Another Way
The most important thing right now is that Jack is okay.
It's a reminder that becomes a mantra as Mac stares down at his hands, at the red skin already forming into blisters. Jack climbs to his feet and falls to his knees and Mac's thoughts falter, his mantra failing at its simple goal—to justify Mac's actions to himself. Jack is okay, yes—for the most part—and Mac certainly saved his life, there's no doubt about that. But as a simple touch from Jack sends Mac collapsing to the floor, his vision blocked by tendrils of smoke and fire that only he can see, Mac's mind insists that there must have been another way, preferably one that would have saved Jack's life without damaging him—and Mac—in the process.
The reasonable side of Mac's brain says that he did the best he could under the circumstances, that tender feet and scorched palms can heal but cremated friends can't. The logical and emotional sides—more often than not at odds but apparently in agreement now—disagree, claiming instead that there must have been a less-painful, less dangerous solution staring Mac in the face, if only he had been smart enough, been fast enough to spot it.
It's a message that has been drilled into Mac by his instructors, by his teachers, by his own mind, again and again: if someone gets hurt, you must have done something wrong. There's always another way, always another solution, never any reason for anyone to be killed or injured or even inconvenienced. If Mac does his job right, no one should get hurt, especially Jack.
The increasing pace of Mac's heartbeat is matched by the throbbing of his hands, and the voices in his head quicken the rhythm of their chant to keep time.
It's another, more forceful mantra, one that Mac is all-too-familiar with. He's become accustomed to failure, used to making mistakes and getting an innocent—or worse, a friend—hurt or killed. He knows that if he doesn't force those voices down he'll spiral, lose sight of what went right and focus only on what went wrong.
It's easier said than done.
"Mac, look at me." A familiar voice says in a familiar tone, his voice low and soft but also tight with pain. Mac looks up, meets the eyes of the concerned friend he just saved from a fiery death, and tries to convey everything he's never able to say, everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling in a single look. And all it takes is a single look.
Jack pulls Mac close and wraps strong arms around him, taking special care to avoid touching Mac's injured hands.
The most important thing right now is that Jack is okay, Mac reminds himself—and now, in the arms of his best friend, the voices leave him be.