Good Samaritan Hospital, Downtown Los Angeles
Present Day
1700 hrs
Jack
Mac stirred for the first time right around the same time Jack considered leaving to grab food from the cafeteria.
He'd been sitting in the recliner the doctor brought in, positioned on the left side of Mac's bed so that he could grab the kid's hand if need be, legs kicked up. He'd fallen asleep twice listening to nothing but the low murmur of hospital staff outside of Mac's door. Matty had called, Riley had called, Bozer had called, but he'd told them all to stay home. Nothing much to do here but wait.
Until the first low groan hit his ears just as he stood to stretch his aching muscles.
"Mac?"
The young agent turned his head slowly on the pillow, his lashes flickering against bruised skin as though he were fighting their weight. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, leaning an elbow on the side rail.
"Hey, bud," he encouraged. "How about you go ahead and wake up now."
Mac frowned, a beam of light from the setting sun breaking through the pulled curtains and painting a myriad of colors across his cheekbones.
"You know how I get if I'm left on my own too long, kid," Jack tried, reaching up to push Mac's bangs from his forehead. "Probably best if you just open your eyes."
Mac's frown deepened, and he groaned softly, turning his face slightly so that the sunbeam shifted to his throat. Jack picked up Mac's left hand, holding it loosely in his own, watching as the weight of unconsciousness retreated and the lines around Mac's eyes faded. The minute he saw a sliver of blue between the dark lashes, he smiled.
"There you are."
Mac blinked sluggishly, staring at Jack for a beat, before his eyes strayed toward the sunbeam. Jack followed his eye line, watching small particles of dust dance in and out of the light. He looked back at Mac who, for the moment, seemed content to simply stare at the beam.
"Mac," Jack squeezed his hand slightly. "You here with me, bud?"
"Descartes," Mac whispered, his naturally-deep voice sleep-rough and thin.
Jack blinked. "Bless you."
Mac swallowed, lifting his hand from where it rested in Jack's and trailing his fingers through the sunbeam. "Descartes."
On a sigh, Mac closed his eyes, his hand falling limp to the side of the bed. Jack picked it up and laid it next to him once more.
"Descartes," Jack whispered to himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening the browser window. After a few misspelling attempts, he finally pulled up something that made sense. "Oh, here we go. Réne Descartes, French philosopher and mathematician. Argued the corpus…corpus-cu-lar…corpuscular, what the hell…? Oh, particles. Well, why don't they just say particles?" He looked up at Mac's closed eyes, then back down at his phone. "Corpuscular theory of light, stating that light is made up of small particles traveling in a straight line with a finite velocity and kinetic energy." He huffed a laugh. "Damn, kid. Always thinking, even when your marbles are scrambled."
He sighed, taking the win that Mac had at least opened his eyes, and even if Jack didn't understand the connections his brain was making, at least they were making connections. He settled back into the recliner, turning it so that Mac was in his eyeline.
He lost track of time once more, but his stomach didn't and just when he was about to see how much trouble he'd get in by having a pizza delivered to ICU, he heard knuckles rapping against the door frame.
"May I enter?"
Jack looked up to see Ben-Aryeh Harim pause in the doorway. He waved him in and saw to his utter delight that the man carried a take-out bag from In-And-Out Burger.
"Oh, you beautiful man," Jack sighed, standing up and taking the bag Ben offered him. He opened the top, breathing in the scent of burgers and fries, then closed the bag, clutching it to his chest. "How'd you know?"
"Your…uh, Matty," Ben tilted his head. "When I asked where the boy ended up, she suggested you might need some…food…." Ben blinked, stretching out the last word as he watched Jack devour one of the hamburgers in roughly four bites. "It appears she was correct."
Jack nodded, sinking down into the recliner to finish his meal. Ben studied Mac's face, then let his eyes drift over the readout on the machine suspended above the bed.
"Has he woken at all?"
"Once," Jack said around a mouthful of fries. "Long enough to say something about a French philosopher and light particles, then he was out again."
Ben chuckled. "I take it this is not unusual for him?"
Jack wiped his mouth, finishing off the fries before answering. "He's one of the smartest people I've ever met—and I've met a lot of people. But he's not just smart, he…he remembers stuff. Everything. He told me once it was like his brain was filled with thousands of filing cabinets. And it doesn't take him long to figure out…y'know, which drawer to open." Jack balled up the empty food bag and tossed it to the waste basket. "Usually just in time to save someone's ass. Often mine."
"He is an extraordinary young man," Ben nodded. His eyes drifted over Mac's face, down the bandaged arm, and he frowned.
"What is it?" Jack asked, hyper-vigilant when it came to Mac's condition.
"Nothing," Ben replied, looking up at Jack. "I am just thinking about a mind such as his, and the story you shared."
Jack nodded, standing up. He dragged a hand down his face, then rested his hands at his hips, feeling the need to square up for this conversation. "You're talking about him hearing me."
Ben nodded. "As his brain heals, an eidetic memory will search for an anchor. If he settles on your story, you may need to help him find his way out of it."
"Tell me something," Jack replied. "Why didn't you want tell us you were Mossad?"
Ben blinked at him, going slightly pale. "Why do you think this?"
Jack shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing. "Where there is no guidance, a nation falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety," he quoted. "You repeated part of that motto last night after you first stabilized my boy, here."
"It seems that your young partner is not the only one with the good memory," Ben replied quietly.
"You said you were a Medic in the Army—Israeli Defense Forces, obviously," Jack tipped his head. "But you're more than that, aren't you?"
"I was, once," Ben nodded. "But I am no longer that person. We live many lives in one lifetime. Some of them we want to forget quickly, others we hold onto with desperation."
"And I'm guessing being a line cook in an L.A. restaurant is…?"
"The latter," Ben replied softly.
Jack watched the other man for a moment, thinking of the different people he'd encountered as a soldier, during his time in the CIA, with DXS and now with the Phoenix. So many fit the description Ben had offered. Jack was clear which part of his life he wanted to forget and which he was holding onto with desperation. He wondered about Mac….
"Take him..." Mac's rough voice startled Jack out of his musing.
He jumped, turning to see the young agent's face folded into a frown of anguish, the bandage wrapped around his forehead bunching as Mac tossed his head.
"Please, Jack…."
"Hey, bud," Jack leaned forward, ignoring Ben's proximity for the moment. All that mattered was the wrecked emotion he heard bleeding through Mac's tone. "Easy, kiddo. You're okay."
Mac opened his eyes wide, the blue almost eaten away by the black, his pupils blown so wide. Jack had to wonder what they had him on. Mac gasped, reaching for Jack, catching the man's leather cuff with the edges of his fingertips as Jack instinctively reached back.
"We gotta get him outta here, Jack," he said, desperation turning his breath thin. "He's not going to make it."
Jack felt his heart clench. Tommy. When Mac had been recovering in the infirmary back at the Kandahar base, he'd gotten confused multiple times about whether he'd gotten Tommy out of that makeshift barricade. It had taken Jack almost two full days to anchor him in the here and now.
"It's okay, Mac," Jack soothed, hitching a hip on the edge of the bed, and allowing Mac more room to grab onto his arm. "You got him out of there. You did real good."
Mac shook his head. "He's bleedin' bad, Jack. You gotta help him." He pulled on Jack's arm, leveraging himself up in the bed, gasping helplessly as the motion pulled at his bruised chest. "The…the RPG—"
"No RPG, Mac," Jack reassured him, gripping Mac's elbow loosely as the kid's long fingers climbed his arm in his desperation. "You're safe. You're in Los Angeles, in a hospital. And I'm right here. Right here with you."
But Mac was adamant. He shook his head, practically upright in his conviction that something was wrong. The readout on his heartrate monitor started to flash in the corner of Jack's eyes, the steady spikes and valley's increasing until there were only spikes.
Mac's right arm rested, useless, in his lap. The fingers on his left hand clawed forward until he was gripping Jack's bicep, anchoring himself. His blue eyes were pinned to Jack's face, imploring. Practically begging him to act. To do something that stopped the nightmare he could still see, vivid and in technicolor, to this day.
"He's…he's hurting, Jack," Mac tried, his voice trembling and Jack felt a sob build in his chest as Mac's eyes filled with tears. "He's…God, he's so young."
"He was your age," Jack remembered, choking back his emotion. "And he didn't deserve to die like that."
Mac's breath hitched, a tear spilling over, skipping and skittering down his cheek. Jack couldn't tear his eyes away, watching as it slid along Mac's jaw and disappeared. Choked gasps for breath pulled at Mac's shoulders and his blue eyes seemed to glow with emotion.
"He's gone." It more of a statement than a question.
Jack nodded. "Yeah, bud. He's gone. You got him out of there, though."
"But I didn't save him." Mac's voice trembled, cracking and breaking over the last word.
Jack shook his head, his lips folding and flattening as he tried to keep the tears at bay, remembering having this same conversation seven years ago, with a much younger, much more-broken MacGyver.
"You tried, kid. Goddamn," he exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "You tried so hard."
"Mac," Ben stepped forward and Mac's eyes tracked slowly toward the new voice, pulling his lips against his teeth as he tried to steady his breathing. "I have seen what happens when families are not united with their loved ones. You gave Tommy's family that gift."
As Mac stared at Ben, Jack felt the kids' fingers tighten on his bicep almost painfully. He realized suddenly that Mac had no idea who Ben was—he'd been unconscious for most of the man's ministrations.
"Mac, this is Ben," he introduced the Medic. "He helped me keep you in one piece after the earthquake."
Mac looked back over at Jack, his blue eyes young and scared. "Earthquake?"
Jack nodded. "You remember the restaurant? Matty's special mission?"
Mac shook his head slowly, his eyes dropping to his lap, then tracing up the thick bandages on his arm. Slowly, with the grace of the Tin Man after a night out in the rain, he released Jack's arm, his trembling hand going up to the bandage on his head. He touched the thickest part with tentative fingers.
"Flynn…."
Jack nodded. "Yeah, Flynn was there," he confirmed. "Turns out it was his place, remember? And you saved him, kid. You got him out of the kitchen. You saved us all, man."
Mac frowned, pressing the heel of his hand against the bridge of his nose. "It's…it's all messed up."
"What is?" Jack asked softly.
"We're home?" Mac looked up at him, his voice going young, his eyes filled with tears.
Jack nodded. "We're home, kid."
"And you didn't leave me…."
Jack sniffed, losing the war with his emotions. "I didn't leave you."
Mac closed his eyes. "Fuck, my head hurts," he breathed.
"Wanna lie back?"
Mac nodded, and Jack cupped the back of head, easing him back against the pillows. Just as he was about to pull his hand away, Mac reached up to grab his wrist. "I don't remember…."
"What don't you remember, bud?"
"I don't remember leaving…leaving that street. I remember Tommy. I remember you. But I don't remember…leaving."
Jack was still bent over Mac, his hand at the back of the blonde's neck. "The Kiowa landed. I got you on it. They got us out of there."
"The Kiowa," Mac exhaled, blinking heavily. "Warrior in the sky."
Jack sniffed, resting his forehead gently against Mac's. "Warrior in the sky."
"Thanks, Jack."
"I got you, kid."
After a moment, Jack felt the tension in Mac's neck ease and he lifted his head, seeing his partner's eyes were closed. He waited another beat, then, confident that Mac was asleep, he straightened up and pulled his hand away.
"He is lucky to have you," Ben commented softly.
Jack shook his head. "You got it backwards," he said, clearing his throat. "Before he and I met, everyone who was supposed to be there for this kid left him—one way or another." He glanced up at Ben. "I've seen what that does to people. I've seen how it makes them hard. Makes them mean." He looked back down at Mac. "But not him. He's the most selfless person I know."
Ben nodded. "I will leave you with him."
"Hey," Jack moved around the end of the bed, holding out a hand to the former Medic. "Thank you, man. For everything you did."
Ben shook his hand. "You are welcome."
"I know that couldn't have been easy, going back to that place where you knew how to do all that, but…," he glanced at Mac, "if you hadn't, I don't know if we'd be here right now."
"It was my honor," Ben replied sincerely. "Get some rest."
Jack nodded, watching the man leave, thinking about the people Mac had impacted in that restaurant without even realizing it. People he didn't even know. People he may never see again. People who would never forget him.
Sighing, his belly full, his heart sore, Jack sat back in the recliner, easing it back. He was so tired his eyeballs ached. He didn't know how long Mac might sleep, but he knew that if he didn't get some shut-eye, he wasn't going to be able to anchor the kid through another scene like that.
Head tilted toward Mac's bed, he let himself sink into sleep.
He woke briefly at shift change when two nurses came in to check Mac's vitals, one of them covering Jack with a warmed blanket. It was dark outside, he knew. The room had the sort of hushed feeling that came with night. As if everyone talked softer, walked slower, in deference to the missing light.
He woke again when the doctor made his rounds, murmuring to his nurse words that Jack couldn't begin to follow. Blearily, he realized they were changing the dressing on Mac's shoulder and arm. He sat up a bit higher in the chair, wincing as he watched the old bandage pulled away, the stitches—so many of them—now visible.
That was going to add an impressive scar to Mac's collection.
He caught sight of Mac's face, pulled low into a pained frown. The doctor and nurse were focused on their task, cleaning and rewrapping Mac's arm from shoulder to elbow. When Mac mumbled something, Jack leaned forward, reaching out his hand to wrap his fingers around Mac's left wrist.
"Can't...feel anything," Mac muttered. "Can't feel…."
The nurse looked up sharply at that, and the doctor began checking the machines. But Jack knew the kid wasn't talking about physical pain. Not this time.
It had been the same seven years ago, in that infirmary in Kandahar: for a while, Mac had gone numb. It had terrified him—both of them, if Jack were honest with himself. He'd known it was a defense mechanism, a way of retreating from the impact of loss, a way of healing. But the panic in Mac's eyes had been too much for Jack and he'd found a way to grab Mac from that particular edge, haul him back—tear stained and gasping—into the land of sensation.
"Yes, you can," Jack said softly, surprising the two others in the room. The doctor met Jack's eyes, watching as Jack tightened his gentle grip on Mac's arm. "You can feel, kid."
Mac's brows knitted together, and he rolled his head toward Jack's voice.
"Don't want to…."
"I know," Jack sighed. "But it'll get easier."
The lines around Mac's eyes deepened, somehow aging him and turning him young all at once.
"How?"
And with that word, Jack knew Mac was hovering in the in-between: not awake, but not really asleep, either. It was the restless middle ground Mac often held himself in when the nightmares were too much, but he was too tired to wake. It wore on him, leaving bruising evidence under his eyes and sending his hands into an edgy pattern of motion.
Jack slid his grip from Mac's wrist to his hand, wrapping Mac's cold fingers into his own, warming them, bracing them.
"Every day is a mission," Jack said, remembering Worthy's words as clearly as if the man were standing at his shoulder. "And with each mission, it gets easier."
Mac's fingers flexed around Jack's hand. "Promise?"
"I promise you, kid," Jack nodded, mostly for himself, to cement the oath. "And I don't break my promises."
Mac's eyes blinked open, staring right at Jack with such trust the other man felt his heart clench like a fist in his chest.
"I know," Mac said, face tight with the exact pain he wanted to hide from.
The doctor readied a syringe and administered medication into Mac's IV line. Slowly, ever so slowly, the lines of tension on Mac's face eased, his eyes drifting closed until the kid was relaxed once more. His fingers went lax in Jack's hand. The doctor nodded toward Jack, then he and the nurse left the room.
That time, Jack slept hard.
And the day caught up with him.
Images and memories chased him through the dark, swapping reality with dread. Planting Mac's face on Gates' destroyed body, on Tommy as a bullet shattered his spine. Blowing up the suicide vest in Mac's hands, blowing Mac up in the earthquake-damaged kitchen, suffocating Mac with nitrogen as he writhed in Jack's arms.
Over and over, he saw the kid suffer, watched him die. Held him as he shook, as he begged, as his back arched with pain and his blue eyes sought Jack's looking for salvation, for rescue, for a promise kept.
Over and over, Jack was too late, wasn't enough. And he felt it every time Mac died.
As though pushing up from the bottom of a deep lake, Jack forced himself to wake, pressing forward, grabbing for air. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, plastering the blue scrub top to his chest and the valley of his spine. Panicked gasps battered the thin air around him; he couldn't get enough. The harder he tried, the less there was, and the room was tunneling around him.
"Jack!"
He knew that voice. He knew it better than he knew his own. He listened for it.
"Hey, easy big guy."
A hand was on his face, on his neck, holding him, steadying him.
"Jack, hey, look at me."
Mac. It was Mac he was hearing. He forced himself to track to the voice, finding the bruised eyes and bandage head much closer than he realized.
"Hey," Mac's smile was tremulous, but his eyes were pinned to Jack. "Just breathe. It's okay. I'm right here. I'm okay."
He tried, but he couldn't stop seeing those blue eyes dim and close, taking with them all the light in Jack Dalton's world. He felt Mac's hand press a bit into his neck, the kid's long fingers curling around the base of his skull.
"C'mon, Jack. Just one easy breath."
Jack blinked at him, eyes stinging from the sweat that tented his lashes. One easy breath. It was how he coaxed Mac out of a panic attack, how he brought the kid back to center, how he kept him balanced.
"You can do it. With me," Mac continued, handing him back his own words. Showing him that he was heard, that he was needed.
That they were a team.
He watched Mac's face, pulling in a slow breath, then another. After a few beats, he felt his pulse slow from its cheetah-on-speed rate to a steady rhythm, his breath beginning to even out.
Only then did he realize that they were both on the floor, the oxygen cannula that had been around Mac's face, gone. The leads and IV lines tethering Mac to the bed were stretched to their limit. Jack was on his knees, his hands braced on the cold, linoleum floor. Mac's bandaged right arm was held tightly against him, but his left was still gripping Jack's neck. His bare legs were tucked under him, the hospital gown pooling on the floor around his knees.
With a trembling sigh, Jack felt himself sink, his head falling forward, forehead resting on Mac's left shoulder. He just need to feel the warmth, the life there. Mac's hand slid from his neck to his back, pulling him a bit closer, holding him, bracing him.
"'m okay, kid," Jack said after several beats, his voice grating against the air. He forced himself to straighten up, settling back on his heels. Breathing. "I'm good."
"Yeah?" Mac asked, blue eyes searching his. "You sure?"
Jack nodded. "Let's get you back up in that bed before you set of an alarm somewhere."
"Wait," Mac said quietly, the hand that had never left Jack's shoulder tightening its grip. "I don't…," he swallowed and looked furtively over his shoulder before returning his eyes to Jack. "Where are we?"
Jack pushed up on his knees, forcing Mac's hand to fall back to his lap. He gained his feet, then leaned over to gently collect Mac against him and help the other man to his feet. Mac was weak, gripping Jack with his left hand, unable to keep his balance. Jack imagined the kid basically fell out of the bed to his knees when Jack woke him because of the nightmare.
Grunting from the effort, Mac tried to slide back onto his pillows, but needed Jack's help to arrange the collection of wires and tubing, both wincing as he adjusted his catheter. After so many hospital stays, however, modesty wasn't something either man worried much about. Jack helped ease the oxygen back over Mac's head as the kid plucked anxiously at Jack's black wrist cuff.
"This isn't Kandahar, is it?"
Jack shook his head. "No, kid," he sighed. "It's L.A."
"L.A.," Mac nodded, eyes clearer as he looked around the room. "But not…not the Phoenix."
Jack almost whooped that he'd remembered where they work.
"We're at Good Sam, downtown," he glanced over his shoulder at the slightly parted curtain, surprised to see sunlight streaming through once more. He looked at the clock across the room. "And it's 0800."
Mac shifted in the bed, pulling his bandaged arm closer to him. "Why do I keep thinking we're downrange?"
The fact that he'd automatically referred to their time deployed in Afghanistan with a soldier's lingo had Jack tilting his head.
"You remember the restaurant?" Jack asked, pulling the blanket up to Mac's chest, then settling himself at the foot of the bed. Mac automatically curled one leg under the other, making room for Jack.
Mac narrowed his eyes, staring at Jack but the other man could tell he wasn't really seeing him.
"Flynn's restaurant," Mac said quietly.
Jack nodded. "There was an earthquake."
"You've said this a few times before, haven't you?" Mac asked, rubbing his bandaged head gingerly.
"Don't worry about it," Jack shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll tell you forty times a day, if I need to."
"It was before the restaurant, though," Mac muttered.
"What was?"
For several beats, Mac was quiet. This time when he looked at Jack, the other man felt the intensity of his gaze. And it made Jack feel as though he were made of glass.
"It was Worthy," Mac said.
Jack brought his chin up but didn't say anything. He was starting to feel hollowed out. As if with each word, Mac removed piece of him.
"He re-upped, went back to the life. You said…you said you never would," Mac spoke slowly, as if selecting each word from a box full of thorns. "But you never said why."
"Why what?" Jack voice sounded strangled in his own ears.
"Why you wouldn't go back," Mac continued, tensing as though bracing for a punch. "Why you…wouldn't leave me."
"Aw, hell, kid," Jack looked away, emotion sitting like a football at the base of his throat. He dragged his hands down his cheeks, feeling the stubble of two days' growth rasp against callouses worn onto his fingers by time and circumstance. "You know how hard it was for me when you were gone?"
This time, Mac was quiet.
"Not being able to check in on you, make sure you were okay?" Jack shook his head, pushing to his feet. He felt restless, as if every muscle in his body was twitching at once. He shoved his fingers up through his buzzed hair, his short mohawk rubbing against the palm of his hand. "And I don't just mean…in one piece physically. I could see that for myself on the satellite images."
"In a totally, non-stalkery way," Mac teased softly. Jack ignored him.
"I mean, up here," he tapped at his own temple. "Where you're carrying all those…those demons."
Mac swallowed, looking down. Listening.
"Kid, you compartmentalize better than any soldier I've met," Jack said, rotating at the end of the bed, leaning forward with both hands braced on the foot-board. "A helluva lot better than me, that's for damn sure."
"I don't know…," Mac said quietly. "You're pretty good at fooling people into thinking you're okay."
Jack plowed forward. "But I know you. I know how those bad dreams twist you up inside. How you'd do just about anything—like running twenty miles when it's a hundred degrees out, and don't tell me you haven't done that—"
"I won't."
"—just to get them to quiet down. And when you were gone, man," Jack shook his head, hanging it low until he felt the burn of stretched muscles along his neck. "I had no way to know how close you were to the edge. If you needed me to pull you back." Jack took a slow breath. "And if I was going to let you down."
"Jack…."
Jack looked up, seeing that Mac had slumped, exhausted from the effort of moving, of staying awake, back against the pillows.
"Ben said something interesting to me yesterday," Jack told him, his voice pitched low and contemplative. "He said we live many lives in one lifetime. Some of them we want to forget quickly, others we hold onto." Jack shook his head slowly, regarding his partner. "I guess I just don't want to be part of the life you want to forget."
Mac frowned. "Who's Ben?"
Jack smiled sadly. "I'll tell you later."
"Look, Jack," Mac shifted up in the bed slightly. "I know my head's a mess right now. And I know Gottfried Leibniz would have a field day with my current sense of time—"
Jack started chuckling.
"What?" Mac frowned, looking genuinely puzzled.
"Nothing, kid," Jack pushed away from the bed, moving to sit at the foot once more. "Just…I think you forget sometimes that not everyone has a Wikipedia of physicists and mathematicians in their noggin."
Mac looked down, cradling his bandaged right arm. "Oh. Right," he took a slow breath. "Anyway, all I was trying to say is that…," he looked up, his blue eyes hitting Jack like a sunbeam, "You never let me down. Not once, in all the time I've known you. You're…," he closed his eyes briefly, then forced them open. "You're the only one in my life who hasn't. And…I'm always going to need you. No matter where I am—or where you are. You're…you're my anchor."
Jack's smile was hesitant and confused. "Like I drown you?"
Mac shook his head. "No, the opposite," he said softly. "You keep me from…getting lost inside my head. You remind me I'm not alone. You're the reason I'm still here, man."
Jack crossed his arms over his chest, shrugging. "You give me too much credit."
"Actually," Mac sighed sinking a bit against the pillows. "I don't think I've given you enough. Not in Afghanistan, and definitely not afterwards." He gave Jack a half-grin, exposing his dimple, and Jack felt his heart flip over at the youth and innocence he saw there. A quality that had been missing since Mac found out the truth about his father.
"I didn't really say it that well before…when your Delta team was here, but…I was wrong. I never should have gone dark on you. Not because it wasn't…wasn't cool. But…," Mac swallowed, looking up, grabbing Jack's eyes with his own, "because I needed you Jack. I'll always need you. I mean it. No matter where we are in the world."
"Yeah, okay," Jack smiled softly.
"I mean it," Mac stressed.
"I know, bud."
They sat in silence for a bit, until Jack heard his stomach growl loud enough it triggered a tired chuckle from Mac.
"Go," he said, blinking slowly. "Find food."
"You going to be okay?" Jack asked.
"Man, I can barely keep my eyes open," Mac confessed.
Jack sighed, pushing up from the bed. "I'm going to have to hit the resent button again when you wake up anyway," he commented. "I know you and concussions. Ancient physicists you remember. Recent events? Not so much."
Mac gave him a sleepy smile. "That's why you're here."
Jack smiled, thinking of another time, another place when Mac had said the same thing to him, with just as much belief and conviction. Recognizing how the feeling of obligation and responsibility swooped through him, turning his gut to ice and lighting his heart on fire. Grateful that Mac still felt the truth of those words with as much certainty now as he had then.
"Get some sleep, kid," Jack said, resting a hand on his bent leg. "I'll be back."
Jack called Matty when he was in the cafeteria, giving her a report. She let him know that Oversight had been asking for hourly updates.
"He wants updates, he can damn well come down here and get them himself," Jack growled.
Matty didn't contradict the sentiment; instead she let him know that others had also been asking about Mac and wanted to visit. Jack told her to have them come the next day—Mac was just starting to get his equilibrium back. He didn't want to toss it sideways too soon.
When he returned to the room, he found Mac asleep, but some of the wires and tubing that had been in place when he left were now gone. The kid looked half-way to normal, except for the bandage around his head and right arm. Jack sank into the recliner and grabbed his phone to distract himself.
He was asleep before he pulled up his Twitter page.
One night, two dressing changes, four new IVs, and an assisted walk around the hospital floor later, Mac was sitting up in his bed with a bandage over the twenty-seven stitches in the scalp laceration—gauze no longer wrapped around his head—and his bandaged right arm in a sling. Jack could see the line of headache pain between his eyes, but he could also see how bright those eyes were as he watched and listened to the banter between his friends—his family—as they gathered around the bed.
"…my Super-Soaker from when we were twelve, you remember that?"
Mac half-grinned as a response. Jack couldn't tell if he actually remembered or was simply humoring Bozer. He wanted to believe the former, but it was really anyone's guess at this point.
"Anyway, I channeled my inner MacGyver—"
"Dude," Riley protested, holding up a hand in Bozer's direction. "Never. Say that. Again."
"—and helped build a stethoscope. It was totally fist-bump worthy," Bozer declared, holding out his left fist toward Mac, who obliged with a grin.
"It's good to see you awake," Riley told Mac, smiling. "You had us scared."
"I'm sorry about that," Mac said, sincerely. "I honestly don't…," he glanced at Jack, who was still sitting in the recliner, arms crossed comfortably over his chest. "I don't remember much."
"What do you remember?" Matty asked.
Mac looked down. "I remember Belize," he said. "The bank and the booby-trapped safety deposit box."
"And…?" Matty prompted.
Mac's eyes darted back and forth, clearly searching for a clear memory. "After that…it's…," he huffed, frustrated. "It's kind of like I jumped back to Kandahar."
"Time travel without a DeLorean," Bozer commented. "Cool."
"In no reality should the words 'Kandahar' and 'cool' be in that close proximity," Mac teased, one eyebrow raised.
"My bad," Bozer lifted a hand, but smiled at his friend.
"Doc said I might get out of here tomorrow," Mac said, his eyes tracking to Matty.
Matty gave him a side smile. "We'll see, Blondie. Whenever it is, you're on leave for at least two weeks."
"Two?" Mac's eyebrows bounced up, followed by a wince that had him pressing gentle fingers against his temple. "I thought I had to at least get shot for time like that."
"My guess is," Jack grumbled, his chin to his chest, eyes on Matty, "our fearless leader had to fight for that long."
Matty gave him a narrow-eyed glance. "You're not wrong," she replied. "Still, assigning agents is under my purview," she glanced at Mac, who lifted his chin as though hearing something familiar, "so you'll go on mission when I say it's time."
"Yes, ma'am," Mac replied, subdued.
"You up for a few more visitors?" Riley asked from the doorway.
Mac frowned. "More?" he asked. "Everyone I know is here."
Riley grinned and pulled the curtain back. Henry Flynn walked into the small room.
"Flynn," Mac smiled, eyes lighting up. "You okay?"
Flynn reached out a left hand to shake Mac's free hand, a grin at home on his face, his blue eyes dancing. "Thanks to you," he said. "Again."
Mac released his hand, glancing down. "I don't, uh…."
"Yeah, Jack said you were having a little trouble putting the pieces together," Flynn said. "That's why I brought a couple folks with me."
Flynn turned to the doorway and lifted his chin. As he did so, a tall, thin black man in a tailored business suit entered the room, a small box in his hand. Jack sucked in a breath, pushing to his feet, his eyes darting to Mac, then back to the man. Mac's eyebrows folded as he studied the new face.
"Specialist MacGyver," the man greeted, his voice a low rumble of sound that seemed to bounce to every corner of the room. "Seven years ago, you saved my life. And I never got to thank you."
Mac swallowed. "Willis?"
Scott Willis nodded, a smile flashing brilliant white teeth. "I was hoping you'd remember. Flynn told me about the restaurant and the earthquake," he glanced over at Jack, nodding a greeting, "and I remembered something."
Mac's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes pinned to Willis' face.
"I remembered how you made us all feel safe, even when you were scared to death," Willis said. "And I remembered how you saved our asses with a goddamn paperclip." He handed the box to Mac.
Jack watched Mac's hand tremble as he reached out to take the box from Willis, tearing off the brown paper with blunted fingernails. Inside was a small Office Depot box filled with paperclips.
Mac smiled. "I remember," he said softly.
"I never got to say thank you," Willis told him. "I got two kids now. A boy and a girl. And they're…amazing," he chuckled with a shy grin. "They're amazing, man. And they wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."
Mac looked up at Willis. "Congratulations," he said, a genuine smile on his face. "Really, I'm happy for you."
Willis stepped back next to Bozer and looked over at the curtain. Flynn pulled it aside and Jack grinned when he saw Lance Corporal Reyes, DeAngelo, and Richard Allen step through, standing side-by-side. Mac looked at them, puzzled, no recognition on his face.
"Young man," Richard started. "I don't imagine you know us, but we were three people you saved a few days ago with your quick thinking in that restaurant."
A muscle flexed in Mac's jaw and Jack saw surprise in his blue eyes as he looked at the elderly gentleman.
"Dude, your Overwatch told us what you did downrange," Reyes spoke up. "I've been there, man. I know. I know what it's like, that…that constant…unknowing," he bounced a bit on the balls of his feet. "And what you did—not just that one day, but every day. Checking the roads for IEDs, watching out for our asses, man. Thank you."
Jack felt a lump build in his throat as he listened, watching as tears built in Mac's eyes. DeAngelo was last, but there was something about the way the smarmy businessman was dressed—blue polo shirt, jeans, New Balance sneakers—that made him appear almost approachable.
"I didn't even want to be there," DeAngelo confessed. "If you'll believe it, I was on a fucking blind date, only she never showed." He shrugged. "Who the hell knows—maybe the earthquake saved me from a fate worse than death."
Riley coughed subtly into her fist.
"Point is," DeAngelo sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. His eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at Mac. "Ever since you got yourself blown up saving the rest of us, I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you did. And why you did it. Then this guy," he gestured with the flat of his hand toward Jack, "goes on about how you saved four soldiers doing shit I would never have the balls to do myself, and…, well," he cleared his throat. "You gave me a lot to think about." DeAngelo looked directly at Mac. "No one's done that in a lotta years, so…yeah. Thank you, kid."
Jack looked over at Mac, one part of him wanting to laugh at the pure shock and overwhelm he saw there, the other part wanting to wrap him up and help him crawl into a cave protecting him from the emotions he was clearly having trouble processing.
The silence seemed to mock them as Mac worked to find his voice.
"I…I don't," Mac swallowed hard. "I didn't do anything—"
"If you're about say you didn't do anything someone else wouldn't have done, I'm going to have to stop you right there," Flynn spoke up. "Because it's just not true, pal. So…take the win."
Mac nodded, but Jack could see his throat working. He looked toward Jack, a tear spilling from its precarious perch on the edge of his lashes and bouncing down his cheekbone.
"What do I say?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"How about…you're welcome?" Jack offered with a soft smile.
Mac looked back toward the room, his eyes sliding over his team, resting on Flynn and Willis, then skipping over the three new faces he hadn't had the chance to meet until now. Jack saw another tear bounce free.
"You're welcome," he said, his voice strangled. "But…no matter what Flynn says, I didn't…all I wanted to do was keep you alive."
Richard stepped forward, patting Mac gently on the leg. "Mission accomplished, my boy."
Mac's cheeks bounced up in a surprised smile, nodding back at the elderly man as Richard left the room. DeAngelo followed, offering Mac a closed fist, which Mac obliged with a bump. Next, Reyes, Flynn, and Willis stood at attention and saluted Mac. Jack saw Riley and Bozer's chins come up in reaction.
He knew Mac wouldn't be able to lift his right arm to return the salute. Mac nodded sharply in reply, looking each soldier in the eye. Reyes and Willis headed out, Flynn on their heels.
"Flynn," Mac called, stopping him. Flynn turned to regard Mac solemnly. "I know Tommy was in your unit," Mac began, his voice choked with emotion. "And…I'm…I'm so sorry, I wasn't able to save—"
"Mac," Flynn interrupted, a hand resting on Mac's leg, stopping him. "You saved him from being a weapon. You saved him from killing all of us. You saved him from terror and pain and fear. And you made sure he came home. You did everything humanly possible. You have nothing to be sorry for."
Mac's tears slid silently from bright eyes, tucking beneath his jawline and sliding down his throat. He nodded his thanks and Flynn shifted his eyes to Jack for a moment before stepping from the room.
"We'll let you get some rest," Matty declared. "I expect to see you home in twenty-four hours, Blondie."
Mac nodded quickly, unable to form words.
"Feel better, man," Bozer said, tapping the foot of the bed. "I'll have some burgers waiting for you."
"I'll tell you all about how I used your 911 hack for another mission when you get home," Riley promised with a grin.
They all glanced at Jack as they filed out, Matty the last to leave, casting a look at Jack, her eyes holding a paragraph. When the door shut behind them, Jack heard Mac's breath catch on a sob. He hitched his hip to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes on his friend's bent head.
With a sigh the skittered out as though his lungs were covered in sandpaper, Mac lifted his bruised eyes, meeting Jack's with a look that was stripped bare of pretense and devoid of protection. There was so much raw hope and real pain in that look, Jack felt his breath catch. The tears that had been lurking since the moment the men saluted Mac burned through any shield he'd had against them and his eyes filled.
"Mac?"
"Jack, how do we just—" Mac tried in a voice both young and old and so weary it made Jack feel heavy.
Jack shook his head, unable to speak around the pain of loss, of memories, of what ifs and if onlys. The grip of emotion that had wrapped around him since he watched Mac stumble out of the bank in Belize days ago, slowly tightening each day since, seemed to suddenly release and he was overwhelmed. Helpless to do anything else, Jack reached out to gently pull Mac forward, one hand cupping the back of the kid's head, the other wrapped across his back. He tucked Mac's face into his shoulder and simply held on while their shoulders shook from silent tears.
For those lost, for those living, for the nightmares, the memories, and for all the lifetimes they wanted to forget.
The Phoenix Foundation
Present Day
1300 hrs
Matty
It seemed that traumatic brain injuries overruled even the Director of the Phoenix Foundation.
The doctors at Good Samaritan mandated that Mac pass a series of cognitive and physical tests before releasing them—chief among them being able to walk one lap around the hospital floor unaided, without getting dizzy. This feat took Mac two more days to accomplish. Jack stayed with him the entire time, texting or calling Matty with regular updates—and ignoring every. single. one. of her orders to come in and report to Oversight.
If she didn't agree with him so completely, she'd write him up for insubordination.
As Mac slowly healed, his memories came back—disjointed and out of order, but he began to recall more about the mission in Belize, the reason for the massive bruise across his chest, the cause of the ache in his joints. Jack updated her on the fact that Mac had a 25% chance to have another seizure due to the severe concussion sometime in the next few months, and Matty sighed, knowing before he even said it that Jack was going to demand he be kept in close contact with his partner because of this possibility.
"You do understand that Mac is a grown man, Dalton," Matty groused at him in reply. "A very capable, grown man."
"I'm not arguing with you about this, Matilda," Jack shot back. "I don't care if you need to put it in writing so Oversight agrees to it. Until we're sure he's solid, no more of these one-off missions."
"Or what?" Matty challenged, mostly just to hear what Jack would say.
"Or we walk," Jack replied without missing a beat.
"We?" Matty queried. "You think Mac will walk away from finding Murdoc? Putting him away for what he did to Jill?"
"We don't need the Phoenix to do that," Jack reminded her. "It's easier, sure, but not necessary."
Matty had to give him that point. "You'd do it, too, wouldn't you?"
"If it means keeping this kid in one piece, you bet your ass I would."
Leaving her agreement unsaid, Matty shifted gears.
"You said he's remembering more?"
Jack's sigh through the phone was so deep she could almost see his shoulders bowing. "Yeah…and I almost wish he couldn't," he confessed. "Earlier when he woke up, he remembered getting those guys out of the kitchen and putting that DIY bomb together to stop the gas line from exploding. It was like…watching a burn victim remember what it was like to catch on fire."
Matty pressed her lips together, eyes darting to the other person in the War Room as she processed what Jack told her.
"It's going to take him a bit to get back to himself, Matty," Jack told her.
"We'll get him there," Matty assured him. "All of us."
"Copy that," Jack agreed.
Hanging up, Matty took a slow breath, then returned James MacGyver's steely gaze.
"I notice you didn't order him to come in and report," the elder MacGyver stated.
Matty tilted her head. "I didn't believe it was necessary. I was able to get a satisfactory read on your…on Agent MacGyver's condition this way."
"All due respect, Director Webber," James stepped forward and Matty saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. "You weren't asked what you believed. You were ordered to bring Agent Dalton in for questioning."
Matty stood up, walked over to her boss, her face set in stone. "If what you're looking for is to see how Mac's really doing, there is a simple solution." She leaned forward and enunciated each word, "Go to the hospital yourself."
James shook his head. "He doesn't want to—"
"Oh, bullshit," Matty scoffed, turning away. "You're unbelievable, James."
James blinked in surprise. "I'm not sure I appreciate your tone."
"I'm not sure I care," Matty climbed up onto the couch, the bowl of paper clips catching her eye. "What were you looking for on those recordings?"
James tilted his head, tugging at his slacks as he sank down in the chair opposite her. "Recordings?"
Matty lifted an eyebrow. "Do you do this on purpose, or do you honestly forget that I was ordered to study everything about you for the last fourteen years?"
James sighed. "I wanted to get some idea of what's going on in my son's head," he confessed. "I asked Riley to run an algorithm for certain trigger words."
"Such as…?"
"Sandbox, downrange, leave, need," James looked down at his hand, rubbing distractedly at his left ring finger, even though his wedding ring had been gone for over a decade. "Jack."
Matty kept her expression neutral as she processed the fact that he considered 'Jack' a trigger word. Knowing what was on the latest recordings, she braced herself for the answer to her next question.
"And what did your assessment yield?"
James narrowed his eyes at her. "My son…is a damn good agent."
"Your son could use about a year of therapy," Matty offered. "To help him deal with his abandonment issues alone."
James brought his chin up. "Seems to me he's dealing just fine."
Matty shook her head looking away. "And yet…you can't bring yourself to go visit him in the hospital."
"He has Jack," James reminded her.
"He should have you," Matty returned.
James pushed to his feet, turning to face the frosted windows of the War Room. He rested his hands on his hips. After a moment he rubbed the back of his head then turned back around to face Matty.
"I want him to meet me for lunch," he declared. "Fridays."
Matty's eyebrows went up. "Have you told him that?"
"I want you to pass on the message," James said, slightly hesitant.
"You want me to tell your son that you want to meet him for lunch on Fridays," she repeated, her voice flat.
James looked down and away. "It will sound better coming from you. You know him. You know how talk to him."
It took everything in her power for Matty to not roll her eyes. "I'll see what I can do," she said by way of agreeing. It seemed she was destined to work around the men on this team, rather than with them. "Is there anything else?"
James exhaled, nodding. "One more thing." He reached into the carrying case he'd brought with him and set next to the paperclip bowl on the table. Pulling out a TAC vest he set it on the table and closed the case. "I want you to give this to him."
Matty frowned. "A TAC vest?"
"I had it refitted for him," he revealed. "It has lightweight reinforced Kevlar and includes the critical EOD tools that he uses on a regular basis." He pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Matty. "Make sure you put this with it."
Matty studied the man across from her for a moment. Mac never needed someone to fast-track his application to MIT or to ensure he was assigned to a specific EOD team or connect him with Jack Dalton or secure his position as a government agent with the DXS. He didn't need specialized equipment and remote observation.
He'd needed his father. But Matty was afraid James had waited too long to realize that fact.
"I'll give it to him," she promised. "But he's going to be in the hospital a few more days."
James frowned. "I thought you said he was recovering."
"He has a grade 3 concussion, James," Matty reminded the elder MacGyver. "That's not something he's going to just bounce back from."
"Right," James nodded. "Well, keep me updated."
With those words, he collected his carrying case and exited the War Room leaving Matty to shake her head in his wake. She unfolded the paper James had handed her, reading the note written in the man's neat, block handwriting—so like his son's.
The human mind is an incredible thing. It can conceive of the magnificence of the heavens and the intricacies of the basic concepts of matter. Yet for each mind to achieve its full potential, it needs a spark. The spark of enquiry and wonder. Stephen Hawking.
"Men," she muttered.
Two days later, Matty joined their little family of misfits at Mac's house—the group collectively agreeing that his back deck was the safest place for dinner from now on—to celebrate his release from the hospital. The earthquake that had turned downtown L.A. inside out had luckily barely shaken the houses in Mac's neighborhood. Bozer reported some glasses falling from the cabinets, pictures off the wall, but no true structural damage.
Which was good; Mac needed some solid ground right now.
Riley let her into the house and she handed the young hacker a bottle of wine.
"I'll pour some of this," Riley grinned. "Jack and Bozer are on the deck grilling…something." She shook her head. "Mac's in the living room."
"Can I have a minute with him?" Matty asked.
Riley smiled and nodded. "Sure," she said. "I'll just tell the guys."
Matty made her way to the living room, where she saw Mac sitting on the couch. He wore a loose, gray MIT T-shirt with black sweatpants, and his feet bare. His right arm was still bandaged and resting in a sling. The side of his face was bruised, stitches walking up the side of his head like an army of black ants.
Someone had tucked pillows on either side of him and, to Matty, he seemed just one step away from being smothered in bubble wrap.
"Hey, Matty," he grinned as she walked in, and braced to stand.
"Ah," she held up a hand. "Don't move. I'm pretty sure Dalton would draw and quarter me if I disrupted his little…pillow fort."
Mac sank back against the couch with a grin. "Actually, this was Bozer," he revealed. He pointed toward the TV behind her "That was Jack."
Matty turned to look. The TV had been covered up with a sheet. "Let me guess, limited electronic usage?"
"For seventy-two hours," Mac nodded, sounding exasperated. "It's torture."
Matty rolled her eyes. "I'm guessing it's better than getting a migraine because you wore out your bruised brain, though."
Mac tipped his head, offering her a disarming grin. He held up an iPod. "Riley downloaded some audio books for me," he showed her the list that Riley had written down for him.
"A Brief History of Time, The Elegant Universe, Astrophysics for People in a Hurry," she read, grinning. "Looks like someone knows you pretty well."
"I've already read them, but they're some of my favorites," Mac nodded.
Matty sat on the coffee table in front of Mac, her bag at her feet. "I have a message from someone who'd like to know you better."
Mac's eyebrows went up, but he waited patiently for her to continue. She first handed him the folded paper James had given her. Mac frowned, taking it. The minute he opened it, though, she saw his expression change from neutral curiosity to pained betrayal and finally to closed-off anger.
"Hawking," Mac shook his head. He was too busy trying to bore holes in the paper with his glare to notice Jack slip into the back of the room, standing just off to the side, in the shadows; Matty noticed him and chose to ignore him. "Does he even know why Hawking might mean something to me, or did he just pick a physicist at random?"
Matty lifted a shoulder. "It's hard to say," she confessed. "But…he wants a chance."
Mac huffed, his tone brittle. "For what?"
"Well, to get to know why Hawking might mean something to you, for one."
Mac narrowed his eyes. "And he sent you to do his dirty work."
"No," Matty tilted her head. "He asked me for a favor."
"Same difference," Mac muttered, crumpling the paper into a tight ball and throwing it in Jack's direction without looking.
Matty pulled the TAC vest from her bag and laid it in Mac's lap.
"What's this?"
"He's been watching the recordings of your missions—the ones where you were able to wear the biometric vests, at any rate," Matty told him. "He saw what happened in Belize."
Mac let his fingers trace the redesigned TAC vest, skimming over the slim pockets. He opened one and pulled out a set of crimpers.
"EOD tools," he said softly.
"Look in the one above that," Matty suggested.
Mac opened the smaller pocket and pulled out four paperclips. He huffed an exasperated laugh.
"He wants you to consider meeting him for lunch on Fridays," Matty informed him.
Mac shook his head, his eyes on the vest. Matty shifted her glance to the corner, meeting Jack's eyes. The other man stayed where he was, watching Mac.
"What's he think that's gonna fix?" Mac asked, his voice pitched low.
Matty sighed. "Maybe it won't fix anything," she offered. "Maybe it'll start something else."
Mac looked up and she saw tears shining in his eyes. She thought of how far away he'd gone just to find somewhere to breathe—somewhere untouched by his father's control. She thought of how much he'd left behind just to get that distance, to get some semblance of control over his life. She thought of watching the video from Belize and thinking of how Jack had been trying so hard to get their rhythm back, Mac untethered and drowning.
"But, it's your choice, Mac," she asserted, bringing his eyes up in surprise. "This isn't about what your…what Oversight wants. It's about what you want. And you can take as long as you need to figure that out." His father had had almost fifteen years, after all.
"What do you think?" Mac asked, but his voice was pitched louder. She frowned in confusion for a moment before Jack stepped forward.
"I think Matty's right," Jack said. "I think it's your choice."
Matty sat back in surprise. Mac had known Jack was there the whole time. And, based on Jack's expression, the older man had known Mac knew. He'd simply been standing by, waiting until Mac reached out.
"You said he's watching our missions?" Mac asked, eyes on Matty.
She nodded. "He didn't come out and say it, but," she glanced up at Jack as he settled on the arm of the couch, his hip near Mac's shoulder. "I think he's trying to figure out how you two work."
"You mean because he thinks he put us together?" Mac asked. "He wants to know how to make lightning strike twice."
"Maybe," Matty said, conceding that point. "Or, maybe he just wants to understand your connection better."
Mac slid the TAC vest from his lap to the couch next to him, but kept hold of the paperclips, bending and twisting the metal absentmindedly. "He'll never understand it," Mac predicted. "He can't. It's not in him because it requires looking at the world through someone else's eyes. Finding something…more important that his own agenda. And…if that were possible for him," Mac shook his head, "he'd never have left me in the first place."
Matty didn't respond. She couldn't. Everything the young agent in front of her said was true. Instead, she watched his fingers reform the paperclips.
"Y'know what, though?" Mac continued. "It's okay. He doesn't have to understand. I don't need him to. Not anymore." He looked up, past Matty, gaze drawn to the shaded window and the muted light seeping into the living room. "For the longest time…I thought that he was missing from my life. I thought…I thought there was this…this hole inside of me that needed to be filled. A reason why everyone left me. Like I had something malfunctioning."
Jack dropped a hand on Mac's left shoulder. Matty was surprised when the man stayed silent.
"But…even though there's a lot of stuff messed up in my head…a lot of pieces that don't always have a place to fit…now I know, I'm not the one who's broken. Not about this," Mac shook his head, setting down the paperclip sculpture on top of the TAC vest. It was a parachute. "He is. And he's the only one with the tools to fix himself."
Matty nodded, her eyes on the paperclip parachute.
"You got that right, brother," Jack said quietly, squeezing Mac's shoulder in solidarity.
"Okay, who's hungry?" called Bozer from the deck. "'Cause I got a dozen burgers and no carnivores!"
"You good?" Jack asked, eyes on Mac.
Mac took a quick breath. "I will be."
"I bet some of Bozer's burgers will help," Jack grinned, standing up.
He reached for Mac's left hand, pulling the young agent to his feet and bracing his elbow until Mac gained his balance.
"You solid?"
Mac nodded, "Yep."
Jack released his hold, but Matty blinked in surprise when Mac turned his hand to grip Jack.
"Jack," he said, a quality to his voice that drew both their eyes. Matty watched as Jack's dark eyes focused on Mac's face. "I need you to know…no matter what he says—or doesn't say—we know the truth. You and me."
Jack swallowed, bringing his chin up, his body tensing as though for a blow. "What are you saying, kid?"
Mac's grip tightened further, causing Jack to bring his hand back up to brace Mac's elbow just so that he didn't unbalance them both.
"We know who's always there to catch me, and who I'll walk through hell for," Mac said. "Nothing else matters."
Jack gave Mac a soft grin. "I got you, brother."
Mac nodded, then released his hold, allowing Jack to guide him around the table before turning him loose to make his way slowly to the deck. Matty saw Bozer greet him with a grin and a pair of sunglasses to shield his bruised brain from the bright, L.A. sun.
Still walking as though his legs were made of glass, Mac stepped onto the deck, taking a water bottle from Riley—with the obligatory complaint that it was a little transparent for beer. He sat carefully on one of the deck chairs and Matty heard him tease Bozer about finally treating him the way he deserved as Bozer brought him a plate piled high with a burger and potato chips.
"He'll be okay, Jack," Matty said quietly, picking up the paperclip sculpture. "He's not in the hurt locker anymore."
Jack glanced at her, surprise ghosting his expression. "I hope so," he sighed. "I don't want him to get lost inside himself again."
"He won't," Matty stood up, crossing over to where Jack stood, staring out at the deck and the three young agents laughing together. She grabbed Jack's hand and set the paperclip parachute in his palm. "You won't let him."
Jack looked down at the sculpture in his hand and chuckled. "That's our boy."
Matty watched him tuck the parachute sculpture into his jean's pocket, then square his shoulders, heading to the deck with a boisterous declaration of being hungry enough to eat every burger there. Riley immediately wrapped him up in a hug, Bozer handed him a plate, and Mac nodded toward the chair next to him, a sunny grin relaxing his features.
In that moment, Matty Webber finally saw the whole board. With a smile of her own, she headed toward her family of capable misfits.
A/N: I have read Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time and Neil Degrasse Tyson's Astrophysics for People in a Hurry (one in college, and one out of curiosity) and I understood about…62% percent of them. But they seemed like books Mac would enjoy. The Stephen Hawking quote James puts in Mac's TAC vest gift is from Hawking's book, Simple Answers to Big Questions. My daughter (who is 12) has that written on a whiteboard in her room.
So…I may be hitting the pause button on fanfic for a little while. I've been saying I'm going to write my original story, Kill Creek Road, for years. Like, literally years. But, for reasons too esoteric to explore in an author's note, I continuously find myself retreating into the safety and enjoyment that is fanfic. A few things transpired recently that caused both my husband and a good friend to challenge me to finish a draft. I'm now on a bit of a mission to get a draft of my book completed. Um…wish me luck?