one child. He couldn’t do that to them. He refused to make them go through that again. That thought alone was more painful than the bullet stuck inside him somewhere.
“Kay,” Mac said, responding both to Jack’s promise that help was close, but also promising not to leave any of them behind. With that little bit of resolve, he forced his eyes to stay open when they threatened to close again.
“Okay, good, okay.” Jack swallowed hard, glancing constantly between Mac and the road ahead. “Just keep your eyes open.”
“Kay,” Mac said again, blinking rapidly when a curtain of black dots descended. The blinking seemed to help and everything snapped back into vivid clarity.
Mac’s eyes tracked down to the gory mess that made up a sizable portion of his torso. He had to swallow convulsively at the sight. He could feel his face paling more. Somehow, watching the blood escape made him feel ten times more woozy. It also made the pain ratched up a few dozen notches on the pain scale. His head fell back against the headrest and he couldn’t stop the miserable groan that escaped him.
“Hey, hey, none of that, man.” Jack pulled his attention back and Mac clung onto the words, the distraction, not wanting to see that again. “Don’t look at it, just look at me, okay? Keep your eyes on me.”
Mac knew his tentative grasp on consciousness was slipping once more. He was trying so hard, and it didn’t matter. The reality of the situation was obvious. He never should have looked. He was playing a losing game, and the house always won.
“Just look at me, bud.” Mac groaned again, kicking out weakly as he fought to stay present. He didn’t want to close his eyes. Chances were dangerously high that they would never open again.
The tugging on his arm kept him from slipping. He forced his weary eyes to find Jack’s. He wanted to tell his partner to stop worrying, to watch the road instead of looking at him, but he couldn’t get his vocal cords to work anymore. Nothing was working anymore.
That wasn’t entirely true.
He held onto the eye contact, even though Jack’s eyes kept shifting away to make sure they weren’t about to take a nosedive down a cliff or something, but no matter what, they always found Mac’s. In return, even when his eyes tried to fade away or drift close, he forced them to find Jack again.
“Stay with me, kid.” Jack whispered, the car coming to a sudden, jolting halt. Mac refused to let his eyes close but his vision was fading around the edges. “We’re here.”
Mac’s door suddenly flew open, and before he knew it, hands were pulling him away from his red-stained seat. Jack practically dove over the center console, and out Mac’s door, to follow as Mac was strapped down and lifted into a helicopter.
Mac was finding it harder and harder to breathe, to see, to stay awake, but he refused to let go. Everything was happening around him. Activity swirling around him as he fought to keep up, to pay attention.
Jack’s face came back into view, his eyes finding Mac’s one last time. Mac held onto that for a few more seconds. An oxygen mask was pressed against his nose and mouth, and a sharp pain ignited in his arm, but he didn’t try to pull away. He knew he was safe.
“You did good, man.” Jack told him, his fingers brushing Mac’s hair off his forehead. “Just hang on a little longer.”
It seemed like such a reasonable request.
I promise, Jack.
Mac couldn’t say the words out loud, but he hoped Jack could see it in his eyes.
“Thanks, bud.” Jack said, letting out a little half-sigh of relief and Mac’s lips quirked into a weak smile.
Message received.
The End.