2014 - ISTANBUL

Jack studied MacGyver, who sat across the aisle from him, on the private plane.

They had just finished up a mission chasing a money trail, leading them to a very important witness needed to testify in the murder trial of a government official, who had hired an assassin to kill a visiting diplomat in Washington DC. The witness had fled the country, somehow ending up in Istanbul. Jack had yet to wrap his head around why he picked Istanbul of all places.

That, however, was of secondary importance at the moment. Right now Jack's main focus was on the kid. MacGyver was pale, blue-eyes glazed with pain, yet he was doing everything in his power to look as if he was perfectly fine. Jack knew better.

They had chased the idiot witness through the Grand Bazaar, ducking and weaving through people and around kiosks and the like. They had caught up with him, but the bad guys trying to kill the witness had also caught up to them and one of the bad guys had knocked Mac out with the butt of their gun. Probably with the intent of questioning him before killing him.

Jack didn't give them a chance to do either, taking the guy down, only for another bad guy to take his place. A guy twice his size. Luckily for Jack, MacGyver woke up and clocked the big dude with a hefty figurine from one of the market stands. Jack had retrieved their witness, who he'd had the foresight to hand cuff to a pole, and the rest of the mission went smoothly enough. So they were heading home now, the idiot witness traveling on a different flight with a full escort of FBI agents.

Mac, however, was not faring so well. Jack knew the kid had a moster headache, he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if MacGyver had a concussion. The kid had a freakishly high tolerance for pain, which had given Jack cause for concern on occasion. Like a few months back when he'd gotten stabbed in the side and had simply bound the wound and kept going on the mission. Jack had only found out about the injury when Mac had taken off his jacket, revealing his bloody shirt. So now he made it a point to keep a close eye on the kid and check for injuries first hand if need be.

"How are you doing over there?" Jack queried, getting all the more concerned when the kid looked like he was about to puke. "Need a bucket?" He was ready to retrieve the ice bucket if need be.

"I'm good," MacGyver whispered, not the least bit convincing. He didn't even believe himself, but he wasn't about to let Jack know that.

Moving to his go bag, Jack rummaged in it until he pulled out a bottle of Ibuprofen. "You're the exact opposite of good," he stated, holding out the bottle. When MacGyver just stared at it, Jack set it on the tiny table that was next to the kid's seat. "Take the pills, bro. I know you have a killer headache."

MacGyver didn't even look at the bottle. He could out stubborn a mule when he was feeling ornery, like now. "I'm fine, Jack," he insisted.

"Sure you are, if fine meant suffering from a gun-butt induced head ache," Jack allowed. He pointed to the ibuprofen bottle. "Take the pills."

"You take them," MacGyver shot back, wincing as the pain in his skull went from throbbing to shooting and back again.

There was a bottle of water on the seat next to Mac and Jack grabbed it and held it out. "Last chance, kiddo. Take the pills of your own free will, or I'm going to make you take them."

Amusement filtered across MacGyver's face for a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by pain again. "I'd like to see you try," he challenged.

"You know me, I love a challenge," Jack drawled. "Not that you'll be much of one in your present condition."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mac sensed Jack had something planned but his head hurt too much for him to even want to try and figure it out. Turns out he didn't have to wait to find out.

Moving like a blur, Jack lunged at MacGyver, using the handcuffs he removed from the witness to cuff one of the kid's wrist to the table leg, and blocking the other arm by, literally, sitting on Mac's lap. Without hesitation he grabbed the pill bottle, twisted it open, poured two tabs into his palm then, when MacGyver opened his mouth to protest, Jack popped the pills in and clamped his palm over the kid's mouth to make sure they stayed inside. "Swallow them," Jack ordered. "I'm not moving until you do." He wasn't worried about Mac swallowing them dry, because every agent learned to do that when out in the field. You did what you had to do when it came to relief.

MacGyver's first instinct was to shove Jack off, but he didn't have a hand free to do it. So he tried twisting free but that made his head pound so he went still, glaring at Jack but knowing he had run out of options. So he swallowed the damn pills, before trying to verbally let his friend know he'd done as ordered.

"Good job, Mac," Jack approved, when he felt the kid swallowing and heard him grunt. He removed his hand from MacGyver's mouth, got up off his lap, then bent to remove the cuff. "Now, why don't you go stretch out on the couch in the back and try to get some sleep. We've got a few hours to kill." He was pleased when the kid pushed out of his seat.

"Payback is a bitch," MacGyver promised, as he passed Jack on his way to the back of the plane. Although it did feel good to stretch out and he hoped the pills did kick in and take the edge of his headache. While he waited, he listened to Jack humming, unaware of drifting off to sleep.

Jack grinned as he covered MacGyver with a plaid blanket. Hopefully the kid had learned his lesson and the next time he would do as he was told without a fuss. Although, given it was Mac he was talking about, he had his doubts. Sometimes the kid was too smart for his own good.

Plopping into the seat across from the couch, Jack pulled out his phone and scrolled his game options. Best he could hope for was that payback wasn't a total bitch.

THE END