Not hurting Mac is something that has never been very high up on Jack's priorities list. This seems wholly contradictory to… just about everything, but the fact of the matter is, it didn't have to be a priority. It was just a fact - hurting Mac was so out of the question there was never a need to prioritize it. Now… Now everything is shifted and tilted and Jack is ripped harshly between wanting to hold his kid as tight as possible and the question of whether hugging Mac just a shade too tightly is going to hurt him by aggravating an injury Jack doesn't know about.
Sure, Mac said it's 'just what you can see, maybe another bruise or two', and from a standpoint purely cataloguing physical injuries, it's not that bad. He's got a split lip that will likely scar, at least for some time after it heals, there's still that fading black eye, the red imprints of James' hands around Mac's wrists that still hadn't faded by the time they'd dealt with the blood on his face. If he's telling the truth, and his clothing is only hiding 'another bruise or two', then it's so far down the list of 'times Mac has been hurt, ranked by severity' that it doesn't even place.
Knowing this, though, it's not enough to erase the thousand 'what-if's that have run through Jack's mind before he'd outright asked Mac if he needed a doctor. Ever since the word 'abuse' entered Jack's mind, the questions have bombarded him - what kind of damage could Mac have concealed from them with long sleeves and careful movement? Jack had caught himself wondering if James had ever broken bone, if his partner's back was striped with ugly welts, if Mac could've kept that hidden from them. He still sees it when he blinks, those imagined wounds, and it informs the way he holds Mac now.
At least Mac has stopped apologizing. He's gone quiet, head heavy against Jack's collarbone, slumped forward and curled in on himself in Jack's arms. Protectiveness buzzes, fierce and aching, in Jack's chest as he sits there, determined not to move before Mac is ready to.
"It's okay," he murmurs, mindless and without meaning or direction, words just for the sake of saying them. His heart hurts, his lungs hurt, everything about this hurts, and it's an active struggle to not get up off this couch, march back over to James' house, and see holy hellfire rained down on the man for what he'd done. But, again, taking care of Mac needs to come before even daydreaming about revenge on his father, so Jack does his best to put James out of his mind and focus on the boy in his arms.
Jack curls his fingers through blond hair, touch light and careful over where he knows Mac's head had been knocked into the wall. He tries to convey as much comfort and safety as possible with the touch. Harsh, struggling breaths push back against the arm he has wrapped below Mac's shoulder-blades, and it makes that protective ache throb acutely.
"It's okay," Jack says again, rubbing his palm over Mac's side. "It's alright, kid, it's all gonna be okay." He knows he has no right to promise that, no guarantee he's not lying just to get Mac to calm down before he hurts himself. What he does know, though, is that he's going to do absolutely everything in his power to make it true, and for the moment at least, that's going to have to be enough.
Jack would've been perfectly fine to stay there forever, content to fabricate a reality where as long as he holds Mac in this protective embrace in this quiet, empty house, nothing can touch him. Just while they're here, in this moment, Jack can keep him safe. Just here, love is enough to keep him safe. But, much though he might be loathe to admit it, Jack knows it can't last. This house won't remain quiet and empty forever, and indeed that quiet emptiness could shatter at any moment. Because someone else lives here, and more than that, there are other people in the life Mac has constructed here in Los Angeles aside from the two of them.
Matty knows. Matty - more than ever convincing Jack that she is exactly the right person to be in charge and they are unspeakably lucky to have her as such - took the information that the insidious, overtaking mission was in fact just a cover for ongoing abuse, and moved to address the immediate problem at hand. Processing what had been done to someone Jack knows Matty well enough to know she loves had been shelved in favor of dealing with James and the threat posed by him. Without her talent for compartmentalization, the immediate necessary action pulling focus and energy, it's hard to imagine Riley and Bozer will have the same reaction.
"Mac," Jack says softly, though it sounds unnaturally loud against the backdrop of speechless, heavy air. "Mac, kid, are you with me?"
The young man now slumped against him, entire weight supported by the hold on him in a move of complete trust that honestly scares Jack a bit, stiffens again, tension returning to where it had slowly, painstakingly bled out.
"We've gotta talk about what you want to tell Riley and Bozer," Jack continues. Mac's breathing changes, stuttering into a harsher pattern. It makes Jack worry that all of the progress they've made in getting him to calm down is gone down the drain, and he stops, hand still braced over Mac's back, holding him steady. He doesn't seem like he's going to spiral into a panic attack, and so, after listening to him draw unsteady, distressed breaths, Jack goes on. He doesn't want to, but he has to. It's a problem that's going to come up, and it's better to know before how they're going to handle it.
"We've gotta tell them something," says Jack, careful to keep his voice calm and even. "They're gonna…" See your face. "They'll have questions, and I don't think they'll drop it."
It's with reluctant, slow movements that Mac pulls away and sits up on his own. He leans back against the couch, scrubbing his hands over his face and wincing when his palm disturbs the steri-strip closed split in his lower lip. Everything about him, from his hollowed expression, to the defeated slump of his shoulders, it screams exhaustion. He looks burnt out to the core, and Jack hurts to see it. How tiring it all must have been, not just bearing the abuse, but bearing it alone, keeping it a secret from the people who loved him.
Jack doesn't know whether James had threatened him into keeping quiet or if it was an effect of the ever powerful force of shame, embarrassment and a sense of guilt preventing Mac from telling anyone what was happening to him. Either way, that kind of secret kept for any amount of time is a massive weight to carry, and he has no idea for how long Mac has been carrying it alone.
"The truth," Mac says eventually, sounding just as worn as he looks, and it takes Jack by surprise. He doesn't know what he'd been expecting, but that isn't it. "We'll tell them the truth. I'm not… They're gonna find out anyway, and I won't lie to them about this. I can't lie."
Privately, Jack is immensely relieved by this assertion. He agrees, both with the fact that they'd have found out at some point regardless, and that it was a bad idea to lie, but he had no way of being sure that Mac would agree, would see the merits in confessing such a terrible thing to two of the people he's closest to. Knowing Mac, he'll see it as a burden he's placing on them. He'll see the pain Jack is sure they'll feel when they find out the truth, is sure because he felt it himself, and feel like it's something he's done to them, a fault of his for hurting them.
No matter, they'll deal with that when it happens. For now, Jack is just glad he doesn't have to figure out how to avoid either lying to Riley and Bozer or betraying Mac's trust and telling them a truth that isn't his to tell. He nods, giving a slight smile he hopes is comforting.
"Okay," says Jack, nodding again. "Alright. We'll tell them the truth."
Mac nods back, taking in and pushing out a shaky breath. It's a terrifying thought, telling them the truth. The rabbit hole of what might happen then, how they may react, what it may do to their relationships, is a deep and frightening one. It leaves Mac not for the first time that day afraid he might be sick at any moment. Rather than continue to run risk-reward scenarios, brain churning out possible outcome after possible outcome, he looks back at Jack. Jack, who's already looking at him, with an expression that doesn't help.
"It wasn't…" he starts, trailing off. He's not entirely sure what he's trying to say, what he's trying to refute. He just knows he wants that look gone. "It wasn't like that."
"What wasn't like what?" Jack is frowning now, which is at least something different than before, than the expression Mac has woken up to in the hospital after the worst days of career. The days he'd not been sure he'd wake up at all.
"With my dad." The word sticks in Mac's mouth, but he grits his teeth. He's better than this, than falling apart because he was hit a few times. "It wasn't like whatever you think it was like that's making your face do what it's doing. It wasn't every day or anything. It wasn't that often. Just…" Just when he thought I needed it. Just when I'd really messed up, refused to listen or cooperate. Just when I'd earned it. "It wasn't like you're thinking."
"Mac," Jack says in an odd tone, "I'm gonna say this as many times as you need to hear it before you believe me. Once is enough, kid. Once is that often. That it happened at all means it's exactly like I think it was."
Before he can respond, search through the jumble left after the floor's fallen out from under his thoughts, the door opens, and Mac is confronted with a completely new set of problems. The voices outside stop abruptly when Riley and Bozer notice who's already inside the house.
The moment Riley sees his face and the damage thereon, it's immediately clear to Mac that she knows exactly what's happened. Her movement arrests several feet from the couch, her eyes flicking from the bruises, to the blood dotting the front of his shirt, her face twisting slowly into a look of horrified conviction.
"What did he do to you," Riley says, voice a hair louder than is normal.
It came out intoned like a statement rather than a question, and Mac's mouth is too dry to answer. In all honesty, the fact that she's put the pieces together so quickly and easily is something of a relief. Mac doesn't know how he'd have managed to say it out loud, to find the words to tell them without prompting or guidance what had been done. He knows the word 'abuse' would never have made it out of his mouth, and he'd be left with a catalogue of events and actions. He should've known that Riley of all people knew better, though, and would figure it out the moment she saw his injuries. Bozer, though, he…
Well, judging by the changing looks playing across his face, Bozer has put together who the person Riley'd been referring to when she asked Mac what 'he' did is, and what that means. Mac's throat hurts when he swallows, pushing slowly off the couch to stand and face his friends. Bozer looks sick and dismayed, Riley still bears that expression of awful certainty, and all Mac feels is guilt. Behind him, Jack's voice rumbles in the same steady voice he'd been speaking in since he showed up at James' house, the one Mac knows he has to be using on purpose, fighting hard to keep the underlying tremor out of.
"Matty took James into custody today," he tells them, and there's a buzzing in Mac's ears, like distant static.
The guilt is battering him in waves. Riley is looking from him to Jack in a slow, thoughtless pendulum swing, processing, while Bozer hasn't taken his eyes off Mac once. The night Bozer found out about the Foundation springs abruptly to mind, and Mac feels sick. He's done it again, he realizes. He's done the thing he swore to Bozer he'd never do again, and kept a massive secret from his roommate, his best friend.
"I…" Mac's voice is an arid croak, throat tight and hot. He swallows again, clears his throat, looks down. The floor is compelling as a point of focus, in comparison to looking at Bozer again, the accusatory look of 'how could you lie to me like this again' he's sure he'll find in the ever too forgiving young man's eyes. "I'm s-" With a fierce reminder to himself that it's time to buck up and face the music, the reality of where keeping this secret for so long has got him to, Mac forces himself to look up and finish what he's been incapable of saying so far. His voice wavers, but he pushes through, staring just past Bozer's face, barely not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry I broke my promise, Boze."
"What?" Bozer's never sounded so confused, and Mac continues, though a tremor runs through his lips and his words are embarrassingly unsteady.
"I promised I wouldn't keep secrets like that from you again, and I- I broke that promise, and I'm sorry for- I'm sorry. I let you down by- I'm sorry." The temptation to make excuses is strong, but Mac fights it, keeps his head up and forward while his hands squeeze in fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. Bozer takes a couple of steps forward, and Mac reigns himself in as tight as possible to control the instinctive flinch. He wants to apologize again, but the words won't make it out. His lungs are too constricted to speak.
"Mac, I…" With a mangled look on his face, Bozer takes another step. He's within reach now, hand twitching up fractionally towards Mac. "You don't need to apologizeto me for- Hey, look at me, okay? There's nothing you've gotta be sorry for. You didn't do shit to me, Mac, you did nothing wrong. Nothing."
In a moment of brilliant coordination, Mac takes a step of his own and crumples just as Bozer's arms come up and open to catch him. There's something freeing about the knowledge that the truth is out there, that they know. The most important people in Mac's life, they all know, and none of them so far have shown any signs of the disgust he'd been afraid of, the disappointment from those people whose opinions matter so much he'd been sure he'd see. He's a grown man with extensive combat training who'd let someone smack him around, gone straight back over and over, and kept it all a secret.
James had never even ordered him to. There was never a moment after James slapped or shook him where he'd threatened Mac to keep the violence between them, a secret from his team. Mac had done that all on his own, and the longer he'd done it, the more responsible he was for it continuing. At least, that's what he'd been so afraid they'd think, because that's how he felt, how he'd thought about his own culpability in the abuse.
Bozer's grip is tight and distraught, the hug fierce and solid in a way Mac had been worried he'd never feel again. After such a prolonged period of instability, of time where the very ground under his feet felt under question, it's a welcome relief. Just like Jack, Bozer is as sure and dependable a presence as he's ever been, holding onto Mac like he wishes he could've done something to save him, and for lack of that, hopes to give him back some of the sense of safety that James stole.
"I'm sorry, hey?" whispers Bozer fiercely, against Mac's shoulder right beside his ear. "I'm sorry."
It's hard to pull away, but Mac knows he eventually has to. After far longer than he can excuse to himself, Mac takes a deep breath and straightens from where he'd been bent over, supported by Bozer's shorter frame. He looks away, unable to meet his roommate's eyes, drawing his wrist over his cheeks. It comes away dry. Small mercies.
"What can we do?" The voice is Riley's where she stands next to Jack, having moved at some point while Mac was distracted. Her arms are folded tight over her torso and her mouth is pressed into a thin line, but the question is genuine and her face is determined. She's asked because she really wants the answer, wants something to do , rather than the sense that she has to ask. It makes Mac want to give a genuine answer, forces him to think about it.
"I want…" Mac shakes his head, looks around at his house, the house that feels so distant and foreign to him now. "I just want things to be normal." His voice cracks on the last word and he feels his cheeks heat up. It's a stupid thing to say, he realizes in the seconds following his saying it. What a ridiculous thing to ask for. They've just come into the house to find him with a battered face, had it confirmed it was his father's hands that dealt the damage, and he's asking them for normal.
It's been months since normal. Mac isn't sure he even knows what normal is anymore.
"Alright," Riley says, nodding sharply. "Well. Y'know what?" She points, indicating both Mac and Bozer. "You two owe me a movie. My last pick on movie night got interrupted with that Serbia thing, and I think the rules say I get a do-over."
"There's no rules to movie night, Riley," objects Bozer. His own attempt at contributing to the lightening of the mood is uncertain and strained, and Mac has never loved him more than in that moment, just for trying.
Riley ignores Bozer's input, motioning the boys towards the couch while she proceeds to the DVD cabinet, rifling through the collection she's pitched her own additions into in recent months. Bozer and Mac walk around to the couch at her beckoning, Mac shooting a look at Jack as he goes. The older man smiles gently, though his eyes are too bright, and Mac has to look away before he can come to the conclusion that somehow, he might've made Jack cry in all of this. He sits down next to Bozer on the couch, watching Riley dig through DVD cases almost in a daze.
Somewhere off to the side, across the room, the patio door slides shut, indicating Jack has left to either get some space or take care of something outside. Maybe both. Mac can't blame him for it, and is blessedly not left with much room to contemplate his absence by how Riley has settled back into the couch at his side. She reaches across his back to pull him over, until Mac's weight is resting against her.
She hadn't hugged him earlier like Bozer had, but there's just as much breathtaking care in the way Riley touches him now, thumb stroking over the side of his neck. Mac can feel her hair against his cheek where his head is leaned against her, and her shoulder rises and falls slowly with her breathing.
Normal is what he'd asked for, and with the movie playing in front of him, Riley and Bozer on either side of him on the couch, it's almost possible to imagine this is normal. But Riley's grip on Mac is tighter than it usually is when the two of them allow themselves to seek comfort from the presence of the sibling neither of them had growing up. The leaning itself isn't unusual, but there's a ferocity to her hold on him that goes beyond their usual (what they themselves would never describe as) cuddling. And then there's Bozer, who himself is sitting far closer than usual, his leg against Mac's in a solid line of warmth. At some point, he's reached across to take Mac's hand, their palms pressed together like he's afraid something terrible will happen if he lets go.
Things aren't normal. They're not normal, and though he feels almost okay for now, like he might someday actually be okay again, Mac knows deep in his gut that this it isn't over just yet.