Defying Physics
By: Ridley
A/N: So sorry this was not finished much sooner. Sometimes it seems to take me forever to get to the end of a story and I appreciate your patience. I hope this long chapter makes up for the wait. I also hope each and every one is having an amazing new year. Thank you to each and every review and comment on this story. As long as you're reading, I'll do my best to keep writing. As usual, Boxer and Mike Briar belong to Gib who graciously lets me include them in this world. Thanks to Mary, who talked me off a ledge a time or two while trying to finish this up and reigned me in on the sappiness(if there is too much sweetness still-it is entirely my fault). If not for her, it might have been next Christmas before it was ready to go. PS-I was glad nature complied and showed that I wasn't taking great creative liberty and that it actually does indeed get extremely cold and snowy here in the South every now and then so my backdrop for Texas was much more believable. Shamefully, it is true that six mere inches of snow is enough to throw us into quite a tizzy.
RcJ
The snow swirling down from the night sky like so much sparkling confetti as Jack climbed out of the taxi was a novelty. He'd known it to happen a few times in Austin but it never amounted to much and he was quite certain he'd never experienced a white Christmas quite like this one. Now the snow piled against the wooden posts at the entrance to The Narrow Path Ranch, sticking to the sprawling oak trees like carefully applied vanilla frosting. Strands of twinkling lights ran the length of the winding fence that led to the house looking a bit like a runway for any errant planes or perhaps a landing strip for Santa's sleigh. A massive wreath hung from the iron awning with the circle 'D' that had greeted visitors since Jack's grandparents had owned the land, making the place look as pretty as a scene from a Christmas card. Jack had never been so glad to be home.
He paid the driver, waving off the man's offer to drop him at the house. Jack needed the time it would take him to walk the long, meandering drive to sort out just what he was going to tell his family. They weren't expecting him and especially not to turn up at 11:30 on Christmas Eve night, like some surprise homecoming from a Hallmark holiday commercial. Jack knew they'd be overjoyed. The gifts he'd hurriedly picked up and had wrapped at the airport would pale in comparison to his presence, but he also knew they'd want answers, answers he wasn't able to give.
Jack tossed his bag over his shoulder, pulling his jacket tighter around him as the wind picked up. He was once more grateful for the scarf and hat his grandmother had sent him as the one drawback of the enchanting scene was that it was freaking cold. The taxi driver had excitedly told Jack it was 31 and the light snow was predicted to keep coming throughout the night and into the next morning. Luckily, Jack hadn't had to worry about flights, arriving via a private plane just as Craddock had promised. Apparently the Central Intelligence Agency was serious about wooing Jack on board.
As Jack's feet crunched along the path he remembered his initial surprise and then the accompanying doubt when he'd tracked Craddock down and demanded to know exactly what in the hell the man had been going on about. Turns out the CIA was in need of men like Jack, men who were skilled with a gun, but who were also stable enough to carry out the kinds of orders that might push others over the invisible line between talent and madness. As Matilda Weber had pointed out to him the next day when she showed up in Kabul, there was only a subtle shade difference between an accomplished sniper and a serial killer. The CIA wanted the former not the latter. The formidable woman sure as hell wasn't the savior in an Apache that Jack had smarted off to his grandmother about but she had brought Jack the rescue and resources he'd needed at a time when he wasn't about to look too hard at the glittering gift before him, even if it might just turn out to be anything but.
Being recruited by a spy agency wasn't something Jack saw in his cards. He was a good old Texas boy, a soldier first and foremost. Of course Jack had watched countless James Bond movies but wasn't sure his cinematic viewing qualified him to take on such a role or assured he was cut out for a tux and an Aston Martin. It would have been like saying ten year old Wilt Bozer was prepared to fight aliens and fly a space shuttle to Mars considering the amount of science fiction movies he watched. Although, Jack had to admit the Bond Girls would have been a welcomed perk to any job.
A vibration in his jacket pocket had him abruptly stopping his trek. He'd almost forgotten about the new cell phone that Craddock had handed him when they'd parted ways at the airport with a promise to be in touch soon. Jack hadn't expected it to be within the hour and he was almost afraid to answer it for fear the past few days had been some kind of elaborate reuse and the person on the other end was going to be Hammond, wanting to know what in the hell did he think he was doing abandoning his post and going off with a bunch of suits.
"Dalton." Jack fought back his irrational fear and tried to pull off a nonchalance he didn't feel.
"You looking over your shoulder for the MP's yet, Tombstone? Briar and I have a bet going on how long it takes for reality to set in and for you to freak. Frankie's already out because he said after what we just pulled off the newbie wouldn't even have the balls to answer the phone."
Jack shook his head at the cocky voice on the other end. He had in fact been looking over his shoulder since leaving the airport. "Craddock, you tell Sutton I said Merry Christmas, and by that I mean screw him. That goes for you and Briar, too."
"Since you just won me some spending cash, I'll let that disrespectful comment go."
"The fact that I saved you and your team's ass didn't earn me some leeway?" Jack had been surprised when the metaphorical ink on the contract he'd signed with Matilda Weber hadn't even dried before he was whisked out of Kabul on a jet headed for Turkey. He continued to walk towards the house in the distance, noting his grandfather had gone all out on the lights as usual. It was as bright as Vegas shimmering in the desert of Nevada like some too good to be believed mirage.
"Hey, I got you back to your precious Texas on Christmas Eve with time to spare and in case you missed it, you are part of this team now so any ass saving is covered in your paycheck. I'm guessing you're in front of a fire warming your toes and drinking eggnog like you're in some Bing Crosby flick?"
"Almost, but not quite." Jack laughed, looking at the snowy scene around him. The landscape glowed a silvery blue and he couldn't help but to feel a moment of panic as if it might all shift, and he'd find himself transported back to the desert. He still couldn't quite believe the events of the last three days. Hammond had warned him-repeatedly-that the CIA didn't mess around. Even though they had the word 'intelligence' in their title, they were often lacking such. He swore that the agency had their fingers in pies that no one ever imagined and that although slick and refined on the surface, they were as down and dirty and cutthroat as some of the rebels and crazy-ass dictators he'd dealt with in numerous third world countries. Hammond wanted Jack to understand that the CIA would do whatever it took to accomplish their end goal, and if he did anything to mess with that, then they were just as likely to end him.
"I hope your little brother has a good Christmas. Having you home should be a hell of a memorable present."
Jack was brought from his musings by the mention of Mac. Clay sounded sincere and Jack wanted to believe the man was on the level, but he'd seen the guy's acting skills and his chameleon-like ability in Turkey when he'd donned a waiter's uniform and served the elite crowd at one of Istanbul's high-end restaurants. The man's Turkish was flawless, as was his knowledge of wine and his charm, convincing their high valued and reclusive target to take the table by the window instead of his preferred setting in the back.
"You still there, Dalton?"
"I'm here." Jack cleared his throat, picking up his pace a bit as the cold seemed to permeate his jacket and layers of clothes to settle uncomfortably into his bones. "Just still getting acclimated to the whole idea of being a part of a different organization. I've been a soldier for most of my adult life and…"
"And now you're going to see all that hard work pay off. Like I told you, there are other ways to serve your country that don't require you to constantly be digging sand out of your shorts and dodging shrapnel. You passed the last test with flying colors. You're in the accelerated program now. After some training, you are going to be working jobs that any twenty-five year old would only dream about and that will make you forget all about the hell that was Afghanistan."
"When exactly will that training start?" Jack asked with some amount of dread. He looked to the sky, blinking away the thick flakes of snow that stuck to his lashes. He was pretty sure nothing could make him forget all he'd been through in the war, he just hoped he wouldn't be experiencing anything worse than what he'd endured in Afghanistan.
"You'll be heading to Camp Peary soon enough my friend but like Matty and I promised, you'll have time with your family and your time away on missions won't be anything like it was with Delta."
Jack tried to focus on the last part and not the non-specific time-line of when he'd begin his stint with the Clandestine Service Division at "The Farm" in Williamsburg. He'd survived Special Forces training. How hard could an ultra-secret spy boot camp be?
"So that means you'll be in touch." If nothing else the military had prepared him for the 'need to know' line of bullshit. He raked a hand over his face, still not liking being left to the whim of superiors but willing to bite the bullet for his family.
"You got it."
"This phone isn't going to self-destruct or anything is it?" Jack forced a chuckle, only half joking but Craddock burst out laughing.
"Are you kidding? That phone is how we're tracking your whereabouts and keeping a tab on what you say and do, Mr. Briggs."
"Then maybe I'll be the one destroying it." Again, Jack was half serious, but Craddock's catching his reference to Mission Impossible and returning with one of his own eased his anxiety a bit. The man and his team were nothing like Boxer and the other boys Jack served with and considered his brothers, but he wanted to believe they could forge some kind of camaraderie. He was pretty much wired to make connections and needed to do so to give what he was doing some purpose beyond mere orders and his government's agenda.
"Keep the phone, man. It's safe. And believe me, if Langley wants to reach out and touch you, they don't need an open line to do it."
"I'll remember that."
"Instead of worrying about being disavowed before you even start, how about you ruminate on the fact that what you pulled off yesterday set back terrorist activity in the mid-east more than half the skirmishes you've led in the Sandbox. Impossible Missions Force has nothing on our team. Your old man would be proud, Jack. You should be too."
Jack wasn't so sure his dad would approve of him putting a bullet in a guy's head as he dined on lobster and champagne with his business partners even if said guy was one of the top arms dealers and money launderers in the Mid-East. Jack Dalton Sr. spent his entire career piloting rescuing missions. He was in the business of saving lives, not ending them with a single sweet shot from a sniper's rifle.
"Right, man." Jack finally found his voice, the need to seek refuge from the storm inside his grandparent's home more pronounced than ever. "I'll do that."
Jack cut the connection before Craddock could comment further, keeping his focus on the warm glow spilling out of the front windows of the ranch house before him. The welcomed light soothed away the knots in his gut, piercing the darkest recesses of his mind where he'd shoved all those worries about what he'd signed on for in such a haste. Hammond had cursed a blue streak when Jack had quickly made his decision and Boxer recanted a whole list of worst case scenarios including one where Jack was going to become a convenient scapegoat for their government. But despite their well-meaning worries, and Jack's own concerns about being nothing more than a sanctioned assassin, Jack was home. Home. It was Christmas. Just beyond the heavy wooden door holding a fresh pine wreath twined with berries and twigs of holly was his family-his little brother. That made whatever price he paid in the future seem like a pittance.
By the time Jack climbed the last of the snow-covered stairs of his grandparent's front porch he'd almost convinced himself he had been gifted with one of his grandmother's bona fide Jesus-inspired miracles instead of making a deal with the devil himself. He knocked on the door, hoping that the soft sound of music he could hear now was a sure sign one of his grandparents was up, or maybe Harry as he strained to hear the song playing and noted the distinct rumbling voice of Ella Fitzgerald.
"Did you forget something?" JP asked as he pulled the door open, his black Labradors Reggie and Reeves rushing forward ready to tackle the welcomed visitor.
The smell of cinnamon and evergreen wafted to Jack as a rush of warmth greeted him from the house wrapping around him as tangible as the dogs now bumping and brushing against his legs in barely contained euphoria. He found himself rendered speechless, his eyes stinging as his grandfather did a double take, looking as shocked as Jack had ever seen him. In fact, Jack momentarily worried that maybe he should have called as JP took a faltering step forward, practically stumbling over the gleeful dogs in his path.
"Jack? What the hell are you doing here, son?"
"Merry Christmas, Grandpa." Jack managed and was taken aback when the older man caught him in a fierce bear hug. The scent of Old Spice and hay had Jack dropping his bag and wrapping his arms around his grandfather, gripping the soft worn folds of JP's flannel shirt and holding on for all he was worth.
"That it is, kiddo." JP laughed. After a long moment he pulled back, but kept his hands on Jack's shoulders. His gray eyes were bright and Jack was afraid the old man might shed a tear or two, something that wasn't unheard of but that was typically reserved for letting go of loved ones and heartbreaking Dallas Cowboy losses. "You had me worried sick when you didn't call the day of Mac's surgery. We didn't know what had happened, and when Boxer got in touch with us instead of you-well, I'm not going to tell you what I thought. All he could say was that you that you were on an assignment."
"I'm sorry, JP." Being out of touch during Mac's surgery was one of the many things Jack had questioned about the last minute operation he'd been asked to join with Craddock's team. There was no communications allowed and the time line had sucked. It tore him up but Boxer had promised him he'd make contact with JP and Beth and let Jack know how the procedure went, but that had been limited to one email to a secured server that was then relayed to Jack via Matilda Weber. 'Blondie is all good.'
"Stop apologizing and tell me how this is possible?" JP's eyes darted over Jack's shoulder to search the darkness.
"I promise I'm not being trailed by a unit of MP's, grandpa." Jack laughed. "I'm here legitimately, but can I explain after we go in? It'd be a shame for me to dodge those damned insurgents and come all this way to freeze to death on the front porch."
"I thought you were your grandmother and Harry. You just missed them." JP explained as he grabbed Jack's bag before the younger man could protest. He ushered his grandson inside, waiting for the dogs to clamber along before following.
"Where's Mac?" Jack asked, shaking snow from his shoulders and toeing out of his wet boots to leave them by the door.
"Your little brother pulled the broken arm card and is sound asleep." JP closed the door as Jack bent to make a fuss over the labs who were still clamoring for his attention.
"Beth insisted on going to midnight mass despite the weather and conned Harry into taking her, claiming that he knew better than I did how to master driving in the snow as he had spent a whole week in the wintry badlands of Colorado." JP shook his head, giving a roll of his eyes. "We both know Harry probably didn't leave that damn cabin and I could have kept my truck between the ditches in any storm but she was bound and determined to get Harry into church-even if it is a Catholic service."
"Harry MacGyver at church on Christmas Eve?" Jack rubbed Reeves' ears as Reggie rolled on his back to plead for a belly rub. "And here I was thinking I was going to be the Christmas miracle Nana had been praying for."
"Miracle my butt." JP snorted. "The old scamp capitulated awfully fast let me tell you, even agreeing to wear one of my ties, which made me think he just wanted out of helping me put together Mac's telescope and other bazillion gadgets from Santa that should require an engineering degree from MIT to assemble."
"And you didn't object to being left alone with the task because you were just fine with staying here partaking in your favorite Irish Coffee and Christmas Eve cigar as you tried to figure it all out without one look at the instructions." Jack patted each dog once more and then stood. Usually it was Jack and Mac that Beth took to church. Jack's grandmother, despite her Southern Baptist upbringing had embraced some of her husband's Catholic heritage, picking and choosing the parts she loved best. Christmas Mass was one of the traditions she favored, along with a bevy of Saints she'd developed a particular affection for.
"Damn, can you smell the Cuban?" JP tugged at his shirt, sniffing as he looked around guiltily. He'd led the way into the living room, dropping Jack's bag near the leather couch. "Your grandmother has a better nose than these two." He gestured to the dogs who had found their way to their beds nestled near the large Christmas tree glowing like a beacon in the corner. "When it comes to sniffing out anything she thinks is bad for me, the woman is like a bloodhound."
"I think you're safe." Jack slipped out of his coat, placing it on JP's favored recliner, which he noted had been displaced from its usual spot near the fireplace by the tree that seemed to take up half the room. The pine behemoth was covered in tinsel and garland and countless ornaments that if they could have talked would have told stories of celebrations throughout several generations. Jack had brought one of the paper snowflakes Mac had sent him and even a rifle cartridge and beer cap from his tree in Kabul to add to his grandmother's prized collection. He grinned at his grandfather. "The only thing I can smell is cinnamon, clove and that monster of a Douglas Fir that looks like it might have taken a crane to situate."
"Try ten ranch hands and even then I needed to pay a visit a chiropractor the next day. It's like Christmas exploded in here." JP ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "In your grandmother's words 'Go big or go home'. We'll be sweeping up pine needles until Easter."
"I'll take pine sap over sand any day of the week." Jack pulled off his hat and tossed it with his jacket. "I'm just glad to be home."
JP propped his hands on his hips, a slight frown tugging the tips of his silver mustache down. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jack Jr, but how about you explain to your old grandfather how you managed that bit of Christmas magic. The last time I checked Uncle Sam wasn't really big on fulfilling wishes or doling out spontaneous leaves without a damn good reason for doing such."
"Can I check on Mac first? I just want to see for myself that he's okay." Jack glanced towards the stairway that would take him to the second story of the old rambling farmhouse. He turned his eyes back to JP, hoping his sincere desire to see his kid brother overrode the trepidation of explaining what he'd done. "Maybe you could whip me up one of those Irish Coffees and some of Nana's cookies while I'm gone? I'm starved."
"I can do that." JP reached out, gripping the back of Jack's neck before he could move away. He pulled him in close so their foreheads almost touched. "No matter how you pulled this off, it's so damn good to see you. I missed you, boy."
"I missed you, too, Grandpa." Jack barely got the words out past the lump that had settled in the back of his throat once more. He had to blink quickly to erase the wash of tears that threatened his eyes.
JP gave him a slight shake and then let him go with a rough pat to his cheek. "Now go check on your brother while I get us some Christmas spirit in a cup."
The dogs padded after Jack, their nails clicking on the stairs as they trailed behind him. Jack's gaze fell to the pictures that adorned the wall leading to the second story. It was as diverse a menagerie as the ornaments on the tree. Some faces he knew only through stories, family members like JP's mother and Beth's father, who'd passed on way before he was born but seemed achingly familiar. His parent's wedding picture gave him pause, as did the one of his father from the day he graduated the Air Force Academy. Jack once more considered his most recent actions as Jack Dalton Senior's dark eyes seemed to follow his ascent. If nothing else, Jack knew his old man would understand the desire to put family first. He'd been as loyal as the day was long and that was the hope Jack held to and comforted himself with as he cleared the last step and made his way to Mac's door.
Jack gave the dancing dogs a quiet command to sit and stay, knowing they'd tumble in making themselves at home on Mac's bed if given the chance. He could see the barely restrained anticipation and read the intent in their wagging tails and goofy Labrador grins. Jack put a finger to his lips as if his two canines would understand the need to be quiet before he opened the door and peaked inside.
There was a much smaller scaled version of a Christmas tree on Mac's nightstand, glowing with enough lights to cast the boy's sleeping form in perfect clarity. The lump returned to Jack's throat as he took in the kid, arms and legs akimbo, quilt kicked to the bottom of the bed as usual. Beth was fond of saying Mac slept like a cat in a paper bag and Jack imagined it was because his brother's over-active brain never quite shut off even in slumber.
He fought the urge to cross the room to the old sleigh bed and cover his brother back up, also holding off on the irrational desire to lightly place a hand on Mac's chest to make sure there was a steady rise and fall. The kid shifted, slinging his casted arm over him with enough force to have his bedmate Dodger the piglet wisely moving to the bottom of the bed with a startled grunt and Jack quietly closed the door. He needed to talk to his grandfather before he tackled explaining things to the ten year old.
"Come on, guys," Jack whispered to his disappointed companions, patting his leg when the dogs stayed where they were looking longingly at the closed door. The word 'treat' got them moving, following Jack back down the stairs and into the kitchen where JP was sitting at the farm table.
"Your boy alright?" His grandfather had a steaming mug in hand and had placed another across from him. Jack was grateful JP had left the overhead light off, the radiance of the recessed bulbs above the sink bouncing off the walls of sunshine yellow provided enough illumination to see by and wouldn't make Jack feel as much like he was caught in the spot light of an interrogation room.
"Sleeping like he doesn't have a care in the world," He said as he took a couple of cookies from the 'dog only' jar and tossed them to the waiting labs.
"To be ten again." JP lifted his mug. "These days I need a shot of whiskey to get even four hours of shut eye."
"Funny I remember you having that habit back when I was ten." Jack smirked at his grandfather, taking a seat on the bench across from him. The older man denied nothing, but merely shoved the plate of cookies toward Jack's side of the table as if hinting he do something else with his mouth besides back talk. Jack took the subtle suggestion, picking up one of the snickerdoodles. "Mac looks no worse for wear. The surgery went okay? His follow up was good news?"
"He came through with flying colors." JP nodded, giving Jack a look that relayed he knew what his grandson was really asking. "I won't lie and say the boy wasn't upset about not talking to you again after the way he ended things with you earlier, but you know your brother. All closed off and quiet about whatever he was thinking. He didn't say a peep to us, which had your grandmother tied in fifty kinds of knots. I think she baked ten dozen cookies and gave the house the best cleaning it's had since my mother was alive and used to drop in for unexpected visits which Beth swore were actually surprise inspections of her domestic duties. We could probably have our guests take Christmas dinner off the bathroom floor tomorrow and be just fine."
"How's Mac doing with that cast?" Jack asked, not wanting to dwell on the anxiety he'd caused his brother and subsequently his grandparents as well. He picked up another cookie from the plate, even though his appetite had dwindled in light of the forthcoming explanation he owed his grandfather.
JP took a drink of his coffee, eyeing his grandson over the rim. "First two days seemed to bother him some, but now I think he's mostly forgotten about it, that is until he knocks something over or accidentally cracks one of the dogs across the head with it."
Jack smiled, swallowing the mouthful of cookie which tasted a bit like cardboard, a fact he knew had nothing to do with his grandmother's recipe and everything to do with guilt. "Dodger's living dangerously sleeping with him I think."
"Dodger is smarter than he looks. He's still roaming in the house after your grandmother swore she was going to ban him to the barn or maybe fry him up for breakfast in a whole mess of sausage links. He has Mac doting on him like he's some twenty pound hairless kitten." JP took another sip of his coffee and sighed. "Don't worry about that wiley swine, son. Dodger will be underfoot for the next twenty years like the other beasts your grandmother drags home."
"She keeps bringing them home, huh?" Jack grinned, picking up his coffee, enjoying the smell of the rich brew and warm feel of ceramic in his hands, a far cry from the tin cups and sludge he was used to. "I thought she told me you rescued Dodger from certain doom."
"So, you were going to tell me how you came to find yourself here in Texas, some ten thousand miles away from where you were just a few days ago?" JP aptly changed the subject, his lighthearted gaze, turning serious. "Tell me you didn't do something stupid, Jack, because you're looking guiltier than the day you brought old Damascus home swearing to me that the horse had gotten himself free from old man Rankin's ranch all on his own and just happened to follow you home."
"I took a job opportunity, that's all." Jack knew his grandfather had a knack for reading him, but hoped he gave a somewhat convincing smile. He also hoped to hell opting to join the CIA was as smart a move as the day he stole Damascus from that bastard who had neglected him. He cleared his throat and met the older man's gaze head on. "I'm going to be working in the private sector for a while, Sir."
"The private sector?" JP arched a brow. "Doing what exactly?"
"Security detail for a government outfit, stuff like that." Jack cringed, the explanation sounding lame as he said it out loud. If he was going to be a spy he was going to have to up his obfuscation game.
"Security detail, huh?" JP put his mug down, folding his arms over his chest. "That sounds a little below your pay grade if you ask me. Uncle Sam invested a lot of money into your training, I don't see them letting all that go to waste for you to stand guard in some office building."
"It's nothing like that, Grandpa." Jack fidgeted in his seat. "I'll be out in the field providing cover for higher ups."
"Sticking your neck out for a bunch of suits?" JP's frown deepened, concern easily read in his eyes.
"Not exactly," Jack hedged, not wanting to straight out lie to the man across from him but understanding all too well he couldn't give specifics. "I'll be piloting them on important jobs, to places that regular stick jockeys going through proper channels might have a problem getting in and out of unnoticed."
"So, you'll still be gone a great deal?" JP worked the end of his mustache, watching Jack thoughtfully.
"Not nearly as much." Jack shook his head, feeling a bit like he was being interrogated despite the dim lighting he'd been grateful for. Maybe after his training he'd be better at dodging his grandfather's steely gaze. "I can actually have some semblance of a normal schedule as part of the work will be from an actual office in LA. I'll have to travel some, sure, but nothing like a deployment to Afghanistan or wherever the hell Delta needed me to be."
JP returned his hands to the table, leaning on his elbows. "There was a time when working Delta was your dream."
"Dreams change, right?" Jack hadn't really expected to love the Army, but training as a pilot had been the highlight. He was good at it and when he discovered he was also a damn good marksman, it gave given him a sense of pride he'd never really accomplished as a teen, not even in the years as a football standout. He nodded to the walls around them. "You didn't always see yourself settled on a horse ranch, researching breeding stock and training trail animals. Before you met Beth, I know you once wanted to be a Charro roaming the ranges of Mexico and riding the rodeo circuit in places like Jalisco and Guanajuato."
"The right person can definitely make a man rethink his priorities." JP picked up his mug once more, taking another drink as he continued to watch Jack in a way that made the younger man want to squirm much like he had when Jack had been not much older than Mac and his grandfather had grilled him on exactly how he'd come in possession of a scraggly, one-shoed horse with more than its fair share of battle scars.
"That's exactly what I'm doing. Making Mac a priority." Jack had done the same thing with Damascus. He'd set his mind on saving the animal, even if that meant facing some pretty stiff penalties as the state of Texas still had little tolerance for a horse thief and old man Rankin was scary as hell. Even then Jack had been more worried about disappointing his grandfather than he was about his own suffering- just as he was now- but the determination to protect Mac was ten-fold what it had been to rescue Damascus and overpowered any inclination to back down in hopes of sparing JP further heartache.
"I love that little boy." JP set his cup back down hard enough this time that some of the coffee sloshed on the table. Jack hadn't expected the edge of anger that colored his grandfather's deep tone, but it was undeniable as was the dangerous glint in his gray eyes, not unlike it had been all those years ago when he'd easily worked out that his young grandson had committed grand theft. "I'd do anything for Angus as sure as if he were my own flesh and blood because in my mind's eye that's exactly what he is, every bit as you are, but it pisses me off that his father ran off and left you holding the bag on what should have been his responsibility. You're all me and your grandmother have left of your daddy, and it about killed us when you enlisted after your sweet momma passed, but I'll be damned if I want to see you tear down all you've built for yourself and jump out of the frying pan and right into the fire because James MacGyver put you in an impossible situation where you feel the need to watch over your brother full time."
"My brother is more important than any career I could have, JP. He sure as hell didn't get to choose the parents he got." Jack was surprised at his own burst of anger. He took a breath, exhaled it out slowly as his grip tightened on the coffee mug. "It's not his fault he's basically an orphan at ten. I don't know what James is doing or why he chose to leave Mac behind, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let my brother suffer for it more than he already has."
"I understand you wanting to watch over your brother, son. It's just that you seem to have abandoned any and all sense of self-preservation in the process."
Jack met JP's challenging gaze with unflinching resolve. "He needs me, Grandpa, and you'd be a hypocrite if you tried to sit here and tell me that you think there's any higher priority than that because all you've ever drilled into my head is how family is the most important thing we have, the legacy every man leaves behind. You've always talked about how actions speak louder than any sentiment, the same thing you drilled into my dad's head when he was here."
For a long moment, the scratchy voice of Ella Fitzgerald coming from the old record player in the living room and the pop and crackle of the fire was the only noises that pierced the tension filled silence between Jack and his grandfather. Jack remembered a similar standoff when Jack refused to take Damascus back and bucked up when his grandfather threatened to return the animal. That showdown had ended when JP had stormed out of the barn, only to return to the ranch a few hours later with a bill of sale proclaiming Jack Dalton Jr the proud new owner of a scrawny three year old buckskin. Jack learned later that his grandfather had paid far more than a fair price for Damascus only after also doling out old man Rankin a taste of his own medicine, which included a beating that made the other rancher reconsider taking any action against the kid who took his property. Much like then, JP was the first to concede.
He gave a shake of his head, letting out a heavy sigh. "Part of your problem, Jack Wyatt Dalton, is that you're too damn much like your old man."
Jack grinned, hoping to erase some of the hurt he could see in his grandfather's watery gaze. "You mean I'm a lot like my dad who just happened to be too damn much like his old man."
"So your grandmother says." JP pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing a bit as if the whole sorted mess had given him a hell of a headache. "The private sector, huh? Will this work still require you to carry a gun?"
"Hell, what red-blooded Texan doesn't carry a gun, JP? I know good and well you've got your favorite sidearm strapped on you right now and we're having Christmas cocktails." Jack knew his grandfather was inquiring about in what manner Jack might be using a gun, but figured he'd do the older man no favors by elaborating on the fact he'd been chosen for this new career opportunity in most part because of his skill with a rifle.
"You have me there, I suppose." JP finally gave a hint of his trademark lop-sided grin, smoothing a hand over his mustache. "You said you'd be based out of some sort of an office? In Los Angeles?"
"Yeah, in fact, I'll be stationed in the same building that Sarah works in with that fancy law firm of hers." Jack took a long drink of his coffee, appreciating the slow burn of the Irish whiskey which took some of the sting out of recanting the cover he would be using.
"Sarah? Now that's a funny coincidence." JP's mustache twitched, and he wrapped his fingers around his coffee once more. "First she shows up this summer to help you win custody of Mac and now she just happens to reappear when you get offered this convenient new position. I have to say that girl of yours has never struck me as the lawyer type and I'm about as good at reading women as I am horses."
"She's not my girl anymore, JP." Jack might not be clear on everything, but Sarah had made that abundantly crystal during their flight to Turkey by cuddling up to Franklin Sutton.
"Still, it's going to make your grandmother happy to know you two will be running into one another. She's always liked her and would love nothing more than to think you'd settled down and found legitimate employment that wasn't provided by Mama Colton. Any job that keeps you close by that doesn't involve the promotion of a happy hour or the apprehending of absconded parolees will sure enough tickle her fancy."
Jack snorted. "You know us Dalton men live to make Beth happy."
"It's an honorable but daunting task." JP bobbed his brows and Jack knew his grandfather had let him off the hook for the time being. " So how about helping your grandfather out on that task this Christmas? After you help me put your brother's damn telescope together that is."
Jack let out a sigh of relief at the temporary reprieve. He hoped he'd get as lucky with his grandmother and brother. He grinned at his grandfather. "What exactly did you have in mind, old man?"
RcJ
What JP had in mind involved Jack bedding down for the night in the bunkhouse with Miguel and some of the other permanent ranch hands so he could be the ultimate surprise gift under the Christmas tree the next morning. Jack had drawn the line at squeezing himself into a box like some kind of contortionist or donning a bright red bow and ribbons. He'd made his way back to the farmhouse in the still darkness of the morning, trudging through a record breaking six inches of snow which would no doubt throw all of Austin into a panic of epic proportions. Seeing as how Jack had no place to be except right where he was, he hoped the white stuff stuck around long enough for him and Mac to at least do some hiking, since sledding and riding were probably out considering the kid's arm.
He let himself in through the kitchen, grateful the lights were still out, the fragrant smell of a slow-roasting turkey the only tell-tale sign that his grandmother had been at work. The dogs didn't even bother getting out of their warm beds as Jack slipped out of his boots and coat. One glance at the clock told him he had a little time before everyone would start to stir. Navigating the squeaking stairs in the darkness was tricky as it had been a few years since Jack had reason to go sneaking about the house and he had to concentrate to remember where the old house's natural alarms were hidden. One wrong step and his grandmother would be awake and JP's surprise ruined.
Jack let out a sigh of relief when he slipped through his brother's door. He made his way by Christmas tree light to the bed where the kid still slept soundly. Someone, Harry more than likely, had recovered the ten year old, and put Dodger in the box by Mac's bed. The piglet was nestled in a blanket of its own and didn't wake as Jack carefully took a seat on the edge of the mattress, grabbing the spare pillow which he stuffed behind him to prop against the headboard of the bed.
Once settled Jack rested a hand against Mac's hair, feeling a rush of emotion he blamed on lack of sleep and Christmas sentiment as his fingers carded carefully through the soft blond strands. The sudden surge of grief caught him by surprise, his chest actually aching as he remembered other holidays when he'd been Mac's age and awoken so excited to see what lay in store under the tree, years when his parents had been all too obliging to climb out of a warm bed at an ungodly hour to watch him tear into gifts with the uninhibited gusto only a kid who still believed in magic could manage.
Jack comforted himself with the assurance that Mac had known a few of those years himself. Times that Jack treasured with their mom and James when Christmas morning was all about family and togetherness. They'd had that. For a little while.
There had been moments when the love between them seemed to come alive and was an actual living breathing thing, roaming around like one of JP's silly hounds lapping affection on anyone in a warm tongue's reach. Nothing could take those memories away, nor tarnish them, not even the fact that their mom was lost to them and in the wake of her passing James had seemed to forget what Christmas was all about and that family was the best gift. Jack vowed that he'd make sure his little brother had more memories of that caliber starting this very Christmas day.
"Jack?"
The sleepy voice instantly snapped Jack from thoughts of the past. His hand stilled, continuing to rest on Mac's head. He looked down to find his brother's blue eyes, wide with disbelief.
"Hey, bud," Jack said quietly, his grin so big it hurt his face.
"Am I dreaming?" Mac asked breathlessly, not moving an inch as if he were afraid he might wake himself up.
"Surely you have bigger and better things going on in that subconscious of yours, little brother." Jack lifted a brow, letting his hand slide once more over Mac's hair before removing his touch and sitting up straighter. "I figured you dreamed of run on number algorithms or chemical equations in high definition Technicolor, but I'm flattered if all this time you hang out with me in never-never land."
Mac sat up, blinking now, rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of his cast free arm. "Are you a ghost? Please tell me you didn't die over in the desert?"
"Hey now." Jack's smile faded at the wash of genuine fear that filled his boy's gaze. He reached out and wrapped his fingers in the kid's t-shirt giving a little tug. "I'm no Bob Marley or specter of Christmases past or future. I'm in the present, flesh and blood. I promise, kiddo."
"Really?" Mac's hand came to rest over Jack's which now lay over his heart, lip trembling as he looked up at his older brother's face, disbelief and a good bit of confusion still lingering in his light blue gaze. "This is not a dream? You're…home?"
"Where else would I be? It's Christm…" Jack's words were cut off as the kid tackled him, plowing into his chest in a move that made Jack wonder if they should maybe at least look at the kid trying football.
"How? How are you here?" Mac asked, clinging to Jack with a one-handed fierceness that suggested the kid wasn't quite convinced his brother wasn't some spirit or a vision conjured in a dream and might vanish if he didn't hold on to him as tightly as possible. "You said you couldn't come, and then you didn't call and we didn't know where you were."
"Santa, of course." Jack laughed, wrapping his arms around the kid and relishing in the solid warmth that he'd longed to hold for months. He reached a hand up, cupping the back of Mac's head, all hesitation and worry of the deal he'd made with the CIA vanishing in the feeling of immeasurable good fortune he'd been allowed. "I hitched a ride on the big guy's sleigh don't you know."
"I thought I would never see you again." Mac's breath caught and he clung tighter to Jack.
"Hey, it's alright." Jack rubbed the little boy's back. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
"I told you Santa was real." Mac's voice was mumbled from where his face was pressed against Jack's neck, but the older man did not miss the typical hint of know it all-ness that told him Mac was indeed okay.
"So you did," Jack agreed, with a light laugh. "You always have been smarter than me."
"Meaner, too." Mac finally pulled back, his watery gaze meeting Jack's. "I was wrong saying what I said about you lying to mom. I was just…"
"Don't worry about it, kid." Jack cut his brother off, reaching up to swipe a lone tear from the kid's cheek with his thumb. "You were right to be pissed at me. I let you down and I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again, but brothers are always going to brush up against one another, say and do stupid stuff to each other that's going to sting. Hell, we might even take a swing at some point. It's been happening since the beginning of time."
"Nana says it all started with the very first brothers, when Cane bashed Abel over the head with a big rock because he was jealous God liked his gift better." Mac's blue gaze was serious. "She was trying to make me feel better about hurting you, but I'm not sure telling me about the first murder inspired by sibling rivalry was the right way to go."
Jack snorted, not surprised at his grandmother's Biblical intervention. There was probably a felt board and possibly some hand puppets involved considering her years in children's ministry. "Nana's one smart cookie, but she's not perfect, bud."
"Do you forgive me?" Mac asked, his hand coming to latch onto Jack's shirt. "I'd never hurt you on purpose, no matter how much better your gift was than mine."
"Of course I do." Jack gave a reassuring grin, running his hand over Mac's hair again."That is of course if you saved me a prime writing spot on this cast." Jack tapped the fiberglass encasing his brother's arm. "Who all signed this thing? It looks like half of Austin."
"I saved you the whole top, well, except for the space I promised to Bozer." Mac pointed to a generous white space void of ink and Sharpie. "He's totally jealous because he's never had a cast before and thinks it's cool that I have actual metal parts in my arm now. Bozer was really hoping that they were made out of Adamantium like Wolverine's claws and that I might be bionic now, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that was probably not the case. I'm still human."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Further proof Wilt Bozer watches way too much television and my little brother is way too kind."
Mac ignored him, intent on proudly showing off all the signatures he'd acquired. "All the ranch hands and Nana's book club and her Sunday school ladies wrote on it. Even doctors Hanson and Peterson, too."
"Don't you mean Dr. Handsome?" Jack batted his lashes and Mac giggled, a sound that had Jack tugging the little boy close to him once more, dropping an arm over Mac's shoulders as he drew him close to his side.
"I wouldn't bring him up if I were you." Mac warned, gravely as he nestled beside Jack, glancing up at his older brother once more. "He's kind of a sore spot with grandma and grandpa because Beth invited Dr. Hanson to Christmas dinner after she found out all his family lived in Minnesota and he was all alone in Texas doing his residency. She even promised to make something called a Yule Log because he said his grandmother used to make them for him every year. Grandpa said she was using her baking skills as womanly wiles and then called her 'Bethsheba', which Nana did not find one bit funny and is why we will NOT be having cherry pie or peach cobbler this Christmas."
"But you love cherry pie and peach cobbler is my favorite." Jack was currently so damn happy he could have cared less if they had peanut butter sandwiches and cold beanie weenies for their Christmas meal, but he made an effort to look extremely disgruntled for his brother's benefit.
"Blame JP. They're his favorites, too." Mac sighed. "We're having fruit cake instead."
"Fruit cake?" Jack frowned for real this time. "Who the hell likes fruit cake?"
Mac sighed. "Dr. Peterson's wife. It's her favorite."
"Well, of course it is." Jack shook his head. "Now I see why Grandpa has developed such a romantic streak and it makes sense him wanting to wrap me up like a present and stuff me under the tree." Jack worked hard at maintaining the same seriousness his little brother had achieved. "Do you know he made me sleep out with the ranch hands and wanted me to climb into a box just so he could score points with Beth?"
"It's not a half bad plan but it's going to be hard to beat Nana's gift to him." Mac stated confidently. "Her and Harry went a couple of towns over to pick it up last night."
"I thought they went to Midnight Mass? JP said Harry even wore a tie."
"That was part of their cover story. Nana wanted him to go for the whole suit, but Harry said that was over the top and JP would never buy it," Mac explained. "They actually went one town over to get the Golden Retriever puppy that Nana picked out for JP."
"Hold up a minute." Jack feigned great offense, gaping down at his little brother who had an undeniable glint in his blue eyes. "You think me coming home from the warfront nearly ten thousand miles away-on Christmas day, mind you- won't trump a dog from down the road?"
"Not just any dog, Jack. A Golden Retriever puppy!" Mac reached up and rested a hand on Jack's shoulder. "It's kind of a Cane and Able situation, but even if everyone else thinks it's a no brainer as to who gave the best present, you're still my favorite gift. Even better than the one Daddy sent me."
"Wait? What?" Jack felt the grin slip from his face, all humor vanishing as a flash of something that unexpectedly felt a whole lot like fear tore through his chest. "Did you say from your dad?"
"I got it yesterday." Mac nodded, obviously not picking up on the change in Jack's tone. "And now you're here! This is the best Christmas ever."
"JP didn't mention anything about you getting a package from your dad, bud." Jack knew his grandfather had other things on his mind, Jack's unexpected arrival being first and foremost, but he was certain JP would have mentioned something as important as contact from James MacGyver.
Mac suddenly looked unsure, glancing down at his cast as his fingers from his free hand came to trace a penned caricature of a dog and a boy that looked a lot like Mac and Archimedes. "Well, that's because I didn't tell him. Or Harry." Mac looked up. "I didn't even tell Nana Beth."
"I don't understand." Jack shook his head, turning so that he was facing the ten year old. "Is this a real gift or something pretend like your old imaginary friend, Sully…"
"I don't play make believe anymore. It's real, Jack." Mac rolled his eyes before moving to the edge of the mattress and climbing off. The kid disappeared for a second as Jack heard him shifting things beneath the bed before his blond head popped up again. He held out a small wrapped package as he made his way back to Jack's side. "I found it on my desk when we got back from town yesterday."
"In here?" Jack took the gift, studying it like he might some suspicious parcel an EOD might have discovered on a street in Bagdad. "In your room?"
"I was saving it to open this morning as my one present before breakfast." Mac nodded, his glance going from uncertain to hopeful. "Like we used to do when Mom would let us choose one gift from under the tree before we ate. Remember? I thought it would make it seem like our other Christmases, I mean before everything got messed up."
"I remember, kiddo." Jack forced a half smile, reaching out to brush the kid's bangs out of his face. It seemed he wasn't the only one missing their mother and entertaining memories from the past. But Jack's nostalgia couldn't get past the fact that if James MacGyver had indeed been in his son's room, then he could have just have easily taken Mac instead of leaving some mysterious gift. Jack swallowed hard. "I'm not upset, but how do you know this is from your dad?"
"The paper." Mac pointed to the gold wrapping with the different types of compasses. "Daddy used the same paper to wrap his gifts to me last year."
"Are you sure?"
"I liked the compasses." Mac pointed to the nautical images. "Daddy said he'd try to find me one. Maybe that's what he got me this year."
"Why didn't you tell someone, Mac? Harry or JP?" Jack didn't mean for his tone to be so gruff, but the hurt look that flashed through Mac's gaze told him his words had been rougher than he intended.
"I'm sorry, Jack." Mac pointed to the gift. "It had my name on it. I didn't think it was a big deal."
"It's okay. I'm sorry. Really." Jack put the gift aside and pulled Mac to him once more. He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the boy again, this time grateful for the chance for a completely different reason. "I'm not mad. You didn't do anything wrong. I promise. I just need to know if your dad tries to contact you. I just need to know you're safe. Okay."
"Daddy wouldn't hurt me, Jack." Mac pulled back when Jack loosened his hold. "He loves me."
"I know he does, kiddo." Jack put his hand on the side of Mac's face, wishing he had the same confidence in James as his brother. Despite legal papers that now said otherwise, Jack still feared he might somehow lose Mac. He dropped his hand to his brother's shoulder. "But it's my job to watch out for you now. I have to make the decisions that are best-alright, just like with the surgery on your arm. You might not understand, but I need to know if he tries to contact you as soon as it happens. Capisce?"
"But what if I can't talk to you?"
"That shouldn't be a problem anymore." Jack ran a hand down his mouth and sighed. If he had any doubts about the decision he'd made, finding out James MacGyver had been skulking around his grandparent's ranch erased them all in one terrifying revelation. "I'm home and I'm not going anywhere, bud. This isn't just a visit."
"Wait?" Mac reached out and latched onto Jack's shirt again, his gaze widening once more. "You aren't going back to the Army?"
"Not for a while, bud." Jack worked at forcing his fear into the background. He managed a smile for his brother's sake. "In fact I'm going to be doing a different job. I can't tell you that I won't travel and be gone some, but I'll be home a lot more than I was with Delta and you can call me whenever you need to."
"Are you sure I'm not dreaming?" Mac's face lit with an entirely different kind of joy, his smile as bright as their grandmother's ginormous Christmas tree.
Jack shook his head. "It's real, kiddo. I promise."
Jack once more found himself with his arms full as Mac latched onto him again. "This is way better than a Golden Retriever puppy or even a present from Daddy."
"Maybe you should withhold judgment until you actually open the gift." Jack eased back, picking up the present from James once more. His curiosity was killing him and he wanted to make sure Mac knew he wasn't upset about him keeping the present a secret. He lifted a brow. "It might be more than you're expecting."
"I already got everything I could want." Mac grinned, but took the gift anyway. He glanced up at his brother. "Are you sure?"
Jack hesitated, briefly wondering if he should talk to JP or possibly Harry first. He was James' father, after all, and deserved to know the man had apparently been in contact, but that didn't' change the fact that Jack was now Mac's guardian, and any decision concerning his welfare was his to handle. It was the reason he'd made a life-altering change, the reason he'd practically moved mountains as Beth would have said to make it home and he wasn't about to let James MacGyver shake his resolve.
"Go ahead, kiddo. It's basically Christmas morning." Jack gestured to the present. "Open it."
Mac tore through the paper, not needing any further prompting. He didn't let the box beneath the wrappings hold him up either, also making quick work of it to reveal the gift inside.
"It's daddy's watch." Mac said with some awe. "The one Mom gave him when they got married."
"He never takes it off." Jack took the box from his brother, swallowing thickly as he remembered the day when one of his duties as James's best man had him delivering the gift from his mother.
"Why would he give me the best thing mom ever gave him?" Mac questioned as Jack turned the watch over to trace the engraving on the back. He knew the words by heart. To that which time cannot touch.
"So you'd be sure to know that the watch isn't the best thing Mom gave him." Jack returned the gift to the boy, giving Mac a nod. "That would be you, little brother."
"Oh." Mac looked down at the watch once more, but not before Jack caught the renewed brightness in his blue eyes.
"Do you want me to help you put it on?" Jack asked, clearing his throat. He still wasn't sure what to make of the fact James had been inside the ranch nor could he shake the unsettled feeling it gave him. But it was Christmas and he wasn't about to let his little brother be robbed of one more moment of happiness. "I'm guessing it will fit if we put it on the last notch."
"Sure." Mac nodded, looking up with a half-smile. "He once let me wear it to school every day for a whole week, you know."
"Really?" Jack asked as he carefully strapped the leather band in place. "When was that?"
"When you went away the first time to Afghanistan." Mac nodded. "I missed you something awful and didn't want to go to school, but daddy showed me how one of the smaller faces here on the watch told the time in Asia, and how I could use it to calculate what time it was where you were so I'd know if the sun was shining on you, or if the stars were out over your head. He promised it would make me feel closer to you."
"And did it?" Jack finished the strap, but held on to his little brother's hand. He was surprised that James had come up with such a sentiment, especially at a time when he and Jack had been on such shaky terms. The man was an enigma wrapped in a freaking puzzle.
"Not really." Mac bit his lip, holding Jack's gaze. "But I liked having a part of him with me."
"Then maybe that was the point all along." Jack wrapped his fingers around Mac's wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. "Now you have a piece of him with you all the time, until he comes home."
"Do you think he'll come home?" Mac's eyes shone with a hint of hope. Jack remembered his words to his grandmother about hope being a heart breaker and despite Beth's belief that Mac had the same tendencies of a sunflower and was going to look on the bright side no matter what, Jack wanted to tread easily so not to encourage a belief that might hurt Mac more in the end.
"I don't know, kiddo. I wouldn't expect it anytime soon, but I made it back, right, despite the odds against it."
Mac shrugged, still staring at the watch now fastened on his slight wrist. "But you're my big brother and you said big brothers aren't bound by things like statistics and physics."
Jack rested his hand on Mac's hair, waiting for the kid to look at him. "What I didn't mention was that it just so happens that the same thing sometimes goes for dads. They can actually have capes, too. Mine sure did."
"Do you think someone could be standing on my daddy's cape?"
Jack was thrown by the question at first until he remembered using the illustration as a way to explain how The Army was the only thing holding him back from being at Mac's side. He hadn't ever considered that James MacGyver could have a similar reason for being absent, but he was willing to concede it was at least possible if it kept Mac from feeling as if he were somehow responsible instead.
"You know, now that you mention it that could very well be why he's not going to be here to celebrate with us today." Jack ruffled the kid's hair, earning a familiar scowl which was far better than any hint of sadness. "Whatever the reason, he's going to miss one hell of a party, especially if you can figure out a way to use your future MIT engineering degree to pour this awesome package that is my body into your buddy Dodger's box over there so we can hide me under the tree."
Mac looked at Jack and then over to the cardboard box where the piglet was sleeping. A faint dimple hinted at his cheek as he smoothed his hair back in place. "Sir Isaac Newton's definition of volume would suggest that's highly improbable, if not impossible, Jack."
"But we've already covered that what brothers will do for one another isn't exactly defined by good old science."
"True." Mac agreed, thoughtfully. "But do I get to wrap you up and add a bow?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Now you sound like JP."
"As Nana always says, 'go big, or go home'." Mac lifted a brow. "Besides if we help grandpa get out of the dog house, we might get our favorite desserts put back on the menu."
"We both know I'd do just about anything for peach cobbler," Jack conceded. He was beginning to understand that apparently there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his family. He'd joined the CIA and was signed up for spy school for Pete's sake. Squishing himself into Dodger's make-shift bed and letting his brother cover him in shiny paper shouldn't be a problem, and only a small hit to his manly pride. He winked at the kid. "Go grab the damn tape and ribbon before Nana wakes up."
The End…for now.
