Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The one thing that unites all human beings,
regardless of age, gender, religion or ethnic background,
is that we all believe we are above-average drivers.
- Dave Barry

From his position in the back seat of the car, Mac can't see exactly what causes Bozer to slam on the brakes halfway through the left-hand turn across three lanes of traffic into the parking lot of Mama Mia’s Italian Paradiso, but he can see the way Loretta and Milton both tense up, and hear the harsh breath Bozer lets out.

“Just take a deep breath,” Mr. Bozer says, sounding remarkably calm for someone who is still gripping the oh shit handle above his door. “Then wait until you see a gap twice the size you think you need.”

For an agonizing ninety seconds, the only sounds in the car are Beyonce and Loretta’s fingernails on the leather seat between her and Mac. Cars zip by his window, close enough and fast enough that the Bozer's small car rocks with their passing.

“That one?” Bozer asks finally.

“Yes, good,” Mr. Bozer responds. “Three, two, one—go.”

The car jerks into motion as Bozer slams a foot on the gas pedal too hard. It shoots across the three lanes, bumping hard as it crosses the gutter at the edge of the road before it goes up the ramp of the driveway.

They're safely in the parking lot. Shoulders lower. Loretta leans back against the seat. Milton releases his death grip on the handle. Bozer guides the car with painstaking slowness into one of the parking spots in the mostly-empty lot.

Mr. Bozer turns in his chair, offering Mac a strained smile. “Wilt reminded me that you’re fifteen and a half, Angus. Are you ready to apply for your learner’s permit and try your hand at the wheel?”

Mac squeezes back against the seat. He shakes his head, too-long hair flopping into his eyes. “Nah, I’m—I’m good with riding my bike for now. Thanks.”

Bozer puts the car into park. He opens the door it and eyes the pavement. “I think I’m in. The line is like a foot from the car.”

“Very good, Wilt,” Milton says.

Bozer turns off the car and hands the keys to Milton. Everyone gets out. Bozer is grinning, swinging his hands like he's shaking off the stress of being a newly-minted 16-year-old driver.

“Good job, Boze,” Mac tells him.

“It’s not as hard as it looks,” Bozer replies as they fall into step behind his parents. “I can teach you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not legal,” Mac says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve only had a license for like 5 hours.”

“Nor is it wise,” Milton says as they reach the sidewalk. He turns to put a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “You’ll be driving with me when you’re ready, Mac. Just say the word, and we’ll get you signed up for classes.”

The way he says it, like it was obvious that he’ll take the time to take Mac out practice driving like he had with Bozer, is almost overwhelming in its kindness. Mac smiles even while he looks down, afraid to meet Mr. Bozer’s eyes. “Thanks, Mr. Bozer.”

Milton pats his shoulder and they go in to dinner.

Chapter Text

Still, round the corner, there may wait a new road or a secret gate.
– J. R. R. Tolkien

The mood in the car had been awkward since they got into it in the LAX garage, and continued that way for the first few miles. Mac gazed out the passenger side window, studying the gray-blue sky and the scattering of tall buildings along the highway as if they were actually interesting. They were and they weren’t. He’d seen them before, on other trips to LA with Grandpa Harry. He was there for a week last summer, spending time with Harry in his assisted living apartment before he went off to be a 16-year-old college freshman at MIT, having opted to graduate early after getting a full-tuition scholarship based on his junior year science fair project.

“So, how’s it feel to be a quarter done with your college career?” Bozer’s curiosity sounded unforced when he finally broke the increasingly awkward silence. Although he’d mostly cruised along with Mac ever since they became friends, taking some advanced classes in middle school and even being game enough to take community college classes with Mac the summer before sophomore year, he hadn’t collected as many extra high school credits as Mac, and hadn’t wanted to graduate early anyway. When Mac went off to college, Bozer stuck around Mission City for senior year. Bozer was due to collect his high school diploma in ten days.

Mac shrugged. “It doesn’t seem that it’s been that long.” But it had been. He'd taken a full load each term, and along with his duel enrollment credits from high school, he’d more than earned sophomore status. But thinking of his year at MIT as a full quarter of his college career was slightly terrifying. That meant he only had 75% of college left and he didn’t know what he’d do when it was over. He’d thought he’d like being immersed in the lab environment. And he didn’t hate it—when he was in the lab, deep in a project, it was great—but it wasn’t as fulfilling as he expected it to be. Sometimes it still felt like something was missing.

“Next year you gotta come home for Christmas,” Bozer told him. “It was weird without you.”

“Sorry.” It was weird being alone on a mostly-empty campus during breaks, too. Like most other students, his roommate had gone home, so Mac had had a whole room to himself for the first time since he was twelve, when Harry had had his first stroke and he’d moved in with the Bozers in what was meant to be a temporary arrangement, and had instead lasted all the way up until he moved across the continent to Massachesetts.

Whatever Bozer might have said was interrupted by the Garmin GPS unit clipped to the dashboard announcing their impending need to switch from the interstate to a different interstate. According to the information on the display, they were thirty minutes away from Harry’s senior living apartment. The plan was for them both to spend the night there, and drive back to Mission City on the next day, Sunday afternoon.

“Now, I know you’ve been super busy but we got invited to Penny’s pre-graduation party and I told her you’d come.” Bozer looked over at him, brow creased like he was worried Mac would say no.

Mac looked at the traffic instead. The highway was packed with cars going fifty miles per hour while positioned almost bumper-to-bumper. When he left for MIT, Bozer wasn’t even allowed to drive to L.A.. Lauretta and Milton had insisted it was too dangerous for a driver with less than a year’s experience. But there Bozer was, navigating the four lanes of traffic like a real driver.

“Mac?”

He wasn’t not sure he wanted to go to a party, but he knew he needed to go, so he dredged up a smile for Bozer. “Yeah, of course I’m coming.” He just hoped he wouldn’t have to spend the whole time talking about college. He’d always felt out of place being the youngest in his grade in high school, and now he was about the youngest student at MIT. Talking to the kids he went to middle school with, some of whom were graduating and some of whom had another year of high school to go, about what it was like to be in college was going to be strange. “What else is on my social calendar already?”

Bozer laughed, but he rattled off a series of people he’s talked to and activities he’d either partly or fully committed to on Mac’s behalf, and it sounded like it was going to be a long summer. Mac nodded along all the way down the interstate and onto the city streets, and he didn’t interrupt until Bozer finally paused for more than two seconds while they were waiting in a left turn lane for the chance to make the turn into the parking lot at Harry’s retirement home. “I emailed my resume to the library,” he said in the momentary silence, causing Bozer to look away from the road, surprised. “I have an interview on Monday to be a clerk for the summer.”

“That’s great, Mac! You’re going to love working with my aunt Pam.” Bozer flashed him a grin as he pulled into the parking lot and slid the cart into the first available spot. He turned it off and they both got out, exchanging the cool of the air conditioning for the sun-baked sidewalk. “But gotta make sure you don’t get your nose stuck in a book instead of shelving them.”

“I’m not a kid, Bozer.”

“Uh, you kind of literally are,” Bozer argued. “You might be like 3 inches taller than me now but you still won’t be 18 until next spring.”

“I know, but that’s not really what I meant. I’m not going to goof off in the library.”

He raised his hands, placating. “I know you aren’t. I’m just teasing you, Mac.”

“I—” Mac cut himself off, his flash of irritation fading. It was both good and weird to be standing outside the retirement home with Bozer. He wanted to prickle with offense, but it was Bozer. Bozer didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Mac trusted him the way he didn’t trust anybody else. It wasn’t like some of the other kids in high school, or even some of the older students at college, whose teasing usually had a sharp or sour edge to it. “Sorry, Boze. I just got called a lot on my age this year.”

Bozer eyed him again, his face tilted up to look at Mac’s. He smiled ruefully. “Bet that won’t be so much of a problem next year. You’re looking down at the top of my head.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Mac said, looking away from Bozer’s hair, which he really did have a view of that he’d never had before. “I still didn’t mean to–”

“Hey, I got it.” Bozer sounded genuine. “It was a long flight and you’re probably tired. Let’s visit your gramps and then you can just sit while I drive. I won’t be offended if you fall asleep before I tell you everything you missed.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Boze. You email me, like, three times a day with updates.”

“And I still left so much stuff out, you’re not gonna believe it.” Bozer’s grin stretched.

#

Penny’s party was on Saturday night at her parents’ house. Penny was cute, smart, and generally a bit of a straight arrow, and she had always been someone Mac liked.

The party wasn’t what he expected it to be. For one thing, Penny’s parents weren’t home. They were in L.A. at a musical. Mac didn’t have the guts to ask if they even knew about the party. He was pretty sure that they at least didn’t know how many kids would be there, or how loud it would be.

He did have to spend some time answering questions about college in general, and MIT specifically, posed by kids he’d gone to middle school with. He answered as honestly as he could, but he couldn’t help throwing in a lot of caveats. It wasn’t like many of these kids had even considered applying to MIT, and none of them had been accepted. About half the kids he talked to were going to community college. It was free and local, and most of them had families who were happy to have them around.

As much as he liked MIT, those kids really had something going for them.

The party was crowded with kids he didn’t know, a lot more than he expected. The music was loud, and by the time summer sky faded into summer evening, the pool deck was thumping unpleasantly in time with his head.

He went inside, away from the music and into the cool air. Caffeine and quiet might help his head. He pried the big white lid off the cooler in the kitchen only to find it half-empty, not a Coke in sight. He dug into the ice pellet to grab a slightly-visible red can from down below.

It wasn’t a Coke. It was beer.

He stared at it, surprised and disbelieving. Beer… at Penny’s house? There was no knowing who had brought it, and there were a few other college students in attendance—friends of someone’s friend from some junior college nearby, he hadn’t cared enough to catch the details. It was possible they might be 21 and thus have bought the booze legally. But there was no way they didn’t know this was a high school party full of underage kids.

He shoved it back under the ice, and might have given up but his head was really pounding so he dug around more and finally found a Pepsi. Closing the cooler, he pried the can open and downed a few gulps, pausing when the action threatened to give him the hiccups. A mass of kids came in through the sliding glass doors and filed past him, heading for the already-crowded living room, so he retreated back outside, circling past the speakers on the top steps. The huge, booming, headache-inducing speakers.

He wanted to go home, but he’d come with Bozer, and Penny’s house was on the opposite side of town from the Bozers’, so it wasn't like it made sense to walk home alone. He’d stuck it out for a good three hours. Surely that was enough to be a good sport. It was getting toward midnight, which was still 3am in his head.

He’d last seen Bozer talking to the DJ, but the DJ was alone. He scanned the partyzone in and around the pool. Bozer was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Mac!” Penny came up the steps from the pool deck, an empty plate in one hand and a beer in the other. His eyes got stuck on the can and it took a minute to look up at her face. If it had been a year ago he’d have been more horrified, but a year at college—albeit a rather nerdy one that wasn’t much of a party school—had made him a bit harder to shock. She leaned in for a hug, awkward given her hands were full, but not unwelcome. Penny was a hugger.

“Are you enjoying the party?” she asked when she pulled back. She was smiling, eyes warm. Really happy to see him, not just interested in him as an object of gossip. “You look kind of, uh—“ she gestured with her can hand. “Kind of bored.”

“I’m just not used to west coast time yet.” He had to raise his voice to feel audible over the music. “I, uh, heard you were going to UCLA in the fall.”

“Yeah. I’m thinking of majoring in psych but I don’t know, sociology sounds kind of interesting. Or maybe Spanish. My parents are pushing for pre-law.” She shruged. “It must be nice to know what you want to study.”

“Umm, yeah,” Mac agreed. He hadn't hesitated to declare chemical engineering as a major. The classes were everything he got enthusiastic about. It had been a real turnaround from high school to be surrounded by people who were excited about the same things. And if it felt a little too easy sometimes, too ivory tower—well. The conversations were still amazing.

Penny sipped her beer and then made a little face like she’d tasted something gross before she smoothed it away again. “After graduation let’s get together and chat. I want to hear all about it sometime when I can hear you better.”

“Yeah, for sure.” He gave her a hollow smile. “Have you seen Bozer?”

“Yeah, he’s by the pool.” She gestured toward the back corner, which wasn’t separated from the steps by landscaping. “I’ll call you later.”

“Thanks.”

Mac headed down the four stairs from the patio to the pool deck. There was a pile of what looked suspiciously like puke to the side of the bottom step, but no one was paying any attention. He wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t his responsibility to keep Penny out of trouble, although he felt like a bad friend for not going back inside to give her a head’s up.

It was funny how he felt so much more mature than the kids in and around the pool who he knew were mostly a year older. He was only 17, but he’d spent the last year being responsible for himself. He felt different. Less connected to these kids who he’d grown up with.

Bozer was right where Penny pointed, sitting sideways on a pool lounger with a red can in one hand. Mac stopped short of his attention, watching the way Bozer’s other hand gestured dramatically. He didn’t keep his beer hand still and it spilled a little. “Damn!” Bozer exclained, as if he was ten years older than his actual age. It made Mac almost chuckle, except he just wanted to leave.

“Oh heeeeey, Mac!” Bozer sounded enthused to see him. He gestured to the tail end of a lounger that someone else was already sitting on. “Pull up a chair. They was just asking about college.”

Apparently there really was only one thing to talk about in Mission City. Mac put on a smile for the crowd and sat gingerly on the somewhat slanted surface. He knew everyone in the small conversation circle, but that didn’t mean he wanted to share his life story from the last year with all of them. But he also didn’t think he should be asking Bozer to drive, so he let Cally from their Honors English track and Jose, who’d been in most of his math classes, threw some questions at him and did his best to give good answers.

How long did it take for alcohol to metabolize, anyway? He couldn’t make a guess without better data about how much Bozer had had to drink, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to stick around at the party long enough for it to happen.

He finished off his Pepsi a few minutes later. Bozer was playing with his red can, popping dents into the side and popping them out again. It sounded empty.

“Hey Boze, let’s go get more to drink,” Mac said, standing and pulling Bozer to his feet before his friend could object. He didn’t know how he was going to get them home, but there was no question that he wanted to go, and that Bozer should go with him. He couldn’t leave his best friend behind, drunk and with car keys in his pocket.

Bozer tried to say something as he followed Mac back around the pool deck, but it was just too loud to hear. When they reached the house, Mac tossed out his can and Bozer’s and headed for the living room.

“Hey, weren't we getting drinks?” Bozer asked.

“We just finished some.” Mac pulled Bozer toward the front door. “We need to get home before I can’t sneak you back into the house and we both get in trouble.”

Bozer’s brow wrinkled as he considered the thought. “How are we gonna get past my parents?”

“I’m going to walk past them like normal,” Mac said. “Because I didn’t have any beer. Where are your keys?”

It took Bozer a minute to locate the car keys in his front right pocket. He held them up with a look of triumph. “Got ‘em right here.”

“Okay,” Mac said, taking the keys from his friend’s hand. He looked around for Penny to tell her they were going, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Let’s get out of here.”

The music was still audible as they crossed the front yard, door closed behind them. It was surprising that nobody had complained yet. Penny’s parents were definitely going to hear about it from the neighbors later. Mac frowned at Bozer as they walked down the block to the Bozer’s car. He was unsteady on his feet and definitely not trustworthy for driving, so when they got there, Mac put him in the front passenger seat.

“Wait, are you driving?” Bozer asked as Mac slid into the driver’s seat. “You don’t know how to drive?”

“It’s not that complicated,” Mac said. He’d been in the back seat for many trips when Bozer had his permit and Milton was giving in instructions. He put his seatbelt on and carefully located the brake with his right foot before putting the key into the ignition and turning it.

The car rumbled to life, feeling suddenly like a living thing under him.

“I don’t know about this, Mac.” Bozer sounded worried.

“It’s going to be fine. Put your seatbelt on.” Mac waited while Bozer fumbled with the belt, and then he turned the wheel as far as he could turn it and put it into gear. Heart in his throat, he released the brake just enough to let it roll forward into a tight turn. It moved faster than he expected, and he slammed the brake on again, making them both jerk against their buckles.

But they’d barely moved. And there was plenty of space in front of them. He took a deep breath and released the brake just enough that the car started to creep forward again. He had to touch the gas to get it all the way out of the spot, which resulted in another panicked slam of the brakes, but before long they were in the lane and moving forward down the street. Just really slow.

Still, it wasn’t hard. Not really hard. It just felt like they were out of control by the time the speedometer hit 25. He’d gone faster on his bike but a bike didn’t feel as big and heavy and real as the car.

It was just before midnight, and Mission City wasn’t a town with much nightlife. Or any nightlife, really. He had to go through two intersections, each with a stop sign, and then make a right turn onto Main. Then for a few blocks he just had to drive straight. It sounded dead simple.

The first stoplight threw him off. He hit the brakes too hard, stopping the car a good twenty feet from the intersection.

“You’re gonna give us whiplash,” Bozer complained from the passenger seat.

“Sorry.” Mac let the car crawl forward to the edge of the intersection. It was just a matter of experience, he was sure. A few more lights and he’d get it.

By the time they made it home and Mac pulled the car painstakingly into the driveway, it was twenty minutes later. It only took twelve minutes to do the same route on his bike, but they’d made it without crashing and that was what counted.

“Next time I’m driving,” Bozer moaned.

Mac turned the car off with a shaking hand and leaned his head back against the headrest. Every muscle in his body felt tense. “Don’t drink next time and you can.” He handed the keys back to Bozer.

The cool night air felt chilly on his skin when he got out. He wiped a sleeve across his forehead and then across his face and took a deep breath.

Suddenly Bozer was leaning against him, wrapping his arms around Mac and squeezed. “I’m so glad you’re home. You’ve always got my back. Thanks, man.”

Mac let out a long breath before he patted Bozer’s back. “Anytime, Boze. But let’s get you into the house and up to your room before you thank me, okay?”

Bozer pulled back, eyeing the lighted front windows of the house with concern. “I’m glad you’re home away, even if I get in trouble,” he said in a theatrical whisper.

Mac grinned, and for the first time since he’d left Mission City the year before, it finally felt a little bit like home again.

Chapter Text

Faster, faster until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death.
– Hunter S. Thompson

Bozer wasn’t old enough to rent a car, but somehow showed up with one anyway. “I borrowed it from the cousin of a girl at film school who I was working with last semester on one of those Pepsi short films they show before movies,” he explained. In the five minutes since Mac greeted him, he’d been babbling nonstop. “So after the ceremony I thought I’d take you out to eat in style.”

“This is style?” Mac asked, raising his brows at the car. It was a mid-90s Toyota, all red except for one door, which was silver.

Bozer shrugged. “It’s not a taxi.”

Mac hadn’t asked him to come, hadn’t really expected any of the Bozers to show up for his graduation from basic training. He wasn’t a kid anymore: he was 18, as he proved by walking into an Army enlistment center the week before spring semester finals and signing away his life to the military. The Bozers might believe in serving the community as a career, but joining the Army? That conversation hadn’t gone too well. Lauretta had asked if he’d seen a counselor since Harry’s funeral. Milton had asked if he needed money to finish school. He didn’t know how to explain that he just needed to do something that felt more real than playing lab assistant to Frankie or digging up research papers in the library.

He wasn’t going to even mention graduation from Basic. But Milton had called up a week ago to ask about it, but then neither he nor Lauretta could get time off on short notice. It had been a nice gesture to ask. Mac hadn’t been expecting them to come anyway.

Bozer had called yesterday to let him know he was on his way.

“So, is there a campus tour or something?” Bozer asked.

“Uh, sort of,” Mac told him. He was allowed to show his guests to the ceremony, anyway, and he pointed out a couple things along the way. Bozer nodded with enthusiasm, so determinedly cheerful that Mac could almost feel the weight of his effort. Under the smile, there was something eating at Bozer.

Mac didn’t know how to ask without outright asking, and there wasn’t much time for it anyway because the base was crowded with family members, and he barely had time to give Bozer the abbreviated tour before he showed him where he was supposed to be for the ceremony.

It was… nice, having Bozer there for graduation. He introduced him to Carlos’ mom and grandma, who’d flown all the way from Puerto Rico and were bursting with pride. He had prepared himself to be relentlessly happy for his friend, and now he found he was, honestly, happy for Carlos without the twinge of envy he was used to hiding in times like this.

Afterward, Bozer took him out for dinner. It was a nice place in town where the steaks cost $35, and that wasn’t counting soda or extras. “The meal is on mom and dad,” Bozer said when Mac hesitated. “They wanted to come, they just can’t.”

They said as much to Mac on the phone. “Aren’t you missing school, too?”

Bozer shrugged. “It’s just film school, man. It’s not like I’m putting my life on the line or anything.”

There was something there in Bozer’s tone that made Mac’s brow wrinkle, but the waitress showed up and he let himself get distracted. The food was good and Mac hadn’t felt this relaxed in awhile. He wolfed down a salad, a cup of soup, and grilled chicken with a side of garlic mashed potatoes, and only when the two slices of chocolate cake Bozer insisted they order arrived did he realize how hungry he was.

They'd each eaten several bites of cake when Bozer put down his fork with a clink, looking down at it intently before he looked up at Mac. “I mean, bomb disposal, Mac? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mac said. They’d talked about Mission City gossip, film school, Harry’s house (now Mac’s house) that Bozer has been living in and taking care of all school year, but aside from a few “What’s that”-type questions before the ceremony, Bozer hasn’t asked about Mac’s future plans. He felt a little deer-in-the-headlights with the intense look Bozer was giving him. “I mean, it’s not like I could change it now anyway. My AIT starts on Wednesday.” He put another bite of cake on his fork but didn't lift it to his mouth.

“It sounds like double danger! They’re gonna send you to a war zone, and then on top of that, you’re going to be actually playing with explosives? That’s like the epicenter of danger. Are you okay with this?”

“I signed myself up for it, Boze.”

Bozer’s look was bleakly unsurprised. “I wish you’da talked to me first.”

“So you could talk me out of it?” Mac put down the cake he was never doing to finish because his stomach was roiling. He intentionally hadn’t talked to Bozer. Not just because he knew his best friend would disapprove, but because he wasn’t sure he could explain all the choices he’d made since his last-ever phone conversation with Harry. At least, not without sounding big-headed or like he was having a mental health breakdown. Which he wasn’t. Probably.

“Yeah, maybe,” Bozer said. “Or at least figure why you’re running away from college. You said last year that MIT was like nerd nirvana. Everybody knew it would be perfect for you. Why would you drop out like that? Did something happen? Did some girl dump you? Were you getting bullied about your age?” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Were you flunking?”

Mac made himself meet Bozer’s eyes. That question was inevitable, too. He knew Bozer wouldn’t really understand. Bozer was the most giving person Mac knew, but he also knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life. Mac was still trying to figure it out. “No. My GPA is 4.0. School was fine. I liked my classes. Everyone was nice enough. And it’s not about a girl. Okay? It’s just– so theoretical. I had to do something real.”

Bozer’s eyes looked like they were trying to drill into his soul. “This is pretty damn real, Mac.”

Mac didn’t say anything and after a good twenty seconds of staring at him, Bozer stabbed another bite of cake onto his fork. He made a face when he tasted it like it had suddenly gone bad.

They sat in awkward silence until Mac picked up his fork and shoved another bite of cake into his mouth, too.

As long as things were already awkward, he might as well tell Bozer everything else he’d been holding back for later. “You, uh, listen, Boze. I was hoping you could keep living in the house and managing maintenance.”

Bozer gave him a look. “Why wouldn’t I want to keep living in your house? I’d do it even if you weren’t my best friend! I couldn’t afford to live in LA otherwise.”

A smile slipped over Mac’s face at Bozer’s confusion. “Thanks, Boze. I’m going to have them put some of my salary into an account to pay for maintenance.”

“You’re not even charging me rent! I can at least keep the house in good shape for you.”

“I know, but you’ve also got school, and you’re already keeping the place from being empty.” Mac took a deep breath. “After AIT I’m going to get deployed. Before that I’m supposed to make a power of attorney so someone can take care of legal affairs for me, like the house. I’m going to put your name down in that.”

Bozer nodded. “Yeah, I guess that would be good. In case something major has to be done that needs you to sign it.”

“Right.” Mac returned the nod, feeling like they were almost back on solid ground. At Milton’s suggestion, they already have a formal rental agreement in place so nobody could accuse Bozer of living in the house without permission. The Bozers had helped a lot since Harry went into assisted living, and even more in the months since Harry died. Maybe it was mostly because Bozer had been living in Harry’s house since he started film school, his rent set at just enough to cover property taxes, or because they were just good people, but Mac wasn’t sure what he’d have done without them. He took a breath and let it out again, looking at a painting hanging on the wall behind Bozer so he wouldn’t chicken out. “I, uh, need to make a will, too. If anything happens to me, you can keep the house.”

“Mac.”

He couldn’t look at Bozer, not when he sounded like that. “They want everyone to make one if they own property, Boze. It’s just, you know, regular procedure.”

“Procedure,” Bozer repeated, as if it was a dirty word. The silence felt heavy again. “I don’t want your house, Mac. I just want you to come back safe, okay?”

“Of course,” Mac said, as if it was a given.

Bozer wasn’t buying it. He put down his fork. “I mean it, Mac. Please. I need you to take care of yourself. You gotta promise me you won’t do anything reckless, alright? You’re my brother, and I can’t—” Mac looked up as Bozer blinked damp eyes at him. “I can’t lose another one.”

“It’s okay,” Mac said, with a twinge of guilt because he knew how Bozer got attached to people, and he knew how deep his grief already ran. He gave Bozer the most reassuring smile he could muster. “You don’t need to worry. I won’t do anything reckless. I probably won’t even be where there’s a lot of shooting going on. Disarming bombs is a lot of electronics and chemistry, that’s all.”

Bozer gave him a watery smile in return. “You’re pretty good at chemistry and electronics.” He held Mac’s eyes and seemed to relax a bit. “Yeah, okay. I better get you back to your dorm before you get in trouble for breaking curfew.”

“It’s a barracks,” Mac said. “Dorms have a lot more space and less snoring.”

At that Bozer gave a little damp smile. Once they got into the car, Mac coaxed Bozer into talking about his next script, and spent the drive proposing wacky ideas for it that made Bozer laugh. But when they got out and said their goodbyes, Bozer gave him the longest, tightest hug he’d ever gotten. “Take care of yourself, okay? And you tell me the moment your address changes, all right? I’m going to write you some real paper letters so you can read them whenever you want and I expect to get something back.”

“I’m pretty sure we can just Skype, but I'll let you know when I know where to write me,” Mac promised. He blinked a few times, suddenly feeling choked up. Going to college had felt like a stepping stone up from high school, but still on the same path. But now he was going somewhere he knew Bozer wouldn't ever follow. In spite of what Bozer said, it was hard to imagine they'd stay close when he was on the other side of the world. He'd never deserved the Bozers, and even if he knew he was setting things right by taking his own path, the feeling that he'd given up something wonderful still hurt. “Thanks for coming. It, uh, really means a lot to me, you know.”

“Of course I know,” Bozer said, and gave him another squeeze before he got into the car. He started it up and then sat there looking at Mac so long that Mac thought something was wrong, but Bozer finally waved and pulled away. Mac let out a long breath as the car disappeared from sight. He knew what he was doing, he really did. Maybe Bozer would get it someday. Even if Mac wasn’t around to tell him.

Chapter Text

Some beautiful paths can’t be discovered without getting lost.
– Erol Ozan

“Hey, Hollywood!”

Mac looked up from the pouches on his vest that he’d been digging around in. “Eh?” he asked, speaking around the wires he was holding in his mouth for lack of a third hand. He leaned forward, carefully stripping part of the red plastic coating off one of the wires attached to the device in front of him.

“Think you could step it up?” Tommy Barker, the sharpshooter who’d most recently been assigned to boss Mac around, sounded more impatient than normal. “We’re gonna be pinned down if we aren’t outta here in the next five minutes.”

Rushing and explosive ordnance disposal didn’t go hand in hand. Mac had told this to Barker personally, on more than one occasion, but the man was even more of a meathead than Mac’s last overwatch. And either nobody had told the Taliban, or somebody had told them, and making Mac rush was part of their plan. “I’m moving as fast as I can.”

“Well, you’re too fuckin’ slow. We’ll have to leave it.”

Barker sounded pissed, but Mac was busy. “Can’t leave it.”

“Why the fuc—” The man cut himself off as a series of sand geysers exploded somewhere to Mac’s left. Barker hit the ground. Mac ducked his head and pinched his fingers tighter around the wire end he’d just started twisting around the stripped section of the red wire. So much for five minutes.

Barker slithered up next to Mac and got his gun up, and let off a series of shots so close they made Mac’s ears ring. Whoever had been shooting at them stopped, and Mac looked back at the bomb. It hadn’t gone ka-boom, so he was still in business. He moved his fingers painstakingly back into position to wrap the wire.

He could ignore the way Barker was cussing, but it was harder to ignore the way shots came their direction again a few seconds later. Vaguely, he noticed there was a lot more gunfire going on somewhere off toward the rest of the convoy, some of it larger caliber. Looking at it wouldn’t help anything, and he was in the middle of something delicate. Mac squinted against the sand that peppered his cheek as he stripped a blue wire. He shoved the wire stripper back into his vest and found the other end of his bypass wire by feel. It wasn’t a terribly complicated IED, but a simple IED was still plenty deadly.

“You gotta get your ass moving,” Barker snapped. Mac hadn’t seen him move but he was crouched behind Mac, hand grabbing at the back of Mac’s vest. The unexpected tug backwards knocked him off balance. He threw out his hands, flailing, and would have landed on the ground if Barker wasn’t holding him up as he dragged him away from what he’d been doing.

“Hey!” His Swiss army knife was still clutched in his fist, but the other supplies he’d been working with lay on the ground, forgotten—at least by his overwatch—as he was pulled away from them. “I’m not done!”

“Tough shit.” Barker might have said more, except at that moment, someone started firing in their direction, more rapidly than before and with alarming precision. Not little bullets, either, but probably mortars, given how they kicked up chunks of the landscape when they hit the ground.

Disarming the IED was becoming a moot point, given that everything around it was now a kill zone. Mac shoved his knife into a pocket and picked up the pace, keeping up with Barker as the man ducked and hustled toward the nearest shelter. Whoever was firing on their position seemed likely to be on the nearby ridge, higher up and farther away than whoever had been shooting at them a minute ago. It was beginning to look like a full-fledged attack.

A full-fledged ambush. The series of IEDs he and EOD Specialist Charlie Robinson had been working on no doubt either part of the trap, or part of the lure, or both.

Barker let go of Mac’s vest to reach for his gun, leaving Mac stumble alone for two steps before he caught his balance again. “Get your ass back to the truck,” the man ordered.

It suddenly sounded like a very good plan. There had been only a small amount of cover near the bomb, not enough to protect them for long, and what had initially seemed like a small confrontation was rapidly escalating. Their convoy was 6 humvees and twenty-four people big. That included two EOD teams, the translator, and 19 other soldiers in the unit they’d been attached to.

By the sound of it, all 19 of the other soldiers were firing back at whoever had attacked them, mostly from back where they’d parked the humvees. Booms from the big vehicle-mounted guns peppered the lighter weapons fire, combining into a chaotic mass of sound that made adrenaline shoot through him in a way that focusing on a single explosive device didn’t. The pen space between him and the convoy felt far too exposed. The only real cover was a long wall in fairly good condition that ran along one side of the road.

At Barker’s signal, Mac sprinted for the nearest open gate in the wall and flung himself through it with reckless abandon, one hand reaching out to grab the bricks to steady him as he redirected his momentum to sling himself toward the convoy.

Their humvee was the fourth one in the convoy of six. He was about halfway to the sixth truck, sticking close to the wall on his right side and keeping his head down, when another rocket screamed over the wall far too close to him. He heard it coming but he didn’t have time to react before the whole world exploded. Mac flew into the wall, hitting his shoulder hard and flopping off the bricks. He landed face down, a flying belly flop with a very unpleasant landing that left him gasping and trying to make sense of how he’d gotten there. Groaning, he rolled himself to his side.

“Mac! Mac, you okay?”

Mac raised his head, turning squinting eyes away from the unsteady blue sky to peer at the approaching tan-colored blur. He blinked again and the shape resolved into Charlie, kneeling down next to him.

Mac coughed. “Wind knocked out,” he wheezed, already rolling to his hands and knees. His palms stung, and when he lifted them he could see that he’d skinned part of each one.

Charlie threaded an arm under his shoulder. “Let’s get you up. One, two, three—”

They rose together. Charlie’s steadying arm kept him from toppling sideways as the world tilted, and then he caught his balance and they were moving together toward the convoy. The sound of gunfire directly to their right made him wince until he glanced over and realized that Barker and Charlie’s overwatch, a man named Quan Roberts, were using the cover provided by the wall to lay down suppressing fire.

Not that that would stop the mortars firing at them from the ridge. But most of the enemy must be closer than he thought, because he didn’t hear anyone shooting back as he and Charlie darted the last ten feet to slide behind the sixth humvee.

They paused in its shadow and Charlie let go of him. Mac put a hand against the side of the vehicle to steady himself. He was on his feet well enough, but the world still felt tilty. His shoulder ached like a giant bruise, but when he rolled it around, it seemed to work okay.

The rattling of the machine gun mounted on the roof of the vehicle drowned out anything either of them might have said. Mac put his back against a tire and did a quick check of his supplies. He’s lost the roll of wire, wire cutters, electrical tape, both of the gloves that he’d taken off for increased dexterity, and several other handy bits that he’d had out to keep them within easy reach.

“Hey!”

He turned toward the shout to see Barker and Roberts charging toward them, dragging another soldier under his armpits. They rounded the back of the humvee, and Mac recognized the slim figure of the man assigned as the driver to the sixth truck, the one they were currently huddling against and which Charlie and Roberts had been assigned to. Rivulets of blood dripped from a slick and growing patch on the man’s thigh.

One thing Mac did still have on him was his personal first aid kit, a standard army-issued IFAK with the basic supplies needed for a quick field dressing. He dug it out of a pouch as Barker and Roberts pulled the wounded man into the shelter of the truck and lowered him to the ground. He was awake, eyes wide and distressed, mouth opened like he was making noise, but Mac couldn’t hear it over a renewed barrage of gunfire.

“We’ll take care of him,” Charlie shouted to the two sharpshooters, crouching down at the man’s elbow.

Mac gave a nod of agreement and moved to the other side, near the wound. The leg of the wounded man’s pants was soaked, and blood was pooling over the wound so he couldn’t see the full extent of it—the pit in his stomach said he didn’t really want to, and it wouldn’t change what they were able to do for it anyway.

Mac got a pair of sterile gloves out from the first aid kit and pulled them on, then found the clotting bandage.

Above them, the humvee-mounted gun fell silent.

Charlie leaned back over the wounded man, grabbing one of his hands as it flailed. “Fetterman, hey. We’ve got you. MacGyver’s gonna get a bandage on you so we can slow down the bleeding.”

Mac gave an affirmative nod without looking up from the first aid kit, then he focused down on what he was doing with the same attention he usually reserved for explosives. There was no time to fuss, they just needed Fetterman able to be moved without bleeding out.

He started to work the bandage around the man’s leg. Charlie could do the talking; he at least knew what the man’s name was. Mac needed to keep his eyes on what he was doing, and not get distracted by the noises of fighting, cussing, Fetterman’s groans of pain, or the way red blood looked purple where it smudged his blue gloves.

It was easier said than done, but he got the clotting bandage in place and then wrapped the elastic pressure redressing all the way around the limb, checking tightness as he went. They wanted to slow the bleeding, but not tourniquet the limb unless it became absolutely necessary.

He hadn’t quite gotten it tied off when something exploded in the distance. Mac ducked his head on instinct, waiting a second in case debris was going to come raining down from the sky. Whatever exploded had been on the other side of the humvee, probably the other side of the wall, not so near them or the other vehicles, and when nothing came down, he checked the bandage and finished tying it off.

Barker reappeared. “I think that was your IED getting blown, Hollywood. Get Fetterman into the truck. We’re bugging out.”

Mac stripped off the now-bloody gloves, tossing them under the truck, and opened the back door wide while Charlie helped the wounded man sit up. Fetterman was pale under tanned skin, and he whimpered aloud when Mac and Charlie got on each side and lifted him to his feet, but he helped them get him into the back seat.

It would have been ideal to elevate the limb or lay Fetterman down, but the gunner was still standing on the hump over the drivetrain that ran down the middle of the vehicle, separating the two seats in each row, and there wasn’t another place large enough to lay down in.

“Get that gun going, Arneson,” Roberts snapped from his position at the front bumper.

Normally, the gunner was only visible from the waist down when he was standing the vehicle’s gun turret. He had to duck to yell back, “It’s jammed!” He clutched one of his hands—smudged with oil and blood—in the other. Mac couldn’t tell if he’d been injured by whatever had jammed the gun, or by his activities to clear it. The turret on this particular humvee wasn’t very well armored. “I’m working on it.”

Roberts scowled, but cut himself off as a rocket hit the wall to the rear of the humvee. “Keep working,” he ordered. “We’re bugging outta here.”

“Get in,” Charlie shouted at Mac.

Mac had to raise his voice to be audible over the firefight now raging on all sides. “Not our ride. We’re with Parchin.”

“Not anymore.” Charlie pointed off toward the front of the convoy, where flames licked the side of the battered, smoking humvee that had been fourth in line. “Hope you didn’t leave anything important in there.” He clapped Mac on the shoulder and opened the front door.

There were only four seats in the humvee because the driveshaft took up the whole center of the low-slung vehicle, and with two EODs and their overwatches, their injured driver, and the gunner, they had six men. Charlie climbed over the seat to situate himself on the driveshaft, gesturing to Mac to follow him.

Moments later, the two doors on the side that was taking fire were pulled open as Roberts and Barker flung themselves into the vehicle, slamming the heavy, armored doors shut after them.

“Drive, Hollywood,” Barker shouted from the back seat as bullets peppered the side of the humvee.

It had all happened so fast that Mac hadn’t even realized he was on the driver’s side. Mac gaped at the wheel, fumbling around to where he knew there would be keys. He found them, and shuffled his feet around trying to find the pedals in the deep footwell. Somehow he managed to get the thing started, and then he looked ahead of them. They were the last humvee in line, but with the road forward blocked by the corpse of the forth humvee, fleeing forward was easier said than done. The fifth humvee, directly in front of them, had already backed up and half-turned, so that it was blocking their way as it attempted to detour around the smoking mess.

“Get us moving,” Barker snapped at him.

There wasn’t a path yet, but worse, when there was, he was going to have to try to navigate the obstacle course that was the road ahead. He turned back to Barker. “I can fix the gun. I can’t—”

“Don’t you fuck with me right now,” Barker snapped. “Drive!”

Charlie, sitting at Mac’s right elbow, raised his brows at him. He and Charlie had worked together for a bit, between Mac’s first and second overwatches, and he knew Charlie’s look was a warning that he ought to shut up. But he couldn’t. “Anyone could drive,” Mac shouted back. “Your gunner needs his hand bandaged so he can shoot. I can fix the gun.”

Roberts, in the other front seat, was the ranking NCO in the group. “Do it,” Roberts ordered. “Charlie, drive.”

The three way shuffle of Mac squirming past Charlie and then switching places with the gunner was an awkward shuffle of limbs and helmets and boots that ended with Mac perched in the center of the truck, standing with his head in the open gun turret.

Below him, he heard cussing, but someone–Roberts, based on the angle arms were coming from–was leaning over to look at their gunner’s injured hand.

“Everybody hold on,” Charlie shouted, and Mac appreciated the warning as the humvee jerked into motion.

He braced his back and left hand against the side of the hole in the roof, using his right to do a quick check of the problem. One foot slipped as the humvee turned suddenly, but it came to rest against a seatback, improving his stability. “I found it,” he shouted a second later, not that anyone in the humvee could probably hear him over the ongoing firefight. Some lucky shot had slipped through the seams in the somewhat makeshift armor around the gunner’s nest. It was lucky it had hit machine and not man.

Hot, dusty air buffeted his face as Charlie picked up speed, trying to run the gauntlet of the ambush. WIth the humvees in front of them leaving, they were suddenly a bigger target than before, and he heard a couple bullets ping off the humvee’s rear armor.

Someone was bracing Mac’s legs, and he took the opportunity to use both of his hands to grab his Swiss army knife out of his pocket and use it to pry at the jammed mechanism. He could see how the pieces needed to move. They weren’t damaged by outside forces, just caught together wrong, probably related to the amount of dust and grit kicked up over the days the convoy had been traveling. It was winter, but that didn’t seem to amount to any precipitation. The roads were dusty dirt tracks and the last humvee in line got the worst of everything kicked up by the vehicles ahead of it.

The jammed piece released with a jolt. Mac’s elbow rammed back into the armored shield around the gunner’s nest. He yelped and shook it, then dropped back down, vacating the gun turret. “Try it now.”

In the shuffle, he ended up ahead of the gunner position, between Charlie and Roberts. The machine gun up top started up again, and the pings against the armor stopped. If there had been a seat to slump back against, Mac would have slumped.

#

They were maybe five klicks away when the air support finally arrived, leaving plumes of smoke on the horizon behind them, and another fifteen, driven at a more tolerable pace over bumpy dirt road, before a helicopter showed up.

Charlie and the gunner stayed in the humvee while Mac helped Barker and Roberts offload Fetterman. It had been maybe thirty minutes since he’d been shot, and Mac’s bandage seemed to be doing its job in slowing the bleeding, but it couldn’t defeat gravity, and there was no good way to elevate the limb.

They loaded Fetterman and another wounded man onto the medevac unit and retreated to avoid the spray of dust as it rose back into the air. When it was away, Mac straightened up and lowered the arm that had been protecting his face to find Barker already heading in his direction, an ugly expression on his face.

Years-old instinct made Mac want to cower, but he’d had enough training drilled into him that he stiffened instead. “Sergeant?”

The man didn’t even look like he heard him as he stepped into Mac’s personal space. “Now, listen up, you fresh-faced little fuck—”

Barker wasn’t actually taller than Mac, but somehow, in the moment he started speaking, he seemed to loom over him. Barker’s rage was clearly audible over the retreating sound of the chopper. Audible, probably, all the way back to the humvees behind them. Certainly plenty audible to Roberts, and the three men who’d loaded up the other wounded soldier.

“You bomb nerds think you walk on water but you do not, not get to disobey a fucking order and then stand there looking like you think your God’s gift to the US Army!” There was no way everyone in the convoy couldn't hear the man’s voice. The back of Mac’s neck prickled as Barker managed to lean even closer and yell harder and louder. He fought the instinct to blink and look away, fought to stiffen his back instead of take a step backwards. “I got news for you, you little fuck up. Nobody fucking likes you and you want to know why? Because your goddamn ego is gonna get somebody killed! No, not just somebody—it’s gonna get the rest of us killed!”

Face flushed, Barker looked like he was on a roll. A vein pulsed in his neck. Mac’s heart pounded in time with that vein, a pulse of dread that pinned his feet to the ground. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as Barker’s words rolled on. He’d been chewed out before—more than once in Basic alone—but never by someone who looked so personally affronted. So very angry. Like if Roberts wasn’t standing in his shadow, he’d be doing more than just yelling.

And never before in front of such a big audience.

“—following fucking orders,” Barker bellowed, his breath puffing against Mac’s nose and cheeks as words continued to shoot from his mouth. “If you get yourself killed I don’t give a shit and neither will anybody else in the whole goddamn world, but the rest of us got families and people who care if we get back there. Next time you will follow orders or you will deserve what comes to you. Do you understand me?”

The silence at the end of the question left the words ringing in his ears. Mac sucked in a sharp breath at the abrupt end of the dressing-down of a lifetime. “Yes, sir.”

Roberts shifted, his face stormy. “Barker. MacGyver. Let’s go.”

At the snap of Roberts’ voice, Barker finally leaned back from Mac. His face was hard as stone and he still looked angry. “You’ll ride with Roberts’ team today. I’m with Arneson.”

“Got it,” Mac said. Arneson’s group was in the fifth humvee, the one the other wounded man had been hauled out of. It made sense to distribute the soldiers whose truck had been destroyed into the other vehicles, and it felt like a relief to be separated from his overwatch. But the way Barker was still glaring holes into the back of his helmet as he walked back to the truck made it clear there’d still be more hell to pay later.

#

Mac knew what it felt like when a person didn’t like him. He’d had enough practice at being disliked that he usually let it roll off his back. But being disliked by Barker was different. He had to work with the man every day. They spent hours together, frequently with no one else around, and if Barker disliked him more than he already did it was going to be a problem. He had to be able to trust his overwatch to look out for him. An overwatch who didn’t care if he got killed wasn’t trustworthy.

Mac was going to have to do a thing he hated: apologize. As much as he knew he wasn’t exactly wrong—they’d needed that gun, and there were three other people in the car more capable of driving than him—he also knew he wasn’t exactly right. Fixing the gun was the gunner’s job, and he wasn’t the gunner. He also knew Barker, and Barker absolutely hated disobedience. He hated it far more than he cared about the outcome of the disobedience.

By the time the convoy rolled into base a couple hours later, Mac had scripted the apology in his head, and he was ready. But Barker was nowhere to be seen. He helped clear gear out of the humvee, glancing around with the expectation that Barker was just out of sight, but the man didn’t appear anywhere before they were finished.

“You good, Mac?” Charlie had been eyeing him ever since the medevac.

“Yeah,” Mac said. “I just need to find Barker.”

Charlie snorted. “Might be safer if you let him cool off first.”

“I’m going to have to apologize.” A glance around showed that they were the last two people in the storage shed. Everyone else had finished up while Mac was helping Charlie with the disassembled bits of IEDs they’d disarmed over the last week. “I–I don’t have a driver’s license, Charlie. I’m not legal to drive.”

The other man’s eyebrows climbed upward, and then he let out a chuckle. “I don’t think that’s stopping anyone else in this country.” The humor in his face faded. “Honestly, Mac? I don’t think knowing that is going to calm him down. An order’s still an order, and you didn’t give him the relevant information when you refused to follow it. From most perspectives, you were in the wrong.”

Mac couldn’t help the frown pulling at his lips. Charlie was right. He should’ve told his overwatch why he wasn’t cleared to drive. And Barker probably would’ve ordered him to do it anyway. To be fair, he was perfectly capable of starting up the humvee and driving it in a straight line very fast, so it wasn’t like he was unable to follow the order. He ran a hand through his hair. He needed a shower, and Charlie was probably also right that he was better off staying out of Barker’s sight for a while. “Thanks, Charlie,” he said. For a moment he felt grounded in the feeling that at least one person had the patience to talk to Mac instead of yelling.

“Uh, you’re welcome?” The older man gave him a confused smile and a nod as he left.

#

He took Charlie’s advice and avoided all the places Barker would normally be during the times he’d normally be at them. He was in bed, face to the wall, well before lights went out, and tired enough that he actually fell asleep quickly. He got up a good half hour earlier than normal to get in a shower and breakfast. The mess hall wasn’t a great place to risk another chewing-out, so he swallowed down some wiggly eggs and decent sausages in a rush, downing them with a single cup of coffee, and then hightailed it back outside. The best place for an argument might be the motor pool; not so many people nearby there. He’d go over what he wanted to say while he waited for Barker.

Decision made, he headed that way at a brisk pace, only to be interrupted ten steps from the mess hall entrance.

“Specialist MacGyver?”

Mac slowed and turned. He didn’t recognize the man, but from the way his eyes flicked from his face to the name on his uniform and back to his face made it clear he had identified Mac. “Yes?”

“Come with me,” the man said. “Colonel Martinez wants to see you.”

Heart sinking, Mac followed the man. In hindsight, getting chewed out by Barker in the mess hall actually didn’t sound so bad. Getting chewed out by the colonel in front of everybody in the operations center? Way worse.

The man led him past the tables of personnel toward an office and pointed him inside. This had to be Barker’s revenge, but when he stepped into the office, Barker wasn’t there. The colonel was there, seated at an actual desk. There were chairs, but the space in the middle of the room was obviously where he was meant to be standing to await the incoming reprimand. He took his place and stood stiffly while Martinez dismissed the man who’d fetched him.

“Your training officer called you the most promising technician he’d ever worked with.” Martinez leaned back in his chair, skepticism on his face. “I’m not seeing the promise. I’m just seeing attitude. You tell me, son, what do you do when your superior officer gives you a legal order?”

An argument over the word legal danced on Mac’s tongue, shriveling up there at the cold steel in the colonel’s eyes. He was in trouble, possibly deeply. A smart-ass answer would make it worse, and like Charlie had said, probably nobody in Afghanistan actually cared much about whether he was legal to drive when his unit was taking fire, as much as they cared whether he was able to do so. The order itself wasn’t illegal. He’d never told Barker he’d gotten a driver’s license. Mac straightened his already straight back. “Obey it, sir.”

Martinez made a hmm of agreement. “I’m docking you a week’s pay and extending your tour by two weeks.”

“Yes, sir.” He put most of his pay in a savings account that Bozer could access in case the house needed something. And he didn’t even know what he was going to do after the tour, so two weeks didn’t matter much. He was getting off easier than he expected. He’d rather lose the time and money than get chewed out in front of his unit by the camp’s commanding officer.

“And,” Martinez continued. “And you’ll be on duty with the motor pool until I find someone who you haven’t pissed off yet to work with you.”

Mac caught his breath on a hitch. It was punishment duty, but he didn’t care about the motor pool part. “Someone to… work with me, sir?”

“Sergeant Barker requested a transfer. I granted his request effective this morning. MacGyver, this is the third time you’ve been such a pain in someone’s ass that I had to hear about it. I don’t want to hear about it again.”

If it had been eighteen months ago, during Basic, Mac might have said something. He was just trying to do the right job the right way. He was trying. But it wasn’t the right time to defend himself. He’d learned that much in the army.

He wasn’t trying to be a pain in anybody’s ass. Not Barker’s and not Martinez’s. It just… happened. He was an annoyance and he didn’t know how not to be.

Pena had understood him, and known how to correct Mac when he wasn’t on the right path. But Pena was dead, and the other men he’d be assigned to work with… they were different. They weren’t teachers, they were front-line soldiers. They didn’t understand what he did or how he did it, they just needed him to get his job done. They wouldn’t listen when he tried to explain—like Barker wouldn’t have listened.

Martinez was looking at him. Mac had missed what the man said, but the answer to whatever it was was obvious: “Yes, sir.”

The colonel nodded. “Report to the motor pool until you get new orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Mac saluted and turned, opening the door with a steady hand. The spike of adrenaline that accompanied his walk to the colonel’s office was fading, just like it did when he finished disarming a device, but he wasn’t out of danger yet. He walked back through the operations desks feeling eyes on his back and made it out the door before he let his shoulders slump.

It wasn’t so very bad. Not like it could’ve been bad. Not thrown-in-the-brig bad. Certainly nowhere near dishonorable discharge bad. A record of the reprimand would go into his file, but he didn’t care much about that.

But he cared that this was another failure on his part, another bit of proof that he was deeply flawed. A sign that it was time to change his expectations over how he worked with other soldiers. He would still do his best to do better, of course, be a better person, because he could always expect more of himself. He could be better at his job, work harder to keep his fellow soldiers safe, to protect civilians. But he also needed to be clear on his expectations for everyone else. Bozer wasn’t here to be the grease for his social life. He’d be a fool to expect anything else from anyone other than for them to do their job white he kept his head down and did his. And that was… fine. He’d be able to do what he came here to do, helping others, and that was all he really needed in life anyway.

He’d just keep telling himself that and eventually, if he was lucky enough, it would patch over the empty hole inside him.

Chapter Text

If you’re in control, you’re not going fast enough.
– Parnelli Jones

Mac’s overwatch was lounging against the passenger side of the humvee with his canteen in hand when Mac got there. Sergeant Jack Dalton had his uncomfortable vest on but in an apparent concession to the fact that they were on base and it was about a billion degrees in the shade, he wasn’t wearing his helmet for once. “How’d it go, professor?”

Mac shoved the box of parts in the truck’s trunk and slammed the door. “Pretty good. Lots of questions.” He frowned as he came around the side. “Some I couldn’t answer.”

“For real?” Jack’s brows rose. “Thought you know everything about everything, Wunderkind.”

Mac rolled his eyes in response. “Not hardly.”

Jack gave him an amused grin before making a ring of keys appear. “You mind driving?” He tossed the keys at Mac before Mac could reply.

Mac caught them, hiding a jolt of anxiety under a frown. “I thought you said you’d rather, and I’m pretty sure this is a direct quote, ‘face down a pit full of vipers than let me take the wheel again.’”

“Yeah, well.” Jack shrugged. “While you were teaching kids older than yourself how to disarm bombs, I was doing the hard work on the obstacle course they got here. I may of twisted my ankle just a smidge.” He gestured to his ankle, which did look suspiciously bulky under the leg of his pants. “And maybe I was overreacting a little bit when I said you’re the worst driver I ever met. In my defense, I didn’t like you at the time.”

Mac rolled his eyes again. “Maybe you should just stop talking while you’re ahead.”

The last time Jack let Mac drive was sometime before he re-upped, and Jack hadn’t felt any need to keep his opinion of Mac’s driving skills a secret. The whole base probably knew what Jack thought about letting Mac behind the wheel. He’d regretted even letting Jack get him behind the wheel, but he’d already disobeyed Jack’s orders on several occasions, and maybe he could be called obstinate, but he didn’t make the same mistake twice. He really didn’t want to have to find out another overwatch wanted to get away from him. If Jack told him to drive, he’d drive. Anyway, that one time had been enough to convince Jack that Mac wasn’t cut out to be a driver. Last time Mac had offered to drive, Jack had just muttered something about not being suicidal.

This time Jack climbed into the front passenger seat, buckled his helmet on, and leaned against the headrest while Mac took the driver’s seat and tried to look like he knew what he was doing. He took his time getting the seat moved and tested the pedals, checked the gas gauge, and scanned the dash for lights. In the passenger seat, Jack folded his arms and settled in, looking on with the interest Mac imagined a driver’s ed instructor would apply. Not that he’d know, given that he’d never taken a formal driving course.

He nonetheless got the humvee in gear and onto the road through the base with creditable skill. There wasn’t really all that much to driving, after all. The vehicle itself was just a machine being operated in a low-pressure situation. He had steady hands and keen observation skills, and Jack really was looking for any bone to pick with him for the first few weeks. His complaints about Mac’s driving skills were probably exaggerated.

It was going to be a good three hours’ drive back to their own base, but after the first couple klicks, there wasn’t much on the empty roads to get in their way. When he glanced at Jack, his overwatch was relaxed back into his seat looking much more bored than endangered.

After the first hour, it started to get dark. It was autumn, and the sun didn’t stay up as late as it used to. Lengthening shadows fell across the road, making it harder to find the route that wasn’t, in some places, much more than tire tracks across open ground. They weren’t usually out after dark, certainly not when they weren't part of a convoy. The road was much more dangerous when you couldn’t see if something was on it, near it, or just generally aiming toward it from a distance. The lower the sun fell, the more Mac felt a need to haul ass to get back.

Still, it was all going pretty good and Mac was beginning to feel confident as they started through the rolling hills nearer their own base.

“Let your lead foot up a bit,” Jack grumbled after the second time Mac took a curve fast enough that Jack braced himself against his door.

Mac ignored the advice. The previous turns had established that he knew what he was doing when it came to navigating curves. “It’s getting dark.” The truck had good headlights, but lights also made them visible over large distances in the dark. Being on their own out here while lit up like a target felt more dangerous than taking a few corners a bit too fast. Especially given that it was just them and the wide open road, and he was almost enjoying the way he felt one with physics as he pulled the truck into the next turn.

“Getting back sooner ain’t gonna do us any good if we don’t get there in one piece,” Jack said.

“Relax, I’ve got this,” Mac said. He gave Jack his best cocky grin. “It’s not like driving is rocket science or anyth—”

Jack’s eyes jerked open wide with a level of alarm that would have been comical if it wasn’t terrifying. “STOP!”

Mac stomped the brakes. The truck skidded over the dusty, unpaved surface as Mac caught a glimpse of the thing standing smack in the middle of the road in the split second before they hit it head-on.

There was a terrible THOMP noise of the metal chassis hitting something solid, and the truck jolted so hard that Mac’s teeth clacked together as momentum threw him forward until his seatbelt wrenched him tight. The left headlight blinked out, and it felt like the truck slid sideways, the steering wheel jerking under Mac’s hands despite his tight grip.

Everything stopped. The truck stilled. Dust swirled through the air in the beam of the remaining headline. Whatever they hit was no longer visible. Mac’s knuckles were white on the wheel.

“That’s it. This is the last time I let you drive, kid.” Jack punctuated the muttered threat with a cough. It was the only noise in the otherwise silent evening, and that was pretty concerning, because Mac was right there, a few feet away from him, still belted into the driver’s seat of the vehicle.

“It was—” Mac coughed. It felt like his brain had just caught up to the shape caught briefly in the flash of the headlights. “There was a cow.”

“Probably still is,” Jack agreed. “Just shaped more like hamburger now.”

Mac groaned. He was expecting some kind of Angus joke next, but Jack just reached over, giving him a pitying look as he clapped Mac on the shoulder. “Good luck writing this one up, kid. If anybody asks, I’m gonna say I don’t know what speed we were going right at that moment, and I suggest you don’t get too detailed on that point either.”

“I wasn’t speeding,” Mac said, his instinct to argue with Jack almost reflexive. “There’s no speed limit on this road.” He was technically right, but that wouldn’t stop the mountain of paperwork that he was about to face. He groaned. “If they take the cost of this out of my paycheck I’ll be paying it off for three more tours.”

“Three more tours where you’ll be workin’ in the mechanic shop.”

Jack sounded so genuinely mournful that Mac looked over at him, expecting to have some new-to-him old-school wisdom imparted upon him. Jack’s facial expression indicated he was completely serious… except for a little hint of something hovering in the twist of his lips. Mac puffed out a relieved breath and turned back to the wheel. “I thought you were serious.”

“I am serious!”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Do you want to drive the rest of the way or not?”

“I’m seriously considering that question.”

“I’m seriously considering,” Mac drawled back in terrible imitation of Jack’s Texas accent, “whether I should ask the cow.”

Jack leaned back into his seat, rolling his shoulders like he was getting comfortable. “You know what, smartass? I mighta just hurt my ankle a little more. Might not be up to driving with it for a few days.”

“Days?” Mac couldn’t keep dismay out of his voice. He looked down, not that he could actually see Jack’s ankles in the shadowed footwell. Jack was probably messing with him. Messing with him seemed to be one of Jack’s hobbies. But still. He was never going to manage to drive the humvee for days without someone in the know catching him.

“What’s the matter?” The amused tone was gone from Jack’s voice. It was a serious question.

Mac looked out over his hands, gripped tight on the wheel, to the stretch of reddish dirt track illuminated in their headlights. He had been enjoying this weird little friendship that seemed to exist between him and Jack. At first Jack might have seemed no better than any of his previous overwatches, but the better he got to know the other man, the more he discovered that Jack wasn’t just another army grunt. Sometimes, Jack seemed to genuinely care about Mac as an individual.

It was nice.

It wouldn’t last, but he’d been thinking that maybe they’d get through the rest of Jack’s re-enlistment together. Martinez certainly seemed relieved to have them working together. So the last thing he wanted to do was break Jack’s trust.

“Spit it out,” Jack said. “You hurt yourself?”

He sounded concerned. Mac squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself to disappoint the one person in all of Afghanistan whose opinion he cared about. “I, uh…” He never had told Barker, but somehow word had gotten around after Barker left. But apparently the rumors had died down, or been replaced by something juicer, before Jack arrived at the base ten days later. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”

Silence fell in the truck. Jack shifted, fabric dragging against the seat as he turned more fully toward Mac. “Like… you never took driver’s ed or nothin’?”

“I never took driver’s ed,” Mac confirmed.

The silence grew. “You didn’t lie about your age when you enlisted, did ya? Records say you’re 21, you ain’t actually 19?”

Mac let out his breath in an impatient huff, opening his eyes to glare through the windshield again, waiting for Jack to get it. “No, of course not. This isn’t the 1940s. I don’t think you can get away with that nowadays.”

“You could probably of figured out a way if you wanted to.” Jack shifted again, his eyes sharp on Mac. “So? Seems like you managed to pick it up okay on your own. It ain’t like driving a car is rocket surgery.”

“Jack,” Mac snapped. “I didn’t lie about my age to enlist in the army. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t have a driver’s license. I can’t legally drive.”

“Well, I wouldn’t advise mentioning that in the report.” Jack paused, and Mac expected the chewing-out to begin, but Jack just chuckled. “Okay, better idea. We’ll just say I was driving. That’s how I twisted my ankle.”

Mac turned his head to stare at Jack. “You—wait, we’re going to lie on the official report? But what about me driving illegally?”

“What about it? You’re doing fine. I’ll letcha know if I see a street sign with one of those funky diagrams that you need to read a book to figure out.”

There weren’t any street signs in this entire region of Afghanistan, except a few makeshift signs on base pointing toward various services. Mac sat back in the seat, his fingers twitching on the wheel. “You don’t care that I’ve been driving without a license.”

“Why would I?” Jack sat up. “I’m sorry about what I said when I hated you. You aren’t that bad at it. Could maybe use a little finesse if we were going to be driving somewhere other than the middle of nowhere. You do know how to back up, right? Probably going to have to back up to get around the cow. I don’t think this is an ambush but I’d rather not get out of the ‘vee and find out I’m wrong.”

“I know how to reverse.” To prove it, he put the humvee in gear and backed slowly until they could see the whole definitely-very-dead cow outlined in the headlights. He glanced over at Jack, brows raised in silent query.

Jack gave him an approving nod, and the knot of anxiety in Mac’s chest faded away. He couldn’t help smiling a little as he put the truck into Drive and turned the wheel to circle around the obstacle on the road and take them home.