"It comes down to the difference between what you were planning to do and what life throws at you and you have to end up doing. The one who knows how to improvise is the one who comes out ahead."

Jason Isbell

Part 3: After

-Mac-

"Save us, please! Just get us out of here!"

The world echoed with pain and heat. The cacophony was brilliant in its chaos, bowing him and sending him to his knees.

"Just do your job, kid. Disarm that bomb."

There were too many wires…too many colors…too many options.

"You killed my mom, you bastards!"

He had to choose…dammit, he had to choose, and it was impossible. How could he choose? How could he save them all?

"I'm getting you out of here, kid."

Heat…so much heat. It beat against his back, sucked the air from his lungs. It was melting him, and he wanted to let it. Except he couldn't because…the hands. The hands holding him up. Holding him tight. They were pulling him away from the heat. Away from the chaos.

They were pulling him to where it was cool and quiet. Safe.

He was safe.

"How about you open your eyes for me, bud?"

There was something compelling about that voice. He wanted to do as it asked, but his eyelids were so heavy. Weighted, almost. Like an anvil rested on each one.

"You've been sleeping about three days now," the voice continued. He knew it, that voice. It had a presence. A name. "They've taken most of the tubes out, so you don't look quite as much like one of your science experiments."

Jack.

That was the voice. His friend. His partner. His brother.

"You've been dreaming a lot," Jack sighed. There were fingers wrapped around his. Long, calloused, strong. They held his hand in a strong grip. "I think I can guess about what. Wish I could change that for you, but…guess part of having a memory and mind like yours means you can't let go of things quite as easily as the rest of us."

Fire. Bombs. Heat. Pain. Chaos.

"C'mon, kid. Open your eyes. Let me know you're still with me."

Mac worked to comply. It was harder than anything he'd ever done. Light seared his head the moment his lashes parted, but the hand around his tightened and he tried again.

"That's it, Mac."

He blinked once, and the weight seemed to ease a bit as the room around him slowly came into focus. There wasn't much to see; the room around him was dimly lit and everything was white. For a brief, terrifying moment, he remembered glass shattering and the smell of spilled chemicals, but then a face bent over him and he focused on warm brown eyes, skin crinkling at the corners as a smile belied the tears swimming there.

"There you are."

"Jack." God, his throat was on fire. He felt a straw at his cracked lips and in seconds he was sucking down the cooling relief of water, feeling it spread through his body to his toes.

"That's it," Jack smiled pulling the cup of water away when Mac stopped to take a breath. "How you doin', bud?"

Mac swallowed his eyes tracing his friend's face, then focusing on the room behind Jack.

"Mac?"

"Where…?"

"You're in the trauma center at the Phoenix," Jack supplied. "Do you remember getting out of the lab?"

It came back to him in a rush of sensation and images—the feeling of drowning on air, the shocking pain of Jack stabbing him, the rolling, pervasive ache of escape, the shuddering, terrifying cold as he felt himself slipping into darkness. He didn't realize he'd tightened his grip on Jack's hand until the man stood and leaned over him.

"Easy, kid," Jack said, reaching up to wipe a tear that had escaped Mac's rapidly blinking eyes. "Just take a breath."

"I…remember," Mac gasped.

"Yeah, that much is clear." Jack nodded, not yet easing back, seeming to recognize that for a moment, he was Mac's only anchor. "Gimme one easy breath, okay? It's just us here, Mac. You're okay, I promise."

Mac exhaled slowly, counting to four in his head with his eyes closed. He opened them and nodded at Jack when he felt his heart rate slow to something that felt less like it was going to fling itself from his ribcage. Jack shifted back so that he was sitting next to Mac's bed again, this time with his hands folded together in his lap.

"You hurting anywhere?" Jack asked.

Mac thought before he answered. His side hurt. And his shoulder. And his head. But nothing he couldn't handle. Nothing worse than he'd felt before.

"'m okay," he replied.

Jack gave him another drink then helped him ease the bed up slightly so that he wasn't looking up at Jack, but over at him.

"How long?"

"We got back here three days ago," Jack informed him. "You were…in pretty bad shape."

"You gave me your blood," Mac remembered.

Jack smiled. "I did. Now you're a triple threat: looks, brains, and brawn."

"Don't think it works like that," Mac offered him a smile.

"It works exactly like that," Jack brought his chin up. "Don't let all that science confuse you."

"Thank you, Jack," Mac said quietly. "You saved my life."

"Just returning one of the bagillion I owe you, junior."

Mac glanced at the table next to his bed. On it was a box of paperclips, his Swiss Army knife, and a flash drive. He picked up the paper clips.

"Matty," Jack supplied. "She's…feeling less than awesome about telling me to leave you behind."

Mac didn't look at Jack, keeping his eyes on the box of paperclips in his hand. "The ventilation?" he guessed, the facts less than clear in his memory.

"She was trying to save as many as she could," Jack tried.

Mac simply nodded. He set the paperclips aside and picked up the flash drive.

"Bozer downloaded some entertainment for you, he said," Jack explained. "Said he knew you'd be wanting out before you were ready, so this was a way to distract you."

Mac nodded again, setting down the flash drive next to the paperclips. His mind was skipping through images, like his own flash drive was corrupted. Snippets of voices, of facts, of expressions were sliding around behind his eyes and he felt dizzy and nauseous trying to track them all.

"Maybe you should get some rest," Jack suggested, reaching for the nurse's call button.

"Wait."

Jack's hand froze mid-reach. He waited quietly for Mac to say something else. When no other words came quickly, Jack leaned forward on the bedrail.

"What's going on in that head of yours, bud?"

"How did you get in the room?" Mac asked, looking at Jack, clueless as to the impact his expression had on his partner except for the visible flinch he saw when Jack drew back slightly. "The door…. I couldn't get out. How did you get in?"

Jack rolled his lips against his teeth, then dragged his hand down his face as he sat back against his chair. Mac could hear the rasp of his friend's calloused palm against the graying scruff of his whiskers. The weathered lines at the corners of Jack's eyes folded as he winced, clearly thinking of the best direction to take his answer.

"Riley hacked the security system," Jack replied, apparently having decided to go for broke. "She got me five seconds. Matty ordered me to get you out of the room and to get to the exfil."

"But you made a different choice," Mac guessed.

"Even if I got you out of there," Jack lifted a shoulder, "you were…you were dying, Mac. I had no guarantee I could get you to the exfil before you bled out or suffocated."

Mac licked his lips, realizing what Jack was saying.

"I gambled on being able to put you back together enough you could disarm the bomb and save our asses," Jack concluded. "Turns out, I made the right choice."

"How much trouble are you in?"

"I'm on two weeks administrative leave," Jack replied. "Which, y'know, suits me just fine since I don't plan on going back without you."

Mac looked down at his lap, rubbing his thumb against the stitching on his blanket. "It was a risky move."

"It was worth it," Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "You were worth it, bud."

Mac was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Did you do this because of Argentina?"

Jack smiled sadly as he looked down. "You mean, did I do this, so you didn't hate me for picking you over the world like I said I would?"

Mac simply stared at him. Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging loosely between his knees as he leveled his eyes at his friend.

"I still picked you, Mac," Jack said quietly. "Always will."

Mac let his head fall back against his pillows, his eyes growing heavy.

"Get some sleep, kid," Jack instructed. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Mac kept his eyes on his partner until sleep pulled him close, and he felt himself sink below the surface of consciousness like slipping low in a pool of water. There was nothing for a long stretch of time. And then…a dial turned. And there was noise and heat and he was standing in a room filled with screams and a woman lay bleeding on the floor next to him, her child staring up at him with eyes full of fire.

This time, though, he was standing in front of an IED dressed in nothing but a white lab coat and a sweat pants, his foot on the edge of a pressure plate. He tried to tell the boy to run, to leave and get safe but instead the boy sat down on top of the IED, his eyes burning into Mac. It was like screaming into a black hole—the words bounced back to him, echoing in his head while the silence of the room sucked up the sound.

He was so intent on getting the boy to safety that he leaned forward and took his foot off the plate, exploding the IED and slamming nails and rocks and shards of glass through the boy's body and across the room and into Mac.

"MAC!"

He was gasping, sweating, shaking.

"Wake up, bud, come on, now."

He opened his eyes and realized that he was sitting up in a narrow hospital bed, Jack leaning over him, grasping him by the arms, his face so close their foreheads were practically touching.

"It was an IED," Mac gasped, reaching up with desperate, trembling hands to grab Jack's arms, seeking balance. "There was glass and nails and it tore him up and stabbed me— "

"Whoa, whoa, easy, kiddo," Jack soothed. "You're okay. No IED. No bombs. You're safe."

Mac gulped down air, trying to slow the crash of his heart, searching Jack's face. "No bombs?"

"Not in here."

"What about the kid?"

Jack's face did that thing where it looked like the words physically wounded him. "The kid from Argentina?"

That set Mac back. Argentina. A mission. Weeks ago. "He didn't make it."

"No, bud, I'm sorry. He didn't make it."

"But…something stabbed me…." Mac eased back, trying to put the random pieces of his dream into the right place in his mind so that they would stay put. Jack's hands slid down his arms as he let Mac lay back and he sat on the edge of Mac's bed.

"Yeah, some big-assed Serbian stabbed you—with a glass shiv," Jack confirmed, his eyes narrowing as he studied Mac's face. "You back with me?"

Mac nodded shakily, dragging a hand down his face. He was surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. "Fucking nightmares," he grumbled.

"Yeah, well, the meds they have you on probably aren't helping," Jack allowed. He gave Mac some water and sat quietly as Mac gathered himself.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Mac said.

"What for this time?" Jack joked.

Mac remembered looking at Jack's devastated expression through the glass door. He remembered writing EOD on the glass like a death sentence. He remembered pressing his hand to the glass against Jack's hand like a promise and a farewell in one. He remembered the pressure in his chest—like drowning on air—and the complete fear that this was it, this was the end and he hadn't said what he'd needed to say, done what he'd needed to do.

"For trying to say goodbye."

"Yeah," Jack huffed, looking down. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"Okay," Mac promised softly. He waited a few beats, listening to the quiet hum of voices outside of his room. "Where is everyone?"

"Somewhere else," Jack shrugged. "Home, the Phoenix. They've been here to check in, but you've always been sleeping. Lazy bones."

Mac returned Jack's half-grin. "How's Bozer?"

"He's doing okay," Jack reassured him. "Once he knew I hadn't killed you by either stabbing you with a syringe or giving you my blood, he seemed pretty confident you'd be home any day."

"He's changed," Mac said.

"Yeah, they grow up so fast," Jack sighed, causing Mac to chuckle, then wince as he wrapped his arm around his side. "You've got a bunch of stitches there," Jack nodded to where Mac rested his hand against his ribs. "And up in your shoulder. Your skin wasn't so happy about all the duct tape I used," Jack grimaced, apologetically, "but since it kept you together, I'm going to say it was worth it."

Mac nodded, fingers finding the sensitive skin on his ribs.

"They had to do a little repair work in your chest, but said with rest—like, y'know, actual rest…not the MacGyver version of rest—you'll be back to normal in a few weeks."

"Thanks to you," Mac smiled.

"Well, I do watch a lot of movies," Jack lifted a shoulder. "And if Mad Max can do that to Furiosa and save her life, I wasn't going to back down."

Mac grinned, then reached up to the side table to pluck a paperclip out of the box. It was hard to bend it at first with the pulse oximeter on his right index finger, but once he got it straightened out, he was able to manipulate it with his other fingers.

"Hey, Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to that sniper you were telling me about?"

Jack tilted his head slightly, as if he were listening to his own memories. "He was honorably discharged about two months before I met you," he said. "He's a social worker now; runs a mission for vets. Has a group meeting every Wednesday night in Bunker Hill."

"Group?"

Jack nodded, his eyes on the middle distance.

"You ever go?"

"I have," Jack replied quietly. "Used to more than I do now, though."

Mac tilted his head in curiosity. "Why's that?"

Jack's gaze tracked up to meet Mac's eyes. "'Cause, I got me this genius partner who somehow knows how to both disarm a bomb and untangle my head. So, I'm good."

Mac stopped twisting the paperclip, and looked down, swallowing hard. The lump in his throat seemed to press upwards until it sat squarely behind his eyes, burning them with an unnamed emotion. He blinked, feeling the sting of tears as they slipped past his weakened defenses.

"Goes both ways you know," he said, tightly.

"Yeah, I know, brother."

Jack reached over and plucked the paperclip from Mac's still fingers.

"Double infinity, huh?" Jack asked, looking at the twisted wire.

Mac shrugged. "Guess I was just thinking about how long I was going to need you to watch my back."

Jack grinned, then rolled the paperclip into the palm of his hand as he curled his fingers into a fist. Mac bumped his knuckles against Jack's.

-Jack-

"Hey, Pop," Jack greeted as he crouched down to sit on his heels in front of his father's gravestone. "It's been a while."

The day was thin, night edging the sunlight out of the way with the eagerness of winter. It wasn't yet six, but the shadows were long, and the warmth of mid-day was gone. Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, then pulled a can of Modelo off the plastic ring of the six-pack. Setting the remaining cans down, he saluted his father's marker, popped the can open, and drank deeply.

Sighing, he sat all the way down on the grass and crossed his legs beneath him.

"Been missing you a bunch today," Jack confessed, eyes tracking around the empty cemetery. He pulled out the dog tags he'd taken to wearing since they'd been temporarily stolen several months prior. "But then…when do I not miss you, huh?"

He sighed, then cleared his throat. "You know my partner—skinny, blond kid…too smart for his own good? He got hurt last week. Bad. Worse than anything that's happened to us since…well, a while."

He cleared his throat again, taking another sip of beer.

"Damn, Pop. Don't know what's wrong with me. Shouldn't be so hard to talk with you about this stuff. I mean, I'm the tough guy, right? I'm the brawn, he's the brains." Jack shook his head, tugging at the grass, pulling a tuft of it free. "But, see…this time, I had to be both, Pops. His life depended on it. And I was scared, man. I was scared. Like I've never been before."

His voice cracked, and Jack held himself still, fighting to keep the emotion buried low, where it was supposed to stay.

"See, I made a call in a mission about a month ago and…people died. People we were supposed to protect. But…Mac, he…if I hadn't made the call, Pop, he woulda died. And…thing is, I know I made the right call. I know I did. But then last week…I went another way and…well, if I hadn't been damn lucky. I coulda lost him, Pop. I coulda lost."

He took another sip of beer, thinking. Remembering. Second-guessing.

"How'd you do it? Huh? How'd you…survive a war and raise me…and stay such a…sane man? I got…I got so many questions I wish I could ask you now." Jack sighed, finishing the can of beer and flattening it in his fist. "Like…how do you know when to…when to step in front of them and when to let them fall? How do you know when you're being an overbearing asshole and when they need to just shut up and listen? How do you figure out the balance between trust and protection?"

The cicadas had gone dormant, but the night owls were out in force. They called back answers to him as undecipherable as if his father had responded from beyond the pale. Jack sighed and pulled another can free from its plastic hold.

"You'd like this kid, Pop," Jack said, sipping his beer. "He's a good guy, my partner. Takes too much on his shoulders. Doesn't talk enough. Stays too much in his head. But he's like…genuinely good to his bones. I wish you coulda met him." Jack huffed a low laugh. "Then maybe you'd be able to help me figure out how to help him."

Porch lights from houses skirting the edge of the cemetery began to turn on with the growing darkness. Jack felt the Santa Ana's pick up a bit, blowing salt air through the stone markers and skimming the bristled edges of his buzzed hair.

"I need to figure out how to help him let go of something, Pop," Jack said softly. "Something that…to be honest with you, was more my fault than his. How do you help a friend forgive themselves, huh? If I could figure that out…maybe he could climb out of his head and heal up a bit."

Sitting quietly in the dark, Jack finished his second beer, thinking about the way Mac had acted like himself when Riley and Cage had come to visit him in the hospital, or when Bozer had come to pick him up and take him home. He'd grinned and laughed and teased. He'd thanked everyone with that genuine light in his eyes. He'd even called Matty to thank her for the paperclips and graciously accepted her explanation and sort-of apology for having to consider leaving him behind to die.

But the whole time, there had been a void around him that Jack felt only he could see. Like a shadow dogging his younger partner's heels, just one step behind. Jack wasn't going to forget the terror in Mac's eyes when he woke from that nightmare in the hospital anytime soon. The raw shout that had drawn Jack to the bed had rattled him, bringing the danger and reality of their job into focus in a way not much had before. Mac had filed it all away—compartmentalizing as he always did—but Jack hadn't been able to shake it. Something that made MacGyver - Mac - had been jarred loose and Jack was afraid if he couldn't find a way to fix it, they'd lose it forever.

"You're a good listener, Pop," Jack smiled, reaching for a third beer.

"Maybe that's where you get it," came a low voice from over Jack's shoulder.

He jerked violently, twisting around to see the starlight reflect off a blond head.

"Holy shit, Mac," Jack exclaimed, pressing a hand to his chest to try to keep his racing heart where it belonged in his chest. "You scared me to death!"

"Sorry," Mac chuckled, his laugh a low balm against the night. "Mind if I join you two?"

"Well, since you almost had me joining Pops, here, I guess I should let you," Jack returned, handing a beer to Mac as the lanky agent sank down next to his partner, legs crossed beneath him. "How long you been lurking back there?"

"Um…not long," Mac said, the lie heavy in his hesitation.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"Processes of elimination," Mac replied. "When you're not with me, at home, Phoenix, or watching Riley's six, odds are you're here."

"That so?"

"It is," Mac nodded, and Jack watched as he popped open the beer and took a long drink.

"And why were you looking for me?"

He could barely make out his friend's shape in the darkness, but he thought he saw Mac lift a shoulder.

"I needed a good listener."

Jack felt something inside him sigh with acceptance and relief. He pulled a beer free and popped it open. "What's going on, Mac?"

For a long moment MacGyver simply sat near him, sipping the Modelo, his profile illuminated by a combination of porch lights and starlight. After a few more sips of beer, he cleared his throat.

"I feel like I should be used to losing people," he paused, breathing. "I've lost a lot in my life, in one way or another. My mom, Harry, my dad in a way, Peña, men I served with. But…it's different when it's a mission. When it's my job. And…I don't know what to do with this…this, uh…hole. Inside me."

Jack nodded, waiting.

"When I first was an EOD tech," Mac continued, his voice deep, soft, thoughtful, "I followed the rules. I followed the rules or people died. But then…I realized that sometimes the rules were made outside of the world we lived in. They didn't…apply to my reality. They didn't apply to the little kids firing AKs…or the women with their abayas covering bombs. But the Army," Mac paused, drinking. "The Army still had its rules, even if they didn't apply. So, I figured out how to work around them. And I saved lives, Jack. I saved a lot of lives."

"I know you did," Jack nodded, watching. Listening. Feeling his father closer to him in this moment than he had in years.

"Then back home, rules were for children," Mac chuffed. "No one followed them. No bad guys, anyway. And so, I didn't, either. I figured it out as I went along. I knew what I was doing—I mean, jazz is ninety percent improv, but Miles Davis always knew exactly what he was doing, y'know?"

Jack had no idea what Mac was talking about, but he nodded anyway, going with the metaphor to keep his friend talking.

"But I'm starting to think that maybe…maybe all those times we walked away, all those times we saved people…maybe it was just luck."

Jack shook his head immediately.

"Maybe if I'd been following the rules in Argentina," Mac continued softly, crushing the beer can in his grip, "maybe that family would still be alive."

"Naw, man," Jack continued to shake his head. "Look. We were soldiers, yeah? We were soldiers in war. We know better than anyone that sometimes shit happens. People die. And it's not because you didn't clear a street or because you didn't call a target or take out a bad guy. It's because it's war. And people die."

"Yeah, but we're not at war, Jack."

"Aren't we?" Jack challenged. "Maybe it's just a different kind of war. A different kind of battle." He pulled the last two beers free and handed one to Mac. "Your way of not following the rules has been the only thing between us and death more times than I want to think about."

Mac hung his head, popping the top of his beer open.

"I know we lost people, Mac. And I know you carry that with you. But you want to know who is alive today because of you?" Jack held out his hand, lifting fingers as he talked. "Sarah, Ralph, that Russian guy Alex, Katarina, Valerie, Bishop— "

"Okay, Jack," Mac broke in, holding up his beer.

"No, no, I'm on a roll. I haven't even gotten to the times you saved my ass. Or Riley's, or Bozer's. I have a whole 'nother hand here, brother. Want me to go on?"

"Not really."

"You think if you followed the rules in Kosovo we'd be sitting here right now, talking to my Pops?"

"You're the one who saved us in Kosovo," Mac said, rubbing his healing side. "You were a real hero, man."

Jack shrugged. "Just doing my job," he said. "Watching out for you."

Mac lifted his beer can, this time in a salute. "Thanks for being damn good at your job."

Jack bounced his can against Mac's and they both drank deeply. After a few beats of silence while they both sat listening to the night, Jack frowned, looking over at his partner.

"How'd you get here, anyway?"

"I had Bozer drop me at the entrance. Why?"

"'Cause, I may need you to drive me home," Jack confessed, feeling his four beers begin to muddle his perception nicely.

Mac chuckled.

"What?" Jack challenged.

"Just something Bozer said once," he said, a grin in his voice. "About us being so close, if one of us drank too much, the other one got the hangover."

Jack pushed clumsily to his feet. "Well, if that's the case, I'll apologize for your morning now."

"You're forgiven," Mac replied.

Jack eyed him as he took off his long-sleeved shirt to gather up the empty beer cans in the center. The bandages around his torso were slightly visible under the thin layer of T-shirt. Jack couldn't help but spare a fleeting thought to his partner needing to take it easy, rest like the doctor's said, and not be out wandering around a cemetery in the middle of the night. Mac gathered the sleeves up like a sack then climbed to his feet, leveling his gaze at Jack as if reminding him that he could, in fact, take care of himself.

Jack turned to face his father's gravestone. "Night, Pops," he said. "See ya."

Mac took his partner's elbow with his free hand and began to guide Jack toward the nearest section of road. Jack veered in the direction of his car.

"How long had you really been standing behind me?" Jack asked suddenly.

"Oh…," Jack felt Mac shrug as he replied, "since you told your dad I was a good guy."

Jack hiccuped, relieved to see his car come into view. "You are a good guy, Mac," he said as his partner opened the passenger door and eased him inside, covering his head to keep him from cracking it on the roof of the car.

"So are you, Jack," he heard Mac reply softly as he closed the door.

When Mac slid behind the wheel, dropping his long-sleeved shirt and the empty beer cans in the back seat, Jack handed him the keys.

"You're going to be okay, you know that, right?" Jack asked as Mac fired up the engine.

"I know," Mac replied.

"And it's not because you're lucky," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes as Mac pulled away from the cemetery and entered the Los Angeles traffic. "It's because you know how to dance with whatever music life decides to play."

"Thanks, Jack," Mac said quietly, a smile in his voice.

"Welcome," Jack replied.

The rules of life said no one got out of it alive, but Jack knew if there was anyone who could figure out a way around that, it would be his partner.

"How 'bout some tunes?" Jack muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

"Sure thing, Jack," Mac agreed.

Jack listened as the radio dial squelched through a few songs and then smiled when Mac paused and left it tuned to Willie Nelson's ageless tremble singing about his heroes having always been cowboys.

Jack grinned, eyes closed. "Atta boy."

a/n: Thanks so much for reading. It's been fun playing in this fandom. If you all enjoyed, I'd love to hear from you. If you didn't enjoy...well, there's plenty more stories out there, I'm almost certain you'll find something. :)