Here we are with m next MacGyver fic! Please leave a review on your way out and let me know what you think!

Mac was exhausted. He and Jack had been moving non-stop for the better part of a week and Mac felt like he was a walking bruise. Boot camp and basic training was exhausting. EOD training was exhausting. Training with Jack after they'd been recruited by the DXS made Mac feel he'd been ground into paste and mashed into the floor. What Mac felt now was something similar to that.

All he really wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep for a week.

First though, he had to get past Bozer. Bozer, who had a finely honed 'my best friend is spewing absolute bullshit about being fine' radar that was built on thirteen years of friendship. If Boze even suspected Mac was half as sore and bruised as he was, Bozer'd tie him down to the couch and never let him leave.

Mac stared down at his doorknob, keys in hand, and vaguely wondered if just passing out on the porch until Bozer left for work was an option. Maybe he could just call Jack and have him come back to pick him up and just crash in Jack's guest room (though Jack would really only let him get away with it once before he forced him to actually deal with his problems, but whatever).

Mac sighed before pushing his key into the lock and opening the door. Mac hefted his duffle bag higher up on his shoulder and did his best not to limp as he walked toward the kitchen, where he could hear – and smell – his best friend cooking breakfast.

"Mac!" Bozer grinned when Mac came up by the counter, dropping his bag and nudging it out of the way with his foot. Boze dumped some batter into a pan – looked like he was making pancakes and eggs. Mac hadn't really been hungry before, but it seemed like his stomach was changing its mind, which was fair since Bozer made the best pancakes.

"I was starting to think you were never getting home man. Didn't you leave the airport hours ago?" Bozer continued talking as he cooked.

"Yeah," Mac replied as he eased himself onto a bar stool, "Had to swing by work first and file some paperwork. I have the rest of today and tomorrow morning off before I have to go back to the office and finalize everything, though."

"Man, who knew a think tank would require so much paperwork." Bozer started grabbing plates and utensils, eyeballing Mac.

Mac knew Bozer (and pretty much everyone else they knew) thought Mac was too skinny. Boze had been determinedly been trying to get Mac to put on weight since they were ten, and it never worked. Every time Mac had returned to Mission City to visit while on leave, Boze never stopped throwing food at him. Bozer would swear up and down at every leave that Mac had lost weight (though he was a little less vehement about that after he was paired up with Jack. Probably because Jack would physically drag him away to eat if he had to rather than let Mac skip eating to work on his projects).

"It's probably because of all the government contracts," Mac replied, swiping the syrup as soon as Bozer sat Mac's plate in front of him. Unfortunately, the reach for syrup pulled on Mac's sore ribs, and he wasn't quite able to hide his wince from Bozer.

"You okay, Mac?" Bozer asked as he leaned on the counter across from Mac.

"Yeah," Mac said, "just sore from sitting in the plane so long, I guess."

Lie, Mac thought. The soreness was from the bruises running down his ribs in a rather spectacular rainbow of color. The plane ride probably didn't do him any favors in the soreness department, really, so not a big lie but…

Mac still hated lying to his best friend. Ever since he joined the army, there were times he couldn't give details about what he was doing to Bozer, and Bozer understood that. But even then, Mac had never outright lied to Bozer. He knew, when he had been looking over the employment paperwork with DXS, that it would be different; Jack had warned him that working as an intelligence operative would, at times, require lying and deceit in his personal life towards the people around him that didn't and couldn't know where he was or what he was doing.

Despite Jack's warnings about the life of an intelligence operative largely being one of deception (especially around the people you love), he hadn't really had to lie to Bozer so far. Jack told him it was because the DXS was starting them off lightly, seeing what they were capable of as a team, but he'd been hoping it would last.

Lying about how sore he was minor, but…

Mac's stomach rolled, and he poked at his eggs with his fork.

"Want some ibuprofen then? Or the heating pad?" Bozer frowned and nudged Mac's plate when he noticed Mac had stopped eating.

"No," Mac answered. "I'll be okay. Probably just going to go to sleep after you go to work, honestly."

Mac swirled his fork through his eggs, not looking up. Bozer finished his own plate, dropped it in the sink, and grabbed his keys off the counter.

"You sure you're feeling alright man? I know you love my pancakes and eggs and you've hardly touched them. I can stay home if you need me, dude."

"No," Mac said again. "I'm just tired."

"Okay Mac, if you're sure," Bozer said. He walked over and threw an arm around Mac's shoulders, giving him a quick side hug. "Call me if you need anything bro, see ya in nine hours."

Mac weakly smiled at Bozer. "See you later, Boze. Have a good day at work."

Bozer left, and Mac kept staring down at his plate, not really hungry anymore. Pancakes and eggs; just like Bozer made every time Mac came home over break at MIT or for leave in the army, and, recently, work trips. Mac knew it was Bozer's way of welcoming him home and reminding him that, even with his family dead and gone (or in his dad's case, just plain gone), that he still had people to come back to, that there were people who still loved him and worried about him.

Mac wrapped an arm around his bruised ribs and wondered how many more times he would come home with a bruised and aching body (and maybe, one day, worse) and have to lie to Bozer about why he was hurting or even how. Eventually, Mac knew, he would even have to lie about where he was going. So far Mac has gotten away with the truth, but he knew he wouldn't much longer. Even just that tiny kind-of lie of why he was sore now left a bad taste in his mouth and a pit in his stomach.

How many more times was he going to lie to Bozer while sitting in front of Bozer's special welcome home breakfast?