By the time they pulled out of the rest area where Jack found Mac, traffic had definitely gotten that LA rush hour feel. Jack didn't want to think that Mac was explicitly trying to lose him in it, but his aggressive weaving in and out, changing lanes and speeds, and finally disappearing around two illegally close tractor trailers felt a little like somebody trying to ditch a tail.
That was ridiculous of course, Jack told himself. Mac had more or less invited him home with him … okay, not invited, but certainly agreed to have him, and he'd been practically living there lately anyway. Mac had gotten weirdly concerned over Jack's "scrape" and kept inviting him to stay. When Jack had mentioned these new found mother henning tendencies, Mac had just smirked and said he was giving Jack a taste of his own medicine from finding him out at the cabin and fussing over his sleep and meals ever since.
But to suddenly feel like you were working surveillance and had gotten made was a little disconcerting, if only because the guy who'd just effectively lost you had no training in doing any such thing, and knew you knew where he lived anyway. Jack concluded that maybe it was just instinctive on Mac's part.
He'd admitted to feeling pursued by the Mazari, that his dreams had been making him exhausted and a little paranoid, then he'd had some flashbacks. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, Jack supposed, that Mac was just instinctively avoiding any sensation of being followed.
When Jack pulled in to Mac's parking area, Mac's car was already parked, and Bozer was coming out the door dressed for work. "Hey, Jack!" Bozer greeted. 'What are you guys doing here so early?"
"Mac didn't tell you?" Jack replied, as he headed toward the door.
"Nah, man, he just said 'Hey Boze' when he saw I was on my way out and zoomed right past me."
Jack hated to do it, but he sort of wanted Bozer keeping an extra eye on Mac, too, when he wasn't around, at least until the kid was on an even keel. "Well, he wasn't feelin' so hot at work, so he left." Bozer frowned. "He didn't even stop to let me know," Jack continued. "His lab buddy sort of sent me after him. He was worried about him makin' it home. I guess there's been a nasty bug going around the office."
"Aw, that's awful, Jack. Mac must feel really bad to come home like that. He never misses work. Never has. He was even kind of Mr. Perfect Attendance at school. My mom used to give me the hardest time when I'd want to stay home. She'd just raise her eyebrow and say, 'Well, Mac made it out of bed this morning, Wilt.'"
Jack paused. "Your mom knew when Mac went to school? Were you guys like next door neighbors or somethin?"
Bozer shook his head, thinking maybe he'd said too much. But Mac and Jack were close, Bozer was sure … why wouldn't Jack know about … Bozer wondered how much about Mac's life before the Army he'd ever told Jack. He decided it was okay to reveal a little more. "Mac stayed at my house a lot," felt safe enough to offer.
Jack gave him a speculative look. There was more to that statement, but Jack supposed now was not the time to pursue it. "I've never known him to miss time either, Boze. But, maybe he's gettin' sensible in his old age," Jack said lightly. He wanted Bozer to help keep an eye on Mac, not drive the kid crazy.
"Sensible about admitting when he's sick? I seriously doubt it," Bozer said with a skeptical tone and a raise of his eyebrows.
Then he wondered if that was something Jack knew about Mac. Bozer distinctly remembered the first time his friend had gotten sick after his mom had died. Boze found him crying under the tree that would eventually house their lab, convinced that he was going to die, too. They'd only been in kindergarten. So, of course, Bozer had gotten his mom involved. She'd called Mac's dad, who … hadn't exactly been sensitive to his son's plight and had promptly gone out of town.
Mom had just called Mac's grandfather who'd done what he always did and sort of fixed everything, but after that Mac had to practically be dying to own up to it. Bozer didn't realize exactly how much of the worry he carried around with him based on Mac's past and what he knew of it was stamped on his face until Jack offered a warm reassurance.
"Yeah, I hear ya, man. Well, I'll keep an eye on him till you get home, anyway."
"I might be pretty late," Bozer said, letting the statement be a little bit of a question.
"I'll plan on crashing here again then. Wouldn't want to leave our boy all on his own if you have to work late."
"Great, Jack. Thanks!" Bozer said, climbing into his beat up little car, clearly relieved to have the responsibility of getting Mac to look after himself taken off his shoulders at least for the moment.
There was nothing quite as ornery and disagreeable as a sick or injured Angus MacGyver and Bozer felt like he'd already done his time at that particular circle of Hell when Mac had lived with them. Jack could take that duty for now. The guy wanted to appoint himself as an official member of their little family unit, he could earn it.
Satisfied that he'd have Bozer's help, but not too much of it, Jack headed inside. "Mac! Buddy? Where you at?"
"Out here," came the subdued answer from out on the deck.
Jack stopped at the fridge for water and headed outside. Mac was crouched by the fire pit, working on getting it started. "Want a drink?" Jack asked casually.
"Nah, I already grabbed …" Mac trailed off, picking up the bottle he'd brought out with him and realizing it was already empty. "I mean, sure. Thanks."
Jack passed him a water and sat down in the deck chair behind Mac, letting the kid hear every move he made by being deliberately loud. He'd been told before that he had panther-like killer stealth, but when he was around Mac he adopted a heavy step. If he was too quiet, it seemed to bother Mac, and the kid would give him funny looks. It was easier to just be noisy.
Mac just kept working in the fire pit.
"You musta been in a hurry to get here," Jack observed. "I felt like I was the losing car at the Indy 500 tryin' ta keep up with you."
Jack didn't add that fast cars and excellent defensive driving weren't just a hobby of his, but something he had extensive training in.
"I … I guess I was. I was just thinking of beating the traffic. Didn't mean to leave you eatin' my dust, pal," Mac threw a sideways grin over his shoulder, and Jack almost bought it. Almost.
Jack decided to just come out with it and see where that led. "I didn't mean to hug your bumper, kid. I know you said you've been feelin' chased. I shoulda thought of that when I was followin' you."
"That's not …" Mac sighed. "Okay, maybe that was sort of a thing … but … That's my baggage, Jack. You don't have to think like that. Like very thing you do has to be pre-planned or whatever so you don't … I've got to just deal with this."
There was a stubborn edge in his voice, and he was annoyed, but not with Jack. With himself, pretty clearly. This was familiar territory to Jack. Mac was insanely hard on himself, had been since Jack had met him. At first Jack assumed that it was because he'd kind of been a jerk to the kid during their first encounter.
He still felt bad about it, but he'd been pissed. He'd been working an undercover op, and it had been a fun one. It had let him draw on his past military experience, play with the fun toys, and he had been making some real headway in his investigation into some possible dirty dealing, too when he'd gotten the call that he was reassigned. Out of nowhere.
Go protect a bomb nerd. Why? he'd demanded. Because the boss says so. Maybe you're cover's not as good as you think and you need to shore it up, his supervisor had said. So suddenly instead of playing at the fun parts of being a soldier, he'd had to do the real work of it again. Then the kid had walked into the bunk room and touched his gear. Jack had kind of blown his top.
So he assumed at first that Mac was hard on himself to avoid the wrath of Dalton being rained down on him again. But that wasn't it. He was that way all the time. Always ready to be first in, last out. Never thinking for a second before he dove in to disarm some crazy half-assed and dangerous explosive. And never, repeat never, willing to admit weakness to anybody, even if he was bleeding.
Jack sat forward in his chair. "Well, yeah. We've all got to deal with our pasts, bud. But you found out that not only were all your bad dreams sort of coming true because I brought you the info that O'Neill is still alive and it looks like he's workin' for the bad guys, but … You've been dredging stuff up in therapy, too, and …"
"I stopped seeing Sissy," he said quietly.
Jack frowned at Mac's back, but kept his tone neutral. "Yeah? How come? Wasn't she helping?"
Mac shrugged, or at least Jack thought he did. There seemed to be a slight rise and fall of Mac's shoulders, although without the ability to see the kid's face, it was harder to tell. "Nightmares are worse if I talk about it," he said quietly.
"Well, good for you then," Jack said, like he really thought it was. Mac glanced over his shoulder. "Look, man, part of navigating the bad stuff that's happened to us, is figuring out how that works for each of us, not what works for other people. Therapy works for me. But if it's not your thing. If you'd rather go for a run … or drive like a stunt man … That's what you gotta do."
Finally Mac got up and sat down next to Jack. He gave him the smallest of smiles. "Thanks man. I thought you'd be mad."
"Not mad, bud. Just kind of worried. You've had a lot unloaded on you … And it's pretty clearly gettin' to you ... What made you pull over in that rest stop? You were almost home."
Mac shrugged again, but realized he was going to have to say something. "Someone slammed their brakes on in front of me. I broke hard and the seatbelt locked up. Felt just like the harness that day … I had to get out of the car. I knew I couldn't focus to drive and …"
"So you did another smart thing that worked for you. That's all great, Mac."
"But?" Mac prompted, hearing Jack's reserve.
Jack shook his head. Damned kid was too sharp. "But … I might have some more bad news."
"Just tell me Jack," Mac demanded, frowning.
"Well, that buddy of mine did some digging into O'Neill's family like you asked."
"And?" Mac asked.
"Well … They kinda don't exist …" Jack trailed off at the total lack of surprise on Mac's face.
"Okay. That's what I figured. That helps." He paused, reading Jack's million questions on his face. "There was always something just a little off about Tallahassee. And he talked about his family even less than I talked about mine. To the point where his bunkmate, Zwickey commented on it more than once. I asked around a little, but I got told to knock it off really fast. I figured he had his reasons just like me. But …" Mac trailed off, rubbing his temples like he had the start of a killer headache.
"What is it, Mac?" Jack asked, watching his friend carefully.
"The day we got hit … He was acting really weird, like he knew something was going to happen. Then … I would have gotten away clean and had support there before they got taken out of town, but, I was climbing out the window and he yelled …"
"O'Neill ratted you out?" Jack frowned deeply.
"No … At least I didn't think so at the time. I thought he was just hurt … everybody was, I mean, we'd gotten blown up, shot at, and beaten to hell by then … But lately … Remembering things … I think he did. I think he let them know I was escaping." There was an unfamiliar tension in Mac's voice. It wasn't the usual one that was there at moments like these. The tension that usually preceded Mac clamming up and saying he needed to go for a run. It said he really needed to get something off his chest, but didn't know how to say so.
Jack looked down at his hands for a minute. "You wanna tell me about it?"
Mac shook his head, but also sort of nodded it at the same time. "Not really," he replied seriously. Then he gave another small smile; this time it made him look sadder than a smile had any business making anybody look, especially someone so young. "But I think I need to."