Love Wins

By: Ridley C. James

* This story is part of the Between Brothers Universe. You should read Fireflies in the Rain before attempting this one or you may be lost.

A/N: I remember the first time I couldn't find my child. Before that breath-stealing, time-stopping moment I had only known the panic of temporarily losing sight of a beloved dog when they had managed to get off leash. As awful as that experience was, not knowing where my daughter had disappeared to was a thousand times worse. We were at a mall, and she'd only cloaked her mischievous two-year old self in a rack of clothes. I had not understood mind reeling, heart stopping panic until then. She was gone but a minute or two, so I can't fully comprehend the desperation and pain that an extended separation and torturous 'not knowing' would bring. Nor do I ever hope to delve such depths of angst and heartache, except for fiction on the written page. It is with great reverence that I pursue this story that I hinted at in an Epilogue I wrote for it in early spring titled Fear is a Liar. It does concern the kidnapping of a child, so if that is a trigger for you, please use self-care before reading. To all those who have ever faced the unthinkable. As always, Mary made this so much better with her editing wand!

RcJ

"As soon as the fear approaches near, attack and destroy it."-Chanakya

Twenty-five-year old Jack Wyatt Dalton knew a thing or two about dangerous weapons. He was skilled in combat, a savant of sharpshooting. Thanks to Delta Force Jack was almost as deadly in hand to hand combat as he was with a gun. He could wield a knife and fire a grenade launcher with precision. His body was lethal. Rocks or sharp objects manipulated with the right force and momentum could also cut a man down where he stood. But the vetted soldier turned CIA operative had never once considered a well-worn, much-loved red Chuck Taylor an instrument of destruction. That was until the moment he was holding his little brother's soggy solo shoe and felt his heart falter, his lungs refuse to work. He might as well have taken a hit dead mass with a bullet from a sniper's rifle.

"Dalton? Is it his?"

Matilda Weber's voice drifted to Jack from some far off space, a vast distance that defied logic seeing as how they were standing mere inches apart. He could smell her spicy perfume, hints of vanilla and something from the wild woods. She was close enough to hand him the shoe, like she'd pulled the pin from a grenade and gently passed it over to her fellow agent with no remorse for the damage it would do.

"Jack?" Sarah's familiar voice seemed somehow painfully closer, even though she wasn't physically present, but on the big flat screen of the conference room, watching the show via the computer link Weber had established with Jack's team, who were currently in the air making their way home from their latest mission.

Even from the plane, midair, if she had only looked closer, Sarah would have recognized the shoe. It was in fact a part of the very pair she'd purchased for Jack while he was still in Afghanistan, delivering them two Christmas Eves ago along with the other books, gadgets and remote control assortment that Jack had wired her money to purchase in hopes the gifts would somehow make up for him being in a desert 8,000 miles away while his family celebrated the holiday without him.

"Where?" Jack managed hoarsely, staring at the laces still precisely looped. It had been years now, but he easily recalled all the times he'd practiced that technique with his then five-year old brother because Mac had been terrified that he'd be quizzed on the process his very first day of kindergarten, along with knowing their address and phone number. Their mom had used to sing-song a poem about a bunny, but not Jack.

Build a tee pee, come inside

Close it tight so we can hide

Over the mountain and around we go

Here's my arrow and here's my bow!

Mac, who was a little obsessed with the Wild, Wild West at the time- thanks to their grandfather's influence- had latched onto his big brother's version and learned the life skill in no time. Sometimes Jack still caught the ten year old muttering the rhyme under his breath when he'd tie his laces.

"In the lake, not far from where the class stopped to picnic," Matty's typical matter of fact manner brought Jack from thoughts of the past. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat. He'd not missed the uncharacteristic catch in the other's voice, a small thread of emotion even Operations Officer Weber couldn't keep from lacing through her reply. Jack didn't know much about his handler's personal life, but in a rare moment of transparency when Mac had been in the hospital sick with the flu in February she'd mentioned having a Goddaughter the same age. The rare smile that lit her face when she'd actually showed up with a coloring book and markers told Jack more than the simple admission. Matilda Weber, despite all the hushed whispers to the contrary and the disturbing nickname, had a heart.

"What else?" Jack knew there was more, his grip tightened around the fabric of the shoe, his knuckles turning white. He could read people, knew when they were feeding him small bites.

"Jack." Sarah's dis-embodied voice filled the room once more, her tone too compassionate, intimate. It was almost Jack's undoing.

Jack ignored her, didn't dare look up at the screen. He could practically feel his ex's gaze, the concerned stares of the others. He couldn't bear to see the sympathy in Sarah's dark eyes, let alone that of Clay's and Franks. He hadn't worked with the men long, but in the three months they had come together he'd saved their lives and vice versa. Adversity built quick bonds, made strangers family, but Jack didn't want or need their pity not when he was on the verge of flying apart. He clenched his hand around the shoe and met Weber's unwavering gaze.

"You wouldn't have called me in here for just an ID of a shoe, Matty. You could have sent me a picture. You also wouldn't be pulling our team early from wrapping an on-going mission."

"We found a Dodgers jacket in the woods," Matty confessed, her eyes never leaving Jack's. "There was blood on the sleeve. Forensics shows it wasn't Mac's."

"That's good news." Jack's legs seemed to lose all ability to hold his weight and he leaned heavily against the conference table behind him. His heart thundered in his chest painfully, the tight band of dread around his lungs further restricting his ability to take a breath. Since Angus's disappearance three days before, Jack had insisted the kid had been taken by his absentee father. A theory his own people had been frustratingly slow to accept, but one the local authorities had jumped on a little too haphazardly, eluding to the possibility that James MacGyver might harm his son. "I told you James wouldn't hurt his kid, not intentionally. He's a lot of things, but I know he loves my brother. Maybe some animal picked it up or…"

"It wasn't an animal's, Dalton." Matty sighed, propping a hand on her hip. "At least not one that typically roams the local forests." Her gaze went momentarily over Jack's shoulder, then refocused on him, a frown of determination settling on her pretty face. "The blood belongs to Nicholas Helman and we believe it was from a defensive wound he may have garnered when Mac fought him after your brother realized what was happening." Matty took one more thing from the evidence bag she'd brought in with her and placed it on the table near Jack. It was Mac's Swiss Army Knife. The one Jack had given him for his birthday. "This was nearby. The blood on the blade matched the sample from the jacket."

Jack shook his head slowly, finding it hard to picture the scenario his handler was explaining. His fingers tightened yet again around the rough fabric of the shoe, the wet weight in his hand grounding him. Mac once told Jack that Harry said a SWAK could get him out of any situation, but Jack had never considered his brother would ever need to use it against another human. He swallowed the bile that had risen to the back of his throat.

"That name doesn't mean anything to me, Matty. Who the hell is Nicholas Helman?" Jack would make it his mission to kill the man as soon as possible.

"Nicholas Helman is the legendary Chairman of the Board for HIT." Clay was the one to answer.

Jack turned to frown at the screen. "HIT?"

"Homicide International Trust." It was Frank's turn to chime in. "It's a legendary elite association of hitmen. The only consortium of its kind."

"That sounds like something out of a Spike Lee comic." Jack ran his free hand over his mouth, the three days growth of beard rough beneath his palm. He faced Mattty once more. "What the hell would this Helman and HIT want with my ten year old brother? Does this have to do with one of our missions? Some job I've pulled?" The thought nearly had him bending double, losing what little breakfast Harry had practically forced him to consume.

"We think Nicholas Helmand kidnapped Angus to get to me."

The answer was delivered by a new voice, one that had Jack once more spinning to see the screen behind him, vein-bulging adrenaline flooding his system. His team was gone, having been replaced by the larger than life version of a man he hadn't laid eyes on in months, almost a year now. James MacGyver.

"Sonofabitch." Jack took a faltering step, the image of Mac's father threatening to shatter whatever control he'd managed to keep over his strained emotions. He felt a tremor run through him, a coldness invade his system as if someone had injected ice water into his veins via an invisible IV. "What the hell…"

"I know you have questions," James held Jack's gaze, looking as if they exchanged pleasantries daily. Jack's entire body went rigid. He prayed for not the first time that he might just wake up from this hellacious nightmare. It was bad enough when he believed the man before him was responsible for his brother's disappearance, but to now have proof that Mac was not among family, with someone he loved, nearly drove a sob from Jack's burning chest. James's frown deepened, his eyes searching Jack's. "I'll answer what I can when you and Weber get here."

"Questions?" Jack choked on the word. A week ago he might have wanted answers to about a hundred different things he could have asked the man now magically in front of him thanks to CIA technology. At the moment he only desired one thing. Mac. Jack's jaw clenched, his eyes burned as he met James calm, steady gaze. "What did you do!"

"As I said, I'll explain everything when you arrive." James gave a brief nod. "I promise."

Jack opened his mouth to say exactly what such a promise meant coming from a lying bastard who had abandoned them but James's image was suddenly replaced once more by that of Sarah and his team. For a fleeting moment he worried he'd imagined it all, that he'd finally cracked under the pressure; that the all-consuming terror he'd endured the last few days had managed to obliterate his tenuous grasp on sanity. Fear was an insidious enemy. Freddy had warned him. Jack blinked, focusing back on Sarah.

"Jack, what happened? We lost contact." Sarah's worried voice had him taking a deep breath, shaking his head as if he'd been slapped. She looked relieved to see him again, but Jack quickly averted his eyes to Clay Craddock- his partner- the man who'd helped pull him from Afghanistan, the first contact he'd had with the CIA, the person responsible for bringing him to The Farm and subsequently so it seemed to James MacGyver.

"Did you know, man?" Jack consciously relaxed his grip around the Converse, his muscles cramping. His voice was cold.

Clay didn't have to even answer because the man's lack of confusion at the random demand was evidence enough. "Not in the beginning, brother. I was just following orders."

"What's he talking about?" Frank asked, his gaze going from Clay to Jack and back, brow raised. Craddock might not have shared the information with Frank, afraid it would become pillow talk between him and Sarah, who most definitely would have told Jack. Despite the ways Jack had screwed up and that she had seemingly moved on with Sutton, Jack had no doubts she would still have his back.

Craddock gave one of his trademark, devil may care shrugs. "I'm guessing our boy Dalton just got debriefed by the man who gave the go to pull him from the desert."

"I don't understand," Sarah chimed in as she glanced from Clay to Jack. "Matty made that happen."

"You lied to me." Jack was still talking to Craddock, who had the good grace to look as abashed as Jack had seen him, and from a man that had a whole hell of a lot to feel guilty about and very little natural inclination to do so, he supposed that was saying something.

"Only when I had to," Clay confessed, holding Jack's gaze. "It's the nature of the game, Wyatt. We're all damn good liars."

"Fuck you," Jack growled, pointing a finger at his partner. "Don't call me that ever again. Do you understand? Only family has that right, and you are no longer family to me." He whirled to face Matilda, rage quaking through him in such a way that he forced himself to take a few steps back so the woman was safely out of his reach. "That goes double for you, Matty the Hun."

Weber looked unaffected by the outburst, which just pissed Jack off even more. If she'd been a man, he would have laid her flat. Almost still considered it, knowing that the infuriating woman could probably take a punch better than Craddock and come back with more piss and vinegar than the former SEAL.

"Do you really want to cry about how a couple of CIA agents trained in the business of espionage actually created an elaborate cover story to arrange for you to leave the Army and return to your family, Dalton, or do you want to go meet with the man who just might be able to help us bring your brother home safely?" Matty didn't give him time to answer, dangerously closing the distance between them though Jack knew she understood the risk she was taking. She had the sheer nerve to place a hand on his arm and in that moment Jack hated her. Instead of lashing out the small shoe got the brunt of his anger, the sole bending slightly under his tightly flexed digits. Matty lowered her voice, gentled it in a way that had Jack aching for his grandfather, because he recognized the tone as one JP Dalton used when trying to get an injured horse to understand he was attempting to help. "Because trust me when I say if Nicholas Helman has Mac then we're going to need the best to get him back, and James MacGyver, despite what you think of him, is the best at what he does."

Jack wanted to ask what exactly his step father did for the CIA, but held back because the truth of the matter was he didn't care. Not at this instant. Not about any of it! He could have honestly found out his own father had risen from the grave like Lazarus and had finagled Jack a way out of Delta and it wouldn't have made one damn bit of difference. Not when Jack was holding Mac's wet Converse, not when he'd gone three terrifying days without seeing the kid's face, or hearing his voice, or ruffling his hair... Three days when every ring of the phone elicited the prospect of news Jack didn't think he could handle. He suddenly felt stripped of any energy, doffed of all thought. Three days without knowing if his kid was dead or alive…How was that even fucking possible.

"That's what I thought." Matty huffed, tugging at the ends of her jacket. She'd misread his silence, the gutted look Jack was certain now marred his face. She turned her eyes to the screen, addressing her team. "I'm sending you information on Nicholas Helman and his known HIT associates. Tracking his movements over the last few months is now your priority mission. We'll rendezvous later at coordinates I'll relay when Dalton and I are in route." She didn't give them time for a response, turning on her heel and starting for the door.

"Jack?" Sarah called, voice uncertain, strained.

Jack didn't answer. Didn't dare turn around. Instead he gently placed his little brother's shoe on the conference table, his fingers ghosting one last time over the laces. He picked up Mac's knife and slid it into his pocket before he followed Matilda Weber out of the room.

Three days earlier…

Jack Dalton slowly awoke to the sensation of being watched. It wasn't the danger-invoking, spidey-sense prickling that he sometimes encountered as a trained sniper for the Army, one that allowed him a heightened sense of other predators in the area. No, this was just creepy.

He cracked his sleep-caked lids open to find a shadowy figure skulking a few feet from his bed, merely observing, waiting for him to awake.

"Damn, Angus, why do you have to do that?" Jack growled, slinging an arm over his face to block out the sight of every horror movie image of the quiet, little kid from Poltergeist just lurking.

"It's Mac," the ten-year-old quickly reminded his brother that he no-longer responded to his first name, not since his birthday almost a year before. Jack could practically hear the shrug in his voice and not one ioda of apology. "I just stand here and wait for you to wake up because you tell me to never try and wake you up."

Jack sometimes bemoaned his brother's rule-following. He'd given those instructions when he'd first started coming home from tours in Afghanistan, back when Mac was smaller and prone to crawl into bed with his big brother, back when Jack didn't trust himself not to strike out during the onslaught of nightmares and flashbacks he'd brought back with him. Even now, a few years older and wiser, with a better grip on the baggage he carried from the war, he still wasn't completely confident Mac was safe, at least not when Jack was tangled in the throes of sleep.

Mac, now assured Jack was indeed awake, bounced onto the bed, along with his puppy partner in crime, Archimedes. The dog, which for all intents and purposes, only moments before appeared like an apparition from Pet Cemetery in the barely dawn light now attempted to lick Jack's face, tail wiggling.

"Stop," Jack drew out the word in exasperation, trying to roll over and bury himself in the covers. "Go away."

"Archimedes missed you," Mac observed with a giggle and an alertness that should not have been possible in the wee hours of the day. "He's glad you're finally home."

Jack got the distinct impression Archimedes wasn't the only one happy with his return. He'd missed the kid, too, but the fact he'd only gotten into bed a few hours earlier, having endured an eleven hour flight home from a mission, was currently coloring his enthusiasm for a rare weekend at home with his brother. Which reminded him…

"Damn. It's Saturday, dude," he grumbled, hoping the kid would get a clue, the bed still too warm and comfy to think about getting up. "Go eat cereal. Watch Bugs Bunny. Read an encyclopedia, whatever rocks your boat, Carol Anne."

"It's six A.M."

Jack lifted his head, blearily glaring at the boy who was now lying beside him, still staring with wide blue eyes. "Why?" Jack knew the question came out as a whine. Twenty-five year old men shouldn't whine but he couldn't help himself. Twenty-five year old men should also be awoken in the morning by a beautiful woman, not their kid brothers and canine counterparts.

"Because it takes 23 hours, 56 minutes and 4.0916 seconds for the Earth to turn once on its axis." Mac propped himself up on one elbow, already thrumming with energy. "Earth's rotation on its axis is what causes us to experience day and…"

"No, genius," Jack cut off the kid's intellectual spiel, knowing good and well his brother was purposively poking at him. He placed his hand over Mac's face and gave a little shove. "I mean why are you waking me up at the butt crack of dawn on a freaking Saturday?"

"Because it's STEM Saturday." Mac wasn't deterred by the rebuffing, rebounding with all the exuberance of a frolicking puppy.

"Of course." Jack fell back against the pillows, not at all clued in to what 'STEM Saturday' entailed or why in the hell it meant he should be awake. It sounded vaguely familiar. Mac climbed half on top of him, undeterred by his grumpiness. Jack stifled a groan when the kid's elbow dug into his sore ribs. He was glad he'd left his t-shirt on, thankful his brother wouldn't have a hundred questions about the bruises that colored Jack's side Pollock style. As far as Mac was concerned Jack worked security and as a pilot for a bunch of important people in Los Angeles. He didn't realize his brother's actual 'new job' was almost as dangerous as Afghanistan. For that, Jack was grateful. He reached up and ruffled the kid's hair. "Is that like Taco Tuesday?"

"It's better than Taco Tuesday." Mac huffed, patting his blond locks back into place.

"I doubt that, bud," Jack grumbled, once more shoving at Archimedes who was again lavishing him with tongue love. He scrubbed a hand over the wet spot on his cheek. "I freaking love Tacos."

Mac gave a familiar sigh, the one that often told of what Jack imagined his disappointment at having such a simpleton for a brother. "Jack, Mr. Ericson explained all about it at the open house at school."

"How about you give me a short debrief." Even with Mac's kind prompting, the one which obviously was meant to help Jack save face and not look completely inept at being a parent, Jack remained clueless. In his defense, he'd taken a hard blow to the back of the head on the latest mission and there was also the fact that as with most 'parent-type' activities, open houses at his brother's school for instance, Jack often spent a lot of the night feeling completely inept and out of his element. While car-pooling moms made chit chat about spring vacation plans and the dad's talked little league and the other upcoming spring sports, Jack had worked hard at not looking like a complete poser. Fitting in took up a lot of his mental energy, then there was Abigail, the very overly friendly young single mom who'd offered to show Jack the ropes of the PTA inner circle …

"It's a series of special fieldtrips for advanced students that focus on math and science concepts," Mac filled in, a forgiving grin lighting his face. He punched Jack's shoulder, barely able to contain his obvious excitement. "We're going to the math museum in LA today. They have a special travelling exhibit with a grand scale Mobius strip and trefoil knot. You promised we'd eat at Mama Colton's before taking me to meet the bus."

"Right. morpheus strips and truffle knots." Jack did groan now, rubbing a hand over his face. Damn. He'd forgotten. The meeting had been a few weeks before at a time when he wasn't sure what job he'd be doing, or even if he'd be on the same continent when the trip rolled around. "Now I remember."

"Should I just get Harry to take me?" Mac offered, half-heartedly, disappointment seeping into his voice. Jack looked up at the change in tone and noticed his brother had mindlessly twisted his fingers into folds of Jack's shirt, something he'd done when he was much smaller and uncertain about a situation. "I heard you come into my room to check on me last night. I know you've been gone a whole week and it was really late so if you…"

"Are you kidding me?" Most of Jack wanted to take Mac up on the offer, to just roll over and let Harry slide into the parental seat for the day, but the whole reason Jack had left Afghanistan was to be more available to his kid brother. Mac's grandfather already pulled more than his fair share of the weight, even though Jack now had legal custodial guardianship. Jack couldn't very well be what Mac needed if he was rolled up like a burrito in his bedspread and he couldn't bring himself to be the cause of one more disappointment for the kid. Even something as small as breakfast before a school trip was paramount in Jack's opinion. If making Mac happy wasn't a priority mission, he might as well still have been bunkered down with Boxer and the rest of his Delta unit thousands of miles away. Jack raised up on his elbows, thankful when his body didn't protest the movement. "I have been thinking about those pancakes since I left for Japan, bud. Thanks for reminding me."

"Did you have sushi?" Mac asked, his enthusiasm rebounding once he realized Jack wasn't going to back out of their deal. He quickly added, "Did you bring me something from Mt. Fuji?"

"Hell to the no on the raw fish and does a postcard with a picture of Mt. Fuji count?" Jack hadn't really been near any touristy venues in Asia but Sarah had magically procured a few trinkets that would satisfy Mac, and back up his cover in the process. He'd even brought Harry back a lighter disguised as a fire-breathing dragon.

"It'll work," Mac moved out of Jack's way so the other man could swing his legs over the side. He stayed close though, hovering just out of reach. It was something that Jack had noticed happening when he'd been gone more than a few days at a time. Mac seemed to believe that Jack might disappear again, and the fact that the kid had to worry about the people he loved most leaving had Jack's chest aching for reasons that had nothing to do with the blow he'd taken to the sternum during his throw down with a few ninja-wannabes. He reached out and bumped his fist against Mac's jean-clad knee. "By the way, brother, how could you leave out the fact that the city of Kawasaki has a Penis Festival from that whole interesting lecture you gave me on Japan?"

Mac rolled his eyes in mock exasperation but Jack didn't miss the fact that his face colored slightly, the spattering of freckles standing out in dark relief against his baby brother's embarrassment. It was exactly the reaction Jack had been hoping for. "Because I was focusing on the important things like Tokyo being the biggest city in the world, and how Japan is actually made up of over six thousand islands."

"So random cultural facts aren't crucial when travelling?" Jack couldn't resist the ribbing, certain that the big brother/little brother normalcy would be good for both his smarting body and Mac's worries.

The kid's face took on a sudden look of complete seriousness. He considered his job of briefing Jack on whatever locale he might be visiting in the line of duty as a task of upmost importance. "I made sure you knew that it was polite to slurp your noodles, that tattoos are not considered cool, and instead of shaking hands you should bow. I even warned you about the cafés that offer cuddling sessions."

"All of which served me well, brother." Jack's mouth twitched, breaking into a full on grin. "I'm the last guy who wants a cuddle from his server, unless I'm at Hooters mind you, but just so you know for next time, a guy should also probably have a heads up if he's going to encounter some bizarre life-size balloons and costume clad people on the street. It was a whole other kind of Coz-play. They even had sandwiches shaped like…"

"Please tell me you didn't bring me any postcards from there." Mac's frantic interruption and horrified expression had Jack laughing out loud.

"No." Jack stood, stretching, hiding a grimace when he realized it was still pitch dark beyond his window. He flashed his brother a smirk. "But I did think about getting Harry a very disturbing Pez dispenser."

"I'm not sure he would have liked that," Mac folded his arms over his chest. "Harry doesn't really think body humor is funny. He didn't even like the very anatomically correct voodoo doll you brought him from Haiti."

"The whole point of bringing Harry back something is to rile him up, bud. I'm just returning the favor for all the useless things he sent me when I was in the desert."

"They weren't useless," Mac pointed out. He bent down rubbing his hand over Archimedes ears. Even in the darkened room Jack could practically see the shadow settle onto the kid's features, an invisible weight light onto his slim shoulders at the talk of Jack's time in the Army. "Harry called them mindless and he said sometimes the terribleness of war made it really hard for boys to remember there were simple things to enjoy."

Jack thought about the Chinese finger puzzle he and Boxer had spent way too much time trying to figure out, the Yo-Yo and the outrageous amount of comics that came stuffed in the bottom of care packages that he and his team took turns reading. He hadn't really considered the thought which Harry had put into the gifts, but as usual, Mac's perspective shed light onto a situation in a new way.

Jack squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Maybe we should pick Harry up some of Mama Colton's homemade cinnamon rolls while we're at the diner. Give the old man something he might actually enjoy."

Mac's genuine smile returned. "Now that I think he would like that."

Jack was certain Mac's grandfather would have enjoyed the treat, too, that was if Wilt Bozer hadn't confiscated both the rolls. Mac's best friend had apparently not been as excited or eager as his pal to crawl from the covers on this bright and early Saturday and had only made it to the school on time because his father had finally ordered him from the bed. Jack was pretty sure the colorful pants the kid was wearing was actually Bart Simpson pajama bottoms but with Bozer one could never be certain.

"Thank you again for the save." Bozer's dad smiled at Jack, gesturing to the roll his son was feasting upon. "His mom had him a yogurt and granola laid out on the counter, but Mr. Sleepy Head forgot it along with his backpack." The man rubbed a hand affectionately over his son's head. "At this rate I'm pretty sure he's still going to need her to hold his hand in college."

Bozer beamed around a mouthful of cinnamon roll instead of showing any sort of mortification. Jack supposed the kid hadn't quite reached the age where such a statement elicited ingrained horror, nor did his father's tactile affection bring an avalanche of embarrassment. Jack glanced at his brother, noticing there was no hint of empathetic humiliation on his best friend's behalf either, but instead a definite look of longing. Jack knew it had nothing to do with wanting the pastry and maybe everything to do with missing his dad.

"No problem." Jack quickly spoke up, settling both his hands on Mac's shoulder and giving him an affectionate shake, effectively rattling the contents of Harry's old leather messenger bag Mac had strapped on. "My brother has probably got enough stuff for three kids. He has the Boy Scout motto tattooed on the backside of his eyelids."

"The Boy Scouts definitely didn't know who they were kicking out. Mac is smarter than the lot of them," Bozer said in a way that spoke more to his allegiance to his buddy than a kid trying to be snarky, but Mac still winced.

"I wasn't kicked out, Boze," Mac corrected, sounding offended by the other boys attempt at support. "I quit because of a conflict of interests."

"It was a conflict alright," Bozer mumbled through cinnamon roll. "Danny's fist conflicting with your eye."

"Wilt." Mr. Bozer said in that particular low 'dad' tone that warned of definite dire consequences. "Don't talk with your mouth full, son."

"Sorry." Bozer shrugged, taking another huge bite of pastry that Jack wasn't sure indicated his ravenous growing boy appetite or if the kid was just trying to keep his mouth from getting him into more trouble.

Bozer's dad gave Jack a 'what are you going to do' look followed by another wide smile. "So, I gather you're not going on the field trip today either? I'm guessing some of the PTA will be disappointed."

He nodded to a group of parents gathered near the sign in table-mostly women. Thanks to Mac's promptness, he and Jack had been the first ones there and had already gotten checked in by Mr. Ericson before any other kids arrived. Jack didn't miss the fact that several of the mothers including Abigail had already donned colorful name badges proclaiming them volunteers. They were not so subtly casting hopeful glances in Jack's direction.

"I wasn't sure I'd be in town when the big day rolled around." Jack couldn't help but to be more than a little grateful that his work schedule was so unpredictable in that moment. "I didn't want to take a spot someone else might fill and then not show."

"I hate when I have to be on call on Saturdays." Bozer's father seemed to see through Jack's feigned disappointment. He glanced at the boys. "I'm sure these two will mind after one another just fine."

"I got it covered, dad," Bozer assured with confidence.

"Just like you had breakfast covered," Mac not so kindly reminded the other ten year old. Bozer merely took another bite of the food they had provided him.

"Thank you again, Jack," Mr. Bozer said reaching out to shake Jack's hand. He gave him a sturdy pat on the back. "I can pick Mac up this evening when I pick up Wilt if you'd like. Save you a trip into town. Give you a chance to enjoy some of your down time. Mac says you've been gone for a while."

"That's kind of you, but I don't mind," Jack spoke up quickly, his hand settling on Mac's shoulder once again. He suddenly felt more than a little guilty for not having signed up for the trip, but he also didn't particularly want to go ask if there was still room for him to go on the bus as he had a feeling Abigail and the others would insist on finding a place for him, possibly as the melty middle of a mini-van mom sandwich. Jack gestured to Bozer. "We'll be glad to give Boze a ride back. We may even pick up a pizza and grab a movie. Give you and Mrs Bozer some alone time."

"Yes, please." Bozer flashed his father a pleading look, practically bouncing up and down on his toes. Jack realized his guilt was definitely getting the better of him. A sugared up Bozer was a hell of a penance to pay. He'd probably be contending with a potential sleepover, which would mean another early morning.

"How about we get you signed in before we decide how you're getting back." Mr. Bozer steered his son towards the table of teachers, telling Jack he'd let him know about the offer once he saw how his day shaped up and barring any impromptu phone calls from Mr. Ericson concerning inappropriate behavior. The last part was most assuredly added for his son's benefit.

"I'll be fine, Jack." Mac's voice reclaimed his brother's attention. Jack hadn't realized he was still gripping the kid's shoulders but the ten year old gave a knowing frown when their eyes met. "I'm almost eleven. We're just going to the museum."

"I hear you, tough guy." Jack let him go, tugging on the front of his brother's Dodger's jacket. He resisted the urge to zip it up against the morning chill, knowing his brother didn't have Bozer's tolerance for such poor parenting protocol. Mac seemed to read his thoughts, or maybe sensed his shift in mood. Either way, the ten year old seemed to understand that Jack was having second thoughts about letting him go on the field trip into the city alone, at least without his personal supervision. Jack cleared his throat, nodding to the messenger bag that hung at Mac's side. "You sure you got everything you need in case of emergencies tucked away in there?"

"I've got everything," Mac assured, patting the worn leather. He held Jack's gaze as if he were the older brother trying to offer assurance to a younger sibling. "And a whole group of teachers to keep an eye on me, including Mr. Ericson, who has eyes in the back of his head, and on the sides. It's freaky. Just ask Boze, who manages to get caught doing something he shouldn't every day."

"I know that, but I'm your Overwatch." Jack glanced to where Mac's favorite teacher was standing along with the group of volunteers, all of whom had more experience in the field of parenting than he could ever hope to garner. He was being ridiculous. It wasn't like he was sending his kid brother off to sweep a mine field in the freaking badlands of Afghanistan. As if he would ever let that happen. The ten year old was going on a sanctioned field trip to a place he loved, with a teacher who adored him. At his point, it was looking as if Mac would be the one with an unwanted helicopter parent hanging out in his dorm room.

"What's an Overwatch?" Mac asked, fiddling with the strap on his watch. It was the one his father had sent him for Christmas, the one Jack had reluctantly bought a new band for so the kid could wear it. Mac hadn't taken it off since.

"It's a military term," Jack explained, unable to identify the source of anxiety that crept over him as he watched the big yellow bus lumber into the parking lot. He forced his eyes from the group of students mulling together, refusing to scan the perimeter in his hyper aware state. Instead he met Mac's gaze. "It's a tactical move where one person takes a position to cover another member of his team, keeping an eye out for any and all means that might prove a threat to the other person. Overwatch is all about protecting the guy you're assigned to, brother."

"Like a buddy system?"

"Sort of."

A hint of dimple played at Mac's cheek. "Then you'll be glad to know the teachers always make us use the buddy system when we're on field trips. Bozer will be my Overwatch today."

"Bozer's a good friend, but like I said, kiddo, I'm always going to be your Overwatch. I got my orders straight from mom about ten years back and I'm not stepping down anytime soon." Jack couldn't help himself this time. He ran a hand over his brother's hair with an exhale of breath, unable to hide his concern. He tried to convince himself he was just tired, his emotions headier thanks to the lingering effects of a mild concussion. His counselor at the VA had told him time and again that it was completely normal to be more protective of those he cared for. Civilian life didn't dim all the senses of a soldier, but instead, often seemed to amp them up. Jack wasn't so sure if Freddy would be so calm about Jack's sudden desire to grab Mac and head for home, shelter down with the kid on a permanent basis.

Mac cut him some slack, not even pulling away or rolling his eyes. He merely gave a nod, actually leaning into Jack's side in a move to obviously offer some sort of comfort and support. It meant a great deal considering Mac didn't often overtly seek physical contact. "I know you'll always protect me, Jack, but this is just a school trip. Nothing bad is going to happen. I'll be okay."

Jack wanted to argue the point, to remind his brother about the accidents on the freeway, the random drive by shootings in LA, even unpredictable weather patterns, but how many times had he said similar words to Mac when he was headed off to combat. Five year old Angus had bravely held back the tears that first time at the airport, even managed to salute as Jack walked away. The kid's trembling lip had almost been the twenty year old's undoing, but he'd made it through security, and headed to the tarmac. Mac had let Jack go, every single time and Jack had no right to hold him back now. It was a freaking field trip for crying out loud.

"You're kind of acting like 'Captain Worst Case Scenario' again."

And just like that Mac was back to being his smart-mouthed self, which somehow halted Jack's downward emotional spiral, shielded him from the looming 'what if's' fear liked to cast a spotlight upon.

Jack snorted, running a hand down his face. He'd told his brother to let him know when he was getting paranoid, and Mac wasn't one to pull punches. "I think you mean Captain Best Big Brother Ever, dude."

"Whatever makes you feel better, man." Mac's grin had also returned and he pulled off a decent imitation of a Dalton cocky smirk. He even punched Jack on the shoulder. "Whatever it takes."

"How about I just take back the ten dollars I coughed up for the gift shop?" Jack reached his hand out, but Mac dodged him just as one of the parent volunteers blew their whistle to signal it was time to line up.

"I'll be sure to save your change." Mac flashed another grin before quickly starting off.

"Yeah, right. I won't hold my breath," Jack shot back.

Mac continued to walk towards the group but cast Jack one more glance. "Love you, Jack."

"Love you back, brat." Jack raised a hand, watching the kid until he was safely with the others, Bozer by his side. He stayed until Mr. Ericson and the parents had herded the class up the steps and into their seats. Jack remained planted in place until the bus made its way out of the middle school lot, red tail lights glowing, a rousing chatter and wave of spontaneous laughter echoing in its wake.

In less than six hours it would be Jack Wyatt Dalton who would get a frantic phone call from Mr. Ericson.

Jack would then all too easily understand why in that very moment as he watched the bus pull away that every one of his muscles twitched to chase after it, why all his well-honed instincts demanded he not lose sight of his brother. Looking back he would come to recognize his inaction, the choice to stand down and chalk it all up to overprotectiveness on his part, as his first, worst great mistake as Angus MacGyver's Overwatch.

To be continued...

A/N/N: The counselor I mention, Freddy, belongs to the amazing Gaelicspirit. If you haven't read her fics...DO IT! Also, Boxer belongs to the amazing Gib! If you haven't read her pre-series universe with our boys in Afghanistan...DO IT!