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Mac didn't know how he got there.
He could remember getting dressed, wearing his old uniform— feeling sick, and having to take two showers before wearing it for the day.
He could remember walking into the hangar with Riley and the others, seeing all the soldiers standing there.
He remembered the casket.
He could remember going back home and how Riley wanted to leave as much as he wanted to. They barely talked.
Then, Mac could remember waking up from a nightmare, in he middle of the night, feeling the whole house suffocating him.
The next thing he knew, he was sitting in Jack's car, in front of the old, almost abandoned Dalton's ranch, in Texas.
Mac blinked slowly, unsure if he was really there or if he was having another nightmare.
Lazy raindrops were hitting the windshield. The car's headlights were the old source of light for miles.
Mac turned them off and stepped outside, in the darkness, closing the door with a soft thud.
He stared at the main house, with all its windows closed, and the walls that could use a new layer of paint… The silence of the property was broken only by the sounds of the storm approaching.
Mac looked at the fields moving frenetically by the wind, and wondered if a tornado was going to hit. He vaguely remembered hearing about it on the radio…
Mac then turned to the house. "I know you're here," he murmured, heading to the door, unsteady on his own feet.
He couldn't even remember if he stopped during the trip to Texas or not. From how his back and legs were hurting, he probably forgot to.
You have to be here. Mac climbed the few steps to the patio and stared at the door for a minute before trying the handle: locked.
Why are you hiding here?
Mac checked the nearby windows but couldn't see anything. He went back to the door and fished a paperclip from his pocket, using it to unlock the door that swung open a few seconds later.
Mac held his breath, watching the weak light from the outside world cut into the house, and then took a step inside: the hall was quiet, just like the small kitchen on the left and the large studio on the right; there were no lights on anywhere on that floor, and none were visible upstairs either, not from there.
Mac crossed the kitchen, checking the empty sink, and then scanned the living room, the fireplace that looked like a black hole…
He walked back and checked the studio and the small bathroom, but found nothing. Going to see the backdoor, he found it locked.
Why didn't you just come home and tell us what happened?
Mac moved to the staircase and almost fell on the steps, feeling his brain doing a flip in his skull.
He stayed there for a long moment, hands and knees on the dusty stairs.
Mac could hear himself breathing heavily, but all he had to do was go upstairs and ask him directly…
Why? Why did you go alone?
Holding onto the banister, Mac stood up and kept climbing.
Why did you fake your death?
Almost there.
Why making us all go through such a shitty day for nothing?
Just another five steps.
Why did you have to make Riley cry?
Reaching the last step, Mac missed it again and was back with his hands on the floor with a pained sob.
He still hadn't cried for Jack— why should he, when he was there, waiting for him?
Mac knew he was there. He just knew. Jack was there, no doubt.
Standing up, he moved to check the first room: nothing. No one.
He must have had something in mind. There was more to that mission than just going after Kovac…
Mac checked the bathroom and the large, empty room on the left. Still nothing.
He knew I'd come here. He knew he couldn't fool me.
Mac stared at the last room, at the last door he had to open.
"Can't believe you're still—" Mac opened the door, "asleep."
His words died in the cold darkness of the main bedroom. There was nothing for him to find there, and no one to hug.
No truths were waiting for him there. No answers. Just darkness.
Mac scanned the whole room, anger, guilt, and disappointment filling his heart so quickly and so much he couldn't breathe anymore.
He turned around and went back to the stairs, someone getting downstairs without falling…
That happened as soon as he stepped outside the house, and down the patio: he ended up hands and knees in the grass, the rain getting stronger and stronger.
Still, Mac couldn't breathe. He couldn't feel the world around him— he didn't want to. He didn't want to see that empty house. He didn't want to remember the funeral.
He couldn't really believe that Jack—
He started gasping for air and fell on his side, his whole body hurting and feeling weak like never before.
And all Mac wished for the sun to never rise again.
All he wanted was to disappear into the darkness— and his wish was granted a moment later.
When he woke up, the first thing he heard was the rain hitting the roof.
Mac kept listening, eyes closed, until another sound made it through: the soft clicking on a keyboard.
Mac's eyes opened, and he realized he was lying on a couch in the Dalton's living room. The same living room he saw before, dark and empty, was now alive, with a small fire in the fireplace, and a few candles lighting up the place.
Mac frowned and then quickly moved to stand up, just to fall on the ground with a pained gasp. His back was still hurting like hell, and his legs felt like jelly.
He took a deep breath and, unsteady on his feet, stood back up and turned to the kitchen, where more candles had been placed, as if leading the way for him.
Mac's heart started racing, and he quickly crossed the house until he reached the studio: there were more candles there, and a laptop on the old desk. There was also a gun there.
Mac stared at it, unsure. It couldn't be Riley. It had to be—
"Feeling better?"
A low, deep voice made him jump. Mac quickly turned around, almost losing his balance, and saw a tall, large man standing by the kitchen's entryway. Not Jack. "Who the hell are you?"
The man blinked slowly, staring at him.
Mac almost thought he was just a shadow, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. "I said, who are you? How did you get in here?!"
"It's not like you bothered to close any door."
Mac stared angrily at the man, then turned and grabbed the gun before pointing it at him. "Answer the question!"
The man took a deep breath and slowly moved forward. "Name's Simon." He kept getting closer until he stopped in front of the gun. "And I'm not here to hurt you."
Mac didn't realize how tall the man was, the gun just reaching below his chest. "I'll be the judge of that." Under the candle's light, he also noticed his short, blond hair.
Simon nodded once, "Fair enough."
"How did you get in here? Who— why are you here?"
"As I said, door's open," Simon grabbed the gun with a hand. "And to answer your other question, I'm here because Jack asked me to."
Mac almost gasped, but didn't let go of the gun. "Jack? He's here?"
Simon frowned. "You were at the funeral."
"Yes, but— is he here?" Mac could see the confusion on Simon's face turn into sadness, but he couldn't give up— he just couldn't believe—
"I'm here because he asked me to find you before he died," Simon said. "I'm sorry."
It was in that moment that Mac felt his shield going into pieces. He couldn't hold it anymore, and so he let go of the gun and fell on his knees on the floor.
His breathing was erratic again, and the room was spinning around him, but his eyes stayed open. The pain was too much to hide. He was drowning in it…
A hand grabbed his arm, and he blinked, watching the man kneeling in front of him.
Simon's eyes were strangely soft as they met Mac's. "Take your time to grieve."
Mac shoved him away and stood up, angrily heading to the door.
He had no one to grieve. Jack isn't dead. He can't be dead!
Slamming the door open, Mac stepped outside and into the garden, just to stop in front of the GTO, in the rain. The sky wasn't as dark as before, meaning it was probably early in the morning.
He's gone
Mac placed both hands on the hood and shut his eyes, fighting back the tears that he couldn't stop anymore. He screamed and punched both hands on it before allowing himself to cry.
And still, he couldn't completely let go. He couldn't believe Jack was gone. He just couldn't, but the pain was too much to keep inside.
Once he felt calmer, Mac opened his eyes again, controlling his breathing. After a while, he turned around and found Simon standing on the patio. "How do you know Jack?"
"We were on the same team. Hunting down Kovac," Simon explained.
"Then why are you here and he's not?" Mac angrily approached him. "His whole team died! If no one survived—"
"We knew some of us wouldn't have made it back home," Simon stopped him. "So, we made a promise to each other. Mine was to look after you in case Jack couldn't do it anymore."
"Look after me? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that in case we failed our mission, Jack wanted you to fix his mistakes."
Mac couldn't believe his ears. "He wants me to after Kovac?"
Simon put the gun away, behind his back. "He wanted you to stop Kovac," he said. "So that I can kill him. He told me you don't like that."
Mac just stared at him, still in disbelief.
If Jack was really gone, of course he wouldn't have wanted Mac to sit there and cry for him…
No… Mac knew how important it was for Jack to stop Kovac. And in case he failed, he already knew who to ask to complete his mission.
Jack deserved better than a stain like that on his legacy.
Mac looked up at Simon. "What's the plan?"