Warriors

By: Ridley

A/N: This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I totally ran out of time. I can't begin to put into words the gratitude I have for our service men, women, and dogs, as well as those they leave behind. This is just a small thank you. Mind you, I understand most service men and women, loved ones of those fallen, may celebrate this day in vastly different ways depending on their experiences, but I hope this pays some homage to what we, and they most importantly, honor on Memorial Day.

RcJ

"The way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death." –Miyamoto Musahshi

"So, Dingdongs? Or pork rinds?"

Angus MacGyver rolled his eyes at the older man who was in the aisle across from him, holding up two packs of Tasty Cakes in one hand, a gigantic bag of fried pig skins in the other. He tilted his head, frowning. "You know that's the equivalent of posing two similarly distasteful forms of torture to a prisoner. Correct? Both are going to equal slow death, or in your case, possibly, with your advanced age and questionable cholesterol numbers, a quick one."

"So both." Jack Dalton's child-like grin lessoned only slightly under the playful insults of his best friend. "Has anyone ever told you, brother, that you could suck the joy out of a circus tent filled with flying unicorns and cotton candy pooping puppies?"

"My partner might have pointed that out a time or two." Mac grabbed the six pack of beer he'd been searching for and closed the cooler door. "Seeing how he's the one adult I know who still believes in unicorns and the only person who would ever consider eating some sugary confection that had passed through a mammal's lower intestines as fun."

"Don't forget I've seen you eat caviar a plenty." Jack pointed a finger at Mac as he joined him in the last drink aisle. He was struggling with the load of snacks which Mac could now see also included beef jerky and a giant pickle in a plastic bag. "And let's not forget that nasty forest graft stuff which is basically fancy goose liver."

"You're seriously comparing Beluga and Foie gras to Tasty Cakes and Big Red's deep fried pig parts?" Mac shook his head, holding back a smile of his own as he scoured the next cooler for a couple of waters and some Gatorade. It was a hot day and if they hit the beach after their visit with Jack Dalton Sr.-as was their tendency and tradition-they'd need the extra hydration along with the sunblock and the beach chairs he'd stashed in the back of his Jeep in anticipation of the road trip.

"Only a fool would compare a working class man's Smorgasboard with your snooty fufu food, Angus." Jack flashed another grin. "Apples and oranges, brother. But I do seem to recall a scrawny nineteen year old who would do just about any grunt level job there was to get his hands on a pack of Twinkies back in the sandbox. You know Coop used to keep them stocked up just to get you to do his dirty work."

"You know a Twinkie's shelf life is pretty much unsurpassed." Mac frowned, working hard to keep a straight face. His stomach might have betrayed his countenance of disgust by grumbling at the mention of his old, completely horrible, favorite. "Like French fries from McDonalds."

"Duuuude...We should so pick up a couple of large orders of those on the way to see the old man." Jack tightened his hold on the stash of snacks they'd be lucky to finish even if they stayed until sunset. "Maybe a couple of Quarter Pounders, too. You know there was a time when I might have given my trigger finger for a late night run to the Golden Arches."

"I'll consider it." Mac grabbed the Gatorade and the water. Fast food was a sacrifice he'd never thought he'd miss until he was in Afghanistan eating cold beans out of a can. Little Debbie snack cakes and Cheez-its were also on that list of foods he never gave much consideration, but that hadn't stopped him from craving them like a full blown addict once they were impossible to get. He lifted a brow at his partner. "That is if you grab me a few packs of those Twinkies just for old time's sake."

"Right." Jack's grin turned smug. "What better way to pay honor to our fallen brothers than to munch down on all the things we were deprived of during our service."

"Exactly." Mac jutted his chin towards the front of the store. "You head that way and I'm going to pay for a couple of bags of ice to fill the cooler."

As they parted ways, Mac couldn't help to think how he and Jack had celebrated the last five Memorial Days in pretty much the exact same manner. It was the only other day, besides Cairo Day-which Jack also avoided going to work albeit for completely different reasons-that they set aside with a sort of reverence. It wasn't like Phoenix shut down for either day, but Jack took a hard line on keeping them sacred, so Mac did as well. Matty hadn't even balked at the time off, obviously grateful both he and Jack were once more on board.

Instead of treating it like a solemn event, Mac and Jack chose to share a beer with Jack's dad-another serviceman who had understood on their level what the holiday meant. They of course reminisced about the men and women they'd known, those who'd made the ultimate sacrifice, the ones who didn't make it home. Sometimes they reached out to old buddies who like them had beat the odds. Cooper, Pete, Boxer and Carlos. Mac had made a call to Pena's wife and daughter the night before. He knew Jack had talked with Hammond and the mother of one of his old Delta crew whom Mac had never had the privilege of meeting. But mostly, they made sure to enjoy the things that the sacrifices of their friends had ensured, the freedoms and fun they often took for granted. They also celebrated what they hadn't lost during the war. Namely, each other.

There had been more than a few close calls, and harrowing times when Mac was certain he and Jack might end up as one of those remembered fallen. Jack especially. He sometimes seemed to embrace the idea of sacrifice with unmatched fervor, taking to the life of a warrior, courting death around every corner. It was, Mac liked to think, hard-wired in the Delta. A facet of Jack's being, just like his ability to love big, that went beyond any battlefield. In fact, it carried over into their work with Phoenix, shading his job as Mac's protector, and could even show up in the most mundane of places- like a Grab It and Go Mart on a bright sunny Monday morning in May.

Contrary to popular belief, most armed robberies occurred not at night or in the wee hours before dawn, but in broad daylight. They were often acts of desperation. The perpetrator completely willing to risk being seen and apprehended for the chance to procure whatever they seek which will get them what they need-which is often fast cash to score drugs they are out of their mind to have. Mac quickly assumed all these factors were probably statistically true of the brown-haired, twitchy teen with the faded, torn jeans who'd just pulled a small caliber handgun from the confines of his dirty Under Armor hoody.

"Empty the cash drawer into one of those bags and hand it over nice and slow." He told the cashier, who couldn't have been much older and had a similar wild look in her eye now, although probably from fear and not a side effect of the throws of withdrawal. Twitchy turned the gun on Mac, who had just placed his items on the counter. "You keep your hands on the beer, man. Where I can see them."

Mac figured the kid assumed he was the only one in the small shop, unaware that Jack had been hidden from view when he kneeled at the end of the chip aisle to reach the individual packs of Twinkies. Mac didn't even need to turn and look to know his partner had probably forgotten said snack cakes now and was completely focused on the threat at the front of the store.

"There's not a lot here," the cashier stammered, almost apologetically as she rifled through her meager cash and coins. "We don't keep large amounts of money on hand. I haven't been open that long. The manager takes…"

"Just give him what you have," Mac said calmly, hoping to keep both of them focused on the counter so Jack could remain unnoticed. "It's alright. Just do as he told you."

"How about you keep your mouth shut and add your wallet to the loot, dude."

"Whatever you want, but I'll have to move my hands. You told me not to do that."

The would be robber looked from Mac's hands to his MIT shirt, flannel, and khaki pants. The dislike was not veiled and his next words were snarled. "Just give me a reason to put a round in you, geek."

In hindsight, Mac was convinced this would have been the point at which Jack would have taken Twitchy by surprise. He'd overcome him and easily disarmed him, despite not having a weapon of his own on him, his tucked away under the passenger side of Mac's jeep. As luck would have it-all bad by the way-another person chose that precise moment to enter the store.

An older woman, intent on paying for her gas because the card reader wasn't working on the pump. Mac would find that out later as she repeated her story over and over again in a state of shock to the police officers who showed up on the scene, ahead of the ambulance. He knew he shouldn't have seen her as the reason everything went to hell so quickly, but he couldn't quite stop himself from blaming her terrible timing when she noisily strode through the entrance, her disgruntlement about poor service already on her lips before the overhead bell even rang.

"Jack!" Mac had only a moment to hope that the nervous gunman would not pull the trigger out of instinct, or fear, or startled reflex, as Jack came from behind a life-size cardboard display of some NASCAR driver promoting Mountain Dew to tackle the red-faced woman waving her credit card. Mac prayed as the two collided he'd have time to jump the kid from behind before a shot was fired. Neither of those scenarios would come to pass.

The sound of the gun seemed deafening. As did the screaming. Both the woman's as she and Jack crashed into a stand holding newspapers and that of the teen girl behind the counter.

Mac blocked out the sound, tackling the assailant to the ground. They hit with a jarring thud, Mac reaching for the robber's wrist, slamming it against the floor with such fierceness that he heard bone crack. The gun skittered free, sliding beneath the display of Cheetos. He'd managed to jerk the struggling teen's arm behind his back but the boy was wild-bucking, twisting and thrashing beneath Mac. He managed to roll over, one of his haphazard swings clipping Mac across the mouth. The punch's form was poor, but it was fueled by sheer adrenaline and primal panic.

It hurt like hell, stunning Mac just long enough for the kid to throw him off. A mad scrabbling followed with Mac grabbing one foot, only to take a well-placed Converse to the throat as the teen slid free. He vaulted the hurdle that was the tangle of Jack and the woman, slamming through the glass door with such impact that it shattered.

"Jack." Mac coughed, still gasping for breath. He crawled towards his partner, not caring for the moment that he'd let the culprit flee. He blinked hard when he noted the explosion of black and white newsprint was splattered with tiny drops of red. His hand came to rest by the bag of pork rinds Jack had dropped, his other, gripping his partner's shoulder. "Jack!"

"I'm okay," Jack growled, slightly breathlessly. Mac wanted to believe him. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, already having noted the blood quickly staining the back of Jack's white tee shirt.

"Help me." The woman moaned from somewhere beneath Jack's bulk.

"Sorry, mam." Jack drawled, his accent always thicker when he was tired or hurt.

"Easy, Jack." Mac gripped his friend tighter as Jack tried to push himself up and off the woman. Mac helped ease his best friend over, careful of the entrance wound high on Jack's left shoulder.

"Is she okay, kid?" Jack blinked blearily up at his partner, worry evident among the pained grimace. Mac had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, not truly giving a damn about the woman especially after realizing there was no exit wound to be found, the front of Jack's shirt remained clean. That meant the one and only bullet was still inside Jack, had possibly left a wake of devastation in its trajectory.

"I'm okay?" It was more question than certain proclamation as the woman gingerly sat up. She was unsteady and her hand, still holding the credit card, shook as she reached up to touch her forehead where there was a small gash, more than likely compliments of the magazine rack.

"Let me help you." The cashier was beside them now, offering the woman help up.

Mac glanced at her, not missing the way the teen's hands were also trembling or the bright red flush along her cheeks that came with extreme duress. "Did you call 911?"

"Police are on their way, an ambulance, too."

"Sonofabitch." Jack swore, bringing Mac's focus instantly back to him as the older agent reached a hand to cover his chest. He squezed one shoulder gently, trying to offer what little comfort he could while also keeping Jack in place.

"Stay still." Mac looked around, noting that a slowly growing puddle of blood had pooled beneath Jack, gathering around a lone pack of snack cakes. The small rivulet of red was quickly making its way towards Mac's knees so he slid out of his flannel shirt, bunching it up to use as a pressure bandage. He battled for a calm he most certainly didn't feel as he slid the make-shift dressing beneath his best friend. Jack bit back on a groan, and Mac gave him a shaky grin. "You're about to smash my Twinkies, big guy."

Jack half laughed, half gasped, his face pale and beaded with sweat. "Damned if I want to do that, bud." His eyes fluttered. "I know how you love those..."

"Damn, Jack, stay awake." Mac tapped Jack's cheek, not daring to shake his friend.

"Hard to breathe," Jack made out, his hand coming up to his chest.

"I bet. Taking a bullet tends to knock the wind out of a guy, even a Delta like you." Mac tried to make light of the quickly spiraling situation. The wound was high on Jack's back. High enough that it might have injured his scapula or ribs. He quickly calculated the chance of a penetrating lung injury, the sucking wound it could create. That led to him predicting the length of time it took for a lung to collapse, whether from oxygen filling the cavity or blood, and just what a pneumothorax or a hemothorax might mean for Jack.

"It's okay, bud. I'm fine. We're both fine." Jack must have taken Mac's silence for panic, because he forced his eyes open, lifting his hand. His mouth twitched into a slight smile. "I now that big brain is calculating all the ways to make a bore needle out of a Pixy Stick, but let's leave the medical stuff to the professionals this go around."

"So, you're breathing, it's good?" Mac gripped his partner's hand, unable to hide the slight tremor in his voice, nor the fear which he knew was etched onto every surface of his face. He would not lose Jack to some stupid hold up in downtown LA. Not when they'd survived the hell that was Afghanistan, Iraq, and six kinds of sand in between. Not when he'd just gotten him back from the nightmare Oversight had caused, and especially not now after Mac had developed a much deeper appreciation for the man who had been his family for the last seven years. Skilled soldiers had been no match for Jack Dalton, no two bit punk druggie was going to be his downfall.

"Good enough, bud…" Jack squeezed Mac's hand when the blond opened his mouth to protest. "Hear that…" Mac heard the sirens now, the cashier dashing past them on her way to the door. "Heroes have arrived," Jack muttered, his eyelids fluttering.

Mac knew the paramedics would stabilize the patient, prepare Jack for transport to the hospital where the trauma surgeon would use honed skills to save his life. Police would secure the scene and take steps to see that the bad guy was caught and made to pay for his crime. But Mac wanted to tell his best friend that the real hero was still the one bleeding out on the ground, currently scaring his boy to death.

Instead he grinned down at the older man. "Civilization has its perks, Tombstone."

"Damn straight, Shepherd," Jack snorted, his attempt at a smile twisting into a grimace which had Mac's heart hammering in his chest. "Like burgers and Tasty Cakes."

Mac nodded wordlessly, glancing up just as three police officers entered in a blue blur. He hoped like hell that the EMT's weren't far behind.

To be continued…