A/N - Project Blackbird. Brought to you by Objessions and Gib.

An action junkie and a science nerd are teaming up. That can only go well in this fandom.

Welcome to the dark rabbit hole of an AU that takes place after the end of Season 2. Instead of splitting this up and alternating chapters, we are really co-writing. We're working via google doc, so the flow will be based on how often we can work together on this.

As always - We own nothing. We're just here to have fun.

Chapter One

Mac rolled over and stretched comfortably. It was early, much earlier than he'd rolled out of bed on a weekend day in several months, but he could smell coffee, and hear the muted sounds of his about to be former roommate quietly lugging boxes out to the truck he'd rented for the weekend.

A few trips across town and Boze would officially be cohabitating with his getting-pretty-serious girlfriend. Mac smiled to himself, but didn't open his eyes just yet.

It was too nice to wake up not covered in bruises, or stitches, or just kicked to crap exhausted and jet lagged, to rush himself awake on one of his very predictable days off from his new job, or to hop right out of bed and start running boxes, whether he'd promised to help Bozer move in to Leanna's place or not.

Mac stretched again, this time positively grinning at how comfortable he was. Up until he'd quit the Phoenix, Mac didn't think he'd woken up not sore somewhere since his second day of Basic when he was still a teenager. Now it was just how he expected things to be.

Working on a design team for Tesla in Hawthorne was surprisingly stimulating, and delightfully not dangerous. Mac had worried that he wouldn't find the work meaningful, but instead the company put everything into the perspective of making the world a better place. And not in a theoretical way.

Everything; every request, every demand, every order, came with extensive explanation and justification. No one was expected to just accept a directive without having access to all the research, or without access to direct answers to questions and concerns.

He almost didn't know how to feel about that. After about a month, Mac decided that how he felt was valued, safe. He'd expected to miss his life as a Phoenix operative, expected to spend more time thinking about why Oversight had just dropped off the map.

Mostly he was grateful. If he'd never learned the truth about his father, his life might still be being manipulated. Instead, he knew about how his life had been hijacked, and had been able to walk away. And he'd even thought about going back after his father disappeared again, once Matty took on the lead administrative role at the Phoenix. Ultimately, he didn't trust that the disappearance was genuine. Besides, the offer from Tesla had been too attractive, and once he'd tried it out, the work itself was too much fun.

The worst thing that had happened to him at his new job was he'd accidentally crushed his thumb a little bit working on a prototype, and his lab partner had just sterilized a drill bit for him to he could relieve the pressure from the resulting blood blister, and the two of them had a beer after work and laughed about it.

Speaking of overreaction to even minor injuries, Mac snorted with laughter, it was probably about time to text Jack. If he was back from the most recent mission with Phoenix … Mac's brow furrowed briefly with the thought that Jack had promised to text him as soon as he was safe home and hadn't blown up Mac's phone yet … he'd promised to help Mac get Boze moved across town.

Mac might have overplayed how much his shoulder was still bothering him from the through and through Murdoc had inflicted supposedly saving his life, but he couldn't even feel bad about it. Part of him was feeling weirdly unsettled about the idea of occupying Harry's house all on his own, part was happy about it and felt like a bad friend to Bozer, and the other part was just missing spending time with Jack.

Jack did his best to come over, have dinner, drink too much, and watch bad action movies when he had time off. But Phoenix was Phoenix, even without James at the helm, and Jack was gone on secretive, clearly dangerous (if the ongoing slings and bandages, were any indication) missions, all too regularly.

Today was promised. And that meant a long stretch of just being with his friends, and maybe relaxing by the fire pit all on his own with Jack later, to have a quiet talk. Something they hadn't managed in a while.

Finally Mac pried his eyes open, glanced at the digital display on his phone, and sent a quick text to see if things were still going to work out as he'd hoped today.

0-0-0

Jack opened the door and sidestepped through. A quick sweep of the place told him nothing had been disturbed. He sent a silent thank you to the powers that be that his place remained untouched for a change.

Shouldering the door closed, he tossed his keys on the table and dropped his gear bag near the door. God, he was tired.

After a somewhat lengthy debrief at Phoenix, where he reported that yes, the ambassador was safe, no, there was no more collateral damage than necessary, and yes he knew just how much a Cessna Citation Mustang cost, Jack decided he didn't want to hang out at Phoenix any longer than necessary and truth be told, the shower at his place was ten times better than anything the Phoenix had, thanks to Mac.

When he first moved in, Jack had complained about the water pressure in the building. Of course, Mac had done his thing and made the shower one of the best things in the place; besides the barber chair and the TV, before it was tv-napped. Again.

Jack let the water cascade over stiff muscles. God, I'm gettin' old, he thought, making a mental to-do list that started with nuking something from the freezer and sleeping for a week. He'd have to do laundry eventually. And he needed to check in with Mac.

His brow crinkled, there was something he was supposed to do on Sunday with the kid. Crap, what day was it? He mentally calculated what day they had left on the mission, a few things that had happened to mark the time and ... Counting the days on his fingers, he suddenly realized it was Sunday.

"Dammit."

He'd almost totally forgotten that he'd offered to help Mac move Bozer.

He shut the water off, grabbed a towel, and picked up his watch. The timepiece confirmed his mental calculations of the day. Jack sighed and picked up his phone.

Sure enough, Mac had sent a text asking if he was still available for moving day. He replied with a thumbs up emoji. A promise was a promise. And how hard could moving Boze be? Half the junk in Mac's house actually sorta belonged to Mac, he thought. At least he hoped anyway.

After toweling off, Jack padded toward the bedroom, giving his oversized, insanely comfortable, orthopedic, worth every penny, bed a longing look before grabbing some fresh clothes.

As he sat on the edge of the bed to tie his boots, his stomach growled reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything substantial in quite a while. Grabbing his phone, he sent Mac a text. Oscar Mike. Bringing bagels.

A bagel wasn't exactly the nuked mac n cheese, or beer, he was looking forward to, even though it was early enough that the roosters were still probably waking up, but once normal sleep patterns got all out of whack, the rules of eating certain things at certain times of the day just didn't apply.

A nice fresh warm bagel from the little mom and pop place on the way to Mac's would have to do. He could have a beer later. Maybe with a nice big slice or four of pizza to go with it.

0-0-0

By the time Bozer offered them pizza and beer as a thank you for their help, it was dark out, and Mac could tell Jack was bone tired. He declined for both of them, then pulled Bozer into a brief embrace. "I'll miss having you right up the hall, man."

"I hate leaving you all on your own after everything that …" Boze started.

"Boze, I'm happy for you," Mac interrupted with a laugh. "What I was going to add was … But I hope Leanna knows what she's getting herself into. Lady Gaga on full volume to go with her five a.m. waffles isn't for the faint of heart."

Bozer laughed as Mac stepped back, grinning. "You're gonna miss my five a.m. waffles and my poker face, my my my poker face," he sang.

Mac shook his head. "I'm sure I will, Boze." He glanced at Jack who was absently rubbing a hand over his stubble, a sure sign to Mac that the man hadn't slept in a while. "And I appreciate the dinner invite, but I really want to head home and put my place back together."

Bozer nodded. "It was kinda trashed. Oh, hey, hang on a sec." He darted into the kitchen where Leanna was trying to figure out just where to put all of Bozer's kitchen tools.

While he was gone, Mac cocked an eyebrow at Jack. "When did you get back from … wherever?"

Jack shrugged, "Last night."

Mac gave a knowing little head shake. He knew from Jack's guarded tone that he'd probably come almost directly to help him today from the debrief. "You didn't have to do this today, man. We could have handled it."

Jack patted him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm not gonna bail on a promise to you, kid."

Mac was about to reply when Bozer came back with two gift bags. He gave one to Mac and one to Jack. "If you're not gonna let me feed you, you can't leave with the thank you for your help gifts Leanna got for you guys."

Jack looked in his bag and grinned at Bozer. "How the hell does your girl know my favorite bourbon is Maker's?"

Boze laughed. "I'd like to just say cuz she's a spy, but she asked Riley."

Mac had taken his gift out and was looking at it carefully. "This is really cool, Boze. Thanks."

Jack looked over Mac's shoulder. "Miniature drone kit, huh? Compared to my present I think maybe you got the short end of the stick, but I can tell from that dopey grin you don't think so."

A few minutes later they headed back to Mac's in his Jeep. Mac laughed softly to himself when he saw Jack try to suppress a couple of jaw cracking yawns. The dude needed to sleep. He looked like somebody who'd maybe had a short nap in the last three days and Mac knew from experience that pretty soon it was going to hit the guy hard.

The drive from Bozer and Leanna's house wasn't that far by L.A. standards, but with traffic, even on a Sunday night, distance didn't really mean anything. Jack was finding it harder and harder to stay awake, even if Mac was the one doing the driving, and was doing his best to add some more grey to Jack's already considerable crop of it.

By the time they'd made it onto the freeway, Jack's eyes had drifted shut and Mac could hear the occasional soft snore coming from the passenger's seat.

He smiled, adjusting the air conditioning and the radio to drown out the car horns of the impatient Angeleno's, but not so much as to wake Jack in and of themselves. Although he had to admit, Jack had an uncanny ability to sleep just about anywhere, through anything if he knew he wasn't under threat. He also had an uncanny ability to wake up at a pin drop if he knew anything might go south.

When Mac turned into his driveway, Jack jerked awake, quickly taking in his surroundings. "Sorry dude, didn't mean to nod off on ya," he said, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"I figured you could use a power nap, besides traffic was a mess tonight," he said ruefully. "You should be glad you missed it."

"Glad I did. How many people did you ..." He stopped mid sentence and scowled as he stepped out of the Jeep. "Porch light's out."

Jack knew for a fact Mac had a timer on the light and it was a bulb that supposedly didn't ever have to be replaced. He was instantly on alert.

"Well, I used to have a timer but you packed it," he shrugged, shutting the driver's side door, pulling his phone out, and turning on the flashlight app.

"I didn't pack anything that looked like a timer, dude," Jack said, reaching for his pistol, all traces of sleep gone from his mind and his appearance.

"Jack," Mac began in his best 'must placate the overwatch' tone.

Jack cautiously moved up the path toward the front door, intent on clearing the house. "Shut that thing off!" he whispered, waving an irritated hand at Mac's phone/flashlight.

"I could make some night vision goggles out of some stuff in the garage if that would make you feel better," Mac joked.

Well, it was sort of a joke. He easily could. He'd thought about doing so with an old camera of his grandfather's that he'd found recently anyway. But that certainly wasn't necessary now. Mac just shook his head and walked around the Jeep to shut the door Jack had left wide open after switching into Delta Dalton Combat Mode.

"Jack," Mac tried again to get Jack to calm down and listen for a minute. Since the Murdoc incident last fall, Jack had been a little more hair trigger with getting protective, not to mention jumping to conclusions.

"Shhh," Jack shushed Mac, continuing toward the door, eyes constantly scanning the area.

Mac sighed and leaned against the Jeep, folding his arms. Jack continued on his forward progress toward the door. "Jack!" he called out loudly. "There's nothing wrong with the light, man. Relax."

Jack stopped his forward progress and looked toward Mac. If the kid was yelling at him, when noise discipline was the order of the day, either Mac had forgotten everything he'd ever known about tactically critical situations when he turned in his credentials at Phoenix, or Mac knew something he didn't.

The kid was no dummy, so that left the latter.

"Jack, I told Boze he could have the timer because he'd feel better with one as a little security measure, and I've been working on a new model anyway. I watched you pack it," Mac explained calmly, trying to convince Jack there wasn't anything amiss before he'd have to add wood putty and a new front door to his weekly shopping list. "It doesn't actually look like a timer, more like a cube with a little triangle and a small cup on it."

Jack stood up, lowering his weapon as he looked away from the door toward Mac. "Was is about yay big?" Jack asked indicating with his thumb and forefinger.

Mac shoved off the Jeep and walked up to his former partner. "That'd be the one." Mac patted Jack on the shoulder and shined the light at his own chin, highlighting his face. "Sorry buddy, no bad guys here."

Jack holstered his pistol and massaged the back of his neck, face screwed up in an expression that was both thoughtful and plainly worried.

"Just cuz you don't work for you-know-who anymore, doesn't mean you can let your guard down. You know that right?"

Mac rolled his eyes, starting up the path, shouldering by Jack. "Yes, Jack. I am fully aware. Since every time you come over, you remind me."

Jack took two quick strides to catch up to Mac. "I don't remind you every time," he grumbled defensively, "Once or twice a week maybe, but not like every day, man." He stepped in front of Mac effectively blocking the door, just as Mac was going to insert the key. "You sure the light's out because of the triangle timer thingy?"

Mac rolled his eyes and lightly shoved Jack to the side. "Yes, Jack, I'm positive. Now, unless you plan on staying here tonight and helping me put my house back into relatively one piece, you should go home and get some sleep. You're getting the kind of paranoid you only get after," Mac looked up like he was doing some mental calculations. "Like four days without real sleep."

Jack sighed. The kid knew him awfully well. It had been almost exactly four days with nothing more than naps and he was starting to feel a little ragged around the edges. He followed Mac through the door and skated smoothly around him as Mac turned off the alarm. Despite Mac's reassurances, he was still on edge and quickly scanned the house as Mac flipped on the lights and headed into the kitchen. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, other than the practically bare cupboards and missing knickknacks, Jack finally relaxed.

Mac opened the fridge and surveyed the contents. "You want a beer before you take off?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." He sighed. "So, you really don't need any help with … well, whatever you plan on doing?"

Mac glanced around the house. "There really isn't anything for you to do. Like I said, you should go get some sleep. Or you're more than welcome to crash here if you want." Mac indicated Bozer's recently vacated room. It still had a bed and everything, since Leanna already had a fairly luxurious King size bed she wasn't about to trade out for Bozer's lumpy full size. "If you're too tired to drive."

"Nah, I'm good. Got my fifth wind and all that. I could give you hand here." He waved around the house. "Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I bailed on ya and left you here all by yourself on the first night. I mean, after the year you've put in."

Jack bent over and picked up a piece of packing tissue, wadded it up and tossed it toward the kitchen sink, pumping a fist slightly at hitting the mark. He realized he was nearly mirroring Bozer's words from earlier.

He knew he was being over protective and it wasn't like Mac hadn't ever stayed by himself, but Jack just wanted to make sure Mac was okay with the whole no more roommate thing and an empty house. The kid hadn't exactly had the best sleep habits since Jack first met him, and the events of the last year or so had compounded those habits.

Mac knew Jack didn't want to leave him alone and if he thought about it, he should be pissed his friend was so worried about it. If it were anyone else he'd inform them that he was a grown-ass man, thank you very much, and he was perfectly capable of sleeping alone just about anywhere, say nothing about his own, very comfortable, and familiar, bed.

But this was just Jack. His Jack. The guy that genuinely cared about him and didn't want anything from him other than friendship. The same Jack that was loyal enough that if he so much as hinted he needed help moving a bookshelf or reorganizing his kitchen, Jack would stay for as long as he needed, even if he was almost asleep on his feet. The Jack who proudly called him brother, and who proclaimed himself a helicopter parent to anyone who would listen. And most of the time Mac really appreciated that. But Jack looked genuinely beat.

Mac decided to give Jack an out he couldn't refuse.

"Look, honestly I was planning on reorganizing my stash of robotic components I've had stuffed in the closet for a couple of years. You can hang out here and watch if you want, but it's pretty technical and it might take a while. That's all I'll probably get to tonight."

It wasn't an out and out lie. He did have robotic components in the closet. But it was a small bin full that happened to be very organized. It was in the closet though.

Jack sighed, then smirked. "And watch you energizer bunny your way through a bunch of nerdy junk until the sun comes up. No thanks, dude."

Mac pushed Jack's arm a little, steering him toward the door. "Go home, get some sleep. I'll be sure and call you if I need help sorting servos."

Jack fished his keys out of his pocket, and laughed. "I wouldn't be able to tell what's trash and what's some world savin' gadget you've got in the works. Next thing you know I'm being blamed for the robopocalypse. Besides, you're the idea guy in this relationship. Think I'm gonna listen to you and head on home, sample that nice bottle of Maker's, and hit the hay."

Mac rolled his eyes affectionately. "I wouldn't let you touch the important stuff anyway, Jack. You know that," he teased as he walked his friend the rest of the way to the door.

"Yeah, well, just the same, I'd prefer not to be responsible for the end of the world there, genius." Jack walked out onto the steps and turned. "Get this damn light fixed will ya? 'Bout gave me a freaking heart attack, thinking somebody busted in here."

"I'll get it fixed, Jack, Scout's honor." Mac chuckled, hitting the switch that turned on the floodlights that lit up the yard and parking area as Jack walked toward his car that had been parked there since early that morning.

"Smart ass." Jack waved over his shoulder as he walked away, "Gimme a call when you get this place cleaned up and it's safe to come back over."

Mac smiled and shook his head as he watched Jack pull out of the driveway in typical Jack fashion, squealing the tires just enough to make his presence known to the entire neighborhood. Mac shut the door, turned the lights off and surveyed the now too quiet house and sighed. Then he got out his phone and called for pizza. He could face cleaning up. He couldn't face trying to cook.

0-0-0

It took Mac a few hours to rearrange things to fill the holes left by all of Bozer's stuff. He never realized it before, because he thought he'd cornered the market on it, but his now former roommate was kind of a packrat. Around nine or so, Mac remembered there was a pizza on the counter and grabbed a room temperature slice.

He realized that between the empty stomach and the length of the day, the couple of beers he'd sipped while he worked had actually resulted in a little bit of a buzz. He shrugged to himself and cracked a third to go with his pizza. Not bothering with a plate, Mac grabbed another slice on his way out onto the deck.

He was tired, but not the sort of tired that meant he was ready for bed. Just the kind that said it was maybe time to lay off the current project and relax a little so he could actually sleep when the time came. He could always work on the house a little bit at a time after work this week, and he didn't have to be at work until ten tomorrow because of a conference call his supervisor wanted him there for later in the evening than he usually worked.

He got the fire started in the pit, holding his slice of pizza by the crust between his teeth, the stretched out on the floorboards, propping himself up on his elbows, reclining on a throw pillow from one of the deckchairs. Jesus, it was quiet. Even the distant noises of the city were muted by the crackle of the fire.

Mac sighed deeply. It was a tired sort of sound. But after everything that had happened in the last couple of years, he thought he was entitled to give in to being a little worn out from it from time to time. Besides, despite the occasional bouts of mild existential angst, he really was pretty happy.

He loved Bozer to pieces, but he really was enjoying the silence, the lack of frenetic, make everything alright through sheer will, energy that characterised his oldest friend. He thought he might really like living alone, figuring out who he was totally separate from his friends.

He would admit to missing working with Jack, but he wondered if Jack didn't enjoy his job more without him to look out for. Mac hadn't really thought much about it before Boze went to work at Phoenix, but … when they were in the field together, Mac worried incessantly about Bozer. It gave him some perspective about how protective Jack could be.

His beer was empty. But he was warm and comfortable on the deck. And also a little looped, truth be told. He had about half a bagel with Jack, then he'd eaten … a granola bar, maybe? He couldn't remember. They'd been busy. Two pieces of pizza, and four beers in fairly quick succession. He grumbled to himself that he should probably haul his ass inside, grab a water, maybe a shower, and then hit the rack.

He didn't have to be up early or anything, but Monday promised to be long.

He got to his feet, groaning a little at how stiff and sore he was from all the lugging and carrying and lumping things up and down stairs. He laughed quietly to himself. Time to maybe hit the gym a little harder. Once upon a time, he didn't think he'd been this sore after running from Bosnian drug lords and jumping out of a plane, landing badly, and running again.

Poor Jack, he thought as he headed inside for a shower. Dude must feel like he got hit by a bus. Then again, Jack's job was still to be in the best shape he could be. Of course, Mac grinned, Jack also had like fifteen years on him.

Besides, it's not like getting out of the spy game meant he'd let his conditioning go. In fact, as long as he remembered to eat at something like regular intervals, Mac found it almost ridiculously easy to stay in shape. Just there was a difference, he supposed, between the functional fitness of being on the run, or set to chase all the time, and hitting the gym and the trail four or five days a week.

He figured he wasn't too far gone because a hot shower soothed all of it, in a way it never had after a mission. Toweled off, dressed in his comfiest sweats, he turned back the covers on his bed. Then he stopped.

Faced with the prospect of going to sleep in the silent, empty house he decided that maybe he'd go watch some tv on the couch, at least until he felt a little sleepier. He grabbed a pillow and his comforter, just in case he decided to stay out there.

It wasn't that he'd never been in the house alone, or that there was anything particular bothering him about it. It just felt so … permanent. And while he hadn't had a really bad nightmare in a while, the last year had been full of them. He kind of liked the idea of having the tv on to orient him since he no longer had Boze around to shake him awake.

He turned on the tv, scrolling until he landed on some explosives special on the Military Channel, which he sometimes liked to watch and dissect for inaccuracies. It relaxed him. It worked, too, because he could feel his eyelids getting heavier by the second. Between beer and bombs that other people had to deal with, he'd overcome the vague sense of … not unease … but newness … that might otherwise have kept him up.

After a while, Mac gave in to the feeling and stretched out on the couch, rolling onto his side to keep watching the show, and bunching his pillow up comfortably between his head and the arm it was slightly propped up on. He was almost asleep, the television fading into the soft background of his consciousness, his breathing leveling out the way it usually did now that he wasn't in a constant state of stress from work just completed or on the horizon.

He teetered on the edge of sleep when a sharp triple hard knock on his front door caused him to bolt upright, scrambling off the couch.

He looked around somewhat wildly for a moment, disoriented. The knock had sent his heart to fluttering like a hummingbird trapped in the cage of his chest, and for a second he couldn't quite figure out why. Then as he returned to complete wakefulness his heart slowed a little, and he realized it was because his alarm system should have chimed when someone set foot on the walkway up to his door. It didn't go off or anything, just gave a little warning blip.

He set the alarm, didn't he? Images of Murdoc, his lackeys, the bomb in his basement, hell, the LAPD detectives, all just coming to his home and catching him unaware played through his mind at high speed. Mac's heart took back off at a gallop. He forced himself into the game-faced, mission-ready calm that years of training gave him access to. His heart and his breath cooperated almost immediately.

Looking across the room to the control panel by the door, he could see the red light that assured him his system was armed blinking placidly in the shadows.

He moved over to his laptop on the desk across the room, opened it, and pulled up the camera feed. There was no one at his door. But there was a large box, about the size of a case of copy paper, sitting on his welcome mat. He frowned at the image for a moment.

The he activated the flood lights so he could see further into his yard and parking area.

No one there either.

The lonely box made Mac think once again of the Ghost. Then the fact that whoever delivered the box got to his door undetected and then disappeared from the area with spooky speed made him think of Murdoc. Part of him wanted to call the police. Another part sort of wanted to call Matty. Mostly he wanted to call Jack. But … he also didn't want to over react to what was potentially an innocent prank from some neighbor kid, or pull his friends into trouble if it wasn't so innocent.

Looking at the screen again to assure himself that there really wasn't anyone in view. He picked up his Swiss Army knife off the desk and started toward the door. Then he stopped again. He went into his room and put on his boots. He thought he could live with getting jumped in his pjs, but getting jumped while barefoot wasn't a disadvantage he wanted to think about. He almost laughed at how paranoid it seemed. Then Murdoc's face passed through his mind again and he finished tying his shoes.

A few minutes later he was standing on his front stoop, looking down at a plain brown paper wrapped box. He thought his first impulse had been correct. It looked like a copy paper box someone wrapped up. There was no address or anything written on it, so it clearly hadn't been innocently delivered by a messenger service.

Sighing, he squatted down next to the box to evaluate it more closely. Several minutes of careful inspection yielded some secrets to his experienced senses.

He was pretty sure it wasn't a bomb.

That didn't mean it was anything good though. He could picture all sorts of terrible things it could be. Like pounds of white powder that might be baby powder or it might be anthrax. A canister of gas. That would probably knock him out and he'd wake up chained to a chair in a basement with Murdoc's crazy dead shark's eyes staring into his. A human head.

"Get a grip, Mac, jeez," he mumbled to himself.

Then he almost laughed as he pictured the Brad Pitt impression he knew Jack would launch into if he were here. A loud, "What's in the box? What's in the box?" would definitely happen. His expression became serious again when he realized he hadn't been able to comfortably watch movies like Se7en since his first disturbing encounter with the obsessive, evil clown levels of creepy, Murdoc.

A dog barked. Close. He jumped just a little, then looked up. His neighbor Claire was walking her familiar Great Dane, amusingly named Hamlet, within easy view. He waved absently, deciding right then to take the damned box inside before anyone else saw it or was potentially hurt by whatever the contents was.

Mac carefully picked it up. It was heavy for its size, probably twenty pounds or so, which was pretty consistent with it being a copy paper box. If it was actually full of copy paper. He got it inside without mishap and set it down on his coffee table. Then he went directly back to the door and rearmed his security system, having caught Jack's earlier paranoia about his light like a bad cold.

He sat down on the couch, shoving his pillow and blanket out of the way and facing the box. He frowned. Then he got up and retrieved his phone from over on the charging station, setting it next to him as he sat back down to continue his investigation of the box. Honestly he was hoping this was nothing. But he was so used to even innocuous things turning into giant problems, that he just felt better knowing a call for help was in reach.

He slit the paper around the lid and eased the top off the box with the careful, precise movement that would have told Jack, had he been there, that Mac still half suspected an explosive device.

"Huh."

He cast the lid aside onto the floor. The box was full of copy paper. Right to the top. There was an envelop resting on the neat stacks. Mac sighed and slit that open too, thinking to himself, "Now's when I find the anthrax."

Instead, what he found was a folded piece of paper, with a few words written on it in plain blue pen, in what looked like a shaky hand.

Mini Mac,

I thought maybe it was time somebody explained a few things to you.

I thought it was time someone told you the truth.

There's more where this came from, kid.

And he's not done yet. Not by a long shot.

Not unless somebody stops him.

J.W.

Mac sat staring at the note for several minutes. He ran a hand over his eyes. Mini Mac. J.W. This package had to come from Jonah Walsh. But why? To what end? He looked back at the note and realized his hand was shaking a little. He put it down on the coffee table and started to sift through the contents, a hollow feeling seeping into his chest.

This was thousands of sheets of photocopied notes, photographs, medical records, profiles … Names he knew, faces he recognized. He wished he hadn't eaten that pizza, because as all this information got put into context, he started to feel kind of sick. This box was cataloguing years of experiments in the lab and in the field stretching back to before Jack was born.

After a while, Mac stopped reading, started just trying to quickly categorize the information. He started to sort things into piles by … participant didn't feel like the right word … test subject came closer … but his brain settled on lab rat, or guinea pig, by turns.

And the more Mac sifted through the papers, the angrier, the more horrified, he became. The hollow feeling continued to grow.

All of the test subjects had been human. Most of them had apparently been volunteers if the copies of release forms were to be believed, but there was clearly not an ethical level of disclosure, and some of them … some of them hadn't known they were part of an experiment at all.

Military and government types he could almost deal with. But the civilians bothered him. The elderly, the disabled, women … Children. Who the hell would experiment on children. Other than maybe the Nazis.

He couldn't even process that his own government really did this. Especially because … Well, because … Damnit, he felt sick. He tried to push the feeling aside. But he couldn't. He got the impression from the first papers he looked through this started with the CIA, but morphed into something else after a decade or so, and …

It was very clear who the lead researcher was, or at least who it had been since the mid 1980's. James MacGyver hadn't just left him on his tenth birthday, hadn't just manipulated his life in small ways for the whole course of it until Mac had walked out of Phoenix months ago, hadn't even just been Oversight. James MacGyver has been experimenting on people for some arm of the government, although who was footing the bills that led to KX7 wasn't clear from the cursory glances Mac was giving the information. And he'd been doing so years before Mac was born.

As he neared the bottom of the box, he discovered a stack of papers that was set apart by a sticky note on top.

I'm really sorry about this, kid.

Mac peeled off the note and the ID picture cover page under it was revealed. Mac swallowed hard. He held it for a long time. Then he slowly started reading the first few pages. After staring at the introductory information, but finding himself unable to read further, he set it aside and started looking at some of the other stacks of papers.

By the time he looked up at the clock again, his eyes felt hot and dry, and his head ached with the steady sort of thud he'd normally have associated with a concussion. He sighed deeply, then picked up his phone from where he'd left it off to the side.

"Hey, Alan … Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna make it in … Killer migraine. I'm so sorry about the conference call … Thanks, I appreciate it … Nah, man, I can't. I'm not eligible for insurance for a couple more weeks … Okay, I will … I'll let you know. Thanks, bye."

He appreciated working for a place where a guy taking a sick day wasn't treated like a national emergency and instead of acting inconvenienced, he was met with a totally appropriate concern for a valued employee. As far as supervisors went, Mac could have done a lot worse than Alan. He did have a headache, but migraine was a stretch. But it was a nice non-specific illness that would be totally understandable to ask for a day or so off for, without anyone calling 911 because they thought he was dying.

With work taken care of, Mac made the more important phone call of the morning.

"Hey, Jack," Mac said, sounding, he though, pretty normal.

"What's wrong?" Jack replied by way of a greeting.

"How do you know anything's wrong?" Mac asked, trying to sound like he was teasing and failing miserably.

"Mac … For real, kid. I hate it when you know I'm right and you stall."

Mac sighed. "Okay. I'm … I need … Can you come over after work today if you don't get sent to … wherever …"

"I can come over right the hell now if something's wrong." Mac realized that was probably already in process because he heard Jack's car door in the background and he heard the engine roar to life, just the way Jack liked it.

"You don't need to drop everything and rush right over …" Mac trailed off. He actually really did need Jack to do exactly that. "Okay, actually, yeah. I'll start the coffee. See you in a few." His cringed at how flat his voice sounded.

Mac's thumb moved to end the call, but he heard Jack ask, "What's goin' on, Mac? Don't leave me hanging like this across town."

Mac swallowed again. He wanted Jack here, didn't want to be reading all this, going through this on his own. But he also thought Jack might actually blow a gasket when he saw what had prompted this early morning phone call.

"Someone delivered a package here last night … Don't freak out. It wasn't dangerous … Well, not the way we think of danger, I guess. But it's full of information that feels pretty dangerous to me. And I know who sent it."

"Don't tell me Sir Oversight has resurfaced to screw with you again and …"

"No, Jack I'm pretty sure that this information is the last thing James MacGyver would have wanted me to see. It's from Jonah Walsh."

"What the hell would that crazy bastard …"

Mac interrupted again. "Just … I'll show you when you get here. I can't talk … I'm gonna start the coffee," he repeated, and ended the call.

Instead of starting the coffee, Mac just sat there for a few minutes. Then he picked up the final folder that he'd spent the last several hours reviewing and took it into his room, placing it in one of his drawers, covering it with socks and underwear, and then closing it up. After that he did go start the coffee.

He would show it to Jack. Of course he would. But he wasn't quite ready for that this morning. The rest of this was bad enough. When Jack got a load of even just the ID cover page of that folder he was going to flip out and probably call everyone from Riley, to Matty, to the President of the United States (whom Jack had often joked he had on speed dial, he just didn't want to call in that particular favor too soon).

It hadn't made Mac flip out.

It just left him feeling empty, cold. And sort of sick to his stomach.

Seeing your own face on a file like that could do that to a guy, he supposed.