Work Text:
The One Thing
by Kathie
Mac smiled widely as he turned the key in the lock. He'd spent a nice evening with Jordan after finally daring to ask her out, and the two of them had decided to end the evening here, at Mac's apartment, with a nice bottle of wine.
It had been a nice evening, he thought while fumbling with the door. Jordan had been cautious at first when he'd invited her, but then, Mac thought, he couldn't blame her, after everything that had happened. The restaurant they'd picked had been nice and not too expensive, the food had been delicious, and who knew what would happen now?
Only when the two of them were already standing in the middle of his apartment did he remember that Don had said that he would come over this night, and was now spread out over Mac's couch, one of his feet settled comfortably on a pillow on the table. He had taken off his tie and had rolled up the sleeves of shirt, and he was watching TV while all kinds of explanations raced through Mac's brain as to why the younger detective was at his apartment and acting as if he was living there.
In the end, he came up with nothing. It was as if every believable explanation had just disappeared suddenly.
"I forgot," he mumbled, embarrassment prickling his skin and making him uncomfortable. He remembered all too well how past acquaintances had reacted to the presence of Don Flack in Mac's life.
He vividly remembered Rose Whitley, the woman he had flirted with a little at the coffee shop he always went to. He remembered something Don had told him, about a conversation he'd had with Stella and Danny.
"Stella didn't think you'd sleep with her," Don had said with a mischievous grin. "Don't tell her that I gave up this info, but she thinks you didn't do it; because it was hard enough for you to just go out with her."
Mac had been able to laugh about that revelation. He knew that Stella was loyal to him and would not talk to anyone besides Danny and Don about Mac's assumed sex life, but at the moment, he remembered the real reason behind the fact that he hadn't slept with Rose. Stella had been right that Mac had been slightly uncomfortable with going out with another woman after Claire's death, but she had underestimated Rose's determination and the crush she had developed on Mac.
She had almost overwhelmed Mac, until she had found an unwanted obstacle in her path and on Mac's couch - Don.
Mac couldn't say that he was too heartbroken that Rose had been discouraged by Don's presence in his life. He was relieved when she'd left and he could fall back into his familiar pattern of curling up next to Don and mocking the TV program.
Things with Don had started soon after the young detective had begun to work regularly with the CSIs. Mac had been intrigued by him, and being with Don was easy and uncomplicated. They never were exclusive, and the fact that their relationship outside of work barely counted as one helped Mac while he was still mourning for Claire.
Being with Don wasn't the end of Mac's hesitant and fumbling attempts of dating, not by far. The year after Rose, he found a few women to bring home, and only a part of those he actually brought to his apartment didn't care about his little side arrangement with Don. Most of them didn't realize that he even existed, but sometimes, Mac introduced them to Don, and Don would later, when they were curled up on the couch or in bed, give his opinion on them and on Mac's flirting. It had worked out for months and years, even in the rare case Mac found himself attracted to a coworker, like Jane Parsons. Jane had been okay with how things were, looking for just a quick relief herself, and especially in the aftermath of the bombing, Mac found himself curled protectively around Don's healing body more nights than he could recount. It had made him realize how much Don meant to him, not only as a friend and coworker, but - more. It wasn't enough to reform him to declare his eternal, undying love for Don, but they had an understanding, and Mac insisted that Don could sleep in the guestroom or on the couch when someone was with Mac.
It all had changed when Peyton had returned to work with them, and Peyton had been a whole different story. Don had teased Mac about the fact that Peyton, like Jane, had a British accent, and had asked if he needed one of those if he didn't want to get banned to the couch anymore. Mac had just laughed about that and had kissed him, convinced that things would not change between them.
However, Peyton knew perfectly well what she wanted, and she was determined to get it. She had approached Mac and had quickly managed to become the center of Mac's little personal world. He had been willing to give up everything for her, including the one thing that had gotten him through the past few years: his carefully guarded secret obsession.
Together with a few bad cases, especially the Truby affair, it had led to some bad blood between Mac and Don, who had felt as if Mac was taking advantage of the relationship they didn't have anymore and, as far as he was concerned at that point, would never have again. It had all escalated quickly, to the point where Mac found himself face to face with a pissed off and drunk Don Flack who had demanded an apology and an explanation, if possible in that order.
Mac had let him crash on the couch, and the next morning, when Don was sober again and the world was grey and depressive, they had sat down together over cups of coffee and had talked.
Their friendship, albeit still shaky, had slowly grown together again, to the point where Don could crash on Mac's couch again without second thought.
Peyton had watched the development between the two men with a smiling and a crying eye - she had realized, even before Mac, how important Don was to him and that every effort to give him up was futile. In a last attempt to get Mac to chose her over Flack, she'd bought plane tickets to London, to get Mac away from New York, work, everything.
It hadn't exactly played out the way she'd imagined, and finally, she'd broken up with him. Peyton had liked Don as a friend and had genuinely cared for Mac, but she had not been able to share him, like so many others couldn't imagine sharing, and Mac had slowly come to the realization that he would not be able to part with Don. As long as Don was willing to stick with him, Mac would do the same, he'd promised himself the first night they had been together again, when his fingers had slipped into Don's short dark hair where it rested against his chest. Don had breathed calmly and deeply, asleep after a long and stressful day, with one arm curled around Mac's chest.
If it wasn't such a cliché, Mac would have thought that this was the moment when he fell in love again, more than ever before.
And now, here he was, with Jordan, the woman he'd spent the evening with and had hoped to spend the night with. The truth was simple and painful - he'd forgotten that Don would stop by his place, even if Don had told him earlier.
"Hey," Don greeted and sat up, taking his feet off the coffee table. "I didn't..." He frowned at Mac, cautious after the experiences with Peyton. "Do you want me to go?" he finally asked.
Mac opened his mouth - he didn't know himself what he wanted to say, and what the consequences would be - but before he could say a single word, Jordan had slipped past him and, with a grin and a glance at the TV, asked Don, "How's the score?"
Mac blinked. He had, of course, noticed that Don was watching hockey, but he hadn't realized that Jordan was interested in the sport.
Don grimaced. "3-1 for the Devils, and Lundqvist took a shot to the left shoulder at the start of the second period and left the game."
"Damn," Jordan muttered and took a step toward him. "Come on, guys, you need those two points!"
Don raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly. "I've been telling them that for the past twenty minutes," he said and shifted to make room on the couch. "So far, they didn't listen."
She grinned. "You'd think they would know better," she commented and sat down next to Don.
Mac raised both eyebrows. This was a development he hadn't expected, but he was certainly not complaining.
Quietly he went to the kitchen to fetch the wine and three glasses. He'd carried them to the couch and squeezed himself between Don and Jordan, who were talking hockey and barely paying attention to him. He tried to follow them, but it was obvious that these two knew more about hockey than he did, and so he gave up and watched the game, trying to make sense of what was happening on the screen and trying to not lose sight of the puck.
He allowed himself a smile. It didn't matter if they paid no attention to him now, he decided, and it didn't matter that it seemed as if the two of them would get better along than Jordan and him did. The fact that they hugged when the Rangers finally tied the game didn't bother him either, he thought with a smile and relaxed further into the couch.
He knew that, at the end of the night, Don would return to his side.
Even more important, he knew that, at the end of the night, he would return to Don's side, just like he always had, and always would, because Don was the one thing he couldn't give up.
End.