Work Text:
Definitely not Grandpa Harry's Fishing Cabin
Wish it was
"I thought..." Jack panted as Mac helped him climb the rickety two steps leading up to the sagging porch at the front of the equally rickety-looking little cabin they had found, nestled between the treeline of the forest they had just hiked through and the river that was serving as their only source of direction. The overhanging cover of trees had protected them from the worst of the rain that was pouring down, but the slower-than-ideal hobble through the open space to get from the woods to the cabin had left them soaked through their coats. "You vetoed my idea. Doin' a fishin' trip for my birthday?"
"I did," Mac agreed, positioning Jack beside the door so that he was leaning against the logs that made up the exterior walls and flipping his hair, dripping wet, out of his eyes so he could see to pick the lock. "Because your birthday is on the first day of March, which is still winter and is too cold for fishing, even in California."
"Don't think this rain's any warmer," Jack grumbled, letting his eyes drop closed as he rested his head against the wall behind him, hoping Mac was too focused on the lock to notice the way he winced as his hand shifted, increasing pressure to the steadily bleeding knife wound just below his ribcage. "At least you have the keys to that one."
"I can get us in here, too," Mac said as he pushed the door open with a creak. "Let's get you inside. Out of those wet clothes so I can get you checked out."
" 'm good," Jack assured on reflex, prying his eyes back open and trying to give Mac a reassuring grin. "Lemme in first. Make sure we're alone."
"Jack, nobody has been here for years," Mac rolled his eyes as he helped Jack through the doorway, into the musty cabin, one hand pulling out his cellphone and switching on the flashlight, shining it around to prove his point. "See?"
"Can't really see anything. Too dark in here," Jack teased back half-heartedly, eyes squinting as he scanned the small space that, admittedly, looked as if they were the first ones to visit in years.
"Here, come sit down," Mac lead him towards the orange plaid couch in front of the fireplace and carefully began pulling his jacket first layer of shirts off. "Keep pressure on this," he instructed, pressing the driest part of the shirt into place and re-positioning Jack's hand over the wound on his side. "I'm going to get a fire started."
Jack sighed, not liking the idea of putting their trust in the clearly unmaintained fireplace, but not seeing a better option. They needed the heat, not only for warmth as night fully set in but to dry their clothes. And it would be a more sustainable light source so they could conserve their phone batteries as long as they could. "It looks safe enough," Mac announced, knowing what Jack was thinking and shining his flashlight up the chimney and wiping away the soot his inspection had left on his hands. "I think it's worth the risk."
"There was wood already cut on the porch," Jack said, trying to blink away the fogginess that was beginning to settle in his brain. "Watch out for our friends while you're out there, though."
"I'd be willing to bet they gave up the search for us when the rain set in," Mac had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of water that got louder as he opened the door, doing as instructed though and checking to make sure there was nobody in sight before stepping out.
"There's no one out here but us," he assured, when he returned, kicking the door closed behind him, both arms filled with firewood. "You doing okay?"
"Just great," Jack answered, drawing on barely-there strength reserves to pull himself to sitting a little more upright instead of slouched on the sofa.
Mac didn't bother looking to check for himself, focusing on getting a fire started instead. As long as Jack was talking, he would be alright. It was when he got quiet, Mac had learned over the years, that it was time to worry. "You're not gonna bleed out on me, right?"
"From this little scrape?" Jack scoffed. "No way. Hardly nothin'."
Mac resisted the urge to check for himself, to at least look over his shoulder and get visual confirmation that Jack was okay, keeping his attention on growing the spark he had lit. "Is that your pride talking or your brain?"
"Little bit'a both," Jack smiled, hoping his voice didn't sound as weak to Mac as it did to his own ears. "But I'm alright, hoss."
"We missed our exfil," Mac sighed, adding a block of wood to the flickering start he had finally gotten going and turning around, pulling off his dripping wet coat and the flannel beneath it and spreading them, along with Jack's, out on the floor to begin drying. "That was supposed to take us home from a mission we weren't even supposed to be on in the first place. It's pouring rain, and you're stuck spending your birthday in some cabin straight out of Wrong Turn, with the only gift you got being the stab wound those guys left you with. Tell me, how is any of that alright?"
"Well now, I told you I didn't need anything big this year," Jack began, answering Mac's rhetorical question. "I just wanted to spend it with my kids. And you're here, so technically that part has been a success."
"Kids," Mac corrected, sparing a final worried glance at the fire before turning his back to it and digging through the sodden backpack he had dropped next to the couch, damp fingers searching for the familiar first aid kit. "Plural. That was all you wanted, a quiet night at home with your family. Tonight was supposed to be all of us on the deck with presents and steaks on the grill, beer and games and stupid stories. Bozer even swore this was the year he had the secret to Mama D's birthday German chocolate recipe figured out. It was going to be perfect. Not... not this."
"Hey," Jack reached out, going to drop a comforting hand on Mac's shoulder before deciding against it when he saw the blood staining his fingers. "You know how many years I've listened to you complainin' about how birthdays don't matter? That they're just another day? It don't do no good for you to be the smartest guy in the room if you don't go listenin' to your own advice, kid."
"But they matter to you," Mac said softly, looking up from the first aid kit he had begun diligently unpacking, laying items on the sofa cushions next to Jack. "And this was-"
"The first one since I made it home," Jack finished for him, understanding why the day had suddenly become so important to his partner.
"There were a lot of times that I, that we, started to wonder if you weren't coming back. So when you did... it felt like we should celebrate," Mac shrugged, not meeting Jack's eyes in the firelight.
"And we will," Jack promised. "When we make it back from this one."
"Yeah, if you make it back," Mac shook himself out of the emotionally charged moment, refocusing on the task at hand. "You're still bleeding."
"Itty bitty flesh wound," Jack smiled. "Might as well be a paper cut."
Mac rolled his eyes. "I'm going to go see if I can find some water."
"I think I saw some comin' in."
"Yeah?" Mac hurriedly rose to his feet, flashlight pointed towards the tiny kitchenette taking up one of the corners of the room.
"Yup. All kinds of it," Jack grinned. "Fallin' down outta the sky out there. Honestly, not sure how you missed it, hoss."
"Not funny, Jack." The interior of the cabin was far from well-lit, but Jack still caught a slight glimpse of a smile before Mac walked closer to the kitchen.
Knowing that his partner's eyes were off of him for the time being, Jack allowed himself a few moments to wallow in the pain, dropping his head back against the sofa and squeezing his eyes closed tightly. No matter how many times he had to do it, he always forgot how much energy went into convincing people he was fine.
"Looks like we got lucky," Mac's voice broke through the quiet and Jack's attention instantly shifted, refocusing on his partner and schooling his face into what was, hopefully, a believable mask of ease and contentment instead of the grimace he was sure it had slipped into just in time for Mac to appear back at his side. "Seal was still on it," he held up the gallon of water he had found, paper label dry rotted and flaking away, but the plastic bottle was still intact.
"There's alcohol wipes in that kit you could'a used to clean your hands with," Jack reminded him. "Probably better than whatever soap was left in this place."
"We've got gloves," Mac reminded him. "But this way I can make sure it gets rinsed out well. There was only one bottle of alcohol in the medkit, that wouldn't get us very far."
"You, uh, didn't happen to find any other alcohol in that search of the kitchen, did you? The good kind?" Jack asked, shooting for nonchalance but knowing he fell short before the words were even out of his mouth.
"No, man," Apology shone in Mac's eyes, bright even in the dim firelight, and Jack could have kicked himself for asking. "I didn't. Sorry."
"It's fine," Jack waved the apology off. "I'm good. Thought you might need to take the edge off, that's all. You get testy when I'm bleedin'."
"Stop getting stabbed," Mac countered easily, talking as he carefully pulled the blood-sodden shirt away from Jack's side. "And we won't have to worry about it."
He couldn't help the instinctual flinch away from Mac's hands as probing fingers explored the damage.
"Sorry," Mac murmured, pulling his hand away.
"Nah, didn't hurt me," Jack lied, sucking in a slow breath and trying to get rid of some of the tension his muscles were harboring. "Your hands are cold."
Mac didn’t call him out on the lie, so Jack stayed quiet for a few moments, allowing Mac to check him out, to see for himself that he was going to be okay. "Ain't that bad, right?" He asked softly, not wanting to startle Mac out of his task-focused haze. "No big deal?"
"It could have been worse," Mac admitted, brushing wet hair out of his eyes with his forearm. "I think you dodged the worst of it. Could still use a couple of stitches though."
Jack sighed. He had been expecting as much, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it. "Get on with it, then."
A few stitches ended up being twelve, but eventually, Mac had him patched up.
"That was the only one, right?" Mac asked as he taped down the final corner of a bandage. "You're not hiding anything else from me?"
"Nope, that was the only one," Jack confirmed, eyes squinted closed against the pain as he tried to get his breath to come in a more normal pattern. "And I wasn't hidin' it."
"Wouldn't have been the first time," Mac sent him a pointed look before gathering up all the trash and used supplies, wrapping them into a small bundle to be tossed into the fireplace later. "And you're the one who's so big on birthday surprises."
"Not that kind."
Mac smiled. "We're hours away from our secondary exfil. You might as well get some rest while we wait."
"Naw, I'm good," Jack protested, though he couldn't find the strength to fully sit up and prove his point. "I can stay up and keep you company."
"Jack," Mac sighed at his partner’s stubbornness. "You're hurting and exhausted. Try to sleep some of it off on this... admittedly disgusting looking couch until we can get you somewhere better to rest up until we make it to Medical."
"You sure?" Jack asked, the premise of sleep-of being able to pass out and retreat into a place where he wasn't hurting if only for a little while-was a tempting one. "I ain't entirely convinced those guys didn't follow us. I was a little distracted on the way here, you know, between the rain and the whole trying not to bleed to death thing."
"I thought it wasn't that bad?" Mac teased. "I'm sure. Get some sleep. Consider it my birthday present since it doesn't look like you'll be getting the one I have waiting wrapped back home any time soon."
"You actually wrapped it?" Jack couldn't help but be excited at the premise of a gift awaiting him as Mac helped him fully lay down across the dusty sofa.
"I did. Actually had the time to, little good that did us now, though," Mac smiled. "You sure you're alright? That can't be very comfortable. It looks like that couch is older than you and... well..."
"You better quit talkin' before you say somethin' you'll regret," Jack warned, giving in to the pull of sleep and letting his eyes drop closed. "Or I might just have to kick your ass 'fore we get out of here."
"Sure," Mac couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Because you're totally able to kick anyone's ass right now."
"Can if I need to," Jack assured, prying one eye open long enough to make sure Mac understood that he was serious.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Mac grinned. "Go to sleep, there's no one crazy enough to be out in this storm except for us."
Jack was asleep before he heard Mac say that, which was probably for the best because if he had, he would have certainly blamed Mac for jinxing things when the distinctive glare of a flashlight beam cut through the dimness of the cabin interior some time later. A bright, sweeping flash of light that disappeared as quickly as it happened and left Mac hoping that maybe he had imagined it.
He didn't.
It came again, sweeping a path across the far wall of the cabin and Mac instinctively ducked out of its path. Mac couldn't begin to count the number of times he and Jack had gotten into arguments over what Jack liked to call the clearly defined roles in their partnership. Essentially, it came down to Jack was the brawn and Mac was the brain, though Mac hated thinking of the way they did things like that. Jack was already too quick to dumb himself down and play stupid when he felt it could help the situation, as much as Mac hated every time he did it. But just as Jack was smarter than most people gave him credit for, Mac could hold his own in a fight. The only reason he didn't get a chance to prove that as often as most agents was because Jack was more than happy to step up and take on that particular part of the job so Mac didn't have to. It worked out well, most of the time. Until the rare occasion that Mac found himself without Jack able to be the one throwing the punches.
He wasn't about to wake him up, not if he could avoid it. The last thing Mac wanted was Jack in the middle of a fight, unsteady on his feet and sporting a freshly stitched-up stab wound. The fact that Jack hadn't woken up already spoke volumes. Normally, if the flashlight beam hadn't been enough to wake him, the tension pouring off of Mac would have been. If he was tired enough to sleep through that, it meant he needed the rest even more than Mac had realized.
Trying not to think of it as being on his own, Mac spared a quick glance at the gun Jack had unholstered and sat on the sofa at his side, knowing that if Jack were awake he would insist on Mac taking it with him. But Jack wasn't awake, so Mac left it where it was as he ducked low enough to pass through the cabin below the window line. Three flashlights were steadily making their way closer to the cabin. The dull light emitting from the windows and the smoke coming from the chimney, hanging low to the roofline because of the rain, erased any hope of them not realizing where Mac and Jack had hidden. At least there were only three of them though, which was better than the five they had started out with, they must have split up to search.
Having the element of surprise on his side allowed him to take out one of the three before they even realized what was happening, knocking him unconscious while his hand was reaching for the doorknob, thinking he was sneaking in on Mac and Jack. The other two were going to be more difficult, but Mac was faster and the premise of a fight had them following him quickly out into the rain and away from where Jack was, hopefully, still sleeping inside.
Boots slipping in the mud.
The sounds of closed fists connecting with skin lost in the rush of water pouring from the night sky.
A tag-team pair of cold and adrenaline numbing hits that Mac knew he would feel later.
It was over as quickly as it began, thugs-for-hire against a trained agent didn't stand a chance, but Mac was still out of breath as he lugged the final unconscious man onto the porch and dropped him unceremoniously next to the other two. He didn't have an issue knowing that he had knocked them out, one of them had stabbed Jack only a few hours earlier, after all, but bad guys or not, he couldn't bring himself to leave them out in the rain. That didn't mean they were coming inside the cabin though. He ducked inside, shaking rainwater out of his hair, teeth chattering from the cold, long enough to check on Jack, toss another log on the fire, and grab his stash of zip ties and roll of duct tape out of his pack before going back outside and making quick work of securing their hostages. Mac knew one of the hits he took had landed hard against his cheekbone and could already feel that eye beginning to swell. He didn't notice anything else until he found his knuckles aching as he wound the tape around the ties for an extra layer of protection and the wince that drew pulled on what was definitely a split lip, but all things considered, it could have been a lot worse.
The door locked firmly behind him once more, Mac peeled off his drenched shirt and added it to the row of clothes drying on the floor, sighing contentedly as he slipped his fire-warmed flannel back on, sore fingers fumbling with the buttons for longer than he would have liked to admit. Choosing to blame it on the cold instead of the bruises he could already see forming across his knuckles, Mac snagged the first aid kit off the couch where he had left it beside Jack's feet and sat down on the floor as close to the hearth of the fireplace as he could get to patch himself up.
There wasn't much he could do for his knuckles other than wiping them down with one of their dwindling supply of antiseptic wipes. He couldn't quite bite back the choked whimper that slipped out as he raised the stinging cloth to his split lip which was worse than he first thought. Always in tune with his partner's pain, Jack's eyes flashed open, quickly scanning the room and landing on Mac. "Now what in the hell happened to you?"
"I'm okay," Mac tried for reassuring, scrambling to hide the evidence of the bloodied wipes in his fist. "Just... had a little run-in with our friends out there," He nodded towards the locked door and the porch beyond it, which only resulted in bringing his black eye more into the light. "Guess you were right about them following us after all."
"You took on all five of 'em?" Jack asked, pushing himself up on his arms, slowly inching closer towards sitting up, ignoring Mac's protests of the movement.
"Nah, I'm not you," Mac smiled sheepishly, ducking his head. "Just the three that are hanging out on the porch."
"Three, huh?" Jack couldn't hide the pride in his voice. "That's still three more than I want you ever throwin' hands with. You gonna come over here and let me check you out or do I gotta hobble my way over there to you?"
"I promise, I'm fine," Mac assured as he climbed to his feet and crossed the short distance between himself and Jack. "Just some bruises."
"Bruises don't bleed," Jack protested, thumb reaching out to wipe away a smear of blood Mac had missed on his chin.
"Bad ones do, sometimes," Mac couldn't help but argue. "Internally, you know?" Jack's single raised eyebrow left him quickly backtracking. "Which none of these are. Nowhere close. Just superficial. Nothing serious."
"It's always serious when you're hurt," Jack moved on from examining Mac's face and accepting, as much as he hated it, that there was nothing he could do to fix the hurts there. The swollen scrapes and bruises spanning his knuckles were no more fun to look at. "You're supposed to let me handle throwin' the punches, bud."
"You were finally resting," Mac pulled his hand back out of Jack's grip, hating that his partner was worried about the minor injuries he was perfectly capable of handling on his own when only a little over an hour before he was sewing up a knife wound that could have been infinitesimally more dangerous. "I wasn't going to wake you up to deal with something I was perfectly capable of handling on my own."
"Just because you can handle it don't mean you should," Jack protested. "Is that your excuse for tryin' to hide the damage from me too?"
"I wasn't hiding it," Mac sighed. "How could I? You were going to wake up and see it sooner or later. I just wasn't going to bother you with something I could take care of by myself."
"But you don't have to take care of it by yourself," Jack reminded him gently. "Because you got me. I even sat here and let you patch me up earlier, all compliant and easy goin'. And you couldn't be bothered to let me know when you got hurt?"
"It's your birthday," Mac explained quietly as he ducked his head and Jack wasn't sure if he was trying to hide his emotions or hide from them.
"And you thought not tellin' me when there's something wrong with my kid was a great substitute for a gift?"
"I thought maybe me not making even more work for you when you're already having one hell of a bad day sounded like a decent one."
"Hey, look at me?" Jack waited until blue eyes met his own brown before continuing. "The only thing I want, the only thing I ever want, is to know that my kids are safe. But doin' what we do? That ain't always an option. I've come to accept that. So the next best thing is when on the occasion one of those kids gets hurt, they tell me and let me at least try to fix it, alright?"
"I wasn't hiding it from you," Mac insisted again. "I was going to tell you as soon as you woke up. I just figured I'd let you sleep while you could. You're the one who's actually hurt, you know."
"Now, I don't know about that," Jack couldn't help himself from reaching up and brushing damp hair away from Mac's forehead, wincing as he got a full view of the younger man's black eye. "I think, of the two of us, you might be the one walkin' away lookin' worse this time."
"But looks have nothing to do with it," Mac argued, falling right into Jack's trap.
"See, I've been fightin' with you about that for years now," Jack shook his head in mock disappointment. "And it still ain't stuck."
The lighthearted, familiar teasing worked exactly as Jack had hoped it would and some of the worry that had been tightening in Mac's chest eased up. "You're really okay?"
"I'm alright if you are," Jack assured with a shrug and a poorly disguised wince as he remembered why that was a bad idea. Choosing to ignore it, he held out a fist. "We good?"
"We're good," Mac confirmed, lightly tapping his unbruised knuckles against Jack's. "Happy birthday. Sorry it kinda sucked."
"In the grand scheme of things? It ain't been that bad, really. I've had way worse."
"You got stabbed."
"But I also got to spend it with my favorite person," Jack countered with a smile. "So that kinda evens things out, right? I mean, you look at all the birthdays I didn't get to spend with you compared to these last few that you've been a part of my life for. Those ones have to rank higher on the list, just cause you're there."
"Even though you got hurt?"
"Even though we both got hurt," Jack corrected. "And besides, the way I see it, we're just gettin' all the bad stuff out of the way. Eventually, there won't be anything else left for the universe to throw at us and it'll have to give us a perfect, easy, day off one of these years."
Mac shook his head. "Pretty sure you just jinxed it, big guy. That'll probably never happen now."
There was no way to know what the next year would have in store or the years after that, but there was one thing they were both certain of: they would face it together.