#leofitznet

“Oh, mate,” he chuckled, sucking air through his teeth. The stranger must have been by the side of the road for a while. It was warm out, his forehead was so sweaty his curls were starting to stick, and he gave up on cursing within a few seconds with a pantomime-scale sigh. Bracing his arms on the front of the car, he frowned into its depths – only to jump back a moment later, when something popped and black smoke bloomed up into the air.

Mack grimaced. There was nothing else for it, he knew, but to put his thoughts of kicking back with a cold beer and last night’s barbecue leftovers on hold. He indicated out of the traffic, and pulled up just in front of the broken-down car. The gratitude on the stranger’s face was all he needed to see to make it worthwhile though – especially when he pulled a bottle of water from under the dashboard. For a few seconds, it was all the poor man could do to skull it down until he ran out of breath to drink with.

Panting, the stranger finally let the precious bottle down from his lips, wiped his forehead again, and eyed the man who had come to his rescue.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “It’s been a long day.”

For a moment, Mack was struck by the unusual accent.

“Scottish?”

“Fitz,” the man replied, which served to answer well enough, as he offered a hand for the shaking.

“I like a man who keeps it short and sweet,” Mack said with a smile, shaking Fitz’s hand briefly but firmly. “You can call me Mack.”

“Short and sweet.” Fitz nodded, smiling back now. “Don’t s’pose you’ve got any jumper cables?”

Mack laughed, and nodded at the smoking junker. “I think you’re a bit beyond that, Turbo.”

“Okay,” Fitz conceded. “Got a spare engine in that trunk then?”

“Let me take a look – I’m a mechanic. There’s a servo down the road; we can probably get you what you need.”

Fitz grimaced. “Like what, a new car?”

Mack chuckled, grabbed a grease rag, and began his examination.

--

Unfortunately for Fitz, the repair job was a little more than Mack could manage on his own by the side of the road. Fortunately, he knew a guy with a tow truck who had agreed to come and meet them, so now there was nothing to do but wait. Fitz wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He hated to keep Mack from whatever he must have been heading toward when he had pulled over to help, but at the same time, something kept him from verbalising an offer for him to leave.

“It could be a while,” Mack said.

“You go on home, then,” Fitz felt like he should have responded. “I’ll wait. Thanks, you’ve been very helpful, but I can take it from here.”

Instead, he asked; “So… going anywhere special? I mean, before I interrupted?”

“Nah,” Mack assured him. “Just a night in with a movie and some leftovers. You?”

“Same, probably. What movie?”

“Die Hard. I’m up to the second one, this time ‘round.”

“Good choice. Classic. The first two are the best, though. Same for most franchises I s’pose, isn’t it?”

Gradually, the evening air started to cool around them. They sat leaning on the bonnet of Mack’s car, discussing the merits and pitfalls of all their favourite franchises, throwing pins all over the map, whether they be blockbusters or cult films or trashy personal favourites or the ones that hit hard regardless of who had heard of them. Fitz was gesticulating wildly through a rant about the reveal that Rey was related to Emperor Palpatine when the tow truck finally arrived, and his hands dropped back to his side and he let the words die in his throat, suddenly reminded of reality and the passing of time, and how much of Mack’s he had been taking up.

(Mack, for his part, felt unusually disheartened when Fitz fell silent. It was strange to think how long – or rather, how little – such a passionate presence had been in his life).

--

Crowded together, they sat in silence in the tow truck cabin. It was only a little way down the road to the mechanics’, but both were suddenly hyperconscious of how easily time had passed between them just before, and now…

Fitz tried to study himself in the window out of the corner of his eye, and adjust his hair without moving his arm too much, because he didn’t want Mack to notice that he wanted Mack to notice. Worst of all was the all-too-common struggle with his tongue, resisting the urge to add ‘and another thing-‘ or ‘you know what you should watch–‘ or ‘I’ve never met someone who gets it the way that you do.’

Meanwhile, Mack studied his own hands, trying not to think about Fitz’s and the passion they exuded. Trying not to imagine the utter relief of coming home to someone who somehow held his rhythm so easily. Fleetingly, he entertained the possibility of letting his hand fall open into the dip between their pressed-together legs. Maybe Fitz would know what that meant, maybe he would take it. Maybe, maybe -

But it was too late.

They pulled into the mechanics, and there was a moment of stagnant silence after the engine cut. Neither quite had the guts to salvage it, so instead they climbed out of their separate doors. They helped Mack’s friend haul Fitz’s car into the shop, booked it in, stuffed the contents of the car into a mismatched collection of bags they’d dredged up so it wouldn’t be trapped inside overnight. They farewelled Mack’s friend at the kerbside. And then, it was over.

(Unless..?)

Fitz hung up the payphone more reluctantly than he would have thought possible. Uncomfortable, inescapable reality was upon them.

“I called a cab,” he said. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

You can leave, if you want. He didn’t say it.

I’ll leave you to it then. Mack didn’t either.

“I’ll wait with you,” Mack said instead.

“No,” Fitz objected at last, “It’s alright – I mean, I couldn’t –“

“It’s no trouble,” Mack interrupted, and smiled. “Come on. It’s been a long day, and this place does killer sausage rolls.”