Summary: Improvisation is Mac's life. Ever since his grandfather made a fishing lure out of a soda can tab and a shiny gum wrapper when Mac was four years old, Mac's always looked for an alternative solution to a hard-sometimes impossible-problem. But Matty, when they first met, said improvisation gets people killed. So, what if, on one particular mission, Mac improvises...and people die?
No pairing. Just Mac and Jack's epic bromance.
Author's Notes: Well, I'm back, after yet another long hiatus. My second semester of college robbed me of anything resembling a life. Either I was buried in homework, working double shifts, or too tired to do anything but crash on the couch. Not to mention the fact that I've suffered from the worst writers block of my entire writing career. But, anyway, enough about me.
This gem has been a work in progress for over a year now, and I've finally chalked up the nerve to publish it. Part of the reason why I hesitated is because I plan for it to be a multichapter work, and I'm nervous about starting multichapter stories and not finishing them. As of right now, I'm planning on two additional chapters: a follow-up chapter and a prequel of sorts. I'm in the process of moving as well as summer classes, so I'm not sure when the next chapter will come out-hopefully before my next semester starts, though. This chapter does not necessarily end on a cliffhanger, so it can act as a standalone, which helps.
I got halfway through season 2 before college got in the way, so I'm labeling this as AU-ish, to avoid confliction with actual events in the show.
I'm honestly quite proud of how this came out, but I'll leave the final judgment up to you. I'd appreciate any and all reviews. I'd love to hear your thoughts! Don't be afraid to let me know if I need to work on anything lacking or if I need to fix any mistakes.
This is unbeta'd, and I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors.
Disclaimer: I do not own MacGyver or its characters.
We have an expression in prize fighting: "Everyone has a plan until they've been hit." Well my friend, you've just been hit.
—Charles Remington, The Ghost in the Darkness (1996), Dir. Stephen Hopkins
Rain pattered against the car, the soothing sound filling the silence. The clouds hung low, clinging to the skyscrapers as if their burden was too heavy for them to bear alone.
Mac watched the water droplets race across the window that his head rested against, ignoring his partner's worried glances. He tried to stare past his reflection in the glass, but his gaze was eventually drawn to the haunted eyes looking back at him.
Puffs of condensation appeared on the glass with each exhale.
"Hey." Jack's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Mac, talk to me." His voice left no room for argument.
But neither did Mac's. "There's nothing to talk about, Jack." It took everything he had to steady his voice.
A tear slipped past the younger man's defenses. Terrified screams echoed in his ears.
"I failed."
The rain continued to fall.
"You disobeyed a direct order," Matty hissed, seething.
Mac inhaled, staring at a point on the wall behind his boss. Her words cut, but he didn't deny them. Couldn't. Not when…Mac's sight went blurry, and he blinked once, twice, to clear the tears that threatened to escape.
"Now, Matty," Jack said, stepping in to plead his friend's case, "just wait—"
"No, Jack," Matty snapped, and the soldier took an involuntary step backwards. The director of Phoenix turned her attention on the younger agent. "I warned you what would happen if—when—your luck ran out. And it looks like it finally did."
Mac met his superior's gaze for the first time since he'd entered her office. If Matty noticed the glimmer of fear in his eyes, she didn't see it—or didn't care.
"I gave you a chance to prove me wrong, Mac." Matty's expression was disappointed, her voice genuinely apologetic. "But today you just proved me right. Twenty-two people are dead. Because of you."
Mac winced, wishing, not for the first time, that the floor would crack open and swallow him. He heard the screams again, saw the terror in the eyes of the men, women, children that were killed.
"You are suspended indefinitely," Matty announced.
"Matty!" Jack challenged, outraged. "You can't be ser—"
"And when, or if," Matty continued, raising her voice over Jack's outraged spluttering, "you return, things will be different. I told you that if you screwed up just once, your dictionary would be missing a word. You play by my rules now, MacGyver."
"Stop!" Jack shouted, tired of being ignored, of watching his best friend get crucified for something that wasn't his fault. "You can't blame Mac for this!"
Matty finally turned to Jack, her expression icy. "Oh, I can, and I will. Mac didn't follow orders—my orders—and twenty-two people died as a result."
Jack's face flushed, and his hands curled into fists. "What makes you think the outcome would've been better if he had followed orders?" Jack argued, the veins in his temple bulging against his skin. "There was no way to know what was going to happen!"
"It doesn't matter the outcome, Jack," Matty retorted. "Someone needs to take the fall. If orders had been followed, it would have been that maniac responsible. But they weren't, and now Mac is in Oversight's crosshairs. He's looking for someone to blame—and so are the families left behind."
Jack scoffed, pacing away with his hands laced behind his head. He turned back, dropping his arms. "This isn't fair, Matty," he said, and if his voice quivered, none of them acknowledged it.
"My hands are tied," Matty replied. "I want to help him, Jack." She looked to Mac as she continued, "Believe me, I really do. But twenty-two people died today. This isn't something we can file away with just a slap on the wrist."
Jack shook his head, turning to face his best friend, who hadn't spoken a word since the car ride to Phoenix. "Say something, Mac," he pleaded, hoping for a response, something, anything to break the worrying silence.
Mac looked away, lips thinning into a firm line. He blinked once, inhaling past the lump in his throat. He faced his friends, refused to meet their expecting gazes. "M…Matty's right, Jack."
Jack laughed humorlessly, spinning away and running a hand over his scalp. Frustration bubbled inside, but he didn't know why he expected his friend to actually stand up for himself for once.
"You know she's right," Mac continued. "This is all my fault—"
"Like hell it is!" Jack fumed. He glared at Mac, pointed a finger at his chest. "You and I are going to have a long talk when we get home."
"Jack—"
"Go get in the car, Mac," Jack snapped. "I'll meet you there."
"Oversight is demanding a debriefing," Matty interjected. "Neither of you are going anywhere."
"Well, Oversight can go screw himself," Jack growled. When he saw that Mac wasn't moving, he used his commanding officer voice, the one he used in Afghanistan, the one that left no room for disobedience. "Get in the car, Mac." He faced Matty, dialed back his anger. "I need a moment."
Jack hated pulling rank on the kid, knew Mac must be seething despite the guilt that was tearing at his insides. He would have to apologize later, one more thing to add to the Talk. But for now, he had bigger concerns—like getting Mac home and away from the ridiculous circus this situation had become.
He waited until Mac left, waited until the door slammed shut behind his hurting best friend before he spoke again. "Matty, there's got to be something you can do," he beseeched, running a hand down his face. The fight drained out of him, leaving him exhausted and worried and stretched thin. All he wanted to do was go home and get to Mac before the kid closed himself off for good.
No—all he wanted to do was bubble-wrap Mac and tuck him away where the world that was bent on crushing him couldn't find him.
Matty sighed, equally worn-out. "Jack, you know I would do anything for my agents, especially Mac. But there's nothing I can do. This has fallen into Oversight's hands, not mine."
Jack shook his head, cursing Oversight, cursing the psychopath that put them in this situation in the first place, cursing the world for being so cruel to Mac. "What's going to happen to him?"
"After the debriefing, Oversight will decide whether Mac stays or not," Matty replied, moving behind her desk. "At best, Mac is looking at a six-month suspension, followed by a year's probation. At worst, Mac doesn't come back."
Jack leveled Matty with a hard look. "You realize that if he goes, I go, right?"
"I am well aware, Jack," Matty responded, meeting his gaze head-on. "I am aware that I would be losing two of my best agents in one swoop. But it's Oversight's decision. If I interfere, I could get fired and this whole team could get disbanded."
Jack ducked his head in resignation. "This sucks, Matty."
"You don't need to remind me," Matty said, shuffling the paperwork around on her desk. After the recent mission failure, there was more than usual. "Now, why don't you get out of here and take care of our boy."
Jack nodded, then blinked. "What about Oversight's debriefing?"
Matty paused in her work, her eyes twinkling in amusement. "Well, it's like you said, Jack: Oversight can go screw himself."
Jack didn't try to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes, ma'am." He gave Matty a two-fingered salute, before turning on his heels and marching for the door.
He had a broken best friend to piece together.
The car ride to Jack's apartment was silent, not that Jack expected any different. The pressure was on—Jack could feel the kid slipping away from him with every passing second. Mac was still, unnervingly so. His blue eyes, usually sharp as an owl and bright as the sky, were dull and unfocused, staring at the rain clinging to his window.
"Mac, this isn't how our relationship works, and you know it," Jack began, hoping to break the tension building in the air. "You don't get to shut me out like this. Not me."
"What do you want me to say, Jack?" Mac asked, edgy, riled, both looking for a fight and trying to run from it. "I screwed up, okay? I screwed up, and twenty-two people died."
Jack's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You know that's not true, bud. You didn't kill those people—he did the moment he stole them from their lives."
Mac shook his head, his protest ringing loud and clear. "I could have saved them," he argued, fisting his hands.
"No, you think you could have saved them," Jack countered. "Kid, you need to get it through that beautiful-but-incredibly-thick brain of yours that you can't. Save. Everybody."
"I know that, Jack!" Mac yelled, a glimpse of the strong emotions bubbling beneath the surface. "How could I not?" He slammed a fist against the side of the car, eyes squeezed shut. "But I should have been able to save them," he muttered, rubbing at his eyelids. His voice softened, barely above a whisper. "I could've saved them."
Jack hummed in vehement disagreement, shaking a finger at Mac. "You say that now, because hindsight is 20/20. But back in that moment? How could you have known, Mac?" He took a second to look at his partner, eyes once again settling on the road when Mac showed no signs of meeting his gaze. "Tell me: how could you have ever known? Give me one good explanation. Right here, right now."
Mac's shoulders hunched as he withdrew, lost confidence. That was how Jack knew that he was getting through to the kid, one iota at a time. "I…I should have taken my time, I don…I should've been more careful…or—"
"Mac, stop," Jack ordered, interrupting Mac's faltering excuses, weak attempts to justify his unfounded guilt. "There was a secondary trigger to the secondary trigger. No one would have known."
"But I'm not no one, Jack!" Mac argued, glaring at his best friend. "I should have been able to figure it out."
Jack internally sighed, both in frustration and regret. Mac had never let his reputation as one of Phoenix's finest agents get to his head—or so Jack thought. Reflecting, Jack realized that maybe Mac's reputation had gotten to his partner, but in a way that Jack hadn't anticipated.
Another thing to add to the Talk.
Jack smiled grimly, Mac's words tugging at his heartstrings. "Kid, you are one-of-a-kind," he began, fondness for the young man sitting beside him obvious in his voice, "but you are still human, just like the rest of us. You're going to make mistakes—otherwise, you wouldn't be human."
Silence followed those words, Mac dropping his gaze to his lap before once again staring out the window. Jack considered the lack of response a ceasefire, a plea for respite. He let Mac have his space, let him have a chance to reinforce the walls that Jack had damaged, bruised, chipped. But the ceasefire wouldn't last for long, not with Jack already gearing up for his second offensive.
Mac was out of the car before Jack had a chance to throw it in park, bounding up the fire escape with his duffle bag tossed over his shoulder. He had to get out of that car, the walls closing in. The air had been stifling, every breath requiring more effort than usual. But if he were being honest…he needed to get away from Jack.
Jack's presence, always solid and comforting, threatened Mac's composure, threatened to reduce him to a shriveling mess. Mac needed to be alone, needed to have time to compartmentalize, regroup. He couldn't afford to crumble now, not with the Oversight debriefing coming up, not in the face of everything that happened. He needed to be strong and accept the consequences head-on.
But Mac should've known that Jack wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't give him the time he needed to completely close off his emotions. Mac had to give him credit though—Jack took much longer to approach him than usual.
Mac had let himself in to Jack's apartment using the key Jack had given to him years ago, a couple months after they returned to the States from Afghanistan, and retreated to the spare bedroom that had become Mac's room. By the time Jack's boots thudded on the hardwood floors, approaching the bedroom, Mac had almost unpacked half of his suitcase, had almost succeeded in boxing up his emotions, on the verge of burying them so he could function.
The footsteps stopped, and Mac shook his head, trying to deflect the conversation brewing in his partner's head. "Not now, Jack." He had yet to face the doorway, where he knew his friend was standing.
"Then when, Mac?" Jack asked, unwilling to give in.
Mac stopped at his suitcase, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. Just…Just not now, okay?"
Jack took a step inside. "Mac, you know as well as I do that if we don't do this now, it will never happen." His Southern drawl, usually rough and grating, softened, soothing Mac's frayed nerves with its quiet tones, its lilting timbre.
"What's so wrong with that?" Mac asked, pleading, begging, hoping. He finally glanced at his friend, saw a gentle, amused, compassionate smile on his face. Mac saw the sympathy in Jack's eyes, swallowed, looked away. His stomach turned.
"Because I know you, partner," Jack replied, taking another step. "I know that you're going to try to shove those feelings into a box, letting the pressure build and build and build, until one day it explodes—taking you with it." Another step. "I know that you're going to try to slap a band-aid on that gaping wound in your chest and ignore it, letting infection set in, until disease spreads to every inch of you." Jack stopped, regained his breath. "Mac, you're my family. I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I won't."
Mac shook his head in denial, shifting his weight, Jack's proximity threatening to undo all the progress Mac had made. "Jack, I just…I can't—" Can't do this. Can't breathe. Can't even pick a place to start. "I just can't." Pressure built up behind his eyes, his head began to pound. But he couldn't cry—he couldn't.
Jack inched closer, now within several feet of his friend. "Their deaths are not on you, brother." He ducked his head, tried to get Mac to meet his gaze. "They're on all of us. If we're going to play the blame game, then we are all at fault. Mac, look at me."
Mac squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. He didn't want to look, knew what would happen if he did. Jack would find the cracks in Mac's walls and blow them open. Mac, as always, wouldn't have the strength to resist, would crumble, break, fall apart. His heart pounded, scared to be so vulnerable and weak. Defenseless. Exposed.
But this was Jack.
So Mac looked.
Reluctantly, haltingly, Mac raised his eyes to Jack, who smiled encouragingly, relieved.
Jack moved closer, holding Mac's gaze. He gentled his voice, his expression, and said, "This is not your fault—Mac, look at me." When he regained Mac's attention, he repeated, "This is not your fault."
Mac, cornered, had no choice but to confront those words, couldn't run from them, couldn't ignore them. He dropped his stare, looking anywhere but Jack. His hands began to shake—he fisted them at his sides. He was rapidly losing control, and Jack knew it.
"You don't have to bear this alone, brother."
Mac covered his watering eyes with his hand, tilted his face to the ceiling, tried to swallow the lump in his throat. His chest constricted, and oxygen became sparse.
"C'mere, Mac," Jack said.
Mac didn't have to look to know that Jack was holding his arms out for a hug, but Mac shook his head, stomach dropping. He didn't want the contact, didn't want the comfort. He didn't deserve the sympathy…He just didn't deserve any of the kindness Jack was showing him.
But Jack was unyielding, taking one step closer, then another. As the distance between them shrunk, Mac began to tremble, barely perceptible, his body tense, torn between fleeing and staying. He was on the verge of deciding which action to take a second later, but by then it was too late.
Jack had him in reach, an arm closing around his taut shoulders, pulling him in, a hand resting on his head. Fingers dug lightly into his hair, the hand on his shoulder squeezed gently.
"It's going to be okay, kid," Jack murmured, tugging him closer, a reminder that he will never—ever—let go. That he was always going to be there.
Mac felt it—the breaking point—as if something inside him, inside his heart, snapped. Mac removed the hand from his eyes, fisted it in Jack's shirt. He buried his face in the crook of Jack's neck and cried—cried for the first time since he was five years old. He never once cried for his dad, for Peña, for Niki—but now the deaths of twenty-two innocent people weighed on his conscience, so he cried.
And it was as if a dam had burst open: sobs wracked his body, almost two decades' worth of pent up emotions spilling out, uncontrollable, irrepressible. He clung to Jack like a lifeline, drowning, suffocating. Everything—the screams, the memories, the pain—roared inside of him like a hurricane, ripping, tearing him up inside.
Jack's arms held him up, held him together. They contained the raging storm, prevented Mac from splitting apart, from destroying everything in the vicinity. When the storm eventually died down, when the screams of innocent people finally faded away, when the tears completely ran out, Jack was still standing—and so was Mac.
Jack, with tears in his own eyes, ached for the kid, the young man that had become his best friend, his little brother. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, wishing, not for the first time, that he could take his friend's pain away, heal his wounds, new and old. He wanted to shelter Mac, protect him from the hurt. But he couldn't, so he had to settle for piecing back together what the world broke.
"You're going to be okay, Mac," he said, once the kid's sobs turned to sniffles. Mac's body continued to shudder, exhausted and spent. He stroked the blond strands, heart swelling with love for the young man. "I promise."
"Everyone has a plan until they've been hit." Well my friend, you've just been hit. The getting up is up to you.
Soundtrack: "Unsteady" by X Ambassadors
Author's Notes: Ugh. The angst. I love it.
Anyway, please let me know what you thought! I know, I know-Matty may have seemed a little OOC with her harsh treatment towards Mac, but, in my opinion, it's an accurate reaction in the face of such a devastating mission. She predicted that people would get hurt or killed because of Mac's improvisation, and finding out she was right after all would leave her extremely angry and disappointed, at Mac as well as herself, for not following her gut instinct in the first place. Let me know if you agree or disagree.
Most of all, I'm just hoping to hear back on parts that struck you the most. What did you like? Dislike? Were the characters portrayed accurately?
Feedback is loved and appreciated!
Until next time.