#mac gets diagnosed with a pretty serious case of hypothermia

[21forestglades]

Sick Fic

@macgyvercairo

The next time his eyes open, it’s snowing again.

Mac blinks slowly, grimacing at the pounding behind his eyes. The snow dusted forest seems like it was waiting for him, snowflakes dancing languidly in the air, stolen from their slow descent as they get caught in the breeze. The branches sway above him in greeting. Mac’s stomach churns. It wasn’t as dark before... before...

When did he stop walking?

He shifts in the snow, body stiff. Pulling in a deep breath of air only serves to burn his lungs. The fog around his mind remains, exhaustion surging up like a wave, threatening to take him under once again. Mac swallows. His hands twitch, searching for something in the snow to ground him. Keep him awake.

There's an urgency, in the back of his mind. Something he's forgetting. He just knows he needs to stay awake.

This is the drugs.

When the drugs had first kicked in, that phrase had been Macgyver’s only strong tether to reality. Hours before, in the back of his mind, Mac knew it was the drugs. It was easy to keep track of what was real and what wasn’t. Logic won out over the haziness. After he had escaped the compound, however, the exhaustion added it’s toll. The stretches of time between alertness and blurred reality started to worsen, and the lines distinguishing the two started to disappear under the snow, lost as the drug coursed through his system. Pertinent information bled into hallucinations. The hallucinations bled into memories. It only got worse from there.

Hours ago, Mac knew it was the drugs. The phrase wasn’t just a fleeting thought that he hoped to grasp unto. Hours ago, this information concerned him.

Now, he can barely remember reason for even being out in the snow in the first place.

Come on, brother.

Jack. Mac forces another breath, letting the burn in his chest clear part of his head. He's not sure how long he's been walking. At the least, it's been hours. His feet were past the state of being numb, almost as if they were no longer a part of him. Absent. He lets his eyes drop back to his boots. Still there. That's... that's good. But it’s not the only thing that’s off. His back is numb, a telltale sign of... something. It means the cold has finally soaked through his jacket. That’s... dangerous. He blinks his eyes open, not sure when they shut.

He needs to take it off.

Mac's head spins as he pushes himself to his knees, black spots exploding in his vision. Swallowing back the nausea that has persisted since the drug was first administered, his fingers fumble with the zipper. He lost motor function in his fingers hours ago. It didn’t matter a few minutes ago. He forgot about it, actually. But there's a reason for needing it, now. A reason for, for taking... He can't get it.

He rips off his gloves with his teeth, letting them drop forgotten into the snow. Desperation drives him forward, but even then, his fingers fail to grab hold the zipper. Panic wells, though he's not sure why. He resorts to his teeth once again, biting the zipper between his chattering teeth. The air is like needles to his skin when he finally tears the jacket off, following quickly with the windbreaker beneath it. When it's over, layers of clothing tossed in the snow, Mac can only breathe as the world swims before him. The shivers become worse, a rythym he can't track or control. The world blurs.

“My, my, Macgyver. Look at you. Why, you’re practically half-dead.”

Snow crunches in the snow behind him.

Heart stuttering to a stop, Mac doesn't even have time to turn before arms suddenly wrap around his chest, lifting him up in the air and closing around his throat. Memories slam into him, not of Murdoc but of the compound and the the torture and the drugs.

This is the drugs please be the drugs please be-

As the hold tightens, it almost completely cuts off his air supply. Mac chokes on a cry. Terror builds in his throat, stealing what air is left from his constricted airway as any hope of this being another hallucination is dashed. Someone is yelling. Kicking his his legs out, Mac struggles for purchase in the deep snow. His frozen hands scramble at the arm around his neck. Black seeps into his vision, enveloping the fireworks. Something sharp sinks into his neck, warmth spreading in his veins, and white terror explodes in his chest. A noise of pain escapes between two desperate, sharp gasps for air. His fingers tighten in his shirt. He hunches over as far as he can manage. But he can't escape. He can't and the drugs will kick in again and he can't hecan'thecan'the-

BANG

His assailant jerks violently, and Macgyver barely recognizes the sensation of falling before he hits the ground with a grunt. The world sparks out.

In that moment, the world is underwater. Mac blinks, eyes open but unseeing. The exhaustion is a weight on his chest. He's not able to breathe. The exhaustion is pulling him deeper into the snow. Warning bells become muddled, world darkening from gray to black as he is dragged further underneath the waves. He’s drowning...

Mac drags in a desperate gasp of air as he resurfaces. Every sense fires back to life. His lungs burn, heart racing in his ears, and the white snow is painfully bright, stinging his face and soaking into his cotton shirt. He's in trouble. He kicks out his leg, kicking back the tendrils of exhaustion as he swallows hard. They're tracking him. His torturers. Hunting him. He needs to... they were going to... going to... The drug swallows the rest.

When something, someone, grabs him, lifting up from behind once again, overwhelming dread crashes through him. The world flickers.

“Mac.”

Macgyver's mind kick-starts, his chest tightening. Jack isn't here. He slams his head back again, hitting flesh, but this attacker doesn't budge, only holding tighter and it hurts and please he was already dying and why isn't that enough?

“Hoss.”

This is the drugs. This is the drugs, Mac.

The drugs are spreading through his system like a fire now, slowing everything down in their wake. Finally, he goes limp against who is holding him. The adrenaline drains from him in a torrent.

Escaping the compound was a desperate gamble.

One he apparently lost.

““Come on, brother. Respond to me.”

Mac barely recognizes when he's placed back in the snow, feet away from where his other assailant lies. The cold doesn't burn him, anymore. He's too cold to feel it. Numb. His body's no longer shaking.

It's not... not a good sign.

“Just give me a sign, Mac.”

Jack. The name almost hurts. He didn't deserve this, Mac thinks, not quite sure why they weren't cutting off his air anymore. The world is quiet, white noise filling in the silence. Jack had spent years by Mac’s side, protecting him, guiding him. To have it all end here, for Jack to find out that Mac failed and died in a frozen tundra? It adds to the tightness in his chest. It wasn’t Jack’s fault. Mac shouldn't have left the campsite. Neither of them knew that they were being followed. Jack can't carry that to his grave. He can’t think that Mac ever blamed him. This was his own fault.

Someone's holding his shoulder, keeping him upright. Another wave is forming in the back of his mind, building in the distance. A promise that he doesn’t have much time left. Distantly, Mac realizes that tears had begun to slowly track down his face.

Was Zoe this cold before she died? His eyes flutter, threatening to close. When the icy water sloshed up past her knees, her waist, about to overtake her head, did she ever feel warm? He couldn't save her. Why couldn't he save her? The world spins dangerously, tilting to one side. Mac rolls his head with it, wondering if he'll fall off into the darkness below. He's so, so tired.

Maybe he'll see her.

“Geez, kid.”

A hand moves in his peripheral, and then Jack is there. Jack is there, his vision blurred by Mac’s tears, like a sick repeat of that night in the war room. This time, the roles are reversed, Jack being forced to watch as Mac finally succumbs to the cold. Terrified. Helpless. At least the real Jack won't have to watch.

Jac- no, not Jack, his hallucination, looks just how Mac had imagined he would look, tense and concerned and wrapped in too many layers “because I hate the cold, Mac.” He slurs out an apology, trying to wipe at his eyes, because even Jack's hallucination shouldn't have to be cold. Murdoc wasn't cold.

“It's okay, brother.” When Jack reaches for him Mac flinches back. Pain always shattered the hallucinations, and he just wants to sleep .Of all the hallucinations he's had, please let this be the one he accepts that warm embrace with. He was done fighting. He'll stop here, with Jack.

Real or not.

But his flinch doesn't deter the hallucination, because it's reaches forward, outward, concern painted all over his face. He, it, Jack, grabs onto his shoulder. It's strong, painful, reigniting every bruise from the last two days. Fear constricts around his chest. But then the fog clears and he's not back in the compound, and there are no syringes or brass knuckles or ropes, just Jack.

Just Jack.

Jack's still there.

For a moment, the world stills. Mac lets out a strangled breath. “J-Jack?”

“Yeah,” Jack, Jack, shifts, laughing wetly as he wipes at his nose, and why was there blood? “Yeah, kid, right here. I'm right here, Mac. Are you back with me?”

Relief hits him like a truck, and Mac doesn't realize he's falling forward until Jack grabs him. The older agent is talking, and it's too loud and too fast, or maybe he just can't keep up. He hasn't been keeping up. Mac barely recognizes the steadying hand that remains on his shoulder, pushing him back up to a sitting position. His body feels heavy, his head light. The tears don't stop dripping down his face.

“Hold on, Mac. Hold on. Man, brother, do you realize how messed up you are right now?”

And then Jack is touching him, warm, solid, there, hands brushing over the bruising on his arms, neck, and torso as he checks for any serious damage. Mac can only blink now, taking in every detail. Sleep's tendrils still wrap around his mind, promising. But he can't listen to it. Not now. His eyes flick over his crease between Jack's brows, the redness of his cheeks, the snowflakes caught on his jacket. His breath catches every time he inhales, disbelieving. Even the pain is background noise at this point, Jack in the forefront. He can't... he can't be real.

Is this the drugs?

“Geez, Mac, you're freezing.”

And then Jack is pulling off his soaked shirt. Mac lets him. Everything feels heavy, distant, and maybe he can still drown. The wave is closer, daunting as it looms in the horizon. Jack moves slowly, oblivious to the water, working the sleeves off his arms. It's already been pulled over his head, Mac realizes. Jack presses warm fingers against the inside of Mac's wrist.

Mac's eyes fall to his hands, almost uncomfortable with the warmth as Jack holds his arm steady. His fingers were... blue? They shouldn't be... shouldn't be blue...

“Hey, hey. You stay with me, brother.” Suddenly, Jack's snapping in front of his face, pulling Mac from a brink he didn't even know he stood on. It's... terrifying. Dangerous. He lets his shaking fingers twist into the sleeve of Jack's shirt. Grounding him. Finally, he has something to ground him.

Don’t be the drugs.

“Easy. Right here. I'm right here. Haven't left ya. Hold on.”

And it doesn't make sense. “J'ck...”

“I know, Mac. Give me a minute.” Jack zips down his jacket. Mac's grip tightens. Every muscle tenses, and it hurts. He's shaking his head, even as Jack pulls off the layer and drapes it around his shoulders It's too cold not to be wearing a jacket. Jack should know this. Jack can't freeze too. Jack can't die with him.

He is helpless to stop it, though, as Jack zips the over-sized jacket up around Mac's form. Jack grabs Mac's numb hands, thumbs brushing over the rope burns circling his wrists, and puts them in the deep pockets. Warm needles prick his fingertips.

This is the drugs.

“It's not. It's not the drugs, okay? I'm right here.” Jack's punching something into his phone, one hand holding Mac up. His hunt and peck method is even slower with one hand, and for some reason Mac can't help but chuckle at it. He wonders why Jack looks even more concerned. He doesn't understand how Jack is there.

“Why did you take off your jacket, huh?”

Mac blinks in confusion, a low buzz growing louder in his ears. The exhaustion is settling in his chest, making it harder to breathe. His mind blanks with the answer. He... he had a reason. He meets Jack's eyes, eyes blown wide, and then he turns towards the forest. Panic starts building in his throat. He took off his jacket but he had a-

“Hey, hey, Mac, it's okay. I don't need to know. Not yet. You just stay with me. You're stronger than this, you hear me?” Jack's talking to him. Mac blinks, raising his eyes to meet Jack's. He finds his smile. “That's right. Just stay with me, brother. You did good, and we're going to get you out of here. Get you to a hospital. No more of whatever's going on up there, all right?”

The older agent looks close to tears. Somehow, that was his fault. Mac swallows, because it always was. Was the blood trickling down from Jack's nose his fault too?

Abruptly, Jack moves, leaning forward, and Mac flinches out of instinct. The sharp movement sends the forest into a spiral, spinning and tunneling, and suddenly the whole world drops out from underneath him. He's falling. Falling into the darkness and wait not now I'm not ready-

Familiar hands grab him, halting his descent, and then he is lifted up away from the inky waters.

Jack's talking to someone else, Mac realizes slowly. The gray retreats from his vision. He rolls his head upwards, and the trees are moving. No, he's moving. Jack's holding him, carrying him, trekking through the forest. Was it east?

The world tilts once again.

Maybe he makes a noise, because suddenly Jack pauses, calling out Mac's name. His voice is distant. But he's there. He's right there. Mac breathes through the nausea, nodding once to let him to know that he's okay, he'll be fine. Jack's there.

This... this can't be the drugs.

Jack doesn't respond for a moment, and Mac is suddenly unsure if the nod looked any different than the tremors that have begun to wrack his frame once again. Mac forces out another breath. Wonders if he needs to try to speak.

“Okay, Mac, hold on. Just a little longer, brother.”

But Jack knows. He always does.

It's when the helicopter comes into sight that Jack starts talking directly to Mac again. It's a soothing flow of words, something about Bozer and hot chocolate and blankets. He's past the point where he can focus on them. Instead, Mac lets the words wash over him, comforting his frayed senses. He buries his nose into the jacket, welcoming the comforting smell of leather and cologne that was just Jack. This is... this is safe.

This isn't the drugs.

Finally, safe in Jack's arms, Mac lets his eyes drift close.