Warnings for: references to canon-typical violence, references to canon (minor) character death.

Pls don't even bring up the fact that I said I was leaving until after November, I honestly thought I was, but then I watched the newest episode and this plot bunny basically grabbed hold of me and refused to let go until I wrote this, so...

Published over on AO3 as well under the same author name, head over there for more extensive notes, as well as theories on MacGyver's age and evidence that supports it.

Jack glanced over at the man beside him in the car. Blond hair drooped limply over blue eyes dulled by grief and painful memories. Jack silently let out a small puff of air before making a decision and pulling off onto the first side road he saw. After a few minutes MacGyver turned his gaze from the window and glanced over at Jack. "This isn't the way back to the Phoenix Foundation headquarters."

Jack grinned, an expression that did nothing to dull the worry in his eyes. "You're right. How observant."

MacGyver huffed. "What are you doing, Jack? I just want to debrief and then head home."

Jack kept his eyes on the road, not glancing at his passenger as he replied, "Too bad. I'm driving, which means I," he leaned slightly forward over the steering wheel as he turned off the road and into a small parking lot, "Pick the destination." Jack turned off the car and motioned to the forest spread out in front of them. "And this is where I pick."

Angus crossed his arms and sunk down in his seat. "I'm not getting out."

Jack shrugged. "Okay. I may like the forest, but I sure as heck don't like the bugs that come with the view. Staying in the car suits me just fine."

His companion proceeded to draw his knees up to his chest with his arms resting on top of them, perching his sock-clad feet on the edge of the seat. He must've shed his boots at some point in the car ride, as he had a tendency to do with his shoes on car rides of extended periods of time. He looked incredibly like an angsty teenager in that moment, and Jack had to repress a smile of fondness for the kid that he had befriended in a desert years ago and many hundreds of miles away. Angus continued to look out over the forest, and Jack sighed to himself again. "Look, pal, I know this was hard for you-"

He was cut off by a bitter laugh from the blond and a venomous, "Shut up, Jack."

Jack ignored the furious retort from the younger man and continued. "But it ain't gonna do you any good to bottle it up like this. I told you that I was here if you needed to talk, but you ignored that and you're just gonna make it hurt worse if you don't let it out."

MacGyver smacked his hand angrily against the car door and almost shouted, "I told you to shut up!"

Jack kept going, pushing the buttons that he knew MacGyver needed pushed if he was ever going to heal from this loss. "You need to talk to someone. And since I know you won't actually go see anyone if I let you off with some kind of promise to do that, we're going to sit here until you open up about-"

This time the kid really did shout. "About what? About how I was the one supposed to defuse the bomb? About how I'm the one surviving, even though no one would've missed me? About how Pena had a wife and kid, but he's the one that died? About how I should be dead?"

By this point Angus had furious tears leaking from the corners of his eyes; Jack felt his heart clench in sympathy for the younger man. He turned to fully face his friend. "First off, I don't want to ever hear you say that no one would've missed you. I might not have met you yet, but you can be sure that Pena would've been just as torn up over your death as you are over his. And second, don't you ever say that you should be dead again. Things happened the way they did for a reason. I might not know why, but you're supposed to be here today. You got that?"

Angus stared at the older man for a moment before his face crumpled. "But it's my fault he died," he whispered.

Jack let out a huff of air, feeling as if he had been punched in the gut. He reached for the younger man, pulling him into an awkward hug, with the console of the car between them. "Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's not your fault. It's the Ghost's fault. He's the one that set the bomb, he's the one that detonated it. Pena knew what he was risking every time he went to clear a room, just like you did, and he made the choice to go in there instead of you. It's not your fault."

The kid in his arms continued to sob, large, heart-rending sounds wracking his entire body with the grief of losing one of his first real father figures.

Jack held him close, letting him grieve.