Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mama Bozer is in town.

Lauretta smiles widely at the image before her. Mac’s deck offers an astonishing view over the city, but she’s even more pleased by the three content faces sitting around the fire pit. Two of her boys, and Desi, Mac’s girlfriend. There’s the barbecue smokin’, with a selection of meats to make America proud, plus fish, plus veggies, plus salads, plus little somethin’ somethin’ for the ones with the sweet tooth.

Wilt’s ‘BBQ Extravaganza,’ apparently.

Food is being consumed, beverages are being sipped, stories are being exchanged, laughs are being heard. There are so many crazy stories from Wilt and Mac’s childhood that Lauretta doesn’t see herself going to sleep at all tonight. She could stay here forever with her boys, relieve the past, and feel like a tight-knit family again.

She calls Wilt all the time, but Mac is another story. Sure, they are in touch, but it’s not that frequent. She doesn’t want to impose, and he doesn’t really reach out that often, so the main stream of information goes through Wilt, though since Pamela’s funeral, Lauretta is itching to go full mother hen mode on the blond genius. He seems off, like someone or something took out the light he always had in his eyes. He’s laughing now, happy and relaxed, still, she can’t help but wonder what's really happening inside his mind when no one is watching.

He looks better than during the funeral, but there’s something in the deepening lines on his face that makes her really worried. Is that the burden of his job, or does it go even deeper? For the millionth time, Lauretta’s heart twists painfully at the memory of a timid little boy, so sweet and gifted but pretty much orphaned by the people who were supposed to give him unconditional love and safety. She'll never stop being grateful she had the chance to provide him with a piece of that. She promises herself to look into Mac’s well-being really closely.

They hear the floor squeaking under someone’s feet, and another person enters the deck, greeted by Wilt with an excited shout-out and the warmest hug.

“Ma, may I officially present the most frightening woman in STEM, Ms. Riley Davis,” he gestures to a dark-haired woman with an exaggerated bow.

“Oh, come here, sweetie, it’s so good to finally meet you in person!” Lauretta opens her arms to Riley.

Their hug is a pretty long one. They hadn’t seen each other in person before but had some online chats, courtesy of quarantine and Wilt willing to include his ‘little sister’ in the family. He wouldn’t rob his mama of the pleasure of meeting another cool black gal, wicked with a computer and dedicated to making the world a better place.

So Lauretta feels like she knows Riley quite well at this point. She’s also really sharp at reading people, so she spots the tension in the girl’s shoulders from a mile. Before she has the chance to ask about the problem, Riley tells everybody that she popped here only to bring the promised bottle of wine, but she’s going to head home right away, having had a pretty tiring day. Her friends try to talk her into staying for a little longer, seducing her with the barbecued goodies, but she turns them down, claiming that in her current state, the only contribution to the party she could make is to be the dead corpse on the couch. Lauretta doesn’t buy this tiredness argument, though. It’s quite visible the girl is on edge, close to a breakdown, eyes glistening a little too much. Whatever happened today must’ve been pretty awful.

Bozer accompanies Riley through the door, determined to find out what’s wrong. After a good ten of ‘Nothing happened, I’m okay, just tired,’ she relents with a sigh. Her face falls.

“Just keep that to yourself, Boze. I don’t want anybody fussing over me, you hear me?”

Bozer nods reluctantly, eyes worried. It’s been a while since he saw Riley that upset.

“Met the Coltons on an op today. Heaps of fun. None of them knew why I dumped Billy, so I got murderous side glances all the time. Well, that’s okay, I could’ve fixed that easily by exposing him. But I didn’t. Wasn’t the right thing to do.” She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her strained voice, but to no avail. “Get this: he’s married to that woman he was cheating on me with. And she clearly has no damn clue. No. Fucking. Clue. I can’t even be mad at her. And she’s really nice, this cheery, sweet, caring type. She instantly tried to make friends, like it was her personal mission to make everyone around feel good. It even gets better. They have a kid, a little girl, eight months old. Pure cuteness. I couldn’t expose this bastard to her or his family, for her sake or that little girl. So I said nothing. Just smiled and pushed through.”

“Oh, Ri, that’s awful. I’m so sorry you had to go through this crap. What a sorry excuse for a man,” Bozer tries to offer some comfort.

“I had words with him, so at least he knows I know. He was ashamed and sorry ‘cause it happened when he was drunk, blah, blah, blah. Must’ve been drunk for weeks, then. But... I really wanted blood,” she grimaces with disgust. “It’s petty, I know, but the irony of it all... I always try to do the right thing, even if it’s going to hurt me, and I have nothing to show for it. Every damn situation I had to sacrifice something, ‘cause that was the right thing to do, I got absolutely nothing for it. Just more heartbreak. He cheated on me and got a loving wife and a beautiful kid. I’m bitter and lonely and full of heartbr—” She abruptly stops but can’t control the treacherous tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

Bozer just pulls Riley into a bear hug, trying to convince her that it’s just one stupid wrinkle on the fabric of time and the universe is going to smooth it soon enough. Just you wait. Riley shakes her head exasperatedly but lets him talk. It’s his way of coping with her shit. She doesn’t have any, really, even a bottle of cheap whiskey is not an option. It screams of Elwood, and the single thought of her following in his footsteps makes her sick to the stomach.

She’s just condemned forever to carry her broken heart around, hoping no one hears the pieces clattering in her chest.

She ends the hug quickly, not wanting to keep Bozer outside for too long, truly not strong enough to deal with anybody’s pity. He promises to check on her later, and she drives off to the night.

Both don’t register a tall, slim figure hovering next to the slightly open door with a bag of homemade brownies.

Mac’s heart twists painfully at every sentence Riley spoke. He wants nothing more than to hold her tight and make her pain go away, protect her from all the bad in the world with every piece of his strength. He needs to make this right. To show her she’s loved and cherished as she deserves to be, that there’s someone who’s willing to go out of his way to make the world better for her.

He knows he can’t. Not like this. The door is closed, and he’s—

He can’t. No matter how much he wants to.

Her words ring in his ears.

I always try to do the right thing, even if it’s going to hurt me, and I have nothing to show for it. Every damn situation I had to sacrifice something, ‘cause that was the right thing to do, I got absolutely nothing for it. Just more heartbreak.

He has a creeping suspicion she might mean their complicated history too, the sacrifice of her feelings made for the sake of their friendship, Mac’s happiness or their job. His throat closes up painfully at the thought of him being the villain, the cause of her pain. What on earth makes him better than Billy?

When Mac is back at the fire pit, Lauretta sees his pained expression but says nothing. Whatever it is, digging into this here and now is a bad idea, she’s going to pry the truth out of Wilt later anyway. Her gut tells her though that Mac’s massive mood shift has something to do with the curly-haired IT genius that was trying so hard not to break down in front of everybody. What the hell is going on in that boy’s life?

She’s heard a lot about Riley, Wilt won’t ever shut up about his ‘little sister.’ She’s supposed to be really close to Angus, but surely not closer than his live-in girlfriend, right? Lauretta feels a sudden urge to bust out a good bottle of wine and talk this craziness out with her husband, as they have been doing for the last thirty-five years. God almighty, these kids really need a helping hand. Wilt is mourning someone but still won’t talk about it, Riley tries to keep up the badass face while she’s crumbling on the inside, and Angus seems fidgety and anxious, unsure of himself, kind of broken even. Only Desi looks stoic as ever and hard to read. Something feels off here, and Lauretta is pretty determined to have words with someone about it. But right now, she’s going to poke the bear only a little.

“Wilt, please find us some fancy place to go tomorrow,” she says lightly. “You know, tasty drinks, good music and good-looking men. And not stupid, if you please. Gonna show off Riley a little bit. The girl deserves a proper worshipping,” she smirks.

And there it is. A crack in Mac’s expression. He immediately looks down at the fire, eyes glassy and obsessively focused on some dancing flames, apparently in dire need of all that studious attention.

“You guys are going out?” Bozer grins. “Should I be worried about my parents’ marriage? Call dad?”

“Well, Riley doesn’t know it yet, but she’d better have a tight mini-dress and some absurdly high heels at hand. Or at feet,” Lauretta smiles widely at her own oh-so-bad-of-a-pun.

“Oh, great, you’re lucky, she has no shortage of that. But please tell me you won’t be wearing the same thing, Ma. Or I’m calling dad for real.” Bozer narrows his eyes at Lauretta.

“Are you saying I would set the club on fire? Because, young Wilt, if you’re implying your mama is too old for tight dresses, I’m gonna have your head on a pike. And ask Riley to go public with your MySpace account or whatever it is she keeps threatening you with.”

Bozer tries to look frightened but all he manages is a hearty laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Ma. But seriously, props for getting Riley out, I’ve been trying to do that for ages now, and she just keeps finding excuses.”

“That’s probably because she’s too embarrassed by your dance moves,” Desi chimes in.

Now Bozer is genuinely horrified. “You have not just said that. Take it back, everybody knows I’m the king of the dance floor, and I move like Jagger.”

“Yep, that’s the attitude that won’t score you Riley’s company,” Desi shoots back, smirking at Lauretta.

“Mac, a little help here for your best buddy?” Bozer shrieks with fake indignation, but Lauretta sees through her son’s game: Wilt caught on Mac’s sour mood and tries to get him out of his head before said head gets any unwanted attention.

There’s a short pause before Mac finds his voice. “Um, yeah, sorry, I got distracted,” he croaks. “What am I supposed to help you with?”

“Just admit my dance moves are pure awesomeness.”

Again, Wilt seems to be joking, but his eyes squint a little too much at Mac’s worn-out features. He knows something, or even more than something, Lauretta is certain of it. And whatever it is, he also seems to be poking the bear. Gently, subtly, but still. As if he was trying to execute some plan here.

“Just the fact that you need confirmation speaks volumes, Boze,” Mac huffs exasperatedly. There’s little humour in his response.

“You traitor! From now on, all of my culinary genius is reserved solely for... yeah, I’ve got it, Matty! God help me, I’m not cooking anymore for either one of you, even Riley is out of my good graces for preferring going fishing with my mom, of all people!”

“Should we bring you along? Promise I will desperately pitch you to all the girls willing to listen,” Lauretta grins. “Nothing sexier than a grown-ass man with his mom as a wingwoman.”

That gets the chuckles out of everybody, and the teasing continues. Even Mac plays his part, although his smile is slightly weaker than usual.

After they leave, Mac collects empty beer bottles on autopilot, deeply in thought. He contemplates asking Bozer about Riley but suddenly remembers how many times Lauretta’s eyes were on him tonight. Did she figure it out? How much he’s struggling lately to feel how he’s supposed to? How he says he does? How often he has to remind himself that what happened in the hyperbaric chamber was just his brain playing tricks on him, synapses misfiring under the changing oxygen pressure? If he told Bozer what he remembered, he’d probably get some overly dramatic rant about what his heart truly wants, that it wants to be heard, it’s screaming at Mac, and so on.

A heart can’t have any wishes, dammit! It’s just a stupid figure of speech. It’s only a muscle pumping blood, which is pretty amazing if you ask Mac, the mechanics of it and all... But his heart can’t have a say in anything because it’s the brain that makes decisions, tells you how you’re feeling, makes you feel love by sending the commands to release oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin...

Okay, now he has simplified the whole process to an awful degree, but the main point is that the brain is the central command of human behaviour. So when Mac decided to see things through with Desi, it was an informed decision resulting from a logical thought process, not some sudden leap of faith to give his heart what it wants.

To give his heart—

Fuck. There’s literary no escaping these stupid metaphors.

And what does the heart want?

What is it you want, Mac?

No. NO. He needs to push it down.

He has that box. That box shoved to the darkest corner of his mind, where all the things he doesn’t want to think of or feel land. All the unwanted, scary, disturbing, hard-to-understand feelings. Questions difficult to answer. All that his brain labels dangerous to the equilibrium he tries so hard to maintain. Well, it’s a true Pandora’s box of all evil: vulnerability, longings, scars, and pain, pain, pain.

It’s really cramped in there. Though one would think a metaphorical box would have unlimited capacity.

It’s harder and harder to keep things in. To stop Mac’s mind from going to places he really needs to steer clear of, like Mexico City or Banja Luka. To stop his heart from painfully constricting at the prospect of Riley really moving on, finding someone else to love her to the fullest and being loved by her.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. You can’t. It’s not right. DON’T THINK ABOUT IT, DAMMIT!

As if the universe wanted to drown him in guilt, Desi emerges from the bedroom to ask if he’s going to bed.

“Um, not yet, I... I want to finish reading these reports Matty wrestled away from DARPA. They got some pretty interesting results trying out sound waves bending with—” he stops himself abruptly, despite Desi not showing any impatience or irritation with the incoming nerd talk. “Never mind. Gonna need that later in the lab.”

Desi merely nods and closes the door behind her.

The next morning Mac wakes up on the couch. Like yesterday. Like the day before. And probably several others.

Chapter Text

The next day

Thud.

Riley is woken up by a loud thump. Disoriented, she tries to get her bearings, but it’s only her game controller on the floor. She, on the other hand, is on the couch, tangled up in a blanket. Certainly not burrito style. It’s like the blanket decided to immobilize every one of her limbs in a different way. How is there even enough fabric for that?

If the crick in her neck, back pain, sore muscles and a pounding headache are any indication, she spent the whole night crooked as a corkscrew, hugging the game controller to her chest. An old lady with a cat, huh? In her case, an old lady with a game controller. She probably has some marks on her skin from that steamy night together. That’s the closest to a love bite she gets these days.

Riley is not a morning person, but it’s the time of the day her apartment gets the best light. She can’t help but love how the sunbeams dance on the photos she hung on the wall. There’s her whole family—her mom, dad, grandparents, a variety of skin colours and hair textures. Many stories: of heartbreak, failure, estrangement, second chances, new beginnings. Then there’s the team: Mac and Jack after some crazy-ass mission, the three of them in the GTO, Bozer with reindeer ears, a bunch of deck photos with Matty, Desi and Russ, Cage and Leanna. The latest addition was Jill, right after Riley bumped into a new quirky analyst struggling to keep her thick glasses on her nose.

Is that a coping mechanism? Surrounding herself with faces of people she has lost, or she’s afraid to lose? Getting more people into her apartment where she’s usually all by herself? Reminding herself, she’s not alone?

It all started with Jack, right after that terrible day when she had to endure stories of how great of a soldier, a friend or a co-worker he was. A millenniums-old tradition of burying the dead, with honours or not, with a priest or not, casket or urn, six feet under. Then eating, reminiscing, drinking up and going home to wait for a brand new day, so it could bring hope. Riley waited. She buried Jack’s murderer in prison, reminisced, drank up and went on with her life. She still waited.

She got the Phoenix shrink to believe she was in the acceptance stage. Or the lady just let her think she was fooled. It didn’t matter. Riley was a no-show for all the following appointments. Matty didn’t push.

Grief is a funny thing—she heard that million times before. You never know when it’s going to strike. One day you look at the photos, and they soothe you, bringing back all the love or joy you felt at the time. Another day they just remind you of the forever lost past. Or months after the funeral, you take a mug out of the dishwasher, and the pain flares up to a barely manageable level because someone you loved had their last coffee in it.

And then you’re back at doing your job, buying groceries and segregating your trash.

Riley pushes through. She always pushes through. She pushed through domestics, the betrayal when she was left behind by the men in her life, through prison, where everyone reminded her she was nothing more than a piece of shit. Through every obstacle, every curveball her job threw her. Through every hardship people she loved had to endure.

Even if there are some hiccups along the way, she always pushes through.

She got home yesterday, sat on the couch and just had a good cry. Well, good is relative. It wasn’t cathartic for sure. She ended up hating herself even more that she was reduced to a sobbing mess by a pathetic loser who couldn’t keep it in his pants. Who cared enough to introduce Riley to her estranged grandmother and then decided cheating was better than an honest breakup.

It just reminded her of how much she doesn’t fit. Sure, she has her family by blood and by choice, she knows she belongs there, but romantic relationships are a different thing. So far, nearly every guy in her life has let her know she’s either not enough or too much.

Is that why she misses Jack so much more these days? Because he showed her so much unconditional love and took pride in her, so she selfishly wants to feel it once again?

She knows her value. She knows it’s not in some sleazebag’s opinion of her. It comes from her deeds. How much good she can do, how much change she can introduce, how she applies her skills. Some stupid self-help books might tell you it’s about character, not achievements, so there you go, universe. The very core of Riley Davis’ character is that she uses her power for good. She never loses control over it. Over herself. Whatever life throws at her, she pushes through. Whatever scars she’s collected, there are bigger things to worry about.

So...

It’s Sunday. Sun day. Let’s hope a good cleansing shower and some vitamin D will help with the overwhelming feeling of the shittiness of everything.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Swearing under her breath, Riley drags herself to the door. Please, universe, let it be just Bozer.

It’s not.

“How the hell did you even get my address?” she asks after a long staring contest with the unexpected visitor.

“The one and only Matilda Webber.”

Riley snorts in utter disbelief. It’s the ultimate betrayal. “I can’t believe she just gave it to you—”

“Riley,” Mama Colton interrupts, “I mean no harm. I know what happened. I came to talk to you, woman to woman. Maybe over a piece of that.” She lifts a box of buttermilk pie. “I’m his mother, but it doesn’t mean I can’t tell right from wrong.”

“If you came for some kind of absolution for him, let me get this straight—not happening.” Riley crosses her arms. “I’m not looking for revenge, but there’s no way I’m letting him know he’s absolved from any guilt. I did nothing to deserve this.”

“I know, honey, that’s why I wanted to talk.”

“What is there to talk about? I caught him, I dumped him, and that apparently did him good. He was more than happy to stay with his side piece, and now they are a merry little family.” There’s more bite in her tone than she intended. That’s not fair. The other woman clearly has no idea what role she played in this whole mess, plus there’s an innocent child involved, and Riley just feels sick with the drama. With the anger still coursing through her veins. She just wants to go back 48 hours, when Billy was only a distant memory. “Sorry. Your daughter-in-law is not at fault here.”

Mama watches her with a grave expression. “I raised him right, Riley. And there’s a code in our family. Honour. We are proud people ‘cause we do things the right way.”

Riley raises her eyebrows.

“Well, maybe we tweak some things this way or another, but that is only for the job. You have to pay your bills, muffin,” Mama goes on smoothly.

Riley chuckles, taken back to her first visit to the diner. Buttermilk pie was heavenly. Bozer and his pet names—not so much. With a deep sigh, she lets Mama in. The woman has some serious grit to come here and admit to her son’s failure as if it was her fault, as if she owed Riley anything.

Riley’s coldness wanes a little. She liked the whole family. It’s a shame one of them turned out to be such a dirtbag.

She turns on her coffee maker and takes the plates out. At least two at once will see a glimpse of daylight. A rare occasion in Riley Davis’ household, unless her mom or Bozer come over, usually to weep at the emptiness of her fridge. Bozer has even developed that oh-so-funny habit of measuring the thickness of dust on her kitchen stuff. The hilarity.

She forgives him for all that evil when she reads his text, 3:35 AM: Love you so much, sis, call me whenever.

Buttermilk pie is no worse than before. So is the conversation with Mama, which flows from now on.

They steer clear of Billy because all has already been said. They talk about the business, Jesse and Frank, Mama’s latest run-in with the least competent FBI agent alive, Johnny English level of bad, or how one of the skips tore his clothes to shreds, trying to get through an air vent. And then he decided to go out buck naked, legs first, naturally, dangling in the air for a good minute.

“Just when you think you’ve seen everything, darling, life still has surprises,” Mama says philosophically. “We didn’t have anything to cover him, and I sure as hell wouldn’t sacrifice my jacket for this, so I ended up bleaching the backseat in my truck. That precious leather took it hard. My heart still aches. But a simple sanitizer just wouldn’t do.”

Riley laughs for the first time in 36 hours and raises her coffee. “Here’s to always fully clothed bounties.”

They click the mugs and drink.

“It was always fun to run into the team of the weirdest secret agents alive,” Mama smiles at the memories. “What about papa bear Dalton? Is he back already from saving the world?”

Riley’s knuckles whiten. “Kinda,” she says carefully. She doesn’t trust her throat to get any more words out.

“So, is he around or not?” Mama squints at her, confused by the answer.

Riley concentrates on the wisps of steam dancing in the air above her mug. “He... he did come back. In a wooden box. Fifty stars on top.”

There is a long, pregnant pause.

“Men really do you wrong, huh?”

Yeah. They do.

The next day

When Mac and Desi enter the war room, the first thing Mac notices is a familiar box on the table. It fills the whole area with a faint but well-known aroma, the one Mac associates with some more carefree times. When Jack was around, and everything was easier.

“Ah, what do we have here?” Desi examines the remnants on Bozer’s plate. The man himself is smiling blissfully as if he just experienced one of the best ‘taste explosions.’

“That, my friend, is famous buttermilk pie, fresh from Louisiana, courtesy of one Mama Colton.”

“Dig in,” Riley gestures to the pie. “It’s really good. Matty’s still away, working out some details with the new thing we have coming. If you’re not quick enough, she’s gonna take the whole pie for herself.”

“That’s right, baby. Better hurry,” Bozer mumbles with a full mouth. “The woman doesn’t know how to share.”

“Wait a minute. Colton? Weren’t they the bounty hunters you were running with a couple of years back?” Desi helps herself to a plate and starts to cut a hefty slice.

“Mhm,” Riley mutters absentmindedly from above the keyboard. There’s some new data flow from Matty. Looks like they’ll be heading to San Francisco.

That’s where it all started. Yeah, well, it started in the supermax, but San Francisco was the first mission she saw the boys at work.

The boys. So much has changed since.

If it was hard to get Jack out of her head before, it’s even harder now, after the conversation with Mama.

My dad was a veteran. He wasn’t the most affectionate type, ran a tight ship, liked order. Our heart-to-heart was mostly ‘bout guns and law enforcement. He died suddenly. Heart attack. I already had two kids, was pregnant with the third. Told myself I had this. That I didn’t have the luxury to lie down and cry, with the job and one munchkin screaming for a toy, the other for food, and the third one was still making me throw up my meals in the second trimester. It was life, after all, huh? People come, people go. The world doesn’t stop spinning because there’s one grave more.

So I did my job, I took care of the kids, of the diner, I helped my mom whenever she needed a hand, visited the graveyard. But one day, I just broke down. Mind you, honey, no one knows the story except for my mom. Billy was two months old. He was fussy like never before, the older ones were just awful, some contracts didn’t come through, I was all sore and coming down with something. I just broke into tears on the kitchen floor and cried and cried and cried. Only had enough common sense to put Billy into his crib, so he was safe. Then suddenly my mom came over, no reason, she just felt like seeing the kids. She took one look at me and she knew there was so much more than baby colic, sleep deprivation, business problems and poor health.

It was seven months after my dad’s death. I hadn’t processed it at all. My mom was doing better than I was. You see, darling, she took her time to mourn. She was always tight with her sisters, so they talked a lot. She was a churchgoer, so she had her faith to hold on to. I just dived head-first into work and family life, hoping everything would get better on its own. Didn’t work that way.

Suddenly the pie server clatters on the table, and Desi spins on her heels, looking sharply at Riley. That pulls the hacker out of her musings. Thank God, a distraction.

“Wasn’t one of them that sleazebag boyfriend of yours?”

Not really a distraction, then. Riley didn’t expect that from Desi. How did she even remember?

“Yeah, he was. A long time ago. Don’t worry, the pie is from his mom. Cool lady, you’d like her.”

“All I’m saying is it’s good to have your guard up with all kinds of ex-boyfriends’ moms,” Desi says pointedly, cautiously eying the pie.

Riley chuckles. “Is there a story you want to share, Des? Does it involve a poisoned pie?”

“Or a pie like the one from The Help, huh?” Bozer chimes in, grinning.

“Bite me. Why do I even bother?” Desi shakes her head with an exaggerated eye roll and finally begrudgingly reaches for the slice.

“It’s safe, I promise,” Riley smiles. “We had it yesterday together, and I’m still alive, so... no poison or laxatives. Or that thing Bozer mentioned.”

“Okay... But is the sleazebag still around? Needs some ass kicking?”

“Thanks, but ‘no’ to both. Not around, not bothering me, no ass kicking needed. Very, very old history. But thanks for the offer. Though I could do some damage too, you know,” Riley snickers, deeply relieved at how light the atmosphere seems today. She’s so exhausted by all the emotional mess the weekend brought her that she looks for every joke or tease like a lifeline.

It’s been better between her and Desi lately. They kinda hugged it out after the whole Mexico City situation, Desi claimed she was not mad, seemed quite understanding, but Riley saw a minefield quickly rising between them. Or a frozen lake. You may think it’s safe out there, thick ice and everything, but it’s really not. Though it seems like the ice is melting. Rather slowly, but still. Riley just needs to keep her poker face on until she really, really moves on and be a good friend to everybody.

“Oh, I know. I’m just so itching to break somebody’s face. It’s been too freaking long since we took out some real baddies, and I had an active field day.”

“Well, brace yourself for more intricacy today,” Matty says, strutting into the room, a tablet in hand. “You’re all going to San Francisco to discreetly intercept and place into protective custody one Edi Kotta, a twenty-year-old son of an Albanian mob boss, and his mother Melisa. They are ready to testify against the mob, but daddy probably caught a whiff of it and is watching them like a hawk. So, subtlety, Desi, not breaking faces.”

Desi groans exasperatedly.

“Just drown your sorrows in sugar,” Matty rolls her eyes, gesturing to the plate Desi tries to hide behind her.

While they are talking, Bozer manages to cut another slice and stuff nearly half of it into his mouth.

“If you choke on that, I’m not lifting a finger to save your ass, Bozer.” Matty watches him with disgust. “And you, Blondie, what are you waiting for? Dig in, finish this thing so we can start working like adults, not a bunch of kids at a birthday party. Geez.”

“Um, you don’t want any?” Mac asks a little nervously. The box kind of threw him for a second.

“I’ve got my own. You think Mama would show her face here without any goodies for me?”

Mac merely nods and takes the last slice. It’s good as ever but also... unsettling. Well, not the pie itself, but the maker and the fact that Riley seems completely unbothered by it as if the Coltons were her dearest friends. Nearly two days ago, she was falling apart and now... What the hell happened that Riley is so chill about the Coltons?

Matty gets a phone call, and the briefing is put on hold, so Mac sees an opportunity to delve into the mystery. He nonchalantly approaches Riley, finishing the last bite. “So... what’s up with the pie? Did you run into the Coltons somewhere?”

“Yep, on Saturday, on an op Matty sent me on as a substitute analyst. They were after the same target. There was some debate, but finally we got the mark, and they got paid. Just like old times. Mama Colton brought me the pie later.”

“Oh. So... Billy was there too?”

“Yeah, still in the family business.”

Mac swallows hard. This Riley is so different from the one he heard crumbling on his porch that he starts questioning his own senses. Did he really witness that scene? If yes, why is she lying right now? Why can’t she tell him the truth?

“Are you okay? You seemed a little stressed and didn’t want to stay for the BBQ so I thought...” Mac tentatively tries to circle the question that has been haunting him since the party.

“Billy is ancient history, Mac,” Riley says without blinking an eye. “I was really beat, I slept for like two hours and spent the day glued to a screen in the worst chair ever. My back still hurts.”

Mac searches her features for any signs of lying: wandering eyes, biting one’s lips, fidgeting, playing with hair, jewelry, anything. Any sign of dishonesty in Riley’s irises. Any-freaking-thing.

She acts perfectly normal, calm and collected.

His brain quickly connects all the dots and spits out a conclusion Mac hoped to never make: Riley is lying to him, and he can’t read her. He can’t tell when she’s bluffing. She has such a grip on her expression, such a massive shield up that it’s nearly impossible to see what’s really underneath. Or he’s just too stupid, too blind, too inhumane with his ultra-logical brain to register basic human emotions. Sparky is better with this than one Angus MacGyver.

Was it always like that? How many things has he overlooked this way?

It’s like the quarantine all over again when he didn’t realize how much Bozer was struggling. Riley gave him the ‘cut yourself some slack’ talk, which he accepted gratefully, a cop-out from all the shame he felt for letting down his friend. She was always there, keeping him from doom spirals, from blaming himself too much when he fucked up, while she was the one hurting. Guilt churns in his insides, making him nauseous.

A snap of fingers an inch away from Mac’s face gets him out of the haze.

Riley is watching him with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay? You just completely froze for like a good minute.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he blinks rapidly to regain some clarity. “Sorry, I... um... I’m happy Mama Colton remained good people. It’s great you have her in your corner. But... erm... if you ever decide on any type of revenge on Billy, from the good ol’ ass kicking to some nasty fungal infection, I’m your guy.”

Riley grins at the last offer. That would’ve come in handy three years ago. “It’s all good, Mac, don’t worry about it.”

Mac nods and turns to face Matty, who has just finished her call. Work is waiting. Work is good. A welcomed distraction. Especially when he feels his cheeks heating up a little.

I’m your guy.

Stupid figures of speech.

Chapter Text

“Davis, you’re in position?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve just given you a sitrep on all the entrances,” Riley tries to keep the annoyance out of her tone.

She’s sitting in a van in front of the hotel where the Kotta family resides on the 6th floor. Her job, for now, is to monitor the whole building and the teams’ movements. Bozer and some other agents are already mingling with the crowd that has come for Mehmet Kotta’s annual ‘fundraiser’ party, Desi and Russ are about to scope the 6th floor, and Mac has just stealthy entered the van to grab some additional tech. They need to get the guards away from the Kottas’ suite to extract the mother and son.

A little further away, SFPD and SWAT teams wait ready to swarm the place and catch all the mobsters. If everything goes without a hitch, it’ll be Christmas for all the San Francisco law enforcement.

“I meant ready to go in if you’re needed. Dressed for the occasion?”

Lord, give her patience. This annoying voice belongs to a Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal and, apparently, Russ’ buddy from God knows where, Xavier Lagarde, currently leading the whole extraction op. That super French name works well with his brown curly hair and green eyes, she must admit. It doesn’t make him any less of a prick.

He’s already reminded her three times that she’s supposed to stay in the van as the overwatch for the Phoenix team and the marshals, in contact with SFPD. But, if the situation requires it, she’d be getting into the hotel as Lagarde’s date. Hence the ‘dressed for the occasion’ crap. Yes, you idiot, she’s just changed into a low-cut sparkly dress, bumping into all kinds of equipment stashed in the van. Thirty seconds later, Mac would’ve caught her half-naked.

A quick search told her this Lagarde guy was a skilled agent, on his way to the top of the agency. Former FBI, specialized in interrogation. Mid-thirty. Not married. Riley is low-key tempted to hack his phone, though she still hasn’t decided if it’s for his dating history or to plant a nasty bug.

“Of course, sir, it’s not my first day at work,” she answers in a syrupy-sweet voice. “Actually, it’s been very successful seven years. And I’d suggest you tell your team to move your van off the pavement. SFPD won’t bother tonight, but overzealous citizens are a thing. Better not attract attention.” You can take your mind off my dress now, jerk.

“Good catch. I was just checking your perceptiveness.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Always happy to help.”

“What’s his problem?” Mac mutes his comms, irritated by the kind of flirty undertones pouring into his ear.

“I don’t know, probably doesn’t trust a girl in the field.” Riley mutes her microphone too.

Mac knows well it’s definitely not that. Or not only that. It makes him clench his jaw with far too much force, even if he promised himself to keep a tight lid on all the unwanted emotions throwing him off balance. He can’t do this. Balance is a precious thing in his whirlwind of a life, and he can’t lose it.

“Jackass. Russ has some friends,” he mutters, and Riley smiles. That is a victory since Riley has seemed off so far. Silent, deep in thoughts, kind of saddened—and she let the team see it.

In the war room, Mac barely managed to keep the hurt at bay as he thought about Riley hiding things from him but talking openly with Bozer. He would never admit it aloud, not even in front of a firing squad, but along with a feeling of inadequacy and rejection, there was this little green-eyed monster peeking from a corner. Mac chased that thought away as quickly as he could, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He was the monster here. Was she keeping things from him ‘cause she didn’t want him in her business? Wasn’t he trustworthy enough? Understanding? Didn’t deserve that confidence? Hurt her too much? Any reason Mac could think of wasn’t making the pang in his chest any less sharp.

But facts are facts. This mission made Riley uneasy.

Suddenly the realisation strikes.

“It’s really been seven years, huh?” Mac says softly, flooded by the images from the past. “And it all kinda started here, in San Francisco.”

Riley looks at him with a half-smile. “Yeah. In a hotel. Nikki, a deadly virus and tinfoil. The smell was awful, by the way.”

Mac laughs. One thing you definitely can’t say about his improvised chemistry fun is that it smells like vanilla or strawberries. “That’s my signature scent, huh? My mom used to joke my dad’s cologne was WD-40, so... I suppose I’m doing even worse.”

Riley’s lips quirk a little more. She didn’t really feel a lot of love for James MacGyver, the guy liked power a little too much and seemed to think accountability didn’t apply to him. But in the end... In a way, he tried. Clumsily and lousily, but tried. Sometimes she wondered if she should’ve written the MacGyver men an app translating from one ‘emotionally stunted’ lingo to another. Or something special for Oversight to practise using words other than ‘the invaluable asset’ while talking to his son.

Anyway, she can’t help but smile at how funny and endearing that little family of crazy-ass scientists would’ve been if Mac’s mother had survived. They mightn’t have made for quiet neighbours, though. Oh, she absolutely must ask Mac one day if he ever tried to buy uranium as a kid, Young Sheldon style.

But it’s just another reminder of how unlikely, with this job, it is to have healthy, happy relationships or a semblance of family life. She can only hope Mac is on the path to that, even if it’s not with her. He deserves it. And she... she’ll live. She’s not some stupid Ophelia ending her life over a cuckoo prince with mommy issues and chronic indecisiveness. Who, by the way, was definitely not dark, brooding and handsome.

Do not get thee to a nunnery, girls. There’s life out there. Even if it means putting up with mansplaining idiots and suffering through scratchy sequin dresses.

Seven years. Holy shit.

Self-deprecating jokes fall easily off Mac’s tongue, but the memories assaulting him bring a mayhem of emotions.

The three months after Nikki’s alleged death are more than hazy. He remembers hospitals, PT, a lot of worried glances, Bozer hovering over him like a slightly manic mother hen, and Jack, of all people, giving him a little space but under a watchful eye. He remembers pushing himself to get out of bed every morning. He remembers punishing himself with workouts, hoping the burning in his muscles could dull all the pain inside.

He let Nikki die. She was no longer here ‘cause he failed. All the tricks he usually had up his sleeve didn’t matter. He failed.

Mac remembers wishing he hadn’t gotten out of that lake. It would’ve been a peaceful place to rest, with picturesque scenery, snowy Alps glittering in the sun, cerulean blue water, colourful towns just right on the shore... Well, a corpse couldn’t really see anything, but it’d be nice anyway. Nicer than six feet down in LA dirt.

Then, one visit to the supermax later, he was chasing a terrorist with a deadly virus, drowning even in deeper pain. That burning hole of grief and guilt left by Nikki, after San Francisco morphed into a burning hole of anger and betrayal. With Nikki’s death, his whole world stopped spinning. With Nikki’s treason, the whole world crashed down and burned.

And somehow, in the middle of that chaos, when he tried, as always, to adapt and rebuild, there was another person having his back. No questions asked, no expectations. No judgement. She just had his back. When the woman who claimed to love him betrayed him so hard, there was a dangerous criminal effortlessly showing him what loyalty was.

Maybe she just didn’t want to go back to prison. Maybe she enjoyed breathing fresh air too much to complain about having to work with the nerdiest nerd alive and her kind of stepdad, who one day had just left without a word. Maybe she was just grateful or genuinely wanted to turn her life around. Maybe there were thousands of other reasons, not necessarily noble. The thing is, every day, she could’ve just done the bare minimum and gone home. Instead, Mac suddenly got another person in his corner. His person. Family. Another string holding him to the ground. Too many strings had snapped before.

Somehow this new object moving in his orbit felt like a perfect completion to his little universe. You know how you hack computers? Well, I hack everything else.

He was too caught up in his anger to see that at first. So he noticed mostly the obvious. Skills. Brilliant mind. Confidence. Looks. Snark. He’ll be damned if she didn’t check all the boxes. But he was too messed up, and she definitely didn’t need another inhabitant of the house on Hollywood Hills to creepily ogle her at every given chance or to come up with names like ‘caramel goddess.’ Plus, he definitely didn’t need Jack to threaten him with a knife or something.

It only took that undercover prison op and another potential betrayal for Mac to realize how much he actually relied on that loyalty. How much of a constant it had become. How much he needed it. Nikki coming clean about her real objectives and taking down Thornton brought him some peace, but there was that quiet voice in his mind telling him he got sacrificed awfully easily. For the greater good, but still. That if you love someone, you won’t let them go through such a shitload of pain or unnecessary mind games. That there is always another way. That he knows someone who let themselves get locked up in prison to keep a person they love safe.

And suddenly, moving on was easier. Sure, there was a lot he blocked out or shoved into the darkest corner of his mind, but he felt more rooted. Not that lost anymore. He was waking up alone, but he had his little village. A wolf pack. And the new girl turned out to be a vital part of that.

And now... Now Mac can’t find the right name for what she is. He doesn’t want to find the right name. He can’t. Because if he says it aloud, if he admits it to himself, he’ll be left in the ruins of everything he tried so hard to build. With absolutely no prospect of building anything else. Just a sea of ruins. My feelings went away. We’re all good.

Mac wants to say something light, like that it calls for a celebration, party hats, confetti and booze, or that they should coax Bozer to cook them a fancy dinner, but there are other words just rising uncontrollably in his throat. He doesn’t think he has ever said it, at least not literally.

“Riles, it’s amazing how you fit in from day one. Like you were doing this job your whole life. But not only that. Like you were a part of the family.” Mac takes a deep breath. All the memories make him too vulnerable, and the feeling of raw emptiness Jack’s demise left is still too overwhelming. He can’t afford that, not now, on an op, maybe not ever. But he’s also haunted every day by all the things left unsaid between him and the people he lost. Maybe he’s disclosing too much, maybe he’s crossing some lines, but some words need to be said. “Jack was a smart man, so right about so many things, but getting you out of that supermax was hands down the best idea that ever crossed his mind. Wherever he is right now, he’s bragging so much about you, he’s so proud—” Mac’s voice breaks.

That’s... unexpected. Riley listens to Mac with wide eyes, throat painfully closing up. Part of her longs to hug her best friend tight and say so many similar things back to him, like how he and Jack changed her life and how he inspires her every day to be the best version of herself, to think outside the box, to find joy in sharing her skills with others freely, without expecting anything back. To choose empathy, heart and selflessness over calculation and self-centeredness.

But the other part... The other part recoils from the sincerity and emotions seeping from Mac’s face.

His gaze is a little too intense for Riley’s liking. Maybe his words were innocent, spoken by a friend or a brother. Maybe it’s within the lines. But... Lately, Mac is somewhat different around her. It feels like the lines between them keep getting blurrier and blurrier, and it’s just all kinds of wrong. In other circumstances, she’d be beyond excited to explore that shifting balance, but this guy here is getting back home with his girlfriend, who he wants to marry, and at this point, Riley only longs for something pure and simple. She just looked a cheater in the eye and refuses to be dragged into something... Nausea doesn’t let her finish the thought. So she gives herself a mental shake, pushes all these jumbled-up emotions down and tries to act as normal as possible.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t sprung me out of the supermax. I would’ve gotten out three years later with zero chances for a great job, to get people to trust me. A convicted felon. Marked for life. Well, I still am that, but... All the post-release programs wouldn’t have done shit. I would’ve been so tempted to go the easy way, this time completely on my own rules.” She stares pensively at the screens.

“Hey, I’m more than sure one day you would’ve gotten a visit from Jack, all itching to see you and steer you onto the right path. Even if you had welcomed him with a punch,” Mac chuckles but looks at her even softer than before. “Though I firmly believe that good you have here,” he gestures to her chest, “would’ve just shined through no matter what.”

Riley feels her resolve crumbling. Mac’s words are sweet and terrifying at the same time, but every mention of Jack causes her so much more pain lately. More than her own heart troubles. Her face falls for a second. “I miss him so hellishly more these days,” rips from her lips before she’s able to swallow back the words.

Yeah, Mac does too. It’s still a deep, bleeding wound, a pain so acute that it leaves him breathless, but that’s something he vowed to hide deep inside. Riley, however, shouldn’t still be feeling like that. He’s willing to be crippled by pain if that means he can alleviate hers. If only she could let him. If only she would let him in.

All that musings take the form of one banal sentence. “If you ever want to talk, I’m always here, and I mean always.”

“Thanks. I know,” Riley’s voice sounds small and unsure.

“Maybe a Die Hard marathon, then?”

She nods slowly but without conviction. “Sure. Some day.”

Deeply concerned, Mac reaches for her hand. “Hey, Riles, I’m always—” but she takes the hand away and turns back to the screens. The shield is all up again, and he feels locked out.

“The team is waiting, Mac. Time to get this show on the road.”

Mac nods but stays frozen in place. There’s a burning pain flaring up in his chest. Is it because he just witnessed Riley building a wall around herself, or because she’s hurting and he’s not able to help? Because she clearly doesn’t want him close? Bracing himself for another rejection, he tentatively puts a hand on her shoulder, the touch feather-light.

“Riles, please don’t shut me out... You’re never alone, okay? I’m always here. Always,” he utters in a strained voice.

Riley slowly turns her head, and he’s met with two eyes shining with deep emotion, but the words reaching his ears feel like a slap. “Thanks. But you really should go now.”

Mac stumbles out of the van, not sure what has just happened. But it’s not the time or place to dissect all of it, so he blocks out everything not pertinent to the mission, unmutes the comms, and makes his way to the hotel.

Work mode on. Feelings off.

“Okay, people, everybody in position?” Russ asks over the comms. “Everything quiet on the Western front?”

“Looking good, guys. I’m about to jam the communication everywhere except for the 6th floor. If Mac’s ready, we can start with the guards.” Riley checks the monitors for the millionth time today.

“Ready, let’s do this.”

“Great, switch on the booster.”

“Done.”

“Okay, I’m in their comms, sending the signal right about... now.” Riley taps the key, and the guards on the 6th floor fall to the ground. A high-pitched sound through their comms knocks them out, just like Bozer did with Murdoc in Mexico City. Only this time, they didn’t have to improvise.

The Phoenix team and the marshals get in and out of the suite in under a minute, leaving the guards zip-tied on the floor, still unconscious. Easy-peasy. Riley took care of the cameras, so they should be able to get down to the back entrance without any hiccups.

Then sudden movement on the screens catches her eye.

Crap. She spoke too early.

“Guys, you’ve got incoming, four armed men, one in each of the stairwells and elevators. I’m cutting the elevators now, but they may get out. I’d move down, it’s only one hostile on the stairs. I’m blocking the camera feed, I don’t think they have eyes on you.”

“We’ve been made?” Lagarde barks, gesturing to the group to get down the staircase. The Kottas are getting whiter with every second.

“Seems like it. Mac, there’s a supply closet on your left.”

“On it. Seems like a good day for tinfoil.”

Riley smiles, but... Crap. Crap. CRAP.

“I’ve got incoming too. Guys, I need to make a run for it. Lagarde, get the cops to crash the party and your analysts to—”

The rest is muted by a rain of bullets.

“Riles!” Mac is halfway through collecting all the supplies, but the shots make him drop everything. He feels his chest getting tighter. “Riles, answer me!”

“Davis, floor it! What’s your status?” Lagarde ushers the Kottas down the stairs. The whole op just blew up in his face, and an analyst is going to pay for it? He’s soothed only a bit when Russ takes down the incoming goon with one expert shot. With a little luck, they may avoid any other mishaps.

“Xavi, contact the cops. They need to go in now!”

“I think they know it by now, Russ. We all heard the freakin’ fire! Kinda hard to ignore.”

Mac can’t breathe.

He had dreams like this. Far too many dreams. He gets separated from the team, locked up, incapacitated, tied up or something. No way to move. Comms on. He hears struggle. Gunshots. Screams. Wheezing. Grunts. Choking. You name it. Then silence. Overpowering, heavy silence. He calls their names, demands an answer. Once. Two times. Ten times. The silence suffocates him, crushes his chest like the pressure on the bottom of the Mariana Trench.

Sometimes it’s the whole team, sometimes it’s only one of them. Mac always wakes up drenched in cold sweat, every muscle tense to the point of cramping, heart hammering at impossible speed.

Now he just tries to control his breathing, sliding down the wall he leaned on for support. He can’t lose it. Riley may still need him. The logical part of his brain tries to remind him how good she is behind the wheel, but the other, not less rational, supply far too much detailed information on high-velocity bullets. What they heard on comms were assault rifles. Fucking assault rifles.

He still can’t breathe.

One of the marshals confirms the raid is in progress. That means a serious schedule slippage. The Kottas were supposed to be out of the hotel before all the other teams start to swoop in.

“Mac, finish what you had in mind, Riley’s on the move. She took fire but managed to drive away. We have eyes on her,” Matty’s voice takes over the chaos.

Mac would like to say the relief is instantaneous, but his body stays wound up tight. It seems to be a more and more common occurrence these days. Every successful mission or problem solving brings some respite, but it’s so brief he feels like a coil spring nearly all the time.

“Keep me in the loop,” he rasps out, reaching for the bottles with trembling hands. Good thing he doesn’t have to be too precise with mixing all the liquids. A ‘splash’ is definitely not a unit of measure, and for a reason.

He found a bucket and a smaller plastic container, so there would be enough for the second staircase and the whole floor. With a deep exhale, Mac puts the tinfoil into the mixture, satisfied with the thickening smoke. That should slow down the hostiles a bit. It doesn’t seem like anyone tried to get to the 6th floor, though.

“Okay, I’m done, going down. Everything all right there?” He hopes for a court ‘yep’ ‘cause Desi, Russ and the marshals should have the situation under control by now. “Is Riley okay?”

Static.

Great. Did the cops just jam all communication? Or were that the mobsters?

Whatever. He needs to get out of the building. And far away from that stinky smoke.

When he’s on the 3rd floor, the side door suddenly swings open, and a completely unexpected punch to the jaw nearly makes Mac fall over the railing. Years of training prevail, and he gets his bearings quickly, only to be met with a gun to his face. Whoever the owner is, he looks pissed. But also distracted. The safety is on.

Two expert strikes and one failed attempt to shoot the gun later, the piece clatters on the ground.

Mac takes a kick to the ribs but blocks the rest, and the assailant is quickly overpowered. When he’s on the ground, tightly secured with zip-ties and gagged with a piece of his own shirt, Desi emerges on the stairs, gun drawn. “You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, he was hiding behind the door,” Mac replies, massaging his jaw. That’s gonna leave a nice bruise. Just in time, when he’s supposed to meet Lauretta for coffee tomorrow. “Is Riley okay? Did they jam the comms?” The tremor in his hands starts to subside slowly.

“She should be back any minute with the van. The cops jammed everything. It’s pure chaos everywhere, the feds got here too, and right now, they’re arguing with the marshals about the safe house. I’ll tag along with the transport, I wouldn’t be surprised if they got some paper-shuffling interns as security. Seriously, it’s one big mess out there. Damn fools,” she shakes her head. “I may stay the night, we’ll see.”

“Okay, have fun.”

Desi waves him goodbye and jogs down the stairs.

Mac forces the goon up, and after some suggestive gun waving, they stumble to the entrance.

Several yards from the door, a wave of dizziness washes over his body. It’s like a brief blackout—for a nanosecond, he sees only blackness, as if someone cut all the lights. A bit later, it’s gone, and Mac feels right as rain, only a throbbing pain in his jaw and ribs. What the hell was that? Was it from the punch? Did he get a mild concussion? But then he remembers the same thing did happen this morning. Something like a short-lived vertigo, making him blind and deaf for a moment.

In true Mac fashion, he blocks out all the questions and takes his prisoner to the cops.

Chapter Text

Riley gets out of the van after a long, painstaking manoeuvring through all the vehicles and people surrounding the hotel, a headache-inducing mayhem of flashing emergency lights, shouting crowd, quarrels, curses, threats, and even some crying ladies in fancy dresses. Whatever this is, she’s glad the Phoenix is done with their task ‘cause that multi-agency mess is something she doesn’t want to see again too soon, or maybe ever. Whoever coordinated the raid clearly couldn’t find their butt with both hands.

She’s still shaking a bit from the adrenaline, knowing very well how close she was to getting a little... holey and leaky. It’s a miracle no one shot at the wheels, and she got away. Mac and the rest ran from some amateurs with handguns, and the lovely men who went after her were armed to the teeth, AK-47 in hand.

Phew. Never underestimate a mob boss, even if he looks like a total halfwit and makes a living from stealing cars. At least that’s the only crime the cops were able to charge some of his lieutenants with. Much bigger things, like human trafficking and organ harvesting in cahoots with some deadly cartel, are yet to be proven, hopefully with the cooperation of Kotta’s soon-to-be ex-wife and son. Riley combed through several cases against the mobster. Horrid stuff.

“Davis, you okay?” she hears from her right. Lagarde ditches a group of marshals and FBI agents, currently in a heated discussion. He seems genuinely concerned, looking her over for any signs of injury.

“Yeah, they only got the van.”

“How many were there? We can’t get any feed yet.”

“Four,” she grimaces. “Yeah, you people got four, and I got four. In full tac gear. Talk about justice.”

“Damn, we had no idea. We only heard the rifles, and that put a damper on the whole party. Your team was super concerned. Glad you got away.”

“And look at that, even without you mansplaining three times what I should do,” Riley mocks his behaviour from earlier.

“Eh, a little flaw of mine, sorry,” Lagarde smiles bashfully. “Blame it on my two much younger sisters, real troublemakers.”

“Wow, that explains... absolutely nothing. Am I five?”

Ten. A ten, he thinks but saves that comment for himself. “My deepest apologies, agent Davis, but you know, being an annoying prick comes with the senior agent job description. I have to conform,” he shrugs playfully. “So does Russ, as I hear.”

“Oh, you two are like two peas in a pod.”

“Glad we established that. But you must admit, you’d be better off as my date tonight,” Lagarde winks. “Fewer bullets flying.”

“So very not sure about that ‘better’ part,” Riley shoots back. The guy is laying it on thick, but... maybe that’s all she needs right now. Maybe she should start her ‘moving on, this time for real’ plan with some mindless fun.

Suddenly she gets an idea. “Hey, can I borrow your laptop for a sec? Mine is in shambles, but I have a hunch about how we got made. Just have to take a peek at the hotel’s security.”

“What are you thinking?” Lagarde asks, ushering her to the rig he has running on the hood of a nearby SUV. He’s eager to find out what got them screwed. In this line of work, you always need to be prepared for things going sideways. Still, with an unexpected slip-up like a death squad sent after the surveillance van, he can’t help but obsess about having a mole in his agency.

The effortless speed Riley’s fingers fly over the keyboard leaves him astonished. All the tabs appear on the screen in record time. “Damn, you’re good at this. I guess you took care of all their surveillance? But maybe even with that, someone saw something on the cameras?” he probes.

“Nah, I did a thorough job with them. But if Kotta was super paranoid, he might’ve had someone monitoring the frequencies. And he was paranoid, judging by the small army he kept at hand.”

“Great, so we tipped him off with our comms?”

“Rather with that high-pitch signal. That was like a bugle call. I jammed their comms, but there’s tech allowing you to keep an eye on all the frequencies.”

“Interesting... That’s some serious paranoia. But consistent with his job, human trafficking and all, I guess.” Lagarde watches Riley working for a bit. “Hey, I was thinking maybe I’ll get a chance to...”

“Riles!” Mac and Bozer come from behind another van, running at full speed. Mac opens his arms as if he wants to sweep her up in a hug, but he stops abruptly to give her a quick once-over. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“Yeah, not a scratch. The van took the brunt of it.”

“Then what’s that?” Mac points to a shard of glass sticking out of her arm. It’s not that big, maybe a little over an inch long, but the blood stain around it is slowly growing. “You need a medic right now. C’mon,” he gestures to one of the ambulances present on the scene.

“Oh, sorry, Davis, I didn’t realize you were injured. Don’t worry about the guards. You really need a medic,” Lagarde says, concerned, but before he’s able to continue, one angry-looking FBI suit whisks him away.

“Not this jacket!” Riley groans. This job has taken far too many fashionable leather jackets from her, and that deep red one was one of her favorites. Funny thing, she doesn’t feel any pain. Probably still the adrenaline.

“Then start wearing jean jackets?” Bozer offers with a shit-eating grin. “Shell suit jackets? That’s quite a look.”

“And you think I need a medic?” Riley turns to Mac, who checks every inch of her torso again.

“You have glass in your hair, but it’s not from the windows. Did something blow up?”

“Ah, some of the gear went kaboom, I think. Must’ve short-circuited or something.” Riley’s full attention is back on the screen in front of her. She swats away Mac, who tries to get a better look at her face.

“You think something went kaboom?” Mac is more alarmed with every passing second. “Riles, you need a thorough check-up. I can see other minor cuts. That was an explosion, not some kitchen mishap with broken glass.”

“It wasn’t that big. I don’t know, I was busy trying not to die,” Riley snarls. “I’ll get checked up in a moment. But right now, I’m in the middle of something, okay, so let me finish. Pretty please?” She’s grateful for all the concern she gets, but the search she’s currently running on Lagarde’s laptop is her top priority. For reasons the boys don’t have to know now.

That’s when Lagarde comes back, which does little to calm Mac’s nerves. Of course, Riley is prioritizing doing some work for that arrogant jerk over her own health. A jerk who’s quite into her, as far as Mac can tell from the look on the guy’s face. Son of a—

“How much time do you need?” Bozer interjects, sensing the growing tension.

“Two minutes tops. Cool your jets, guys, I’m not dying.”

“Okay, but then you’re getting your ass to the ambulance with supersonic speed, sis.” Bozer drags Mac away, so Riley can finish her business with the marshals. Whatever that business is. Exchanging phone numbers, by the looks of it.

Over a minute later, she’s done, getting her flash drive out of the laptop.

“Thanks for the rig,” she says to Lagarde. “It was just as I supposed. I’ve left you all the data on that tech I was talking about. It’s used by the cops and military but needs some training to work with and some additional gear, so I wasn’t expecting a mob boss to have it at hand. Sure as hell he didn’t make things boring.”

Lagarde smiles at her. It’s a little different than before, the cockiness is gone, and he looks like a pretty nice guy. Someone she could hang out with. “Thank you,” he says. “All of that was some serious badassery. You practically paved the way for us to extract the Kottas, then that running away, and now that surveillance thing. Amazing. I’m scared to think about what else you can do with a computer. You’re one frightening woman.”

“Aww, thank you. That’s really sweet of you,” Riley chaffs.

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to keep in touch, you know, maybe drinks, maybe dinner, but I see the circumstances are... Well, the stars are not on my side.” He glances at Mac, who’s currently busy looking daggers at him.

“I’m not sure if they ever were,” Riley shoots back with a wink. “But with that ‘circumstances’ talk, you’re gravely mistaken.”

“Oh, not gonna lie, in this case, I’d love to be mistaken,” Lagarde smirks. “Though the circumstances visibly don’t agree. He looks ready to chew my head off right now. Anyway, if things were ever to change, you’d know where to find me. Or how to hack my phone. Take care, Davis. And take care of that injury.” He shoots her another warm smile and walks back to his team.

Riley chuckles, puts the flash drive securely into her pocket and heads towards the boys.

At the same time, a little further away

“Hey, Mac.”

Silence.

“Maaac,” Bozer tries to get his friend’s attention. Only a solid nudge to the side pulls Mac out of the haze. Bozer managed to hit exactly the same spot as the goon from before.

“What?” Mac scowls. He’s pretty sure his ribs are just bruised. Still, the surge of pain is not what makes him all tense and angry.

“Mac, fix your face. We really don’t need any drama here.”

“Drama? Riley needs a medic, and that dick chooses this exact moment to hit on her. So thoughtful.”

“And you looking all murderous is gonna help how exactly? She’s a big girl, wouldn’t spare him half a second if she didn’t want to. Besides, the guy’s pretty cool.” Bozer decides it’s time to have a little fun with Mac, and honestly, Mac has just served himself on a silver platter here. He may try to pin it all on worry or protectiveness, but Bozer knows his brother inside out.

Plus, Bozer is more and more fed up with the whole situation he’s looking at every day. He tried to be supportive of Mac’s choices with Desi when it seemed Mac knew what made him happy, but now it looks like a giant mess with Mac attempting to maintain the status quo while being more and more drawn to Riley. Not cool, bro. You’re better than this.

It’s also quite disheartening to see that only jealousy could bring Mac out of his stupor. He’s become way too used to the comfort of having Riley all to himself. Nothing is simple here, though, so Bozer vows to keep his matchmaking urges in check. But if he’s poking the bear a little, so what? It’s just for science.

“I’d be nice if they hit it off. She’s been single for far too long,” he adds casually.

Mac bristles even more, but then Riley walks back to them with an overly pained expression.

“All right,” she grimaces. “Let’s get this thing out of me. Can’t wait for all the needles.”

Several hours later

Mac enters his dark and empty house with a deep exhale. The San Francisco mission was relatively quick and simple if you don’t count those thugs firing at Riley’s van, yet he feels tired to the bone. The calmness welcoming him on the other side of the door should be soothing, but it only adds to the weight of the day.

There were just the three of them on the flight back home. Desi stayed as security for the Kottas, who were going into witness protection, and Russ had some other things to smooth over with the authorities. Since the Phoenix went autonomous, every agency made it difficult for them if they crossed paths. But for some inexplicable reason, Taylor enjoyed all that wrestling or tug of war and usually got the upper hand. Mac suspected Matty was supplying Russ with some top-tier blackmail material. Or he just talked his opponents to death.

Alone in his quiet house, Mac can’t shake the feeling of being left out again. He asked Riley and Bozer to stay at his place since they wouldn’t catch too much sleep this night, but the two longed for they own beds. Then he offered to take Riley home as she was on heavier painkillers after having the wound stitched up. The shard was lodged quite deep, so the whole procedure, along with the cleaning of some other minor cuts, took more than expected. At least they had it in black and white Mac was right to push.

Anyway, Bozer immediately swooped in, ordering Mac to go home to take care of his bruises and ushering Riley to his car, wait, to his Uber. Apparently, there was no Uber like Bozer’s ‘cause Bozer was über. Pun intended. That was probably the worst thing Mac has ever heard. Riley would normally tease the hell out of this monstrosity, right? But here they were, she just rolled her eyes, waved Mac goodbye, and hopped in the car.

There wouldn’t be that much for Mac to agonize over if he didn’t catch a subtle exchange between Riley and Bozer, like she was begging him to save her from Mac’s company. Nothing too obvious, just a slightly different, meaningful look, but Mac was a trained spy, and let’s just say Riley was getting a lot of his attention lately.

See? It’s better when you can’t read her, his mind jeers. Fewer blows to your precious ego.

Mac winces at his own train of thought. Of course, it’s not about his ego, it’s about losing someone so important he’d just shatter into million pieces if she was ever to disappear from his life.

But it’s just another proof that Riley is freezing him out. The realization sits heavy in his stomach, causing a mish-mash of confusion, deep guilt and dejection. He never thought they could get there. Riley is... cold. It’s something he had never experienced from her before. Even when they didn’t know each other that well, she was just... warm. Sure, she teased him hella lot for his antics, but there wasn’t even one single time he felt attacked or bullied. There was this general fondness that made him feel all right about his nerdy, mad scientist self. Like he didn’t have to hide or pretend.

That’s the first thing he associates with Riley Davis. Warmth. He knows she can cause a government to collapse with like two keystrokes, probably could find and wreck Putin’s bunker, she takes no shit and, well, it’s better not to get on her bad side, but for Mac, she’s that warm, soothing presence by his side. If she takes that away...

But it’s temporary, right? They’ve already been through rougher times when Riley was distant, right? She needed space to work through some stuff, but then she was back at Mac’s deck, explaining what was going on. You’re never gonna lose me. We’re family. Forever. They’ll talk, laugh it off, and maybe he’ll hear that reassurance once again.

But what if not this time?

He’ll get through this. He’s fine on his own. Always was, always will be. He’s used to it.

Suddenly the whirlwind of his thoughts comes to a screeching halt.

On his own? Isn’t he with Desi? Doesn’t he live with her? Aren’t they building a life together? Haven’t they overcome so many obstacles to get to this place? So why would he even think of something like that?

You know why, his mind supplies mockingly. Deep down, you know why. By the way, kudos for remembering you have a girlfriend.

Suddenly it’s too much. There are feelings, truths, regrets, delusions, and never verbalized hopes bubbling in his chest that he can’t keep down anymore. In one swift motion, he reaches for his phone and dials Bozer’s number. Screw it. No matter what time it is.

Bozer doesn’t pick up.

Deflated, Mac plops down on his bed. Of course, when he feels semi-ready to face his issues, or at least some of them, no one is here to listen. Oh sure, be shocked no one wants to be your therapist at 4 AM, genius.

After a minute or two, he gets a text. Sth urgent? Crashed at Riley’s, she just went to bed 🤫

Of course Bozer stayed the night. Of course Mac was left out.

He whips up a lie. Well, half a lie. Wanted to check on her. All good?

Yeah, totally. You took care of that bruise? Don’t freak Ma out.

Oh, right. Coffee with Lauretta. She’ll have questions. And probably a long tirade about self-care and safety.

Gonna borrow one of your masks, then. Night, bro.

As a response, he gets a pic of a cat in a cradle doing cat’s cradle. So meta. Dr. Seuss or something. Looks like a pretty accurate image of the upcoming two hours of non-sleep that Mac will be getting, trying to work through his raging emotions.

He throws his phone on the nightstand and drags himself to the bathroom in search for some heparin. Should help with the bruising.

“Wanna tell me why were you so itching to get away from Mac?” Bozer asks Riley exactly 35 seconds after they leave the Phoenix parking lot.

He spent the entire flight back to LA trying to relax with some Jon Batiste in his headphones, but the atmosphere on the jet was weirdly charged. Well, at least charged for them. For three close friends whose biggest rift so far was about doing the dishes during quarantine. But there was something a-typical in the way Riley sprinted to her seat to bust her rig open and get immersed in the coding right away. As if she wanted the whole outside world to disappear, laser-focused on the lines of numbers and letters running through the screen.

Mac, on the other hand, tried to get some shut-eye, if his closed eyes were any indicator. Too bad he couldn’t really keep them shut for a longer moment, and Bozer caught him multiple times scanning Riley’s profile. If that was meant to be subtle, Mac should be fired from the spy business. But his body was radiating so much tension Bozer started to get many colourful ideas about what had happened between these two earlier. Or was that just a very male reaction to an attractive competition for Riley’s time and attention? Anyway, Bozer could see some serious drama unfolding in the future. Mac played with explosives most of his life but somehow failed to notice how dangerous repressed feelings could be.

“You okay?” The lack of an answer to his previous question puts Bozer on alert.

“It’s nothing, Boze. Just drive.”

“It’s not nothing. I know the last couple of days were tough, but running away from Mac, well, that’s new.”

Long silence. Finally, after ages of going back and forth over the sentence she’s about to utter, Riley makes a decision. “I think I need to set some boundaries with Mac,” she says dejectedly.

Bozer takes a sharp look at her. “What did he do?” he asks with something dark in his voice.

“Nothing distinctively bad, Bozer. It’s a complex situation.”

“It’s been very complex from the moment you noticed your feelings. So what happened?”

Riley just shrugs, lost in her own confusing emotions.

“Riley... out with it.”

She grimaces. She needs to go on with the conversation or she’ll lose her damn mind, but Bozer is going to get a lot of wrong ideas, something she wanted to avoid at any cost. But it’s too late now, and Riley feels too exhausted by keeping it all in. It’s time to face the music. “You know how I told you Mac and I talked about the whole Mexico City mess, hugged it out, and everything was a-okay?”

“Mhm,” Bozer grunts. It drips with sarcasm.

“That was a lie.”

Bozer gets silent for a second, squinting as if he was trying to piece something together. “Hell, I had such a great comeback ready for this exact situation, and I forgot it!” Annoyed, he hits the steering wheel.

“What?!”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t seriously think I bought that lie even for a second!”

That shuts Riley up.

“I was just patiently waiting to see which one of you idiots was gonna cave first and tell me the whole story.”

“I guess I’m getting a gold star, huh?” Riley groans. Mac had Desi. Why would he even want to talk to Bozer about Riley’s feelings? He got the disturbing info, got confused, then got the reassurance that nothing was going to change and went on with his life. Balance intact, case closed.

“Yep, for courage, but that was obvious. Mac sure as hell is not courageous in any of this.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I think you know,” Bozer snorts. “I knew there was so much more. The golden question is how much more. So spill.”

“At my place, okay? I really need to get out of this dress and have a drink.”

“I’ll have a drink. You’ll get chamomile tea, I guess. You’re on painkillers.”

“You’re driving, you get chamomile.”

“I’m staying the night, so... a glass of tasty amber liquor for me to suffer through my dumbass friends’ messes. A mug of... um... I think greenish herbal concoction for my sis here.”

“Whatever. Good luck finding any chamomile at my place.”

Indeed, there’s no sign of chamomile in Riley’s cupboards, so she sticks to a mug of hot chocolate. She’s earned the sugar. A pint of ice cream is calling her name, but that would make the whole situation a little too cliché. You know, a depressed heroine with boy problems, Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie and a best friend, in this case, non-gay. It’s not some stupid rom-com, dammit!

With a glass of whiskey in hand, Bozer gets looped in about all that happened after their latest run-in with Murdoc.

“So let me get this straight. He came here in the middle of the night to ask about your feelings, right? And then kept pestering you about them throughout the whole mission? And you think it meant nothing?” Bozer can’t believe the level of idiocy he’s dealing with here. “Riley, please, walk me through your train of thought. You think he did it why exactly?”

“I have no clue, Bozer. He went from wanting to propose to badgering me to moving in with Desi. Maybe he was super confused or felt guilty, or wanted to make sure we were okay. Maybe it was like in a lab. You’re supposed to repeat an experiment at least three times to prove a hypothesis, right? That’s probably what it was. Getting confirmation at least three times, hard proof that nothing changed and he didn’t owe me anything.”

Bozer shakes his head exasperatedly, mulling over downing the whole glass in one go and then moving on to the whole bottle because how on earth is he supposed to handle that kind of stupidity sober? But he needs to be at work in several hours, preferably capable of standing upright, so after this drink, he should probably stick to water. Or Riley’s hot chocolate, which smells really, really nice.

“Before I start yelling, and I try really hard to restrain myself here, what else happened? No way that’s all. No way that’s what got you thinking you’re crossing some lines.”

“It’s rather a recent thing, I think. The lines got all blurry.” Riley’s face contorts. “He acts differently. It feels different. Hard to put it into words, but it’s like he’s been more attentive. Caring. Tender. I don’t know. It’s like I’m no longer his gal pal Riles, ride or die, but—”

“Something out of a dream? Too precious to touch? The next step will be him slaying dragons for you? Courtly love at its finest?” Bozer chuckles. Oh, he noticed some changes too.

“Bozer!” Riley groans. Her arm slowly starts to hurt. “Will you stop? It’s not some kind of a trashy romance! Maybe I’ll be laughing my ass off about this mess in ten years, but now I’m beyond exhausted. I just want some peace, okay?” She drags a hand through the bird’s nest on her head. Getting the glass out wasn’t fun and left her with a really interesting hairdo. “All this time, I’ve constantly been watching my every step. At first, so I wouldn’t let anything slip. Then, when all was out in the open, to make everyone believe I moved on and everything was fine and dandy. That I wasn’t a threat. Or a ticking bomb. And now it’s like I also have to keep Mac from ruining his relationship. Or his character, for fuck’s sake!” Riley wipes angry tears from her cheeks. “Or that shit with Billy messed me up so bad I’m seeing things that aren’t real,” she adds morosely.

You’re not, Bozer is about to interject, but it seems Riley has something else to take off her chest.

“There’s another thing that sort of drives me crazy right now. Didn’t seem that bad a couple of weeks back, but now...” She shakes her head. “It was after your aunt’s funeral. I came to Mac’s to explain why I kept my distance. Everything was so complicated, with the nanobots and the mess I caused, that I just could handle one thing at a time. So I came to his house to apologize. Desi was out. He showed me the brick for your auntie’s memorial garden and told me, teary-eyed, how sick he was of losing family, how scared he was it would happen again soon. My heart just broke for him, so I promised he’d never lose me, I’d always be there, and we hugged for a long time. Then Desi came back, and as if we were sneaking around, we sprang apart ‘cause you don’t hug your best friend like that in front of your girlfriend.” Riley wrings her hands nervously. “So tell me, genius, was it within the lines or not?”

“Oh, Ri, this is huge!”

Riley recoils from his loud, well, enthusiasm and curls in on herself as if she wished the couch could’ve swallowed her whole. “Bozer,” she growls, “in case you didn’t catch what I’m trying to tell you, or I was too vague, spoke Mandarin or something, I’m not a homewrecker. A backstabbing bitch. Or the other woman. Never. Not in this or any other universe. No matter how much it costs me. Ne-ver.”

“Of course, I know that, I mean... Oooh, so many things to unpack! Riley, he talks to you. He’s not afraid of sharing. He’s always been like a high-end vault, with a titanium sarcophagus on top, making the Chornobyl power plant blush. Hey, don’t look at me like that, the technicalities may be off, but the imagery’s good.”

“It’s awful. And they used steel and concrete in Chornobyl.”

“And yet I proudly stand by it. Anyway, this is insane. You’re the only person, except for maybe Jack, who has ever been able to get there with Mac. That’s how much he trusts you. Insane! Soulmates level of insane!”

To Riley’s dismay, Bozer is literally glowing as if he was about to see his favourite TV ship getting together. Too bad he kind of overlooked some pretty important details. “Mac should be talking to Desi,” she interjects angrily. “She should be his go-to person in every life crisis. His safe place.”

“Yeah, of course, but—” Suddenly all the excitement whooshes out of Bozer. He sighs deeply. “You’re right, it’s a mess. I sorta forgot he’s still in a relationship.” Shaking his head, he repositions the pillows to make himself even more comfortable on Riley’s couch. “But I think Mac is finally taking the blinders off. He’s not super well, we all know that, though it feels like he’s doing some soul-searching. Painfully slow, but still. So maybe you should talk to him? Be honest? Speed up the process a little? As for Desi, she doesn’t look that happy either. I’d say... resigned to her fate?”

“Again, not a homewrecker, Bozer. Or a cause for any tension or confusion.”

“And I’m not trying to make you one, but is there really a home to wreck?” Bozer looks at her pensively. “Or is it more of a... sharing a house situation?”

“Come again?”

“They look like roommates right now, Ri. And I’m not trying to badmouth them, it’s just how it is.”

“If they are on the outs, and they already were several times before, it’s for them to figure out. I’m not a part of this.” The urge to protect herself is so strong that Riley ignores every leap her treacherous heart made during the whole conversation. She can’t let herself believe any of what she’s heard from Bozer. What she’s seen from Mac for the last couple of weeks. She won’t risk another disappointment. Another crash of her hopes. There weren’t that many from the beginning, but being constantly reminded she wasn’t enough hurt like a bitch. All the ‘maybes’ and ‘what-ifs’ raised by Mac won’t get her anywhere, perhaps only deeper into the appalling love triangle she refuses to be a part of. So, big girl pants on. “Seriously, Bozer, I couldn’t be more grateful for your support, but I’m putting this thing to rest. Once and for all. I just want to have some peace and quiet. I can’t constantly feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

Bozer watches her deflated. That’s a big one-eighty from the excitement he felt discovering how deep the bond between his two best friends ran. But Mac is still very much not single, and yeah, his history with Desi is complicated and full of unexpected turns, so maybe it’s safer not to expect anything now. And Riley truly deserves her peace.

Besides, maybe seeing her moving on will finally light a fire under Mac’s ass.

“Ri, whatever you decide, I have your back. We’re not gonna talk about it anymore if you don't want to. But I need to be honest. I’m gonna tell you what I think, and then we can put this thing to rest.”

“You’ve got ten seconds.”

Bozer shoots her a dirty look. “I don’t know how exactly Mac feels or not, but I don’t think it’s true he never saw you as an option romantically. Far more likely, he thought you wouldn’t see him like that. I think there’s a lot of buried feelings, but there’s also a heaping pile of his issues and the relationship with Desi, in which he invested a lot of time and energy. If he’s acting differently, that might be his heart vying for attention, like ‘Heey, will I be ever able to let all these true feelings out? Will you ever listen to me?’" Bozer hits higher notes while Riley watches in horror. “Then his brain goes all ‘You had your chance, and you blew it!’ on him, so he stays where he is.”

“If that’s what his inner monologue sounds like, yeah, the man needs help. That high-pitched voice would frighten every shrink,” Riley sneers.

“I’m gonna ignore this unjust jab and just say true, he needs to talk to a professional more than anything else, and fingers crossed he’s getting there. Now, about your highness,” Bozer gestures to Riley, bowing mockingly. “I understand you need some peace, so here’s my proposition: just try to live a little, Ri. Put yourself out there. Just for a bit of simple fun. That Lagarde guy, he was into you. He’s hot and not stupid, knows what you do for a living, and you impressed the hell out of him. Just ask him out, girl! What’s the harm?”

“I can’t,” Riley says, rolling her eyes.

“Why the hell not?”

“I hacked him.”

Bozer is speechless for a second. “Why on earth would you do that? ” he squeaks. “To go through his Tinder, I hope? Check his dick pics?”

“Eww, Bozer! You’re gross. I just needed some data.”

“Okay, that’s... uh... maybe not the best meet cute, but I gather he doesn’t know?”

“Nope. But I know, and it’s awkward.”

“You have strange morals, Riley Davis.”

Riley just shrugs. After a silent moment, she slowly gets up to head to her bedroom.

“Thanks, Bozer,” she says, teary-eyed. “I’m so lucky to have you. Sorry for the drama, for making you my therapist, but it was so good to get it all off my chest. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with Mac. I can talk big, but the truth is if shit hits the fan again and he needs a hug or something, I’ll probably be the first one running. I don’t know. I wish I knew,” she shrugs again, downhearted. “I guess only time will tell.”

“Just come here, little sis.” Bozer crushes her in a bear hug. “Everything will work out."

Hey, Jack, he thinks. We could really use some divine intervention here ‘cause I’m struggling to keep my faith in humans. Get your ass to work!

In the morning, the first thing Matilda Webber sees in her office is Riley hunched over her rig.

“Heey,” the hacker says sheepishly. “I let myself in ‘cause there’s this thing I wanted to talk about... Coffee? Donut?” She gestures to the box on the desk.

“What did you do?” Matty knows, just knows there’s something huge coming. Most of the time, Riley fixes problems, not the other way around, but if she’s here with some bad news, Webber knows she’ll be starting her day with a ginormous blow-up right to her face.

“Maybe grab a donut first? ‘Cause you’re about to start yelling...”

Chapter Text

In the morning

Mac wakes up with a start. That maybe hour of light sleep didn’t do him any good. He’s still wound up tight, no matter how much he squirms, trying to find the most comfortable position. Suddenly, his ears start to ring, and everything blurs, dark spots dancing in his vision.

Another vertigo? While he’s lying down? What the hell?

He quickly sits up, trying to push down the panic rising in his chest. Dizziness can be caused by a vast number of factors, like bad blood circulation, too low oxygen levels, neurological problems, exhaustion, low blood sugar, medication. Hell, show of hands for people who didn’t nearly fall of their beds, trying to sleep off the hangover while everything was spiiiinning.

It can’t be the nanotrackers. It can’t. They got rid of them. It’s history. Besides, his hands were affected, and now they are good. He might’ve been a little paranoid about that stuff lately, so he knows for sure there hasn’t been anything to worry about. But what if... No. He’s good. There isn’t a single nanotracker left in his body.

So what else? Neurological damage? Too many concussions? Damage from flatlining? Hypoxia?

Meh. Try cervical spine.

Oh, right, that part of the spine is a tricky one, the vertebrae intertwine tightly with a lot of blood vessels. A bit of pressure in the wrong place, and the blood flow can get compromised, not to mention the spinal cord. Mac will probably need an x-ray. Good news, it’s rather manageable, in milder cases, usually with a profiled pillow or PT, and definitely not lethal. Plenty of people suffer from headaches and vertigos. It’s kind of a lifestyle disease. Spending too much time glued to the screens changes the natural angle your spine should have.

And probably ‘accidentally’ falling asleep on the couch in the weirdest positions.

Hey, it’s not on purpose. Mac can’t help that sometimes in the night he just falls asleep while reading or something. Is it so strange to be tired at the end of the day?

Hell no. It just makes for a really exciting sex life.

No. NO. He’s not digging into that. He’s not avoiding anything, he just needs a little more time. Someone stole his body, dammit! It’s not something you can get over in half a second. They changed him into a volitionless robot, obeying every command. If they had ordered him to shoot a living being, he would’ve done it. They could’ve made him do anything. Kill, abuse, destroy. He had absolutely no control over himself, which still makes him detached from his own body. He just needs to feel like himself again, and he’s getting there.

Oh, so you ARE able to acknowledge some of your issues. Bravo.

Mac drags his hands over his worn-out face. Where is that annoying voice coming from? Why can’t he shut it?

That box of yours got a little too cramped, pal. I got out. I’m a MacGyver, after all.

Matty finishes her call and turns to Riley, who watches her expectantly from above the keyboard. There are pictures of three well-dressed men all over the screen. Two Russian, one Chinese. Expensive suits, watches worth a small fortune, arrogance on the faces. They all reek of money and power. And treason.

“I honestly thought I’d hit a wall, but the Director was surprisingly cooperative. They hit a wall. He would never admit to a defeat unless drugged out of his mind, which honestly gives me some ideas... for later, of course.” Matty smiles dreamily. “They seem utterly helpless against the Phalanx, which we already knew from how many undercover agents were exposed and killed or forced to go into WITSEC. So, Langley got close, but then things got political.”

“I see where this is going. Li is the Phalanx, right? That was the worst option from the beginning. If we touch him, we risk a serious crash in our relations with China. These other two uglies are not connected enough to start a war over them. Mother Russia would deny everything, and then they would very unsuspiciously die of natural causes. Like tea or water laced with polonium.”

“Bingo. The CIA identified Li but couldn’t make a move due to the circumstances. However, we are free to try. The Director promised to get Homeland to cooperate, they lost people in this too.”

“Okay, let’s see what angles we can explore. It’s time to nab Li.” Riley cracks her knuckles and gets to work.

Matty nods, already five steps ahead in planning the whole op. They only have to find a way to take down a dangerous spy, protected by the highest ranks in the Chinese government, a blackmailer and dark web data broker, without starting World War Three. Typical Tuesday.

An easy jog and a shower later, Mac sips coffee while absently picking at his cereal. He’s not in the mood to cook anything. Too much fuss for food that kind of tastes pretty much the same. Like paper. He needs his carbs, of course, so he’s going to make a stop at the bakery nearby for a bagel or something. Hopefully, the smell of freshly baked goodies will get him out of the eating funk.

Eating funk. Sleeping funk. Health funk too, it seems. Relationship funk. Mind funk. Possible friendship funk on the horizon. Did he miss anything?

Pretty accurate. An overall ‘life funk’ at its finest. You’ve dug yourself quite a hole here.

It’s fine. It will pass.

On its own? Sure. It’s not like you could use that supposedly genius mind of yours to get out of it.

Like how? Get a prescription for Prozac? Xanax? Some other happy pills?

No, dummy. At least not without being diagnosed with something that needs medication. You haven’t even done the bare minimum of naming the things eating you up inside.

Shut up. I’m fine.

You know, for someone with a stellar Boy Scout reputation, you’ve got awfully comfortable with lying. Good for you, but I’m nauseous. Yuck.

And as if that annoying voice in his head had control over Mac’s body, his stomach flips.

He is a liar. He made a cocoon of lies around himself to secure some form of comfort, and the consequences are screaming at him from every corner of his house.

He made Desi believe he wanted marriage, kids, everything with her. At some point, it was sincere. He wanted that future. He wanted certainty, a vision to look forward to. Because without that he was just a lonely, unloveable weirdo, a messy heap of issues. Something redundant, unnecessary, something you easily leave behind. The trouble you want to get rid of. A nuisance.

He needed to believe that there would be a ‘them.’ That he didn’t fail again at making connection with someone.

That is until he saw that other version of future, something he never deemed possible, so close. But also so out of reach. Someone dangled the dream and took it away.

In one second, he was ready to recklessly go after that dream, to finally grasp it with all of his might and never let go. To hell with the consequences. In the next one, he was cushioning the hard landing with a well-known ‘everything’s fine, nothing’s changed.’ Nothing changed. He just got another reminder that dreams were never to become true in Angus MacGyver’s life. A truth he knew like the back of his palm.

Nothing has changed. His world didn’t tilt on its axis. That new piece of data wasn’t to start an explosive chemical reaction like when you mix nitric acid with acetone or give the undiluted form of nitroglycerin a good shake.

Except that it has.

Except deep down, he knew there was no coming back from this. No stopping the process. No smart-ass solution to contain the blast. No cushions to land on when the force of the explosion pushes him through the window.

Suddenly in the confusing, swirling mess of his thoughts, one thing is clear as a day.

He’s a liar. He makes promises he can’t keep. He makes plans he’s unable to follow through with. He’s building one version of his future while longing for the other.

Why cling to it, then? Why lead Desi on? He survived so many of their downs only in the hope that one day it would get better. That there would finally be easy love, safety, openness between them, no walking on eggshells or bracing for another blowout. Another secret driving them apart. And they got better. They truly got better, and he couldn’t be more grateful for that.

Only it’s nowhere near what you really want, right?

He rests his head on the counter, crushed by the weight of the last several... that’s right, years. Not weeks or months but years.

The truth will set you free, they say.

If it doesn’t break you on the spot.

Several hours later

Lauretta meets Mac in a coffee shop in Civic Center. It’s a nice little place with a vast selection of hot beverages and a great view over the government buildings. She’s not surprised Mac surveils his surroundings without much enthusiasm. Government buildings can be... imposing. And for someone who sees the backside of government work on a daily basis, usually less than enticing. Well, ordinary people hate them with passion too. Actually, everybody hates them, employees included.

Lauretta spent the whole morning knocking on dozens of doors, meeting with all kinds of dead-inside bureaucrats and city officials. Only a few exceptions seemed to have a little heart. Any chance LA would be interested in partnering with Mission City to create stipends or scholarships for gifted kids from underprivileged families? Of course, Mrs. Bozer, it’s a wonderful idea, but our budget is so tight right now and... Maybe try Sacramento or Pasadena. Yeah. The usual. But it’s only part of the reason she’s in LA right now.

“So, why did you want to meet here? You’re in the middle of a ‘let’s see how many bureaucrats I can frighten’ trip?” Mac smirks, eying the brownie in front of him. His appetite seems to be better at the moment, or the gooey goodness has some mysterious healing powers.

Earlier, he somehow managed to pick himself up, finish that so-called breakfast, and make himself close to presentable. If it took him nearly twice longer than usually, a long staring contest with his own mirror reflection included, no one has to know. There wasn’t anything he could do with dark circles around his eyes or the bruise marring his jaw. Stealing Desi’s concealer would probably make his face look even more grotesque.

Lauretta won’t let his oh-so-charming looks slide, that’s a given, even if right now she seems focused on something else. He knows she wouldn’t come to LA without any Mission City-oriented business.

“Oh, I tried to frighten plenty today, believe me. Sadly, they somehow got immune to my persuasion techniques. I mean threats,” Lauretta winks, digging into her slice of apple pie. “But I wanted to talk about something else. Still government-related, I’m afraid.” She pauses for a bit and looks outside at the City Hall. Life may get more complicated from now on, but let’s hope it’ll be worth it. “Well, I’d rather do that in front of the Capitol in DC, but beggars can’t be choosers. You people somehow never let me know when you’re in Washington. Otherwise, I would leave everything and come running. The dramatic effect would be so much better,” she smiles.

“The Capitol? Why?...” Mac narrows his eyes at her, though his brain starts to connect the dots.

“I’ve been mulling over an idea for some time now. Years, to be exact, but it never seemed realistic enough. Now, on the other hand, it feels like it’s the right time. Like I’m in the right place.” Lauretta takes a deep breath. “I want to run for Congress.”

“Oh my God, that’s great, Lauretta, I’m so happy you decided to go for it. Can’t imagine a better person for the job. I mean, it’s like a loony bin out there, to be honest, or a jungle. Actually, no, scratch that, the animals are never that vicious. Or crazy.” You don’t have to be a secret agent who was turned into a guinea pig, all sanctioned by some perverted Washington officials, to burst into blind anger after watching the news. Or listening to some of these morons’ brain vomit.

“Oh, I know. A swamp, like one clown was telling us relentlessly, only to make it much, much swampier. But, as one wise man said, the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

“Edmund Burke was a conservative,” Mac teases.

“But an enlightened one. They didn’t have tinfoil hats back in the 18th century. And I don’t think those big-ass wigs were supposed to shield them from mind control,” Lauretta grins back at him, happy to see Mac laugh. That carefree, playful expression on his face is something she hasn’t seen in a while. Or in centuries. God, this boy needs some mothering.

“So, how did Milton take the news? Is he excited to become the first husband?”

“Well, you know him, he hates the spotlight, but he vowed not to be too sour during all the public events. May even smile a little. He’s not promising any friendly handshakes with all the fat cats, oil tycoons, media moguls and NRA members, though. And that’s only the top of a mile-long list, I’m afraid.”

Mac chuckles. That is very much like Milton. It’s the ‘I-don’t-care-how-rich-or-connected-you-are-or-what-you-can-do-to-my-career-you’re-going-down’ attitude he admired throughout the years. Deep morals and no fear. Wilt is made from the same cloth, even if his penchant for drama is what people see at first sight.

“Yeah, I know he’ll be sick with all the falseness and hypocrisy, but cleaning up means getting dirty at some point,” Lauretta adds. “Still, we both feel like it’s finally the right time. Like we’re both in the right place now. There’s so much to be done in this country, so many painful issues to address... Whatever comes out of it, I’m ready. And the world better be ready too,” she winks.

“I’ve heard about a hurricane named Laura, but not Lauretta. You can make history. Your adversaries should run for the hills,” Mac laughs, and then they chat more about the main topics Lauretta wants to concentrate on, like education and health care.

“So, since we’re at it. Do you feel like you’re in the right place right now?” Lauretta asks when their coffee mugs are nearly empty.

Oh. So that’s how the grilling starts. Mac tenses up for a moment, but his expression is quickly schooled into a playful smirk. “Well, I’m still alive, so... I’d say yes.”

Lauretta sighs. “You know, I’m married to a police detective, and as much as I hate to admit it, I know what you mean. And I can see that darkening bruise on your jaw very well. Still, as a woman who was pestering you to eat your vegetables when you were thirteen, I’m truly concerned you said that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever caused any trouble with eating,” Mac chuckles, seeing a chance to change the topic. “You could stuff me with anything edible, I wouldn’t complain. Bozer was the always fussing one. Looking for the perfect flavour and all.”

“Don’t deflect. I was this close to saying, ‘As a woman who was doing your laundry,’ so for that change alone, you owe me an answer.”

“Way to make a grown-ass man embarrassed.”

“Oh, I have plenty. You haven’t seen anything yet, honey. So you better get back to that question.”

Mac shrugs. He dead-ass refuses to get all deep and life-pondering right now, giving Lauretta a reason to badger him more. He doesn’t like the way her eyes scan him through, and it’s not even the tenth of what she’s capable of. He’ll be damned if he shows her she just hit a tender spot. “It’s as good as it gets. I think I’m pretty content.” And he could leave it here, but no, his stupid brain has questions of its own. “But why are you asking?”

Lauretta watches him silently for a moment. There are some techniques she’s learned over the years to make Mac open up a little, like the ‘bait him with science’ one, ‘use Wilt as your double-agent slash informant’ or ‘don’t spook the baby deer, let it come to you’ ones. In some cases, only bribery and blackmail worked, the true parenting staples. Mac might look like a puppy, but he’s a tough nut to crack. She should choose wisely, maybe manipulate him a little, manoeuvre the talk in the right direction...

Then she decides she’s done with the subtleties. “Because you look like hell.”

That was... unexpected. Mac never thought Lauretta would go for a full head-on attack. “Yeah, well, I know I need a haircut... And that bruise is probably unappealing...” he tries humour again.

“You’re kidding, right? You look as if you grew ten years older just last year. You’re all tense, jumpy, restless. We’re practically in a park, for God’s sake, where you should relax and enjoy good coffee, and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat, leg bouncing all the time, clearly uncomfortable. And I refuse to think I am making you uncomfortable because if that’s true, young man, we’re gonna have a big problem. Because I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

A full head-on attack? It’s a bulldozer versus a wooden shed. “Well, life has its ups and downs...”

“There must’ve been a lot of downs lately, right, sweetie?” These words are spoken much more softly.

Mac just shrugs. There were so many downs he has forgotten what ups are. How it is to feel light and free. Not to worry about a damn thing. Even the endless joy science always brought him got lost somewhere along the way. He’s truly in a funk. In a deep, deep hole, and it seems that with every passing second he just makes it deeper.

He must have it written all over his face ‘cause Lauretta reaches out for his hand, concern shining in her eyes. Part of him hates that look. He always tried not to be on the receiving end of it, for that meant he was weak. Not resourceful or creative enough to manage everything on his own. That he burdened someone else with his own problems, and that makes him a failure. He was raised to solve problems, not to be one.

Lauretta’s expression shifts to soft understanding. She has a pretty good idea of what’s going on in Mac’s head right now, why he always chooses to bottle things up. Vulnerability is a weakness. Vulnerability makes you a liability, a nuisance, someone people want to get rid of.

“We know things were tough lately, Mac. We know how strong you are and how many storms you weathered since you were little, but we also worry it’s slowly becoming too much. You really look like you could use a good break, honey.”

“I’m fine. It’s truly nothing, Lauretta, just a couple of nights with too little sleep.”

“Last time I heard that, you were running a fever of nearly 103, down with a nasty flu. Several months before leaving for MIT. In my experience, you’re either 'fine' or unconscious, there’s no middle ground,” Lauretta shakes her head fondly while taking her hand away. “To be honest, Milton wasn’t much different in his younger days. However, he’s learned it’s so much better to tell his wife he’s sick than to throw up in her car. You see the reason behind that, right?”

Mac chuckles. Yep, Lauretta might've never been too obsessed with keeping the house spotless, which probably saved him from getting into so much more trouble with his knack for using all types of broken junk as room decor. She used to say a home was a space for living and breathing humans, not androids, but whoever made a mess in her car risked ending up on the death row. Motion sickness excluded, but only because no one in the Bozer household suffered from it.

Even though the atmosphere gets lighter for a moment, Lauretta is far from abandoning her objective. It’s been haunting her over the years that maybe they did too little for Mac, maybe they should’ve taken a more professional approach to the scars he had collected in his childhood. She should’ve known how serious his abandonment issues were, how life-defining they would become. Instead, she just watched him run from a still not-that-well-defined home situation straight to a warzone.

She decides to change the strategy, though the new one will surely bring Mac more ache. Lauretta hates to go there, but it seems like the best shot when she has only limited time to use. The boy has always been far more concerned about the well-being of everyone else, ready to do anything for the people he cared about. So, let’s bring out the big guns.

“Honestly, Mac, I also wanted to ask you about Wilt. I could tell something was eating him up inside, but he kept brushing it off.”

Mac’s eyes widen. “Um....”

“It’s okay, we finally got the chance to talk. But it was very hard to learn about Leanna,” Lauretta sighs. “I loved that girl. They were perfect for each other.”

Mac nods sorrowfully, overwhelmed by a fresh wave of pain. All these months, he hasn’t even found the time to talk to Bozer. It’s another thing that goes on his heaping pile of guilt. Just another proof that whatever he does, he ends up hurting the people around him, people he got nothing but love from.

“I wanted to take Riley out for drinks since she seemed a little down,” Lauretta continues, “but we ended up going on a hike. She preferred to get some fresh air, so the three of us went to Mount Hollywood and spent the rest of the day in Griffith Park. I’m sorry we didn’t call you and Desi, but it was sort of a last-minute thing.”

“No, it’s perfectly okay, you didn’t have to.”

“So, we had the time to talk. It’s not the stuff you usually want to sort through while sitting on a picnic blanket, but somehow it was a good idea.” She smiles sadly. “They both haven’t really healed yet, no matter what they say.”

Mac can’t help but flinch at Lauretta’s words. It’s not supposed to be like that. He’s used to living with his heart full of holes left by people he had to bury. He doesn’t work through his grief, his only way of mourning is to continue with his life and work, day by day, because it’s either that or sinking into depression. Crippling, suffocating depression. A deep, dark hole where there’s nothing but him and all kinds of pain. At least work takes his mind off things. Accepting means being able to proceed, right? Or it’s close enough.

But it’s him. His friends, however, shouldn’t experience anything even close to that. They should be free from any grief and survivor’s guilt, something Mac can call his middle name. The idea of them in pain feels like a vicious punch to the gut.

As if Lauretta was reading his mind, she takes his hand again. “Your friends are still hurting, Mac. So I could only imagine how it really is with you.”

“Lauretta...”

“No, Mac, we’re talking about this. You got all sad and guilty when I mentioned Wilt and Riley, so you feel for them. You want them to get better. That’s why you shouldn’t be surprised people who care about you want to see you getting better too.”

“I had graves to visit since I was a little kid.”

“I know.” She squeezes his hand. “And you were left to do that on your own. Left with a grieving father who didn’t really know how to deal with his loss too. You know where it took him.”

Mac wants to stand up and run, hide from Lauretta’s piercing gaze, but something compels him to stay. Somewhere from the depths of his memories emerges that scary need for the warmth he felt while living with his foster family. The connection. Acceptance. Love.

All the little gestures and touches that at first made him tense, rigid even, but after a while, they started to mean safety, engulfing him in warmth he hadn’t felt for ages. The growing-up teenager was ashamed for still having needs like that, along with the MacGyver in him, constantly mocking these baby-like urges, but Lauretta didn’t even once make it weird. She could see right through him, through all the shields and masks, and she always knew when he needed more space or more closeness. She and Milton gave him so much love, all for free, and for some reason, they stubbornly were still looking out for him, no matter that he didn’t really keep that close to them over the last few years.

Mac closes his eyes, trying to soothe the burning behind his eyelids. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any understanding. Lauretta shouldn’t be wasting her time here, on a lost cause. He has so many debts to settle, so many wrongdoings to pay for. He’s here only because life was taken away from other people.

“When someone dies, they take a piece of you with them. Sometimes it may feel like you have nothing left,” Lauretta speaks softly.

“There are so many of them. A whole graveyard, Lauretta,” Mac says after a while, voice strained.

She gives him the saddest little smile. “I know way too much about graveyards too, honey.”

Later at the Phoenix

It’s only afternoon, but it seems like the longest day of Mac’s life. Well, he had plenty of those, usually involving trying to save someone and failing or attending a funeral. Or waiting for the news in the most uncomfortable hospital chair. Today it was just a talk, but the kind of a talk that leaves you raw, vulnerable, fragile. Bruised and bleeding.

He’ll need a long time to work through everything Lauretta has told him.

I don’t want to push you, sweetie, but your well-being is something you can’t ignore. Because something is going to give in. Your body or your mind, or both. And we’re family, Mac, and family takes care of each other. You’ll always find listening ears and maybe some answers to tough questions at our home, twenty-four hours a day. It’s your home too.

He doesn’t deserve this. Lauretta doesn’t know how bad of a person he has become. A truly despicable human being. She doesn’t know he didn’t take care of Wilt when he needed a friend. He was and is a bad boyfriend to Desi, and the worst is yet to come because he can’t lead her on any longer. And Riley... He can’t even think how much pain he caused her.

Wasn’t it all to maintain the balance? To find some stability in his crazy everydayness? To make another blow, another loss less painful? Funny, the only thing he managed to build is a big pile of rubble. A sea of ruins. He destroys everything he touches, burns it down and salts the earth.

They ended up visiting Mac’s parents, where he listened to Lauretta’s own journey through grief. The whole family’s journey. She shared things so painful, so heart-wrenching, it broke him. And yet it was like looking into a mirror.

I didn’t want to wake up. I was going through my days wishing a drunk driver had hit me. Hoping for a gas leak. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Anything was better than looking at the muddy sneakers left by the door, never to be worn again. Toys and books scattered around the house. The empty bedroom. The empty seat at the dining table. I wished that emptiness had swallowed me whole.

Mac had no idea. He was too little to fully comprehend what they were going through. To suspect these kind-hearted, generous, always smiling people were in so much pain. Wilt just didn’t want to talk about his brother, which was more than understandable for Mac, who had never spoken about his mom too. But the Bozers... Mac had no idea.

When he moved in with them, he noticed some quieter, gloomier hours or days, not only after a visit to the cemetery. He knew that one bedroom was left intact. Lauretta let him in one day after catching up on how often his insatiable curiosity made him scan the door. She didn’t cry, but her hand’s grip on his shoulder was much stronger than usual. If Mac got his facts straight, that was when she started to call him ‘my boy’ in front of other people.

Acknowledging it all now shook him to the core. He wasn’t ready to move past the pain he had learned about, not in the least prepared to truly comprehend what Lauretta was trying to tell him with the whole story. Because it was also a story about healing. Healing is not a betrayal to the dead when the pain gets easier to manage. It’s not forgetting them. It’s not blocking out the ache. It’s making peace with things you can’t change. It’s also forgiving yourself. But he was nowhere near accepting that. He needed time, peace and quiet to make sense of everything. And probably someone to guide him through it.

He’s not ready for a new op. To be close to Riley. To look Desi in the eye. To show his face to Matty, who’ll spot his inner turmoil from a mile. To talk to Bozer, who probably knows how the conversation with his mom went. But there is no other way. The world needs Mac again.

When he finally enters the war room, Desi and Bozer are looking at a photo of a balding man in a suit, accompanied by a very blonde and very tanned arm candy with like five huge luxury brands logos on her clothes.

“Hell, he’s even uglier from this angle. I’ve seen many things, but scoring that ditzy with that face? No way.” Bozer has a hard time believing the one Russian goon, now excluded as a suspect, would have any luck with the ladies.

“Rolexes are the best beauty potions, haven’t you heard? The quickest to make you look really hot,” Desi states, estimating the price of that obnoxious mass of gold on the man’s wrist. “I’m thinking twenty-five grand at least.”

“No ugly face has ever stopped a gold-digger,” Riley chimes in from her seat. “But this one may be sorely disappointed. That Rolex is a knockoff. A good one, but still a fake. I just ran it through one very smart app.”

“Ooops,” Desi and Bozer pity that poor chick in unison.

“What a tragic end to an epic love story,” Riley sneers.

“Are we authenticating luxury watches for some ugly mobsters now?” Mac asks, trying to sound as light as possible. He’s doing everything in his power to chase away the distressing feeling of vulnerability and defencelessness the talk with Lauretta left him with. They can’t know how raw and fragile he feels right now. So, steeling himself for the hundredth time today, he scrambles for some jokes. “You think that bimbo will pay us good money for saving her from that ogre and his fake Rolex?”

“Well, she’d be thrilled to meet Russ, that’s a given. After learning about his money, I mean. Maybe we should set them up?” Riley offers with a crooked smile, which earns her a chuckle from Mac and Desi, along with a loud enthusiasm from Bozer.

“No setting up Taylor with anyone, gold-digger or not, people. Bozer, go fetch the man, he’s in the lab conversing with Sparky. I’m pretty sure he tried to mess with the settings.”

Bozer lets out an indignant cry and storms out of the war room.

“The rest of you, focus, please and thank you. We’re on a clock with a really tough job ahead. But Bozer doesn’t need to hear the first part. You’ll know soon enough why.” Matty struts to the screen. “We found out that over the last five years, dozens of CIA agents were made while undercover. As you can guess, it usually bore the worst consequences. Right now, we know about nearly twenty deaths outside of the US. Many others were rescued in time but forced to go into WITSEC. At first, Langley treated it like an unfortunate series of coincidences. However, last year they identified a dark web data broker—or a group of people—called the Phalanx. They turned out to be selling government secrets, mostly CIA’s, but also Homeland's and even DoD’s. Riley was able to link nearly fifteen executions to the data the Phalanx sold on the dark web. Like this one.” A photo of a black-haired young man appears on the screen.

“Andres Pascal, 28. Spoke seven languages, got close to the highest ranks of the Cartel of the Suns. Killed in Caracas two years ago, officially in a drunken bar fight.”

“Was Leanna one of the victims?” Mac asks tentatively, feeling a cold shiver running down his spine.

“I didn’t find any hard proof, but we can’t completely rule that out. The thing is, Leanna’s case is closed. She and her partner managed to share all the intel they had acquired, so the CIA took down a whole Bolivian drug cartel, along with Leanna’s killer. They just weren’t quick enough to save them. In many other cases, the perpetrators are still in the wind.” Riley should’ve been better too. Established a line of communication, monitored the CIA, kept an eye on Leanna’s assignments, no matter how many years flew by. Maybe—

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” Mac’s sharp tone cuts through the silence. He can’t help but feel a little betrayed. Apparently, Riley uncovered all the details but never shared anything with him.

“There was a lot going on, Blondie. You had your plate full. Bozer was the one who needed to know.”

The air in the room suddenly gets thicker as the three agents visibly tense. Matty knows what goes through their minds: Murdoc and his secrets. Desi starts to attentively watch the floor while Mac seems to be somewhere far, far away, jaw clenched to the point of breaking. Thank goodness Riley’s quick wits save them from dying on the spot like a bunch of embarrassed teenagers.

“The nanobots put us all through the wringer, Mac. We hoped there would be a better time to talk about Leanna,” she says softly.

Of course. The nanobots. A ‘full plate’ didn’t mean Mac was so caught up in his disastrous love life that he couldn’t spare his mourning friend a moment. Nuh-uh.

Mac smiles weakly at Riley, trying to convey an apology. Suddenly he notices she’s not wearing her usual dark makeup, which makes the deep shadows under her eyes far easier to spot. And they are deep. Concern washes over him, followed by another wave of guilt.

That’s when Russ and Bozer enter the room, obviously in a heated discussion about Sparky.

“Zip it, gentlemen, no Sparky talk from now on,” Matty calls for order. “Long story short, we’re looking for a dark web data broker and possibly a foreign spy called the Phalanx, who’s selling government agents’ identities and other secrets to any party interested. Riley got us three possible suspects, but after a call to Langley, we were able to narrow it down to this piece of work.” She gestures to the photo of a middle-aged man cutting a ribbon during some kind of opening ceremony. “Meet Li Zhou. The owner and CEO of LA-based Aegis Inc., a company specializing in high-end cyber security systems for the private sector. China-born American citizen, Princeton graduate. Also, which is not public knowledge, the nephew of president Xi Jinping. His stepsister’s son.”

“Oh, bugger,” Russ swears loudly, and the team can’t agree more.

“Exactly. We’re knee-deep in a nasty political shit here. The CIA hasn’t dared to make a move on him, though they know who he is. They concentrated on following their leaks, with some success. He uses blackmail to obtain the information, as it turns out.”

“So, how do we take him down? Any official charges will cause a huge backlash from China,” Desi asks, irked by the CIA’s impassiveness.

“We steal the information he has and plant false ones. I also have some very sexy, omnivorous viruses to infect his devices with, and later we can do some damage to the security systems he’s selling. He spies on his customers too,” Riley states. “I can destroy the Phalanx’s dark web reputation and make his company go down while making it look like a black hat attack. The tricky part is to get into a vault where Li keeps several flash and hard drives.”

“What do we know about the vault?” Mac finally feels more grounded, ready to outsmart Chinese spies and leaders. Li’s fall would be a sight to behold.

“That’s no easy feat, Mac,” Riley says, sending pictures to the screen. “At least three layers of security—”

“The walls, probably titanium—”

“Maybe graphene,” Taylor interjects.

“Not unlikely,” Mac continues, already imagining all the possible ways to approach the matter. “Then, some explosives to destroy the things inside in case someone got through the walls. And finally, the digital and possibly mechanical key to crack, maybe a biometric scan. So, to sum up, the tricky, the very tricky, and the very, very tricky part of getting into the vault.”

“You’ve nailed it,” Riley smiles at him, a glint in her eyes. Nerdy Mac always has a way of lowering her defences. Not that he needs to know that. “I’ll help with the digital part, obviously. Took some digging, but I found the schematics for you to examine. This thing is custom-made, though, so additional surprises are to be expected, I’m afraid.” Two taps later, Mac’s phone dings.

“That’s great, good job!” Mac beams at her, warmth spreading through his chest. How on earth is he supposed to keep it down? A little work interaction and he feels like a schoolboy the most popular girl in class said two words to? He’s so, so screwed. He needs to talk to Desi and make things right by her, and then—

Matty’s concerned voice pulls him out of his musings. “Unfortunately, we only have today’s night to make our move. Li is in Silicon Valley at a conference but will get back tomorrow. So, only a window between 8 PM when the cleaning crew leaves and 7 AM when the security opens the building.”

“Eleven hours should be enough. Let’s see what we may need...”

Chapter Text

After a thorough look through the schematics and a quick brainstorming session with Riley and Russ, Mac finds himself looking for Bozer, who unexpectedly skipped the how-to-crack-the-vault part of preparations. Learning about all the CIA agents exposed by the Phalanx must’ve brought back too many painful memories.

Bozer sits alone in the break room, playing with a candy bar wrapper that looks like it was folded and unfolded hundreds of times. The tea he’s sipping smells like lemon balm with a hint of lavender, something Mac grew to associate, during their years as roommates, with Bozer’s attempts to fight distress.

“How are you doing?” Mac asks, sitting down, concern marring his features. “This mission hits a little too close to home, doesn’t it?”

“It does. It definitely does,” Bozer nods tiredly. “But I’m counting on you to teach that bastard a lesson.”

“We won’t stop until we burn everything around him. Hopefully, the man himself too,” Mac assures, determination seeping from his face. “I know it won’t bring Leanna back, but that’s the least we could do.”

Bozer just gives him a half-smile. “It’ll be satisfying to watch. Yeah, it doesn’t really stop the ache,” he says quietly as if he didn’t want Mac to hear the last sentence, “but it has to be enough.”

Heart twisting painfully, Mac squeezes his shoulder. “Boze, I’m so terribly sorry for not being around when you got the news. I was so caught up in my own mess I completely lost sight of other things. Never meant for it to happen. You’re my brother, and I should always be there for you. But somehow, it’s always the other way around,” he shakes his head hopelessly. “I don’t know why I am like this. Why I always fail to notice the really important things. Stuck in my head.”

“Eh, don’t be so hard on yourself. No harm done. I know you’ll be there whenever I need you.” Bozer squeezes Mac’s shoulder back. “I promise I’ll yell at you to get you out of your head when it's needed,” he chuckles.

“No, seriously, I need a brain scan. I’m pretty sure I was born with some damage to the parts responsible for empathy.”

“Which are?...” Bozer asks slyly, expecting Mac to go into explanation mode. That should steer him away from a really not necessary guilt trip.

“Oh, it’s anterior insular cortex. Well, it’s also responsible for many other emotions, like anger, happiness, maternal and romantic love, trust, disgust, and even hallucinogenic states.”

“And I think it’s totally fine. Only that part connected to feeling guilty needs fixing, whatever that is. It’s definitely overworking. Red alert. Steam coming out of your ears,” Bozer quips.

“No, Bozer, I’m serious. I always end up overlooking something super important that was right in front of me. Or hurt people when I only mean well. Or make the wrong decision when I’m sure I’m on the right path.” Mac pauses for a second, another realization settling in. “Even now, I’ve managed to make the whole thing about me.”

“And you’re a real pro in feeling guilty for no reason. Seriously, man, find another hobby. We know what’s here,” Bozer gestures to Mac’s heart. “We know if things are off, it’s because you’re going through something, but it will pass.”

“I’d cook you an ‘I’m sorry’ dinner, but we both know I suck at that too,” Mac grimaces.

“You know what, that really just made me feel better. Just imagining all the damage you’d do to your kitchen really lifts one’s spirits,” Bozer snickers. “Pots scorched while heating up water. First class comedy.”

“Glad I could cheer you up at least this way. You can laugh at my expense whenever you want to.”

“I’d rather use you for a movie marathon, bro. I really need some company, and Riley is always busy these days. So, what do you think? Nolan? Lucas? Abrams? Dark Knights or Jedis? There’s a couple of options.” Bozer relaxes in his chair, already plotting to collect on his best friend privileges.

“I’m always down for Interstellar,” Mac grins. “So you want to go out?”

“Yeah, man. We either see each other at work or at your place, which is awesome, and I love that house dearly, but I miss going out. You know, just indulging in a change of setting once in a while.”

“The smell of stale popcorn, dusty carpet and stuffy air? Dolby Digital feeling like a weapon of mass destruction, splitting your skull open?”

“Exactly!” Bozer lights up like a Christmas tree. “C’mon, man, that’s my little heaven, you’ve got your super greasy pizza you cherish so much!”

“First of all, that was Jack’s beloved pizza and it had way more to do with the fact he used to take kid Riley to the arcade. You know, memories made that pizza so good, not the grease.” Mac’s face gets drawn again. Memories can also make everything tasteless when you’re constantly reminded of what you’ve lost.

“Well, I think it’s adorable you two continue with the tradition. In a couple hundred of years, you may even get semi-good at skee-ball. If the cholesterol clogging your arteries doesn’t kill you first.”

Mac lets out a chuckle, but there’s no cheer in it. “Yeah, the tradition is on a break. As you said, Riley is busy.” He looks away, hoping Bozer won’t catch up on any bitterness in Mac’s tone. But there’s no escaping his best friend’s gaze.

When he looks back, Bozer’s eyes are firmly on him, calm but expectant, searching, inquiring. No judgement, mockery, irony, no ‘I knew it!’ smirk. Just a quizzical look, which Mac can’t hide away from anymore. After all, he was the one who picked up the phone in the dead of the night to... probably spit it all out about his inner struggles. Probably. He’s still not sure.

Bozer waits in silence.

Mac looks away again but this time can’t bite down the words rising in his throat. “How did it come to all this mess, Boze?”

He doesn’t specify what he means by that, but Bozer knows. A part of him itches to chastise his best friend a little for getting self-reflective only now, when Riley may start dating again, but the other part sees a man nearly breaking under the weight of everything he had to go through.

“I never wanted to hurt anybody, but I’m doing just that,” Mac adds, voice paper-thin.

Bozer watches Mac for another long moment, deep in thought. Banal reassurance or placating words seem out of place here, so he settles on speaking his mind freely.

“And you’re hurting yourself, too,” he finally states. “You need to let yourself heal, Mac. But it’s not a rapid process, one visit to a therapist’s office, and bam! you’re a new man. It takes time... and a lot of courage. But I don’t think without that you’ll ever be able to make decisions for yourself that aren’t based on fear or other issues.”

Mac’s first instinct is to protest and argue he’s fine, like he’s been doing his whole life, but all the soul-searching he’s done lately led him to too many painful, harrowing conclusions. About living in delusion. In blindness. Avoiding hard truths, fears, and pain.

He’s been so stupid about so many things he can’t trust himself anymore. Maybe it’s time to listen, then.

“You really should try to sort out everything that happened over the last few years,” Bozer continues. “But not on your own, hoping a beer or a juicy laboratory invention will make all the bad stuff go away. It won’t. Not in the long run.” He pats Mac’s shoulder, looking him straight in the eye. “You need someone to guide you through it. A professional. I know it’ll be painful and terrifying, but sometimes you have to go to some scary, dark places to find some clarity. And with that clarity... well, things should be easier. It’s the only way forward, Mac. I’m pretty sure Ma told you the same thing,” he smiles.

Mac nods silently, his throat all closed up. He’s still not ready to tackle all these feelings the talk with Lauretta brought up. He doesn’t know how. Doesn’t have the words. Maybe he really needs someone to guide him through the dark maze his own mind has become. Someone to help him find the right words.

“I have an idea.” Bozer suddenly decides to lighten the mood, seeing Mac’s forlorn expression. “Remember that one time Mrs. Wilson made us help clean the kitchen at school for blowing up that one toilet bowl with a piece of sodium?”

“Yeah, that one wasn’t on me,” Mac instantly livens up. “I have my facts straight. I specifically told you not to get it in contact with water. And you dumped it into the bowl, saw the smoke, panicked, closed the seat and flushed it! Which I was telling you not to do because that would make it all explode! And look at that, it went kaboom, just like I said!”

“Whatever, man. It doesn’t matter now. But that wicked construction you made out of forks and other stuff in the kitchen? Remember that?”

30 minutes later

When Riley enters the break room to grab her turkey sandwich, she’s met with several open drawers and cupboards, as well as Mac admiring something that looks like a giant Jenga made of cups, plates and cutlery. Bozer is currently trying to take out a knife from the middle of the tower. Several cups have already been set aside. The knife is intertwined with some forks, though, which makes Mac smile devilishly. One too sudden move and the whole construction will come tumbling down.

At least they had the common sense to use porcelain to build the first two floors and bamboo for all the higher ones.

“I love to see the two of you so productive,” Riley sneers, making the two secret agents jerk away from their current... erm... experiment. Not a game. Not at all.

The tower rocks precariously, accidentally jostled by Bozer. The time stills for a moment, but then the aftershocks settle, and the deepest relief etched on the boys’ faces makes Riley want to fall into uncontrollable laughter. Quite hysterical, given the stage of tiredness she’s in.

She’s amused but also irked a little by the uneven segregation of duties she’s been dealing with all day. Oh well. She asked for this. She may be turning into a total control freak, but this op really needed her eyes—and hands—on pretty much every tiny detail. And they still don’t know that well what they’ll be getting into.

“Tableware Jenga, guys?” she raises an eyebrow. “If you’re hiding from Matty, this hideout absolutely sucks. I’m pretty sure she’s watching your lazy asses right now. Besides, shouldn’t you be changing already? It’s only one hour till go time.”

“Well, you’re pretty chill too, so isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Bozer shoots back with a grin, renewing his efforts to free the knife. Mac, on the other hand, at least has the decency to look apologetic.

“I came here for my lunch slash dinner. Don’t expect me to go moonlighting as a vault robber on an empty stomach,” Riley retorts, beelining for the fridge. First meal in nearly ten hours, fellas, while you probably left the vending machine cold and empty, she scoffs inwardly.

Mac makes a face as if he wanted to dig into her poor diet, but she really doesn’t have any spare minute for untimely concern. It’s all fine and dandy the boys have some fun, but her only free time today were two bathroom breaks. Her eyes are burning like the fiery depths of hell, hands starts to cramp, she had to pop another painkiller, and mind you, not because of the stitched-up arm. Because of her head and back, neck, and... crap, everything, even her butt. Thank goodness she’s at least not on her period right now. She’d lose her mind.

Oh well. She asked for this.

Suddenly guilt churns in her stomach. Out of the peripheral, Riley notices the box of lemon balm and lavender on the counter. She knows Bozer’s little rituals inside out and can’t count how many times she teased him for that grannyish lavender scent, which even her grandma finds tolerable only in her garden, in open space. So, the herbs tell her right away he needed something soothing. Yet she wasn’t there to offer him some comfort.

Despite a burning need to check on Bozer, Riley just couldn’t find enough time today. They tried to shield him from the worst of it, but there was no hiding Li’s involvement in all those agents’ deaths. It had to bring back a lot of pain. She promises herself another sleepover with her brother from another mother or a movie night to make up for it.

But Mac building that crazy tableware tower could mean one thing: he must’ve noticed Bozer’s distress too, and decided to keep an eye on him.

It’s a relief so deep it takes Riley by surprise. She didn’t even realize how much the whole thing weighed on her. Except for being a bit more… huh… attentive with her, Mac hasn’t really shown his thoughtful, caring side too much lately, mostly a little detached from reality, a little oblivious to things around him. Save for some trying times during missions, when his worry could spike to nearly manic levels. Every injury, every apparent health issue usually prompted him to go into a super-crazy-worried mode, but on a daily basis he stayed a bit blind to more subtle ailments, struggles or mood drops. Riley doesn’t really blame him, he went through tons of shit, and it’s bound to leave a mark. But this... this feels like having the old Mac back. The one that made snow so she could have a white Christmas for the first time in her life.

She turns to shoot Mac a grateful, knowing smile, blinking away some very unexpected mistiness in her eyes, and finds him already watching her with a bashful expression as if he was waiting to get scolded for wasting company time and resources like that. But when she mouths a silent ‘thank you,’ nodding towards Bozer, who once again tries to extract the knife, Mac’s whole face lights up, something Riley hasn’t seen in a while too. Yeah, the old Mac is back, the one she—

Ugh, she needs to get back to work. Now.

“Just try not to break anything, goofballs,” she shakes her head fondly, holding her sandwich like a trophy. “See ya in an hour.” With that, she starts for the door, waving the boys goodbye.

When Bozer manages to turn away from the tower, still without the offending knife, mumbling something profane about Mac’s crazy manual skills, he sees the man himself wistfully watching the empty corridor, looking like a lost puppy.

Oh boy.

But also… Fucking good.

Ladies locker room

Parker ties her combat boots with a less-than-enthusiastic expression. She’s supposed to stay in the surveillance van with Desi and some tac team members while Mac, Riley and Russ will try to get into the vault. They decided to go all black, mirroring the image of an elusive group of robbers, Le Fantôme. All Interpol has on that group is their black military uniforms. Let’s make Li think he was hit by some elite team of thieves.

“You look as if these shoelaces were going to bite you,” Riley quips, already done with stuffing her cargo pants with all kinds of cables and USB sticks. And her own SAK, the one she got used to carry around a while ago, after being forced too many a time to improvise far away from her keyboard. If it’s good for Mac, should work for her too. Maybe she should go for some Ka-Bar or kukri knife, though, to really sell the G.I. Jane look she’s sporting right now. Which got her several unexpected once-overs from the tac team guys and at least one ‘hot damn!’ That left her to wonder how many of them, great guys, really, she loves them dearly, but how many of them have a tac gear kink? Ugh, don’t even go there.

“It’s just... I usually go for more feminine stuff. These things kinda reek of testosterone. The type of testosterone you want to stay away from,” Parker grimaces. “When I was a teenager, my family sent me to a survival camp, you know, to toughen me up, and there was this one instructor who just kept bullying everybody he deemed weak. As you can guess, I was his favourite. He was going on and on like a broken record that a real man should wear camo all the time.”

“I hope you looked him up afterwards. If not, I’m happy to do that right now. Let’s have a little fun,” Riley offers, reaching for her rig.

“He landed in jail several months later. Apparently, he had some drinking sessions with sixteen-year-olds. Was making men out of them, of course.”

The girls just shake their heads in disgust.

“If these clothes make you too uncomfortable, a pair of dark jeans with sneakers should be all right,” Desi says. “Just choose something that doesn’t restrict your moves and won’t fall off your feet. You’re not supposed to do any fighting or running, and I hope it stays that way, but things can go to shit in the blink of an eye. Yesterday’s op should’ve been easy peasy, yet Riley took some serious fire.”

“No, I’ll manage. It’s not like it’s gonna be my new dress code. Besides, one of the tac team guys is pretty nice, so that outfit may score me some points,” Parker winks.

“Oh, do tell! You wanna get familiar with some cargo pants?” Riley wiggles her eyebrows at the fellow IT specialist.

“Eh, I probably got carried away a bit. With my history, it’s always failure peeking from around the corner. But he knows about the transition, and it didn’t scare him away, so...”

“Girl, you have every right to be out there and look for your other half. You deserve someone nice. Des, any latest gossip from the tac team? Something to help Parker out?”

“Same old, same old. The alpha males brag about getting laid a lot, with imaginary women, I guess, since they’re either at work or the gym. But Devante is definitely the nice one. The not bragging one. Pretty solid, I think.”

“Hey, I didn’t say—”

“I have eyes,” Desi chuckles. “I saw the two of you being very chummy. But I don’t know what’s the big deal about cargo pants,” she goes on with mocked seriousness. “Getting them off a guy is pretty much the same as with any other type. You deal with the button, the fly, and then you yank them down.”

“Well, there’s usually a belt in your way too. Eh, everything is so much easier with elastic waist, but somehow sweats don’t make guys look that hot,” Riley adds solemnly.

Parker glares at the girls. “Thank you for that thorough explanation. Don’t know how I managed without it before. Can I have it in writing? Or in pictures? By the way, Desi, I’m sure you did some yanking in the army. So many cargo pants to choose from.”

“Oh, you bet I did. Sadly, it was only one guy, but several pairs of pants. We had to sneak around a lot, you know, ‘cause our COs weren’t fans of romance, which made things very, very hot. But then we got—” She stops abruptly, stunned she broached a topic buried so deep for so many years. “Never mind,” she adds quickly, a little choked up, seeing growing curiosity on the girls’ faces. “It just didn’t work out.”

Parker smiles understandingly, collecting her backpack, while Desi focuses on zipping up her jacket. “Okay, let’s bounce,” she says, not meeting anybody’s eyes. “Later, Riley.” With that, they are gone.

Riley freezes at the strange note in Desi’s voice. Something is not right, but she can’t put a finger on it. Why would a talk like that leave anybody rattled? Desi, of all people? Who does angry and irritated but doesn’t do rattled?

A guy from the Sandbox.

It’s futile to make any assumptions, but… Riley can’t stop her brain from conjuring up some scenarios. Two, actually. A guy from the Sandbox plus past tense plus rattled Desi probably means... a hero or a traitor. Judging by how affected she was, a gravestone or a jail cell. More likely a gravestone. Desi would never, ever let herself think about a traitor in any other way than derogatory. No past feelings would matter.

So... probably another loss. Another death haunting someone from the Phoenix team. Another scar.

Sure, Riley, you’ve got it all figured out. Two clipped sentences, one strange facial expression, a change in tone, and you’ve already made up some tragic story, Sherlock. Give it a rest. You know nothing.

With a deep sigh, Riley starts to braid her hair, trying to shake off the sadness sneaking into her heart. It’s like wherever she looks, there’s loss, pain, death, failure, and all the victories, all the goons put behind bars just don’t seem to cover up the expense.

Just one thing. Just one really good thing. That’s all she asks for. Something she could hold on to during dark times. Something to light up her days.

She desperately needs this mission to go well. There’s so much at stake, but the team doesn’t know even half of it. Only Matty and her. That’s a burden she took on willingly, but it also means she’ll be the one consumed by guilt if things go awry.

A ding from her phone pulls her out of these not-so-happy thoughts.

I might’ve done some thinking and ended up using my mad interrogation skills to get your phone number. So... Hi, it’s Xavi. Would love to hear back from you ☺️ 

Oh.

Lagarde decided to show a little initiative.

Anxiety creeps up Riley’s spine. The guy looks quite worthy of her attention. Desi told her how many praises he got from his co-workers and that yesterday’s mess was mostly caused by some FBI suits looking to get back at him. A couple of years ago, he blew a whistle on some rising star mistreating the suspects to get better arrest rates and move up the ladder quicker. The guy has principles, it seems.

Riley has them too. She did him dirty, used his clearance to get to WITSEC databases, and even if it was for the greater good, it’s still a filthy trick. Getting all flirty after a nasty move like that... Not right. Using him to forget about something she desperately wants to label a crush, but that may not be the case here... Not right.

Still, what else is she supposed to do? Stay where she is forever? Pass up every opportunity for fear of hurting someone while she’s the one constantly getting hurt? Till death haunt Mac and Desi with her single status?

Also, with Mac doing… whatever he’s been doing lately, she really needs to get some distance. Some perspective.

Just live a little, Ri, Bozer’s voice echoes in her head.

Maybe she should stop overthinking things. Maybe they are far less complicated. Besides, what’s one text?

After a deep, steadying breath, the anxiety starts to dissolve. Riley smirks at the screen, leaving whipping up a playful reply for later. She’s not that desperate. But she’ll get back to it.

On the other side of the slightly open door, Mac freezes with a hand in mid-air, ready to knock. He has a good view of Riley, who’s currently busy reading something on her phone. With a smile that makes Mac’s heart sink. It’s not a ‘I’m-texting-my-mom’ smile, it’s curiosity combined with glee and eagerness and—

He knows that look but hasn’t seen it for a long time. Since her ex, what’s-his-face, maybe?

Quite ironic, huh? Just right after your little epiphany, here goes another one. Soon you’ll be shaking hands with her new boyfriend. Better start practicing some fake smiles.

Mac was prepared for that, right? For years, he had that under control, didn’t he? He had defence mechanisms working like a well-oiled machine, efficiently shutting down any stray thoughts, any ‘what-ifs.’ Any flutter of his heart or a surge of jealousy. Because it couldn’t be, and he made peace with that, right? Dreams didn’t come true in Angus MacGyver’s life, so he had to make do with what was attainable.

But the defences were gone now. Nothing to shield him from the pain he desperately tried to avoid for so long.

That evening on his deck, after auntie Pamela’s funeral... Something in him gave in. For the first time in ages, he didn’t feel like he had to hide the real him or walk on eggshells around Riley, of all people, so he didn’t stop himself. He gave in to his own vulnerability, to the soothing, comforting warmth emanating from her, and he knew something in him just got unleashed. Something he always pushed away to the furthest, deepest corner of his mind. But then Desi was back, Riley was out, and that longing in his heart turned to a grave understanding of what he had lost. Of where he was. Where his choices had taken him.

That he might’ve had the definition of that four-letter word very, very wrong.

He was so awfully mistaken to think the fate or the universe played him so viciously, dangling the dream and taking it away. There was no fate or some cosmic powers at play, karma or whatever. It was him. His blindness, his decisions, his choices, his inability to face his issues head-on. To admit what he really wanted.

He made his bed. Now he has to lie in it.

With a deep exhale, Mac knocks on the door. “Riles, you’re ready? Wheels up in ten,” he rasps out.

“Yeah.” Riley puts her phone away and secures several flyaway pieces of her hair with bobby pins. “Just finished.”

They are both nervous a little, and the tension feels palpable. The last twenty-four hours brought up issues they both wanted to keep buried under a thick layer of reinforced concrete. Just act normal, runs through two minds at the same time.

“Good thing you’re here, I was about to call you.” Riley is the first one to regain her cool and break the awkward silence. Getting focused on work can’t be easier, given that’s what she’s been doing the whole day, slowly preparing everything the team needs to go into action. At this point, it’s pretty much her own case. Her hacking, her findings, mostly her ideas to solve the problem. “I dug up more info on that vault, and let me tell you this: it’s not gonna be a piece of cake. Are you okay, though?” she asks, noticing Mac’s frazzled look.

“Yeah, sure. I just wish the bad guys let us have some free time,” Mac smiles stiffly, forcing himself to meet Riley’s gaze. God, he’s not ready for this. He needs to get a grip. To box it all up once again, all the feelings and all the regrets. If she picks up on his awkwardness, he’s a dead men walking. “Are you okay? How’s the arm? Did you catch any sleep yesterday? Or today, to be precise?”

“Yes, it’s okay, and yes,” she replies a little impatiently, taking a step back because there’s this look in his eyes again, and she needs to gain some distance. Besides... he looks damn too fine, all clad in black military gear. She really shouldn’t have been teasing Parker about yanking down some cargo pants. The joke is on her.

Friends. Co-workers. Teammates. That’s what they are.

The last ‘yes’ is a blatant lie, though. She spent the rest of the night hacking her way through tons of redacted documents, the dark web and other places no one has any business to know about. It was just what she needed after her talk with Bozer: to be reminded that there are far more important things to worry about than boy problems.

But Mac asking her about a good night’s sleep is too much of a joke to let it slide. “Be careful with your questions ‘cause I can throw them right back at ya,” Riley shoots back. “How many hours of sleep did you get? Did you even make it to one whole?”

“That’s fair,” Mac lets out a strained laugh. “And yeah, I did. I just heard Bozer stayed the night, and since I have the misfortune of knowing he snores like a walrus...”

“You all snore like a helicopter taking off.”

“Oh, I happen to recall a comment Sparky was so reckless to make a couple of years back. I’m stunned you didn’t fry his drives right away,” Mac chuckles, finally feeling more grounded. Riley just has that soothing effect on him. “One may think he was suicidal. You don’t accuse Artemis37 of snoring at a whopping 50 dB.”

“I’m still plotting my sweet revenge. He’ll feel it, I promise,” Riley smirks. “On a serious note, though, I decided to dig a little into the other projects by the guy who designed that vault, Eric Jiang, to see if he has any patterns or preferences. Turns out, a bit later, he also designed a vault for the Federal Reserve Bank of Boston. Funny thing, I found the schematics without much problem, hidden, but not that well, and it’s pretty similar to the vault Li is using. Only much bigger. Looks suspicious, right?”

“Yeah, hard to imagine the Fed would choose a similar project, especially if it was sold to someone with ties to the Chinese government, suspected of espionage. DHS would definitely take an interest in that. So what are you thinking?”

“I’d say the Fed schematics are fake and the Aegis ones may be fake. That’s why we need to brace for surprises. There’s literally no telling what shit is waiting for us there. That three layers of security we were talking about earlier? Probably very different.” Riley puts on her backpack while reaching for the other containing her spare gear, but Mac is quicker to grab it himself. She good-naturedly rolls her eyes at his chivalry. “You know, Prince Charming, my arms work just fine.”

Mac snickers at her comment, but his head seems to be elsewhere. “We’re not letting that bastard get away. For Leanna and for the others,” he states firmly, suddenly assaulted by the memories. “That whole scene with Sparky, it feels like a lifetime ago. It’s so strange. Like we were so young then. And now—”

Riley nods pensively. They got older, but the real growing up they had to do wasn’t only because of the years flying by. It was marked by the multiplying number of graves around them. Tough decisions. Bad decisions. The knowledge they didn’t want to have. Trust broken and rebuilt. Scars left on their bodies and souls.

Maybe it made them stronger. Maybe wiser. But right now, she feels like it mostly made it harder to get out of bed every morning.

“I’m sorry I got angry earlier in the war room,” Mac murmurs, truly uncomfortable with his little outburst. “Didn’t mean to. I don’t like being left in the dark, but to be honest, I was more angry with myself. I wasn’t there for Bozer. I just... chose to obsess about other things, I think. Sometimes I’m such a myopic idiot it’s criminal.”

If there’s a double entendre in his words, an invitation to revisit a topic they both agreed to move on from, Riley purposefully chooses to ignore it. Instead, she concentrates on Bozer. “A lot was going on, Mac,” she says levelly. “No harm done. I’m pretty sure Bozer told you the same thing. But you’ve definitely made his day with that crazy Jenga thingy,” she grins. “One question, though. Do we still have any tableware left or did it all die a tragic death on the break room floor?”

“Actually, it was Bozer’s idea. A silly memory from our teenage years,” Mac smiles. “But everything is intact. No casualties.”

“That’s a relief. I’m pretty sure I heard Matty saying that one more stupid accident caused by your insatiable need to mess with everything and you’re on the floor mopping duty for the rest of your miserable life.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad anymore—” Mac tries to protest weakly but resolves to just listen to Riley’s rich laughter as she exits the locker room.

At least he still has that in his life.

Oh well. Let’s get to work.

Chapter Text

At Aegis Inc. Of course, the schematics turned out false

“Is there any way to intercept the code?” Taylor asks, looking pensively at the vault’s closed door.

“Only if I had Li’s phone cloned,” Riley answers, scowling at the screen. “It’s the only device able to receive it. The generator spits out a new 10-digit random combination every thirty seconds. It’s not possible for any decryption key to find the right digits in such a short time. We’re talking about a really big-ass number of combinations.”

“It’s…” Mac does some math in his head, “over 3,5 billion possibilities.”

“See? Big-ass number.”

Taylor sighs. “What about the retina scan?”

“We don’t have enough material to fool the scanner. I can’t build a fake retina picture. Every photo of Li we have lacks quality, or he’s wearing glasses, or the angle is wrong. Besides, you need to enter the code first,” Riley grimaces. “Seems like we’re not getting in without kidnapping the guy and keeping him at gunpoint,” she adds begrudgingly.

“More than happy to do that,” Desi offers through the comms, cocking her gun. The unexpected sound makes the trio in front of the vault flinch.

“Your eagerness is deeply appreciated, Desirée, but please remember we’re trying not to start a war with China. And could you possibly refrain from any gun cocking? You nearly gave me a heart attack, and I’m far too young, rich and handsome to die.”

“My hand just do that in the presence of somebody’s large ego," Desi grumbles. "So you’re stuck?”

“Yeah,” Riley clenches her teeth. “Unless I find some weak point in the system, some hole to worm through. But so far, it’s too good. It would withstand N3MESIS,” she mutters to herself. She knew it could turn out bad, but she stupidly hoped for something hackable, no matter whose hack it would be, Mac’s or hers. They had always been miraculously lucky like that before. “It’s like I’m trying to climb a glass wall with my bare and sweaty hands.”

“How would you climb a wall like that?” Russ turns to Mac, hoping to lighten the atmosphere a little.

“Once I used toilet plungers to do that,” Mac snickers at the memories.

“Yeah, not helpful here. Even as some weird-ass metaphor.” Riley hits the keyboard with annoyance. Still, she has to stay calm and collected. No cracking under pressure. They’ll find a way to get inside. She’ll get her hands on everything that bastard Li stores in the vault and will have fun with it. And maybe then that one person whose name she found on the WITSEC list could come home.

That one good thing she needs to keep going. One good thing that will make up for all the shit she went through lately.

Suddenly, something pops on the screen, and Riley's thoughts come to a screeching halt.

“Parker, get me everything you can on Eric Jiang. Matty, you’ve ever heard of the guy in the intelligence community? Any dealings with any agencies?” she asks impatiently, her heart ceasing to beat. Because it can’t be true. No way she sees what she thinks she sees.

“Well, nothing specific. Along with having seminars on MIT from time to time, he works on highly sensitive security projects, so he must have a spotless record. I’m pretty sure his vault for the Federal Reserve in Boston wasn’t the only design like that, but they probably keep the rest under wraps. Why?”

“There’s something weird—”

“He’s highly intelligent, IQ of 180. Comes from a family of Chinese dissidents,” Parker cuts in. “His father and uncle were imprisoned for six years in the fifties. They fled China in 1966, escaping the political purge during the cultural revolution, which probably saved their lives. The whole family just vanished and reappeared in Hawaii, immediately granted green cards. Jiang’s father, a brilliant mathematician, later got a teaching job at John Hopkins University.”

“That’s textbook for being extracted by the CIA, right? Maybe the family was involved in espionage or was privy to some particular knowledge? Secret research on, let’s say, nuclear power? It was during the Cold War,” Mac muses. “Riles, are you worried Jiang might’ve turned?”

“No, the opposite. I’ve just found unexpected levels of encryption in the system, hidden better than the Holy Grail but also completely redundant. Doesn’t seem to serve any purpose unless it’s... I don’t know, a back door?”

“Or a trap,” Taylor interjects, worry etched on his face.

“Yeah, but what would it do? Send Li a message someone is trying to rob his vault? Set off a self-destructing procedure? Knock us out with some gas leaking through air vents? That’s great in the movies but in real life? I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t see anything pointing out to any additional safety measures,” Mac states, inspecting his surroundings once again. “Maybe it is a back door? Maybe the guy knows Li’s true identity, took the job and designed the thing this way to take a little revenge of his own?”

“Sounds a bit far-fetched,” Russ says, “but growing up under Mao, with your family and many others locked up for political reasons, must’ve left a mark. Even if the chances of someone finding that back door are slim to none, I’d say it wouldn’t be so out of character for a highly intelligent mind like Jiang’s.”

“Even the most level-headed boys dream of being vigilantes, huh?” Riley chuckles. “Even in their late seventies.”

“Well, Taylor is still hunting for a treasure, so...”

“I beg your pardon, Angus, it’s not some game for men in midlife crisis, it’s—” A mix of laughs, scoffs, ughs, and boos cuts Taylor off.

“Focus, people!” Matty’s voice prevails. “Riley, go for it. Whatever it is, I’m sure you can deal with it. No one better than you. Parker has your back.”

“Yes, ma’am. So... hold on to your lily white butts.” Riley starts her hack, heart beating rapidly. Whatever comes, she’s prepared.

What comes after several minutes of typing, as she tears through layers and layers of encryption, is the sound of the vault’s lock disengaging.

“And once again, Artemis37 has the world at her feet,” Bozer cheers on the comms while clapping vigorously. “People, give it up for our hacker extraordinaire!”

Mac squeezes her shoulder affectionately, grinning like a Cheshire cat, while Riley leans back in her chair, granting herself ten seconds of peace. Then she’s back on her feet, barrelling into the vault to supervise the data haul.

Around ten months later, MIT, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Eric Jiang sips his coffee on a bench in one of MIT’s green areas. He just finished a meeting with the Corporation on some cybersecurity issues. Later, he has a lecture scheduled for Computer Science students, and then he’ll be free to meet his eldest grandson for a chess game. The boy is a rising star in his chess club but still has some way to go to beat his grandpa.

It’s been lonely since June’s passing. Eric has his children and grandchildren close, they see each other as much as they can, but the emptiness left by his wife’s demise is still too palpable. They spent nearly fifty years together, after all.

Soon, there will be a little June born. Her parents made it very clear where they stood on the name. She’ll bring joy and hope to the world, but she won’t ever meet her grandma, the one she’ll be named after. Maybe she’ll have her smile, nose, or dimples. But Grandma June will always be someone from the pictures and tales.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Eric never thought he’d be the one to stay.

He’s still busy, though, despite edging on eighty. There are the vaults designs in the making, occasional seminars or lectures he has on MIT, varied consults. It’s good to be needed. It’s good to be surrounded by young, bright, open minds, ready to change the world, to teach them and learn from them. To provide the best service to the country he wasn’t born in but found his home in. He doesn’t have any other.

It’s very peaceful here today. All the students are in classes, and the three or four silhouettes he sees on the benches are busy reading their textbooks or working on something in silence. That’s why two people talking in the distance catch Eric’s attention. Maybe they are a pair of friends, maybe a couple—it’s hard to tell, but they definitely look very comfortable with each other.

The boy, tall and blond, gestures towards the coffee cart nearby, calling it hands down the best one on the campus, which Eric can agree with, and then excitedly raves about what looks like the newest development in cancer research one of the MIT labs is doing. Something that allows a quicker, more precise diagnosis and better therapy results for pancreatic cancer.

Indeed, it sounds very promising.

The girl, shorter and dark-haired, listens to the boy with a smile. “Oh, I know, I saw the latest data flow from Frankie.”

They stop not far away from Jiang’s bench, putting in their order.

“Yeah, that. We’re gonna have a very serious talk, Ms. Davis. How come you never uttered a word about keeping an eye on Frankie’s tech? How am I learning of this only now?”

“C’mon, Mac, it’s stuff I do in my sleep. A little maintenance here or there, an overhaul once in a while, some upgrades. Child’s play. Frankie has enough cutting-edge IT specialists here who take care of her research, I’m just an additional set of eyes.”

The blonde pulls the girl in close, and Eric looks away, not wanting to intrude on some PDA he expects to happen.

“Yeah? So how come she says she wouldn’t be able to get her latest results without you, and I quote, ‘messing with the system’?”

“She wanted more precise peptide mapping, she got it. Easy peasy.”

“Sure, things like that just grow on trees,” the blond shakes his head. “I can’t decide what I hate more, you keeping this from me for so long or never wanting any credit for anything you do.”

Yeah, there’s a kiss about to happen, so Jiang firmly searches his Boston Globe for today’s crossword when a shrilling sound of somebody’s ringtone pierces the air. The couple springs apart, their little bubble burst.

“Hold that thought. I hate she always does that to us,” the blond growls but proceeds to answer the call. “Hi, Matty. What’s up?”

The girl just laughs and starts looking around, waiting for her coffee. Suddenly Jiang feels her eyes on him. It’s not fleeting, it seems deliberate as if she was trying to find his file in the archives of her mind. Maybe they’ve met before? Maybe she attended one of his lectures or seminars? But no, she’s hard to miss with that beauty, and he was blessed—or cursed—with an eidetic memory. He would’ve remembered her.

“Mr. Jiang,” she addresses him with something strange in her voice, snapping him out of his musings.

“Yes?” He slowly looks up, smiling politely, a little unsure what to make out of the whole situation. The unexpected intensity of her glance throws him off balance. What does it mean? Why is she looking at him like that? Have they met?

“Thank you for the back door,” she says quietly, firmly holding eye contact, a knowing smile dancing on her lips. As if they shared a secret of sorts.

The back door? What the hell is she... Then it dawns on him. That back door. Something he put in for the most skilled FBI or NSA agents to use one day after proper and thorough training.

Holy Java. His eyes widen uncontrollably, and the girl knows he knows. She nods, eyes sparkling, and moves to the coffee cart to pick up her order while the blond finishes his call.

Astonished, Eric watches the young couple strolling down the alley in perfect harmony.

Maybe in the evening, he’ll look into Li Zhou and his current business just to find out the guy sold his company and moved to Thailand, investing in a luxury resort. Good for him. Much better for America.

Also, his other business, the Phalanx, mysteriously disappeared from the dark web, leaving many pissed-off crime lords in its wake. It would be a real shame if the name behind it got leaked accidentally.

Huh. Food for thought.

Anyway, maybe Jiang will do a little Internet sweep, looking for one Ms. Davis. Maybe he’ll contact his friends at the FBI for some identity confirmation. Maybe he’ll move on to the darker nooks and crannies of the web to check what Artemis37 is up to these days.

Maybe, in a couple of months, the Phoenix will receive a generous donation to expand the Brink into an official youth-oriented program offering advanced training in cybersecurity and ethical hacking to the kids at risk, of humble origin or with checkered past. With a chance to achieve an MIT scholarship, established in June Jiang’s name, for those who dream of an academic degree.

Maybe, in a couple of years, Riley Davis will be visiting MIT at least twice a year with lectures, seminars or workshops. Maybe, when she’s in the lecture hall, the blond guy, the brain behind one of the most groundbreaking discoveries in cancer treatment, will be checking the progress made by the labs and then circling the park with a stroller, trying to put to sleep a wide-eyed toddler, proudly sporting a ‘Baby Einstein’ t-shirt, eager to get familiar with everything new around them. Maybe Eric will always wait for them on one of the benches with his chessboard ready.

Maybe. Only time will tell.

But he’s pretty sure he wants to see that happening.

Back in the vault

Over ten minutes later, the trio is mostly done with all the work. Li’s hard drives and memory sticks are copied and infected with malware. All the blackmail material he had on various agencies will turn into a useless pile of waste the next time he uses his devices. That should make the Phalanx the least popular data broker on the dark web. And if it doesn’t work out the way they want it to, Li’s systems are still at Riley’s mercy. She already thought of several ways to tear apart both of his businesses.

Ready with his part of the job inside the vault, left alone by Riley and Russ, Mac starts to inspect the interior, intrigued by some food and water rations as well as sleeping bags, flashlights and batteries stored in the corner. There are also several handguns with lots of ammo. Seems like Li built himself a panic room or a bunker in case someone chose to go after him. Only a punch-in 10-digit code and a retina scan don’t make for a quick entrance. But Mac is not going to point it out to Li anytime soon.

Lost in calculating how long Li’s supplies would suffice, he barely notices a sudden movement behind his back. Only when the titanium door slams shut with a strange crack he realizes what other precaution Li had installed here. Mac’s comms explode with frantic questions from Riley and Russ, and then the rest of the team jumps in, demanding answers.

There’s also that hissing sound coming from the air vents nearby. It’s not a gas supposed to knock you out, though. It’s far worse.

“The air is getting sucked out of here,” he croaks out, frantically looking for a controller or anything else to hack. But the vents are working at a terrifying speed. He’s going to lose consciousness really soon. Dark spots already dance in front of his eyes.

“What?! Mac, get to the door, now! There’s a slight crack in it, you’ll get some air. We’re working on getting you out.” Riley’s voice tears through the fuzziness of his thoughts.

Indeed, it looks like something got shoved between the door and the jamb, but the crack seems too narrow to provide him with all the air he needs. Not with the speed the air is getting sucked out of here. He may not die in the next four minutes, but... Hell, it’s getting hard to think.

Is this it?

“…iles,” he wheezes, desperate to hear her voice. If she’s fighting to get him out, it can’t be the end. She’ll get him out. She brought him back once, she’ll do it again. It can’t be the end.

All the sounds in his comms get more and more muffled. Water dispenser… Silicone tube… Mac. Mac!

“Mac!”

Suddenly something scratches his neck.

“Mac, take that tube in your mouth! Breathe! Mac!”

He’s succumbing more and more to the darkness but somehow manages to do as told. He tries to take a breath, gets a bit more air, but it’s still too little. The adrenaline rushing through his veins is not helping either. Mac is pretty sure he’s on the verge of a panic attack. That means hyperventilation, increased oxygen demand and… Well… Hello, darkness, my old friend. If the vault doesn’t kill him, his own body surely will.

“Deep, slow breaths, Mac! Let the air out through your nose!” Riley urges through the comms. “Just a little longer, I’m hacking the system now. Breathe, please! In and out!”

In and out. In and out. He tries, he really tries, but it’s still too little. But he tries. In and out.

“I need one minute more, Mac! Hang on!”

In and out. In and out. It’s everything he’s able to think of.

Finally, he feels the door opening and two pairs of hands drag him out of the vault. The tube forgotten, he gulps for air, but it’s too much at once. Too much, but still too little.

“It’s okay, Mac, we’ve got you. Just breathe.” Someone brushes damp strands from his forehead and runs fingers through his hair in a gentle, soothing manner. But it’s still too little. He wants to push down the panic squeezing his lungs, yet his body just doesn’t listen.

“You’re alright, Mac. Just breathe.”

He blindly reaches for Riley’s wrist, desperate to feel her pulse. His hand wraps around it so tightly she’s sure she’ll have some bruising later. Yet it couldn’t matter less. “It’s alright, Mac, just concentrate on my heartbeat and breathe. You’re safe. In and out.” The other hand continues to brush through his hair.

In and out. In and out. The steady but elevated rhythm he feels under his fingers guides Mac through the darkness encompassing him again.

In an SUV en route to the medical

Sitting in the back of the vehicle currently taking him to the Phoenix, Mac struggles to keep his eyes open as if his life force got sucked out through the vault’s vents. It’s not his first brush with death by asphyxiation, mind you. He can’t even count how many times some meaty paws were trying to choke the life out of him. Better not to dwell on how hard it was to get any air in when his airways felt like paper straws run over by a road roller. How the imprint of two hands or an arm on his neck was a nightmare fuel for weeks.

Right now, his airways are intact, he can breathe alright, but it’s like the rest of his body went on strike. Sitting upright is a challenge. Waves of nausea come and go in perfect harmony with the vertigos he gets.

If it wasn’t for Riley and Russ, who convoyed him to the entrance, he’d be happy to stay crumpled on the floor in front of Li’s vault. How did they manage to get him on his feet and then to the elevator, he has no idea. He’s pretty sure moving him from the car seat will take an army of orderlies.

Good Lord, this is bad. He’s never been that drained after a little hiccup like that close-to-choking situation before. His body feels lead-like, and he just—

As if pulled by some invisible force, Mac slides down the seat, only to rest his head in Riley’s lap and sneak his arm under her knees. He feels her tensing up for a fraction of a second, but then gentle fingers start to brush through his hair again, a soothing motion that brings him peace like he hasn’t felt for a long time.

“Please don’t leave me,” he murmurs, barely audible. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him or how to fix it, and hell, there is a lot to fix, but he knows he needs her. Like a lifeline. Like air.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mac. Just relax, you’re safe,” Riley whispers, continuing her strokes.

Mac’s last conscious thought is how, until the Age of Enlightenment, people believed in the healing powers of the king’s hands.

Scratch that, his truly last conscious thought is about staying like that forever.

Riley, on the other hand, goes from worry to heartbreak, to her heart bursting with love, to pain, self-hate, and back to worry. And back to self-hate. She can’t help but feel like crumbling under the weight of the last thirty minutes. Half an hour ago, she was fighting with all her might to keep Mac alive, shaken to the core by every ragged breath she heard on the comms, a brutal reminder of that flatline sound from several weeks ago.

Her mind was going a thousand miles per hour to find something, anything to help Mac breathe until she completed the hack. It was sheer luck she managed to shove her backpack between the closing door and the jamb. The heavy plate of titanium squashed everything like a car crusher, but the messy heap of plastic and metal that once was Riley’s spare tech left a tiny little crack, wide enough to push a silicone tube through, the one she made Taylor yank from a water dispenser she saw nearby. Thank God Li was cheap enough to buy that Amazon thingy you put on top of a 5-gallon water bottle. At least the tube was easy to access.

It worked. It worked, and Riley couldn’t let go of Mac until he was somewhat fit to move. Losing sight of him was unbearable, even for a fraction of a second.

But now…

Mac seeks solace in her again, but it’s only his body screaming for a break. His weary mind looking for some rest. He’s not hers, nor ever will be, and she has to get away from this whole situation. Of course, right after he’s safe and sound in the medical, waiting for Desi to join him. Riley will just… find herself a dark, secluded room to break down in. Far away from any prying eyes.

When Russ looks in the back mirror, he’s taken aback by the expression he sees on Riley’s face. It’s utter heartbreak. Is she so worried for Angus, or... he just put her into a position too painful to handle?

Russ’ own love life is still a hot mess with the dance they do with Sofia, his ‘close enough to the one’ one, who turned out to be rather ‘the calculating one.’ He’s still not sure if they will make it work. If there is enough trust between them. It’s undoubtedly nowhere near what Angus has with Riley.

Oh. OH.

Bugger. Seems like he’ll be having a talk with Angus soon, possibly with lots of alcohol. As much as Taylor hates to mess with anybody’s love life, the definition of ‘the one’ calls for some revision.

The next evening

Mac enters his house, followed by Desi, who picked him up from the medical. The last several hours included waking up to the sound of beeping monitors, Mac’s least favourite kind of music, the smell of disinfectant, and the maddening, monotonous rhythm of an IV drip. Then being poked and prodded by the staff, all too happy to have him in their clutches, plus long and tiring talks about how shitty his blood work is right now. Then being shoved into an MRI machine because the universe just hates him.

Actually, Mac was supposed to have the MRI right after the hyperbaric chamber, but somehow never set foot in the medical again. He was absolutely done with any tests, procedures, white coats and scrubs. So, said white coats and scrubs took their sweet revenge today. With a surplus, definitely.

He’d love to say he woke up to a warm touch on his cheek or hands, nimble fingers running through his hair, a soothing voice assuring that he was okay and it was so good to see him awake, or two eyes shining with happiness and relief to have him back.

None of that happened.

The person who greeted him with a smile that Mac would deem shark-like was Marisol, the head nurse, 5'4" and deadly. Called the Nazi—that was Jack’s idea. Or the Impaler—that one was Riley’s. Mac himself was leaning towards She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for she had an awful habit of turning up to bully him about something in the worst, most unexpected moments. Or the Eye of Sauron, since she could also read him like a book and saw right through any ‘I’m fine,’ ‘No, I’m not in pain,’ or ‘Yes, I’ve been taking all the meds.’

The woman knew no mercy.

But when he finally got out of the MRI, she was waiting for him with a generous slice of homemade chocolate cake, some traditional Mexican recipe with cinnamon and cayenne pepper, a cup of coffee and a third in a row rant about his lack of self-care.

“You people will keel over in a middle of a super important op if you continue like that,” she snarled. “Same with Davis. Two days without sleep, barely able to keep her eyes open, but she’ll drive home no problem. And please, give her more work, she’s been in front of a monitor for only 30 hours straight.”

Of course, Mac nearly jumped out of his skin at that, making Marisol smirk mockingly. The woman was truly merciless.

“That’s why she wasn’t here to hold your hand, Blondie. I shooed her away, straight to the MRI. Then she got the same treatment as you,” she gestured to the cake, “and a Bozer to take her home. So, you can stop fretting. Better think why you didn’t want to let go of her when they brought you in. Your actual girlfriend may have questions. Oh, don’t get all angsty, mijo, she didn’t see a thing,” Marisol added placatingly, seeing his expression that must’ve been a mix of guilt, shame, pain and fear. “But you should do some thinking. You called for Riley several times when you were asleep. Still, I’m willing to keep that to myself. Such a great blackmail material, guapo,” she winked.

Her smile was indeed shark-like.

The guilt hasn’t left Mac since, and coming back to his house, the same one he once imagined as his and Desi’s, theirs, only makes it grow tenfold. There is a conversation to be had, but he doesn’t have the words. How do you even start a talk like that when you were the one pushing forward the whole time? How are you supposed to go to work the next day and act as if nothing had happened? As if they were only field partners? That went well the first time over.

God, why he had to make such a mess?

Desi notices his sour mood, but it doesn’t vex her too much. Mac and medical—these two don’t usually get along, and she could tell the staff was determined to get on his nerves as much as possible. Well, that’s what you get when you’re constantly trying to give them the slip. And with Mac, they play this game a lot.

She’s not too fazed by how monosyllabic Mac was the whole drive—he’s probably still reeling from that little life and death situation in the vault but tries to brush it off. She did pretty much the same. Just blocked everything out. The fear that overpowered her in the surveillance van, the helplessness, the inability to intervene. She could only trust Riley and Russ had that under control. Luckily, it worked.

Truth to be told, over the last couple of weeks, Desi has learned to let a lot of things go. Mac seemed still shaken from everything that happened with the nanotrackers, still tense and jumpy, but with an ‘I’m fine’ ready whenever she’d ask. He clammed up, as always, and she could only watch. But Desi knew there wasn’t anything super secretive going on, Mac just struggled to get his footing back, so she let him be.

Even if sometimes that old, deeply-rooted need to control him kicked in, Desi has learned to take a deep breath and relax. She didn’t really know where it came from, but suddenly the tension that usually lingered between the two of them started to weigh on her. It was tiring. A little calm instead of pumping adrenaline didn’t seem so bad after all the last year ‘excitement.’

Sure, she was buzzing to let her energy out, but work was enough of an outlet. She had her hands full, Matty made sure of that. There was some reshuffling among the tac teams after severing ties with the government. Some people still wanted to work for Uncle Sam, so they moved, and some chose civilian life. Several new faces joined, so she had to assess them and train to work with Mac, as much as you could do that, that is. But letting them know to ‘expect the unexpected’ was definitely way too little.

So, they were kind of living a normal life, things went on without too many hiccups, yet Desi couldn’t help but think there was something missing. It wasn’t like the first time over when without the Phoenix they didn’t have pretty much anything in common, and a fiery hell ensued. They were building a life together, yet it all felt still… experimental.

But maybe that’s the best she’ll ever get. Only with Evan, there were no doubts, no ‘feeling out the situation,’ no ‘let’s see where we’re going.’ They had no home except for their Sandbox base, slept on bunks, and all their belongings fit into a duffel bag. Yet strangely enough for her, she felt like she had roots.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Guys were fun but for a limited time. She never saw herself in a suburban house, wearing an apron and taking a perfect apple pie out of the oven to serve it along with three other courses to her perfect little family. Or crying her eyes out in a boutique full of lace, tulle, voile, pearls and other crap ‘cause she found the perfect dress. Geez.

But suddenly, one guy came along and rocked her world. She still wouldn’t buy that apron or any frilly, puffy monstrosity, but a lifetime with someone didn’t seem like a prison. Rather like something she’d be dreaming of. Then one op took him away, and she was left broken, sick with pain and anger.

Now with Mac… They share a roof, a bed, their stuff is all mixed together, but… Well, when she thinks about it, most of their things just sit next to each other. Like the kitchen utensils. Mac never reaches for hers, and vice versa. They haven’t bought anything together for the home yet. Something that would be theirs. Lack of time, need or… yeah.

Anyway, whatever is going on in Mac’s head, she won’t pressure him. At least not tonight. It’s useless. She’ll let him sleep through it, and then… let’s feel out the situation.

“I see you got all your energy drained out of you,” Desi snickers, watching Mac getting a bottle of water from the fridge slower than molasses. “The question is, was that the vault or the vampires from the medical?”

Mac massages his temple. “Marisol was lovely as always,” he grimaces.

“I can imagine. But having the air sucked out must’ve been fun, huh?” she teases, tone light, unable to refrain from a little jab at their history.

Mac staggers back. The memory cuts through him like a knife, bringing back such a deep wave of guilt it makes him nauseous.

“Oh, c’mon, Mac, I’m joking! We talked about this, it was a long time ago,” Desi hurries to do some damage control, seeing Mac’s painfully contorted face. A reaction she didn’t really take into consideration. “You know what, let’s just make a deal. Let’s never mention it again. Never happened, okay?”

Mac watches her silently for a moment, sorrow marring his features. “It doesn’t work,” he finally croaks out. “Trying to forget or block things out never works. We’re just deluding ourselves it does.”

It hits Desi hard how much meaning these words convey. How many layers they have, and on how many levels they apply to their situation. Their relationship. Their separate lives. All the baggage they carry and how they deal with it. But before she’s able to formulate a response, Mac nervously tries to crumple the plastic bottle in his hands, still unopened. “We need to talk,” he mutters, not meeting Desi’s gaze.

It’s her turn to stagger back a little since Desi didn’t see it coming, at least not today, but she quickly subdues any form of hurt making its way through her body. “It’s okay, Mac, I get it. And I agree,” she says levelly, letting him know there’s no nuclear blast coming. “But better not right now. You’ve had quite a day. Just get some rest, go to bed and try to relax. We’ll have all the time tomorrow.”

Mac looks as if he wanted to say something more but finally just nods, eyes full of misery, and heads for the bathroom.

He feels dirty. It’s the sweat from the agonizing hours in the vault. The smell of antiseptic on his body, the traces of blood where the IV line was. It’s the memories of being somebody’s volitionless puppet under the influence of the nanobots. All of it came back in full force in the medical, along with the debilitating fear of having the nanotech still in his blood.

He feels dirty because he’s been lying to his girlfriend. Because he can’t quell anymore all the feelings he thought he got rid of and forgot. He feels dirty because he was the one who pushed forward, and now he’s pulling away. Because he said ‘I love you’ many times without thinking about what it really meant. What it should mean. Because he thought just having someone was enough.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Mac has a nagging feeling he’ll learn a ton from dissecting the whole thing with Bozer or (maybe) a therapist, but now it just feels like an utmost failure. Like surrendering a fortress you’ve been defending for years with your body and soul.

How can he even think about his own happiness if he just leaves pain and ruins in his wake?

Mac slides down the wall, landing on the tiled floor.

At the same time, Desi stands alone in the middle of the kitchen, contemplating everything that has just happened. The initial hurt somehow turned into a form of acceptance. Truth to be told, it’s not like she was completely blindsided. Somewhere deep inside, she suspected that the calm between them were in fact their feelings changing, she just didn’t want to admit to a failure. If that’s the case, they should concentrate on making everything easy and painless, as much as it’s possible, of course.

It dawns on her that the thing missing in their home was the heart.

As cliché as the saying is, home is where the heart is.

Chapter Text

The next morning

Rise and shine.

Well, Mac may be able to rise, shining is an entirely different task to complete, though, given this day won’t bring him anything but a thunderstorm. As far as he can tell through the blinds, the weather decided to mock him with blinding sun and the Californian sky even bluer than usual.

But here it is. A new day. Another evidence of how the universe works in perfect harmony. The sun rises every day, stubbornly, relentlessly, no matter the weather, season, state of affairs or wars in progress.

Well, at least that’s how people like to describe it.

Of course, the sun doesn’t rise or go down, it’s the Earth’s rotation that causes the succession of days and nights. One of the two movements our planet is subjected to. Rotation and revolution. Funny thing how both of these nouns signify a change, as if the universe wanted every living creature (or at least the ones speaking Latin-based languages) to know change was the most basic law of nature. Panta rhei. Everything flows.

Mac will have to face it. The turn, the shift—or an earthquake if Desi’s patience runs thin.

But he deserves it. He’s scared of himself, of the man he has become.

The man who’s about to hurt his girlfriend. Who was unable to confront their issues head-on and ask difficult questions, always hiding behind the hope their attraction to each other and work dynamic would be enough to build something stable, indestructible, everlasting.

Who several hours ago broke down on his bathroom floor and called Riley about his other overwhelming fear, the nanotrackers, then ended up begging her to come over while Desi was somewhere in the house. The long pause Riley took before answering told Mac how much of a jerk he was.

“Mac… You’re alone? Isn’t Desi home with you?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Sorry, sorry, it… uh… just came out. I don’t know what I was thinking. The nanobots are messing with my brain. I’m not alone. I’m okay, I don’t need anything, just a shower and my bed. Sorry again. And thanks for everything.”

That is not who he wants to be. He can’t be that person. It’s so far away from everything he ever wanted in life he can’t believe that’s where he drove himself to.

Maybe there is a path to redemption. If it was through some work, Mac would rush to sort waste or something in a heartbeat. Scrub public toilets barehanded. Mine blood diamonds.

Maybe it’s through facing stuff he never wanted to acknowledge. Yet Mac doesn’t even dare to believe he’ll ever be able to dial down the guilt and shame eating away at him.

But then the voice that constantly mocks and derides him awakens, leaving Mac stunned. Desi didn’t have all the answers too, remember?

The morning is truly lovely, though. The house is filled with crisp air and sun dancing on Mac’s knick-knacks. On an average day, despite his recent emotional turmoil, he’d feel instantly inspired to grab a screwdriver, a forgotten piece of equipment (like that old planetary food processor Matty gave him to look at), go outside and just lose himself in the world of wiring, converters and rectifiers. But the day is anything but average.

Yet it seems deceptively ordinary when he sees Desi eating her breakfast in the kitchen.

However…

“Waffles?” Mac looks incredulously at Desi’s plate. He didn’t expect to see a pile of waffles this morning on his counter. And he definitely didn’t expect them to have Baby Yoda’s face on. This can’t be Desi’s cooking. Breakfast food is not really her thing, save for eggs and bacon. Besides, he knows only one childless grownup on planet Earth who could buy a Baby Yoda waffle maker. “Did Bozer swing by?”

“Yeah, fifteen minutes ago, give or take. What the hell is wrong with him? Baby Yoda? But he also brought this,” Desi gestures to a jar filled with yellowish jam or spread. “Monkey butter. It’s a name I've never thought I’d hear in my entire life. Gives me creeps.”

Mac sighs. It’s not uncommon for Bozer to drop by with something he whipped up, but an Eiffel Tower of waffles in the wee hours of the morning plus a homemade jam, something that needs a good amount of cooking and stirring, could only mean heightened stress levels. Bozer cooks to show love but also to calm his strung nerves. To take his mind off things. He must’ve still been reeling from everything they've learned about Leanna. Or maybe some new information emerged, only Mac wasn’t up to speed yet? Or his own little adventure in the vault proved to be a little too hard on his bro? This or that, Mac needs to check on Bozer. Better sooner than later. But now…

Desi swallows the last chunk of her waffle, a thick layer of monkey butter on top, straightens up and looks Mac directly in the eye, face unreadable. “I’d like to officially inform you that I’ll be taking custody of this jar after the divorce.”

A divorce.

Oof. Way to start a conversation. But at least they won’t be beating around the bush. Still, Mac’s muscles go from tense to rigid, and he’s pretty sure his face must be a mask of horror.

Desi rolls her eyes, seeing his bewildered expression. “Whatever the name, it’s delicious, and I deserve a whole batch of it after being forced to eat Baby Yoda first thing in the morning.” She crosses her arms, trying to look offended and full of spite, but there’s a glimmer in her eyes Mac would never expect to see under the circumstances. Like she’s been teasing him and having a good time. “That’s what you wanted to talk about, right?” she continues. “A breakup?”

She’s so calm and collected you’d think they are about to discuss some new investment plan or tax returns. A big one-eighty from all the heated arguments they went through before so many times. So many times caused by so much less significant things.

Mac stares at his knuckles. He knows it must be done, but it also feels so final. It’s like putting a corpse into a body bag and sending it to the coroner’s office. Not his first breakup, not even their first breakup, but this time, everything just screams ‘failure!’ at him. He’s a failure. And the list of things he failed at goes for miles.

“I’m... I’m so sorry. I wanted us to work,” he utters sombrely. “But it doesn’t seem to work. Not on the right level.”

Desi nods. She did some thinking during the night, and for the first time in ages, she looked at the state of their relationship from a healthy distance. With a clear mind, not muddled by her past or all the things that kept them together. Work, adrenaline, years of effort to keep it afloat. She set out to see things as they were and to form a plan to deal with them accordingly. Like a scientist with a microscope. Planning the next logical step.

God, Macspeak has rubbed off on her. Time to run, really.

“I know, Mac. I wanted it too,” she replies. “But it has to be said. We’ve been running in circles. No matter how many times we spoke about taking things one step at a time, it was still in circles.” Shaking her head, Desi smiles sardonically. “You know, yesterday you took me by surprise. But then I got surprised by being surprised. I shouldn’t have been surprised. When you think about it, we weren’t much of a couple lately,” she states matter-of-factly. “You were living in your own little world, and I somehow thought the lack of tension between us was, I don’t know, a good place.”

“I’m sorry I got stuck in my head again. I guess the last couple of months really got to me. Much more than I was willing to admit.” The shame and guilt that kept Mac in a tight grip for so long dissolve a little, but he’s still not sure if he’s ready to tackle all the hard truths they need to acknowledge. Yet he said it himself. Running away from bad stuff never works. “I was the one who pushed. But I’m starting to feel like it was for the wrong reasons. I think I hoped making us work would be like a cure for all the mess I’m in. Like it would help me regain some balance.”

Desi nods again, deep in thought. “I was the one who mostly held back, but somehow I couldn’t let go. Also for the wrong reasons,” she sighs. “I think I was trying to prove myself I could function like a human being after Evan. That there was life. But it’s like I kinda expected things to get better on their own, without doing any work myself. Which probably was a mistake. Well, definitely a mistake.”

“Trauma switches off rational thinking.”

“Oh, don’t you dare go all shrinky on me. You have so many issues five psychiatrists could write their PhD theses on you. Speaking of which, why did you get so worked up about the nanobots? They’re gone, right?”

Mac feels deep terror gripping him again. “Um…”

“Mac, not this again”, Desi groans. “We’re still gonna be working together, and I need to know about stuff like that. You called Riley from the bathroom, panicked as hell. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just went to the bedroom to get a shirt. You were super upset about still having the nanotrackers in your body. So, did the medical find anything?”

“No, it was just my own paranoia. I… I was just feeling off and it all got to me. The MRI came back clean, but I needed to know if the medics found something they didn’t tell me about. It’s not like Matty didn’t hide things from me before. So I asked Riley to do some digging, but she found nada. Everything’s alright.”

Desi nods. It’s pretty consistent with what she overheard. But there was this other thing—Mac asking Riley, in a shaky voice, to come over. She must’ve declined or chastised him because hasty apologies ensued right after.

It couldn’t be clearer who Mac needed in times of crisis.

Maybe Desi should be hurt, angry or jealous. But the truth is, she wasn’t much different. The sole difference was that the person who could give her peace, be her lifeline when she was drowning, was lying in some ditch in Afghan mountains.

It’s positively the most bizarre thing ever how she and Mac mirrored each other in some respects.

“So you’re still pretty paranoid about the nanobots. Why didn’t you say anything?” she continues her quest for answers.

“Didn’t want to be a problem.”

Desi sighs again. “Believe me, I am well aware life is not all rainbows and unicorns. Problems are to be handled.”

Mac averts his eyes. During all the soul-searching he’s done lately, he realized how high his defences always were, how much he always braced for another blowout, another wrong move or word. How unfair it was to allow himself some vulnerability only with his best friend, not with the woman he wanted to marry. Desi didn’t get to know the real him. If there was the ‘real him,’ that is, because the carefree Mr. Wizard from years ago was long gone. Mac didn’t let her see so many things that it really should’ve sparked some reflection much, much earlier.

As cliché as it sounds, sweetheart, communication is the key, Lauretta’s words from their talk swirl around in his head. A good life partner, the one you share everything with, the one you can trust with everything, even with the lowest low, is a source of strength. That’s what you build on. That’s the foundation. That’s what makes you feel like together everything is possible.

Share everything with somebody. Not just the bed, closet space, plates and toothpaste. Everything.

Trust them with everything, even with the lowest low.

Oh, he was so blind.

“I guess I grew to think every time something was wrong between us, it was my fault. Didn’t want to add to my rap sheet and start another round of… our push and pull. I genuinely wanted some peace.”

A rap sheet? That wording doesn’t sit well with Desi. Did Mac seriously feel so insecure with her? She frowns, thinking back to a conversation she had a couple of days back.

In San Francisco, during that extraction op, she ran into her instructor from Ranger School. He had joined the marshals a while ago and was watching over the Kottas’ safe house, so they had the chance to catch up. The guy was definitely one for the books. First, a lane grader—as the instructors are called in Fort Benning—from hell, then her very strict CO in the Sandbox, with no tolerance for mistakes.

And now he takes care of his ailing mother-in-law, who suffers from dementia, and tends to her garden. His wife didn’t have the heart to leave the 84-year-old lady in a nursing home since she reacted very poorly to every change of environment, so they moved in with her. Desi still can’t believe the story—hearing that hardass bragging about all the plants, wisterias and whatnot, and how they make that lady happy, was something else. She never suspected he could have it in him.

It was good to catch up. But the dude was never the one to mince words.

“You still haven’t let go of that anger, huh?”

“What anger?”

“Of losing Evan.”

“Of course I’m angry. I won’t ever stop. I have to live with what happened, but it doesn’t make it any less infuriating.”

“Ever thought about how you’re hurting yourself with that anger? How you could hurt other people?”

That was… a little eye-opening.

Desi shifts awkwardly in her spot. God, she hates it, she hates it with passion, but it has to be said. There isn’t much that scares her, so one uncomfortable admission shouldn’t too, right?

“I didn’t want to acknowledge that, but… uh… I… probably still have a lot of pent-up anger towards… the whole universe, I guess. You got in the crosshairs too many times,” she grimaces self-consciously. “Sorry about that. I was a loner my whole life. Evan changed a lot, he helped me realize I wasn’t an island, but then it all was taken away from me. I didn’t make peace with that. You got swept up in my mess, and I didn’t really know how to help you with your own... Not that you ever let me,” Desi adds wryly. “So we kinda doubled the mess together.”

“I’m sorry, Des.”

“I shouldn’t have kept it hidden for so long. That was unfair. And cowardly,” she scowls, eyes on a distant corner of the room. “For what it’s worth, I hid it from everybody outside the Sandbox. Even my family doesn’t know. And I never reached out to Evan’s family,” she trails off sombrely.

“Perhaps it’s the right time to do that?” Mac offers tentatively. He may be as bad with the grieving process, but at least he never shied away from facing the relatives of the people he had lost, even if he felt like they should've blamed him for everything and slammed the door in his face. In some miraculous way, they only had love for him.

Desi shrugs uneasily. It’s too hard to think about it right now, yet the thought will linger and maybe bear fruit. But she doesn’t want to waste any more time on conversations today. All the digging into their issues was exhausting and she can’t wait to jump into action, start packing and put a definite end to that part of her life.

“So, how do you like to do this? You get out right now, go see Bozer or someone, and I pack? Or I’ll go to my apartment and come for the rest of my things tomorrow?”

“You kept your apartment?” Mac can’t remember if they ever discussed that. He could swear it never came up.

“Of course I did, egghead. You think I brought all of my stuff over here? With our track record, that would’ve been the stupidest idea in the whole galaxy. Besides, I like my place. You just never asked.”

“I didn’t, did I,” Mac shakes his head hopelessly, facing another issue he somehow failed to notice.

“Well, at least for that one I wasn’t mad. I was determined to keep the apartment. Not having to explain myself was a perk,” Desi winks. Suddenly the whole situation seems so hilarious she starts to crack. “Holy crap, we’ve made a mess! That will go down in history books as the messiest thing ever.” Desi’s laughter sounds somehow brighter and more carefree than Mac has ever heard her. And sincere. As if she finally started to feel completely at ease around him.

It’s infectious, so Mac starts to laugh himself. “Let’s make history, then, and show the world how to go from a messy couple to perfectly good friends,” he snickers, deeply aware, though, it’s not some TV show and things are never that easy.

“I’ve got you covered, bro,” Desi grins. “I have a feeling we would’ve become pretty good friends if we hadn’t gotten involved, at least the second time. It’s so weird things went down the way they did.” She shakes her head, still laughing. “Since Matty gave us all a day off, eat your waffles, call Bozer and tear him a new one for Baby Yoda. Chewing on that face is criminal. But getting more monkey butter out of him is on you since this jar is mine. You guys go do whatever, hit a nail salon or something, and I’ll text you when I’m out. There’s not that much to pack.”

“Nail salon? Seriously?”

“I’ve heard something called chrome nails is trendy right now. You girls go and try this out for me, please?” Desi disappears into the bedroom, pretty pleased with her own joke.

“You’ll find my chrome spray paint in the garage, knock yourself out,” Mac shoots back, proceeding to pack the waffles and a bottle of water. He can stop for coffee somewhere along the way. For the first time in ages, he feels like going to the shore, to that one calm, secluded spot he knows up the coast, not far from LA.

It was his grandpa’s hidden spot. He took Mac there on his fifteenth birthday, probably sensing his inner turmoil, always rising around the cursed day. A birthday was a constant reminder of James’ disappearance. Harry didn’t have any answers to offer his grandson, silenced by James’ demands, but he had his knowledge and skills to pass on. And the love for nature, which worked wonders on Mac’s ever-racing mind so many times.

Mac hasn’t been there in years. The need to get lost in the infinite, rhythmical, soothing movement of the waves hits him harder than ever before.

He’ll call Bozer and see what the day will bring him. But it’s time to get some air. To breathe freely. To set eyes on the horizon and just let the mind drift.

Things are still heavy. But a little lighter.

The day at the beach, all alone, does him a lot of good. He hoped for some company, but Bozer needed to go in, and Riley, as she had warned Mac the previous evening, met with Matty to smooth things over after her hack, the one forced by Mac. She had to go through Matty’s files too, and there was no way she wouldn’t address that. They were more than just a boss lady and an employee, after all.

Thankfully, the coast is undisturbed as ever—Mac has never met a living soul in this spot before. It always seems so otherworldly—only several miles away, the city life is already buzzing. But here he can be completely at ease. No visitors, no cell signal, just the beach and the endless ocean rocking his weary mind to peace.

So, he risks a skinny dip as if he was ten again. No swimming trunks, no towels. The goosebumps after getting out of the water, the flannel used to dry off a little and the pains of getting some clothes on his damp skin. Hair dried by the wind, wavier, sticking out in the weirdest directions and full of beach dust.

Oh, how he missed that. The peace, the ease, the beauty. The connection to the planet he lives on and, not to brag too much, but those are the facts, he kind of helped to save not only once. Despite the guilt he still feels after the breakup, the world seems to smile down on him today. Or at least it’s not a vicious grimace. Harry is smiling down on him. Go on, kiddo, let’s make good use of this weather.

Hours later, when he’s back in the truck, taking the scenic route home, Mac’s phone starts to buzz with all the messages he missed while having no bars. He pulls over at one of the overlooks, luckily with no other landscape lovers to spoil his privacy.

Desi is done with the move. He’ll be going back to his quiet, dark house, then. Knowing her attention to details, Mac won’t find even one forgotten hair tie or a sock. No empty spaces in his cupboards. Slate wiped clean. It hurts because they had something, they meant something to each other, they just weren’t it, no matter how hard they tried. It also hurts how much time they both have lost.

Eh, at least you stopped fighting. There’s some silver lining, pal.

A very thin silver lining. But it’s true, they finally learned to coexist without the adrenaline, enough to become good friends. Not the ideal order of things, but at least they’ll be able to move on without a nuclear blast knocking down everything around them.

Mac will need to make a stop at the Phoenix, though, to retrieve a wide-range listening device he’s been working on lately and some tools he doesn’t have at home. He’ll need something concrete to occupy his mind with in the next couple of days. Otherwise, there may be a crazy tinkering escapade brewing, and that’s something he doesn’t want to succumb to. Too many times before he had thrown himself into stuff like that to silence his racing thoughts, anxiety or pain. The breakup left a lot of space for all of it to act out.

Matty gave Mac the rest of the week free. Huh. Seems like the news of his nanobots paranoia kicking in has already reached her. He probably won’t escape a thorough psych eval in the nearest future.

But would talking to somebody be really so bad, after all? Hasn’t he just learned the hard way he’s not to be trusted with any decisions that aren’t based on science and hard proof? His mind is a tangled up mess inside a tangled up mess, a Gordian knot without a sword to cut through it. Not that Mac would like anybody to slice his brain in half.

I know it’ll be painful and terrifying, but sometimes you have to go to some scary, dark places to find some clarity. And with that clarity... well, things should be easier. It’s the only way forward, Mac.

Yeah, Bozer is a smart man.

Also, there’s a chain of texts from Riley.

10:13 AM. Hey, you good today?

11:17 AM. OK, I hope you’re sleeping it off. Just drop me a line when you’re up.

12:48 PM. Did Murdoc get you again? I’m checking the street cams.

12:53 PM. Alright, don’t get sunburned to a crisp. SPF, man!

Holy shit, he left Riley hanging for the whole day. He frantically video calls her, a new wave of guilt washing over him.

“Look who finally remembered there’s a little thingy called a phone. Back to civilisation, castaway?” she answers with her typical snark.

“Yes, sorry, I got your texts only now. I must’ve lost the signal already on my way to the coast.”

“Figures. It’s alright, I just wanted to check on you since you weren’t that peachy yesterday. I guess today, after all that time in the sun, you’re more… lobster-y, right?” she jokes.

“Ha, ha, very funny. I found some shade, so I won’t be shedding skin around the lab. But I’m much better now. It was really good to take a breath and just reset.”

“That’s a relief. But you know shade is not SPF, right, Einstein? Especially with your whitest white Nordic ass. Anyway, next time ring me up for tips, I spent some time exploring the coastline in my youth. Pretty sure I know places you’ve never heard of.”

“Jack took you on some road trips?” Mac smiles wide at the mental picture. The GTO, younger Jack behind the wheel, a teenage Riley nearby, grumpy but silently enjoying the ride and the wind messing up her hair. Willie Nelson and On the Road Again pouring through the speakers. “Or the boys were trying to impress you with the sunsets?”

“Unfortunately, Jack was a busy man for a tile salesman,” she deadpans. “There weren’t that many road trips. And the boys… Ha, too many expected to get some as a ‘thank you’ for taking me to, wow, Venice Beach. Or were at the deepest stage of idiocy. I drove a lot around alone or with some girlfriends, but mostly alone. Jack was already gone.”

That hits hard. Adolescent years shouldn’t be marred by shitty dads, leaving father figures and predators all around. Mac still doesn’t know that much about teenage Riley, but just the fact she has so many upsetting memories makes him want to punch someone. Probably those horny knuckleheads.

He wants to ask for names and addresses, but then something else catches his eye. Riley is definitely not chilling at home. “Hey, shouldn’t you be having a day off too? Why are you in the lab?”

“Well, I came in to talk to Matty, and then one thing led to another,” she shrugs.

“Riles…” Mac’s worry rises again because she was supposed to rest but doesn’t look rested at all. Despite the questionable quality of the video, he can see how deep the shadows under her eyes have become, and he hates the miles currently lying between them. In other circumstances, he’d march into the lab and take her home himself. “Please don’t run yourself ragged. You’ve been relentlessly working days and nights, don’t think I don’t know. Promise me you’ll go home right away and get some sleep. Everything else can wait.”

Before Riley can hit him with some snarky reply, a sort of commotion catches her attention. “You didn’t!” she calls out to someone in front of her. “Cannolis? No way!”

“Told you I’m paying back in cannolis.” Somebody’s voice reaches Mac’s ears. “You just made me the best uncle ever. You know the competition I have? It’s deadly out there!”

Riley smiles widely, shaking her head. “Sorry, Mac,” she gets back to the video call. “You missed out on some fun today. I just revived an old Commodore 64 for Dre’s nephew. He says it’s gonna be a huge hit.”

Mac’s stomach makes a flip.

Dre. Former Navy Seal. Fairly new on the tac team, but he crossed paths with Mac and Jack in the Sandbox. A real pro in the field, smart and steady, but funny and easy-going outside of it. Also, six feet of muscle and a face that reminds Mac of that plastic surgeon from Grey’s Anatomy.

He schools his expression into a friendly smile. “Tell Dre his nephew has good taste. It’s great to see kids into stuff like this.”

“You can tell him yourself. Dre, come here,” Riley urges the guy to join in, and his face appears on the screen, far too close to Riley’s for Mac’s liking.

“Hey, man. I thought that Commodore would be right up your alley too. Aren’t I lucky to have so many nerds around me?” he grins. Riley elbows him with fake annoyance, and Mac chuckles despite the uneasiness creeping up his spine. “I love this kid to pieces, but he’s scary. Ten and in love with old junk like that. His peers are crazy for X-box, but this one only wants some ancient Nintendo Switch and my pops’ old Commodore. Beats me.”

“Sounds like a really great kid. I’m sure Riley can show him a thing or two,” Mac offers. Why, oh why had he to say it? To suggest Riley should get to know Dre’s family?

“Yeah, that’s a health hazard. You’ll get flooded with questions. The kid is relentless,” Dre laughs, nudging Riley back. “Anyway, good to see you up and running, man. It was a close one.”

Of course, he’s also nice and thoughtful. Someone Mac could strike up a true friendship with if the guy’s presence in Riley’s vicinity wasn’t making him all tense. “Thanks, Dre, I appreciate it. Good luck with that Commodore. I’ll leave you guys to your cannolis. It’s a crime to let them wait like that,” he tries to sound as light as possible.

They say their goodbyes and the call ends.

Mac perches on the hood of his truck, gloomily watching the sunbeams dancing on the waves.

He deserves just that. The bitter taste of jealousy and regrets, never to be erased by any breathtaking scenery.

He made his bed.

When Mac finally gets home, Mrs. Krengel is walking by, accompanied by an elegant mass of golden fur that immediately starts to pull her towards Mac.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He squats down to level with the dog, who sniffs him with dedication, tail wiggling vigorously. “What a magnificent creature. Can I pet her?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear. The golden retriever nudges his arm in response.

“Sure, sweetheart, she clearly wants you to. This one can sometimes be a little reluctant to meet new people, keep her distance. But when you win her over, oh, it’s your own fuzzy blanket on the couch,” Mrs. Krengel laughs. “We’re dogsitting for a family member, there’s dog hair everywhere, my husband lost half of his socks, but it’ll be super hard to say goodbye to her.” She bends over to scratch the dog behind the ears. “My sweet little Bella.”

Bella is anything but little, but yeah, definitely sweet.

“Oh, are you that much of a sock lover?” Mac asks, rubbing her belly. “No squeaky toy is better? If I only knew, I’d give you my whole collection of the single ones.”

“Right, the forever unsolved mystery of the ever-missing single sock, haunting every household. Must be some kind of a demon. Or a gnome,” Mrs. Krengel grins. “Are you okay, though, honey?” She shoots Mac a worried look. “I saw your girlfriend putting boxes in her car. Desi, was it?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, it just didn’t work out.” Mac gets back to his feet with Bella brushing against his legs. “But it’s alright. It was mutual. Long time coming. I was just too blind to see it.”

“Still, breakups are always tough, especially if things were serious. But you never know. Some people grow up as friends, marry at eighteen and spend the next seventy-five years together. Some search their whole life and just make one mistake after another. Doesn’t mean they should give up. Because you truly never know.”

“For once, I’d like to stop making mistakes,” Mac states despondently.

“Everybody makes them, sweetheart. It’s called being human,” Mrs. Krengel smiles warmly at him.

“Not like that, no. I lost a chance for something really wonderful because I was blind.”

Her smile just grows bigger, as if she knew exactly what Mac meant. “Love is patient, honey. No matter if you're a believer or not, truer words have never been spoken.”

Later at home, when Mac looks the whole passage up, it leaves him breathless.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love like that was so close when he was looking in a different direction.

He… he’ll try to be worthy.

After a little more thinking under the stars, he reaches for his phone, dialling a trusted number.

“Matty, hi. Sorry to bother you, but there’s something I wanted to talk about. First of all, thanks for the days off, but could you possibly give Riley some free time too? Well, force her to take it? She’s been working way too much, and it shows. She won’t listen to me, but you have that special effect on people.” Mac smiles to himself at the euphemism.

“And could you get me out of the rooster on at least some Saturdays?” he continues. “I mean, I’ll drop everything if there’s a world war to prevent, but can anything else not so urgent wait? I’ve been meaning to meet with the Cub Scouts for ages, plus the youth center nearby just started that great robotics program. I’d love to contribute. We can contribute as the think tank.” He feels a fire igniting in him again. The joy of sharing his knowledge. God, teaching can be such a drudgery sometimes, but when there’s even one person who wants to learn more, it’s unbelievably satisfying. Plus, if an egg drop is too boring, Cub Scouts can always be won over with some cool magic tricks. Science-based, of course.

A plan already forming in his mind, Mac suddenly remembers that there’s also something else he wanted to talk over with his boss. “And Matty, one thing more. But first, a disclaimer: I’m okay, not dying, not drugged or drunk out of my mind, didn’t get hit in the head, don’t see double. I just did some thinking. And maybe I’m not so dead against talking to a professional. As long as it’s someone who’s not gonna go all Freudian on me, okay? So… anybody? Or I’ll have to share Sparky with Russ?”

On the other side of the line, a shell-shocked Matilda Webber takes a picture out of her desk. It’s her, Jack and three other people posing as tourists in Rome. Good old CIA times. Jack—or Ozzy Ulrich?—grins like a maniac. He just said something about romancing the Romans, because when in Rome… The whole team, on the other hand, looks just resigned since it was a day full of puns like that. But today Matty would give up her kidney to have that goofball back.

Anyway, there’s some great news to share.

“Seems like your boy finally figured out something really important,” she smiles at the picture. “Let’s just hope both of your kids will. Together.”

Chapter Text

A couple of days later. Ladies locker room

Riley is in the middle of stuffing her locker with a fresh set of clothes and toiletries when her phone buzzes. Probably the bat signal from Matty. Or Bozer with some crazy memes. You never know what you’re going to be hit with: grumpy cats or grumpy babies, sloths that don’t like to move it, pizza puns like ‘you have stolen a pizza my hut’ or science jokes (‘I was going to tell a joke about sodium… but Na,’ hilarious). No matter how much time she spends in the darkest pits of the dark web, it’s always Bozer’s memes that make her think the Internet is a really weird place.

But it’s not Bozer or Matty. Or Xavi, a pretty funny guy she’s been texting a bit. Of course, it’s not going anywhere since the guy has just been sent to DC for an indefinite period of time, but at least there’s something to keep her mind off things. If only for a brief moment.

It’s all she needs to maintain her sanity levels… a little over zero. These are pretty good numbers, given the latest events.

If she thought running into Billy and his little family was tough, she was mistaken.

If she thought the previous op, two sleepless nights and constant hacking were challenging, she was dead-ass wrong.

If she thought dealing with Mac nearly suffocating in that vault was bad, she didn’t know what that word stood for.

Okay, that was absolutely awful, but at least Riley knew Mac got out unscathed and had already regained his footing. Well, if you don’t count that little nanobot paranoia incident, but all in all, it wasn’t the worst thing. As far as she knows, it somehow forced Mac to take his mental health more seriously. A miracle in itself.

If only she knew how to soothe that fear twisting up her insides since Matty revealed what they really discovered in Mac’s system. One forgotten, tiny, microscopic, well, nanoscopic piece of tech that could turn him back into a robot. The stuff you find in science fiction lore. Now far, far too real.

Ever since Riley felt like drowning. She hasn’t even had the time to heal from being experimented on, losing herself and her bodily autonomy when she was back at experiencing it all over again. It didn’t matter her body was nanobot-free. The sickening helplessness and absolute terror she felt while watching bits of their trials wasn’t something to ever go away. Some other flashes haunted her dreams and they were always full of violence. Someone turned her into a weapon. What if they used her skills like that?

What could they do to Mac this time?

But he needs her help. Kept in the dark, he doesn’t have the faintest idea what danger looms over him. Riley still has some time to decide, and maybe in different times she’d jump right into it, but now she just can’t find the strength to go undercover for God knows how long, facing people who are trying to revive the nanotrackers. Work for them, smile, let them pick her brain. All alone. It’s such a revolting feeling she just doesn’t have it in her right now. But soon. Really soon.

If only there was something to hold on to.

She unlocks her phone to read the message. It’s from an unknown number.

Girl! I’m going home? How? HOW? Been sobbing for 2 days straight! Owe you for life!

The phone falls out of Riley’s hand as her knees give out.

She did it. It worked.

That one thing to give her some peace back. Some strength. To show her that good things still could happen. That sometimes the universe has something decent to offer her too.

It worked.

The last couple of days spent in front of the screens without a break. The tension, anxiety, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But it went way, way back.

All the hours, weeks and months devoted to some very unsanctioned hacking. All the time spent meticulously covering her digital footprints, risking getting caught and landing in some fun black site for the rest of her days. All the holes wormed through multiple US, European, hell, the whole world’s intelligence databases in search for—

She didn’t find Jack. She knew she was grasping at straws, but the urge to conduct her own search was too powerful to resist. Call her psychotic, nuts, broken—she wouldn’t care. Riley needed to know she did everything in her power to check. Maybe Jack did come home in that wooden box, maybe he was at peace, but she needed to make sure they weren’t fooled. That he wasn’t sent away to hunt down another terrorist or left to rot somewhere ‘cause the army or whoever couldn’t conduct a thorough search.

She didn’t find Jack but she found someone else. Not in some forgotten prison in the middle of a jungle, but in Oregon, in WITSEC, along with their CIA partner. Taking down the Phalanx secured a safe return for the two of them and several other agents.

It worked, and Leanna is coming home.

The world blurs as the tears that Riley kept in for so long start to flow freely.

When Desi enters the locker room to hit the showers after her training session with a newbie, she’s taken aback by the image she never expected to see—Riley slumped on the floor, face stained with tears. These four walls have seen a lot, but a crying Riley is the rarest sight of all. Desi’s mind immediately jumps to Mac—has he already managed to screw things up with his best friend? He was free to date whoever and whenever, as she told him loud and clear, offering that also in writing, but jumping Riley right now would make him the thickest head on planet Earth.

Huh. It’s funny how she’s more irked by the prospect of Mac causing some drama with Riley than by him moving on so quickly.

“Everything alright?” she asks tentatively. Well, that’s a royally stupid question. If everything was alright, Riley wouldn’t be crying her eyes out on the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay, these are happy tears. Very happy tears,” Riley tries to smile, but it looks more like a painful grimace given her wet cheeks and runny mascara.

“If you say so…” Desi doesn’t seem convinced. “You want me to fetch someone?”

“Nah, it’s all good. Seriously. I got great news, and it just hit me that hard. So stupid, but I can’t help it,” Riley laughs. A little hysterically, she’ll admit that. “The last couple of days were hell, it’s probably all coming out.”

“I’d suggest hitting things to relax, but you’d probably want a mud bath.”

“I probably look as if I fell face-first into a mud bath.” Riley still can’t rein her laughter in. “Hey, Des, what’s scarier—me sobbing here on the floor or my melted mascara?” she grins.

Desi just shoots her a dirty look. “Ha, ha, hilarious. And here I wanted to offer some support.”

“Aww, you wanted to hold my hand? So sweet.”

“Um... not really. It would’ve been more of a... pat on the hand. Or the shoulder.”

“Very awkward and reluctant, obviously, after ages of hesitation. And ‘there, there’ said in a frightened voice that’s meant to be soothing,” Riley cracks up. “I’m sorry, my head is a mess right now. But thanks. It means a lot.”

Desi watches her sceptically. Riley is nearly impossible to break, so this is… concerning. She’s itching to ask about the reason, but it’s not exactly the most tactful thing to do. Well, she’s kind of known for her brash attitude, but some things are just a no-no. At least with Riley.

Desi sighs. They will talk. They will definitely talk and clarify that whole Mac situation so they both can finally stop living in some stupid high school drama. She could tell Riley was extra careful around her, probably consumed by guilt or something, and that was just beyond stupid. So, they will definitely talk. Maybe not today since Desi needs to find the right words, but it will happen soon enough.

It’s Riley who breaks the silence. “A person that was supposed to be dead is coming home. Not Jack, though.” A fresh wave of tears follows. “But it’s still a miracle.”

A person that was supposed to be dead is coming home.

In the shower, Desi goes through her routine like millions of times before, but her moves become slower and slower. Finally, she stills completely, letting the water just flow over her body.

A person that was supposed to be dead is coming home.

She doesn’t even know when her own tears start to mix with the water.

Is coming home.

Sometimes people don’t get to come home even in an urn.

Still… A miracle. There’s a miracle bound to happen in front of her eyes.

A miracle.

But in Desi’s world, miracles don’t happen on their own. They need people. They need work, dedication, sometimes sheer luck. But they need people. The right people.

Decision made, Desi jumps out of the shower, barely towelling herself off. With some random things put on, she speeds to the locker room. Luckily, Riley is still there, getting ready to leave. Makeup fixed, no signs of the previous breakdown except for the puffy, reddish eyes.

“Hey,” Desi calls out. “There’s this thing I can’t get out of my head and... Hell, I just have to ask.”

Riley stops in her tracks, startled by Desi’s frantic look. She’s barefoot, only in panties and the sports bra from her workout, worn inside out, while her hair is dripping wet. “Sure, what is it?”

“If I gave you the coordinates, could you check out something? Satellite imagery or whatever you’re able to get your hands on.”

“No problem. Where exactly?” Riley reaches for her rig.

“Afghan mountains. Pretty big radius.” Desi proceeds to utter the numbers. But doubts start to creep in. What would they even find after all this time?

“Okay, anything specific I’m looking for? Satellite imagery is child’s play, but what kind of details we’re talking about? The resolution has its limits.”

“A needle in a haystack,” Desi spits out, tears lacing her voice. “Traces of things that happened over three years ago. It’s hopeless.”

Riley doesn’t need any more info to know it’s about someone Desi lost in the Sandbox. Probably that guy she alluded to before. Maybe other teammates, maybe some civilians. “Hey, you never know. Let’s give it a try. Tell me what happened,” she encourages, bracing herself for a painful story as satellite images flow the screen.

“First, a helicopter crash, then unsuccessful rescue attempts. Plural. A total disaster. Six people killed or missing. We never recovered even one body.”

That’s tough. It was a warzone, losses like that weren’t exceptional, but it’s never just a number in statistics. It hits so much differently when a brother-in-arms dies, even if you haven’t gotten that close yet. Besides, Desi spent her whole adult life in the service. They were undoubtedly much more her family than she’d ever be willing to admit. And there’s probably even more to this.

“The guy you mentioned before was one of them, wasn’t he?” Riley asks gently.

“Yeah,” Desi nods, a little stunned Riley figured it out so quickly. “Evan. The guys on the chopper were his friends. There were four of them.” She sits down on the bench, curling up on herself, water still dripping from her hair. “It was supposed to be a routine flight over a territory that had been dormant for months. But they were taken down by a missile.” She wrings her hands nervously. “Not much hope for survivors, but you never know. We organized a rescue mission, only to be ambushed. No casualties, but several wounded. Then again, second attempt, different strategy, bigger team, seemingly great recon—and ambush. Had to fall back. The brass didn’t want to risk a third attempt, but they gave permission to two of us to go in alone. They never came back. Evan was one of them.”

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry, Des.”

Desi slumps even more down on the bench. “I wanted to go in, but they threatened me with DD. Shouldn’t have given a fuck. There wasn’t that much legal basis for it.”

“The military was your whole life. It all would’ve gone to waste. Besides, if the Taliban had such great intel on all your moves, you would’ve been killed or caught too.”

“Still better than not knowing what happened.”

“Hey, it’s not true. But I get it,” Riley murmurs, analyzing everything she’s already found. Her computer magic won’t do much if the sole thing they’d probably need is an army of forensic anthropologists to comb through the terrain and extract the remains. If there are any left.

Still, maybe something will stick out to her eyes. Unless…

“But so many ambushes… That’s super fishy. Were there any moles? Leaks? They launched an investigation into it, I hope?” Riley asks. Something starts to worm its way through her memory. It’s still too vague, but she knows there’s something. Something she should remember. Something that might be pertinent to this case.

“Yeah, but to no avail,” Desi responds with a grimace. “Everything was a dead end.”

Li’s files. Riley is pretty sure there’s something in there. Some dirt on the Pentagon. Some deals with the Taliban.

Of course, the moment they extracted everything, Matty started getting calls from all the big shots who demanded their own piece of data to be delivered the very second ‘cause it’s your damn citizen obligation, Webber. At the end of the call, they were begging her to consider cooperation. Riley has never been more in awe with Matty the Hun her entire career.

“Des, I need to do some digging. We can’t go in there on a search op, but I can start with the mole. I have a gut feeling it’s the right way to go. So, go finish changing. You’re kinda dragging water everywhere,” Riley snickers. “And wasn’t that bra supposed to land in the hamper?”

Desi looks down at her outfit. Yeah, that’s an interesting choice of wardrobe. “At least I have the bottom on,” she grumbles, starting for the showers.

But something gnaws at her. “Hey, Riley,” she calls out.

“Hmm?” the hacker barely takes her eyes off the screen.

“Thanks,” Desi chokes out.

“What for? I haven’t done anything yet, Des.”

“This?” Desi shrugs, searching for words. “It’s such a big deal for me I—” There are still no words. She takes a deep breath, moving on to a safer territory. “Hell, if your hackers ever need combat lessons, you know where to find me.”

“Deal,” Riley grins and Desi leaves to face the hairdryer.

Riley is about to access the data from Li’s vault when her hands freeze. Mac’s face flashes before her eyes and her heart grows heavy. What will he think of all of this? Of her part in the search? What will it do to his and Desi’s relationship?

Six people killed or missing.

No. No. She’s not going to blame herself for anything. Not this time. There are families, lovers and friends still waiting for answers. She needs to concentrate on that.

Enter.

A couple of days later, somewhere over the Pacific

“Mac, c’mon, she’ll be okay! Remember how you knocked us out with chloroform in France? We were all right as rain, man. Stop fretting, you’re giving me a headache.”

Mac groans exasperatedly. “It’s been nearly eight hours, Boze. All the POWs have already woken up.”

“Last time I checked, she wasn’t a 6’4” hunk.”

“Malnourished and kept in awful conditions for years,” Mac shoots back, checking Riley’s pulse for the umpteenth time today. Hours ago, he also thought the sleeping gas was rather harmless, and she should be back on her feet in no time. But now his frustration grows with every passing minute. What if they overlooked something? What if he just made a giant mistake?

“We should’ve taken her to the hospital,” Mac grumbles, despondently watching Riley’s peaceful features. He smoothes out the wrinkles on her blanket for the lack of anything better to do.

“Where, in Afghanistan? Like, ‘Hi, evil Taliban, you know how you thought the Great Satan was out of this land? Well, we just pulled off a super difficult black op right under your nose. But we have a damsel in distress here, and you’re known for your gentlemanliness and hospitality. Care to lend a hand?’ You know it was the best option.”

“There were options along the way. Now it’s just thousands of miles of water.”

“Mac, literally everybody and their mama told you a flight back home was the safest choice. Our second pilot has medical training, you know that stuff inside out too. Just relax and let Riley sleep. Her body is probably catching up after all the work she’s done lately.”

Mac grimaces but stays put in his seat. For a total of one minute. “She was supposed to keep out of the caves!” he utters frustrated, making Bozer sigh tiredly. They’ve been at it the whole flight, and Wilt kind of feels like a broken record. With a looming migraine.

Mac has already gone over every possible incapacitating agent known to humankind and its side effects, interactions with other substances, time of dissolution and so on. If only he knew what exactly Riley was dosed with, he’d at least have something concrete to dig into, to make a prognosis based on hard facts. He loves facts. Still, he’s been helplessly watching her sleep for nearly eight hours straight. Most anaesthesia would’ve worn off by now.

And it was on him. Using a sleeping gas to get the POWs safely out of the caves where they were kept in was Mac’s idea. An ambush and fire exchange would very likely be a death sentence for all the captives. What else would the Taliban do when surrounded and outgunned? Kill the prisoners out of spite, of course.

He trusted the sleeping gas was harmless to people, as the Deltas they partnered up with assured him dozens of times, but he didn’t know the formula. A colossal mistake. Mac should’ve pushed to get the details, even if that meant pissing off half the Pentagon.

Remember the Moscow theatre siege? How many died because Mother Russia didn’t bother to check what substance they were knocking out the terrorists and the hostages with? His brain, as always, is ready to supply the most jarring information.

He could only hope Uncle Sam cared about people a little more. Chloroform was too toxic to use, other formulas Mac could develop on the spot were too unstable or too flammable, so he went with what the special forces had to offer. And Riley was still asleep.

Her BP, blood sugar, breathing and heartbeat were all good, yet Mac was a hair’s breadth from losing his mind. It was on him.

“Yeah, well, you don’t tell her what to do, especially if everybody relies on her intel. Those four soldiers, that Evan guy included, wouldn’t have been found if she had listened to you,” Bozer offers placatingly. “Mac, I know you’re blaming yourself for it, but it’s nothing big. She didn’t get shot or anything.”

She didn’t get shot.

Mac scoffs, flooded by burning self-hatred and shame. Bozer has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. She didn’t get shot only because someone far wiser forced Mac to do the smart thing and stop acting like some stupid adrenaline junkie with an even stupider hero complex.

“MacGyver, a vest! You’re not prancing around here like that!”

The Phoenix and the Delta teams have just taken their positions in front of the caves where the POWs are supposed to be held. Mac is getting ready to install the sleeping gas containers, rigged with explosives, in the most crucial places in the caves. This annoying voice belongs to Dre, and Mac’s blood immediately starts to boil.

“I don’t need it, never wear it. I need maximum flexibility if I’m supposed to enter the caves undetected!” He gets a sickening feeling that Dre is trying to rack up some points with Riley, who’s standing nearby and watching the whole altercation with wide eyes.

What an absolute jerk.

“You’re not going in without Kevlar. It’s the Sandbox, for crying out loud, not some fancy party in Beverly Hills. Guys, stop him.” The tac team members gather around Mac, all shaking their heads at that stupid display of stubbornness, and his anger rises through the roof.

“Are you kidding me? I have a job to do and you’re in my way!”

“You’re no use to anybody when dead. Put the damn thing on!”

Mac summons all the remnants of his willpower not to take a swing at the guy, but hell, he’s kind of right. Mac would use the same logic to get a vest on, let’s say, Bozer. “Fine,” he seethes. He’ll get back to it later. No way he’ll let anybody boss him around like that.

Well, it didn’t turn out exactly the way Mac had planned.

He closes his eyes, trying to rein in all the raging emotions, but far too much has happened during the last couple of days.

Desi’s fiancé was alive, along with nearly twenty other POWs kept in at least three places all over the Sandbox. Thanks to Li’s files, the Phoenix managed to smoke out a mole responsible for several dozen failed missions. Just an average, bland bureaucrat with a god complex, who happened to have access to critical data, revelling in their own power hidden for so long. Well, not hidden enough from Riley and Parker. The Pentagon’s own investigators hadn’t even been able to narrow down the pool of suspects when the Phoenix tech whizzes had the culprit by the short and curlies.

The government owed them big time.

Some other arrests among the former coalition were to be expected since the mole proved to be very, very talkative when confronted with a life sentence and no parole. As it turned out, the guys from Desi’s unit got sold out by some recruit blackmailed over gambling debts, who knew their way around the base enough to steal vital mission information.

The Pentagon decided to strike in all the places at once, organizing probably one of the blackest black ops in Afghanistan ever. At least that’s where they showed some real prowess. The intel gathered through old contacts for once turned out flawless, the tech used to hide their movements was next-gen. No casualties except for the enemy. All the POWs freed in three different locations were in a shape good enough to fly to Germany. A long way ahead of all of them, but at least they were coming home.

Mac was boarding the jet back home astonished by what they had accomplished, happy for Desi and all the families that were about to get the biggest shock of their lives, but also moved to the very core by how many Afghan contacts still had came through and how many of them had engaged in anti-Taliban activity. Even the tiniest gestures held so much significance. Maybe the spirit of resistance will prevail one day.

The Phoenix tagged along on the op near Ghazni since that was where Evan went missing. The sources knew about several POWs moved between villages and mountain caves but with no details about their identities. There was talk about forced labour and freak fights, depending on what the local Taliban leader fancied. What else—Mac didn’t even want to think.

The moment Matty informed them all what they had been cooking up together with the Pentagon, Desi just retreated into herself. She lingered in the war room night and day, looking at the maps, analyzing the intel but not interacting much with anybody save for Riley and Matty. She kept close only to them, letting them manage her daily schedule. Desi, Bozer brought his super comforting tomato soup. Des, you need to stay hydrated. Hey, we’re on a break, go take a nap. Girl, you need protein, scarf that down. No fainting on the op because of hunger.

Mac knew that overwhelming guilt and sorrow inside out, the need to hide in one’s shell and just switch off the world around. He tried to offer support, but Desi just shook her head and mumbled something about being so not ready. It was frustrating but also… familiar. A bitter taste of his own medicine.

So, he could only hope she found some comfort with the women around her. Suddenly all his worries about working together post-breakup seemed so silly. Desi looked… wretched. So close to a complete breakdown that he didn’t know if they could ever get her out of it, had Evan’s fate remained unknown.

It didn’t. While half the Phoenix team was on their way to LA, Russ accompanied Desi and eight rescued soldiers to Germany. By some miracle, even the guys who had been in that helicopter crash turned out to be alive. Worse for wear, but alive. It only took Riley disobeying the orders and getting knocked out by the sleeping gas to find them all.

“Guys, I think I’m getting heat signatures in the second cave too. Need to get closer.” Riley’s voice in his comms puts Mac on high alert.

“Riley, no, the containers are rigged to explode just about now. Get back! We’ll check it later!” he cries out.

“I’ll be quick. I’m at the entrance now.”

“What? How? You were supposed to take cover! Riles, get back!”

“Agent Davis, fall back, that’s an order,” the Delta team leader also intervenes.

“I was right, guys, there are heat signatures! Four or five! The corridor goes way down, that’s why—”

Boom. Mac’s little makeshift bombs explode, filling the caves with sleeping gas.

“Riles? Riles! Answer me, dammit!”

Silence.

Mac jumps out of his hiding, leaving the tac team far behind. He barely remembers to put the gas mask on, running at full speed to the cave. Why on earth didn’t he think of checking for heat signatures while installing the tanks? Why on earth did Riley have to ignore the orders?

He finds her on the ground, unconscious, still clutching her tablet. Luckily, she doesn’t seem hurt, only paler than before, but her heartbeat is strong and regular. Of course, she doesn’t respond to any attempts to wake her up, and Mac gets assaulted by the memories from the last time he found her like that. In a sparkly dress, on the floor of a fancy wedding venue.

It’s not the same thing, he tries to reason with himself. Not cyanide, no need to frantically come up with an antidote made out of matches and his own blood. It’s just sleeping gas, something used in anaesthesia, and Riley will be alright in no time. Maybe a little nauseous, but alright.

“She’s okay. She’s okay,” he repeats, just like back then. There should’ve been Jack’s strained voice in his ear, demanding updates, but there’s only Bozer and Matty ordering him to get out of the cave ASAP.

He scoops Riley up in his arms and runs back to the entrance. The Deltas and the Phoenix’s own tac team have already started to pour into the cave, but they immediately make room for Mac. He gets some pats on the back on his way out.

He can’t be more happy when the cold night air finally hits his skin. Just a little more distance to cover, and he’ll be able to breathe freely, with Riley in safety and under the watchful eye of a medic.

Unless…

It’s more his Sandbox instinct kicking in than an eagle eye, but one look into the thick darkness in front of him and Mac spins on his heels, running at full speed to the nearest boulder, Riley still a dead weight in his arms. The shots reach him a yard from the cover. He loses his balance on impact but somehow manages to keep Riley from any hard landing and his own limbs from breaking, even if they both drop on the ground in a messy heap.

His back hurts like all hell. The Kevlar might’ve just saved his life, yet it still feels like having been hit with a bat by an MLB player. But it’s not really the time to dwell on possible bruises or chipped bones when somebody is relentlessly firing at the boulder. Ammo must be really cheap in this neighbourhood.

“Guys, armed hostile in front of the second cave. We’re taking fire,” Mac urges over the comms.

“Copy that. Sending backup,” Jonah, the tac team leader, responds, and Mac feels a little bit lighter. The guys are not far away. But the situation is still no bueno. Hell, maybe even not that far away from Cairo levels. The shooter seems to be getting closer.

Riley is wearing a vest too, but no helmet, so Mac tries to cover her with his body as much as he can. Yet it won’t do shit if the shooter rounds the boulder. But then Mac spies a flashbang on her belt. Perfect. A stun grenade should buy them some time.

“Brace for a flashbang,” he warns the tac team.

“Copy that. Backup’s on the way,” Jonah answers.

All the fire still goes straight into the rock, so Mac risks a blind throw, and then quickly moves back to cover their ears. For a second, he’s grateful Riley is still unconscious, so there won’t be any hard-to-counter jabs about why he had to pin her to the ground with his whole body weight.

The fire stops abruptly after a loud bang. Then several tac team members file out of the cave, weapons drawn, and Mac can finally breathe.

Later on, he’s contemplating two bullet holes in his vest, anxiously waiting for the medic to finish Riley’s check-up, when Dre stops by.

“That would be the time to gloat,” he remarks after taking a good look at the Kevlar. Strangely, there’s no smugness in his words, which takes Mac a little by surprise. It’s like the guy genuinely cared that Mac got his ass back home in one piece.

“You’ve earned it,” Mac replies wryly. Even if he’s still irked by the former Navy Seal, he can’t really gloss over the fact that things would’ve gone to hell today if he hadn’t listened to good advice. “Thanks.”

“It’s not every day that being a pain in the ass gets me a ‘thank you’. Appreciate it,” Dre chuckles. “I usually don’t stick my nose in someone else’s business, but I’ve seen too many deaths like that.” His face turns serious. “There’s nothing heroic in dying at thirty ‘cause you didn’t want to put a vest on. Ask the families. Stray bullets always get guys like that.”

Mac nods reluctantly. His brain is ready to high-five Dre because, yeah, it’s stupid to die like that, plus he’s pretty sure Jack would bro hug the guy and invite him into their circle in no time. Especially after getting Mac into a vest. But a part of him, probably the troglodytic, barbaric one, wishes for a confrontation, for one provocative word, enraged by how perfect this guy seems. Trustworthy, thoughtful, not in the slightest petty or self-absorbed.

“Riley’s okay?” the perfect guy asks.

“Seems like it, considering the circumstances. Vitals look good.”

“You’ll be keeping an eye on her?”

“Of course. The whole time.”

Dre watches him quizzically for a moment. Whatever he finds, there’s only a slight, barely detectable shift in his expression. An… understanding? Did he see right through Mac’s feelings? If he did, he doesn’t let anything slip. “Let me know when she wakes up,” he says levelly.

“Will do,” Mac nods stiffly, uncomfortable for thousands of reasons.

A ding from Bozer’s phone pulls Mac back to reality.

“Dre asks how’s Riley,” Bozer says, looking at the screen. “I’ll text him back when she’s awake.”

“He really likes her, huh?” Mac mutters, trying to cover up the despondency is his tone.

“He has good taste, then,” Bozer nods approvingly, sensing an opportunity to fish for answers he couldn’t really get before. “Great guy. I think even Jack would approve,” he adds casually. Yet when he looks up at Mac, his face shows so much pain and defeat that Bozer instantly regrets messing with his best friend. “But we don’t know if Riley likes him back,” he states matter-of-factly, still hoping for a thread to pull.

“What’s not to like?” Mac mumbles so silently that Bozer isn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that. “He’s almost too perfect.”

Rrrright. It seems the moment has finally arrived to stop beating around the bush.

Bozer gestures for Mac to get up and drags him to the kitchen annexe. Riley is still deeply asleep, but Bozer won’t take any chances. She doesn’t have to wake up to somebody dissecting her and Mac’s situation. Because Bozer plans to do exactly that.

“Okay, Mac, cards on the table,” he commands in an agitated whisper. Mac might look as if somebody ran over his puppy, and it tugs at Bozer’s heart, but there are things that need a thorough analysis. And Bozer’s comment. Maybe plural. “Five minutes ago you were hell-bent on making things work with Desi, an engagement ring ready, and now you’re jealous because someone might like Riley? Seriously, dude? I know this whole thing with Desi finding her fiancé sucks, but jumping the track immediately is just—” Bozer clearly tries not to be too harsh. “How is that okay, man? What is Riley supposed to be in all of this, a band-aid for your broken heart?”

“If I have a broken heart, it’s because I broke hers,” Mac chokes out. He absolutely expected Bozer to haul him over the coals, but he wasn’t prepared for it to feel like a serrated blade straight through his gut. Bozer hit him right where it hurt the most. What does it look like? What does he have to offer Riley? Years of mistakes she had to witness or fall victim to? A confession of feelings that will never look genuine under the circumstances? A mile-long list of issues she’d probably want to help him with while she’s the one who should finally find some peace and easy love, not a burden? “I always thought I didn’t deserve her,” he continues, face painfully contorted. “And now I really don’t.”

Bozer’s eyes soften. Whatever reproach he had ready, the words die on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say anything at all, though, since Riley stirs in her seat. She mumbles something unintelligible but doesn’t open her eyes.

Mac is at her side in no time, reaching for her hand, when Riley writhes again, this time much more violently. What seemingly started as an attempt to find a more comfortable position turns into a fight against the blanket.

A nightmare, Mac is pretty sure of it. He tries to gently shake her awake, feeling Riley’s growing distress in every corner of his body, but nothing could ever prepare him for the name that trips off her tongue.

“Jack?” she murmurs with so much anguish that Mac’s heart shatters into pieces.

Oh God. Oh God.

“Jack, please,” she mutters again, tears lacing her voice as she squirms under Mac’s hands. “Please stay.”

“Riles,” he tentatively cradles her head, incapable of using more force to wake her up. He can only hope Riley doesn’t feel how much his hands are trembling. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you. Please open your eyes.”

His touch seems to calm her down a little, but a second later Riley suddenly jolts awake, disoriented and scared. Her wide eyes bore into Mac’s own, but it doesn’t seem to bring her any relief. She quickly sits upright and frantically starts to scan everything around, all the empty seats, the couch, the bathroom’s door. Every time her gaze falls on Mac or Bozer she seems to acknowledge their presence but continues her search.

All the reassuring, soothing words have no effect. Mac can see the tears swimming in Riley’s eyes as her features contort more and more, forming a frozen mask of pain. Finally, a stifled cry escapes her. She curls up on herself and buries her head in the blanket as silent sobs take over her body.

She didn’t find the face she was looking for.

Chapter Text

100 points. The ball sinks in the hole after Riley’s expert throw. Then another one. And another one. The background noise of arcade games and children’s laughter has something comforting to it, even if that Pac-Man fan nearby loses lives every ten seconds.

“Your pizza’s getting cold, sweetheart,” she hears from behind. Jack waves a greasy paper plate at her.

Riley watches him warily. “So you felt bad enough to come back for our last skee-ball game?” she asks with a bite.

Jack sighs, ushering Riley to sit at the table, a mass of tickets on top. “I didn’t mean to let you down, honey. If it all had gone my way, we would’ve been chilling in some beach house in Malibu right now ‘cause y’all need a good break.”

“You could’ve reached out. Ask for help, intel, whatever.”

“You needed to stay as far as possible. I didn’t want any of you on Kovac’s radar.”

“That worked out well,” Riley scoffs.

Jack sighs again. “But it’s not why you’re mad at me, right, honey? At least not the only reason.” He reaches for her hand, but she takes it away.

She’s mad because of many things. Feeling like that 16-year-old again, when he left. Being kept in the dark. Then, watching Mac spiralling into darkness without a chance to do anything. Balancing precariously between her feelings, sense of loyalty and what’s right, and Mac’s needs. Having that new grave to visit. Playing a lifeline while not having her own.

“You left, and a mudslide of bad things took us all,” she spits bitterly.

“Are you saying I was the team’s lucky charm?” Jack grins in his typical I’m-gonna-make-you-smile-no-matter-what way.

“I’m saying you always stuck your nose into everything, you pushed and pushed, and pushed to be involved, all that ‘you can always come to me, Ri’ crap, and then you just left. No warning. At least not for me.”

“But you did good, Ri. Even better, you did splendidly. I can’t be more proud of you.”

“It hasn’t stopped,” she interjects angrily. “That mudslide hasn’t fucking stopped since!”

“I know, sweetheart. Believe me, I know. But you can deal with anything. You’re the strongest person I know. You need to stop burning yourself out, though. It’s a road to nowhere.” He reaches for her hand again. This time she doesn’t take it away. “Listen to me, honey. You need to let that go. You’ve already looked everywhere, hacked into every possible database, which is super illegal, by the way, snooped through trillions of documents or redacted data. Or quadrutripillions, whatever it’s called. It’s not healthy, sweetie. If somebody had faked my death, you would’ve known by now. Matty would’ve known, the woman knows everything, right? But everything is squeaky clean. There’s nothing there. You can’t live like that. You did a marvellous job with the POWs and that WITSEC list, and so many people are coming home because of you. But I came home too, and now I’m resting. The point is, I’m at peace, and you should find yours, Ri. It’s time.”

“I can’t,” she whispers. “I just can’t.”

“You can and you will, darling. Letting the right people in is a great start.”

“I’m nobody’s burden,” she mutters, feeling the tears gathering in her eyes.

Jack moves closer to pull her into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.“For some people, you’re everything.”

“Jack?” she starts brokenly, shaking her head, but he just grins widely, reaching for the tickets to push them in her direction.

“Make good use of these, kiddo.” He kisses her again. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Jack, please,” she begs when he pulls away. “Please stay.”

He only grins more. “There’s better days, sweetheart.”

Riley wakes up with a start. She’s no longer at the arcade but in a space that looks familiar, though her foggy brain can’t really make out the details yet. Someone tries to calm her down. She hears a steady stream of appeasing words and feels warm hands on her arms while she searches the area. Two pairs of worried eyes are watching her warily, but it all barely counts. She frantically looks for only one face. The one she hasn’t seen for ages. And won’t ever see, an inner voice adds.

The realization slowly sinks in. It was a dream. A vivid, memorable, much-wanted dream, but only a dream. Something her subconscious conjured up as a sophisticated form of torture.

All the shields she put up to protect herself from pain break, leaving her utterly defenceless. There’s no running from grief anymore. She curls in on herself, trying to hide from anyone who’s watching as the tears start to fall.

How long it takes, Riley is not sure. The flow of time ceased to matter. There’s only her and the darkness swallowing her whole. The pain is too overwhelming to find any words.

At some point, two arms scoop her up, and someone slides into the seat behind her. It’s familiar—the outline of the body, the scent, warmth, safety. A known touch of calloused hands drawing circles on her back. A soft murmur of soothing words. Slowly, she relaxes more and more into that warmth, and the sobs racking her body finally subside.

Suddenly it dawns on her that she’s been crying for God knows how long in Mac’s arms, getting his shirt damp and making a spectacle of herself for the whole world to see. She sits up with a jolt, trying to comprehend what the hell just happened. How could she lose it like that?

“Riles, it’s okay. We’re on a flight back to LA. You had a bad dream that shook you, but it’s all good now.” Mac attempts to take her back into his arms, trying for a smile that looks strikingly fake on his face, all wrinkled with worry.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Mac.” Riley jumps to her feet immediately, wishing to shrink from existence. That is so not how she imagined the flight back home. Actually, she remembers she didn’t look forward to the flight at all, but the reason remains weirdly unclear to her muddled brain.

“Riles, please, sit back down,” Mac’s voice breaks Riley out of her thoughts. He’s on his feet too, gesturing towards her seat, now empty. “You got knocked out by a sleeping gas, and it’s probably still in your system. You might feel funny or nauseous or have any other side effects, so just sit down and relax.” He tries for a smile again, but there’s so much sadness in it that Riley’s heart constricts painfully. Why does he look like that?

Suddenly all the memories come rushing back.

Right. Desi. She’s not on the plane, so… Mac is probably grappling with the aftermath of whatever happened in Afghanistan. Of looking for Desi’s fiancé. Fiancé. A word Riley would not associate with their kickass bodyguard at all until Mac had that whole proposal idea. And then it turned out she had been already engaged. To a guy that might be still alive.

Holy hell.

The significance of what has been revealed in the last couple of days, the size of the mess they probably are in right now hits Riley with so much power that her head begins to spin. Or it’s the nausea caused by the gas. “I need to—” she manages to croak out, gesturing towards the bathroom. A second later she’s hunched over the toilet, trying to empty her already empty stomach. It’s been some time since she felt that sick.

“You knew?” Mac asks dejectedly, watching Bozer preparing a cup of tea for Riley, who’s still in the bathroom. “How much she was struggling?” He’s on the verge of cracking under the weight of another thing he overlooked. Riley sobbing in his arms broke him to pieces. How could he not notice?

“No, Mac, I didn’t. And to be honest, I don’t think Riley knew,” Bozer sighs, rummaging through their food supplies. “We all hide from it. We run away from pain. We look for distractions. The whole humanity does that. Riley is no exception.” Finally, he fishes out some crackers and his homemade low-sugar sponge cake. “That should be okay for her stomach, I think.”

Mac nods absently. Yes, Riley needs to eat, but it seems emotional comfort is way more needed right now. And he doesn’t know how to provide that when Jack’s name still leaves him sick at heart and aching.

He tried so hard to bury that pain. To cover it with whatever was at hand. He’d carve it out with a dull blade if he could. And yet, it just kept coming back.

“Besides, she probably thought being there for others was more important than her own struggles,” Bozer continues, deep in thought. “That she’s strong enough to put others first. You know her. She’s not the one to scream ‘me, me, me!’ all the time,” he adds solemnly, battling the overwhelming guilt himself. He paid far more attention to Riley’s feelings for Mac, getting a little too blind to other stuff.

Mac knew her. That’s why it hurt so much. He knew her enough to see through the façade and find out what was really underneath. But he didn’t look.

“I never brought it up. We… we had some talks after the funeral, a little GTO trip, a Die Hard marathon, we reminisced and laughed at Jack’s antics, but… that was about it. I never brought him up again.”

“It was easier to pretend everything was fine, right? And you didn’t want to burden Riley with your own grief.”

Mac just nods, not trusting himself to speak. He’s still too raw. The pain hits him too often without any warning. When he sees someone in a ragged Metallica t-shirt or with a stupid leather cuff. When he drives past Jack’s favourite takeout place. When he wakes up at night and checks if the dog tags are still in the top drawer, next to that phoenix pendant from years ago. When he thinks of what Jack would say about the last couple of years. About the mess Mac has become. About what happened with Riley.

Well, that’s easy. He’d just break every single one of your two hundred and six bones.

Yeah, Mac worked hard for it.

The pain has grown even more acute since he was left again all alone in his home. There were no distractions more and he finally had to acknowledge how big of a role they had played in his life. He can’t go down that path again, no matter how tempting that is.

“Grief is a funny thing.” It’s Lauretta’s voice again. Mac definitely needs to buy her a huge gift basket for how insightful her words are still proving to be. “It’s a process, but not a straight line from point A to point B. It’s a… polygonal chain, messy and complicated. Two steps forward, three steps backwards. A detour here, a jam there. But no one is gonna walk this for you, honey. However, you can share the trail. Walk together, at least for some distance. That’s the best we could do.”

“What if it’s not a trail but quicksand, and it’s pulling me under?”

“Oh, quicksand is definitely your area of expertise, sweetheart. I’m sure you know far better than I how to get out of it. But this is not a bad metaphor,” Lauretta smiles brightly. “I’d just yell for help and let the professionals free me,” she winks.

Mac chuckles. You have to be insanely lucky to fall into quicksand in a place where help is close. Wiggling out of it on your own is possible, though, with a lot of effort and patience, getting dirty from head to toe… Huh. Maybe it’s some kind of a metaphor as well.

“Riley’s gonna be fine, Mac,” Bozer brings his best friend back to reality. “A breakdown might be a breakthrough. You’re both gonna be fine.” Bozer throws Mac a knowing look, trying to communicate what he can’t really say out loud. “Just… give yourself some time to find out what’s really here,” he knocks on Mac’s chest. “Because I’m getting super confused when I think of the last couple of years.”

“I already know.”

Bozer raises an eyebrow but doesn’t get to dig deeper as Riley finally leaves the bathroom. The mood darkens instantly when both men notice her sickly pallor and exhaustion.

“Guys, lose the worried faces. I’m okay. I inhaled some shit, it gave me weird dreams, I vomited my guts out, caught a killer headache, but that’s all. I’m fine.” Riley rolls her eyes, though that’s a god-awful idea, considering the tension building up in her forehead.

Whatever happened during the flight, she’s not going to make a big deal out of it. She’s fine.

“You were calling out for Jack,” rips from Mac’s lips before he’s able to think of a more gentle approach. He’s deeply afraid of even hinting at this issue, still too raw, broken and guilty to express, but handling his own pain is one thing. Watching Riley in pain is a completely different thing. She shouldn’t still be hurting. Besides, with her makeup taken off she looks so young and fragile, and she just spent all this time sobbing in his arms, and it’s Riley, and he lov—

He needs to fix this.

“I know,” she lies, not meeting their eyes. Of course, she remembered the whole dream but hoped the guys didn’t realize what it was about. She already came up with a nice cover-up story: the Collective, her mom, a garrotte. Seems like no one would buy it now.

But Riley wanted to lie only because of Mac. He doesn’t have to know that hole in her heart where Jack was is still bleeding. Mac doesn’t need that burden, especially now, when his life has probably just turned upside down. She’d consider sharing that with Bozer, but Mac is a very different story. She’d rather cut her fingers off than add to his own struggles.

“I miss him too, Riles,” Mac utters with so much sadness in his eyes that something in Riley gives in. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t want him to lie and hide in his shell. Maybe her own shields are sometimes a burden, not a protection, then.

“So do I,” Bozer adds, opening his arms for Riley, who doesn’t hesitate long before accepting the invitation. “Come here, little sis. It’s gonna be alright.”

“Ahem…” Mac clears his throat when the hugging action goes for a while, and Riley seems to start tearing up again. “I want my hug too.”

“Haven’t I already used up my monthly limit?” Riley chuckles wetly, trying not to be too awkward about the whole ‘crying into Mac’s chest’ situation.

“I have an infinite number of hugs for my Riles,” Mac shoots back with a watery grin, apparently completely unaware of what he has just called her.

But Riley notices. Judging by the smirk growing on Bozer’s face, he’s not deaf either. Yet she has to ignore the warmth blooming in her chest, the memories of how safe she felt in Mac’s arms despite all the heartbreak caused by that stupid dream. It was dangerously close to love, this type of love that lowers all your defences and doesn’t make you feel ashamed or weak for being completely bare. Love that understands, soothes, protects.

Boundaries. She was supposed to set boundaries.

There are so many reasons to keep Mac at distance, and she’ll probably regret it all later, but now… Maybe she should stop watching her every step, if only just for a minute. Just draw as much comfort as possible from her favourite person and store it somewhere for later. In a couple of weeks, she’ll be facing the joys of working undercover, far away from her family, all alone except for her trusted hackers. But it’s not the same.

To hell with boundaries. At least for today.

Riley finally lets herself melt into Mac’s embrace. No regrets follow when his warmth seeps into her skin. “You’ve got me. You’ve got us,” she hears a soft murmur of his voice. “Always. Day and night.”

“Do not make me cry more, MacGyver.”

“Well, it’s good for your eyes—”

“Dork.”

Mac bites down an urge to kiss her hairline. Or a cheek. Or… Yeah, that’s why he has to stop thinking about it right away. However, in his Riley-induced haze, he finally notices she’s shivering a little. It’s not the good, pleasant shiver caused by the touch of someone you like, but rather the involuntary, making-your-teeth-chatter one that usually means being cold or feverish.

“Hey, you’re shivering. Do you have a fever?” He pulls away a little and reaches to touch her forehead with the back of his hand while his own irritating inner voice mocks the accuracy of that method. Like Mac would do with anybody who’d try to use that on him. Like Jack used to do.

Fortunately, Riley’s skin is cool to the touch.

“No, I’m just cold. I left my jacket in the bathroom.”

“Take my hoodie. It’s warmer and definitely not that dusty. We brought back quite a lot of Afghan dust on ourselves.”

“Yes, please.” Riley eagerly jumps at the chance. “I stupidly forgot mine,” she groans, reflecting on her hastily packed go bag. “But if it smells of grease and WD-40, it’s a garage rag, not a hoodie.”

“Fresh out of the washer,” Mac grins. His smile looks genuine for the first time since Riley woke up. Yet he seems a little self-conscious when she puts on the navy blue zip-up. “Truth be told, the last thing I got all over it was formalin, but it’s been washed several times since. I knocked over a wet specimen jar. Which is a funny story.” He scratches his head, face adorably all wrinkled up. “I had that little lizard preserved in formalin that I had, um, borrowed from school years ago. Weirdly enough—”

“Wait a minute, you stole a lizard from our school? How on earth no one came after your ass?”

“I didn’t steal it, Boze. I found it completely forgotten, covered in cobwebs in one of the cabinets. A much bigger lizard in a much bigger jar was always on display, you remember, right? I… rescued my jar from getting broken. Or from Donnie Sandoz, who’d gladly throw that lizard at the girls.”

“Wow, that was one heroic deed, man. So proud of you,” Bozer sneers, rolling his eyes, and Riley tries to stifle her laughter. She loves the stories from Mission City Junior High.

Mac ignores the jab. “So, the weird thing is that recently I found the jar empty. Formalin intact, but no lizard. It’s not like it woke up and crawled away.”

“I’ll bet Bozer used it for one of his ‘taste explosions,’” Riley wise-cracks, making Bozer indignantly scoff at her accusation. “So you’re telling me I’m wearing a thing that was drenched through with a solution that kinda served as a grave for a lizard? Why the hell am I not outraged but relieved it was only a lizard and not, I don’t know, a deformed fetus, fresh out of some horror story?”

“Don’t give him ideas, Ri. He might get just that.”

“If I ever considered a career in black magic, Boze, then sure, right away.”

Curled up in her seat, Riley allows herself to relish in the effortlessness of their friendship. It’s cozy and comfortable, like a fuzzy cocoon, miraculously soothing her upset stomach and migraine. So much welcomed warmth spreads through her veins. Sure, it’s the tea, Mac’s hoodie that luckily smells just like his laundry with a hint of his cologne, not like formalin and dead lizards. It’s also the blanket she covered herself with, but first and foremost—the easiness, so natural for the three of them. To be honest, she hasn’t felt that for a while, always on alert because of this or that crisis.

There’s going to be the right time to dissect her own little breakdown, Mac and Desi’s situation and other catastrophes, but now Riley just lets herself wallow in the calm that has taken over the cabin. If only for a moment. She closes her eyes, savouring the peaceful silence.

She jolts awake when someone tries to take the cup out of her hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up, but that was dangerously close to spilling.” Mac puts the cup on the table, an apologetic smile on his lips. There’s so much tenderness in his eyes that Riley’s heart constricts painfully. Why—she’s not sure. Probably because of everything.

She wants him to look at her like that—and she doesn’t. Probably because of everything. Make it make sense.

“I’m okay, Mac,” she decides to answer the unspoken question lingering between them. “That dream was… a reproach, I guess. From Riley to Riley,” she grimaces. It’s not really a good thing when your brain decides to give you a warning like that. It means you’re kind of losing it.

“Why? What exactly did you dream about?” Mac crouches in front of her, clearly wanting to be as close as possible. His hands land on Riley’s knees.

“Just promise you won’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Riles…”

“You’ve heard me, MacGyver.” She wants to pressure him more, but it’s a lost battle. It’s quite obvious the whole thing will hit him hard. Feeling guilty about stuff he had no control over is just a part of Mac’s DNA.

Riley sighs deeply, not that eager to delve into stuff she wanted to keep from everybody. “It was an arcade hang. The one Jack promised me years ago, I guess.” It’s still so hard to fathom it just won’t happen ever again. “I yelled at the old man for leaving and getting killed, and he told me to stop being psychotic. Among other pretty nice things,” she adds quietly, her throat closing up again. Good grief, she needs to stop with the waterworks for today.

“Psychotic?”

“Well, he didn’t use that word exactly,” Riley chuckles wetly. “But yeah, I’ve been a little out of control lately. Oh, stop worrying!” she chastises Mac, seeing his concerned expression. “All in all, it paid off. Big time.” She sits up a little straighter. Hell, she got somewhere, didn’t she? The means were questionable, but the end turned out to be pretty great, all things considered. “What I’m gonna say does not leave this room, okay?”

Mac nods shortly, bracing himself for the news to come. His fists curl involuntarily, gripping Riley’s blanket with a force that makes his knuckles whiten. How many times did he take her ‘I’m okay’ at face value?

“After the funeral, I did a lot of hacking. I mean, a lot,” Riley continues. “I got into every agency, every database I could manage, in the US and outside, to make sure we weren’t fooled. That they didn’t fake Jack’s death. We’ve seen things like that quite a few times, right?” she shrugs. “That’s how the intelligence world operates. I couldn’t help it, I just had to. But it grew into a little obsession of sorts. I guess I finally need to let that go. For starters, it’s super illegal,” she finishes, smiling sardonically.

Mac closes his eyes, trying to swallow down the hundredth wave of guilt today that washes over him. How could he not notice?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks brokenly. “You should’ve said something.”

You should’ve noticed, genius.

“Mac, everybody has their own shit to deal with, I don’t need to add to that. Besides, that’s how I got to Li’s files.”

“I thought it was because you hacked that hot guy from Frisco,” Bozer grins from across the aisle. Apparently, he was faking his nap. He’s completely unbothered by the warning Riley’s eyes convey.

“That marshal?” Mac tries to get his facts straight. Bozer seems to be much better versed in Riley’s after-the-hours activities, and that stings a little.

That’s what you get for being a myopic idiot.

“Yep, the one Riley was flirting with,” Bozer states mercilessly.

Being reminded of that San Franciscan’s very existence is something Mac definitely didn’t have on his wish list today. As if it wasn’t bad enough with Dre in the picture.

Sure, get mad at every XY chromosome carrier who finds Riley attractive. Hell, every human being. So mature, dude.

“If anything, he was flirting with me,” Riley shoots back without missing a beat. “For clarification, I used Xavi’s rig just for a very professional cause—to see how we got made.”

Xavi. So, first name basis. Great.

“And for a little side business,” Bozer laughs. “Hell, girl, I’d just take his number, and you had to steal his passwords. You’re a walking red flag.” Shaking his head, he busts out a slightly flattened bag of madeleines he clearly fell asleep with.

Riley just gives him the finger. “The point is, without me snooping around, we wouldn’t have gotten all the data from Li’s vault. The POWs would probably still rot in their prisons.” She’s not sure if that’s something she should brag about in front of Mac, though. He’s always been a self-sacrificing idiot and wouldn’t ever choose himself over other people, but this time, it cost him his girlfriend, someone he bent over backwards to be with. And Riley’s skills played a big role in it.

Apparently, Bozer won’t let her wallow in self-hatred for long. “We need to set your priorities straight, Ms. Davis, because if you keep hacking hot guys instead of sleeping with them, I’ll personally book you for a brain transplant.”

“You want me to hack your Tinder?” Riley offers sweetly, and Bozer’s smug expression immediately changes into a ‘never been more scared in my entire life’ one. “Then gimme that,” she points to the madeleines. “I deserve some sugar.” Her nausea finally seems at bay, and one little cookie won’t kill her, right? Besides, food is healing. At least that’s what she always tells herself before opening another tub of ice cream.

“It looks like Bozer slept with his butt on it.” Mac wrinkles his nose, carefully eying the state of the bag. “It’s a health hazard. I’ll get you something else. And more tea.” He jumps to his feet, purposefully ignoring Bozer, who starts to argue but then perks up at the prospect of having all the cookies to himself. Flattened by a butt or not. It’s his butt, and he kind of likes it.

It doesn’t slip Riley’s attention how stiff Mac’s gait is. He definitely tried to stifle a groan when getting up from his crouch too. Seems like she’ll have a chance to pay him back for all the hovering.

“What’s up with your back, man? You move around like a grandpa with severe arthritis,” she deadpans when Mac brings her Bozer’s sponge cake with another steaming cup of tea.

“Uh, nothing. Just needed to straighten up a little,” he replies, not meeting her eyes.

“You’re a lying liar that lies.”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Mac fakes outrage at the accusation.

“I’ll tell you what’s up with his back,” Bozer chimes in with a wicked grin. He’s been trying to get Mac to take care of his bruises the whole flight. “Two high-velocity bullets straight to the Kevlar and one hard landing with you, my sweetest friend, in his arms.”

“Say what?!”

“Yeah, no biggie, we had a brief encounter with a not-so-friendly local,” Mac reluctantly admits. “And there was a hard landing included, so you may have some bruises too.” Shit, he should’ve made checking Riley out for injuries his top priority, but he was so shaken after her nightmare—

“You got shot in the vest? From a rifle?”

“Five seconds earlier, and it would’ve been you. Not necessarily in the vest,” Mac retorts, pushing the images of what-could’ve-happened to the darkest corner of his mind. This time, they got lucky. But one day, their luck might run out and… The corner wasn’t dark or deep enough, it seems, since the images of cold, bloodied bodies flood Mac’s mind again, causing a wave of pain he wasn’t prepared for. He closes his eyes, trying to make it all go away.

Suddenly two arms sneak around his torso, and someone nuzzles their head in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you. But please do not take any more bullets for me, understood?”

Riley. She must’ve seen the ache on his face or guessed where his thoughts had gone.

Mac immediately returns the hug. “No promises,” he murmurs into her hair, which is still a little stiff from the dust, just like his own. “I really like having you alive.”

“Will you start to be an adult about Kevlar, then? I like having you alive too.”

Warmth fills his body from head to toe. He desperately wishes she didn’t mean it platonically, that it wasn’t spoken only by a caring friend. But he can’t get his hopes up. The fall would be too painful if he was wrong. The door is closed.

“I may consider it,” he chuckles. “But I still don’t like it.”

“You’re hurting its feelings.” Riley pulls away a little to look Mac in the eye. “Another thing. Could you stop being such a pain and get an ice pack? There are like five in the freezer. I can feel the swelling on your back through the shirt.”

I’d rather have your hands on me, blazes through Mac’s mind, and his breath hitches. God, he’s spiralling into a territory he kept his thoughts away from for so long. All in vain. He lets out a deep, weary sigh, trying to hide how much Riley’s closeness really affects him.

But they say an attack is the best form of defence, so Mac decides to go for a counter-question. “Will you promise to talk to me when you’re struggling with something?”

“Will you stop feeling guilty about stuff you had zero control over?”

“I’m dead serious, Riles.”

“So am I.”

Bozer jumps in between them, fed up by that spectacle of stubbornness in front of his eyes (or flirting, depending on how you look at it; if it’s flirting, he’s not that fed up). “How about you”, he digs his index finger into Mac’s chest, “stop with your absolutely insufferable guilt trips, and you,” he points to Riley, “stop keeping bad stuff to yourself because of some twisted idea that you need to protect us from it, huh?”

Riley opens her mouth to put Bozer in his place, but he raises his finger even higher. “Nuh-uh. None of it. Go eat your meal, young lady! And you,” he turns to Mac, who watches him with a mix of amusement and disbelief, “go get that damn ice pack. Now!”

Much later on, when they are finally not far away from the West Coast, Mac leaves the cockpit, where he went to check on the pilots, with a smile. After a long and tiring flight, as well as too many shitty airstrips, the crew is eager to finally land the plane on LA’s ground. It’s hard not to love these guys. They always have all the time in the world for Mac’s nerdy questions or to mock Russ’ latest use of the jet to pick up some lady friend in Quito. And then in Toronto. His carbon footprint is surely something.

Mac takes a moment to contemplate the picture in front of him. Riley and Bozer are both curled up under their blankets, sleeping peacefully, faces relaxed and calm. No signs of previous worries or emotional turmoil.

His family. His wolf pack. Sometimes dysfunctional, usually because of what a mess Mac himself can become, but with a deep love and respect for each other. That kind, patient, persevering love. The love that sees a person and doesn’t make them afraid to be seen.

Yet it was so easy to drift apart all these years ago. So easy for Mac to get lost in his own head, which he didn’t even notice. To seek solace in every possible distraction he could find, not in the people who always were his lifelines, guides, hype men. It’s not going to happen again. He won’t let it happen again.

Riley is still wearing Mac’s hoodie, her silver rings casting reflections on the navy blue fabric, and he doesn’t want her to change it into anything else. It’s such a stupid little thing, and yet it hurts that in a couple of days, she’ll give him the hoodie back, this time smelling of her own washing detergent. He wants her in his clothes, in his space, everywhere in his life forever, as deep as she’s rooted in his heart.

Riley will be okay, Jack, he promises the man who right now should be occupying one of the empty seats, asleep after an outrageous amount of whining about the Afghan dust that somehow got even into his underwear. He’d tear Mac a new one for trying to ditch Kevlar, give a talking to Riley for not listening to orders, and commiserate with Bozer for putting up with his unhinged friends for so long. She’ll be okay. I’ll see to that. Won’t let her down again. Bozer will be okay. I’ll be okay. Just… if you’re really somewhere out there busy faking your death, fooling even Riley and Matty, you’d better hurry back. ‘Cause the longer you’re away, the longer gets my list of all the stuff I can use to kill you myself for that stint.

When he moves past Riley to get to his seat, she stirs a little, offering him a sleepy smile.

“I forgot to tell you,” she says drowsily, voice a little raspy. “There’s some really good news coming.”

“Did you dig it up?”

“Yeah. By hacking hot guys,” she grins, visibly fighting to keep her eyes open, eyelids heavier and heavier.

“Riley Davis, how are you even real?”

She chuckles and snuggles more into her pillow, drifting off to sleep, a smile dancing on her lips.

Mac wants to wrap himself around her, just like a couple of hours ago, and feel her warm and breathing in his arms. He wants her to relax into his embrace and just… never have any distance between them again. He wants to turn that love they developed for each other as friends into something so much more.

But it can’t be. At least not now.

Will it ever be?

Love is patient. That's the only hope he could cling to.

When he looks through the window, finally loosening up a little in his own seat, the sky slowly turns pink, then golden, lighter and lighter.

A new day is coming, a new light, his memory brings back lyrics from a song heard God knows where. Your old ways are in the past, make room for all you never had.

Despite the longing in his heart, calm spreads through Mac’s body, and he lets the peaceful sleep take him too.

Chapter Text

A couple of weeks later. Mac’s bedroom

The first thing Mac becomes aware of is that he can feel the rotation of the Earth. Everything spins as if his bed is moving at 1000 mph. Okay, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration since he’d get ejected from the bed in no time with speed like that. Actually, he could easily calculate the distance he’d be thrown into by the centrifugal force—

A note to self: do not think of rotation at 1000 mph when you’re having a dizzy spell. Do not calculate anything, even if it’s for fun. It definitely doesn’t help.

He closes his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to stop, but it doesn’t. The world is still spinning. Then Mac’s stomach decides to join the party with a flip. But wait a minute, it’s not nausea caused by vertigo, it’s rather the ‘you flooded me with alcohol, you bastard, and you’re gonna pay for it’ type of dizziness.

Right. The night before was… eventful. At least Mac thinks so, given that his memories are more than blurry. He’s not even entirely sure if he has any. It’s more of a black hole.

He’d happily fall back to sleep, but his mouth feels like sandpaper, and yeah, getting some water in your system is always a good idea when battling a hangover from hell. In South Africa, as a remedy he’d be offered an ostrich omelet, a jar of salty as hell pickle juice in Poland and ‘drunken noodles’ in Thailand, but in his own home, it’s probably just tap water. From his bathroom. Because the journey to the kitchen feels like trying to cross Australia south to north with Burke and Wills in 1861.

He’s in the process of forcing his limbs to move when the sound of water flowing in his en suite makes itself known. Someone is using his shower.

What the hell? Well, not that it’s his sanctum sanctorum, but there’s a guest bathroom in his house, so having people here is just strange.

Unless…

He sits up with a speed that makes the dizziness way, way worse, followed by a killer wave of a splitting headache. Oh God. He must’ve drunk himself into oblivion if his body is punishing him like that.

So… let’s take inventory.

There was a lot of alcohol involved. And he might have his underwear on, but the rest of his clothes is all strewn on the floor. And someone is using his shower. And he doesn’t remember anything.

Suddenly Mac’s breath hitches.

Oh no.

There’s also a dress on his chair and a pair of heels underneath. He doesn’t recognize the dress, something more suited for an office than a party or a date, but the bag nearby… Holy hell. It’s Riley’s.

No. NO. NONONONONONONONO. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t. It DID NOT happen.

Like you’d mind?

Shut up. Of course he’d mind. Well, not the thought itself (although it’s a thought that usually requires reciting the periodic table of elements by alphabet; and then again, by atomic mass), but the whole situation—yes, very much. Waking up hungover, not remembering anything—that he’d mind. Not to mention the dubious consent thing.

God, he’s not a guy who gets drunk and drags a girl into his bed, right?

If it really had happened, he would’ve remembered something, right? Anything?

Transfixed on Riley’s things, lost in the whirlwind of his own very, very muddled thoughts, he doesn’t notice the shower stopped working a while ago, and someone steps out of the bathroom.

Well, he was not wrong about the bag. It’s definitely Riley’s. Because she herself is standing in front of him, sweats-clad and hair wrapped in a towel. Nothing unordinary. He’s seen her moving around his house like that thousands of times.

But somehow it has never left him fighting for his breath like today.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Sorry for barging in, but I didn’t really have a choice,” Riley smiles apologetically, seeing his absolutely bewildered expression. “For what it’s worth, I did ask if I could use your bathroom, but you were dead to the world. Though you mumbled something along the lines of a very drunken mmmhmmm,” she snarks.

Mac’s fuzzy brain notices two things. Firstly, Riley acts as if the only thing that happened was her getting into his shower because of… lack of choice? Secondly, he’s really, really disappointed. And relieved. Deeply relieved he didn’t force her into anything. That their first time together wasn’t some drunken fucking, stupid and meaningless.

Like that first time would ever happen.

Shut up.

He’s also relieved he didn’t get his heart broken even more because if they had slept together and then she asked him to forget about it, it would just kill him. Plus, relieved that he didn’t get the much-expected talk of ‘it was a mistake and let’s forget about it’ because let’s be real, he couldn’t have his hopes up for anything else.

But he’s also very, very disappointed. Probably because he wants to see her casually stepping out of his bathroom every day.

Only with less clothes on, right?

Shut the fuck up.

“No problem. Use it whenever,” Mac croaks out. Blinding pain bursts again in his forehead, but he tries to keep the nausea at bay. “What does it mean you didn’t have a choice?”

“Let’s just say your guest bathroom is not for use right now. Needs a fix-up and a thorough disinfection.”

“What? Why?”

“The door handle is broken and the shower door is off hinges. And I wouldn’t touch anything inside,” Riley grimaces. “Had to spray all my toiletries with that isopropyl alcohol you keep under the sink.”

Mac’s face looks like one big question mark. “Why?”

“A UV or a black light would probably tell you.”

“Huh?”

“You know what, you’re adorably slow when hungover,” Riley shakes her head, trying to cover her smile. And other feelings making her blood pressure go way too high. Because she has Mac’s sculpted chest on full display, she knows he has barely anything on (oh yeah, she kept an eye on him throughout the night so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit, that’s why she was party to the blond genius literally ripping his clothes off when he got too hot at some point), and Mac’s bed head along with sleepy eyes is the cutest thing in the whole universe.

But she’s Riley Davis and won’t ever melt into a puddle of hormones because of a practically naked, hot guy in a very tousled bed. Who’s alone with her right now. And very much single. But probably still reeling from the breakup, no matter what he says. For what other reason would he stare into a bottle of tequila for thirty minutes straight and then down more than half of it in one go? She knows Mac and his horrible coping mechanisms inside out, and that was a classic ‘I’m gonna repress the hell out of it’ Mac.

Well, she won’t jump his bones. Because she’s Riley Davis, who doesn’t make stupid decisions.

Also, Mac’s tequila breath is something to keep her at a healthy distance.

“Just a word of advice,” she continues, trying not to ogle him shamelessly. “Do not go into the guest bedroom without knocking very, very loud. Or just wait for them to come out first. Preferably dressed.”

Mac’s eyes widen as the meaning of what she’s implying finally sinks in. “They didn’t,” he grimaces.

“Oh, they most certainly did. Hence the need for disinfecting everything. And some minor repairs. I’d say it was a very good night for some of us.”

“It’s not some freakin’ dorm!” Mac huffs exasperatedly. “He has his own apartment for that!”

“It’s hardly the first time Bozer brought a girl here, Mac. Leanna was practically living here at some point.”

“So they’re officially back together?”

“Seems like it. They’ve been all over each other the whole night.”

“Ugh. But they deserve it after everything, I guess.” Mac presses his hands to his forehead, trying to stop another wave of nausea. “So we’re happy for them?”

“Sure. But first, they need to fix up and bleach the whole bathroom. The guest bedroom too. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Good. We’ll supervise them. And then celebrate. But now I’m gonna go throw up.”

“Yep, if I were your insides, I’d do that too,” Riley mumbles under her breath, watching warily as Mac stumbles into his en suite.

She grew a few grey hairs throughout the night, dealing with Mac, who fell into some drunken stupor after downing all that booze. If he wanted to drink himself into oblivion, he definitely got there. Just shut down, completely unresponsive. Empty bottle, empty eyes. Thank fuck for alcohol intake calculators—at least she knew she didn’t have to call for an ambulance. But it looked scary as hell.

A cold shiver runs down Riley’s spine. In two days, she’ll be gone on an assignment that still gives her creeps, but that’s not the problem right now. What if Mac won’t take it well? What if he turns to the bottle to dull the anger and disappointment? She knows he started therapy, but it’s not some magic spell making all your problems disappear. What if she lets him down so much there won’t be coming back from it like ever?

You’d rather someone turn him into a mind-controlled supervillain?

Riley shakes her head at how the universe takes pleasure in throwing her into impossible situations and proceeds to open more windows. The air here is… explosive.

Later, when Mac gets in and out of light sleep, curled up on his bed, waiting for the aspirin Riley forced into him to kick in, the only lucid thought he’s capable of is how much he’d love to have that every day. The prolonged buzz of Riley’s hairdryer (it takes a lot of time to deal with curly hair, it seems), her makeup bag sitting casually on one of his shelves, and the smell of her conditioner that somehow fills his bedroom now (Sorry, Mac, had to use your shampoo, since I found mine knocked over under the shower. Just tell Bozer to throw it away, I’m not touching that thing ever again. But pine, dude? Seriously? I had to put on tons of my conditioner to get rid of that smell).

It’s just right.

Well, the sole thought of Riley so close and in his own space makes Mac wallow between the feeling of bliss and a giant loss. It should be like that. That’s how their lives should look like. It should be a shared life.

It blows his mind how certain he is about it. How much finality his thoughts convey. There are no doubts, no question marks, no lists of pros and cons. He just knows this is it. Would be it if he wasn’t such an obtuse idiot.

But maybe…

There are moments when he wonders. That maybe underneath Riley’s warmth and all her friendly gestures, something else lies. Maybe her buried feelings could resurface one day.

Or maybe he’s just daydreaming. That’s probably it.

He’s still at a loss what to make out of Riley’s love life. Asking a simple question like ‘Who’s blowing up your phone?’ has never been harder and more complicated. It seems after all that Sandbox events, Dre decided to take a step back. But why? To make room for Mac, because he saw something? Riley treats the guy with ease, like a good friend, but is it how she feels about him, period, or is it just for now?

And she’s still on her phone a lot, smiling like that. And Bozer is no help at all, given that his head is definitely somewhere else right now. In the gutter, to be exact.

The lovebirds are free to enjoy their rekindled relationship as much as they want to, or as loud as they want to, only far away from Mac’s house, please and thank you.

It doesn’t mean he’s not insanely happy for them. It still feels like a dream. Having Leanna back made at least one of the holes in Mac’s heart close up. After all these years, when he braced day after day for another blow, another person being ripped away from him, one of them, someone he mourned, came back alive and kicking. And pissed as hell at the CIA for doing absolutely nothing to get them and many others out of the WITSEC.

In some weird way, it was like a sign. Mac was a man of science, he never believed in any higher powers or fate, but the news they got on Leanna felt a lot like a turning point. Like his luck could finally change.

All thanks to Riley and her stubbornness. And not-so-healthy ways of dealing with grief. She claims it’s all under control now, but Mac still keeps a close eye on her. He has a creeping suspicion she does exactly the same with him, but if it all amounts to more time spent together, more movie marathons, teaching robotics, Cub Scouts and even a little trip down the coast, who is he to complain?

Besides, Jack would’ve approved of his family taking care of each other.

As for that trip, Mac might’ve embellished a bit on how the GTO needed to be taken for a spin after a timing belt replacement. Well, he might’ve embellished that the replacement was needed just now. The GTO could easily do like 5,000 miles more on the old one. But hey, safety first, right?

And if that’s how he got Riley for a whole day to himself, along with her stylish ride, both turning a lot of heads on the road, so what? Sue him.

For just a day, they didn’t have to think, fight or solve any problems except for where to stop next. They could just be. Just soak in all the sun, the wind messing up their hair, the smell of the ocean and the music they brought along. ‘Cause tramps like us, baby, we were born to run.

Anyway, there was another person Riley was trying to bring back to the world. To give them a chance for a new start. The dress and heels were for a court hearing established by Matty to get Kai on parole so she could come work for the Phoenix. Riley was a prime example of what could happen when you help people who got a little lost to find the right path again.

So, Riley was getting ready for that court hearing. In Mac’s bathroom. While he was half-naked in his bed.

Oh. It’d probably be good to put something on.

Just when he decides to try and move, a muffled fuck comes from the bathroom. “Riles, you okay?” he asks.

“My necklace just broke, dammit!” she groans.

“Oh, I can easily fix it. Just let me find the right tools.” Mac immediately jumps out of bed, heading for his workbench. The world still spins a little, but he firmly ignores it.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t need it today. Of course, it’d be great if you fixed it, but not when you see double. So, in a week or two,” she teases.

“Ha, ha, so funny,” he shoots back. “Wait a minute, I have an idea—”

After that, all Riley hears is a lot of shuffling and some heavier objects hitting the floor. When she enters Mac’s bedroom, he’s on his knees, half-hidden in his closet, probably trying to find one strange thing among others somewhere on the bottom. What has landed on the floor so far is a pair of trainers, a leather belt, two old-fashioned wind-up alarm clocks, an SLR camera from probably the 60s, a bottle of Jägermeister, a book on quasars, a boater hat with a pink ribbon, and a crowbar.

Huh. That’s… quite a collection.

He also managed to put on some clothes, and Riley’s blood pressure is truly grateful for that.

Before she’s able to pose any question, especially about the boater hat, Mac gets back to his feet with a triumphant grin, holding out a vintage wooden box with a sakura branch carved on top.

“I have some jewelry here,” he beams. “Maybe you’ll find something up to your taste.”

Riley freezes. Jewelry? Whose jewelry? Mac’s exes’? Something Desi didn’t like and left behind? Will Riley find there that engagement ring staring back at her? As much as she wants to stop this feeling, her skin crawls. Mac wouldn’t offer her that kind of jewelry, right? Even with his super logical and utilitarian take on reality, he wouldn’t go there, would he? She really, really wants to be calm and unbothered, whatever is in that box, hating with all of her might how stupid little things like that can still cause her pain. Stupid, stupid pain.

“It was my mom’s,” Mac’s voice cuts through Riley’s jumbled-up thoughts.

Huh?

It’s… even worse. God, way, way worse. No matter how much the gesture melts her insides, there’s no way Riley could ever accept something of that significance. That… intimate.

“Mac,” she states tentatively, trying to regain some balance, “that’s not something you should offer to just anybody. It’s priceless.”

“I’m not offering it to just anybody,” he frowns, stunned by Riley’s words. “I’ve never offered it to anyone,” he adds before the meaning of these words hits him right in the face. He’s never offered it to anyone before, and somehow it’s the easiest, the most natural thing in the world to do now.

Two anxious eyes meet for a brief moment, trying to gauge each other’s thoughts.

You tipped your hand, blares in Mac’s mind in capital letters. She’s gonna run away.

Damage control. Now.

“It’s not crown jewels, Riles,” he offers quickly, opening the box. “Nothing too expensive. I don’t think mom was the type to wear a lot of it.” Suddenly his whole body goes rigid as he’s reminded how little he knows about Ellen and how hard it is to be the last of his family alive. All alone. Left with nothing but mysteries. “It’s just sitting in my closet collecting dust. I don’t have a sister to hand it over to. Or any other blood relative,” he shrugs, fighting the hurt in his voice.

“Still, it’s a big no-no, Mac. That’s pretty much everything you have left of your mom, right?” Riley says softly, feeling that pain deep in her bones. “This box belongs to a safe or on a nice shelf. Sure, maybe in a closet, but not necessarily next to a crowbar,” she smiles gingerly.

Mac chuckles, but he seems to get increasingly lost in his thoughts. The quicksand-y kind, pulling him deeper and deeper under. “I got it along with my dad’s things. I don’t know any story behind all of this. Even one story. There are two diamond rings, yellow and white gold. Both pretty simple, nothing too gauche. Were they both my mom’s? Which one was their engagement ring? I don’t even know that.” He sounds much more bitter than he intended to. “Same with all the stuff from my dad’s apartment. One big question mark after another. I just put it all into a storage unit and I’m waiting for, I don’t know what, a surge of confidence?”

Riley’s heart breaks into a thousand pieces. It’s so unfair uncovering parts of Mac’s family's history brought him nothing but sorrow. “Mac, I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it is to be left with so many unanswered questions. But it’s not a lost cause. Maybe you’ll find something in your dad’s things?” She squeezes his arm reassuringly. “And why don’t you ask Matty for some stories? Maybe your dad shared them with her, maybe she’ll be able to shed some light on your parents’ life? And if she can’t, we’ll… just gather together one night and make up stories. Like how they met.”

“Make up stories?” Mac furrows his brows. What good would ever come from that?

“It’s better than nothing, right?” Riley smiles wider, eyes still full of sympathy. “Oh, I know how it happened,” she perks up. “They were on two rival CIA teams looking for a dirty bomb sold to mujahideen by some dirty KGB agents during the Soviet–Afghan war. Two teams, because their bosses were competing for some lucrative job in Langley, and any form of cooperation was off the table. Your dad’s team found it first, he was able to stop the timer, but a capsule broke and some chemical agents were already interacting, which would set off the bomb regardless of the timer. That’s when your mom came in—with a brilliant idea of how to neutralize everything, and bam! a chemical reaction of other sorts. Your dad was a goner.”

“Did they kiss next to the disarmed bomb?” Mac laughs, swallowing past the lump in his throat. It’s the yearning for his lost family but also for this woman, who somehow… works miracles on all the bleeding wounds in his heart.

“Nah, your dad wasn’t really a ladies’ man so he wasted a lot of time, agonizing about your mom liking him back or not, how would she receive an invite to a date, what kind of date it should be, and so on. So, she took matters into her own hands. One day, when he was raving about some, let’s say, newest research on sunspots, she said, ‘I hope you’ll ask me out before the sun dies.’ So he did just that.”

Mac laughs even more, his heart full. It’s such a silly little story, yet it feels like the greatest gift ever. “You’ve got the MacGyver men’s ineptitude and stupidity down to a T. So what happened later? What did he plan?”

“Definitely a museum date. California Science Center, or whatever it was called before. Just picture them marveling over space shuttles, getting closer and closer, starting to hold hands… You get the idea.” Riley wiggles her eyebrows. “They took you there as soon as they realized you’d be able to wander around for hours, utterly mesmerized by everything, needing only a steady flow of drinks and snacks, plus bathroom breaks and a person to answer all your questions. See?” She playfully nudges Mac’s arm. “Making up stories is not such a bad idea.”

Heart ready to burst, Mac sees himself stepping closer to Riley, cupping her face, firmly planting his lips on hers and kissing the life out of her. And then whispering right to her ear all about the feelings bubbling in his chest. How she makes him feel. How she makes up a silly little story, and it heals something deep inside of him. How she awakens parts of him he didn’t know he had. How he wants to make the world a better place for her. How he wants her to smile at him forever, sixty years from now, and more. How he wants to see her in his child’s snarky mouth and unruly hair.

Of course, he doesn’t do it.

The real him stays frozen, broken by another grave realization that he doesn’t get to have it. He won’t ever experience how it is to be loved by Riley. Really loved. He receives so much of that love as a friend, but it’s not enough. He wants everything. Every-fucking-thing. Making dinners together and making love. Picking out plants for the front yard and flowers for the wedding. Laughing at trashy TV and brainstorming lab research. Sharing their skills and knowledge with young, open minds. And one day, babyproofing the whole house because it could really use some pitter-patter of little feet. Hopefully without a knack for conducting explosive experiments unsupervised. Who is he kidding, though.

But he has no right. He doesn’t get to have it ‘cause he was too stupid, too blind, too self-absorbed, and he’s going to pay for it for the rest of his miserable life.

Ascribing Mac’s inner turmoil to his longing for the family life he lost so early, Riley finally concedes and looks curiously through the box, trying to figure out what kind of person Ellen MacGyver was. A minimalist, judging by the simplicity of all the earrings and necklaces. A nature lover who’d appreciate a simple amber gemstone more than a mass of sparkly diamonds.

Riley is itching to ask Mac about his memories, but he looks so sad and lost she decides to save it for later. A simple silver chain with a little white opal pendant catches her eye. It will look good with the black dress she has on.

“I still think it’s not right,” she shakes her head.

“It’s very right,” Mac retorts without missing a beat. Nothing seems more right. “Besides, it’s considered a lucky stone.”

“Watch out, you’re one step away from falling into the world of healing crystals, reiki or aura cleansing.”

“Like a true Angeleno? Gotta earn that badge somehow,” he grins, proceeding to give the necklace a little more shine. It’s been years, after all.

It feels weird in his hands, like pretty much everything that concerns his parents. Familiar but strange at the same time. As if there was a thick glass wall between them.

“One day, I’m gonna go through my dad’s things,” Mac states hesitatingly, already feeling guilty for leaning on Riley so much. She shouldn’t be forced to solve any problems for him. He was raised to solve every problem by himself. And yet, you can’t just fix grief. Riley won’t fix it too. She’ll just… be the light guiding him home if he gets lost in the darkness. “But I’d love to, if possible—”

“Have company? Sure thing,” Riley gives him a warm smile, trying not to think of her upcoming assignment. With every passing second, it feels less and less possible to leave the way she’s supposed to. She’ll need to find a way to make it easier on Mac, Matty be damned.

She puts the necklace on, not noticing how Mac’s pallid cheeks suddenly turn rosy. There’s another thing in the box that caught her attention. “Well, since we’re still at it… I have one story more. About this one,” she gestures to a tree of life necklace. “It’s from your dad, no one else. He bought it when they found out about you. It might not scream ‘baby’ or ‘birth,’ but it represents the cycle of human life, so your dad thought it was very much on point. Besides, your mom loved nature and trees, and with a baby on the way, they were getting rooted as a family, and trees are the lungs of this planet… It truly is a multi-dimensional symbol,” Riley snickers. “She loved it and wore it all the time.”

Overwhelmed by a storm of feelings, Mac reaches out for her. “Riles,” he croaks out, eyes misty.

“Yeah?” She turns to him, the opal shimmering in the sun.

“Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms.

She melts into his embrace.

Mac doesn’t tell her the tree of life is one of the few things he remembers quite clearly from his childhood. He’s positive his mom wore it a lot. He remembers it close to his own cheek while being held by a pair of loving arms.

He doesn’t tell her that now, but hell, one day, he will. Because with her, the words will form. Because whatever raw tissue it will expose, he knows he’s safe with her.

They stay like that for a long time, at least once not caring about any labels, the past and the future.

Chapter Text

“ It’s so beautiful, mommy. Did it come from a star?”

He’s sitting in Ellen’s lap, inspecting the opal pendant. She wears a velvet dress that feels so soft under Mac’s cheek, and smells of vanilla.

“No, sweetie,” Ellen laughs, and the opal sparkles even more. “You have to mine it. The Earth makes gemstones like this. But why do you have so many twigs and needles in your hair again? I’ve just got it all out.” Slim fingers brush through his locks, trying to clean them once again.

“I spotted a mockingbird and wanted to see if it had a nest. But it flew away. Did you mine that stone?”

“No, it was a gift from your dad.”

“So it’s something you give to a girl?”

“Well, yes, jewelry is always a good gift for a woman. A girl you like, a family member, a good friend.”

“I don’t think girls like me. Is it because of the needles? Or my hands being always dirty?”

“All the boys your age have dirty hands and needles in their hair, sweetheart. Girls too. You just need to get to know each other better. Or grow up a little.”

“I don’t know how to talk to them.”

“Grownups sometimes don’t know that too, son,” James adds with a smile, and Ellen shakes her head disapprovingly. “But when you find the one that speaks your language, do not let her go.”

Mac furrows his brows. “But we all speak the same—” He thinks for a moment. “Was that that weird thing when words don’t mean what they mean? Meat… fore?”

“Metaphor, yeah.”

“Talking-to-other-people skills get better with age, baby.” Ellen kisses Mac’s temple. “Even your dad managed to find himself a lovely wife.”

“That I did. And I’m gonna steal her away right now. Be good to grandpa, Angus. No taking apart any toasters.”

DING

A phone coming alive on the coffee table rips Mac out of the slumber he’s fallen into while trying to watch the TV. It’s early afternoon, and his body is still reeling from the hangover he very much deserves.

The house is empty now. Bozer and Leanna left maybe an hour ago, having begrudgingly taken care of the rooms they had… compromised. Mac might’ve whipped up a black light just to help them get all the vital places and maybe to mess a little with a very cavalier Bozer, who showed absolutely no remorse. Well, that’s why replacing the broken door handle is now totally on Wilt. Getting familiar with a screwdriver won’t kill him.

Riley promised to come by later to return that borrowed necklace, even though Mac insisted there was no rush. To give back the jewelry, that is, not to have Riley all to himself again for a lazy evening with pizza. He’s always in a rush to have that.

That scene from Mac’s childhood tugs at his heart. Was it a dream? A memory? He’s not sure. Also, there’s no one to verify that for him.

It felt so real, though. And unreal at the same time. Mac has only a few memories of both of his parents that happy and relaxed, without the stress of work or any looming catastrophes, smiling at his four-year-old’s life’s troubles. It’s hard to believe such times did ever exist.

Fighting the mistiness in his eyes, Mac reaches for the phone. It’s a text from Mike, a fellow EOD tech who’s currently working for the FBI in Chicago.

Hey, wanna take a look? Never seen this before. Any thoughts?

The attached pictures show a bombing site and a mess of a half-detonated device that somehow malfunctioned.

Huh. Interesting.

In the evening

“Geez, Mac, everything reeked of tequila in the morning, and now it’s… what the hell is it? A decaying corpse?” Riley grabs the first piece of paper lying around to fan herself. “I told you to get Bozer and Leanna to clean the guest bathroom, not to keep every living creature away from this house forever.”

“Oh, I did get them to clean. No apologies from Bozer, though,” Mac snickers absentmindedly. “Yeah, I was just going to get some air in here, but I stopped to write something down and—” He jumps off the armrest he’s just been perching on, still on his phone, typing like crazy. There are dark smudges on his cheeks, something green adorning his left forearm, and several wires sticking out of his pockets.

“Got distracted. Shocker.” Riley rolls her eyes and proceeds to open the front door along with every window she can reach.

“Yeah,” Mac scratches his head vigorously, messing up his dirty hair to a scarecrow level. “A bomb tech buddy of mine had questions about a bomb he came across lately, and I had to check an idea. I took a bit of nitrate fertilizer, boosted it with some ammonium and added that one funny, potent thing called—”

“Did you set off a bomb on your deck?” Riley cuts in, horrified, because Mac home alone, having fun with explosives, is a walking red alert. No matter how much she trusts his knowledge, experience and common sense, he’s also Mac. The guy who simply likes making stuff go boom. For funsi… For science, of course.

And when you add his ‘tequila flu’ from the morning… It’s a miracle it all amounted only to that awful stench.

Wait a minute… Are those burned-out holes in his shirt?

“No, nothing like that,” Mac protests quickly, realizing from the scowl on Riley’s face that she currently has no appreciation for any experiments. “All in a controlled environment. But there might’ve been a little explosion.” He scratches his neck this time, flinching under Riley’s glare. “Itsy-bitsy. Seriously, all under control.”

“Is that why your shirt is full of holes?”

Mac quickly looks down at the plain grey fabric that was way cleaner a couple of hours ago. And definitely not that lacy. “Oh, that’s probably the corrosive I used at some point,” he states lightly, deciding Riley doesn’t need any specific names right now. Like a strong-ass sulphuric acid.

“Great, so you have chemical burns?”

The shirt gets tugged up and Riley can admire Mac’s toned muscles for the umpteenth time today. This time, though, there are red dots forming an unknown pattern between his ribs.

“Nice,” Riley sneers, although she’s deeply relieved at the lack of blistering. In this case, redness is good. “Looks like a newfound constellation. Let me come up with a name—maybe something like Moronus Giganticus or Imbecilus Astronomicalus? Thirteenth astrological sign. Your own.”

“Your Latin is marvelous, Ms. Davis,” Mac snorts, amused by Riley’s antics, which is definitely not the reaction she was hoping for. “A+ for adding that –us suffix to every word. However, a 'fool' would be rather a morio—”

“It could’ve been your eyes, you know,” Riley interjects, her tone ice cold.

“I had safety glasses on,” Mac hurries to prove he’s not that reckless, no matter what Riley thinks at the moment. “Seriously, all was under control. Except for the smell, but that’s just chemistry for ya,” he winks.

“So funny,” Riley rolls her eyes, exasperated by Mac’s nonchalance. She loves to pieces his insatiable hunger for knowledge and will to help people out but draws a thick red line at taking unnecessary risks, especially when his ‘mad scientist’ mind is a little too much on the ‘mad’ side. “Mac, do yourself a favor and go take a shower like a sane person. With something that’ll neutralize the corrosive, I don’t know, baking soda? Then aloe, panthenol or whatever you have to treat the burns. And find something to flush that brain of yours with while you’re at it. It’s rotten.”

“I…” he tries to play down the situation, but the burns sting. “Good thinking. I’ll be quick.”

Two minutes later, the shower is running.

Shaking her head, Riley goes outside to check how bad the situation is out there, but the neighborhood seems rather peaceful. Apparently, they all learned not to pay too much attention to most of the things that occur under Mac’s roof. At some point, after FBI visits, bomb squads all over the place and other shit, you just stop asking questions.

Besides, all he needs is to show his dimples to all the elderly ladies around, give them some golden-retriever-puppy-dog eyes, and he’s… golden. Well, maybe also offer to fix a broken coffee maker or help with the mower.

Anyway, the only person making a little noise down the street is Mrs. Krengel, heading back home from her evening walk. She smiles widely, responding to Riley’s greetings, but scrunches her nose immediately when the wind brings some of the aroma currently filling Casa de MacGyver.

Before she’s able to pose any questions, Riley throws up her hands but grins. “Mac’s alive and in one piece. Just in his ‘mad scientist’ mode, on the way to make the world a better place. And he’s not even a tiny little bit sorry.”

“Good,” Mrs. Krengel laughs. “I thought Mac had a massive sewerage problem or something, but if it’s for the good of humanity, let the boy have his stinky fun, I say.” She pauses for a while, glancing at Mac and Riley’s vehicles parked side by side, which she’s been seeing a lot these days. It looks just right. “You should move back in. That’ll do him tons of good,” she winks, waving Riley goodbye.

Riley wouldn’t mind. She loves the house and its inhabitant, doesn’t mind all the junk and knick-knacks spread everywhere. Doesn’t mind that there’s a soldering iron in the cutlery drawer and a heat gun currently stuck into one of Mac’s boots. She loves the chaos. Burners, bulbs and test tubes that magically appear on the kitchen counter. Obscure machine parts Frankensteined together. Barbecue threatening to burn you to a crisp. It’s so very Mac.

It feels like home to her more than anything else in the world.

Only Mac doesn’t know it and probably never will.

Clad in a fresh set of clothes, hair still a little damp, Mac gets into some speedy cleaning on the deck, AKA pushing all the stuff into this or that corner so his best friend wouldn’t spot too many signs of that ‘itsy-bitsy’ explosion.

“See? The smell is already gone,” he snickers when Riley enters the deck with drinks for both of them and a box of pizza that has just arrived. “Wasn’t that bad.”

“It was awful, dude. Your nose is all screwed up by years of inhaling some weird shit,” Riley grumbles.

She’s in a weird mood. Just seeing Mac moving around in his old flannel, a blur of red and black checks, golden strands and busy hands, fills her with warmth, no matter how many odd-looking jars, bottles and buckets he tries to hide from her inquisitive eyes. It’s just right.

She remembers how tight his arms were around her this morning and how much she wished it was real. That she could reach up to his face and smooth every crease. That he wanted her to do that. That he wanted far more. That he wanted her as much as she wanted him. That there was a future waiting with a ‘together’ in it. But… but her insecurities kicked in, as always.

The fears have only grown tenfold since.

Two days. Two freakin’ days. It will go by in the blink of an eye.

If only she could trap the warmth Mac radiates today in a container of sorts and store it for later, when she’s on her own and far away from her family.

“Hey, I got it right,” Mac retorts with a smirk, unaware of Riley’s inner struggles. “Mike just told me they were able to identify the bomber, a part of a larger conspiracy. Chicago can sleep soundly this night.”

“Cheers to that.” Riley raises her bottle. “Never had any doubts. I just don’t necessarily like the idea of you blowing yourself up or dissolving into a puddle of… dissolved human remains.”

Of course, Mac can’t help but prattle on how exactly it would look like if his whole body got dissolved and how much sulphuric acid it would take, while Riley just digs in her pizza, shooting him a sarcastic ‘yummy!’ Nothing better than listening about liquefying human bones while scarfing down tons of pepperoni.

“So, wanna tell me what kind of troubles you were trying to drink away yesterday?” she finally asks, a little worried that Mac’s booze collection has shrunk a lot lately. Hopefully, thanks to the team’s common effort.

Let’s just say Mac’s house has got a lot of traffic again.

Since Desi was gone, they spent nearly every other night at Mac’s, trying to keep an eye on him or at least keep his fridge full. Even Russ swung by a couple of times, mostly to discuss some insane theories that would usually end with Matty throwing rubber ducks at him with perfect aim.

Yep, the ducks made a comeback. Only Mac refused to say where he had them hidden for so long. Riley’s money was now on the same closet where he stored that crowbar.

So, they were all subtly hovering over Mac while he was not so subtly trying to tell them to goddamn stop it ‘cause there was absolutely no reason to. Or he hovered back, mostly over Riley. But then the news about Leanna finally got out, and they both started immediately hovering over Bozer, who really did lose it for a while.

Phew. At least Bozer doesn’t need that much care any longer. Maybe just a little reprimand to keep his sex life to his own apartment.

So, Riley was back at keeping an eye on the blond genius, only this time it weighed way more than before. Way, way more.

In two days, she’ll be gone, leaving Mac hurt and angry, confused, let down by another person who claimed to always be there for him. Left without any explanation. Left to deal with it all alone.

Yes, he seems much better now, yes, there’s been progress, but… There’s still a ‘but.’

Despite getting his friendship back on track with Bozer, despite therapy with a really nice and insightful Dr. Perry, Mac is still fragile. Not as high-strung or tense as before, when he was literally jumping at shadows, but there’s still a long way ahead of him.

He smiles more and seems more carefree, having regained some of his shameless, unapologetic nerdiness. He spews scientific facts, statistics or trivia without that weird censorship he imposed on himself ages ago. He drags her to Cub Scouts meetings and youth centers with that gleam in his eyes she hasn’t seen in ages. C’mon, Riles, let’s earn more science badges. He’s just, in general, a little more like the old, sunshiny Mac these days, and every time it shows Riley has to bite down the urge to wrap her arms around him and say something incriminating about adoring his brilliant mind. And the rest of him too, of course.

But there are also moments of silence and just plain brooding. He’s still hurting, Riley can tell.

Well, that’s not surprising, given all the losses Mac went through, along with his recent breakup and crash of hopes for the future. Still, sometimes she catches him staring at her with such an expression she’s utterly at a loss what to make out of it.

She saw love confessions. Engagement rings. Shared home. Efforts taken to overcome so many obstacles. Happiness.

She also saw Mac at her door in the dead of the night.

All of it is just beyond her comprehension, no matter how good she is at reading people. No matter what Bozer says. And he says she’s an effing idiot, choosing to be blind for God knows what reason.

“Girl,” Leanna piles on, having figured out the situation even before Bozer ran his mouth, “he looks at you as if you were something out of a dream. I get why you’re cautious, but hell, I’ve never seen him like that. This is real, Ri.”

“He wanted to propose. PROPOSE. Just a couple of months ago. How real was that?”

Bozer lets out an exasperated groan. “Not as real as you think.” Both girls watch him questioningly, Riley more confused than ever. “Let’s just say,” he sighs, “it was more about having something stable than being crazy in love.” He clasps his hands together as if in prayer. “Just please, PLEASE talk to him, sis.”

“You need to make a move, dammit, or we’ll all go crazy!” Leanna begs.

There won’t be any moves in the near future except for Riley hurting Mac and the whole team. Sure, for the greater good. But still.

“I didn’t—” Mac tries to deflect but pauses when Riley throws him a pointed look. “I just got a case of the blues. No specific reason,” he shrugs. He won’t ever admit that the thought of what he had lost with her hit so hard he stupidly grabbed a bottle just to numb everything.

So pathetic and so dumb. And ineffective.

“Mhm,” Riley jeers. “And it had absolutely nothing to do with Desi coming back next week with her fiancé in tow?”

Mac’s eyes widen. Desi definitely wasn’t on his mind yesterday, and even if he felt a little uneasy at the prospect of working together again, it wasn’t because of Evan. Sure, it will be a bit awkward and all, but the real problem was he just knew Desi would see through his feelings in a nanosecond, and that was a dangerous weapon in her hands. No sense of decency, loyalty or, hell, sympathy would ever stop her if she could torture the shit out of him in front of an absolutely oblivious Riley.

Desi is going to have heaps of fun with it. Mac—not so much.

“No, I’m happy for her. Scouts honor.” He holds up three fingers to emphasize the truth in his words, and Riley chuckles, desperately wishing it wasn’t a lie meant to throw her off. It’s not like they didn’t tackle this issue before, but Bozer was usually around, making fun of Mac’s disastrous love life, and jokes were always much easier than an honest talk. Besides, Riley wasn’t sure how much she was ready for an honest talk.

Lord, she really shouldn’t be thinking about herself now.

“Frankly speaking, I couldn’t wish for a better ending,” Mac goes on, pensively watching the fire in front of him. “You saw how happy Desi is? Glowing. It takes such a big load off my shoulders,” he exhales. Something strange shines in his eyes as if he had trouble believing his own luck. “The breakup was mutual, yet I couldn’t help but feel so guilty at times. For so many reasons,” he adds self-consciously. “So, it’s the best ending I could imagine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Riley says levelly, quite astonished by the admission. The peace Mac seems to be at with the whole story is something she didn’t see coming. It takes a big load off her shoulders too, but doesn’t really stop trillions of questions from arising.

The wish to propose, no matter how wise or not at the stage Mac and Desi were, doesn’t quite align with the peace you’re at a bit later, when your nearly-fiancée goes back to her own ex-fiancé.

As if he could sense her confusion, Mac shifts uneasily in his spot. “It’s been a really weird couple of years,” he confesses, massaging the back of his neck. “I think I still haven’t fully grasped how messed up everything was.”

“It was,” Riley agrees, because what’s more accurate than that? “It really, really was.”

“I’ve dealt so poorly with all of it,” he adds quietly. “Mostly through denial. Or distractions.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, man. You went to hell and back, doing your best under the circumstances.”

“Definitely not the best,” Mac sighs, shaking his head. How many times has he been over this, trying to figure out how the hell did he get so lost and blind? “And it had consequences. It all got so blurry I hung onto the relationship with Desi as if it could give me some form of stability. But we were far from stable.”

“It just means you’re human, Mac. And there’s always room for improvement.”

“Yeah,” he continues, feeling the urge to set the record straight, whatever hard-to-answer question might follow. “But if I just paused for a moment, took a step back to think what kept us together… I’m still not sure if I didn’t see what was wrong between us or I didn’t want to see. Denial and distractions,” he repeats, running a hand through his hair. “We cared about each other, but it’s like we both wanted to fill a void. Desi had lost her perfect guy, so she kinda settled for less-than-perfect. Way less-than-perfect. And I… I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have my dream girl loving me back.”

Oh. A dream girl.

Riley faced terrorists and mercenaries, men twice her size, armed to the teeth, but somehow has no courage to hold Mac’s gaze right now, probably because it’s like he wants her to dig into that mystery perfect girl. Because maybe it’s not someone he’s been with so far. Maybe he means—

A badass scientist, that’s probably it. Maybe Frankie?

“Well, um…” Mac sounds deflated now. “The tequila was just a moment of enormous stupidity. Won’t happen again, I promise. I know where it leads.”

He’s not proud of the last 24 hours and making Riley, of all people, deal with him. She’s never said a word about it, but there’s no way excessive drinking doesn’t remind her of Elwood.

Shit. It’s really not the road to take.

“But thanks for checking up on me and… keeping me in check,” Mac adds, smiling bashfully at Riley, trying to hide how much her steady care for him melts his insides. It’s always care, never pressure or guilt-tripping.

“I’m always down to annoy your ass,” Riley grins, deciding not to dig deeper. “You’ve got quite a group of people willing to do that.”

“A wolf pack. Only a tad dysfunctional,” he winks, and Riley laughs. She knows the name emerged somewhere around Jack’s kidnapping of Elwood, so that tells you all you need to know about that weird-ass Phoenix family. Only a tad dysfunctional.

“So, I wanted to return the necklace. While it’s still in one piece,” she says, taking the jewelry out of her pocket. It brought them luck today—the judge wasn’t afraid of Matty at all, nuh-uh, and Kai should be out of jail in about two or three weeks, staying with the Phoenix for the rest of her sentence.

“I told you there’s no rush,” Mac replies, suddenly far, far away, mood plummeting quickly. Two blue eyes focused on the shimmering stone turn full of sorrow.

After a while, a warm hand lands on his knee. “Hey, what is it? Where did you go?” Riley asks, concern marring her features. That didn’t look like Mac’s typical I-got-lost-in-the-vast-expanse-of-my-mind mood. He radiates so much sadness her heart aches.

“I… um, sorry, I got distracted. It’s just...” he trails off while Riley gives him an encouraging squeeze. “After everybody left, I caught some Zs again and had a dream. Or maybe a memory, I don’t know. But it seems I remember that necklace.”

“And it’s… not a good memory?” Riley asks tentatively, searching his painfully contorted face.

“No, it’s a nice memory. I was, I don’t know, four, four and a half? Thought opals came from stars and worried about talking to girls,” he chuckles wetly. “Anyway, we were just a happy little family. It’s the present time that… sucks.”

“I know, Mac.”

He watches her silently for a moment, grappling with that deeply rooted fear of being utterly vulnerable. Also, of destroying the most important thing in his life.

She speaks your language.

“You don’t know everything,” he finally blurts out, decision made.

Riley stays frozen, trying to figure out what he’s going to say. All her senses tell her to brace for another proof of Mac’s fragility. The pain he still lives in after all these hellish years.

“You know you can tell me anything,” she reassures him, like always. Years have flown by, they’ve changed, but that part of their bond hasn’t. It only got deeper.

“Just promise me you won’t run away.”

“Have I ever done that?”

Definitely not. And that gives Mac a tiny little sliver of hope but also hurts. It hurts like thousands of spikes going through his body when he’s reminded he caused that person beside him, his person, any pain.

He takes Riley’s hand and intertwines their fingers.

“I am full of regrets. Regrets so big I…” He takes a deep, steadying breath, trying to overcome the tightness in his chest. “There’s something I won’t ever make peace with. And that’s hurting you. Being blind when I should’ve been observant. When I should’ve seen at least a friend in pain. You have no idea how much I hate myself for it.”

Riley freezes even more. It’s a dangerous territory and she has no idea where Mac is heading with it. On the other hand, there’s this little dark corner of her heart that foolishly hoped for some acknowledgement on Mac’s part of how hard the whole situation was on her. No matter how stupid and selfish her rational mind deemed that need, a part of her still yearned for a little reassurance Mac realized it was a lot to deal with.

He did not show it. Probably granting her wish to focus on their partnership and friendship and ignore all the things that could be a threat to that.

Until today. He acknowledges it now, of all possible moments, and Riley feels like she’s balancing on a knife edge. So she chooses a trusty road. “Mac, stop. We talked about this. You don’t have to feel guilty about anything. We’re good.”

He means it only as a friend, goes on repeat in her head.

But Mac barely allows her to finish. “Please. Let me say it. I don’t want you to think that learning about your feelings was something I just shrugged off and moved on. It turned my life upside down.” His grip on Riley’s hand tightens while he summons all the courage to bare his soul, desperately wishing she wouldn’t run away. “Riles, you were my dream girl. Someone so perfect there was absolutely no way I’d ever get that. So I never thought it could be. That you’d ever see me this way. That’s why I was so blind. And I hurt the person I love the most.”

“Mac…” Riley’s heart ceases to beat. Whatever answer she tries to come up with, the words just don’t form.

“I know you have every reason to be distrustful or to think I’m still just running from loneliness or all my issues. But this is real.” His eyes transfixed on Riley’s own are full of determination, yet far from hopeful. “This is something I knew for a long time, I just couldn’t admit to it. I thought I’d ruin everything we had. Oh, the irony…” he grimaces. “And I know what you said, and I’m not trying to—” He takes another deep breath. “It’s just… You have no idea how you make me feel.”

It all feels utterly unreal. So wanted, so wished-for, but at the same time, so hard to believe. Part of Riley is convinced she’s dreaming and about to get a brutal reality check. The other part… wants more. More, more, more.

“How?” she whispers barely audible. Because… because she needs to hear more.

Mac’s eyes soften. “You’re my person in every possible way. You speak my language. You… you have my heart in a way I didn’t know was possible. You make up a silly little story about my parents, and something in me heals. You’re just beautiful beyond expression, inside and out. I wish I was even a little bit worthy.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Riley cups Mac’s cheek with a trembling hand as she attempts to work her way through the storm of emotions taking her whole. The tears are already falling uncontrollably. “Listen to me. I don’t blame you for anything, Mac.”

“You should.”

“But I don’t. And never will. I just wanted you to be happy. It didn’t matter how.”

“That’s the thing, Riles. You had your own baggage and pain, but you never became as myopic as I did. You were just constantly offering love and support. And just the thought I’ve been hurting someone so kind and generous makes me sick to the stomach.”

Riley shakes her head, running a thumb down Mac’s cheek. “We’ll get back to your guilt trips in a second. But first things first.” She takes a deep breath, trying to regain control of her body that feels strangely weak right now. “So, a dream girl, huh?” she asks with a wet chuckle, moving her hands to brush the tears away.

“Yeah,” Mac nods sheepishly. Part of him is astonished Riley hasn’t run away yet, while the other part anxiously waits to get his heart broken. Really, truly, irreversibly broken.

“And here I was thinking it’s always been Marie Curie. And that’s why you have her cutout.”

Confused, Mac furrows his brows but then catches Riley's teasing smile. There’s a flicker in her bright but tearful eyes he hasn’t seen forever. At least not directed at him. It lights a fire somewhere deep inside of him, and suddenly all his fears start to melt away. “She’s kinda dead, you know,” he retorts with a smirk.

“Hence the cutout.”

“I don’t know, I prefer living, breathing, warm human beings. Smelling nice.” In some very unexpected surge of confidence, he lowers his face to the crook of Riley’s neck and his lips brush her skin. A pair of arms sneak around her torso.

Riley shudders. He’s a menace.

“And let’s be real, she’d kick you out of her lab really fast for messing with her equipment,” she jabs good-naturedly, using his position to run a hand through his hair.

“That’s… very likely. But please remind me, why are we talking about her?” Mac’s head shots up, and his eyes hover over Riley’s lips for a second before they’re back higher. And they’re dark.

“Well, I wanted to know if I could beat a two-time Nobel prize winner in your eyes.”

“Oh, in every possible way.”

Riley cups Mac’s face again. “Then I suppose I should be honest too. Although I think it must be pretty obvious at this point. You’re the person I love the most too.”

But Mac’s heart breaks again. “So the whole time—”

“Mac, I won’t kiss you if you continue with that stupid guilt trip.”

“I… I’m on my best behavior from now on.”

“You better,” Riley grins. But when a moment later Mac still stalls, staring at her utterly perplexed, she expectantly narrows her eyes at him. “That was a hint, you know.”

“I just… I can’t believe this is happening. I kinda fear it’s a dream and I’m gonna wake up in Murdoc’s dungeon, next to a tray of sophisticated torture tools.”

“I had the exact same thoughts when you told me I was your dream girl,” Riley chuckles. “Minus Murdoc, that is. More like waking up lonely and heartbroken in my empty apartment.”

“We’re idiots,” Mac states, looking at her so softly Riley could melt.

“Yeah. But you’re a bigger one,” she teases while Mac finally moves to catch her lips. There’s a clash of teeth at first, because they’re both smiling way too much, but then they find their perfect rhythm. One kiss turns into two, then three and… well, who’s counting?

Above their heads, the LA night sky is clearer than ever.

“That’s much better,” Riley says, tracing the lines on Mac’s face with her thumb when he’s grinning at her from ear to ear, dimples on full display. “If you’re gonna get all wrinkly, let it be from smiling. I officially ban any guilt trips. Especially over things you had no control of.”

“Um… kissing definitely helps.”

“Please take a different approach with your therapist, okay?” Riley jokes, nudging him playfully, and Mac laughs. He radiates so much happiness Riley forgets everything that’s been weighing down on her for the last couple of weeks. She never wished anything else for him, and knowing she’s part of the reason why he finally looks completely relaxed and at peace makes her heart swell with joy.

“Speaking of other people, can I ask you something?” A fleeting look of uneasiness takes over Mac’s features, and Riley wonders why.

“Sure. Fire away.”

“Were you seeing someone?” he asks timidly, unsure what answer this question will bring.

Riley swallows down a hearty laugh. “Would I be kissing you if I was seeing someone else?”

“I hope not, but um… you know…”

“Where is this coming from, MacGyver?” Riley gives him an unimpressed look.

Mac shifts nervously in his spot. “There were guys hitting on you right in front of my face, Bozer wouldn’t shut up about how you should date this or that dude, and you were on your phone a lot, smiling like that.”

“You were jealous? Because I was smiling like that at the screen?”

“Maybe?” Mac answers sheepishly.

“I’ve never seen you jealous! Are you even capable of that?”

“I… I wish I wasn’t,” he mutters, looking like he was caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

Riley watches him in astonishment. Okay, there were times when he seemed to dislike some guys in her life, but she would never ascribe it to jealousy. Protectiveness—sure, but not jealousy.

This is a life-changing discovery. Also really funny.

“Well, to be honest, there is a guy. Big dark eyes, a smile to kill for. Great body. Luscious dark hair, ah!” she plays up her amazement. “That’s who I’ve been smiling at.”

Mac bites his lips. He knows she’s messing with him, but seriously, he’s just a man. A weak, weak man who has a big thing for this girl next to him, and he’s kind of territorial when it comes to her. Her and her only. Sue him.

“See for yourself. This is Theo.” Riley slides her phone under Mac’s nose.

Yeah, luscious dark hair and dreamy eyes. The longest eyelashes ever. Plus a toothy smile, button nose and squishy cheeks.

“Kai’s nephew. She had fallen out with her sister over many things, but then Rosa felt bad about it, especially after giving birth to this little nugget, and they reconnected. Kai wanted us to meet, and now I’m getting tons of baby pictures. Which I enjoy a lot. He’s the cutest thing ever,” she grins at her blond more-than-a-friend. “Still jealous?”

“I think I can deal with a competition like that,” Mac retorts smugly. “He’s very lucky to have an auntie like you, though. Definitely got your looks,” he adds with a wink.

“Well, I can introduce you to the family. Not gonna lie, I’d love to show you off to the world.” Riley smooches Mac’s cheek, which he promptly turns into another makeout session.

But then reality knocks, and Riley’s mood darkens a little. “Will it be awkward with Desi back? Even if we’re taking things slow and she’s with Evan, I can’t help but feel—“

“She told me I could date whoever and whenever. And I could get that in writing,” Mac points out quickly, fearing that Riley might change her mind and make the ‘slow’ part much, much slower.

“She told me to finally be shamelessly happy,” the hacker admits a little reluctantly.

“That’s an excellent advice.” Mac clasps her in his arms. “I very much hope I won’t screw it up for you.”

“Never.” She takes his lips again. But I might screw it up for you, echoes in Riley’s mind.

A bit later, she tells Mac about her impending assignment. Of course, without disclosing any details or even the truth about that one little nanobot in his body. There’s no way she’d just leave without a word, like she’s supposed to, after that talk. There’s no way she’d leave him scared of himself. Matty can stick it. Besides, she probably already knows how things have changed for Mac and Riley.

Mac’s grip on her tightens. “Just come back in one piece,” he repeats again and again. “Just come home to me.”

He doesn’t let go of her on the couch, where they spend the rest of the evening, trying to distract themselves with a Die Hard marathon. He doesn’t let go of her in the bed when they finally go to sleep. When she wakes up in the middle of the night, he’s wide awake, clutching her to his chest like the most precious possession.

“C’mon,” she whispers after trying to kiss his worries away, “just close your eyes.” Then she maneuvers them so Mac’s head falls on her stomach, and starts to brush fingers through his hair. “I’m here and I love you.”

He mouths that too and drifts off to sleep with a small smile on his lips.

Chapter Text

Around six weeks later

Milton Bozer smiles appreciatively, taking in the breathtaking view of LA’s city lights. Considering how much crap Mac’s family had put him through, at least they left him with a really nice house. God, that view. Milton is not entirely sure, though, if it’s worth suffering through LA’s traffic and air pollution every day, but it’s certainly rewarding.

The four of them are sitting together on Mac’s deck: Lauretta, the boys and him. It feels like old times, even if the boys are not boys anymore but rather grown-ass men. Hell, two secret agents saving the world on a daily basis. However, Milton is still pretending to have zero knowledge of that. But they know he knows. It even has its allure, that pretending. It’s like he’s playing make-believe with his kids again.

It’s been quite a year. Not only because Milton discovered that his own son, a prone-to-dramatics foodie and wannabe movie director (with some success, but let’s be honest, he’s no Scorsese), earns his living by playing James Bond (Double-0-Boze? Seriously? Isn’t he more like… Q?). Even if there might be fewer fast cars, fancy suits and beautiful women involved, it’s still something quite hard to grasp.

It’s also been quite a year because of that one phone call that made Lauretta freeze, then exclaim, “Sweet Baby Jesus and the grownup one!” and then slowly sink into the couch, eyes wide, mouth open.

“We don’t have enough wine for this,” she mumbles, putting her phone away, a mix of astonishment, worry, and disbelief etched on her face.

“For what exactly?” Milton braces himself for some terrible, life-altering news. However, the lack of sorrow in Lauretta’s demeanor puts him somewhat at ease.

“Dead people coming back to life, for starters. Two. One is too little, apparently.”

“That sounds more like scotch anyway.”

“Try a whole distillery.”

“Are you sure Wilt isn’t writing some very tropey, I mean ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’ level of tropey screenplay?” Milton teases, moving to grab the glasses. He knows very well where his son got all the dramatics from.

Lauretta just gives Milton a side eye and urges him to bring the liquor quicker. Some things just can’t be discussed sober.

So, to recapitulate:

Wilt: + 1 girlfriend (probably intelligence), coming back after being declared dead

Mac: – 1 girlfriend (military), getting back with her fiancé, a POW in Afghanistan, presumed dead for years

There was also a mysterious case of one Riley Davis, whom Milton knew only from his son’s tales, staying radio silent after having unexpectedly left her job. All to Wilt’s enormous confusion. A confusion he was very vocal about, supported by an equally puzzled Leanna. Mac, on the other hand, tried to refrain from any conversation on the matter, his repressing-the-hell-out-of-it tactics in full bloom.

Milton could tell the blond genius was taking it hard. Way harder than this whole Desi situation, which was another mind-boggling conundrum, because weren’t they quite serious? Yet, Mac talked of Desi’s adventures surprisingly lightly, as if she was only a colleague, not a live-in girlfriend.

Truth be told, Milton was a little worried, watching the couple during their stay in Mission City. He’s never been the one to jump to conclusions, but seeing Mac just crawl into his shell and push away any form of concern raised a lot of questions. It didn’t seem like a temporary, just-get-through-the-day tactic. Rather like the only defense mechanism known to the boy, along with jumping head-first into any task, any problem to solve that could take his mind off the emptiness left by somebody’s passing. Or could help to switch all the feelings off.

Only at some point, shields like that could tank a relationship.

Milton did not enjoy watching Mac so high-strung and jumpy. Sure, under the circumstances, it was hard to escape all the emotional distress, but it seemed that whatever kind of support Desi could offer, it wasn’t the one Mac truly needed. It also seemed like he wouldn’t even try to tell her what he truly needed.

Well, the thing about relationships is that there are two (um... usually) people in it. It takes two to make a thing go right. And things work when they listen to each other, see one another and aren’t afraid to speak.

Of course, sometimes things don’t work even with all that, but that’s just life.

Lauretta felt pretty much the same. She was happy for Mac, but on closer examination, she saw how closed-off he was with his girlfriend. Not a good sign. If the Bozers were sure of one thing in life, communication was the key to a successful relationship. They wouldn’t have made it through the first year of marriage, not to mention the next thirty-something and the loss of a child, if they couldn’t talk and trust each other with everything, even the most embarrassing and emotionally jarring stuff.

Right now, Mac claims not to be too depressed by his single status but definitely looks somewhat anxious, as if something was keeping him on edge. And judging by the number of obscure projects adorning his house, he hasn’t caught a break in a very long time. Maybe it’s the burden of all the losses he has gone through over the years, or maybe it’s the other girl, whose name makes him convulsively clench his hands. No matter what, Milton is going to get to the bottom of it, as an addendum to the ‘you should know how to cope with your pain, son’ conversation. Mac won’t get away from him this time.

Matty, the boys’ boss, joins them on the deck. She’s even better at putting Wilt in his place than Lauretta. If she’s some kind of a superspy too, Milton can’t wait to hear all these stories one day.

What a group of people.

After a good deal of anecdotes, jabs and laughter—and a moderate number of beers, they are here not to get wasted, thank you very much—there’s a knock on the door.

“Mac, can you get it? It’s probably someone from work with some files for me. Told’em I’d be here.” Matty feels too comfortable in her spot to even consider getting up herself. And it’s Mac’s house, isn’t it? He should be the doorman.

Mac moves towards the door with a grunt and an overly pained expression. Matty watches him from under the lashes with a little smirk on her lips. This is going to be good.

In the meantime, though, they need a little distraction.

“So, Lauretta, Milton, what was the biggest damage Mac caused at your home?”

Opening the door, Mac takes in the silhouette standing on his porch. Dark curly hair thrown haphazardly in a messy bun, a pair of gorgeous brown eyes, warm and enchanting, hopeful and timid at the same time, a small, tender smile on her lips. His brain short-circuits. Weirdly enough, his body knows exactly what to do. He lunges forward to hug her fiercely, possessively, as if she were just a mirage bound to disappear. A desperate “Riles!” rips from his lips before he buries his face in her hair.

She’s here. She came home.

He can breathe again.

Riley manages only a weak “Hey, you” before she’s crushed into his chest. They both hungrily breathe each other in, getting lost in their overworking senses. The relief, happiness, love, and calm Mac feels right now bring tears to his eyes. He lets them fall freely, the most cathartic tears he’s ever cried.

All his worries fade for a moment. Riley is here, and he feels complete.

They don’t move, except for some gentle swaying back and forth, don’t talk, just melt into one another.

Milton enters the house in search of a bathroom. His expert detective eyes quickly notice two people standing in tight embrace next to the door. They didn’t even bother to close it, so engrossed in each other. He doesn’t see their faces, but judging by her height, the woman is definitively not Desi. Judging by the mass of dark curls, the woman could be Riley.

He’s taken aback for a moment, not prepared to step into something so intimate, but then he smiles to himself. Mac is cradling the girl’s head with his hand, a gesture full of tenderness and love. That kind of love is something Milton always wanted his boys to have, but wasn’t entirely sure if Mac had experienced this in his previous relationships. If that’s what the breakup made space for, Milton is more than okay with it. He has a good feeling.

Besides, maybe two months ago, when Wilt brought Leanna to Mission City, Milton might’ve accidentally eavesdropped on his son planning an intervention that included fake-kidnapping Mac and Riley, who were supposed to confess their undying love for each other while facing imminent (and fake) death. Luckily, just when Milton started to ponder if he had to arrest Double-0-Boze for conspiracy to commit a crime, Leanna shut Wilt up with a spoonful of flan they had been eating on the deck.

Well, it’s always good to see how a criminal mastermind gets outsmarted by a dessert.

Leanna is a keeper, too.

When Milton leaves the bathroom, the pair still stays in each other’s embrace. He shakes his head fondly at this prolonged display of affection. They must’ve been apart for quite some time if the hugging action goes like this. Not to spook them, he activates his best stealth mode and shuffles quietly towards the deck.

“I didn’t know that collecting some package included so much hugging.” He looks at Matty with mocked seriousness.

She flashes him her sweetest smile. “Oh, you know, kids these days...”

That gets Bozer’s attention. “Hugging? Who’s hugging? Mac is hugging? Who is he hugging, dad? Who’s at the door?” They can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Wait a minute, is it Riley? Is she back? Matty, for crying out loud, answer me!”

“Zip it, Boze, you’re an awful drama queen.”

“That’s it, I’m gonna see for myself.” He gets up immediately, only to be caught by Matty, who grips the back of his shirt with an iron fist.

“Sit your ass down, Bozer, or I’ll ask Riley to dig up the most embarrassing intel on you.”

Lauretta is pretty impressed too, how effortlessly this woman manages her son.

“So it is Riley! Good Lord, Matty, why must you torture me like that?” Bozer throws his hands in the air, exasperated by Webber’s seeming impassiveness. “I knew she didn’t quit just like that! I knew it!” Then he shifts his focus. “So, dad, what exactly is going on there? Are they kissing? Please tell me they’re kissing!”

Milton snorts disbelievingly. A minute ago, he was happy to see Mac receiving some love, but Wilt’s nosiness seems absolutely kindergarten-y. “Son, ever heard about privacy and boundaries?”

“Someone please kill me now, I’ve been waiting my whole life for it!” Bozer pouts like a grumpy toddler, squirming in his seat.

“First of all, definitely not your whole life, you’ve known Riley for maybe seven years. Second, do I have to remind you of that ridiculous crush you had on her? Pretty sure the bro code kept Mac away.”

“Yeah, no, it’s all forgotten now, and it was probably more of a ‘Jack’s little girl’ code. I was the captain of the MacRiley ship!”

That’s when Lauretta decides to chime in. “Wait a minute, what the heck are y’all talking about? Are Mac and Riley together? Or getting together?” She narrows her eyes at Milton. “What do you know that I don’t?”

He raises his hands in mocked defense. “I just saw two people hugging tightly in the hallway. The girl has a mass of dark curls, so I guess it’s Riley. Sorry, Wilt, no kissing. But the hug is very not-brotherly-like.” He winks at his visibly disappointed son. “Let’s say it’s the ‘If only I could get you any closer’ kind. ‘Melting into each other’ kind.”

Lauretta quirks an eyebrow. That’s some news.

Well, it’s not like she hasn’t suspected any feelings on Mac’s part. That one evening with the boys on the deck—and Riley upset by her cheating ex—was pretty informative, but it could be a long way from pining for your best friend to actually getting together. Not to mention Mac was very much not single then. That’s quite a messy situation.

On the other hand, he was struggling so hard at that time, so lost and burdened by such deep guilt that he genuinely deserves some calmer, happier days. If it starts today, let’s be it.

Lauretta just prays these kids talked things through and made sure they knew what they were getting into. If not, well, she’s basically Mac’s mother, isn’t she? Earned a right to a comment or two on his love life. Or a whole tirade straight to his face. Lauretta Bozer ain’t afraid of anyone.

“When did this happen?” she asks.

“More like it should’ve happened ages ago, Ma.”

“I concur,” Matty adds with a smirk.

“Oh, great, so you concur now. Couldn’t you have dug up that intel on Evan earlier?” Maybe he’s risking his life, but Bozer won’t let Matty just sit there and be smug.

“Couldn’t you have talked to your best friend? Dropped some hints? By the way, they had broken up before we managed to locate Evan,” Matty shoots back without missing a beat. “Could’ve been faster, sure, but it all had to happen naturally, that’s why I’m confident they won’t fizzle out. They’re rock solid. Wedding bells and all. Mini-geniuses running around.”

“Yeah, as if all that so-called ‘things happening naturally’ hadn’t caused Riley a shitload of heartbreak. Should’ve seen her face sometimes.”

“She’s a big girl, Boze. And now Mac will be going out of his way to make it up to her. It has its perks,” Matty winks. “But seriously, guys, I don’t know if they’re together right now or not, so give them a little privacy and swallow down all the nosy questions. You’ll all know soon enough. In the meantime, back to business. How the hell did they cause that football pit to melt?”

How long they stay in that tight embrace, Mac is not sure. Time has slowed down for him. The only thing that counts is Riley’s warmth in his arms, the softness of her hair tingling his cheeks, the smell of vanilla and coconut. The second heartbeat he feels close to his own heart. He would be more than happy to stay like this till the end of the world, but out of the peripheral, he notices some movement near the deck door.

Reality knocks. They are not alone.

He pulls back a little to look into her eyes. They are slightly misty but full of warmth and love. He feels that love in every synapse he has, and his chest nearly explodes.

With one hand, he cups her face, tenderly caressing her cheek. “You came home,” he whispers hoarsely, still overwhelmed by the amount of joy he’s feeling right now, still astonished that she came back to him. That she kept her promise.

“Told you,” she smiles, voice raspy. Her hands move to wipe the tear tracks on Mac’s face, and he soaks in her touch with all of his being. “By the way, that’s my favorite place to be.”

Mac is lost for words, feeling directly how his space suddenly changes into theirs, how that feeling seeps right into his bones. No matter how slow or fast they are going to take things, he’s never felt so much at home like right now. So rooted. So grateful to his grandparents for leaving their traces here and making room for him, for them, and for all that is yet to come.

All is right with the world.

One of his hands tugs at Riley’s hip, the other cups her face as his eyes wander to her lips. A fraction of a second later, they are kissing, slowly, unhurriedly, but trying to get as much of each other as it’s possible without frantically shedding any clothes. When they finally part, there’s an unspoken promise in both of their eyes.

Mac can’t contain the grin splitting his cheeks. It’s so good to have her back, but also so good to have her home on a night like this.

“I’d like to stay here forever and do nothing but kiss you, but soon there’s gonna be a Bozer peeking through the door,” he chuckles. “So, let’s not give them anything to grill us with.”

“A Bozer? Them? Wait, there’s more than one?” Riley furrows her brows, suddenly a little timid.

Mac takes her hand, laughing softly. “All three of them. C’mon, you need to meet all of your in-laws.”

“Wait, wait, wait… You’re not planning on telling them the whole story, are you? ‘Cause we kinda still have a lot to talk about. A lot. You know, the R-word and stuff,” she eyes him carefully.

“Of course not,” Mac smiles widely. “But they’re gonna have this figured out in a nanosecond, the pack of hounds they are. You’ve met Lauretta and her beloved son Wilt, right?” he teases. “And Milton is a police detective. A good one.”

“Oh, God, Mac, maybe another time... I’m not really fit for—”

“They adore you,” Mac interjects, grinning even more, amused by her squirming. “And I mean Milton too, that goes without saying. C’mon, I’ve made brownies.”

“That sweetens the deal a little,” Riley admits begrudgingly. “You should’ve led with that.”

Mac wants to kiss her again, but this way they’ll never make it to the deck. And he really wants to avoid any peeking Bozer. They’re going to tease the hell out of him anyway.

Suddenly he notices the still open door. Yeah, that feels pretty symbolic. He tugs gently at Riley’s hand, gesturing towards the entrance.

“I’m just gonna close the door so I could trap you inside,” he smiles mischievously.

“Please do,” she shakes her head fondly, catching on the double entendre, eyes sparkling with joy. “But also remember I know where the secret hatch is.”

After that comeback, Mac decides that all the guests around his fire pit can enjoy themselves without him just fine.

He has a girl to kiss.

Much, much later on the deck, they are greeted by four pairs of curious eyes and four knowing smirks. If Mac wasn’t blocking her from the back Riley would like to bolt. It’s quite a lot for her first night back from that undercover op. Before she has the chance to spin on her heels and run, Mac puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and the tension in her body dissipates a little. She tries to tell herself it’s not that big of a deal, the Bozers are awesome, and Lauretta treats her like her own daughter, but now things are a-changing, and Riley is a little terrified. How will Mac’s foster parents see him with a convict?

“Look who I found at the door,” Mac beams at the whole gathering.

Bozer is the first one out of his seat, practically tackling Riley down.

“YOU. OWE. ME. THE BIGGEST. AND. THE JUCIEST. STEAK. IN THE WHOLE LA! FOR A MONTH!” he exclaims, crushing her to his chest. “I bullied every Phoenix tech into looking for you, but you just disappeared into thin air, dammit! Not cool, sis!”

Riley manages to mumble something apologetically but gets rapidly silenced by Bozer’s rant. “I would’ve gone crazy with worry if I hadn’t seen this guy,” he gestures towards Mac, “being kinda chillier than it was expected under the circumstances. I knew things weren’t that bad.”

“Chillier? I was literally dying here, Bozer!” Mac looks deeply offended.

“Yeah, but if Riley had left for real, you wouldn’t have been able to function like at all, bro. You would’ve gone completely unhinged, raising hell to find her. And don’t even try to deny it!”

“And that’s why Mac got some pointers Riley was on a job,” Matty interjects, deciding to ignore the fact that her best hacker went off the script and looped Mac in. “We didn’t need any hell more. You all cause more ruckus on a daily basis than a daycare full of hungry kids. And now let go of her, Wilt. I need my hug too.”

Lauretta is the next one, and she’s not holding back. “I don’t know what’s going on and where you have been all this time, but I can tell Mac is on cloud nine right now. Let’s hope it’ll only get better from now on,” she whispers conspiratorially while Riley hastily brushes her tears away.

“Welcome to the family,” Milton smiles, finally getting his moment. “Officially. Because you’ve been a part of it for a long time now, always turning up in so many stories. She’s definitely the big sister, Wilt,” he adds, winking at his son, who immediately starts to protest. “And I want to hear all about the hackers you’re mentoring. That’s no easy feat.”

“Oh, let the girl eat first,” Lauretta rolls her eyes. “Hard to believe, honey, but he’s not all about work. Only never, under no circumstances, ask about his obsession with Law & Order. He’ll talk your ear off,” she warns, sending Milton a dirty look. Then she turns to the boys, and her look changes into a death stare. “What are the two of you waiting for? Get Riley a plate and something to drink. Now.”

Two minutes later, Riley digs in her food, but it’s a bit of a struggle to swallow anything down since her stomach is all up in knots. Today was a lot to take in—barely catching a breath after her undercover op (that ended like ten hours ago, dammit!), finally seeing Mac after all that stress and strain, plus running into the Bozers. Who are truly the sweetest people, but—

Your in-laws.

Well, Mac is waaay ahead of himself.

(If a tiny little piece of Riley’s heart swells exponentially at his words, he won’t know. At least not now.)

Mac fights hard to keep any distance between him and Riley, mindful of her wish to protect their privacy, but seeing her so overwhelmed, picking at her food, makes his resolve crumble. He loops his arm around her shoulders, drawing reassuring circles on her skin. “Just relax,” he murmurs, kissing her hairline, deciding to throw all the caution to the wind and not care if any inquisitive eyes spy on his moves. “There’s nothing to worry about. You’re home and with people who love you to pieces.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Riley mutters, a little choked up, biting down the urge to kiss him back. The tension slowly melts away, and the more Mac’s warmth seeps into her bones, the more at ease she finally feels.

The rest of their wolf pack only smiles affectionately at them.

When the Bozers bid their goodbyes, Milton whisks Mac away for a little face-to-face.

“I don’t mean to pry, and I can tell you’re really happy right now, but are you sure about this, son? I mean the pace, not the girl. I know Riley is one of a kind, I’ve heard that a thousand times from Wilt,” he states, not hiding his concerns. “You, however, just got out of a pretty serious relationship. I wouldn’t like to see the two of you getting hurt.”

Mac only smiles sadly. “As much as I’d like to be offended that people think I need someone supervising my love life, I admit I worked hard for that label. I made a mess with Desi. I mean, we both contributed to it, but it was me who kept pushing forward. Mostly out of fear of being alone.” He shakes his head self-deprecatingly. “We cared about each other, but it’s like we couldn’t bond on that really deep level. Still, we kept hoping it could somehow happen one day. I needed a life/death situation as a wake-up call.”

Milton is tempted to dig deeper into this life/death situation but thinks the better of it. Bullets fly on his job too. The most important thing is that Mac isn’t dodging the question. Milton doesn’t have to coax him into anything. The boy is talking, and it’s a miracle in itself.

Mac continues with a sheepish expression. “With Riley, it’s so much more different. It goes way back. We’ve been best friends for such a long time that I don’t even know when it became not-so-friendly on my part. Years ago, that’s what I know.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “We talk. About everything. And it’s easy. It’s as easy as breathing. I don’t have to… hide or pretend,” he adds quietly. “I know I could go through anything with her. I kinda already did. I just hate it took me so much time to be honest with myself. About what I really wanted.” He thinks back to that conversation with Russ months ago, during that Indian wedding, and can’t help but marvel at how different he feels right now. All the self-doubt is gone along with that hazy haze he was trying to navigate through. “She’s the one. I know that deep in my bones. But we’re taking things slow,” he concludes, realizing with a rush of emotions that it’s the first time he’s ever said all of this aloud to the world. She’s the one.

Milton nods, appreciation shining in his eyes.“Then I am very happy for you. But I have one condition.” His face suddenly turns stony. “Otherwise, I’ll make your life a living hell, young man.”

“Um... What’s that?” Mac is a bit lost.

“You call us more. You visit more. You make use of that cabin of yours, will ya? It needs some thorough dusting. Keep close to your Mission City wolf pack. Make sure Donnie Sandoz pops a vein when he sees your girlfriend,” Milton finishes with a wink.

“I’ll try. Calling and visiting, I mean,” Mac laughs. “As to Donnie... Eh, he could go about his life, I guess. I really don’t miss his face.”

Lauretta watches them both from afar with a knowing smirk.

Mac sighs. “Okay, I know what you want to say.”

“I highly doubt that, but go on.”

“Milton has already said it all. And I assure you we’re not rushing into anything. Riley wouldn’t let that happen. I’m the one screwed up, she’s the one that always knows what’s right. Though I kinda hope it’s gonna rub off on me too,” Mac smiles bashfully.

“Fail,” Lauretta grins at him. “I just wanted to state that you’re beaming. Like literary glowing with joy. It’s such a good look on you, honey, and in the last couple of years we got to see it so rarely. I can’t be happier for you.” She pulls him into a tight hug. “But if you’re planning on dodging some holidays with us again, I’m not only gonna let my man unleash hell on you, I’ll be that hell unleashed, Angus MacGyver, and you know I’m not one to be messed with. By the way, Riley and I are really good pals. You won’t stand a chance.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mac laughs heartily, already picturing the Bozers’ celebratory cooking traditions in full swing.

Yeah. It feels good to be a part of a pack. Even if they’re nosy and bossy as hell.

Some peaceful time under the stars later

“Riles, I don’t—” Mac nearly chokes on his words.

“There wasn’t really much hesitation, Mac, even if it took me some time to make that decision. I’d never let you live with that thing inside of you.”

“It’s—“ Mac is still lost for words. Learning the whole truth about Riley’s mission has left him consumed by a tsunami of emotions—love, guilt, astonishment and humility battling for dominance. His chest just feels too tight to keep it all in. Everything seems too big to put it into words. Words seem too… insignificant.

“Also, I couldn’t get all these people from Banja Luka out of my head. How would they get their treatment? We barely figured out ours,” Riley frowns. “And who knows where else the nanobots were used? Getting root access to their software was the easiest way to put an end to all that evil. But it had to be done from within the company.”

Mac draws in a shaky breath. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve her.

And yet Riley is here, in his arms, repeating over and over again how easy it was to take up another risky assignment. Well, maybe not easy easy, but there was not much doubt either. For him. For all the others.

How could he ever pay her back for all the sacrifices she made for him?

“Riles, I—” He just shakes his head, still lost for words.

They should’ve been doing this together.

“Not another guilt trip, Mac. Please, for my sanity.” Riley nuzzles her face into Mac’s neck, and his hold on her only tightens.

“Then… then I’m just grateful. For this. For Codex. For everything else. For you in general. Because you’re a miracle, and I can’t believe I have someone like you in my life.” Mac presses his lips to Riley’s forehead, a tear or two glistening on his eyelashes.

“Aren’t you a smooth talker,” Riley grins, but her eyes blur too when she snuggles even closer to Mac. The fire warms her skin, but the real warmth keeping her heart aglow radiates from that body she’s all cozied up to. From these cerulean blue eyes, criminally beautiful, that for ages have been making her weak at the knees. And now they are watching her with so much love and tenderness Riley has to pinch herself to make sure it’s not a dream.

Finally. After all those hellish weeks of stress, worries and loneliness. After all those years of heartbreak and hopelessness. When she had to reach into her own genuinely unknown depths of strength to be there for others, and sometimes it still felt futile.

As if Mac could hear her musings, he cups her face, looking tortured by the mere thought of putting Riley in a tough spot. “You know I’d change the past if I could, right?” he murmurs, voice paper-thin.

Riley lets out a long sigh. Maybe two months ago it would’ve been an awkward, painful conversation, but she spent the last six weeks drawing her strength from these five words she had heard on repeat before her departure. Just come home to me. Someone was waiting for her in that house in Hollywood Hills. For her. Not because she was conveniently close. Not because Desi or any other woman weren’t an option anymore.

Because Mac had his own door, the one guarding everything that was the most precious and intimate, painful and scary. Depths and depths of memories, hopes, dreams and scars no one has really ever seen. And he’s left it wide open for her.

And here they are. Now. With each other. With no secrets keeping them apart, no distance. With stars shining down on them.

Despite the past.

Or maybe thanks to it? There’s no way to tell.

“It’s okay, Mac,” Riley smiles soothingly, and there’s something so deep and wise in that smile Mac forgets how to breathe. “We’ve built something as friends, right?” she continues, placing her hand over his heart. “Something already based on love. And trust. And honesty. So, now we can build even more.”

“In three dimensions. A home.”

“Well, if literally, it may be a little early for that,” Riley winks playfully. “But I know what you mean.” She reaches up to bury her hands in his hair while their lips crash in a deep, languid kiss that holds so much promise Mac feels downright ecstatic for everything that’s about to come.

All is right with the world.