Mac's already written the first few sentences of the conversation on the writing pad, the way he does sometimes. Don't touch me.
(His love for his niece is a clean thing. Uncontaminated. Not like what he has with Jack.)
Allison's dead. So's Michael, so's Chris. I've got to look after Becky. Staying in Mission City. Keeping the shop.
It's a hard thing, not looking Jack in the face when they're so close; but he manages somehow.
Jack almost snatches the pad from him. Let me help
No. Going to play it straight now. Every sense.
Raised in a commune? Becky prob. saw worse than us when she was 3
Not the pt. Gonna keep her safe. No more smuggling.
It costs him more than he expected to write the next line. No more movie nights. Clear?
"I don't want to see you anymore," Jack says abruptly.
Just plain says out loud, not caring who might hear- but that's fair. He nods, keeps his face expressionless.
So Mac's not really sure what Jack's seeing, to lend him that look of stricken horror.
"Oh...dammit, Mac, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Just- not right now, it's only a few months until I get out. Let me get used to the idea. And if that's the way you want to play it, that's the way it'll be."
I'm not going back on this promise.