Mac looked down the hall into the living room, just sort of making sure Jack was where he'd left him, parked in front of the TV with a huge box of Mac's grandfather's DVDs to sort through, and Comedy Central playing something innocuous on to pass the time until their pizza was cooked.
He'd told Jack he was going to make them a salad and he'd been making noise in the kitchen for about fifteen minutes, but all he'd really done was open the premade salad from the store and throw it in a bowl with the packet of dressing it came with. Then he'd done a bunch of cleaning up of the mess Jack seemed so concerned about. It gave him something to do while the pizza was cooking and ...
He was avoiding conversation. And he knew it.
He hadn't even batted an eye when Jack picked up the six pack of local beer. Normally he would have pointed out the dangers of mixing alcohol with his prescribed medications, but instead he'd almost been relieved. He couldn't help thinking that a vicodin, a belly full of pizza, and a beer, combined with borning TV would have Jack snoring on the couch in no time. It was late, anyway.
He didn't know why he was avoiding talking to Jack. At first he tried to tell himself that he was pissed off at Jack's spying on him like a low rent PI in a bad TV show from before Mac was born. But he knew that wasn't it. He hadn't really been all that pissed off about it when he first caught the image of his former overwatch on the game cameras two days ago. Not really. There was nothing sinister about it. The guy just seemed … worried.
And sure, it was kind of weird, and a huge violation of boundaries, and seemed sort of insane, but it was also so totally … Jack. And he knew why Jack had shown up.
Mac meant to return Jack's calls, but he just kept getting distracted.
Besides the last time they talked Jack had questioned him about his plans and Mac had been a little pissed off about that. First it was about when he was going back to school like he'd said he was going to do when he first knew he was going home. Then it was grilling him about whether or not he was thinking about reenlisting. He wasn't, but it irked him that Jack was so dead set against it.
The conversation had ended quite abruptly when Jack asked, "Well, what are you gonna do, kid?"
He knew what Jack had meant, but what he'd said was, "You mean after I bury my grandfather? Whatever I damned well please."
They hadn't talked much after that.
Of course, friends conspiring to check up on him was more irritating than the actual checking. He was stewing a little about Miles calling Jack. Mac and Miles were friends, as much as Mac made friends in the Army before meeting Jack, but those two barely knew each other. Eggsy had already been back stateside when Mac met Jack and while his former bunkmate and now-former partner had met when Jack sauntered into the common area during one of the video calls Mac and Eggs had taken to making while Mac was still deployed, that had been the extent of their association. As far as Mac knew, anyway.
Mac sighed, finally pulling the pizza out of the oven. Then again, Mac knew from how hard Miles worked to stay in touch, he clearly thought of Mac as a close friend. Mac also knew the guy believed he owed Mac his life. Mac thought that was silly. Not the friend part, the owing thing. Anybody would have applied a tourniquet and called for evac.
Eggs said that wasn't true though, he said that most people would have just laid there doing their own I just got blown up bleeding themselves while he'd bled out. But not Mac.
The first time Mac had gotten an inkling that Eggs had taken to hero worshipping him a little was one of those video calls when the guy's sister had walked into the room while they were chatting and he'd gone on for a full five minutes, making Mac's half-conscious radio call and efforts at slowing blood loss (that Mac didn't point out also lost the man his leg) sound like Paul Atreides freeing Herakis in Dune.
And both men were prone to worrying. Eggs looked even younger than Mac, but he was three years his senior and Jack … Jack had enough time on him to pull off Dad tone over irritating big brother when he took it into his head without working very hard at it. Mac had to admit, to himself anyway, as he sliced their pizza with the cutter he'd made from a repurposed saw blade that was too dull for the shop and the broken wheel of his grandfather's office chair, he'd probably given them reason to worry with his silence. He just needed time to get his head back on straight. Losing his grandfather … it had brought a lot of things up he would rather have not remembered.
Then his father had called …
Whoa, he mentally chided himself as he stopped that train of thought. He wasn't dealing with that tonight, not even just in his own head. Besides, Jack didn't seem to get the whole dad situation. Jack's family had been so close. The one time Mac had said anything about it before, he and Jack had nearly had a fight.
Mac sighed again and realized anyone who'd been with him this afternoon and evening would have thought he had some sort of breathing problem. He'd been doing it a lot. It was a tired, defeated sound and he didn't like it.
Determined to ignore it (like you have been for the last six months you mean? His inner voice asked with full snark) he plated up the pizza, put some salad on each plate with a fork, arranged the plates on one arm, a trick he'd picked up waiting tables as one of his side jobs when he was at MIT, then picked up two beers with the other hand and headed into the living room.
Mac was relieved to find that he didn't have to work all that hard at keeping the conversation light and not overly personal. They talked sports, women (or in both of their cases, the lack thereof in their lives), and Jack regaled Mac with tales of some of the things he'd been up to that weren't totally classified.
It was technically early the next morning when Mac finally loosened up a little. Jack had kind of encouraged Mac's beer drinking a little, by very subtly just opening new ones and leaving them in easy reach on the coffee table and Mac wasn't much of a drinker, so after three he was much less guarded than usual.
Jack was still nursing the first one he'd opened.
"Well," Mac said, with a fair amount of genuine interest. "I know you're out of the Army … And I know you're not doing whatever you were really doing when you were in the Army too," he continued, only slightly nonsensically, since it had been apparent to Jack for over an hour that Mac had never totally bought the 'this guy is a sergeant just serving his country by watching your ass' thing. "So what is it you do now?"
Jack smiled. He hadn't been going to bring up DXS this time, had decided to wait until Mac was in a better place, but since the kid was giving him an opening, he figured he might as well. Even if it wasn't idea, Jack reasoned, DXS would be a hell of a lot better than the kid just wasting away up here talking to the ghosts of his childhood. "I actually work at a think tank."
Mac snorted and nearly choked on his beer, drawing attention to the fact that his first slice of pizza was still half eaten on his plate. "Doing what?" he asked, not meaning to sound incredulous, but doing so anyway.
"Personal security for the braniacs who do the real work, out in the field," he said with a self-deprecating shrug. What he did was a lot more complicated than that, but he'd already told Thornton that if they brought the kid on, he was not done being the guy's overwatch. Not by a long shot. Might as well lay the groundwork now, Jack thought, because if Mac came in to DXS it would be on a trial basis and he would have to think it really was a think tank until Thornton had truly evaluated his capabilities.
Mac gave him a long look, and in spite of his increasing inebriation, raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay. Right. So what is it you really do?"
Jack knew that tone. It was the Mac smells bullshit for real tone. How did the kid always know when he was up to something, damnit? Instead of getting defensive, Jack laughed. "I could tell ya but I'd have ta kill ya."
Mac broke out laughing too. It was the same exact thing he'd said when Mac sort of cottoned on to the fact that maybe Army grunt (even of the highly trained elite variety) wasn't all there was to Jack Dalton.
"Okay, fair enough," Mac said after his laughter tapered off at that memory. Then Jack was giving him a look that said they were about to discuss Mac's vocational options. He quickly picked up a DVD off the coffee table. "Hey, wanna watch Die Hard?"
Jack knew what Mac was up to. Neither one of them was great at getting one over on the other, he supposed. But he also didn't want to call him out directly for avoiding a difficult conversation. "I mean, we sure could bud, but it's gettin' kinda late. Maybe we ought to get a little sleep."
Mac looked at the clock on the cable box and then at Jack. Poor dude looked exhausted. Mac almost smirked, thinking he'd probably look a lot less tired if he hadn't worn himself out shimmying up that damned tree all week. Then he contemplated exactly how much of the painkiller Jack probably had in his system, and mentally added the alcohol Jack had consumed to that (which in Mac's head had kept pace with his own consumption). "Yeah, sure, man. You must be beat."
"I sure am, I can't lie." He didn't add that his suggestion was only partially selfish at first. Then he couldn't help it. "You look like you could do with a little shuteye, too, pal."
Mac just smiled a small neutral looking smile and asked Jack if he wanted to crash on the couch or in the guestroom where Mac had stowed his bags earlier. Jack said the room was fine since he didn't want Mac to have to lug blankets and pillows and stuff.
After seeing that Jack was settled, Mac headed for his own room, flipping on the light and closing the door. He should try to get some sleep. But, that would most likely go like it had been and his dreaming would just wake Jack up and alert him that all was not as well as Mac was saying it was. Another sigh escaped his lips.
He looked around. Jack was right about his place being a mess. He cast another glance at his bed. Then he decided to spare himself the pain and frustration of a fractured night's sleep.
Mac pulled his garbage can out of the attached bath, and started quietly cleaning the room.