Mac's week off with Jack hanging around during the day and then both he and Bozer keeping Mac company at night didn't feel stifling or like his friends were hovering like it had on occasions where he was on leave in the past. Mostly they goofed off, ate unreasonable quantities of barbeque, and did a fair job of keeping the beer aisle stock person busy in the market up the block. On Friday, Jack dropped in to Phoenix to check in with Matty. He strolled into her office and grinned when he saw Riley sitting at the meeting table with her, going over the specs on a new and improved system for piggybacking on civilian tracking systems for shipments and cargo that she was working on. He flopped down in the chair opposite them and asked with real interest, "How're my two favorite ladies doin' today?"
"We're good, Jack. Clearly not as good as you. You're Mr. Walking on Sunshine this morning," Matty observed.
"I guess maybe I am." Jack grinned at both of them again.
Riley gave him a slightly wry smile back. "You're just dying to tell us why you're all smiles so go for it, Old Man."
"I mostly just came in to say thank you for the week off. He's doin' real well, Matty. He needed this."
"Glad to hear it. Where is our Boy Genius anyway? Too good to come in and say hi or is he afraid I'm going to bury him in paperwork."
Riley laughed. "Terrified would be more like it. God he hates sitting at that desk. Whenever he has to you can tell it's like his brain is screaming. Like normal people do paperwork and they just think how nice it is to get all their ducks in a row, but when Mac does it you can almost hear him thinking that he doesn't have ducks and they aren't in rows. He's got squirrels, and they're at a rave, and they might be rolling."
Jack cracked up. That was the most perfect description of what was going on behind Mac's eyes whenever he had to not be actively doing something that Jack had ever heard. "He actually didn't know I was stopping by. I got him to go see Marissa. He's there again. Third time this week. Still at that assessment stage of therapy basically, although she already giving him some tips on how to cope without burying things and she's suggested EMDR … Do you know what that ..?"
"I do. You got Mac to go see Sissy Miller?" Matty was nearly incredulous so Jack nodded. "Tell the truth, did you wrap him in a sheet, throw him in the trunk, and drag him there?"
"No coercion necessary. And he's not just talkin' to Dr. Miller, but me and Boze, too. Stuff he's never … Anyway, like I said, thank you."
Jack glanced at his watch and got up to go. He'd driven Mac to his appointment under the guise of wanting to be supportive, but he'd really wanted to come in and thank Matty without Mac, who would be with him come Monday morning, or so he had assumed until Matty offered, "Tell him to take another week. You can too, if he needs you."
He shook his head. "Tell you the truth, I think he's ready for some time alone. But I'll let him know you offered and I'll text you."
"If he takes the week on his own, you interested in doing some recruit assessments? Before you get all rusty and useless, Dalton?" Her smile was very friendly.
"Sure!" That sounded like fun; more interesting than surveillance, but zero chance of bullet wounds.
Matty hesitated. "I did put a call in to CIA to see what exactly Miss Carpenter was doing in town breaking and entering, but no one seemed to know that she was away from the Atlanta office. Hopefully I put a bug in the right ear to find out what's going on … I may have you dig a little deeper on that if you come in, too.
Jack's expression was more serious now. "I'll be in touch before you close up shop tonight."
0-0-0
When Jack relayed the offer of another week, Mac set down his beer and gave Jack a hard look. "I wouldn't actually hate the time … But you must be getting kind of bored hanging around here."
That was Mac's 'fishing' voice. He wasn't going to ask Jack openly if he was still here hovering in mother hen mode or if he really was just hanging out to be supportive. Jack decided honesty was the best policy. "Mac, I would never consider your company boring, but I don't want to hover, and I get the feeling you might like a little space." MacGyver looked almost surprised. "If you want the break, take it, brother. Matty offered me some time harassing trainees. If you go in, you'll be stuck squinting at reports for at least another week or so before they'll even consider clearing you for stepping out of your office. Way I see it, you might as well work on your tan on the company dime instead of bein' bored spitless at work and using up a lifetime supply of paper clips."
Mac grinned, mind already occupied with the things he wanted to do over the course of a week all on his own with no obligations. He paused for a second. "Would it be weird if I asked you to stay this weekend? Boze is going over to Beth's again … And I haven't mentioned it, but my nightmares have been kind of bad since I started seeing Marissa and talking about things. I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of an empty house."
Of course Jack stayed. Mac openly admitted the desire for company; no way would Jack discourage that. They wound up taking Mac's Bluetooth speakers outside on the deck and took turns playing their favorite music, cooked food on skewers over the fire, drank the rest of the beer that was left in the fridge, and slept in the open air in the chairs on the deck. Mac found he slept surprisingly well like that. Bozer came home Sunday night elated because Beth had given him his own key to her place and had hinted, ever so slightly, that they should start officially having some trial runs on really living together, not just spending all weekend … you know. Jack had teased him very good-naturedly and Mac had just grinned, so pleased that Bozer had finally relaxed enough to be himself around a woman and that her response had been to clearly fall for him completely, that he entertained a pleasant fantasy of getting to be a best man sometime soon. The week passed quickly with Jack thoroughly enjoying being back at work and Mac really experiencing a week of relaxation, practicing what Marissa told him would probably be his most important new skill: not being busy. She said it was fine to have a busy mind, wonderful even, but only if it was busy for its own sake. If you were keeping it busy to stop thinking about something, to avoid dealing with it, that was as bad as abusing pain medication to avoid dealing with a health problem. "You," she had said gently, "may have a slight busyness addiction that we need to work on."
His ribs felt better, well, better enough to start running again and he did it with no music, no pushing until he felt sick, just a leisurely jog on a trail where he stopped to chat with a few people along the way and got one lovely dark haired woman's phone number at the water fountain. He had no intention of calling her, but he'd been flattered as hell that she approached him. And Marissa was right; there was something to be said for engaging with an activity for its own sake rather than to induce numbness. When Jack arrived on Thursday after work he saw the bright green and white surfboard that hadn't been out of the garage in years sticking up out of Mac's jeep, and sandy footprints leading into the house, which meant he'd driven home barefoot, not thinking, just enjoying his time outside like he used to every weekend. Mac hadn't been surfing since before Cairo.
When Jack strolled inside he found Mac leaning unselfconsciously against the counter wearing only his long swim trunks and chugging a lemonade that he'd stashed in the freezer before he'd left several hours before. His ribs still bore some faint, mostly yellow traces of bruises, and his upper arm and near his collarbone still showed the still-angry red and pink lines of his recent surgery, but other than that Jack thought he looked very well, and heavier than he'd been since before Lake Como, which had ultimately resulted in him dropping ten or more pounds that he could ill-afford to lose. He was very tan, his hair and eyebrows bleached very blond. He put down the lemonade, grinning broadly at Jack. "Want one?"
"Sure," Jack said, taking his spot on a stool on the other side of the counter. Mac got him a lemonade, this one from the fridge, and sat down next to him on the other stool. "So … surfing, huh?"
Mac glanced away for less than a second, almost embarrassed. "Yeah … I mentioned it to Marissa … that I hadn't been in a long time. We talked through my reasons and she suggested that I give it a try again and let her know how it went next week when I see her."
Jack's eyebrows climbed, "And how did it go?"
Mac was grinning again. "I can't believe I ever stopped."
"Why did you? You never really said. I figured your leg hurt too much for a while."
Mac shook his head, looking at the floor for a minute. "I didn't like wearing shorts … Nikki said they drew attention to my scar, that someone would notice and I'd have to explain it."
"And?"
"And I think she just didn't like looking at that scar, or she didn't like that I went and enjoyed something she didn't like to do … Today someone did ask about the scar and the mess on my shoulder. I just said I got it overseas like Marissa suggested. And you know what? The guy didn't ask what happened or anything, just what branch, like he knew instinctively I was military, and I said Army, which isn't exactly even a lie, and he thanked me for my service and bought me a beer and we paddled out together a couple times."
"I see shorts are back in the wardrobe rotation, Roomie," Bozer called cheerfully as he breezed in, carrying a couple of bags of groceries over one wrist and tossing a pile of mail on the counter with the other hand. "And because I approve of seeing The Green Monster sticking up out of that Jeep again, I'm not even gonna complain about the sand you got all over the floor."
Mac hopped up to start helping put away the groceries. "I'll sweep it up, Boze, I promise. Soon as I get the food put away."
"Good because I want to take a shower before I cook my boys dinner!" Bozer headed off in the direction of his bathroom and the water came on almost immediately.
"Aaahhh, is that ground beef?" Jack asked. Mac waved it at him before stashing it in the meat drawer. "I'll go fire up the grill!"
Jack was out on the deck with the charcoal and lighter fluid before Mac could even acknowledge him. Once things were in the fridge Mac started leafing through the mail, sorting it into four piles; recycling, wrong address, Bozer, and Mac. A crisp red envelope with bold silver lettering was addressed to Angus MacGyver in computer-generated perfect script. Mac thought it looked like an invitation of some sort and tore it open.