Chapter 7
FDR and Machara sat in silence. The folder she'd tossed away rested at the foot of the bed against her footboard. He reached for it and lazily flipped through the document before discarding it just as she had. New information hadn't magically appeared within it, so it held little of his attention. Eventually, his eyes drifted back to the woman in the bed who wouldn't meet his stare.
Lauren jogged after the irate young man.
"Tuck, stop." She sighed. She had no choice but to reach out and grab his arm to stop him.
Tuck spun on his heel, but tried to ignore her as best he could. He was flustered and she expected it. Lauren looked at him sadly.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Even though she knew or had her suspicions, she wanted to hear him say it. "Why were you yelling at Angela?"
Lauren slipped. She knew that wasn't the young woman's name, but it had been the only one she knew for her. At hearing it, Tuck's eyes shot to Lauren with sharp and cold precision. It made her stomach drop.
"That," he said angrily as he pointed down the hall towards Machara's room. "Is not Angela. Angela doesn't exist. That person in there is nothing more than a liar."
"Okay," she said softly. She didn't want him to start screaming at her too. "But… it's still her." His jaw was tense and his eyes angry. "Well it is."
"How ya figure that?" he snapped.
"Well come on, you guys weren't exactly upfront with me." She shot back. Tuck fidgeted slightly. "But that didn't suddenly make you different people when I found out the truth, did it?"
Tuck looked as though he wanted to agree, that he needed to think the woman in the bed was the same person, but he wasn't sure he could. Whether it was pride or mistrust he didn't know, but he didn't believe Lauren.
"It's not the same." He said.
"Should I even ask?" FDR asked skeptically after the silence had become deafening. Machara hadn't bothered looking up and did little more than shrug her good shoulder in response. "So, okay," he sighed. She glanced up through her lashes to see FDR fall into the chair nearest the door. He dropped his head in his hand to hopefully ebb the headache that was forming. "Army?" she nodded. "Right… Scottish?" she nodded again. "Right… and it's May-car-uh?"
Machara snorted a soft laugh that ached and shook her head.
"Muh-care-uh." She said, emphasizing the right syllables so the American could pronounce her name correctly. "Mac."
"Mac." FDR nodded. He was willing to use the abbreviated version.
The air in the room calmed and the tension waned, but there were still unanswered questions and Mac knew they were coming. She should have expected it if anything from her life became known. Honestly, she'd planned to tell them at some point, just not now or like this.
"So," FDR sighed as he scratched the side of his head. "Then who's Angela?"
"Cover." She said with a hoarse voice. FDR nodded, but waited for her to continue. "I did things people weren't s'pose to know 'bout." Her accent had shifted to one he didn't recognize and the surprise of it was written across his features. She tried to ignore it. In her drugged and tired state, Mac didn't have the strength or desire to continue playing English. "An' since I got no fam'ly, they thought it best I stay hidden."
FDR nodded. It wasn't an uncommon practice in their world. They had to protect the people around them, which was why -until recently- their families didn't know what FDR and Tuck really did. Chances were Angela Saunders was a name given to her on some assignment –complete with IDs and a past- so it was a name she used in renting a place and a 'normal life'. But that didn't explain everything.
"So if you're retired, why not go back to your name? Tuck said he found you on that site under Angela."
Mac stared picking at her fingernails and avoided his eyes again. The story to explain herself wasn't a good one and made her eyes burn each time she thought about it. If it'd been in her file, she'd gladly let him read it instead of explaining herself.
"Las' year, my unit an' I was in this place doin' some things." She said vaguely causing FDR to muse to himself. That phrase was one he'd used often before. Mac paused and scratched her forehead just above her eyebrow nervously. "Uh, somethin' went wrong and…" she cleared the knot growing in her throat. "We was ambushed." Her eyes began to burn and her vision blurred. "They didn' make it and uh… I almost didn't, either." FDR could tell she was beginning to weep, but still refused to meet his gaze. "I was hurt so bad, I had to retire. No good to 'em anymore. And 'cause of the things I'd done, they figured it'd be easier for Machara to die an' Angela be my only name."
"They faked your death and wiped your records." He muttered.
Mac nodded softly. "No survivors, they said."
FDR didn't ask another question and Mac didn't offer anything else. They let the room fall silent again and both were a bit thankful for it. The young man in the corner was trying his best to absorb the information he'd been given while Mac tried to push the memories of her ordeal down as deep as they could go.
They sat like that for a few minutes until there was a knock on the door. Mac's heart leapt with both fear and hope that the person on the other end was Tuck, but it wasn't. It was only Lauren. Still, Mac smiled as warmly as she could to the newcomer.
"Hey," Lauren said softly as she entered the room. She glanced briefly to FDR in the corner, but still advanced on Mac. "How are you feeling?"
Mac again forced a smile and shrugged.
"I'm fine." She lied openly. Lauren knew it, but didn't contradict her statement.
"Good." Lauren's smile was just as weak. She turned to FDR when she reached Mac's side. "He's outside."
FDR nodded and stood. He gave Mac a nod, but it was clear he still wasn't certain how to proceed with anything in regards to the woman in the bed. Without a word, he left the two alone. Lauren's attention went back to Mac.
"I uh… I wanted to say thanks, for everything." She said.
Mac nodded heavily. "Of course."
"I mean it. You saved their lives and ours. Thank you."
Mac could tell Lauren was truly thankful and it made her feel better. A little bit. Lauren didn't seem to be as offended by Mac's deception as the others which was to be expected since they'd only known each other for a short time, but it was also nice. Mac's guilt towards Lauren was less than what she felt towards the guys.
"I'll let you get some rest." Lauren said after a few minutes. She started towards the door and turned when she reached it. "Thanks again."
Mac nodded and gave the blond a parting smile before she disappeared completely from sight. Left alone again, Mac was forced to focus on her pain, both physical and emotional whether she wanted to or not.
Tuck and FDR were at work, still grounded and still bored. Tuck was in the middle of typing something, but was stabbing at his keyboard so hard, FDR wondered if it hurt.
"Seriously dude, calm down." He finally snapped when he was certain his brother was going to break the equipment.
Tuck looked up, but said nothing. He continued to type and while it wasn't as aggressive as before, it was clear he was still angry.
"Then just talk to her." FDR said. Tuck glanced up and seemed to ask a silent question. "Because it's obvious you want to." FDR knew he was about to have a one-sided conversation with the Englishman. "We've done the same thing before."
It's not the same. FDR heard Tuck say in his head.
"Yes it is." He said out loud. To anyone watching, FDR was talking to himself at Tuck, but he knew his brother so well, he was able to anticipate anything the Brit would say.
She could've told us the truth.
"She couldn't say anything and you know it. I already told you what she said at the hospital. Mac Keagan is dead. She is Angela Saunders now."
Tuck fidgeted and looked back to his computer and FDR could've sworn he heard him mutter, she still should've said something.
"Oh my god," he sighed in agitation as he went back to his work. "You can sit there and act hurt all you want, but we both know it's not really her you're pissed at."
And that was all FDR had to say. He didn't bother trying to persuade his brother to do anything he knew he was too stubborn to do in the first place.
Tuck's face relaxed and he was no longer glaring at FDR. Slowly, he eyes went back to his monitor. With his mouse, he clicked on a window he'd minimized a long time ago, but couldn't exit completely.
An article expanded on the screen and he began to read it again despite knowing its contents already.
U.S. Soldiers Killed in Mission Gone Awry
While the details remain a mystery, seven United States soldiers were killed today in a suspected rescue mission. Sources say the soldiers were in route to rescue members of the international press who were taken hostage six weeks ago. Their convoy was ambushed. There were no survivors. Their names include,
That's where Tuck would always stop reading and instead stare at the pictures of the seven soldiers rumored to have died in the ambush. They were the military photos of each soldier wearing their uniforms and berets, no smile and their names beneath each picture. The disturbing part was seeing Mac's photo second in line with large bold letters in red spelling KIA.
He knew only portions of the article were correct for other obvious reasons than one of the 'non-survivors' being alive. It was his job to read between the lines and knew there was a slim chance the soldiers were actually there to save journalists. It could've been their objective, but so could assassinations or retrieving intel. The first just sounded better to the major populace.
Still, Tuck would stare at her picture. It was nothing special because it wasn't meant to be, but it was her, Angela, wearing the uniform and big red letters under the photo saying she was dead. He couldn't look away and spent the rest of his time at work that day staring at it.
Lauren was a sweetheart. She was a genuinely nice person, which made Mac feel guilty about disliking the blond earlier. When she learned what Lauren had done to both Tuck and FDR (dating the two of them at the same time and then having the gall to be angry with them for it) her opinion of the blond was tainted, but in light of recent events, she found herself not caring. Besides, she'd been told the story in passing weeks ago. If it didn't bother the guys, perhaps it shouldn't bother her.
The only bouquet of flowers Mac ever had in her room was from Lauren. Not even Lauren and FDR, just Lauren. Lauren was the only one out of the three to learn Mac's secret that didn't seem to hate her for it.
It took the doctors far too long to release Mac as far as she was concerned. She felt she should have gone home the moment she woke up. They didn't. Instead, she was in the hospital for nearly three weeks after the fact before they thought she could take care of herself enough not to break her stitches.
Mac hated hospitals. She hated them more than any rational person would. Forgetting the fact she'd spent more time in one than any healthy person ever would, that was where she learned she lost the majority of her family. When you do the things she, Tuck and FDR did for a living, you begin to consider your partners –your team- family. That's what her unit was to her and she'd been lying in a hospital bed when her NCO told her they didn't survive.
Hospitals held a myriad of bad memories.
Mac didn't know if Lauren offered or FDR sent her to 'spy', but the blond was there to help Mac when she left the hospital. It was Lauren who drove Mac to the pharmacy to fill her multiple prescriptions and it was Lauren who took her home. Admittedly, Mac had been relatively out of it since leaving the hospital, but Lauren could tell she was despondent for other reasons.
Lauren held the door open as Mac hobbled into her apartment. Mail was piled up on the island and the few plants she owned looked like they were on the brink of death. If she had a life, her apartment might've looked more abandoned, but it didn't. That made it a bit sadder.
Mac continued to walk slowly toward her living room. Her feet were heavy, her body felt tingly and her arm hurt. She was on a handful of painkillers which made her a bit woozy and forget about the ridiculous sling on her arm.
"You sure you're okay?" Lauren asked. She watched Mac skeptically from the kitchen.
"'M fine." Mac mumbled. She fell onto her couch with a groan, slumped to the side and began to haphazardly kick her shoes off.
"I mean by yourself." Lauren said. She stepped closer to the young woman struggling to stay awake on the couch. "Are you okay by yourself?"
Mac opened her heavy lids and looked at Lauren's concerned face. She sighed and pushed herself up. Lauren swooped in to help when it was clear the Scot struggled with the simple action.
"Lauren," she said simply. "This idn't the first time I've been shot." She admitted to the surprise of the blond. "Seriously, I'm fine."
Lauren didn't seem to like the answer, but wasn't surprised by it either. Mac –on the other hand- seemed to be losing her battle with consciousness. Sure enough, in the time it took Lauren to return to the kitchen, Mac had slumped on the couch again and fallen asleep. Lauren didn't wake her and instead left her the things she knew Mac would need when she woke again on the coffee table. Her pills, a bottle of water from the fridge and her cell phone awaited the Scot whenever she woke up.
Tuck was in the gym at work. He wasn't in the mood for sparring and honestly, none of the others wanted to spar with him. Ever since he was a part of the annihilation of the last Heinrich –and the strange rumors surrounding it- the others were wary. Rumors were all they had to go on and Tuck's angry, agitated attitude since then didn't help things, so he was relegated to fighting alone with the heavy bag.
He was lost in thought, beating the shit out of the weighted bag, when FDR found him. The intense look on his brother's face bothered him. FDR's brows pulled together and he sighed. Dropping his bag on the nearest bench, he stepped over to Tuck.
"What?" Tuck asked before FDR could speak.
"Seriously man, it's been two and a half weeks since she got released." FDR said.
"And?" he dared. Tuck glanced around the bag briefly to look FDR in the eye. "You haven't spoken to her, either."
FDR ground his teeth briefly. His argument lost a little of its weight when Tuck said things like that.
"I've at least text her." He defended. It was weak, but he knew it was better than anything Tuck had done. "What about you?"
Tuck's jabs hesitated briefly. He still bounced his weight from one foot to the next, but it took a moment for the hits to begin again.
"She lied to us." Tuck muttered. It was the same tired excuse he'd been using since they found out the truth. The only difference now was Tuck seemed to be growing as tired of saying it as FDR was hearing it.
"Fine," he snapped under his breath. "I'll make you a deal. Shooting range, you and me."
Tuck stopped hitting the bag and gave his brother his full attention. He looked irritated.
"One clip. You do better than me, I'll leave it alone. I beat you, you have to go see Mac."
FDR noticed Tuck flinch when he said her name. He still wasn't used to hearing her referred to as anything other than Angela.
"I'm a better shot than you." He said simply.
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
Tuck glowered briefly, but eventually nodded. He just wanted to get FDR off his back.
Mac stood in her bathroom doing her best to change her bandages. Pain in the ass didn't seem to encompass the difficulty she was having. Being shot was such an inconvenience.
Since being home, Mac had stuck to wearing the bare minimum. She wore night clothes -a pair of cotton shorts, a thinly strapped shirt and her bathrobe. The thinly strapped shirt was the best she could do as far as tops went because a bra was out of the question and this was easier to maneuver than a sea of fabric.
She stood in front of the vanity with her shirt pulled down and her face twisted into a grimace as she tugged gently on the bandage. Her wound was tender and red and it wasn't even the worst one. This was just a little bullet hole stitched shut with three little threads.
When the soiled bandage was removed, she cleaned the area and slapped a new one on. It wasn't her main concern. The worst was on her back. Slipping the other strap from her shoulder, Mac rolled her shirt as best she could and pushed it out of the way to see her back. A large white gauze pad stretched inches across her back, wrapping around her side as it followed her ribcage. It made her gut turn.
Taking the bottom corner, Mac began to peel it off as slowly and gently as she could. It hurt. It hurt more than she could put into words, but she didn't have a choice. She had to maintain the damn thing.
She had to take breaks as she went, unable to withstand removing it all at once and incapable with the angel. Eventually, she had the bandage hanging by only an inch or so of tape when there was a loud knock on her door. Mac growled to herself. She didn't want company, but then again, maybe Lauren could help.
Reluctantly, Mac did her best to cover the injury again and threw her robe on before heading to the front door. She knew the wound would frighten the blond, if not make her sick, but she didn't know what else to do. When she opened the door however, Lauren wasn't who was on the other side.
"Tuck," she muttered in shock. "Wha' are you doin' here?"
She noticed him shift under the sound of her accent. She'd forgotten he hadn't come back to see her after she gave up the disguise. He left after yelling. FDR and Lauren were the only two who heard her real voice.
"Can I come in?"
He didn't have an answer to her question, so he decided to ignore it completely.
Part of him thought she'd tell him no, but to his surprise Mac stepped aside and let him in. He moved pass the woman in her bathrobe. Tuck turned to speak to her –just so he could tell FDR he did- when he noticed the back of her robe. His brows came together in confusion.
"Are you bleeding?"
"What?"
She tried her best to look over her shoulder, but winced in pain when she had.
"Shit." She hissed to herself. "I's tryin' to change my bandages."
Tuck felt his insides twist when she moved by him and towards her bathroom again. He didn't want to care. He didn't want to feel bad for her. Tuck wanted to stay mad. He wanted to be angry she'd lied to him for almost ten years, but it was hard. Whether he wanted to or not, Tuck found himself following after her. Granted it was a great deal slower than she moved, but he followed regardless.
By the time he made it to the bathroom, Mac had already returned to trying to remove her bandage. She was twisted with her back to the door which kept him from seeing her nude, but Tuck wasn't sure he would have noticed regardless. All he could see was the seven-inch gash that wrapped around her side and ended a couple of inches below the exit wound.
"Jesus," he breathed louder than he meant to.
Mac jumped and wrapped her arms around her chest to shield herself. She hadn't expected him to follow. Embarrassed and uncomfortable, Mac could do little more than stare at him until he left. But Tuck didn't plan on going anywhere.
