His first thought upon approaching consciousness was that something was not right. He had a bad feeling in his already rumbling unhappily gut. As the throb in his head became more persistent he fervently regretted even being alive. What had he ever done to deserve waking up under these kind of circumstances so often in his life? Well, at least he didn't feel any restraints. A barely suppressed chortle of amusement reached his ears thru the cacophony of pain rattling his abused brain. Jack. He was definitely going to kill that man as soon as he could get his body to obey a command. Wait a minute, why am I not wearing a shirt? He wondered, feeling trepidation and momentarily forgetting how much he wanted to get his hands around that muscled neck. I usually sleep in a t-shirt or something heavier, why do i feel cool air on my chest? I'm pretty sure I don't want to know, he thought morosely as the hardly suppressed sounds of merriment in the near vicinity became more noticeable, accompanied by soft Bozer giggles. He braced himself and opened his eyes a slit, just enough to catch sight of the two of them poking each other and watching him with unconcealed delight from the chairs across the room from the couch upon which he found himself. Shit! What now? He wondered before his eyes caught a glimpse of his own chest. Then, to his companions obvious and extremely loud approval his eyes went wide with shock and horror. He bolted up and gaped at himself in disbelief. "Oh man! What did I tell you?" Jack roared. "Totally worth that reaction!" Bozer agreed with zealous glee.
"No, no, no!" Mac cried in abject dismay. 'I didn't!"
"You did!" They both yelled triumphantly. "Nooo!" he yelled, " How could you let me? You're supposed to have my back!" he snarled at his best friends, prior to today. His eyes were filled with shock and dismayed horror as he tried to absorb the upside down but stark and glaringly detailed creature tattooed brilliantly on his upper chest.
"A crow? He sputtered incredulously. "Why do I have a huge crow flying all over my chest?"
"We discussed this in detail last night. Don't you remember?" Jack smuggly goaded him. "We all agreed it was your spirit animal. You know, smart, curious, devious…"
"What?!" Mac demanded in anguish. " You got me wasted and let me get a friggin tattoo on my chest of a fucking crow? Who are you? Why would you let me do that?"
"Let you? Let you? When did you ever listen to me once you had some hair brained idea inside of that genius brain fortress of yours?" Jack yelled back triumphantly. Mac looked to Bozer for support but knew immediately that it was a hopeless gesture. His 'best' friend was practically choking himself laughing so hard. Mac's shoulders slumped in defeat and his head hung in supplication. He had so screwed himself, looking at the wings unfurled in blues and shining black details covering from shoulder to shoulder with one bold eye glaring up at him scornfully.
"Well, I'm guessing you won't be too happy about the other then, huh?" Jack asked sweetly, sporting his usual shit eating grin.
"Wha…?" Mac couldn't even finish the word, his eyes catching Jack's gesture over his shoulder toward his back.
"No, no, no…" he pleaded under his breath as he fell off the couch in his mad scramble to gain his footing. He aimed himself toward his room and only bounced off the walls a few or four times in a desperate rush to get to his bathroom mirror to see what horrible surprise awaited.
Bozer lept to his feet to meet Jack's high five of victory. They cackled and roared, poking at each other, as a howl of curiously indecipherable intent came from the rear area of the house. They fell over onto the now empty couch, tears pouring out of their eyes in their unbridled hysteria. Suddenly the loud and ominous sound of throat clearing interrupted them from their heady victory celebration.
"Okay, what did you two idiots do to Blondie?" Matty demanded in her best interrogator voice. They both gawked in surprise to see their boss glaring at them, standing frighteningly close, with a wide eyed Riley at her elbow. The door to the house stood open and they had not even heard their silent entrance and stealthy approach. "We could hear you two losing it all the way up the drive." Riley informed them with a scornful smile.
Jack bit back one of his usual well rehearsed automatic smart ass interrogation responses and froze his face into what he fervently hoped was an innocent 'who me, I'm nobody, I don't know nothing, and don't even belong here' expression. Matty rolled her eyes over to her other prisoner, Bozer, who was gaping like a fish on a sun bleached boardwalk under the feet of a hungry seagull.
"It was Jack! Jack got Mac so drunk on his ass that he blacked out'" He immediately babbled unchecked and completely without reserve.
Jack elbowed him harshly and growled something incoherent that leached the color out of Bozer's previously dark, flushed cheeks.
Matty sighed heavily, eyes trailing back to Jack's expressive face that was morphing into an angry scowl. He now appeared to be ready and eager to reciprocate the betrayal. "You were happy enough to tattoo a big freaking crow on my boy's chest last night! You deranged Picasso!"
"It was all your doing!" Bozer bellowed back in defense.
"Oh! Like you didn't think he deserved to be paid back for making me think I had some-zombie-apocalypse-death coursing through my veins last month! You came up with the 'make it look fresh, puffy and red with a realistic swollen looking 3D paint job', you little shit!" Before he could choke out a suitable response, their boss's voice broke up the barely begun argument.
"What. Did. You. Do. To. Blondie?" Matty asked again, this time both hands on her hips and eyes burning them with the flames they could swear they felt the heat of.
Jack gave one last valiant attempt at looking innocent, or at least uninvolved, and Matty swore at him under her breath. He didn't have to put any effort into imagining the names she was calling him in her head as his eyes winced involuntarily. She zeroed in on Bozer again, knowing what would happen next. Full disclosure. No surprise there. This smart, talented young man may have the makings of a surprisingly successful agent in the field in the near future, but he was silly putty in her tiny hands.
"Okay, so Jack deactivated Mac's brain with an unholy amount of tequila and then when he passed out I painted a huge crow that looks like a fresh tattoo on his chest." he admitted sheepishly.
"Crow?" Riley and Matty inquired in stereo.
"It's his spirit animal." they supplied in what would have been comically timed harmony in a more favorable situation. Riley and Matty took a moment to look at each other in confusion before returning to the ongoing confession spilling out of the two guilty culprits before them.
"Don't worry, it'll wash off." Jack assured them.
"Eventually." He added triumphantly with a wicked Jack Dalton laugh.
"But he doesn't know that!" Bozer admitted with a tiny trace of guilt.
"You made me do his back man, I thought the crow on his chest was adequate!" Bozer defended himself adamantly.
"What's on his back?" Riley demanded before Matty could even visualize what Mac must look like with a tattoo on his pale mostly hairless skin.
"Oh man! We put a big GRADE A PURE ANGUS BEEF brand on his back, black steer and all!" Jack howled gleefully, illustrating the impressive size of their accomplishment with both hands.
"I gotta see this!" Riley gushed, dropping her back pack unceremoniously on the floor and her heels clacking loudly as she bolted toward the hall that led to Mac's room.
Three sets of astonished eyes followed her hasty and unexpected exit from the room.
"JACK!" Matty bellowed in outrage as a loud and sympathy filled "Oh Mac!" reached their ears from the far side of the house.
"Get your mind out of the gutter woman!" Jack admonished with exasperation.
"It's on his shoulder not his ass!" he growled. Then his wide smile returned, unabashed.
Matty looked behind herself for a chair as she watched two of the men she had to work with on a daily basis fall all over themselves back onto the couch. Like little pre-adolescent children, giggling and clutching at themselves hysterically. This was going to be a long week, she thought, as she began composing the serious, deadly reprimand and strict moratorium on practical jokes she was going to have to impose on the whole group of brilliant, reckless maniacs she commanded at the Phoenix Foundation. Another long, tiresome week.