A/N: I know I have some fics open and starting a new one is dumb. But I haven't really slept more than a couple of hours a night in over a week, and my brain is making decisions independent of consulting me at this point. Also, I'm working on my third novel and my characters are currently pretty banged up. I needed to whump someone else for a minute. So, yeah, there will be whump at some point.

A shameless, self indulgent hurt-comforty, bromance, whumpfest.

As always I own nothing. Including a mallet for this insomnia. Enjoy. ~ J

Riddles and Explanations

"London is a riddle. Paris is an explanation."

G. K. Chesterson

The aftermath could certainly have been worse. Between the mission involving a few of the Royals, an attempted kidnapping, flying bullets, and civilians playing stunt man, Mac was reasonably pleased that the worst they got out of the mission was Jack in a sling he was pretty sure he was only wearing for attention at this point because it was, as Jack himself might have put it if he wasn't trying to get some Duchess's phone number out of the deal, hardly more than a mosquito bite.

Matty was pretty thrilled with the outcome, too. Mac might have been happier if the consequences hadn't also included having to attend a dinner to be thanked by the Queen. There was no enjoying a meal when your tie was that tight and you knew people who'd been coached in the niceties of high society since birth were watching your every move. Well, that and Jack was digging deep for Tom Clancy references almost from the word go.

"Not here, Jack," he said under his breath.

"Here is the perfect place!" his partner protested, as he selected what even Mac knew was the wrong fork. And the Hell of it was, Mac wasn't entirely sure Jack wasn't doing it on purpose. "Besides, since I got myself awarded the Order of the Purple Target, I should get to enjoy myself a little."

"No more Patriot Games references, Jack. At this point, I'd rather you went with Die Hard. I at least know nothing in it ever had cause to piss off her Majesty." Mac winced when the diner on his other elbow raised her eyebrow at him, so apparently he was matching Jack's volume.

Jack shoveled in some of the lamb roast into his mouth and made a face. "Just once I'd like to go someplace in this country where the food is decent."

"Jack! Shhh," Mac hissed and more heads turned. He leaned close enough to be sure only Jack would hear him. "I think lamb tastes like sweatsocks, too. But you don't hear me saying so here at the table!" He glanced around to be sure attention hadn't stayed on him. He gestured at the uniformed gentleman standing a discrete distance behind Jack's chair. "Your personal servant there already cut everything up small enough for an infant. Just move it around a little. Nobody will notice you haven't eaten any."

Jack cocked an eyebrow at him, but didn't comment. He did, however, pick up his fork again and proceed to follow Mac's advice.

After a couple of minutes where it seemed Jack had figured out how to not embarrass them in a way that would probably have the Queen calling the boss, as in the Big Boss, Mac quietly said, "The pub up the street from our hotel is really good."

"Yeah? When did you eat there?"

"Last night when you went out with … what was her name?"

Jack scowled. "Harriet."

Mac smirked. "Oh, okay. Now this makes sense."

"What?"

"You're being salty because your evening didn't go as planned last night."

Jack glanced around at everyone else at the table, eating and talking pleasantly, and sighed. "It was alright I guess. Just, turned out Ms. Scotland Yard was more interested in rehashing the tactical aspects of last week than she was in Ole Jack and his heroically wounded shoulder."

Mac grinned. "I mean, I guess I get you being disappointed that it wasn't really a date-date, but you love Monday Morning Quarterbacking missions. Especially with anyone in the foreign services. And if she wasn't a redhead, I bet you would've ditched that sling two days ago."

"Yeah, well, having to stay on for this state dinner after the mission was over made things feel kinda like a vacation and we ain't exactly had one a those in a minute." Mac opened his mouth to respond, but Jack didn't let him get started. "And if you even bring up Vegas, Mac, I swear—"

Mac held up his hands. "I'm the last person who'd call anything about that trip recreational."

"Good," Jack said with a firm nod. "It'd just be nice to get a break once in a while, is all."

Mac nodded slowly, thinking. "Yeah, I could use a break myself, honestly."

Jack waved his fork to point at the sling. "We got a little time comin' our way once we clear out of here. Maybe we should, I don't know … we could head to the ranch."

"Honestly, Jack. I'd rather not vacation someplace where everyone knows me at the moment. If we're gonna take a break, let's really take a break. Besides, do you really want to explain another sling to anyone in your family?"

Jack chuckled. "I guess maybe not. Where should we go then?"

Mac shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we should ask Ri?" He found himself annoyed that she hadn't been seated with them and caught her eye from across the table. One of her brows went up with an unspoken question. "Vacation?" he mouthed.

Her face immediately brightened and the shift from fake fancy dinner smile to real one registered on the face of her dining companion. She excused herself like she was going to the restroom and came over to where they were sitting. "Vacation? Seriously? You think Matty's not just going to send us right back out?"

Mac shook his head. "As far as normal people are concerned, Jack's injured."

She snorted. "But Jack's definitely not normal." She punched him affectionately in his good shoulder. "Are you, old man?"

"Not if I can help it," Jack grinned. "What Mac is sayin' is this one got some attention. She's not gonna do her usual, cuz somebody might notice."

"I wouldn't hate a real vacation," she said wistfully.

"We can't decide where to go," Mac said with a shrug. "We thought maybe you'd have some ideas."

"Paris," she said without hesitation.

"Paris hasn't exactly been a great spot for fond memories," Mac began.

"So we'll stay out of the catacombs this time," she said lightly. "The fact that your only experiences in the City of Lights have sucked is the biggest reason we should go."

Jack agreed. "Yeah, man, the last time I was in Paris all I got to do was beat up a hit man and try to get your skinny ass to be sensible and not go globe trotting without your bodyguard."

"Personal security," Mac corrected, but he blushed and shifted uncomfortably. He'd been trying not to think about that particular trip to Paris, or how it had ended. In some ways, that was almost worse than his encounter with The Ghost. He still felt bad about how he'd treated Jack that day. Even though eventually there'd been a genuine apology and some warm beer. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach about agreeing to this, but he forced a smile anyway.

"Alright. Paris it is."