I survive this atrociousity by living in a world where Mac and Jack said their real goodbyes the night before in Jack's condo.
Lots of truths they never say, and tears, and laughs and hugs. Lots and lots of hugs.
The next morning in the War Room, after Jack finishes saying goodbye to his little girl and turns to Mac, he wants one more hug from partner, his brother. Needs that one more hug, that connection.
But one look at Mac's face, at bright, wet, blue eyes that stare back at him, Jack reads his boy, one last time. He knows, as much as he sees that Mac wants that hug too, that will the catapult that tears down the walls Mac is holding up by a thin thread.
And if Jack's being honest, if he holds on, he's never letting go.
But Jack has to go. Has to take care of the evil that somehow rose from the grave. Knows if he doesn't then his family will never be safe.
So he extends his hand instead. Knows Mac can read him just as well.
Grip firm, he gives his best friend, the boy he watched, and wants to think he guided as well, grow into man before him one last bit of Dalton wisdom.
He forces himself to let go. Takes every bit of training that he's ever had to turn around, feet feeling like lead as he puts one in front of the other. It's the hardest thing he's ever done. And he's been tortured on 3 continents and landed a plane with no wings and no engines.
Eyes forward, shoulders squared, he doesn't look back. Can't look back as he walks away. Breaks a promise he vowed to them all he would always hold true.
Walks out the door and back into the person he thought, prayed, he'd left behind years earlier when the slowest bomb nerd he'd ever met pulled him from the darkness that was his constant companion.
Prays that if his house money holds, his-former- partner can pull off one of his miracles and do it one more time.
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