Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Escape? What d'you mean, escape? He's not bloody Houdini!" Chas exclaimed in the backroom of the Woolpack, glaring at DS Jordan as she placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"If he steps one foot in this village, he's dead," Cain said, his voice deadly. "I mean it. So are you if I find out you had anything to do with it." He finished by pointing at Aaron.

Aaron only shook his head, grinding his teeth as he turned away from Cain's glare. All of Cain's accusations were typical by now. Robert reached over, but Aaron shook off his touch.

"Do you hear yourself? I swear, Cain, if you lay even a finger on him-" Chas threatened.

"I assure you, Mr. Dingle, we'll handle the situation," DS Jordan said, raising a warning hand and trying to regain control of the conversation.

Robert scoffed from beside Victoria. "Like you handled his prison transfer?"

"He wouldn't head back here, would he?" Victoria asked, sounding worried. "Surely he'll be headed out of the country?"

Mackenzie was quiet, looking around the room where all the people most affected by John were gathered to receive DS Jordan's news of John's escape. An uncomfortable lurch twisted his stomach, remembering the last time he spoke to John; the intensity of John's steady gaze, the careful hints in his vague speech. Mackenzie swallowed hard, hoping his unease was just him being paranoid.

"We have to take every precaution until he's found, Miss Sugden," DS Jordan said. "We'll have squad cars outside of your residences, and officers patrolling the nearby areas. Don't go anywhere on your own. We don't know exactly what weapons Mr. Sugden has access to, but we're considering him potentially armed and extremely dangerous."

"You don't - you don't think he'd deliberately try to hurt any of us, do you?" Victoria asked.

"Are you stupid?" Cain said harshly.

"Don't talk to her like that!" Robert shot back, stepping forward.

"Shut up, the pair of ya!" Chas exclaimed, glaring at both men. "This isn't helping anyone."

"But he isn't a killer," Mackenzie finally spoke. He didn't even need to look around to feel Aaron's glare.

"He killed Nate!" Tracy cried.

"Not this 'accident' rubbish again," Cain growled.

DS Jordan shook his head, noting the futility of continuing the conversation.

"I'll update you all when we know more," he said, moving toward the door. "Mr. Boyd, would you mind walking me out? I need a word."

All eyes turned to him, but Mack nodded, trying to look nonchalant as he fell into step behind DS Jordan. They were silent as they walked through the Woolpack and onto the village streets.

"Now, I know about your visits to see Mr. Sugden in prison. As well as your phone calls," DS Jordan said. He put a hand up to wave off Mackenzie's protests. "I don't care why, that's your business. Your phone calls have already been monitored, so we know there's nothing there. But I need to know if he ever said anything to you about his plans. Or gave any indication about what he might do, where he might go?"

Mackenzie shook his head. "No, nothing like that."

DS Jordan studied Mackenzie's face. Eventually, he nodded.

"If you do happen to remember anything, let me know immediately."

Mackenzie nodded. "Will do."

As DS Jordan walked away, Mackenzie let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Guilt sat heavy in his chest, but he hadn't lied. John had never mentioned any clear cut plans. But that didn't stop Mackenzie from having a pretty good idea exactly where John was headed, and what it was he wanted.

The packed bag hidden in the spare room of Aaron's flat told the tale. He'd told himself it was for emergencies, a paranoia that had developed after his time in the bunker.

But Mackenzie knew the truth. Now he had to decide what he was going to do.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again."

John didn't look any different, Mack noticed as John took a seat across from him. Even in his prison jumper, his expression was still as blank and unreadable as ever, his dark brown eyes gazing steadily at Mack. It made his skin crawl.

"It's your lucky day," Mackenzie replied awkwardly, his fingers drumming against the table. He didn't know why he came. He had Charity, his family, mates - any number of people he could talk to rather than being sat in a prison visiting room with the psycho who held him captive. Only none of them understood, not really. Plus, they all had their own problems to deal with.

"How's Vic? She hasn't answered my calls." John sounded almost sad, as if nothing had happened between now and the last time he saw Victoria that would make her reconsider her relationship with him. It was almost an art, how John could make himself the victim of any situation.

"I dunno. Some people are funny about murder," Mackenzie replied, intentionally goading John, his stomach flipping uncomfortably at what he knew was a mischaracterization.

John stiffened and frowned. "I didn't murder anyone."

"Right, forgive me. Manslaughter. Plus multiple counts of attempted murder. And false imprisonment. Much better."

John stared, and Mackenzie could almost see a flicker of hurt pass across his features, though it could've been his imagination. Mack almost felt bad, then chastised himself for being stupid. He'd said nothing but the truth.

"If it were Robert," John said quietly, unmistakable bitterness in his voice.

Mack shrugged, not expecting John to understand the difference between the two. He knew how delusional John was about his own morality by now.

They sat in silence, John seemingly content to stare, while Mack gazed around the visitors' room. All the other prisoners were chatting with their loved ones - some smiling, some laughing, some looking concerned. He wondered how John felt knowing he'd never have someone look at him like that again. That thought should have filled Mack with satisfaction, or at least quenched his desire for revenge. Instead, it left him with a hollow ache in his chest, not too different from his arrow wound. He rubbed at it unconsciously, John's eyes tracking the movement.

"Healed up nicely," John said, distracting Mackenzie from his thoughts. He wasn't sure whether it was an observation or a question.

"Yeah," he replied dumbly, while John nodded, looking pleased in that quiet way of his, as if he wasn't the cause of Mackenzie's injuries. According to the doctors, John had managed to do a proper job patching him up. His infection had cleared, and he wouldn't suffer any long-term damage.

"How's Aaron?"

Mackenzie's jaw tightened as he looked down at John's hand, the gold band still proudly displayed, as if Aaron wouldn't batter him on sight. It's that question that brought him back to reality, truly hit home the absurdity of his visit. John drugged Aaron and then dragged him over a cliff. John killed Nate and then gave the eulogy at his funeral, befriended Tracy, and comforted Cain. John was willing to risk anyone's life for a few moments of praise from people who really didn't give a toss about him in the end. He was a horrible person who deserved to rot for the rest of his miserable life. This entire visit was a mistake, a moment of madness.

Mackenzie shook his head, rising to his feet. "Well. As much fun as this has been."

John had the nerve to look hurt. "Why did you even come, Mackenzie?"

That was the million-pound question, wasn't it? He'd now been out of the bunker longer than he was ever in it. Everyone who'd been affected by John's crimes was starting to move on with their lives, but Mack didn't understand why he couldn't. He should hate John, and he did, mostly. Thoughts flashed to how satisfying it would be to leap across the table, pound his fists into John's skull, bash his head against the table separating them, watch his life slowly drain from his eyes. How long would it take for John's blank expression to change to true fear? For him to cry, feel the same despair Mack felt every day John departed, leaving him chained up in that bunker?

His heart started racing at the thought, the sheer terror of John never coming back. Of Charity and Moses and Moira learning about his rotting corpse, chained to a wall like a wild animal.

He would always hate John. But when Aaron banged on about being married to a psychopath or Charity cursed John for what he did to Mack, he couldn't join in. Not without feeling a twinge of guilt.

Because John had come back for him. Sure, John was the reason Mackenzie almost died. But he was also the reason Mackenzie was still alive.

Mackenzie glared for a moment, then turned away from John and headed for the exit. He didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved that John didn't call after him.

Mackenzie was tired.

His lips were so cracked they hurt and he tried to swallow, but he couldn't get his throat to work properly. Grunting, he managed to turn his head to look over at the empty water bottles scattered across the floor, hoping one would magically contain more liquid than the last time he had checked. No such luck.

He'd rationed his supplies - or at least tried to - but he'd never been good at delayed gratification and it was hard to keep track of the days within the seclusion of the bunker. He couldn't tell if it had been mere days or weeks since John had left him to die. All he knew was that his body was failing him and he was running out of time.

Using the last of his strength, he reached up for the syringe that John had left him, a promise of an easy escape. He was too exhausted, too empty to even be sad about his fate anymore. All he wanted was to see Charity one last time, to hold her, smell her perfume, feel her run her fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep for the final time. It wouldn't happen, but he had managed to carve her name into the wooden paneling above his head, and she would know that he'd never abandoned her, that she was his final thought. He'd tried so hard to make it back to her. That would have to be enough.

Trembling, he pressed the needle against his skin, closed his eyes, and began to press down.

* *

"Mack!" a voice cried out, sounding worried.

He tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy and his body was on fire.

"Oh Mack, what have you done?" the voice continued, sounding sad.

Mackenzie wanted to open his eyes, to call out that he was okay, but it required too much effort. He felt calloused hands, surprisingly gentle, cup his face and he leaned into the comfort.

"I never should've left you down here so long," the voice said. Mack's head was spinning, but he recognized that voice now.

"John?" he rasped, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. He couldn't remember how many days it had been since he'd spoken aloud.

"Yes, it's me, Mack. Open your eyes for me, alright? Good man," John praised, when Mack finally managed, his head lolling back against the wall.

"You. You came back."

John nodded, hands still cupping Mack's face. Mack was embarrassed as tears pricked at his eyes, overwhelmed with the relief at knowing he wouldn't die down here alone.

"I'm - I'm dying," Mack admitted, feeling himself slipping under again. He was tired, and all he wanted was to rest. Maybe he could convince John to sit with him for a bit. Mack had never liked being on his own. Death would be easier to face with someone next to him.

"No!" John said, shaking him slightly. "I'm going to save you, Mack. I promise."

Mack tried to speak again, but he didn't have the energy to tell John it was too late. As he closed his eyes, just for a bit of rest, he could've sworn he felt dry lips press gently against his forehead.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Thanks for coming. I know it can't be easy, for ya. Being here," Victoria said, sympathy etched on her face as they stood on the front porch of the cottage.

John's childhood home.

Mack shrugged, flashing a false grin. "I was a guest of the underground accommodations, not here." The joke fell flat. Was it something the old Mackenzie would've said? He wasn't sure if he could fit that role anymore, his skin seeming to no longer fit.

Vic only looked at him with understanding, placing a comforting hand on his arm as she moved to unlock the door. Mack didn't even know why he agreed to come. He overheard Victoria asking Aaron to come with her to look through John's things, something about wanting closure. Aaron hadn't been interested, suggesting she burn anything of John's and move on with her life. Something had compelled him to find Victoria and offer to come in Aaron's place.

Once they stepped through the door, he was struck by how normal the home was. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't something so commonplace. The small kitchen table where little John and his mum probably had breakfast, no different than the one from his own childhood; the sofa in front of the telly, where they might've sat in the evenings, plates in their laps. The stairs John had probably ran up and down as a lad, maybe even fallen and scraped his knee on, just like Mack had. What was it about this place that made John into a monster?

"Are you alright, Mack?" Victoria asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

He ignored her question. "You wanted to find his room, right? I'll look upstairs."

She looked at him oddly for a moment, but agreed. Mack only felt relief as he trudged up the stairs, pulse racing. He knew he wanted to find John's room before Victoria did, but he couldn't explain why. At the end of the corridor, he spotted a door leading to what seemed like a hidden passage. He turned down the corridor, and entered the room at the far end.

It was a boy's room.

While the rest of the house was covered in old-fashioned, flowery wallpaper, this room was painted a simple blue. A globe, various toys, and books lined the shelves on one wall. Mack peeked at the titles, half-expecting books about serial killers, but instead discovered the same titles that had lined the shelves of Moira’s room before they were handed down to him. A small TV sat tucked in the corner, and various trophies, medals, and certificates covered the wall, detailing his scout training, athletic competitions, and Army training completion. His mum must have been proud of him, to keep his room like this so many years later.

On top of the dresser, he spotted a framed photo. It was an old newspaper clipping with the headline, "LOCAL BOY SAVES DOG," complete with a photo of a twelve-year-old, tow-headed John, grinning next to the dog in question. Mack shook his head, wondering if even then John was manipulating situations to gain favour, play the hero. He had a brief image of a young John, leaving a banana peel in the school corridor, waiting for an unsuspecting classmate to come by and trip like in those old cartoons he used to love as a kid. Only, John wouldn't have laughed like the characters he watched. John would've sprung into action, nursed the bully's wound, used the event to get him onside.

Maybe he was being unfair. Maybe the rot had come later.

"Victoria!" he finally called. "His room is up here!"

"Coming!" she called back.

For some reason, Mack didn't want her to see the article. He stared at the image again, a grinning John, not much older than Moses or Kyle. It was so hard to imagine the John he knew as a boy or with a genuine smile on his face, but here was indisputable evidence of both. Tucking the frame inside his jacket pocket, he took one last look around, and walked out of John's bedroom.

* *

Back at home, Charity was waiting for him the moment he walked through the front door.

"Babe, where have you been?"

He paused, carefully taking off his jacket without exposing the hidden picture frame.

"I fancied a walk. I have a newfound appreciation for the great outdoors," he said wryly, hoping that would be enough to stop Charity from pushing. She had been so cautious, so tentative since he came home from hospital, and he felt bad for using that to his advantage.

"You've been gone for ages," she pressed, frowning.

"It was a long, slow walk," Mackenzie tried again, with a cheeky grin this time. But Charity wasn't deterred.

"I spoke with Victoria. I know you were at John's cottage with her."

Mack paused, looking away from Charity before going to sit on the sofa.

"I thought she could use the support. Since Aaron and Robert didn't want to go."

Charity took the seat next to him, and grabbed his hand.

"And that's lovely of you, to want to look out for her. But that's not your responsibility, Mack. You have your own issues to deal with."

"So now I'm damaged goods?" he said, only half-joking.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. I mean, you remember what a mess I was after everything with Harry."

Mack's anger immediately deflated, knowing he was being unfair. She had been nothing but supportive since he'd been home.

"More of a mess than usual, you mean?" Mack continued, trying to lighten the mood.

"Babe, I think. I think you should talk to someone."

"Charity. I'm fine."

But she shook her head. "I know you, Mack. You're not. You've not been sleeping well, plus this whole cottage business. You haven't been yourself lately."

Mack rose from the sofa, finally irritated. "Excuse me for not snapping back to normal quick enough for you, Charity. I think I'm allowed to be 'off' for a moment, given the circumstances."

"That's why you need to talk to someone, Mack! About what you've been through!" Charity cried, rising from the sofa as well.

"There's nothing to talk about! I was imprisoned by a nutter, he's in prison, I survived. End of!"

"Mackenzie-"

"I'm fine, Charity," he interrupted, lowering his voice to calm her down. He reached out to put his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "Don't worry about me, alright? Please."

She didn't look convinced, but he leaned in to kiss her, swallowing any further protests.

"Back so soon?"

"The dog," Mackenzie said immediately, as John lowered himself into the seat across from him.

John stared at him blankly.

"Poppy, or whatever. The dog you saved as a kid."

John's eyes widened a fraction. "You've been to my house."

Mackenzie nodded, not even feeling embarrassed. It was hard to feel shame around someone who had carried your buckets of shit, practically bathed you. Had seen you cry and beg for your life.

"With Victoria. She wanted to look around. I dunno, find answers or something."

"She could take my calls then. Or come visit." 

"She's not ready yet."

John stared back at him, the unspoken question sitting between them. As betrayed as Victoria must feel, she was the only one John had never physically harmed. If she’d washed her hands of her own brother, there was no reason for Mackenzie to be sat there.

"Anyway, the dog. Poppy. Did you actually save her?"

"That's why you're here?" John asked, looking genuinely confused. But Mackenzie only stared back, unsure of why he hadn't been able to get the question out of his mind.

"Will you even believe me?" John asked.

"I've believed everything else you told me. About Nate being an accident."

John nodded, looking away for a moment.

"Yes, I actually saved the dog," he said, and Mackenzie almost sighed in relief, unsure why the answer mattered so much to him. It's not as if it changed anything.

"What happened?" he asked anyway.

John almost looked embarrassed, which made Mackenzie even more intrigued.

"Come on. It can't be worse than anything else you've told me."

John sighed and was quiet for a moment before speaking.

"There was this lad in my year. David, I think he was called. It was his dog. I always wanted us to be friends, but he and his mates always ignored me. When I heard his dog had gone missing, I must've spent hours riding around on my bike, hoping to find it. I thought. Well." John almost managed to look sheepish, a far cry from the man who once threatened him with an axe.

Mackenzie nodded for John to continue.

"She was stuck in a muddy creek not too far from my house. But I was able to get her out. I remember everyone made such a big fuss about it. My mum, neighbours, schoolmates. I wasn't invisible anymore," John finished, sounding wistful.

"Sounds like a happy ending." Mackenzie wasn't sure why John was embarrassed to share that particular story. One of his few good deeds with no collateral damage.

"Everyone moved on over the weekend," John seethed, his eyes turning to slits. And there he was again, the John that Mack knew. The petty, bitter man that John tried so hard to hide behind the mask.

"That next Monday, David was back with his old mates and I was by myself again," John finished with a bitter laugh.

"That's a…sad story," Mackenzie said slowly, not sounding particularly sympathetic. Surely that wasn't something to still be upset about, over two decades later. Still, he thought of the boy in the photo, finally excited to have a friend, only to be alone again.

John's eyes narrowed, gaze piercing through Mackenzie.

"Everyone's not like you, Mack. Not all of us breeze through life on charm alone. Some of us have to work for others to like us."

It was true that Mack never longed for mates or attention. He knew his charm and looks had gotten him out of numerous scrapes, and garnered him affection from partners he could admit he hadn't always deserved. But that wasn't the whole story.

"Tell that to my old man," Mackenzie retorted.

John frowned. "You two didn't get on?"

Mackenzie paused. He barely even talked about his childhood with Charity, so he definitely didn't want to share with the freak that had held him captive. But John had answered his questions, after all. And it wasn't as if John had anyone to tell.

"The only thing he got on with was the bottle," Mackenzie admitted with a wry grin. He sighed, and decided to tell the rest. "One of my earliest memories was my mum. Sitting in front of her vanity, covering her bruises with makeup. It went on like that until I was old enough to step in and take the beatings myself."

John was silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, although Mackenzie didn't know if it was for his story or for what John himself had done. He wasn't even sure if John meant it, if he was actually capable of true empathy. Either way, it made him angry, thinking they could sit there, bond over their childhoods as if feeling lonely was an excuse for John's actions.

"Don't," Mackenzie began, anger suddenly flowing through him. John didn't seem surprised by his outburst, and instead glanced over toward the guards before reaching forward and placing his hand over Mackenzie's. He pulled it back after a brief moment, but Mackenzie felt unsettled by the contact.

"Did you get on with your mum?" Mackenzie asked, wanting to shift the focus back on John and see how much he'd open up.

John nodded. "Once I joined up, I didn't come home as often as she'd like, but we were good." He paused, pressing his lips together. "She changed after my stepfather died. She became a lot quieter. Sadder."

Mack looked at John's expression and could swear he saw genuine sadness in those dark eyes of his. How much of it was real? How much of it was a performance, John still working to manipulate people even behind bars? Mack sighed, realizing it didn't matter. John was banged up, and their conversations might as well exist in another world entirely.

"Does that explain the creepy dolls in the master bedroom?" Mackenzie joked, testing the waters to see how much it would take for John's mask to slip again.

But John's expression didn't turn angry. Instead, a tiny grin played on his lips.

"She took her doll collection very seriously."

"But you and Aaron stayed in that room, didn't you? Did you - did you let them watch?"

John actually choked out a laugh, a tiny thing that shouldn't even count. Mack felt a similar grin spread across his own face.

"They've seen worse."

Like you drugging Aaron, Mackenzie thought to himself, feeling ashamed at himself for sharing a laugh with John, knowing what he'd done, the lives he had destroyed. He pushed the thought down.

"I could call you," John said quietly, right before visiting hours were ending and Mackenzie was preparing to leave. He must have seen the hesitancy on Mackenzie's face, because he quickly corrected himself. "Or you can send me an email. If you change your mind about calling."

Mackenzie raised an eyebrow, but for some reason, his mind flashed to his father, sneaking him a sip of his pint, scraping whatever pennies were left over at the end of the month to buy his mother a cheap dress. No matter what Mackenzie's dad had done to him and his mum, most of his adolescent rage had been saved for Moira, who had abandoned him, left him to deal with their parents' mess, while she flounced off to a better life, never looking back. He knew now it hadn't been that simple, but that pain would never completely disappear.

No matter what John had done, he had come back in the end. Mack knew it was mad, but it had to count for something. It wouldn't hurt to humour John; he would never actually email him, after all. He'd gotten what he needed.

He left with John's prison email address along with the hours he typically had computer access.

When Mackenzie first discovered the truth about Charity, he was honestly more upset at her carelessness than the actual betrayal. Why couldn't she have thrown the scrap of paper away? Why would she even risk the possibility of him finding out?

He'd been cleaning the bedroom for once, grateful to have something to occupy his restless mind. The scrap of paper had fallen behind their wardrobe, just a corner peeking out from underneath. When he'd dropped to his knees to retrieve it, something about the website address had triggered an alarm in his head.

He quickly pulled out his phone to check. And there it was; information on prenatal DNA testing. For one moment, hope surged through him. Maybe Charity was carrying his baby after all, not Sarah's embryo. But the timing didn't add up, and suddenly other pieces fell into place. He thought about Ross's increasingly frequent visits, supposedly to spend more time with Moses. Charity kicking him out before his trip to London. How furious she would have been, about him changing his opinion about the surrogacy, thinking he'd abandoned her and that they were over.

He knew Charity. She absolutely would've slept with Ross as revenge.

Before he could think it through, he was moving toward the Woolpack. He burst through the doors to find Charity behind the bar with Chas, Ross lounging in the corner with Matty and Ryan, his smug face making Mackenzie scowl. Before anyone could react, he shot across the room, throwing a hook across Ross's jaw.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Chas cried, as Matty and Ryan jumped up to separate them.

Ross flexed his jaw, then went for Mack. "You little prick!"

"No!" Charity exclaimed, stepping between them, hands raised. "Are you really gonna hit a pregnant woman, Ross?"

"Especially when you might be the father," Mackenzie spat.

Charity turned around, her face crumpling, as Matty and Ryan exchanged glances. Neither Chas nor Ross looked surprised, which made Mackenzie even angrier.

"It's true, isn't it? You slept with him," Mackenzie continued, anger seeping from his body now that the adrenaline was gone.

Charity didn't even try to deny it.

"It was a drunken one-off, babe, I swear. It meant nothing."

"She's right, mate. It's nothing worth getting your knickers in a twist about," Ross said, not sounding particularly sorry.

Mackenzie tried to rush toward Ross again, but Matty's grip on his shoulders held him back.

"Calm down, Mack. Don't do anything stupid," Matty said quietly.

"Like she did, you mean?" Mack said, pointing at Charity. "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"It's not his, alright! I did the test and everything!" Charity reached for him, but Mack stepped back.

"Oh, well, goody. I guess that makes it okay that you slept with him then."

"I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole, sober! You know that!"

Ross pulled a face. "Except you already have, all them years ago. Hence Moses. You can't blame her Mack, it was bound to happen again, mate. I mean, look at me," he said with a smirk.

"Shut up, Ross!" Charity and Chas both shouted at the same time, as Mack swung again, but Ross quickly dodged the punch.

"Alright, mate. I gave you a freebie seeing as I slept with your missus and all. But you’ve got one more time and you'll wish you were back in that bunker."

Charity's palm smacked against Ross's face.

"Get out, Ross! Now!" Charity screamed.

The pub fell silent. Mack stood frozen, knowing he should say something back, or hit Ross. Do anything other than stand there like a muppet. But all he could do was shake his head and walk toward the exit, Charity calling out his name behind him.

He stepped out into the cool air, his heart feeling like it would rip through his shirt, struggling to catch his breath. Tears pricked at his eyes and he felt ashamed; he'd cried more in the last few months than he had his entire life. He held his head in his hands, not knowing what to do, or where to go. Everyone in his life was connected to Charity or the Dingles somehow, and he just needed an escape.

His feet carried him away from the Woolpack until he found himself on the footpath that led toward the woods - the same woods John had chased him through. 

All that time down there in the bunker, his motivation had been to make it through, get back to Charity. All to find out she'd slept with Ross Barton. Anyone else maybe he could forgive. Maybe. But Ross? There was no chance.

His mind flashed to John, all his crimes to keep Aaron from discovering the truth about Nate, only for Aaron to sleep with Robert anyway. He almost laughed, realizing they had something in common now. John had done terrible things to protect what he thought was his, only to realize he never really had Aaron. Just like Mackenzie had survived hell to come back to his wife who'd fucked the village loser. What a joke.

Before he could question it, he pulled out his phone and pulled up his email.

He couldn't visit for another week, but he could email John and ask him to call. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid. But what did it matter? His life was already ruined. Besides, in a strange way, he knew John would understand that betrayal. And it beat worrying his family even more. One phone call and that would be it.

Later that evening, as he carried his duffle bag to Aaron's, he received an incoming call from HMP Hotten.

"Mackenzie. I got your message."

He swallowed hard, not sure if he felt disgust or relief.

"John."

The most surprising thing about being imprisoned in his best mate's psychotic husband's underground bunker was how boring it was, Mack reflected. After a week of consciousness, he'd grown used to the constant pain, his appetite had adjusted to subsist on the meager meals John managed to sneak to him, and even the smell wasn't as horrible as he'd expected it to be, if he'd ever imagined himself in such a scenario.

Mack wasn't too big on introspection. He never liked being left alone with his thoughts for too long, and he didn't like to wallow. But there was nothing to focus on. Nothing to distract him from the increasing helplessness of his situation. Or the utter boredom. As much as he despised John, his visits were the highlight of his day; even interaction with a complete nutter was better than no human interaction at all.

"Morning," Mack greeted, chains rattling as he sat up. John didn't spare him a glance as he stomped over to a table and began pulling out items from his satchel.

"Morning, Mackenzie," Mack continued in a passable imitation of John's voice. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Aside from the searing pain and uncomfortable cot?" Mack replied to himself, while John continued to ignore him. Mack thought he could see the back of John's neck tense, and he pressed on, pleased to garner a reaction.

"Not great. I've worn cuffs in bed before, but usually the experience is more pleasurable -"

"Will you shut up!" John seethed as he turned around to face Mackenzie. He looked serious. Not a morning to press on with the banter then.

"Let me go and you'll never have to hear me speak again," Mack retorted, unable to resist.

"There are other methods to achieve that end."

Mackenzie rolled his eyes as John turned back to his table. He knew he needed to find a way out and fast, but he didn't think John had the bottle to intentionally kill him. At least not yet.

"Here," John said, pushing a not entirely cold bacon butty into his hands.

Mack was too hungry to be ungrateful, and quickly grabbed it, taking a big bite.

"Cheers," he said, mouth full. John's lip curled, but his gaze was intense and assessing as he watched Mack eat.

Mack looked up expectantly when the silence stretched on.

"Have I got something on my face?"

John ignored his comment. "You're looking better today. The antibiotics must've cleared your infection."

He nodded, savoring the last bite. Although he was psychotic, Mack had to admit John was at least competent. 

"A bit of gratitude wouldn't go amiss." 

"Thank you, John, for clearing an infection you caused by shooting me with a crossbow."

"Longbow." 

"Excuse me, a longbow! Not to mention smashing my ankle to bits with a rock."

"Would you have preferred your head?"

At least he would have been free. But Mackenzie didn’t understand it. He knew John still fancied himself a good guy, but they both knew there was no way John could let him live given all that he knew.

"Why didn't you?"

John looked up, eyes almost looking sad.

"I'm not a killer."

Mack scoffed.

"Tell that to Nate."

"Don't!" John snapped, stepping forward. "Don't you mention his name, ever again! That was an accident, I told you already."

"Maybe," Mack conceded with a shrug. "But this isn't, John. You can't keep me down here forever. If you're really the good guy you say you are, you'll let me go. I swear on my life, I won't say anything."

"You expect me to believe that? You'll go to the police or blab to Aaron the first chance you get and I can't let that happen. I can’t lose him. You know the things I’ve done to keep him."

Anthony, Aidan, Chas, all the lies to keep Tracy and Cain at odds. Mack knew exactly how far John was willing to go to keep Aaron by his side.

John was quiet for a moment.

"I'm doing what I can, for as long as I can."

"See, I don't think you've got it in you. I know too much already, but you still haven't done it. You're no murderer, John.”

"Customer. 12 o'clock," Cain said, pointing at a silver SUV pulling up to the garage.

Mackenzie sighed. "I was just about to go on my break."

Cain shrugged, unconcerned. "And now you're not. I don't pay you to sit around on your phone all day," he continued before Mack could protest.

"You barely pay me at all," Mackenzie grumbled.

"Suppose I won't bother with a Christmas bonus then," Cain said sarcastically as Mackenzie made a face at him.

He was more annoyed at Cain than the actual work. These days, he'd much rather be busy working than have time to think or try to act normal around everyone else. Far cry from the workshy bloke he was when he came to the village.

He was on the car creeper, sliding underneath to check out the vehicle, when the wheel got stuck. For a moment, he was trapped under the car, unable to move and he felt panicked, unable to breathe.

"No, no, no," he murmured to himself, jerking the creeper again, getting it to move. Once he was able to slide out, he rose quickly, clutching at his chest, walking as fast as he could from the garage.

"Mackenzie! Get your sorry arse back here!" he heard Cain cry behind him, but he had to get away. He stopped, suddenly hearing John's voice in his head, telling him to take deep, calming breaths.

After a moment, he felt better.

**

Maybe it was strange, but it didn't feel as odd as Mack would have assumed. John's prison schedule was set, so Mackenzie knew the exact time John would call. At first, only once a week, but it gradually built up to every other day. And he still managed to visit him in person once every two weeks. Without Charity and Moses, his evenings were free, and it was easy enough to fob Aaron off for a quick call with John.

What was surprising was how mundane the conversations were. Conversations, mostly complaints, about John's chores or work for the week, usually centered around the incompetence of his fellow inmates, or him discussing a book he read that week that Mackenzie had probably never heard of and definitely had never read. He always asked about Victoria, even though she still hadn't replied to any of his letters. Mack even sent a few pounds to John so he could buy additional phone credit from the canteen.

Sometimes it was mostly silent, Mack having a bad day or John in a bad mood. But Mackenzie found himself using the call as a way to get through trying days. Only four hours, then he'd be able to talk to John. Only three hours. Mackenzie knew it was fucked up, but there was a certain freedom in having already seen the ugliest sides of someone. Knowing that there was nothing they could say or do that would surprise you. Or disappoint you. He could be honest with John in a way he couldn't be with anyone else.

Except. John's hand came to rest across Mackenzie's during their prison visits now, John seemingly unconcerned about any backlash from other prisoners. He hugged Mackenzie before he left, the last time murmuring, "I wish we could be alone," into his ear. Mackenzie glanced down at John's hand, feeling a stab of guilt that John was no longer wearing his wedding ring, despite the fact he knew Aaron threw his away a long time ago, and that their final divorce decree was imminent.

"How are you getting on?" Mackenzie asked near the end of their visit.

John gave a tiny shrug. "It's almost like being back in the Army, really. Some guys just put their heads down, wanting to do their time and get out. Other guys jockeying for position."

"Which one are you?"

John grinned, looking more dangerous than happy. "I think we both know the answer to that question, Mackenzie."

Still, Mackenzie found this new development wasn't entirely unwelcome. They'd never be alone after all. They might as well exist in another world, he and John.

In Mackenzie's dreams, he was running.

He recognized the location as the woods near John's cottage, and he wasn't sure where he was headed, but felt the urgency, knew he needed to run faster, get there quicker. His chest was heaving, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.

In the corner of his eye, he spotted Nate, lying on the forest floor, an arrow piercing his chest. He hesitated, wanting to stop to help, but knew there was no time, he had to make it to his destination.

He kept running, only this time he saw a man he never saw in real life, but immediately knew was Aidan, lying on the forest floor, motionless. He didn't need to stop to know that John's ex - the man he put in a coma - was now dead.

Still Mackenzie ran, until he finally reached it. He dropped to his knees, pushing away the leaves and debris as fast as he could manage to find the handles to the metal door hidden below. Swallowing hard, he opened the door and descended into the bunker.

"John?" he called out, as he jogged down the stairs, into the room.

Inside, he saw John, lying on the cot, eyes closed. He was wearing his ever-present boots and green jacket, arms chained to the wall.

"John!" Mackenzie exclaimed, rushing forward to find a way to get him loose. He pulled as hard as he could at the restraints and was somehow able to free John.

John looked up at him, a dazzling smile on his face that Mackenzie had never seen in real life. He felt a small thrill of pleasure knowing he put it there. John sat up and reached for his hand.

"You came back," John said, sounding awed. Mackenzie nodded, taking a seat next to John on the cot. He took a deep breath, and reached out to caress John's face.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps descending down the stairs, interrupting their moment.

"John, you have to hide! Hurry!"

He turned around to see Cain and DS Jordan, standing with axes in their hands.

"Got 'em," Cain cried, stepping forward, and taking a big swing down at John's head.

"John!" Mackenzie cried, but suddenly he was alone in the darkness, tears falling from his eyes and he dropped next to John's body.

"You can't leave me alone here, John! JOHN!"

"Mackenzie!"

Mack bolted up, thrashing.

"Mackenzie, calm down!" Aaron said, grabbing hold of his shoulders. Mackenzie stopped, taking a long deep breath as he looked into Aaron's worried eyes. He paused for a moment, catching his breath.

"Are you alright?"

Mackenzie nodded, brushing his concerns away. "Sorry, mate. Probably shouldn't have had those cans so close to bedtime."

"Mate. You're. You're crying."

"Eye sweat," Mackenzie joked, wiping quickly at his eyes.

"I'm worried about you, Mackenzie. We all are. Charity's doing my head in, asking for daily reports."

Mackenzie glanced away, embarrassed he’d been that obvious. "She should've thought about that before bunking up with Ross Barton."

"I've been in my own head, dealing with my problems. I should've said something before now," Aaron continued, sounding angry with himself.

"I'm fine, Aaron. Now you can go back to your room, get that beauty sleep you need to maintain that gorgeous face of yours."

"Don't do that. You can - you can talk to me, you know. If you're struggling. It's understandable. I can't. I can't imagine what you went through. If I had-" Aaron stopped himself, his own eyes filling with tears.

"If you hadn't slept with Robert, you mean? Or if you had been honest about your feelings, about John?" 

Aaron flinched.

"What?"

"You, Charity. Why can't people just be honest?" Mackenzie said, months of rage building in his chest.

"Mackenzie-"

"John loved you, you know! All the fucked up shit he did to keep you in the dark, and you cheated on him anyway!"

Aaron stood, shock and confusion on his face.

"And Charity. How could she think I would abandon her that easily? How could Moira? How could you? No one even looked for me! Or bothered to phone the police," he finished, choking up.

"Mackenzie-"

"If John hadn't come back-" 

But Mackenzie couldn't finish the words. How it felt hoping the man you hated survived to the next day so he could come back and help with your infection, tend to your wounds, bring water, light a fucking candle. How scared Mackenzie was that John would be caught without anyone knowing his location, that John would keep the secret to himself, and leave Mackenzie to die next to his own filth. How much it hurt to know his own wife had thought him leaving was perfectly in character, that he would abandon her by text because of a disagreement, that he wouldn't fight for her. That it was John who risked his own freedom to save Mack, even though he had no reason to.

It was so fucked up.

"I'm." He swallowed, trying to find the words, but they felt too heavy. "I'm having a hard time, Aaron."

Aaron reached over and pulled him into a rare hug.

"It's alright, Mackenzie. It's alright," he repeated, patting his back as Mackenzie discreetly wiped at his eyes.

"I visited John," he admitted quietly.

Aaron pulled back, stunned. 

"What d'you mean?"

Mackenzie shrugged, not even knowing where to start.

"In prison. I went to see him. Once," he lied.

"When?"

"Earlier this week."

Aaron's face went through a series of emotions before he spoke again.

"Why?"

Mackenzie shrugged.

"I thought it would help."

Aaron gritted his teeth.

"John's a psycho. A liar and manipulator who doesn't care about anyone but himself. There's no point in chatting with a bloke like that because you'll never get a straight answer. He'll only feed you a pack of lies."

But Mackenzie wasn't sure he agreed entirely. John had been honest with him, if nothing else.

"He did save my life," Mackenzie said quietly.

Aaron looked at Mackenzie as if he had never seen him before. "Do you hear yourself? He's the reason you almost died! The reason I almost died! The reason Nate actually died!"

"He's messed up, yeah-"

"Messed up? I'd say he's a little more than messed up. I honestly can't believe what I'm hearing. You'll want your head tested, mate."

Mackenzie felt that rage return. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Aaron's fist clenched, and Mackenzie watched as he stood and visibly calmed himself.

"I'm gonna ignore that. Because I know how much you're struggling. But say something like that again and you can sleep in the barn for all I care," Aaron seethed, slamming the door to the guest room on his way out.

Mackenzie looked down at his shaking hands, wondering how he kept making things worse.

He woke up the next morning feeling ashamed, but Aaron only glared at him before grabbing his vest to head off to the scrapyard early. Mackenzie could handle that. He had his visit with John later that day, and he had to prepare what to say. He knew he couldn't see John anymore, no matter how much the thought made him feel sick. Aaron was right.

When he took his seat, John had a serious look on his face. He almost looked sad. Mackenzie was immediately on alert, previous thoughts floating away.

"I'm being transferred," John announced.

"What, wings? Is that an upgrade or a downgrade?"

"Not wings. Prisons."

Mackenzie felt like he'd been punched in the chest. All thoughts of ending their relationship disappeared.

"Where? Skipdale?" That was only a few more miles out, and wouldn't make much of a difference.

"Further."

"How much further?"

But John only looked away for a moment. Mackenzie felt his stomach drop.

"Well, we can still call," he said. Even as he said it, he knew it wouldn't be enough. He could feel his pulse pick up, the arrow wound near his chest beginning to throb.

"You'll forget me."

Mackenzie could see the emotion in John's eyes; he didn't need to question whether it was real anymore. He felt his own throat grow tight, and swallowed before he spoke, knowing he had made his decision.

"Never," he admitted, reaching for John's hand.

John glanced down at their joined hands, before placing his other one over Mackenzie's.

"What if," John said, leaning forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "What if I had a solution?"

Mackenzie stood in the spare room of Aaron's flat, double-checking his bag to make sure he had everything he needed. Spare cash, a fake passport an old mate had given him back in his illegitimate days, clothes for different weather, a burner phone, and a few sentimental keepsakes, including the framed article about John as a boy. Even as he triple-checked, he still wasn't sure if he was making the right decision. In fact, he knew he wasn't.

His actual phone buzzed, and he looked down. A message from an unknown number, exactly what he'd been expecting since DS Jordan's news earlier that week. Mackenzie checked it quickly, a series of numbers he knew were coordinates. He walked out of his room, listening carefully to make sure Aaron was asleep. He'd need to be careful and make sure he was able to make it to his car without alerting the police.

Then he'd make his way to John.

Mackenzie crept across the flat, careful not to wake Aaron, and quietly closed the front door behind him.