#and he grabs a bread knife when he says hes gonna kill charlie.

[theentiregdtime]

"And how exactly do you expect me to do that?" with macdennis if you want!

"Just jump up there and grab it, Dennis!"

"Jump up and- Why don't you? You're always claiming to do backflips and bounding off of rooftops!"

"Well, I used to, but I'm more stronger now, so all the extra muscle weighs me down. But you're light, dude, so you can run up the wall!"

"... And how exactly do you expect me to do that?"

"You know, like on American Ninja Warrior!"

"Goddamn it, Mac, we cannot base our plan of action around challenges you've seen on American Ninja Warrior. Those sorts of things take years of training, and although I am in peak physical shape, I have had no such training."

"Well, I guess we're just gonna have to think of something else, then."

There's a pigeon loose in Mac and Dennis' apartment.

We should open the windows, Mac said, fresh air is good for your brain, bro, Mac said...

The absolute fool. It was already bad enough that an array of questionable food truck smells and aggravated honking noises had flooded into their apartment, then there was this foul bird, which not only perched its filthy talons on every surface in the room, but was now knocking everything off of their bookshelf.

They'd tried spraying it with water, luring it out with food, scaring it with loud music- and none of that did anything but send it flying and landing somewhere else. And now their apartment is wet and covered in bread, and the damned Richard Marx CD is still blaring. Normally, Dennis would enjoy it, but they are not having an Endless Summer Nights kind of day.

Mac rests his hands on his hips and gazes up at the pigeon with tension in his face- likely crafting another nonsensical plan.

"Maybe we should call Charlie," he suggests, which admittedly makes sense. Charlie does have experience with birds... and bashing things.

"Oh yeah, you're so tough, call yourself the damn Sheriff of Paddy's, can't even shoo a bird," Dennis mutters. He's not sure why he doesn't just tell him it's a good idea- probably because a seething migraine is starting to form behind one of his eyes. "Let's just call Charlie, he'll fix everything- We are two grown men, Mac, we can figure this out!"

Mac turns to him, still standing like he thinks he's the coach of the damn Eagles. "I am trying, Dennis, but all you've done is yell at me and play your crappy CD! How am I supposed to fix this all by myself?"

"Hey," -Dennis jabs a finger at him- "do not take this out on Richard Marx, you know, four singles from this album were in the top-"

Before he can register it, something is swooping over his head. He crosses his arms over his face and lets out a high-pitched shriek. When the moment's passed, he's hyper-aware of the fact that he's curled into himself in panic, and he's just made a sound somewhere between an ambulance siren and a whistling tea kettle.

"Hey, are you okay, man?"

Dennis slowly regains his footing, fixing his matted hair as he straightens himself back out.

"I'm fine," he mumbles, avoiding Mac's eyes and focusing on his socks instead. Why are there candy canes on them? It's fucking July. "I just... don't care for wild animals... coming into my home and- and rearranging the furniture."

He doesn't like animals at all (with one or two exceptions). He doesn't like loud noises. He doesn't like sudden movements. He doesn't like germs. He doesn't like when he isn't in control of a situation, especially in his own space. He hasn't eaten in a day and a half and the smell of french fries is driving him crazy. His head hurts. He's irritated.

Dennis doesn't say any of that, but Mac seems to get the point.

"Don't worry, Den, I got this, okay?" Mac closes the distance between them and gives him a short pat on the arm. "I am the wind beneath your wings, dude."

With that, he bolts off to the kitchen, and Dennis is left with nothing to do but glare at the pigeon on the other side of the living room. It's so close to the damned window, but it won't leave- it's making a mockery of them. It has a smug  aura. It thinks it owns the place, and it isn't going to be long before it starts shitting all over it. That'll be the last straw, that'll be when Dennis really snaps.

He's staring daggers at the bird, grinding his teeth together, when Mac reappears... brandishing a pot, of all things.

"Mac, what can you possibly expect to accomplish with that?"

"I saw this in a movie once, it's gonna work, just trust me."

Dennis thinks he may be referring to Black Sheep, and he's simply forgotten how the scene ends. You can't catch a bird with a pot, moron, he wants to tell him a la David Spade, but he's not exactly in a position to be coy, so he keeps his mouth shut.

He stays put and watches while Mac creeps up to the pigeon- which is looking right at him- like the goddamn Pink Panther, a pot they will surely have to throw away raised above his head. He looks stupid, he looks so stupid, this whole thing is so fucking stupid.

When Mac lowers his arm and raises an eyebrow at Dennis, he realizes that he's actually laughing. Every snicker makes his headache pulse, but he can't stop himself, this entire situation is so ridiculous and he can't stop laughing.

Mac's confusion turns into a smile, the ends of his teeth poking through the gap in his lips, and then they're both just looking at each other and chuckling and grinning and it feels like it used to feel before they spent a year apart. It's natural and familiar, and it's like all of their pieces changed shape, but they still fit together.

And then the pigeon is airborne again.

It happens in flashes- Mac shouting, the pot falling, strong hands on his shoulders- and then suddenly he's lying on his back on the floor. Mac is hovering above him, pressing his arms into the carpet, breathing heavily and scanning his eyes over Dennis' face like he's making sure he hasn't been mauled.

They both stay frozen in place for a few beats. Every time I look into your eyes, I'm helplessly aware, the song teases. Dennis swallows a lump.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Saving your life," Mac replies as if it's obvious.

Richard Marx says the someone he's been searching for is right there. Dennis can't relate to those lyrics- never has. He hasn't ever had to search.

"From a pigeon?"

"Well, yeah." He shrugs his shoulders. "I thought it would take me instead."

It's moronic, but Dennis does feel a little safer. It doesn't hurt to know that Mac is there to catch him... or knock him to the ground. I wish that I could give you more. That lyric, he gets.

"Take you? As in kill you?"

"You have no idea what pigeons are capable of, Dennis," Mac explains. "I've seen them eat chicken nuggets. That's their own people. They do not abide by the laws of nature."

Dennis doesn't say anything. Mac's done it, he's finally said something too dumb for him to comprehend.

"Besides," he continues as a disgustingly genuine smile creeps onto his face, "I'm always gonna protect you, man."

Shit, how is he supposed to respond to that? He can't respond to that.

There's a moment of silence while the CD changes tracks. The drumbeat to Have Mercy kicks in. Lord, have mercy.

Dennis doesn't respond.

"... You're cutting off my circulation," he complains instead.

Mac loosens his grip. "Oh, right, sorry. I guess I don't know my own strength."

Dennis wants to scratch him for saying that. Doesn't know his own strength, like he thinks he's Dutch Schaefer or something.

But if he did scratch him, it'd wipe that grin off his face- that imbecilic grin he makes like the person he's looking at is his whole entire world. Dennis doesn't know how many other people he's smiled at like that. There's no way he didn't smile like that for a year.

"Hey, Mac..."

"Yeah?"

Dennis swallows hard again.

"We should... talk about-"

Something in the kitchen falls to the floor and shatters. The sound is like a knife in Dennis' already-throbbing skull.

"We should call Charlie."

Mac looks disappointed for a moment. Dennis pretends not to see it.

Then it's gone, and he clears his throat, sits back on his ankles, and offers a hand.

Dennis takes it and lets him help him to his feet. Maybe he holds on a little longer than necessary. Maybe he pretends not to notice the way Mac's thumb strokes across his hand, pretends it doesn't make him feel secure. That would... that would be embarrassing, if that were happening right now. It definitely isn't.

"Yeah," Mac agrees, and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, "let's call Charlie."