As they neared the double doors with the Turkish words Ameliyat Odası (operating theater) written on them, Mac knew he wouldn't be allowed to go back there. He looked down at his partner, who was unconscious again. Each of Jack's breaths fogged up the clear plastic oxygen mask, that had been placed on him when they arrived.
"We've made it this far, big guy don't give up on me now." Mac gave Jack's shoulder a gentle squeeze and watched him disappear through the double doors.
Mac sat in the waiting room, the unspent adrenaline caused his hands to shake, he lowered his head into his hands and let the heft still them.
He knew the risks he took with this job and accepted them, but this wasn't supposed to happen to the people he cared about. This wasn't supposed to happen to Jack.
With nothing to distract him, the weight of everything that had happened in the last few days started to come crashing down on him. His subconscious kicked in and shoved each of the otherwise debilitating emotions and memories into their own box to be dealt with later, if at all.
Some of the memories started to knife through the barrier. Jack was drowning, choking under the steady stream of water. Sinclair twisting the knife in Jack's side, Jack screaming, he had never seen his friend in so much pain. Jack's blood, too much blood.
Mac squeezed his eyes shut tighter with each painful memory. His tried and true method of compartmentalism had failed him, and as his breath quickened, he felt the room start closing in, suffocating him.
In an attempt to stave off what could only be the beginnings of a panic attack, the young agent pushed himself to stand up, forcing his brain to focus on moving his body instead.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Harper?" Asked a woman in pale green scrubs.
Mac hesitated long enough to glance around the waiting room. He mentally kicked himself for not looking at the documents Matty had sent. There was only one other person there and they didn't look like they would have an English surname, so he took the chance and replied, "Yes, I am."
"Hello sir, I am the surgical assistant to Dr. Costas and I came to deliver an update on the condition of your father." The woman's accent held a distinct Greek intonation.
Mac felt the pit in his stomach grow with the uncertainty he felt, and his hands trembled along with his voice when he spoke. "How is he?
"We continued the transfusion and he was given five pints of blood total. His vitals improved a great deal and Dr. Costas was able to remove the bullet. She is currently performing debridements to the two infected knife wounds," the woman informed him, "Your father will be moved to the intensive care unit to start antibiotics. He has a very serious infection, but as long as no complications arise, we think he will recover just fine."
Mac choked out the breath he had been holding, then stepped over to the chairs to plop down in one. His legs suddenly felt weak and wobbly.
"Your father has a very strong will, I've never seen someone survive so much blood loss before," the assistant stated with a look of awe on her face.
"Yes, he does," Mac agreed with a smile. "Will you notify me when I can see him?
"Yes, as long as he stays stable in the recovery room, he will be moved to the ICU and you can visit him there," The nurse nodded in the affirmative.
"Thank you so much for keeping me updated. I've been going crazy out here," Mac said sincerely. He took a deep breath for the first time in what seemed like forever. The fear and uncertainty that had gripped him so fiercely had begun to loosen its hold on him.
"No problem, Mr. Harper." She offered a kind smile with her reply and turned to go back to the operating room.
Mac rubbed his face, wincing when his fingers came in contact with the cuts on his cheek. He had forgotten about them. He must look a sight.
He looked down at his hands and saw dried blood surrounding his nail beds. His stomach turned over when he realized it was from his best friend. The image of him pushing down on Jack's gunshot wound as hard as he could and the sound of his partner's screams of pain flooded in unbidden. He stood and walked quickly to the restroom. He scrubbed at his hands until he couldn't see the blood anymore.
The last thing he needed right now was to be reminded of the pain he caused his partner. He already felt guilty for Sinclair focusing most of his sadistic attention on Jack. If only he hadn't shown how much Jack meant to him, then maybe his friend wouldn't have been hurt so badly. He shook his head from side to side trying to put that line of thinking out of his mind, but as much as he wished he could, he couldn't change what happened to Jack.
He stepped out into the waiting room and found that Dr. Costa's assistant was waiting for him. "Hello again, Mr. Harper. We've arranged a private room for your father on the intensive care floor. If you want to get cleaned up while you wait for us to bring him up, the room has a shower."
"That would be great, thank you."
Mac followed as the nurse led the way to the private room in the intensive care unit.
She stopped outside the door and handed him a navy pair of scrub pants and a white t-shirt.
Mac lifted the new set of clothes slightly to indicate them. "Thanks again." He couldn't wait to wash the stink of Sinclair's prison off him.
He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it. While he waited for the water to heat up he shucked his clothes and threw each article in the trash.
The water felt amazing on his skin. It was as if it was melting away layers of tension between his shoulders. The blond watched as streaks of red disappeared down the drain as he rinsed the crusted blood off the back of his head. He winced when his fingers came in contact with a gash back there.
'Well that explains the headache,' Mac thought to himself. His torso was decorated with blooms of purple and blue. His hands gingerly swept across them with the soap. After all the grime and blood had been rinsed off he begun to feel human again.
Just as he turned the faucet handle to the off position, there was urgent knock on the bathroom door. His heart rate quickened as he just knew something was wrong.
He quickly dressed and opened the door. "Mr. Harper can you come with me to the recovery room, please? He has been calling out for someone named "Mac" and we have had to restrain him. We've already given him the maximum safe dose of sedatives, but he won't stop trying to get up."
Mac was already out the door and running towards the surgical wing before she could finish. The nurse trailed behind and ran to catch up.
Just before they reached the door to the recovery room Mac could hear his partner's voice, and as tormented and raspy as it was, it was good to hear. Mac opened the door and rushed to Jack's side.
"You killed my friend, what makes you think I'll tell you anything, Silva?" Jack spat out.
Jack didn't have flashbacks often. Usually only serious injuries or high fevers tended to trigger them and this time Jack had both. Mac leaned over into Jack's line of sight and spoke softly. "Hey big guy, how ya doin'?"
Jack didn't even look at him, he just continued to pull at the padded restraints. Suddenly he let out a pained yelp, which was followed by a scream that sounded painfully similar to those he had heard yesterday when Sinclair had been using the picana on Jack.
'He must be reliving the time he was captured by the cartel leader Carlito Silva.' The young agent thought.
Mac reached across Jack's body and gently placed a hand on the side of his feverish face. He used his thumb to stroke near his temple, mimicking a move that Jack had used on him when Mac had been poisoned and delirious. The physical touch had helped anchor him and soothe his mind.
Jack's side ached and his insides felt like they were boiling. He really did not like electricity. Jack's thoughts returned to his partner Robbie, who was married and had a kid on the way. That baby would never meet its dad all because he couldn't protect his partner. A sob nearly escaped his lips, but he clamped down on it. He would never give Silva the satisfaction.
"Jack… hey big guy, snap out of it."
Jack's back arched as another scream was torn from his lips. "Dammit Jack, it's not real!" Mac yelled. His heart ached for his partner and not for the first time he wished he could take away the pain on Jack's face. How could he defeat an enemy he couldn't see?
Jack finally got a breather when Silva left the room for urgent business. He felt his chest heaving and pressure at his temple. He heard his name being called, but it was muted, like he was under water. He heard it again, louder this time. He felt warmth on the side of his face and blinked to try to make his eyes focus. 'I know that voice.' Jack thought. Slowly blond hair and blue eyes, that he would recognize anywhere, came into focus.
"Mac… are you real?" the older agent questioned softly.
"Yeah buddy it's me," Mac's voice wavered with emotion.
Jack suddenly looked stricken. "Please tell me that bastard didn't get you too!"
"No man. It was just a bad dream," Mac soothed. He couldn't really go into detail with so many ears around.
"But It was so real," Jack rasped.
"I know buddy, I know," Mac answered, still sliding his thumb over Jack's temple.
Jack's eyes roved around the room. "Where are we?"
"We-" Mac's answer was cut off when he heard the familiar pop pop pop of gunfire coming from somewhere in the hospital. Mac ran to the door that led out to the main hallway. "Mac, don't go out there!" Jack demanded hoarsely. Mac cracked the door open to peer out.
Eight men in tac gear were in the hall, and one had gripped a nurse by the front of her scrubs and lifted her until her toes just brushed the tile floor. He yelled at her in Arabic
"'ayn al'amrikiuwn" Where are the Americans? Mac translated quickly and his stomach dropped. 'This couldn't be happening.'
To be continued…