Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own any of these characters, please don't sue.

Content Warning: Super mild tearkjerk warning.

-M-

"So what's the word?"

Matty didn't take her eyes off the screen, where two Phoenix tac teams were about to breach a large warehouse. "Jack. I don't remember assigning you to this op."

He let himself in; she knew it by the quiet click of the door closing, and the slightest puff of air that reached her, standing almost directly in the middle of the room. Still, he didn't say anything, and she rolled her eyes. "Are you seriously trying to sneak up on me?"

". . . no . . ." The slightly guilty voice was significantly closer than the door. "I know you got eyes in the back of your head."

"Then you can see them glaring at you. Scram."

". . . is that a Wal-Mart . . .?"

She suppressed a second eyeroll; her head already hurt enough. "Supply chain warehouse that they divested eight months ago, but wouldn't you know it's still actively sending trucks all over the Midwest."

"No way," Jack murmured, coming to stand abreast of her as the tac teams moved in. The map showed the warehouse was filled with warm bodies, that immediately started streaming away from the breach points.

"Hittin' 'em in broad daylight? Where is that, Nebraska?"

"Yes. Tango team got all the data evidence last night. We're breaching now because Ms. Trans decided to make a surprise stop to see how her clothing line was being distributed."

The com in her ear was giving her audio, and when Jack settled into the world's most disgraceful parade rest beside her, she gave up and sent it through the room speakers, making sure the mics were on mute. Bravo and Tango did not need the kind of distraction Jack was going to be so generously providing her.

". . . so we're bustin' Wal-mart's competition?"

"Yes, Jack. I'm very offended by her line of fall activewear," Matty confessed, her voice laced with sarcasm. "The majority of those people are innocent civilians who believe they're actually working for the big chain, when what they're actually doing is facilitating the Trans' opioid empire."

She heard Jack snort. "Fentanyl and yoga pants kinda go together. I woulda loved some after a few workouts myself . . ."

"Mmm. Pretty sure your boy wouldn't say no to a hit," she remarked, shifting her focus to the helmet cams as the teams raced to find Ms. Trans.

"Rough PT?"

"You'd have to ask his physical therapy partner," she responded cryptically, scanning the feeds. Still no Ms. Trans.

Was there some section of the warehouse not on the schematics . . . ? She should have been in the supervisor's office, but Tango had just cleared it and the only thing there was the woman's purse. And 'purse' was being generous. Duffle bag would have been more appropriate.

Well, perhaps 'weekend bag' . . .

Ignoring Jack's inquiry entirely, Matty tapped her coms. "Bravo, I want you to hold that perimeter, do not let any civilians leave the immediate area. I think 'Mizz' Trans just lived up to her surname."

She expected some variation on a theme of 'dude looks like a lady' from Jack, but he seemed more fixated on his partner than some gender-swapping lowlife. "Rufus knows his stuff."

Matty suppressed a smirk. "You trying to reassure me or yourself, Jack?" Rather than keep him on a line, as enjoyable as it was, she did need to keep an eye on the op. "If I were you, I'd ask Mizz Davis."

The majority of the civilians were either under control, or completely outside the warehouse and getting rounded up in the loading dock area. But satellite had two heat signatures scuttling along behind a neat row of trailers. "Bravo, you've got two bogies to the east, hiding out in the tractor trailers."

"Yes ma'am, we see them," one of her operators replied, and sure enough two of Bravo team peeled off to intercept.

"So Riles and Mac had a little chat, eh?" Without looking at Jack, she could tell he was grinning. And she could tell he was worried.

Matty gave an eloquent shrug. "I don't know." They didn't have cameras in the gym, for obvious reasons. "What I can tell you is that Riley entered the gym and left it roughly thirteen minutes later, and it took Mac a good ten after that to limp his way out. Since he was still mostly upright, I'm assuming it went about as well as could be expected."

There were cameras at the entrances to the locker rooms, which showed only who was entering and exiting. It was pure speculation on her part that Riley had left the locker room and entered the gym at all. But she knew she was right based on the set of her girl's shoulders when she'd left, and the conflicted expression on her face.

Regardless of whether Mac ever came back in a field agent capacity, that conversation was long overdue, and she was glad Riley had taken the opportunity. Near as she could tell, they'd been dancing around each other for months. The moment she'd heard Mac's debrief, Matty knew Mac had his suspicions. Of the several things he'd forgotten, of course his luck wouldn't allow it to be something he really ought to.

Riley was coming to terms with it, but Matty knew MacGyver never would. She'd been that agent, listening from another cell. All that memory ever left you with was disgust and helplessness. Even with all her training, she had a hard time converting those feelings into anything but fury and a deep desire to inflict revenge.

If you couldn't use a memory, couldn't learn from it, couldn't leverage it to become better, it was just baggage. If Matty had the power to take it away - and give him back his mother - she'd do it in a heartbeat.

Jack didn't say anything else as Bravo neatly boxed the two runaways in and took them into custody. Sure enough, a thin-faced Asian man with short, choppy black hair turned out to be a thin-faced Asian woman wearing a uniform and wig.

"Good job, Tango, Bravo. We've already sent in a cleaner team. Hold security on site until the FBI take control of the scene."

"Copy."

Matty eyed the satellite footage once more, but the caravans heading in from the east, north, and west were all tagged friendlies. That was more than enough firepower to repel any attempt by Trans' forces to retake the warehouse. "If you'll excuse me, Dalton, I need to go prep for a lovely chat with my least favorite amateur fashionista."

"You talk to Mac about comin' back yet?"

Matty shifted her focus from the op clean-up to the agent parked beside her. Jack was still standing there quite casually, looking and sounded relatively unconcerned. Matty knew better.

"Mac is on extended short term disability for as long as he needs." Which wasn't anything Jack didn't already know, and he frowned at her, like he was truly disappointed she was making him work for it.

"He ain't disabled."

"That's for him to decide," Matty told Jack firmly, stepping around him to grab her tablet.

"Actually, it's for his doctors to decide, and they have," Jack drawled, a little note of warning in his voice. "He's good, Matty. Ain't lost a memory since he woke up in the spook house. Night terrors are gettin' better, pretty sure he'd pass the physical right now even if Riles did knock him around a little."

She was well aware of Mac's progress, and she knew Jack knew that, and further, that was the point he was trying so clumsily to make. "Yes, Jack, except for the fact that he sometimes thinks he ate breakfast, and then he cooked it, he's fine."

But the truth was, he hadn't had difficulty putting his memories in the correct chronological order in months. Nearly all of the initial neurological issues were resolved, really it was just that looping trauma and even she wasn't whole-heartedly convinced he would still react the way he had in the hospital if they took his Fitbit away. Dr. Talbot had already told her they were pre-empting any REM cycle that looked even slightly klugy, and even normal people had a few iffy ones if they had so much as an extra glass of wine before bed. Mac still had a few nerve-related issues in his hands and feet, but nothing that an agent who'd gotten shot wouldn't be dealing with, and nothing that prevented any normal day to day activity.

Honestly, she could probably put him in a lab right now, and he'd be just fine.

"Matty –"

"Jack, it's his decision," she repeated, in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. "When he's ready, if that day comes, he can submit the request. If you're asking if he's done that, the answer is no." She heard Jack take a preparatory breath, so she turned on her heels and pre-empted him.

"Remind me, after Nikki Carpenter was supposedly KIA, how much time did Mac take off?"

She knew. Down to the day. And she knew Jack knew, because Thornton had kept tabs on both of them, and been kind enough to leave the records for her to find when she took over. Jack narrowed his eyes, then frowned more deeply, and shifted his weight to his right foot. His dominant foot. One of his many tells.

"-hey, that bullet damn near clipped his heart-"

"Three months, Jack. He was running 5Ks for fun every morning for weeks before Thornton brought him in to track down that virus," Matty cut him off flatly. "He needed the time. And I don't recall seeing any records that you were pushing for Mac's return to work. It appears you gave him all the time he needed."

"That was different."

"Yeah, it was," she agreed. "It wasn't half as bad as this. He had a broken heart and a heaping helping of failure. Failure to complete a mission, failure to protect not only a teammate, but a lover. This time his teammate's not dead, she's kicking his ass all over the gym. And it's not his heart that's broken, is it."

A little cinder of anger smoldered in Jack's gaze. "He ain't broken, Matty. Not by a country mile. And I don't think waiting him out's the right play here. He's gotta know we've got confidence in him -"

"Do we?" she cut him off, her voice sharp. "Do we, Jack? You'd take him on your next op, as is, tomorrow?"

"Hell yes," Jack responded without hesitation.

Matty flashed him a humorless smile. "He's not ready and you know it. If he went out now, he wouldn't come back."

"I would bring him back," Jack bit out, enunciating every word. "As many times as it took. What happened to gettin' back on the horse?"

Riley's crisis of confidence, shooting the Organization's man in the data center, that had been a lot easier to manage. Taking a life was always hard, particularly when it was utterly unexpected. This time, it had been harder, but she was bouncing back. Resilient. Finding a way to make the memory – or lack thereof – work for her. Turning horror into something productive, something helpful.

What was going on with Mac right now, that was an entirely different animal.

"Getting back on the horse is only necessary if you still want to ride," Matty told him, perhaps more heavily than she meant to. "And right now Mac doesn't know if he wants to."

And neither did she. The urge to put him in a lab, protect him, hell, assign a second Dalton to him was hard for her to ignore. He didn't need to be a field agent to save the world. To do good. To support his team, to make them successful, and all from the safety of the building. What they had almost lost was so much more than an agent, a partner, a roommate, a friend.

There was no one else like Angus MacGyver, and maybe it shouldn't be up to him.

Maybe Jack saw it on her face, maybe not. His deadly look didn't go anywhere. "Him and me, we're a package deal," Jack told her, quietly but no less intensely.

"I know," Matty replied, in exactly the same tone. "Why do you think I had you add two agents to the team?"

-M-

TWO WEEKS LATER

"So, are we gonna start recognizing Düsseldorf Day?"

There was a collective groan from the people gathered around the fire pit, and a wadded up napkin sailed towards the offending person, who batted it away, half-laughing. "I'm just sayin', you two have Cairo Day, and this had to be way worse-"

"Cairo Day is sacred, man. Sacred." Jack, who had thrown the napkin, had picked up his beer, and was gesturing with it. "We recognize Cairo Day as a celebration of still bein' alive, that's why."

Bozer stared at him incredulously, then made a production of crumpling his own napkin, and throwing it back. "And why the hell wouldn't we do that for Düsseldorf Day?!"

"Because you didn't almost die," Jack told him, as if it was painfully obvious. "Plus it just sounds dumb." He spread his arms grandly. "Cairo Day." Then he huddled in on himself and pitched his voice to be high and whiny. "Düsseldorf Day! See the difference there? With Cairo, you got, like, sarcophaguseses and mummies and djinn-"

He turned to get support from his partner, but Mac couldn't give it to him. He was pretty sure he was making a face.

"The plural of 'sarcophagus' is 'sarcophagi', for one, and there was no djinn-"

"I bet there was, homie, that's how that – you know, the thing – it ended up in my pocket-"

"What ended up in your pocket?" Bozer pounced, eyes wide, and Jack shook the beer at him again.

"Oh no. We don't talk about Cairo Day. Ever."

On Bozer's right, Riley rolled her eyes. "You know, for being a thing you never talk about, you sure talk about it a lot . . ."

Mac snorted with laughter, trying to school his expression when Jack shot him a feigned hurt look. "She's right, Jack. You bring it up a lot."

"Well, that's just because you chowderheads keep tryin'a one-up it," he defended. "Swear to God Monnegar thought I was just makin' shit up. Riley, you and the damn crocodile – and you, Boze, I am never settin' a rocket launcher within arm's length of you, ever again."

Everyone was laughing by this point, and Mac finished off his beer with a smirk. "What's this about a rocket launcher?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Oh, no, homie, I already know not to give you a toy like that," Jack cut him off. "Hell, you'd take it apart and make, like, a panini press out of it –"

"But it was super fun," Bozer confessed across the fire. "Like, super fun."

Content to get the details of that little escapade after everyone else was gone, Mac cast a quick look around the deck. "Where are Tom and Alicia, anyway?"

"Why, you think they'd dish out the dirt?"

Mac shrugged. "Maybe." They hadn't seemed shy the last few times they'd come over, and Mac honestly liked them both.

"Tom's brother is in town," Riley supplied. "Alicia is supporting his cover." Mac cocked his head a little, trying to work out precisely what that meant, and Riley shot him a dirty grin. "Not like that, Mac."

He held up his hands. "Hey, I'm not throwing stones." He gave his best friend a nod, and Bozer raised his beer.

"Hear, hear. And I mean that literally. Here," he repeated, shaking what was obviously an empty bottle. "Anybody need a refill?"

Mac stood and handed over his empty as Bozer gestured for it, and handed over Jack's as well, when it was thrust into his hand. "Need help?"

"Nah, it's all good. Besides, time I broke out the good stuff."

"Mmmm," Jack hummed, wiggling his eyebrows. "I think I'm pickin' up what you're puttin' down, dawg." He slapped Mac on the back as he stood and hopped up out of the fire pit, following Bozer towards the kitchen, undoubtedly to 'help' break out the homemade Moose Munch.

Mac was still smiling when his eyes naturally fell on the person who was sitting exactly opposite him, over the fire. Watching him.

He left the smile on his face. "So they're still working out?"

"Tom and Alicia?" she clarified. "Yeah. I mean, Boze is still Boze, but yeah." She hesitated. "Look, we're not trying to keep secrets-"

"I know," he assured her, coming around the pit to stand beside her. No point in raising their voices to talk over it, particularly with his as hoarse as it still was. "It's protocol. It doesn't bother me at all."

The simple fact was, he wasn't an agent. What his team was doing – the team was doing – he still got enough bits and pieces to know they were okay.

Also, Bozer really had never grasped the whole 'you can't tell anyone you're a secret agent' concept of being a secret agent, so Mac knew a lot more about their ops that he ought to. Something he was sure Matty knew, and if she had a problem with it, she would say something about it.

Which to his knowledge, she hadn't. She hadn't come to visit them in any of their evening gatherings since Amsterdam – since 'Düsseldorf Day' – and Mac felt a little guilty that he was the reason she was distancing herself somewhat from the rest of the team. The recently embattled director of a covert intelligence agency couldn't be seen fraternizing with her agents. Particularly not the one who caused all the trouble in the first place.

Well, technically that would be Riley, his brain pointed out, and Mac frowned at it. Only mentally, he thought, until Riley's expression also fell.

"Convincing," she teased him, but it was more than half serious. "Look, if it's bothering you, we can lay off –"

"That's not what's bothering me," he confessed, then glanced back at the house. No shadows in sight. – Jack and Bozer were obviously still in the kitchen. Which was good, since Matty wasn't the only one distancing herself from him, and this moment marked the first time in two weeks he'd gotten an opportunity to speak to Riley in relative isolation. He turned back in time to catch the tail end of the once-over Riley was giving him. Without another word, she stepped out of the fire pit and walked towards the deck railing, and the brightly lit skyline of LA. When it became clear she was not retreating and in fact expected him to follow, he did, glancing over the rails before propping a hip against them, and facing her.

"Are you going to hit me again?" He was only half-joking.

"I guess that depends on you," she told him, without a trace of apology. It made him smile.

"I've been thinking about what you said. And what you didn't." Motion in his peripheral vision caused them both to glance back towards the house, but it was just Jack crossing the living room – probably headed for the bathroom. Mac turned back to her, keeping his voice soft. "And you were right. All of it. You're right."

She didn't say a word, watching him with an inscrutable look. Since it wasn't an uppercut, he decided that was permission to continue. "On the boat. I knew how close it could get, and I was afraid that you'd be caught again. Not because you're not capable and competent," he added hastily, "but because I couldn't handle the thought of it. Riley, that was never about you."

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. "It's not you, it's me? Really?" she asked him drily, and Mac winced a little, then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"After they caught me, they dragged me into the lobby. Hakan asked where you were, but he already knew. He knew because he knew me, Riley. Not because he knew you. And I told him that, told both him and the colonel that the one they'd underestimated, it was you, and they would live to regret it."

Riley's expression shifted, then, and she tucked her hands into her back pockets. "Not for long they didn't."

"No," Mac agreed soberly. "Even if I never made it off that boat, I knew you'd get them. Riley, I never meant to give you the impression that I don't trust you, that I don't value you, that you're less than. You're extraordinary. Intelligent. Intuitive. I knew it from the moment I met you. You're an incredible agent, and you're right. You're no one's snowflake. Riley, they didn't take you because you're the weak link. They took you because they had to take you first, or you would have stopped them in their tracks."

Riley took her time replying. "I know that."

"Good. Good," he repeated, and he meant it. "And I hope you know that I'm sorry. You're right, I should have followed you up that ladder, or we should have tried to take the boat together. If it had been Jack, I wouldn't have hesitated. I did because . . . I knew I couldn't protect you. And I couldn't face the idea of . . . of you being hurt again. Even though I know you could handle it. You did handle it. I . . . you're right. I know you're tough and I know you can hold you own, but I'm not treating you that way, am I."

Riley was silent, her dark eyes bright.

God, he was such a dumbass sometimes. "They painted you as a victim, Riley, and I bought in. That was incredibly stupid. And selfish. I played right into his hand, and I almost lost – everyone."

"Yeah, well, Hakan was pretty good at manipulating people."

Understatement of the year. "Particularly me," Mac admitted quietly. "It won't happen again, Riley. You have my word."

Riley rolled her eyes upward, ostensibly to think it through. "So . . . the next time I get kidnapped and you get proof of life, you're just gonna . . . what. Leave me there?"

Mac chuckled. "No, I'll probably just wait ten minutes for you to call me back from the same phone, with the bad guys in custody, and I'll give you exfil coordinates."

"Wow. So now I'm Black Widow?"

"If the shoe fits . . ." Too late he realized that was a Cinderella reference, which was the worst possible comparison he could make – hey, Riley, you might not be a snowflake, but how about a Disney princess? - but he hoped she'd overlook it.

And Riley smiled, real and raw and vulnerable. "I wasn't raised in a creepy Russian assassin school."

"Nobody's perfect." Least of all me. Then he schooled his expression into something more serious. More earnest. "I will always be there if you need me, Ri. I'll probably be there even if you don't," he added casually. "That is, if I get back agent status. Since we're on the same team . . ."

At that her smile broadened. "You're coming back? Officially?"

Mac nodded. "Submitted the request today." Abruptly he found himself with an armful of Riley Davis. It definitely wasn't the worst possible outcome, and he hugged her back.

"That's – that's great," she managed, squeezing him tight before she let him go, and Mac gave her that same vulnerable smile.

"We'll see." There were still some major hurdles to overcome, and there was no telling just how high up the chain that request would go before it could be approved.

"Awww. You finally stopped foolin' around an' decided to come back to work?" a teasing drawl came from the firepit, and both of them turned to find Jack and Bozer watching them, with matching smirks. "It was the rocket launcher, wasn't it."

"Yeah, he's just jealous," Bozer agreed, plopping down a couple of already opened beers and a big bowl of dark chocolate-covered popcorn. Mac made a show of thinking it over before he visually agreed, and the four of them reconvened around the fire pit, beers in hand.

"Well, here's to you, bud," Jack toasted, with a wink to his partner. "Düsseldorf Day aside – and that's a terrible idea, Boze, it really is – I didn't know if we'd ever have this again. Just the four of us, drinkin' beers by the fire pit. But it's somethin' we'll always have, Mac, no matter how this shakes out. You ain't the job. You're family, and we aren't goin' anywhere. You're stuck with us."

"Preach, brotha," Bozer hooted loudly.

Riley was a bit more reserved. "And if it really matters that much to you, I could always boopity boop it," she offered, intentionally using Jack's favorite term for describing anything she did with computers.

Rather than be overcome with gratitude and really embarrass himself, Mac settled for quietly laughing. "Thanks guys. I appreciate it, but no boopity-booping required. Seriously," he added, making eye contact just to be sure.

Riley gave him a mock offended look. "What, you think I'd get caught?" She raised her bottle. "To Mac."

"To Mac!" the others chorused, and, now thoroughly embarrassed despite his best efforts, Mac took a sip of his beer.

"Aww, lookit those li'l ears turn red!" Bozer crowed, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Haven't seen you so verklempt since you asked –"

Mac threw his arm around his friend, more in an attempt to put him in a headlock than anything else, and Bozer squirmed away, still laughing as both their beers spilled a little on the deck.

Everything - the laughter, the rough-housing, the popcorn, even the view was almost too much, and Mac settled himself back on the deck, avoiding the spillage and using it as an excuse not to look at any of them too closely. He'd gotten a much better handle on his emotions in the past few months, but it was like part of the levy had been permanently undermined, and every so often a wave would slap over, and he'd get unexpected swept off his feet.

Definitely something he'd have to get a better handle on if he expected to recertify.

Somehow intuitively knowing he needed a second, the team started up some friendly bickering, and Mac tuned them out for a moment and focused on that feeling. Gratitude, relief, love – it was too complicated for one label. And like he'd practiced, over and over again in the last five months, he let himself feel it. Acknowledged it.

He remembered sinking in darkness, wanting one more chance. One more mouthful of Bozer's waffles. One more evening just like this one, laughing and roughhousing and drinking beer. One more chance to tell Riley how awesome she was. Tell Bozer how proud he was of the agent he was growing into. Tell them all how much they meant to him.

Tell them he loved them.

But he couldn't. There was no way he could say those words right now without completely losing it, and he wasn't about to put a damper on the night like that. He knew they knew, he knew he didn't have to tell them, but he remembered the regret he'd felt, as he sank into that black. Regret for not telling them. Regret for not saying it out loud.

He should be able to say it out loud.

He set down his beer and worked the problem, then fished around in the thigh pocket of his cargo shorts. It was there, it was always there, he kept it on him in the same way he knew Jack was carrying a bullet right now. Not that it was precious, not that he needed the reminder, but sometimes it was nice to put his hand in his pocket and feel it there.

There in his pocket. A physical thing that fit in the palm of his hand. Not some overwhelming, noncorporeal menace lurking just outside his field of vision. This thing, that terrified him so much, it wasn't so big and awful. It was tiny. Delicate, even. It weighed less than a gram.

Then again, there were a lot of things in the world that could kill you and weighed less than a gram.

Mac pulled the folded slip of paper out of his pocket, and he stared at it a long time. The animated conversation around him gradually died down, until they were all quiet. It wasn't an awkward silence, no one was staring at him. Each person was settled comfortably in their own thoughts.

"That's it, huh." Bozer finally broke the silence, staring not at Mac, nor the piece of paper, but at the fire.

"Yep." Mac turned it in his hands, over and over, marveling that in all this time, he hadn't ever opened it and looked. He wasn't even sure his handwriting had been legible.

Near as he knew, no one had ever looked at it. Had ever opened it up. Not Parsons, not Jack. It was still his secret.

Mac took a deep, slow breath, and then he stood up, and placed the paper deliberately into the fire. It caught instantly, and even as it burned and squirmed, it never opened. In seconds it was as black as the darkness he'd been sinking into.

Feeling somehow lighter – and technically he was, even if it by was less than a gram – Mac retook his seat and recovered his beer.

"Didn't need it anymore?" Jack asked him lightly, from across the fire.

Mac paused a second, then shook his head and took a swig. "Nope," he replied, after he swallowed.

"What did it say?" There was only curiosity in Bozer's voice. No judgement.

That was easy. "Nothing relevant," Mac told him, with the beginnings of a smile. "You three just blew it out of the water."

"Tattnall class destroyer," Jack guessed immediately.

Riley snapped her fingers. "Container ship full of stolen military-grade weapons."

"Super fast speed boat you tweaked a liiiiittle too tight?" Bozer waggled his eyebrows, and Mac couldn't help it. He laughed.

And it actually was a laugh. It was light and warm and everything he needed to tell them.

"It's like you know me." When the chuckling subsided, Mac took another sip of his beer, savoring the taste. Using it to embed this memory, this moment, so deeply in his brain that nothing could ever break its anchor. "Thank you," he told them, raising his voice so he could be sure they heard him. "I love you too."

Jack grinned broadly – and then immediately went for the distraction he knew Mac needed. "Awww. You're just sayin' that so we stop askin' what was on that little slip of paper."

"Bet we could get his doc to cough it up." But then a doubtful look crossed his roommate's face. "Actually, I bet even Matty couldn't get it outta that broad. No offense to Dr. Parsons, man, like, she's obviously a great doc, but . . ." He whistled.

Beside Mac, Riley gave an indelicate snort. "She's definitely a piece of work. Do you know what she said to me? She covered for me with her tech guys, and then she basically told me-" Riley stopped abruptly, and Mac watched her eyes widen in dawning comprehension.

"Well don't leave us hangin'," Jack prompted impatiently, and Riley stared at them all like she'd just swallowed a bug.

"She manipulated me." Her voice was a mix of surprise and outrage. "I didn't –" Then she shot Jack a look. "She basically told me I fucked up, but it didn't make me a fuck-up, and that I needed to make sure he knew that –" And then she turned and looked back at Mac.

He felt his eyebrows draw together. "That I fucked up?" he supplied with a smile. "I seem to remember you passing that along."

She shook her head impatiently. "No, I – well, yeah –"

"She did the same thing to me," Bozer admitted, on Mac's other side. "Not that I was a fuck-up. Said I needed to make sure he got a clean start. No expectations. Just let 'im – let him be him. Which I've been tryin'a do. Give him his space, y'know, not make comparisons between pre and post Düsseldorf Day."

Mac looked between the two of them. "Uh . . . he's sitting right here-"

Across from them, Jack chuckled, deep in his chest, and all eyes flicked to him. He was shaking his head.

"She played us all like a cheap fiddle," he declared with a laugh. "When I showed up as part of your escort outta there, before we picked you up she took me aside and told me to stay away from you, that hoverin' would only remind you of what you lost. She knew you hadn't lost anything, she had to've, but I didn't. It's why I been so hands off. With all of you," he added, giving Riley and then Bozer significant looks. "I tried to stay outta your hair, wait for you to come to me when you wanted to talk."

Hands off when he wouldn't have normally been. And honestly, not having Jack stuck to his ass twenty-four seven over the past five months had been a godsend. It had been a little lonely, sure, but frankly he'd needed the time to think. To unpack it all and actually deal with it instead of packing it right back up again. To stop feeling guilty long enough to start feeling something else.

And now that Boze mentioned it, he hadn't once compared Mac's recovery to any previous injury. Never set any expectations that he had to accomplish anything by a certain date, that he was doing better or worse than he should. Never assumed he wanted to do any of his old hobbies or eat any of his old favorites, either, he'd always asked, and done it freely, never pressuring him. Never even using comparisons to encourage him. He'd just been –

Encouraging. There if Mac needed him, whatever he needed.

And Riley had been pretty damn clear on the difference between fucking up, and being a fuck-up. A reminder he'd sorely needed once he'd gotten all the details on the op.

Dr. Parsons had told all of them – not just him, but his team – exactly what they needed to hear to make them behave a certain way. The way she knew he'd need them to in order to heal.

And in doing so, also giving them a path to healing themselves. To dealing with their own grief and their own guilt.

Mac was pretty sure his expression mirrored Riley's. "So she didn't just analyze me. She analyzed all of you -"

"And she made us her damn puppets, to do what she couldn't once you left," Jack added.

"So he wouldn't end up like Howard," Riley finished. "Holy shit."

Mac looked between them all, suddenly completely lost. ". . . okay . . . who's Howard?"

Bozer clapped him on the shoulder. ". . . you, bro. Howard's you."

That answer was not enlightening, so Mac looked to Jack for clues. The other man was shaking his head in wonder.

"Not him," he contradicted, his voice thick. "That's the whole point."

-M-

ONE MONTH LATER

"Director."

Matty was buried in her tablet as usual, but she motioned for him to enter. "Come on in, Mac, and close the door."

Mac did so, eyeing the empty hallway and the lack of anyone else in the room. At least the windows weren't frosted. It was something, anyway.

He went ahead and approached, stopping in the middle of the room behind the coffee table, and showed zero interest in the bowl of paperclips that was still there. Bozer had revealed it hadn't gone anywhere when he admitted to Mac, months ago, that he always took one and put it in his pocket, so a piece of Mac was on every mission with them. He also personally celebrated all the times he was able to use the paperclip, more than half of which Mac thought were pretty unlikely.

"How are you feeling?" Matty asked, her voice sounding slightly distracted. Mac suppressed a smirk.

"I'm find, Matty. How are you?"

He watched for a hint of smile from her, but he didn't get it. Her eyes were still fixed on the tablet. "Wondering why one of my labs managed to exhaust all its chemical and biological protective counteragents in the same morning."

A very reasonable question. He almost told her so. "Well, as you know we're working with a compound that has several remarkably biologic characteristics, including an apparent inclination to mutate into a form that is able to break containment when a certain mass of it is created."

Finally he got her eyes, dark and not terribly impressed, in a face that conveyed much the same. "You dropped a petri dish full of an engineered material that can eat through any petroleum based plastic." And sure enough, on the screen behind her, lab footage popped up, showing something that looked very much like the scenario she had described. Three technicians covered head to toe in yellow protective suits were all working in the lab, when one of them collected a petri dish to cross to another bench. His back was to the camera, but it picked up the glass hitting the ground, the figure flinching back, then racing to one of the room columns and slapping a big red button. The footage was then lost as clouds of white extinguishing gas showered down from the ceiling amid eerie red flashes from the containment alarm.

He knew she was just waiting for him to contradict her description of the event, and he knew the outcome would be an argument, so he had the good sense not to do it.

For four seconds. "I didn't drop it so much as underestimate the breakdown of the structural integrity of the container, which had degraded beyond the shear point of supporting itself –"

Matty held up a hand. "Stow it, Boy Wonder. Are you certain the compound was successfully contained?"

That he could answer definitively. "Yes," he assured her with a nod.

"Great. At least I don't have to worry about the building falling down around our ears," she quipped, with less sarcasm than he was hoping. She was definitely not in the mood to play. "Have you updated the after-incident lab safety protocols?"

"And trained all the staff. That scenario will not happen again." Not unless every one of twelve new protocols were completely ignored. That was not a compound – or maybe organism – that could ever be let loose into the wild. The effects would be incalculably devastating to human civilization.

Although, if properly modified, would also solve a great many current pollution issues due to said human civilization.

Matty sniffed. "See that it doesn't." Her tone wasn't necessarily dismissive, but she didn't follow it up with any further comments, and after a few seconds, Mac decided to take the initiative.

"Matty, while I have you, is there any update on my field agent recertification request?"

If the question surprised her, she gave nothing away. "You've only been back in the lab for two and a half weeks, Mac, and you very nearly ended civilization as we know it. Not dangerous enough for you?"

He didn't answer, and her eyes narrowed as she gave him more of her attention. "Your application to return to field work was denied."

Mac found that he had absolutely zero emotional reaction to that statement. He'd already predicted it would be a fight. "If I may-"

"You may not," she cut him off flatly. "It was determined you're psychologically unfit for field work."

That bought him up short. Mac stared at her a moment, then raised his eyes to the footage, paused, of the lab undergoing chemical and biologic containment. "You have an example of my psychological state up on the screen behind you. If that reaction doesn't prove I'm still capable of making the correct decision under pressure-"

"It's your decision making – your judgement - that I question." Finally, Matty put aside the tablet – only after using it to frost the glass - and approached him, cocking her head. "Have a seat, Mac."

He did so, a little reluctantly, and she gave him a bright, entirely phony smile. "Let's take a look at a few of those decisions, shall we? You came into this room six months ago and told me you had been compromised. And then you got on a plane and flew to an allied country and managed to release a war criminal entirely on your own initiative. A man as brilliant and resourceful as that couldn't find a way to ask me for direction, or at least better communicate your plan, instead of doing whatever you wanted?"

Mac blinked at her, not quite sure if she wanted him to actually answer her. She didn't. "Mac, you're damaged goods. Literally. And you had dozens of opportunities to change that outcome. You could have brought me in immediately – you were in this building for hours that morning and I can think of half a dozen signals you could have sent up that would have been invisible to them. You knew better than to stay on that ship, and certainly after you realized you were so outnumbered. We lost four agents the last time we had to go rescue you, and you already have a history of coughing up intelligence to Aydin's men. If they had kept hands on you, you would have told them anything they wanted to know."

Hearing that his request had been denied hadn't made him feel anything, but that certainly did. Mac unclenched his jaw. "I'm aware of the –"

"Are you?" she challenged. "Are you really, Mac? Because Oversight barely let you regain agent status the last time. I put my career and my life on the line for you. Right now you should be huddling in a black site so black even I don't know it exists. Letting Colonel Aydin escape back to Turkey would have resulted in a civil war that at best would have left thousands dead and millions displaced. The first time was an honest mistake, but this? Mac, this time you were beyond reckless, beyond even stupid. The Phoenix can't afford it. And frankly, neither can you."

She took a second to breathe, still pinning him with a look he'd never seen on her face –

That wasn't right. He'd seen that look before. Just never pointed at him.

"Forget dying. You were almost a vegetable, MacGyver. Have you put any thought into what that existence would have been like? What that would have done to the rest of us? Your team? Your family? You are walking and talking through absolutely no action or good judgement of your own. I had hoped when I handed you your medical record that you would recognize the extraordinary efforts that went into saving your life. And that maybe, just maybe, you'd consider not scrapping all of it in an effort to pretend that everything's just the way it was."

"That's not what I'm doing," he managed, and then several of the other things she'd said suddenly snapped into clear focus. "Oversight didn't reject my application," Mac realized aloud. "You did."

Finally, something slightly approving – or maybe just less disappointed – crossed her face. "The only reason you're still a free man is because Oversight believes you did exactly what I instructed you to do. I told them I rubber stamped the op and put you in there to get Davis and flush out the rest of Aydin's double agents. You were supposed to put the tracking gel on Aydin but you slipped up and you got caught. As far as they're concerned, you're still a card-carrying Boy Scout. I passed the request up months ago and got the green light to call it. This is my decision, Mac. And I've made it."

He didn't know what to say. He knew she must have fudged her own testimony, at least a little, but Jack had said –

Jack didn't know the scope of it. He should have realized it himself. She'd already stuck her neck out for him the first time, getting him back when protocol was to stop the intelligence leak no matter what. This, what she'd done –

She was right. She'd put her career and her life on the line for him. And he had let her down.

Finally, her glare softened, and she stepped forward, placing a hand on his knee. "I told you in your very first performance review that I wasn't a fan of 'make it up as you go along'. That I didn't want to be watching on a monitor the day your luck ran out. That day was six months ago, Mac. I'm not saying the word improvise has to fall out of your vocabulary, but you're not going to be doing it in situations where you and others can be killed. Not anymore."

It took him a few seconds to formulate a response – any kind of response, and the only one that immediately came to mind was next steps. "So – what does that mean?" he tried, in as steady a voice as he could.

She patted his knee with a look that was part fond and part regret, and then took a few steps back, turning so that she could look at the screen. "You're right that you've more than proven you're capable and at home in a lab. I'd like to transition your role to consultant, with oversight of Special Projects. It means you're cleared to be here in Ops while the team is out in the field, and you can pick your own projects. You'll still be able to keep them safe."

The team. Not his team. Not anymore.

Mac raised his eyes to the screen, the frozen clouds of white gas. It was sort of like looking up at a sunny sky, the shapes were irregular and indistinct enough that you could see anything in them. Cotton candy, the ears of a rabbit.

A strangely waffle-like pattern. A mobius strip.

"I can't," he said, then cleared his throat in an effort to smooth out the hoarseness. Matty arched an eyebrow at him, and he slowly shook his head, then climbed to his feet. "Keep them safe from here. I can't. Matty, what I do isn't something that can always be done remotely. I need to be there, to see what's available to find the best solution –"

"Then learn a new trick, Blondie," she told him. "Invent a new technology. You're not going back out there."

A little flicker of anger cut through all the guilt and the devastating realization of how deeply he had disappointed her. "Improvising is not the problem, so let's take that off the table."

This time both her eyebrows rose. "This isn't a negotiation-"

"No, it isn't," he agreed, and then he indicated the screen. "Matty, I knew at nineteen that I didn't belong in a lab. That's why I left MIT and joined the Army. I belong out there, solving real problems real people are facing in the real world. Maybe someday, when I'm too old to help directly I can settle down into the academic life, but today's not that day. If you want me to stay on as a – a program manager . . . thank you. I appreciate that offer more than I can say. Respectfully, I have to decline."

"You have to decline," she echoed tonelessly. "The opportunity for an almost limitless budget and resource pool. You have to decline."

What Matty was offering was simply unheard of in the private or public research sector. He knew exactly what he'd just turned down. He knew the look Frankie would be giving him, if she was standing in that room. Hell, she'd probably hip-check him through the glass and take the offer herself.

And it would be perfect for Frankie. She could change the world from any lab. That wasn't him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Like Saito had said, it was his decision. His alone. Not Matty's.

"And I'd like to clarify a couple points," he continued, in the same respectful voice despite his growing anger. "I didn't signal you from the lab that morning because I had every reason to believe the Phoenix network had been partially or wholly compromised, and the only way to prove it wasn't would have put Riley's life in even more danger. You're right, I have a history with those men, and I knew they would believe I had been cowed, at least temporarily. Getting close was, by a large margin, the strategy most likely to yield a location on Riley and some insight to Hakan's end game."

"His end game wasn't complicated," she reminded him sharply. "Bring new life to the coup and take out as many Phoenix agents as he could on the way."

"That's true. Which is why I planned for and constructed multiple contingencies. I went into that situation with far more planning and preparation than the majority of our missions. This wasn't a failure to improvise a solution, nor was it carelessness, and I have proven to you - beyond statistical doubt - that what I do is not luck. I made mistakes. Two of them. And I take full responsibility for them."

Matty stared at him incredulously. "Taking responsibility? What exactly do you think that looks like, Mac? Running away and refusing to play ball because you can't have the one position on the team you really really want?"

It was hard to keep himself still, keep his voice controlled. "This isn't about a title, Matty. I'm not ignoring what happened six months ago, or pretending it didn't happen. I am walking and talking and standing in front of you, maybe through no good judgement of my own, but making mistakes is how we learn and grow. Any mistake at any time could get an agent killed. You said that. You told me this isn't a business where you can doubt yourself, not even for an instant. And you're right. I wouldn't have requested agent status if I didn't know that I can do the work."

Her expression shifted then, from indignant to stony. "And I told you this wasn't a negotiation. You can take the offer, or you can leave the Phoenix."

Oddly, that made him feel just a little bit better, and calmed the slight nervous flutter in his stomach that had started the moment he truly comprehended what he was saying. But what he was saying felt – true. Was a decision he was making from the place that had been torn up the most.

He belonged out there. His team was amazing, and they would continue to be amazing without him. He wasn't leaving his friends or his family, they were going to stay by him, and he by them. Even if he ended up halfway across the world, they'd make it work. He'd invent a new technology if he had to.

They'd improvise.

"Then with all due respect, Matty, I'll be leaving the Phoenix. I don't need to be an agent to help people. But I can't deny that I'd rather do it here, with you. I know what I did wrong, and I know why. I've made the adjustment, and had you been willing to give me a chance, I would have proven it to you. I will prove it to you, even if I can't do that here."

The diminutive little woman gave him a long, hard stare, then seemed to deflate. "Mac, it would be yet another mistake. You are never going to get another save like this. The team – your team – has finally stabilized. Alicia Wright and Tom Monnegar are integrated now. If you try and fail – and you would fail, Mac – you would set them back months of hardwon trust. You know exactly how bad the consequences of that could be. Why would you even risk it?"

It was true. Had he come back, there would be no technical need for Wright and Monnegar. Most of Phoenix's teams were three men parties, as far as he knew his was the only permanently four man team. Six would be too many for most missions. Alicia and Tom had been partnered before, and they'd likely return to that. They would no doubt see it as a demotion, and they'd resent him for it.

He'd already planned contingencies for that. Now it didn't look like he'd get a chance to use them.

"Matty, the biggest risk here is not trying," he told her, not unkindly. "And it's not their trust I lack."

She gave him a long, measuring look, apparently trying to decide if she was going to take offense to his blatantly calling her out. "So you still remember that performance eval, I see."

His very first one. Where she told him that he was free to disagree with her, that she could respect that. And this was a pretty big disagreement.

"What can I say, you left an impression."

Matty pursed her lips, but didn't say anything else, and Mac realized there was nothing else to say. Thanks for everything? He owed her a great big fat one, but now was not the time. Maybe he'd leave a thank-you note and flowers on her kitchen table.

After he disabled her security system and let himself in and out undetected. Would be a feather in his cap for his and Jack's security consulting firm based out of Hawaii. If Jack still wanted it. And if not, he'd figure something else out.

Mac inclined his head anyway, in a farewell gesture, then turned for the door.

"Where do you think you're going, Blondie?" she immediately demanded, and Mac hesitated, then half turned back to her.

"I told you, I'm-"

"Sit your ass back down," she commanded in the exact same tone, as if he'd interrupted her in the middle of a briefing. At the same time, the door behind them opened, and a familiar face poked in.

"Mac! Hey – uh, whoa," Bozer added, much less exuberantly as he caught sight of Matty. "Uh, you did say come in, right?"

Mac glanced uncertainly between them, and Matty made an impatient gesture. "Yes. Any time today would be fine, Wilt."

He flinched a little at the use of his first name and flashed Mac a 'whoops' look, then hurried in, followed by a rather confused looking Jack and a smirking Riley. Behind her, Alicia Wright entered, coolly assessing the room, and Monnegar trailed in last, taking the temperature of the occupants before firmly shutting the door.

Mac agreed with his assessment. This was definitely not an open door kind of meeting.

"Alright people. I'm afraid you're victims of your own success, and you're headed to Marrakesh." Mac realized that as he'd been watching his team file in, she'd changed the screen to a map of Morocco, with several points of interest already highlighted.

Mac eyed the map, still not understanding, and Jack came to stand at his shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest. "What, we pickin' you up a nice Berber rug?"

"They weigh enough that it'd take all of us," Tom muttered from the back of the room.

Matty simpered. "Much as I like where your head is, I don't think you'll want to buy what they're selling." Two passports flashed up on the screen, showing Riley and Bozer's unsmiling faces and declaring them Mr. and Mrs. Gough-Calthorpe. Strangely, this made both Riley and Bozer groan.

"Are we gonna hafta trek up another jungle mountain?" Bozer whined.

Matty was supremely unmoved. "No. This time the resort is close to sea level, and you'll be wined and dined by the North African branch of the human and animal trafficking ring you broke wide open during the Borneo op."

Jack snapped his fingers. "Gettin' back to that, they broke it wide open. So why's the – the North African branch still keepin' shop?"

"Because there was no digital or paper evidence that they were working with the Indonesians." A new face appeared on the board, an African sheik Mac didn't recognize. Apparently neither did anyone else. "Meet Brahim Al-Maghribi. He's our top suspect. He controls nearly all imports and exports from Casablanca, including the human and animal trade."

"No shit?" Jack murmured, nudging Mac on the shoulder. "This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Somewhere behind Mac, Bozer gave a theatrical cough. "I can't believe Jack just quoted a movie that wasn't a Western and didn't star Bruce Willis. He didn't get it right, but still."

Mac's partner turned on Bozer, pointing a knifehand at him in warning. "Never mock the classics, Bozer. It ain't Bruce's fault he wasn't born yet."

"Humphrey Bogart aside," Matty dragged them back on track, "Mr. Al-Maghribi operates a very tight ship. All we have are a few manifests indicating the contents passed through Morocco."

"And by contents you mean people," Alicia Wright clarified, her disapproval clear.

"I'm afraid I do," she confirmed, and Mac cocked his head as he started putting context to some of the images on the screen. Matty gave him a long look before she continued.

"This is a surveil and intelligence gathering only operation. Al-Maghribi may be very good at covering his tracks, but I'm willing to bet his customers are not. Your mission is to identify as many of those people as possible and let our analysts do the dirty work. You'll be going in as three teams. Riley and Bozer, you'll reprise your previous roles as trophy hunters and traders." Mac didn't even need to turn around to imagine the face Bozer was making. That was not going to be a pleasant job, especially for two animal lovers. "The Indonesian authorities rounded up everyone they could from Mount Kinabalu, but that doesn't mean a few snakes didn't slip the net. In order to keep Mr. and Mrs. Gough-Calthorpe safe, you'll have eyes on you inside and out."

"I'll take the high ground," Jack volunteered, his voice devoid of the previous humor as he cracked his knuckles. "Maybe do a little trophy huntin' of my own."

Matty gave him a short not. "Alicia and Tom, you'll be going in as a second married couple, the Pouletts."

"Both wealthy and well-known noble families, both from the UK," Mac said aloud, completely without meaning to, and Matty gave him the same nod she'd given Jack.

"Exactly right. The two couples have a lot in common, and they're going to meet in the lobby of the luxurious Mandarin Oriental Marrakech hotel and become fast friends. While Riley and Bozer identify promising suspects among the party guests, the two teams will provide overwatch and search the indicated suites. Once you have enough evidence to put Al-Maghribi at at least two sales, our Indonesian friends will scoop everyone up."

"Easy peasy lemon squeezy." Jack clapped his hands together, like he couldn't wait to get started. "What's Mac doin'?"

Matty again shifted her eyes to him. After a few seconds, she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"That's up to Mac."

It took him what, in hindsight, was probably not nearly as much time as it felt like to finally, finally put all the clues together into a cohesive picture. She'd laid out all his mistakes and failings. Mercilessly exposed all his fears. The open disappointment, the disgust softening into fondness and regret. Reminding him about that performance evaluation. Telling him it was her decision, when she knew all along that it wasn't.

It was his.

That evaluation was as true today as it had been when they'd first had it, years ago. He had proven to her that what he did wasn't luck. She'd already admitted that to him, several times. She had his results, his evals from the staff psychiatrist, from the Drs. Talbot, from his physicals and his field readiness testing. She knew it was never a question of competency.

It was about how much doubt he had in himself. Whether the decision he'd made had been made without reservation. Had been made from the right place, and for the right reasons. And he'd just proven to her – or at the very least, taken a solid first step at proving – that he had no uncertainty about his abilities and his desire to go back into the field.

She hadn't rejected his application. She'd simply been waiting for him to tell her that he was ready.

Mac glanced over his right shoulder, where Jack was standing firm, right where he always did. "Somebody's gotta watch your six, big guy. You're not exactly the world's fastest cat burglar."

Jack blinked at him, then straightened indignantly. "Now what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Mac shrugged. "Just that all of us have skills, and . . . picking locks is not one of yours."

He received a playful shove that sent him stumbling a step, but when he recovered, Jack was grinning from ear to ear. "Why did I ever miss you, smartass?" he asked the room at large, and Mac glanced behind Jack, to the rest of the team. Bozer and Riley were laughing, looking both relieved and delighted, and beside Riley, Alicia gave Mac a polite nod of acknowledgement. Tom was doing the same thing as Mac, watching the team celebrate, and he looked –

Well, he looked vaguely dismayed at the unprofessional behavior, but when their eyes locked, there was nothing there but reserved evaluation.

Well, Boze had said Monnegar wasn't won over easily. If Mac could get Tom on his side, Matty would be right behind.

"Jack, MacGyver, your covers are waiting on the plane. Everyone gear up. You're wheels up in thirty."

-M-

FIN

-M-

EPILOGUE

-M-

(So I guess that means there's a little more)

-M-

MARRAKESH

Mac dared to poke his head up from behind the counter, keeping a firm hand on the shopkeeper's shoulder, but the sack of flour and the lit stick of incense he'd jammed into the doorframe had done their job well. Both gunman were down; one was groaning softly and the other was out cold. Rapid footsteps crunched through the blown-out shop windows, and a second later Mac made out a sliver of Jack's face, and the barrel of a pistol.

"We're good," Mac called out, still hoarse but with plenty of volume, and Jack immediately came forward to secure the suspects. Mac turned back to the shopkeeper he was practically sitting on, who was staring up at him with comically round eyes.

"It's okay, you're safe. Ant aman."

The kid was no more than nineteen, clearly manning his family's souvenir shop, and Mac assumed that his non-responsiveness was due to ringing ears. He could definitely relate. Mac pulled himself to his feet and held out a hand, which the young man hesitantly took, and Mac hauled him upright, getting his first good look at the shop.

The good thing about flour was that it was only explosive when it was a very fine powder suspended in air. The majority of the effect was therefore localized where the bag had been upended when they'd opened the door. The front windows and the door itself were destroyed, but the rest of the shop was remarkably untouched. It was a fact that Mac was glad of – it was a souvenir shop to be sure, but most of the contents were homemade and very well crafted. He left the young man to survey the damages, and hopped over the counter as Riley and Bozer skidded into view.

"Mac! You good?!" Bozer caught himself on the mangled doorframe, trying to catch his breath. "They got away from us, Tom and Alicia are on the other two-"

"Ours are already in custody," a tinny voice corrected, from inside Mac's ear, and he wiggled the earwig around a little, wondering if the device was damaged, or it was just his still-ringing ears. "We didn't even have to blow them up."

"Well, it wouldn't be a mission with Mac if something didn't blow up," Riley chimed in, much less out of breath than her traditionally-garbed 'husband,' who'd had to make the run in lounge slippers. "This one's relatively minor."

"Yeah, no body parts layin' everywhere or nothin'," Jack drawled, giving Mac a wink. Mac frowned at them and made a mental note to find out exactly what kind of stories they'd been telling in his absence.

A lot of misinformation could be spread in six months.

As Jack ziptied the men and relieved them of their weaponry – of which they had a very impressive assortment – the shopkeeper's eyes became even more round. Mac was afraid he was going to bolt for the nearest state police officer, but instead he held out his hands, cupped, in a gesture of profound thanks.

"Please . . . you take," he said, gesturing to his shop. "A gift!"

Mac started to shake his head. "We're not going to hurt you-"

"Mac," Bozer interrupted quietly, and when Mac glanced at his best friend, Wilt indicated the shopkeeper. He turned back, confused, and then he saw what Boze was looking at – the notch cut out of the top of the shopkeeper's left ear.

His parents had notched it – a simple 'mutilation' of their infant son so he could not be collected and sold by Al-Maghribi's men. He wasn't terrified of the gunmen lying on his shop floor.

He was ecstatic. He knew exactly who they were.

Knowing the self-appointed sheik had had complete, unchecked control of this section of the city for twenty plus years made Mac's blood boil, and he hid his fury with effort, clapping the young man on the shoulder.

"Thank you. Shukraan," Mac gestured, and the young man nodded, then again indicated his store.

"A gift. A gift!"

"You speak Arabic?" This came from Boze, and Mac wasn't sure which of them to address first when Jack helped him out.

"He picked it up in the sandbox. Always good to know 'please', 'thank you', and 'where's the banjo' when you're in a foreign country." His partner glanced over at him with an approving sort of look. "Surprised you still remember it."

It took Mac a second to take that the way Jack meant it – that he remembered what little Arabic he'd picked up in Afghanistan at all, as opposed to having lost the memory due to brain damage – and Mac saw the same realization cross Jack's face as his smile fell. "Aww, shit, Mac, I didn't-"

"I know," he reassured the other man quickly. "I'm kinda surprised myself." It had only been six months, after all. It had seemed like an eternity, but in the grand scheme of things –

In the grand scheme of things, it was the blink of an eye. He was, as Jack would say, one lucky SOB.

Something about six months stuck in his head as they waited for Alicia and Monnegar to come by with their 'appropriated' vehicle and gather up the now fully unconscious suspects, and Mac bobbed his head as the shopkeeper became more and more insistent that Mac accept a gift. He didn't want to take anything of value, and a cock-eyed tower of postcards caught his eye. Not handmade, super inexpensive – fit the bill for something that he could accept without feeling guilty.

It also jogged another memory. This one was less than six months old.

Mac gestured at the carousel, and the young man gave him an eager nod. Mac paged through the postcards quickly before he found the one he wanted.

"Keepin' a memento, huh?" Bozer asked from his shoulder, and Mac turned with a little smile on his face.

"Keeping a promise," he corrected. "And all of you are going to help me."

-M-

TWO WEEKS LATER

GRAND JUNCTION

Dr. Simone Parsons padded into her office, kicking off the faded rabbit slippers and digging her toes into the thick carpet in front of her couch. Once she'd eased some of the pain out of the balls of her feet, she regarded the rabbits with an accusatory look of betrayal. One of their faded, floppy ears drooped to the ground in apology.

"I think your time's finally up," she told them. "I am not getting Dr. Scholl inserts for slippers."

They looked a little forlorn at the news, and they had served her well. She continued frowning at the pair as she walked barefoot to her desk and pulled a pile of interoffice mail off her seat before sinking into it gratefully.

It was probably the autoclave, the heat had broken down the stuffing. Not for the first time, she regretted not asking TJ to buy two pairs. She'd never be able to replace them with a similar pair now.

A slick piece of photograph paper slipped out from between two interoffice envelopes when she picked them up out of her lap, and Dr. Parsons cocked her head to the side as she recognized the spire of Koutoubia Mosque. Intrigued, she set the rest of the mail on her desk and studied the postcard.

The stamps cinched it. It was definitely from Morocco, addressed to her by street, building, and office number only.

Curiously, she turned it over in her hands, to find neat English printed on the back side.

Hope this finds you, W, and A well. You told me if I really wanted to thank you, I should send you a card in six months. So from all of us here in sunny Marrakesh – THANK YOU. You're a life saver.

There were four distinct signatures. The looping penmanship of Mr. Power of Attorney, something with a large R and D with connecting scribbles, a short and sweet military-angled Jack Dalton, and in the same neat print as the message, A. MacGyver.

Simone stared at the postcard for another moment, then finally acknowledged the fact that her body and mind desperately wanted to smile, and let it happen. It was kismet that a shadow darkened her still-open doorway, and Wanda poked her head in.

"Patient Nine's showin' signs of coming around, thought you'd want to be there . . . what's got you smilin' today?"

The doctor held the postcard up. "Handsome says hi."

-M-

The soft sound of laughter woke him from a light sleep.

Mac lay on his back, enjoying a moment of quiet peace, wondering if what he'd heard was real or the remnants of a dream. He was starting to be able to remember them, but whatever this last one, it was already slipping away. Something about a . . . a hula hoop time vortex that behaved a little like the portals from the self-named video game.

There was a distinctive thump from the direction of the main house, and Mac groaned a little and gave up, scrubbing his face before rolling out of bed and finding his way to the bathroom. Three minutes, a couple swipes of deodorant, and a clean t-shirt later, Mac padded out of his bedroom, glancing at his Fitbit.

Almost ten am.

Now almost certain it was his whacked-out sleeping patterns that were exacerbating the jetlag, Mac entered the living room to find Bozer and Riley engaged in throwing Dunkin Donut Munchkins into Jack's mouth. Despite the size of the treats, Jack was unerring in his ability to cleanly catch and dispatch them.

"Hey! Afternoon, Mac!" Bozer greeted him cheerfully, with a coffee in his hand. He thumbed over his shoulder, and Mac spotted the lone brown cup sitting in a recycled paper drink tray. He grunted something relatively grateful and was pleased to find the beverage was still hot. He removed the lid to let it cool slightly, turning and leaning against the kitchen pass-through to regard the three people in his house.

"I don't think he's awake yet."

Bozer hummed in agreement. "You really have no idea how weird this is. Usually I'm the zombie after an eight hour time warp."

"Even on your worst days, neither of you hold a candle to Saito. Damn, that man hates being jetlagged."

Mac nodded groggily and took a sip of his coffee, his eyes falling naturally onto the back windows. In the next second, he almost inhaled the liquid as something light-colored and definitely not meteorology-related fell out of the clear blue sky, just on the other side of the deck railing. Luckily, he wasn't the only one who had seen it.

"What the hell was that?" Riley asked, climbing off the couch even as Mac hurried across the room and up the three stairs onto the deck. A shadow crossed the wood almost directly in front of him and Mac squinted up at the sky to see the silhouette of a very close, very large bird of prey.

Paully the Great Horned Owl.

Riley and Jack were right behind him, and Riley made a small noise of surprise. Jack was less reserved. "Holy crap!"

"Yeah, he's a big boy," Mac confirmed, continuing to the railing and peering over. If Paully was swooping around, chances were -

At first he didn't see anything, mangled or otherwise, until the shadow of the water's surface on the bottom of the pool caught his eye. There were wide circles, indicating something had splashed down.

Something light-colored, that was about to disappear right into the pool skimmer.

"Baby rabbit, ten o'clock," he called, abandoning the coffee and racing to the deck stairs. By the time he'd reached the bottom, Jack was hot on his heels, and Mac didn't bother trying to lap the perimeter of the pool. It was much faster to simply jump in. He cut a perfect dive through the water, crossing the pool in seconds, and then he surfaced and reached into the skimmer, quickly locating the wet, furry object and extricating it.

It was dirty and waterlogged, but after Mac untangled the poor little thing, he realized his mistake.

"Thumper gonna make it?" Jack called, choosing to jog around the pool rather than get his clothes wet.

"Uh . . ." Good question. Mac gently turned the limp kitten over, finding blood in the white fur. Its right hind leg was bleeding and definitely cut, and there were puncture marks in the kitten's abdomen, undoubtedly where Paully had scooped it up from wherever he'd found it. Even before the owl had gotten hold of it, the kitten had seen hard times. Mac could feel every rib. It couldn't be more than four weeks old.

But the little kitten jerked weakly in his hands, and snorted water from its nose and mouth.

"Hey, little guy," Mac soothed, and then Jack was there, and he carefully handed the sodden thing to his partner and vaulted out of the pool. Riley and Bozer were leaning over the deck railing, trying to get a look.

"If it's dying, don't tell me," Riley called, turning her back as she saw Jack practically pouring it from one of his hands to the other. "After those two trafficking ops, I can't even watch Animal Planet without feeling guilty."

"Uh . . . then I won't tell you," Jack called back, sounding a little uncertain. "Well, you're breathin', little man. Let's get you to the emergency vet and see if they can't patch you up."

Mac followed his partner, dripping his way back up the stairs, and Bozer had just fetched a towel from the kitchen when both his and Riley's phones chirped. Now wide awake, Mac realized what it meant before Riley's face fell.

"Matty needs us," she confirmed, frowning at the wet towel in Jack's hands. "All four of us."

"Okay." Bozer was using his optimistic voice. "Lemme just call the neighbors, see if anyone can help-"

"Mr. Schneider's in Florida," Mac told him, shaking the water out of his hair. "And Margie's allergic to cats. Alicia and Tom are in Madagascar -"

"It's a cat? I thought it was a rabbit-"

"Uh . . . closest emergency vet is the other direction," Riley supplied, checking Google maps. "No one else is open at ten am on a Sunday. The only clinic between us and Phoenix doesn't open til noon."

Jack had wrapped the kitten like a tiny burrito, so that only its little face was visible in the olive green towel. Its eyes were screwed shut. "You tellin' me Hollywood's finest don't have a vet they can call on a Sunday morning?"

"Of course they do, Jack, to make house calls. We have to go-"

"And what?" Bozer's voice was rising quickly from 'optimism' to 'panic.' "Just leave it here? Ring the dinner bell and tell Paully to stop playin' with his food?!"

The truth was, Paully had just landed in a pine tree on the north end of the property, clearly watching them and clearly still interested. Mac read the look on Jack's face, and reluctantly came to the same conclusion. "Well, it was his breakfast to begin with, Boze. And the little guy's not doing well. Without medical attention, and a course of antibiotics –"

"You did not just say that." Riley was keeping her distance from the towel, her arms folded tightly across her chest, and her mouth was pressed in a thin line. "Mac, I don't care if that's how nature works, we are not abandoning an injured kitten so an owl can eat it on your deck."

It definitely wasn't his first choice, either, but she was right, they couldn't just leave it here in the house, they really did have to go –

To the Phoenix Foundation headquarters. One of the singularly best equipped buildings on the western seaboard.

"Then he comes with," Mac said, striding into the house still dripping wet. "Riley, text Phoenix medical and let them know what we're bringing them."

To say Matty was displeased would have been an understatement. Thanks to it being a Sunday, they'd made it in about twenty minutes, and she took them all in, with a special disapproving look for Mac, who was still decidedly damp.

"I understand you've already executed a rescue this morning, and while I would typically be sympathetic to the plight of a stray kitten, we don't have a veterinarian on staff, Mac. What exactly do you expect me to do with that?"

He opened his mouth, then shrugged. "Matty, I think it's got a lacerated hamstring on the hind leg, and definite puncture wounds. That kitten won't survive without medical attention and antibiotics."

"And you've got that UCLA vet in your pocket, right?" Bozer added, earning looks from the rest of the team. Matty raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"The . . . vet from UCLA," Bozer repeated, a little less certain. "The one you called for Greg's grandma's service dog that had cancer?"

Mac tried to unravel that in his head, surprised when Matty cocked her head to the side.

"Bozer, how do you know about that?"

"Uh . . . Jill?" he offered lamely. "She told me, right after Myrrh was put into effect."

Right after everyone thought Matty was dead. A lot of stories had probably surfaced, with the staff believing there would be no retaliation for telling all about the amazing things Matty Webber had done for her employees.

"Greg's grandma has a service dog?" Jack had handed off the kitten burrito to Nurse Tasha, who was glancing between him and Matty, clearly looking for some kind of direction.

"Look," Mac cut in. "As soon as we're back, I'll take care of it, Matty, and make sure it ends up in a shelter as soon as it's recovered. Any medical costs can come straight out of my paycheck."

"Oh they will," she assured him readily. "You four are wheels up in ten. New York, high rise, asset acquisition. Blondie, try to find a change of clothes before then."

-M-

SEVENTEEN HOURS LATER

Mac arrived at the door first and pulled it open, ignoring how heavy it felt, and how unhappy his right shoulder was about extending the attached arm. His team didn't look much better than he felt; Jack was favoring his left foot, which their 'asset' had bridgestomped during acquisition and probably broken at least one bone, Riley didn't even look up from the two phones in her hands, still trying to bypass the asset's security controls, and Bozer was schlepping all their gear because he was a nice guy.

"Seriously, Boze, I can take my bag-"

"Nuh-uh. I saw that hit you took." Wilt hitched the bags a little higher on his shoulder, like he was afraid Mac was going to try to physically relieve him of his burden. "An' he needs to go get an x-ray."

"It's fine," Jack protested, but his voice sounded tired and distracted. They all were.

That was the team that trudged into the War Room, to find Matty standing near the center of the room, watching on the big screen as the asset was deposited into an interrogation room. She looked fresh and reasonably pleased, a look that faded a little as she took in the group.

"Problems?" she asked acerbically, and Jack grunted and took a seat to get his weight off his foot.

"Asset acquired as requested," Mac replied, when no one else volunteered to speak. "As soon as Riley's able to bypass his mobile device security, you'll have your evidence."

Matty's attention turned to the analyst, who was frowning at the phones. "Sorry," she murmured, still clearly distracted. "I'll have it for you soon, Matty-"

"How's the kitten?" Bozer suddenly blurted.

Matty regarded him, then apparently noticed how she'd gotten all their eyes – including Riley's, the phones forgotten in her hands. Mac had to admit, he'd been thinking about it on and off the entire mission, and certainly on the plane ride home. The director frowned at them.

"Really, Bozer? Is that the most important thing to focus on right now?"

". . . yeah," he said, his voice still certain. "Dude's in custody, and Riley'll totally break that encryption, so it's a done deal. How's little Sebastian Winterfeld?"

Mac blinked, but it was Jack who voiced what they were all thinking. "Sebastian Winterfeld? He ain't a character on Game of Thrones, dude. That li'l guy is totally a Thundercat."

Riley's face screwed up. "Thundercat? What, you think he's gonna fart a lot?"

The team glanced at Mac, who shrugged. "I was going to go with Plato. They said the great philosopher was inspired by Athene noctua –"

Matty's expression had been growing more incredulous by the second. "Did any of you have pets growing up?"

She got three nods – and a slight headshake from Riley.

"Mac had a dog named Archimedes, so just ignore him," Bozer suggested "All our pets had first and last names."

"Sebastian Winterfeld is not an improvement," Matty told him drily. "What happened to sending it to the shelter?"

That question didn't make any sense to Mac. "He should still go to the shelter named . . ."

Matty's expression fell even further into disappointment. "Well, first off, Baby Einstein, he is a she." She tapped her tablet, unfrosting the glass, and right outside the War Room was Dr. Melissa Talbot, holding what looked like a baby blanket. She wasn't paying any attention to them, using the corner of the blanket to tease the contents, and they all saw a white paw dart out and try to catch the twitching fabric. Matty walked over to the glass and knocked on it, and when the doctor glanced up, Matty motioned her inside.

"I had a feeling you four would be asking about her," Matty continued. "She's around a month, month and a half old, probably separated from her mother almost a week."

Mac couldn't help a little wince. She was so tiny, and those ribs – maybe she'd been the runt of the litter. "How bad are her injuries?"

By then the doctor had let herself in and they all focused on her. She was smiling softly at the contents of the blanket, and held it out for Bozer to take. "Careful," Melissa cautioned. "Her right hind leg is wrapped."

Bozer accepted the kitten like he would have his own baby daughter, cradling the blanket to his chest before peeking inside. "Well, hey there, Blue Eyes," he crooned, and then his hand disappeared into the folds.

"Careful," Mac warned, and Bozer's delighted smile wrinkled into a grimace of pain. "They're sharp," he added a little lamely, clearly too late.

"Her hamstring was more than half severed, so you'll need to keep that leg basically immobile for the next three weeks if she's going to have any shot of healing." The doctor turned her attention to Mac, seeing as his roommate was totally smitten. "The puncture wounds introduced some bacteria, but she's already responding to antibiotics. We've got her on a liquid diet for now and she's been dewormed, so loose and runny stool is to be expected."

He was halfway through the list of supplies they would need to buy before it occurred to him what she was saying. "Immobilized for three weeks?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "That's not something that can be done at the local shelter. If that ligament won't mend, she'll have a permanent and significant limp."

Mac was miles away, mentally working on recalling the latest ligament grafting technology, so Riley took up for him, warily approaching the blanket. ". . . how do you immobilize a kitten for three weeks?"

"Improvise," Matty told her flatly, with a significant look at Mac. He absently added that problem to the growing list.

"Dr. Talbot – Melissa . . ."

She shot him a knowing grin. "Oh no you don't, Mac. Tim and I are not about to take on a kitten. Not permanently, anyway. But if you're away on mission in the next couple of weeks, yes, we can help you find someone to take care of her."

Mac closed his eyes and inclined his head. "Thank you," he told her, and he meant it. "Do you have a recommendation on food?"

The doctor produced her phone from her pocket. "You'll want to go with high quality kitten food, wet and dry, and water down the dry with chicken broth. Siamese are particularly prone to respiratory infections and kidney stones, so get as much clear fluid into her as possible –" She stopped, staring at him curiously, and Mac realized his expression must have changed because she then said, "Okay, where did I lose you?"

"Siamese?" Yes, she was white-ish, but had also been pretty dirty and scraggly so he hadn't really paid it any thought –

"We ran a DNA test. Well, Jill ran a DNA test," the doctor clarified. "She's pureblooded Siamese, but half show and half apple-head, if you know the breed. She's likely to be a bit finer-boned than your last Siamese kitten."

Mac let the tactfully innocent comment go with a smile – it still made him uncomfortable to think about exactly how closely he'd been observed during his convalescence – and turned back to Bozer in time to find Riley cooing over the blanket as well. A glance at Jack was no help; the man was broadly grinning, and Mac returned the grin with one of his own.

"I'm glad you're here, doctor. I think Jack might have broken a couple mid-tarsels in his left foot. It looks like the proud parents have this under control, so I'll help him down to Medical." Jack's smile went from sunny to betrayed so quickly it made Mac actually chuckle, and the doctor turned her attention to a potential human patient.

Jack's outrage shortly found an outlet. "While we're on the topic, doc, Mac here mighta cracked a rib-"

"Oh, for god's sake. You two, take the mothering out there," Matty growled, gesturing at Riley, Bozer, and the baby blanket. "You two, Medical. This isn't a doggie day care!"

Cowed, the agents did as requested, though Jack was mumbling under his breath, "'Course it ain't, that there's a cat, there's no such thing as a kitty day care-"

"I bet there is in LA," Mac replied in an undertone, and the two proceeded down the hallway under Melissa's watchful eye.

-M-

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, holmes. A freakin' owl personally delivered you a therapy kitten. That's Hogwarts-level shit. There ain't no way you can give her up now."

Mac chose to take the higher ground – which involved taking a bite of his jerk shrimp taco, and no additional eye-rolls – and he couldn't help a glance when the still pure-white kitten used her wheels to dart several feet forward. She was getting less and less afraid of the seams in the wood plank deck, and had gotten over any fear of the contraption she was hauling behind her pretty much the day Mac had outfitted her.

"Yeah, otherwise Paully will just keep dropping kittens in your pool," Riley added, in a way less chipper tone. "Most traumatic letters from Hogwarts ever."

No kidding "First, Hogwarts isn't real," Mac started, and continued on doggedly despite the deeply reproachful look his roommate gave him across the unlit fire pit, "and second, we can't keep a cat, Boze, this life doesn't lend itself to pets-"

"Cats are totally independent," Jack protested around a mouthful of baja taco, tapping his air-booted left foot on the ground in an effort to attract the kitten's attention. "Hell, if they had thumbs they'd be runnin' the world. We had a barn cat named Dammit, and he was smarter than most of the kids I went to school with."

The five of them – Alicia and Tom had joined them – exchanged furtive glances. Jack chose to ignore them, and stuffed the other half of the soft taco in his mouth.

"Cats are one of the worst things we've done to the environment," Mac disagreed. "They're the most successful hunters on the planet. A single outdoor cat can destroy the songbird population for a half mile radius –"

"Mac." Jack still had his mouth full, but his patient, lecturing tone was plain to hear, "I don't think Wheels there is gonna be much of an outside cat. Particularly not if Paully gets himself a girl and moves into that sweet condo you set up."

Much as Mac didn't want to acknowledge that, it was a good point. Even if her hamstring 'healed', it would never be one hundred percent. She was in the sixtieth percentile for her age and weight, so she was always going to be small prey. Despite her lashing tail as she bravely stalked Bozer's shoelace, she wasn't going to last long in the great outdoors. If Paully didn't get her, coyotes surely would. Heck, there were a few domesticated canines in the neighborhood that wouldn't mind a new chew toy.

"We're not namin' her Wheels," Bozer protested. "How about . . . Wild Irish Rose?"

"So she's a cheap wine now?" Riley inquired, eyebrow arched.

"She'll get better with age," Boze defended his choice.

On the other side of the pit, Tom gave the kitten a disdainful look, and she promptly abandoned Bozer's shoelace and dragged her little cart to Jack, who was offering her a piece of chicken.

"What would you name her?" Mac asked the other agent, and Tom looked up, as if the question had surprised him.

"Yeah," Riley encouraged him, leaning into his shoulder playfully, and Monnegar frowned a little, setting down his paper plate. Upon it was a shrimp, ripped into bite-sized pieces.

"Dalton's not wrong, this whole thing is totally Harry Potter," the no-nonsense agent acknowledged. "You should pick a Harry Potter name. McGonagall comes to mind – she was a witch that could turn into a cat, she was skinny and short, she could kick ass . . .Minerva would be a good name. Mina for short." He nodded his head at Bozer. "That gives you the option of a first and last name," and then the look transferred to Mac, "and if you must nerd out, you can call her Professor."

For a second, no one knew what to say. They all gaped at Tom, everyone but Alicia. She just took another pull off her beer as if her partner suddenly turned into a normal human every day. "I second that. It'll get her adopted way faster."

The six week old kitten dragged her little wheeled contraption – one that left her front legs free to grow stronger and explore, as well as one of her back legs, while the other was securely held in place via small bungie stretch cords and a little cloth hammock – towards Tom's plate and helped herself to the kitten-sized shrimp. Bozer was watching her closely to make sure she didn't get caught up in the ruts between the wood planks, and he immediately shook his head.

"She's not goin' anywhere," he said fondly, then shot his roommate a look. "I don't care how bad for the environment she is, we're keepin' her. It's like Jack said. Mina was personally delivered by owl. You don't wanna piss off Dumbledore, do ya?"

Mac considered pointing out that not only did Dumbledore not exist, even if he did, he was dead, but he didn't welcome the argument that would follow. "Boze, man . . . an animal is a big commitment. We're on missions most of the month. It's not fair to her to leave her alone in the house-"

"How about you let her decide that?"

"Mac's right," Riley cut in. "Siamese are super social. If you leave her alone for long periods, she's going to get separation anxiety. If you think she's mouthy now . . ."

Truer words never spoken. 'Mina' couldn't stand to sleep alone. She would drag her little walking apparatus to one or the other of their bedroom doors and cry until one of them – often Mac, who had already been woken by his Fitbit – let her in and plopped her on the bed. Once she was good and settled Mac would even take her out of her little wheelchair and let her stretch out on her side, as boneless as a kitten could be. She'd stay sacked out until dawn.

Honestly she wasn't a bad pet. She had a lot to say, and right now she was tiny, but she'd figured out litter boxes – including dragging her wheelchair into one – and their schedule with apparent ease. She hadn't started clawing the furniture yet, she stuck to her cat tree, which Mac had constructed last weekend and could probably be more accurately described as a palace, for when she could jump and climb like a normal kitten –

Yeah. They were right. She wasn't going anywhere.

Which left only a series of logistics to figure out. "So," Mac stated, setting down his own empty paper plate as she finished the shrimp Tom had left her, "how are we going to keep her occupied while we're gone? Are we going to get our kitten a kitten?" Nothing like solving a problem by adding additional problem . . .

Jack was watching her polish off the shrimp. "Let her get outta that contraption, get her leg all healed up. Who knows, maybe she won't need a friend. Besides, I bet half the analysts would volunteer to take her if we were on an op."

"Oh, fuck yeah," Riley chimed in. "Jill's this close to suing for visitation rights. Apparently the whole damn building adopted her while we were in New York."

Good to know he and Boze were good and screwed before they'd even gotten back. Mac watched the not yet dusky kitten lick her chops, her blue eyes wide and round, and she used them to inspect the fire pit footwell she was trapped in. Not finding any more shrimp or chicken offerings, she dragged her hind end over to Bozer, parked right by his ankle, and let loose with a demanding mew.

Watching the entire team respond to her – him included – Mac couldn't shake the feeling that she really was filling the role Metrodora had filled for him. A distraction, something to care for, something to bring them together. Something temporarily delicate, that he had the feeling would one day end up taking care of them.

"Mina it is," he sighed, and everyone grabbed their drink and raised it high.

-M-

THE END.

Seriously this time. All loose ends tied up, plus a super fun epilogue, as requested by Elizabeth Wilson and our contest winner, I'mcalledZorro!

Before I go any further, I'd like to call out the Beta Who Shall Not Be Named™ (but who you actually met in this story) for all of her hard work and support through forty chapters of this monster. You helped me more than you know.

A lot went down in this chapter as well. Matty and Jack had a little talk about Mac, trying to get a feel for what his headspace was like and what he might choose to do. Mac himself struggled with that very question before being reassured by his team that they were going to be there for him, no matter what he chose. Matty tested him hard, but Mac had made his decision, and she stood by him. Then we got a quick mission in Marrakesh that ended with Mac sending Dr. Parsons a postcard – and the discerning reader may have noticed that Mac had as positive an effect on the doc as she did on him, seeing as she'd expanded her patient count to at least nine, up from five. =)

And finally, we had the winner's request, which was either Mac trying to run before he could walk and falling on his face, or getting a kitten. I had secretly been wanting to send Metrodora home with Mac ever since she was introduced, so I was only too happy to introduce the team to Minerva 'Mina' McGonagall. Who knows, maybe she'll show up in a later story. That I'm totally not writing, because this was STUPID long.

But I'm so glad that I wrote it, and that so many of you stuck with it, and let me know what worked for you, what didn't, and the parts you loved the most. As Mac told Dr. Parsons: THANK YOU. Thanks to each and every one of you who PMed me, left a review, agreed to be my Super Sekrit Beta Reader™, and everyone in between.