A one-shot about a mission gone wrong (like always ;P) Enjoy!

Mac was unconscious.

Jack could see the kid sprawled out on the concrete floor where the goons had thrown him. His lip was split and there was a massive gash in his forehead where a trail of blood had coated his hairline and seeped down his face. He was definitely not waking up soon, not if the goons hit him as hard as Jack thought they did. And when he did wake up… well that was gonna be one hell of a headache.

Jack flexed the muscles in his arms, pulling at the zip ties around his wrists. The chair creaked but nothing gave. This was definitely a time he wished Mac was around to make some sort of button-knife or mix up some chemicals to melt through the plastic. But instead, Mac had been roughed up while Jack had been stuck inside a concrete room and strapped to the chair with only a flickering naked light bulb above him to light the room.

And Jack was pretty sure he didn't have the brains to get out.

Sure, the Delta has seen Mac whip up a number of things. But Jack was all about the defense and protection. He kept Mac safe and when they ended up getting caught, Mac got them out. That was just how things worked. It was how they functioned. And now that system had just been flipped on its head.

The only way Jack did know how to get out was not exactly the quietest of ways. The only idea he had was to flip the chair backward and hope it broke enough for him to get free. But he was pretty sure the second he did it, someone would come to check on them and that wouldn't be a good thing.

Unless…

Unless he could get to Mac's swiss army knife. And he could get Mac's knife if he could shuffle the chair across the room and use his feet to bring the knife up to his hands. Sure, it wasn't the most brilliant of plans, but it was logical and it actually might work. Mac had taught him enough on their missions for Jack to know that even if he couldn't make some sort of fancy gadget like Mac could, he could use Mac's knife just as well.

Jack began to shuffle. It was a long, gruelling process. The chair squeaked with each movement, but not so much that the goons came to check on them. The sound was pretty much contained to the room. Fifteen minutes had passed before he was actually able to touch Mac with his foot and begin playing with Mac's pocket in an attempt to get his knife.

Except his knife was in the other pocket.

"C'mon man, you couldn't have thrown that knife in your left pocket for once?" Jack grumbled.

With a slight nudge, Jack was able to get Mac slightly turned over. The blond groaned but didn't come to. Jack began to nudge at the lump in his right pocket, inching it up Mac's leg until it clattered onto the floor.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" Jack urged, trying to squeeze the knife between his feet so he could bring it to his hands.

He was almost ready to bring the knife up to his hand when a small voice cut through his concentration.

'What are you doing?"

Jack froze as Mac cracked open his eyes, narrowing them at Jack.

"Hey man, how nice of you to wake up."

Mac pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Ouch."

"Ya, that's probably gonna be a bad one. Hey, you mind passing me your knife?"

Jack was surprised the kid was awake so soon. He had a hard head… but not that hard. The goons had obviously counted on him staying unconscious a lot longer too, considering that they had only taken the time to tie Jack up while depositing Mac on the floor.

Mac squeezed his eyes shut. "Why do you want my knife. You'll hurt yourself with it."

He began to push himself onto all fours, grabbing the knife and carefully rising up onto his knees.

"Hardy, har har Mac." Jack pulled at the restraints again. "These babies ain't cutting themselves."

Mac rubbed his head, grimacing when his hand came away sticky with blood. "Ya, ya, I'm on it. Calm down."

Jack chuckled. "I can always count on you to—" suddenly Mac heaved, throwing up the contents on his stomach on Jack's shoes. "— throw up on my shoes. Damn Mac, you okay?"

Of course, Jack knew Mac wasn't okay. He clearly had a concussion and who knows what other bruises all over his torso. But getting out was first priority. Or at least getting untied was. Jack wasn't going to be much help to the kid while he was strapped to a chair .

Mac gagged, spitting out the disgusting taste in his mouth. Throwing up was never fun, and throwing up with a concussion was just plain awful. Jack flinched as Mac shakily pulled away from the puddle of vomit and wobbled onto his feet.

"Hey man, slow down a bit. Just grab your knife and cut these ties. Then let me handle it," Jack said.

Mac teetered to the left, then caught the wall before he completely fell over. "Where did my knife go. I dropped it," Mac replied. The blond squeezed his eyes shut again, leaning his face against the cool surface of the wall.

Jack searched the floor, looking for the small piece of red metal. He stopped, wrinkling his nose, when he saw the lump of metal coated in vomit. It was just close enough for him to tap with his free toe.

"Found it... " he glanced up at his partner, shrugging. "You may want to clean it off though…"

Mac cracked open an eye, his lips quirked up. "Since when did a little throw up bother you, Jack?"

Jack titled his head. "Oh, I don't know Mac. Maybe since you destroyed my new shoes. I don't really like that warm, icky feeling between my toes." Mac crouched down, holding his head with one hand and the wall for support with the other. Jack watched him carefully, clenching the armrests of the chair a little tighter every time Mac wobbled. "You know, I usually hold off on buying a new phone before we go on missions. I never considered my shoes might be at risk too."

Mac chuckled and slapped his hand down in the puddle of vomit to retrieve the knife. Clearly his hand-eye coordination was a bit sloppy now with the concussion.

"Oh sure, coat your hand in it too while you're at it," Jack joked. His voice was tighter though. He didn't like the way Mac was swaying, even while in a crouched position.

"Sorry Jack. Didn't mean to do that," Mac replied. His voice was shaking and so was his hand as he grabbed Jacks arm and flipped out the blade on his knife.

"Sure you didn't. Sure."

Mac began to saw at the rope holding Jack down.

"Hey, watch the blade man. That thing is sharp."

Mac laughed a little louder. "I'm well aware of that, Jack."

"Well maybe you should try to hold it a bit steadier then."

Mac glanced up at his partner, giving Jack a long disdainful glare.

"Hey, watch the blade," Jack reminded Mac.

The blond dipped his head down, looking like a broken bobble-head toy as he sawed back and forth. The first zip tie snapped. Jack grinned.

"Good stuff." He reached out to Mac. "Now give me the knife before you hurt someone."

Mac sloppily complied, slapping the knife down in Jack's palm. Jack nodded a thanks and began working through the zip tie on his other hand. Mac crouched down, his eyes lolling between the knife and Jack's face. Once the zip tie snapped, Jack folded the blade back up and handed Mac the knife back, knowing the kid wasn't about to go anywhere without it.

"Ok, now…" Jack glanced at the door, making sure no one was about to surprise them, then knelt down next to his partner. He gently felt Mac's head, stopping at the goose-egg next to the stream of blood. Mac winced while Jack mumbled an apology.

"Ya. That's no good," Jack grumbled. Mac looked up at him, squinting again.

"Ya, it doesn't feel too good either," Mac slurred back.

Mac squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his back against the wall.

"Ya, I know you'd probably like to nap right now but that's gonna have to wait till we get out of here," Jack said.

Mac cracked an eye open to look at Jack. "It's also going to have to wait 'till I get checked out by a doctor. You're not supposed to sleep after getting a concussion."

"I thought that was a myth."

Mac let out an airy sigh. "Well, it is, unless you're having trouble walking or have dilated pupils. Then it's no sleeping."

"Well you're definitely having trouble walking. And…" Jack gently pushed Mac's eyelid open. The kid grabbed Jack's wrist for suport as he swayed again. "And your pupils are definately dilated." Jack glanced at the door again then grabbed Mac's arm and swung it around his neck. "Ok, it's time to fly the coop."

Mac let out a half-giggle-half-moan as Jack pulled him to his feet. At first, the kid tripped over his own foot. Jack slid an arm around him, grabbing Mac's hip and pulling the kid closer to him. Mac groaned again and the pair made their way into the hall. Jack carefully maneuvered through the maze of hallways, dragging Mac along with him. For the most part, Mac was clumsily carrying his own weight. But there were enough times that he would slip up and Jack would have to drag him a few metres before he regained his footing.

Not once did Mac complain. Besides the quiet groans, the kid was silent as they made their way to the exit. He knew just as well as Jack the urgency of the situation. With the way he was feeling, he wasn't going to be much help to Jack if they ran into some unwanted company. The quicker they could get out, the better. Even if that meant Jack had to drag Mac half the time before Mac was able to get his feet under him again.

The exit was in sight. A small blinking fire escape sign just past an open door.

Jack froze immediately when he heard the small murmur of conversation coming from the open door.

"There's not 'nther way out, J-ck," Mac slurred.

"Shhh shhh.." Jack whispered back. Mac squeezed his eyes shut in response, his head obviously pounding harder.

As much as Jack hated to admit it, the kid was right. Phoenix had scouted the compound before their untimely arrival and there was only one way in and out of the concrete prison. That wasn't supposed to be a problem if the op had actually gone according to plan. But just like everything else that day, nothing had gone according to plan.

"We need to figure out who sent them," came a voice from the room. The voice was deep and thickly covered in an accent Jack couldn't quite place.

"Well maybe if you had started with the old man we would be somewhere now. The kid's tough. Did you see his eyes?" Another responded.

A third voice cut in. "No. No. You heard the way the old man yelled when we threw the kid back there. He cares for the boy. We use that to our advantage."

Jack began to inch forward, trying to make as little sound as possible as he dragged Mac alongside him. Their best bet was going to be sneaking past the room while the goons were talking. Worst case scenario… well they would figure that out if it came to that.

Then Mac snorted.

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. The chatter in the room quieted. Jack was pretty sure he could hear every single man in the room draw their breath to listen.

"Sorry. They called you old," Mac giggled.

Just for a moment, time slowed. Jack could hear his heart pounding in his ears and one of the goons popped his head around the corner. Then everything sped up drastically.

"Hardy har har…" Jack yelled as he began to run back down the hallway, only glancing once behind him to see the three men coming after them, one drawing a gun. At the last moment he ducked around the corner. The gun went off.

"Why is it every time you get a concussion you become incredibly amused at everything?" Jack yelled at Mac, searching the hall for something he could use as defense.

"S'rry," Mac mumbled, letting out another giggle.

"Sorry?! At least if you're going to laugh at their jokes you could start laughing at mine!"

Unsatisfied with his choice of weapons, Jack grabbed the kid and dragged him further down the hall, rounding another corner just as the goons came around the first. The gun when off again, sending shards of concrete through the air.

"But you're n't funny J'ck. You're just dumb."

Jack stopped, shoving a finger in Mac's face. "That's not funny, smarty pants!"

That's when Jack spotted something worthwhile. An old wooden chair. He grabbed it and smashed it on the floor. Taking a loose leg, he twirled it like a baton, raising his eyebrows at Mac.

"We're in business baby!"

Just at that moment the first goon came around the corner. In seconds he was on the floor, a pool of blood forming around his head.

"One down, two to go!" Jack cheered.

The second came around the corner weidling the gun. Jack swung, catching him in the arm. The gun went off again, the bullet pinging off the wall, fortunately missing Mac. The two went down on the floor before Jack managed to land a solid punch in the face, leaving the goon unconscious.

But the third man had already made it to Mac. He was reaching for the gun that had slid across the floor and Mac, despite his concussion, was putting up a fair fight. Everytime the man reached out his hand, Mac kicked or landed an elbow in his back, only to receive a punch in the gut in response. The man was almost at the weapon when Jack gave him a vomit-covered boot to the face.

Mac rolled away, holding his head has he did so. Jack stopped him, grabbing his arm and swinging it around his neck again, then hauling the kid off the floor. Mac grunted in response but made no other sounds as Jack again ran down the hallway, hoping to make it to the exit before any other goons appeared.

"J'ck?" Mac slurred, just as the exit appeared in sight.

"What now, boy genius? You gonna tell me that I'm ugly too?"

Mac didn't even let out a chuckle and that's when Jack knew something was wrong. The kid lost his footing completely, dragging Jack down with him. And that's when Jack noticed the large crimson stain forming across Mac's abdomen.

"I g't shot," Mac said.

"No shit Sherlock."

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They were at least 5 miles from the compound now, with no help in sight. Jack was dragging Mac completely now. He was hunched over with the kid's arms wrapped around his neck and his body resting on Jack's back. Mac was tall enough that his feet were dragging on the ground behind him, every once and while catching on a root or twig that would cause Jack to trip and nearly lose his footing.

Jack patted Mac's arm, making the kid groan and shift his head. "Stay awake man. We're gonna get help soon."

They had been forced to leave the compound. The risk of running into more goons was higher than if they just left. Mac had agreed, and so, Jack had hoisted the kid onto his back and made a run for it, clearing the perimeter and breaking through the wire fence in a matter of minutes. As soon as they had made it far enough way, Jack had stripped off his shirt and tore it up, using it as a make-shift bandage. It wasn't doing a great job, but it was working better than anything else they had come across. Now it was just them and the road.

Mac grumbled into Jack's shoulder something unintelligible.

"What was that hoss? You have to speak up," Jack replied. Jack knew Mac was fading. He felt bad pushing the kid so hard but if he was going to keep Mac awake, he had to. Keeping the kid talking was about the only way he knew that Mac was still with him.

"We're in the middle 'f nowhere," Mac mumbled.

Jack swallowed hard. Mac was right, there was no help in sight. But Jack would drag the kid twenty miles if he had to. There was no way in hell he was going to give up now, even if the road they were on was completely abandoned. Something warm trickled down Jack's back. Jack stopped, realizing that the warm stream wasn't sweat.

"Hold up, I gotta check your bandage," Jack said, carefully bending down and resting Mac on the ground. Mac coughed and closed his eyes, nearly falling over before Jack caught him and sat him up straight.

'Hey, what did we agree on? No napping," Jack ordered.

Mac didn't respond and Jack shook him gently, forcing Mac to open his eyes.

"I'm awake…" Mac murmured, his eyes blinking closed again.

"No. No you're not. C'mon man, you can do better than that."

Mac opened his eyes again and squinted. "And it's n't a bandage, it's y'r shirt."

Jack pursed his lips. "Ya, well, we had nothing better to use."

Jack pulled the shirt tighter, receiving a small whimper from Mac who curled forward. Jack caught him, pulling the kid to himself. His skin was on fire and the blood on his face had long dried and cracked, leaving sticky flakes of read on his shoulders and in his hair.

"You don't think you can whip up some sort of phone using grass...and.." Jack glanced around hopelessly, emotion clawing at his throat. "Roots?"

Mac gave half-hearted chuckled cut off by a sharp intake of breath. No matter how many jokes he told, Jack wouldn't be able to keep the situation light-hearted for much longer. Jack pushed Mac's sweaty bangs away from his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair, loosening the red flakes and dirt.

"J'ck?" Mac asked. His voice was so soft, so defeated.

"What is it hoss?"

Mac ran his hand over the make-shift bandage, pulling away a bloody hand. His lips curled down.

"'Member the satellite images Riley took 'f this place?"

Jack nodded, leaning Mac back slightly so he could look at Mac's pale face.

"Th's road is l'ke… l'ke r'lly long. We aren't g'nna make it anywhere."

Jack shook his head, a tear sneaking down his cheek. "Nah, man. I'm not giving up. We're gonna get somewhere. I promise. You hear me?"

Mac stared at Jack, his eyelids heavy.

"You hear me?" Jack asked again. He needed an answer from Mac. He needed to know the kid believed in him. Finally Mac nodded. Jack nearly choked at how slow it was, how tired.

"Ok, let's keep going then," Jack whispered back, barely able to keep his voice from cracking.

Carefully he hauled Mac onto his back again. Mac whimpered and let out a few short cries before biting down on his lip and relaxing against Jack's body once Jack began to walk.

The two set off again.

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"Mac! Mac!" Jack screamed.

He was tired. His legs were like jelly from carrying Mac so far. But despite his aching muscles, Jack began to run. Mac groaned in response, barely awake but still hanging on.

"Mac!" Jack screamed again, getting closer to their saviour.

"Wh't?" Mac mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes and see what Jack was so excited about.

If he had opened his eyes, he would have seen an old, beat up car with no tires, abandoned on the side of the road. The car was clearly beyond driving. But it still had most of its parts. Mac would know what to do with them. If only he could stay conscious just a bit longer.

"C'mon man, look! We can use this right?" Jack giggled. He was basically hysterical. They'd walked so far, for so long. Jack had almost begun to believe that Mac was going to die while he dragged him along. Now he finally had a spark of hope to keep him going.

Jack carefully let Mac down, leaning him against the rusted body of the car. Mac groaned, still not opening his eyes.

"We th're?"

"No, no, not yet. But look, man. We have parts. You can build something out of this, right?" Jack asked. He gave Mac a shake and the kid cracked an eye open.

"P'rts?"

"Ya, parts. Look! It's an old car. C'mon, look."

Mac rolled his head to the left, taking in the rusted shell of the car. "I don't th'nk I c'n…" he started.

"Okay, okay. You just tell me what to do and I'll do it. Okay? You can do that, right?"

Mac closed his eyes and gave a small nod. It was hardly reassuring but it was enough for Jack.

"Okay, what do I need first? Mac?" Jack shook the kid awake again. Mac's eyes were so hollow when he opened them, a purple-blue ring of exhaustion around each eye.

"G't the radio wires.." Mac slurred.

Jack nearly dived straight through car window of the car before Mac's small voice stopped him.

"No..n…" He let out a long sigh. "Leave the radio in tact.. P'll it out to exp'se the wires though."

"Expose the wires? Okay, I got it."

Jack carefully crawled through the open window and pulled out the radio, taking in the jumble of wires of all different colours. He had no idea what each of them were for.

"What do I do now? Mac? Mac!"

Jack dived back out the window, shaking his partner so he opened his eyes again.

"C'mon man. What do I do. You gotta tell me."

Mac wrinkled his nose as a fly buzzed around his head. Jack quickly swatted it away.

"You gotta m'ke a walkie talkie."

Jack nodded. "I know. I know. But how?"

It took Mac a few extra minutes to process what Jack had just said. His eyes wandered for a moment, looking at the road then darting back to Jack's face when the Delta gave him a shake.

"How?" Jack repeated.

Mac nodded, suddenly brought back to their situation.

"M'ke the transmitter first…" Mac trailed.

Jack cracked open the door, pulling the radio as far as it could reach so Mac could take in the wires. The blond blinked heavily, his eyes running over each wire. Then, with a shaking hand, he began to draw a transmitter circuit in the dust of the road. Jack examined the drawing carefully, looking back and forth between the wires and the drawing, checking with Mac each time he maneuvered a wire. Sometimes Mac would shake his head and point back at the drawing without further explanation, leaving Jack to decipher what he meant. Other times, he completely nodded off and Jack would shake him awake again, reminding him of what they were trying to achieve.

Finally Jack finished the device to Mac's satisfaction. He rested it on the cracked leather seat of the car and prompted Mac to continue.

"M'kay…" Mac began. "Now.. tune the radio to the right hertz… no, frequency."

Mac's head slumped against his chest.

"No. No. No. No. C'mon Mac, not now. We still have to finish."

Jack shook his partner but Mac didn't stir. Immediately Jack felt for a pulse. He was met by a slow, sluggish thumping. It was still there though. That's all that counted. Mac's chest was still rising and falling. Only it was doing so incredibly slow. Too slow for Jack's liking.

Jack began to switch through the frequencies, repeating his SOS and location with each one. Mac hadn't told him if the walkie-talkie would pick up audio so Jack thumped the exposed wires in morse code while also speaking. It was the best he could hope for. It only took about 5 minutes for Jack to make it through each frequency. Then he began all over again, each time his morse code becoming sloppier while his words were cut short and rushed. He did this about 8 times on each station before he finally stopped, realizing that if no one had heard him now, they probably wouldn't be hearing him if he kept going.

Jack crawled out of the car, checking Mac's pulse again. Satisfied that is had barely changed from the last time he check, he pressed down on Mac's bandage, receiving a squelch in response as the blood trickled down Mac's stomach. Then, as carefully as he could, Jack sat down and pulled the blond against him, wrapping his arms around the blond while keeping one hand over the wound and applying pressure. Mac didn't even groan.

Every minute that passed by felt like an eternity. A crow flew by and Jack flinched harder than he liked when it cawed and landed in a nearby tree. Jack ran his free hand through Mac's hair, then stroked his face and wrapped it around Mac again, rocking back and forth, praying for something, someone, to show up.

When the breeze began to pick up, Jack first thought he was imagining it. The grass began to flick back and forth and a cloud of dust flew down the road. But that's when Jack heard it—the beating of a helicopter.

The black dot appeared in the sky, making its descent as the pilot spotted the two agents against the frame of the car. The metal bird dropped down as quickly as Jack had seen a helicopter land. Mac's hair began to fly around, whipping Jack in the face and a cloud of dust swept over them and the car. Immediately, 3 guys piled out the chopper, one carrying a backboard and the other with a medical bag in hand. Within minutes they pried Mac from Jack's grasp and bundled him inside. Jack followed closely behind, keeping his eyes locked on the battered frame of his partner.

Only a few more minutes had passed and they were up in the air again, heading for the nearest hospital.

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It had been 4 days.

4 days of Jack pacing back and forth or otherwise slumped in the chair beside Mac's bed after Mac had come out of surgery. 4 days of doctors and nurses filtering in and out of Mac's room, checking his vitals and studying the monitors. 4 days of MRIs and CT scans. And 4 of the worst days of Jack's life.

It was in the middle of the night when Mac finally woke up. First he cracked his left eye open, then upon further observance of the room, he cracked his right eye open. Jack was half sleeping, jumping in and out of the first cycle of sleep, refusing to totally lose awareness of the room. When Mac shifted his arm, Jack immediately sat up straight and smiled when Mac's eyes locked on his.

"Hey buddy. Good to have you back," Jack whispered.

Mac's lips twitched. "Have I been gone long?" He croaked.

Jack laughed, receiving a full smile from the blond.

"Oops," Mac replied, blinking tiredly.

Jack scrubbed his face, laughing again. "Man, you scared me."

"Someone's got to. Right?"

Jack shook his head. "Not like that, man. Not like that."

"I take it you got the walkie-talkie working?"

Jack shrugged. "Hell ya I did. I could become the next Macgver if I do say so myself."

Mac studied Jack's face, blinked again, and gave the smallest shake of his head. "Nah… you just tried all the frequencies 'till one worked. Am I right?"

"Hey, you underestimate me," Jack countered.

Mac closed his eyes, relaxing again. "Am I right?" He repeated.

Jack shook his head. "You know me too well Mac."

"Well you kept your promise, so that's all that counts."

Jack smiled, pushing the call button. Now that Mac was awake, they'd definitely want to take a look at him.

"I don't break my promises," Jack said.

Mac opened his eyes again, locking his gaze with Jacks. "I know. You never do."

Jack grabbed Mac's hand and squeezed. "And I never will. And that's a promise."

Just as a disclaimer, I don't really know anything about concussions besides what google tells me :P. Same goes for making a walkie-talkie out of a car radio (although according to google it is possible). As awesome as Desi is, I really really miss Jack. So hopefully this story did his character some justice. Hope everyone enjoyed!