Author's note: Jack Dalton is a rude-minded kinda guy (as we all know), and his chapters are pretty much why I've given this thing a mature rating.
Mac's deep guilt complex about dating his best friend was inspired by those fans who insist that people who write slash can't possibly appreciate the integrity of the MacGyver universe- and that's all I have to say about that.
Everyone in Mission City knows the score: Mac's the sober sort, whereas Jack drinks like a fish. Though ever since the divorce, it's been more the other way around- at least, on Tuesdays.
What happens on Tuesdays?
Mac and Jack's movie night.
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February
"But our birthday was last month. And 'Sunset Boulevard' isn't even a Western!"
"I know, but you try telling Penny Parker anything."
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March
"I always meant to ask- when you started dying your hair blonde after that crewcut fiasco, was it just because you liked Clint Eastwood's character in the film that much?"
"That'd be silly. I wanted a change, that's all."
"You sure?"
"Okay. Maybe a bit."
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April
"I roped a steer once. In Texas."
"Jack, I don't mind hearing it again, but why d'you always start out like I've never heard it before?"
"Y'know, drunkenness is supposed to excuse everything."
"Everything, huh?"
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May
"Geez. It would have been my anniversary with Ellen, tomorrow."
"Cheer up. I bought some extra bourbon."
"How much?"
"Will two gallons be enough?"
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June
The first Tuesday in June, Edith orders her mid-morning coffee with something approaching righteous zeal. A real Missionary, in every sense. She is here to save Angus MacGyver from himself.
He's worth redeeming. A regular church-goer, a reliable contributor to charitable causes, and all in all, an upstanding, moral member of the community. Except for these little Tuesday deviancies, and they do seem so out of character.
"Because Hans and I would be happy to have you over for dinner," she says, over her milky drink. "I'm sure it must be lonely for you at nights, without a wife to make you any nice home-cooked meals."
His mouth quirks. "Tell the truth, I'm a better cook than Ellen ever will be. Now if you asked whether I miss having someone to do the hoovering, that'd be a different question."
She won't allow herself to be deterred by his little jokes. "But still, won't you come over? This very night, if you like. I'm planning a lovely piece of brisket."
He looks thoughtful. "Oh, you could probably talk me into that, sure. Only not tonight. I'm always busy Tuesdays."
"Tuesdays were what I had in mind," she says stiffly. "I could perhaps understand if you had nowhere else to turn for friends, but just on this street there's half a dozen respectable families who would be glad of your company. Good, solid people who aren't-"
"Who aren't Jack Dalton, huh? Let me tell you something, Jack might be an incorrigible good for nothing, but he's the most loyal friend a guy could ask for. So you can hint all you like, I'm still gonna go down and see him just as often as I want."
Why must he make this such a blunt, nasty affair? "Poor Ellen," she murmurs.
"What?" he asks sharply.
"There's a great deal of talk at the sewing circle. Whether the divorce was entirely about the bankruptcy, or if it was something- worse. I stuck up for you, of course. I said that you'd show yourself to be normal enough, if only we'd all give you the chance."
"Oh, you didn't need to go to an effort like that. People might love their gossiping, but live and let live, right?"
His voice is calm enough, his expression reserved. She'd almost believe he doesn't mind her words at all.
He turns away from her, fumbles with a teacup. It falls to the floor and shatters.
Almost.
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Jack starts whistling to himself, off-key, as he bangs the supermarket trolley around a corner. Sarsaparilla, popcorn, margarine. Cheaper than butter, and it melts better too.
Lube. French letters. He's carelessly fucked a lot of people- enough to leave him on tenterhooks, considering this GRID thing that's been making the news- but Mac hasn't. One of several very good reasons for him to stay sober on Tuesdays; he wouldn't trust himself to be careful enough, if he got drunk.
(God knows, Mac isn't careful at all once he's had a few. Another reason not to drink: he doesn't want to ever wake up wondering if he heard a no and decided to ignore it. It's bad enough asking himself that question about the odd one-night stand, let alone his best friend.)
A TV dinner for him, some fried chicken for Mac. Who won't eat at all some nights, depending on how fast he wants to get blotto, but it's just as well to have. For lunch tomorrow, if nothing else.
"Some party you're planning, huh?" the cashier ventures.
"Angling for an invite?" Jack asks cheerily. Almost the right type- tall and a bit athletic, and a face that flickers from withdrawn to smiling in a moment-
The guy draws back, squeaking apologies.
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The coffee shop is the obvious place for a tryst. Cosy and warm, full of tasty snacks, and radiating a cheerful, homely atmosphere. Deliberately so: his bread and butter relies on people constantly returning for another hit of caffeine and domesticity.
But Jack's too lazy to stir from home on movie night, and for that Mac is endlessly grateful.
The trailer's exactly what might be expected from someone who has been half-planning to leave next week, for the last fifteen years. A messy scrawl of a place, garbage and clothes and everything piled up higgledy-piggledy. Peeling pin-ups on the walls- always girls, for some reason. A sunset, painted on black velvet (of course it's tacky; of course it's melancholic). The comfiest broken old couch in existence. This place's crazy paving breaks through Mission City's small-town bubble like nothing else, and that always gets him excited.
Like being young again, when he just wanted to get out there and see every country on the map. Love and longing, sex and travel.
Along with Jack, of course.
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"So," Jack says, vainly trying to plump up a flattened cushion. "What are we watching tonight?"
Vital question. If it's a Leone, it means Mac actually wants to watch a Western (though they're pretty well aware by now where the slow bits come in, and how to make best use of them). If it's "The Magnificent Seven," that's their ticket for a night of chattiness and giggles. If it's "Butch Cassidy," they won't even pretend to be taking it seriously.
"I dunno," Mac says listlessly, pouring himself a second whiskey. "Why don't you pick for a change?"
He's moving much too fast, for a guy who only indulges once a week. "It depends. Wanna tell me what's bothering you first?"
"Gossip. No, I don't want to."
"Say you tell me anyway."
Mac sighs, settles himself on the couch. "I wish they'd put out 'Badlands'. I loved that film."
"That was set in the '50s, wasn't it? Lots of cars, as I recall."
"But close enough. How about 'Heaven's Gate?' I'm not really in the mood for anything good tonight."
Three and a half hours, sweet lord. "If you say so, sure."
"No. I'm just...oh, hell, I'm not drunk enough yet," Mac says, looking at his bourbon with distaste. "Edith was at the shop today, making insinuations about us."
"Butting in, huh? Rude double entendres are my job," Jack says with a chuckle.
"She was sort of hinting that the town might start getting the wrong idea, if I don't clean up my act. Mostly meaning you."
"Uh-huh."
"It's not the first time I've heard stuff like that, lately...Jack, I'm scared."
"Sure you are. Catering to people like her is what keeps your shop in business. Mac, if you think-"
"I'm scared that I've been stuck in this stupid town for so long, I might talk myself into losing you."
There is a dignified six-inch gap between them, on the sofa. Mac carefully moves himself over, until it disappears.
"Because if I let you go, if I just give in- Jack, help me. I don't want it to be like this, I don't want to need three drinks before I can say I love you."
This isn't the arrangement of words he was expecting.
"Don't let me give you up. Please."
Jack murmurs comforting nothings, runs his hands through a soft mullet while wondering what to do. His gambler's instinct is screaming at him: this is the time to call bluff. All he's gotta do is push a little harder. Be a little more camp, do something really outrageous- and Mac won't have any choice but to close up shop. And come south with him.
Perfect plan. Marred only by one thing: that's all long-term, delayed gratification stuff.
Whereas Mac is sobbing against his shoulder right here and now, and it's breaking his heart.
Jack Dalton, you really are an idiot sometimes.
"Mac, it's okay," he promises. "I'll take care of it. Trust me. Everything's going to be all right."
Jack holds his lover close, thin shivery body against his own warm one. Summoning up every bit of reassurance that two decades of roguery have taught him. Tone, more than words. Soothing the mark's troubles, promising the moon. Of course, this time he's using all the tricks just to tell the truth.
Maybe Mac's got a point, about this honesty business. Feels kinda good.
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"You said Edith's the ringleader," Jack inquires, as he puts "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" into the player and nestles back next to Mac. "The postman's wife?"
"Yeah."
"Well. Let's see how she copes, once I've turned the genuine hi-fi hundred-proof Jack Dalton charm on her. She oughta be off your back in no time."
Mac starts with spluttering, ends by laughing. "No way! Sixty if she's a day, and all prunes and prisms- I mean, you couldn't possibly enjoy that."
"Sure. You know what, though? You're worth it."
"Oh, this is so screwed up."
"Welcome to my world. Speaking of which..." Jack murmurs, and starts rummaging for the condoms.
They never do actually watch the movie, but that's rather besides the point.
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The gossip at the sewing circle doesn't exactly die down, once Edith lets it be known that that Jack Dalton is a perfectly lovely, if roguish fellow. It just shifts into speculative inquisitiveness about where Edith learned that charming style of wearing lipstick, and what Hans is going to do to Dalton if he ever gets 'round to noticing.
Across town, Ellen, née MacGyver, breathes a quiet sigh of relief. It would have done not the slightest good to anyone had she mentioned it, but she can't help being relieved by how matters have turned out.
Because what would Mac even do, without anyone to love?