Chapter Text
Jack was used to doing what he was told. All through childhood, he listened to adults around him, giving him gentle commands and telling him the right and wrong way to do things. As he got older, he started making his own choices, doing what he thought was right and wrong, always having reasons for any choice he made.
Joining the army was one of the choices he couldn’t make heads or tails of sometimes. All the orders, drills, and missions— not easy, but nothing ever seemed to give him trouble. He was told he was one of the best soldiers that ever passed through the army, which lead to him easily being recruited for DELTA, and becoming one of the top snipers to ever come of it.
The one thing he didn’t enjoy about the whole thing was killing. Call him an idiot for joining the army and not wanting to kill people, but it never got easier. First few times it made him physically ill, and a few times after that in extreme circumstances. What made it bearable was the fact of they’re terrorists, murderers, those wanting to do harm. Jack could live with himself when those types of people were his target.
But then there were the younger ones, the literal children soldiers that he had to deal with. They were the extreme circumstances. Jack was usually always quiet after missions involving kids. It made him think back to his childhood, being told what was right and wrong; those kids were doing the same as he did, listening to adults telling them what was right and wrong. And it made him sick.
He kept doing his job though, despite that fact. Same thing day in and day out; top brass missions he and his team got sent on, sometimes questionable actions and commands, but all in all it had become nearly routine.
Until they got a mission from the top top of the army.
“I cannot stress enough the importance of this mission’s success. I know I say that about nearly every mission you boys get sent out on, but this is top of the top. I’m talking every string that can be pulled will be, whatever supplies you’ll need will be provided. There’s no room for errors on this one. If anything goes wrong and the mission fails, the consequences will be catastrophic for the whole damn branch.
“This is a map of the location. Your target is being moved from point A to point B and it’s your job to get him before he moves into B; a highly guarded, near impenetrable base in the middle of an oasis. We missed our chance last time, and if we miss this one, there’s no telling when the next time will be.”
“Who’s our target sir?”
A picture was brought out. To Jack, it was a boy in the picture; too young to be in the army, barely old enough to be considered out of high school. Yet another child of war.
“EOD Tech Specialist Angus Macgyver. A year ago, an outing he was on had gone sideways. He and his overwatch had been ambushed. His overwatch had gotten back to base in critical condition, and Macgyver was assumed KIA, but a body was never found. About a week after the incident, we received a video of our tech in enemy hands and beaten to high hell, but he was alive. Every month after that, we received another video showing he was alive, but in no better condition than the first.
“We organized rescue units, but we were unable to retrieve or make any real progress in his rescue. We only got word of where he was being held a month ago, and that he was going to be moved in the last video we received. We’re treating this as our only chance to get him back, and it’s your unit that’s being tasked with it.”
“How did you figure out he was being moved and where?”
“Macgyver himself. Each tape we received was an hour of just him strapped to a chair. He didn’t talk or really so much as look at the camera, but someone had noticed his fingers twitching nearly erratically in every video, and it was realized he was tapping out Morse Code. He told us where he was being held and any plans of movement, and the most recent video contained the location of an oasis base.”
“What’s so important bout this kid that they’d keep him alive for a year and keep his transfer a secret?”
“Nearly a certified genius. Physically, mentally, and morally fit beyond anything this army has ever seen. Top scores on everything across the board; hell, his ASCAB score was in the top two percentile. He’s got unpractical ways of solving problems that usually stump others and can make something out of nothing. The way he disabled IEDs was like nothing anyone’s ever seen before and he managed to single-handedly disarm a full hundred twenty-seven of them in a single day when the damn tallie were throwing them out everywhere.
“Macgyver never gave us information about why he was being held though. We’ve assumed it was because someone wanted him for their own. Macgyver can’t only disarm IEDs, he can construct them as well. If you were to give him a box of junk, I can guarantee he’d be able to make some sort of crude explosive out of it. Lord only knows what he can do with the tools and material tallie’s have.
“Long story short gentlemen, you need to get to him before he disappears in that oasis. All the videos we’ve received haven’t shown any sort of critical injury or signs of torture, but we don’t know if that’ll last. If he’s going to be presented to some sort of commander and used for their personal gain, then we can expect future videos showing obvious critical injuries, torture, or even his body if he resists. He never broke in mock holdings, but all men have a limit, and tallies will take their time to find it.”
He was too young. The boy in the picture they were shown was too young to be in that situation.
Jack had asked to view every video of Macgyver they’d been sent, to get a sort of feel for the kid they were going to get back. The first one was the worst; clothes were bloodied and ripped, arms and legs zip tied too tight to the chair he sat in, steady drip of blood most likely coming from his nose or mouth. A frown never left Jack’s face as he watched his chest expand and contract, hitching every so often, which most likely meant broken ribs. He knew the pain of that, and wasn’t at all pleased with having to see someone else experience it.
But every video, from the first to the last, Macgyver’s fingers tapped on the chair’s armrest.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Sometimes slower, sometimes fast. Sometimes a full body jerk, sometimes a word misspelled. Sometimes it was just nonsense for the whole of the video until the last three minutes when a word or number was tapped out. Every video contained some sort of information that could help with his freedom.
Not once did he ever tap out something about fear.
There was something in the second to last video though, and it pulled on Jack’s heart just a bit; Macgyver had looked at the camera. It was the first and only time in all the videos, and the look on his face ignited a fire in Jack.
His hair had been longer, just barely past his shoulders, dirtied with grime and dried blood so much that the original blond was nearly nonexistent. His eyes though, still as blue as they were in the photo he saw, didn’t hold any sort of fear. They looked directly into the camera lens, and Jack could’ve sworn Macgyver was looking at him. Trust, determination, patience— those were what Jack saw in his eyes. It had been a bit shocking if Jack was completely honest with himself. Most men Jack had interacted with had the tiniest spec of fear in their features that Jack could spot seconds after meeting them, especially in their line of work with having to be worried about getting killed nearly every day.
But Angus Macgyver didn’t show any sort of fear in that minute he looked at the camera. His young features held something much older and wiser than what should’ve been there. Something Jack had seen on men that were years his senior, that should’ve been impossible to see on a face as young as Macgyver’s.
Jack had gathered from the debrief that Macgyver was somewhat of an enigma, and it intrigued him.
He and his team would intercept the caravan. They would deal with every insurgent they came across. They would rescue Specialist Macgyver. Even if Jack were the last man standing, he would bring their soldier home.
It was a promise he made himself, and Macgyver, and he never broke a promise.
***
Rescue missions were generally the hardest ones in Jack’s opinion. So called search and destroy missions were simple because they never had to worry about casualties on their side besides themselves. So many things factored into rescue missions; where the captive was being held, their physical status, if they would even still be alive by the time their saviors would get there. One step, one thing out of place could compromise everything and doom the captive.
The thought of losing Specialist Macgyver due to any sort of negligence on his part opened a pit in Jack’s stomach. He wasn’t even the first, and probably wouldn’t be the last rescue mission, but there was just something about him, about the way he looked directly into the camera during the video that made Jack swear on everything he held dear, that he would rescue him.
A list had been made of everything Jack and his team would need, any vehicles wanted were on standby. The whole thing would be happening in less than a week, and every specific, down to the tiniest detail, was being fulfilled on everything that was requested.
But Jack had gone back to watch the tapes again, leaving his team to make sure everything was in order. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something extremely important, something that would seal Macgyver’s fate it it wasn’t found. He watched each tape over once, then twice, writing down every single thing he saw and what Macgyver had tapped out, paying special attention to whenever he twitched and every misspelled word.
Morse Code was the first pattern, but Jack was absolutely certain he found an underlying one that told a completely different story from what they were told.
“Dalton what the hell do you mean this op is a bad idea? We’ve been receiving information from Macgyver for a year telling us where he’s being held and where he’s going to be moved. We are not going to abandon this mission.”
“Sir I understand that’s what it looks like, but if we go through with this then he’s as good as dead.”
“He’s as good as dead if we don’t go through with it. We have the coordinates, we have a plan of action. This op is happening.”
“The message I found—”
“Is nothing—”
“Do you honestly believe that the tallies wouldn’t’ve seen his tappin? I mean why the hell were they even sendin monthly videos with zero demands to get him back? Surely ya had to think that was strange. They knew what he was doin, might’ve even encouraged it to throw us off their trail. I’m tellin ya, he was bein forced to feed us false information probably under pretense of death.”
“How the hell did he send some sort of alternate message then?”
“Yer the one said he was a genius, and geniuses are usually good with patterns, so I looked at the patterns.” He pulled out several papers with his notes on them. “Every single breathin hitch, every cough, shudder, word misspelled, hell even the only time when he looked into the camera. It all spells somethin out.You said we can’t afford any fuck ups, and I’m a hundred percent sure that ignorin this would be the biggest fuck up we could do.”
A sigh. “What’s it spell out?”
Jack read through his list. “No move. Fake base. They know. Original. 57.4, -37.9. Distract. Stay put. Suicide mission. Wait clear. Can last. One chance. Good run.”
“Have you been able to piece together what in the hell that means?”
“My thoughts are they ain’t movin him. They knew he was sendin code and forced him to give us he cords to a fake secondary location. The original and cords could be to the base he’s bein held at now and they’re gonna try to distract us by sayin he’s getting moved.”
“So every piece of information we got was a lie. Fucking christ that’s the last thing anyone needs to hear. What else?”
“He’s tellin us he’s stayin put where he is, and tryin to get him out is a suicide mission for anyone that tries anythin. We should wait until everythin’s clear and he can wait until that time comes. Gotta admit I don’t gotta good interpretation of whatever one chance means, but— good run is probably him sayin goodbye. I can’t think of anythin else it could be besides that.
“Sir I know you wanna believe everythin he told ya was the truth and that these things might just be an overactive imagination or whatever, but seein the specifics of what he did, the jerkin and coughin and whatnot, on top of him already goin Morse, I gotta go with my gut and say if we move on that caravan, then we’re gonna lose him for sure. I could see he more than likely had coupla busted ribs and the way he was sittin wouldn’t make it easy on him and he’d try to stay as still as possible to not insight more pain. Any sorta movement—”
The Captain held up his hand to stop Jack from speaking. “Okay Dalton. You haven’t on these types of things before, so I supposed I’d be an idiot if I didn’t at least take it into consideration. But, in the case you’re completely in the wrong about this, are you willing to shoulder the blame? I meant it in all sincerity when I said the outcome would be catastrophic if we failed.”
“Yes sir.”
“Okay then. What’s your plan for getting our boy back?”
***
“They’re starting the move, just as planned. We got eyes on four trucks heading out.”
“Roger that Stinger Two. Hold until I give the command.”
“Copy. Holding position.”
“You really think this is all a set up?”
“For the last time Hern, yes.”
“I’m just saying, you’re gonna take the main hit of this goes haywire, but that doesn’t mean we’re coming out unscathed. I got a good rep going for me.”
Jack had been watching the base in the distance through the scope of his rifle, noting every security detail he could see. “Yeah I got that. It’s my whole ass if this gets fucked up. If everyone just sticks to the plan then we ain’t got nothin to worry about.”
The original plan hadn’t changed, not really. A few things had just been added. It was only Jack’s team that was being trusted to carry the mission out, but with the arrival of new information, a second DELTA team had been brought on to take the original positioning while Jack and his guys would be stationed at the first base Macgyver was apparently not moving from.
They’d both strike at the same time; Stinger One at the base, and Stinger Two on the road. The goal was to cause confusion. No doubt they’d be reported instantly upon anything happening to the caravan, so while the enemy had their eyes on Team Two, Team One would advance on the base.
It wasn’t fool proof. There were definitely flaws in it, multiple ways it could go wrong in a second’s notice, but it was the best one that they could go on at that moment. The thing Jack was most worried about was they didn’t know Macgyver’s exact location. The tapes gave no indication of where he would be in the base, only shown he was in a room with a window high on the wall to his side.
Macgyver was right to say it was a suicide mission.
The base was more than heavily guarded. Men with assault and sniper rifles littered the grounds so much that it was nearly impossible to actually get close, not even mentioning getting in the perimeter.
But it wasn’t Jack’s first so-called suicide mission.
The main thing they needed to worry about was any man that had a position on a rooftop. All the guys on his team were good snipers, even though Jack had been the one to take up that mantle. Once they would take them out, they’d be free to move in and start the assault on the men on the ground, and hopefully find where Macgyver had been stashed.
A cold had taken over Jack despite the immense heat of the sun. There was something different about that mission, about the target. Macgyver was just a kid, an unfortunate kid to be in that situation, and to be cursed with the name Angus. He could only imagine the hell he went through growing up.
The picture he’d been shown and the face he saw in the tapes were stuck in his head too. It was as though they were nearly different people. The photo, practically the stock army one, showed how young he was; a classic, barely-college student that should be out partying on the weekends and studying for exams and enjoying life. The face he saw on the tape, it was aged. Not just the single year he had been in captivity, but years; features sunken, hair growth, paleness from lack of sun.
But his eyes hadn’t changed. Jack had seen determination hard set in both the photo and tape, and knew there was something about him. Something about how the light in his eyes didn’t seem to waver even after he had been captured for a year.
So Jack would take on the suicide mission. He would take some of the best guys he knew and trust them with his life. He would shoulder the responsibility if he failed.
Because Angus Macgyver was a special kind of person, and Jack would do his damnedest to get him home.
“Sentries just changed. It’s now or never.”
“Alright Stinger Two. Get into position and wait for my call.”
“Roger Stinger One.”
Every guy in team one had placed silencers on their sniper barrels. After the shots were made, they had minutes to take out any others in sight before moving in.
Breathe in.
“On my mark.”
Hold.
Line up the shot.
Breathe out.
“Fire.”
***
Angus Macgyver had set out to change the world.
Whenever he met people, no matter what age he was, he was always told how smart he was and what he could accomplish if he put his mind in that direction.
When he was living with his grandfather and he found a dog, he made a mosquito collar to replace a shock collar so he wouldn’t get hurt. When he had gone to MIT, he had some sort of vision of changing the world with just the right formulas and equations. But it didn’t seem like enough. He wasn’t out on the world putting his skills to good use. All he had was theories with no practice. So he decided to change the world in a different way.
Joining the army was a somewhat spur of the moment decision based on his own wanting to do good, and his grandfather’s old stories. The only stipulation he had upon joining was he didn’t want to hurt people, which was, in hindsight, made his decision to join a particularly odd one. Not quite a conscientious objector, but more of just a non-combatant. He knew his way around the weapons; could strip them, clean them, and have them back together fully functional in a matter of minutes, he just didn’t want to outright be the reason someone died.
Enlisting as EOD had taken away part of the factor of being responsible for a kill. Of course there had been circumstances where he would be called in too late or he would be the one to set an IED up to take out an enemy camp, but they were far and few. Macgyver had nearly a perfect record with disarming IEDs, and was both praised and shunned at the same time, reasons for both being he was young and smart.
Which was why he was currently mentally kicking himself every day since that day. He should’ve seen the ambush coming, should’ve seen the pattern that indicated something wasn’t right, should’ve known the IED that was in front of him was a decoy.
That was the only time he regretted joining.
He heard his overwatch shouting at the insurgents going closer, yelling for Macgyver to get back to the Humvee just before a blast went off. He didn’t even know where it was centralized, only that it was close enough to him to knock him back several feet without any major injuries. He wished he could’ve said the same for his overwatch, who he saw laying on the ground, unmoving, before he was taken.
The first week had been a blur; men coming in his single room cell to question him, only to have every session end more bloody than it started, on account of him keeping his mouth shut, opening it occasionally only to spit blood on the floor or man in front of him.
The week following is when the videos started; being shoved onto a chair, arms and legs zip tied too tight to ensure no escape was possible. The thing was their demand to have him tap out messages for his own unit to see. The strange thing about it is when he lied and said he didn’t know Morse Code, they made him practice; wrote out the message they wanted his unit to see and made him tap it out. He put up a fight at first, but after having several men beat him and probably break some ribs, he went along with it.
But he added his own twist on them; breathing hitches, coughs, intentionally spelling words wrong, twitching. He hoped someone would notice and see what he was trying to tell them. It was long off hope though, he didn’t really have anyone he talked or was close to around base who would recognize it. If anything, they would probably see a dying man convulsing.
Every month he was told what to say, and every month he tried to communicate what was really happening. But there was no indication, no signs or communication that told him anyone knew what he was talking about. So he accepted that no one was coming for him, that he had to free himself.
And if he was anything, he was resourceful.
When he wasn’t strapped to a chair in front of a camera, he was shackled to the floor in a different room with a guard outside. Occasionally there was a measly excuse for food waiting for him, sometimes a guard or two purely because they had time to kill. After the last video, he hadn’t been moved from that room, nor had anyone been waiting for him. It had just been him, day after day, and hour after hour. He definitely wasn’t at his peak for anything, but he refused to be held there any longer. All he had was time and he would use it to his advantage.
He had nothing but the clothes on his back, dirt on the floor, and a dirty metal mug that was filled with water once a day. His only objective at that moment was getting free of his shackles. Once that was done, he’d see if his mind could handle trying to get him out of the base.
He’d already tried dislocating his thumb to slip free, but the cuffs were already too small and cutting into his skin. The chains themselves were mounted to the wall. The metal mug was out of reach with nothing he could use to get to it. His clothes didn’t hold anything special; already torn and stained with his blood. Trying to put things together in his head didn’t yield anything useful.
Macgyver closed his eyes and took a deep breath. From all angles, he was stuck, figuratively and literally. Maybe it was lack of any true nutrition, most likely the beatings he took nearly every other day if he actually thought about it, but his mind was blank.
And that terrified him.
He was used to being alone with his thoughts, both in and prior to joining the army, but at that moment his mind was screaming at him, about how quite everything actually was. That there were no thoughts going through his head in that moment. Nothing he was telling himself was making sense.
Then fear set in.
Fear that he had been given up on.
Fear of no one coming for him.
Fear of dying in that place.
Fear of not dying in that place and just being held prisoner for more years to come.
It was that moment he truly regretted joining the army.
He missed his grandfather. He missed Frankie. He missed Bozer and his family, missed how they welcomed him into their home and thought of him as another son. He missed doing experiments and accidentally burning himself on occasion. He missed the view from the back deck and polar bear in the living room.
He didn’t want to die in that place, but he also didn’t want to continue living in that sorry state. So he devised a different plan.
He would just stop. Everything.
He wouldn’t fight back or try to defend himself anymore. Wouldn’t put in the effort it took to stand or walk. Would stop eating and drinking. If he could, he would even stop breathing if it got him out of his current situation.
He didn’t want to, of course not, but he saw no alternative to his situation and refused to put up with it any longer.
Macgyver sat against the wall he was chained to, listening to his own rugged and hitched breathing as he accepted his current, hopefully temporary, state of being, and didn’t fight the sleep that was overpowering him.
***
A great pain had awoken him from his apparent slumber, a stabbing feeling coming from his right side, forcing the air from his lungs and sending him into a panic when he couldn’t get a full breath back. Tears had fallen down his cheeks as he saw three people standing over him, two foot soldiers and a man Macgyver had seen on a few occasions, making him believe he was most likely the cause for his capture in the first place.
“What did you do?”
He could barely hear the man ask over his own labored breathing.
He was hit again when he didn’t give an answer. “Americans are attacking. What did you do?”
The hits must have messed with his hearing because there was no way the man in front of him as saying American soldiers were attacking the base they were in. They had no reason to. They should’ve been attacking the caravan like he told them to.
A hand had grabbed a fistful of his hair and made him look up. “I will not ask again.”
Maybe it was dumb luck; a local telling a soldier that there was an enemy base and whatever soldiers were storming were literally just trying to clear it out.
A smile had cracked on Macgyver’s face. He looked to the man in front of him and spit blood into his face. Then he started laughing. It was a strange thing. They were deep laughs that shook him, pained him at every movement, but they didn’t stop. Not when he was thrown back down at the wall, nor when he barely heard the leader tell the others to shoot him. If anything, that made him laugh harder.
He was done. The amount of pain that settled in his person that had grown so much that it had made him numb to nearly everything around him was going to stop. The feelings of abandonment and being trapped would leave him. He wasn’t scared about it hurting, but found himself awaiting those shots that would make everything stop.
Moments later the shots were fired.
Macgyver had noticed he was still there, and that three bodies had laid on the ground in front of him.
One was standing over them, speaking to him or others he couldn’t tell.
“I got him. Send those choppers in now. Need of immediate medical assistance.”
Whoever the soldier was was looking at him, rattling off words that he’d heard before, but couldn’t place. He was also patting down the bodies, searching through pockets and bags looking for something.
“Munoz get over here and help me find some fuckin keys.”
He didn’t need keys. They didn’t have a vehicle there.
“We’ll get ya outta here Specialist. Just you wait.”
Him. The guy was talking to him.
It was a moment after that that sound had come back. That his senses had come back. He could hear chaos happening outside; gunshots and yelling mostly. He started to feel his body again, the intense amount of pain that had sat quietly inside had started to make its way back to the surface.
It was in that moment he realized that he was being rescued.
“Belt.” The word came out choked and gurgled and he knew the man didn’t hear him. So he nearly hacked up a lung trying to clear his throat enough to give him information.
“Yer in good hands brother, I can promise ya that. We just need to get ya outta them chains.”
“Belt.” The man seemed to hear him that time, on account of stopping to look at him. “Buckle on his belt.”
The man seemed to freeze for a second as the words were spoken before he checked the belts the three dead men had.
“Choppers are two minutes out.” A second man had come into the room.
The first man had found the keys. “Worthy and Hern got our six on the way out? Help me with him.”
“They’ll cover us while we get to the zone.” The second man took the keys while the first knelt in front. “We gotcha Specialist. Helps on the way.”
The shackles rubbed against his already raw and bleeding wrists, and if not for the man in front of him, he would’ve fallen flat to the ground. He was hoisted up and had each of his arms slung around either man’s shoulders.
The world around him had blurred after that moment.
He tried to walk, keep up with the men holding him but his legs refused to work and was more or less dragged through the town. Outside was chaos. Blurred shapes were running around and the roar of vehicles blended with the yelling and gunfire. The two men were talking, to him or each other he couldn’t actually make it out.
Everything was overwhelming. Every movement sent jolts of pain through his body. Every sound was like an explosion in his head.
But he was being freed. Someone had come to his rescue. A year he had been held captive, tortured and beaten, and it was finally done.
The world around him had become dark and several hands had gone to his body. A spike of panic had gone through him, thinking that in his unbalanced state of mind he had been captured once again, but calmed once he heard that voice once again.
“Take it easy brother. They’re here to help ya. They ain’t gonna do nothin bad to ya.”
There was something about it, about the tone and drawl that made Macgyver trust him. If he said he had nothing to worry about, then he had nothing to worry about.
So he let himself loose. Let his body go rag doll so the people could help, and finally gave in to the extreme aches and pains his body had been screaming at him to fix, and promptly passed out.
***
The pain was minimal at best. Twinges and pokes every minute or so that was pulling him out of a much needed slumber. He was lying on his back, a thin sheet pulled up to his waist and a heavier blanket resting on his shins. A dull white light sent an annoying buzz around the room he was in.
His eyes wandered around to see where he was, but nothing gave more indication other than he was most likely in an actual hospital somewhere. He looked down at himself; dirty army fatigues replaced by assumed hospital scrubs. He felt that he was wearing a shirt of some sort, but all he could see as he looked down was bandages covering his chest and a bit on either arm. Then the feeling of something on his face and the fact that every breath in and out hurt. Most likely punctured lung which meant a nasal cannula.
He couldn’t hear anything besides the steady beep of the heart monitor and buzzing of the light. There was no clock in the room to tell him the time nor any windows to see out of. So he just took the time to give himself a once over.
He could move arms and legs. He could feel the healing skin on his wrists pulling as he moved them. His neck had a twinge in it, and his face as a whole just had an ache to it. He could only imagine how bruised he actually was.
He jumped slightly as his door was opened and a nurse entered. She was just as surprised to see him awake as he was to see her.
“Good evening soldier.” Her voice was warm. “Your friends will be happy to see you’re awake. I’ll take your vitals then inform them of your condition.”
He didn’t know who she was talking about. He wasn’t particularly close to anyone before he was captured. Maybe she was talking about his superiors.
“How—” he cleared his throat, all scratchy from not being used. “How long have I been here?”
“Just short of a week. You’ve had someone outside your door every day waiting for an update. I think he’ll be pleasantly surprised of the news. Are you up for visitors, or should I tell them you’d prefer resting?”
His mind was blank on who she was talking about. The only person he had become relatively good friends with was a guy named Charlie during their training.
“Yeah. Yeah you can let them in.”
She took his vitals and excused herself.
Macgyver was wracking his brain on who could possibly be outside waiting for him. Did he forget someone in his year of captivity? He couldn’t’ve. Maybe it was just some guys in his unit that wanted to see him with their own eyes, or it actually was his higher ups and the nurse had just assumed. It was no matter though, seeing a friendly face as something he was currently welcoming at the moment.
When the door opened, he was more than a bit confused by the man that entered. He didn’t recognize his face, had zero recollection on who he possibly was. Maybe he did forget someone in his year of captivity.
“Hey man. Nice to see ya awake.”
But that drawl told him immediately who was in his room.
“Heard yer gonna make a full recovery and should be outta here in a week or two.” He took up an empty chair that was near the bed. “Name’s Jack Dalton. Me and my team were the ones that—”
“You’re the one that found me.” Realization hit him like a brick. “I don’t— I… thank you.”
“Ain’t done nothin that needs thankin. It’s my job to get guys outta shitty situations.”
“But how did you know, that the transfer was fake?”
“Saw yer message.”
“What?”
“On the tapes. Ain’t gonna lie, took me watchin them bout three times to realize what was happenin, and Walis didn’t take too kindly to bein told he was gonna run straight into a trap, but I wrote everythin down and saw what you were tryin to say. Took the risk of bein completely wrong but…” He shrugged. “Here we are.”
He couldn’t believe it. His hair-brained scheme of a message inside of a message had worked and he was currently alive and on the mend in a hospital.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“Like I said, it’s my job. I ain’t called the army’s best sniper for nothin. I’m supposed to notice things that ain’t look right.”
“For what it’s worth… I don’t think thank you can cover it.”
“Hey for what it’s worth to you, ya shot my reputation through the roof. Yer apparently the best EOD the army has to offer. Me getting ya home only makes the amount of respect guys give me go up. That’s the best thing that could happen.”
That got a small, genuine smile. “I’m glad I’m able to passively get you the respect you deserve.”
“I don’t need more than that.” Jack returned the smile. “I am glad to see yer alright. Wouldn’t feel right to just drop ya off without a somewhat familiar face to see what’s what.”
“No, I appreciate it. I didn’t expect anyone except for maybe a CO to be here. Just— thank you, Dalton.”
“Ya can call me Jack, Angus.” He rolled his eyes at that. “Gotta say I can’t believe you were named after a burger.”
“Please spare me the food related jokes, there isn’t one I haven’t heard in relation.” He snorted.
“Ya sayin I can’t call ya Carl’s Junior?”
“Mac. You can call me Mac.”