A/N: Might turn into a two-shot, which is why it's labeled as "in-progress" right now. Anyway, this popped into mind at some point; I was replaying the game and wondering about Mack's father, and this was born.

"Cromwell?"

"Yes milday?"

Mackenzie's face took on an odd expression as she regarded her butler and guardian. "Can you get a hold of my dad?"

Cromwell blinked and considered it. The young lady's father was often in the most unpredicable places, enjoying his (very) early retirement to the fullest while his daughter learned to manage in his old business. At this moment, however, he had an inkling as to where the man had went. His last post card had featured a charming beach across the world, and in that country the next natural place to visit would be... yes, he would almost certainly be there. Also...

"The term 'dad' is inappropriate for a budding lady such as yourself." His moustache wiggled in a minor display of agitation as he chided her.

The flat look she shot him went unheeded as he turned to pluck the phone from its cradle. He flipped through the phone book at an inhumanely fast speed, eyes tracking every business until, abruptly, he stopped and began dialing. Mackenzie stewed in what she felt to be an awkward silence as Cromwell held the phone to his ear and waited.

I hope dad... father... picks up.

Her thoughts were moving in circles at lightning speed and vaguely she heard Cromwell speaking.

"Yes, I am looking for Maverick..."

She sighed and endured the wait, considering what she was going to ask him. Her father had been a detective for seventeen years before getting bored and deciding to run around the world. He had experienced many things and perhaps some of what he witnessed could help her with her current predicament.

This is trouble... what should I do about this?

She was startled from her brooding when the gleaming black phone was presented to her.

"Your father, milady." Cromwell announced imperiously as he sketched a short bow.

"Thanks." She told him.

She carefully placed the phone to her ear, instantly picking up on a dull background chatter and the very faint sound of an ocean roaring. There was a lot of laughter, her father's mostly.

"Father?" She prompted.

"Ha-oh! Mack! Mack, isn't 'father' a bit too formal for your old man?"

Her lips quirked in a small smile. "I'd call you dad, but Cromwell's nearby." She informed him.

"Pfft." She could picture him waving one hand dismissively. "What's going on, sweetheart? That old Cromwell said you looked a little troubled over something. Is my old job too much for you?"

"No... no, being a detective is fun. I just wish everyone would stop calling me the Touch Detective."

"It's cute though. And it suits you well-no, Martha, I'm fine, thank you-why don't you like it?"

"It was an accident." She stressed.

Who's Martha anyway? Waitress? Could be.

His laughter rang loudly on the other end of the phone. "If you say so, dear. Now, you can't sidetrack me for long. What's the matter? I can hear it in your voice."

Mackenzie sighed and thought of what to say. She had wanted to speak to him and get his opinion, true, but now that she had him listening she was faltering in her decision. But she had decided earlier and he was on the phone now. She nodded to herself and, determination restored, began.

"What would you do if... you thought you knew the identity of a famous criminal but... liked-" and hear she paused to tell her heart to stop racing wildly in her chest, "liked their real identity." Mackenzie fought the heat in her face and added: "As a person."

Please don't take that the wrong way.

There was a bit of hmmm-ing on the other end before he responded. "That depends on the criminal. What kind of relationship do you have with this person. As a criminal... and as a person." Mackenzie could almost see the teasing smile curling on her father's mouth.

"... he calls me his rival?" She offered. "And... um... he's a nice person."

"He?"

Why does he sound so pleased?

"Oh, Mack. If he's your rival and you like him, you obviously must keep his secret to the best of your ability!"

What?

"Well, if he's good anyway. If he's not a very good rival and gets himself caught on his own, that's on him."

"So I... don't turn him in or, say, confront him or something?"

"Oh no! If he was a common criminal, of course your duty would be to make them face the law. Rivals are different." He said this all so certainly that Mackenzie felt small and uninformed.

"I'm... not sure what you mean." She admitted.

"Detectives are incomplete without a rival." He told her. "The job is so boring without one. Why do you think I'm retired?"

I thought it was because mom, mother, was found out to be a criminal.

She didn't say it out loud.

"The truth is, Mack, that once I had a rival. A fine one. She was called Catnip." He sounded whimsical as he recounted this and Mackenzie couldn't bring herself to question the unfortunate code name.

"What happened to her?" She asked instead.

"She married me!" He answered cheerfully. Abruptly.

"Wh-What?"

"Your mother was my rival." He sighed. "It was so much fun, chasing her around as she went along with her criminal ways. I couldn't stand the thought of turning her in once I'd found out who she really was, the beautiful librarian. So I didn't. Instead, I asked her on a date and we married a year later."

There's something wrong with this story.

"It became a huge game, an enormous joke on all of law enforcement, once we were married. Only, she got caught a few years after you were born. Now she'll in maximum security for the next few years. I hope they take it easy on her. Retirement just isn't all that great without someone to share it with."

"Then why didn't you take me and Cromwell with you?" Mackenzie asked dryly.

He sounded surprised at the question. "Oh, but then who'd watch the office and keep my business running? Mack, my dear girl, you'll go far. Until you retire. But you'll have your own child by then, won't you?

"I'm twelve." She reminded him.

"And if you go at least as long as I did, you'll be twenty-nine at retirement." He countered. "How old is this rival of yours anyway? I just want to make sure this is appropriate, you understand."

"He's... eighteen, I think." Mackenzie answered, almost absently.

Her brain felt just about burned out from this conversation. From the sudden relevations.

"Seven years." Her father murmured. "Yes, that's not too bad. As long as nothing happens until you're a bit older, Mack, dear."

Unseen by him, she flushed scarlet and shook her head and near shouted "Dad!" despite Cromwell's presence just behind one of the doors to her right.

"Oh, don't be so awkward." He admonished. "It'll all be fine." There was a pause and- "Oh! Look at the time. Mack, I'll need to get going. Discounts at the bar tonight, you understand. Well, you will when you're older."

"Yes, dad." She sighed.

"Love you, and I'll be home for the holiday. Introduce me to your rival, dear."

"Of course, love you too." She trailed off, almost vacantly returning the phone to its cradle.

Click

Now. She supposed there was an antique shop to visit.