Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a normal day when Mac had first met him.

And okay, maybe ‘met’ was a bit of a stretch. It was the first time Mac had seen the man, but he hadn’t exactly met him yet. And, actually, maybe ‘normal’ was a bit of a stretch, too. It was normal for Mac, maybe, but it probably wasn’t a normal day for anybody else. Most people wouldn’t consider sneaking across the border as a normal thing to do. Most people wouldn’t consider trying to topple a terrorist plot a normal day. Most people wouldn’t consider trying to break into the headquarters of said terrorist group, with just a bobby pin, a penny, and a Swiss army knife, normal. Most people wouldn’t consider almost getting caught by the same terrorists to be just your normal, average day. And most people definitely wouldn’t consider getting shot at to be normal.

But it was Mac’s normal. It just came with the territory of his job, was all. He was used to it. Even before he had started working at DXS, he had been used to it. Being in the army sort of got you used to the sound of gunshots going off behind you, in a weird way. But he wasn’t working for the army anymore. He wasn’t disarming bombs anymore, or at least not as often. He wasn’t working with a full platoon anymore. Instead, it was just him and Jack and Nikki, following Patricia’s orders and saving the day. It was probably even more dangerous than just disarming bombs, Mac thought. He certainly got shot at more. And had to jump out of a lot more windows.

And Mac wouldn’t change it for the world. Even if it was dangerous. Even if his normal was a lot different than most people’s. He liked helping people. It was why he had joined the army in the first place, and it was why he had joined DXS. He lived to help people. It was what he did. It was practically what he was made to do, with how his brain worked. He was uniquely suited to helping people, so that was what he did. He took his big brain, his fast working brain, his brain that loved puzzles and adrenaline and he used it to help people. He solved problems that nobody else could, faster than anybody else could. He was doing more good than he would have as a physicist or a chemist or even a doctor.

It just meant that he got shot at more than most people did, was all. He was used to it by now, anyway.

He was getting shot at now. Turned out that most terrorists really hated having all of their information stolen right out from under their noses. And when terrorists hated something, they tended to shoot first and torture later. So, Mac was getting shot at. And because Mac didn’t exactly fancy getting shot anywhere, he was running. He was running and he was planning. But he was mostly running. Running and thinking and running and trying to get enough air into his lungs so he could actually breathe. Breathe and think and run and think and plan and get himself out of here. Mostly, Mac just needed to find a way to get himself out of here.

Nikki was back in their van, a few minutes away from the terrorist base, covered by weeds and dead trees and dilapidated buildings. She was safe, far away and monitoring their progress on her computer. Jack was somewhere on the first floor, trying to buy Mac enough time as he got everything out of the safe. Mac could hear Jack’s grunts and breathing and barely audible curses through his earbud. And Mac had managed to get everything out of the safe, just for the record. He had just also managed to create a bit of a commotion, was all. Maybe a bit more than a bit of a commotion. A lot of a commotion, maybe.

Still, Nikki was safe, as far away as she possibly could be, and Jack was downstairs, close to the door and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. They were fine. All that mattered was that they were fine. And well, Mac supposed that getting himself out of here mattered too. But what was important was that they would be fine, no matter what, and he only had to worry about getting himself out of this mess. He just had to get himself off the second floor, filled with goons and guns, a completely blocked stairwell and a surprising lack of hiding places. But as long as Mac could get himself out of here, then he would be fine. He was fine.

Nikki’s voice crackled to life in his ears. “How are you holding up, boys?”

Jack grunted. “Doing fine,” he said. “Can only hold ‘em off for a few minutes longer, hoss. You gonna get yourself outta here, Mac?”

“I’m working on it,” Mac said, as loudly as he dared. He had managed to lose the goons with guns for a few seconds, but he wasn’t sure how much more time he had. “I- I think I have a plan. Maybe. Half a plan.”

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” Nikki said, typing just barely audible through her microphone. “And then we can get the hell out of here.”

Getting the hell out of here sounded nice, Mac thought. Going back home, to LA and to his grandfather’s house and to Bozer. Getting to curl up on the couch with pizza and a movie and Nikki and Jack and Boze. Getting to relax and breathe and not worry about anything at all. Getting to do nothing but rot in the couch, talking about crappy rom coms and yelling at the tv and laughing so loudly that the neighbours could probably hear him. Getting to sleep in his own bed, and sometimes in Nikki’s bed. Getting to close his eyes and rest and know that nobody was going to hurt him. Yeah, Mac thought, he wanted nothing more than to save the day and get the hell out of here.

But to do that, Mac actually had to get out of here, first. It was easier said than done. But this was what Mac did. He got himself out of impossible situations. He solved problems that had no answers. He bent the rules and he bent reality and he made sure that everybody lived. It was what he did. It was what he was made to do. It was what he lived to do. And in order to keep doing that, he had to actually make it out of here. He had to actually complete the mission, if he wanted to do another one. If he wanted to help more people, he needed to help himself now. And he needed to transport the documents with him, too. It would be pointless to steal them if they wound up still in the hands of the terrorists’, next to Mac’s dead body. So yeah, he definitely needed to get out of here.

He just needed to figure out how to actually do that. Mac considered what he had to actually work with. He still had his Swiss army knife and the bobby pin, but the penny was lost somewhere else. Damn. He had the papers that held the plans, obviously, but he couldn’t really use them for anything without risking losing or damaging them, and then the whole mission would have been for nothing. But there was an old tarp on the floor around him, dirtied and scuffed and ripped but looking strong enough, along with a couple of old screws and a rusted pipe. The stairway was blocked, he was sure of that, and there were goons everywhere. He could hear them still searching. But, he had noticed some windows as he had been running. They had thick glass panes in them, but-

Yeah, Mac thought. He could work with that.

Mac didn’t have a lot of time, though. He could hear boots becoming louder and louder and louder around him, as somebody got closer and closer. But he still had some time. A little bit of time. Just enough time, hopefully. He took off his own belt, and his flannel. He cinched the belt around him diagonally, like an off brand bandolier, and slid the documents under it, and tightened the belt until they were completely secure. He couldn’t risk losing them, or dropping them, or anything. They were the priority here. He threw on his flannel over top, doing it up until the documents were completely obscured. It looked a bit awkward, but it was still better than before. And the documents were safe. That was the important bit. But he still had to get them out.

The footsteps were getting louder.

Mac took his Swiss army knife out of his pocket. He was actually using the knife part, instead of the bottle opener or the screw or any of the other handy attachments, which was a bit of a rarity for Mac. But he wasn’t using the knife to hurt anybody. Instead, he cut the tarp, making the pieces as long as he could, not caring about how messy his cuts were. This wasn’t an art project, it was life or death. And man, Mac really wanted to live. He wanted to get out of here and actually get these plans away from these people and survive and- and he wanted to watch crappy movies with his friends and sleep in his own bed for once and just be home. But to do that, he had to actually get out of this damn building.

The footsteps were so loud Mac could feel them.

Mac started tying the pieces of tarp together, making sure that each knot was as strong as possible. He only needed it to be 30ft long, thereabouts, and tarps were weirdly long, so Mac had some wiggle room. Which was good, because tarps did not want to be knotted together, apparently. Turns out that they weren’t rope, actually. But Mac made do, because that was what he did. He made do with what he had. He always made do with what he had. He tied as many pieces together as he could, making a long chain of tarp, before looping it over and over again, so that he could actually carry the rope.

There was a loud bang.

Mac started running. He ran as fast as he could, carrying the tarp in one hand, and the rusted pipe in the other. He knew where he was going, even though he had only spent a few minutes in this place. He had a good sense of space like that, which was good, because this place was designed like a maze. That was probably the point, actually, because terrorists weren’t fans of letting people escape. But still, Mac was going to hold a grudge against them anyway. Why did they have to make these damn things so confusing? It was unfair, Mac thought. Not that he had a lot of time to think as he ran.

There was somebody following him. Mac would have noticed even if he didn’t hear the pounding boots or the spray of gunfire behind him, just out of reach. He could just feel the eyes on him, getting under his skin. It was a strange sort of feeling, having somebody stare at you like that. But Mac didn’t have time to worry about that. He had to worry about the fact that he was, you know, being shot at. Even if he was sort of used to it, by now, that didn’t mean he appreciated it. It wasn’t like he got shot at recreationally or anything. He wasn’t a big fan of getting shot at, thank you very much.

He was a big fan of getting out alive, though, so he focused on running as fast as he could. He couldn’t afford to stop, or think, or look back to see who was chasing him. It was only one person, he was pretty sure, which was a good thing at the very least. If there were more people, he probably would have been hit by a bullet by now. Probably more than one, actually. Probability was fickle in that way. But he didn’t have to worry about probability or imaginary gunmen or anything else. He just had to keep outrunning this one guy, and making sure that nobody else was after him. He just had to get to the window and get out of here. He just had to-

Mac made it to the window.

He smashed it out with the pipe, trying to clear out as much glass as possible. It was a bit of a small window, but it was good enough. This was Mac’s only idea, anyway, so he kind of had to hope that it was good enough. Otherwise, he was totally screwed. He tied down the tarp to a pipe next to the window, and prayed that it would stay. And then, as fast as he could, he pulled himself out of the window and outside of the building. He held onto the tarp for dear life, as he climbed down his makeshift rope. He just had to make it to the ground, now. He was so close. God, he was so close.

Mac could see who was chasing him, now that he was climbing down the rope as fast as physically possible.

It wasn’t your average terrorist, that was for sure. There was something off about the man that Mac was looking up at, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t just that the man wasn’t wearing even a smidge of camo, instead, dressed purely in black, even though his lack of conformity was jarring. It wasn’t just that his skin was too pale for him to have been living in the desert for months, or that his long, black jacket was too thick for the weather. It wasn’t just the fact that he didn’t shoot at Mac, even though he was sure that the man could get him as he climbed down from the rope if he tried hard enough, even if the angle was a bit awkward. There was definitely something else that was off about the man.

It was his smile, Mac realised, with a start. The man was smiling at him. He was watching him, still watching him, with a smile. A smile that was too wide and too bright, even in the most normal of circumstances. But the circumstances weren’t normal, and the smile was even more out of place with a gun in his hands. A gun that was trained on Mac, even with the awkward angle, but wasn’t shooting at him. He still wasn’t shooting at Mac, even with the gun trained on him. Mac couldn’t make any sense of the man, or his smile, or why he wasn’t shooting at him.

It was strange. It was all so strange. The man didn’t look like a terrorist. The man didn’t act like a terrorist. The man didn’t react like a terrorist. He could have been a hired gun, or something, but that still didn’t explain why he wasn’t shooting at Mac. It would have been easier if he was at least shooting at Mac. It would have been easier if Mac knew anything about who the man was, or why he riled Mac up so much, or why that smile spooked him so much. But he had no answers. He barely had any ideas. He had no clues and no variables and no way to figure it out. All he had was the gaze of the man in the window, getting smaller and smaller as Mac climbed down. Smaller and fuzzier and blurrier and-

And then Mac’s feet touched the ground, and he was sprinting again.

That was Mac for you. Always moving. Always running. Always thinking about the future, never having time to focus on the past. He just had to keep moving. He was like a shark, in that way. Or the fish in Finding Nemo. Just keep swimming. Just keep running. Just keep moving. That was all Mac was meant to do. That was all Mac could do. Keep on moving. Move from one problem to another. Move from one danger to another. He couldn’t afford to pause, especially not on a mission. But even when Mac wasn’t working, it was hard to wind down. Jack was always telling Mac that he needed to slow down for once. That he needed to stop thinking so much, but Mac had never been very good at that, not even as a kid.

Right. Jack. Mac should probably make sure that he’s okay. God, Mac needed to know that he was okay.

“I’m out,” Mac called through his earbud. “Please tell me you’re out.”

“Almost there, hoss,” Jack answered. “It’s easy as pie for me. I ain’t the one who was stuck on the second floor.”

“Well I’m out,” Mac said, panting. All that running was starting to catch up to him. “Nikki?”

“I’m bringing the van around,” Nikki confirmed. “Get out of there, Jack.”

“Out,” Jack said, after a few seconds.

Mac saw Jack, barreling through the doors and out into the open. It was a relief to see him, and it was even more of relief when Jack crashed into him, pulling him into a tight hug. It was like home, the feeling of Jack’s arms squeezed tight around Mac, pulling him close and tight and- It made Mac feel secure, more than anything. Jack’s arms meant safety. Jack’s arms meant protection. Jack’s arms meant home. Jack’s arms meant everything was over, and Mac could actually rest.

There was a flurry of distant gunshots. Okay, maybe it wasn’t time to rest just yet.

Mac forced his way out of Jack’s hug. “More hugs once we actually stop getting shot at?”

Jack pouted dramatically. “Fine,” he said, finally letting go fully. “I guess that’s the smart move.”

Mac broke out into a run, Jack just behind him. He didn’t say anything, just soaked in the fact that he and Jack were both okay, and that Nikki was on her way. Just soaked in the feeling that everything was fine. Just soaked in the burning feeling of the air in his lungs as he ran, the security that he felt of Jack running behind him. He didn’t like the missions when he and Jack had to be separated. They always worked better when they were right beside each other, Jack making sure that Mac had cover and Mac making sure that Jack could get out. It was how they worked best, right beside each other. And it felt right to have him back. It felt better than right.

“Glad you made it out, hoss,” Jack called, breaking the silence.

Mac smiled, panting as he ran. “I always make it out, Jack.”

“One of these days you’re not gonna be so lucky,” Jack said, shaking his head. “But for now, I’ll take it.”

Mac laughed, which was probably inappropriate while they were still running, but still. He could do what he wanted, he had gotten the plans and gotten out alive. “I’m just glad you got out.”

Jack huffed. “You had the hard part, hoss.”

That was when Nikki’s van turned the corner, screeching to a halt in front of them in a blur of dust and gravel and exhaust.

“Get in, boys!” Nikki hollered.

Mac grinned as he pulled open the door to the van, helping Jack in.

He sat down in one of the seats, and let Jack and Nikki’s bickering wash over him like a warm blanket. He let it wash over him like a safety net. And yet, even with his team around him, Mac still felt on edge. Mac’s thoughts still drifted to the man in the window. The man with the odd smile. The man who looked so out of place. He didn’t know why the man had been there. He didn’t know who the man worked for. But he knew that there was something off about him. He knew that there was something wrong. He knew that there was- he knew that there was nothing he could change by overthinking it.

Mac took a deep breath, trying to ignore his thoughts of the man in all black. The man who had been chasing him.

It wasn’t as though he would ever meet him again, anyway. Mac wasn’t that unlucky.

At least, that was what Mac had thought.

Chapter Text

Time kept moving, after that day.

Mac kept moving, after that day. He rested. He worked. He did mission after mission after mission. He watched cheesy movies and went out to the mall with his friends and played too many board games. He disarmed bombs and rescued hostages and made lifesaving technologies out of trash and scraps. He ate too much pizza and he napped and he laughed. He protected scientific specimens and kept weapons out of the wrong people's hands and he did his best to save the day, every single day. He nursed bruises and dealt with concussions and stitched up Jack’s cuts. He lied to Bozer about where each and everyone one of those bruises and cuts came from, made up stories about car accidents and muggings and dangerous staircases. He did missions and he came home and he kept on living. Mac kept on living. Life kept on moving.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about that day. That mission. That man.

It haunted him, in a way. He wasn’t even sure why, not really. There was just something off about the man. Something different about him. Something weird. It wasn’t as if Mac didn’t spend a lot of his time fighting against bad guys. Mac was used to terrorists and killers and mercenaries, thieves and kidnappers and whatever else. Mac was used to facing off against people who were off and different and weird. Mac was used to facing off against people who were creepy and scary and rotten. But there was something else about this man. Something that Mac couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that made him linger in Mac’s mind, the image of him smiling down at Mac was burned permanently into his brain.

And then there was the news that the terrorists had wound up dead, inside of that base. All shot through the head with precision, sometime after Mac and Jack had left. And judging by the coroner reports, it had been shortly after Mac and Jack had been in the building. Somebody had gone and killed the people who had been in the building, right after Mac had left. And Mac had a feeling that it had been this man, this stranger, with the haunting smile and his out of place clothing. Mac didn’t know why he thought that it was him, he didn’t have any proof, but he just knew. He just knew that that was why the man was there, though he didn’t know why the man hadn’t shot Mac too. Mac had seen his face. The man could have shot him. And that damn smile stayed burned into Mac’s memory like a brand.

It haunted him, and yet Mac didn’t tell anyone. He could have told Jack. He should have told Jack. And he definitely should have told Director Thornton that he might have seen who killed the terrorists. And yet, Mac didn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t tell anyone, but he didn’t. He wasn’t even sure if he had actually seen that man, or if he was just a figment of his imagination or something. He didn’t know for sure if the man had been the killer, or if he was even real. Mac felt like he was real, Mac felt like he was the killer, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t trust his brain. Because why would a killer not kill Mac, when he had seen his face? It was odd. It was weird. Mac couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. And yet, Mac didn’t tell anybody. Not Thornton. Not Nikki. Not even Jack.

Mac just kept moving. Life just kept happening. Mac moved on.

He tried to move on, anyway. He tried to focus on anything but the mission in the desert. He tried to focus on anything but the man dressed in all black. He tried to focus on anything but the man’s smile. Mac tried to focus on anything but the fact that the man didn’t kill him. He cooked and he tinkered and he did missions. He did mission after mission after mission. He joked around with Bozer and helped him with his short films. He had nights with Nikki, soft and calm and quiet. He went out on adventures with Jack, to small pizza joints and arcades and art installations that felt more like health and safety violations. Mac kept on moving. Life kept on going. But even with all of the distractions, it was hard to not think about that man. That smile. That- that mercy.

It was even harder to not think about him, when Mac kept seeing him everywhere.

Or, he thought he saw him everywhere. Mac wasn’t exactly sure. It wasn’t like he thought he saw the man everywhere, either. It wasn’t like he saw him in the bathroom, or on the subway, or anything. Mac was pretty sure he wasn’t hallucinating, not really. Not like a full on hallucination, anyway. It wasn’t like Mac saw him when nobody was there. And it wasn’t like Mac saw him out and about in the streets of Los Angeles, either. Then that would have been easier to say that he was just seeing things, if the man was everywhere. But he wasn’t everywhere. Mac didn’t see the man in reflections or at home or anywhere where he couldn’t possibly be.

But during jobs, Mac would see some merc with black hair and a long black coat, and think that maybe it was him. Maybe. He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be sure that it was the same man every time. He couldn’t even be sure that the man was even really there. Mac’s brain could have just been playing tricks on him. He could have just been assuming that every man in black was the same man from the terrorist headquarters. Brains did that, Mac knew. They generalised. They simplified. They made guesses, educated guesses, based on what they already knew. And so there was no way for Mac to trust that what he thought was the man really was the same man. There was no way for Mac to trust himself.

Still, it wasn’t every job, either. If it was every job, Mac would know that something was up. If it was every job, Mac would know that it was just his brain playing tricks on him. Or that he had a stalker, or something. If it was every job, someone else would have noticed besides Mac. Nikki would have noticed a far too familiar face on a camera somewhere, or Jack would have noticed being shot at by the same goon over and over again. But it wasn’t every job. It was just a few jobs, barely noticeable to anybody but Mac. Mac didn’t even think he would have noticed, if the man’s face wasn’t burned into Mac’s brain.

And everytime that Mac noticed the man on a job, somebody wound up dead.

It took Mac a bit to realise that particular pattern, but once he did, it was impossible to unnotice it. Every time Mac saw the man, somebody died. Sometimes it was the person Mac was against. Sometimes it was a random civilian. Or a seemingly random civilian, anyway. Mac couldn’t even be sure which side the man was on, if he was on any side at all. Sometimes he killed people who needed to be killed. Sometimes he shot someone completely separated from what Mac was doing. Sometimes he shot at Mac, and sometimes he didn’t. There was no way for Mac to know what side the man was on, to know what the man wanted. There was no way for Mac to know if he worked for some agency, or if he was an assassin, or just a serial killer. There was just no way to know.

But there was always somebody, shot in the head, when the man showed up. Mac always knew that. It was a constant.

And yet, Mac didn’t tell anybody. He had caught onto the pattern, and he still didn’t tell anybody. He didn’t know whether the man was good or bad or in between or what. He still wasn’t even sure if it was real or not, or if Mac’s brain was just seeing things that weren’t there. If he was just making up patterns. Maybe there were just a lot of mercs who wore long black leather coats, and messy black hair, and too wide smiles and too bright eyes and a chiselled jaw and-

Mac didn’t tell anybody, was the point. He should have, but he didn’t.

He was waiting until he got more information, he told himself. He was just waiting until he knew for certain that there really was a pattern. He didn’t want to waste anybody’s time. He didn’t want to scare anyone. He didn’t want to be the boy who cried wolf, or anything. Mac had no clue if the man was an agent or a merc or an assassin or just- Mac didn’t even know how many options there were. Some were good and some were bad, but they were all just options. Possibilities. Conjecture. Mac had no clue who the man was. Mac had no clue what the pattern meant, if he was real at all. But Mac kept noticing him. Mac kept tracking the bodies falling.

Mac kept seeing the man on missions.

There was the mission in Mexico City. Bright lights and crowded streets and the smell of good food. A gun on the black market that needed to be destroyed and crowds of goons all trying to buy the gun and even more goons trying to steal the gun. Mac and Jack crowded into a motel room together. Mac spotted the stranger on a rooftop, a few warehouses over from where the gun was being sold. Jack was busy practising his accent for his undercover persona. Nikki was busy watching them on the street cams. Mac saw the stranger. Saw the coat. Saw the suspiciously gun-like form that the man was crouching over, pointed away from Mac, and ignored him. It was probably just his brain playing tricks on him.

There was the mission in Brussels. The smell of chocolate in the air. Classic looking buildings lining the streets. Cobbled paths beneath Mac’s feet. Jack making jokes about Smurfs. Nikki making jokes about Karl Marx. Mac saying that Karl Marx looked like Papa Smurf, which caused bouts of laughter which weren’t exactly suited for a stealth mission. An infamous bomb maker passing through Brussels, leaving rather explosive clues in their wake. A flash of a long black coat, in an alleyway near where they thought the bomber might have been. The glimmer of a familiar grin. A bomber locked away in handcuffs, with blond hair and a white coat, and no sign of the stranger. It was probably just his brain playing tricks on him.

There was the mission in Chittagong. Beautiful architecture, tall and white and pristine. Bright blues skies and bright blue water, barely visible from the busy ports. Unique food and unique language and unique people. A melting pot of any and every culture. A melting pot of any and every kind of criminal. A human trafficking ring that they were trying to take down. Jack getting into a knife fight on a dock. Mac getting pushed into the water on the dock. Nikki cursing the fact that their earbuds weren’t exactly waterproof. Mac spotting a blur of black on a boat as he pulled himself out of the sea, shaking the water out of his hair. A flurry of bullets being sprayed at him shortly after. Mac couldn’t be sure if it was the stranger or not. It was probably just his brain playing tricks on him.

Mac kept on not saying anything.

There was the mission in Rio De Janeiro. Beautiful beaches. Beautiful water. Beautiful mountains. Beautiful animals. Jack making them all watch a kids movie about two blue birds on the plane ride there. All of them crying while they watched a kids movie about two blue birds. Loud music and loud colours and loud people. A kidnapped heiress they needed to save. Mac and Jack having to go undercover at a dance competition, in order to find said heiress. Jack barely managing to not step on his own feet, let alone Mac’s. A stranger in a black coat killing the heiress’ parents before they could get her back to them. Mac didn’t see the stranger’s face and yet he thought he recognised the coat. It was probably just his brain playing tricks on him again.

There was the mission in Bordeaux. Sprawling wineries. Beautiful scenery. The lively French food scene. Mac overexplaining the concept of culinary gastronomy. Jack making Ratatouille jokes even though they weren’t even in Paris. Nikki rightfully pointing out that the rat’s name is Remy, and not Ratatouille, thank you very much. Trying to intercept stolen CIA intel. Accidentally also intercepting multiple other groups trying to also get the stolen CIA intel. Mac doing terrible things with a culinary torch and cooking spray. Jack doing terrible things to a crème brûlée. A familiar gloved hand trying to grab the intel while Mac was busy trying not to get shot. A familiar black coat retreating. A familiar- seemingly familiar face getting decked by Jack with a ramekin, as he took the intel back. Mac thought the man looked familiar, but he couldn’t be certain. It was probably just his brain playing tricks on him again.

There was the mission in Nairobi. Stunning wildlife. Mouthwatering food. The robust music scene. Having to chase a fugitive onto a safari. Getting chased by a fugitive while on a safari. Getting chased by the people who were also chasing the fugitive, while still on a safari. Seriously stunning wildlife. Getting stunned by a taser while next to said stunning wildlife. Spotting someone, far away and blurry, dressed in all black. In the middle of the hot desert. With a gun. Managing to capture the fugitive and getting the hell out of there. Nursing taser wounds for weeks. The image of the man in the desert replaying in Mac’s mind over and over again. It was probably just his brain playing tricks on him again.

Mac kept it to himself.

There was the mission in Athens. Beautiful mountains. Beautiful beaches. Beautiful history. Ruins. So many ruins. An excuse for Mac and Nikki to obsess over the ruins. An excuse for Jack to call them both nerds. A series of forged and stolen artefacts. Somebody trying to forge the already forged artefacts. Trying to navigate the severely confusing underground arts network in Athens. Winding up at a black market auction, posing as rich and morally dubious American millionaires. Spotting a familiar face at the black market auction. Nearly getting caught at the black market auction. Barely making it out of the black market auction alive, but still managing to get the stolen artefacts back. Adrenaline making Mac’s memory a bit fuzzy. The face still seeming familiar anyway. It was still probably just his brain playing tricks on him again.

There was the mission in Agra. The Taj Mahal. Nikki telling them way too much information about the history of the Taj Mahal. The Agra Fort. Nikki telling them way too much information about the history of the Agra Fort. Nikki doing so many history lessons that she should probably have been getting tenure. Succulent street food. Busy markets. Crowded streets. An informant being in danger and needing to be rescued. Somebody chasing their informant. Somebody familiar chasing their informant. Their informant turning out to have been compromised. Somebody shooting their informant in the head. Somebody familiar shooting their compromised informant in the head. But Mac couldn’t be certain it was him. It was still probably just his brain playing tricks on him again.

There was the mission in Kyoto. A plethora of shrines and temples. Beautiful trees and cherry blossoms. Jack constantly rambling about deer parks. Drinking lots of tea. Briefly getting into a fight with the yakuza. Not actually being there to deal with the yakuza. Mac having to prevent Jack from getting into more fights with the yakuza. Finally actually getting to the rumoured weapon that they were looking for. Having to fight the yakuza again because they were apparently also after it. Barely making it out of there with the plans for the weapon by climbing onto a movie subway car. A man in a black coat getting on the subway as Mac was getting off, holding a case that looked suspiciously long enough to hold a sniper rifle. It was still probably just his brain playing tricks on him again.

It was odd, Mac thought, seeing the man so much and yet never being sure that it was really him. Not letting himself be sure that it was really him.

Technically, Mac knew that it really was the same person that he kept seeing. Technically, he knew that he probably should have told somebody about the man. Technically, he knew that he should have said something. Anything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t know why he couldn’t, but he couldn’t. He still didn’t believe, not really, that it was the same person. It wasn’t like an outlandish thing to believe, or anything. It wasn’t as if it was every mission that Mac saw him, and it sort of made sense that people in a similar line of work would cross paths once in a while. But even if it made sense, Mac didn’t know what to do with the information. So Mac crossed paths with someone, who he still didn’t know if he was an agent or a merc or mob member or what, but what was anyone meant to even do with Mac’s vague description? He would tell someone when he knew more information. And Mac had a feeling that he would never know any more information.

Still it was odd never having spoken to the man. Never knowing the strange man’s name.

But it was all the better for Mac to never actually meet the man. The stranger. The killer.

It was better, Mac thought. Of course it was better.

Chapter Text

And then Mac actually met him.

Mac was undercover at the time, and it had been a rough mission so far, Mac had to admit. He was meant to blend in at some fancy party, learn some rumours about a black market arms sale, and hopefully manage to find the safe that was somewhere in the house. But the mansion where the party was being held had some sort of jamming that Nikki was struggling to deal with, which meant that Mac was on his own at the moment. And the mission was so complicated that Jack was on the other side of the city, roughing up some arms dealers, while Mac was busy infiltrating the mansion. If it was just Nikki who couldn’t talk through his earbud, or if it was just Jack who had another mission, that would have been fine. But it was both Nikki and Jack who couldn’t help him, and he was alone on this one. He was well and truly alone on this one.

It wasn’t like Mac was a stranger to solo missions, or anything. They happened. Even if Director Thornton tried not to let them happen, for the safety of her agents and for the sanctity of the mission, they did. Things like that just weren’t avoidable, sometimes. But Mac didn’t enjoy them. He really didn’t enjoy them. He didn’t carry guns, and he wasn’t exactly the strongest guy, and so it was strange not having Jack there to support him. To protect him. And not having Nikki there, even just in spirit, made Mac feel a bit naked, in all honesty. He was so used to her being there, in his ear, guiding him, that it felt weird to have complete silence. He had his earbud in anyway, just in case, but it was completely silent. Empty. It was weird.

Mac made do anyway. He made his way through the party, blending in and listening and trying to gather intel. He wasn’t exactly best at listening to rumours, and had never been good at listening to snippets of conversation. There was just so much to pay attention to, even as he fiddled with a paperclip in his pocket to help him focus. It wasn’t as though the rumours were his main mission, anyway. Mostly, he needed to find the safe. And get into the safe, without drawing too much attention. That was what he was better at. Not safe cracking in particular, or anything. But making do. Figuring out answers to unsolvable problems. Making it up as he went.

He would be fine, Mac told himself, even without Jack or Nikki there with him.

Mac made his way around the party. He felt a bit uncomfortable, in the fancy suit and tie that the mansion party’s dress code demanded. It wasn’t like he dressed up a lot willingly. Actually, Mac didn’t ever dress up willingly. If he could, he would wear his years old work jeans, worn out t-shirts, and flannels until the end of time. Sometimes, Henleys were okay. Sometimes. But as much Mac wished he could stick to that, sometimes work deemed otherwise. And sometimes Nikki deemed otherwise, because apparently flannels weren’t date night material. Rude. But Mac seriously wasn’t a fan of fancy clothes. Or any clothes that you couldn’t fix a car in, really. Still, he ignored what he was wearing, and focused on paying attention to the people around him and their conversation. He tried his best, anyway. It was loud, and crowded, and the strange feeling suit he was wearing wasn’t exactly helping much.

And then Mac spotted him.

He wasn’t wearing all black, for once. Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. He was wearing almost entirely black. It was just a suit, instead of his standard black pants and long, flowing black coat. But even without the coat, the man was still recognisable. Mac had a feeling that he would recognise the man even if he was wearing clown makeup and a rainbow jumpsuit. That face was just burned into Mac’s mind. That smile was burned into Mac’s mind. Mac knew that it was him. He had no doubt in his mind that it was him. The man that had been haunting Mac for over a year now. The man that had kept popping up when Mac was on missions.

Mac just hoped that the man wouldn’t recognise him back. He knew that he was wrong, though, as he felt the man watch him. And watch him. And continue to watch him. He could feel the eyes on him, even as he refused to look back at the man. That was one thing that had never changed since as long as Mac had first seen the man, he could just feel the stare. It felt different than any sort of eyes on him. It felt thick, like honey or molasses or smog. It was almost hard to breathe, and it was impossible not to notice. It was a good thing that Mac practically had a warning system built in for the man, but at the same time, it was so damn distracting. It was hard for Mac to figure out what to do about the man being here, when he could just feel him staring. And staring. And staring.

The man was walking towards Mac, now. Mac was across the large room of the mansion, but he couldn’t force his legs to move. Besides, even though Mac had a bit of a head start, there wasn't anywhere he could exactly go. He wasn’t near the front door, and if he left he would only get deeper and deeper into the mansion. It was a good place for him to be to look for the safe, but not great to outrun somebody that Mac was pretty sure wanted to kill him. Probably. It was safer to be in front of people, for the moment, Mac was pretty sure. Until he was sure whether the man was a threat, or not. And even if he could get outside, he couldn’t leave yet. He needed to get to the safe, still. He had a mission besides just making it out. So really, he had to stay, even as the man walked towards him. Technically, Mac could-

And then the man was standing beside him, breathing down Mac’s neck.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” the man said lowly, pressed up too close to Mac.

“We’ve been running into each other a lot lately,” Mac answered.

The man laughed brightly. “You’ve noticed! How cute!”

“It’s hard not to notice you,” Mac pointed out. “All black isn’t exactly as subtle as you think it is.”

“It’s not about subtly, it’s about presentation,” the man said. “Aesthetics are important in our line of work.”

“Sure,” Mac muttered. “Whatever you say. Can we both just get on our way, now?”

Something hard pressed against Mac’s back. He froze, being far too familiar with the feeling of a gun being held against him. Mac hated guns. “Stop right there, boy scout. Are you really so rude as to leave without having a conversation first?”

“Yes,” Mac replied. He was probably being a bit too sassy for being threatened with a gun, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I’m pretty sure we both have work to do, right now.” His hand drifted towards his pocket, as slowly as possible.

“We do,” the man said. “Which is why I need to know who your target is.”

“Target?” Mac asked. “I’m not killing anybody. I don’t kill people.”

The man laughed again. Loud and bright and not at all appropriate for someone threatening to shoot Mac. “I kill people. I’ve killed a lot of people.” It honestly sounded like something a supervillain might say. It was almost comical, how stereotypically bad the man seemed. Like he had a handbook, or something.

“You haven’t managed to kill me,” Mac pointed out.

The gun was jammed further into his back. Okay, maybe he was putting the sass on a bit too thick for the situation, then. “You’re tricky,” the man admitted. “But I haven’t exactly wanted to kill you, yet.”

Mac scoffed. “What about the time in Madrid?”

“That was barely an explosion,” the man answered easily. “You made it out, didn’t you?”

“No thanks to you,” Mac pointed out. “Considering you were the one who set the bomb.”

The man shrugged. “It could have been anyone.”

“You were the only other person there who wasn’t dead!” Mac pointed out. “And you should get better at wiring bombs, by the way. It was sloppy.”

“You disarmed it?” The man asked, sounding far too giddy to be talking about bombs. “I thought you just ran.”

“It wasn’t exactly your best work,” Mac said judgmentally.

“So,” the man said, ignoring Mac entirely. “If you’re not here to kill anybody, why are you here?”

“None of your business,” Mac answered, ignoring the gun still pressed against him.

“You do know that I’m holding you at gunpoint, right?” The man asked, sounding incredulous. “You don’t think that I’m just happy to see you, do you?”

Mac gagged. “Ew. No.”

“Then what are you here for?” The man asked again.

“None of your business,” Mac repeated. His hand was still in his pocket, moving ever so slightly.

“I’m the one with the gun,” the man whispered in Mac’s ear. “Everything is my business.”

“Nope,” Mac answered cheerfully.

This was it, Mac thought, as he moved as quickly as he could.

The hand in his pocket moved, reaching blindly behind him for the man. He made contact, pressing the paper clip in his hand to the man’s arm, feeling as he seized up behind him. Mac always had spare things in his pockets, in this case a battery, some copper, and a paperclip, even when he was dressed up like this. He had made something of a homemade taser, even though it wasn’t exactly strong. It was enough of a shock to make the man behind Mac let go, and to give Mac enough time to escape. Or at the very least a head start. He walked as quickly as he could without causing a scene, escaping down a hallway.

It wasn’t the best way to get out of there, Mac knew. He didn’t have much time, and the whole situation wasn’t ideal. But hopefully, the man wasn’t able to notice where Mac had gone, in all of his pain. Otherwise, Mac was probably a bit screwed. But he didn’t hear anybody running up behind him, and he didn’t feel the man’s eyes on him, so Mac figured he was safe. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. If the man did come back to try to shoot Mac, again, then Mac would cross that bridge when he got to it. If Mac was lucky, he wouldn’t have to cross that bridge at all. If Mac was lucky, he wouldn’t even see that bridge again. Mac wasn’t a very lucky person.

Still, he was pretty sure that he had some time. Which was good, because Mac needed time. He needed time to breathe. He needed time to reorient himself. He needed time to deal with the fact that he had met the man. Finally. He had talked to him. He had genuinely, actually talked to him, even though the conversation had been mostly threats. Actually, okay, the conversation had been all threats. Mac hadn’t even gotten the man’s name. But Mac hadn’t actually expected to talk to the guy. Ever. He had settled into their routine of the man shooting at Mac, Mac getting away, and them never actually being close enough to talk. They had never talked before.

But Mac didn’t have time to worry about the man. As long as he wasn’t actively being shot at, the only thing Mac had time to worry about was finding the safe.

They hadn’t gotten any specific intel on where the safe was. Listening in during the party hadn’t exactly helped, either. And without Nikki in his ear, it wasn’t as though Mac could just pull up the blueprints for the mansion and figure out which rooms were most likely to hold a safe. He had no way of knowing if there were any hidden rooms, or a built-in safe, or if anything was more fortified than it had any right to be. It wasn’t as though Mac had x-ray vision, or something. And he had no Nikki. Nikki was the one who always told him which way to go, who fed him information, who pulled up the blueprints. Mac had no way of knowing where the safe could possibly be, and he had no way of reaching Nikki.

Except, Mac realised, maybe he could figure out where the safe was.

There had been something bothering him about the mansion, ever since he had walked inside. Actually, no, it had been bothering him even before he had walked inside. There had been something weird about the layout of the place. The density of the walls. Everything was just the slightest bit off, just enough that most people wouldn’t notice it at all. Mac hadn’t even noticed it, not consciously, until now. But there was something weird about the whole place. It was just- it was odd. Some of the walls were too thick. The main foyer was just slightly too small for the size of the mansion outside. Some of the bricks had been laid strangely. It was- it was too odd for it all to be a coincidence.

Mac mapped it out in his head. It was a good thing that he was such a visual person, in this instance. Sometimes it was annoying, having random things he imagined just appear in his head, basically against his will, but on missions it was useful. Very, very useful indeed, especially when he was trying to build an entire blueprint in his head. Or, actually, no. Building an entire blueprint in his head would have been easier than recreating an entire blueprint in his head, just by looking around part of the mansion. But he tried. He didn’t exactly have time to look through the entire mansion, especially not with somebody on Mac’s tail. Not with him on Mac’s tail.

There was a pattern to the way that everything was laid out, Mac was realising. The thick walls, the weirdly lain bricks, the strangely laid out foyer- it was all pointing in one direction. It was all centred in one area. In fact, Mac was realising as he peered down the hallway, it was all pointing towards one room in particular. Or, rather, one room that wasn’t really there. There was no door where there should have been. It was just a smooth wall, even when Mac knew that there had to have been something there, just from how the mansion was laid out on the outside. Which meant that there was a hidden door. And, as Mac had learned through years of spy work, and years of reading mystery novels, a hidden door almost always meant hidden secrets.

And here, hidden secrets meant the hidden safe.

Mac discreetly started heading towards where the door should have been. It was nearly perfect, Mac realised, as he got closer, but there were just the faintest lines of a door hidden within the way too fancy crown moulding. He was pretty sure that was what the stuff was called, whatever rich people had all over their baseboards and ceilings. It was impossible to tell from faraway, but now that Mac was up close, and knew what he was looking for, he could just barely see the door. And if the door was here, that meant that there must have been some sort of way to open the door here, too. Mac looked around for some way to open the door and- there. A sconce that wasn’t actually lit up, right next to the door. Mac pulled down, making sure that there were no partygoers around.

The door opened with a hiss.

Mac slipped inside. The door thudded closed behind him. He had stepped inside an office, even though he was pretty sure stupidly rich people called them studies. The study, then. Were they still studies if they were hidden behind secret doors? Mac didn’t really know. But, to be fair, offices weren’t normally hidden behind secret doors either. It didn’t really matter, though. What mattered was actually finding the safe. And not getting caught by the owner of the mansion, actually. That mattered too. Oh, and not getting caught by the man who may or may not have been still looking for him.

But for now, the safe mattered the most. Probably. But either way, he had to hurry. He had a feeling that without Nikki there to constantly cut the cameras and sensors and other complicated computer softwares where Mac was, somebody had been alerted that Mac was in the secret office. So, he just needed to get moving. But in order to get moving, he had to actually find the safe. It wasn’t like there was just a big safe anywhere, or anything, that would have been too easy for someone who had a secret door in their damn hallway. No, the safe had to be hidden too. Of course it did. Mac surveyed the office, taking in every inch of it. There was a completely neat desk, ordered and organised. There was a bookshelf with completely lined up novels. And- and there was a small end table, with one, off centred vase.

That had to be it. It was too unperfect, the complete opposite of everything else that Mac saw. He darted towards it, extremely conscious of the fact that people could be coming after him at any time, and grabbed it. Another hidden wall revealed itself, because of course it did. It, of course, hid the safe, made of what appeared to be extremely strong metal. But it also hid a rather complicated looking fingerprint reader. And, okay, Mac did not have the fingerprint of the owner of the mansion. Except, he did, still lingering on top of the fingerprint reader itself. He just needed a barrier, and some heat. And pressure. He grabbed a tissue, tearing away as many plies as he could without breaking the thing, and placed it on the fingerprint reader. He pressed his own finger down, applying pressure, and-

And then the safe opened.

It unlocked with a small click, allowing Mac to swing the door open. Inside was just what he had hoped. The hard drives sat inside the safe, neatly labelled and organised. He grabbed the drives he saw, slipping them into the secret pocket within his suit jacket. DXS was always generous with the secret pockets, he had to admit. But there was even more hidden inside of the safe, as well. Money, which Mac didn’t care about. Some guns, which Mac extremely didn’t care about. But there were files, too. He glanced at their titles, and noticed some key words that he knew were of interest to Thornton. Mac reached towards them, hoping to pick them up-

And that was when Mac heard the footsteps.

Damn, Mac thought. He had run out of time. He had most definitely run out of time. He knew the sound of dress shoes or heels on tile, and that was definitely not it. Those were the heavy footsteps of somebody in combat boots. And if there was somebody in combat boots at a fancy party, well, Mac knew that he did not want to be caught in a locked room with them. Which meant that he definitely had to get out of the door as fast as he could. He gave one last glance towards the files, before sprinting back towards the door. He just didn’t have time. He really, really didn’t have time. He got the hard drives, which was what he was here for. And he didn’t exactly have any way to hold the files, either.

Mac opened the door, which thankfully had a normal handle on the inside, and dashed out into the hall. He spotted the security coming towards him, from some room deep inside of the mansion, and headed back out towards the foyer. It was still crowded with people, completely unaware of what was going on. They were eating hors d'oeuvres handed out by waiters, which looked tasteless and more like alien food than anything else. They were having polite conversations, glaring at each other when they weren’t looking. They were dancing, too, in what looked to be some sort of ballroom dance. They were eating and talking and dancing and laughing and a few of them were glaring at Mac.

He knew that the security was going to be coming after him any second. He needed a way to get out. But that seemed to be a bust, given the guards that were also blocking the door. At the very least, he needed a way to blend in with the other guests until the security relaxed. He needed a way to fit in, which he wasn’t doing by standing there, gaping. But he couldn’t just walk up to somebody and start talking. And even if he did do that, that still risked the guards noticing him just standing there, talking awkwardly and not looking like he fully fit in. He had just been running, and he was sweating and dishevelled. He didn’t exactly look like he had been eating hors d'oeuvres for hours.

And that was when Mac saw him.

Chapter Text

It was the same man as before. The man in all black. The person who had been haunting Mac for over a year. He was standing in the foyer, close to the dancers, looking no worse for wear. Meanwhile Mac had been damn busy trying to actually get his mission done. He was just happily snacking on whatever the waiters brought by, looking like he was meant to be there. How the hell did he fit in so well? Mac had seen the man kill people. Mac had seen the man choke people, kick people, shoot them in the head. Mac had seen the man jump off a train. And jump off a train. And do a million other terrible, messy things. Mac had seen the man completely covered in blood. And yet, the man looked like he fit right in. The man just effortlessly blended right in with all of the rich people in the mansion, even when he for sure had at least one gun on him.

And that was when Mac had a really dumb idea.

He knew it was a dumb idea. He knew it was a really dumb idea. He knew that it was one of the dumbest ideas Mac had ever had. But he also knew that it was the only way that he could blend in well enough, in order to lose the security guards. And Mac really, really didn’t want to get caught with no back up. He didn’t want to get caught by the guards, because he would probably just be shot. Or tortured, or something. And he didn’t even have any way of getting Nikki to call for help because there was still the jammer blocking her frequency.

That didn’t mean that walking towards the man who kept trying to kill him was a smart idea, though. Mac knew that it wasn’t a smart idea. If Nikki could have been able to talk to him, he knew that she would have been yelling at him to turn the other way. To hide in the kitchen, or something. To do anything but turn towards the man who kept trying to kill him. But Nikki wasn’t able to talk to him. Nikki didn’t know what Mac was doing. Nikki was jammed out. And Nikki didn’t even know about the man, either. Mac still hadn’t told anyone. He knew what she would say if she did know, though. And yet, he didn’t listen to her.

Instead, he walked across the room, as calm as could be. He strode through the crowds of people, uncaring to their stares. He was hyper aware of the security guards slowly filtering into the room, trying their best not to scare the guests as they looked for Mac. But he paid them no mind, forcing himself to take deep breaths, as he stayed on his course. It was a dumb idea, he knew. It was a really dumb idea. And it wasn’t even his only idea. He had other, much less dumb ideas. And yet, Mac stuck with it. He just kept walking. He just kept walking, ignoring the security guards and the guests and everything else. He just kept walking until he was right beside the man. The stranger. His stranger.

“You’re back,” the man said, a grin on his face. “I didn’t think you’d be back. Do you have a death wish, or something?”

Mac sighed. “Shut up.”

“Harsh!” The man chirped. “What’s got our dear boy scout so grumpy?”

Mac glared. “Nothing.”

“Surely something must have happened,” the man cooed. “Considering you came back to me! Especially after you so rudely left, before. My side still hurts, you know.”

“You had a gun to my back!” Mac hissed.

“Exactly,” the man said with a laugh. “So why are you back?”

Mac sighed. Again. “I need your help,” he gritted out.

The man’s impossibly large grin grew even larger. It was creepy. “You need my help?”

“Stop sounding so pleased,” Mac said.

“But you need my help,” the man repeated, still grinning. Mac really hated that damn grin. “You need my help. What happened to your little bulldog, then?”

Mac blinked in confusion. “What?” Mac asked. Because seriously, what?

“You know,” the man said, waving his hand.

Mac seriously did not know.

“That man you have with you, sometimes,” the man explained. “The grumpy looking one who shoots at me sometimes. He’s very snarly. Your bulldog!”

Mac held back a laugh. He meant Jack. If Mac lived through this, he was going to tease Jack about being called a bulldog for eternity. “He’s not my dog,” Mac said. “He’s my friend.”

The man considered that carefully. “Most people don’t have friends in this line of work. It’s dangerous.”

“Everything about this line of work is dangerous,” Mac pointed out.

“True,” the man said. “Now what did my darling boy scout need help with?”

“What is with that?” Mac asked, ignoring the question. Mac did not want to have to explain that. Actually, Mac didn’t even want to think about the fact that he was asking this man for help at all. Nope. And the fact that every second he was talking to the man, he was being helped by him. He was being protected by him. Every second he was with the man, he was using him to hide from the guards. He was just ignoring it. He was very good at that. Definitely.

“With what?” The man asked in return, sounding far too innocent.

“You,” Mac gritted out. “Calling me boy scout.”

“Well I don’t exactly know your name, now do I?” The man said, as though that explained any of it.

“But boy scout?” Mac asked. “Seriously?”

“It suits you!” The man defended.

“Boy scout suits me?” Mac repeated, incredulously.

“Exactly,” the man said, still grinning. That damn grin. Mac was so tired of it.

“How on earth does being called a boy scout suit me?” Mac asked. Again. He was seriously having to repeat himself a lot with this guy.

“How doesn’t it suit you?” The man replied. “You’re all young looking. And you have morals, I’m pretty sure. Weird. And you wear that flannel all the time! It’s wonderful to see you out of it, just so you know.”

Mac cringed. He wanted to be in his flannel more than anything, thank you very much.

“And besides,” the man continued, not even noticing Mac’s wistful face. “Who else would be prepared enough to carry a damn taser around besides a boy scout!”

Mac blinked in surprise. “I’m not carrying a taser.” A swiss army knife, yes, but not a taser. Who carried a taser around? Mac was pretty sure it wasn’t boy scouts, either, considering they were kids.

“You aren’t?” The man asked. “But you tased me. You definitely tased me. I know what being tased feels like. It’s a specific type of tingly, you know.”

Mac sighed. He was really going to have to explain this, wasn’t he? “I made one.”

“You did what?” The man replied. He almost looked shocked. Mac was proud. Dammit, his inner Nikki chimed in, he should not be proud for surprising the person who kept trying to kill him.

“I made one,” Mac repeated. “A rather rudimentary one, to be fair. If I had more than what I had in my pockets I could have made a better one, but I made do.”

“You made a taser,” the man said. “Out of what was in your pocket?”

Mac shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You’re interesting,” the man said, unsettlingly kind.

Mac almost felt complimented.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you yet,” the man continued. And okay, yep, there went all the feelings of being complemented. The man was right back to down right creepy.

“Thanks,” Mac said, dryly. “But I think I’m the one who didn’t let you kill me yet.”

The man shrugged, unphased. “Potato, potahto,” he said. “I’ll kill you one day, either way. Even if you’ve managed to evade me so far.”

Right. That reminded Mac. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?” He asked. “You could have killed me before. A few times, actually. You could shoot me right now, if you wanted to.”

“And risk ruining my cover?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not that much of an important kill, you know.”

“Not now,” Mac said, sighing. “I meant ever. You could have shot me the first time I saw you.”

“I wasn’t hired to kill you, then,” the man said. “You were just a strange man with some tarp.”

Mac glared. “You know what I mean. You could have killed me so many times. You know that I get in your way almost every time, at this point. So why,” Mac stressed, “haven’t you killed me yet?”

“I told you, boy scout,” the man said. “You’re interesting.”

“I don’t think I’m that interesting,” Mac said. “I doubt you want people to know your face, in your line of work.” Mac wasn’t actually sure what line of work the man was actually in, but that was usually true for most people Mac dealt with. Except Mac usually arrested them at the end.

“My line of work can get boring,” the man said. “I’m not going to kill my one source of entertainment.”

“Have you ever heard of Netflix?” Mac asked, sarcastically. “Board games, maybe?”

“Not the same,” the man said. “Nothing beats the thrill of killing someone. The thrill of holding a gun.”

Mac scrunched his nose in disgust. “Gross.”

“You don’t like killing?” The man asked, suddenly intrigued.

“I don’t kill,” Mac said plainly. “I don’t even carry a gun.”

The man beamed. “Do you have a death wish?”

“What?” Mac asked.

“I said,” the man continued, whispering in Mac’s ear. “Do you have a death wish?”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Mac said, sighing. “I just don’t like guns.”

“You don’t have to like guns to use guns, you know,” the man said. “And not carrying one is rather risky in our line of work, don’t you think?”

Mac ignored the fact that he was pretty sure his line of work and the man’s line of work were quite different. Complete opposites, in fact.

“I don’t like guns,” Mac repeated, tone final.

“Do you carry any weapon at all?” The man asked. He sounded intrigued again, his dark eyes glittering with curiosity.

“Not unless you count a swiss army knife,” Mac said with a shrug.

The man laughed with glee. “So you really do have a death wish, then!”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Mac repeated. Again. “I just don’t like guns. I don’t like holding them, or using them, or being near them.”

“Is that what your bulldog for, then?” The man asked.

Mac sighed. He didn’t know why he was still talking to this guy. He was pretty sure the guards had started looking in other places, by now. “He’s not for anything. He’s my friend.”

“He’s not here tonight,” the man pointed out.

“That’s why I’m putting up with you,” Mac grunted. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you. Ever.”

“Keep telling yourself that, boy scout,” the man said with a laugh. “But I’m glad you can talk to me when you’re lonely.”

“I’m not lonely,” Mac said, way too quickly. “I just needed someone to pretend to talk to for a bit.”

“Oh, boy scout,” the man said, in a weirdly soft tone of voice. His hand placed itself on Mac’s shoulder. “I don’t think we’re pretending to talk.”

“I’m just avoiding the guards,” Mac said harshly.

“Ah,” the man said, far too knowingly. “You were the commotion, were you?”

Mac hissed. “You noticed the guards?”

“I did,” the man answered. “But I don’t think any of the guests did. You were sneaky enough, I think.”

That was good, at least. Mac didn’t need any other variables right now.

“But whatever were you doing back there?” The man asked.

“My job,” Mac said bluntly.

“But you don’t kill,” the man said, curiously. “And nobody’s screamed bloody murder yet, so I don’t think you’ve dropped a body, anyway. Unless you’re better at hiding a body than you look.”

“I don’t kill,” Mac reminded him, almost on autopilot at this point. And then he paused. “You can look like you’re bad at hiding bodies?” Mac asked, deeply confused. Because seriously. What?

“Of course you can,” the man said simply.

As though that made any sense at all. Which it didn’t, just for record. Nothing the man was saying made any sense, to be clear. But this specifically did not make any sense at all, at least to Mac. Because, seriously, Mac had to make this clear, what. It was just- it was just the strangest thing for the man to claim. Probably stranger than the fact that he killed people for a living which, okay, was weird and creepy but- but saying that he could tell who hid bodies well just by looking at them? Way weirder. And also claiming that Mac would be bad at hiding bodies, that was weird too. And insulting. It probably wasn’t a great thing for Mac to be offended by, but he didn’t exactly care. Because, what?

“It’s something you pick up when you’re in the business for a while,” the man casually said. “It’s easy to tell who would be sloppy and who would be neat during a kill. Who would take their time and who would be quick about it. It’s a useful skill to have, you know. Self preservation. Though I doubt you even know what self preservation means.”

Mac glared. “I know what self preservation means,” he said, fighting the urge to cross his arms in offence.

“Do you really?” The man asked. “You don’t even carry a gun.”

“Are you still stuck on that?” Mac replied. “Seriously?”

“It’s a dumb move, you know. And it’s even dumber to tell someone who has a habit of trying to kill you that you don’t carry a gun,” the man continued.

“You’re just obsessed with guns,” Mac pointed out.

The man laughed, eyes sparkling wildly. “That’s true. That’s very, very true, boy scout. But it’s not exactly guns that I’m obsessed with.”

“It’s being creepy for no reason?” Mac asked, snarkily.

“It’s power over life and death,” the man corrected, after barely stifling a laugh. “Although I do enjoy being creepy.”

“You’re a strange man,” Mac said, shaking his head.

“I’m a killer,” the man pointed out. “Of course I’m strange.”

“You’re still strange,” Mac replied. “Even for a killer. Especially for a killer.”

“Thank you!” The man answered, with that too wide grin. “But I’m not the strange one, between the two of us.”

“If you bring up the gun thing,” Mac muttered.

“You don’t carry guns,” the man said. “It’s strange in our line of work! It’s dangerous, too. You’re probably less sane than I am, in that regard. I at least have a sense of self preservation.”

“I have a sense of self preservation,” Mac cried, probably a touch too loud. He had almost forgotten they were at a fancy party at all.

“You’re talking to a killer for hire,” the man pointed out. “Willingly. Most people would say that that’s not exactly very smart of you, boy scout.”

“I had to hide from the guards,” Mac replied. That was what he kept telling himself, anyway.

“The guards who aren’t even here anymore?” The man asked with a raised eyebrow.

Mac looked around. Almost every single guard had left, probably searching the rest of the mansion for him. He hadn’t noticed how many of them had left. It was back to the same amount of guards that had started earlier in the evening, before he had broken into the office. He could easily slip through the doors now, and make it outside and back to Nikki and Jack. He could easily finish the mission. He probably could have finished the mission a while ago, now that Mac thought about it. The guards had probably left a while ago. And yet, Mac couldn’t figure out when.

Mac hadn’t even noticed. He must have noticed subconsciously, of course. And he knew that he had noticed a few of the guards leaving. He had noticed some of them leaving, but not all of them. Or not all of them, but most of them. Enough that he could easily leave. He could leave and complete the missions. It would be easy, now, and Mac hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t even been paying attention to the guards. He had just been- he had been so distracted. He had been so distracted by a killer. A murderer. And not because the man was trying to kill him, or anything. Mac had been distracted because he had been having fun. He had been enjoying it.

Mac didn’t even want to leave, he realised. He didn’t know what exactly to do with that. He wanted to stay here, at this dumb mansion party filled with rich people, and talk to this man. This killer. This man who had been haunting him. Hunting him. And yet Mac had been enjoying talking to him. Mac still was enjoying talking to him. He had been having fun. God, this was somebody who had threatened Mac with a gun to his back an hour ago, and now Mac was having fun. He was actually enjoying talking to Mac. Mac didn’t know why. Mac didn’t know why he had kept talking to him. Mac didn’t know why he still wanted to keep talking to him.

“You didn’t even notice, did you?” The man asked, with a joking lilt. “What a bad boy scout you are.”

“I’m not a boy scout,” Mac grumbled.

“You are to me,” the man said with a laugh.

Mac didn’t feel like laughing. He needed to get out. He- he had a mission. Every second he stayed was a second he could get caught. Every second he said was a second he wasn’t with Nikki, a second he wasn’t helping Jack with his mission. Every second he spent with this man, with this criminal who kept trying to kill him, was a second that he could have been doing the job. Every second that he wasted here, talking to this man and having fun and enjoying himself, was a second that Mac’s side didn’t have the information on the harddrives.

“I need to go,” Mac said, stepping away from the man.

“So soon?” The man asked. If Mac didn’t know any better, he would almost think that the man was actually sad he was leaving.

“I have a job,” Mac said, quietly. “So do you, I’m sure.”

“You’re no fun,” the man said, drawing the words out like a toddler whining for more time at the park. “All work and no play makes you a dull, dull boy scout, you know.”

Mac sighed. “Goodbye,” he said, turning away,

He slipped out of the mansion easily, now that most of the guards were gone. It was as simple as leaving the party, acting a bit drunk and needing to get some air. The guards barely even glanced at him. Mac just managed to slip out, not even being pat down or anything. It was suspiciously relaxed, but Mac couldn’t even be bothered to care. He just needed to get out. God, Mac needed to get out. He needed to get back to Nikki and Jack. He needed to get back to his job.

Once Mac got far enough away, his earbud clicked back to life.

“Nikki,” Mac said, softly.

“Mac!” Nikki answered, sounding relieved. “Your earbud went dark.”

“Something was jamming it,” Mac said. “I got the drives, though.”

“Good,” Nikki said. “Jack’s finished up his mission, and is on his way back now. And I’m bringing the van around to you.”

“Thanks, Nikki,” Mac said.

There was a pause. “Are you alright, Mac?” Nikki asked softly.

“It’s been a long night,” Mac answered.

It felt like a lie. It was a lie. Well, not a complete lie. It had been a long night, that much was true. But that wasn’t why he was so off. Honestly, he cursed Nikki for knowing him so well. But she did, and she could tell that something was off. But it wasn’t just it being a long night that had caused his weird mood. It had been the man. The man that he had never told anyone about. The man who he still wasn’t telling anyone about. The man that he had had way too much fun with tonight. It was the man who left Mac reeling. It was the man who left Mac confused. It was the man-

“I’ll be around soon,” Nikki said, breaking Mac out of his thoughts. “And we don't have anything else to do tonight. We can have an easy night at the motel, and then tomorrow we’ll wrap all of this up.”

“I’m fine, Nikki,” Mac said. “Just tired.”

Yeah, Mac thought. He was definitely just tired.

That was it. That was the only reason.

Most definitely.

Chapter Text

Mac didn’t know why he kept it to himself.

It would have been easy to tell somebody. It would have been the right thing to tell somebody. He was meant to tell somebody. Jack or Nikki or even Bozer if he lied about the details enough. And yet, he didn’t. He didn’t tell anybody. Not a soul. He knew that he was meant to tell somebody. It had happened during a mission, this was supposed to go into his reports at the very least. And yet, Mac didn’t. He just didn’t. He didn’t even think about it. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he told no one. He didn’t know why he hadn’t told anyone before this point. He just- he didn’t tell anybody.

He didn’t tell anybody about the fact that he had kept seeing the same man over and over again on mission. He didn’t tell anybody that he had knowingly talked with the man that he had kept seeing. He didn’t tell anybody that he had talked to a killer. There was no doubt about it. The man was a killer. The man was a killer and Mac had talked to him. And he didn’t tell anybody. He told no one. He knew that the man was a killer. He had seen the man’s face and knew where he had been and he knew that he was a killer and he still told no one. He told absolutely no one.

It would have been easier if Mac didn’t like talking to him. But, dammit, he had liked talking to the man. That was the part that stuck with Mac. He had liked talking to the man. He had really liked talking to the man. There was just- there was something so easy about it, and that had been the first time that Mac had even talked to him. Mac didn’t really know how to explain it. But talking to the man had just felt right. It had felt right in a way that Mac hadn’t even known was a thing, not really. He hadn’t known there could be conversations like that. And okay, sure the man had been somewhat annoying. And creepy. Definitely creepy. But he had been funny. And Mac had had fun.

Mac kept it to himself.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He couldn’t stop thinking about talking to the man. How easy it had been. How simple. How fun. He couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it had been to talk and joke with the man, as easy as it was with Boze or Jack or Nikki after years of friendship, without even knowing the man’s name. He still didn’t know the man’s name. Or even a nickname, or something. He had nothing to call him. The man at least called Mac ‘boy scout’, even if it was an incredibly infuriating nickname, it was still a nickname. The man still had something to call Mac. Mac could only keep calling him the man. And Mac just couldn’t stop thinking about him. He couldn’t stop replaying the conversations over and over and over again in his head.

Mac still didn’t tell anyone. But he kept thinking about it.

Still, time went on. Mac moved on. Physically, anyway. He went from place to place to place, on mission to mission to mission. He just kept moving. He just kept working. He just kept focusing on anything at all that wasn’t the man. Or he tried, anyway. He tried to focus on anything else but him. His man. His stranger. His friend, for a lack of a better word. His friend who he had no name to call him. His friend who he had no way to contact him. His friend who had tried to kill him, and tried to kill him, and tried to kill him. His friend who had let him leave the party, even though he could have pulled a gun on him. His friend-

It was hard to focus on work. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to focus on his work, or anything. His work was important. God, his work was important. He helped people. He saved people. He protected people. He stopped bombs from going off and he stopped killers from going free. He stopped tyrannical governments and he helped immigrants and- and he helped people. Mac knew he helped people. Everything he did was to help people. Every mission he did was to help people. Every mission he did was to save someone, or some place, or something. He was always helping. He was always doing something for the greater good.

But his mind wandered. He felt bad every time it happened, of course. Each and every time his mind wandered while on a job, he felt bad. But he couldn’t help himself from thinking. Thinking about the man. What he was doing. Who he was killing. Who he was killing because Mac let him walk free. Who he was killing because Mac didn’t tell anyone about him. Who he was killing because Mac had stayed silent. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man. What he was doing. Who he was talking to. What the man was thinking about. Whether he missed Mac at all. Whether he thought about Mac as much as Mac was thinking about him. There he thought about Mac at all. Mac just couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And then Mac saw him again.

He knew that it was only a matter of time, anyway. They seemed to always somehow wind up on the same missions, some of the time. It had been over a month of waiting, but Mac knew that it was going to happen sooner or later. He knew that it was inevitable. He was excited to see the man again. He was terrified to see the man again. There were a lot of emotions that went through Mac, every time he thought about the man. There were a lot of emotions that went through Mac, every time he thought about ever seeing the man again. Fear. Anticipation. Anxiety. Joy. Dread. Mac felt every single human emotion, every time he even thought about seeing the man again.

That didn’t compare to actually seeing the man, though.

That didn’t compare to the anxiety that flowed through his body. That didn’t compare to the relief that flowed through his body. That didn’t compare to the fear he felt. That didn’t compare to the joy that Mac felt. Just thinking about seeing the man didn’t compare, in any way, shape, or form, to how it felt to seeing the man again. There was no way that it could have compared. Mac had already been overwhelmed with emotions by just thinking about seeing the man again. And now he was seeing him. He was standing in front of him. And he was talking to him.

He was on a mission, of course he was. Mac was certain he would have a heart attack if he saw the man outside of work. Mac couldn’t even imagine the man doing something like grocery shopping, or going to the library. No, the man in front of him wasn’t somebody who went to the movie theatre or took the bus. He was- he was a sleeper agent who only woke up to kill, or something. Mac couldn’t imagine him doing anything but having a gun in his hand. So Mac had been working, trying to intercept a shipment of high tech weapons. They had made a lot of progress, so far, which had led them to a warehouse where a source said the weapons were to be stored.

That was where Mac was now. Jack was on the first floor of the warehouse, mostly keeping a lookout, and Mac had gone down into the basement to look for the weapons. Or for anything that was important to their mission, really. But the basement of the warehouse was nearly the exact same as the first floor, except colder. Much colder. But there were the same metal shelves, the same boxes upon boxes filled with t-shirts with weird slogans and other random items. There was the same dirty cement floor and the same flickering fluorescent lights. It was nearly the exact same, except for the cold. And for the assassin pointing a gun at Mac.

Mac froze when he saw him. And then he did one of the dumbest things he had ever done, and took his earbud out and powered it off.

“Boy scout!” The man called. “What a pleasure to see you here!”

Mac couldn’t believe his eyes. God, Mac couldn’t believe his eyes. Or his ears. Or any of his other senses. He couldn’t believe his brain. But the man was standing there. His man was standing there. He was there, in front of Mac. He was actually there. He was actually standing in front of Mac. And okay, the man was definitely pointing a gun at Mac, but that was par for the course by now. It probably wasn’t healthy to be used to a specific person pointing a gun at you, and still enjoying their company, but Mac wasn’t exactly worried about that.

“Is it really a pleasure?” Mac asked, just a hint of a teasing lilt hidden in his voice. “You’re pointing a gun at me!”

“I didn’t know it was you,” the man cooed. “I wouldn’t want to kill you by accident, boy scout.”

Mac sighed. “But you still want to kill me?”

His heart was racing in his chest. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. It wasn’t as though there was a guidebook on how to react when a merc who kept trying to kill you is also maybe sort of your friend. It was a confusing dichotomy, and Mac was feeling every single possible feeling about the matter. He had already felt every possible feeling. He had already over thought the entirety of it. He had gone through every possibility, every variable, every scenario. And now, the man was standing in front of Mac. And now, the man was talking to Mac. And Mac was talking back.

“I’ll always want to kill you,” the man said, eyes sparkling.

“But not now?” Mac asked.

“Not now,” the man confirmed. “I want our first time, your last time, to be special.”

“And for now you’ll just be a thorn in my side?” Mac said, hiding a smile.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, boy scout,” the man said, teasingly.

Mac wanted to say that he was annoyed. Mac wanted to say that he was tired of this man, this killer, talking to him and teasing him and talking about killing him. Mac wanted to say that he was infuriated by this. Mac wanted to say that he was disturbed by this. And yet, he couldn’t help but laugh with this man. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel enthralled by this. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel charmed by this man. He couldn’t help but respond. He couldn’t help but joke back. He should have stopped talking to him. He should have ran and told Jack and done something. The man had even stopped pointing his gun at Mac. And yet, he didn’t. And yet, Mac just kept talking.

“I do have a job to do here, you know,” Mac said. “I don’t exactly have time to chat right now.”

“Yes, yes,” the man said. “I saw your bulldog upstairs.”

Mac froze. The man had seen Jack-

“I didn’t hurt him, boy scout!” The man cried. “Who do you think I am?”

“A killer?” Mac said, like it was obvious. Because it was obvious.

“I’m an assassin,” the man corrected.

“Is there a difference?” Mac asked.

“Obviously!” The man said. “I don’t just kill willy nilly, you know. There’s an order to these things! I have a system!”

Mac scoffed. “Is your system whoever pays the most money?”

“No!” The man cried. “I’m not a capitalist.”

“Then why do you kill?” Mac asked. He didn’t even know why he was asking. He really shouldn’t have been asking.

“Because it’s interesting,” the man said, smiling. “And you’ll be the most interesting kill of all.”

“Right,” Mac said, dryly. “That’s a real mood killer, you know.”

“I didn’t know there was a mood to kill, boy scout,” the man said with a smirk.

Mac sighed. “I really do need to actually do my job.”

“Right, right,” the man said. “I’ll let you get back to that. But if you’re looking for the guns-”

“Please tell me you didn’t take them,” Mac said, rushing the words out.

“No,” the man said, shaking his head. “But I was hired to kill the person who’s selling them.”

“Of course you were,” Mac spat. “And you’re here because?”

“Because I thought she would be here, obviously. But instead all I found were cheesy t-shirts, a bulldog, and you,” the man said.

“He’s still not a bulldog,” Mac pointed out.

“It’s called a metaphor, boy scout,” the man said.

“Right,” Mac said. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying.”

The man laughed. “You don’t find me annoying. You find me charming!”

“It can be both,” Mac grumbled.

“Now,” the man continued. “Back to my point. You’re looking for the guns, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mac bit out.

“Well, they aren’t here,” the man said.

“I can see that,” Mac said, gesturing to the barren warehouse surrounding them.

“But I do know where they are,” the man continued.

Mac perked up. “Where?”

“I’m not just going to tell you, boy scout,” the man said, drawing out the words slowly. “You’re going to have to earn it.”

Mac blinked slowly. “Seriously?”

“Did you really expect it to be that easy?” The man asked.

“No,” Mac grumbled. Nothing was ever that easy. “What do you want?”

“I want,” the man said, talking infuriatingly slowly. Mac was pretty sure he was purposefully drawing out the suspense just to be a jerk. Rude. “You to tell me your name,” the man continued.

“You want me to tell my name to an assassin?” Mac asked incredulously.

“Not your full name,” the man explained. “I’m just tired of calling you boy scout all the time!”

“Are you?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow.

The man grinned. “Nope!” He said. “But I do want to know your name, boy scout. We are friends, aren’t we?”

“This is what you want from me,” Mac said, slowly. “You could get anything from me, in exchange for this information, and you want my name?”

“Exactly!” The man said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s hear it then, boy scout.”

“But I won’t get to know your name,” Mac pointed out. “That’s hardly fair.”

“You want to know my name?” The man asked, dramatically grabbing his chest. “I’m touched!”

“No,” Mac grumbled, even though it was a lie. “I just care about fairness.”

“You do!” The man said, practically cackling. “You actually want to know my name!”

“Does that matter?” Mac asked.

“If you really do care,” the man said. “I’ll give you something to call me.”

“But not your name?” Mac said, confused.

The man shrugged. “My birth name has nothing to do with me. I thought you’d want to call me by the name that I actually like.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Mac said, sighing dramatically. “But you have to tell me where the weapons are before I tell you my name.”

“But how do I know you won’t just leave,” the man said, pouting.

“Because I want to know your name, too,” Mac admitted.

The man smiled. “Deal,” he said. He stood up straighter. “The weapon’s are on a truck, heading south right now. They’re heading to the docks, I believe.”

“Crap,” Mac said, already prepping to run. If the weapons got on a boat, they weren’t going to catch them. “I need to go.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man said, a hand shooting out to grab his arm. “You don’t get to go until you tell me your name, boy scout.”

“Fine,” Mac said, trying to shake off the hand on his arm and failing. “My name’s Mac.”

“Mac?” The man asked. “What’s that short for?”

“That’s not part of the deal,” Mac pointed out. “Now, your name. Come on.”

The man smiled, wide and intimidating. “I’ve always been partial to Murdoc.”

And then Mac took off running, putting his ear bud back in as he went, leaving the man behind.

No, he wasn’t leaving the man behind. He was leaving Murdoc behind. Mac had a name for the man now. Mac actually had a name for the man now. And the man knew his name, too. That probably wasn’t a smart decision. That most definitely wasn’t a smart decision. Telling killers your name was never a smart thing to do, especially when it was your last name. Even if it was just part of Mac’s last name, he still knew that it wasn’t a smart idea. It definitely wasn’t a smart idea. It was never a smart idea to tell your name to someone who kept threatening to kill you.

And yet, Mac didn’t regret it. Somehow, he didn’t regret it. Somehow, he didn’t regret telling someone who constantly kept threatening to kill him, who kept pointing guns at him, his name. He didn’t regret telling the man who Mac knew wanted to hurt him. He knew that it was a dumb idea, of course he did. He had known that it was a dumb idea when he had made the deal with the man. He had known that it was a dumb idea when he had told the man his name. He knew that it was a dumb idea hours after he had done it. And he knew that it was a dumb idea now, weeks after. He knew that it was a dumb idea, but he didn’t regret it.

How could he have regretted it, when he got the information that helped them find the guns? Mac had lied and told Jack and Nikki that his earbud had been cutting in and out, from a lack of service in the basement, and that he had found some manifests down there which had led him to the docks. But there had been no manifests. There had been nothing down in the basement but Murdoc. And Murdoc was the only reason that Mac had been able to find the guns and save the day. But he had saved the day, and he didn’t regret that. He couldn’t regret that. And, well, he couldn’t regret knowing Murdoc’s name either. It was nice to finally actually know the man’s name.

Still, time kept passing. Still, Mac kept thinking about the man. About Murdoc.

He felt bad, of course he felt bad. It ate him from the inside out. Mac knew that the man killed people. Mac knew that the man killed people. And Mac knew that the man had killed somebody every single time that Mac had seen him. And yet, Mac didn’t tell anybody. He didn’t tell anybody that he knew the name of an assassin, or at least an alias. A favoured alias. Mac could have probably done something with that information. Mac could have probably arrested him with that information. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He just waited until he ran into him again.

And Mac did see him again.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc cried. “It’s good to see you!”

“You know my name,” Mac pointed out grumpily. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“But I want to,” the man said playfully. “Boy scout,” he added on at the end, with a grin gracing his face.

Mac groaned. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Murdoc answered, laughing gleefully.

“Hush,” Mac said. “People don’t exactly know I’m here.”

The man laughed again. Why was he so damn loud? “Sneaky around are you, Mac? Not very boy scout of you.”

“I’m not a boy scout!” Mac hissed. “And you really need to be quiet!”

“Nobody’s going to think twice about me laughing to myself,” Murdoc said. “I’m the crazy one, you know.”

“Really?” Mac asked, incredulously.

“I’m not going to get you caught, boy scout,” the man said

His voice was way softer than Mac had ever heard him say before. He was almost touched. Almost.

“I’m the one who gets to kill you, remember?” Murdoc said, smiling wildly.

Okay, that broke any sort of kindness that had been hiding beneath the surface. “I know,” Mac said. “You keep bringing it up!”

And again.

“Are you going to shoot me, or are you going to let me pass through?” Mac asked, gritting his teeth. It had been a damn long mission, and Mac didn’t want to deal with anything.

“I’m not going to kill you in such a gross alley,” the man answered, turning his nose up in disgust.

“Then let me through,” Mac said. His hand was clutching his arm tightly. God, it hurt. Everything hurt.

“I’m not letting you die of blood loss, either, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“I’m still not a boy scout,” Mac replied. “And I need to get out of here.”

“Once we fix up that arm, maybe,” Murdoc said.

“I’m fine,” Mac said, even as he hissed when Murdoc poked at his arm.

“You’re not fine, Mac,” the man said, still poking at the arm. “Very much not fine.”

“I’m fine,” Mac stressed.

Murdoc poked at Mac’s arm again. He hissed.

“That’s not the sound of someone who’s fine,” the man said.

“Fine,” Mac said. “But I will be fine. I just need to find- I just need to get out of here.”

“If I let you go,” the man said, carefully. “Are you going to actually go get help, or are you going to go get whatever it is that you’re after to sell on the blackmarket?”

“I’m not selling it on the blackmarket,” Mac grumbled.

“A private seller, then?” Murdoc asked. “Or are you in retrieval?”

“None of your business,” Mac answered.

“Mysterious,” the man said, smiling. “But I can’t let you go unless I know you aren’t going to get yourself killed by anyone who isn’t me!”

Mac sighed. “I’m not going to get myself killed,” he promised.

“Really?” Murdoc asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Really!” Mac said. “And stop poking at my arm!”

The man shook his head. “Go get that treated,” he said. “And if you get killed by someone, I’ll resurrect you just to kill you again.”

“Deal,” Mac said, wheezing out a laugh. And then he darted down the alley, away from the man. Away from Murdoc.

And again.

“Why are you here?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow. There wasn’t supposed to be anything of value anywhere near here. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone of value anywhere near here, either.

“Maybe I’m on vacation,” Murdoc said, reclining on a gaudy pool chair. He looked incredibly out of place on the cruise ship.

“You don’t take vacations,” Mac pointed out. “And if you did, it wouldn’t be on a cruise.”

“True,’ the man said. “I’m not a fan of shuffleboard. But neither are you, so I can only imagine why you’re here.”

“None of your business,” Mac said.

“Is it the colonel?” Murdoch asked.

“None of your business,” Mac repeated. He had been saying that a lot, lately. But seriously, how had Murdoc even heard about the colonel?

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Okay fine,” Mac said, sighing. “Yes, it’s the colonel.”

“You have fun with that,” Murdoc said cryptically.

“But why are you here?” Mac asked. “And how did you know about the colonel? That’s not exactly public knowledge.”

The man smiled. “None of your business.”

Mac groaned. “Really?”

“Really,” Murdoc answered.

Mac didn’t know how to feel about any of it.

He didn’t know how to feel about how happy he was, talking to someone he knew was a killer. He didn’t know how to feel about how easy it was to talk to someone he knew was a killer. He didn’t know how to feel about how much Mac liked to talk to someone he knew was a killer. He didn’t know how to feel about any of it. There was no instruction manual for this. There was no text book that explained what to do when you became friends with a killer. There was no math equation for this. This wasn’t physics or chemistry or anything Mac understood easily. This was humanity. This was emotional. This was- this was a killer that Mac was becoming friends with. That Mac was longing to keep being friends with. And Mac didn’t know how to feel about it. But he did know one thing.

Mac kept it to himself. And he was going to continue keeping it to himself.

Chapter Text

The next time Mac saw Murdoc, it was in less than ideal circumstances. Very less than ideal circumstances, actually. Maybe the definition of less than ideal circumstances. The complete opposite of ideal circumstances.

It wasn’t as though Mac had wanted to get captured. It wasn’t as though he had planned to get tied up by misguided freedom fighters, his earbud crushed and far away from Jack and Nikki. It wasn’t as though it was fun to be hurt and tortured and tired. God, Mac was so tired. But he had to work on getting out of here. That was all Mac could focus on right now. Getting out of here and hoping that Jack would come for him, anyway. They had gotten rid of Mac’s earbud and phone before they moved him, which meant Nikki couldn’t track him, but maybe they could find the headquarters anyway. Nikki could track satellite footage or- or something. And Mac would be able to get out. He would get out. He would be fine.

Mac just needed to figure out how to actually do that. He just needed a plan. He was left in a barren room, with not so much as a bobby pin on the floor. They had taken Mac’s swiss army knife, and all the little doo dads that he kept in his pockets. He had no more gum, no more paper clips, no more batteries. His hands were tied behind his back, and the knot was tight. Even Mac, who had far too much practice getting out of all sorts of bonds, couldn’t so much as get the ropes slightly looser. There were no windows in the room, and guards that Mac could hear just outside the room.

Oh, and they had drugged him, sticking a needle filled with something in his arm before they had left. That didn’t help anything. It was getting harder and harder to think at all, actually. His head hurt terribly, and his brain was getting foggy. So foggy. But he needed to make a plan. He needed to get out of here. He needed to- he needed to get his brain to think, dammit, while he still could. He at least needed to find some way to waste time until Nikki could find him. He needed to think of some way to stall until Jack could get here and save him. But it wasn’t easy. Mac’s head hurt, and each thought was getting harder and harder. He needed to- to do something, but he couldn’t think of anything to do. His arms hurt, his head hurt, everything hurt. Mac felt hopeless.

And that, of course, was when Murdoc showed up. The man had a strange sense of timing.

Mac wasn’t sure why the man was here. Mac wasn’t sure how the man had found him, or how the man had managed to get inside of Mac’s jail. He had been laying on the floor, head fuzzy and arms chaffed from the rope, when he heard- he heard something. A loud bang, and then another, and then another. It was distant and far away, and Mac’s drug-addled brain couldn’t make any sense of it. It was just- it was a lot. One second, he had been in pain and on the floor and so painfully alone. One second he had been trying to formulate a plan as his brain cells fell through his hands like sand in an hourglass. One second he had been alone, so alone. And then, the next second-

And then the door opened, and Mac saw Murdoc.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc cried out. “What are you doing here?”

Mac groaned. The man was loud. So loud.

“Oh dear,” Murdoc said, crouching down. “What happened to you?”

Mac groaned again. “Wh-”

“Shh,” the man said, softly. He stroked Mac’s face. “Don’t you worry, boy scout. I’ll get you out of here. You know that no one else gets to hurt you but me.”

Mac whined, opening his mouth to say something. Anything. Nothing came out.

“Just settle down, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Now, is your little bulldog here with you?”

Mac frowned. He didn’t have a dog. Well, not anymore, anyway. Not after Archimedes, anyway.

“You know,” Murdoc said, waving his hand in explanation. “The man who’s always following you around. Stocky, grumpy, actually has a gun.”

Oh, Mac realised. Jack. Wait, what was the question?

“Is he here?” The man asked.

Right, Mac thought. He shook his head as much as he could. Jack wasn’t here. He wished that Jack was here. He really wished that Jack was here.

“Alright,” Murdoc said. He untied Mac’s aching arms, finally, and helped to urge some feeling back into them. “Then let’s get you out of here.”

Mac groaned again. He couldn’t even imagine moving, so much as standing to get out.

“Don’t you worry about standing,” Murdoc said, like he could read Mac’s mind.

Maybe he could read Mac’s mind. Huh. That was something to think about.

“I’ve got you,” the man continued.

And then he was lifting up Mac like he weighed nothing. Like- like he actually weighed nothing. Mac had been lying on the floor, and then suddenly he was in the air. Safe in Murdoc’s arms. Or okay, maybe not safe, Mac was never fully safe with Murdoc, but safer than he had been. Safer than he was going to be if he stayed here for any longer. Murdoc had him and that was enough. Murdoc had him and he was okay. Mac- that all Mac knew. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to string any thought together at all, but Mac knew that he was okay. He was okay.

His head spun as Murdoc carried Mac. He knew that it would have been way worse if Mac was standing, of course, but- but it still hurt. Oh wow, did it still hurt. Every tiny movement, every jolt and bump and turn, caused Mac’s head to spin. The room was spinning and every movement made it spin any more. It hurt and it hurt and it was hard to think about anything else besides how much it hurt. It hurt. It hurt. God, it hurt. It more than hurt. It was all Mac could think about. All Mac could feel. All Mac was experiences. He sure that there was more to his world than dizziness and pain and fog, but he couldn’t feel it. All he could feel was the pain.

But Mac tried. He tried to think about anything else than the discomfort and the pain and the fog and the dizziness. He tried to pay attention to what was going on around him, to think through the feeling of his brain being tossed back and forth like a ping pong ball. He tried to notice where Murdoc was taking him, what hallways they were walking through. He tried to notice why nobody was stopping them as Murdoc just walked through the base like he owned the place. Mac was pretty sure he didn’t own the place. Kind of. But he tried. He tried to focus and he tried to pay attention and he tried to make any of it make sense.

It didn’t work, but he tried.

Mostly, all Mac could think about was the pain. God, all Mac could think about was the pain. Everything hurt, every single bit of it. Every movement of Mac’s head made it feel like his head was on a boat, floating on an aggressive ocean storm, not connected to his body. Every time Murdoc had to shift his position on Mac’s body, he shook a bit, and it felt like an entire earthquake. Every time they needed to go down a flight of stairs, it felt like the end of the world. All of it felt like the end of the world. Every movement, every flash of light, it just- it was painful. It was so damn painful. And all Mac could do was lay in Murdoc’s arms and take it.

And then Mac was sitting in Murdoc’s car.

Mac wasn’t exactly sure when that had happened. Everything was sort of blurring together. But the car wasn’t moving yet, so Mac was pretty sure that that had happened pretty recently. Probably. Murdoc was doing up Mac’s seatbelt, at the moment, which Mac felt weird about. He didn’t know why he felt weird about it, but he felt weird about it. It was hard to piece together feelings at the moment. Okay, Mac was pretty sure it was always hard to piece together feelings, but it was extra hard at the moment. Everything was hard at the moment, even breathing. Especially breathing.

But Mac was in Murdoc’s car, or what he hoped was Murdoc’s car, which was good. Probably. Mac was pretty sure it was a good thing. Murdoc seemed safe. He seemed really safe. Mac was pretty sure there was a reason as to why the man shouldn’t have been safe, but Mac couldn’t remember why, so he ignored it. And besides, the man was saving him, so that- that was good, right? And he was doing up Mac’s seatbelt. Anybody who valued road safety was somebody to be trusted, Mac thought, as his head tilted side to side deliriously. Road safety was very important. Mac was pretty sure there was something else that was important too, but it wasn’t coming to him.

Mac just sat there, even after the man was done doing up Mac’s seatbelt. It wasn’t as though Mac had anything else he could do. His head hurt and his arms hurt and his body wasn’t exactly in the mood to listen to him at the moment. But he could sit in the car, and watch as Murdoc turned the car on. The key looked a bit funny, Mac thought, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t exactly having much success with connecting things, at the moment. But he could sit there and he could watch and he could listen as the car turned on, and the car started moving, and the car-

And, woah, car’s were fast. And dizzy. Ow.

Mac’s head lolled backwards, hitting the backrest. He was sure the car wasn’t moving that fast, but it felt like it was. It felt like it was moving faster than a car had ever moved before. It felt like it had been moving faster than anything had ever moved before. Faster than a car or a train or a plane or anything else. Mac couldn’t think of anything else that was fast. A rocket? Sure. The car felt like it was moving faster than a rocket. It couldn’t have been, of course, it wasn’t even souped up or anything. It was just a normal car, without extra fuel or an extra motor or anything. It was just a car, but god it hurt to be in.

“Are you alright?” Murdoc asked, breaking the silence.

Time must have passed during the car ride. Their scenery seemed to have changed a bit. Maybe. Which meant that time must have passed. Probably. Mac just didn’t know how much time had passed, but he couldn’t exactly bring himself to care.

“Mac?” The man asked, sounding- sounding nervous, maybe. Or concerned. Mac didn’t really know.

But why would he be nervous? Wait. Right. Mac to actually answer the question. Yeah. “Mhm,” Mac hummed, trying to make words leave his mouth. And, well, that was close enough, wasn’t it?

“You sure?” Murdoc asked.

Mac nodded. It made his head spin even more.

“We’re almost there,” the man said.

Mac didn’t know where ‘there’ was. He didn’t know where ‘here’ was, either. But his head was spinning too much to care. God, it was spinning way too much to even care. He just wanted to get out of the car. He just wanted everything to stop spinning. He just wanted to stop hurting. He just wanted everything to slow down. To stop moving. To be safe. He wanted to feel safe again. Safe like he had felt in Murdoc’s arms. Safe like he had felt when nothing had been spinning. Safe like he had felt when his brain had been working normally.

Mac’s brain was- it was important. It was how he survived. Mac was out of it, but still remembered that. He still knew that. His brain was how he protected himself. His brain was how he saved himself when he was stuck. His brain was how he completed missions. His brain was why he had missions to begin with. His brain was what made him special. His brain was what made him safe. It was what helped him solve problems. It was what helped him save people every day. It was what made him worthwhile to people. And his brain was how he protected the people he cared about, too.

Mac cared about a lot of people. His head was spinning, it was hard to think about anything at all, but he knew that. There was Bozer, his friend for years and years and years. His friend who had had his back forever, even when Mac had been small and awkward and had a penchant for blowing things up. There was Jack, who always protected him and kept him safe and dealt with all the things that made Mac weird. There was Nikki, obviously, who loved him and liked him and kept him safe on missions. And- and there was Murdoc. Mac was pretty sure he cared about him too. And his brain was what let Mac help the people he cared about.

But his brain wasn’t any use to him now.

It was just a big pile of mush in his skull at the moment. It was completely and utterly useless to Mac. It was completely and utterly useless to the people that cared about Mac. He couldn’t save himself like this. He couldn’t save anyone else like this, either. He felt useless. He was useless. He couldn’t help anybody. He couldn’t save anybody. He couldn’t do anything. Mac didn’t even think he could name all the elements on the periodic table at the moment. Mac didn’t even think he could five of the elements on the periodic table. Hydrogen, Mac knew. And there was- there was helium, too. There was- there was another one. Li- lithium. And that was it. That was all Mac could name. He had memorised all of them at nine, and now he could barely list four. Four. Mac felt so damn useless.

And he hated it. He hated it maybe even more than he hated being in pain.

Still, Mac’s head was spinning too much to even linger on that thought for too long. He was swept up in the speed of the car, of the blur of the scenery around Mac, and just how sick all of that made him. And god, did it make him sick. Everything was spinning when he was stationary, and the speeding car didn’t help anything. Mac had a feeling Murdoc was speeding, even though Mac couldn’t actually read the speedometer. He just seemed like the kind to speed all the time, for no real reason whatsoever. The man seemed reckless like that. The man seemed like an adrenaline junkie like that.

Although Mac supposed that most people considered him to be an adrenaline junkie, too. And almost every single person Mac knew had called him reckless, at one point or another. Jack and Nikki were the ones who called with that most often, because, well, they worked with him. And Mac kind of had a bit of a habit of being too reckless during missions, if he thought he could pull it off. Mac had thought he could pull off this mission, too, and all he had managed to do was get kidnapped. And tortured. And drugged. This happened a lot, actually. And okay, so maybe the people who called Mac reckless weren’t exactly wrong. He had somehow managed to become friends with a murderer, so, yeah Mac wasn’t beating the reckless accusations anytime soon.

But maybe that was why they got along so well together, Mac mused. They were both reckless enough to have an actual friendship while being against each other. Or, okay, maybe they weren’t exactly against each other, but they definitely weren’t the same side. And it was definitely dumb of both of them to talk to each other. Mac could arrest the man anytime he saw him, and Murdoc had already threatened to kill Mac too many times to count. The only way that they could still be free and alive and friends is if they were both a bit reckless. Both a bit crazy. Both a bit-

Mac lost his train of thought. It was getting harder and harder to put coherent thoughts together as time went on, Mac had to admit.

It really wasn’t easy putting thoughts together. It took so much effort just to think. And Mac didn’t have any motivation. Absolutely none at all. Mac was content to just live forever in the seat of this car. He was content to just melt into the seat and never move ever again. That was probably whatever drug was flowing through his blood stream talking, but Mac didn’t even care. It sounded so good. It sounded so good to just float away into nothingness. Dissolve into goop. Become space dust, maybe. Yeah, space dust sounded good. Mac had always been a fan of space dust.

“Boy scout,” the man said, shaking Mac out of his thoughts. He sounded so distant and far away.

Right. The man was talking, even though Mac couldn’t see him. Why couldn’t he see him? Oh. Mac must have closed his eyes at some point. He forced his eyes open, flinching at just how bright the sun was. Why was the sun so bright? Okay, well, obviously it was because of nuclear fusion emitting light that was strong enough to reach earth. But why did nuclear fusion have to hurt so much? Mac didn’t know, but he knew that he didn’t want it to happen anymore. Why couldn’t nuclear fission just take a bit of a break? The sun deserved a vacation. Or maybe a nap. Mac wanted a nap. Yeah, a nap sounded good right about now.

“Mac,” Murdoc stressed. “You doing okay, over there?”

Mac groaned from his seat. He was far from okay. Everything hurt. He didn’t want to keep his eyes open, and yet every time he closed them, they fluttered open of their own volition. Rude. Why couldn’t his eyes just listen to him? It was probably some sort of survival instinct, or something, but Mac’s head was too foggy to actually know if that was true or not. He had knowledge about biology somewhere in his brain, but he couldn’t exactly think of anything right now. He could barely think about breathing right now. Everything just hurt so much. And it was too loud. And everything was spinning too fast, even though Mac was pretty sure nothing was actually spinning. Ow. Just plain ow.

“I need to get you out of the car, boy scout,” the man warned. “We’re here.”

Oh. Had the car stopped? Apparently it had. Mac’s head was spinning too much to figure out where they were. Mac’s head was spinning too much to care about where they were. There were- there were trees. There were definitely trees. And maybe rocks. Those tiny ground rocks. What were those called? Gravel? Gravel. There were trees and gravel and buildings that were probably houses. But Mac couldn’t figure out anything past that. Mac didn’t want to figure out anything else past that. He just wanted to sleep. God, he just wanted to sleep. More than anything, Mac wanted to sleep.

Then there were arms on him, Mac was pretty sure. Somebody was lifting him up, too, he thought. Mac didn't really know. That was what it felt like, anyway. Like he was in the air. Flying. But he felt safe. He felt really safe, with strong arms gripping his legs, holding him. And he was being brought- brought somewhere, though Mac wasn’t exactly sure where. Everything was so blurry. Not just in his brain, either. Everything he was seeing was blurry, too. But he was pretty sure he was being brought into a house. Maybe. A house like building at the very least. Something with stairs, Mac thought. Lots of stairs. Ow.

The next thing Mac knew, he was being put down again. He was being laid down on a bed, maybe. Probably. Whatever it was, it was soft. Very soft. And dark. Mac appreciated the darkness. And then someone was putting a blanket on Mac. It was a very nice blanket, too. Soft and warm and heavy. And the blanket smelt good. The blanket smelt very good, actually. Mac wouldn’t have picked out a black blanket, normally, but it was soft. It was really soft. And comfortable. So comfortable.

And that was when everything went black.

Chapter Text

Mac woke up groggily.

He was- he was somewhere. In a bedroom, maybe. Okay, Mac thought, as he opened his eyes, he was actually in a bedroom. It wasn’t Mac’s room, that was for sure. It looked like something out of a magazine, really. Or a tv show. A small rug on the floor, big white curtains, not even one piece of clothing on the floor. All the furniture matched each other, with the same types of wood and the same accent colours and everything. The dresser and the nightstands even had the exact same handles. It was creepy, in a way. It was all so perfect. There was nothing out of place. The chair was tucked in perfectly under the desk, and there was nothing on any of the tables. It was just- it was empty. It was sterile. It was completely, utterly, creepily, perfect.

Or, rather, most of it was perfect. There was one thing out of place in the room, outside of Mac himself. Draped on top of Mac, instead of there being a blanket or a duvet or a comforter, was a coat. A familiar coat, though Mac couldn’t put his finger on it. But it definitely wasn’t Mac’s own coat. He had never owned anything so long. Or so black. But it felt nice, draped on top of him. It was warm and heavy and soft, and it made Mac feel safe. As safe as he could waking up in a strange bed, anyway. But he did feel safe, strangely enough, given his circumstances.

His body hurt, too. Mac didn’t remember what was going on about that. His arms were red, chaffed and blistering from what Mac could see underneath his bandages. He didn’t remember bandaging himself. He didn’t remember any of it. He didn’t remember why his head hurt so much, why it felt like he had been run through a dryer fifty times. Or maybe a hundred times. A million times, actually, Mac decided, as he tried to sit up. It just- it hurt. All of it hurt. But his brain was- he seemed to be coherent, at the very least. That was a good thing. At least he was thinking clearly. And he wasn’t tied up, or anything. He was just- in a strange house, without being able to remember why. It was fine. Mac was fine.

Mac sat up, even though his body protested it. He felt dizzy, but he forced himself through it.

He needed to figure out where he was. He needed to figure out what had happened. He needed to figure out why he had woken up in a strange bed, with bandages on his arms and wounds he didn’t remember getting. He needed to figure out whose coat was on his body, and why it looked so familiar, and why it smelled so damn good. He needed to figure out why this room looked so perfect. He needed to figure out why he felt like Mac had been run over by a garbage truck. Over and over and over again. Or maybe he had been put in the garbage can, and ground up and compressed. Yeah, that felt about right. And Mac needed to figure out why he felt like that. He needed to figure out why any of this was happening.

And that was when somebody walked into the room.

It was a man. Mac knew that man. Of course Mac knew that man. It was only the man that had been haunting Mac for almost two years now. Two years. Murdoc. Murdoc who kept trying to kill him. Murdoc that Mac kept talking to, even though he kept trying to kill him. Murdoc that kept saying that he would kill Mac, eventually, when the time was right. Murdoc that was creepy and funny and helpful and so incredibly infuriating. Mac remembered Murdoc, of course he did. But that didn’t explain why Mac was in a strange bedroom. That didn’t explain why Murdoc was here with Mac. That didn’t explain why Mac felt absolutely terrible. That didn’t explain-

And that was when Mac remembered.

He remembered all of it. Or, rather, he remembered most of it. He remembered being captured. He remembered being drugged. He remembered being trapped. He remembered not being able to come up with a plan. He remembered rubbing his arms red, trying to get out of the ropes tied around his arms. He remembered not being able to make it out by himself. He remembered doubting that Nikki and Jack would be able to find him in time. He remembered feeling scared. He remembered being alone. He remembered feeling the drugs coursing through his body, he remembered his brain growing sluggish. He remembered, and he remembered, and he remembered.

And he remembered Murdoc saving him.

He remembered Murdoc, dressed in all black, busting down the door and seeing him. He remembered Murdoc, promising to get Mac out of there. He remembered Murdoc, untying his hands with such care. He remembered Murdoc, picking him up like he weighed absolutely nothing, and carrying him out of there. And saving him. He remembered Murdoc rescuing him. He remembered Murdoc fussing over him as he laced Mac into his car. It was probably a stolen car, Mac realised, but he found he didn't care. He found he cared much more about the fact that he remembered Murdoc doing up his seatbelt, at the moment.

Things got a bit fuzzy, after that. He remembered the car ride. He remembered the pain. He remembered the dizziness. He remembered the sickly feeling any sort of movement gave him, and how much worse the car made it. He remembered feeling like he was going to fly away at second, like he was being spun a million times over. He remembered every pound of his head, and every time his arms itched, and every single way that the car made his head hurt. He remembered how bright everything felt. How loud everything felt. How fast everything felt.

And he remembered feeling his brain disconnect from him. He remembered feeling like he was losing his mind. He remembered feeling his brain melt in his head like jello on a summer’s day, messy and gross and far too warm. He remembered barely being able to name any periodic table element. He remembered how scared he had felt. How useless he had felt. How pointless he had felt. He remembered his brain wandering, having even less control over it than normal. He remembered everything being so fuzzy. So blurry. So foggy. He remembered bits and pieces. He remembered feelings. He remembered somethings and he remembered others and he was sure there was a lot he was missing. But he remembered the car stopping, he thought. He remembered his seatbelt being undone. He remembered trees and a house and-

And Mac didn’t remember anything, after that. It was all just a blank.

But he remembered enough. He remembered Murdoc helping him. He remembered Murdoc saving him. He remembered Murdoc caring about him, worrying if he was hurt or in pain or okay. And he knew that Murdoc must have been the one to bring him here, to safety, and to have wrapped his arms, even if Mac didn’t remember it. And he knew that he had Murdoc's coat draped over his body, even if Mac didn’t remember why. He remembered how sweet the man had been, how he had barely threatened Mac’s life at all. He remembered and he remembered and he remembered. He remembered a Murdoc that was so different from who Mac normally saw. But at the same time, he remembered a Murdoc that was the exact same as the Murdoc that Mac normally saw.

Mac didn’t know how to feel about it. And he didn’t have time to really think about it, either.

“Mac,” Murdoc cooed, voice so sweet it was almost sickening. “How is my boy scout doing?”

“Your boy scout?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow. It came out much less serious than Mac had intended, considering how hoarse his voice sounded.

Murdoc laughed. “You must be feeling better if you’re sassing me,” he said. “It was painfully dull when you were all drug, you know.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “That must have been really painful for you, between the two of us. You were definitely in the most pain.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Murdoc said. He grinned brightly as he stepped closer. “Now, how are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Mac said, trying his best to suppress the urge to rub at his bandaged arms. “Tired. A bit out of it.”

“Thirsty?” Murdoc asked, holding up a sealed water bottle.

“Yeah,” Mac said, reading out to grab it.

Mac fumbled with the cap of the plastic bottle for the second. His tired and sore hands just couldn’t get a good grip on the damn thing.

“Did you want help?” Murdoc asked, watching Mac with amusement in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Mac grumbled, even as his hand failed to get a grip on the lid. Again. “I can do it.”

“If you’re sure,” Murdoc said, eyes sparkling.

Mac fumbled with the water bottle for the millionth time. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Here.”

“Is there something you want me to do with this?” Murdoc asked.

Mac sighed. “Seriously?”

“Did you not want the water?” Murdoc asked, like he didn’t know what Mac was asking. Rude.

“Are you seriously going to make me do this?” Mac asked.

Murdoc sat there, unmoving. Okay, so he was going to make him do that, then. Great. Just great.

Mac sighed. Again. “Can you open my water for me?”

“What’s the magic word?” Murdoc asked.

“Please?” Mac asked, already growing tired. Had Murdoc seriously only saved him to torture him?

“Please what?” Murdoc asked.

Mac sighed for what felt like the millionth time. “Can you please open my water?”

The man’s face split open into an unsettling grin. “Of course, boy scout,” he said. “All you had to do was ask.”

Mac resisted throwing the open water bottle in the man’s face.

Instead, he focused on drinking the water. It was a soothing balm to Mac’s dry throat, that much was certain. Mac hadn’t realised just how dry his throat had been. He hadn’t realised just how tired he was, either. He hadn’t realised how bad he had been feeling, until suddenly there was water flowing down his throat. He hadn’t realised how bad he had been feeling, until suddenly he was feeling better. So much better. So much, incredibly better. He felt- okay, he didn’t feel brand new. He didn’t even feel good, not really. His arm still hurt and his head was still pounding and he still felt just a touch dizzy but he felt better. He felt better and he felt okay and-

And it was thanks to Murdoc.

That was a strange thing for Mac to wrap his head around. Murdoc was the one who had saved Mac. Murdoc was the one who had gotten him out of there. Murdoc was the one who had taken him back to- to wherever they were. Murdoc was the one who had put bandages on Mac’s arms. Murdoc was the one who had taken care of him when he was drugged out of his mind. Murdoc was the only reason that Mac was safe. Murdoc was the only reason that Mac was okay. Murdoc was the only reason that Mac was alive. The fact that Mac was still alive was thanks to Murdoc, and Mac didn’t know how he felt about that.

It wasn’t like the other times that Mac had met Murdoc. He hadn’t saved Mac’s life just by neglecting to kill him. He hadn’t just missed his shot, or not used his gun for once. It wasn’t as though Murdoc had just turned a blind eye to Mac, like he had before. This wasn’t just the truce that they had developed and never said aloud. This wasn’t just some small thing, two people talking back and forth but never really saying anything at all. This wasn’t a part of their normal song and dance. This wasn’t- this was unprecedented. This wasn’t anything that either of them had done before. This wasn’t part of their relationship. This wasn’t part of the formula. This was- this was something different. This was something completely different.

Because Murdoc had saved Mac. He had gone out of his way to save Mac. He had chosen to save Mac, even when he didn’t have to. He had gone above and beyond, just to save Mac. He hadn’t needed to get Mac out of that mess. He hadn’t needed to undue the ropes on Mac’s arms. He hadn’t needed to carry Mac to his car, or drive him to- to what must have been a safehouse, Mac was realising. He hadn’t needed to expose one of his safehouses to Mac. He definitely shouldn’t have exposed his safehouse to Mac, actually. He hadn’t needed to bandage Mac’s arms, or stay and make sure he was okay, or get Mac water. He hadn’t needed to, but he had.

He had, and Mac didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

Mac blinked.He must have stopped paying attention. “What?”

“I asked if you needed anything else,” Murdoc said. “Painkillers? Some food?”

At the mention of food, Mac’s stomach groaned. He hadn’t realised just how hungry he was. “Food, please,” Mac said. “But I can-”

“Don’t you get up, boy scout,” Murdoc threatened. “I didn’t save you just to have you fall over and give yourself a concussion.”

“I can find my own food,” Mac grumbled, even as his head spun.

“You can,” Murdoc said. “But you aren’t going to. Now stay, or I’ll stab you.”

“Stab me?” Mac asked, eyes bugging out of his head.

Murdoc grinned. “I’m kidding, boy scout.” He turned to leave the room. “But you really shouldn’t anger an assassin, you know.”

Mac laid in bed. He had a lot of thinking to do. He had a lot of wondering to do. Thinking about whether or not Mac would still be alive, if Murdoc hadn’t saved him. Wondering why Murdoc had saved him at all. Thinking about why Murdoc had kept him alive, when Mac had been such easy prey. Wondering about what Mac even meant to Murdoc, if this was some big game or if Murdoc considered him a friend or if Murdoc was even capable of having friends. Thinking about why Mac had never told anybody about Murdoc before. Wondering how he was going to explain what had just happened. Thinking about what any of this meant. Wondering why any of this had happened. Thinking and wondering and thinking again.

It was a lot, Mac had to admit. It was a lot to think about, especially when his head was still hurting. God, his head was still hurting. It was better than before, he knew it was better than before, but that didn’t mean that it still didn’t hurt. Because it did. It did still hurt. But he still- he still thought, despite the pain. He still wondered, despite the pain. He still overthought everything, despite the pain. Going over every second and every moment and every single thing. His mind just kept on going and going and going, thinking and thinking and thinking, and Mac was powerless to stop it.

Murdoc came back with food, eventually. It was oatmeal. It struck Mac as odd, Murdoc making him oatmeal. It felt- it felt so normal. Mac didn’t know what he had expected Murdoc to eat, roasted eyeballs or human flesh or blood like a vampire or what, but he hadn’t expected him to know how to make oatmeal. He didn’t expect the man to even own oatmeal. And upon closer inspection, it was the kind of oatmeal with the little dinosaurs in it. Which was- okay, that was extra strange. But there were a lot of other pressing things for Mac to overthink. The dinosaur egg oatmeal was distinctly less important than the fact that a killer had made it. But it was good, actually. Quite good. Weirdly good. And it helped Mac’s head, too.

“Don’t you need to call you little bulldog?” Murdoc asked, shaking Mac out of his thoughts.

Crap. Right. Jack and Nikki were probably worried. Incredibly worried. They had maybe probably found where Mac had been brought, by now. Mac didn’t even know how long it had been since he had been separated from them. God, they must have been so damn worried. And Mac didn’t even know if they were okay. He didn’t know if they were okay, and he had almost completely forgotten about them. He- he hoped they were okay. They were probably just looking for him. But even if they were okay, they were probably still worried out of their minds. Mac was pretty sure that Murdoc had killed at least some of the people who had been torturing Mac. That couldn’t have inspired much hope in Nikki and Jack. He- he needed to reach them. He needed to make sure they were okay. He needed them to know that he was okay.

“Do you have a phone I can borrow?” Mac asked.

“Here you go, boy scout,” Murdoc answered, tossing a plain black flip phone at Mac. “Call you bulldog.”

“He’s still not my bulldog,” Mac grumbled.

Still, he opened up the phone. It was clearly a burner. There was nothing on the phone besides the default apps. The default wallpaper. There was no password, nothing in the previous call history. It looked as though it had been just taken out of the package. Not that Mac was snooping for any sign of Murdoc’s personal life, or anything. That would have been weird. Definitely. Instead, Mac just focused on typing in Nikki’s number, her emergency’s only work phone, and hitting dial. He waited for just a second, as the call went through, and then the phone crackled to life.

“Hello?” Nikki asked. Mac could hear her thinly veiled fury through the phone. “How did you get this number?”

“It’s me,” Mac rushed out, before she could hang up. “It’s Mac.”

“Oh my god,” Nikki exclaimed. “Mac? Mac- are you okay?”

“I’m fine now,” Mac said.

“Where the hell are you?” Nikki asked.

“I-” Mac didn’t even know where he was, actually.

“I’ll trace the call,” Nikki said, cutting him off. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mac promised. “I got help.”

“You got help?” Nikki asked, incredulously.

Mac didn’t want to lie to her. But he also didn’t have to explain the whole Murdoc thing right now, not when his head was pounding like this. He’d tell her soon. Sometime. When the time was right.

“There was a- I managed to get myself out and to a neighbourhood. But I was really out of it, and one of the people in the neighbourhood helped me out. I’m using his phone,” Mac said. It wasn’t completely a lie, anyway.

“Alright,” Nikki said, slowly. “Jack and I will be heading your way. I almost have your location. Are you sure you’re-”

“I’m fine, Nikki,” Mac stressed.

“Alright, alright,” Nikki said. “That was just terrifying, okay?”

“I know,” Mac said. “Is-”

“I’ll put Jack on the phone for you,” Nikki said. “He;s been driving me insane, I swear. He was so worried about you. We were both worried about you.”

“I know,” Mac said.

There was a pause on the other line. “Hoss,” Jack said, his voice crackling to life. “Hoss, is that you?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “It’s really me.”

“You’re not a ghost?” Jack asked.

“I’m not a ghost,” Mac said flatly.

“Are you secretly still kidnapped?” Jack asked.

“I’m not kidnapped!” Mac cried. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you call us sooner, hoss?” Jack cried.

“I was passed out!” Mac defended. “And before that, I was kidnapped, remember?”

“I know, I know,” Jack said. “Now Nikki over here says that she has your location, and that you’re pretty darn close, so we’re gonna swing the van over and get your sorry butt.”

“Thank you,” Mac said. “And I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Jack sighed. “Don’t apologise for getting kidnapped! Just stop getting kidnapped, dammit.”

“See you soon,” Mac said with a dry laugh.

“See you soon, hoss,” Jack replied.

Mac hung up the phone.

They were okay. They were fine. He knew that they were okay. He knew that they were fine. They knew that he was okay. They knew that he was fine. And he knew that they knew that he was okay. He knew that they knew that he was okay. They were on their way to him. They were coming to get him. He knew that they were on their way. He knew that they were coming to get him. Jack had said that they were close by. Jack had said that they were coming. That was- that was good. That was so good. Mac just- he stood there, with the flip phone in his hands, processing the information. Nikki and Jack were fine. Mac was fine. They would all be going home soon.

“Can I have my phone back, boy scout?” Murdoc said, shaking Mac out of his thoughts.

Right. Murdoc was still here. And he had heard the entire phone call.

“Your bulldog’s name is Nikki?” Murdoc asked.

“No,” Mac said. “It’s not. How did you-”

“You called him Nikki,” Murdoc said.

“I wasn’t calling him,” Mac said. “I have other friends than just him, you know. I was calling my girlfriend.”

Something strange passed over the man’s face. “You were kidnapped and you called your girlfriend?”

“Obviously,” Mac said. And then he paused. “She’s in the same line of work,” he clarified. He didn’t even know why he was telling Murdoc this.

“Right,” Murdoc said, dryly. “Dating in this business never works out, you know.”

Mac paused. He didn’t know why it seemed so wrong that Murdoc had dated before, but it did. It just felt wrong. Probably because he was a killer. That was it. Definitely. “And you have experience with that?”

“Obviously,” Murdoc parrotted. “It’s a messy, messy thing. Incredibly messy.”

“Right,” Mac said, slowly. “It’s worked out well for us, anyway.”

“Has it?” Murdoc asked.

“Yes, it has,” Mac said, weirdly defensive. He didn’t even know why he was having this conversation at all.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

Mac sighed. “Have your phone back.” He passed the flip phone back.

“You enjoy your phone call, then?” Murdoc asked.

“Sure,” Mac said. Whatever tension that had been lingering in the air seemed to ease, thankfully. “Thank you, Murdoc,” Mac added.

“Don’t thank me,” Murdoc answered. “I wasn’t going to just leave you here without a phone. I don’t want you living in my safe house forever, you know.”

“Not just for the phone,” Mac pointed out. “You didn’t have to save me, you know.”

“I told you,” Murdoc answered. “You don’t get to die from anyone else but me.”

That would never stop getting creepy, Mac thought. But at the same time- “You didn’t have to take me to your safe house. You didn’t have to bandage my arms. You didn’t have to do any of that to just keep me alive.”

“What’s your point?” Murdoc asked, raising an eyebrow. He almost seemed angry, or something. Mac couldn't figure out what the man was feeling, or why, but he knew that something had changed in the man’s personality at that moment.

“My point,” Mac said, probably a bit too defensively. “Is that you did a good thing, Murdoc. You helped me when you didn’t have to. And I want to thank you for that.”

“Careful, boy scout,” Murdoc said. There was still that strange thing in his voice. That emotion that Mac couldn’t exactly place. “You’re almost making it sound like I have feelings.”

Mac sighed. “Thank you, Murdoc,” he stressed.

“Don’t thank me,” Murdoc said, flatly.

Mac opened his mouth to- to say something. To keep fighting. Mac didn’t really know. Just to say something.

And that was when somebody honked their horn outside, loud and long and familiar. That was the van. That was Nikki and Jack and work. That was the fantasy shattering around Mac, bringing him back to reality. Back to reality where Murdoc was more of a villain than anything else. Back to reality where Murdoc was- where Murdoc should have been the enemy. Where Murdoc should have been arresting him. Jack would have arrested Murdoc. Nikki would have arrested Murdoc. Mac should have arrested Murdoc. That was the reality of it. Mac knew that Murdoc was a killer. But at the same time, Mac knew that Murdoc had saved him. He didn’t exactly know what to do with that. There wasn’t much he could do with that.

Mac took a deep breath. “Goodbye, Murdoc,” he said, biting back saying thank you for the millionth time.

“I’ll be seeing you around, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

And then Mac ran outside.

Mac ran outside to the van. To Jack. To Nikki. Mac ran outside to the van. To his job. To his mission. Mac ran outside to the van. Away from the house. Away from Murdoc. Mac ran outside to the van. Towards reality. Away from fantasy, where a killer and an agent could be friends. Where a killer and an agent could be anything but enemies. Where a killer and an agent could do anything but kill each other. Mac ran outside to the van. Towards the truth. Away from lies. Away from the lie that someone like Murdoc would ever save Mac. That- that just wasn’t how real life worked, even if that was how Murdoc seemed to operate.

Mac entered the van. He entered in the back with Jack, heaving a sigh. Mac entered the van. He entered back into his life. Back into real life. Back into life where enemies were enemies and allies were allies and there was never any cross section. Mac entered the van. He entered back into reality. Reality where the same people who tried to kill you never saved you. Reality where bad guys were bad guys and good guys were good guys. Mac entered the van. Back to his mission. Back to his job. Back to his job where he stopped people just like Murdoc. Where he arrested people just like Murdoc.

Mac slouched in his seat in the van. Jack had flung his arms around him as soon as he had got in, and was refusing to let go. Mac refused to let go, too. Mac slouched in his seat in the van. His seat at the table. His seat in the world. Mac didn’t even really know where this metaphor was going, anymore. But Jack had his arms wrapped tight around Mac. A constant warmth. A constant pressure. He was holding him together. He was holding him back. He was pushing him forward. He was- he was squeezing Mac a bit too tight, actually.

“I do need to breathe, Jack,” Mac wheezed out.

“It’s just good to have you back, hoss,” Jack said, barely loosening his arms, but loosening them nonetheless..

“I know,” Mac said. “It’s nice to be back, too.”

It’s nice to be back, Mac told himself. This was where he belonged. This was where he was meant to be. This was the good side. The right side. The only side. This was the only place where he could be, really. This was where he did good. This was where he helped people. This was where he belonged. This was where Jack was, and where Nikki was, and where Mac was supposed to be. This was home. This was his mission. This was his life. There was nowhere else Mac could have been. There was nowhere else Mac wanted to be. This was where he was supposed to be. This was it. This was home. This was right.

He could still taste dinosaur egg oatmeal on his tongue.

Chapter Text

Mac had been put on medical leave, after getting kidnapped.

He hated medical leave. God, he hated medical leave. It was all waiting. So much waiting. It was nice being able to spend more time with Boze, sure, but he had to lie about why he was on medical leave at all. Bozer thought that Mac had gotten mugged while on a work trip. But even with Bozer there most of the time, whenever he wasn’t working anyway, there wasn’t anything to do. There was never anything to do. Every time Mac tried to tinker with the toaster, Bozer would tell him to sit down and rest. Every time Mac tried to help, even just over the phone, with their newest mission, Nikki would shoo him off.

Mac was bored. Mac was so damn bored.

The only thing medical leave let him do was be alone with his thoughts, and Mac wasn’t exactly a big fan of being left alone with his thoughts at the moment. His thoughts were complicated. Complex. Difficult. There were so many different adjectives that Mac could think of to describe his thoughts, and yet he still couldn’t actually make any sense of them. His thoughts were confusing. Diverse. Repetitive. There were so many ways that Mac could talk about his thoughts, and yet that didn’t mean that Mac had any understanding on what to do about them. His thoughts were intricate. Convoluted. Tiresome.

The thing was that Mac knew that Murdoc was a bad person. He had verifiable proof that Murdoc was a bad person. He knew that Murdoc had killed people. That he was a bad guy. He killed people. He liked killing people. He wanted to kill people. He made jokes about killing people. He had tried to kill Mac. He wanted to kill Mac. He kept on talking about killing Mac, again and again and again. He was a killer. He was an assassin. He was paid to kill people and he liked doing it. He took joy in it, even. He was proud of it. He was a bad guy, he was obviously a bad guy. He wore all black and talked like a supervillain! It was obvious that he was a bad guy. And yet Mac had to keep reminding himself of that. And yet, Mac wasn’t so sure. And yet-

The thing was that Murdoc didn’t really act like a bad person, not really. Once you got past the threats and the jokes about murder, he was- he acted good. He helped Mac. He saved Mac. It wasn’t like he just turned a blind eye, anymore. Now- now he had saved Mac. He hadn’t just stopped other people from killing him, either. He hadn’t saved him and then dumped him on the side of the road or something. He had taken him to his safe house. He had bandaged his arms. He had waited in one place until Mac was up and coherent and feeling better. He had made him oatmeal, for crying out loud.

It was hard to balance both truths, in Mac’s head.

And there was nothing Mac could do to distract himself from it, either. He could only play so many rounds of solitaire before his brain threatened to melt out of his ears from sheer boredom. Any sort of tinkering had been deemed negative to his health. That also ruled out running. And working out. And if he offered to help out one more time on a mission, he was pretty sure Director Thornton was going to have his doctor put him in a coma. Or just fire him. Or maybe both. He knew he was being a bit of a pest, admitally, but he just didn’t do well with boredom. He had run out of paperclips in a day. And through his second pack in just two hours.

That just left him with his thoughts. His thoughts, which Mac didn’t want to deal with. At all. Because the only thing that Mac could think about was Murdoc. Murdoc and his black coat and his stupidly infectious grin. Murdoc and his zest for life. Murdoc and his zest for killing. Murdoc and his jokes. Murdoc and his way of making every single thing a joke. Murdoc and the way that he made Mac drop his guard. Murdoc and just- Murdoc. He couldn’t stop thinking about Murdoc. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything about Murdoc. Anything about Murdoc. His eyes and his guns and his smile and the feeling of his arms around Mac as he picked him up.

It was like a plague. A disease, maybe. Definitely something infectious. So incredibly infectious. He tried puzzles and paper clips and solitaire and everything else. He tried watching tv and playing those stupid, mind numbing mobile games, and everything else he could even think of. And yet, his brain always drifted back to the one thing that he did not want to be thinking about. Hiis brain always drifted back to Murdoc. His brain always drifted back to Murdoc and the fact that he was a killer. The fact that he was kind. The fact that he was a kind killer.

It was better when Bozer was home, at the very least. And when Nikki and Jack were back long enough to visit him.

At least then, he was distracted. They seemed to realise that he wasn’t handling medical leave well, even more than usual. He wasn’t ever happy to be stuck at home, bored and with nothing to do, but it must have been clear that there was something else going on, because, well, they were being weird. Jack had made them all play charades like fourteen times, and Mac hadn’t even been on medical leave for two weeks. Nikki kept on bringing him puzzle books, sudokus and word searches and things that Mac had never even heard of before. There were apparently sudokus where you had to do calculations in the boxes. And sudokus but with differently shaped boxes. There were a lot of kinds of sudokus, apparently. So many kinds of sudokus.

And Bozer? Well, Bozer kept on insisting on movie marathons.

That was where Mac was, now. He was curled up on the couch next to Bozer, with a bowl of popcorn between them. It was caramel and cheddar, obviously, because that was the best way to eat it. And Bozer always got the good brand, too, because he was picky like that. Well, he called it being a connoisseur, but Mac was certain that that was the same thing with Boze. Anyway, the popcorn was good, even if the movies weren’t. Because, seriously, the movies were not good. They were never good. It was part of the appeal of movie night, really. Him and Bozer watching something so entirely awful that they just laughed at the screen and talked over the movie all night. The horrifically bad movies were what made the whole thing enjoyable, in Mac’s opinion.

But just because it was fun didn’t mean that the movies weren’t bad, because they were. They were absolutely god awful, actually. They were always overacted, and underfunded, and plotted in a way that made Mac’s head explode. Dinosaur zombies. Literal viking baseball players. Cowboys who also turned into cows under the full moon. They were just plain bad. And even the movies with almost normal plots were still outrageous in their own ways. Special effects that looked like they were done by a five year old. Stilted dialogue and the most random catch phrases. A whole lot of protagonists wearing sunglasses for no reason. But the badness made the movies even better, in Mac’s opinion. And Bozer’s, too. And those were the only movies that mattered, at the moment.

Tonight’s movies were no exception. Bozer had somehow landed on a bunch of old, cheesy spy movies, filled with cliches and bad explosions and fake blood which looked worse than ketchup. Mac didn’t even know what they were using to make it that colour, because it didn’t even look like blood at all. It looked like they all bled pink glitter glue, really. But it was all just part of the experience. The dialogue that felt like it had been written, put inside of three blenders and one of those expensive smoothie bullet things, and then handed back to the actors. The sheer amount of sunglasses used in this movie. Seriously. Mac had been counting, and only one character hadn’t been wearing sunglasses. One. And they were wearing a monocle! The explosions that looked more like brown paper bags being thrown across the screen. It all added to the charm. To the experience. To the fun.

But what added the most to the fun was Bozer. Of course it was Bozer.

Mac would have never watched any of these movies without Bozer. Mac wasn’t sure if he would watch any movies, if he wasn’t friends with Bozer. They just weren’t what he liked doing with his rare alone time. He preferred tinkering. Breaking apart his microwave and rebuilding it again. Making far too complex marble runs just to be able to turn off the lights with it. Thinking about science experiments. Doing science experiments. Puzzles and word searches and solitaire. Mac liked doing things, most of the time. It was hard to get his brain to stop to watch a movie, unless he was doing something else, too. So by himself, he didn’t watch movies. And without Bozer, the last movie he would have watched would have been Land Before Times. When he was twelve.

But Bozer liked watching movies. And watching movies with Bozer made them so much more bearable.

Mad didn’t even know why. Maybe it was because they were talking during it, which gave Mac something to do during it. And a reason to pay attention, too. Maybe because the movies were cheesy and bad and so played out Mac already knew how they ended, so he didnt have to worry about paying attention all that much. Maybe it was because Bozer was there to help him stay focused, or as focused as Mac could possibly get. But, Mac thought, it was probably just because he was Boze. Bozer always had a way of making Mac do things he didn’t know he could do. Like things he never would have otherwise. Movies and relaxing and yoga, weirdly enough. Olives on pizza and soccer, for most of middle school, anyway, and Christmas pastrami. Bozer just made some things easier than they should have been.

Mac smiled from his place on the couch. It had always been easier to switch off, around Bozer. Or, okay, maybe not switch off. Not completely, anyway. Mac didn’t think he could switch off completely. His brain was always whirring. Always going. It was hard to get pure, unadulterated peace with a brain like that. But Bozer got him as close as Mac thought was possible. His brain wasn’t off, not even close to it, but it was slower. Steadier. Easier to control. There was some sort of state that Mac reached, with Boze. It was probably because they had known each other for so long. Or maybe they knew each other for so long because Mac calmed down around Bozer. It didn’t really matter, though. What mattered was that Bozervreally did help to slow Mac’s brain down, especially during movie nights.

Mac wasn’t even thinking about Murdoc, when watching movies with Bozer. Murdoc had been an ever present thought for his entire medical leave, but it was easier to force him out of his head when watching movies with Bozer. It was easier to ignore the man. To ignore his startling eyes. His laugh that constantly echoed in Mac’s brain. His hands, calloused and scarred from guns. His coat. The feeling of his coat draped around Mac as a blanket. The smell of his coat. The smell of his coat on Mac, that lingered for days afterwards. The dinosaur egg oatmeal and the way he looked at Mac and the bandages that had been wrapped around Mac’s arms. The way that Mac had felt after he had to change those bandages out for new ones. The way that Mac missed Murdoc, even though he shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have missed him.

Or, okay, he had been successfully not thinking about Murdoc, anyway. Not so much now, Mac supposed.

But how was he supposed to keep Murdoc off his brain for that long? He- Mac didn’t even know how to explain it. Mac didn’t know why the man stuck to his brain so much, but he did. He was like a burr, sticking to Mac’s clothes. He had hated those as a kid, always getting on his stuff when he ran through the woods. He was sticky. And persistent. Like glue, maybe. But at least glue had a use. You could use it to stick things together, hold things close. Or to cause chemical reactions. Mac liked chemical reactions. But Mac’s constant thoughts about Murdoc didn’t have a purpose. There was no reason for Mac to be kept up, when he was supposed to be resting, dammit, by these thoughts.

At least he had moments like these. Moments where the thoughts let him relax, for just a little bit.

It was just Mac and Bozer. It was just Mac and Bozer and the movie. It was just Mac and Bozer and the movie and the popcorn and the pop and the sounds of them making fun of the movie. It was just Mac’s grandfather’s couch, and Mac’s grandfather’s house, and so many familiar sights and sounds and feelings and- and no Murdoc. No thoughts of Murdoc. Murdoc was something that happened during missions. Murdoc was something that Mac thought about during missions. But here, on this couch, with Boze, he could breathe. He could escape it. He could relax.

Mac had a feeling that this compartmentalization wasn’t exactly healthy. He didn’t exactly care. Obsessing over- no, thinking about Murdoc all day, every day wasn’t exactly healthy, either. So Mac was happy if he at least got some time away from those thoughts. Even if it meant separating who he was on the job and who he was with Bozer, so be it. He had already practically been doing that, anyway, considering that Bozer didn’t know what Mac did for a living. Considering that Bozer couldn’t know what Mac did for a living. He was already used to separating work and home, was the point. And it had worked out well enough for him so far.

But Murdoc was- he was different. He was like nothing Mac had ever encountered before. He was an unknown variable. He was a unique principal. There was no frame of reference for Murdoc. Normally, Mac could shut out anything from work as soon as he went back to LA. With Murdoc, he could barely shut him out for the length of one movie with Boze. But he could shut him out for the length of a movie, several movies if he tried hard enough. But he was different, Mac couldn’t deny that. He was different and he was strange and he was a series of coincidences and contradictions that Mac couldn’t even begin to explain and- and he needed to stop thinking about him. He needed to focus on the movie.

He needed a rest. He needed a break. He needed an hour without thinking about Murdoc.

And that was what movies were, with Boze. They were a rest. They were a break. They were freedom. They were how Bozer expressed himself, and how he and Mac bonded and how they connected. It was how Mac’s engineering and Bozer’s creativity combined themselves. It just made sense, for them. Just like making things had made sense, ever since they were kids, so had making movies. Mac wouldn’t ever make them by himself, and it wasn’t as though he was a writer, but really, he was anything Bozer needed. A sounding board. A light crew. Someone who spoke seventeen languages. They made movies. And they made fun of movies. And sometimes they still made things light on fire. It was just how it worked, with them. Their interests just sort of clicked. And it was amazing. And it was perfect. And it was freedom.

Or it had been freedom, anyway. Until he showed up.

Mac should have known there would be a character just like him. He was practically a character in his own right. He was a super villain, loud and dramatic and cheesy. He was like if you ripped a James Bond villain off the page and into the real world. So, of course, there would be a character in this bad spy movie just like him. The exact same. The same penchant for all black clothing. The same love of saying the most unhinged things. The same dark energy. The same uncaringness for doing morally reprehensible things. The same insanity in their eyes.

The same unexpected kindness. It was hard to deny that the man wasn’t kind, for all that he was evil. It was hard to deny that he was sweet, for all that he was terrible. It was hard to deny that there wasn’t so uniquely human about the man, for all that he said that he was wholly insane. Mac couldn’t shake that feeling. He couldn’t shake how normal he was, under all of the abnormality. He couldn’t shake how loving he was, under all the apathy. He couldn’t shake just how nice he was, even when he said that he was abhorrent. The man was just- there was something about him that Mac couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried.

The man- no, no Mac was not thinking about Murdoc. He wasn’t. He was thinking about the character. The character. The character who was tall, dark, and handsome. The character with his long black cloak, and his large array of guns that never seemed to run out of ammo. The character with his one liners and his evil laugh. The character with his unhinged smile and his bright eyes that sparkled with mischief and terror and pain. The character with his impressive kill count and his even more impressive penchant for never getting hurt even as he spends half the fight just speaking. The character with his laughter and his smile and his eyes and his lips and his everything. The character and the way that he seemed evenly matched for the main character, just one step ahead of the good guys, every time. The man-

The character. Mac was thinking about the character. Just the character.

Mac sighed. Clearly, the movie wasn’t doing as well as it normally did to help distract him. He didn’t have much time left of medical leave, at the very least. He was almost cleared for duty. Almost. And then he would be back to work. Back to normal. Back to living a life of going from mission to mission to mission. Back to being able to help Jack and help Nikki and protect the people that he cared about. Back to being able to help people. To help everyone. Back to mattering. Back to being useful. Back to having a purpose. Back to plane rides to tiny countries, and cramped hotel rooms, and everything else that his job entailed. Back to the good and the bad and the tiring and the enjoyable and-

And back to having a chance at seeing Murdoc.

At least then he wouldn’t be stuck thinking about the man all day, Mac supposed. If he was talking to him, or fighting him, or trying to convince him not to shoot anyone, then at least Mac wasn’t thinking about him. Again. Then at least Mac was actually doing something, instead of just sitting there. Then at least Mac was actually being productive, and not just stuck in his head. He hated being stuck in his head. He hated these thoughts of Murdoc being stuck in his head. He hated only being able to think about the man. He couldn’t talk to him. He couldn’t learn more about the man. He couldn’t get answers to any of the questions that were burning in Mac’s brain. He couldn’t do anything but think, right now, and it was absolutely terrible.

It would have been easier if Mac actually knew anything about the man, Mac thought. It would have been easier if Mac was certain about who the man was. But everything he knew about the man contradicted itself. Everything he knew about the man only made it even more complicated. Everything he knew about the man only ever raised more questions. And he never got answers. Only more questions. More and more and more questions. More and more problems. More and more things to think about. To spiral over. To obsess about. More and more things to consider. To stress over. To wonder about. Everything was so complicated. Murdoc was so complicated.

At least if the man was more evil, then this would have been easier. It would have been easier if this was just cut and dry. Simple. If it was clear that the man was a bad person, as well as a killer. He should have been a bad person, since he was a killer. Killers were bad people. People who killed without reason, at least. And getting paid wasn’t a reason, either. And Murdoc was a killer. He killed for money. He killed for joy. He killed just for something to do. And that made him a bad person. Or it should have made him a bad person, anyway. And yet, that didn't exactly make sense, either. The man was kind. And selfless, at least sometimes. He was funny and he was sweet and he seemed to somewhat actually care about Mac. And that just made everything so much more confusing.

Mac sighed again, rubbing at his temples.

Now wasn’t the time to think about this. Now was the time to watch a crappy movie with Boze. Now was the time to pick on the bad accents in the new spy movie Boze had put on. Now was the time to eat popcorn that had gone cold. Now was the time to drink flat pop. Now was the time to rest his head on Bozer’s shoulder. Now was the time to curl up and get comfortable. Now was the time to relax. Now was the time to stop thinking, just for a few hours. Now was the time to focus on nothing but the cheesy movie on the tv and Bozer beside him. Now was the time to breathe.

He had plenty of time to overthink about Murdoc during his medical leave, anyway.

For now, he could just enjoy his time with Bozer. As much as he hated medical leave, he had missed this.

He had really missed this.

Chapter Text

And then, finally, Mac’s medical leave ended.

Finally, goddamn finally, Mac was back to work. Back to DXS. Back to Jack and Nikki and Director Thornton. Back to missions. Back to mission after mission after mission, actually. Back to so many missions, in so many countries, back on so many flights. Back to cramped motel rooms and running on no sleep and- Back to helping people. Back to saving people. Back to doing something that mattered. Back to really actually contributing to the world. Back to having a purpose. Back to saving people. Back to protecting Jack. Back to doing whatever DXS needed from him. Back to-

Back to running into Murdoc at the most inopportune times.

Mac had been on this mission without Jack. He had broken his wrist, and was out for the next few missions. That meant that it was just him and Nikki. Except, Mac’s earbud had flown out of his ear when he had to run away from some rather nasty mercs, because of course it had. And that meant that he was on his own for this one, in a large industrial neighbourhood filled with warehouses of stolen guns and mercs willing to use them. Mac’s mission hadn’t even been about the guns, he had just been trying to find an undercover CIA agent. Which he had, by the way, just dead. So, Jack wasn’t there, and his comm had fallen out, and the mission was falling apart, and Mac still had to get out of this damn hotbed of action. And, of course, he was totally alone.

Alone until he had run into Murdoc, anyway.

He didn’t know whether he was excited or not, to see him. Murdoc always made missions more complicated. Murdoc made everything more complicated. Murdoc had somehow managed to infiltrate every part of Mac’s life, and Mac all of it so much more complicated. He made Mac’s thoughts more complicated. He made medical leave more complicated. He made everything more complicated, actually. There wasn’t a part of Mac’s life that Murdoc hadn’t managed to infiltrate. He was like an invasive species. Or the kudzu vines, growing absolutely everywhere. Spreading into every single nook and cranny. Covering every single facet of Mac’s life in thoughts of Murdoc. In emotions about Murdoc. In so many damn confusing emotions about Murdoc.

The worst part was the unknowns. There were so many unknowns about Murdoc. Mac didn’t know anything about the man, not really. He knew that he was a killer for hire. He knew that he loved threatening people. He knew that he had a secret soft streak that Mac didn’t know how to feel about. But he didn’t know the man’s real name. He didn’t know why he had gotten into this line of work, or why. He didn’t know if he had any sort of family. Any sort of something that made him human. Mac didn’t know if the man had any hobbies, apart from killing people.

And most of all, Mac didn’t know why he was always thinking about Murdoc. He didn’t know why the man plagued him this much. He didn’t know why he hadn’t turned him in. He was a killer. He was an assassin. He had killed someone pretty much every single time Mac had met him. He should have hated Murdoc. He didn’t know why he didn’t hate Murdoc. The man was evil. He was as evil as evil could be. He killed. He killed for fun, for god’s sake. He seemed to get joy out of it. There was nothing good about somebody who got genuine joy from killing someone. That was- it was reprehensible. He killed. And he threatened. And he was maybe more terrible than anyone Mac had ever met in this business. And yet-

And yet, Mac had missed him. Or, as much as Mac could miss an assassin who kept threatening to kill him, anyway.

Mac was pretty sure it was weird to miss an assassin. Any assassin. It wasn’t exactly a smart thing, to miss an assassin. Especially an assassin who kept talking about killing you. And it especially wasn’t a smart thing to like an assassin. To actively enjoy spending time with an assassin. To be friends with an assassin. No, that wasn’t smart. It wasn’t good. It was- it was insane, actually, to be close to an assassin in any way at all. Being close to an assassin is how you wound up dead, most of the time. Nobody in their right mind liked spending time with an assassin. No one with their sanity intact liked an assassin. No person who had a sense of self preservation actually missed an assassin.

But Mac had missed him. Mac was starting to forget why he had missed him at all, actually.

“I’m a little bit busy here,” Mac grit out. “Do we really have to do this right now?”

“But I missed you, boy scout,” Murdoc cooed. “And we barely get to spend any time together!”

“I know that,” Mac grumbled. “But that doesn’t change that I’m being shot at right now!”

“I’m being shot at too,” Murdoc pointed out petulantly. “I just don’t let things like that keep me down! You really need to accept some zen into your life, Mac.”

“Zen?” Mac asked, with a raised eyebrow. He doubted Murdoc could see it, with Mac’s face in the wiring and Murdoc’s in his gun’s sight. But the raised eyebrow mattered, for posterity’s sake.

“Zen!” Murdoc repeated. “You know. Calm. Meditation. Do you not do yoga, boy scout?”

“Do I look like I do yoga, Murdoc?” Mac said flatly.

“You don’t look like you can black out an entire city, either,” Murdoc pointed out. “Or that you steal for a living, for that matter.”

“I don’t steal for a living,” Mac corrected, barely even thinking about it.

“Yes, yes,” Murdoc said. “I know you’re a jack of all trades. Safe cracking, rescuing hostages, retrieval services, black market deals, the works. But stealing is just so much more succinct, isn’t it?”

Mac froze, his hands going still amongst the breakers. Did- did Murdoc not know? Did he seriously not know? Did Murdoc seriously, genuinely, literally not know that Mac was part of DXS. Did he seriously not know that Murdoc worked for the government? The American government? Did that somehow just never occur to the man? Mac certainly wasn’t going to correct him. That- that felt bad. That felt very, deeply, incredibly bad. Dangerous even. Definitely dangerous. And sure, Mad was used to dangerous situations, but he still wasn’t going to tell Murdoc that he worked for the government. Mac hadn’t even thought that Murdoc didn’t know. Although, that did explain why Murdoc never teased him about it.

But still, what the hell? How could Murdoc not know! It wasn’t as though Mac had been particularly good at hiding it, or anything. He hadn’t even been trying to hide it! It was a part of, just like building things was. Just like Bozer and Jack and Nikki were. He worked for DXS, and that was just a part of him. He hadn’t even considered that Murdoc might not know. And yet, clearly, he didn’t. Murdoc actually didn’t know. Murdoc, seriously, sincerely, had no idea what Mac actually did for a living. Murdoc had no idea that Mac worked against people liked him, every single day. Murdoc had no idea that Mac had the power to arrest him. Murdoc had no idea that Mac had thought about arresting him. Murdoc had no idea that Mac should have arrested him, ages ago. Murdoc had absolutely no idea who Mac actually was.

Mac couldn’t tell him. He could not, under any circumstances, tell him. Obviously. That would be dangerous. That would be so incredibly dangerous. It would be a death sentence, honestly. Murdoc- Murdoc didn’t know. He didn’t know. And that meant his friendliness, his jokes, his mercy, was only because he thought that Mac was a fellow criminal. That meant that everything that Murdoc had shown him, had given him, had been with him, was because he thought that Mac was a fellow criminal. Probably not that good of a criminal, or that dangerous of a criminal, but a criminal nonetheless. So, no, Mac couldn’t tell him. Everything would change if he told him. And Mac didn’t want anything to change.

“You alright there, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

And crap, right, Murdoc was still there. Murdoc was still there, and people were still after Mac, and he needed to finish wiring this damn thing. He didn’t have time to get existential right now. He- he had focus. He had to get himself out of here. He had to get Murdoc out of here. He hadn’t actually expected to be that worried about making sure Murdoc got alive, that worried about protecting him, but he was. Huh. Still, there was no time to think about that. There was no time to think about anything at all, actually. He just- he had to get out of here.

“Boy scout?” Murdoc repeated.

“Almost done,” Mac grit out. “Less than a minute.”

“Good,” Murdoc replied. “Because I think our friends are getting a tad too close for comfort over here.”

Mac forced himself to focus on the wires in front of him. Even as his whole body shook with the realisation that Murdoc didn’t know, he didn’t know, Mac forced himself to focus on the junction box in front of him. He had to focus on getting out. On getting Murdoc out. That was what mattered right now. He could think about Murdoc later. He could panic about Murdoc later. There was always time to spiral about Murdoc later. For now, Mac just had to focus on the wires. He moved one wire, changing where it led to. He moved another, pulling it into another location. He cut a third. In fact, just to be sure, he cut all the blue ones.

“Now,” Mac said, flicking the switch.

And then the lights went out.

The plan had been to run out of the warehouse together, under the cover of the blackout. The plan had not been for Murdoc to grab his hand as they ran. Mac knew that it was just so that Murdoc wouldn’t lose him, since it was pitch black and they were moving quickly but- but it made Mac’s heart race, just a little bit. It was just the adrenaline. Yeah, it was just the adrenaline, flowing through Mac’s veins because he was running for his life. That was why his heart had fluttered. Obviously. No other reason. Yeah. And holding hands was just- it was tactical. Right. It was tactical hand holding. It made sure that they couldn’t get lost. Or separated. It kept them safe.

Hand holding didn’t prevent them from getting shot at, though, so they weren’t that safe. But they were safer, Mac supposed, for holding hands. It kept them together. It was strange that Mac felt safe, stuck right next to a killer. A killer who had expressed many times that he wanted to kill Mac, even if that hadn’t happened in a while. Most people probably wouldn’t have felt safe. But somehow, Mac did. He had gotten to the point where Murdoc meant safety. Somehow, Mac had gotten to a point where he trusted Murdoc. Mac honest to god trusted a killer. An assassin. A mercenary. Mac trusted Murdoc to have his back. To protect him. At least for now, anyway.

He wasn’t sure how he had gotten to this point. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten to a point where he trusted Murdoc, but he did. He actually trusted Murdoc. He actually trusted the man. He actually trusted a killer. A killer who had threatened to kill him over and over and over again. A killer who seemed to go out of his way just to annoy him. A killer who teased and taunted Mac. A killer who seemed to thrive off of being as much of a distraction as possible. A killer who lived inside of Mac’s head every single minute of every single day. A killer who had killed every single time Mac had ever seen him. A killer who had tried to kill Mac. A killer who had killed people for Mac.

A killer who kept saving Mac’s life.

There was no denying that, was the thing. There was no denying that Murdoc had saved Mac’s life. There was no denying that Murdoc kept saving Mac’s life. There was no denying that Murdoc had gone out of his way to save Mac’s life. Even now, Murdoc could have abandoned Mac. He could have muscled his way out of the kill zone with just his guns, without the blackout. But he had stayed. He had stayed and he had provided cover for Mac, since he was on his own for this one, with no Jack to protect him. And in the absence of Jack, somehow Murdoc had been the one to protect him, when Jack wasn’t there. Murdoc kept on protecting him, actually. There was no other way to think about it. Murdoc protected Mac.

So how could Mac not trust him, at that point?

They manoeuvred through the darkness together, hand in hand. It was clear that whoever was after them, the sea of mercs with guns, were kind of useless now that the entire area had now power. Which was good, because that had been Mac’s only plan to get out of here, actually. And if they had thought to bring five hundred industrial grade flashlights, or to even install a backup generator, or something, Mac definitely would have been screwed. But he wasn’t screwed, they weren’t screwed, because no light source came on. Which was good. That was good. That was very, very good.

All Mac had to do now was focus on running. And make sure that they were running in the right direction, based on the map that he had in his head. And not freak out about the fact that Murdoc was still holding his hand. Mac didn’t even know why he would be freaking out. Although, it was the first time that the assassin had really touched him, apart from when Mac was drugged out of his mind, so that was probably it. It was just fear that an assassin was that close to him. Even though Mac wasn’t exactly scared of Murdoc, especially not after all this time. He wasn’t even sure if he had ever been scared of Murdoc, really. But the fact that Murdoc was grabbing his hand was definitely spooking him, for some reason. Mac chose not to investigate that any further.

Right. Running. Mac was focusing on running. Mac had to focus on running. And on the directions. But mostly on running. Definitely on running. Right. Yep. That was the focus. Running. The air pumping through Mac’s lungs. In and out. In and out. They had been running for a while, now, as Mac tried his best not to spiral. The gun shots were getting more and more distant. As was the shouting. And the footsteps. Everything was just growing quieter and quieter, softer and softer. They were making good time, then. But Mac wasn’t focused on being fast, really. He was just focused on getting out of there safely. On getting Murdoc out of there safely. Murdoc who’s hand was still in his. Murdoc who-

And then they came to a stop, shoes skidding on the stubby grass.

There were no more sounds of gunshots. No sounds of shouting from mercs. No sounds of footsteps. There was just silence. Pure, merciful silence. And there was actual greenery, instead of warehouse after warehouse after warehouse. Mac was pretty sure they had made it out of the industrial district, which was good. He could remember the maps of this place that he had looked at before he had left for the mission, and he was pretty sure he knew where he was. Probably. Mac’s extraction point wasn’t that far from here, he was certain. Mostly certain, anyway. He would be able to find Nikki soon. Pretty soon. But for now, he wasn’t really worried about that. He mostly just wanted to stop running and breathe.

“I think we’re safe here,” Mac panted out. Now that they weren’t moving, he dropped Murdoc’s hand like it was a live wire. It felt like it was a live wire, anyway. It was certainly just as deadly, at least.

Murdoc grinned, straightening up. “You’re never safe with me, boy scout.”

“You’re not going to kill me in a Bolivian warehouse,” Mac said. He wasn’t even phased by the threats anymore. That was probably a bad thing, now that Mac thought about it.

“Got me!” Murdoc cooed. “But I will kill you, eventually.”

“As you keep saying,” Mac said flatly. “But not yet.” It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Murdoc said, sounding oddly like a child who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Not yet. You’re too fun to waste on a boring death.”

Mac smiled, laughing. He had missed this. He had missed Murdoc. He had missed how simple talking to him always was. He had missed all of it. He had even missed Murdoc’s quips. His teasing. His threats. Mac had missed Murdoc, and his stupid grin, and his sparkling eyes. Mac had missed Murdoc, and his weird murder jokes, and his threatening glares, and the way that he never really meant it. Not really. Mac had missed Murdoc, and his relaxed existence, and the way that everything just sort of made sense when Mac was around him. Mac had missed Murdoc. He had seriously missed Murdoc, and he couldn’t stop laughing because of it.

“What’s so funny?” Murdoc asked.

“I missed you,” Mac blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say that. He really hadn’t meant to say that. He really shouldn’t have said that.

“Did you?” Murdoc asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean- I missed this. I missed working. While on medical leave. Yeah. I missed- I missed working,” Mac choked out. “And sometimes with you. But mostly just working. Right. Yeah.”

Murdoc grinned. “I don’t think that’s what you said, boy scout.”

“It’s what I meant,” Mac grumbled, crossing his arms.

“I missed you too, boy scout,” Murdoc cooed.

“Stop teasing,” Mac said.

“Who said I was teasing?” Murdoc asked, voice suddenly serious. “I missed you, boy scout. I missed being close enough to choke you. To threaten you. To-”

“To save me,” Mac interrupted. “That’s mostly what you’ve been doing these days.”

Murdoc frowned. “Because your death has to be perfect.”

“Right,” Mac said. He wasn’t sure if he bought that excuse anymore.

“Well then,” Murdoc said, turning. “We should get out of here. Is your little bulldog hanging out around here to come get you?”

“My extraction point is just over that way,” Mac said.

“Extraction point,” Murdoc said, eyes glittering. “Fancy.”

Mac snorted. “The extraction is a beat up van.”

“Still,” Murdoc said. “Fancy.”

“But you’re- you have a way to get out of here, right?” Mac asked.

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” Murdoc replied. “I’m an assassin, remember? I can handle getting myself out of here.”

“Okay,” Mac said. “Good.

“See you around, boy scout,” Murdoc said, turning to leave.

And then Mac had an idea. A bad idea. An absolutely terrible idea. The worst idea in the history of ever, perhaps. There was nothing worse than this idea, actually. It was the worst idea that Mac had ever had, which was saying something, because Mac had had a lot of dumb ideas over the years. It was worse than the time Mac had jumped out of a plane with no parachute. Actually, it was worse than any of the times he had jumped out of plane without a parachute. It was worse than when Mac had strapped a bomb to his chest as a distraction. It was worse than every time that Mac had decided to trust an assassin. It was the worst idea in the history of all existence. It was the worst idea ever, and there was no way Mac could go through with it and-

“Wait,” Mac blurted out.

Murdoc turned back around to face him. “What is it?” He asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

“You- I- Do you have a phone?” Mac asked, stumbling over his words.

That wasn’t what he should have been saying. That was not what he should have been saying. Those words should have never left Mac’s mouth. Never, ever, ever. Not to Murdoc. Not to a killer. Not to a killer that Mac should have arrested a million times over. He shouldn’t have even been considering this, and yet he was. He was more than considering it, actually, he was doing it. He was asking it. He shouldn’t have been asking, he definitely should not have been asking it, and yet- And yet he was.

“Of course I have a phone, boy scout. DoI look like a luddite to you?” Murdoc said. “You borrowed it from me, remember? Do you have brain damage? A concussion? I can- ”

“No,” Mac said hastily. “I meant, can I have your phone number? For- for emergencies. To tell you if I get hurt again, or something.”

“Oh,” Murdoc exclaimed, his face spreading into a wide grin. “You really did miss me, didn’t you?”

“No,” Mac grumbled. “I missed working.”

Murdoc didn’t even bother saying anything. He simply raised an eyebrow, and Mac crumbled.

“Fine,“ Mac said. “Maybe I missed you. Possibly. The smallest amount possible. I missed you for a millisecond. Or, no, a microsecond. I missed you for one singular nanosecond, actually.”

“Right,” Murdoc said, still drawing. “And I completely believe you.”

Mac sighed. “Look,” he said. “It was a dumb idea. Nevermind.”

“No, no,” Murdoc said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “If you missed me that much, then I suppose I must give you my number.”

This was a bad idea. Mac knew that this was a bad idea. It had been a bad idea to ask. It had been a bad idea to even think about asking. It was a bad idea to even think about thinking about asking. It was the worst idea Mac had ever had. It was the worst idea Mac was ever going to have. There was no way that Mac would ever have in the history of ever. There was no way that Mac was going to top this. He had just asked an assassin for his number. He had just asked an assassin who kept threatening to kill him, for his phone number. He had actually just asked him for his phone number. Was Mac really that dumb? Apparently, he was, because he had done that. He had actually done that. Oh my god, he had actually done that.

Murdoc fished out a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Do you have a pen, boy scout?”

Mac nodded. You never knew when pens would be useful. They had springs. “Here,” he said, handing it out.

“There you go,” Murdoc said, handing over a piece of paper with a freshly scrawled number on it. “Now you won’t miss me so bad.”

Mac scowled. “Thank you,” he gritted out.

Murdoc just laughed.

And Murdoc had actually given it to him. Murdoc had actually given Mac his phone number. It was probably a burner, or something. But- but Murdoc had actually given Mac a way to reach him. That was probably dumber than Mac’s idea, even. Mac could use this to track him. And even though Murdoc didn’t know that Mac was an agent, Mac could have still sold it to an agency if he had wanted to. But he didn’t want to. Mac didn’t want to do anything like that with the number. And that was the dumbest part of all. He simply wanted the phone number because he had missed Murdoc. He simply wanted the number because he didn’t want to miss Murdoc again.

“I think the coast is clear,” Mac choked out. “We should- I should go. Yeah. Get back to Nikki. Extraction point. Yeah.”

“Right,” Murdoc said, something odd hidden in his voice, under the surface of the general murderous glee. “Your girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “I’ll- I’ll be seeing you, Murdoc.”

“Maybe you won’t,” Murdoc quipped. “I am an assassin, after all. We’re very good at sneaking around. I could be anywhere and you wouldn’t even know it.”

Mac laughed. “Goodbye, Murdoc,” he said, before walking away.

But Mac’s brain didn’t settle down for the whole walk to his extraction point. Neither did his heart, for that mattered. It was beating quickly in his chest. Too quickly. Even when he met up with Nikki, safe and sound and apologising a million times for losing his earbud, his heart was still beating rapidly in his chest. He forced himself to focus on the mission. On Nikki. On getting home. On debriefing. On what movie he was going to watch with Bozer. On anything that wasn’t Murdoc. On anything that wasn’t the paper in his pocket. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Murdoc’s phone number was still in Mac’s pocket.

And even though it was just paper and pen, it felt like the heaviest thing in the world.

Chapter Text

Mac had Murdoc’s phone number.

It had been nearly a month since that had happened, and Mac still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It wasn’t as though he had used it, or anything. Mac couldn’t bring himself to do that. Mac couldn’t even believe that he had it. That he had asked for it. He had actually asked for Murdoc’s phone number. And more than that, even more incomprehensible than that, Murdoc had given it to him. Murdoc had actually given his phone number to Mac. Mac couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe any part of it. He couldn’t believe that fact that he could contact Murdoc, whenever he needed to. Whenever he wanted to.

Mac actually had Murdoc’s phone number.

He had put the number into his phone, of course. What if Mac needed it? Or what if Mac lost the paper? Or if something happened to the house? So, yeah, Mac had decided that the only thing to do was to put it into his phone. But he still couldn’t bring himself to use the number. But he had it, and that was almost enough. Almost. Still, he couldn’t use it. He couldn’t text Murdoc. That was a murderer. That was a killer. And to give his phone number, his actual phone number because Mac constantly lost all of his burner and work phones, to Murdoc, would be insane. To give his actual phone number to an assassin would be insane. It would be just plain dumb, actually. There was no way Mac could use the number, even if he had it.

Besides, Mac thought, what would he even say? How were you supposed to text an assassin? Especially one that you weren’t hiring. There weren’t manuals for that. Mac really wished that there was a manual for that. He wished that there were manuals for everything, actually, but there weren’t. And even if there were, there wouldn’t be a manual for this situation. Mac was pretty sure he was the first person to have the phone number of an assassin, and be too afraid to use it. Well, to have the phone number of an assassin and not want to kill anybody, anyway. Mac just wanted to talk to Murdoc. He wanted to talk to Murdoc and he didn’t know how and that was probably more terrifying than the fact that Murdoc was a killer and-

And so the number simply lived in his phone. Untouched. Unused. Just sitting there, in Mac’s contacts. Haunting him. Taunting him. Mac would look at it, sometimes. Stare at it. Glare at it. Sometimes his hand would float over the contact. Indecisive. Inanimate. Sometimes he would want to text the number. Sometimes he would want to delete the number. Either way, Mac still wouldn’t do anything. But he would look. He did look. He couldn’t help himself. Mac came back to the phone number over and over again. He stared at the number in his phone. He stared at the number on the piece of paper. He stared and he glared and he stared some more. But as much as he considered, as much as thought about it, as much as he looked, he knew. He knew that the phone number was too dangerous to use.

Mac vowed to never use Murdoc’s phone number.

It would have been a bad idea to use the phone number. It would have been an absolutely terrible idea to use the phone number. Murdoc was a killer. Mac was a government agent. He had to remind himself of that. He should have already turned Murdoc in. He absolutely should have already turned Murdoc in. He should be turning Murdoc in right at this very second. He was a killer. A murderer. An assassin. And there was no way that Mac could text him. It was dangerous. It was dangerous enough to talk to him in the first place. It was dangerous enough to ask for his number in the first place. But Mac couldn’t use the number. He couldn’t. Phone numbers had information. Locations. Names. Phone conversations had trails. Proof. It was dangerous. It was way too dangerous.

Mac used Murdoc’s phone number.

He hadn’t actually meant to text him, was the thing. He had an excuse for the first time he texted him, at the very least. He had been tired. And drunk. Probably a bit drunk, actually. Maybe more than a bit. He and Jack had been drinking out by the firepit. And Mac had been on his phone, texting Nikki. Or, trying to text Nikki. Evidently, he hadn’t actually managed to text Nikki. Instead, his finger must have slipped or missed or something, and he had accidentally clicked on Murdoc’s contact instead. They were next to each other, of course they were. Mac would silently curse alphabetical order for the rest of his life. Or maybe he should be thanking it, actually. Because he had meant to text Nikki, but he hadn’t. He had clicked on Murdoc by accident, and he hadn’t even noticed. But Murdoc had texted back, and Mac had been too drunk to even feel embarrassed.

“Hiiii,” Mac texted, his fingers slurring over the keyboard.

“Who is this?” Nikki replied.

Except, it wasn’t Nikki. Nikki knew who he was. “Who are you?” Mac texted back.

“You texted me,” the person reminded him.

Mac squinted at the contact. Oh. Oh. “Murdoc,” he texted. “You’re Murdoc.

“Boy scout?” Murdoc replied, tentatively.

“You know it,” Mac answered. He blinked at his screen. “I’m drunk,” he added.

He felt as though he could hear Murdoc’s laugh on the other side of the screen. “I can tell.”

Mac had no excuse for why he kept texting Murdoc.

It was like Mac had opened up Pandora’s box, or something. Now that he had opened that box, he couldn’t put everything back inside. Or, no, maybe it was more like a dam bursting. Mac had broken that dam, and now all the water was running and nobody could stop it. The water was running and flowing and moving so fast and people were drowning. Mac was drowning. Drowning in guilt from texting a murderer. Drowning in fear of the fact that there was now a digital trail of the two of them texting. Drowning in texts from Murdoc, actually, because damn the guy texted a lot. Like, a lot.

“If you had to choose,” the text from Murdoc read. “What fruit do you think would take over the world?”

“What?” Mac texted back. He rubbed his head. Was he seeing things, or something? Because there was no way that that was what Murdoc had texted. Maybe the guy had used speech to text and it had gone really really badly, or something.

“Which fruit would take over the world?” Murdoc repeated, like that made any sense at all. “It’s simple, boy scout.”

Mac sighed. Why was this what he was thinking about on a Wednesday afternoon? And yet, he was thinking about it. He was actually thinking about it. He was thinking about different kinds of fruit, and enzymes, and the chemistry of all them. And the history of fruits. The history of fruit was very important for all of this, actually. And he knew it was just a thought exercise. Or a weird metaphor. Or a weird prank from Murdoc. It probably wasn’t that serious. But Mac’s brain took everything seriously. And he was going to find out the perfectly, correct, objective truth to this question. He was going to answer it, and answer it right. He was-

“Did I stump you, boy scout?” Murdoc sent after a couple minutes of silence.

“No,” Mac texted back, even though he hadn’t thought of an answer yet. And then, he had an epiphany. Everything clicked. “Pineapples,” he sent, his fingers flying across his phone’s keyboard.

“Pineapples,” Murdoc repeated. “Why?”

“Bromelain!” Mac texted in reply. “It’s the enzyme, well, collection of enzymes, anyway, in pineapple that digest protein. They literally eat you back, Murdoc.”

“Really?” Murdoc asked. Mac could already imagine his eyebrow raised in murderous curiosity.

“Yes, really! It’s super interesting. And if pineapples eat you back, then they would be the best at taking over the world, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Murdoc parroted.

“Also!” Mac continued. He was smiling at his phone, now. “Pineapples were historically viewed as a status symbol. People would literally rent pineapples in order to show how cool and rich they were at parties! So really, of any fruit, pineapples probably are first in line for the throne, when you think about it.”

“They rented pineapples?” Murdoc asked.

“They rented pineapples! They’re the bourgeois of the fruit world, Murdoc,” Mac sent, not bothering to hold in the laughter at his own phrasing.

“How insightful, boy scout,” Murdoc replied.

“What was that for, anyway?” Mac asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Murdoc sent back the infuriating upside down smile emoji. And a pineapple emoji, just for good measure, apparently.

“Idiot,” Mac muttered, groaning at his phone. Even though there was no one around to hear it. There was no one around to see the smitten smile on his face, either.

Mac wasn’t sure if he could stop texting Murdoc, now.

The thing was, he was fun to text. No, it was more than that, actually. He was interesting to text. Macgyver never knew what the man would answer. Macgyver didn’t even know if the man was going to answer, at all, or if he was just going to send an emoji or a cat video and pretend Mac had never sent anything at all. It was infuriating. It was amazing. It was addicting. It was- it was getting hard to ignore his phone when it buzzed, actually. Because he knew that it would be Murdoc, and he wanted to talk to him. And well, uh, people were starting to notice. And by people, Mac meant his friends. They were more than friends, really, and they were starting to notice. Whoops.

“What’s so interesting, hoss?” Jack asked, after taking a sip of beer.

They were all sitting outside at the fire pit, drinking beers and joking. It was Jack and Boze and Nikki and Mac, all together. It was nice. It was really nice. But then Murdoc had texted, and Mac had dived a bit too quickly to grab his phone.

“Nothing,” Mac muttered, giving a weak glare from over his phone.

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Bozer chimed in, from beside Mac. “Who’re you texting?”

“Nobody,” Mac answered. Not very convincingly, apparently.

“Nobody,” Nikki said, slowly. “Really?”

“Nobody,” Mac repeated.

“It ain’t work, is it?” Jack asked. “We just got back.”

“It’s not work,” Mac said. He still hadn’t actually put his phone down, yet. He couldn’t bring himself to.

“Then who is it?” Nikki asked. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Just a friend,” Mac muttered.

“All your friends are sitting right here,” Bozer pointed out.

“I can have other friends,” Mac grumbled.

“You can,” Nikki said. “But you don’t. So who is it?”

“Nobody,” Mac repeated, for what felt like the millionth time.

“It can’t be nobody,” Bozer said. “You’re clearly texting them.”

“And you’re smiling like an idiot, hoss,” Jack added. Unhelpfully, by the way.

“No, I’m not,” Mac protested. His friends were the worst. They were also the best, but still.

Nikki dove for Mac’s phone, snatching it out of his hand.

“Hey!” Mac cried, arms flailing.

She squinted at his screen. “Who’s ‘Murder’?”

Right. Mac’s phone had autocorrected Murdoc, and he had never thought to change it. It was fitting. “He’s just a friend.”

“A friend from where?” Bozer asked.

“A bird watching group,” Mac blurted. It was the first thing he could think of, okay?

“Since when did you birdwatch?” Jack asked.

“I used to do it with my grandpa,” Mac said, which wasn’t a lie. “I got back into it recently.” And okay, that part was a lie. But it wasn’t like he could tell everyone he was texting an assassin.

“And he’s named ‘Murder’ in your contacts, why, exactly?” Nikki asked, still holding Mac’s phone.

“Because he likes crows,” Mac answered. And okay, it was stupid, but it made sense. Sort of. Mostly. Kind of!

“You didn’t tell me you were into birdwatching,” Nikki said, softly. She handed back his phone.

Mac felt bad about lying to her. “It’s new,” he said. “And I don’t know if I’m gonna stick with it.”

“You should,” Bozer said. “You need a hobby.”

“I have hobbies,” Mac defended with a pout. “Jack’s the one without any hobbies,” he added.

And just like that, the conversation shifted. That was just how his friend group worked. Now, they were making fun of Jack for his lack of hobbies. And his love of cowboy movies. And his weirdly possessive nature over his car. And his love of Die Hard. Especially his love of Die Hard, actually. And then the conversation shifted again, and they were trying to figure out what was the least Christmassy movie you could call a Christmas movie, that wasn’t Die Hard. Because Die Hard was just too easy, at that point. And then they were talking about pie. And then they were looking at where to buy really good pies around here. And then they were seeing how expensive edible gold really was. And then-

And then Mac snuck a look at the texts that Murdoc had been sending.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Murdoc had sent.

And then, five minutes later. “Boy scouttttt.”

“I’m going to turn into a ghost by the time you answer,” Murdoc had continued, a few minutes after that.

“Did someone turn you into a ghost?” Murdoc had then sent.

Mac rolled his eyes. “You’re dramatic,” he sent.

“You’re alive!” Murdoc exclaimed.

“I was gone for like half an hour,” Mac texted back, holding in a groan.

“A half an hour we could have been talking about ghosts,” Murdoc pointed out.

“I was busy,” Mac replied.

“What could possibly be more important than ghosts?” Murdoc asked. “Or me, for that matter?” He had added ghost emojis. And sparkle emojis. Of course he had.

“I have other friends besides you,” Mac sent.

“But they aren’t as interesting as I am,” Murdoc pointed out.

“They’re less murderous,” Mac said, smirking.

“Your bulldog sure seems to have a vicious streak,” Murdoc texted.

Mac held in a laugh. “He’s still not a bulldog.”

“Are you sure?” Murdoc sent. “He looks like he would go crazy over a steak.”

And yeah, okay, that was kind of true, Mac thought, looking over at Jack, who was now talking about tornadoes. For some reason. Mac smiled, putting his phone back down.

Mac never knew what conversations they would end up having, either.

It was always different, every time. Always surprising. One time, he had been at home, having just gotten back from a run. He was tired and sweaty and just about to take a shower. Or maybe eat a snack. Or maybe eat a snack while in the shower. People did that, right? Mac was too hungry and sweaty and tired to care, really. If he was eating in the shower, could he also nap in the shower? No, that felt like a good way to drown. Even though drowning was more of a bath thing, wasn’t it? It was kind of hard to drown when the water was a fine mist. But it did seem like a good way to fall and hit your head. And bathroom tile wasn’t exactly the friendliest thing to fall on, Mac knew that from experience. Maybe he could shower and then eat while also napping. Or maybe-

But then Mac’s phone buzzed, and every other thought had gone out the window.

“Did you go to boarding school?” Murdoc’s text read.

Mac blinked. That was completely out of the blue. “No,” he texted back. “Why?”

“No reason,” Murdoc answered. “Just thinking.”

“Did you?” Mac asked.

“No,” Murdoc said. “But I always wondered what they were like.”

Mac tilted his head, thinking. “Nikki went to a private school.”

“Did she now?” Murdoc asked. Even over text, his teasing voice was clear.

“I think she liked it,” Mac added.

There was a pause. He watched the ellipse float on his screen, as Murdoc typed.

“Can you keep a secret?” Murdoc asked. It was accompanied by a shushing emoji. Mac rolled his eyes at it.

“I think my whole job is based on keeping secrets,” Mac texted back.

“I’m serious, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“I am, too,” Mac sent. Something about it felt final. Real. About more than secrets. Mac ignored those feelings.

There was another pause. Mac kept staring as Murdoc kept typing.

“Do you know where she went to boarding school?” Murdoc asked, finally.

Mac blinked. Why was Murdoc so interested in boarding schools, all of a sudden? It didn’t really matter, though. “Europe, somewhere,” Mac sent. “France, I think.”

“And she liked it?” Murdoc asked.

“Yeah. I think she really did. Said it was fun,” Mac confirmed. “Why?” He added, in a second text. He- he wanted to know. He was curious, dammit.

There was another damn pause. Mac couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. And then-

“I’m thinking of sending my son to boarding school,” Murdoc sent.

Oh. Oh. “You have a son?” Mac asked.

“I do,” Murdoc answered. It lacked the man’s usual flair.

Mac’s head was kind of spinning from the news, actually. Murdoc had a son. He had a son. An actual son. A son who was the age for boarding school, apparently. A son that Murdoc cared enough about to want him to be happy at boarding school. A son that Murdoc cared about at all. A son that Murdoc had told Mac about. That was probably the most insane part, actually. Murdoc trusted Mac enough to tell him about his son. About his young son, apparently. Murdoc trusted Mac so much. Too much, maybe.

“Thank you,” Mac typed, looking away as he hit the send button.

“For what?” Murdoc responded.

“For trusting me with that,” Mac texted back.

“It’s easy to trust you,” Murdoc replied.

Mac’s heart did- it did something. Something that Mac was not going to think about right now. Something-

“Because I know I’ll be killing you before you have a chance to spill my secrets,” Murdoc continued in another text.

Mac sighed. There it was. And yet, that feeling in Mac’s heart didn’t change. Weird. “You’re the worst,” Mac sent.

“I could be a lot worse, boy scout,” Murdoc texted. “Don’t forget I’m dangerous,” he added, with a knife emoji. It was ridiculous. It was absolutely ridiculous. Murdoc should have been banned from using emojis, actually. Outlawed.

“I hate you,” Mac texted. The smile on his face sort of took away from the bite, though.

Still, Mac learned a lot about Murdoc, now that they could talk when they weren’t in danger.

Obviously, there was the fact that Murdoc had a kid. A son. He learned more about him as they talked more, actually. He was five, just about to start school. A good kid, too. Happy, creative, energetic. Mac was sure he was cute, even though he had never seen a photo. If he looked anything like his father, then- Mac was sure he was cute, was the point. He had heard stories about the kid. Stories that made Mac know, for absolute certain, that Murdoc really did love him. He really, truly, loved his kid. Cherished every moment. Wanted to be a good dad. It was a side that Mac had never seen from the man before. Just how much Murdoc could love somebody. Just how bright Murdoc could be. Just how emotional.

But that wasn’t the only surprising thing Mac learned about Murdoc. He liked cooking, for one thing. And sometimes the man would even send Mac photos of what he had made. And okay, some of it was definitely made in safe house kitchens with the strangest of ingredients. But it looked good. Really good. Really, really good. It sort of made Mac jealous that he had only gotten oatmeal, actually. But there were other things, too. He liked cat videos. And dog videos. And videos of basically any animal, actually. Mac had never seen as many tortoise videos in a row before. He hadn’t even known that there were videos of tortoises on the internet before, actually.

But it wasn’t just what Murdoc liked, either. It was- it was the fact that Murdoc was just so full of joy. Actual joy. About things that weren’t about killing, to be clear. He cared. And he laughed. And he enjoyed himself in a way that Mac hadn’t really seen from most people. He sent Mac weird fun facts that ranged from useful, to creepy, to just plain weird. He liked riddles. Like, really liked riddles, and had taken to sending Mac a new one every single day. Mac had given up on solving them properly, honestly, and he was instead trying to come up with the worst answer that still was technically right. Mac would send Murdoc interesting articles about science and technology, and Murdoc would seem genuinely excited to talk about them with him. They would talk and they would chat and sometimes Mac would stay up too late to text him and-

And it was, well, it was nice. It was actually really nice.

He was happy, was the thing. Mac was really, truly, happy. Murdoc was funny. And he was caring. And he was kind. He was compassionate and he got worried when Mac was too busy on missions to text him for days on end. And it was easy to forget just who Mac was texting, every single day. It was easy to forget just who Mac was laughing with, just who Mac was teasing, just who Mac was getting so close to. Because it was nice. It was just so nice. It was nice to talk to Murdoc. And that wasn’t to say that he didn’t love texting Jack, or Nikki, or anyone else. It was just- it was different, texting Murdoc. Mac didn’t really know why. But it was nice, he knew that much. It was really, really nice.

Mac and Murdoc settled into a rhythm. They found a routine. A friendship, even.

Mac did missions and flew all over the globe, but he always came back to texts from Murdoc. It was nice. It was good. It was perfect, even. As close to perfect as it could be, anyway.

And of course, that was when everything had to change. When everything had to go wrong.

Chapter Text

Life moved forward. Time marched on.

He hung out with Bozer. He had date nights with Nikki. He joked around with Jack. He texted Murdoc. He texted Murdoc a lot, actually. And every time he did, he smiled so wide that his face hurt. He went on missions. He fought bad guys. He saved the world. He destroyed shipments of illegal guns and stopped gun cartels and rescued government agents. He saved refugees and helped stop wars and he- And he ran into Murdoc. He ran into Murdoc a lot, actually. And every time he did, he smiled wider than was appropriate for being on the job. The point was, things had settled. Not stagnated, just- just calmed. There was a routine now. No more surprises.

Mac was on a mission right now.

By all standards, it was an ordinary mission. Just your standard get in, get out sort of deal. They were in Italy, at some party. The party wasn’t the important part of any of this. The important thing wasn't who was at the party. It was why the party was happening. Which was, of course, to sell some sort of weapon, because bad guys couldn’t even have normal parties. And that was why Mac needed to go to the party. That was why Mac needed to get into the vault, and get the weapon, which they didn’t even know what it even was, away from the party before anybody could actually buy the thing. It was just far too dangerous for anyone to get their hands on. And that was why Mac had to stop them.

It wasn’t as if Mac was alone, or anything. Nikki was in the van, and in his earbud. She was watching the cameras, watching Mac’s back through the cameras. Scanning what Mac saw through his glasses, too. And Jack was there, too. Normally, Jack would be at the party with Mac, having his back. But this wasn’t a normal mission. Islands meant that it was harder to arrange exits, and that meant that Jack was sitting on a boat out on the pier, ready to be Mac’s getaway driver. But it wasn’t as though Mac had no back up, either. With a mission this important, Mac couldn’t be left to do it alone. So, somehow, it was Director Thornton who was Mac’s backup. She wasn’t just his boss, after all. She was a good agent, too.

But still, it was weird, with Jack not having his back. And it was weird having to go to this party. Mac really wasn’t one for parties. And there was a long line just to get into the party itself. Mac wasn’t exactly a fan of lines. There were too many people close together. Too many noises. There would be even more people inside the party itself, too. His tux clung too tight to his body, and the suit jacket impeded movement he would need for the mission. His pockets were barely big enough to hold just his swiss army knife. His hair felt strange all gelled up, and his bow tie felt like it was strangling him.

Nikki seemed to like it, at least. She wasn’t the one who had to wear the damn thing.

“You really should wear a tux more often, Mac,” Nikki said, over his comm. On their private channel, hopefully.

“Doesn’t really go with the grease under my fingernails,” Mac quipped back. He straightened his cuffs, trying to make them feel less like manacles around with wrists.

“If you decide to ditch it,” Nikki continued. God, Mac really did hope he could ditch the suit at some point. The jacket, at the very least. It was so constricting. “Keep the tie. I’m sure you’ll find other ways to use it.”

“Already got a couple of ideas,” Mac flirted.

“You guys know this is an open channel and I can hear you, right?” Jack said.

Mac held in a groan. So it wasn’t their private channel. Great. He was going to be hearing about this forever from Jack, wasn’t he? Still, Mac was a bit busy getting the grease from the exhaust pipe of his, quite frankly, cool, car. That was one thing about undercover work, sometimes it meant very nice cars. The suits were a loss, but at least Mac could drive a work art some of the time. Still, the exhaust wasn’t a memento, or anything. Mac was thinking ahead. For once. He knew what kind of vault he was dealing with, thanks to their intel. Which meant that he could make a plan ahead of time, for once. He might not even need to improvise. He walked towards the party, and waited in the stupidly long line. He got patted down by security, made sure they didn’t take his swiss army knife, and let out a long sigh of relief.

Finally, Mac entered the party.

Director Thornton was there, just as he knew she’d be. Luckily, they had covers who knew each other, which meant that it wasn’t strange when they started talking to each other. Although, Mac had a feeling that most people wouldn’t assume that they were talking about robbing the house’s owner, but still. What people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Still, Mac talked to her, doing their check in, and finding out if she had learned anything else. Mostly, Mac was still internally laughing over the fact that his alias was Mr. Green. Like the clue character. It was the most obvious alias, besides maybe John Smith. Mac liked it. Especially considering the fact that in the movie, which Bozer had made Mac watch a million and a half times, Mr. Green was an undercover government agent.

Still, there was no time to lose focusing on movies. Instead, Mac separated himself from Thornton, once she pointed out the seller. And if he was the seller, then he would have the fingerprints that Mac needed to get into the vault. So, Mac took off the damn jacket, thankfully, and pretended to be just another server. He went up to the server nearest to him, and took the man’s tray of champagne, acting like Mac was just letting the man go on break. He held the tray, and started walking towards the target. The seller’s champagne glass would have his finger prints. Which meant Mac needed to have a reason to take the man’s cup, without having to wait for him to actually finish sipping on it.

He stumbled, right into the seller, spilling the man’s champagne everywhere. Mac had kept a tight grip on the glass that he was holding, since he knew that the stumble was coming, and was able to switch out the man’s now spilled champagne glass with the fresh one. He mumbled out some apology in Italian, before walking as fast as he could from the seller as possible. He turned towards the kitchen, back where the other servers were, making sure to keep his head down as he made his way away.

“There,” Mac whispered, just loud enough that Nikki would be able to hear him on the comms. “I got the fingerprints.”

“When did you learn to speak Italian?” Nikki asked, a smirk evident in her voice.

“When you agreed to Rome,” Mac answered back, making sure to keep his voice low.

And that was true. As soon as Nikki had said yes to Rome, Mac had poured himself into learning Italian. And researching every single monument in Rome. And every single inventor who lived there. And every single type of food that had originated there. And all the best restaurants. And all the best ruins. And all the best everything, really. And the history. And the etymology. And- And yet, the only reason that Mac had suggested Rome to Nikki, was because Murdoc had brought it up. The only reason Mac had even thought about Rome, was because Murdoc had said that it was nice. Nikki didn’t need to know that part, though. Mac still hadn’t told Nikki about Murdoc yet. Mac hadn’t told anyone about Murdoc yet, and he didn’t know why.

But Mac couldn’t think about Murdoc right now. The mission was too important.

Instead, he busied himself in the kitchen. None of the other waiters seemed to pay attention to him, or care at all, which was good. They probably didn’t get paid enough to care, honestly. Either way, it worked out in Mac’s favour. He didn’t need people being suspicious of him as he ran around the kitchen looking for what he needed. Because, well, he did need a lot of things. That was what happened when you got patted down when you entered a place. Mac couldn’t have just brought the tools, which meant that he was now running around the kitchen making them.

He set down the tray of champagne, making sure to keep an eye on the glass with the fingerprint. It would become useless if another server picked it up. He rifled through the drawers, finding a roll of packing tape, before dumping out the champagne glass, making sure to hold it by the end. He carried the tape and the glass over to the pantry, and locked himself inside. He took the handkerchief that he had covered with grease from the exhaust, and rubbed it onto the glass, watching the fingerprint appear. Then, he took the packing tape, to use as adhesive, and picked up the fingerprint. He folded it over, preserving it, and tucked it into his pocket.

That meant the first part of the plan was done, but that didn’t mean that Mac could move on just yet. He still had to figure out some way to get to the actual vault. Their intel had told them what room the vault was in, but that didn’t mean that it would be easy to get to. There would be guards everywhere, all talking through earbuds. Not exactly great for sneaking, Mac had to say. And that was where magnetic fields came into play. Mac was just glad that the pantry, or maybe it was a storeroom, was filled with clutter. He grabbed a battery, a door hinge, and then an extension cord. The door hinge was a lucky find, Mac had to say. It was junk to most people, but not to Mac. Nothing was ever junk to Mac. He stripped the extension cord around the iron core of the door hinge, and connected it all together.

There. Mac had everything he needed, now.

He took his newly made jammer, along with a tray and a towel for his cover as a waiter, and headed back into the main hall of the party. As he walked past a guard, the jammer did its job, causing the man’s earbud to screech. Which then meant that the guard walked away to fix it. That gave Mac just enough time to slip into the hallway, giving him access to where the vault was. And since there were supposed to be guards at the door, there were less guards in the hall. Mac continued on his way, making it to the room uninterrupted. He found the vault, hidden behind a rather boring painting, and took a good look at it.

Okay, maybe Mac didn’t have everything he needed, actually. Considering that the vault he was looking at was not what he was expecting. In the slightest.

“Uh, Nikki,” Mac said, pointing his camera glasses at the hand scanner. A hand scanner that definitely should have been a fingerprint scanner, and yet wasn’t. “Are you seeing this?

“Yeah. Full handprint biometrics. We got bad intel,” Nikki said. Mac knew she was shaking her head, even if he couldn’t see it. “That fingerprint you lifted is useless.”

“So, uh, what’s plan B?” Jack asked.

“Same as always,” Mac answered, as he walked across the room. There was already a plan beginning to brew in Mac’s brain.

“Improvise,” Nikki and Jack answered, in sync. And okay, Mac hadn’t realised he said it that much, but apparently they knew what he always said well enough.

But it was what they did. It was what they always did. They improvised. When something went wrong, they made it work. When they got bad intel, they figured out a way past it. When they were stuck in a corner, they got rid of the corner. It was what made them so special. It was what made them have such a high success rate. It didn’t matter if they had no weapons, they would make some. If their plan went wrong, they would figure it out. If they had their backs pressed against the wall, they would just make a hole in the wall. And things went wrong a lot, so they wound up improvising a lot.

At the moment, Mac had to improvise a way to somehow get a full hand scan from the seller. Other people, the more loud and brash and violent kind of people, would probably just try to make the man put his hand on the scanner. Or just cut it off, and hope that it was still warm enough for the scanner. But Mac wasn’t like that. Besides, he didn’t exactly look very threatening. And he didn’t even have a knife or a gun or something. Because, well, Mac didn’t like violence. So, no, Mac wasn’t going to threaten the seller, or coerce him into putting his hand on the scanner, or anything like that. Mac didn’t need to. Mac didn’t need threats or coercion or guns to get the job done.

Mac just needed innovation. Mac just needed ingenuity. Mac just needed improvisation. Besides, hand scanners weren’t as hard to beat as most people liked to believe. Because, the thing with hand scanners was, you had to put your hand on it. And hands, like every other part of the body, liked leaving bits of themselves behind wherever they are. Which meant that on the hand scanner, there was just a bit of the seller left behind. Now all Mac had to do was make that little bit of the seller into a lot more of the seller. That was where the plaster he scraped off the wall came into play. He sprinkled the plaster dust onto the scanner, and then pulled his sleeve over his hand. He pressed onto the scanner, let the weight and heat of his hand combine with the leftover finger prints, and-

The vault popped open with a satisfying click.

Mac opened the vault, and what he was looking at was much less satisfying than the click was. There were art pieces, paintings and vases and sculptures and what not, but those weren’t the issue. The issue was the steel case, and what was sitting inside of it. It was the weapon, at least. That was a good thing. But even only looking at the weapon, Mac knew that it was bad. Very bad. Worse than they had been expecting, honestly. And Mac had already been expecting it to be bad. It was a steel tube, or maybe a canister, encasing a greenish-blue substance, and Mac knew what it was as soon as he saw it.

“Well,” Mac said, looking into the case. “It’s not nuclear.”

“That’s good,” Nikki answered. Mac could hear her typing in the background.

“Looks biological,” Mac continued.

“That’s not good,” Jack chimed in.

Mac leaned closer towards the tube. He needed to get it out of here, and fast. He didn’t know when the guards would be coming back. Or when the seller was going to come in here. Or when somebody was going to notice that somebody was going on. Mac took the canister out. Besides, he wanted to get a closer look at it. He was curious. He could tell that it was biological, but he wasn’t sure exactly what sort of agent it was. Mac wanted to know what sort of agent it was. He moved forward, his hands getting closer and closer to the steel box that held the canister. Mac could grab the whole box, but that was much more noticeable than just the canister. So, he reached in, and took out the canister.

And that, of course, was when the alarms started. And the flashing red lights. It was so cliche, like out of a damn spy movie or something.

“Oops,” Mac said, as the lights continued to flash red around him.

“Oops?” Jack asked. “Oops, like ‘I just stubbed my toe’? Or oops, like ‘I may have just started to zombie apocalypse’?”

Mac opened his mouth to answer Jack with a quip. He was cut off by Nikki.

“Mac,” she practically yelled. “Get out of there now.”

Mac followed Nikki’s orders. He got out of the vault, walking as fast as he could without making too much noise or drawing too much attention. He was nearly out of the room itself, and into the hallway, when he spotted guards coming his way. Guards with guns. Guards with guns who were going to shoot first, and ask questions later. Yikes. Luckily, Mac hadn’t come here empty handed. The earbud jammer wasn’t exactly going to come into use at the moment, sure, but the tray that he had brought definitely would. Whoever ran this catering company had shelled out for the good stuff, that was for sure. 12 gauge stainless steel trays. Damn.

He used the tray as a shield, blocking as many bullets as he could before the tray threatened to break. And when it got to that point, he used it as a weapon, smacking a guard in the face with, and stepping on the man’s foot for good measure. That was when the second guard came. With two guns. Great. Mac dove behind a couch for cover, trying to come up with a plan. Bullets were ricocheting around the couch. The guard would run out of bullets soon. Hopefully. And there. There was a break from the gunshots, and Mac took his chance, darting out from behind the couch and hitting the man with the tray for good measure.

Mac ran out of the room, and out of the hallway. He made it through the entire ballroom, and down the flight of stairs to the first floor gardens. Perfect. The guards were still after him, but Mac could make do. He cradled the canister in one arm as he ran, tripping a guard, and evading even more. He could hear the cacophony of gun shots behind him, as he ran as fast and as erratically as he could, trying to make himself a hard target. He just needed to make it to the port. He just needed to make it to the port. He just needed to make it to the port. He just needed to-

Mac made it to the port.

“Jack!” Mac yelled, as loud as he could. “Start the boat! Start the damn boat!”

The two of them dove into the boat, Mac still clutching the canister into himself.

“Go! Go! Go!” Mac yelled.

His heart was racing as they sailed away. He stood at the front of the boat, smiling as he felt the wind blow through his hair. And that was when he heard the second boat start up. And then the bullets started. Great. Mac really couldn’t get a break from getting shot at, could he? But it was fine. As long as neither of them got shot, it would be fine. Their boat was fast, and they had about a minute of a head start. That meant a lot, when it came to boats. They were fine. They would be fine. As long as nothing else went wrong today, they would be fine. They would be-

And that, of course, was when a bullet managed to hit their fuel line.

“I think we got a problem here, Mac,” Jack said, leaning down to look at the instruments. “Check it out.”

Mac leaned down to look. Damn. “They hit our fuel line.”

“Well,” Jack said. “Break out the chewing gum.”

Mac shook his head. “It’s going to take more than chewing gum to fix it,” he said. “We’re gonna be out of fuel in about 45 seconds.”

A lot more than chewing gum, actually. And he would need the boat to be stopped. And on land. No, fixing the boat wasn’t really an option, at this point. Not if they actually wanted to get away, and you know, survive. No, he needed another plan. The boat wasn’t going to be running for much longer, and they needed the boat. Actually, they didn’t really need the boat. The water was safe enough to swim in. It wasn’t too cold. Or too hot. The waves were slow and calm, and there weren’t any dangerous animals or anything. It was safe. Or it would have been safe, if they didn’t have a boat full of people with guns after them. Which meant that all they really had to do was stop that boat, not fix theirs.

“Here, hold this,” Mac said, holding out the canister.

“No!” Jack cried, shooting off a shot at their pursuers.

Mac sighed. “This really is Cairo all over again.”

Jack guffawed. “Cairo was your fault, man!” But it got the point across anyway.

“Hold this and get out of my way,” Mac commanded.

Jack took the canister, thankfully. “Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast.”

Mac took a look at the controls of the ship again. Yeah, yeah he had a plan. It wasn’t the best plan. Actually, it was kind of a terrible plan. A really terrible plan. But it was a plan, and that was good enough for Mac. And he was pretty sure that both of them were going to survive so yeah, it was fine. One of Mac’s better plans, actually. He turned off the lights on the ship, making sure that the other boat couldn’t see what he was doing. And then he turned the boat around, heading back towards the men with all the guns.

“Why are we going back?” Jack asked, sounding only slightly panicked.

“We’re not,” Mac yelled over the wind.

He took off his tie, relieved that it wasn’t choking him anymore, and tied the controls so that they were locked into place.

“Jump!” Mac commanded, as he took the canister back from Jack.

Jack made a face. “What?” He asked.

Mac was already jumping into the water. He just had to hope that Jack would actually follow him.

Even underwater, Mac could feel it when their boat collided with the other one. It was kind of impossible not to notice a giant explosion, even when you were underwater and very focused on not drowning. The explosion shook the water, adding extra waves that Mac hadn’t accounted for. But DXS had made sure that all of their agents had water training, and Mac and Jack both knew how to swim underwater longer than most other people. Which was good, because they were under the water for a long damn time. The swim to shore was tiring and lengthy and cold, and Mac was scared that Jack wasn’t beside him even though he knew he was.

Still, they made it to shore.

But they were cold. And wet. And tired. Still, they had to walk to where Nikki and the van were waiting. Thornton was still undercover, and had her own extraction plan. All they had to worry about right now was getting to the van. It was a walk through a thick forest. At the very least, the forest also meant a lot of cover. Which meant that as annoying as almost tripping over roots and rocks in the dark was, they were also protected from any stray guards who might have been lurking in the area. There shouldn’t have been any, but with Mac’s luck he never knew.

This wasn’t even the worst of their missions, ever. Even with everything that went wrong. Even with the faulty intel and the giant, blaring alarm. Even with having to ditch the boat and swim the rest of the way. Even with all that, it still wasn’t even the worst. That still went to Cairo. Damn Cairo. They still didn’t talk about Cairo. But even then, Mac didn’t even think it made it to the top five. Top ten, even. Sure, a couple of things went wrong, but they had worse missions. A lot worse missions. Nobody had gotten shot. Or kidnapped. Or thrown off a building. It was alright, in Mac’s book. Definitely not a good mission, but still.

At least the mission was over now. The mission was done. Or it should have been done, anyway. Except, Mac was realising as they made it to where the van was, he couldn’t see Nikki. Why couldn’t he see Nikki? They were at the van. They were right in front of the van. And Nikki was supposed to be standing in front of the van, waiting for them. Or, when they needed to make a quick getaway, she would open the van door and then get in the driver’s seat. But the van door was closed and Nikki was nowhere to be seen, so where was she. He couldn’t even check on the comms, because they had been trashed by the water. So. Where was Nikki?

“Nikki?” Mac called. He didn’t want to be too loud, given that they were still maybe being chased, but still. Something seemed off. “Nikki?”

She was by the other side of the van, right on the side of the road. She was just standing there in the dark. Completely silent. Completely still.

“I’m sorry,” Nikki said, softly. There was- there was something about the way she said it. Something odd. Something Mac couldn’t place.

And then Mac saw the man with a gun.

Everything happened in a blur after that. There was somebody. There was somebody standing there. Somebody with a gun to Nikki’s head. A gun. And he was going to shoot her. She must have been attacked when Mac and Jack were under the water, because otherwise Mac hadn’t heard her through the comms. If he hadn’t jumped in the water- It didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was a man with a gun to Nikki’s head. With an arm around her neck. He was actually going to shoot her. Or he was going to, if Mac didn’t somehow stop him. And Mac was pretty sure Jack had run out of bullets on the boat. And they were soaking wet and dripping and in the middle of the forest and-

“The canister, please,” the man said. And, okay, Mac hadn’t expected the British accent but that was not what was important right now.

“You let her go,” Mac said, trying to sound threatening. His voice shook with fear anyway.

“That’s not how these exchanges work, Mr. Macgyver,” the man answered. Mac hadn’t expected him to know his name. Weird. “You hand over the canister, and I will let your friend go.”

“Don’t do it, Mac,” Jack chimed in.

But Mac didn’t know what to do. God, he didn’t know what to do. Especially when another person jumped out and attacked Jack, too, hitting him over the head. Dammit. Just, dammit. Mac didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to breathe. How was he supposed to get them out of this mess? How was he supposed to save all three of them? Jack was out cold, and Nikki still had a gun to her head. She had a gun pressed against her head, and Mac had nothing to do. He had no gimmick. No way to improvise his way out of this. He had used every trick in his book. He had nothing he could use. No tools, no wiring, nothing. Just the forest and the dark and- And Mac’s head was spinning. He could think of nothing. No plan. No idea. Nothing.

“Give it to me and no one else will get hurt,” the man said. The gun was pressed so close to Nikki’s head. Mac could hear the gun-

“Maybe I drop this now and we all die,” Mac said, rushing the words out as a last resort.

“ You won’t kill her, but I will,” the man threatened.

Mac didn’t know what to do. What was he supposed to do? What could he do?

“Don’t give it to him, Mac,” Nikki said.

The man hit Nikki, right in the face.

The curse flew out of his mouth before Mac could even think about it. “You son of a-”

“You think I’m playing?” The man grit out.

Nikki was farther away from the man, now. Farther away from the gun. But she was still too close. It was still pointed at her. And there was still Jack to worry about. And-

“The canister,” the man demanded. “I will not ask you again.”

Nikki shook her head violently. She didn’t want him to hand over the canister. He knew Nikki didn’t want him to hand over the canister.

But what was Mac meant to do? What could he do? Jack was out cold and Nikki had a gun aimed right at her, and they had two guns and Mac had none. They were in the middle of the forest. Alone. Practically surrounded. There was nothing Mac could rig out here. No way that Mac could improvise. Any wrong move he made, and Nikki and Jack were getting hurt. Any wrong move he made, and he would be held responsible for that. Any wrong move and it would be their blood on Mac’s hand. He had no weapon. And no backup. And no way to get the hell out of here. And no plan. And-

And Mac handed the canister over.

“Thank you,” the man said, in that same infuriating accent.

And then the gun went off.

He had shot Nikki. He had actually shot Nikki. The man had shot Nikki. Mac had handed the damn canister over to the man, and he had still shot Nikki. He had shot Nikki and she was sent careening off the cliff, sent flying to her- No. No. That couldn’t have just happened. That could not have just happened. No. No way. Nope. No. Nikki had not just been shot. That couldn’t have just happened. There was no way that Mac had just watched Nikki be shot and fall down the cliff and-

“No!” Mac yelled, rushing forward. It was all he could think to do. It was all he could think, period.

And then the man shot Mac, too.

He was sent off the same cliff that Nikki was, hurtling down in the water below. The air pushed back against Mac as he fell. He could barely think about the fact that he was falling, not with pain of having just been shot. It had been a lucky miss, only through the shoulder, but it still hurt. The wind tearing through him as he fell didn’t help. He just barely managed to think past the pain, through the pain, to realise what this all he meant. He was falling. He was actually falling off a cliff. He was falling. And he knew how it wasn’t the fall that killed you, it was the landed. He knew that the distance of the cliff to the water was just close enough that maybe he wouldn’t die, but maybe he would. He was falling. He was falling. He was falling. He was-

He fell. Mac felt himself crash into the water below him. It swallowed him. It swallowed him like a beast. It swallowed him like tar. It swallowed him like a black hole. It swallowed him and swallowed him and swallowed him. It swallowed him until all Mac was swallowing was water. Until he couldn’t swallow any more. It swallowed him and then it swallowed him some more. It swallowed him deeper and deeper, more and more under. It swallowed him until Mac couldn’t breathe any more. Until Mac couldn’t move any more. Until Mac couldn’t think any more. Until Mac couldn’t live any more. The water swallowed him whole.

He didn’t see his life flash before his eyes, like he thought you did when you died. There was no bright light, no tunnel to walk into. There was no angel guiding him, or anything like that. There was nothing but darkness. Nothing but pain. Pain, even after he stopped breathing. It was just pain and darkness. It was just pain and darkness and nothing else. It was just pain and darkness and the water in his lungs. The pain and the darkness and the water in his lungs and the water underneath him. The pain and the darkness and the water in his lungs and the water underneath him and the stars in his vision. The pain and the darkness and-

And then Mac started breathing again.

Chapter Text

Nikki was dead.

Mac remembered every single bit of that day. That night. Being shot. Being tossed off the cliff. Being dragged under the water. The pain. The fear. The water pumping into his lungs. Adrenaline making him wake back up, coursing through his veins. Being dragged out of the water by DXS backup, having come after too long of a comms black out. Seeing Jack inside the van that brought them to a safe house. The security that Mac felt. The gratefulness. The joy. Not seeing Nikki inside that same van. The dread that Mac felt. The fear. The terror. The realisation of what Nikki not being in that van meant. The realisation that- that Nikki was dead.

Nikki was actually dead.

They knew that she was dead. Everybody knew that she was dead. There had been no body found, but they knew that she was dead. Nobody would have survived getting shot where she did. Mac had been lucky, with a shoulder shot. Nikki hadn’t been so lucky. And if she had somehow, miraculously survived, she would have found them by now. It had been almost a whole month since the mission. She would have found them by now. She would have. There was no universe where Nikki was alive and she hadn’t found a way to contact them already. Even if she had had amnesia, or something, she would have figured it out. It was Nikki, she would have figured it out. Which meant she was dead. She was really dead.

Nikki was dead. And the bad guys had gotten the canister.

That made it worse. Not only was Nikki dead, but she had died for no reason. Mac had given up the canister, and she had been killed. Mac had given up the canister and she was still dead. Her body was still at the moment of a lake. And Mac hadn’t even managed to finish the mission. Her death had been for nothing. Absolutely nothing. The canister had a bio weapon which could kill millions. Billions, if the people using it played their cards right. It was a terrible, dangerous weapon, and Mac had managed to let the bad guys get away with it. Mac had managed to let the bad guys get away with it, and he had let them kill Nikki. She was dead. She was dead and it was Mac’s fault.

Nikki was dead. The bad guys had gotten the canister. And Mac was on medical leave.

It wasn’t even only because it had gotten shot. Which, okay, he had gotten shot. But Mac knew that even once he physically healed, he was still going to be on medical leave. Because Nikki was dead, and Mac loved Nikki, and everyone knew that Mac loved Nikki. Which meant that everyone knew that Mac was grieving. And he was grieving. But he didn’t want to put on mandatory medical leave for his grieving. He could still have been on missions while grieving. Thornton didn’t feel the same way. Mac was on medical leave until further notice, and he had no say in the matter.

Mac hated medical leave.

He hated feeling helpless. He hated feeling useless. He hated feeling like an absolute mess. He hated being trapped in his own house. He hated being told that he had to rest. He hated being stuck. He hated being stuck with his own thoughts. With his own mind. With his own grief. He hated it and he hated it and he hated it. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted to go on missions. He wanted to get out of the house. He wanted to do anything but be stuck in his bed, going stir crazy with grief and guilt and grief again. He wanted to do anything but be stuck on medical leave.

He was bored and he was sore and his head was just so full. Full of grief. Full of anger. Full of fear. Full of guilt. Full of pain. Full of every negative emotion that had ever existed, Mac was pretty sure. He could open a thesaurus and find every single synonym for bad, and he was sure that he was feeling it. His brain was just a mess of every emotion. His brain was just a mess, period. Mac was just a mess. He was too tired to stay awake and he was too awake to sleep. He was barely eating and he was barely showering and all he could was lie in his bed, his brain going a mile a minute. Faster than a mile a minute, maybe. A mile a millisecond, that was more like it.

He was a mess, plain and simple. His mind was a mess. His room was a mess. His life was a mess. The only reason that he was doing okay was because Bozer was checking in on him, bringing him dinner and taking the dirty cups out of his room. Everything was too much. Everything was too little. Mac’s brain was too full and it was too empty. He was preoccupied. He was bored. He was everything. He was nothing. He was hungry and he was always full. He was in pain and he was feeling nothing. He- Who was caring how he was doing, when she was dead?

Nikki was dead.

He couldn’t get past that part. He couldn’t get past the fact that Nikki really was dead. Nikki was dead. The person that he had been in love with was just- dead. She was gone. She was dead and she was never coming back and how was Mac even supposed to get his head around that? Mac would just- he kept forgetting that she was dead. He would look at his phone and expect to see a text from her. Or he would wonder what time she was coming to his house for a date. Or he would wonder how she was doing on a mission. But she wasn’t texting him. And she wasn’t coming over for a date night. And she wasn’t going on missions. Because she was dead. She was dead because of the decisions that Mac had made, that night. And she really was dead.

Nikki was dead, and Mac felt so utterly useless.

Bozer tried to help. Everyone tried to help. Jack was over whenever he could. Bozer tried to distract Mac. Even Thornton would come over, when she wasn’t busy being the boss. Everyone was all over him. Bringing him things. Food and puzzles and whatever else. Presents, even, like that would make this any better. Everyone was on top of him. Barely letting him breathe. Peppering him with questions. With pitying looks. With stares when they thought he wasn’t looking. He could hear Boze and Jack in the living room sometimes, worrying about him. Everyone was worried about him.

He really was useless. Everybody was so worried about taking care of him. About making sure that he was okay. About protecting him. Mac wasn’t the one that they should have been worrying about. Mac wasn’t the one that should have mattered. Mac wasn’t the one who dead. Mac wasn’t the one who had been shot. Or, okay, Mac had been shot, but he wasn’t the one who had been killed. Mac wasn’t the one who had been murdered. Mac wasn’t the one they should have been caring about. And yet, they were worried about him. For some reason, they were.

It was weird. All of it was weird. Mac had been on medical leave before, of course. A lot more times than most people at DXS, honestly. He was just sort of accident prone. But it had never been like this. He had been in pain. He had been bored out of his mind. He had been tired and he had been hurt. But it had never been like this. It had never been this devastatingly sad. He had never been hurt and grieving at the same time. He had never had a medical leave be this torturous. Be this long. Be this depressing.

Mac’s phone buzzed.

It was Murdoc. It had been Murdoc, for the past two weeks. He had been texting Mac almost nonstop, wondering where he had been. Wondering why he wasn’t answering. Wondering and wondering and wondering. Text after text after text. Mac was pretty sure he was worried. Or bored. Mac didn’t exactly know why Murdoc did anything, but he especially didn’t know why texted Mac. He didn’t know why he had given Mac his number, or why he had ever texted Mac at all, or why he sent Mac weird videos and riddles. And he didn’t know why Murdoc was still texting him now. Why he was texting him when Mac hadn’t answered in a month. He didn’t know why Murdoc was still pretending to care, when Mac hadn’t even been able to open his phone in a month.

Mac couldn’t bring himself to answer.

He couldn’t bring himself to much of anything, lately. He couldn’t bring himself to eat, or shower, or clean. He couldn’t bring himself to do puzzles or sudokus or anything. He couldn’t bring himself to smile. Or laugh. Or do anything but stay in his bed and feel sorry for himself. Feel sorry for Nikki. All he could do was sit there and feel bad and mourn and do nothing that mattered at all. Nothing he did mattered at all. He was just sitting there. He was just lying there. He could barely even leave his bedroom at all. He couldn’t bring himself to anything else. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything more.

Mac’s phone buzzed again.

Another text from Murdoc. It was just a string of emojis. The knife emoji. A couple of the sparkle emojis. A dinosaur, for some reason. The water gun emoji. The bomb emoji. Another knife emoji, just for good measure. It was a completely superfluous text. A completely normal text. Something dumb and stupid that would have brought a smile to Mac’s face, normally. Right now wasn’t normal, though. Mac hadn’t smiled in a month. He hadn’t felt like smiling in a month. He hadn’t felt like doing anything in a month.

Mac sighed. Maybe he could send one text. Maybe. And then he would go back to bed.

“Hi,” Mac sent. Even just that felt so laborious. Like he was Atlas holding up the sky, and not one guy, sending a two letter text.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc replied. “Where have you been?”

“Busy,” Mac answered.

“Busy?” Murdoc said. “You didn’t text me for almost an entire month because you were busy?”

Mac sighed. He really didn’t have to get into what happened with Nikki with Murdoc of all people. But he didn’t really have many people to talk to about what happened with Nikki, either. Jack was on missions all the time, picking up the slack for Mac being on medical leave. Thornton was just as busy, obviously. She was the boss. And she had to try to get back the literal bio weapon that Mac had managed to lose. DXS had special therapists, but- no. Just no. Bozer thought that Nikki had died in a car accident, and Mac couldn’t tell him any different.

“I fell off a cliff,” Mac added.

“You fell?” Murdoc asked. “How?”

Mac sighed again. “Someone shot me.”

“With enough force that you fell off a cliff?” Murdoc sent.

“Yeah,” Mac texted.

“I thought I told you not to get hurt by anyone else that wasn’t me,” Murdoc sent, along with a few of those frowning emojis. For some reason.

“I’m not the one who got hurt,” Mac answered.

“You got shot,” Murdoc replied. “How is that not getting hurt?”

“Because I’m still alive,” Mac sent. It came out a bit more bitter than he had been meaning to.

“Did your beloved little bull dog die?” Murdoc asked. Mac couldn’t tell if the man had meant it as a joke or not. Mac didn’t really care.

“No,” Mac sent. “Nikki did.”

There was a pause. Murdoc hadn’t sent anything. He wasn’t even typing. Mac stared at his phone screen. God, why had he told Murdoc that? It was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea. It was the worst idea that Mac had ever had, actually. It was the actual, total, worst idea in the history of ideas. Why had he told Murdoc, an actual assassin, that his girlfriend had died? Why had he assumed that Murdoc would care? Why had he assumed that it wouldn’t be crossing a line? They talked about spaceships and ancient carvings and cat videos, not about grief. Not about death. And never about jobs. Why had Mac thought that that would be okay? Mac had ruined it. Of course he had ruined it. Of course-

Mac’s phone started ringing.

“Hello?” Mac said, confused and bleary, as he picked up.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc cooed.

“Why are you calling me?” Mac asked.

“I hear that talking out your feelings is very important for grief,” Murdoc said. It sounded like a joke when he said it. The man just sounded so damn happy.

“Who says I want to talk to you?” Mac answered. Okay, he definitely sounded bitter that time.

“You wound me, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Wound me!”

“I want to wound you,” Mac answered. He sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m just- I’m not in a good place right now.”

“I can tell,” Murdoc said. “That’s why I called you.”

“So I could snap at you?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow even though the man couldn’t see it.

“If that’s what you need,” Murdoc said, in a weirdly soft tone of voice. “Then yes.”

“Seriously?” Mac asked.

“Yes, seriously,” Murdoc answered.

“So you really do have a heart in there,” Mac teased. It just came out flat, though. Teasing didn’t sound right when your voice was hoarse from crying.

“Of course I have a heart!” Murdoc cried, overdramatically. “It just doesn’t get much use.”

Mac laughed. It was dry and wet at the same time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. “But you’d use your heart for me?”

“Yes, boy scout,” Murdoc said, drawing out the words. “I’d go through the utter burden of using my old, rusty heart for you.”

“How kind,” Mac answered, sniffling slightly.

“I know I am,” Murdoc said. Mac could hear the grin on his face without needing to see it.

“Have you ever lost somebody?” Mac asked.

“Sure,” Murdoc said. “But never in the cry myself to sleep sort of way.”

“Who did you lose?” Mac found himself asking.

“My parents,” Murdoc answered. “The grief never really hit. I’m a psycho, remember?”

Mac laughed again. “It’s kind of hard to forget, Murdoc.”

“Good,” Murdoc answered. “How about you, boy scout? Is this a new experience for you?”

“My mom died when I was a kid,” Mac said. He didn’t know why he was telling Murdoc this, but he was. “I was young but- but I was old enough to know that I missed her. I was old enough to grieve her. But I wasn’t old enough for anyone to think that I was really grieving.”

“Aw,” Murdoc cooed. It was somewhere between genuinely compassionate and incredibly sarcastic and rude. “Did Daddy boy scout have to raise you all by yourself?”

“He left,” Mac said. “My grandpa wound up raising me. And then my grandpa died, too. I was older. In my early twenties.”

Murdoc made an odd sound over the phone. “You’re no stranger to grief then, are you?”

“No,” Mac said, voice shaking. “But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t,” Murdoc said.

Mac didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sorry I haven’t been answering your texts,” he blurted out.

“You don’t have to apologise, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “You- you’re going through a rough patch.”

“I feel bad,” Mac said. “I ignored you.”

“You were grieving,” Murdoc pointed out. “You are grieving. I’m not going to hold that against you. Even if you did worry me.”

Mac froze. “You were worried about me?”

“Of course I was worried about you,” Murdoc said. “You didn’t answer for a month. I didn’t see you on a job for even longer. I thought you had managed to get yourself killed. I’m the only one who can do that, you know.”

“I know,” Mac said. “You only bring it up every time we talk.”

“I wouldn’t have to bring it up every time, if you just remembered and didn’t almost get yourself killed,” Murdoc said. “You’re so reckless, boy scout.”

“I know,” Mac said, shaking his head. “I’m too reckless.”

Murdoc paused. “How did your girlfriend die, Mac?”

“It was my fault,” Mac told him.

“I can tell that you think that,” Murdoc said. “But how did it happen?”

Mac sighed. “We were on a job. Somebody threatened her if I didn’t hand the b- something over. And I did. And she still died.”

“That hardly sounds like your fault,” Murdoc said.

“I should have thought of something,” Mac said, his voice cracking. He was pretty sure he was crying, now. “I should have been able to save her.”

“The criminal world’s a messy place, boy scout. She chose this life. She made that decision,” Murdoc said.

Right. Murdoc thought that Nikki was a criminal. Murdoc thought that Mac was a criminal. “I should have been able to keep her alive.”

“She should have been able to keep herself alive,” Murdoc said.

Mac flinched. “What did you say?”

“She was a criminal, boy scout. She knew the risks of what she was getting into. She should have been able to protect her,” Murdoc said.

“Well, she couldn’t. And I couldn’t. And now she’s dead, Murdoc,” Mac spat out.

“Just don’t blame yourself,” Murdoc said, softly.

“Just don’t blame the dead person,” Mac fired back. He was seeing red, even though he knew that Murdoc didn’t really mean anything by it.

“I’m just trying to help, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

Mac sighed. “I know you are,” he said. “I’m just- I’m not doing too well, right now.”

“I know you’re not,” Murdoc said. “But if you ever want to talk to me about it again, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Mac said. “And thanks for not hanging up when I snapped at you.”

“Why would I do that?” Murdoc asked. “You’re fun when you get angry, boy scout.”

Mac sighed. “You’re the worst.” He didn’t really mean it.

“Aw, thank you!” Murdoc exclaimed.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Mac said, reaching for the hang up button.

“But you will talk to me later,” Murdoc pointed out.

“Goodbye, Murdoc,” Mac said.

Mac hung up the phone.

There was silence. There was complete silence. There was merciful silence. There was blissful silence. No, that wasn’t quite right. There was empty silence. There was claustrophobic silence. There was silence that hung in the air like a thick fog. There was brutal silence. There was violent silence. There was angry silence. There was cruel silence. There was silence that smothered Mac like a pillow. There was silence that stabbed Mac like a knife. There was silence that reminded Mac that it hadn’t been silent, just a few seconds ago. There was silence. There had been a lot of silence, lately.

That was probably the most Mac had said in a month, he was realising. That was probably the most time he spent talking to somebody in a month, too. He hadn’t even managed to speak at Nikki’s funeral. He hadn’t managed to speak at all much, lately. Not even to Jack or Bozer. He just- his brain was thinking a mile a minute, but his mouth wasn’t up to speed. His mouth was moving a mile an hour. No, no, not even that. A mile a day. A mile a week. A mile a month. The analogy wasn’t the point. The point was that Mac just hadn’t been up to talking. It had felt like pulling teeth. Or relocating a shoulder. Or disarming a bomb. Painful and stressful and like far too much work.

And yet, Mac had talked to Murdoc. He could have hung up as soon as Murdoc started being annoying. He could have hung up as soon as Murdoc started talking, honestly. He could have declined the call altogether. And yet, Mac hadn’t. He had stayed on the call. He had kept talking. He had- he had opened up. He had talked about Nikki, at least a bit. It was the most he had said about Nikki to anybody, lately. It was the most he had talked about his grief to anybody, lately. He had talked about his mom. His grandpa. His dad. He had talked, period. And he had said it to Murdoc. He had said it to Murdoc of all people. That was who had managed to get him to open up. That was who had managed to make him talk for longer than two minutes. That was who had been able to make him talk about the fact that- The fact that she was dead.

Nikki was dead.

She was dead. She was actually dead. Mac’s girlfriend was dead. Mac’s friend was dead. Mac’s partner was dead. Mac didn’t know how he was meant to feel about that. He loved her. He cared about her. She was the only reason that any of his missions went well, really. And now she was dead. She was actually dead. Mac would never be going on another mission with Nikki. Mac would never be going on another adventure with Nikki. Mac would never be going on another date with Nikki. Because she was dead. Nikki was dead. Nikki was actually dead. Dead. Deceased. Buried, even though that was only figuratively. Sleeping with the fishes. That one was literal, surprisingly enough. But it didn’t matter. There was no one to laugh at Mac’s wordplay, because she was dead.

Nikki was dead.

Nikki was dead but Mac was alive.

Nikki was dead. Mac was alive. And Mac didn’t know how to feel about that.

Chapter Text

Everything reminded Mac of Nikki, these days.

It was hard not to be reminded of her, really, when she had engrained herself in every part of Mac’s life. His bedroom reminded him of her. When they used to lie in his bed, talking for hours. When they used to lie in his bed, doing other things for hours, too. His shelves of books and knickknacks. Most of them were gifts that Nikki had given him, gifts from places they had visited and books that she thought he would have liked. His running shoes reminded him of her. They used to go on runs together, laughing and talking all the while. Pizza. Popcorn. The birds flying past Mac’s window. Every single thing reminded Mac of Nikki, no matter how small or inconsequential. It all reminded Mac of Nikki.

Everything made Mac think of Nikki, these days.

Every time he bothered getting dressed, he would see his clothes and he would think of her. Think of how she was always stealing his t-shirts, especially his MIT one. About how she always claimed that his hoodies were warmer. Every time he ate he thought of her. Whatever food Bozer brought Mac would make him think of her. Waffles reminded him of batter splattered all over them, after trying to make waffles themselves and having a fight with the waffle maker. The waffle maker won. Burgers reminded Mac of going to the diner with Nikki, eating greasy burgers and fries and throwing straw wrappers at each other. Every time Mac saw himself in the mirror, he was reminded of Nikki. Every time Mac walked, he thought of Nikki. Every time- everything made Mac think of Nikki.

Everything made Mac miss Nikki, these days.

He missed Nikki. He missed working with her. He missed training together. He missed coming back home from every mission with her, glad that they were both alive. He missed going on dates with her. He missed adventures with her. He missed camping and rock climbing and going on picnics. He missed cuddling in bed together. He missed falling asleep together. He missed waking up together. He missed tired Nikki. He missed happy Nikki. He missed frustrated Nikki. He missed every single bit of Nikki. He missed pessimistic Nikki and angry Nikki and sad Nikki and- And everything made Mac miss her. Every single thing.

Everything made Mac feel like crap, these days.

It was easy to feel like crap. It was easy to stay in bed every day. It was easy to rot. It was easy to just- to let the grief fester inside of him. It was easy to let himself get lost in the grief. Get swept away by the tide. To let himself drown in it. It was easy to let it destroy him from the inside out. It was- it was easy to watch himself decompose, day after day after day. It wasn’t as though this was what he wanted. But it was easy. It was easy to let grief win. It was easy to let him consume him. It was easy to let it- to let his grief wear him down. It was easy to let his grief wear him like a coat. It was easy. It was just so easy.

But Mac had never been a fan of the easy way. His grandfather had never been a fan of the easy way, either. He had always pushed Mac to take the hard way. To fight for what he wanted. To look for ways that weren’t obvious. That weren’t easy. To put the effort into finding new ways to do things. Mac had always been a fan of forging his own path. Of avoiding the easy way. Mac had always been someone who pushed forward. Who tried things. Who fought for what was right. Who cared, even when caring was. Mac wasn’t someone who just laid down and took it, even if it was easier to just take the punches. That wasn’t Mac. That just wasn’t Mac.

So, he tried. He tried to push away from the easy way. He tried to fight back against the grief that was consuming him. And it- it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy getting out of bed every day. It wasn’t easy forcing himself to shower every day. It wasn’t easy forcing himself to go out for a walk every day. It wasn’t easy. None of it was easy. But the easy way wasn’t the healthy way, Mac knew. Letting his grief eat at him wasn’t going to bring Nikki back. Letting his grief fester wasn’t going to bring Nikki back. Nothing was going to bring Nikki back. But the least Mac could do was try. He could try to keep living. For Nikki. Because of Nikki. In tribute to Nikki. He could try.

And he did try. And time passed. And Mac was- he was getting better. Things were getting better.

He was healing, slowly. The big, Nikki sized hole in Mac’s heart was getting smaller and smaller. It would never close fully, Mac knew that. This- this was a wound that would scar. Fester. Get infected. Reopen at the worst times possible. Mac had a lot of experience with wounds. And with grief. And he knew that this would never truly go away. He knew that this would never truly be in the past, not really. Mac would keep being reminded of Nikki. Mac would keep thinking about Nikki. Mac would keep missing Nikki. But Mac wouldn’t keep feeling like crap forever, and that was what mattered.

He was still feeling like crap right now, though.

It was still hard to wake up every day. It was still hard to get out of bed every day. It was still hard to eat every day. It was still hard to shower. It was still hard to focus. It was still hard to do anything that wasn’t feel sorry for himself. It was still a battle to do anything. It was still a fight to keep up with life. It was a struggle to do something as small as blink. It wasn’t as though Mac had woken up one day and decided that he was better. It wasn’t as though he had decided to get better, and suddenly he was. A new mindset wasn’t going to fix Mac’s problems. A new way of looking at things wasn’t going to erase Mac’s grief. It was still hard. It was still so hard.

But it was getting easier. And it would keep getting easier. That was what Mac told himself, anyway. It was getting easier. He was getting better. It wasn’t going to be linear. It wasn’t going to be quick. It wasn’t a get rich quick scheme, or something. No, no that wasn’t it at all. Mac was healing from grief. Mac was healing from loss. Mac was healing from the death of his girlfriend. From the death of Nikki. Of course it wasn’t going to be easy. Nikki had been such a big part of Mac’s life, even before they had started dating. Mac hadn’t even really considered dating her, until he realised just how well they worked together. Just how well they joked around together. Nikki had already firmly cemented herself into his life before he had even thought about dating her.

And now she was gone. She was just gone. Just like that, she was gone. A huge part of Mac’s life, ripped away just like that. A part of his love life. His work life. His home life. And she was gone. So no, it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t simple. Mac couldn’t just get over it. But he could try. He could try and he could try and he could try. He could push himself every day. Push himself to wake up. Push himself to get out of bed. Push himself to put on clean clothes. Push himself to brush his teeth. He could push himself to do these things that had felt impossible months ago. He could push himself to do things that really had been impossible months ago.

Mac was trying. And it was working.

He still wasn’t actually good, though. Things were better, but they weren’t good. Mac still wasn’t ready to go back to work, for one thing. He was nowhere near being ready to go back to work. He was still randomly reminded of Nikki. Of the good times. Of the bad times. Of watching her with a gun to her head. Of watching her get shot. Of watching her topple off that cliff. Of not being able to see her as she hit the water. Of hearing her crash. Of knowing that she was dead. She was dead.

Because Nikki was still dead. Things would never be good while Nikki was dead.

How could anything be good while Nikki was dead? How could anything be good while Nikki was gone? How could anything be good when Nikki had been shot and murdered and they hadn’t even managed to get the damn canister. Mac had let the canister get away. Nothing could be good when Nikki had died for nothing. She had died for absolutely nothing. And Mac knew that he had a good life. He had good friends. A good job. A way to make a difference. He had Bozer and he had Jack and he had Director Thornton. He even had Murdoc. Mac had never told Nikki about Murdoc, and now he couldn’t- No, no, he wasn’t thinking about that. He couldn’t think about that.

Things were getting better. Mac was getting better.

Bit by bit, it was getting better. Bit by bit, it was getting easier. He was doing laundry again. Showering again. Cooking some of his own food again. Doing the dishes again. He was being a good roommate again. A good friend, too. He could actually manage more than one sentence while talking. He wouldn’t zone out every minute. He could laugh with Jack and he could watch movies with Bozer. He still hadn’t talked to Murdoc after that phonecall. That- that felt like too much. It felt weird. It felt wrong. It felt rude to Nikki’s spirit, somehow. It was just too much. But most things, Mac had managed to do. Most things were getting easier.

Mac had even started telling people that he was fine, now.

It was a lie. Of course it was a lie. He wasn’t fine. How could he be fine while Nikki was gone? While she was dead? He couldn’t be fine while Nikki was dead. He wouldn’t be fine while Nikki was dead. He wouldn’t be fine until Nikki’s killer was arrested. Or dead himself. Mac wouldn’t be mad if the bastard with the british accent wound up dead. He wouldn’t be fine until they got the canister back. He wouldn’t be fine until he could go back to work and actually do something about all of this. He wouldn’t be fine, ever. But he could lie about it. He could pretend. He-

He could tell people he was fine. Well, he had said that he was fine before, and nobody had believed him for so much as a second. He could tell people he was fine and they didn’t automatically assume that he was lying, so that was a step in the right direction, even if he wasn’t actually fine. Even if it would never be fine. Ever. At least people thought he was fine. Or, most people thought he was fine, anyway. But the people who knew him, well, they knew him. Bozer saw right through it, as much as Mac protested it. Jack knew that he wasn’t fine, either. Mac could never lie to Jack, he had never had been able to. And Murdoc- Mac had a feeling that Murdoc would have known, if Mac said that he wasn’t fine. But Mac couldn’t bring himself to talk to him, still, so-

He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Murdoc right now. He didn’t want to complicate things any more than he had to. Everything was already complicated enough, thank you very much. He didn’t have to add his weird friendship with a murderer on top of that. Because that was what Murdoc was. A murderer. A killer. An assassin. A career criminal. A career criminal The people who had killed Nikki had been career criminals, too. But it was more than that. It was more than the fact that Murdoc was a killer. It was- it was the way that Murdoc made Mac feel. It was the way that Mac’s brain couldn’t help but make connections to how he felt about N- That was enough of that. He focused his attention on what he was doing at the moment, instead.

Mac was running, at the moment.

He had been doing it a lot, lately, now that his bullet wound was healed enough to let him. It was- it was calming. It was relaxing. There was something about getting outside and just running that felt so good. There was no need to think. No need to worry. It wasn’t a mountain of tasks, either. It was just one thing. Just running. It was simple. It was easy. It was- Mac didn’t really know how to explain it, honestly, but it was nice. It was just nice. It gave him something to do and he had liked going on runs before, anyway, and-

And the fact that running brought him that much closer to being able to go back to work wasn’t anybody’s business other than his own.

Because, the thing was, as much as he felt like crap, he did want to go back to work. He really wanted to go back to work. As much as he knew that he wasn’t fine, he wanted to go back to work. More than anything, he wanted to go back to work. More than anything, he wanted to feel less useless. To actually be able to do something. To actually be able to help people. To- protect people, like he hadn’t been able to protect Nikki. He hadn’t been able to protect Nikki. And each day that he spent not at work, was a day that he wasn’t protecting people. Each day that he spent not at work was a day that people were dying, just like Nikki.

Mac just- He just wanted to do something. He wanted to help people. He wanted to make sure that Nikki’s death wasn’t in vain. He wanted to actually have a purpose. He didn’t want to drift any more. He didn’t want to rot any more. He didn’t want to be useless any more. He didn’t want to pitied any more. Mac just wanted to do something. He wanted to help people. He wanted to save people. He wanted to get back to doing what he had been doing before- before Nikki had died. He wanted to get back to normal. He wanted to do something with his life. With Nikki’s life. Something that mattered. Something that really mattered.

But, more than anything, Mac wanted revenge. He wanted- he wanted Nikki’s death to not be in vain, yes, but more than that he wanted whoever had killed her to pay. It was a dark impulse. It was a bad thought. It was something Mac kept locked deep in his chest. It was something Mac would never admit to anyone, even himself. Ever. But the truth was, Mac did want revenge. It was what got him out of bed. It was what made him keep his eyes open. It was what got him running. It was what kept him running. Revenge was what kept Mac breathing. The thought of revenge. The promise of revenge. And he wouldn’t be able to do that until he got back to work.

But the running really was just nice, too.

It felt good. The blood is pumping through his veins. The sun beating down on him. The sweat on his chest, soaking onto his shirt. The lightheaded way his head felt. The feeling of accomplishing something as he ran. The emptiness in his brain. It was nice. It was really nice. The way his hair fluttered in the breeze. The way that it let Mac notice everything around his neighbourhood. His neighbours. The scenery. The birds that sang. The raccoons that scampered across the manicured lawns. The trees and the bugs and the- the everything. The way running let Mac see everything. The way running let Mac focus on everything and nothing at the exact same. The way it emptied his brain. The way-

The way running brought up memories of Nikki.

They weren’t the good memories of Nikki, either. It wasn’t memories of running with Nikki. Or of cuddling with Nikki. It wasn’t memories of baking with Nikki, or reading with Nikki, or training with Nikki. It wasn’t anything like that. It was memories of Nikki being captured. Of Nikki being shot. Of Nikki flying off the cliff. It was the memories of Nikki’s last moments. Of the last time that Mac would ever see Nikki. Of the last time anyone would see Nikki. It would just repeat itself, on loop. It was terrible. It was horrible. It- It was a reminder of why Mac was running at all. A reminder of why he was pushing himself. A reminder of why he was alive.

The running was still nice, though.

At the moment, he was at the end of his run. He was sweaty and tired and panting as he ran. It was glorious. The sun was beating down on his back and he was sweating through his clothes and yet- and yet it was glorious. Even with thoughts of Nikki in his head on loop, it was still nice. Running was just plain nice. But he was tired. And sweaty. And hungry. Definitely hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything yet. That was probably important. And water. He definitely needed more water. He had done a lot of running for today. So far, anyway. He would probably end up back outside later. There wasn’t much for him to do, really. But for now- for now Mac had a feeling he was done running.

Mac turned back.

He raced down through his yard, passing- passing something on his way. He poked at it, curiously, before picking it up over his shoulder. It was a missile. Or okay, it clearly wasn’t an actual missile. It was a prop missile. And it was well done, too, which meant that it was definitely Bozer’s. He was way too good at making movie props. And masks. And basically anything else artistic, even if he only ever applied it to movies. Mac couldn’t remember why exactly it was in their lawn, and either way it was a good way to poke fun at Bozer, so Mac brought it inside with him.

Bozer was waiting for him with waffles. Mac was doing better now. Way better. There was no reason for Bozer to be taking care of him anymore. Mac could take care of himself. Mac had explained that to Bozer. Again. And again. And again. Mac had given up, at this point. He took the waffles. They were better than anything Mac would have made for himself, anyway. He probably would have just made toast, honestly. Maybe with some butter if he was feeling adventurous. So, he did appreciate the waffles. Of course he did. Mac would appreciate everything Bozer did for him.

He made fun of Bozer for a while, though. Just because Mac appreciated him didn’t mean that he couldn’t push his buttons for a bit. That was just how friends worked. And besides, General Wang, seriously? Wang? Bozer was just begging for Mac to make fun of him, at that point. Mac poked at his waffles, and kept talking to Boze. Still, Bozer had to leave for work, eventually. Mac was ready for a calm, easy day of trying his best to not rot in bed, after that. Maybe he would rot on the couch, instead. The point was, his day was supposed to be normal. Easy. Laid back. Settled.

And that was when Director Thornton showed up.

Chapter Text

Director Thornton was in Mac’s living room. Director Thornton was sitting on Mac’s couch.

“Thornton,” Mac said, flatly. He wasn’t sure why she was here. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like it, whatever the reason was.

“Mac,” Director Thornton replied. “You look good. How’s the-” she started, before trailing off, her eyes darting to Mac’s torso, where his bullet wound was. Where his heart was.

“Coming along,” Mac answered. “You?”

Thornton looked away. “I think about her every day.”

“What are you doing here?” Mac asked. She hadn’t said that she was coming. The last time Mac had asked, she said that he needed to wait longer to go back into work. Mac hadn’t seen or heard from her in months. So why was she here?

“Vacations over,” Thornton said.

Mac didn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved.

“It’s time to get to work,” Director Thornton continued, placing a tablet down on Mac’s table. “Yesterday at 5:07 pm local time technicians for the Nargaard research facility in Greenland sent out an S.O.S.”

She hit play on the video. Mac watched it, disturbed. There was a woman, in a hazmat suit of some kind, staring at the camera. She was coughing up blood, and Mac was pretty sure he could see others in the background doing the same thing. It was- it was terrible to watch. But even worse than watching the young woman cough up blood, was watching her beg. Mac stood there, staring at the tablet, watching her beg for someone to help them. But Thornton was there, with this video, and that meant that nobody was able to help them.

“Ten minutes later,” Director Thornton said, once the video ended. “All 27 researchers were dead. The CDC sent out a containment team to quarantine the building, figure out what happened.”

“Well,” Mac said, taking a shaky breath. “Looks like ebola or some sort of viral hemorrhagic fever.” He coughed, not being able to take his eyes off the screen. “But they never had any cases in Greenland. Is this something new?”

“Try something old,” Director Thornton said. “30 000 years old. The CDC think it’s prehistoric. Something they dug up while fracking in Siberia.”

Mac shook his head. That- that was bad. That was very bad.

“We believe this virus is the biological weapon that you were sent to Italy to recover three months ago,” Thornton continued. And, okay, that was very bad. Very very bad, actually. “Intel suggests this was a proof of concept demonstration to prove that the seller was actually in possession of the biologic. Up until now, the man who stole the virus from you-”

“You mean the man who killed Nikki,” Mac said, cutting Director Thornton off.

Mac had a feeling that Thornton was starting to regret coming here. Still, she kept going. “We've been trying to find him, assuming that he was the end user. But this latest intel suggests that he was just another broker looking to make a sale.”

“Any idea when or where?” Mac asked. He needed to stop this weapon. No, not exactly. He needed to stop Nikki’s killer. That was the truth.

“No,” Thornton said. Mac had a feeling that if she did know, she wouldn’t be here.

“Well, if we can't find him, we need to find the buyer,” Mac said, brain racing with ideas. “Nikki downloaded everything from that night onto her hard drive. The face of every guest at that party. That's our list of potential buyers.”

“I already have our cyber team processing her computer,” Thornton admitted. And then, she paused, looking at Mac. “I know it’s still- Nikki’s death is still fresh. But we this requires someone who can handle a biologic. The clock’s ticking.”

Mac took a deep breath. He didn’t know how to feel about any of this.

“We need you,” Director Thornton said.

And Mac knew what his answer was going to be.

Thornton left, after that. She took her tablet and left, leaving Mac alone with his thoughts. Alone with his racing brain. Alone with the adrenaline coursing through Mac’s body. He didn’t know what to think about any of it. He didn't know how to feel about any of it. He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Thornton was asking him to come back. He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he was going after Nikki’s killer. He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he was going after the bio weapon that he had let get away. He- He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he had said yes. He had actually said yes.

Mac was going back to work.

It was what he had wanted. He had wanted to go back to work. He had wanted to stop the people who had killed Nikki. He had wanted to get the canister back. He had wanted to make sure that Nikki hadn’t died in vain. This is what Mac had wanted. This is what Mac had been waiting for. This is what kept Mac alive. This is why Mac kept waking up. Kept living. Kept running. This is what Mac had been wanting to do as soon as Nikki had died. He had wanted to get revenge. Pay back. Catharsis. He had wanted to do something, anything, to make sure that Nikki’s death hadn’t been pointless. Something to make sure that Mac’s life wasn’t pointless.

It still felt wrong, somehow.

Mac didn’t know why. But it felt wrong to go back to work. It felt wrong to go back to work, when Nikki had been killed there. It felt wrong going back to work, when he should have still been grieving her. It felt wrong going back to DXS without Nikki. How could he go back without Nikki? It was Nikki and Jack and Macgyver. That was how it always was. That was how it always had been. The three of them had been a team for years. They watched each other’s backs. They took care of each other. So, yeah, it felt wrong going back to work without Nikki. It felt wrong going back to work when Nikki was a rotting corpse in the ocean, with an empty casket to commemorate her. It felt wrong. It just felt plain wrong. It felt wrong to replace Nikki.

Because that was the truth of the matter. In order to catch Nikki’s killer, they had to replace her.

There was no way around it. That was what they were doing. They were getting a new hacker, for lack of a better term, to do what Nikki did. To go into Nikki’s computer, her files, her life’s work. Her brain. That computer was her brain. That computer was her heart. That computer was the only thing of Nikki’s that was left, really. One last surviving bit of her. A collection of everything she had done and seen and worked on over the years. A collection of everything that she had experienced and lived through and cared about. And now they were getting a stranger to go and look through all of it.

At the very least, Mac did like Riley.

He had been skeptical at first, of course he had been. She was a stranger. She was a stranger that Jack knew, and yet he refused to say how he knew her. Why he knew her. How he had managed to know a hacker with the most redacted file Mac had ever seen, and that was saying something. Why she was younger than any of them, younger than almost everybody at DXS. But Mac couldn’t exactly judge Jack for knowing a criminal and not having said anything. Mac was- well, Mac was in the same boat with Murdoc. Except, at the very least, Mac was still on speaking terms with Murdoc. Jack had said that there was some bad history between them.

Mac had been skeptical the whole ride to the prison. The hacker was in prison, first of all. How good of a hacker could she be, whoever she was, if she had managed to get caught? How good of a criminal was she, if she was still in jail at all? Mac had never been inside of an American prison, but he had broken out of others before. Ones that were even more guarded. And she did look young, once they made it to the interview room where they were holding her. Maybe it was just the orange jumpsuit and the lack of sun exposure, but she looked young. She looked really young. Mac didn’t exactly have his hopes up for her solving all of their problems.

But then he had actually started talking to her. She wasn’t- she didn’t act like most criminals Mac had interacted with before. Granted, Mac hadn’t really interacted with that many criminals. Most just tried to shoot at him. The only exception was Murdoc, who, okay, had also tried to shoot at him. But she wasn’t cruel. Or gloating. She admitted to the crime that she had done to end up in here, whatever that had been, and said that she would do it again. But she had also said that she had done it for the greater good. For the right reason. That was what Mac needed, right now. Someone who would help him get to Nikki’s killer because it was the right thing. And, okay, the fact that she wasn’t afraid to make fun of Jack was definitely a plus, but still.

Riley was- there was something about her that Mac liked. Something that Mac had a feeling Nikki would have liked, too.

“You’re coming with us,” Mac decided, sitting up straight in his chair.

“Seriously?” Riley asked. Mac wasn’t sure if she was surprised by the fact that they were accepting her, or by the fact that they weren’t asking her to come, but rather telling her. Mac didn’t really have time to discern the difference.

“You have a unique skill set we can utilise,” Mac explained.

“Is it gonna be dangerous?” Riley asked. And, okay, she definitely sounded excited about that. Nikki definitely would have liked her.

Speaking of Nikki, Mac thought grimly. “Our last analyst was murdered three months ago.”

“Not the ideal recruitment slogan,” Riley quipped.

So, yeah, Mac liked her. Mac liked her so much that he broke her out of prison, actually.

He knew that that wasn’t exactly following protocol. Or legal in any definition of the word, even if he did work for the government, technically. He had definitely just broken the law. But he didn’t have time to go through the proper channels. That could have taken days, at the least. They didn’t have days. The world didn’t have days. So Mac did what he did best. He improvised. He used the paperclip sitting on Riley’s file, which was one of Mac’s tried and true tricks, really, and unlocked Riley’s handcuffs in just a few seconds. He ushered her out, ignoring Thornton’s talk of protocol. They needed Riley’s expertise now, or three months ago, really, if they had access to a time machine, if she was even half as good as Jack said she was. And maybe, just maybe, Mac had done it as an excuse to show off.

Still, Riley was good at what she did, Mac had to admit.

Very, very good. Probably better than Jack had even said she was. She managed to get into Nikki’s laptop in less than five minutes of entering DXS. This was something that almost every hacker in the building had been trying for three months. Three months. It was impressive. It was definitely impressive. She even had the audacity to ask for snacks after that, which, okay, Mac had to respect it. And then Jack revealed that the reason she was so mad was because Jack had slept with her mom, which, yeah, Mac respected that, too. That wasn’t really the reason, but still, Mac was going to make fun of Jack for that for the rest of time.

And as soon as she had managed to get into the laptop, she also managed to find the footage from that night. She combed through the footage, even being better than average at a task as simple as that, and suddenly they knew who had killed Nikki. Kendrick. John Kendrick. John Kendrick was the one who had killed Nikki. John Kendrick was the one who had shot Mac, John Kendrick was the one who had stolen the canister. John Kendrick was the one they were after. John Kendrick- John Kendrick had his watch set to nine hours earlier than Lake Como. John Kendrick was headed to the West Coast of the US.

With that one, small, tidbit of information, Riley had been able to find him. Just like that. Mac had heard of Shodan maps before, of course. Nikki had used them, once or twice. But Nikki hadn’t been as adept with them. Or maybe the tech had advanced since the last time she had used them, Mac didn’t know. Either way, Riley managed to find Kendrick. Just like that, Riley managed to find him in a sea of people all across the West Coast. Just like that, Riley had managed to find a potential buyer, too. And just like that-

Just like that, they were on a plane to San Francisco.

Riley had even managed to convince Director Thornton to come without any field experience. While being technically an American fugitive. While being a massive breach in protocol. Even still, she had somehow managed to make her case and be brought along. That was impressive, too. It took guts to do that. It took drive. It meant that Riley really did want to be here. It meant that Riley really did want to help people. It meant that Riley really did care about doing the right thing. Or maybe she just wanted to fly on a plane before she was back in prison. Mac couldn’t exactly be sure.

Either way, Mac was curled up on one of the seat’s of the plane.

He was preoccupied with thoughts of Nikki. Thoughts of her, talking over the comms to him. Thoughts of her, sitting in the van, always making sure him and Jack made it out of missions okay. Thoughts of the facts that Mac hadn’t been able to return the favour. Thoughts of her, lifeless as she tumbled off the cliff. He was preoccupied with thoughts of catching Nikki’s killer. Thoughts of finally being able to get to him. Thoughts of finally being able to stop him. Thoughts of finally being able to get closure on what happened to Nikki. He was preoccupied with thoughts of revenge. Thoughts of arresting the man. Thoughts of fighting the man. Thoughts of the man, bloody, because of what he had done to Nikki. Thoughts of-

Mac sighed, shaking his head.

He was supposed to be thinking about the mission. He was supposed to be thinking about the dangerous bio weapon on the loose. He was supposed to think about working with Riley for the first time. About the fact that she was untrained. About the fact that she was young. About the fact that she was reckless, too, probably. He was supposed to be thinking about getting out alive. He was supposed to be thinking about getting Jack out alive. About getting Riley out alive. About the fact that Nikki had died in that same position, the safest one of all, and now Riley was there, untrained and as green as could be, ready to put herself in that same position. No. Nope. He was supposed to think about the mission. About the bio weapon. About the danger.

Another rogue thought drifted into Mac’s brain. This one wasn’t about Nikki, though.

No, thinking about just Nikki would have been too easy. Instead, Mac was stuck thinking about Murdoc. Murdoc, of all people. Mac was stuck thinking about the fact that he hadn’t so much as texted Murdoc in two months. Over two months, technically. Mac was stuck thinking about the fact that now that he was on missions again, or rather, one mission, he had the chance of seeing Murdoc. This wasn’t exactly Murdoc’s scene, or anything, he wasn’t a collector of bioweapons. But maybe he had a hit out on Kendrick. Or maybe he was just in San Francisco for a whole other reason. There was no telling, with Murdoc. And Mac hadn’t so much as updated him on how he was doing. Hadn’t even said he was alive. Hadn’t even said that he was going on a mission again.

When they landed, Mac pulled out his phone. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

“Hi,” Mac typed, anyway. He hadn’t texted Murdoc since that phone call. He hit backspace, deleting the two letters. “Hey,” he typed. He deleted that, too.

Mac sighed. Why was this so hard?

“Hi,” Mac typed. Again. He hit backspace. Again.

Mac sighed. Why was he even considering doing this at all?

“I missed you,” Mac typed. He deleted it quickly.

Mac sighed. Why had he even typed that? Even if it was true but- but no. No way.

“I’m back in the game,” Mac typed. His hand hovered over the backspace.

He hit send, before turning his phone off.

Mac had a mission to focus on, after all.

It was important that he focused. He couldn’t afford to lose focus, even for a second. He had important things to do. Important things to pay attention to. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by thoughts of Murdoc. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by thoughts of anything, really. He didn’t know why he ahd texted Murdoc at all. It would have probably been better to just never text him again, then to text him for the first time in two months and then disappear off the face of the earth again. But he texted him. Mac didn’t know. And he didn’t have time to think about why, either. Because he had to focus. He had to focus. He had to do his job. He had to save-

He had to stop Nikki’s killer.

He had to get the bio weapon before someone used it.

He had to- he couldn’t think about Murdoc, not right now. Not ever.

Chapter Text

And then everything went wrong.

It had been a normal mission, at the beginning. Or as normal as Mac’s first mission back after Nikki’s death could have been, anyway. They got on the plane to San Francisco. They got off the plane to San Francisco. Mac sent an ill advised text to Murdoc. They tracked Kendrick down to a hotel, located deep in downtown San Fran. They made it to the hotel, larger and more populated than they had expected. They had no way to figure out what alias Kendrick was using, or which room he was checked into. They had no time to check every single room, and they would have gotten noticed if they did. They had-

They had tinfoil. Using tinfoil to save the day really wasn’t that strange, when it came to Mac’s work. It was just another day. Just another mission. They located the tin foil. And the cleaning products with the necessary chemicals. A corrosive, in this case pool cleaner. Ammonia, in the form of a bottle of sketchy looking cleaning solution. All of it was dumped into a mop bucket, placed under the fire alarm. Mac added in a rolled up ball of tin foil and, well, there. Instant smoke. No fire, sure, but enough smoke to trigger the alarm and make everyone in the building think that something was going very, very wrong. Enough smoke to make everyone in the building evacuate down into the lobby, letting Mac get a look at them.

Mac watched everyone flood into the lobby, as the fire alarm went off. There was a lot of people, a full crowd of people, all trying to get outside. Mac stood at the balcony, watching everyone coming down the stairs, and everyone on the floor below them. He listened to the hotel staff usher everyone outside. There were a lot of people. None of them were Kendrick. But there were just so many people, it was hard to filter through all of them. This is when having Nikki combing through the security footage would have been helpful, but Nikki wasn’t here. Because Nikki was dead. Finally, there, he saw Kendrick. Down on the first floor of the hotel, almost out the door, he saw Kendrick.

And then he saw Nikki, too.

It was definitely Nikki. There was no way that it wasn’t Nikki. That was Nikki, with a backpack on her shoulders, standing right next to Kendrick. Right next to Kendrick. And she had looked at him, too. She had made eye contact with Mac. She knew- she knew Mac. That was definitely Nikki. There was no way that that wasn’t Nikki. She had changed her hair a bit, sure, but that was Nikki. That was most definitely Nikki. That- that was Nikki. But that didn’t make any sense, because she was dead. Nikki was dead. How was that Nikki? If that was Nikki then that meant that she wasn’t dead. If that was Nikki then that meant that she was working with Kendrick. She had to have been- been blackmailed, or something. Threatened. Nikki wouldn’t have done it, otherwise. Nikki wouldn’t have left otherwise.

“Jack!” Mac called out. “Jack!”

Mac chased Kendrick, no, he chased Nikki down the stairs of the hotel and out of a side door. He followed her down an alleyway, Kendrick nowhere in sight. Why was Nikki running from him, if Kendrick wasn’t there? Why was Nikki running from him at all? He couldn’t afford to think about that right now. He just had to keep running. He just had to catch up with Nikki. He shoved someone that was in his way, a dishwasher or something, Mac wasn’t sure. He didn’t have time to let him move out of the way. He had to catch up with Nikki. He had to talk to Nikki. He had to-

Nikki was alive. How was Nikki alive? Why was Nikki alive? If Nikki was alive, why wouldn’t she have told them that she was alive? Why wasn’t she talking to him now? And why had Mac seen her with Kendrick, of all people? Kendrick had killed her. He had killed her. Nikki was dead. Except, clearly, she wasn’t, because Mac was chasing her. Mac was chasing her. Nikki was refusing to talk to Mac. She was running from him. She was supposed to be running towards him. If Nikki was alive, why wasn’t she letting Mac help her? If Nikki was alive, why hadn’t she told him? If Nikki was alive-

Mac stumbled on a trash can. He couldn’t be distracted right now. He had to chase Nikki. He had to catch up with Nikki. She was fast, she always had always been fast. And she had a head start. And this damn alley had way too many obstacles. But Mac needed to catch up with her. He needed to catch up with her. Finally, they exited the alleyway. By the time Mac had made it out, Nikki was up the street, right beside a car. She opened the car door, poised to get in. If she got in the car, then Mac was going to lose her. Mac couldn’t lose her. Not again.

“Nikki!” Mac yelled.

He watched her climb into the car, not even looking back at him as he yelled. There was somebody beside the car, too, but they were turned so that Mac couldn’t see their face. Mac wasn’t really paying attention to them, anyway. His gaze was locked on Nikki, watching her as she climbed into the car. There was a beat, one second where Mac thought that maybe she would turn around and actually talk to Mac. And then that second was gone, and the car sped off. Once the car was moving, the person beside the car turned around to face Mac. It was Kendrick. Of course it was Kendrick. Great. And then Kendrick was shooting at him. Even better!

Mac sped off, down another alley way. He wasn’t really thinking, he was just focused on not getting shot by the same person who had shot Nikki. Except, had he even shot Nikki, really? Because Nikki was alive. And she was, apparently, working with Kendrick. Or being blackmailed by Kendrick. Or something. Mac didn’t really know. Mac didn’t know a lot of things, apparently. He hadn’t known that Nikki was alive. He hadn’t known that Nikki would be here. And he still didn’t know what the hell was going on. He didn’t know why she was here. How she was here. Why Mac kept seeing her with Kendrick, of all people. He didn’t know how she was alive at all. She should have been dead. Mac had watched her fall. Mac had watched die. Mac had been to her funeral. Mac had grieved for her. Mac was still grieving for her. And yet, somehow, she was alive. Nikki was alive.

He reached the end of the alley, a tall chain link fence blocking his path. Crap. It was a deadend. Of course it was. Kendrick was getting closer and closer. Mac could hear his footsteps thundering down the alleyway. Mac could hear the gunshots getting closer and closer. Mac had to do something. He had to do something. He had to- There! There was a fire escape. Mac could do something with that. He grasped at the mechanism for it, unlocking it. He held on tight, waiting for just the right moment to let go. Kendrick came closer, and closer, and closer, brandishing his gun at Mac. And- there. Mac released the fire escape, the ladder hitting Kendrick right on the head.

Kendrick went down, slamming onto the concrete.

Mac didn’t know how to feel about any of it. Kendrick was down. He was actually down. Mac had caught him. That was what Mac had been wanting for months. Except, it wasn’t as simple as Mac had thought it would be. Nothing was as simple as Mac had thought it was. Because Nikki was alive. Nikki was actually alive, and somehow affiliated with Kendrick and- And Mac was distracted by the sound of more footsteps. It was Jack. He ran down the alleyway, gun in hand. He caught up to Mac, panting as he pointed his gun away from Mac.

“You all right?” Jack asked.

Mac didn’t answer him. Instead, he ran away from the alley, back to where Nikki had been.

“Mac?” Jack called. “Mac, where you going? What are you looking for?”

Mac stood in the street, looking for- for something. For some sign of Nikki. For some clue to where she was going. For some reason for why she had left. For something. For anything.

“It's over, man. We got him,” Jack continued.

“No, it's not,” Mac said, voice shaking with anger. He wasn’t angry at Jack. He was just- he was just plain angry. “Nikki's alive.”

“ What do you mean Nikki's alive?” Jack asked.

“I saw her,” Mac said. “She was with Kendrick. They've been in on this together.” It was the only thing that made sense, even if Mac didn’t want it to be true. But it was the only thing that really made sense at all.

Riley ran up beside them. “Whoa, guys, time-out,” she said. Mac could see the cogs in her brain turning. “Are you talking about the same dead Nikki? Your girlfriend Nikki?”

“Yeah,” Mac said, shaking his head.

“How is that possible?” Riley asked.

Mac didn’t know. Mac didn’t know how it was possible. Mac didn’t know how any of this was happening. Mac didn’t know anything, really.

“We're about to find that out,” Jack said, stalking back towards Kendrick.

They dragged his knocked out body to their van. And okay, it wasn’t their usual van. It was actually a handy man’s truck. But it worked as a base of operations, and as a set of wheels. Even if it wasn’t a very pretty set of wheels. It was full of nails and hammers and things like that. They tied Kendrick to a set of drawers, making sure that they wouldn’t budge. The whole place made for a decent torture chamber, Mac had to admit, what with all the power tools and heavy metal boxes. Not that Mac wanted to torture Kendrick, or anything. But he did want answers. He really wanted answers. More than anything, he wanted answers. And yet, Mac doubted that they would actually get any.

“He’s not going to tell us anything,” Mac said, shaking his head.

“We could always beat it out of him, hoss,” Jack pointed out. Mac wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

Mac sighed. “I don’t even know if that would work. He seemed serious. Really serious.”

“What if we didn’t need him to tell us anything?” Riley asked. “What if we just needed him to talk?”

Mac blinked in confusion. “What?” He asked, turning towards Riley.

“I have this software. It can replicate somebody’s voice. And if we have his voice, then we can find his phone to figure out how to contact Nikki and-”

“And get her to tell us what we need to know,” Mac finished for her. “That might just work.”

“It better work,” Jack said, cracking his knuckles. “Because we need some damn answers.”

“Especially from Nikki,” Mac added, softly.

“Yeah, hoss,” Jack said. “Especially from Nikki.”

Mac didn’t have much to do as they waited for Kendrick to wake up. He watched over Riley’s shoulder as she set up her voice program. He listened as she explained that they needed him to say as many phonemes as possible, in order to be able to use whatever words necessary to be able to talk to Nikki. Jack was busy making sure that Kendrick was tied well. Riley was busy making sure the tech would work properly. Mac didn’t have anything to do. Well, Mac didn’t have anything to do except think himself to death, anyway. Think about Nikki. Think about the fact that Nikki was alive.

Kendrick woke up with a fist colliding with his face.

“That's for making us think Nikki was dead and for trying to kill my friend here,” Jack said, pointing at Mac.

“Where's the virus?” Mac asked.

There was silence from Kendrick, just like Mac thought there would be.

Jack rooted around in the van, before picking up a nail gun. He fired it at the floor between Kendrick’s legs.

“Oh, I got your attention now?” Jack said.

“Nikki has the virus,” Kendrick grit out. At least he was talking now. “I don't know where it is.”

Mac had suspected that much. But that wasn’t nearly enough information. Or phonemes.

“Because you're a bad guy,” Jack quipped. “I'm gonna reserve my right not to believe anything that you say.” He fired the nail gun again.

“Nikki wanted to meet the buyer alone,” Kendrick said. “She thought it would be safer if we met up after the transaction. I swear.” Something about that felt wrong. Something about that made it clear that Nikki was the one calling the shots. But Mac- Mac couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t let himself believe that.

“I swear?” Jack parrotted. “Really? Why do guys like you always try to convince guys like me that you're honest? Hey, look at me. You're not honest. That's why you got another tool between your legs right now.”

They needed Kendrick to talk more. And Mac needed answers. He- he needed confirmation that he was right about Nikki being forced into all of this. He needed something. Anything.

“What did you do to get Nikki to cooperate? What did you threaten her with?” Mac asked.

“I didn't,” Kendrick said. That wasn’t good enough.

“Nikki would never do this unless you had something on her,” Mac continued.

“Look for a bank account in Prague in her mother's name. You'll find $5 million in there,” Kendrick said.

Mac made eye contact with Jack. He didn’t want to believe any of this. He couldn’t believe any of this. And yet-

“When you shot her, the first round was a blank,” Jack said.

“She insisted we make her disappear after the transaction,” Kendrick continued. “It was non-negotiable.”

“And me?” Mac found himself asking. Anything to keep Kendrick talking. Yeah. Definitely.

“She wanted you unhurt, but hey she understood it might get messy, if necessary,” Kendrick said.

Mac didn’t want to hear any more of this. “You got enough?” Mac asked.

“Every phoneme in the English language,” Riley said. Thank god.

“What did you do?” Kendrick growled.

Mac placed a strip of duct tape on Kendrick’s mouth, reaching into his pocket for his burner phone. “Check the last call on that,” Mac said, tossing it at Riley. “It's going to be Nikki.”

“Eliza Pittsinger,” Riley said. The name felt familiar. Mac didn’t know why. “I would have chose Beyoncé as an alias, but hey,” Riley quipped, shaking Mac out of his thoughts.

“Call it,” Mac ordered.

“We shouldn't be talking right now,” Nikki said over the phone. She sounded curt. Angry. Different than Mac had ever heard her before.

Riley typed rapidly. “I took care of your friends,” the computer answered, in Kendrick’s voice. It was eerie. “They're not going to be bothering us anymore.”

“Don't call me again,” Nikki said. There was something in the background of Nikki’s call. Engines. Planes, maybe. “I'll see you in New York.” She hung up.

“Sorry,” Riley said, shaking her head. “Call was voice over IP, routed using TOR. No way to trace it.”

“There were planes in the background,” Mac said. “She's at an airport.” They were going to find her. They had to find her.

“All right, I'll look for cell towers at San Francisco International,” Riley said.

Jack cut her off. “No, no, she's not at SFO,” he said. “Those engines were too small to be commercial. I heard a Bell Ranger. I think we're looking for a private airport, one that services planes and choppers.”

Mac would never get over just how good Jack was with plane noises. He said they all sounded distinct, but Mac never understood it.

“Got something,” Riley called out. “It's in San Carlos, ten minutes from here.”

“Call Thornton,” Mac said. “Tell her to ground all airplanes in the area. We can't let that virus leave the city.”

They drove as fast as they could to the airport. It was only ten minutes away, but Mac felt like it took ages. His heart was thumping in his chest. They rushed through traffic, getting honked at all the while, as Jack sped them through as fast as he possibly could. Mac didn’t care if what they were doing was dangerous. Letting the virus get out would be even more dangerous. Letting Nikki go would be even more dangerous. When they got to the airport, they didn’t even bother with unlocking the gate. Jack just drove through it, the lock breaking under the force and the chain link gate swinging open. Mac climbed out of the van, and he knew that they were too late. The plane was already taking off.

But Mac wasn’t going let Nikki get away again.

“Mac!” Jack called out.

“Yeah,” Mac said, already running. “I see it!”

He knew that what he was doing was probably considered insane by most people. Especially when you considered that Mac had a fear of heights. A really bad fear of heights. But he had to do something. He couldn’t let Nikki get away again. He couldn’t let Nikki leave again. He couldn’t be denied answers again. He had to stop her. And he had to get the virus, too. Mac couldn’t forget about the virus. But if Mac was honest, he was more worried about Nikki. Nikki owed Mac answers. Nikki owed Mac the past three months of his life back. Actually, no, Nikki owed Mac years of his life back. She owed him every single year since they had met, actually.

He ran and he ran and he ran, until he managed to catch up with the plane. He was lucky it hadn’t fully lifted off yet. He grabbed onto the underside of the airplane, pulling himself into the crevice where the landing gear was stored. The airplane had now lifted off, by the timfully wedged himself in there. He was high in the air. His heart was pounding. This was a dumb idea. A really dumb idea. Mac knew that, but he didn’t really have any other choice. He held onto the plane with one hand, using the other to open up his trusty swiss army knife. He used the blade to slice the landing gear open. That would force the plane to land. Hopefully, anyway. Otherwise Mac was screwed.

Thankfully, the plane started coming down. All Mac had to do now was cling on for dear life as the plane made it’s way down. And not get crushed by the landing gear. And not freak out about the fact that he was flying in the air, on the outside of the airplane. And not freak out about the fact that he had actually stopped Nikki. That he was actually going to get to talk to Nikki. That he was actually going to get answers from Nikki. That he was actually going to get to figure out what the hell was going on. That he was-

The plane landed with a thud. Actually, no, Mac landed with a thud.

He tumbled out of the landing gear, rolling on the asphalt from the inertia. His head was spinning and his heart was pounding and his hands were tired from clinging so hard. He didn’t care. Mac scrambled to his feet, running towards the airplane door. He could see that Jack and Riley were already heading towards the airplane, which was good. Mac didn’t want to have grounded that plane just to have Nikki escape anyway. No- no way. Just- no way. Absolutely no entire way. Mac ran towards the door, entering it just after Jack did.

Nikki was standing there, with her gun drawn.

She looked different, Mac couldn’t deny it. It wasn’t her hair. It wasn’t her clothes. It wasn’t anything physical about her at all. But she did look different. She acted different. She sounded different. She was different. Or maybe, maybe, Mac thought, she wasn’t different. Maybe this was who Nikki had been the entire time, and Mac had just been too blind to see it. Maybe Nikki had just been putting on an act for Mac and Jack and DXS. Maybe this really was Nikki. Maybe Nikki really was brash. And cold. And ready to shoot any one of them. Maybe Nikki really was just in it for the money. Maybe-

Mac didn’t know how to feel. Mac didn’t know how to feel about anyone of it. Mac didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Nikki was holding a gun to Jack, threatening to shoot him. Nikki. Nikki was doing that. Nikki, Mac’s girlfriend. Nikki, Mac’s partner. Nikki, Mac’s friend. Nikki, the person that Mac had trusted more than anyone else. And, okay, Mac hadn’t told Nikki everything, but still. He had confided in her. He had told her a lot. The only thing that Mac hadn’t told her was about Murdoc and that- that was complicated. It was complicated.

This was even more complicated, actually. Probably. Or maybe it was a tie. Whatever. Mac sighed. Everything in Mac’s life was complicated, he couldn’t deny that. But at the very least, he could do something about Nikki. He could get answers. She was standing right in front of Mac, and he could finally get answers. She was standing right in front of Mac, and she was pointing a gun at Jack. It was so odd, seeing Nikki pointing a gun at him. They were supposed to be on the same side. They had always been on the same side. Mac had thought they were on the same side. Clearly, Mac had been wrong about that. Clearly, Mac had been wrong about a lot of things when it came to Nikki.

Mac stepped in front of Jack.

“You want to shoot him, you're gonna have to go through me,” Mac said. He walked closer, pressing her gun towards the shoulder that Kendrick had shot just months before. “Go ahead. You already had me killed once.”

Nikki lowered her gun, handing it over. Mac passed it to Jack.

“Where's the virus?” Mac asked, patting down Nikki. “Where is it?”

Nikki had no answer for him.

Mac sighed, turning to look at Jack. “Tear this place apart.”

“You got it,” Jack answered. He walked away from Mac, searching the plane with Riley.

Mac turned back to Nikki. “Was everything a lie?” He asked. He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help the way his voice got louder. Angrier. More desperate.

“Not us,” Nikki said. Mac wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her. Mac wasn’t sure whether or not she believed herself.

“Then why?” Mac found himself asking. “I thought you died trying to do something good.”

Nikki smiled bittersweetly. “You were always the hero, Mac. Not me.”

Mac thought about it. He thought about what Nikki was saying. He thought about what he knew about Nikki. He thought about- “It's not here, is it?” Mac said, considering Nikki’s face.

Nikki didn’t give anything away with her expressions. But Mac- he knew her. Or he thought he knew her. Either way, Mac was certain that the virus wasn’t her.

“Guys, stop looking,” Mac said. He looked at Nikki flatly. Disappointed. “She already sold it.”

Backup arrived. Nikki was arrested. The FBI had her in custody. They were on video call with Director Thornton, debriefing her on what had happened so far. Debriefing her on their progress so far. Or, rather, debriefing her on their lack of progress so far. Nikki was alive. And she was crooked, for who knows how long. Kendrick was captured, but he knew barely anything. And Chen was loose, with the virus. They were running out of time. They still hadn’t managed to get to the virus. They still hadn’t managed to get real answers. All they had managed with this mission was raise even more questions.

Mac didn’t know where the virus was.

Chen could have gone anywhere with it. He could be on a plane anywhere right now. Or a car. Or a train. Any sort of transportation, any sort of way out of the city. Out of the state. Out of the country. The canister was small enough that it could have been easily smuggled anywhere he needed it to be. Mac didn’t know enough about Chen to know where he was going to use the virus, he didn’t even know if it was ideological or personal or what. A lot of things just weren’t adding up. Not everything was making sense.

There was something bugging Mac.

He wasn’t exactly sure what it was. He couldn’t place it, not at first. But he knew that there was something. Something about what Nikki had said. Something about what Nikki had done. There was something that Mac knew was up. Something that Mac knew was important, even if he couldn’t place it. Something that- something was wrong. Something was out of place. It was bugging Mac. It was like an itch that he just couldn’t scratch. There was something. Something about Nikki. Something about Nikki’s attitude. Something about her words on the plane. Something about- something about Nikki’s alias.

Mac knew where the virus was. And it wasn’t good.

“It's here,” Mac said, cutting off Director Thornton. He marched up to Nikki. “The target's San Francisco. Chen's planning on releasing the virus here, isn't he?”

“You're wrong,” Nikki said. “It's Tokyo.”

“Oh, you're lying,” Mac said. He felt confident now. He knew that he was right. For the first time through this whole mission, Mac actually knew something. “Eliza A. Pittsinger. I saw it on Kendrick's phone, but I didn't realize it until now. Pittsinger wrote a poem in 1907 on the anniversary of the San Francisco earthquake. Over 3,000 people died in the fires.”

“Sometimes a purge is necessary to fix what's broken,” Nikki said.

Mac scoffed. “Don't pretend this was about ideology. You did this for a payday.”

“Mac,” Nikki said, getting more and more animated as she spoke. “Did you ever ask yourself why our government wants that weapon? What are they planning on doing with it?

He hadn’t. But it- it wasn’t his job to think about that. It was his job to keep it out of the hands of people like Chen, like Nikki, who would most definitely use it to hurt people.

“We're running out of time here, Mac,” Jack said, looking at his watch.

“Even if you find it, the people I work for will stop at nothing to get it back,” Nikki said.

Mac hadn’t realised she was working for somebody. She had assumed that she had gone freelance. Did she really just go from DXS to a criminal network? And she thought that that was better?

“We'll see about that, won't we?” Jack said.

“No more games,” Mac said, flatly. “Where's Chen?”

“You should leave,” Nikki said, giving Mac a look.

Mac wasn’t going to take that bait. “Well, that's not gonna happen,” he said, shooting Nikki a smile. “I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. So, Chen will release the virus here, then we'll both die.

Nikki gave Mac a look. It was somewhere between impressed and terrified. Good.

“So what's it gonna be?” Mac asked.

Nikki cracked.

She gave them the intel on Chen’s truck. Where to find it, anyway. Jack had flown Mac and him to it in a helicopter, and Mac had jumped down into the truck. From the helicopter. While still having a fear of heights. Still, Mac got over it. It was part of the job. One thing that Nikki had apparently decided not to tell them was the fact that Chen had rigged it to an IED. That was kind of an important point that she had decided to leave out. But- but Mac was good with IEDs. It had been what he’d done in the army. It was what he was good at. Improvising. It was what he had always done. It was what he would keep doing. He crouched forward, peering at the IED. He could do this. He could deal with this. This was something Mac knew how to deal with. Mac didn’t know how to deal with the fact that Nikki was alive. Mac didn’t know how to deal with the fact that Nikki was apparently crooked. Still, he could deal with an IED. He knew IEDs.

But it wasn’t a simple IED. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, it was one of the more complicated ones he had seen. No, that would have to go to- well, no, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Mac was tired and frustrated and he was stuck staring at 12 green wires, with no clue what led to what. It was like the IED had been made just to be confusing. It was a hulking mass of explosives and wires, all coated in a metal box that in and of itself had been difficult to open. And there was no way of knowing which wire went to what, since they were all the same colour. Jack was warning him over the comms, saying that somebody was coming to where Mac was, and he knew he had to act fast. He held up the small scissors attached to his swiss army knife, and he made a choice. He cut a wire.

It was the wrong wire. It was most definitely the wrong wire. There was no way in any universe that that was the right wire, because the timer suddenly changed from being dormant to only having two minutes on it. Which, well, wasn’t ideal. None of this was ideal. He wasn’t going to be able to unarm the bomb. Not now that he only had less than two minutes, anyway. He knew that much. It was too complicated. There wasn’t enough time. And then the person that Jack had warned him about came thundering into the truck bed, and Mac didn’t have time to think about the bomb at all.

The man slammed into Mac.

Mac gave as much as he got, thank you very much. But he was built for, well, building things, not for fighting. He was kind of struggling. Slightly.

“Hey! Mac!” Jack called out from the helicopter.

“I’m a little busy right now!” Mac managed to call out from where he was being choked.

“Catch!” Jack yelled, throwing down his gun into the truck bed. That was definitely safe.

Still, Mac managed to grab it. But he didn’t like guns. So, he used it to hit his attacker with it, instead, and watched as he tumbled out of the truck bed.

Good. That gave Mac more time to think about the literal ticking time bomb in front of him. He considered it. Considered the fact that he was down to less than a minute before the whole bomb exploded, sending the virus everywhere. Considered the fact that there was no way he was going to be able to stop the bomb in time. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to stop it even if the timer wasn’t counting down. The truck was moving and there were bumps and the thing was constructed in a way that Mac had never seen before. He had to prioritise getting the virus. Figuring out a way to get it out of there, without the bomb. He had to, no question about that.

“Stopping the bomb is out of the question,” Mac said, as he crouched in front of it. He had a paperclip in hand.

“Then get the virus and get out of there,” Jack called out.

Mac used the paperclip to unlock the virus, pulling it out as carefully as he could in the moving truck.

“Mac?” Jack asked.

“I got it,” Mac said, shaking slightly. Fishing a deadly bio weapon out of a bomb wasn’t really Mac’s idea of a good time. No, Mac’s idea of a good time was a cold beer. Or a movie with Boze. Or talking to an assassin. Scratch that last one.

“Now jump!” Jack called out.

Mac shook his head. “I can’t risk shattering the container and releasing the virus.”

He had to think of something, though. He just needed some way to protect the virus. A casing, or something. But there was nothing like that on the truck. And he was running out of time. Okay, not a casing, then. Not something to protect the canister itself. Something to stop the canister from being affected by the impact of landing. Something- something to slow the fall, maybe. There. Mac had a plan. He used his swiss army knife to cut some of the canvas out of the top of the truck, and some more to add tie downs. Mac tucked the virus into his jacket, zipping it up tightly. Mac tucked his swiss army knife back in his pocket. Mac picked up the tarp in both hands, clutching it desperately. He glanced back at the clock. Fifteen seconds. This had to work.

Mac jumped.

The tarp acted as a makeshift parachute, just as Mac had thought it would. Just as Mac had hoped it would, anyway. He floated out of the truck, up into the air before crashing back down onto the asphalt. Cars screeched to a halt to avoid him, but Mac didn’t exactly care about traffic at the moment. The only thing that mattered was creating space between him and the bomb, and making sure that the virus was as far away from the blast as possible. But the truck kept driving for another six or seven seconds, creating enough space between the virus and the bomb, before it exploded violently on an empty patch of road. Thank god the road had been empty.

Mac shook as the truck exploded for a second time, sending debris everywhere.

Jack landed the helicopter soon enough, coming to congratulate Mac once he managed to get back on his feet. And soon the cops were coming to investigate. And the hazmat team, there to collect the virus. Mac was shaken. And he was tired. But he had to debrief with Director Thornton. He had to check in with medical. He had to make sure that the virus was properly contained and stored. He had to find out what was going to happen to Nikki. He had to fill out paperwork, because of course he did. And he had to fly all the way back to LA. At the very least, Jack and Riley were with him for that part.

And then finally, finally, Mac managed to make it home.

The first thing he did once he got home was collect all of the photos of him Nikki. All the things that he and Nikki had collected together. All the memories of them as a couple. As working partners. As friends. He collected all of it, scooped it up in his arms, and brought it to his fire pit. The second thing he did was light the fire pit, taking care to stack the wood correctly and light it with caution. The third thing he did was start throwing things into the fire. Whatever he had collected, he threw it in. He was done thinking about Nikki. He was done being betrayed by Nikki. He was done not knowing who to trust. He was done.

The fourth thing Mac did was turn on his phone. He hadn’t done that since they had landed in San Francisco.

Murdoc hadn’t answered him yet. That was understandable. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was just pissed that Mac hadn’t texted him in two months. Either way, Mac understood it. He understood why Murdoc wouldn’t want to talk to him. He understood that he had waited a long time to talk to him. Too long of a time. He had probably scared Murdoc. Again. Murdoc had said how much he had hated Murdoc not talking to him, and then Mac had done it again. He didn’t even know why. It had just- it had felt wrong. It had felt so wrong. He had felt guilty, texting Murdoc when Nikki was dead. Mac didn’t know why, but he had. But Nikki wasn’t dead. And she had betrayed Mac. So there was no need to feel guilty about his Murdoc secret, when Nikki had had an even larger one.

“Nikki’s not dead,” Mac typed out.

He deleted it.

“Nikki faked her own death,” Mac typed out.

He deleted it.

“What do you do when someone betrays you?” Mac typed out.

He hit send.

Mac put his phone down, sighing. His head was spinning. His hands were shaking. He watched Nikki’s photos, still burning up in the fire. Slowly burning. Slowly turning to ash. Slowly dying. Dying like Mac had thought Nikki had. Dying like Nikki hadn’t. Dying like their relationship had. Because- because that was the thing, wasn’t it? As much as Nikki had said that what they had had was real, she had thrown their relationship off that cliff. She was ready to never see Mac again. She was ready to make Mac believe that she was dead. She was- She was ready to do that to him, to make him grieve that loss forever. And Mac couldn’t imagine making somebody he loved, truly loved, go through that. So had there ever been love between them at all? If there had been, it was gone now. Burning up with the photos.

That was when Mac heard the door open.

He would have been alarmed, if he wasn’t so used to Jack coming into his place whenever he pleased. It was just something he did, and Mac was used to it by now. He heard Riley defend herself, but Mac knew that it was useless to try to get Jack to knock. Ever. Mac had tried. A lot. After a bit, Bozer started talking to them, and Mac joined in, too. His eyes were still glued to the photos that were now little more than ash in the fire pit. But he watched as Bozer tried to flirt with Riley, and he watched as Jack got all weird and protective. Like a pit bull, a distant, Murdoc sounding voice said in his head. Mac ignored it. He just soaked in the friendship until Bozer had to head to work, and they were free to talk about work.

“So, check it out<’ Jack said, pointing to Riley with a dumb grin on his face. “Boss lady says we can keep this little rascal right here.”

Riley huffed. “Can you not refer to me like I was a pet?”

“Hey, remember, you're still on probation, little lady,” Jack continued.

“Yeah, thank you for reminding me for the sixth time in the last half hour,” Riley answered.

Mac laughed. That was Jack for you.

“You're welcome,” Jack said, before turning to look at Mac. And, yeah, Mac knew what was coming next. “You, uh, you doing all right there, pal?”

Mac shook his head softly, opening up a beer. “I will be.”

He watched as Riley stood up, walking away from the fire pit. She poked around at the random trinkets that Mac kept on his porch, before grabbing something. Mac wasn’t really sure what. She sat back down, and looked at Mac with a face of- of something. Gratitude, maybe. Camaraderie. Hope. Mac didn’t really know. But he watched as she thanked him, even Mac didn’t think she needed to. Her skills were what made them consider her for this but, well, he had chosen her because she had seemed like a good person, deep down. An honest one, too. She was here because of who she was, not because of Mac. So, no, she didn’t really need to thank him at all.

And then Riley opened up her hand, and revealed what she had grabbed from Mac’s collection. A pendant. From Cairo. Of course it was from Cairo.

“Second,” Riley said. “What's this?

Jack scoffed. He had always been extremely superstitious about Cairo, way more than Mac. “I think you've asked enough questions for now, Ri.”

Mac picked it up out of her hand, looking at the Phoenix engraved on it. “This we got in Cairo.”

“You were in Cairo?” Riley asked.

“No,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Mac answered, mostly just to annoy Jack. He really did hate even mentioning Cairo.

“Can't wait to hear that story,” Riley said, smiling.

And, okay, it was nice. It was nice to sit with Jack and Riley around the fire pit. It was nice to be drinking beers and relaxing and making fun of Jack. It was- it was a bit like deja vu, it was a bit like Nikki was back here, but she wasn’t. Nikki was arrested, because that was where she belonged. But Riley was here, and Riley had already been arrested, so Riley couldn’t secretly be a criminal if she already was one. It was perfectly logical, thank you very much. But mostly, it was just nice. It was nice to watch Riley settling in. It was nice to relax. It was nice to not to think about work. It was nice-

And that was when Thornton walked in.

“Guys, Cairo can wait,” the Director said, authoritatively.

“Oh, Director Thornton. What are you doing here?” Jack asked, making the stupidest face Mac had ever seen as he flicked at his beer bottle.

Thornton sat down. “As of 24:00 hours, we're shutting down DXS.”

Mac shared a distressed look with Jack. He didn’t know what he would do if DXS shut down for good. What Jack would do. What Riley would do. He had never even considered that that had been an option.

“What Nikki did compromised our covert operation,” Thornton continued. “So we're folding up the tent and moving all think tank personnel, tactical support and your team to a new location.”

Mac let out a relieved breath. They were just moving, not shutting down. Good. Good.

“Same job, new name,” Thornton added. She looked meaningfully at all three of them. “And you get to pick it.”

“I like the Three Amigos,” Jack said. Mac was really hoping he was joking.

“That means three guys,” Riley said.

“Uh, you should brush up on your Spanish,” Jack said. “My second choice,” he continued, adding a pause for dramatic emphasis. “Thunder Stallions.”

Mac shook his head, twisting the Cairo medallion in his hand. “Phoenix,” he blurted.

Jack scoffed. “Come on, bro. We don't want to name our new super crew after a bird.”

“Not just any bird,” Mac explained. “In ancient mythology, the Phoenix rose from the ashes stronger than it ever was. That's us.”

“I like it.” “Me, too.” “To the Phoenix. Foundation.”

The Phoenix Foundation, Mac thought. A fresh start.

That was exactly what Mac needed. A fresh start. Away from his past. Away from Nikki. Away from everything that had happened. Away from the betrayal. Away from the pain. Away from the darkness. It would just be him and Riley and Jack. A new team. A new start. That was what Mac needed. That was what all of them needed, Mac was pretty sure. A refresh. A renaissance. A clean slate. The past was behind them. The future was in front of them. And Mac wasn’t going to let anything happen to his future. It was- it was going to be good. Mac could feel it.

Mac’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Chapter Text

Things- things had settled.

That was a good way to say it. Things had settled. Or- or they were settling, anyway. Mac was going back on missions again. Riley was settling in with the team. She was coming back after missions, too, for post mission beers and board games by the fire pit. Bozer was still trying and failing to flirt with Riley, whenever he was around. They hung out. They joked around. And they laughed. They found a routine together. They made sense together. They- they came to a sort of agreement. A friendship, even. Things- things were good. Mac was good. He was feeling good. He was settling. He was calm. And-

And Mac had started texting Murdoc again.

He had been excited by the mention of betrayal. Of course he had. He had been less excited by the fact that Mac had been ignoring him. Which, okay, was fair. It was very fair. But he had enjoyed the melodrama of Mac’s story, once he told him a version that excluded every mention of Mac working for DXS. Even though DXS was Phoenix now. Anyway, Murdoc seemed intrigued by the fact that Mac had been tricked into thinking his girlfriend was dead, when really she was simply double crossing him. He had giggled when he found out. Actually giggled. Like a five year old. Murdoc was dramatic like that. He was like a kid who liked knocking towers over. Or who had his barbies engage in civil wars.

Whatever he was, Murdoc had still been eager to talk to Mac again. Which was good. For- for all the strangeness of Murdoc, Mac had missed him. He had really missed him. Murdoc was annoying, sure. Frustrating. Impossible, even. He was a murderer. He seemed incapable of taking anything seriously. He was creepy whenever he wanted to be, which seemed to be always. He had grabbed a piece of Mac’s hair out of his scalp, once, and Mac was pretty sure he was going to try to clone him. He was weird. He was really weird. But at the same time- at the same time, Murdoc was sweet. He was loyal. He cared about Mac, in his own weird, twisted way.

He knew that he was a killer. He knew that he was terrible. He knew that he was a bad guy. By all counts, he was somebody that Mac shouldn’t have been talking to. He was certainly somebody that Mac shouldn’t have been having a friendship with. Mac should have turned him in. Mac should have arrested him. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Mac told himself that it was because at least Murdoc had the guts to say that he was a bad guy. You couldn’t be betrayed by somebody who was open about the fact that they might betray you. You couldn’t be tricked by someone who showed you all their tricks already. Mac could say that that was why Mac kept talking to Murdoc but- but that wasn’t it. He knew that that wasn’t it. The truth was that Mac cared about Murdoc. The truth was that Mac liked Murdoc. As a person. As a friend. The truth was that Mac, somehow, had grown to trust Murdoc. Really trust him.

It had all started when Murdoc had answered Mac’s text.

“What do you do when someone betrays you?”

“Murder,” Murdoc answered. “Obviously.”

Mac really should have expected that answer. “What if I didn’t want to kill them?” Mac asked. The ashes of Nikki’s photos were still in the fire pit.

“Have me commit murder,” Murdoc answered quickly.

“What?” Mac said. “I’m not paying you to kill someone for me, Murdoc.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Murdoc sent. “It would be on the house.”

Mac blinked slowly. “Murder on the house?” He texted.

“Exactly!” Murdoc answered.

“That’s not happening,” Mac said.

“It could,” Murdoc said.

“But it’s not,” Mac texted.

“You’re no fun,” Murdoc sent. With one of those tongue out emojis, that should have stupid but just wound up being charming.

“Besides murder,” Mac said, eventually. “What do I do?”

“It depends who betrayed you,” Murdoc texted. “And how. Severity of punishment, and all that.”

“I don’t want to punish her,” Mac sent. “I just want to get over it.”

There was a pause, as Murdoc’s ellipses flashed across the screen. Typing. Typing. And then-

“Her?” Murdoc asked.

Mac shook his head. He would have to tell Murdoc eventually. “Nikki.”

“I thought Nikki was dead,” Murdoc sent.

“I thought she was dead, too,” Mac said.

“But she isn’t?” Murdoc asked.

“But she isn’t,” Mac confirmed. “She was in San Francisco of all places. She faked her death, Murdoc. Just to leave me. Well- and to chase a bigger pay day. Mostly the pay day, I think.”

“I could still kill her,” Murdoc said.

“No,” Mac sent.

“Maim?” Murdoc asked, accompanied by a pleading eyes emoji.

“No,” Mac stressed. “And that’s final.”

“You’re no fun, boy scout,” Murdoc sent.

“I know I’m not,” Mac said. “I just found out my dead girlfriend faked her death. It’s not exactly a party here.”

“It could be,” Murdoc replied. “With just a few bullets, a sniper rifle, and Nikki’s location.”

Mac stifled a laugh. “Murdoc!”

“Fine, fine,” Murdoc sent. “Can I at least send you photos of llamas?”

“I’ll accept llama photos,” Mac sent, smiling at his phone screen.

It started to grow after that.

Mac texted Murdoc more. Mac texted Murdoc a lot, actually. It was like what had happened with Nikki’s death, or Nikki’s supposed death, rather, had never happened. They were right back to where they were before. They were talking. They were chatting. Murdoc was sending him things that Mac didn't even know were on the internet. They were talking about cute animals and scientific discoveries and just really anything at all. It was just like before. They talked and they talked and they talked. Mac perked up every time he felt his phone buzz, just knowing that it was Murdoc. He smiled at his phone. He laughed at the dumb emojis and the memes and the silly stories that Murdoc sent him. And he was- he was happy.

“How do you feel about giraffes?” Mac had sent Murdoc one day. He was practically vibrating with energy. His hands were shaking as he typed.

“I’m rather ambivalent to giraffes,” Murdoc answered. “Why?”

“Because,” Mac sent. “They’re interesting. They’re so interesting.”

“Giraffes,” Murdoc parrotted. “What makes them so interesting?”

“What makes them so interesting?” Mac said, shaking his head. “What doesn’t make them interesting?”

“They’re just long necked camel horses,” Murdoc replied. “What’s so interesting about that?”

“That’s exactly what makes them so interesting!” Mac texted. “They’re so similar to other animals, and yet at the same time they’re so wholly unique.”

“Unique?” Murdoc asked. Mac couldn’t tell if he was making fun of him or not. He didn’t really care. Mac just needed to tell somebody.

“They’re so unique,” Mac stressed. “They have blue tongues for crying out loud. And, they’re one of the only living species to have ossicones.”

There was a pause. “Ossicones?”

Mac nodded vigorously, even though Murdoc couldn’t see him. “Ossicones! They’re the things on top of giraffes' heads.”

“You mean their horns?” Murdoc asked.

“They’re not horns,” Mac corrected. “They’re ossicones. And only one other living animal species on Earth has them.”

“And what species would that be?” Murdoc asked.

“Okapi!” Mac answered. He would have probably told Murdoc whether or not he had asked. But it was nice that he had asked. “But only male okapi have ossicones. All giraffes have ossicones, which leads scientists to believe that giraffes use ossicones for more than just fighting.”

“But they don’t know?” Murdoc asked.

“Exactly!” Mac answered. “No scientist knows for sure what purpose ossicones serve for giraffes. Some think it might be for temperature regulation. Or that it was just a genetic leftover from the giraffe's predecessor. But nobody knows for sure.”

“But what’s the difference between ossicones and horns, anyway?” Murdoc asked. “And antlers, for that matter?”

Mac grinned at his phone. “Okay, so, horns are made of bone. They’re a huge bone protrusion covered in keratin. And then antlers are made of cartilage, which then grows into bone when they mature. And, obviously, antlers are shed. But ossicones are made of cartilage, too, and then covered in hair. And male giraffes have ossicones that are thicker and have less hair than female giraffes.”

“That’s interesting, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“Is it really?” Mac asked. Even Jack got tired of Mac’s rants eventually. He couldn’t help that he was just naturally curious. He couldn’t help it that everything in the world was just so interesting.

“Lying is boring,” Murdoc replied. “Now, is it true that giraffes have blue tongues?”

Mac grinned again, fingers flying across the screen as he typed. “They are!”

It started to evolve.

Mac was more than happy, maybe. He was ecstatic. He was elated. Every time that Murdoc texted him, or he was texting Murdoc, and Mac was happy. Mac was so happy. Something funny happened and all that Mac could think about was telling Murdoc about it. It was impossible to deny that they were friends. It was impossible to deny that they were close friends, even. They talked. They talked a lot. They talked about everything. About everything. And every single conversation, every single text chain, no matter how short or how boring or how simple, made Mac smile. Mac had found himself smiling a lot, recently.

“Did Cassian make that?” Mac asked, staring down at his phone. Murdoc had sent him a photo of a couple of crudely drawn stick figures.

“He did,” Murdoc answered.

Mac looked closer. “Is one of them holding a gun?”

“That one’s me!” Murdoc sent, grinning. “I’m glad you could tell.”

Mac laughed. “Seriously, Murdoc? I thought you said Cassian didn’t know what you did.”

“He doesn’t!” Murdoc protested.

“Then why did your son draw you holding a gun?” Mac asked, teasing.

“He thinks I like hunting,” Murdoc answered. “Which, I do. Just not deer.”

“You seriously can’t be equating what you do with hunting deer,” Mac sent.

“I’m not,” Murdoc assured him. “I get paid way better for what I hunt, anyway.”

Mac sighed. “You’re the worst, Murdoc.”

“If I was the worst you wouldn’t be texting me all the time,” Murdoc rightfully pointed out. Mac ignored him.

“I only text you to learn what cute things Cassian is doing,” Mac lied.

“I’m offended, boy scout,” Murdoc sent. “Have you really been using me, all this time?”

“Obviously,” Mac replied, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t even known Cassian existed for over half their friendship. “I’m just in it for Cassian. And his drawings.”

“So you don’t want to see what I drew, then?” Murdoc asked.

Mac had to admit, his curiosity was piqued. His curiosity was always piqued when it came to Murdoc, though. “No,” Mac lied.

“Well, too bad,” Murdoc sent, a photo coming with it.

Mac laughed. “Cassian’s the better artist.”

“How can you say that?” Murdoc texted. “I just showed the most artistic piece in the history of the world!”

“It’s a drawing of a dead body, Murdoc,” Mac said.

“An artistic drawing of a dead body,” Murdoc stressed.

“Cassian’s is better, and he was using crayon,” Mac pointed out.

“You’re just biased,” Murdoc huffed. “I’m hurt, boy scout. Wounded.”

“Good thing you know how to use a first aid kit,” Mac quipped.

“Damaged,” Murdoc continued. “Mutilated. I’m bleeding out from your insults, Mac.”

“Drama queen,” Mac teased, smiling at his screen.

“Nuh uh,” Murdoc said. “I’ve never been dramatic in my life.”

Mac had never seen a grown man say ‘nuh uh’ before. “That is the biggest lie I’ve ever heard in my life, Murdoc.”

“No it’s not!” Murdoc defended. “I’m the most serious person ever.”

“You told me to call you an ambulance when you stubbed your toe this morning,” Mac reminded him.

“That was a totally normal response to the amount of pain I was in,” Murdoc replied.

“And what about when you threatened to murder me because I beat you at online uno?” Mac asked.

“You cheated,” Murdoc said with a huff.

“It was online!” Mac said. “I couldn’t cheat!”

“You cheated,” Murdoc repeated.

Mac sighed, smiling fondly despite it. “How can you say it wasn’t dramatic when you threatened to jump into the sea yesterday. Twice.”

“Because I didn’t jump into the sea,” Murdoc stressed. “I could have. It was a grave injustice.”

“All I did was know the answer to your riddle,” Mac said.

“It was a very hard riddle!” Murdoc argued.

Mac laughed. “Drama queen,” he repeated.

“I am not!” Murdoc stressed.

But Mac wasn’t just texting Murdoc, either.

Or calling him. He had a job to do. He had missions to do. He couldn’t exactly be texting Murdoc from Antarctica. Or the shore of the Amazon river. Or wherever else Mac ended up. Mac didn’t always have access to his phone. Or to cell service. Or to the time to sit down and take the time to text Murdoc properly. It was- it was sad that Mac couldn’t text Murdoc all the time. It made him realise just how much he texted him, just based on how lonely Mac felt when he couldn’t. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Mac and Murdoc hadn’t met over text. They hadn’t first become enemies- rivals- allies- friends- whatever they were over the phone. No. Mac and Murdoc had met in the field. And now that Mac was back on missions, well, it meant that Mac was back to doing what he did best. Accidentally running into Murdoc on missions at the most inconvenient times.

Mac spotted Murdoc before Murdoc spotted him. He slipped his earbud out carefully.

“Murdoc,” Mac said, lowly.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Somebody in this small Italian town has some information I need,” Mac said. “What are you doing here?”

“Somebody in this small Italian town has an enemy who was willing to shill out of a lot of cash to see them shuffled off this mortal coil,” Murdoc replied.

Mac rolled his eyes. “Shakespeare, seriously?”

“Are you not a fan of the bard, Mac?” Murdoc asked.

“Are you?” Mac pointed out.

“I am, in fact,” Murdoc said. “I’m a lover of the classics.”

“You just like that Hamlet holds a skull,” Mac teased.

Murdoc grinned. “You know me so well, boy scout.”

“I’m starting to regret knowing you at all,” Mac quipped.

Murdoc laughed. “Shall we go and find our target, then?”

“How do you even know it’s the same target?” Mac pointed out. “Maybe this small Italian town just has a bunch of criminals hanging out.”

Murdoc raised an eyebrow, and Mac started laughing.

“But,” Mac said. “I’m not here alone.”

Murdoc groaned. “The bull dog?”

“Are you ever going to stop calling him that?” Mac asked.

Murdoc grinned. “Nope!” He said.

“And it’s not just him, anyway,” Mac added.

“The new Nikki,” Murdoc said, nodding.

“She’s not a new Nikki,” Mac corrected. “She’s just new.”

“So she’s not a hacker, then?” Murdoc asked.

Mac sighed. “Okay, fine, she’s a hacker. And she drives the van. But she’s not just a new Nikki.”

“So she’s not your new girlfriend, then?” Murdoc asked, something lacing his voice that Mac couldn’t place.

“No,” Mac stressed. “She’s not. But she is good at what she does.”

“I’ve seen her,” Murdoc said. “Your new raven.”

Mac blinked. “Raven, seriously?”

“It’s all in the eyes,” Murdoc cooed.

“I’ll never understand anything about you, Murdoc,” Mac said.

“You understand that you won’t understand me,” Murdoc pointed out, grinning.

“Can you at least promise not to kill your mark until after I get my information?” Mac asked.

Murdoc sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun, boy scout.”

“I’m absolutely terrible,” Mac said. “I know.”

“You owe me,” Murdoc decided. “For making me wait.”

“And what would I owe you?” Mac asked. He was simultaneously curious and regretting this.

“I’m not sure yet,” Murdoc said. “I’ll let you know.”

“Fine,” Mac said. “One favour, in exchange for you not going anywhere near the mark until I’ve gotten what I need. Deal?”

“Deal,” Murdoc said. He held his hand out for a handshake to seal the deal, because of course Murdoc was that sort of person.

Mac shook his hand. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Undoubtedly!” Murdoc exclaimed. “Have a good time, boy scout.”

Mac laughed, shaking his head. “You too, Murdoc.”

But those had grown too.

Mac wasn’t afraid of Murdoc anymore. He wasn’t sure if he had ever been truly scared of Murdoc, actually, but he couldn’t even lie to himself and say that he was. He couldn’t lie and say that he was frustrated by him, either. Oh, Murdoc could be annoying, of course, but that was part of his charm. Because, Mac had to admit, Murdoc was charming. At least to Mac. Maybe Murdoc had just worn him down enough that Mac was just used to it. Or maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome, or something, although that wasn’t actually a thing. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Mac liked running into Murdoc. He really liked running into Murdoc.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc exclaimed. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“There’s nothing fancy about this place,” Mac grumbled, but he was smiling anyway. He was down in a sewer system in France. Jack was working on another lead, above ground, and his comms didn’t even work this far below. He was alone. Except for Murdoc.

“I’m here,” Murdoc said, grinning. “I make every place I’m in fancier.”

“No,” Mac teased. “You make every place you’re in creepier.”

“Aw, thank you, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“That wasn’t meant to be a compliment, Murdoc,” Mac replied, even though it was a bit of a lie. He knew how Murdoc would react even before he had said it.

“Whatever you say,” Murdoc cooed.

“Do you at least know where you’re going down here?” Mac asked. He had a good sense of direction, but all the tunnels looked the same. He couldn’t even be sure he knew where he was, let alone where the supposed criminal base was hidden down here.

“Of course I do,” Murdoc said, still grinning. “I was hired by them, actually.”

Mac frowned. “I thought you didn’t do much work with organisations?”

“I don’t,” Murdoc said. “But I was also hired by someone else to kill their leader.”

“Of course you were,” Mac said.

“And besides,” Murdoc said. “I get to have French crepes. And French bread. I’ll gladly stomach working with a terrorist organisation if I get to have baguettes after.”

“You could just eat baguettes,” Mac pointed out. “Without the terrorist organisation part.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Murdoc asked. “Turn this way,” he added, guiding Mac through the maze-like tunnels of the sewer system.

“You’re not leading me into some kind of trap, are you?” Mac asked.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc cried. “I’m hurt. Do you really think I would do that? That would be such a boring way for you to die.”

“Saying stuff like that is why I think that you would lead me into a trap,” Mac teased.

“But it’s true!” Murdoc said. “Getting shot by some little French terrorists would just be so boring. You deserve a much better death than that. By my hand, of course.”

“Or I could just not be murdered at all,” Mac said.

“Everyone dies eventually, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out. “Would you really rather die of old age than die in a fun way?”

“Your version of fun and my version of fun are two very different things, Murdoc,” Mac said.

“Ouch,” Murdoc said. “You really know how to hurt a guy, boy scout.”

“I thought you were the one who knew how to hurt people,” Mac teased. “Being an assassin, and all.”

“Of course I know how to hurt people,” Murdoc said. “That’s why I know that there are boring ways to hurt people, and fun ways to hurt people. And anyone who tries to hurt you in a boring way is visionless.”

“You sound like an art critic,” Mac replied. “Do they have art critics for murder?”

Murdoc’s eyes sparkled in the dim light. “They don’t,” he said, glumly. “But they should!”

“You’d be good at it,” Mac said. “You’re pretentious enough.”

“Hey!” Murdoc said, clutching his heart dramatically. “Hurtful!”

“I thought you said hurtful was fun,” Mac teased. “And besides, you have the whole look of an art critic, anyway.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Murdoc asked.

“Brooding,” Mac said. “Dark. Moody. You’re like the guy from Ratatouille.”

Murdoc raised a dark eyebrow. “Anton Ego?”

“Exactly,” Mac said, smirking. “You’re like Anton Ego.”

“He was a food critic, not an art critic,” Murdoc pointed out, turning a corner.

“Same thing,” Mac said, shrugging. “He’s still a critic. And wears just as much black as you do.”

“For somebody who seems to take offence every time I say I want to kill, you seem preoccupied with making me as upset as possible, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

Mac just laughed. “You’re not going to kill me here, Murdoc. It’s too slimy.”

“You’re ruining all my fun,” Murdoc huffed. “How am I supposed to threaten you if you know when I’m not serious?”

“That’s your problem,” Mac teased. “Now, seriously, where is this lair?”

“It’s just a few more turns,” Murdoc promised. “Now, I’m assuming that you’re not also hired by this organisation?”

Mac snorted. “No way. There’s a prisoner I need to free.”

“I’ve seen the prisoners,” Murdoc said. “They’re stored close to the liar, but not in it. I can show you.”

Mac hadn’t been expecting Murdoc to actually help him with this mission. “You’d really show me?”

“I’m not going to leave you to get shot in a sewer, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “You deserve a much better death than that. A death by my own hand, in fact.”

“You can just say you care about me,” Mac teased. “Instead of making it all about killing me.”

“I do care about you,” Murdoc said. “And I want to kill you. It can be both, boy scout.”

And, okay, Mac hadn’t been expecting that, either. He hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“What’s wrong, boy scout?” Murdoc asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Just show me the prison,” Mac grumbled.

Those had evolved too.

At some point, Mac and Murdoc had stopped being so secretive about where they were. If they were out on a job, they would tell each other. And if they were in a time zone, they would tell each other. And if their time zones just happened to sync up, they would tell each other. And if they just so happened to be in the same city, they would tell each other. And if they just so happened to be in the same city, then they would try to find some downtime during the job. Mac didn’t know how it had happened. Mac didn’t know why it had happened. All he knew was that suddenly he was meeting up with Murdoc, in person, with nobody shooting at them.

“This is a nice cafe,” Mac said, as he sat down. They were both in Berlin, though Mac couldn’t guess why. His mission was as deeply uninteresting and irrelevant to Murdoc as they came.

“It is,” Murdoc said. “It’s nicer now that you’re here. Much less boring.”

“That’s cheesy,” Mac said with a groan. “Cheesy and dramatic, that’s you.”

“I’ve never been cheesy in my life,” Murdoc swore. “Or dramatic, for that matter. I don’t know where you’re getting this from.”

“You talk like a super villain, Murdoc,” Mac pointed out. “It’s like your dialogue is pulled irght out of an old spy movie. Or Megamind.”

Murdoc raised an eyebrow. “Megamind, really?”

“You can even do the eyebrow thing,” Mac said with a laugh. “All we need to do is paint you blue. And shave your head.”

“I’m not going bald for you, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

Mac’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ll go blue for me, then?”

“No,” Murdoc said. “I can’t exactly be a bright blue assassin, now can I? It kind of ruins the whole point of blending in.”

“People would just think you’re part of the blue man group,” Mac said. “Or maybe a blue man group tribute band.”

“A blue man group tribute band?” Murdoc asked. “In Berlin?”

Mac laughed. “Okay, maybe not that believable. But still! Blue would suit you.”

“And an early grave would suit you,” Murdoc answered.

“You can’t threaten me,” Mac complained. “We haven’t even gotten our drinks yet.”

“So you’re saying that I can threaten you after we get our drinks?” Murdoc asked, eyes glittering in the light.

“You have to at least let me taste my coffee before you start threatening me,” Mac said. “I’ve never had rose flavoured coffee before.”

“That’s your own fault for being tasteless,” Murdoc replied.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Mac asked, dramatically glaring at Murdoc.

“You live off of pepperoni pizza, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “And grocery store coffee. It’s your own fault that you haven’t had coffee with roses in it before.”

Mac paused. “Wait. They put roses in the coffee?”

“Obviously,” Murdoc said. “What did you think it was?”

“Rose flavouring,” Mac muttered. “Rose petals in it is way cooler.”

“Obviously,” Murdoc repeated. “Which is why you need to let yourself have the finer things in life.”

“I don’t have time,” Mac protested. “I’m on jobs all the time.”

“I make time,” Murdoc pointed out. “And you made time for me. So why not make time for yourself?”

Mac sighed. “What drink did you even get?” He asked, changing the subject. He did not want to talk about this right now. “Does it have gold in it, or something?”

“No,” Murdoc said, laughing. “Although, if you did want gold on your food, there’s this lovely restaurant-”

Mac cut him off. “They actually do that? That was supposed to be unrealistic! They actually put gold in food?”

“Of course they do,” Murdoc said. “Gold foil, but still. It’s pure gold foil. You really need to enjoy the finer things.”

“I don’t need the finer things,” Mac huffed.

“Then I’ll need to show you the finer things whenever I see you,” Murdoc answered. “If you refuse to treat yourself to them.”

“There’s no stopping you, is there?” Mac asked with a groan.

“Not at all, boy scout,” Murdoc said, grinning brightly. “There are so many things you simply must try.”

“Like gold on food?” Mac asked. “That doesn’t even sound good.”

“Gold on food is what people do when they want to seem fancy,” Murdoc said. “There are much better things for you to try instead.”

Mac grabbed his now ready drink, taking a sip. “Better than this coffee?”

“Much better than that coffee,” Murdoc said. “There’s other coffees better than this coffee. It’s hardly highbrow, boy scout.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Mac groaned, still sipping. It was really good coffee, okay?

“Now that’s something we really must rectify,” Murdoc said. “Come, I have so many better places to show you.”

“This place is great, though,” Mac said, cradling his coffee cup protectively.

“We really need to expand your palate,” Murdoc said. “Come along, boy scout.”

“Expand my palate?” Mac parroted. “You really are pretentious.”

“Come along, boy scout,” Murdoc repeated.

Mac laughed, standing up. “You better not be feeding me gold, Murdoc.”

“You’ll see,” Murdoc cooed.

It was hard to explain. It was hard to grasp. It was hard to know when Mac and Murdoc’s lives had suddenly become so intertwined. Because that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? They had become intertwined. They were close. They were so close. Mac knew things that he knew Murdoc kept as secrets. He knew about Murdoc’s son. He knew about his ex wife. He knew about some of his jobs, even, although Mac made sure that he never knew too much. He could- he could handle the abstract, about what Murdoc did. But he still wasn’t ready to fully know about Murdoc’s job. And besides, it kept Murdoc safe, and gave Mac plausible deniability if Phoenix ever found out about Murdoc. Not that Murdoc knew that.

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? They were so close together, and yet they were so far apart. Mac still didn’t know Murdoc’s real name. Murdoc still didn’t know that Mac worked for the government, and not as a freelance criminal. They still had to keep secrets, as close as they were. And they were close. They were so close. And yet, at the same time, Mac knew that they couldn’t be any closer. They couldn’t spill any more secrets. They couldn’t say what city they lived in, or go to each other’s houses. Murdoc couldn’t know that Mac was part of Phoenix. Mac couldn’t know what Murdoc’s name in the criminal underworld was. They were close, but they couldn’t get any closer.

He dreamed about it, sometimes. He wondered about it, sometimes. He wondered what it would be like, if he and Murdoc could have a normal friendship. Going to coffee shops together. Having movie nights. Setting things on fire in the backyard. Mac didn’t really know what normal friends did, he had never really had normal friends, but he tried to imagine it. He daydreamed it. He imagined having a birthday party with Murdoc there. He imagined getting ice cream with Murdoc. He imagined going to the beach. Going to the mall. Going grocery shopping. The small things. The simple things. The things he used to do with-

Mac couldn’t imagine it, not really. He couldn’t imagine a mundane life with Murdoc. He couldn't imagine a domestic life with Murdoc.

Besides, he was content with what they had. He had to be content with what they had. He couldn’t let them get any closer. It was for Murdoc’s safety. It was for Mac’s safety. It was the best thing for both of them. Murdoc could get arrested, if he was seen with Mac. Mac could get killed, if anyone near Murdoc found out that he was with Phoenix. They had to stay separated. They- they could be close, but not any closer. There was a limit. There was a line. There was a line and they couldn’t afford to cross it. Any closer and things would end badly, Mac knew that. Things already had the potential to add badly. It was what happened, when you tried to make friends in the spy game.

There was a line. A clear drawn line in the sand. Mac couldn’t know who Murdoc was when he killed. Murdoc couldn’t know who Mac worked for.

They both knew it. It was unspoken, but they both knew it. If either of them found out what they weren’t supposed to, then everything would crash and burn.

Of course, that was when everything went wrong. Because that always seemed to happen to Mac. Everything went wrong, eventually. His mom. His dad. Nikki. And now, Murdoc.

Chapter Text

Mac was on a mission. A mission to stop S218.

Just a few days ago, Mac had been in Seattle for a mission. It had been a simple one, considering the fact that Phoenix wasn’t technically supposed to run missions in America at all. Mac wans’t thinking about the mission. Instead, he was thinking about the fact that he had slipped off the mission for a few hours, when it was just recon and Riley and Jack could handle it, to go and see Murdoc, who happened to be in the same city. They had gone to this market that Mac had never heard of before. It was less classy than most of the places that Murdoc had taken him before but- well, it was nice. There were plenty of little local stores, and a weird wall covered in chewed gum that Mac had made Murdoc put a piece on. They had chocolate covered nuts and good fudge and the whole place was just bustling with energy. All the while, Mac and Murdoc had chatted away. And Mac had really enjoyed it.

Then Mac had gotten back to the hotel they were staying in.

“Are you okay?” Mac asked, when he was Jack’s face. It was creepy, which was saying something, because Mac was used to Murdoc’s smiles. “Your face is frozen in a creepy smile.”

“How was it?” Jack asked in return.

“How was what?” Mac asked, his heart rate skipping a beat. Did he somehow find out about Murdoc? Did he somehow find out about-

“You know what,” Jack said, grinning.

No, Mac didn’t know what. He glared at Jack.

“Your date,” Riley said, piping up from behind her computer screen.

That wasn’t what Mac had been expecting her to say. At all. “What?” Mac asked. Because, seriously, what? Where had Riley gotten the idea of a date from, of all things?

“Come on, Mac,” Jack said. “You sneak out of our hotel room to explore Seattle, of all places! Seattle, hoss. There ain’t no way you’re that interested in coffee or rainfall, okay? Clearly, you were meeting somebody. A pretty somebody, judging by how much you messed with your hair before you left.”

Mac sighed. “It wasn’t a date,” he said. “And I wasn’t messing with my hair.”

“You totally were,” Jack said. “You even used your gel and everything. I timed it, hoss. Took you half an hour just for your hair.”

“We’re on a mission and you timed me doing my hair?” Mac asked.

“You were on a mission and you went on a date,” Jack pointed out.

“It wasn’t a date,” Mac stressed.

“He kept trying to get me to use the street cameras to follow you,” Riley added, unhelpfully.

Mac paled. If she did that, that could be bad. They couldn’t know about Murdoc. They couldn’t.

“I didn’t,” Riley added. “So you owe me for that. You totally have to tell me how your date was, now.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Mac repeated, for what felt like the millionth time.

“Then where were you, hoss?” Jack asked.

“I was seeing an old friend,” Mac said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“And did you want it to be a date?” Riley asked.

Mac sighed, ignoring Riley. “What is it with all the date questions?”

“We just want to know if you’re moving on from Nikki,” Jack said, patting Mac on the back. “You really loved her.”

“I’m fine,” Mac said.

“But you haven’t been on any dates since her,” Riley pointed out.

“I’m not one for dates,” Mac said. “They feel tedious. And pointless. I’d rather get to know somebody without the expectation of romance. I want it to- to develop. Naturally.”

“So I guess I should delete the dating app profile I made for you?” Riley asked.

Mac made a noise of protest. “You made a dating app profile for me?”

Riley laughed. “I’m kidding, Mac. But dating could really do you good.”

“You know what would do me good?” Mac said. “Actually working on the mission. Has anything happened since I was gone?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s been boring here, Mac. Not all of us were on a date.”

“It wasn’t a date!” Mac said, shoving Jack.

“Sure it wasn’t. Hoss,” Jack said.

“The mission,” Mac repeated. “Riley, anything on the cameras?”

“Nothing,” Riley said. “Oh- wait. I’ve got movement.”

The mission kept going after that. Mac didn’t see any more of Murdoc, and he avoided all news headlines about deaths for the next few days. They got the criminal that they had been looking for, which was good. Nobody got shot. Or injured at all, really. It was a nice mission. It was a simple mission. Everything had wrapped itself up neatly. For all intents and purposes, Mac should have never thought about that mission again. It should have floated away from his memory, filing itself away with all the other missions that he had completed. There was no reason at all for Mac to have thought about the mission again. And yet-

And yet Mac couldn’t think about what Riley had said. ‘Did you want it to be a date?’

Mac had never thought about that before. He had never thought about Murdoc like that before. He had met the man before he had and Nikki had- well, before whatever had happened between him and Nikki. So he hadn’t ever thought about Murdoc like that. Mac had never really thought about liking a guy like that at all, even. But he didn’t really think about romance all that often, really. Or sex. It was just not as important to Mac as it felt like it was to most people. He still liked it, and he still- he had had feelings for people before. It just wasn’t as intense or as frequent for him as it seemed to for most people.

But did he want it to be a date? Did he want to be- Did he want to be on a date with Murdoc? Mac didn’t know. But, well, thinking back on it, he supposed that what they had been doing for months now could be considered dating, technically speaking anyway. Most people would call had they had been doing dates. They had- well, Murdoc had been taking him out to lunches. And to dinners. And on walks through parks. They had even gone mini golfing, once. Was that dating? If it was anyone else, Mac would assume that it would be a date. But was that what Mac wanted?

Mac had never thought about liking Murdoc, not like that. It sounded so juvenile, liking somebody. Was this- did Mac have a crush? He hadn’t even considered it before. But, well, Mac did think about Murdoc. A lot. He had always thought about Murdoc a lot. But he thought more about Murdoc than he did about Jack. Or Bozer. Or Riley. Or even Nikki, these days. Murdoc was at the forefront of Mac’s mind. And he made Mac smile until his cheeks hurt. And he made Mac giggle, a sound that he made for no other person on the entire planet. It was so easy to talk to Murdoc. It was so easy to exist around Murdoc. Mac trusted him. Mac cared about him. And Mac had spent a few too many sleepless nights imagining Murdoc’s eyes and his smile and the way that his coat had smelt when he had let him borrow it so long ago and-

Oh. Mac had a crush on Murdoc. Neat.

He didn’t know how to feel about that, actually. Mac was a secret agent. A government agent. Murdoc was a killer. A killer for hire, actually. That wasn’t the sort of relationship that worked out. They had managed to make their friendship work, in its own weird way but still. Besides, that was only if Murdoc actually liked Mac back. Mac doubted it. He didn’t even know if Murdoc could feel love, in the same way that Mac did. And Mac rarely felt it himself. There were a lot of unknowns. There were a lot of variables. There were a lot of questions that Mac had unanswered. There were a lot of things that Mac needed to think about.

But Mac didn’t have time for that. He didn’t have time for wondering. He had a mission.

Director Thornton started their debrief. “In 2008,” she said. “a Mossad operative was murder in Madrid. In 2010, a human rights lawyer in Dubai. In 2012, a CIA informant in Tokyo. All of these high profile assassinations were carried out by the same man. This man.”

A photo flashed up on the screen. It was blurry, and small, probably taken off of a security camera. It was just barely the side profile of a man, and it was impossible to see any other details. And yet, somehow, it made Mac’s itch. It was- the photo was familiar, somehow. Maybe Mac had seen the photo in a file before. He couldn’t be sure. But there was definitely something familiar.

“Unidentified hit man known only by his CIA file number,” Thornton continued. “Suspect 218. According to Langley, he likes to contact his targets right before he kills them.”

“A hit man who texts his victims first,” Mac said, slowly. This was a puzzle. He just had to solve it.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” Riley asked, staring at the texts that had appeared on the screen behind Director Thornton.”What does that even mean?”

“Lewis Carroll,” Mac answered. “It’s a famous riddle with no real solution.”

“That's just him taunting his victims,” Jack said, shaking his head. “That's all it is.”

“The CIA received intel that S-218 was hired for a job here in the States,” Thornton said. “But their investigation hit a wall, so they reached out to us.”

“Any idea who hired him?” Jack asked.

“No,” Thornton said shortly. “And we don't know who the target is, either.”

“Sounds like we don't know anything,” Riley said. It sounded like she was barely holding back a groan.

“Actually, we know one thing,” Director Thornton said. “Him.” She pulled up a new image on the screen. Mac recognized this one, too, at least this time he knew why he recognized it.

“Rajan Patel,” Mac said. “An Indian diplomat? Why?”

“Patel landed at LAX 15 minutes ago. CIA says he's using his diplomatic pouch, which can't legally be searched, to smuggle in a dossier on S218's next target,” Thornton explained.

“So to avoid tipping off his next victim, S218 wants the dossier hand delivered,” Mac said.

“If the CIA is tracking him, why aren't they moving on him?” Jack asked.

“My contact suspects he has moles inside the agency,” Thornton explained.

“So he wants Phoenix to tail Patel to his next meet, and catch S218?” Mac asked.

“This is the biggest lead we've ever had on this guy,” Thornton said. “And it might be our last chance to stop him.”

Mac had heard about S218. Of course Mac had heard about S218.

He was a notorious assassin. A killer. They only knew about the political, high profile kills, but everyone knew that there were probably, definitely, kills that the government just couldn’t track. He was a legend, in the worst possible way. A ghost. And he was dangerous, too. Everyone knew that S218 was dangerous. He was a killer. He was dangerous. And nobody knew what he looked like. The best photo, practically the only photo, they had of the guy was grainy security cam footage from years ago. It wasn’t even his face or something. No, it was just barely a side profile, and the best known thing about the assassin was what his ear looked like. The guy was good. The guy was very good, there was no denying that.

And now they were going after him.

It wasn’t as though Mac hadn’t gone after powerful people before. It was what Mac did. It was what DXS had done. It was what Phoenix was doing now. Powerful people was one thing. People with armies at their disposal, with tanks and guards and the best technology, was one thing. But S218 wasn’t powerful, not like the other powerful people that Mac had gone after. He didn’t lead a country, or a cult, or a terrorist group. In fact, by all accounts, the man worked completely alone. And that was what was so disconcerting.

S218 wasn’t powerful, not like that. He didn’t have connections. He didn’t have guards. He didn’t have armies to command. He was just good at what he did. He was just good at his job. Nobody had ever seen what he looked like. At least, nobody was alive. Nobody had ever caught him on camera, in any sort of definition. He was good. He was really good. He must have been good, to not have been caught for this long. To be a ghost, for this long. And that was the disconcerting bit. The fact that the man was good, that good, at his job. And by himself, too. To stay off the radar in every way except for a log of his kills that- that was a serious sort of enemy that they were going up against.

It was just- Mac wasn’t scared, or anything. He knew that they would get him. He knew that would beat him. No matter what sort of person they went up against, they were the ones who came out on top. It was what they did. Especially with Riley, now. They were good. They were very good. But so S218. And Mac- Mac felt a wave of uneasiness about S218. About going after him. Even on the plane, he felt it. Even after they made it to the next step of their plan, he felt it. He just felt uneasy. Weary. He didn’t have a good feeling about this, was all. But it didn’t matter if Mac had a good feeling about it or not. Mac had a job to do, and he would do it. He would.

They tracked Patel down to an art gallery. But it was so packed that it was practically a party.

Why did it always have to be parties? Mac’s jacket was tight and restricted his movement. It felt like his tie was strangling him. As much as he joked about it with Riley, he really didn’t like ties. Or suits. Or parties. It was too loud and it was too crowded and it was hard to know what exactly was going on where there was just so much stimuli. And besides, Mac didn’t have the best track record with parties. Nikki had betrayed him, and faked her death, at a party. Mac had first talked to Murdoc, and subsequently been held with a gun to his back by Murdoc, at a party. Granted, Mac was glad that he had talked to Murdoc now, but at the time it had been pretty damn unlucky. And now, he was hunting an infamous assassin at another party. Mac didn’t much like his odds.

Still, Mac wasn’t going to let something as simple as luck stop him from doing his job.

They followed Patel around the party, watching him closely. The gallery itself was- well, it wasn’t boring, per say, but it was definitely better to at least have the job of watching Patel. The hardest part was pretending that he wasn’t watching Patel. It was hard to miss him, considering the fact that Patel was wearing an incessantly bright red jacket. Except, Mac realised, Patel had taken off the jacket, and left it somewhere. On a bench. The jacket was the drop, Mac realised. And then Mac blinked, and the jacket wasn’t on the bench anymore. Someone must have taken it. The drop must have been completed. The drop-

That was when Mac spotted the man with the jacket. He was tall, with black hair and pale skin. There was something familiar about him. There was something seriously familiar about him. Mac couldn’t get a look at his face, though. The man kept his face away from Mac at all times. And then the man was running, rabbiting, and Mac was chasing right after him, with Jack right behind him as back up. There was something seriously familiar about the man, but Mac couldn’t exactly focus on that right now. His heart was pumping. Adrenaline was flowing through him. It was definitely S218, even if Mac couldn’t place where else he had seen him before, and that was the part that mattered.

He chased S218 down towards the stairwell. Mac and Jack were too slow, though, as the man ran down the stairwell. Or, rather, the man jumped down the stairwell, skipping whole levels by using the railings. Mac could have used the lights to electrify the railings, maybe, or something like that. But he couldn’t tear his eyes off the man. There was something just so familiar about him. There was something just so odd about him. There was- there was something that made Mac unable to look away as the man ran, until he made it all the way down to the bottom of the staircase. The man paused, and Mac watched him open the dossier. Mac watched him read whoever his target was. Mac watched him- Mac watched him freeze. And then Mac watched him turn back to look at Mac, look right at Mac.

Mac couldn’t stop the words, no, the word, that came out of his mouth. “Murdoc?”

And then the man was gone. And then S218 was gone. And then Murdoc was gone. Because that man was S218. Because that man was Murdoc. Because S218 was Murdoc. How had Mac even missed that? Still, Mac watched the man dart away. He was fast. He was so fast. Mac had seen that fastness again and again and again. Mac had witnessed that fastness before. Mac had run beside him before. Murdoc had been slowing down for Mac’s own benefit before. Now, Murdoc was running as fast as he possibly could, as he was a blur as he disappeared. It was impossible for Mac to catch up to him now.

“You know that guy, hoss?” Jack asked.

“By that guy, you mean S218,” Riley said. “How do you know S218?”

“He’s getting away,” Mac said, even though he wasn’t running to find Murdoc.

“He’s long gone,” Jack said, shaking his head. “How the hell do you know that guy?”

Mac peered down the staircase. “I think he left the dossier.”

“You’re dodging the question,” Riley said.

Mac started heading down the stairs, Jack right behind him. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it?” Riley asked.

“You ain’t never mentioned anyone named Murdoc, Mac,” Jack said. “Seriously. Who the hell is he?”

“I’ll tell you,” Mac promised. “I will. But we need to figure out who his target is, first. We still need to catch him.”

“Can’t you just tell us where to find him?” Riley asked. “You know his name. Can’t you know where he lives, too?”

“Murdoc’s not his name,” Mac said, shaking his head. He was at the bottom of the stairs, now. “It was just something to call him. A random name. And he doesn’t have a home. He travels.”

“And you know this how, hoss?” Jack asked.

Mac shook his head again. He didn’t want to talk about this. He hadn’t ever wanted to talk about this. “We- we’re friends, okay? Murdoc’s my friend.”

“You don’t seem that surprised that he’s S218,” Riley said, slowly. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t know,” Mac stressed. “Not that he was S218, anyway.”

“But you knew that he was a criminal?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Mac said, as he bent down to pick up the dossier. “I knew. I knew a bit too much, probably. But he’s my friend. And he’s helped me, before.”

“Helped you?” Jack asked. “He’s an assassin, Mac!”

“Remember that time I got kidnapped?” Mac asked. “Back with Nikki. I said a civilian had driven me to their house after I got out by myself?”

“Right,” Jack said, slowly.

“I didn’t get out by myself. I was drugged out of my mind,” Mac said.

“And you’re saying that S218 saved you?” Jack asked.

“I’m saying Murdoc saved me,” Mac said. “He’s saved me more than that, too.”

“This is such a damn conflict of interest,” Jack muttered.

Mac ignored him, peering inside the dossier. He looked at what was inside, and then he froze.

“Mac,” Jack said. “What is it?”

Mac held up the contents of the dossier. It was a picture of him. And beside that, it was a file. A file on him. His time in the army. His time at DXS. His time at Phoenix.

“Murdoc doesn’t know I’m a government agent,” Mac said. “Or- or I guess he didn’t know, anyway.”

“This is bad,” Jack said. “This is real bad.”

“What is it?” Riley asked, over the comms.

“It’s me,” Mac said. “The target is me.”

“You have to go into protective custody,” Riley said, seriously.

“You have to go into custody, point black,” Jack said, as he threw an arm over Mac’s shoulders. “Teaming up with an assassin, seriously?”

“I wasn’t teaming up with him!” Mac defended. It was a weak defence, he knew. “I just kept running into him. A lot. And then we started texting.”

“You started texting him?” Jack asked. “Seriously, hoss?”

Mac sighed. “I know. I know. It just sort of happened, I guess. And then the next thing I know it, we were meeting up outside of missions and-”

“Angus Macgyver,” Jack said, flatly.

“Angus?” Riley asked in the background. “Your name is seriously Angus?”

“Angus Macgyver,” Jack repeated. “Did you seriously meet with an assassin with no one knowing where you were going and what you were doing?”

“What were you doing?” Riley added. “Like, what do you talk about with an assassin?”

“We went out to eat a lot,” Mac said.

“Not the point,” Jack said, at the same time as Mac.

“Wait,” Riley said. “You went out to eat with an assassin?”

“And coffee,” Mac said, knowing just stupid it all sounded.

“Let’s get you back to headquarters so Thornton can yell at you, hoss,” Jack said, shaking his head.

“Wait,” Riley repeated. “Was that your date in Seattle?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Mac protested. “At least, I don’t think it was?”

“You don’t think it was?” Jack asked. “Seriously, hoss? If you tell me that you’ve been dating an assassin I will kill you myself before S218 can take a shot at you.”

“I don’t think we’re dating!” Mac protested. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Yet?” Jack asked. “Okay, that’s it. We’re going back to headquarters. You need a chat with Thornton, now, Mac. You know I love you, but this is-”

“Guys,” Riley said. “Let’s go,” she stressed.

Mac let himself be dragged out of the art gallery. It was- okay, that was bad. It was very bad. The mission had gone probably as bad as it could have, actually. How was he supposed to have known that S218 was actually Murdoc? Okay, maybe it was slightly obvious. Sort of. But the photo that Mac had been shown had weird orange streaks in his hair. Murdoc had never had those streaks when Mac knew him. And he was totally going to make fun of Murdoc for it when he spoke to him again. If he spoke to him again, anyway.

Because Mac had lied to Murdoc. He had let Murdoc believe that Mac was a criminal, just like him. He had lied about the fact that he was a government agent. He had lied to Murdoc, and now Murdoc knew and- And Mac didn’t know if Murdoc could deal with the truth. Or the fact that Mac lied to him. He had lied to protect both of them. He had lied because it was safer. Or, well, he had lied because it was easier.

Mac had lied to Phoenix, too. To his friends. He had lied about Murdoc for years, now, years and years. It had been safer for them, too. Safer for his friends. Safer for his job. Safer for keeping his job, maybe. Safer for keeping his friends. It was easier. Easier to lie than to tell the truth. Easier to hide Murdoc than explain him. Easier to lie than face the fact that it was impossible to be friends with an assassin and still be a government agent. Easier to lie than face the fact that that was what Murdoc was. An assassin. A killer for hire. A criminal. Someone that he should have handed in a long time ago. Instead, Mac had lied. He had lied to himself. He had lied to his job. And he had lied to his friends, too.

It was an awkward plane ride back to Phoenix headquarters.

Mac sighed. This was all his own fault. It was his fault for lying. Lying to his friends. Lying to Murdoc. It was his fault for being friends with Murdoc at all. He should have avoided him. He should have ignored him. He should have handed him in. He should have known that this was going to happen, at one point or another. Maybe he did know, deep down. That didn’t stop it from hurting so much now. Jack was silent the whole flight. Riley kept giving him suspicious looks. And Mac just had to sit there, feeling sorry for himself, the entire flight. And then they landed, back at Phoenix, and, well-

It was an even more awkward talk with Director Thornton.

It wasn’t even a talk, really. Mac didn’t think it could be classified as a talk. Mac hadn’t done any talking at all, actually. Most of the meeting, if you could even call it that, was Director Thorton yelling at Mac. And if she wasn’t yelling at Mac, then she was sighing disappointedly. Or rambling about how this was a grave breech in protocol. And a terrible decision at all. And she kept asking him what was going through his head when he had decided to do any of this, had he even been thinking at all, and then not leaving him any time to answer. And, okay, Mac had known that he had made a bad decision. A couple of bad decisions. He probably, definitely, deserved the thrashing that Thornton gave him. But it was still, well, a lot.

The point was, it hadn’t ended well. At all. He was off of active duty. Again. And was under investigation for being a mole, apparently. It wasn’t great. It really wasn’t great. Phoenix didn’t trust anymore. Thornton didn’t trust him anymore. Riley didn’t trust him anymore. Not even Jack trusted him anymore, not really. And that was Jack. Jack who had always had Mac’s back. Jack always trusted Mac. They had been friends for years. They had been for so long. They had started off a bit rocky, technically, but for years they had been friends. And then Mac had lied to him. And then Jack had found out. And now not even Jack trusted him.

That wasn’t even to mention Bozer. Mac couldn’t tell Bozer about the fact that he was an agent. It was part of protocol. And now, he couldn’t even tell Bozer that Murdoc had the potential to be coming after Mac at any time. And now, he couldn’t even tell Bozer that Nikki had been the one to hire Murdoc in the first place. Mac couldn’t tell Bozer any of it. And even if he could have told Bozer, he would have lied about Murdoc to him, too. They had been friends for years and years and years, since elementary school, and yet Mac lied to him. He kept on lying to him.

And then there was Murdoc.

He wasn’t answering any of Mac’s texts. Mac didn’t expect him to, not really. Not when Mac had hidden the fact that he worked for the government, the American government, from him. Not when Mac had hidden the fact that he had the power to arrest Murdoc at any time from him. Not when he had had to find out from someone trying to assassinate Mac. There was no way to know how Murdoc was feeling right now. There was no way for Mac to even guess how Murdoc was feeling right now. But he knew that it couldn’t be good. Because Mac had lied to him. God, why had he lied to him?

And there was Nikki, too. It all led back to Nikki.

The photo that had been in the dossier, Nikki had taken it. She had the only copy, too. She had never posted it anywhere. Mac had never even been sent a copy. Which meant that Nikki must have been the one to place the hit. Nikki must have been the one to set all of this into motion. There was no doubt about it. Mac knew that it had been Nikki who had been the one to put a hit out on him. And yet, Mac barely even cared. Because, worse than all of that, was the fact that Mac felt like he was Nikki. Or like Nikki, anyway. Just like Nikki. He had lied to his friends. He had lied to Murdoc. He had told Murdoc that he had been on one side of the law, when really he had been on the other. He had lied and he had hurt people and he was mad at Nikki and yet he felt exactly like Nikki and-

And Mac didn’t know what to do about any of it.

He had messed all of it up. His job. His friends. Murdoc. All of it. This was all his fault. He had made these choices. He had made these decisions. He had brought this down on himself. Because, god, they had been really terrible choices. Mistakes, even. Except, could he have really made mistakes, if it meant that he had managed to be friends with Murdoc? Go on- on dates, or whatever those had been, with Murdoc? Mac was having trouble regretting it, even as his world burned around him. Mac was having trouble regretting it, because he got to joke with Murdoc. He got to laugh with Murdoc. He got to be friends with Murdoc. He didn’t know if being suspected as a mole had been worth that. Wait, no, Mac knew. It had been worth it. It had definitely been worth it. He just wished that Jack didn’t look at him like that because of all of this.

Mac sighed. Why did all of this have to be so complicated?

Because that’s what this was. Complicated. Over complicated, maybe.

Mac just didn’t know what to do about any of it. Instead he just sat there, staring at his old texts with Murdoc.

Chapter Text

Technically, Mac was on house arrest.

He was a risk. He knew that. He was close friends with S218 of all people. Phoenix had found his texts with Murdoc, now. And so they had put him on full house arrest. Mac was surprised that they hadn’t locked him up completely. But that would have been hard to explain to Bozer, who was his cover. And when, if, this all blew over, Phoenix didn’t want to blow his civilian cover. And besides, Mac was only under investigation. He hadn’t leaked government secrets, or anything, so he was- he wasn’t not a risk, but he was less of a risk than he could have been. So, house arrest. A fancy monitor wrapped around Mac’s ankle. Lying to Bozer and saying that his work was undergoing an audit so he couldn’t go in. And a whole lot of boredom.

Technically, Mac was on total communications lock down.

He could look at the messages on his phone, but he couldn’t send any. Even to Bozer. Mac had to lie and say that his phone was broken, and then that they were refusing to get him a new one, and then that there was an issue with his warranty and- And it was a whole lot of lies, just because Phoenix declared that Mac was a risk to be able to message people. Which, okay, Mac had been texting S218 for almost two years without telling anyone. So it was kind of fair. But he hadn’t known that it was S218. He thought that Murdoc was a slightly more harmless assassin, okay? Yeah, it didn’t look good for Mac. But he couldn’t talk to anyone. And he couldn’t leave his house. And-

Technically, Mac was under surveillance.

He knew that there were two, maybe three vans parked outside of his house, watching him. He saw the different coloured vans passing by, again and again and again. Sometimes, he could even spot which agents were there. It became almost like a game, spotting the undercover agents watching him. Protecting him. Monitoring him. Defending him, or defending against him. It was the same thing, to them. But to him, spotting them became a game. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do. He could talk to no one. He could go nowhere. He could do nothing. Anything he did do was monitored. He was alone. He was so damn alone.

But then Mac’s landline rang.

It could be a telemarketer. It could be someone looking to clean Mac’s ducts. Or to say that Mac was being hunted by the IRS. Mac wished that he was being hunted by the IRS, instead of having an assassin after him. If Murdoc was after him. And if Murdoc wasn’t after him, then maybe somebody else was. Mac didn’t know. He didn’t know who was calling, either. It could have been Bozer, calling to say that something had happened at his work at the burger place. It could have been Jack, saying that they had a lead and really needed Mac to come in. That one was far fetched, but still, it could happen. Technically.

Mac picked up the phone, staying out of view of any windows.

It wasn’t a telemarketer. It wasn’t anyone looking to clean Mac’s ducts. It wasn’t the IRS, or scammers pretending to be the IRS. It wasn’t Bozer. It wasn’t anyone from Bozer’s work. It wasn’t Jack. It wasn’t anyone from Phoenix. It wasn’t Murdoc, even, as shocking as that would have been. It wasn’t anyone Mac would have expected. It wasn’t anyone Mac would have wanted to have been calling. It wasn’t anyone Mac wanted to talk to. The first person that Mac was having an actual conversation with that wasn’t Bozer, and it wasn’t anybody Mac would have wanted it to be. It was the person that Mac wanted to talk to the least, actually.

“This is Macgyver,” Mac said, oblivious to who was on the other end.

“Mac,” Nikki breathed out. It was Nikki. Of course it was Nikki, of all people. “I need to talk to you.”

“Aren’t you in prison?” Mac asked.

Nikki paused. “I broke out. A while ago. Did Thornton not tell you?”

“No,” Mac said. “But she’s not the only one who hasn’t told me things. Considering that you faked your death!”

“Mac,” Nikki said. “This is important. I really, really need to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t,” Mac said. He was tempted to slam the phone down on the receiver, but he didn’t.

“Yes, Mac, I do,” Nikki said. “It’s important. It’s really important.”

“As important as a payday?” Mac asked. “Because that was enough to have you betray me, remember?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Nikki said. She sounded sincere. Mac couldn’t trust it for even a second.

“Is it?” Mac asked, hurt leaching into his voice. “Is it really? Because from my point of view, it’s pretty damn simple.”

“There’s stuff you don’t know, Mac,” Nikki said. “Stuff you need to know.”

“Then tell me,” Mac grit out. “If it’s so important, just tell me.”

“Not on the phone,” Nikki said. “It’s too sensitive. They could be listening.”

“They?” Mac asked.

“Not on the phone,” Nikki repeated. “Please. Just meet at our place, as soon as you can. It won’t take long, less than an hour.”

Mac frowned. “That could very easily be a trap.”

“It isn’t,” Nikki reassured him. It didn’t help much. “I really need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Mac shook his head. “I can’t meet you, even if I wanted to,” he said. Which he didn’t, for the record. “I’m on house arrest.”

Nikki paused. “What did you do?” She asked after a second, sounding oddly impressed.

“You hired an assassin, remember?” Mac said. “They wanted me to be somewhere safe.”

“But that’s not why you’re on house arrest,” Nikki inferred. “That’s not protocol.”

Mac sighed. “No, that’s not why I’m on house arrest.”

“Then why are you?” Nikki asked. She sounded way too amused for this situation, especially considering how distressed she had sounded just a few seconds ago.

“I’m not telling you,” Mac said. He crossed his arms even though Nikki couldn’t see it. It was the principle of the thing, okay?

“Mac,” Nikki said. “I know you’re mad at me, but-”

“Mad at you?” Mac asked. “You betrayed me!”

“There’s more at work here than you know,” Nikki said.

“But you won't tell me what is at work here,” Mac pointed out.

“I told you,” Nikki said. “It’s too sensitive for over the phone. But I will tell you, once we’re in person. I promise.”

Mac sighed. “No.”

“Mac,” Nikki said. “Angus. Please. Just give me one chance. It’s important.”

“Important enough that you faked your death?” Mac asked.

“One chance,” Nikki repeated. “Please. I’ll answer all of your questions. I promise.”

Mac sighed. He did want answers. He did. But at the same time, this was Nikki. Constantly betraying them, Nikki. Broke out of prison, Nikki. Sent Murdoc after him, Nikki. “How am I meant to trust you?”

“You’re just going to have to take a leap of faith here,” Nikki said. “Please, Mac.”

“You sent an assassin after me, Nikki,” Mac stressed. “In case you managed to forget that little fact.”

“And I’ll explain that. All of it. Not over the phone, though,” Nikki said. “Just meet me at our spot.”

“I can’t,” Mac stressed. “House arrest.”

“You’re good enough to get out of house arrest for an hour, Macgyver,” Nikki said. “It’s important.”

“And why should I trust you?” Mac said.

“Please,” Nikki said. “I need to talk to you, Mac. I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t important.”

“You could have told me this before you faked your death and left DXS to be a criminal,” Mac shot back.

“Mac,” Nikki stressed. “I’ll explain it. I’ll explain all of it. But you have to meet me at our usual spot. Please.”

Mac sighed. “If you end up screwing me-”

“It’s not like that,” Nikki said. “I’m serious. We need to talk. You’ll get answers, I promise.”

“Fine,” Mac said. He didn’t know why the hell he was agreeing to this. but, apparently, he was. “One hour.”

He hung up his landline with a loud thump.

Great. He had agreed to meet with Nikki. That- He didn’t know how to feel about that. But he had promised him answers. And right now, Mac could do with some answers. He would really like some answers, actually. And it wasn’t as though he had anything to do. He was locked up in his own house. He had nothing to do and no one to talk to, so he may as well hear out Nikki. He would try, anyway. And if it got ugly, he would run. He would have preferred to go into this with some kind of back up, but- Jack wasn’t talking to him. Phoenix was the one keeping him in his own house in the first place. Murdoc was in the wind. No, Mac had to do this alone. He didn’t want to, but he had to.

But first, he had to get out of this damn tracking anklet.

Mac would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about breaking out of his anklet since they had first put it on him. Actually, he had thought about breaking out of it since they had shown the thing to him in the first place. It was what Mac’s brain did. It figured out how to get out of things. And he was good at it, too. He wouldn’t be Macgyver if he wasn’t good at getting out of things. So, yeah, he already knew how to get out of the tracking anklet. Except, he wasn’t actually going to get out of the anklet at all. He was just going to disarm it. But that would be suspicious, if his anklet suddenly went dark. Which was why, well, Mac’s whole neighbourhood was going to go dark.

He was pretty sure his neighbours work used to random blackouts, actually. It was kind of something that happened a lot, wherever Mac lived. Experiments gone wrong. Too many things plugged into one outlet. And sometimes, when Mac needed a distraction. This was one of those times. He had it perfected to a science, really. He plugged in a couple of things, crossed some wires, used some extra conductors and- And boom. Four blocks in every direction went dark. Then, he just had to cut his anklet, too. He wasn’t sure if the power going out would actually mess with it, but it definitely would explain why his anklet would go dark. So, he just plugged the anklet into his mess of wires, and fried it, too. He was only 85% sure he wasn’t about to electrocute himself, but it was fine. He was fine. And his anklet was dead.

Mac still had to actually get out of his house, though. There were still agents who were watching to see if he left. But, and the good thing was, if they didn’t see him leave, then they wouldn’t think that he was gone. They were under orders not to go into his house, because he was such a senior agent. And the agents on duty, the ones in the green van, were junior agents. Young and scared to do anything wrong. Timid. Not that experienced in the field. Unsure of protocol. Which was a good thing. A really good thing. For Mac, anyway. Not for them. Or their job security, if Thornton ever found out.

He snuck out the back door.

That was the good thing about having such a big backyard. They could watch his front yard all they wanted, but as long as they didn’t have an agent sitting next to his barbeque, he was free to climb out his backdoor and into the grass and rocks. He made sure to stay away from major roads as he walked away from his house. It was a good thing that he had done all of those runs after Nikki’s death, or, rather, supposed death, because now Mac knew the terrain like the back of his hand. He didn’t actually know the backs of his hands that well, actually, but still. He knew where he was going as he headed down the path of dirt and grass and rocks and branches.

Now all he had to do was get to the diner.

That was his and Nikki’s spot. Or it had been their spot, anyway, before she decided to fake her death and betray him. They had spent countless dates there. They had had their first date there, actually. Their first real date there, anyway. The whole thing in Peru didn’t really count. Kind of. And their first kiss. Their actual first kiss. Not the fake one in Melbourne. The one in Delhi didn’t count either. Or Madrid. Or- okay, maybe it hadn’t been their first kiss. But it had been their first good case, anyway. Still, Mac had taken her there once, and then suddenly it became their spot, Their thing to do when they were both in town. They shared milkshakes, using two straws and pressing their heads close together. They had pie. They listened to the music that came on the jukebox because this place still used a damn jukebox. It had been their place, when things were good. When things were happy.

And now Nikki was sullying it. She was using their place, their place for all their good moments and happy memories and actual love, and was using it to talk to Mac after she had betrayed him. Maybe she really did need to talk. Maybe she was leading him into a trap. Mac didn’t know. Mac didn’t really care, either way. She was still spoiling the diner with her betrayal. She was still spoiling the diner by bringing him there, after she had done this to Mac. She had made him think she was dead. She had let her partner shoot him off a cliff. He could have died, and she had been okay with that. She had betrayed Mac for a payday, it was as simple as that. It was simple. It was clean cut. There was nothing complicated about it. And nothing Nikki could say would change that.

Truth be told, Mac didn’t care what she said at all. Or, well, that was what he wanted to believe, anyway. But if he didn’t care, then why would he be walking to the diner? If he didn’t care, why had he shut off power to his neighbourhood and all the surrounding ones? If he din’t care, why did he slip house arrest when there was a killer after him? If he didn’t care, why was the only thing he was thinking about Nikki? Except, that wasn’t true, either. Mac didn’t care about Nikki, not really. She betrayed him. It was as simple as that. But Mac wanted answers. More than anything, Mac wanted answers. It was his fatal flaw, really. Mac needed answers. He needed to know why Nikki had done this. If any of this had been real at all.

Mac was at the diner before he knew it.

He wished that the walk had been longer. He wished that he had had more time to stall. He wished that he hadn’t gone here at all. And yet, here he was. And yet, he was standing in front of the diner. He could barely see a bit of Nikki’s hair poking through the window, the blurry silhouette of her sitting at their booth. He had to go in. He couldn’t waste any more time. Phoenix would realise he was gone eventually. And yet, he didn’t want to go in. He wanted to stand out in the cold, evening chill, and just stare at Nikki through the window. He wanted to just stand there and never go in. Be in perpetual questioning of what Nikki would say to him. If he didn’t go in, he wouldn’t have to find out. It was like Schrodigner’s diner. Or maybe Schrodigner’s ex girlfriend. Schrodigner’s Nikki. Mac sighed. He was just stalling, and he knew it.

Mac walked inside, the bell chiming as he opened the door.

“Nikki,” Mac said, sitting down across from her.

“Mac,” she said, smiling. “I wasn’t sure that you would come.”

“Neither was I,” Mac admitted. “But I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Nikki said. “I’m glad.”

“What was so important?” Mac asked. “That you had to drag me all the way out here?”

“Maybe I just wanted to reminisce,” Nikki said, poking at the menu in front of her.

“Nikki,” Mac said, flatly. “What was it?”

Nikki sighed. “Look,” she said. “I know I betrayed you.”

“You did,” Mac said. “You very much betrayed me.”

“I did,” Nikki said. “But I did it for a different reason than you think I did.”

“You did it for a paycheck,” Mac spat out.

“No,” Nikki said. “I didn’t. I did it as part of an undercover mission.”

Mac blinked. “What?”

“I’m CIA, Mac,” Nikki said. She tapped on the table nervously. “I was undercover at Phoenix. And my time at Phoenix, well, that led me to- to the Organization.”

“The what?” Mac found himself asking.

“The Organisation,” Nikki repeated. “It’s a crime group. A bad one. And they have knowledge that they shouldn’t have.”

“The CIA thinks that there’s a mole?” Mac asked.

Nikki nodded. “A big one, too. Someone high up. They go by the code name Chrysalis. I’ve been trying to look into it, but they didn’t trust me. I had to- I had to do a lot of stuff I regretted, just to get into it.”

“How am I supposed to trust you?” Mac asked. “You lied to me. And you kept lying to me. And now you just expect me to believe you?”

“Lying to you hurt me, Mac,” Nikki said. “So much. I didn’t want to. But I had to.”

“Right,” Mac said. “You had to.”

“I had to lie to you, Mac,” Nikki repeated. “I had no way of knowing who the mole was. But I trust you. I do.”

“At least somebody trusts me,” Mac said with a huff.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nikki asked.

Mac sighed. He did not want to explain what had happened with Murdoc and Phoenix to Nikki of all people. “Nevermind.”

“I know that tone, Mac,” Nikki said, reaching out to touch his arm. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Mac lied.

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Mac.”

“We’re not talking about me right now,” Mac said, shaking his head. “We’re talking about you. And the fact that you’re saying you’re actually CIA. When you’ve been lying to me this long, how can I believe you now?”

“I didn’t want to lie to you, Mac,” Nikki said. “I didn’t.”

“Was any of it even real?” Mac asked, ignoring Nikki’s response. “Did you even really love me?”

“Of course I loved you,” Nikki said. “It hurt to leave you. It did. It hurt more than anything. But I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t.”

“Right,” Mac said. “Because of the mission. The mission was more important than I was.”

“It was for your own good,” Nikki said.

“Do you still love me?” Mac found himself asking. He didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be.

“No,” Nikki admitted. “I can’t love you. Not now. But I did. I loved you so much, Mac. That was real. It was real.”

“You didn’t love me enough to tell me,” Mac said, crossing his arms.

Nikki sighed. “I would have only been bringing you danger by telling you. Haven’t you ever lied to someone you cared about, because it was better?”

Mac sighed. He turned away from Nikki. “Maybe.”

“Is there something I don’t know about going on here?” Nikki asked. “You seem- you seem off, Mac.”

“You just told me you’re a triple agent,” Mac pointed out. “Of course I seem off.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Nikki retorted. “You can tell me, Mac.”

Mac knew that it would be dumb to tell her. It was dumb to trust her. He didn’t even believe her story, not fully. But at the same time, who was he supposed to talk to? Bozer didn’t know anything, and he couldn’t know anything. Riley wasn’t speaking to him. Jack wasn’t speaking to him. Director Thornton had looked like she hadn’t even believed his story when he had told her. Phoenix looked at him like a pariah. Like a disease. Like he was the mole. They were staking out his house. And Murdoc- Murdoc was a whole other mess. Murdoc was the person Mac needed to talk about. So, somehow, in all of this mess, Nikki really was the only one Mac could talk to.

“I messed up,” Mac said, shaking his head.

Nikki smiled, weak and bittersweet. “What did you do?”

“I- I made a friend,” Mac said, slowly.

“And that is a bad thing, how?” Nikki asked.

“I made a friend on a mission,” Mac continued.

Nikki frowned. “Like from another agency?”

“You’re supposed to be the criminal between the two of us,” Mac pointed out. “It wasn’t with any agent. From any country. It was with a freelancer. A freelance criminal.”

“Mac,” Nikki said. “What?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Mac said, quickly. “But it did. We became friends. Kind of. I got his phone number. We texted. He sends me cat memes.”

Nikki blinked, slowly, processing the information. “You’re friends with a criminal who sends you cat memes?”

“I was friends with him, anyway,” Mac said, shaking his head. “I screwed everything up.”

“Angus,” Nikki said, carefully. “You’re Macgyver. You can fix everything.”

“Not this,” Mac answered. “I- I never told him that I was Phoenix. I lied to him. And then he found out who I really was. What I really did.”

“And he’s pissed?” Nikki asked.

“I don’t know,” Mac admitted. “I can’t talk to him. Phoenix has me on a communications lockdown.”

Nikki frowned. “Why?”

“Because they found out, too,” Mac said. “It’s the reason for the whole tracking anklet, too. And the surveillance outside my house.”

“He won’t be a CI for you?” Nikki asked. “Or even just an asset?”

“I didn’t even try to turn him in, Nikki,” Mac said. “And I’d known he was a criminal for years.”

“Years?” Nikki asked. “You knew him when I was still at DXS?”

Mac looked away shamefully. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Four years or so, now.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Mac,” Nikki said, thoughtfully.

“To do what?” Mac found himself asking,

“To lie a liar,” Nikki said. “A professional liar, at that.”

Mac shook his head. “I didn’t want to lie. But I felt like I had to.

“I know the feeling,” Nikki said. And then she paused. “Still. They put you on house arrest for talking to one criminal?”

“It wasn’t like he was stealing hubcaps,” Mac replied. “He was a bad guy. I should have turned him in. And if Thornton knows about the mole, then she’s probably just as nervous as you are. Nobody from Phoenix is even talking to me.”

Nikki shook her head. “How did you get yourself into this mess, Mac?”

“Hey,” Mac exclaimed, letting himself crack a small smile. It was too easy to act like things were normal between the two of them. “It’s technically your fault, you know.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nikki asked.

“You sent S218 after me,” Mac said.

Nikki frowned. “I had to. I’m sorry. It was an order from The Organisation.”

“I’m not talking about you putting a hit on me,” Mac said. Even though, okay, that definitely did sting. “I’m talking about the fact that you sent S218 specifically.”

Nikki’s face morphed from confusion, to understanding, to fear, to something between laughter and dread. “Oh,” she said. “S218, Mac? Seriously? You really don’t do anything by halves.”

“I’m an overachiever, I know,” Mac said, laughing bitterly. “But I didn’t know he was S218 when I met him.”

“You thought, what, he owned a bakery?” Nikki teased.

“I thought he was your average assassin,” Mac said with a grimace.

“Oh, of course,” Nikki said. “That makes it so much better.”

Mac, to his surprise, found himself laughing. “Like you can talk. You were working with Kendrick, of all people.”

Nikki shivered dramatically. “Don’t remind me. I was relieved when you arrested him.”

Mac cracked a smile. “Jack threatened him with a nail gun, you know.”

“He didn’t!” Nikki cried out. “Seriously?”

“He did,” Mac said conspiratorially. “Put a few in the floorboards right between his legs.”

Nikki giggled. He had missed that sound. “So what is the mysterious S218 like?”

“Creepy,” Mac said. “Weird. Oddly particular about fashion. He talks like a super villain, half the time. And he keeps calling Jack a bulldog, for some reason.”

Nikki cocked her head, thinking. “I can see it,” she finally said.

“Not you too,” Mac groaned. “Seriously?”

Nikki giggled again.

“You remind me of him, you know,” Mac said. He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

“How?” Nikki asked. “Do you think I’m that bad, Mac?”

“Not like that,” Mac corrected. “You’re both just-”

“Criminals?” Nikki filled in.

Mac shook his head. “Annoying.”

“Rude, Mac,” Nikki said. “That’s hurtful.”

“And dramatic,” Mac added. “And mischievous.”

“Huh,” Nikki said. “I’ve never been compared to an assassin before.”

“You’re more similar than you’d think,” Mac admitted.

“Does he have my good looks, too?” Nikki asked.

Mac, against his own will, blushed. He was pretty sure his cheeks were the same colour as the diner benches, now.

“Wait,” Nikki said, slowly. “Mac, do you-”

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Mac said, quickly. God, he regretted this. He regretted all of this.

“Hey, hey, no,” Nikki said. “I’m glad that you’re moving on from me, Mac. Is he at least a good kisser?”

“I haven’t kissed him,” Mac hissed. “I only just figured out I like him at all!” It felt weird to say that out loud. It felt good. It felt bad. It felt- It was just weird. So weird.

Nikki nodded in understanding. “You should kiss him.”

“I’m not talking about this with you,” Mac said, blushing deeper. “No way.”

“We dated, Mac,” Nikki said. “Aren’t I the best person to talk about this?”

“You also broke my heart,” Mac pointed out.

“Okay. True,” Nikki admitted. “But that just means that I know exactly how he shouldn’t behave.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Mac said, but he was smiling.

Nikki laughed. “It definitely is.”

“Is not,” Mac countered, like he was a five year old or something. It was nice.

“Is too,” Nikki replied.

Mac laughed. This was nice. This was really nice. Still, all nice things had to end eventually. Mac should have known that by now.

Nikki glanced at her watch. “You should get going, Mac. I bet your surveillance is going to notice you’re gone soon. And The Organisation will notice if I’m missing for too long.”

“Right,” Mac said. He really didn’t want to leave. “It- it was nice talking to you, Nikki.” And Mac wasn’t lying. It had been.

“So you believe me, then?” Nikki asked.

“Not yet,” Mac admitted. “But I’m willing to hear you out. And I’ll be on the lookout for the mole.”

“That’s all I ask for,” Nikki said, standing up.

Mac stood up, too. “Have a good night, Nikki.”

“Be safe, Mac,” Nikki said, before Mac walked out the diner door.

Mac made his way back the way he came.

He wasn’t thinking about the grass, though. He wasn’t thinking about the rocks lining the path that he walked. He wasn’t thinking about the trees. He wasn’t thinking about the wind that was blowing through his hair. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he hadn’t even brought a jacket with him, in his rush to meet Nikki. He wasn’t thinking about the walk back to his house at all. He wasn’t even thinking about the tracking monitor on his ankle. He wasn’t even thinking about the people watching his house. He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he was probably running out of time. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that they could have noticed he was gone already. He wasn’t thinking about any of that. He couldn’t think about any of that.

Mac could only think about what Nikki had said.

The fact that Nikki had apparently been working for the CIA this whole time. Nikki had been- she had been a triple agent. She was a triple agent. Or she said she was one, anyway. Mac didn’t know how to trust her. Mac didn’t know if he even could trust her, after everything she pulled. After everything she put Mac through. But at the same- at the same time, this made sense. At the same time, this made more sense than Nikki dropping everything to publicly join the other side. If she had been fine with the criminal life, she could have just become a mole. Sold secrets on the downlow. But instead she had gone after the bio weapon. She had faked her death. It was too messy for Nikki. Too dramatic, even for her. No, it made more sense that it was just- just a show, for the mole. For The Organisation.

The fact that Nikki really had loved Mac. But she didn’t love him any more. She couldn’t love him any more, whatever that meant. Maybe it meant something that she had told Mac any of this at all. Maybe it meant something that she had trusted him with the knowledge of the mole. Maybe it meant that she really had loved him. And maybe it meant something that Mac hadn’t cared, when she had said she didn’t love him anymore. Maybe it meant that he was moving on. Maybe it meant that he was actually ready to move on. Maybe it meant that he was ready to think about dating somebody else. Dating-

The fact that Mac had told Nikki about Murdoc. He didn’t know what had come over him, to trust her with that. Subconsciously, Mac must have trusted Nikki. Or maybe it had just slipped out. Mac didn’t know. But it- it had felt good, to say it. It had felt good to tell somebody, even if that somebody was Nikki. And she had taken it well, all things considered. She hadn’t even yelled at him. Or teased him, really. Still, Mac didn’t know if he could trust her. Still, Mac didn’t know if he wanted to trust her. It was so much easier when he knew that she was a traitor, plain and simple. Now, Mac didn’t know who to trust. Now, Mac didn’t know what to do. Now, Mac didn’t know if he knew anything at all.

Mac wasn’t sure if this changed everything, or absolutely nothing at all.

He hadn’t even considered the fact that Nikki could have been a triple agent. But then again, Mac hadn’t considered that Nikki had been a double agent. Or that she had faked her own death. Or that she had hired S218 to kill him. Or that S218 was really Murdoc. Already, so many outlandish things had happened to Murdoc. Already, so many things that seemed too insane to be real had happened. So really, was it such a stretch that Nikki was a triple agent? Was it really such a stretch that Mac could maybe, just maybe, Mac could trust her again? Mac didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

Mac entered his house quietly.

The power hadn’t come back on yet. That was good. That was really good. He hadn’t exactly had a plan if the power had managed to come back on with his tracker still powered off. Maybe they would have accepted it as a glitch. Maybe they would have stormed into his house and realised that he wasn’t there. Mac didn’t really know. But clearly, that hadn’t happened. So Mac was fine. He was fine. He was completely and utterly fine. He just needed to power his tracker back on. And maybe try to fix the neighbourhood's power, too. And he needed to tell Jack about the mole. He trusted Jack. And Jack trusted him. Or he had trusted him, anyway and-

Mac needed to breathe.

Right. That was kind of an important part of the human condition. Breathing. Yeah. In. Out. In. Out. Oxygen. Oxygen flowing into his body. Oxygen powering his cells. Oxygen helping his cells use energy. And do their jobs. And- and Mac had to do his job, too. He had a job to do. It didn’t matter how complicated everything got. It didn’t matter how many variables there were. He just needed to breathe. He just needed to focus. He just needed to calm down and settle and make a plan. He would need to tell somebody about the mole. He would need to figure out what was going on with Murdoc. He would need to make sure that Phoenix was safe. He would need to make sure that Phoenix actually trusted him. He would need to-

He would need to calm down, first, before he did any of that. Mac hadn’t realised that he was shaking. But he was. He was definitely shaking. He was most definitely shaking. He didn’t know how to stop. His brain was just moving so fast. Too fast. It was like a star. Burning and burning and burning until eventually, it would burn itself out. Die. Explode. Mac didn’t exactly want to die, like a star or otherwise. He felt like a star. Or, maybe he felt like a black hole. Or like he was standing right next to a black hole. A black hole that was pulling him in. A black hole that was pulling everything in. A black hole that made Mac’s house spin like Dorothy’s in the Wizard of Oz. A black hole-

Sitting. Right. Sitting existed. That was what you were supposed to do when the whole world felt like it was spinning. He just needed to sit. He just needed to breathe. He just needed to focus. He just needed to slow down. Breathing. Yep. Breathing. Mac was definitely breathing. He was fine. He would be fine. In. Out. In. Out. Okay. Mac was fine. He was fine. His friends were fine. He would tell them about the mole, and it would be fine. It would be completely fine. They would believe him. They would find the mole. And it would all be fine. They’d figure it out. Mac would figure it out. Mac would fix it. That was what Mac did. He fixed things.

Mac released a shaky breath.

He was fine. He would be fine. It would all be fine. He would figure it out. He always figured it out. He solved problems. That was what he did. And he would solve this problem, too. All of these problems. He would figure out how to make it up to Jack and Riley. He would figure out how to get them to trust him again. He would figure out how to get Phoenix to trust him again. He would clear his name as the mole, and figure out who the real mole was. He would figure out if Murdoc was still trying to kill Mac. He would figure out how to get Murdoc to trust him again, too. He would figure out how to balance all of it. He would figure it all out. He would fix it. It would be fine. He was fine.

Mac heard music. Whistling. Home on the range.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t fine, then. Because he was hallucinating. He was definitely hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Mac didn’t even know how he knew that it was home on the range, because Mac wasn’t sure when the last time he had even heard that was. But Mac knew that it was home on the range. It was probably some sort of weird hallucination thing. Mac didn’t know. He didn’t know much about hallucinations. He really should have studied up on those more. He should have known that he would have experienced them sooner or later. He-

Mac heard it again. Louder, now. Closer.

He just needed to calm down. He just needed to breathe. He just needed to- to do something. Anything. To make his brain stop moving so fast. Maybe he needed sleep. Maybe he was just exhausted and scared and running on adrenaline. Yeah. That was probably it. He just needed sleep. He stood up off the chair he was sitting in. The room was spinning less now. That was good. Now all he needed to do was get from his backdoor to his bedroom. He could do that. He could definitely do that. Yep. Just one foot after another. It was fine. Mac was fine. He ignored the fact that the whistling in his brain was getting louder. He focused on walking. He focused on breathing. He focused on-

“Boy scout,” Murdoc cooed.

Mac froze. That wasn’t a hallucination, talking to him. And it wasn’t a hallucination, standing in his dark kitchen. Mac had a feeling he had been there the whole time, actually. Like a predator, lying in wait. Crap.

“I was wondering when you’d come back,” Murdoc continued.

Mac could see his grin even in the darkness. He could see the gun, too.

“We need to talk,” Murdoc said, grimly. It felt like a death sentence if Mac had ever heard one. Or maybe he was still just freaking out.

Mac’s heart pounded in his chest.

Chapter Text

Mac took a shaky breath. Murdoc was in his house. Murdoc was in his house with a gun. He was spinning it, playing with it, like it was some kind of toy. Like this was all some sort of game. But Mac knew it wasn’t. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a friendly chat. Mac could see the anger on Murdoc’s face, hidden beneath the grin. He could see the hurt. He could see the way that he stared at Mac like he was a piece of meat. Like he was a pig, ready for the slaughter. Mac had a feeling that tonight was the night Murdoc finally tried, really tried, to kill him. Murdoc would probably succeed, too. His heart was pounding in his chest, loud in his ears.

“Murdoc,” Mac said, slowly. “What are you doing here?” He knew the answer. He just needed to keep him talking. Come up with a plan. Something.

“We have to talk, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“I know,” Mac said, dejectedly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Murdoc paused. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“I lied to you,” Mac said. “About the fact that I worked for the government.”

“That’s hardly a big deal, boy scout,” Murdoc said, laughing. The sound startled Mac.

Mac blinked, slowly. “It’s not?” That- that was a shocker. A complete and utter shocker.

“I’m a criminal,” Murdoc pointed out. “I’m used to liars. It’s not like I told you where I lived, or who I was doing each contract with.”

“I could have arrested you,” Mac pointed out. “Or ratted you out. I could have been a plant.”

“But you didn’t,” Murdoc said, grinning. “And you aren’t. So what’s the big deal?”

“I lied to you, Murdoc,” Mac said.

Murdoc shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting you to be entirely honest with me, even if you were a criminal. There was something fishy about your story, anyway.”

“Seriously?” Mac said. “I lied to you for years, and you don’t even care?”

“Do you want me to be angry, Macgyver?” Murdoc asked, stretching out the syllables. It was the first time he had said Mac’s full last name. It was the first time he knew Mac’s full last name. “Do you want me to hold a grudge against you? To be hurt? To want to hurt you, in revenge?”

“No,” Mac said. “I don’t want that.”

“Then why can’t you accept that it’s fine?” Murdoc asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

“It feels too good to be true,” Mac muttered, crossing his arms. “How could you not be hurt by what I did?”

Murdoc twirled his gun in his fingers, not even looking at it. Mac didn’t even know if he knew he was doing it. “I was hurt,” he admitted, slowly. “But it’s been a week. I got over it. I moved on. You should, too.”

“You moved on from me lying to you for as long as we’ve known each other?” Mac asked, skeptical.

“Exactly!” Murdoc said, like that made any sense at all.

“Then what’s the gun for?” Mac asked. He couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Haven’t you ever heard of drama?” Murdoc replied. “Performance? Presentation?”

Mac sighed. “You brought a gun to threaten me so it was more dramatic?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Murdoc said, grinning.

“But you’re seriously not upset?” Mac asked. “You’re just over it? Just like that? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m an assassin, boy scout. For fun. Nothing I do makes sense,” Murdoc reminded him. “Besides,” he continued with a shrug. “There are much more important things to worry about, anyway.”

That piqued Mac’s curiosity. And his fear. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that you weren’t the only one that The Organisation hired me to kill,” Murdoc said.

Mac’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

“It was a package deal. A rather strange one, at that,” Murdoc explained.

“What made it strange?” Mac found himself asking, like it was normal to be discussing an assassin’s contracts. Although, maybe this was just Mac’s new normal.

“The fact that it had four targets, but only three of them were requested to die,” Murdoc said.

Mac frowned. “What?”

“That’s what they told me, boy scout,” Murdoc said, far too nonchalantly. “You and that bulldog of yours. And the raven. All dead.”

“And?” Mac said. “Who- who was supposed to be hurt, but not die?”

“Somebody named Patty. Or Petunia. Patrick, maybe?,” Murdoc said. “I’m better with faces, and I’ve never seen you with her before.”

Mac froze. “Patricia Thornton?” He asked.

“That was it!” Murdoc said. “Patricia Thornton.”

“Why would they want Director Thornton alive?” Mac asked, mostly to himself. “Did they want you to kidnap her, or something?”

“Nope,” Murdoc said. “Just to wound her, and make sure she lived. Not even any threats, or anything.”

“Why would-” Mac started. And then he stopped. “Fuck.”

“Woah,” Murdoc said. “That’s hardly your normal boy scout language. What is it?”

“Director Thornton was the one who added that stipulation,” Mac said, slowly. “Thornton might’ve even hired you herself. I don’t know. But- but she’s definitely crooked.”

“Director Thornton,” Murdoc said, slowly. “As in, the director of the little government agency you work for?”

Mac nodded, wordless.

“Oh, boy scout,” Murdoc cooed. “Your life is just so interesting.”

“My life’s a pain,” Mac said with a groan. “We need to warn-”

Mac was cut off by a bullet entering Mac’s front door. And then another.

“Down,” Murdoc ordered, pulling Mac by the arm. “Stay here.”

“I’m guessing they hired someone new when you didn’t complete the mission,” Mac said.

“I’d assume so,” Murdoc said. “Unless you have even more enemies than I thought, boy scout.”

“I don’t- I don’t think I do,” Mac said.

“Then stay down,” Murdoc said, before standing up himself.

“Murdoc,” Mac blurted. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure nobody kills you before I can,” Murdoc said.

Mac laughed. “You haven’t killed me for years, Murdoc,” he reminded him. “That’s not exactly believable anymore.”

“I’ll kill you eventually,” Murdoc promised. He grinned. “But for now, I’ll protect you.”

“Wait-” Mac said.

Murdoc turned towards Mac. “What is it, Macgyver?”

“Just-” Mac said, quickly. “Just be safe. Please.”

“Don’t you worry about me, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Now keep your head down. I’ll be back.”

Mac sat beside his kitchen counter, hunched in on himself. He should have been figuring out a way to help Murdoc. He should have been figuring out a way to get out of here. He should have been figuring out a way to do something, anything. But his landline was too far away, and bullets were still entering his house even though he could also hear Murdoc firing his own and- And Mac didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He felt useless. He was useless. He was completely and utterly useless. He couldn’t come up with a plan. He couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t save himself.

But he didn’t need to. He didn’t need to save himself, because Murdoc was there. Murdoc was- Murdoc was protecting him. For once, Mac didn’t have to worry, because Murdoc was protecting him. For once, Mac didn’t have to think, because Murdoc was protecting him. Mac didn’t need to come up with a clever scheme. He didn’t need to run through chemistry formulas and biology facts and physics theories. He didn’t have to do anything at all. He just had to keep his head down. He just had to sit behind the counter. He just had to breathe. Because Murdoc was protecting him.

Mac couldn’t believe it. After all that Mac had lied about, Murdoc was still protecting him. Murdoc was risking his life for him. Even though Murdoc had been The Organisation’s first choice for this mission, whoever they had sent next was most likely also good. And as good as Murdoc was, he was still human. Mac had seen Murdoc bounce back from a lot of things, but he wasn;t infallible. He could still gte hurt. He was still human. And yet, there he was, risking his life. Risking his life for Mac of all people. Who had lied to him. Deceived him. Hurt him. And Murdoc didn’t even seem to care.

And then it was over. Just like that, it was over.

The bullets quieted. Mac didn’t know how much time had passed. But the bullets were silent, now. No more bangs. No more crashes. No more sound at all. That either meant that Murdoc had killed the assassin, or the assassin had killed him. Mac didn’t know which. He heard footsteps. One after the other. Step. Step. Step. Mac thought that might have been Murdoc’s, but it also could have been just a trick of his mind. It wasn’t as though Mac had Mudoc’s footsteps memorised or something. That would have been creepy. And Mac wasn’t creepy. Although they really did sound a lot like Murdoc’s footsteps. Mac heard the door open, and he braced himself.

It was Murdoc. Thank god, it was Murdoc. Murdoc was alive. Mac was alive. They were both alive.

“Are you okay?” Mac asked. He looked around. “Are we okay?”

“Problem solved,” Murdoc said, clapping his hands together. “You don’t need to worry about that particular assassin anymore.”

“Great,” Mac said. “You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s not my blood, boy scout,” Murdoc promised.

And there was relatively little blood at that, too. Mac couldn’t help himself from worrying anyway. “Still-”

“You know what I’m capable of,” Murdoc pointed out. “I’m fine.”

And he was fine. Mac knew that. Mac knew just how good Murdoc was at what he did. If he said he was fine, he was fine. He was fine.

“What next, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

“We need to get out of here,” Mac said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what I’m going to tell Bozer.”

Murdoc frowned. “Bozer?”

“My roommate,” Mac said.

“Your roommate?” Murdoc asked, raising his eyebrows. “Or your roommate?” He added, making a rather crude gesture with his fingers.

“Ew, no,” Mac said. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“So he’s just your cover?” Murdoc asked.

“He’s my-” Mac started to say, before slowly drifting off.

Mac had been so distracted by his conversation with Murdoc, that he hadn’t heard somebody walking up towards the still open front door.

Mac heard a thud behind him. He startled, looking over his shoulder.

“Mac?” Bozer asked, startling Mac. “What the hell happened, man? And who is this guy?”

Mac froze. Right. Boze’s shift was over. If he hadn’t stopped at- at the grocery store, apparently, judging by the bags that he must have dropped all over the floor, then he would have been here when the assassin showed up. Crap.

“Bozer,” Mac said, rushing the words out. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” Bozer asked. “Because I just heard you talk about blood. And assassins. And covers. And- and shit that you should not be talking about, man. You work for a think tank.”

“Is that what you told him?” Murdoc said.

“Not helping,” Mac said, glaring at Murdoc. He turned back to Bozer. “It’s complicated. And there’s a lot of complicated stuff going on right now.”

“Like what?” Bozer asked. “What the hell is so complicated?”

Mac sighed. He didn’t exactly have time for this. “You said that the guy who tried to kill me didn’t work alone?”

“Yeah.” Murdoc said, nodding. “My bet is that they’re probably heading over to your friends. In your ‘think tank.”

“We’ll talk about this after,” Mac said to Bozer.

“Did you just say that someone tried to kill you?” Bozer exclaimed.

“Do you not know what bullet holes are?” Murdoc asked.

“Not helping,” Mac repeated. Why was Murdoc like this?

“Seriously,” Bozer said, shaking his head. “Who is this guy? What is happening right now?”

Mac really didn't have time for this. Riley and Jack didn’t have time for this. “We’ll talk in the car,” he said, turning to Murdoc. “Please tell me you brought a car.” Mac really wasn’t in the mood to hotwire anything today.

“Where are we going?” Bozer asked, incredulously, as they made their way out of Mac and Bozer’s trashed house and to the driveway.

“Phoenix,” Mac said, as he got into Murdoc’s black jeep.

“If someone is trying to kill you,” Bozer said, climbing into the car, too. The two of them sat in the backseats, with Murdoc in front. “Why are we heading to your think tank?”

“It’s not a think tank,” Murdoc said in a singsong voice. He started up the car, and they took off.

“Murdoc!” Mac hissed. Still, Murdoc wasn’t technically wrong. “It’s not a think tank,” he admitted to Bozer.

“Then what is it?” Bozer asked. He looked confused. And scared. Mostly scared. Mac had never wanted Boze to be scared.

“It’s a covert government agency,” Mac said.

“A covert what?” Bozer asked.

“Just say you’re a spy,” Murdoc called from the front seat. How could somebody be so helpful and so unhelpful at the same time?

“I’m not a spy,” Mac told Bozer.

“What are you, then?” Bozer asked. “Because you are not acting like someone who works at a think tank, Mac.”

“I work for the government,” Mac said, slowly. “I do missions. Find intel. Rescue captives. That sort of thing.”

“So,” Bozer said. “You’re a spy.”

Mac sighed. “I’m kind of like a spy.”

“I told you,” Murdoc cooed from the front of the jeep. “Spy!”

“Murdoc,” Mac warned. “Focus on the road.”

Bozer took a shaky breath. Like it was all hitting him at once. “You’re a spy.”

“Yeah, Boze,” Mac said, softly. “I’m a spy.”

“And does that mean that Riley’s a spy too?” Bozer asked.

“Yeah,” Mac said. “Riley’s a spy. And so is Jack.”

Bozer frowned. “But Jack sells bathroom tile.”

“Jack doesn’t sell bathroom tile,” Mac said, shaking his head. “I still don’t know why that’s the cover that he chose.”

“Cover,” Bozer said. “Right. Because all of you have covers. And I am- was- part of your cover. Yeah.”

“I didn’t want to lie for you, Boze,” Mac said, shakily. “I really didn’t. But I had to.”

“Why?” Bozer asked. “I would have kept your secret!”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “So you wouldn’t have immediately written a spy movie about my exact life, if I had told you?”

“Okay,” Bozer said. “Maybe I would have. But it’s cool, okay? And I’m hurt that you didn’t trust me with this.”

“It’s protocol, Boze,” Mac said. “We aren’t allowed to tell people.”

“This guy knows about what you do,” Bozer said, grumpily. “Who is he, anyway?”

“I’m your worst nightmare,” Murdoc cooed.

Mac slapped the back of Murdoc’s seat. “That’s Murdoc. He’s annoying.”

“I can tell that much,” Bozer said. “But why is he here?”

“Well when a mommy assassin and a daddy assassin love each other very much-” Murdoc started.

Mac slapped his seat again, cutting him off. “Murdoc’s an assassin I met on a job. And then we sort of became friends. It’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” Murdoc said. “He met me and he couldn’t get enough of my humour and my charm and my good-”

“Murdoc,” Mac warned. “Quiet.”

“Fine,” Murdoc answered, grumpily. “But only because I like you, boy scout.”

“He’s an assassin,” Bozer said, slowly understanding everything that he was just told. Processing it. “That guy is an assassin.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “He is.”

“And you’re friends with him, why?” Bozer asked.

Mac shrugged. “It just sort of happened. He stopped trying to kill me. Saved me from being kidnapped. Made me oatmeal. And then I got his phone number and we started texting and-”

“Wait,” Bozer said, cutting Mac off. “This is the guy that you’ve been texting every second of every day?”

“I don’t text him that much!” Mac cried out.

“Mac,” Bozer said, flatly. “Yes you do. You could barely stay off it during movie night. Movie night. And movie night is sacred, man. Sacred.”

“Aw,” Murdoc cooed. “How sweet.”

Mac groaned. “Do you have any other questions?” he asked Bozer.

Bozer opened his mouth to answer. “Wh-”

“About the spy thing,” Mac clarified, before anything else could come out of Bozer’s mouth. “Not about Murdoc.”

Bozer closed his mouth. And then he opened it again. “Was your old think tank a spy thing too?”

“Yeah, DXS was a spy thing too,” Mac said. “It just had to change names. And buildings.”

“Why?” Bozer asked.

“Because of-” Mac started, and then he paused. Bozer didn’t know anything about this next part. “Because of Nikki.”

Bozer’s eyes widened. “Nikki was a spy too, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Mac said, softly.

“And she died, not in a car crash but in some freak spy thing, so you had to move buildings?” Bozer filled in.

“Not exactly,” Mac said, shaking his head. “Nikki didn’t die.”

Bozer paused. “What?”

“She faked her death, Boze,” Mac said.

“Why?” Bozer asked. “Was she- is she a bad guy?”

“We thought she was,” Mac said. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“How can it be complicated?” Bozer asked. Mac could tell that he was still freaking out, even though he was acting calmer.

“Because she wasn’t really a bad guy,” Mac said. “That’s what she told me today, anyway. That she actually has been working for the CIA this whole time.”

Both Bozer and Murdoc froze at the news. Right. Mac hadn’t told Murdoc, either.

“She was a triple agent?” Bozer asked. “That’s so cool.”

“I don’t know if I believe her,” Mac admitted to Boze.

“How could you not?” Bozer asked. “It’s right out of a movie! Two spy lovers, working together and kicking ass.”

Mac shook his head. “I feel like you have a lot of misconceptions about what being a spy is like, Boze.”

“And then the female spy betrays her lover,” Bozer continued, ignoring Mac. “Except she was forced to! In order to infiltrate the enemy- what was she infiltrating?”

“The Organisation,” Mac said.

“Seriously?” Bozer asked. He shrugged. “Whatever. She had to fake her death and betray you in order to infiltrate The Organisation.”

“Is there a point to this?” Mac asked.

“Shush,” Bozer said. “But then the female spy confesses her triple agent status to her, now ex, lover. And he has to fight with his emotions, and whether or not he believes her.”

“I know that, Boze,” Mac said. “It is, you know, my life.”

“And this,” Bozer continued. “Is your future.”

“Really?” Mac found himself asking.

“Hey!” Bozer said. “This is how I’m coping.”

Mac sighed. “Keep going.”

“But then Nikki- I mean, the female spy, proves herself! And reveals that really was good all along,” Bozer continued.

“We don’t know that that’s how it’s going to end,” Mac pointed out.

“That’s not the end,” Bozer said, shaking his head. “You have no understanding of plot, Mac.”

“Fine,” Mac said. “How does it end, Boze?”

“And then,” Bozer continued. “The female spy reveals that she never stopped having feelings for her lover, and then they kiss! Happily ever after.”

In the front seat, Murdoc clutched the steering wheel tightly. Weird.

“It’s not going to end like that,” Mac said. He didn’t want it to end like that, either. “Nikki doesn’t love me any more.”

“And you know that for sure?” Bozer asked.

“We talked about it,” Mac admitted. “She doesn’t love me anymore.” And Mac didn’t think he loved her anymore, either, but he didn’t say that part out loud.

“That’s what they always say in the second act,” Bozer said, shaking his head. “That way the ending is that much more satisfying!”

“It’s going to happen,” Mac said, tone final. “Can’t we talk about anything else?”

Bozer hummed. “Fine,” he said. “Is Riley a good spy?”

“She is,” Mac said, smiling. “Really good. Especially for how new she is at it.”

“What does she do?” Bozer asked. At least he was asking about Riley, and not Nikki. Or Murdoc. Definitely better than Bozer asking any more questions about Murdoc with Murdoc in the damn car.

“She’s a hacker,” Mac admitted. “One of the best I’ve seen, too. Maybe even better than Nikki.”

Bozer blinked in surprise. “Nikki was a hacker?”

“Technically,” Mac said. “She preferred the term senior analyst, though.”

“And Jack?” Bozer asked. “How does selling bathroom tile help in the field?”

Mac sighed. Again. “Jack doesn’t even know how to install bathroom tile, let alone sell them. I will never understand that cover. Ever. He’s security. And intel. Ex-delta squad, ex CIA. Great shot. Great back up.”

“People trust Jack with a gun?” Bozer asked.

“Bozer,” Mac said. Slowly. “You do remember that Jack and I served in the army together, right? That was how we met. I didn’t lie about that.”

“I know that,” Bozer said. “I just don’t know who in their right mind is still letting him use a gun.”

Mac laughed, shaking his head. “He’s good at his job. Good at protecting me.”

“Not good enough,” Murdoc grumbled.

Mac kicked the back of his seat. “I heard that, Murdoc.”

“It’s true!” Murdoc cried. “If he was better at his job, I wouldn’t have to keep saving you.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “If he was better at his job, he would have killed you already. Considering you keep threatening me!”

“Threats are my love language, boy scout,” Murdoc cooed.

“What is up with that, by the way?” Bozer asked.

“Up with what?” Mac replied.

“The whole boy scout thing,” Bozer said. “You barely lasted six weeks in the scouts.”

Mac grimaced. “It’s not my fault that the scoutmaster didn’t like that I kept correcting him.”

“I’m pretty sure they kicked you out because you wandered away from the group to start the perfect fire. And we weren’t even allowed to start fires our first year, anyway,” Bozer said. “So why does he call you boy scout?”

“It just fits,” Murdoc cooed. “And I like imagining him wearing a neckerchief.”

Mac groaned. “Are we close to Phoenix?”

“One more minute,” Murdoc promised. “Traffic is bad tonight.”

“Of course it is,” Mac said, shaking his head.

“You never finsiehd telling me why were coming here, of all places,” Bozer said. “Is it just to protect us from whoever was coming after us?”

“No,” Mac said. “And Murdoc kinda killed the guy who was after me, anyway.”

“Then what’s the issue?” Bozer asked.

“The issue is that there’s more than one assassin,” Mac admitted. “And they’re coming here. To kill Jack and Riley. And nobody knows about it except us.”

“Technically,” Murdoc piped out. “Your director knows about it.”

Mac sighed. “She knows about it because she ordered the hit. That makes her decidedly not helpful. And that’s why we can’t just call Jack or something, either. She would probably stop the call. Or convince them that I'm lying.”

“They think that Mac’s a mole!” Murdoc added. Unhelpfully.

“Are you a mole?” Bozer asked. “Because that changes how the movie ends, you know.”

“I’m not a mole!” Mac cried out.

“You are friends with an assassin, man,” Bozer said. “That kind of screams mole.”

“It does, boy scout,” Murdoc added.

Mac sighed. “Let’s focus on the assassins who are actively trying to kill our friends,” he said. “And not on my questionable friendships. Which I highly regret.”

“Jack’s not that bad,” Murdoc teased. “Don’t regret your friendship with him!”

Mac groaned. “Shut it.”

Finally, they pulled up to Phoenix. They were greeted by the security guards, who Mac knew by name. They bought his story about being called in for more questioning by Thornton, but having his ID taken away by her when he was put on house arrest. Thank god. Mac hadn’t even thought about his ankle monitor. It didn’t really matter right now. He hadn’t had time to power it back on, actually. See. That was good. Murdoc sneaking into his kitchen was a good thing. Mac had a feeling most people didn’t say that about S218 sneaking into their homes. He ignored how that made him feel.

He had a mission to do.

They made it into the Phoenix building proper. For a spy facility, they didn’t have that many guards. And the guards who did, knew Mac. So, it was fine. He was fine. Now they just needed to find Jack. And Riley. And Thornton, but that was for an entirely different reason. A much more revenge fueled reason. His whole body was swelling with the feelings of what he had figured out today. It had been a lot, that much was true. And there were a lot of feelings flowing through him. Relief at Murdoc not hating him. Confusion at the fact Nikki wasn’t really a backstabbing bad guy. Fear for Riley and Jack. Gratefulness that Bozer was taking everything as well as he was. But mostly, Mac was feeling anger. Anger at the assassins coming for him and his friends. Anger at the person who had sent the assassins. Anger at the mole. Anger at Thornton. So much anger, all of it directed at Thornton.

Because Mac had trusted Thornton. He had really trusted Thornton. He had respected Thornton. He had listened to Thornton on mission after mission after mission. He had used her as a moral compass. He had trusted her decisions as a leader. He had trusted her with his intel. It hadn’t really hit, the fact that she was crooked. His boss of over five years. His friend, even. He had invited her over for drinks. He had shared a couple of jokes with her. She had been, still was, technically, his boss. But Mac had respected her more than he had respected most authority figures. He had liked her more than he liked most authority figures, actually.

And she was a mole. She had betrayed them. Betrayed him. Mac had a habit of trusting people that he really shouldn’t trust, didn’t he? Thornton, most definitely. He had trusted his dad, and then he had left. He had trusted Nikki, and then she had thrown curveball after curveball at him. She was dead. She was evil. She was a triple spy. It had been a lot to process. Mac was still processing it, actually. And then there was Murdoc. There was no way that Mac should trust Murdoc. There was no way that Mac should have ever trusted Murdoc. And yet, he had. And yet, he still did. And yet, somehow, Murdoc actually seemed to be worthy of that trust.

Mac held in a groan. He was getting distracted by his thoughts.

He had nearly tripped into Bozer as they stalked the halls. Mac didn’t exactly know where they were going, even though he had been to Phoenix plenty of times. If Jack and Riley weren’t in the briefing room, he didn’t know where they would be. But they wouldn’t be home, not when all of this was going down. Jack was a senior agent, and Riley was a flight risk. They would be in Phoenix. Somewhere. Mac just had to figure out where. Bozer mostly gawked at the building, like he couldn’t believe that he really was in a spy base. Murdoc’s eyes were peeled, watching everything. Every exit, every person that they passed. Nobody questioned them, at the very least, so they just kept walking. Searching. Looking.

Finally, Mac found them.

Well, he found Jack, anyway. Jack wasn’t hurt, which was good. But Jack was also very clearly mad, which was bad. Very bad. They walked into the room where Jack was. It had a couch, and some snacks. And nobody else, thankfully. Nobody except for an angry, angry Jack. He got even angrier when he saw who Mac had brought.

“Mac,” Jack growled. “What the hell is S218 doing here? And Bozer?”

“An assassin tried to kill us,” Mac said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “And he’s standing right beside you.”

“No,” Mac said. “Murdoc saved me. And Boze, too.”

“You guys are spies,” Bozer said with a shaky breath.

Jack frowned. “You told him?”

“Assassin,” Mac reminded him. “It was kind of pressing circumstances, Jack.”
“Doesn’t explain why you brought him here,” Jack said, glaring at S218. “Or why any of you are here, actually. Didn’t your little pet assassin kill whoever was after you?”

“He did,” Mac admitted.

Jack grimaced. “See? So get out.”

“There wasn’t just one assassin,” Mac said. “And they weren’t just after me. They had other targets.”

“And how do you know about that?” Jack asked.

“Because,” Mac said. “Murdoc was hired to kill the three of us. You, me, and Riley.”

Jack froze. “Riley’s in danger?”

“You are too,” Mac pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jack said. “We need to get to Ri.”

“Okay,” Mac said. “Do you know where she is?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, making his way towards the door. “She’s in the briefing room with Thornton, going over something.”

Mac shook his head. “That’s bad. Thornton can’t know I’m here.”

“What?” Jack said, “Because of your house arrest? I hardly think she’ll care, considering the whole assassins out to get you thing. She might be out for blood when she learns you brought S218 of all people here. And let Boze in on our little secret.”

“It’s not that,” Mac said. He didn’t know how to explain it. “Thornton-”

“Your little director is a rotten apple,” Murdoc cooed.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Jack said, pushing closer to Murdoc. He looked like he was about to tear Murdoc’s head off.

“Jack,” Mac said.

Jack backed down.

“What a good guard dog,” Murdoc teased.

“Murdoc,” Mac hissed. “Go wait in the hallway. Bozer, you too, actually.”

“Mac-” Boze started to say.

“We’ll be out in a second,” Mac promised. “But we need to talk. Alone.”

“Come along, sidekick,” Murdoc said, leaving the room.

“Sidekick?” Mac heard Bozer exclaim, incredulously. “I am not a side-” The door closed, and Mac couldn’t hear anything else.

“The hell is going on, Mac?” Jack asked.

“Look,” Mac said. “Thornton’s corrupt. I’m serious.”

“And how the hell do you know that?” Jack asked.

“Because Murdoc-” Mac started to say.

“You’re trusting what that guy says?” Jack said. “Seriously?”

“It’s not just him,” Mac continued. “Nikki said that-”

“Nikki?” Jack asked. “As in, famous traitor, Nikki? I’m pretty sure if you look up ‘liar’ in the dictionary you get a picture of her, hoss?”

“I know,” Mac said, shaking his head. “But it’s not as clear cut as that.”

“Why not?” Jack asked, crossing his arms.

“Because,” Mac said. “She says that she’s CIA. She says that she’s undercover, has been undercover since the beginning. She was trying to find a mole in Phoenix.”

“And did she find one?” Jack asked.

“She said she was close,” Mac said. “But then Murdoc said that the contract he was given in that dossier, it wasn’t just for me. It was for me, and you, and Riley. All dead.”

Jack huffed. “And that leads to Thornton how?”

“Because,” Mac continued. “There was also one for her. With a no kill order. Just wounded.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Did he show you proof?”

“There wasn’t time for proof,” Mac said, a little defensively. He kind of hadn’t thought to ask for proof, actually.

“Why not?” Jack asked.

“Because there was an assassin coming for you and Riley, Jack!” Mac exclaimed. “With Thornton compromised, I couldn’t trust that even Phoenix was safe.”

“So?” Jack said. He sounded annoyed. And a little bit petulant. “You and your little assassin were fine. Why come back?”

“Jack,” Mac said flatly. “I care about you. I would never just leave you. Never. Especially not when I knew you were in danger. How could you even think that?”

Jack shrugged. “You didn't tell me about S218.”

“I didn’t know he was S218,” Mac said, quietly. “And I wanted to tell you. I did. But you would have turned him in.”

“Of course I would have turned him in,” Jack said. “He’s a killer, Mac!”

“You kill people, too,” Mac pointed out.

“That’s different, Mac,” Jack hissed.

“I know it’s different,” Mac admitted. “But you kill people to protect me. He kills people to protect me. It’s just not as different as you think it is, Jack.”

“I know guys like that, Mac,” Jack said. “I’ve hunted down guys like that. All they think about is killing.”

How the hell could he get Jack to see the Murdoc that Mac knew? “He’s more than just a killer, Jack. He’s different.”

“No, he’s not,” Jack said.

“He likes cooking,” Mac blurted out. “And he grows an herb garden.”

“S218 grows an herb garden?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“He does!” Mac said, startled laughter tumbling out of his mouth. “And he really likes cat videos, for some reason.”

Jack laughed too. Mac watched as some of the tension leached out of his shoulders. “Cat videos, man? Really”

“Really,” Mac promised. “And- and he’s got a kid, too.”

“He a good dad?” Jack asked, tone serious. His tone was always serious when it came to kids.

“A really good one,” Mac answered. “He keeps the kid as far away from business as possible. Was looking at boarding schools a while ago. Makes him pancakes in the shapes of smiley faces.”

“S218 does all that?” Jack asked.

“He does,” Mac said. “And I trust him, okay?”

“You still should have told me,” Jack grumbled.

“I should have,” Mac said. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t risk him getting arrested or spooked or something. And you would have been complicit, if you knew. Would have been placed on house arrest right along side me.”

Jack chuckled dryly. “Guess you’re right, hoss,” he said. “You really trust him?”

“I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t,” Mac said. “I wouldn’t have risked Phoenix. Or you, for that matter. Especially you.”

“And you really think that Thornton is dirty?” Jack asked.

“It;s the only thing that makes sense,” Mac said. “Nikki said that the mole must have been high up in Phoenix. Thornton’s pretty damn high, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m trusting you on this, Mac,” Jack said. “But if you’re wrong about this, and this turns into another Cairo-”

“I thought we didn’t talk about Cairo,” Mac teased.

Jack groaned. “Okay, hoss. Let’s go get Ri, yeah?”

“Wait,” Mac said. “You have to promise not to kill him. He’s-”

“Annoying?” Jack filled in for him.

“An acquired taste,” Mac corrected.

Jack shook his head. “I feel bad for Boze out there,” he said. “How’d he find out, anyway?”

“I’ll tell you after we make sure Riley’s safe, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, heading towards the door. “Let’s go.”

It was nice to know that Jack was back on his side. He knew that he would never hear the end of this, not really. Jack would bring it up every time Mac tried to get out of being the one to bring them beer, or something. But now that he had talked, he knew that Jack trusted him again. Mostly. He knew that Jack was on his side again. Had his back again. It was so palpable, he could almost feel it. Feel Jack’s trust. Feel Jack’s protection. It was like gravity. Or oxygen. Invisible by every sense and every feeling. But there. Undeniably there. And it was reassuring to have that back. Mac had missed it. God, he had missed it. Missed how safe he felt. How protected. How loved. Missed Jack, in general, too. Their bickering. He was glad to have him back by his side, that was for sure.

They walked out into the hallway, and Mac was halfway expecting Murdoc to be threatening Bozer. Or for Bozer to be threatening Murdoc, honestly. The guy could be feisty when he wanted to be.

“So,” Bozer said. “Then they reveal that Dracula is secretly Judas.”

Murdoc blinked slowly. “Judas Iscariot. From the bible?”

“That’s the one,” Bozer said, nodding aggressively. “That’s why the crosses get to him. And the silver.”

“No,” Murdoc said, grinning widely. “Seriously?”

“Vampirism’s a curse from God, apparently,” Bozer continued.

“That feels like a stretch,” Murdoc said, slowly. “Even for a cheesy Dracula movie.”

“That’s not even the worst of it,” Bozer said, smiling brightly. “So there’s two sequels, right? And in each sequel, Dracula’s actor changes. He regenerates. Like something out of Doctor Who!”

Mac coughed, startling them both. “Boze, you can stop torturing Murdoc with Dracula 2000 trivia now. We’re done talking.”

“Aw. I didn’t even get to the bit about the priest yet,” Bozer said, frowning. “Or his whip!”

“A whip?” Murdoc asked, an eyebrow raised in intrigue.

“No,” Jack said. “None of this stuff. We’re leaving now. Getting Ri. Come on.”

“Yes, yes,” Murdoc said. He leaned over to Bozer. “You can tell me later,” he whispered.

Mac held in a smile. It was nice to see the two of them getting along, even if the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal. The exact opposite of ideal, actually. But it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse. The assassin back at the house could have gotten them. Phoenix security could have caught them. One of these guards could have caught them. Somebody could have recognized Murdoc. But they were fine. Or, they were fine for now, anyway. They had gotten this far, now they just had to do the rest.

Because they still had more to do. So much more, They still had to get to Riley, and make sure that she was okay. They still had to stop whatever assassins were coming their way. They still had to make sure that the mole, that Thornton, was caught. They still had to make sure that nobody else in Phoenix was caught in the crossfire. And that no one else in Phoenix was a mole, either. It was clear that Phoenix wasn’t exactly as secure as they would have liked it to be. As they thought it was. They would have to fix that, eventually. Fix security. Get a new director. God, they still had so much to do.

And then they would have to face the consequences for what they did. Mac would have to face the consequences for what he did. Because he was the one who led Murdoc here. He was the one who had been friends with Murdoc at all. He was the one who had breached protocol. Who had refused to turn Murdoc in. Who had turned a blind eye to things like morals and rules. He was the one who had kept this all a secret. So he was the one that was going to have to deal with all of that. Get reprimanded. Fired, maybe. Mac didn't know. Considering that they also had a mole as a director, he didn’t know how they would treat his case. He didn’t know who would judge his case.

Mac sighed. He had to focus on the present. On the moment. On the mission.

He needed to focus on Riley. On getting her out safe. On making sure that she trusted him again. She wasn’t like Jack, they didn’t have years of trust already. Although, she did trust Jack, so maybe Jack trusted him would be enough. Mac hoped that that would be enough. Enough for now, anyway. But he couldn’t worry about that, not yet. First he had to worry about getting her out safely. About getting her away from Thornton. About getting everybody about safely. Today had been complicated enough. He didn’t want anything else to happen. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Besides Thornton. Maybe. If necessary. Mac;s thoughts were wandering again. Dammit.

Still, soon enough, they made it to the briefing room. To Riley. To Thornton.

Mac hadn’t exactly planned for what would happen when they got there. It wasn’t as though they could just walk in and accuse Thornton of being the mole, not without concrete proof. And it wasn’t as though they wanted Thornton to know that the jig was up. Which meant that she couldn’t see Mac. Or Murdoc. Or Bozer. So, they waited in the hallway, out of sight of the briefing room, as Jack made his way inside. They had decided that he would make an excuse for Riley to come outside. Mac didn’t know exactly what he said, but it certainly made Riley have a reaction. The two of them walked outside, Thornton none the wiser.

“Mac,” Riley said. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you off house arrest?”

Mac shook his head. “Thornton doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Okay,” Riley said frowning. “Why is Bozer here? And- Mac is that S218.”

“You can call me Murdoc, you know,” Murdoc said with a grin.

Jack huffed. “There’s someone after you, Ri.”

“What?” Riley asked, eyes widening.

“After all of us,” Mac corrected.

“Crap,” Riley said. “Should we warn Thornton.”

“Do not tell Thornton,” Mac hissed. “She’s crooked.”

“Mac thinks she’s crooked,” Jack corrected. “Based on what his crazy pet assassin said.”

“I’m nobody’s pet,” Murdoc said, sniffling dramatically.

“Stop it,” Mac said. “We have a suspicion. A strong suspicion. There’s definitely a mole. We just need proof.”

“And to make sure nobody gets shot,” Jack added.

“Why is Bozer here,” Riley asked. “No offense, Boze.”

“No offence taken, dear Riley,” Bozer said. It was like he forgot how to be a normal person whenever Riley was around. Weird. “I was brought here because I was deemed worthy of knowing about your spy world.”

Mac sighed. Why were all his friends so dramatic? “He walked in on me and Murdoc talking, freaked out, and we brought him since there’s still, you know, assassins around.”

“And I killed one of them,” Murdoc said, proudly.

Riley made a disgusted face. “Do we really need this guy?”

“He’s staying,” Mac said. He turned to glare at Murdoc. “And he’s shutting up.”

“Yes, yes, boy scout,” Murdoc said, waving his hand. “I’ll stop scaring your poor friends.”

Mac sighed. “Look, we just need to figure out how to prove it really was Thornton.”

“I can look for proof on my laptop,” Riley said. And then she frowned. “Which is in the briefing room.”

“Or we could-” Mac started. He was cut off by Mac and Jack yelling. At the same time.

“Down!” They both called out. Murdoc pushed Mac down, and Jack pushed both Bozer and Riley.

Mac looked up. There was a janitor standing in front of them. Or, rather, someone dressed as a janitor. And someone dressed as a janitor holding a gun, at that. Someone dressed as a janitor holding a gun, who was shooting at them. That was all Mac had time to process before everything started moving too quickly. Murdoc and Jack were the only two with guns. They were also the only two crazy enough to move towards the assassin holding a gun at them. They moved oddly in sync. Mac did have to admit, there were some similarities between the two. Some. Jack would probably shoot him if Mac ever admitted it, though. But they did move together, like they had been cut from the same cloth. Like they knew exactly what the other person was going to do. It was almost creepy to watch.

The shooting stopped as quickly as it had started.

Murdoc was pressed up against the fake janitor, a gun to his throat. Mac was pretty sure the guy was already shot, but he wasn’t dead yet. A dead assassin wasn’t any good to them. But really, neither was an almost dead assassin. No. The assassin probably had some sort of proof that Thornton was the mole, or proof against that fact. But it wouldn’t do any good if only they heard it. And it wouldn’t do any good that Thornton was in a room not too far from them, either. They needed a way for everyone in Phoenix to know what was happening. They needed a way-

Mac had an idea.

He gestured to Riley to take out her phone. And then, he mimed a camera. He whispered something to her, just to be sure. He hoped that she knew what he meant, because he didn’t have much time. Murdoc was looking far too happy, as he held the gun to the janitor. Far too trigger happy, in particular. Mac had to move fast. Thornton must have heard the gunshots, too. This wouldn’t work if she could kill the assassin before Mac could do this. Or if she killed them, either. Dying did not sound great right now, thank you very much.

“Wait,” Mac said, as Murdoc’s finger hovered over the trigger. “I have questions.”

Jack’s gun was pointed at the janitor, too. “You’ll answer them.”

“Who hired you?” Mac asked.

The assassin was silent.

“Answer,” Murdoc hissed, pressing the gun harder into his neck. “Or else.”

As much as Mac wasn’t a fan of threats, it did seem to get through to the assassin. “The Organisation,” the man choked out.

“And who from The Organisation hired you?” Mac asked.

“I don’t- I don’t know,” the assassin said, stumbling over his words. “I don’t! It was all done online.”

Mac shook his head. That should have been expected. “Who were you ordered to not kill under any circumstances?” Mac asked. “Because they worked for The Organisation?” He added, just to seal the deal.

The assassin froze, his eyes darting to the briefing room. “Thornton,” he said. “Patricia Thornton.”

A gun shot rang out. The fake janitor slumped in Murdoc’s grip.

Mac had been watching both Murdoc and Jack. It hadn’t been either of them. And Riley didn;t carry guns, and Bozer couldn;t shoot to save his life. There were no other agents in the hallway with them, which meant- well, it meant that Thornton had shot him. It meant that Thornton was here. And it meant that Thornton was ready to play. Mac turned to look at the briefing room, to glance at the broken frosted glass where the bullet had shot through. To glance at Thornton, walking through the door. Walking towards them.

“I thought you were on house arrest, Macgyver,” Thornton said.

“And I thought you were a good person,” Mac fired back. It probably wasn’t the best thing to say to a person who had just shot someone, but Mac was tired. And mostly running on adrenaline and spite at this point.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Thornton asked.

“It means that you work for The Organisation,” Jack said, aiming his gun at her. “And we have proof.”

Something about Thornton shifted. Changed. Metamorphosed. “Do you, now?” She asked, coldly. “Because I think I just shot your proof.”

“Do you really plan to shoot all of us?” Mac asked.

Thornton shrugged. “Why not? You’re all rogue agents. You were already under investigation, Macgyver,” she said. “Clearly your friends just went on the same rotten path as you did.”

“I trusted you,” Mac spat out.

“Your fault,” Thornton said. “You really are too trusting. I mean, S218, of all people? I did not see that one coming. But it does make all of this so much easier, don’t you think? So much cleaner.”

“Why are you even doing this, Thornton?” Jack asked.

“It’s simple,” Thornton said, easily. “You spend enough time watching the bad guys get all the money. None of the consequences. All of the freedom. And you start wondering what it would be like to be on that side. The winning side. And then, suddenly, you’re there. And it’s so good.”

Mac turned to look at Riley? “Did you get enough?”

“Yeah,” Riley said, nodding.

Thornton paused. “What did you do?”

“I filmed you and your assassin buddy,” Riley said, grinning. “And I sent it, live, to everyone in Phoenix. And the CIA. And the NSA, just for fun.”

“You did what?” Thornton asked. She moved her gun, pointing it at Riley.

Jack’s finger twitched at the trigger.

And that was when the footsteps started coming. Because, well, Riley had sent the footage to everyone in Phoenix. And everyone in Phoenix knew where the briefing room was. And, coincidentally enough, where the armoury was, too. There were so many footsteps that it almost sounded like a stampede. Or like thunder. Person after person, field agent after field agent, trickled in. All of them were armed. All of them were dangerous. All of them looked betrayed and angry and somewhat confused. But mostly angry. Some of them had guns, some of them had tasers, some of them had batons. But they were all there.

Thornton was arrested soon enough.

Mac didn’t know how to feel about it, now that it was all over. The mole was arrested. Thornton was in handcuffs, being sent to a secure facility. So was the assassin, for that matter. Medics looked over everybody, making sure that they were okay. Some of the Phoenix staff thanked Mac. Congratulated him. But Mac didn’t know how he was meant to feel about it. It had been a long day. A long week. So much had happened. So much had been revealed. Mac had had so many rugs pulled out from under him, he didn’t trust rugs anymore. But mostly, he just felt empty. Relieved, maybe, but he wasn’t really sure.

Mac didn’t know what would happen next. For now, things seemed sorted out. But there would need to be another director. There would need to be people cleaning up whatever havoc Thornton being a mole had caused. There would need to be new passwords for everybody. Higher security. Today alone proved that they really, really, needed better security. And better checks for all of their agents. How could Thornton of all people be a mole? There was a lot to be done. A lot to fix. The glass wall in the briefing room, for one thing. The bullet holes in the walls, for another. And the blood stains on the tile. Whoops. But that could all be fixed later. That could all be done later. For now-

Mac didn’t know what would happen to Murdoc. He was S218, technically. And he was definitely a killer. But he had also helped them. He had helped Mac. He had helped excise a dangerous mole from Phoenix. He had helped stop an assassin. There was video footage of him stopping an assassin. Maybe that would help him get a pardon. Maybe Phoenix would be after him. Mac didn’t know. But he didn’t care, not right now. Nobody was arresting him at the moment. The agents were congratulating him, even, shaking his hand and patting him on the back. All they saw was a hero, for the moment. There was a fine line between good guy and bad guy, Mac was realising. Mac didn’t know what would happen to Murdoc. He didn’t know what would happen to Bozer, either, now that he knew. None of it was really sinking in.

But Mac did know one thing. He was fucking tired. They all were, probably.

“I’m beat,” Mac said, once everyone had been checked by medical and thanked several times. “Anyone want to head back to my place for a beer?”

Jack smiled. “That sounds perfect, hoss.”

“I’d be delighted,” Murdoc said, grinning.

Riley shook her head. “Are you seriously inviting him?”

“He’s my friend,” Mac said, shrugging. They had started walking towards the parking lot now, thankfully. “And my ride,” he added.

“He’s an assassin,: Riley pointed out.

“Are you scared of me, raven?” Murdoc asked.

Riley rolled her eyes. “Raven? Seriously? See. He’s weird.”

“He’s coming,” Mac said. “If he wants to, anyway.”

“Of course I’m coming,” Murdoc said. “Now, come along. Who’s riding with me?”

“Not it,” Bozer immediately said. “I had to ride with him on the way here. I’m not doing that again.”

Jack wrinkled his nose. “I drove here myself.”

“I’ll ride with him,” Mac said. Partly because he wanted to. Partly because he didn’t want to have to explain the whole car ride why he was friends with Murdoc. Partly because it was funny to see the looks on his friends’ faces when he said it.

“Is he holding you hostage, hoss?” Jack asked. Mac was sure he was joking. Probably. “Does he have blackmail, or something?”

“No blackmail.” Mac said. “Just friendship.”

“Right,” Riley said, incredulously.

“Blink twice if you need help,” Bozer joked.

Mac shook his head. They had made it to Murdoc’s car, now. “I’ll see you guys at my house, alright?”

“I bet we’ll beat you,” Riley said.

Mac watched both Jack and Murdoc’s faces light up. “No speeding,” he warned. “And definitely no crashing.”

“You’re no fun,” Jack whined.

“Just getting going,” Mac said, climbing into Murdoc’s jeep.

He watched out the window as everyone else climbed into Jack’s car. He continued watching out the window as Murdoc started the jeep. As Phoenix blurred into nothingness. As the street became nothing more than colourful streaks around him. He leaned his head on the window, felt the vibrations of the car through the glass. He watched as empty grass fields and cliffsides changed to suburbs. He watched as suburbs changed to downtown, deeper and deeper into the city. More people. More cars. More lights. More streaks of colour in the window. Mac’s eyes kept fluttering shut, and he forced them open as he watched the streets dance by. It was all a blur. It was all beautiful, in its own way.

“How are you doing, boy scout?” Murdoc asked, shaking Mac out of his thoughts.

Mac smiled. “Good,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m glad,” Murdoc said, smiling. Not his creepy grin, either. Just a regular smile.

Mac smiled back. He had a good feeling about this. A good feeling about Murdoc meeting the rest of his friends. And, okay, it had been rocky at first, but Mac had a good feeling about it. Jack hadn’t even threatened him. They were getting along. Mostly. And he had a good feeling about Phoenix, too. They had gotten rid of the mole. Everything would go back to normal. Everything would be better than normal, actually, because there wouldn’t be a mole anymore. Thornton would hopefully flip on The Organisation. Nikki would maybe even be able to leave deep cover. And Mac didn’t know what would happen to Murdoc, but he was hopeful. He had a good feeling. And even if Phoenix was upset, or something, it didn’t even matter. Murdoc wasn’t mad at him for lying. They were still friends. Murdoc was driving him home and drumming on his steering wheel and Mac’s heart fluttered in his chest whenever he glanced at him.

Yeah, Mac thought. He had a really good feeling about this.

Chapter Text

Things were changing at Phoenix. Things were changing for Mac in general, actually.

They were getting a new director, for one thing. And apparently, Jack knew her. And apparently, Jack knew that she was strict. And scary. Mostly scary. They were getting new security. New passwords. New, bullet proof glass even on the inside of the building. New rules about fraternising with criminals which may have been slightly aimed at Mac. They weren’t moving buildings, because they had just done that after Nikki, and that would have made it seem even more suspicious than if they had moved. And also Mac had a feeling that moving an entire government agency again was probably sort of pricey. So things were changing. But not everything.

Because a lot of things were still the same.

Mac was still working for Phoenix, even after everything with Murdoc came to light. Since Murdoc had helped get rid of the mole, it seemed like Phoenix was operating on a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’, sort of rule. Don’t ask about Macgyver’s assassin friend. Don’t tell your assassin friend anything classified. It was surprisingly fair, all things considered. Mac was half expecting to be arrested. Or for Murdoc to be arrested. Or for Murdoc to be forced to be a CI, or something. But things stayed the same. Going back to Phoenix was just like normal. Or mostly normal, anyway.

Things were different, but similar, in the end.

Bozer knew what Mac really did for a living, for one thing. And he had shown enough aptitude, especially when it came to his prop making, that Phoenix had accepted him. Part time, anyway. He was basically a spy intern, which Mac would make fun of for the rest of time. But really, Mac was proud of him. Of course he was proud of him. That was his best friend, working at Phoenix. That was his best friend, being really good at working at Phoenix. Things were good. There weren’t any missions to do while Phoenix was restarting, not without a director. But Mac helped with repairs and fixed the bullet holes in his house and he texted Murdoc and he helped Bozer learn more about Phoenix and- And things were good. Things were really good.

And then their new Director actually showed up.

She was different. Stricter. Her name was Matilda Webber. Jack called her Matty, which seemed to both amuse her and frustrate her to no end. She was no nonsense. She even put a ban on Mac using paper clips during briefings. Which, okay, Mac sort of understood it. It looked like he wasn’t paying any attention, when his hands were busy moulding a paperclip into abstract shapes and his eyes were on his hands. But he was listening. It just didn’t look like he was. But Matty didn’t know that. It had taken Director Thornton a long time to warm up to Mac’s quirks, too. And Director Webber was even stricter than Thornton was. So, yeah, it would just take time. Hopefully.

But the paper clips weren’t the only things that Director Webber had an issue with.

“Macgyver,” Director Webber had said, the first day that they had met her. “In my office. Now.”

Mac didn’t like the sound of that. But he went, anyway, closing the door behind him.

“Sit,” Director Webber said, gesturing to a seat across from her desk. Her own chair and desk were shorter, to accommodate her height.

“What is this about, director?” Mac asked.

Matilda gave him a look. “I’m sure it’s obvious,” she said. “We need to talk about S218.”

“Right,” Mac said, holding back a grimace. He had kind of hoped that this conversation could wait a few days, at the very least. But he knew that it would have to happen, at some point or another. “Phoenix already refused to arrest him. I’m not turning him in, if that’s what you want me to do.”

“That’s not why I called you in here,” Director Webber said. “I understand that S218 is a nuanced subject. But I need you to understand if you pull anything like that, ever, while I’m Director, you will be out of here before you can blink. No more protocol breaches. No more partying with random criminals you meet on missions. None of it, Macgyver.”

“Right,” Mac said, frowning. “But if you tell me to stop talking to S218, now-”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Director Webber said. “S218 has marginally proved himself. Enough that Phoenix has agreed to turn a blind eye to your- your friendship. But that does not give you clearance to make buddies with every single assassin you see on the street. And if any other agency decides to go after S218, and gets close, you cannot interfere. Is that understood?”

Mac nodded. “Yes, Director,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he would do if someone was close to catching Murdoc. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop himself from helping him. “Is there anything else?”

“There’s one more thing,” Director Webber said. She leaned forward at her desk. “Do you think that S218 would be willing to work for Phoenix?”

Mac frowned in confusion. “Would he even be allowed to work at Phoenix?”

“Criminals have had jobs in the United States government since the beginning of time, Macgyver,” Matilda said. “Though maybe none as prolific as he is.”

“Either way,” Mac said. “I don’t think he would. He has a thing against authority. And governments.”

“What about intel, then?” Director Webber asked.

Mac shrugged. “If I needed it, maybe. But not just for Phoenix. He’s not an asset, Director Webber. He’s my friend.”

“Right,” Director Webber said. “I understand that. Oversight was just wondering.”

“Oversight?” Mac found himself asking. The title sounded familiar. From rumours, but nothing more.

“Who do you think ran Phoenix while you had no Director?” Matilda said. She shook her head. “Pretend I never said anything.”

“Alright,” Mac said. “Am I free to go, Director?”

“Go, Macgyver,” Director Webber said. “And be sure to keep any classified intel away from S218.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Mac said.

He exited the office as quickly as he could.

That had gone better than he had thought it would, honestly. There had been no yelling. No firing. No threatening to fire him, even. No talk about how unprofessional it had been for Mac to have been friends with an assassin. There had been some attempts to get Murdoc to spill information, but even those had been negligible. Half hearted, even. And from Director Webber, of all people, Mac had been expecting it to be harsher. He had expected to be arrested, even when Phoenix had already promised that he wouldn’t be. She hadn’t even tried to convince him to turn Murdoc in.

It had gone well, was the point.

And so had the missions that started once Director Webber was instated. It was different, with Director Webber calling the shots. It was different, with Bozer watching some of their missions, trying to learn more about the whole spy business. He was taking to it like a duck to water, really. An immature and very excitable duck, but still. They were getting somewhere. But really, not that many things were different. It was just like when Riley replaced Nikki. And Nikki was back with the CIA now, even when Phoenix had offered her a position back. Mac had a feeling that had been the right move.

But the missions, they were just missions. A new person behind the wheel, maybe. New missions, new people, new places. But Mac was used to this. He was used to this routine. There was less lying to Bozer, now. Less lying to Murdoc, too. Less telling Bozer that he had gotten mugged, when really he had been thrown off a building by a terrorist. Less telling Murdoc that he was stealing something, when really he was retrieving it for the government. Mac still had to be vague with the details, obviously. Bozer barely had any security clearance at all, and Phoenix was sick of Mac almost sort of telling Murdoc classified details. But there was a lot less lying, that was for sure.

Mostly, time just moved on. Mission after mission. Country after country. City after city. Kazakhstan. A shot down helicopter and an escaped criminal. Mac using a lightning rod. Back to the US. Atlanta, Georgia. A corrupt FBI agent. A framed murderer. Performance reviews from Matty, which were more terrifying than the FBI agent who killed people. San Francisco. The maybe potentially kinda Zodiac Killer. Jack calling his buddy from Hawaii. Warming up to Matty. Uruguay. Skipping ex-fil. Quicksand. Getting stuck in quicksand. Louisiana. Phoenix had really been sending them on a lot of local missions, lately. Bounty hunters. Trying to figure out what was going on between Jack and Matty. The Netherlands. A bomb. Getting framed by a backup plan by Thornton. Getting out.

But Mac wasn’t just doing missions.

He was lucky that the fact that he had lied hadn’t ruined his friendships. He knew that he was lucky. His friends could have forgiven him, or they could have decided not to, and either way it would have been acceptable. But they did forgive him. And they had beers at Mac and Bozer’s place after their missions. They played board games or went on walks around town when they had days off of work. Riley got them all deeply hooked on this one video game that one of her hacker friends was working on. They tried restaurants and they went to museums and it was- it was nice. Mac could still tell that Riley didn’t trust him, not entirely. But they were still friends. And they still went on missions. And that- that was enough. It would have to be enough.

And then there was Murdoc.

Mac had been surprised when Murdoc really had stayed for drinks after everything went down at Phoenix. And it had been strange, Mac had to admit, seeing Murdoc at the fire pit with all of his friends from work. He was used to separating the two. Murdoc was Murdoc and missions were missions, and never the twain shall meet. Mac had broken that rule, now. Mac had broken a lot of rules, actually. But Murdoc had sat there, at the fire pit, with Bozer and Riley and Jack and Macgyver, drinking cheap beer and laughing. They had gotten along surprisingly well, now that all the shooting was over. Or maybe they trusted each other because all of the shooting had happened. Mac didn't really know, but he didn;t really care, either. His friends were getting along. That was what mattered.

Still, Murdoc had had to leave LA almost as soon as everything had cleared up with Phoenix. He was, most definitely, a criminal. And a killer. And he hadn’t exactly wanted to stick around while a government agency tried to figure out if they wanted to arrest him or not. It was understandable. But he didn’t hold any of it against Mac, which was slightly less understandable. Mac was a government agent and Murdoc didn’t even care. Mac’s government agency had almost arrested him, and Murdoc didn’t even care. It was an odd thing, but Murdoc was odd. And Mac was glad that Murdoc was odd, because it meant that they could still be friends.

Mac was glad that they were still friends. It was as though nothing had happened. They texted like it was normal. Stories from their day. Random posts that they had found online. Links to different scientific journals. Or, maybe it was incorrect to say that it was as though nothing had happened. There were some differences. Mostly, Murdoc had taken to making fun of Macgyver for being a government agent. A spy. Mac no longer had to only endure being called a boy scout anymore, but also James Bond. And Jason Bourne. And basically every other spy in existence. Even Special Agent Oso. Mac would gladly take being called boy scout than any of those. Especially Oso. Ugh. Mac was not a neon panda. But still, it was good. Murdoc was annoying, but he was always annoying. It was to be expected, really.

Time went on. And Mac was happy. He was really happy, actually.

At the moment, Mac was on the plane home from a mission. It had been a long mission. Long and tiring. Days of work. Days of espionage. Of sneaking around. Of getting caught. Of blowing things up when they got caught. Of running. There had been a lot of running. And they were all tired, now. Tired and sweaty and needing their own beds. And their own showers. Definitely their own showers. Dirt from missions just seemed to cling underneath the fingernails. Although, that may have actually been gunpowder. Or ash from the explosion. Whatever. Mac was too tired to care about the semantics. He wanted his bed. He wanted his shower. He wanted his house. He wanted to get off this plane. More than anything, Mac just wanted to rest.

But Jack seemingly had other ideas.

Jack was bothering Mac about his birthday that was coming up. But, to put it frankly, Mac didn’t really want to do anything. He never wanted to do anything. Birthdays were- they were irrelevant. Pointless. Time was always moving, every day. So why would you need to celebrate the fact that the Earth had rotated fully one more time then the last time you celebrated? Everyone would be completely different ages, if they didn’t live on Earth. It was just- it was completely arbitrary. Mac just wasn’t one to celebrate birthdays.

Mac had stopped celebrating birthdays in 5th grade, much to Bozer’s chagrin. It meant less presents for Mac, which Mac didn’t really care about. People who didn’t know him that well got him plastic toys and nerf guns, which Mac just didn't care about. He normally ended up giving to Bozer anyway. And Mac wasn’t much of a fan of cake, either. It was too sweet, most of the time. The sugar just gave Mac a headache. So why would Mac bother having a party that he wouldn’t even enjoy, for an arbitrary day that people decided was important? It was just pointless. Illogical.

Jack neevr seemed to get it, though. Or maybe he did get it, but just didn’t care. Bozer had the decency to stop bugging Mac about celebrating his birthday, and had accepted that a movie and maybe one present was the best he was going to get. But Jack, as soon as he had found out Mac’s birthday, had pressed year after year for Mac to do something. To celebrate. To flaunt his birthday to all the world. Mac just didn't get the point. In fact, he almost regretted telling Jack his birthday at all. He hadn’t thought it was that big of a deal, but to Jack it had been. Mac had made it a point to not tell anyone else after that. Especially Murdoc.

Mac’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Murdoc. Speak of the devil.

“A little birdy told me it was your birthday,” the text read.

Mac groaned. “Did you tell Murdoc about this?” He asked, glaring at Jack.

“I didn’t do anything, hoss,” Jack said. “Quit glaring at me.”

“Well then how did he find out?” Mac asked.

Jack shrugged. Riley didn’t even look up from her laptop. Bozer looked away. Guiltily.

“Bozer,” Mac said. “Did you tell Murdoc my birthday was coming up?”

“No,” Bozer muttered weakly.

Mac raised an eyebrow. “Boze,” he warned.

“Fine,” Bozer said with an exaggerated sigh. “Yes! I told him! In the library with a candlestick!”

“And why did you tell him, Colonel Mustard?” Mac asked, adding to Bozer’s own Clue reference. Mostly because he knew that Boze hated Colonel Mustard, after they watched the movie together.

“I am not Colonel Mustard!” Bozer cried out. “Jack’s Colonel Mustard. I’m Professor Plum. And you’re Mr. Green.”

“Who am I?” Riley asked.

“Miss Scarlet,” Bozer said, matter of factly. “And Nikki is Mrs White. For obvious reasons.”

“Nikki didn’t kill her husbands,” Mac pointed out.

“No, but she broke your heart,” Bozer said. “And that’s basically the same thing.”

“Who’s Mrs Peacock then?” Jack asked.

“It’s Matty, obviously,” Bozer said.

“It’s not the point,” Mac said, cutting off the discussion. “Why did you tell Murdoc, Boze?”

“Because I thought he could change your mind about the whole birthday thing,” Bozer said. “You haven’t celebrated in like fifteen years, man. When was the last time you played pin the tail on the donkey?”

“At your birthday party,” Mac pointed out.

Bozer blinked. “Oh. Right. But still, man. You get my point. You deserve to celebrate and just have fun for once.”

“That’s what Christmas is for,” Mac pointed out. “And besides, what makes you think Murdoc could convince me to change my mind? You’ve been trying for fifteen years and Jack has been trying for over five. What makes you think Murdoc would change that?”

“Because you listen to, like, everything he says, man,” Bozer said. “Everything.”

“It’s kinda unnerving, hoss,” Jack added.

“No I don’t,” Mac said, crossing his arms defensively. “What are you talking about?”

“You totally do,” Riley said, completely unhelpfully. “Like seriously, it’s kind of pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Mac asked.

“How big of a crush you have on him,” Riley clarified.

Mac sputtered. “I don’t have a crush on him,” he lied.

“You totally do, hoss,” Jack said, unhelpfully.

Bozer nodded. “It’s bad, Mac. As bad as Deena Feinburg.”

“What?” Mac said. “I didn’t have a crush on Deena.”

“You totally did, Mac,” Bozer said. “And you got a B. In chemistry.”

Riley gasped. “He got a B in chemistry?”

“That had nothing to do with Deena,” Mac said. “I was just off my game that semester.”

“Because of Deena,” Bozer said. “You had a crush then. And you have a crush now.”

“Sorry, hoss,” Jack said. “It’s definitely a crush.”

Mac sighed. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes,” all three of them said at the exact same time.

“Okay,” Mac said, with a dramatic sigh. “I am done talking about this with you people.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Riley said, waving her hand. “Go text your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Mac mumbled, but he opened his phone again anyway.

He had talked about his crush. He had talked about his crush to other people. He had talked about his crush with people who weren’t his triple agent ex girlfriend who didn't love him anymore. He had talked about his crush with his friends. That was progress. That was definitely progress. Every time he admitted it, it was like it got more real. He had a crush. A crush on Murdoc, of all people. A crush on an assassin. A crush on S218. He had a crush on S218 and his friends were fine with it. That was probably the most mind boggling part. Sure, they were teasing him for it, but that was standard. They were fine with it. They were fine with Murdoc, and they were fine with him liking Murdoc, and Mac couldn’t really wrap his brain around it. But he was happy. He was very, very happy that they were fine with it. They were like family to him, of course he cared about their opinions. And he really liked Murdoc, so he was glad that they liked Murdoc, too. Or tolerated him, anyway.

He stared at his phone screen intently, rereading Murdoc’s text again, just because he could.

“I don’t celebrate my birthday, Murdoc,” Mac typed out. “Bozer misinformed you.”

“And whyever not, boy scout?” Murdoc replied.

“Mars,” Mac sent back, curtly. He trusted that Murdoc would understand it.

“Just because you would only be 14 on Mars doesn’t make celebrating birthdays pointless, you know,” Murdoc said.

“It’s completely arbitrary.” Mac texted. “A random day designated as special because of the rotations of the Earth.”

“It’s not the day, boy scout,” Murdoc sent. “It’s a random day, sure. But the day doesn’t matter.”

“Then what is the point?” Mac asked. He was marginally curious about what Murdoc thought about birthdays. Maybe a bit more than marginally, actually.

“The point is that it’s a day to celebrate you,” Murdoc said. “You could change the day as much as you want, because birthdays are about celebrating the person. Not the date.”

Mac frowned. That made too much sense. “It’s still arbitrary,” Mac sent. “And dumb.”

“I’m not forcing you to have a birthday party, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“Good,” Mac replied. “Jack is doing that enough for the both of you.”

“But,” Murdoc continued. “I am saying that I’ll be in LA for a few days. In fact, I’ll be landing just a bit before you do.”

Mac’s face broke out into a grin before he could control it. “Really?”

“Really,” Murdoc confirmed.

“You’re not there for a job, are you?” Mac asked, his smile falling slightly.

“I’ll just be there for you,” Murdoc answered. “On a completely arbitrary and non important day.”

Mac grinned. “Thanks, Murdoc.”

“Anything for you, boy scout,” Murdoc replied. Mac had a feeling he really meant it.

“We should be landing in a few hours,” Mac sent. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Macgyver,” Murdoc said.

Mac grinned at his phone screen, hugging it close to his chest. He hadn’t seen Murdoc in person since Thornton had been arrested. They had been busy. So busy. Murdoc had work. Mac had missions. There was Cassian to consider, too. And they hadn’t run into each other during missions, either. Mac had been on mostly America based missions lately. Local. There hadn’t been many opportunities to run into Murdoc. And they had texted, sure, but Mac had missed him. Mac had really missed him. He missed their dates that weren’t dates. He missed seeing Murdoc’s smile. He missed all of it. He missed him.

And now, Mac was going to get to see him. In just a few hours, Mac was going to get to see him. Mac would have to thank Bozer for telling Murdoc, later. But for now Mac was just too happy to move. He sat there, like some sort of grinning wax sculpture. Murdoc was coming to LA. Murdoc was actually coming to LA. They were going to be in the same city, in just a few hours. They were actually going to be in the same city. Mac couldn’t stop himself from grinning. God, he had missed him. He had really missed him.

It wasn’t as though texting him was bad, or anything. Mac loved texting Murdoc. It was how they had really become friends. It was hard to learn personal details about anybody when your only time to communicate was when you were being shot at. Or trying to shoot each other. So texting had been when they could really talk. Really get to know each other. But then they had started meeting each other in person, at restaurants and museums and the like. And Mac and Murdoc had had actual time to just be in person. Together. Texting was nice and all but it just didn’t compare to seeing Murdoc in person. Mac was spoiled. And now Mac finally got to see him again. In just a few hours, Mac would be able to see him.

Or, he would have been able to see him in just a few hours. If Director Webber hadn’t called.

“Guys, it’s Matty,” Mac said, holding up his phone. He picked up. “Hey, Matty.”

“Sorry to interrupt the in-flight movie, folks, but there's been a change of plans. You're being rerouted,” Matty said flatly.

Bozer groaned. “I haven't slept in a bed in five days.”

Riley wrinkled her nose. “You haven't showered in five days,” she teased.

“Well, I'm sorry about that, but it's gonna have to wait,” Director Webber said. “A 7.2 earthquake just struck 500 miles from your current location.”

“Okay, any casualties?” Jack asked, leaning forward.

“Not yet,” Matilda said. “but FEMA teams on the ground are asking for all available help.”

“Absolutely,” Riley said.

“Yeah,” Mac said. “We'll do what we can. Where are we going?” He asked.

“Hilo, Hawaii,” Matty said.

Mac could feel the plane shift in the air as they changed directions. He could feel his heart shift, too. Going to Hawaii was the right thing to do. Of course it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do, really. Earthquakes always meant a lot of casualties. A lot of people that were trapped under rubble. A lot of broken infrastructure. A lot of blocked roads. A lot of ways that Phoenix could help. And that meant that they had to help, if they could. Of closure they head to help. But at the same time- at the same time all Mac wanted was to go home and take a nap. Eat boxed mac and cheese, or something. All Mac wanted was to go to LA and see Murdoc. He had been so close. So close. But duty called. And Mac knew that he could help people, they could all help people, and he couldn’t turn his back on that. Even if it hurt.

“Hey,” Mac texted. His heart lurched as he typed. “I have bad news.”

“Did you kill someone, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

“What?” Mac sent. “No. Not what I’m talking about here.”

“Boring,” Murdoc replied.

“Look,” Mac texted. “I’m not going to be in LA in a few hours.”

“Bad turbulence?” Murdoc asked.

“There was an earthquake,” Mac sent. “A bad one. We’ve been called in.”

“This is what happens when you’re friends with a boy scout,” Murdoc teased.

“I don’t think boy scouts help out at active earthquake sites, Murdoc,” Mac replied. And then he frowned. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“I’m not mad, boy scout,” Murdoc assured him. “A little disappointed I have to wait for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Mac texted.

“Don’t be sorry, Macgyver,” Murdoc said. “Just do your boy scout thing and get back to me as soon as you can, alright?”

“You’re really not mad?” Mac asked. Again. He needed reassurance, okay?

“I’m not mad,” Murdoc promised. “But I might be if you keep asking me that.”

Mac laughed. “I’ll see you as soon as I can, alright?”

“Alright, boy scout,” Murdoc replied. “Be safe. Nobody else gets to kill you but me. Remember that.”

Mac rolled his eyes, smiling at his phone nonetheless. “It’s an earthquake, Murdoc. Not a shoot out.”

“We all know how dangerprone you can be,” Murdoc teased.

Mac smiled. He clutched his phone close to his chest. Murdoc was taking it extremely well. Probably better than Mac himself was, probably. All Mac wanted was to get to Murdoc. See Murdoc again. Laugh in person with Murdoc again. Go to some stupidly expensive restaurant that Murdoc wanted to drag him to, probably. Maybe go to a beach. Or hiking. Mac would pay money to see Murdoc go on a hike, especially in that stupidly long coat of his. But Mac couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. He had to do this. He had to save the day. Because this is what Mac did. He helped, when nobody else could. And Hawaii definitely needed their help.

Thankfully, their detour in Hawaii didn’t take too long.

It had been eventful, that was for sure. But it had been short. Mercifully short. Mac was glad about that. Still, he had expected a lot of first aid. Maybe some building things to extract people out of fallen buildings. Fixing generators and the like. And he had done some of that. He had made a water jet cutter out of sand, a hose, and some old garbage, and he had scanned for survivors using a police radar gun and some extra wire. He had fixed a generator with a defibrillator. Bozer had absolutely crushed it at the first aid station, apparently, and Riley had managed to get cell service up and running. That was what Mac had been expecting.

And then things had gone a tad off the rails. Slightly. It wasn’t as though Mac had been expecting to run into the Chinese secret service. Or friend’s of one of Jack’s old army buddies. He knew that the guy was in Hawaii. But still, coincidences. The Chinese Secret Service bit was definitely more important though. And more jarring. Because, seriously, who sent people to steal during an earthquake? At the same time, though, who stored laser guided bullets inside of a hotel? Because that was what they were going after, instead of continuing to help get people out. Granted, Mac had gotten fifteen people out of the hotel basement, but still. They were going after laser guided bullets. Seriously. Mac had to have the worst luck ever.

They had managed to track the bullets down before they left the island, which was a good thing. They also had some of the bullets fired at them, which, okay, was less than ideal. But Mac had figured out a way to trick the bullets, with only Chin’s gun sight, so it was fine. Jack would probably say that it was less fine that Mac had used himself as bait for the bullet, but still. They couldn’t let the bullets get off the island and be reversed engineered. And it worked out fine in the end, anyway. Nobody got shot. The bullets were destroyed. So were the Chinese Secret Service agents, actually. Guns and boat engines did not mix.

And just like that, it was over.

That meant that Mac could finally go home. He spent the entire flight anxious to get back to LA. To get to Murdoc. His brain was racing with thoughts of getting home. Thoughts of seeing Murdoc again. Thoughts of- well, thoughts of Mac’s birthday, as much as it pained Mac to say it. He was thinking about his birthday. He had talked to Kono, while in the ruins of the hotel. And he kept thinking about Murdoc, too. What he had said. That birthdays weren’t about celebrating the date, but about the person. That Mac deserved to be celebrating. And the fact that Mac had almost gotten shot by a laser guided bullet. That helped too. It was a real wake up call. A reminder that life was worth living.

That didn’t mean that it didn’t pain Mac to admit that Jack was right, though.

“You know, Jack,” Mac said, as they sat on the airplane. “I've been thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” Jack joked.

Mac shook his head. “I just- I’ve been thinking. About what Kono said. About something Murdoc had said to me, too. And, I mean, I did get a laser guided bullet almost hit me in the face.”

“And?” Jack asked.

“Maybe you're right,” Mac mumbled.

“I'm sorry, maybe I'm what?” Jack asked, just to be a jerk.

Mac sighed dramatically. “You're right.”

“My two favourite words,” Jack said, grinning.

“I know I'm gonna regret this,” Mac said, mostly because he already was regretting it. “But I think you should throw me a birthday party.”

Jack laughed, eyes lighting up. “Oh, yes,” he chuckled. “There it is!”

“Nothing too drastic, though,” Mac said, quickly. “Just something small. Please.”

“Of course, Mac,” Jack said. “It’ll be classy and dignified. And intimate.”

“My definitions of those words,” Mac clarified. “Not yours, right?”

Jack just smiled wider.

“Jack!” Mac warned.

“I’ve got it,” Jack said. “Don’t worry. Something small.”

“And Murdoc has to come,” Mac added.

Jack groaned. “Really, man?”

“It’s my party,” Mac pointed out. “And he’s in the city. So, he’s coming.”

“What if he’s busy?” Jack asked.

Mac rolled his eyes. “He’s coming to LA to see me, Jack. He’ll be free. No getting out of this.”

“Fine, fine,” Jack said. “Murdoc can come.”

Mac smiled softly. “Thanks for doing this for me, man.”

“Happy birthday, buddy,” Jack replied, smacking Mac on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Mac muttered.

Jack turned to where Riley and Bozer were sitting on the plane, half asleep. “Hey!” He yelled. “Mac said we can throw him a birthday party!”

“Woo!” Bozer cheered. “Finally, man! Finally!”

“Is he blackmailing you?” Riley asked, curled up against the window.

“No!” Mac said. “Nobody is blackmailing me. I just decided it was time.”

“Really?” Bozer asked. “Because I’ve been trying to convince you for years. Over a decade, Mac.”

“I just decided,” Mac said with a shrug. “That’s it.”

Jack smiled conspiratorially. “Murdoc convinced him.”

“Murdoc did not convince me!” Mac cried out, a little bit too defensively. “It was a lot of things!”

“It was definitely Murdoc,” Riley said.

“I knew that would work,” Bozer added.

Mac groaned. “You’re all uninvited from my birthday party. And from knowing about my crushes.”

“You can’t uninvite us,” Riley said. “We’re planning your birthday party.”

“I asked Jack to do that,” Mac pointed out.

Bozer raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want him to pick the music?”

“And for him to be free to go as wild as he wants?” Riley added.

“Fine,” Mac said with a sigh. “All three of you can plan it. And Murdoc is coming, since he’s in town.”

“We don’t even know when it’ll be,” Riley pointed out.

Mac shrugged. “Then you better plan it for when he’s in town.”

“Man,” Bozer said, laughing. “You’ve got it bad.”

“No I don’t,” Mac grumbled.

“You totally do,” Jack said.

“You’re all the worst,” Mac groaned. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Bozer said.

“You love us,” Riley added, stretching out the vowels.

“Yeah,” Mac admitted quietly. “I do.”

Jack made a face. “I’d say right back at you, buddy but-”

“But you don’t do that stuff,” Mac finished for him. He said it a lot, but Jack sure seemed to love them, even if he couldn’t say it.

The conversation drifted off again. And, okay, Mac still had some reservations about birthday parties. A lot of reservations about birthday parties. They still felt weird. And arbitrary. And totally nonsensical. But at the same, the smiles on his friends’ faces when they started planning, that was worth it. That was totally worth it. And besides, maybe a party could be fun. Maybe. He trusted his friends with this. Mostly. Maybe not Jack alone, because he would definitely go a bit overboard, but he did trust them. He had asked for this. And he did want it. He just wanted to try having a birthday party as an adult. Just one. And if it was terrible, Mac would never have to have one again.

Two days passed, and then suddenly it was the party.

It was better than Mac thought it would be, honestly. Knowing Jack, he had been expecting Medieval Times. Or a bouncy castle. Or one of those rentable donkeys, or something. But no. It was quiet. Small. Just a group of Mac’s friends, and some acquaintances too. Some people from Phoenix. Some people from college. Some people from Bozer’s old work, even, that Mac had gotten to know. There was music playing, and the fire was lit. And it was nice. It was just nice. There were some snacks, and some beers, and it was just- it was similar enough to what they normally did to hang out, but it was different, too. Different in a small way, though, not in a big way. Mac was enjoying himself, he really was.

There was one part of his birthday that had made Mac especially anxious, though. Gifts. Mac had hated opening gifts as a kid. His dad always stopped the music, and made Mac sit in a big chair all by himself. And everybody would just stare at him, as he opened presents one by one. It was like he was a zoo animal, or something, and he had hated it. He had never known how to react to presents, anyway. But this wasn’t that. Mac didn’t know if this was just how adults did parties, or if Bozer knew how much Mac hated being the centre of the attention but that wasn’t how they did it tonight. Instead, one by one, people just came up and handed Mac a gift. And Mac could open it, and appreciate it, without being stared at. It made everything just so much more tolerable.

And the gifts themselves were better, too. The people who got him gifts actually knew him. Actually understood him. Bozer had gotten him a box of random trinkets that he had found at a garage sale. To most people, it would have been garbage. It would have been a bad gift. But for Mac, it was just what he had wanted. Riley hadn’t gotten him anything. Or rather, she had made him something. It was a program. A program that catalogued all of Mac’s miscellaneous trinkets and doodads, actually. To help him remember what he had when he was tinkering. It was nice, but more than that, it was thoughtful. Jack had gifted him a photo of Jack himself, but when he was younger. Way younger. He must have been in highschool, or something. He was shirtless and covered in face paint, waving his shirt around. Jack had said that it was blackmail for Mac, when he asked for some kind of explanation. But Mac had a feeling he had given it to him just for Mac to laugh. Mac appreciated it, he really did. Besides, he had already planned a whole party for him, anyway.

And then there was Murdoc.

He showed up late. Or rather fashionably late, as he called it. Mac didn’t really care, because he was there. He was actually there. As soon as he saw Murdoc, not even on the patio itself yet, Mac ran up to him. He couldn’t help himself. Mac didn’t need a gift from Murdoc, not at all. It was a gift enough that he was there. Mac couldn’t stop smiling. He was there. Late, sure, but Mac didn’t care about that part. And Mac didn’t care about a gift, either, as he had told Murdoc a million times. But Murdoc clearly hadn’t listened, because he placed a black box wrapped in black ribbon in Mac’s hand. Very Murdoc. And when Mac opened it, he couldn’t help himself from laughing. It was a taser. An engraved taser, at that. It said ‘boy scout’ on the handle. Very Murdoc, indeed. It reminded Mac of the first time they had spoken. At the party. When Mac had tased him.

And then it was time for cake.

The cake was a marvel. A serious marvel. The best thing Mac had ever seen, maybe. Certainly the best cake. Mac had never felt so seen, really. Like, genuinely. Mac was smiling ear to ear, from a cake. It was a huge white sheet cake, rather basic, but Mac didn’t care about that part. He had never been a fan of cake, really. The cake itself didn’t matter at all, not to Mac. It was what was on the cake that mattered. Because somebody had drawn on a giant paperclip. An actual giant paperclip. Mac couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about the poor bakery employee who had to draw a paperclip on a birthday cake and have no idea why. But mostly, he was just touched.

And the cake had tasted good, too. Mac didn’t even really like cake.

Really, Mac just couldn’t get over how good the whole party was, not just the cake. How perfect the party was. Mac hadn’t known that birthday parties could even be this good. He hadn’t thought it was possible. He liked Bozer’s birthday parties, obviously. And he liked Jack’s birthday extravaganzas. You couldn’t really call them parties, because he liked doing things instead. Hot air balloons, skydiving, you name it. But Mac liked this. This was the exact amount of calm that Mac needed. It had his close friends, but some people that Mac wasn’t super close with, either. There was a giant sign that proclaimed him a birthday boy, but no balloons and no crown, and Mac was happy. That was what mattered most, really. Jack and Riley and Murdoc and even Matty were there, and Mac was happy.

Mac was happy. Mac was actually happy.

It wasn’t as though Mac had never been happy in his life before. He had been happy plenty of times before. He had been happy as a little kid, playing with his mom and dad as a big happy family. He had been happy during school, goofing off with Bozer and sorta blowing things up and living with his grandpa. He had been happy at college, learning physics and making friends who had the same interests he did. He had been happy in the army, with Jack and with a purpose. He had been happy at DXS, with Nikki and Jack and Director Thornton.

But all of that had come to an end. Some of it sooner than others, but it had all ended. His mom had died. His dad had left. Bozer and Mac had graduated high school. He had moved out of his grandpa’s place for college. He had left college to join the army, because of his grandpa’s old army buddies. And then his grandpa had died. And then he had left the army to join DXS. And then DXS had crumbled to dust, leaving Phoenix in its wake. Nikki had been a triple agent, and left for the CIA to never come back. Thornton was crooked. All of it had come to an end, at one point or another.

And then there was this. This was different. It just felt different. More real. More permanent. Riley and Bozer and Jack and Murdoc and Matty. All of them felt like they were there to stay in Mac’s life. Like immovable objects. Permanent. Infinite. Immortal. Maybe Mac was just being sentimental, or maybe he was naive, but it felt like this would never end. It felt like they were frozen in time, in a good way. That this was really going to stick. They had already been through a lot together. Nikki betraying them, kind of. Finding out that S218 and Mac’s friend were one and the same. Assassins chasing after them. Thornton being crooked. They had weathered a lot together. And if Mac was a betting man, he would wager that they would weather a lot more together. And they would survive it. Together.

Because Mac was happy. And he was certain that this time, this time, things were going to stay that way.

Chapter Text

Mac was on a mission in France, at the moment. Paris, to be precise.

And Murdoc was also in Paris, for a reason which Murdoc did not tell him and which Mac did not want to know. And since Murdoc and Mac were in Paris at the same time, that meant that Murdoc was insisting on dragging Mac to a tiny little bakery that he knew Mac would love. And that meant that Mac was trying to wriggle out of having to do a stake out, in order to go. And that meant that Jack, Riley, and Bozer were making fun of him for it. While also making Mac put something better on, at the same time. And that also meant that everyone kept making city of love jokes, which seriously were not funny after the first time they were said. Maybe they were never funny, actually.

“It’s the city of love,” Bozer cooed. “You have to dress up.

“Just because it’s technically the city of love doesn’t mean it’s a date,” Mac said. “And it certainly doesn’t mean I have to dress up.”

“But you want it to be, don’t you?” Riley asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mac sighed. “Yes, I do. You all know this.”

“Then dress like it is,” Riley said, as she flung shirts out of his suitcase and onto the ground. “Is this seriously all you brought?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Mac asked defensively.

“It’s all flannels, hoss,” Jack said. “It’s bad. And that’s me saying something.”

Bozer nodded. “And he dresses like he’s still a punk teenager, so that’s saying something.”

“I don’t,” Jack cried out. “I dress like I’m a rocker teenager.”

“We don’t have time to deal with whatever you’re wearing,” Riley said, wrinkling her nose. “Mac is the priority right now.”

“My clothes are fine,” Mac said. “Just give me that shirt.”

“That flannel is like ten years old, Mac,” Bozer said. “No way.”

“We’re just going to a bakery,” Mac said. “It’s not like there’s a dress code.”

“A bakery in Paris,” Bozer corrected. “The city of love.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “It’s the city of terrorists, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re the one who wanted to skip out on work to go on a date,” Jack pointed out. “You may as well dress nicely for it.”

“It’s not a date,” Mac corrected, for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Still,” Riley said. “Are you really going to wear a flannel?”

“I always wear flannels,” Mac defended.

“Exactly!” Bozer said. “Why not change it up for once? Surprise Murdoc!”

“Because I only packed flannels,” Mac said, shaking his head. “And a henley. Do you want me to wear the henley?”

Riley sighed. “The henley can be a backup plan. But there’s got to be something better.” Her eyes lit up. “Boze, are you and Mac the same size?”

“Yep,” Bozer said, offering up his own suitcase. “Have at it, Riles.”

“I’m not wearing Bozer’s clothes,” Mac said with a huff. He stared at the clothes that Riley was rifling through. “Boze, why did you pack so many button ups on a mission?”

“Because Bozer still thinks that all spies need to dress like James Bond,” Jack said, reclining comfortably on the hotel bed.

“It’s fashionable,” Bozer said, scrunching up his face in defence.

“It’s something alright,” Jack quipped.

Mac shook his head. “Are you sure I can’t just wear a flannel?”

“Yes,” they all said at the exact same time. Again.

“Never do that again,” Mac said. “That’s creepy.”

Jack pouted. “You’re creepy.”

“Wait!” Riley said, pausing her scavenging through Bozer’s suitcase. “I’ve got it!” She held up a black button up, proudly.

“How many shirts did you bring, Boze?” Mac asked.

“Too many,” Riley said.

“But it’s helping you,” Bozer added. “So be quiet.”

“I don’t think I’d qualify this as helping, exactly,” Mac said.

“You’re right,” Jack said. “It’s more than that.

“Like you can talk about not having style, Jack,” Mac replied.

“At least I know I don’t have style,” Jack said. “You’re still pretending you do.”

“Flannels are fashionable,” Mac whined.

“No, they’re not,” Riley said. She threw the shirt at his head. “Put that on. Did you pack any jeans without rips?”

“Obviously,” Mac said.

“Any jeans without rips or any weird stains,” Bozer corrected.

Mac sighed. “No.”

“You’re hopeless,” Riley said, turning back to Mac’s suitcase again. She rifled through again, pulling out a pair of light washed jeans that were only marginally ripped. “These will be acceptable, I guess.”

“Are any of you going to turn around while I change?” Mac asked.

They all shrugged.

“You’re all the worst,” Mac said as he changed. But he pulled himself into Bozer’s button up and his jeans, and he had to admit that he felt- well, he felt nice.

“Wait,” Riley said, diving to her own bag. She fished out a belt, that really was more of a bunch of metal circles connected to each other than a real belt, and handed it to him. “There. Now it’s perfect.”

Mac obligingly put the belt on, before walking towards the floor length mirror by the door. He looked at himself, in the black button up and the light wash jeans and the silver belt. Mac already had a lot of ideas of what he could use the belt for, if he needed to. The shirt was kind of restrictive, but it was fine. He wasn’t on a mission. Well, not at the moment anyway. He was just going to a bakery with Murdoc. He didn’t need to use his belt for anything. And he wouldn’t need the extra mobility his oversized flannels gave him. And even if something did happen, Murdoc was there. He wouldn’t need to worry.

And the lack of mobility was a fine price to pay, Mac thought. Because he really did look nice. Really nice, actually. Better than he normally did, in his grease stained jeans and his twenty year old flannels. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care about his look, or anything. But Mac went through clothes fast, okay? He stained things and he ripped them and sometimes he used them when he needed to get out of a sticky situation. And he felt at home in flannels. He felt like him in flannels. They were comfortable and just the right amount of weight, not so light that it felt itchy and fragile and not so heavy that it felt suffocating. They were soft but not too soft, brightly coloured but not too bright. So yeah, Mac liked flannels.

But he had to admit, looking in the mirror, that this looked like Mac, too. A different Mac, maybe, but definitely still Mac. A Mac that didn’t have to worry about ruining his clothes. A Mac that wouldn’t have to worry about ruining his clothes. A Mac that wasn’t on missions all the time. A Mac that didn’t need every single bit of mobility in his arms, a Mac that could wear accessories because he liked them and not just because they could come in handy on a mission. Mac liked the idea of that Mac. It wasn’t who he was, not exactly, but it was who he could be. Who he might’ve been, if he wasn’t with Phoenix, maybe. But either way, it was nice. He looked nice.

“Did you get attacked by a monster in the mirror, Mac?” Bozer asked.

Mac blinked. He must have been taking a long time. “What do I do with my hair?” He called out.

“Don’t touch it!” Riley answered. “I’ll be right there.”

“I can do my own hair, Ri,” Mac said.

“No you can’t,” Bozer said. “Remember that night before the eighth grade dance? You spent two hours trying to do your hair and you looked like a poodle.”

Mac groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Are there pictures?” Jack asked. “Please tell me there’s pictures.”

“Besides,” Riley said, cutting off Jack. “You don’t have hair gel.”

“Why do you have hair gel?” Mac asked.

“It comes in handy,” Riley said, shrugging. “Now stay still.”

Mac startled as the gel touched his hair.

“Don’t move,” Riley chided.

“It’s cold,” Mac whined.

“That’s the price you pay for beauty, man,” Bozer said.

Mac stuck his tongue out at him.

“Real mature, Mac,” Bozer teased.

“You guys are the ones treating me like your own personal dress up doll,” Mac complained.

“It’s for your own good,” Riley said. Her hands carded through his hair one more time. “There.”

Mac looked at himself in the mirror. Huh. It looked good. Really good. “Fine,” Mac said. “It’s nice.”

Jack grinned. “What do you say, Mac?”

“You didn’t even do anything,” Mac pointed out. “But, thank you guys.”

“You’re welcome,” Riley said, laughing. “Now have fun on your date.”

Mac groaned. “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not a date?”

“When you start believing it yourself, man,” Jack said. “Stay safe, kid. Use protection.”

“That’s it,” Mac said, moving to cover his ears. He definitely wasn’t blushing. “I’m revoking your best friend status.”

“Don’t mess up your hair,” Bozer reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mac said.

And then he was off to the bakery.

It wasn’t too far from the hotel, which was good. Just a brisk walk. Mac definitely wasn’t speed walking in an effort to get there faster, or something. Nope. No way. Mac would never do that. He wasn’t late, just to be clear. In fact, Mac was early. If were to be speed walking, which he wasn’t, just to be clear, but if he were it would be out of sheer excitement at the prospect of seeing Murdoc. But Mac wasn’t doing that. Because it would be childish. And embarrassing. And would mean that Mac was so excited to see Murdoc that he couldn’t even conceal his grin. Which simply wasn’t the case. Obviously. Mac made it to the bakery, a swanky blue modern looking building that was called ‘Boulangerie Ludovic Petit’, in record time. But he wasn’t speed walking. No way. And even if he were speed walking, it wouldn’t be out of excitement or glee. No way. Nope.

Despite Mac being early, Murdoc was already waiting outside. He was leaning against the bright blue building, contrasting greatly with his long black coat, looking like some bad boy love interest in an 80s movie.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc cooed, grinning. “You’re looking different today.”

Mac sighed. “Everyone decided that I was hopeless when it came to fashion, and took it into their own hands.”

“That’s because you are hopeless when it comes to fashion,” Murdoc said. “But it’s part of your charm.”

“Well,” Mac said. “My charm was taken from me for today. What do you think?”

“You look nice,” Murdoc said. “Very slick. Much more like James Bond.”

“Not every spy is James Bond,” Mac said, rolling his eyes. “You really need to get over that guy. And Bozer too, actually. It’s insufferable. And inaccurate.”

“That’s because there’s no movies about spies that dress like lumberjacks, sadly,” Murdoc said. “So you’ll have to take being called James Bond. It’s such an insult, I know.”

Mac shook his head, laughing. “We should probably head into the bakery, yeah?”

“I suppose,” Murdoc said, drawing out the words dramatically. “Are you not a fan of loitering outside of bakeries, Macgyver?”

“Not when it smells that good,” Mac quipped, moving towards the door. But it really did smell that good. And it smelled even better when they were actually inside.

“What do you want, boy scout?” Murdoc asked him.

Mac took a look at the pastries and breads on display in front of them. “Everything.”

“Okay,” Murdoc said, moving up to the counter.

“I was joking,” Mac said, quickly. “I am not getting every single thing in this bakery.”

“Why not?” Murdoc asked.

“It’s excessive,” Mac said. “And how would we even carry all of them?”

Murdoc sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll just get almost everything, then.”

“Murdoc!” Mac exclaimed.

“Trust me, boy scout,” Murdoc said, waltzing up to the counter.

Murdoc ordered in French. Mac didn’t know that much, but he definitely recognised a few names of pastries. A lot of names of pastries. And he also knew that the conversation went on way too long for Murdoc to have bought just one or two things. And that the amount of cash that Murdoc handed over was way too much for just one or two things, either. Murdoc was going to be the death of him, Mac thought, and not in the way that Murdoc would have enjoyed, either.

“Please tell me you didn't get one of everything,” Mac said.

“I didn’t,” Murdoc promised.

Mac watched as the employee behind the counter started grabbing pastry. After pastry. After pastry. “Murdoc, that looks like one of everything.”

“I didn’t get us a baguette,” Murdoc said, grinning. “Or the fougasse.”

“Murdoc,” Mac said.

“It’s worth it,” Murdoc promised. “The pastries here are heavenly.”

The worker passed over two huge brown paper bags. She looked like she was nearly giggling, due to how many pastries they had.

“How are we even going to eat all of these?” Mac asked. “Where are we even going to eat all of these?” There were no seats in the bakery. Or outside of it.

“Do not worry, boy scout,” Murdoc said, guiding him out of the bakery. “I have planned for everything.”

“You’re me that you planned to buy almost everything in the bakery?” Mac asked incredulously.

“Well, no,” Murdoc admitted. “I had planned to buy you everything in the bakery. But you had told me not to, so I pivoted.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mac said. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” Murdoc said, seriously. “Now, follow me, boy scout. Or should I be calling you éclaireur, since we’re in France?”

“Do not call me that,” Mac said quickly. He doubted he could even pronounce that. Or figure out how it was spelled. “Is that really what they call boy scouts in French?”

Murdoc shrugged. “Mostly, they just call them scouts. But some people do call them éclaireurs.”

“So you were being dramatic,” Mac said.

“Obviously,” Murdoc replied. “Do you even know me?”

“Unfortunately,” Mac joked, even though it was a lie. Knowing Murdoc was maybe the most fortunate thing that had happened to Mac in a long time. “Where are we even going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Murdoc said.

They walked for maybe twenty more minutes, down Paris cobbled roads and past beautiful buildings. Paris was beautiful, Mac couldn’t deny that. Dainty buildings, hundreds of different little shops and boutiques and things. It was idyllic. Picturesque. Like something out of a movie, really. Just simply beautiful. But Mac wasn’t paying attention to the streets of Paris, not really. Instead, he was paying attention to Murdoc. Murdoc with his confident stride. Murdoc with his bright smile. Murdoc with his cunning eyes. Murdoc with his strong musculature hidden under his flowing black coat. Murdoc with-

And the Murdoc announced that they had arrived, and all of Mac’s thoughts paused.

Murdoc had led him to a huge park. It was a huge beautiful park. At least, Mac thought it was a park. It could have just as easily been a botanical garden. Because it was beautiful. Filled with so many different kinds of flowers, and so many different sorts of trees. And it looked like the park went on forever. It was just beautiful. Mac could barely wrap his mind around the fact that what he was saying was actually real. They sat down together on a grassy patch. Even the grass felt more luxurious than normal. Murdoc opened their brown paper bag, and took out some sort of pastry.

Mac’s eyes widened as he took a bite. “Okay,” he said. “This is good. So good.”

“Exactly why we had to buy all of them,” Murdoc said.

“I still don’t support that,” Mac said, shaking his head. He looked at the park around them. “Is this place really open to the public? Are we trespassing right now, Murdoc? Please don’t tell me we’re eating our pastries illegally.”

“We’re not trespassing, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Besides, if I wanted to make you an accessory to a crime, I’d choose a much more interesting crime.”

Mac laughed, leaning his head against Murdoc’s shoulder. They were sitting so close together, it was making Mac’s heart race. And not because Murdoc was an assassin.

“You have to try this one, too,” Murdoc said, holding up another pastry. It looked nearly identical to the other one Mac had tried.

“I didn’t even finish the first one,” Mac complained.

“It’s called a tasting menu, boy scout,” Murdoc corrected. “So taste it.”

“A tasting menu isn’t buying every single thing in the store,” Mac said, but he took a bite anyway. And okay, yeah, it tasted good too. Different, but still good.

“But I didn’t buy everything in the store, remember?” Murdoc pointed out.

“Still doesn’t make it a tasting menu,” Mac said.

“But it does make it delicious,” Murdoc said, grinning.

Mac laughed again, soaking in the sunlight. His head was still pressed against Murdoc’s shoulder. “God,” Mac exclaimed. “I cannot get over how pretty this park is.”

“See,” Murdoc said. “You should trust me more, boy scout.”

“I don’t think I could trust you anymore than I do,” Mac said, without thinking.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Murdoc asked, freezing.

Mac sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Or would that be in for a euro, since they’re in France? “It means that I already trust you as much as humanly possible, Murdoc.”

“Really?” Murdoc asked. He sounded weirdly- weirdly vulnerable. Mac didn’t know how to react.

“Really,” Mac admitted. “I trust you.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Murdoc asked, smiling.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Mac parroted.

“It means, boy scout, that I’m an assassin, and somehow you still trust me,” Murdoc said. “Most people would call you insane for that.”

“At least we’re insane together, right?” Mac asked, smiling into Murdoc’s shoulder.

“Right,” Murdoc said.

There was a pause, as something hung in the air between them. Something charged. Something-

“Have a bite of this one,” Murdoc said, distracting Mac from his thoughts. “It’s savoury.”

Mac obligingly took a bite, letting the cheese and spinach settle on his tongue. “I like that one a lot,” he admitted.

“Here,” Murdoc responded, pressing a new pastry to Mac’s lips. “It’s like that one, but just a bit different.”

And so they carried on like that, sitting the park. Making jokes. Murdoc feeding Mac pastries, depending on what he thought Mac might like. Mac enjoying every single one of them, if only because Murdoc was the one who had bought it for him. Because Murdoc was the one handing it to him. Because Murdoc was the one hand feeding it to him. They talked and they laughed and they just sat there, basking in the moment. At least, Mac was basking in the moment. Basking in the fact that he got to be with Murdoc, again. That he got a break from his job and could just exist. No worries. No fears. Just the park. Just the pastries. And most importantly, just Murdoc.

At some point, they stopped talking entirely. They simply slipped into silence, as easy as slipping off a shirt. Or slipping off the safety on a gun. They just sat there, in silence, with Mac’s head pressed up against Murdoc’s shoulder. They just stayed there, appreciating the park. Appreciating the flowers. Appreciating the scenery. Appreciating the pastries that they ate. Appreciating the breads that they snacked on. Appreciating the bird calls that could be heard distantly. Appreciating the other strangers passing by, people who didn’t know them at all, who didn’t know who they were or what they did. Appreciating the anonymity. Appreciating the privacy. Appreciating the silence. And most of all, appreciating each other.

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Mac was appreciating Murdoc. Mac had always appreciated Murdoc. But at the moment, Mac was appreciating Murdoc. As in, Mac was staring at his face while he rested his head on Murdoc’s shoulder. As in, he couldn’t stop thinking about Murdoc’s face as he rested his head on Murdoc’s shoulder. His eyes. His hair. His jawline. His neck. His everything, really. Mac couldn’t stop thinking about any of it. But most importantly, Mac couldn’t stop thinking about Murdoc’s lips.

Logically, Mac knew that he had a crush on the man. He had known that for a while, though not as long as he had actually had the crush. But still.

The thing was, Mac also knew that logically, nothing was going to happen if Mac did nothing. Mac would never know if Murdoc liked him back, though he also knew that the chances of that were quite low, if he never asked. He knew that. Logically. That didn’t mean that it was easy. It was actually the distinct opposite of easy. It was hard. It was impossibly hard. It was terrifying. It was so entirely terrifying.

But Mac knew that he had to. He would have to, eventually.

Mac had thought about telling Murdoc before. Mac had dreamed about telling Murdoc before. Because, quite frankly, Mac didn’t think that he would be able to survive pining like this forever. Murdoc was his friend, of course, and Mac would appreciate what they had always. Their jokes. Their outings. Their texts. But at the same time, Mac- Mac wanted something else. Not something more, per say. Mac wasn’t one of those people who thought that romance was more than friendship, or anything. It wasn’t as though him and Murdoc were just friends. Him and Murdoc were friends. Good friends. And Mac just wanted something different, that was all. Something that involved dates. Proper dates. And kissing. Preferably lots of kissing, actually.

Still there was no way for Mac to ever have that future that he dreamed about if didn’t actually ever tell Murdoc how he felt.

Mac’s heart raced just thinking about it. His palms sweat, just thinking about it. Butterflies emerged out of chrysalises in his stomach just thinking about it. It was terrifying. It was so absolutely heart wrenchingly terrifying. Of course it was. Mac was talking about opening up his heart to Murdoc, here. Opening up his heart to an assassin. Opening up his heart in the same way that he had opened his heart up to Nikki, and look where that had left Mac. It was just- it was terrifying. It filled Mac with dread just thinking about it. But he would have to do it, and one point or another.

And where better to do it than Paris? It was the city of love, after all. And if it went wrong, well, it would be a nice place for a funeral.

“I have something to tell you,” Mac blurted out, before he could back down. It broke the silence like a bullet crashing through a pane of glass.

Okay. He had said it. That meant that he was doing this. He was doing this. He was doing it. He was going to do it. Yep. He had to do this. He was too far in now.

“Did you finally kill someone?” Murdoc asked. “I’ll help hide the body. Free of charge.”

Mac rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. Grateful for the distraction. For the way out. “Why is that what you always go with?”

“I’m an assassin, Macgyver. Get used to it. And besides, one of these days I’ll be right,” Murdoc said. “So, was I right?”

“No, Murdoc,” Mac said. He couldn’t stop smiling, even as his heart pounded in his chest. “I did not kill anyone.”

“Boring,” Murdoc replied, grinning brightly.

“And if I did kill somebody,” Mac continued, letting himself get distracted. Anything to avoid actually saying it. “Why would I wait to tell you when we’re in the nicest park I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t think this park is nice,” Murdoc said. Mac recognised the mischievous tone in his voice, though he didn’t know what Murdoc was getting at.

“Why not?” Mac asked. His heart was still pounding. Pounding. Pounding. “It’s beautiful.”

“Oh it’s definitely beautiful,” Murdoc replied. “And stunning. Colourful. Amazing. Jaw dropping. But not nice.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “And why isn’t it nice?”

“Because this is Paris,” Murdoc said, laughing. “Not Nice.”

“That was terrible,” Mac said, laughing. “And besides, I’m pretty sure that’s pronounced like niece.”

Murdoc shrugged. “It was still funny.”

“Yeah,” Mac admitted. “It was.”

“Now,” Murdoc said. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh,” Mac said. “Right.”

Now he actually had to say it. That was the hard part. He had to actually say it. Do it. Commit to it. He had to open up his mouth, and say what he actually wanted to. He didn’t even know what to say. But he had to say something. He had to tell Murdoc something. Anything. He just had to tell Murdoc. It was simple. Easy. He just had to say something. Explain how he felt. Talk about the flurry of emotions that happened every time Mac so much as glanced at Murdoc. Express the deepest depths of his soul. He just had to explain it. It was simple. It was easy. He just had to say something, anything, instead of staying there with his mouth gaping like a fish. He just had to-

“I want to kiss you,” Mac blurted out.

And okay, that was one way to put it, Mac supposed. The words had just sort of tumbled out of his mouth gracelessly before he could even think about them. It was kind of like watching a baby deer stumble around, but with words, honestly.

“I really, really want to kiss you right now,” Mac continued.

Mac braced himself for rejection. For laughter. For negativity. For sneers. For an admission that Murdoc wasn’t gay. Actually, no, him not being gay would have been a win, really. Murdoc was bracing for the fact that Murdoc liked guys, he just didn’t like Mac. Not like that, anyway. Maybe not at all. Maybe they weren’t even friends. Mac braced himself for a gun pointing at his face. Or maybe he wouldn’t even see the gun coming. Maybe there would be a bullet lodged in his side, or something, any second. Mac didn’t know. He didn’t know what was coming, but he braced himself for the worst. He braced himself for the expected.

But that never came. None of Mac’s worst nightmares came true. Instead, Murdoc just smiled. “Oh, boy scout,” he said. “All you had to do was ask.”

And then they were kissing. They were actually kissing. Mac couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t believe it. Just- they were kissing. It was real. They were really kissing. Mac was kissing Murdoc. Murdoc was kissing Mac. It was actually happening. Mac almost wanted to pinch himself, just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. Or did the pinching thing actually work? Maybe Mac could try to read something or use his phone? Whatever. Mac didn’t even have time to think about the possibility that he was dreaming, because he was too busy kissing Murdoc. Too busy being kissed by Murdoc.

Mac had thought about how Murdoc would kiss. He had dreamed about how Murdoc would kiss.He had theorised about how Murdoc would kiss. He had hypotheses about how Murdoc would kiss. He had thought about how possessive his mouth would be. He had thought about how aggressive his mouth would be. He had thought about how Murdoc’s hand would feel knotted in Mac’s hair. He had thought about what Murdoc would feel like. He had thought about what Murdoc would taste like. He had thought about what Murdoc would smell like, when the two of them were pressed up so close together. He had thought about every single possibility, every single variable, every single element when it came to how Murdoc would possibly kiss. All for scientific inquiry. Obviously.

But scientific inquiry didn’t matter at all when he was actually being kissed by Murdoc. He was actually being kissed by Murdoc. Murdoc’s lips were on Mac’s lips. Murdoc’s tongue was in Mac’s mouth. Murdoc’s hand was in Mac’s hair. Mac’s hand was gripped tight onto Murdoc’s shoulder, trying to keep himself from falling over just from the sheer joy of all of it. He was actually being kissed by Murdoc. He was actually kissing Murdoc. Mac still couldn’t get over that part. He was actually kissing Murdoc. It was happening. It was actually happening. Murdoc and Mac’s lips were actually touching and it felt like Mac’s first kiss all over again and-

And then Murdoc pulled away from Mac. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”

“How long?” Mac asked, curious. His heart was still pounding, but for a very different reason.

“Since I met you, boy scout,” Murdoc answered plainly.

Mac’s eyes widened in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Of course,” Murdoc said. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I wouldn’t lie to you at all, actually.”

“And you actually like me like that, too, right?” Mac asked. “It’s not that you just thought I was- was kissable, or something?”

“Well you are very kissable,” Murdoc admitted. “But I like you very much, boy scout.”

“This whole time,” Mac said, slowly. His brain was still processing what Murdoc was saying. “You liked me this whole time?”

“I didn’t think I was being very subtle,” Murdoc said. “Did you seriously not know?”

“Not know?” Mac asked. It kind of felt like his brain was exploding. Or melting. Or maybe both, at the same time. Definitely both exploding and melting. “Murdoc I was terrified you wouldn’t return my feelings, and I didn’t even know I had feelings for you until like eight months ago!”

Murdoc tilted his head. “Eight months ago, really?”

“I definitely liked you before that,” Mac admitted. “I was just sort of slow on the uptake.”

“Still,” Murdoc said. “You only figured it out eight months ago? I’ve been pining for almost five years!”

“My brain is a complicated place,” Mac defended. “It took a while, okay?”

“Your brain is certainly a complicated place,” Murdoc said. “And as much as I’d like to explore that brain of yours, I’d much rather explore your mouth again.”

Mac barked out a laugh. “You’re way too cheesy, Murdoc.”

“But like you like me anyway,” Murdoc teased.

“Yeah,” Mac said, leaning up to cup Murdoc’s face. “I do.”

And then they were kissing again. It was just as good as the first time. In fact, it might have been better. Possibly. Mac hadn’t thought that there could have been anything better than that first kiss, but their second kiss was definitely proving that theory wrong. This time,Mac was less caught up in the novelty of it. This time, Mac was less caught up in the fact that this was actually happening. He was free to actually experience the kiss. He was free to actually focus on the kiss. Free to focus on the hands pulling Mac closer. Free to focus on the way that Murdoc’s lips felt. The way his teeth scraped and bit and pulled on Mac’s lips. The way that everything just felt so good. So electric. So bright.

Still, they had to stop kissing, eventually. They had to leave, eventually. Mac had to leave Murdoc, eventually.

Mac personally thought it was a crime, actually. How dare Mac have to go back to work when he could keep kissing Murdoc in a beautiful French garden, eating pastries, in Paris of all places? How dare Mac have to leave Murdoc’s side, when he just got to kiss him for the first time? When he just got to experience this side of him for the first time? There was still so much to say. So much to do. So much to explore. And yet, it had to end. As much as Mac didn’t want it to, it had to end. Mac had to go back to the hotel and keep working on their mission, and he was sure that Murdoc had his own work to do, even if Mac preferred to be kept in the dark about what exactly that work was.

It still hurt to leave, though. Not when there was much left to say.

“We are dating, right?” Mac asked, before he could stop himself.

“Do you want to be dating me, Macgyver?” Murdoc asked. “Do you want to be dating a killer?”

“I want to date you, Murdoc,” Mac said. “That’s what matters to me. Do you want to be dating a government agent?”

“I want to date you, boy scout,” Murdoc parroted. “And there a lot of other things I want, too,” he added, wioggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“My crew is expecting me back, you know,” Mac said.

“So be late,” Murdoc said.

“Murdoc,” Mac warned. “I’ll try to see you again soon, okay?”

“Tomorrow?” Murdoc asked.

Mac laughed. “Maybe not that soon. But I’ll make time, okay? Of course I’ll make time for my- my boyfriend.” It felt weird, saying it outloud. It felt good, saying it outloud.

“Boyfriend,” Murdoc repeated. “I like it.”

“And I like not abandoning my friends in the middle of a mission,” Mac said, moving farther away from Murdoc. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, yes,” Murdoc said, turning to the bags of pastries and the pile of half eaten ones on napkins on the grass.

“You really shouldn’t have bought all of these pastries,” Mac said, laughing, as he started packing everything away. Over half of them hadn’t been eaten, and even more of them hadn’t been finished.

“Why not?” Murdoc asked. “I think it worked in my favour, actually.”

Mac laughed. “I didn’t kiss you because you bought me a million pastries, Murdoc.”

“But it certainly helped, didn’t it?” Murdoc asked.

“I kissed you because you’re you,” Mac said, pushing against Murdoc playfully. “What are you even going to do with all these leftover pastries?”

Murdoc grinned. “I’ll hand them out to strangers.”

“Nobody is going to take a random unsealed pastry from you,” Mac pointed out. “You kind of scream creepy white van, no offense.”

“None taken,” Murdoc said. “It’s sort of my whole thing, you know. Even though white vans are so cliche now.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you can’t just throw those pastries away. What are you going to do with them?”

“I have to admit,” Murdoc said. “I did not plan for this part.”

“I thought you had planned for everything,” Mac teased.

“Why don’t you bring them back to your bulldog and the like?” Murdoc asked.

“You can call them by their names, you know,” Mac said.

Murdoc laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“But you’re seriously fine with me taking them?” Mac asked. “You paid for them and-”

“Killer for hire is not a poor man’s business, Macgyver,” Murdoc said. “And besides. You can consider it my payment to them for making you look absolutely ravishing today.”

Mac rolled his eyes, even as he blushed. “Ravishing? Seriously?”

“What word would you rather I use?” Murdoc asked, leaning in closer to Mac. “Stunning? Gorgeous? Opulent? Dazzling? Fetching?”

“Something from the 21st century, maybe?” Mac teased. Their faces were right up against each other, now, so close Mac could practically taste him. Mac had tasted him earlier today. Wow.

“How about hot, then?” Murdoc said. “Sexy, even?”

Mac laughed. “Never say hot again, please,” he said, but he didn’t mean it.

“I think we should both stop saying things, actually,” Murdoc decided, and then they were kissing again.

Mac didn’t think that would feel any less special than it did the first time. Still, he pulled away. “I have to get back to work, remember?”

“Fine,” Murdoc said, sighing dramatically. “But I better be seeing you soon, boy scout.”

Mac stood up, taking the pastry bag with him. But he didn’t leave, not just yet. He just stood there, and waited for Murdoc to stand up beside him. When he did, he gave Murdoc one last kiss. The longest, tightest, most longing filled kiss that Mac had ever given. It was a kiss that was meant to last until they could see each other again. It was a kiss meant to last a million times more than until they could see each other again. It was a kiss that was filled with all of the longing, all of the pining, all of the feelings that Mac had had for Murdoc up until this point. The kiss was a promise. The kiss was a threat. The kiss was a thank you. The kiss was a goodbye. The kiss-

The kiss was over. Mac walked away, sparing one last glance at Murdoc, and left the park.

Mac didn’t stop smiling his entire walk. He just couldn’t stop. Because, quite frankly, he just couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t get over it. He couldn’t believe the fact that he had told Murdoc how he felt. He couldn’t get over the fact that he and Murdoc had actually felt. He couldn’t believe the fact that they had kissed again. And again. And again. He couldn’t get over the fact that he and Murdoc were dating. Actually dating. He couldn’t believe the fact that they were boyfriends. They had called each other boyfriends. He couldn’t get over the fact that this had really happened. That this was really real. That Mac was really this lucky.

He arrived back at the hotel, still grinning like an idiot.

“How was your totally not a date?” Jack asked.

“That’s the thing,” Mac said. “It was a date.”

Riley looked up from her laptop. “Excuse me?”

“Seriously?” Bozer asked. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“It didn’t start as a date,” Mac said, as everyone started to converge on him. “But it sort of. Turned into one.”

“How did Murdoc ask you out?” Bozer asked. “Was it creepy? I bet it was creepy. Like weird poetry. Or a dead rat with a rose in its mouth.”

“What?” Mac asked. Because seriously, what? “There were no rats. Or poetry. And Murdoc didn’t ask me out.”

“Wait a second,” Jack said, the pieces connecting in his mind. “You made the first move?”

“Yes,” Mac said. “Is that really so surprising?”

“Yes,” all the three of them said in unison.

“Stop that,” Mac said. “It’s creepy.”

“You’re dating an assassin,” Riley pointed out. “You don’t get to say what’s creepy and what’s not.”

Mac paused. “Do you guys have an issue with it?” He asked. “The fact that he’s a killer for hire and all.”

“If it bothered us we would have said something way sooner,” Bozer pointed out.

“And besides,” Jack said. “We’re just glad you’re finally getting over Nikki.”

“I wasn’t that messed up after Nikki!” Mac cried out.

“Yes, you were,” the three of them said in unison. Again.

“None of you deserve the pastries I brought,” Mac said, holding up the brown paper bag.

That got their attention. “Pastries?” Bozer asked.

“What kind?” Riley added. “And from where?”

“And how many?” Jack said. “Because that looks full, Mac. So full.”

Mac looked down sheepishly. “There are sort of like, a lot of pastries. Murdoc may have gone a tad overboard.”

“How much is a lot?” Jack asked. “That bag looks almost overflowing.”

“We had started with two bags,” Mac admitted.

“Did he buy out the whole shop or something?” Riley asked.

“No,” Mac said. “He didn’t buy a baguette.”

“He bought all of this?” Riley asked. “I’d date a serial killer if it meant he bought entire bakeries for me.”

“He’s not a serial killer,” Mac corrected. “And he bought them for me before I kissed him, thank you very much.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You kissed him?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “What did you expect? Us trading valentines or something?”

“It’s literally July,” Bozer pointed out. “You would have to be handing out like, Fourth of July cards, or something?”

“Nobody hands out Fourth of July cards,” Riley added.

“But you kissed him?” Jack said.

“Yes, Jack,” Mac said. “I told him I wanted to kiss him. I kissed him. We talked about feelings. We kissed some more. A lot more. And then he gave me the leftover pastries for you guys.”

“Let me see the pastries,” Riley said, motioning for the bag. “I am sick of surviving off of hotel breakfast and vending machines.”

“Me too,” Bozer said.

“Let’s see what Mac’s sugar daddy brought us,” Jack said, nearly ripping the bag out of Mac’s hand.

“You guys are vultures, I swear,” Mac grumbled. And then his brain caught up to what Jack said. “And he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“I mean,” Riley said, as she picked up a croissant. “He did buy you sugar. That’s like the actual definition of a sugar daddy.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what that means,” Mac said.

“Nah,” Bozer said, licking powdered sugar off his finger. “That’s totally what that means.”

“No,” Mac said. “No, it’s not.”

“How would you know what a sugar daddy is if you didn’t have one?” Jack asked, like that made any sense at all.

“You all are the worst,” Mac said, flopping down onto a bed. “Have there been any updates on the case?”

“A few faces were caught on security cams,” Riley admitted. “They’re running through facial rec right now, but it’s taking a while. I’ve had to broaden my search like, three times.”

“Does that mean we’re going to be stuck in Paris for a few more days?” Mac asked.

Jack huffed. “You trying to sneak out while on a mission again?”

“I’m not ‘sneaking out’,” Mac said. “I’m taking a break. And besides, you got pastries today. Who says you won’t get something even better tomorrow.”

“You’re good at blackmail,” Bozer said, eating his third pastry.

“It’s not blackmail,” Riley pointed out, jokingly tossing a napkin at him. “It would be a bribe.”

“Fine, then,” Bozer said. “You’re good at bribery. Better?”

“Yeah,” Riley said. “That’s better. Tomorrow you should bring us wine.”

“Or steaks,” Jack added. “Steaks are good.”

Mac laughed, looking at his friends.

He just felt so light. So happy. Like he was so happy that he could float away at any second. Because, well, he was dating Murdoc. He was actually dating Murdoc. After months of pining. After even longer of having a crush and not even knowing that that was what he was feeling. After so many ups and downs. So many obstacles. So many feelings. So many, everythings, really. After so much time. After so much drama. After so much everything. They were together. They were actually together. And they had kissed. They had actually kissed. Mac would never forget what that felt like. It was ingrained in his brain for the rest of eternity. This whole day was.

And Mac just couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Text

Mac was doing good. Really good, quite frankly.

He and Murdoc were dating. They were actually dating. No matter how much time passed, Mac couldn’t really wrap his head around that part. And time did pass. Mac went on missions. Murdoc did jobs. They talked. They went on dates. They laughed. They kissed. They held hands. They snuck glances at each other like they were little kids with school yard crushes. Murdoc wrote Mac an actual love letter, at one point. They baked together, once, which mostly just ended up with a messy kitchen. They went grocery shopping and did the dishes and just experienced life together. When one of them would get back from a bad mission, the other would patch them up. And sure, they had fights, but nothing big. Just petty teasing, really. Because things were good. Things were so good.

Really, the trickiest part of all of it was finding a way to see Murdoc between missions.

Nobody ever told you how hard it was to manage the schedules of a spy and a killer for hire. Granted, Mac also had a feeling that nobody else knew how hard it was to manage the schedules of a spy and a killer for hire. Because, well, Mac kind of doubted that this situation had ever actually happened before. Phoenix certainly hadn’t known what to do about it. Because it wasn’t exactly fraternisation, Murdoc didn’t work with them,and fraternisation was allowed within Phoenix anyway. But at the same time, Murdoc was an assassin, but Mac had already been authorised to be friends with him so- so it had been kind of convoluted. Mac wasn’t even sure how Matty found out, but Jack was notorious for adding to the rumour mill, so it wasn’t exactly a Poirot level mystery.

Still, it had led to a very awkward meeting with Matty. Actually, no, a meeting with Matty wouldn’t have been that bad. It had been a very awkward meeting with Matty and Murdoc. It had been terrible. They had met before, technically, at Mac’s birthday party. But Mac had made everybody promise to make sure that they were kept very, very separate from each other. Very separate. For the exact same reasons as what had gone down in that meeting room. But at the end of the day, Mac had been allowed to still date Murdoc, and he hadn’t been disavowed from Phoenix, so it was a win. Technically. They were given government permission to date. Yay.

But being given government permission to date didn’t make it easy to date. Mac had no idea where his next mission would take him. Or when. It was impossible to do any sort of date that involved tickets. Or any sort of planned date whatsoever, really, because Mac would just end up being whisked by Phoenix without any real say. Murdoc had a bit more of a flexible schedule, given that he was technically self employed, but he still did take jobs. And he flew out to check on Cassian in boarding school, sometimes. And even if they did miraculously find time between the two of them, Mac was tired. Because, believe it or not, saving the world took a lot of energy. Whenever they found time between them, it was usually just to cuddle and eat cheap pizza, or something.

And yet, Mac couldn’t trade it for the world.

Because sure, it was hard. Because sure, it was less than the idyllic picture of dating that people dreamed about. There weren’t any other dates in Paris. A lot of the time Mac had to randomly cancel. Or Murdoc had to randomly cancel. Sometimes, they both had to cancel at the same time, which worked out but wasn’t any less disappointing. Sometimes Murdoc would get shot and they couldn’t do anything but rest for weeks and weeks. Or sometimes it was Mac who got hurt, and they still couldn’t do anything ‘datelike’.

But Mac was dating Murdoc. And that was enough. That was more than enough.

Besides, they found ways to make the most of their time. Because the truth was, Mac didn’t care what they did when they were together. They had forged a friendship based on minutes long conversations in sketchy warehouses and terrorist lairs, it wasn’t as though they were used to glamour. So, they took naps together. They patched up each other’s wounds. Murdoc cooked for Mac, which was so delicious that it made Mac miss him every time he left. They went grocery shopping together, and Mac got to laugh as Murdoc judged all the brands of food and the fact that Mac mostly bought sugary cereal and microwave lasagna.

Murdoc got his own place in LA, to make it easier. Since Phoenix was in LA, and Mac’s house was in LA, and all of Mac’s friends were in LA, he couldn’t exactly jet off to wherever Murdoc was staying at the drop of a dime. And Murdoc didn’t really have much of a homebase, except for Cassian’s school, which he mostly stayed away from anyway for Cassian’s own safety. Mac had felt bad about it, at first, but Murdoc had assured him that it was fine. That he had come to like LA, even. Considering how Murdoc still sneered at all the cheap vegan restaurants and yoga classes, Mac doubted that Murdoc actually liked LA all that much. But he liked Mac, and that was enough.

And Mac really did like their dates, even if they were less fancy than most people thought dates had to be. But there was nothing better than making pancakes with Murdoc. Or going on a walk to a park near Mac’s house. Playing board games together. Except they had had to ban most board games, because they got way too competitive and a spy and an assassin playing battleships was kind of doomed for disaster from the start anyway. They moved on to card games, which went marginally better. There were a few cribbage board casualties, but still. Progress. Some days Murdoc would just watch Mac as he tinkered, building random things out of whatever was lying around his house. Some days they would go to thrift stores to find old tvs and dvd players to fix. Or just take apart. They played video games and they had a picnic out by the fire pit, and read books together like some sort of very small book club.

It was just nice. Simple, but nice.

Mac and Murdoc were curled up on the couch together, at the moment. There was some documentary on the tv, though Mac couldn’t tell you what it was about. Something violent, probably, knowing Murdoc. Lions, maybe. Polar bears. Mac didn’t know. His head was- well, he had been a bit distracted, lately. But Murdoc helped. Just him and Murdoc curled up together on the couch together helped. Just being by Murdoc helped. Just the feeling of Murdoc’s body pressed up against him helped. Just the smell of Murdoc’s stupidly expensive cologne helped. Just Murdoc’s presence helped.

It clearly wasn’t helping enough, though. Mac still couldn’t focus on anything but his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about, boy scout?” Murdoc asked, shaking Mac from his thoughts.

“Nothing,” Mac lied. “Just tired.”

“Boy scout,” Murdoc said, softly. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Mac sighed. “It’s just- my dad.”

“Your dad?” Murdoc asked, voice filled with disdain. “The one who walked out on you?”

“Yes,” Mac said. “That one.”

“Why would you be thinking about him?” Murdoc said.

Mac sighed. “It’s just- I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about him. Worrying about him.”

“But why, Mac?” Murdoc asked. “Something must have triggered that.”

“I got this in the mail, a few days ago,” Mac said, holding up his wrist.

“A watch?” Murdoc asked.

“My dad’s watch,” Mac corrected. “It was his favourite thing in the world. Mine, too. He used to show me how all the gears worked together to show time. How all these little parts could combine to be something greater. It was what- it was what started all of this.”

“And he sent it to you in the mail?” Murdoc asked.

“Maybe,” Mac said. “But why would he? It was his favourite.”

“Maybe somebody lost it and tried to send it to him, but only found your address,” Murdoc said. “Or maybe it was a gift.”

Mac shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. But either way, I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Did you want to look for him?” Murdoc asked.

“I don’t know,” Mac admitted. “It’s not like I have time, anyway. Between you and missions-”

“I could look for you,” Murdoc said. “I have a much looser schedule than you do, boy scout. Perks of being self employed.”

“Maybe,” Mac said, slowly. “But I don’t know. He left. He was the one who left. I shouldn’t be the one that looks for him. But at the same time-” he shook his head, his sentence trailing off into nothingness.

“Whatever you decide,” Murdoc said. “I’m here for you.”

Mac smiled weakly. “Thank you, Murdoc.”

“Anytime, boy scout,” Murdoc said, smiling back. And then his grin turned sharper. “How would you feel about a little distraction?”

“I’d gladly take one,” Mac admitted.

“Well then,” Murdoc said. “How would you feel about some baking?”

“Again?” Mac asked with a laugh. “I thought Bozer banned you from our kitchen.”

“What Wilt doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Murdoc said.

Mac scrunched up his nose at the use of Bozer’s first name. Mac had known him since they were kids, and it was still weird to hear it being used. “The point is that Bozer always knows that we used the kitchen. Because we always leave it a mess.”

“It’s not our fault we get distracted,” Murdoc said, grinning lecherously.

“It’s definitely our fault we get distracted,” Mac said. “Like, that’s the definition of our fault, actually.”

“Come on,” Murdoc said. “I found a recipe for focaccia!”

Mac smiled. “Fine,” he said. “But we have to actually clean the kitchen after this time.”

And it wasn’t as though they never had time for fancy dates. They were just rarer, that was all.

They still made time for them, whenever they could. Sometimes Mac would plan them, and sometimes Murdoc would. It didn’t matter what they did, not really. It was just about doing something special. It was about spending time together doing something they didn’t normally do. It was about making a plan and sticking to it. It was about new experiences. New foods, new places, new activities. It was about novelty. Mostly, though, it was just about being together. About choosing to be together and do something new. It was about doing something special, just because they could.

Today, Mac had planned their big adventure. Murdoc was probably regretting letting Mac pick, actually.

“Camping, seriously?” Murdoc asked.

“The weather’s perfect,” Mac said. “And isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s itchy,” Murdoc complained. “And filled with bugs.”

“And bugs are an important part of the ecosystem,” Mac reminded him.

“Not that important,” Murdoc muttered.

“Come on,” Mac said. “The campsite is just a little bit further. And it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

“I doubt that,” Murdoc grumbled.

Still they walked to the campsite. And Murdoc held back most of his complaints. Most.

“I’ll set up the tent,” Mac said. “Can you start looking for firewood?”

“You have a literal fire pit on your patio,” Murdoc whined. “And you’re making me make our own fire all the way out here?”

“It’s different,” Mac said.

Murdoc sighed dramatically, even as he started looking for firewood anyway. “How is it any different?”

“It's quieter out here, for one,” Mac said. “Way less pollution, too. And you get to see nature in its natural habitat.”

“Wow,” Murdoc said dryly. “We can get eaten by bears. Yay us!”

“I did ask if you wanted to go, you know,” Mac said. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“You like camping,” Murdoc said. “I like you. It seemed like an easy decision at the time.”

“And now?” Mac asked, smiling.

“Now I wish I had worn way more bug spray,” Murdoc grumbled. He came back with the firewood. “We could be in a five star hotel right now. Or on a cruise. In a private jet.”

“But we’re here,” Mac said, grinning. “Back in nature. Away from humanity.”

“It would be easy to get away with murder here,” Murdoc said. “Not even challenging. It’s private. Secluded.”

“Exactly,” Mac said.

“Really?” Murdoc asked. “Are we committing a murder?”

“What?” Mac said. “No. No, I meant the private part. Secluded. Aren’t you ever just tired of people being everywhere? Even hiking near my house, there’s normally people. But here, there’s nothing but trees.”

“And bears,” Murdoc said grumpily.

“And bears,” Mac admitted. “But there aren’t even that many bears here, anyway. You’re more likely to die just from not being careful.”

“Everybody dies from not being careful,” Murdoc said. “Not watching out for dangerous terrain. Not watching out for bears. Not watching out for assassins. It’s all the same thing, really.”

Mac laughed. “That’s one way of looking at it, I guess.”

“I have been told I have a very unique point of view,” Murdoc said. “It comes with being a sociopath.”

“Tell me more,” Mac said, as he started assembling the fire pit. The tent was already set up. All of this was like muscle memory for Mac.

“For one thing,” Murdoc said. “I think people’s obsession with nature is weird. I mean- it’s all going to die. Everything dies and kills and eats each other in nature. And yet everybody acts like it’s all so pure.”

Mac shrugged. “I like nature because it’s always eating each other. The circle of life. Everything has its place. You eat and you eat and you eat, and then when you die it’s you who's eaten. And whatever’s left gets decomposed and brought back into the earth. It’s a closed circuit.”

“How macabre of you, boy scout,” Murdoc said, grinning. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Mac smiled sheepishly. “Actually,” he said. “I do have one more surprise for you.”

“Really,” Murdoc said. “And what would that be?”

“Let me finish the fire pit first,” Mac said, turning back to the stones and sticks surrounding him.

“Hey!” Murdoc cried out. “You can’t just say that you have a surprise and then not tell me what it is! That’s unfair!”

“Life’s unfair,” Mac said with a laugh. “And besides, you’re going to be glad you waited for me to finish this once the sun sets. It’ll get cold quick, and we’ll need all the warmth we can get.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to cuddle for warmth, then,” Murdoc teased, leaning down to kiss Mac.

Mac pulled away. “After I’m done starting the fire, Murdoc.”

“Is that the surprise then?” Murdoc asked. “Because trust me, nothing about your body can really surprise me anymore. I’ve seen it all.”

“No,” Mac said, rolling his eyes. “That is not the surprise.”

“Boring,” Murdoc said. “And besides, are you telling me you can’t just put some sticks in a circle and call it a day? Why are you digging a hole and surrounding everything with rocks?”

“Have you seriously never even camped before?” Mac asked. “It’s basic fire safety. Especially when we’re in such a forest fire prone spot.”

“I’ve never camped before, Smokey Bear,” Murdoc said. “Why would I?”

“Don’t call me that ever again,” Mac said, shaking his head. “But seriously? Never? Not even for a kill or something?”

“I’m not exactly a fan of waiting, Macgyver,” Murdoc said. “I’m much more of a quick knife to the ribs kind of guy.”

“You waited for me,” Mac pointed out. He was almost done with the fire, now.

“That’s because you’re special, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Very special, indeed.”

“There,” Mac declared, once the fire was lit. “It’s done now.”

“Good,” Murdoc said, pulling Mac’s face towards his. “Now we can get to the fun part.”

Mac paused their kiss, pulling back slightly. “I thought you wanted to see your surprise,” Mac teased.

“I do,” Murdoc admitted, as he pulled back from their kiss fully. “Go on, boy scout. Surprise me.”

“Alright,” Mac said, running over to his backpack. He rifled through it, pulling out the gift box. It was long and thin, like a slightly longer than normal necklace box. Except it wasn’t a necklace. It was something way better.

“What’s this?” Murdoc said, when Mac walked back over to him.

Mac grinned. “Open it and find out.” He watched as Murdoc peeled away the black ribbon, and removed the lid of the black box.

“It’s a flower?” Murdoc said, sounding a tad confused. “A metal flower?”

“Pick it up?” Mac urged. He couldn’t wait for Murdoc to figure out what it was.

Murdoc picked up the metal flower. He held it in his hand, weighing it back and forth. His hand wrapped around the stem in a familiar movement. “Mac,” he said, slowly. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Do you like it?” Mac asked. He knew that Murdoc would, but at the same, he was- he was sort of nervous to give it to him.

“Like it?” Murdoc asked, as he flipped the switch blade open. “I love it.”

“Oh thank god,” Mac exclaimed.

“Where did you even find something like this?” Murdoc asked. “I’ve never seen something like it. It must have cost you a fortune.”

“I didn’t find it,” Mac said. “I made it. Well, I mean, I’ve never actually forged a knife blade before so I had to get some help with that from this local blacksmith but-”

“You made this?” Murdoc asked, cutting him off. “For me?”

“Well, yeah,” Mac said. “I thought you deserved a knife as dramatic as you were. And, I mean, I wanted to get you a gift, and it’s not like you’re the kind of person who would like a vase of roses or something. But flowers are still a romantic sort of gift, so I thought why not give you a flower that would actually mean something to you?”

“Macgyver,” Murdoc said. He sounded breathless. “Get over here so I can kiss you.”

Mac obliged.

He would never get over what it felt like to kiss Murdoc. Ever. It could be the hundredth time they kissed, and Mac would still feel just as overwhelmed with joy as the first time. It could be the thousandth time, and Mac would still feel the same. It could be the millionth time, even, and it would still feel as impressive as it did the first time. They could be a hundred years, and Mac would still be just as happy to kiss Murdoc as he had been the first time. And Mac thought they would kiss a hundred times. A thousand times. A million times. Just because they could. Just because they wanted to. Just because those butterflies never went away. Mac’s heart was still pounding. Mac’s stomach was still fluttering.

Mac pulled away from the kiss. “Does the knife make up for dragging you out into the middle of nowhere to camp?”

“No,” Murdoc said, dramatically. “I will still hate you forever for this.”

“I could always take the knife back,” Mac teased.

“Over my dead body,” Murdoc huffed. “And your dead body, too.”

Mac laughed into the open night sky. “Sure, Murdoc. Whatever you say.”

But still, some of the most magical moments, the most romantic moments, were the quiet ones.

The soft ones. The simple ones. The easy ones. Mac loved their big outings, of course he did. He loved fancy restaurants and picnics in Paris and whatever else they did. He loved grand adventures and huge shows of affection. But there was something so special about the little moments, too. Something so real. Something so important. Something so touching, about those small moments. Those quiet moments. Those unplanned moments. Just random spontaneous moments of life. Of togetherness. Of love.

Mac just really loved those quiet moments. And this was one of them, both nestled together on the patio, with the fire going and the night sky above them.

“Oh my god,” Mac said, softly, looking up. “Just look at the stars.”

“They’re certainly up there,” Murdoc said.

“They’re beautiful,” Mac said, mostly to himself. “God, they’re just beautiful.”

“I can name something else that’s beautiful,” Murdoc said, cupping Mac’s face with his hand. He tilted it down, so that Mac was facing Murdoc again.

Mac laughed. “Are you seriously jealous of the stars right now?”

“I’m not jealous of the stars,” Murdoc said with a huff. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re definitely jealous of the stars,” Mac said.

“No way,” Murdoc said. “Can’t I just appreciate your beauty?”

“You only started appreciating my beauty once I started paying attention to the stars,” Mac pointed out.

“No,” Murdoc said. “I’m always appreciating your beauty, even if you don’t notice it.”

“Fine, then,” Mac said. “You only started outwardly appreciating my beauty when I started paying attention to the stars.”

Murdoc huffed. “Okay. That may be true. But that doesn’t mean that I was actually jealous of the stars.”

“But you were,” Mac said.

“No, I wasn’t,” Murdoc denied, pressing their lips together.

Mac leaned back. “No kisses until you admit it.”

“You’re the worst,” Murdoc grumbled.

“And you’re jealous,” Mac teased.

“Fine!” Murdoc said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I was jealous of you saying the stars were beautiful. Happy now, boy scout?”

“I can love you and the stars at the same time, Murdoc,” Mac said, leaning forward to give Murdoc a quick peck on the lips. “You have nothing to be jealous over. Even if I did love the stars first.”

“Do you at least love me more?” Murdoc asked.

“You’re equal,” Mac said.

Murdoc frowned at that. “Really? You love me the same amount as you love giant balls of gas?”

“Exactly,” Mac said. “I love you as much as I love the fundamental building blocks of the galaxy. There would be no universe, no galaxies, no solar systems, no planets, no Earth, without stars. And there would be no me without you, Murdoc.”

Murdoc’s eyes grew wide. “That’s poetic, boy scout,” he teased. But Mac could hear the softness in his voice anyway.

“Are you done being jealous now?” Mac asked.

“I suppose so,” Murdoc said dramatically. “If I get another kiss, that is.

Mac obliged. It was quick, but filled with love.

“You can’t exactly do that to the stars, now can you?” Murdoc asked.

“No,” Mac admitted. “Although, if I had a master’s degree, and two years of experience in a space related field, I could be an astronaut. Well, if I passed the NASA physical exam, anyway. And even then it wouldn’t be guaranteed, it’s pretty competitive. But then, I could get as close to kissing the stars as any human could.”

“You sure know a lot about this stuff,” Murdoc said.

“I told you,” Mac said. “I’ve loved the stars for a long, long time. When I was a little kid, I always said I wanted to be an astronaut. But then I started building stuff, and learning more and more about different scientific fields, and

“And then you became a spy,” Murdoc pointed out. “Not exactly scientific.”

Mac laughed. “You’d be surprised when you need E=MC2 in the field.”

“Really?” Murdoc asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

“No,” Mac admitted. “But I do use force is equal to mass times acceleration a lot.”

“Do you ever use the stars when you’re in the field?” Murdoc asked.

Mac sighed. “Not as much as I’d like. And I never have enough time anymore to do research, either.”

“That’s too bad,” Murdoc said.

“It’s fine,” Mac said. “It comes with the job. Besides, the stars are everywhere. I can always just look at them.”

“Right,” Murdoc said. “Looking at the tiny specks of stars is the same thing as researching them.”

Mac sat up with start, jostling Murdoc. “Do you want to see them closer?”

“What?” Murdoc said, sitting up next to Mac.

“Do you want to see the stars closer?” Mac asked again. “More than specks. My telescope is right there and-”

“Sure, boy scout,” Murdoc drawled. “Show me the stars.”

Mac grinned. They leaned over the telescope together. “See, that’s Mars. And that’s Venus. But if you look a bit further- there’s Proxima Centauri. It’s the closest star to Earth. Besides our sun, anyway.”

“Wow,” Murdoc said. “It’s beautiful.”

Mac looked down at Murdoc. “Yeah. It is.”

And for as simple as their life together became, it didn’t mean that they couldn’t ever surprise each other.

Murdoc had told Mac that he had a surprise for him, when he was coming back from a job. Or Mac had assumed it was a job, but with Murdoc you never really knew. He could have gone to Antartica and brought Mac back a penguin, or something. Mac really hoped that it was not a penguin. But he had no clue what he was going to see, when he went over to Murdoc’s place. He had no clue what to expect when he went over to Murdoc’s place. He had no idea what he would be presented with when he went over to Murdoc’s place. Still, Mac opened the door, filled with equal parts excitement and fear. He walked in, looking around, and-

Okay. Mac had definitely not been expecting a literal child.

“Macgyver,” Murdoc cooed, from where he was sitting. Next to him was a kid, maybe about six or seven years old. An actual kid.

Mac had a split second of panic where he thought Murdoc may have kidnapped a child off the streets.

“This,” Murdoc said. “Is Cassian.”

Okay. So he didn’t kidnap a child off the streets. That was good. Still, what was he doing here? “Isn’t he supposed to be at boarding school?”

Murdoc shrugged. “It’s his summer break.”

“So you brought him to LA?” Mac asked. He still felt a bit apprehensive about this. And confused. Mostly confused. And also nervous. Mac wasn’t exactly the best with kids, most of the time.

“I wanted you to meet him, boy scout,” Murdoc said, softly. “And he’s been wanting to meet the man who can make a taser out of what he keeps in his pocket.”

Mac laughed, startled. “You told him about that?”

“Some of it,” Murdoc admitted.

Mac crouched down in front of Cassian. “Hi, there,” he said, slowly. He really didn’t know how to talk to kids. “Your dad’s told me a lot about you.”

Cassian’s eyes widened. “He did?”

“Oh yeah,” Mac said, getting himself comfortable on the floor in front of Cassian. “You like soccer. You’re good at math. You won an art award at your school.”

“He told you all that?” Cassian asked.

“He told me even more than that,” Mac admitted. He smiled. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Cassian nodded aggressively, leaning in close to Mac.

“Okay,” Macgyver whispered. “Your dad really, really cares about you. So much. You’re the light of his whole life.”

Cassian smiled shyly. But then his eyes glimmered in a similar mischievous way to Murdoc’s own. “Do you want to know a secret?” He asked.

“Of course I do,” Mac answered. And he was actually curious. What did kids even consider to be secret?”

“My dad really cares about you, too,” Cassian said. “Like, a lot. And when we call, he talks about you all the time.”

Mac spared a glance over to where Murdoc was sitting on the couch, too close to not be hearing this. He was blushing, just slightly. It was cute. “Really,” Mac asked, mostly just to tease Murdoc. “Tell me more.”

“Well!” Murdoc abruptly said, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t we go find some snacks, or something?”

“No, no, no,” Mac said. “Cassian and I were getting to know each other. You wouldn’t want to interrupt us while you’re bonding, would you?”

Murdoc was bright red. “Well played, Macgyver,” he said grumpily. “I’ll get snacks. And you two can keep gossiping like the little heathens you are.”

“What’s a heathen?” Cassian asked, as Murdoc stomped off to the kitchen.

“Technically,” Mac started. “It’s somehow who goes against the common religion. But your dad is just being dramatic.”

“He does that a lot,” Cassian said. “Sometimes when he’s ranting he’ll start quoting Shakespeare and holding a fake skull.”

Mac processed that. He had a lot of questions. “Murdoc knows Shakespeare?” Mac asked. “Wait. You know Shakespeare?” He saved the question about whether or not the skull was really fake for Murdoc, and not for his almost eight year old kid.

“Dad likes reading to me whenever he’s around,” Cassian said. “For a while, he was just reading all the sad ones. Mostly the death scenes.”

“For a while?” Mac asked.

Cassian nodded resolutely. “And then, like four or five months ago, he started reading all of these other ones to me. The lovey dovey ones.”

“Really?” Mac asked. Because, seriously?

“Yep,” Cassian said, popping the p. “I like the sad ones better, but Dad still reads the sappy ones anyway.”

“Wow,” Mac said. He was going to pick on Murdoc about this forever. Because, well, four and a half months ago was when he and Murdoc started dating. God, Murdoc was such a sap. Still he wasn’t going to say any of that to Cassian. He didn’t even know if the kid knew that he and his dad were dating. “Do you have a favourite Shakespeare play?”

“I like Hamlet,” Cassian said. “And King Lear.”

“You’re an interesting kid, Cass,” Mac said.

“I hear that a lot,” Cassian declared, proudly. And then his eyes went all mischievous again. “My Dad said that you blow stuff up. Is that true?”

Mac blinked. Okay. That was definitely a topic change. Mac really wasn’t that good with kids. But he was good with science. “Sometimes,” Mac said. “But I do a lot of things besides blowing stuff up.”

“Like what?” Cassian asked.

“Like building things,” Mac said. “Or combining things together. I’ve made a robot arm out of a couple of DVD players and a remote control car before.”

“Really?” Cassian asked. “I brought a toy car! Can I have a robot?”

“I don’t think your Dad wants you messing up your stuff, buddy,” Mac said. “So no robot.”

Cassian frowned. “Oh.”

“But,” Mac said, smiling. “I think I can show you something cool anyway.”

“Really?” Cassian asked, eyes lighting back up.

Murdoc walked back in with snacks. In particular, he was holding cups of coca cola.

“We’re borrowing these,” Mac said, grabbing the coke. “And we’re going to your backyard.”

“Why?” Murdoc asked, sounding suspicious.

Mac smiled as innocently as he could. “Science experiment.”

“We’re blowing something up!” Cassian cheered.

“We aren’t blowing something up,” Mac corrected. “It’s just a physical reaction. Explosions require a chemical reaction. And there has to be the right rate of combustion and-”

“And why are you causing a chemical- I mean physical reaction with my son?” Murdoc asked.

“Because he wanted me to build him a robot,” Mac said, he was searching through Murdoc’s drawer excitedly. There. Mints. Bingo! “It’s called compromising, Murdoc.”

“Right,” Murdoc said, slowly. “And you were going to do it without me?”

“We were going to invite you,” Mac said, quickly. “Now come on! No time to waste!”

Murdoc laughed as the three of them headed to the backyard. It was small, way smaller than Mac’s, but he hardly cared.

He set up the coca cola on the floor, and grabbed the mentos. “Now,” Mac said, using his best scientist voice. Mostly, he was just doing an impression of Bill Nye. “This is called a soda geyser. And how it works is that the mints cause a rapid nucleation of the

Cassian blinked blankly. Right. Mac was using a lot of big terms.

“In other words,” Mac said, as he positioned his hand with the mints above the cup. “The mints cause the gassy pop to become a lot less gassy, and a lot more pop.” He dropped the mints in, and watched as the foamy coke shot up into the sky.

Cassian’s eyes widened in delight. “That was so cool!”

“Thank you,” Mac said, taking a dramatic bow.

“I can totally see why my Dad is dating you,” Cassian said.

And. Okay. Apparently Murdoc had told Cassian that they were dating. Cool. Very cool. Not terrifying in the slightest.

“Cassian,” Murdoc said, softly. “Why don’t you eat some of those chips inside?” Mac must not have been as sneaky as he thought he was about his small meltdown.

Cassian ran off to gorge himself on chips.

“So,” Mac said, forcing his mouth to work. “You told Cass we were dating.”

“Are you upset?” Murdoc asked.

“No,” Mac said, shaking his head. “God no. He’s a good kid. A really good kid. I’m glad he knows. It was just sort of unexpected, that’s all.”

“Really?” Murdoc asked. “Because if I should have asked before I did it-”

“No,” Mac repeated. “I promise. It’s fine. It just caught me off guard.”

“You look shaken up, boy scout,” Murdoc said, nudging Mac’s shoulder slightly.

“I don’t know,” Mac said. “It’s just- you’re a good dad. A really good dad. And Cassian is a great kid. And just, if I get close to him, and then something happens with my job-”

“I live a dangerous life too, Macgyver,” Murdoc reminded him.

“But you’re usually the one shooting,” Mac said. “Not the one being shot at. And like, what if something happens between us? I don’t want him to get used to me, and then I just leave.”

“You’re nothing like your father,” Murdoc said.

Mac blinked in surprise. Where had that come from? “I wasn’t talking about my dad.”

“Yes, you were,” Murdoc said. “You don’t want to leave Cassian, just like he left you. You don’t want to hurt Cassian, just like he hurt you.”

“That’s not-” Mac started to say. He paused. “Okay, that’s definitely what it is. Dammit. He hasn’t talked to me in nearly two decades and he still finds ways to mess me up.”

“You’re not him, though,” Murdoc said. “You’re Angus Macgyver. You’re my boy scout. And you’re good with Cassian. And you won’t leave him, we both know that.”

“But what if-” Mac started.

Murdoc cut him off. “Your father chose to leave you. And I know that you wouldn't ever choose to leave Cassian of your own volition.”

“God, no,” Mac said.

“So,” Murdoc continued. “You aren’t your father. You aren’t anything like your father. And you won’t be anything like your father. Alright?”

“Alright,” Mac said, smiling shallowly. “Thank you, Murdoc.”

“Any time, boy scout,” Murdoc said. Mac knew that he meant it.

“Should we go check on Cass?” Mac asked.

“Probably,” Murdoc said, laughing slightly. “He’s probably trying to build a robot himself, actually.”

Mac dramatically gasped. “We have to save his RC car!”

It didn’t matter what they were doing, or how tired they were, or how many days it took until they saw each other again. It was the fact that they were together that mattered.

Because well, the truth was, Mac was tired a lot. His missions were long, a lot of the time. And involved him doing a lot of running. And a lot of fighting. And a lot of thinking while running and fighting. Mac was terrible at sleeping on planes, and even worse at sleeping on crappy motel mattresses. He was actually just sort of terrible at sleeping in general. Which meant that he would come back from missions tired and exhausted and just wanting to collapse onto the nearest surface, most of the time. Mac was worried that that would make Murdoc bored, or something. Upset. Instead, Murdoc just offered himself up to be the nearest surface, which was certainly a way of dealing with that.

Mac walked off the plane with the rest of his team, eyes already fighting to stay open. He was about to walk to Jack’s car to get a ride home when he saw-

“Murdoc?” Mac asked, confused. Was he dreaming, or something?

“Boy scout,” Murdoc said. “I’m here to whisk you away.”

“I’m tired, Murdoc,” Mac said. He still wasn’t sure if he and his car were actually there or not.

“Trust me, Macgyver,” Murdoc replied, grabbing hold of his arm gently. “You’ll get plenty of rest, don’t worry.”

Mac let Murdoc pull him into the passenger seat of the car. “Where are you taking me?”

“You need a nap, Macgyver,” Murdoc said.

“And I was going to nap,” Mac answered. “Jack was driving me and Bozer home.”

“So you can tell me, right now, that when you got home you weren’t going to let Bozer sucker you into a movie night?” Murdoc asked, as he drove away from the airport.

Mac frowned. “Yeah,” he lied. “I was going to go right to sleep.”

“I know you, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “And you weren’t going to say no. I don’t even think you know how to say no. And if Jack was driving you home he was probably going to stay over for beers anyway and-”

“And I would have let him,” Mac finished, sighing. “I know. But they’re my friends!”

“They clearly have different energy levels than you,” Murdoc said. “You get home from these missions and you’re exhausted. And then only a few days later, you’re back out there doing it all over again.”

“It’s what I do,” Mac said, crossing his arms defensively.

“I know it is,” Murdoc responded. “But you also need to take care of yourself.”

“I take care of myself,” Mac mumbled.

“You overwork yourself,” Murdoc corrected. “And if you won’t take care of yourself, then I’m going to have to.”

Mac blinked sleepily. “What?”

“I’m going to take care of you, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Now get comfy in your seat. We have a bit of a drive.”

Mac followed orders, sinking deeper into the car’s seat. He pushed his head up against the window, and watched the city fly by. “Where are we even going?”

“My place, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“Okay,” Mac said.

He didn’t even bother trying to figure out what roads they were on as he looked out the window. Didn’t look for tails, either. He didn’t try to figure out if there were any exit routes, or how many minutes away they were. He didn’t even bother trying to stay awake and alert. He didn’t try to figure out what song Murdoc was humming under his breath. He didn’t try to figure out anything at all. Instead, he just watched as the scenery blurred through the window. Instead, he just felt the vibration of the road under him. Instead, he just let himself drift away. Instead, he just-

The car stopped abruptly, shaking Mac out of his trance.

“Here we are,” Murdoc said. “Come on, boy scout.”

Mac dragged himself out of the car, ready to crash on Murdoc’s couch or something. Maybe they would watch another documentary.

“This way,” Murdoc said, when they got to the house. Murdoc led them past the living room, and headed instead to his bedroom.

Or, it looked like Murdoc’s bedroom, anyway. Except his bed now had way more blankets than the last time he had seen it. And stuff animals. Why were there stuffed animals?

“What?” Mac asked. Maybe he was just too tired to understand what the hell was going on.

“I knew you would be tired when you got in,” Murdoc said, like that explained anything at all. “Is there not enough blankets?”

“There’s enough blankets,” Mac said. He stood at the foot of the bed, blinking.

“Then nap, boy scout,” Murdoc said. He gave Mac a friendly shove, and sent him tumbling onto the piles of pillows and blankets and stuffed animals.

“Did you seriously go out of your way to pick me up from the airport just to have me nap in your bed?” Mac asked. “And where did these even come from?” He added, holding up a weird stuffed animals that looked like a tiny, round Dracula.

“It’s a stuffed animal, Mac,” Murdoc said, flatly. “And obviously I took you here to nap. Because you need to take care of yourself.”

Mac thought about complaining, but he was too tired to even do that. Now that his head had hit the pillow, or rather, several pillows, he realised just how tired he really was.

“Now sleep, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

He faded into sleep. Slowly, fitfully, but he faded into sleep nonetheless. The stuffed animals made him feel less alone. The pillows were a godsend on his sore back, and his sore legs, and his sore everything else. The blankets were warm and soft and comforting. It was easy to sleep in Murdoc’s bed, easier than it should have been. It was easy to sleep in Murdoc’s bed when his scent was everywhere. It was easy to sleep in Murdoc’s bed when the memory of Murdoc caring enough about him to drive all the way to the airport and cover his bed in blankets fresh in his mind. It was easy to fall asleep in Murdoc’s bed when Mac knew that Murdoc was out there, keeping him safe. It was easy to fall asleep in Murdoc’s bed when-

Mac woke up groggily, a few hours later. He wandered out of the bedroom, still slightly confused.

“Boy scout!” Murdoc exclaimed. “You’re up! Perfect!”

Mac just blinked slowly as Murdoc brought him to the bathroom. “I drew you a bath.”

“What?” Mac asked.

“A bath,” Murdoc repeated. “For your muscles.”

“Oh,” Mac said. “Thank you.”

Murdoc smiled. A soft smile, not one of his murderous grins. “There’s a bathbomb there, if you’d like.”

Mac didn’t know exactly how to feel about that. “Okay,” he said. “And seriously. Thank you, Murdoc.”

“You don’t have to thank me, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“Yes, I do,” Mac said. “You’re doing so much for me right now.”

Murdoc shrugged. “If you’re not going to take care of yourself, then someone has to.”

“Thank you anyway,” Mac said, but he still thought about what Murdoc said as he started taking off his clothes.

And while he was in the bath, soaking into the warm water. While he watched the bath bomb fizz in the water, making everything smell really good. While his muscles relaxed, loosening the tension that the mission had brought to them. Undoing the strain he had put on them. While the dirt got out of his hair, washing away the tangles brought on from days and days of only thinking about the mission and not even bothering to brush his hair. While he managed to get the grease out from under his fingernails, that had managed to collect while he stole a car. And stole the breaks from another car. And also used the breaks to make a crude bomb. While he tried to forget what had happened during the mission, letting the memories soak off of him with the dirt and grime. It had been a long one. A hard one. Bad one, even. And yet Murdoc had been here with a bath. Been here with a bed. Been here with kindness.

“Thank you, Murdoc,” Mac whispered to the empty air, in the bathroom all alone. “Thank you so much.”

The truth was, Mac was happy. And more than that, he was content.

He was content with his life. He was happy with his life. He had a good job and good friends who were closer to family. He had a good boyfriend, a great boyfriend actually. And his boyfriend had a great kid, too, who Mac had finally gotten to meet. He had Bozer and Riley and Jack and even Matty. He had Murdoc and Cassian. He had a good life, that was the truth of it. Maybe his job was a bit violent, and maybe he was a bit tired from balancing Murdoc and his job, and maybe he had been trying to look for his dad to no avail, but- But Mac was happy. That was what mattered. Yeah, Mac thought, he was happy. He was settled. He was content. His life was good. So, so, good. Better than Mac could have ever imagined it.

And he didn’t want any of it to change.

Chapter Text

Things had changed, at Phoenix.

It had been fine. It had been normal. Everything had been fine. Everything had been normal. Life had moved forward, just as it always had. Bozer was fitting in at Phoenix, working in the lab and helping out on missions when he could. Riley was settling, too, and Mac was finding it hard to remember that she hadn’t always been part of the team. That she had been in prison, just barely two years before. Mac and Jack’s friendship was just as sturdy as it had been before everything with Murdoc and Thornton and lying had happened. Everything was good. Everyone had gotten over their fear of Matty, and had warmed up to her, too. THey were a team. A good team. A great team. And everything was fine. Everything was good. And everything was great, even.

Mac was doing what he did best, saving the day. He was helping people. Stopping bad guys. Getting rid of terrorist cells. Recovering stolen data. Stopping bombs. Rescuing hostages. Whatever people needed from Mac. Whatever Phoenix needed from Mac. Their team was working the best it ever had. They had cohesion. They had collaboration. They had cooperation. They had a bunch of other adjectives that started with the letter C, too, Mac was sure. They saved the day, and they kept on saving the day. And they were good at it. They had a good thing going.

And when the day was saved, when the mission was over, Mac would come home to Murdoc. He would go and rest with Murdoc. He would go and hang out with Murdoc. They’d relax. Unwind. Talk. Kiss. Go on adventures. Try new foods. Try to bake. Fail to bake. Kiss again. Sometimes Murdoc would go off on his own jobs, but most of the time he wouldn’t. Mac had a feeling that he tried to be there whenever Mac was there, too, just because Mac had way less control over his own schedule. But whether it was planned or not, Mac was glad. He was glad to spend time with Murdoc. Glad to go on dates with Murdoc. Glad to be dating Murdoc. Glad. Mac was just plain glad, really.

Because Mac was happy. Mac was content.

He had a good thing. A good routine. A good life. A good job and a good family and a good boyfriend. Every single thing about Mac’s life was good. Every single thing about Mac’s life was great, actually. It was great. Just so, entirely, great. And Mac was happy. He was so happy. He was just so incredibly happy. He was helping people. And he was good at what he did. And then he would come home and have beers with his team and dates with his boyfriend and- and it was perfect. It was absolutely perfect. And he was happy. He was just so happy. Every single second of every day, he was happy. Because this was his life. And his life was absolutely perfect. Mac wouldn’t change it for anything.

But then Samantha Cage had come along.

It wasn’t like Mac hated Sam, or anything. It was the opposite, actually. She was nice. Good at what she did. Professional. And when she had just been there for one job, it had been fine. She was a CIA agent, and had just needed their help rescuing her friend. And that had been fine. It had been. They had worked well together, on that one job. Okay, things had gone a bit off the rails, and also a bit off the record, and- And well, the Phoenix team had gotten a reprimand. Samantha hadn’t been so lucky. She had been fired from the CIA. Her whole life’s purpose had been ripped away from her. And Mac had felt bad for her, he really had.

And that was when Matty had recruited her. And truthfully, Mac had been excited when Matty had asked her to join Phoenix. She was a good fit for them, Mac knew that. She had the right mindset for Phoenix. Mac had wondered what team she had been chosen for. Maybe Delta, maybe Omega, maybe Recon, maybe- But it hadn’t been any of those. It hadn’t been any of the ones Mac had thought about, because Matty hadn’t just recruited Sam for Phoenix. She had recruited Sam for Mac’s team, specifically. Mac’s team. Mac’s friends. Mac’s family. There was no other way to say it. Sam was being put into Mac’s family, and Mac didn’t even get a choice. He had chosen Bozer. He had chosen Riley. He had chosen Jack. He hadn’t chosen Sam.

Still, Mac knew it was for the best. He did. He knew that she worked well with their team, and that she helped fill in the cracks. She was good at undercover work, and lying, and working with people. Mac would admit that that wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Or anybody on their team’s, really. Logically, Mac knew that it was a good choice. He did. It made sense. It was smart, even. Samantha joining their team only made sense. It was a strategic choice. A sound decision. But it rubbed Mac the wrong way, despite all of that. Despite how logical Mac knew that it was, it still rubbed Mac the wrong way.

Mac didn’t let it show. He didn’t let it affect his work.

They went on missions. Riley had her first undercover mission, mostly alone. They were in Azerbaijan, stealing from a casino and stopping a nuclear weapon. Halloween in the Bermuda triangle. Stopping an oil wellhead fire in Nigeria. Giving a heart transplant to an Ecuadorian politician. And the missions went well, they actually did. Mac had to admit that Samantha did fit in. She did. But it felt wrong, nonetheless. It felt awkward. It felt like Mac was being forced to wear an itchy sweater every time he had to do a mission, except the sweater was a person. And it wasn’t anything against Sam, it really wasn’t. It just felt weird, having another person on the team. That was all.

And then Bozer had been sent off to spy school, too.

He knew that it would happen eventually. It was sort of unavoidable. You couldn’t be a field agent at Phoenix with no training forever. It was just how these things worked. Mac had had to go through training, when he had started. Jack hadn’t had to, but that was because he had gone through training at the CIA. Riley had done hers in segments, because of her unique circumstances and her parole. And probably the fact that she had been hired by Thornton, who had been crooked and hadn’t exactly cared that much about protocol. But Mac knew that Bozer would have to get training eventually.

He still hadn’t been ready for it when it had happened, though. As much as he knew that it was coming, he still hadn’t expected it. And Mac wasn’t even the one who was actually going to spy training. And yet, Mac had still been caught off guard. Left reeling. Because Bozer was Mac’s best friend. And he had been Mac’s best friend since he had been in elementary school. They had done everything together. They lived together. And sure, Mac had gone on missions without Bozer, but not for any longer than a week. And now Bozer was being sent away for two and a half weeks. Two and a half weeks! And Mac knew what you had to go through during spy training. It was just- it was unsettling to have Bozer go through that, that was all.

He was confident that Bozer could do it, of course. Mac knew how strong Bozer was, and he had watched as he got better and better while in the field. There was no denying that Bozer was a good spy, and that spy school would only help him get better. But Mac couldn’t help himself from worrying anyway. That was his best friend. That was his best friend who was being put through spy training. That was his best friend who was going to be hunted down and tortured and whatever else to make sure that he was ready as a fulltime agent in the field. That was his best friend who was going to be alone during all of that. That was his best friend who was leaving Mac, if only for two and a half weeks.

Mac knew that it was the best for everybody. Of course he did.

He knew that. He did. It was nice having extra help in the form of Sam. And she was good at her job, too. She really was. And Bozer getting more training was a good thing, too. It protected him when he was in the field. It meant that he could take on harder jobs rather than mostly working in the lab and only being in the field sometimes. It was good for everyone. Mac knew that it was good for everyone. He knew that. He did. It was just hard to swallow, that was all. It was just hard to deal with. As much as Mac knew that everything that was happening was for the best, it was still hard to deal with. Still hard to wrap his head around.

Mac just didn’t handle change well, was the thing.

He was pretty sure he had always been like that. Bad with change. Stubborn. Ever since he was a kid, actually. He remembered being upset when his dad left. He had been upset because his dad was abandoning him, sure. But more than that, Mac remembered being upset because his grandpa did everything differently. He bought different cereal. Drove using a slightly different route. Played different games with Mac. He didn’t know why that was the change that had upset him, but it was. Change was just- change was hard, for Mac. Change was weird., for Mac. Because change was something that Mac couldn’t predict. Change was something Mac couldn’t stop. Change was something that Mac just didn’t know how to deal with, plain and simple.

And Mac was sure that most people would find it confusing because he was in a career that dealt with change all the time. Plan’s never went how you wanted them to, in the spy world. Mac was well known for his improvising skills, and how could someone who hated change be so good at thinking on the fly? But the thing was, Mac knew how to deal with when things changed in the field. If, or rather when, something went wrong Mac had the tools to deal with. He had scientific laws. He had chemical equations. He had variables to study and formulas memorised and- And he knew how to fix when something went wrong in the field. He knew how to save the day. Because science was easy. Science was constant. There was always some principle to use, some mechanism to leverage, some theory to put into practice, in order to make the change bearable.

That didn’t happen, when it came to personal changes. Mac couldn’t fix personal changes. They weren’t puzzles for him to solve. He couldn’t think up some scientific law or some strategy and fix it. There was no way to fix it. The change was going to happen, and Mac couldn’t ever stop it. He just had to deal with it. Mac wasn’t that great at dealing with it. He tried, obviously. He tried to deal with change as best as he could. It was easier when the change was for a good reason, but it was never actually easy. Because Mac just didn’t like change. He wanted life to stay the same. Like a portrait. Or if everybody was stuck in a snowglobe. Mac would have loved to live in a snowglobe. But he didn’t live in a snowglobe, or a portrait, or one of those miniature models where everything was glued in place.

Mac lived in the real world. And the real world changed all the time.

It was the circle of life. Things were always changing. And quickly, too. Fruit flies are only larvae for three days. Fruit flies are only pupae for 3 days. They’re only fully grown fruit flies for four and a half days. That’s six days of being a weird bug child, and then four a half days of being a weird bug adult. That’s so much change, so fast. And change was everywhere in nature, not just in fruit flies. Mac knew that. Caterpillars turned to actual mush in their cocoons, there wasn’t any more of a change than that. And change happened in other forms of science, too. Entropy. Stars dying. The water cycle. Everything was ever changing. But that was science. Mac knew how science changed. He would never be able to guess how life would change. It was unknowable. It was unpredictable. It was terrifying.

Murdoc hadn’t changed, at the very least. That was a nice consolation prize.

Mac still came back from missions to Murdoc, even if Mac was more wound up than usual. Even if the mission’s grated on Mac more than usual. It wasn’t like he blew up at Sam, or anything. And he certainly didn’t let it interfere with his job. He was just carrying a bit more baggage than usual. And when he came back, he was even more tired than usual, because he was carrying all of it. He was just tired. Tired of back to back missions. Tired of having to constantly account for Sam during plans. Tired of having to hold in his instinctual reaction of fighting change like a wild animal. Tired of having to constantly remind himself that Samantha joining their team and Bozer going to spy school was for the best. Because it was for the best. It was just hard to remember that.

Still, Murdoc was there. Whenever Mac could find the time, Murdoc was there. They played video games and they watched documentaries and they talked about scientific articles that were interesting. They traded strange fun facts, that just toed the line between horrific and intriguing. Most of Murdoc’s probably wouldn’t have just toed the line for most people, actually. They probably would have legged the line. Torsoed the line? Probably would have crossed the line entirely, from head to toe. But Mac wasn’t most people, and he was intrigued by more things than most people were. And he was especially intrigued by whatever Murdoc told him. Even if it was a little bit creepy. Or a lot a bit creepy. Still. They talked. They cuddled. They laughed.

Mac found it a bit easier to deal with the change, when he was with Murdoc. It was easier to breathe. Easier to relax. Easier to deal with the fact that there was a new person on the team and that Bozer’s room was empty when Murdoc was there. Because Murdoc hadn’t changed. Murdoc didn’t change. He was a constant. He was a constant in Mac’s life, and he had been for five years. Five whole years. And Mac had learnt more about him, over those five years. Saw different sides of him. And yet, he still hadn’t changed. He was always just Murdoc. And Mac needed that, right now. He needed Murdoc.

Somehow, Murdoc had still managed to notice that something was up with Mac, even when he felt so much better around him.

Of course he had noticed. He was a really good boyfriend. Which was sort of annoying, at the moment, because Mac really didn’t want to talk about it. It was hard to explain. It was a little bit weird. Bozer didn’t fully understand why Mac hated change, especially unexpected change, so much, even if he did stand by him whenever change did happen. But Bozer was off at spy school and the house felt so empty and- And Murdoc was there. And Murdoc had noticed. And now Mac was going to have to explain that his brain just processed emotions really weirdly. Actually, Mac was pretty sure his brain just processed everything really weirdly, but still. It was hard to explain.

“Boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Did you hear what I said?”

Mac blinked slowly. He had definitely not heard what Murdoc had said. “Yes?”

“You don’t exactly sound sure there, Macgyver,” Murdoc said.

“I may have been zoned out,” Mac admitted.

“You’ve been doing that a lot, lately,” Murdoc said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yep,” Mac said, a little too quickly. “So okay.”

“Are you sure?” Murdoc asked.

“Yes,” Mac lied.

Murdoc raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Mac said. “Fine. There is a- a thing. But it’s okay. No need to worry about me.”

“I always worry about you, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out.

“Well,” Mac said, swatting at Murdoc playfully. “Stop that. It’s fine.”

“But you don’t seem fine,” Murdoc said. “Do I need to kill somebody?”

“What?” Mac said. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Mac,” Murdoc said, softly.

Mac shook his head. “It’s just- it’s nothing.”

“If it’s bothering you then it’s not nothing,” Murdoc said. Mac didn’t really believe that, but it was a sweet sentiment.

“You know how Matty assigned Samantha to join our team?” Mac asked.

“Do I need to kill her?” Murdoc asked.

“No,” Mac said, whacking him gently. “Stop that. It’s nothing she’s doing. It’s just- working with her is weird, is all.”

“Is it because she’s a blonde CIA agent who’s analytical and good at lying?” Murdoc asked.

Mac frowned. “What would that have to do with anything?”

“Because that describes Nikki, too,” Murdoc said.

“I’d never thought about that,” Mac admitted. “Maybe that has something to do with it, I guess, but it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?” Murdoc asked.

Mac sighed. “It’s dumb.”

“I won’t know it’s dumb unless you tell me,” Murdoc pointed out.

“Look,” Mac said. ‘I just- I don’t do well with change. Especially change that I can’t control. And Samantha working with the team is just- it’s new and it’s hard to deal with.”

“Have you told anybody, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

Mac shrugged sheepishly. “I’m telling you.”

“Mac,” Murdoc said. “I know that as a certifiably insane hit man, I am not one to talk about brain stuff, but you are supposed to tell people these things.”

“Like who?” Mac asked.

“Like me,” Murdoc said. “And your friends. Your dear Director Matilda even.”

“They won’t get it,” Mac said with a sigh. “It’s easier to just ignore it. It’ll go away eventually. I hope.”

“They’re your friends,” Murdoc said.

“But it’s not just this,” Mac said. “It happens all the time. And it’s weird.”

Murdoc squeezed Mac’s hand gently. “Your friends are weird, too, boy scout. And so am I. You’re all spies who risk your lives all day. I’m pretty sure they can handle you being a bit weird about change.”

“True,” Mac said, shakily. “Thank you, Murdoc.”

Murdoc just grinned. “Happy to help, boy scout. Anything else you need to talk about? Because I will gladly shoot Samantha if you need me to.”

“Can you stop saying that?” Mac said, but he was laughing. And he felt just a bit lighter, too.

Murdoc’s talk helped, in its own strange way. Things got better. Slowly, they got better.

Mac came around to the change. Or maybe he just got used to the change. Maybe Murdoc had really helped him. Mac didn’t really know why, but it was better now. Slowly getting better, anyway. Working with Sam was less like getting hit by a cattle prod, and more like being the one holding the cattle prod. She really was good in the field. Useful. Smart. Cunning. Able to get herself, and the rest of them, actually, out of tight spots. But more than that, she had settled into their crew. Gotten used to their quirks. And Mac had settled into working with her, too. Gotten used to her presence. Gotten used to her quirks. Gotten used to her friendship, too.

It was going well. They had something of a rhythm going on. They had worked out a way to work together. It wasn’t exactly harmonious, yet, but it was getting there. They were less like a baby banging on a pot with a wooden spoon to play drums and more like a middle school band, which was definitely something. Even if the clarinets were sort of flat and the trumpets were playing too loud, you could still know what song they were playing, so, you know, progress. It was definitely progress. Missions had been getting done the whole time they were working together, if there were any serious issues Matty would have reassigned Samantha. But now it was just obvious that they were actually working together and not just doing their own thing from one van. It was just a bit easier, now. It just made a bit more sense now, too.

And Sam had been hanging out with them more and more after missions, too. It had just happened, after one mission. Somebody, Mac couldn’t even remember who, had invited her to come back with them when they went to go drink beers at Mac’s after. And then that had ended up with them playing truth or dare. And that had ended up with Mac nearly blowing up his patio by accident. And with everyone learning way too much about Jack’s first kiss. And with Riley climbing onto Mac’s roof. Five separate times. And with Sam proving to everyone that she knew how to do a backflip. And one of those times was for a Truth! And with Bozer winding up licking a tree.

Right. Bozer had come back. And Bozer coming back had definitely helped Mac deal with the change too, actually.

Helped Mac settle. Helped Mac realise that change was okay, because his friends would always come back to him. Mac had probably been being a bit dramatic, because he had only been gone for two weeks. But Mac had missed him, okay? That was his best friend right there. Tied with Jack. And maybe Riley. But still. Best friend. And so Mac had missed him, and he had been freaked out with the change of Bozer not being there, but he had come back. And him coming back had definitely made the whole Sam thing easier to deal with, even if he hadn’t really realised it at the time. Bozer always made everything better.

“Boze!” Mac exclaimed, when his best friend walked through the door. He climbed off the couch and sprinted to him, pulling him into a hug.

“Woah,” Bozer said. “I was only gone for two weeks, Mac.”

Mac just smiled, still hugging Bozer. “It’s been a rough too weeks, man.”

“Bad missions?” Bozer asked.

“Nah,” Mac said. “Missions were fine. Quiet even. Just missed you.”

“I’m touch, Mac,” Bozer said, carefully extracting himself from the hug. “But I doubt that’s the only reason you look like crap.”

“I don’t look like crap,” Mac said defensively.

“Yes you do,” Bozer said. “Now, what’s up?”

Mac shrugged. “Just Sam joining the team, and all. It’s good but it’s- it’s just new, is all.”

“It’s like the thing with the crackers, isn’t it?” Bozer asked.

“What?” Mac asked, blinking in surprise.

“The crackers!” Bozer said. “Do you seriously not remember? It was sixth grade. We were eating an after school snack at my house, and my parents had bought a different brand of crackers than normal cause they were on sale and-”

“And I freaked out,” Mac finished. “Yeah, I remember. I just didn’t think you would.”

“Of course I remember,” Bozer said. “It’s when I realised you were-”

“Weird?” Mac filled in, cutting him off.

“Particular,” Bozer corrected. “You just like things to be in a specific way.

“But it is weird,” Mac said.

“Sure,” Bozer said. “It’s kind of weird. I knew you were weird since the moment we met, man. If I didn't want to be friends with a weird guy, I wouldn’t have hung out with you. Or stayed friends with you, for all these years.”

“I hate it, though,” Mac admitted, once they were both settled on the couch. “I hate feeling all weird and upset just because something I wasn’t expecting happened. It’s annoying.”

“It’s a part of you, man,” Bozer said. “You’ve been like this back in sixth grade, and even before that. Remember when we had that supply teacher in fourth grade and you kept complaining that she did everything the wrong way? It’s just how you are. You blow stuff up and save the day and you get weird about change. It’s all a part of you.”

“But why can’t I just- just dissect this annoying bit out?” Mac asked, throwing his head back against the couch.

Bozer laughed. “That is a lobotomy, Mac. And I’m pretty sure they’re frowned upon.”

“I could still do one,” Mac said. “Coat hanger in my ear, maybe.”

“New house rule. No lobotomies,” Bozer declared. “You’re good just how you are.”

“Fine,” Mac said. “But I still reserve the right to be annoyed about how badly I react to change.”

“You do that,” Bozer said. “But you not liking change is just one of your quirks. Like Jack badly singing to music when he drives. Or how Riley still gets a bit stressed in small spaces after prison. It’s just a thing, Mac. Not good. Not bad. Just part of you.”

“It still feels bad,” Mac groaned.

“It’ll go away eventually,” Bozer said with a shrug. “It always does. You ended up liking the new kind of crackers better, after a bit. You just need time to adjust.”

“But what do I do about that now?” Mac asked.

Bozer grinned. “We could always do movie night.”

“Okay,” Mac said. “We could do that.”

“Great!” Bozer said. “I know just the movie to watch!”

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Mac asked. He already knew the answer.

“Define terrible,” Bozer said, as he grabbed the controller.

“Boze!” Mac cried. “Last time you said that was the last terrible movie!”

“And this one’s not terrible,” Bozer said. “It’s just- underappreciated. That’s it.”

“What’s it called?” Mac asked. “I at least want to know what I’m getting myself into, here.”

Boze smiled. “Warm bodies.”

“The name already sounds terrible,” Mac complained. And it was a terrible movie. But it helped, anyway.

Yeah, Bozer being there had definitely helped. He would have to thank him. Maybe some weird fancy popcorn, or something.

Because he had helped. And Murdoc had helped. And things were- things were better now. Easier. Calmer. Better. So much better. And part of it was because of time. And part of it was because Mac had just needed to get used to the change. And part of it was because it had been a good change, and not an actually bad one. But a lot of it was because of Murdoc. And a lot of it was because of Bozer. And- Mac didn’t know. His talks with both of them had made him realise some things. And they weren’t groundbreaking realisations or anything. But they did make life a little bit easier to deal with.

The truth was, Mac didn’t like change. He never had, and he probably never would.

But that was the thing about change. Changes didn’t stay as changes. Given enough time, enough processing, changes just became the norm. Humans were remarkably resilient like that. Adaptable. And so the change had become bearable. And then the change had slowly become easier and easier to deal with. And then the change had become something on the back burner in Mac’s mind, barely thought about, mostly ignored. It became like a splinter in his thumb, rather than a giant gaping wound in his heart. And then, slowly, so slowly Mac had barely even noticed what had happened, Mac had stopped thinking about it being a change at all.

He was used to Sam being there now. Used to her Australian accent. Used to seeing her blonde hair out of the corner of his eye on missions. Used to her lying and coming up with cover stories and being really good at getting information out of people. He was used to her, sipping beer at his fire pit. He was used to her. And he was used to Bozer fresh out of spy school, too. He was used to him being good at new things. Used to him having more practical knowledge. Used to him actually knowing what different manoeuvres and protocols were called. Used to him not dressing like a jazzy James Bond anymore.

Time passed. He adapted. The change got a little less panic inducing, and a little more expected. The change got a little less overbearing, and a little more comforting. Because it wasn’t a change at all. Instead, what Mac had once thought of as change, had become the new normal. Mac’s new normal. Mac’s new routine. Mac’s new status quo. His new calm, even. His new peace. His new happy place. It was different, but it wasn’t bad. And sure, it had taken him a bit of time to get used to, but that was just how Mac worked. Now that he was used to it, it was good. It had just taken a second to be able to appreciate it, that was all.

Mac was sitting at his fire pit with everyone after a mission, beers in hand.

He listened to the crackling of the flames. The clinking of beer bottles. The laughter of his friends.

Mac smiled, mostly to himself. Yeah, he thought, this was a pretty damn good new normal for him to have.

Chapter Text

Mac hadn’t thought about something, when Samantha had joined the team.

And when she had started hanging out with them.

She didn’t know about Murdoc.

He hadn’t even thought about it, honestly. Murdoc was just such an accepted part of Mac’s life that he hadn’t even thought of the fact that she might not know. She knew Mac had a boyfriend, of course. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about him in front of her before or something. They just hadn’t thought to explain that Mac’s boyfriend wasn’t a civilian or even another agent. Mac was so used to his boyfriend being a less than sane killer for hire, and Jack and Riley and Bozer had gotten over it a long time ago now, that it hadn’t even occurred to him that he would have to explain Murdoc. Or even just tell her that he was- uh, less than normal.

And even if Mac had realised that, he hadn’t had the chance to tell her before she met Murdoc.

“Mac,” Sam said, slowly, as they got out of Jack’s car after a long mission. “There’s somebody on your roof.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “Obviously.”

“Are you not concerned by the stranger on your roof?” Sam asked.

Mac shrugged. “He’s not a stranger. That’s Murdoc.”

“Murdoc,” Sam said, carefully. “As in-”

“As in his boyfriend,” Bozer cut in, teasing.

“And why is he on your roof?” Samanatha asked.

“He probably got bored,” Mac said.

Sam made a sound of disbelief behind Mac. “So he climbed on your roof?”

“Trust me,” Jack said. “This is by far the least weird thing Murdoc’s done.”

Mac ignored them. “Murdoc!” he yelled up at the roof. “We’re back!”

“Boy scout!” Murdoc exclaimed.

“Boy scout?” Sam muttered under her breath, confused.

“Just go with it,” Riley whispered back.

Mac ignored them to watch as Murdoc climbed down from the roof with practised ease, jumping down right beside Mac.

“Good mission?” Murdoc asked, once he landed.

“Good mission,” Mac confirmed, giving Murdoc a quick kiss. “Why the roof?”

“I had a theory about wind patterns,” Murdoc said. “I was testing them out.”

“Did you figure it out?” Mac asked.

“You could call it that,” Murdoc said. And then he paused. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Mac?”

Mac blinked. Oh. Right. He had kind of forgotten everyone else was there, too. And that Sam had never actually met Murdoc before. And vice versa. “Murdoc,” Mac said. “This is Samantha. The new addition to the team. And Sam, this is Murdoc. My boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said, carefully. Mac watched as she watched Murdoc.

“You as well, scorpion,” Murdoc said.

Sam frowned. “Scorpion?” She asked.

“Murdoc,” Mac warned. “I thought I told you to stop comparing my friends to animals.”

“At least she gets to be a scorpion,” Jack compained. “Why does she get to be something cool, and I’m stuck with being called a bulldog?”

“Let’s just get inside,” Bozer said. “I’m beat.”

“You will be beat once we start playing Mario Kart,” Riley teased, as everyone walked into Mac’s house.

They went inside and got settled on the couch. It was something that they had done plenty of times after missions, especially after short ones. Riley, Jack, Mac, and Bozer, some of the time. And sometimes Murdoc would be there, too. He got sort of competitive about video games. Since Cage had joined the team, she had come over for video games a few times too. Mostly, they had been so tired that it was just beers and the fire pit and then going their separate ways to all crash. But sometimes Sam played video games with them. Her favourite was Mario Party, because she was stupidly good at strategy. And at luck. Mostly luck, actually.

But she had never been over when Murdoc was over. At least, until now. She had never met Murdoc. At least, until now. It was kind of worrying, because Murdoc could be a lot. But at the same time, he was Murdoc. He was kind and he was funny and he made stupidly good chocolate covered popcorn to snack on as they played. It was just- it was something Mac had never had to deal with before. Everyone had met Murdoc when the whole S218 reveal thing had happened, and then he had helped with the whole Thornton thing too, and he had just lodged himself in the group. There had been no introductions. But Mac had had to introduce Sam to him. And Murdoc really was a bit of an acquired taste, Mac knew that. But it had gone fine. The introductions had gone completely fine.

Still, Mac couldn’t help but notice that Sam was fidgety. Looking over her shoulder. Eyebrows furrowed in thought, barely even paying attention to the fact that she was losing in Mario Kart. Mac was used to Jack fidgeting, tapping his leg and waving his arms all around. Mac was used to Riley fidgeting, toying with her necklace and curling her hair around her finger. Mac was used to Bozer fidgeting, pacing the floor and quoting movies. Mac was used to Murdoc fidgeting, clapping his hands together randomly and itching his trigger finger. Mac was used to himself fidgeting, even, folding and unfolding paper clips, fiddling with bits of wire, opening and closing his Swiss army knife. But Sam didn’t fidget. She sat still, and calm, and calculated. Or, she normally did, anyway. Something was up. Definitely.

“Mac,” Samantha said, slowly, breaking the silence. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “What’s up?” Hopefully, this would explain what was wrong. If Sam was upset, then something was definitely wrong.

“Alone,” Samantha stressed.

Mac stood. “Sure. Everything okay?”

Sam dragged him out to his backyard. “Mac, I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Mac said. “You’re kind of stressing me out. What is it?”

“It’s your boyfriend,” Sam said.

Mac grit his teeth. “Did he do something?”

“No,” Samantha said, shaking her head. “But there’s something off about him, Mac.”

“I know he’s a bit weird-” Mac started to say.

Sam cut him off. “It’s not that. But you know that I’m trained to detect threats, right? And I can tell that he’s dangerous. Really dangerous.”

Oh. So that’s what this is about. “Look, Sam-” Mac started to say.

“Mac,” Sam said, interrupting him again. “I’m serious. There’s something really dangerous about him. In a- in a sadistic sort of way.”

“I’m serious, too,” Mac said. “It’s fine.”

Samantha frowned. “Do you- did you already know this?”

“Well, yeah,” Mac said. “He’s my boyfriend. It’s not like I think that he’s an accountant, or something.”

“How are you so calm about this?” Sam asked. “It’s clear he’s dangerous.”

Mac shrugged. “Jack’s dangerous. Riley’s dangerous. You’re dangerous. What’s so different about Murdoc?”

“Are you telling me that that guy works for the government?” Sam asked.

“Well, no,” Mac admitted. “But what we do isn’t that different from what he does, not really.”

“And what is it that he does?” Samantha asked.

“I kill people,” Murdoc said.

Mac flinched. He hadn’t noticed Murdoc coming outside. Judging from the look on Sam’s face, neither had she. “You can’t just say that, Murdoc,” Mac said, glaring at Murdoc.

“Isn’t that what you were going to tell her?” Murdoc asked. “Or were you going to break your boy scout oath and lie?”

“I was going to tell her the truth,” Mac said. He turned to Sam. “I was going to tell you the truth. I was just going to say it better than ‘I kill people’.”

“I think I said it just fine,” Murdoc said, pouting.

Sam was just staring. “What is going on right now?”

“Look,” Mac said. “Murdoc’s a killer for hire.”

“Does Phoenix know about this?” Sam asked, incredulously.

“Phoenix is indebted to me,” Murdoc said with a smile.

Mac groaned. “Phoenix knows about him. He helped catch our old, crooked Director. So, he gets a pass.”

“A pass?” Samantha asked. “A killer just gets a pass?”

“I’m very persuasive,” Murdoc cooed.

“Stop being creepy,” Mac ordered. He turned back to Sam. “He did a good thing, helping Phoenix. It gave him some leeway. And I sort of vouched for him.”

“And now you’re dating him,” Sam said. “Seriously?”

Mac shrugged. “The heart wants what it wants.”

“Aw,” Murdoc said. “Boy scout. I’m touched.”

“In the head, maybe,” Mac teased.

“And everybody knows about this?” Sam asked.

Mac sighed. “Literally all of Phoenix knows. My dating life is like, their favourite kind of gossip.”

“But your friends know?” Sam asked.

“Of course they know,” Mac said. “They helped me start dating him, actually.”

Sam shook her head. “This is weird. You know that this is weird, right? And morally reprehensible.”

“Hey!” Murdoc cried out. “I’m only mostly morally reprehensible now!”

“What?” Mac asked.

Murdoc smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been taking more jobs that fall into the realm of vigilantism, rather than just the ones that paid the best.”

“Really?” Mac said. “Why?”

“Because I know you’re bothered by those pesky things called morals,” Murdoc said. “And besides, killing random people has been getting boring.”

“Aw,” Mac said. “Murdoc, that’s so sweet.”

The two of them kissed, quickly.

“See,” Samantha said. “This, this right here is weird. So weird. How can you be talking about murder and then kiss?”

“You get used to it,” Mac said, shrugging. “Now, is this going to be a problem, or are we good?”

“If it was a problem would you sic your murdering boyfriend on me?” Sam asked.

“What? No,” Mac said. “We would just talk to Matty.”

“Then we’re fine, Macgyver,” Samantha said. She smiled, albeit a tad weakly. “Now come on, I wanna see if I can convince Riley to play Mario Party instead.”

Mac smiled. That had gone way better than he had thought it would, honestly.

It was clear that Samantha wasn’t as fine with it as she made it out to seem. He could see her sneak glances at Murdoc, when she didn’t think anyone was looking. He noticed her standing near the door, never turning her back fully to Murdoc. He saw her flinch whenever Murdoc laughed. He watched as she turned around whenever there was a sudden noise. It was clear that she was on edge. She was nervous, anyone could tell that. Hypervigilant. On her guard. Watchful. She was just extra perspective, even more than usual.

But, honestly, that was kind of an appropriate reaction. Mac couldn’t really blame her. Honestly, with any other reaction, Mac might have been questioning her sanity. As much as Mac loved the guy, actually loved the guy, there was no denying that Murdoc was kind of terrifying. Murdoc was a scary guy, plain and simple, even before you knew what he did for a living. And now that she did know what he did for a living, it was only understandable that she was on edge. It was only understandable that she was a bit freaked out. Mac had been freaked out, when he had first met Murdoc. Riley and Jack and Bozer had been freaked out, when they first learned about Murdoc.

Still, Mac just hoped that she would- well, getting over it sounded a bit harsh. But Mac did hope that she would be able to calm down a bit, after. Because, well, Mac had just gotten used to having Sam on the team, okay? And he didn’t exactly want to have to deal with her leaving again, or anything. And Mac liked her. He did. Still, he knew that Murdoc was a bit of a weird guy. A scary guy. And everyone had had to take some time to get used to Murdoc. Mac just hoped that she did get used to Murdoc eventually. Because, yes, Murdoc was weird and strange and creepy, most definitely creep. And, yes, Murdoc was in a line of work that wasn’t exactly the most moral, but at the same time not everything the US government did was moral, either.

Mac would just have to wait and see, he supposed.

For the time being, she at least seemed to be trying to be amicable. Which was good. Mac appreciated that. When Mac had first met Murdoc, knowing what he did and who he was, he hadn’t exactly wanted to play video games or eat popcorn with the guy either. So, yeah, Mac understood where she was coming from. It made sense. It did. Mac understood that when somebody first met Murdoc, there was- was a learning curve, or something. He was acquired taste. More than an acquired taste, actually. A wanted killer. A creepy wanted killer. He had a way of making people uncomfortable, Mac knew that. Mac understood that. He completely and utterly understood that. He had lived that. He had been scared of Murdoc at one point. He had been threatened by Murdoc, at one point.

And yet, it was hard for Mac to think about.

It was hard for Mac to remember a time when Mac didn’t trust Murdoc. It was hard for Mac to remember when Murdoc was just a merc to him, and not something more. It was hard for Mac to remember when Murdoc had just been someone violent. Someone dangerous. Someone threatening. It was hard for Mac to even remember that there had ever been such a time, because Mac loved Murdoc that much. Maybe too much, even. But there had been a time like that. There had been a time when Murdoc had been something like a boogeyman to Mac. He had always been intriguing, but he had been terrifying too. Now the scale was firmly on the intriguing side, and Mac forgot about the terrifying part almost entirely. But still, if he thought about it, he knew that he had felt like Sam, at one point.

Mac watched Sam while they hung out, just to make sure that she was okay.

And, okay, partially to also make sure that she wouldn’t try to arrest Murdoc, or anything. Or stab him. She kind of had that stabby glint in her eye, Mac had to admit. And he knew that look quite well, considering that he was dating, you know, Murdoc. Even if Murdoc was more of a shooty guy than a stabby guy, Mac still knew that look. So he tried to create some distance, to be a bit of a buffer. He didn’t think that anything would happen, especially with Bozer and Riley and Jack all right there, but he wanted to be sure. Because he cared about Murdoc. And Sam. And he didn’t want either of them to get hurt. Or pluck each other’s eyes out, or something. So Mac interjected with random fun facts whenever he saw Sam get a bit too anxious, and he glared at Murdoc when he said something openly taunting. Mac was just- he was aware of the situation, that was all.

But things turned out okay that day they hung out. And the next time. And the time after that.

Mac had to admit, he tried to plan times for them to hang out when Murdoc was around. It was just- it was important for Sam to get used to him. He was a part of their friend group. A part of their lives. A part of Mac’s life, more importantly. And he wanted them to get along. Sam had grown into a friend, and a part of their team, and he wanted her to get along with Murdoc. Of course he did. He was close with both of them, and he at least wanted to be absolutely certain that Sam wasn’t about to call the CIA and tell them that S218 was in Mac’s living room. That- that wouldn’t be ideal. But preferably, Mac wanted Sam to more than tolerate Murdoc. He wanted them to actually get along.

Because, well, Mac knew that they could get along, if they tried. They were more similar than he was sure Sam wanted to think. Mac wasn’t sure if Murdoc noticed the similarities or not, but doubted he cared either way. They were both vicious, when they needed to be. Teasing, when they wanted to be. Playful and smart and cunning. Sam was more about understanding people, than Murdoc was. But they both used something about themselves to get under people’s skin. There were just- there were similarities, okay? And Mac thought that they would actually have a lot to talk about, if they actually talked.

Most of the time, the most words they exchanged was a curt hello from Sam. And sometimes Murdoc would taunt or tease Sam, which was not making any of this easier. But it was in Murdoc’s nature. He taunted and teased everyone. Well, everyone except for Cassian. And sometimes Mac, but not even he was free from the teasing all of the time. It was just how he was. But the way that he had a habit of antagonising Sam wasn’t exactly helping anything. Even though, at the same time, maybe it was helping. Because Sam started teasing back. It was- it was progress, even if it was technically bullying.

Mac had to admit, he was pretty sure that it was actually working. Like, actually.

It wasn’t perfect or, anything. Certainly not perfect. But there was progress. There was actual progress. They were talking. They were joking, even. It was miraculous. Kind of miraculous, anyway. Mac liked to think less of a miracle and more a product of his own dogged ambition. Either way, they were definitely getting along. They were talking. Making jokes. Playing games together. Sam didn’t look ready to bolt at any second. The idea of Sam ratting Murdoc out even with his deal with Phoenix left his mind entirely. Although, Mac had to admit, maybe he should have thought through what it would be like for Sam and Murdoc to actually do more than glare at each other. Because he might have been less eager to put his plan into action, if he had thought about the implications. He really should have thought about the implications.

They were sitting at the fire pit, all six of them.

“So you’ve known Mac for how long?” Sam asked.

Murdoc grinned. “Five years, now.”

“So you’ve known him for a long time, then?” Sam asked. She was grinning in a way that Mac did not like, actually.

“I have,” Murdoc said. “A long time. A lot of things happened.”

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that you’ve seen Mac do?” Sam asked.

Mac groaned. “You do not have to answer that, Murdoc.”

“But Macgyver,” Murdoc cooed. “You told me to be more friendly with Samantha!”

“Yeah, Mac,” Sam said. “You don’t want to get in the way of our budding friendship now, do you?”

“I hate you both,” Mac grumbled.

“We know that, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Anyway, Samantha, I did have the pleasure of seeing Mac captured by terrorists once. Drugged out of his mind.”

“No,” Mac said. “No way. Anything but that story.”

“Oh but whyever not, boy scout?” Murdoc asked. “It’s a good story.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Mac groaned.

“That’s exactly why I want to hear it,” Sam teased. “Boy scout,” she added, just to be annoying.

“Only Murdoc gets to call me that,” Mac said.

At the same time Murdoc made a sound of indignation. “Only I get to call Macgyver that,”

“Fine,” Samantha said. “But now I have to hear this story.”

Mac sighed. “There’s no stopping you, is there?”

“Nope!” Murdoc and Sam said at the same time.

“Great,” Mac said with a sigh.

“Can I get on with my story now, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

“Fine,” Mac grumbled. He leaned back, resigning himself to humiliation.

“Good!” Murdoc said, clapping his hands together dramatically. “Now, Macgyver here was very drugged. And very captured, and I came in like his knight in shining armour.”

“I want blackmail material,” Sam said. “Not your love story.”

“This is by far not one of our more romantic stories,” Murdoc said. “Don’t worry about that, Samantha. It will be quite embarrassing. Because, I must remind you, Macgyver here was drugged. And because he was drugged, he wasn’t exactly aware of what he was saying. And he said that I smelled quite nice.”

Mac squeaked in embarrassment. “I said that outloud?”

“You said many more things out loud than just that, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“And you’re going to tell Sam all of them, aren’t you?” Mac said

Murdoc grinned. “Obviously.”

“Of course you are,” Mac said with a sigh. Sam looked like a kid in a candy store.

But, okay, Sam was definitely more tolerant of Murdoc’s presence now. It was just, to Mac’s regret, at the cost of Mac’s dignity.

Really, though, Mac was just glad that they were getting along. Mac was just glad that they were all getting along. Riley and Bozer and Jack and Sam and Murdoc. They were all getting along with each other. They were all friends with each other. Mac didn’t know what he would have done, if they hadn’t accepted Murdoc was part of their weird little family. Because all of these people meant so much to Mac. So much. But at the same time, Murdoc meant a lot to him too. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had been forced to choose. Forced to pick between his friends and Phoenix or Murdoc. It was an impossible question.

But he hadn’t had to pick. Everything had worked out.

Mac had a great team. He had a great job. He had a great boss. He had people he could depend on. He had people who could rely on. He had people he could trust to watch his back, and he watched theirs in return. He had missions that mattered, really mattered. He had missions where he could help people, really help people. He had missions that meant that he could make a difference, really make a difference. He had a reliable organisation and a purpose to keep on going and plenty of missions to give him something to do. He had people to joke with on flights and even during missions. He had people who completed him. He had people who he knew would always be there for him. Mac had a great team, he really did.

Mac had a great boyfriend. He had the greatest boyfriend in the world, maybe. He had a boyfriend who he cherished every second with. He had a boyfriend who was smart and funny and protective. He had a boyfriend who cared and cared and cared. He had a boyfriend who was always there for him. Who ran baths for him when he needed them. Who cooked for him when he needed it. Who spoiled Mac when he needed it, and who let Mac spoil him in return. He had a boyfriend who had stopped killing random people, when Mac hadn’t even asked that of him. He had a boyfriend who would watch the world burn for Mac. He had a boyfriend who would never leave him, or betray him, or fake his own death. Mac had a boyfriend. A really, really great boyfriend.

Mac had a great group of friends. Even if they all had very different jobs. And very different opinions on morals. The morals were the most different, really. But they got along anyway. They got along in a way that Mac couldn’t even explain, really. They were all so different. And yet, they were all Mac’s friends. And yet, they all worked together. And yet, they all hung out at Mac’s and watched movies and played video games and boardgames and chatted about random crap. And yet, they all just meshed. Because he had a group of friends that just worked together. He had a group of friends that just made sense. He had a group of friends that just made Mac feel so welcomed and safe and cared about. Mac just- he had a great group of friends. Frustrating, sometimes. Annoying, too. But great nonetheless.

And Mac couldn’t ask for anything better. His life was as perfect as it could get, as far as he thought.

He listened to the crackle of the fire. He listened to Sam and Murdoc continue to gossip. He listened to Bozer and Riley argue whether or not popcorn flavoured pop would be gross. He listened to Jack laugh like an idiot. He listened to all of it. He listened to his team, all being there for each other. He listened to his boyfriend, enjoying himself tremendously. He listened to his friends, all getting along. He listened to his family, all together by the fire. He listened and he listened and he listened. And he smiled.

Yeah, Mac thought, his life was pretty damn perfect.

Chapter Text

It was almost Christmas.

Mac, he had to admit, really loved Christmas. It was a time to celebrate with everybody you loved. Celebrate life, more than celebrating baby Jesus or anything. And there was Santa. Mac had always liked Santa. He had always liked Christmas as a whole. Christmas was always good. It was always cheerful. There were Santa hats and Christmas trees and warm sweaters. There was hot chocolate and candy canes and eggnog. There was pastrami, because of Bozer’s weird family tradition. There were stockings and gifts and ornaments. There was family and there were friends and there was nothing but celebration together. There was group hugs and the sound of laughter ricocheting off the walls. There was discussion of whether or not Die Hard was a Christmas movie. And it was perfect, every year. But especially this year.

At the moment, they were having a Christmas party at Mac and Bozer’s place.

Everybody was there. And Mac meant everybody. Bozer, obviously. Jack and Riley, too. Sam, even though all her family was in Australia. Murdoc, as if Mac could throw a party without him somehow finding his way there. Matty, too. And Cassian was on winter break from school, so he was there too, for a few days. It wasn’t Christmas, but it was when everyone’s schedules aligned and they were sure that they wouldn’t be needed by Phoenix so, it was good enough. And besides, Christmas wasn’t about the day. It was about the experience.

And the experience was nice. There was Christmas music playing. There were way too many snacks, thanks to Bozer and Murdoc collaborating in a slightly terrifying way. Everyone was talking and snacking and laughing. Everyone was getting along. They would do gifts, later. And Mac could hear Jack trying to convince Bozer that Die Hard was definitely appropriate to watch at their Christmas party. And he could hear Murdoc insist that Cassian was too young to be watching Die Hard, which was- it was good parenting, but it was also just funny considering what Murdoc did for a living. Even if Mac knew that Murdoc did try his best to make sure that Cass was as far from Murdoc’s job as possible.

It was just- it was nice. Really nice. Mac couldn’t get over how nice it was, actually. Sure, Mac always enjoyed Christmas but this? This was as close to perfect as it could get. The food was delicious and there were gifts under the tree, obviously. But that wasn’t what Mac cared about, not even a bit. Mac cared about the fact that everyone he cared about was here. Riley and Bozer and Jack. Sam and Matty. Murdoc and Cassian. Everyone was here. And everyone was getting along. Mac had thought that anyone even knowing about Murdoc was out of the question when he first became friends with the assassin, and now they were all having a Christmas party together. It was just- it was perfect.

That was when the doorbell rang. Mac didn’t know who it could be, but he stood up anyway.

“Mac,” Matty said, quickly. “Don’t get the door just yet.”

Mac froze where he was standing. “What is it?”

“Bad news,” Matty said, shaking her head. “You know the bomb you made last week?”

Mac frowned. “Which one?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Which one? The one he exploded in Angola when our cover got blown or the one in L.A. when we, uh, went with the bad intel?”

“Los Angeles,” Matty said. “The intel was worse than we thought. There was a civilian.”

“No, no, no,” Jack said. “I cleared that building. It was clear.”

“George Ramsey’s body was found there,” Matty said with a sigh. “And they know you had something to do with it, Mac.”

Mac froze. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Matty admitted. “But the LAPD are one their way here.”

The doorbell ringing turned into pounding on the door.

“How do we get Mac out of this?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know,” Matty said. “But there’s nothing we can do right now.”

Mac sighed. “Okay,” he said. He walked towards the door, even as the others protested.

Mac opened the door. It was the cops. It was the cops here to arrest Mac.

And they did it in front of everybody. In front of Bozer. In front of Riley. In front of Sam. In front of Jack. In front of Matty. In front of Murdoc. In front of Cassian. God, did they have to do it in front of Cassian? Mac couldn’t do anything but let them arrest him. He couldn’t cause a scene. He couldn’t make a taser out of what was in his pocket, or a smoke bomb with the Christmas cracker he was holding. And no one else could do anything, either. He watched Bozer hold Murdoc back. He watched Matty hold Jack back. He watched Sam and Riley trying to come up with a plan. But there was nothing Mac could do. There was nothing any of them could do. Mac had to let himself get arrested.

It wasn’t as if Mac had never been arrested before, or anything. No, Mac had been arrested. A lot, actually. He had been arrested by cops. He had been arrested by governments. He had been arrested by terrorists. He had been arrested and captured and kidnapped. He was used to the feeling of handcuffs on his wrists. He was used to the feeling of people putting him into the backs of cars against his will. He was used to being caught. Being captured. He was used to rough handling and jail cells and the like. He was used to it, he was. Mac was used to it more than most people, just because of his line of work.

But that was always overseas. Undercover. That was always under a different name. A fake name. In a different city. In a city where he didn’t live. He was never arrested while he wasn’t on a mission. He was never arrested in his own house. He was never arrested while having a party with his friends. He was never arrested in front of his friends. In front of his boss. In front of his boyfriend. And he was never arrested in front of his boyfriend's kid. Murdoc wanted Cass to stay as far away from all of this stuff as possible. That was why he was in boarding school, why Murdoc hardly ever saw him. And now- now it was Mac’s fault that Cass had to see that.

Mac was shaking as he cooperated with the police.

There was no ex-fil at the end of this. There was no van waiting to whisk Mac away once he broke out. There was no breaking out. Because this was Mac’s actual identity. He hadn’t been arrested under a pseudonym. He hadn’t even just been arrested as ‘Mac’. He had been arrested as Angus Macgyver. His civilian identity. There was no way that Mac could get himself out of this without becoming a fugitive. Mac didn’t exactly want to be a fugitive. And Mac knew that protocol said that Phoenix couldn’t just get him out. There was no get out of jail free card, for Phoenix agents. There was nothing Matty could do, not through favours or any of the regular channels anyway.

Mac slumped into the chair that they had placed him in.

He was in an interrogation room, that much was for certain. It was cold. And it was barren. It was just Mac and his thoughts. A mirror, which was certainly two way glass. Harsh white tile and chilled cement under his feet. Mac knew that it was intentionally unnerving. Interrogation rooms were meant to scare people. To make them feel uncomfortable. It was to make you more anxious. More stressed. More willing to tell everything to the cops. Mac knew the tricks. Phoenix used similar ones in their own interrogations. He knew exactly what they were doing, leaving him in this cold, empty room to stew. But knowing what they were doing didn’t make it any easier to deal with, surprisingly enough.

Mac’s heart pounded in his chest. His head spun. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. Or rather, it was hard to think about anything other than the fact that he was arrested. The fact that he was away from his friends. The fact that he was away from Murdoc. The fact that he was away from Cassian. The fact that they had all watched him get arrested, that they all were forced to watch Mac get arrested. He was away from his friends. From his family. From his support. It was just him and the cinder block walls and the draft in the interrogation room. It was just him and his thoughts. It was just him and his worries. It was just him and the handcuffs around his wrists. Handcuffs that Mac could pick easily, but couldn’t because he had been arrested under his own name. At his own house. Surrounded by his own friends. And now he was alone.

Still, he knew that they would come for him. They would come for him. Mac- Mac was sure of that. He was sure of that. He was absolutely definitely sure of that. But what if Matty couldn’t use Phoenix to interfere. But what if she couldn’t pull any favours. But what if there was no way for them to get him out, legally anyway. But what if there was proof that Mac really had been the one to blow up that warehouse. The one to kill a civilian. Because that was what Mac had done. He had killed a civilian. So what if this was what Mac deserved? What if his friends realised that he did deserve to go to prison? What if-

The door opened. In walked a detective, one of the ones who had arrested him.

“What were you doing in that warehouse, Mr. MacGyver?” He asked, as he sat down. Mac hadn’t caught his name. Or his badge number.

Mac didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. It could incriminate him. Or incriminate Phoenix. Either way, talking was bad news. Actually, all of this was bad news, but still. Talking was definitely bad news.

“You don't feel like talking?” The detective prodded. “That's okay. You just sit back and relax. I'll show you some pictures.” The man flipped open a file folder, pulling out photos and placing them on the table.

Mac spotted a paperclip on the folder, and resisted the urge to reach for.

The detective pointed to a picture of a man covered in rubble. There was something off about it, but Mac couldn’t place it. “This is what it looks like when someone drops a building on you,” the detective said. He pointed to another photo, this one of a man and two young girls. “The man you killed was married. Two kids. Six and eight. Worked three jobs just to provide.”

Mac kept as calm as he could as he looked at the pictures. He had been trained to sustain torture. He had been trained to fight killers. He had been kidnapped and arrested and drugged and everything else under the sun. He could handle a detective asking him some questions. He could- he could handle looking at some photos. Even if they were photos of the person that Mac had killed. The civilian that Mac had killed. Mac had killed people before. But civilians? Mac never killed civilians. He always- he always made sure civilians got out. As the man placed a photo of the man, George Ramsey, after his autopsy, Mac felt his calm demeanour starting to crack. He had killed someone. He had killed a father. He had-

Mac’s eyes flicked up to the large, loudly ticking clock on the wall. When was Matty going to get him out of this?

“You got somewhere to be?” The detective asked harshly.

Mac still didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes down. He just had to wait for Matty. Wait for anybody, really.

“Look at me,” the detective said.

Mac still didn’t look at him. He didn’t even move, aside from his lungs in his chest.

“I said look at me,” the detective pushed.

Mac had no reason to want this detective to be in here for any longer than he had to be. He forced himself to make eye contact with the detective, just to cut this talk shorter.

“There ain't gonna be no Christmas miracle for you, pal,” the detective said. Somebody had been watching too many cop movies, Mac bet. “You're here. For good. So you might as well start talking.”

The detective didn’t leave. Instead, he kept talking. About George Ramsey. About the explosion. As if Mac didn’t feel bad enough about the fact that he had killed someone already. Granted, the detective didn’t know that Mac felt bad about killing a civilian. The man didn’t even know that Mac wasn’t a civilian. But still. Mac felt bad. And having the detective throw more and more information about who Mac had killed, about George Ramsey, wasn’t making any of it better. The only way that any of this would be better would be if Mac could get released, and the detective didn’t seem to think that that would happen. Or at all, actually. And he just kept talking. And talking. And talking.

“Bomb squad said it was a very powerful IED, made out of stuff that was just lying around,” the detective said, leaning across the table.

Mac was pretty sure he was trying to be menacing, but it didn’t really work when Mac had seen worse than an LAPD detective. He was dating worse, actually. A lot worse.

“Where does a guy learn to build something like that, I wonder?” The detective continued.

Mac was still refusing to answer. It didn’t seem to dissuade the detective at all, but Mac couldn’t risk giving anything away. And maybe it was a bit about the principle of the thing, too. The detective opened his mouth to ask something else of Mac. A knock on the door cut him off, though. The man stood up, and went to answer the door. Mac barely caught a glance of another man, probably a detective, before the first detective walked out of the interrogation room, presumably to talk to him. Finally, Mac was alone. Given quiet. Given peace.

At least, at peace from the detective. Nobody could give Mac peace from his own thoughts, not when he had killed a civilian.

Mac couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the mission that had led to this. It was supposed to have been simple. A small shipment of extremely dangerous guns, that they needed to find and retrieve before they could be sold. It was simple. Easy, even. Or it should have been easy, anyway. But they had gotten bad intel. Really bad intel. There was supposed to be one shipment of guns. One small shipment of guns. But when they had arrived at the warehouse, it hadn’t been one shipment of guns. It had been shipment after shipment after shipment of guns. Too many guns for them to be able to take out of the warehouse in one trip. And the deal had been happening a lot sooner than they had thought, too. It hadn’t exactly been the best day for them. Or their information.

So, they had improvised, like they always did. It was sort of their thing. It was sort of Mac’s thing, anyway. Mac had worked on making large enough of an explosive to take out all of the guns, while Jack checked the whole warehouse to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. Or anyone. And Jack would have noticed if there had been a civilian there, Mac knew that. But apparently, he must have missed someone, because there was someone in the rubble. Someone who had died in an explosion that Mac had caused. But Mac hadn’t known it at the time. He had just been focusing on building an explosive.

Bozer had been outside of the building, and he would have seen somebody enter. Riley had been checking all the security cameras, working on the ones around the building. She would have noticed someone too. There was no way that any of this could have happened, and yet it did. There was no way any of this could have happened, and yet there was somebody dead. A civilian, dead. A father, dead. Dead because of Mac’s mission. Dead because of Mac’s bomb. Dead because of Mac. There was no other way of saying it. Somebody was dead because of what Mac had done. Somebody was dead because of Mac and his choices and- And it was his fault, plain and simple.

The detective came back, eventually. He had a second man with him, the other detective.

The first detective, who Mac had heard the other one call Greer, placed plastic evidence bags on the table. “You know what this is?” Detective Greer asked.

“Of course he knows what it is,” the other detective said. “He's just hoping we don't know what it is.”

And Mac did know what it was. Just from glancing at the bags, he knew that they were the melted fragments from the explosion. And, truthfully, Mac was hoping that they wouldn’t know what it was.

“It's part of an assault rifle,” Greer said, glaring at Mac. “German, G36. Forensics found them all over the warehouse.”

“Which tells us there was a large shipment of them in the building,” the second detective added.

“Also tells us how you might've been supplementing your income these days,” Greer said.

Was that seriously what they thought had happened? They didn’t even consider vigilantism? Or gang on gang violence, or anything?

The second detective sneered from where he was leaning against the wall. “You selling weapons, MacGyver? You some kind of wannabe arms dealer?”

“If you are, you're not a very good one, though,” Greer continued. “Seems like bad business to destroy your own merchandise.”

“I'd say so,” the second detective said.

They seriously thought that Mac was an arms dealer. And that he had blown up his own guns. Seriously?

“And this,” Greer said, pointing to another evidence bag on the table. Mac recognised that one, too. “Is what's left of the bomb you made. You learn that at EOD? Or did you come up with this one by yourself?”

Mac looked at Greer, glaring at Greer through his eyelashes.

“You want to say anything now?” Detective Greer taunted.

Mac couldn’t say anything, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t implicate Phoenix. Or the CIA. He just needed to wait for Matty. And hope that the cops didn’t have enough evidence to charge Mac with murder. They had something to tie him to it, obviously, or they wouldn’t have thought to arrest him in the first place. But Mac just had to hope that it was circumstantial. A stretch. Something that Matty could defend or something Riley could prove was fake or something. They would get Mac out. They would get Mac out, he was sure of that. He just had to wait.

Greer slammed a new file folder onto the table. “That's you, exiting the warehouse that blew up,” he said.

Okay, that was more than circumstantial evidence, Mac had to admit. Crap. How had they even gotten that? Still, he schooled his emotions, and made his heart rate stay calm. He was fine. He just had to wait for Matty.

“You care to explain that? “ Detective Greer asked, taunting Mac. “Oh, take your time. I'm sure it's surprising for you since all the security cameras in the area mysteriously got knocked out somehow.”

“You didn't figure on the street-view car driving by as you left, huh?” His partner added.

So that was how they had gotten a photo of Mac. Damn. He should have been watching for that.

“The time stamp puts you right there, right about the time your bomb exploded,” Greer said.

“Oh,” the second detective added. “And we say ‘your bomb’ because we also found your fingerprints on what was left of it.”

Okay, Mac thought. This was too much evidence. A street view car photo, seriously? And Mac hadn’t even considered that they would be able to recover fingerprints from his bomb. This was enough evidence that he needed to tell Matty, actually. She wouldn’t be able to anticipate all of it.

“I want my phone call,” Mac said, his voice hoarse from not speaking for over an hour. “Now,” he added, when it didn’t look like either detective was moving.

Still, neither detective moved. Instead, Greer laughed. “Oh, you don't get a phone call,” he said, casually.

Mac froze in his seat. “What do you mean I don't get a phone call?” He asked. Because, well, this was bad. It was bad.

“You would, if we were just charging you with murder,” the second detective said.

“A bomb you built blew up on U.S. soil,” Detective Greer continued. “Ending an innocent life and destroying a building. This isn't just about murder anymore. We're charging you with domestic terrorism.”

Mac’s face fell. They were using the Patriot Act on him, seriously? Seriously? So, okay, he couldn’t get a phone call. Fine. And he couldn’t break out without being declared a fugitive. Fine. And if Matty hadn’t gotten him out at this point, then that meant that she couldn’t just talk to the police or call in a favour. No, it had to be more complicated than that. But it was fine. It would be fine. Matty would figure something out. Or Bozer would. Or Riley would. Or Sam would. Or Jack would. Or Murdoc would. Or Mac himself would. They would figure something out. They would. It would be easier if Mac could actually talk to them. If he could get his phone call. But it was fine. He was fine. He would be fine.

At some point, the second detective, who Mac heard Greer call ‘Turner’, left the room. That meant that it was just Mac and Greer. Great. Just great.

“I know exactly who you are, Mr. Macgyver,” Detective Greer said.

“I'm not who you think I am,” Mac protested. He had to say something, at this point. He just couldn’t say anything about Phoenix. Or what had really happened. But he had to say something.

“If you're innocent, tell us who you are,” Greer said.

Mac could have laughed. There was no version of who Mac was that wouldn’t have implicated Phoenix. Or himself. Not to mention Murdoc- “Not an arms dealer. Not a terrorist,” Mac settled on.

“I guess we can tack on ‘Making False Statements’ and ‘Obstruction of Justice’ to the charges,” Detective Greer said.

Mac glared at him. Again.

“What you are, Mr. MacGyver, is a jigsaw puzzle,” Greer continued, ignoring Mac. “The picture on the box looks good, but lift the lid and all you'll find inside are a bunch of broken pieces. Your mom died when you were five. Dad left when you were ten.”

The detective was bringing up his parents? Seriously? That was just cliched. “Lots of people lose their parents,” Mac forced himself to answer.

“But they don't all burn down their high school football stadium,” Greer pointed out.

And okay, that was kind of fair, but it wasn’t as though Mac had meant to burn it down. He just liked science a bit too much, that was all. “That was an accident. “

“Or a clue to who you would ultimately become,” Detective Greer said.

Mac scoffed. Right. It was a clue. Everything was a clue, when you thought someone was a criminal.

“In my experience,” Greer continued. “Highly intelligent children with abandonment issues, a history of arson and an abnormal obsession with explosives don't usually wind up doctors and lawyers.”

At least the man thought that Mac was intelligent, Mac thought with a groan. None of this was good news. None of it.

“You've spent your whole life looking for somewhere to put all that anger,” Greer added. “It's just too bad we didn't catch you before all that rage cost an innocent man his life. There is only one way forward.”

Greer stared at Mac. Mac stared back. What cliched thing was going to come out of Greer’s mouth next?

“You have to tell the truth, son,” Greer said.

That was the only thing that Mac couldn’t do, actually. Like, literally the only thing that there was no way Mac could do. All it would do would be violate a lot of acts. And a lot of laws. And make Matty mad, which Mac did not want to do. Ever. It would implicate Phoenix, and probably the CIA, and cause a whole lot of a mess that Mac couldn’t afford right now. It would be easier just to break out and live as a fugitive, actually, even if Mac didn’t want to particularly do that. But for now, he would wait. Phoenix would get him out. Or give him a sign, or something. It would be fine. Mac would be fine. He would have to be.

Besides, Murdoc wouldn’t let Mac be sent to jail, anyway. Not without saying ‘I told you so’ first, or something, anyway. Murdoc was annoying like that.

Speaking of Murdoc, something strange happened. Greer had been talking to Mac, gloating and bullying and taunting, as he had been for almost two hours now. Mac had a feeling that the man could keep going forever, if he took enough coffee breaks. And yet, he had been interrupted by the door to the interrogation room slamming open. It hadn’t been Turner, who Mac would have assumed it was. And it wasn’t an FBI agent, though Mac knew they must have been called if they thought Mac was a terrorist. Instead, it was- Well, it was Murdoc, strolling into the interrogation room. Murdoc, dressed in a suit and a ridiculous pair of sunglasses.

“This interview's over. I'd like a word alone with my client,” Murdoc said, smoothly as though he wasn’t impersonating a lawyer and breaking into an interrogation room.

“You can’t just barge in here,” Greer said.

Murdoc didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Roger Preston, attorney at law,” he said, handing over a business card. Where the hell had he even gotten a business card?

Greer took it, looking just as surprised as Mac felt.

“I'm surprised you don't recognize me from my client's Christmas party you so rudely interrupted,” Murdoc continued. Mac couldn’t get over the extremely stupid sunglasses he was still wearing.

“Your client is being held on suspicion of domestic terrorism,” Detective Greer pointed out.

“That doesn't magically eliminate his Sixth Amendment right to counsel,” Murdoc said. He was incredibly convincing as a smarmy lawyer, Mac had to admit. “So are we going to continue to violate said rights, or can I have that word alone I requested?”

Detective Greer just stared.

“Have I said ‘please’ yet?” Murdoc asked. He stared right at Greer, arching an eyebrow. “Please?”

“Fine,” Greer said, crossing his arms. “But I'd advise your client to cooperate with us.”

Murdoc grinned predatorily. “Thank you, Detective. I'll take it from here.” He shut the door as soon as Greer had left.

“There we go, boy scout,” Murdoc said, leaning comfortably against the wall. “Your saviour’s here.”

“Murdoc,” Mac said, almost involuntarily. He was- he was so damn glad to see Murdoc. “You better know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t you fret, Macgyver,” Murdoc said. “Your dear owl cut the cameras and the speakers to the observation room. And, technically, whatever we talk about falls under lawyer-client confidentiality, anyway.”

“So Phoenix actually knows you’re doing this?” Mac asked. He had been sort of expecting this to be Murdoc here to shoot everyone and get him out, even if Mac wouldn’t have approved of that. Or approved of being a fugitive.

“If this was my idea,” Murdoc said, grinning at Mac. There was something serious in his tone, however. “Those detectives would never have lived to get those handcuffs around your wrists.”

“Of course,” Mac said, laughing slightly. “And is that the plan now?”

Murdoc pouted. “No,” he admitted. “Your Matilda sent me here to contact you.”

“And Matty sent you?” Mac asked. “Seriously?”

“I had an alias all ready to go for this,” Murdoc admitted. “From years ago, actually.”

“Really?” Mac asked. He needed to know about that. But not right now. Definitely not right now. “And you just agreed to work with Phoenix for this?”

Murdoc’s face softened. “I was worried for you, boy scout. Very worried.”

“Really?” Mac asked again. “That’s sweet of you.”

“And besides,” Murdoc continued, as if Mac hadn’t said anything at all. “Can you imagine your bulldog trying to pretend to be a lawyer?”

Mac stifled a laugh. And the urge to kiss Murdoc. He had to focus. “What is the plan here, then?”

“Well,” Murdoc said. “We’re going to get you out of here. But, apparently, we have to wait to prove you innocent first.”

“But I’m not innocent,” Mac pointed out. “I did kill that guy.”

“Au contraire, boy scout,” Murdoc said. He put his briefcase on the table, and opened it, pulling out a tablet. “We had a peek at your file. And your little sidekick realised that he had seen the victim leaving the warehouse. Before you blew it up, just to be clear.”

Mac’s eyes widened as he realised what that meant. “Really?” He asked. “He wasn't in the- I didn't kill him?” He didn’t kill him. He actually didn’t kill him. Mac didn’t kill him. He didn’t kill a civilian. He didn’t-

“No, boy scout, you didn't kill him. Your conscience is still clean,” Murdoc said. “But we still have to prove it, because apparently I can’t just break you out.”

“No, Murdoc, you can’t just break me out,” Mac said. Then he paused. “So why are you here, if you haven’t found a way to prove it yet?”

“You are the only one in our little group with EOD training, you know,” Murdoc said. “While I do blow people up, I don’t exactly look at the wreckage that comes after. I need your help to prove that a guy found dead inside of a building was actually alive outside of it before the bomb went off.”

“Okay,” Mac said, as Murdoc started pulling up photos on the tablet. He squinted at them, blinking slowly. There was- there was something wrong. There was- “Wait a second,” Mac murmured, mostly to himself. “That's where they found the body?”

“It is,” Murdoc said, leaning closer. “What is it?”

“He’s way too close,” Mac said, frowning.

“That is how people die from explosions, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out unhelpfully.

Mac shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I- He couldn't have been that close to the blast when the bomb went off.”

“Why not?” Murdoc asked, sounding intrigued.

“Look,” Mac said, pointing as best as he could in his handcuffs. “This guy, he should be covered, at that distance, in secondary blast injuries. Hundreds of tiny little wounds caused by flying debris. But he doesn't have any.”

Murdoc grinned. “Really? You never cease to surprise me, boy scout.”

“I don't know where George Ramsey died,” Mac said, ignoring Mac’s compliment. “But it wasn't there. Whoever killed George brought in his body and covered him in debris.”

“Alright,” Murdoc said, pulling out a phone. “Go ahead and tell Matilda, then.”

Mac scoffed, even as he smiled. “You’re not even going to type it in for me? I’m handcuffed, remember?”

“You’re hardly useless when you’re handcuffed, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out. “I’ve seen you disarm a bomb handcuff. And make a cannon handcuffed. And-”

“I get your point,” Mac said, shaking his head. He typed in Mattie’s number, setting the phone on speaker. “Matty, hi.”

“Mac,” Matty said, carefully. “Did Murdoc get to you safely?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “And I looked at the photos you sent. I’m positive George Ramsey didn’t die from the explosion. There aren’t any secondary blast injuries.”

“You can’t serve as a witness at your own trial, Mac,” Matty pointed out.

“I know,” Mac said. “And you can’t exactly just tell the LAPD to hire a bomb expert. Not without further implicating me, anyway.”

“Right,” Matty said. “In order to clear him, we have to find the real killer.”

“And how do we suppose that?” Murdoc asked. “You aren’t exactly swimming in leads, Matilda.”

Mac glared at Murdoc. “Not helping,” he said. And then he tilted his head. “Actually, I might have a lead.”

“What is it, Macgyver?” Matty asked.

“I never really know if I'm gonna find what I need to make- well, whatever it is I need. But this time, I got lucky. Too lucky,” Mac said. How hadn’t he noticed it before? “Matches and aluminium foil are everywhere. But sodium hydroxide? Doesn't exactly grow on trees.”

Murdoc grinned. “Tinfoil doesn’t grow on trees either, boy scout,” he said.

“I was in a hurry, calculating exothermic reaction rates in my head,” Mac said, ignoring Murdoc as he rolled his eyes. “So I didn't really think about it at the time. But along with sodium hydroxide, I also found cold medicine and nail polish remover, which can only mean one thing.”

“And?” Murdoc asked. “This does seem a bit of a tangent, even for you.”

“And,” Mac parroted. “Nail polish remover, cold medicine and sodium hydroxide are all key ingredients in the synthesis of meth.”

“Wait a minute, now,” Jack piped up. Apparently Matty had put them on speaker, too. “What you're saying is, our badass group of international arms dealers is really a not so badass group of low-rent methamphetamine dealers?”

“No. Not low-rent,” Matty corrected. “Not anymore. The meth business in the U.S. has changed.”

Murdoc grinned. That was never a good sign. “The La Ola Cartel has filled that niche, lately. Thanks to the DEA.”

“When I first dug into the warehouse,” Riley added. “I hit a nest of shell companies, which led me to warehouse owner H. Ruiz. But searching just ‘H. Ruiz’ turned up over 20,000 hits. Now that I know those shells are tied a Mexican drսg cartel, I can search H. Ruiz in the DEA database, and-”

Mac took a breath. They could- they could solve this. They would solve this.

“I found someone,” Riley continued. “Here's Hector Ruiz. A lieutenant in La Ola, and owner of the warehouse in question.”

“If the cartel owned the warehouse, then George Ramsey worked for them,” Cage added.

“And maybe he was more than just a maintenance man. Maybe he kept an eye on all of their contraband,” Boze said. “But when we broke in- “

Jack cut him off. “He knew he was outnumbered, so instead of protect the stash, he bugged out on his bike.”

“Almost running me over in the process,” Bozer added.

“So the cartel killed him as punishment for fleeing, and then dumped his body in the rubble.

“Very spiffy,” Murdoc said. “Very, very spiffy.”

“Now all we need is proof to convince the detectives,” Riley pointed out.

Mac could feel Jack grin over the phone. “We should go have a heart-to-heart with this Hector Ruiz fella, yeah?”

“Good idea, Jack,” Matty said. That was rare to hear. “And Mac, sit tight. We’ll get you out, alright?”

“Yeah, hoss,” Jack said. “We’ll be getting you out.”

Mac smiled. “Bye,” he said. “I’ll see you guys.” And he actually believed it, he realised, as he hung up.

“So, boy scout,” Murdco said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just break you out?”

“Murdoc,” Mac warned.

“I know, I know,” Murdoc said. “You have something against being a fugitive. It’s so weird, I know.”

“Murdoc,” Mac repeated. And then he smiled. “Thank you for coming for me. And offering to break me out, even though I don’t need it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Murdoc said, softly. “And when you get out of here, we are having a talk about awareness of your surroundings.”

Mac just smiled. “Thanks for being worried for me, Murdoc.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Murdoc said, even though it was obviously a lie. “Cassian, however-”

“Oh god,” Mac said. “Cass. Right. Is he okay?”

“He’s handling it just swell,” Murdoc assured him. “He’s a bit too young to know what exactly is going on, anyway.”

“You wanted to keep him away from all of this,” Mac pointed out. “I’m sorry.”

“Macgyver,” Murdoc said, slowly. “You didn’t mean to get arrested. Stop apologising.”

“Fine,” Mac said. “But seriously, thank you.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Murdoc asked. “Leave your bulldog to sort this stuff out? No way.”

Mac shook his head. “Thank you,” he stressed.

“I have to go now,” Murdoc said, frowning slightly. “I think your detective friends are getting antsy. But it hopefully won’t be too long until I see you again, alright?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. He was a bit sad that he couldn’t kiss Murdoc goodbye since there was still two way glass and the detectives thought he was Mac’s lawyer, honestly, but he held it back. “I’ll see you.”

Murdoc grinned, settling back into his smarmy lawyer mask.

“You’re way too good at that,” Mac said.

“I do a lot of undercover work when I’m not with you,” Murdoc said. And then he turned towards the door. “I’ll see you in court,” he said, loudly, as he walked out.

And then Mac was alone. Again.

It was good to know that Mac wasn’t alone. It was good to know that his friends were doing something to help him. It was good to know that Mac hadn’t actually killed anyone. It was good to know that Mac was actually going to get out of here. It was good to know that Mac still had people in his corner. But Murdoc was gone. The phone was gone. He was still handcuffed to the table. He was still stuck in the cinder block interrogation room. He was still alone. He knew that his friends had his back, but he was still alone. But he was- he was fine. It was fine. He just had to wait. And then it would all be fine.

The detectives came back in, eventually. That didn’t make him feel any less alone, surprisingly enough.

They led him out of the interrogation room, for once. But it wasn’t to a cell. Or even to a bathroom, or something. It certainly wasn’t outside. They hadn’t even taken the handcuffs off, just unlatched them from the table. Instead, Murdoc was led downstairs, towards an old basement. There were FBI agents with them, now, clearly about to take over Mac’s interrogation. Which, probably wasn’t good for Mac, actually. But Phoenix was coming back for him. Murdoc was coming back for him. It was fine. It was all fine.

And then a cop showed up and shot the FBI agent, and that was significantly less fine. Clearly, it wasn’t actually a cop. Mac was pretty sure he worked for the cartel, actually. And clearly he wanted Mac dead. Which was great. At the very least, he had managed to bolt towards a door with a lock. Greer and Turner had made it in there with him, which, okay, it was good that they were alive. But at the same time, it was kind of distracting. Especially when they were cops, who didn’t know what Mac really did, and they didn’t even have their guns on them. Even if Mac didn’t like guns. Ideally, Mac wouldn’t show these two detectives what he could do, just in case it somehow proved his guilt or something. Or they just got curious about his job.

But they were running out of time, and the footsteps outside were getting closer and closer. So, okay, there was no time for Mac to worry about losing his cover. He just had to worry about making a plan. And getting out alive. And getting these detectives out alive, too, even if they hadn’t been very nice to him. They were in a room filled with renovation materials, which didn’t exactly mean much for Mac. It was mostly just tarps and bags of plaster, actually. But he had- there had to be something. And Mac would figure it out.

“Friend of yours?” Detective Turner asked.

Mac rolled his eyes. No time for covers, right? “He’s here to kill me,” he explained. “They’re La Ola cartel. They own the warehouse.”

“So now you start talking,” Greer wheezed out. He had definitely been shot. Great. “Where’s your weapon?”

“In my desk,” Turner replied.

“Mine too,” Greer admitted. “We have about twenty seconds before our friend figures that out.”

No guns. Great. But- “But we still have bullets,” Mac said, grinning. He had a plan. Or half of one, anyway.

“What good are bullets with no gun?” Turner asked.

Mac bit back a laugh. These guys really didn’t know Mac. “You wanted to know who I am,” he said. It was probably a bit braggy, but Mac had been in an interrogation room for over two hours, okay? “Let me show you.”

Turner held out the bullets, looking incredulous.

“Actually,” Mac said, as he took the bullets with still handcuffed hands. “I'm gonna need everything that you guys have. Thank you.” He grabbed a pen from one of their pockets, and quickly disassembled it. He used part of the pen to open his handcuffs, and slipped them off easily.

The two detectives stared at him blankly.

Right. They weren’t used to Mac. And didn’t know that he could have broken out of the handcuffs at any time. But there wasn’t any time to worry about that.

“Okay, what exactly are you gonna do?” Detective Turner asked.

Mac grinned. “Save our lives. I hope, anyway.”

He got to work. Now that the handcuffs were off, this was a lot easier. He opened up one of the bullets, and took out the blasting cap. He took the gun powder, too. And then he put the gunpowder into the now hollow pen. But he still needed a way to launch it- He reached over to Detective Turner, and took his notebook out of his breast pocket. Mac ripped out some pages, despite the detective’s shallow protests, and used the pages to add makeshift wings to the pen body. It was kind of like a very weird paper airplane, but hey, whatever worked, worked. As long as it worked, anyway. But it was done, at the very least.

Mac got into position, and waited for their attacker to open the door. As soon as the fake cop stepped in, Mac threw the modified pen, and, boom. The man went down in a flash, stunned.

“What the hell was that?” Detective Greer said.

“An exploding dart,” Mac said with a shrug. “Made with gunpowder and a blasting cap taken from a bullet and a ballpoint pen.”

“And you made that, how?” Greer asked.

Mac just shrugged again. “I have a physics degree.”

Greer was glaring at him like he wanted to arrest him again. Or maybe kiss him. Before Mac had to deal with any of that, thankfully, Mac heard footsteps.

He looked up to see Murdoc, with way too many guns hidden under his coat.

Murdoc grinned. “I see you beat me to it, boy scout.”

“Murdoc,” Mac breathed out. He stood up, rushing quickly toward him. “How did you know-”

“Your crew figured that part out, I’m afraid,” Murdoc said. “I was just here to make sure you didn’t get your boy scout head all shot up.”

“Right,” Mac said. He turned back to the detectives. “Am I free to go?”

Greer just blinked. “Why is your lawyer here?”

Mac shrugged. “Am I free to go or not?”

“Yeah,” Turner said. “Go.”

Mac grinned. He leaned up and kissed Murdoc quickly. “Let’s get out of here, yeha?”

“Obviously, boy scout,” Murdoc replied. “We have a Christmas party to continue, remember?”

Mac couldn’t stop grinning as they left the precinct. Or as they got into Murdoc’s jeep. Or as the jeep started moving. Or as they pulled onto the highway, and as far away from the station as possible. Or when they were five minutes away from Mac’s house. Or when they pulled into Mac’s driveway. Or when they got out of Murdoc’s car. Or when they had entered Mac’s house. Or when they had gone into Mac’s house and saw that everybody was there again, ready to have a second Christmas party to replace the first. Mac just couldn’t stop grinning. He couldn’t.

Because, well, today had been rough. Really rough. Really, really rough.

But they had figured it out. Together. Murdoc had even worked with Phoenix.

And Mac was back home, now. And it was- it was just good. Just, plain good.

Chapter Text

All Mac wanted was to enjoy Christmas.

He had gotten arrested. He had been arrested in front of his friends and his family and his boyfriend’s son. He had been framed for a murder that he hadn’t committed. He had been held in an uncomfortable cell. He had been, rather rudely, questioned by the police. He had almost been violently interrogated by the FBI. He had almost been shot by a cartel gunman. He had almost been killed. He had had to defend himself with a bullet and a pen. He had been alone, for all of it. He had been scared. He had managed to get out of it, sure, but he was tired. God, he was tired.

All Mac needed now was to enjoy the do-over of his Christmas party.

He was home now. There was Christmas music playing. Everybody was munching on Bozer’s Christmas pastrami. Mac had heard the story a million times and he still didn’t really get it. But there was pastrami and there were cookies and mashed potatoes and basically every other quintessentially Christmas food. The fire was roaring in the fire pit on the patio. The tree was up. All of his friends were together. The Christmas lights were twinkling. The eggnog was flowing. The mood was cheerful. It was easy to forget that Mac had almost been arrested, barely an hour before. It was nice. It was really, really nice.

All Mac wanted in life was this. Just this.

Just the roar of the fire. Just the laughter of his friends. Just the taste of Christmas pastrami. Just the ornaments glittering under the light. Just Mac’s favourite Christmas record playing. Just the train table, with the motorised train that Mac had fixed himself running around on it. Just the smells and the tastes and the sounds of Christmas. Just his friends and his family all surrounding him. Just Matty. Just Sam. Just Riley. Just Bozer. Just Jack. Just Murdoc. Just Cassian. It was perfect. It was just perfect.

The sound of Matty’s footsteps shook Mac out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” Mac said, as Matty walked up to him. “I heard the good news about the cartel being arrested.” And it was good news. Normally, Mac didn’t get to help anybody so close to home. It was nice. Even if Mac didn’t want to have to get arrested to help locally.

Matty smiled at him. “Only you can get arrested and end up taking down a cartel.”

“I’m talented like that,” Mac joked.

“You are,” Matty said. “But that’s not why I’m talking to you.”

“Are you talking to me to get out of hearing Bozer’s pastrami story?” Mac asked.

“No,” Matty said. “I got you a gift, actually.” She thrust a small decorated box in front of him.

Mac considered the gift in front of him. “Thank you,” he said, as he took it. He hadn’t gotten Matty anything. He opened it, tilting his head in confusion as he saw what it was. “Paper clips?”

“I know I outlawed paperclips in the briefing room,” Matty said. “Or any kind of fidgeting, actually. But, well, if they help you think-”

Mac smiled. He had- okay, he definitely missed using paper clips in the briefing room to focus. But he hadn’t thought that Matty would let him do it again, even if she had softened up considerably.

“I think it’s time to let Macgyver be Macgyver,” Matty continued.

“Are you sure?” Mac found himself asking. “After today, with everything that just happened-” Him making a bomb was what caused all of this to happen. Him being himself was what caused all of this to happen.

“Okay,” Matty said, cutting him off. “I’m going to stop you right there. I had my doubts about you at first, I’ll admit that. But you convinced me to ignore them. All of them. And I am so glad that you did. Because now, there's no one that I trust more than you, Mac.”

Mac smiled at her, considering what she was saying. “Thanks, Matty,” he said.

He wandered off, after that. Just enjoying the party. Enjoying his friends’ company. Enjoying the taste of eggnog on his tongue. Enjoying the look of the Christmas tree. Enjoying the way that all of his friends were together, in one place. Enjoying the way that his friends were enjoying themselves. Jack and Sam were having an arm wrestling contest. Jack was losing. Badly. Riley and Bozer were talking about some movie that Mac had never heard of, about demons and possession and high school. Mac had only heard part of him, but he was pretty sure the main girls were dating. Maybe. Mac didn’t know. Matty was taking to Murdoc, of all people, about- about cooking, Mac was pretty sure. Which was just plain weird to see. Good that they were getting along, but weird nonetheless. And Mac found Cassian, eventually, sitting cross legged against a wall in the hallway. Alone.

“Cass!” Mac said. “Are you doing okay over here?”

Cassian nodded. “Yeah,” he said, softly. And then he looked up at Mac. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay, buddy,” Mac said. “What's up?”

“You got arrested today,” Cassian said.

“That was just a misunderstanding,” Mac stressed. “And I’m back now. Right here.”

“Yeah,” Cassian said. “But how did you get arrested?”

“They thought I did something I didn’t do,” Mac said. It was half a lie, since he did blow up the warehouse, but Cassian was a bit young for that sort of semantics. Or to know what Mac and Murdoc really did for work.

“But now they don’t think you did it?” Cass asked.

“Exactly, bud,” Macgyver said. “And I’m free to go.”

Cassian smiled. “Good. Christmas parties are boring without you.”

“Your dad was still there, though,” Mac pointed out.

“Yeah,” Cassian admitted. “But he was too busy worrying about you.”

“Really?” Mac asked, suddenly intrigued.

“Yeah,” Cass repeated. “He kept pacing back and forth and telling your friends to work faster. Like, a lot. He was worried about you. And I was, too.”

Mac grinned. That was totally blackmail material. “But you know I’m fine now, right?”

“I know,” Cassian said. And then he tilted his head. “What do you and dad do for work?”

Mac had not been expecting that question. He really should have been expecting that question. Especially considering that he was pretty sure they had taken Cass over to Phoenix. Dammit.

“You better ask your dad that question, Cass,” Mac said. He wasn’t sure what cover story Murdoc had told Cass, if he had even said anything at all.

“What are we asking me?” Murdoc said, as he sauntered over to them.

“What you got me for Christmas,” Mac lied.

Murdoc grinned. “Your present is right here,” he said. He held something up above Mac’s head, and Mac looked up to see what it was.

“I don’t think mistletoe works like that,” Mac pointed out. “Pretty sure it has to be, you know, actually attached to the ceiling.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m right,” Murdoc said.

Mac rolled his eyes. He stood up, kissing Murdoc gently. “This still isn’t how the rules work, by the way.”

“Ew,” Cassian said, making a face. “Cooties.”

Murdoc laughed. “There’s no such thing as cooties, Cassian.”

“There definitely is,” Cassian said, frowning. “Because that’s gross.”

“That’s good logic,” Mac said, mostly just to annoy Murdoc.

“So mistletoe has to be attached to the ceiling to count, but cooties are real?” Murdoc asked.

Mac just shrugged. “Exactly,” he said, kissing Murdoc again.

“You’re infuriating,” Murdoc grumbled.

“I try my best,” Mac teased, laughing.

It was nice. It was just nice. It was a nice moment. It was a nice party. It was to see all of his freinds get along. It was nice to spend time with Murdoc and Cass. It was nice to watch the train whirl around on the table. It was nice to hear Christmas music blasting from the speakers. It was nice to watch his friends just having fun. It was nice to have a little bit of calm. It was nice to not have to worry about any work. It was nice to not have to worry about anything at all. They had gotten the work out of the way. They had gotten everything out of the way. It was just Macgyver and his friends, no work and no missions and no saving the world. And it was nice. It was really, really nice.

A loud crash sounded from the other room, snapping Mac out of his thoughts. Snapping Mac out of his delusions.

Mac didn’t know what had happened, at first. There had been a loud noise, and then the sound of broken glass, and a scream. And then a lot more screaming. Mac looked over to where everyone else was in the living room and- oh. Oh. His window was broken. That was great. And Sam was shot. Bleeding. Bleeding out. Bleeding out onto his carpet. That was not great. None of this was great. Mac hadn’t even been able to pinpoint where the gunshot had come from. He was just focused on shoving Cassian out of the way. Once Mac had Cass away from any windows, a tight grip on his shoulder, Mac glanced over at everyone else.

Sam was still on the ground. Still hurt. Still bleeding. God, she was still bleeding. Murdoc and Jack had their guns out before Mac could even blink. They shot out at the window, where their shooting presumably had to be. Bozer was using his first aid knowledge he was getting with his training to tend to Sam. Riley was already calling 911. Matty was calling Phoenix. Mac was holding Cassian, pulling him as far away from Sam as possible. As far away from the windows as possible. As far away from danger as possible. As far away from everyone with guns as possible. As far away from Murdoc with a gun as possible. As far away from the dangers of all of this as possible.

Mac could tell that everyone was anticipating another shot, but nothing else came. Maybe Jack or Murdoc had managed to shoot whoever it was, even if they were far away enough for no one to be able to really see them. Maybe just the presence of their guns had scared whoever it was off. Maybe they had just wanted to shoot Sam and leave. Mac- Mac didn’t know. Mac didn’t know who had shot Sam, but Mac had a feeling it was connected to the cartel. That was the most recent thing they had done, and the most local. But Mac didn’t know. And he didn’t know if they would be back. He didn’t know anything.

It was getting sort of hard to breathe.

But Mac had to be fine, because Cassian had just witnessed that, and Mac had to make sure that he was okay. Mac had to make sure that Cassian was okay. Mac had to make sure that everyone was okay. Sam was still bleeding out and Bozer was shaking as he tended to her. Riley was off the phone with 911 and she was just staring at Sam. Staring. Mac was pretty sure he was staring too. Blinking felt like too much work. Jack and Murdoc were still on guard, holding their guns tightly. Mac was holding Cassian tightly. So tightly.

The tension in the air was palpable. Everyone was almost completely frozen.

“What the hell just happened?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Mac said, voice shaking.

“The ambulance should be here in a minute,” Riley added. “But what- Seriously. What happened?”

“Phoenix is sending a crew here,” Matty said. “And a crew following us to the hospital.”

“Security,” Jack grumbled. “Great.”

“We need to get Cass out of here,” Mac added. “Please.”

“There’s a Phoenix crew for that, too,” Matty added. “Unless Murdoc wants to take him home himself.”

Murdoc shook his head. “Cassian needs to be as far away from this as possible.”

“Dad-” Cassian choked out. “What’s happening?”

“There’s a bad person after us,” Murdoc said, slowly. “And I need you to be safe, buddy.”

“And you’re not coming with me?” Cassian asked. “But you need to be safe, too.”

“I’ll be safe,” Murdoc promised. It sounded hollow to Mac.

By the time the ambulance got there, Mac was still shaking. He was shaking hard. Matty made sure that Cassian got out, presumably with Phoenix. Bozer and Riley made sure that Sam made it to the ambulance. Jack was making sure that everyone was safe. He was pretty sure almost everybody was going to ride in the ambulance with Sam. Or ride in a car behind them. But Mac- Mac couldn’t do that. He couldn’t bring himself to do that. Instead, he was still standing in the living room, staring at the puddle of blood. Murdoc was there, too. He hadn’t moved, even when Matty had taken Cass. They were both just standing there. Mac couldn’t stop staring.

“You doing alright there, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

Mac didn’t react. He was still staring at the blood.

“Mac,” Murdoc tried.

Mac forced himself to blink. To breathe. To look away from the blood, even for a second.

“Angus,” Murdoc stressed, putting a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Sam was just shot,” Mac said. “Sam was just shot.”

“Right,” Murdoc said. “So you’re not okay?”

“No,” Mac said. “I’m not okay. Did- did the cartel seriously find us that quickly? And why would they shoot Sam?”

“Who says it was the cartel?” Murdoc replied. He had a weird look on his face.

“What makes you say that?” Mac asked.

Murdoc shrugged. “Between all of us, we have a lot of enemies, boy scout.”

“Right,” Mac said. He had been thinking that, but at the same time, why wouldn’t it be the person who had just tried to shoot Mac an hour ago. But yeah. They had a lot of enemies. A lot of enemies. “It could be any one of them.”

Murdoc started walking around the room, peering at the walls carefully.

“What are you looking for?” Mac asked.

“The bullet,” Murdoc said.

Mac frowned. “Why would you need to find the bullet?” His heart was still racing. He was still staring at the blood stain.

“Because,” Murdoc said, still looking around the room. “One gunshot, that well aimed, sends a message. Whoever it was could have shot more of us. They didn't even try. That means that they were sending a message.”

“And?” Mac found himself asking.

“And,” Murdoc repeated, crouching beside the wall. “If we can figure out who sent the message, we can figure out the message they were trying to send. And how we can stop them.”

“Right,” Mac said. “And you’re planning to do that with just the bullet?”

“You have your skill set, boy scout, and I have mine,” Murdoc teased. He squinted at the wall. “Here we go,” he said, finding the bullet hole. He struggled to get it out with just his fingers.

“Here,” Mac said, handing Murdoc his swiss army knife.

“Thank you,” Murdoc said, grinning. He pried out the crushed bullet, and looked at it. He turned it in his hand, studying. And then his face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Mac asked.

“It’s not the cartel after us,” Murdoc said, staring at the bullet in his hands. “And it’s not any of your enemies, either. It’s not the Bolivians or the Russians or anything like that.”

“Then who is it?” Mac asked. “Do you know who shot Sam?”

Murdoc shook his head. “I don’t know he would shoot Sam, though.”

“Murdoc,” Mac stressed. “Who is it? Who shot Sam? Who’s after us?”

“That’s the thing,” Murdoc said. “He isn’t after us. He’s only after me.”

“And who is he?” Mac asked. This wasn’t the time for being vague. Or riddles.

Murdoc stood up. “He’s someone you won’t have to worry about.”

“Murdoc,” Mac said. “You are not going after him, whoever he is, by yourself.”

“He’s dangerous,” Murdoc stressed.

“I’m a spy, Murdoc,” Mac reminded him. “I can handle dangerous people.”

Murdoc shook his head. “No, Macgyver. You can’t handle him.”

“Who is he?” Mac asked. “Just- who is he?”

“His name is Nicholas Helman,” Murdoc said. “And he taught me everything I know.”

Mac frowned. “And you know this from one bullet?”

“He makes his own bullets,” Murdoc explained. “They’re very distinctive.”

“You’re still not going after him by yourself,” Mac said.

“This is my mess, boy scout,” Murdoc said, seriously. He was at the door now. “Not yours.”

“Your messes are my messes,” Mac reminded him. “We’re dating, remember?”

“Macgver-” Murdoc started.

Mac cut him off. “And he shot Sam. That makes it my mess.”

“He only shot Sam to get to me,” Murdoc said. “Let me deal with this.”

“And why would he want to get to you?” Mac asked.

Murdoc frowned. He almost looked embarrassed. Mac had never seen him look embarrassed before. “It was a long time ago.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mac asked.

“You just have to remember that this was a long time ago,” Murdoc said. “I wasn’t the person I am now. I’m not the person I was then. You have to remember that, boy scout. I was young.”

Mac shook his head. “What did you do, Murdoc?”

“I killed his wife,” Murdoc admitted, sheepishly.

“Why would you do that?” Mac asked, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “Seriously, why would you do that?”

“I was young,” Murdoc repeated. “Filled with a lot of bloodlust. Not exactly mentally sound. And Helman wanted to quit. He wanted to settle down.”

“And so you killed his wife?” Mac asked. “Seriously?”

“No,” Murdoc said. “I meant to kill him. I just sort of, you know, missed.”

Mac couldn’t help but smile at that. “You?” he teased. “You missed?”

“That is not the point,” Murdoc said. “Not the point at all.”

“And why would Helman come after you now?” Mac found himself asking.

“He’s always trying to come after me,” Murdoc admitted. “Part of the reason I’m normally adverse to settling down. But then I heard a rumour that he was in jail, and you wanted me to spend more time in LA-”

“And he caught up to you,” Mac finished. “And now he’s here for, what, revenge?”

“Now you’ve got it,” Murdoc said. “Which is why I have to finish the job.”

“You’re not going in alone, Murdoc,” Mac said. He grabbed Murdoc’s wrist. “I won’t let you.”

“And why not, boy scout?” Murdoc asked. “It’s my fault any of this is happening.”

“We’re a team,” Mac said, softly. “You’re not doing this alone.”

“He’s dangerous,” Murdoc repeated. “Very, very dangerous.”

“So are you,” Mac pointed out. “I saved myself from you, I can save myself from him.”

“He’s worse than I am,” Murdoc said.

“I don’t care,” Macgyver stressed. “We’re stopping him together, or not at all.”

Murdoc made a face that Mac couldn’t exactly place. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I mean that,” Mac said. “Now hang on, I have to call Jack.”

“Why are you calling your bulldog?” Murdoc asked.

Mac didn’t have time to be annoyed by that. “Because he’s going to want to help. Phoenix is going to want to help.”

“This is my mess,” Murdoc pointed out. “Don’t forget that part.”

“And I’m helping you,” Mac asserted. “And if I’m helping you, then Jack’s helping me, and if Jack’s helping me then Riley is helping him and-”

“And it’s a real Give A Mouse A Cookie situation,” Murdoc filled in. “Fine. But if it gets too dangerous-”

“There’s no such thing as too dangerous for us,” Mac pointed out. “We’re spies, remember?”

“Angus,” Murdoc stressed. “Promise me you’ll get out if it gets too dangerous. I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious,” Mac replied. “Nothing is too dangerous as long as I can make sure you’re safe.”

“Boy scout-” Murdoc started.

“No arguing about it,” Mac said. “I’m calling Jack now. We can’t waste any time.”

They called Jack, who put on speaker phone so Bozer and Riley could hear too. Sam was apparently already in surgery, which was both good and terrifying. Matty was doing something with Phoenix, and Cassian was safe. Apparently. Mac was still terrified about that, too. He was terrified about a lot of things. Whether Sam would be okay. Whether Cass would be okay. Whether Helman was after anyone else. Why Helman had shot Sam, and not anybody else at the party. Cass and Murdoc had been far from the windows, but Riley hadn’t been. Bozer hadn’t been. Mac hadn’t been. Whether anyone else was in danger. How they were going to stop Helman. What was going to happen next. How Mac was going to replace his window and his carpet, which, okay, was not very high on the list of priorities, but still. Terrifying. It was all terrifying.

But Mac wasn’t alone. Murdoc was there. Jack was there. Riley was there. Bozer was there. Matty was there. Cassian was there. Sam was there. Kind of. Murdoc was there and ready to go after Helman. Jack was there and ready to protect everyone, no matter the cost. Riley was there, already on her laptop, trying to find where Helman could be. Bozer was there, watching over Sam. Matty was using every Phoenix resource she had to try to track Helman down, too, as long as Murdoc promised to let them arrest Helman. Cassian was at a safe house, surrounded by Phoenix agents. Sam was- Sam was in surgery, but she would be fine. She would be fine, Mac promised himself. She had to be fine. And she would be fine, because his friends were there.

They were going to make sure that everything would be okay. Mac could breathe. He wasn’t alone. It wasn’t just up to him to solve this. To fix this. To save the day. It wasn’t just him. Mac could take a second to breathe. To calm down. To stop shaking. He didn’t have to rush into saving the day, because he wasn’t alone. Riley and Matty were already working on finding out everything they could about Helman. Jack was working with Phoenix for safety protocols. Batching Sam, making sure no one else could hurt her. And Murdoc was watching over Mac. Mac wasn’t alone. Mac wasn’t alone, and it made everything a bit easier.

There was nothing they could do until they got actionable information, anyway.

Mac and Murdoc just sort of stayed in Mac’s house. They stayed away from the windows, obviously, they weren’t born yesterday. And there were Phoenix personnel outside, watching them. Overall, they were safer there, and there wasn’t really anything else to do. At all. Mac busied himself with cleaning the bloodstain on his floor, as best as he could. And cleaning up the broken glass. He just needed something to do with his hands. He always needed something to doi with his hands, but especially right now. His brain was spinning, and he needed someone to go after Helman, and yet all he could do was sweep up glass. At least Murdoc was there, even though he seemed just as distracted as Mac felt. He was still there. Thank god he was there.

Finally, Riley called back. Mac wasn’t sure how long it had been. It felt like it had been centuries, honestly.

“Mac,” Riley said. She sounded exhausted. “There’s absolutely nothing on Nicholas Helman. Nothing.”

“Do you know any of his favourite aliases?” Mac asked. “Or something- anything, that could help us find him?”

Murdoc tilted his head, pausing. And then he grinned. “He’s an absolute sticker for hotels.”

“And that’s supposed to help us how?” Jack asked.

“He doesn’t have a safe house in LA. He hates it here,” Murdoc said, cheerfully.

“And if he doesn’t have a safehouse, then he has to be in a hotel,” Mac filled in, slowly.

“Exactly, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Everywhere we went, he refused to be in a hotel that didn’t have five stars.”

“It’s LA,” Riley said, sighing. “There’s a lot of five star hotels.”

“We’ll find him,” Mac said, trying to remain positive.

Murdoc just grinned. “Or he’ll find us, first!”

“Not helping,” Mac said. “What else about the hotels?”

“There has to be an indoor pool,” Murdoc said. “And a hot tub. As far away from downtown as possible. And, actually, as far away from Mac, too. He never stays near a mark.”

“I’m down to four hotels,” Riley said. Mac could hear her grin over the phone. “Anything else?”

Murdoc drummed his fingers on his thigh, humming. His eyes lit up. “Do any of the hotels have a restaurant that serves pavlova?”

“Pav-what?” Jack asked. “The dog guy?”

Riley ignored him. “Only one of them serves pavlova.”

“There you go, then,” Murdoc said. “Helman is a pavlova fiend. If he’s not chasing us, then he’ll be there.”

“It’s close to Phoenix,” Riley said.

“We’ll have a head start,” Jack said.

Mac glanced at Murdoc. There was something off about him. “Don’t go in until Murdoc and I get there.”

“Alright, hoss,” Jack said.

The phone hung up, beeping sadly.

“Riley sent me the address,” Mac said. “You need anything before we head over?”

Murdoc shook his head. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Mac said. “Now, are you driving, or am I?”

“I’ll drive,” Murdoc said. “And you’re sure-”

“Just because I’m a boy scout doesn’t mean I’m useless,” Mac teased. “Now come on. We have an assassin to stop.”

“Alright,” Murdoc said. “Let’s go, then.”

They climbed into Murdoc’s Jeep. Mac knew that the thing was filled with guns, even if Mac didn't exactly approve of them. There was also a go-bag for each of them, just in case. And Murdoc always had a stash of random wires and batteries and things in the glove box for Mac. He was so cute. But he was also just prepared. They were both prepared. They set out on the road, heading towards where the hotel was. Mac thought that he had heard of the hotel before, maybe, but he wasn’t familiar with that part of town. Or the route they were taking to get there. Mac’s cell service was spotty at best for most of it, and it was a long drive, but at the very least they had some sort of clue. Some sort of information.

But at the same time, Mac wanted more information. More information from Murdoc, specifically.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about Helman?” Mac asked, breaking the silence. “Or about what led you down this path at all?”

Murdoc shrugged. “It never came up.”

“The fact that you have an assassin, an extremely good assassin, chasing you just never came up?” Mac asked.

“Look,” Murdoc said. “I wasn’t exactly smart, as a kid. I cared about killing people. And Helman. And killing people with Helman. That was about it.”

“And you’re embarrassed about it?” Mac asked.

“So what if I am?” Murdoc replied. It wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no.

“You’re not normally embarrassed by the fact that you were a killer. That you are a killer.”

“It’s just- it’s different now, looking back. I’m different now,” Murdoc said.

Mac frowned. “Different?”

“Boy scout,” Murdoc said. “I only kill for good causes now. I’m practically working for Phoenix, right now, to track down Helman. I haven’t taken a job just because of the money in a long, long time. That’s the complete opposite as to who I was, when I first started.”

“I didn’t know you when you started,” Mac pointed out.

“I was messy,” Murdoc said. “Reckless. Didn’t care about anything but killing and money and Helman. I’ve grown since then. And I’m not exactly impressed with the kind of assassin I was.”

“Right,” Mac said. “I guess that’s fair. But I still want to know who you were, even back then.”

“You don’t want to know that, boy scout,” Murdoc said, roughly, as he turned the car. “You really want to know who I was back then. I’ve changed.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mac pressed.

“Yes, it does,” Murdoc said. “You- you managed to look past who I am, sure. But I don’t think you’d be able to look past who I was. What I was.”

Mac opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off.

He was cut off by something hitting their car. And exploding. Mac barely had time to process what was happening when he felt the explosion, too warm on his flesh and too bright on his eyes. The car flipped, turning and turning as it was pushed off the road by the impact. Everything was swirling. Everything was moving so fast. They were turning and they were flipping and they were soaring through the air. Mac was pretty sure his arm hair was singed off. It was bright and hot and everything was spinning. The Jeep crashed down into the ground, landing on its side. Mac’s head was still spinning, even when the car had stopped.

Mac blinked slowly, adjusting to the fact that their car was now on the side of the road. And very much blown up. “Murdoc? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Murdoc croaked from his seat.

It all started to sink in. “Did we just get hit by a rocket launcher?” Mac asked.

“Technically, I think it was a bazooka,” Murdoc pointed out.

“All bazookas are rocket launchers. So I’m not wrong.” Mac corrected. He peeled himself out of his seat. “You think that was Helman?”

“I doubt any other person would be using a bazooka at us right now,” Murdoc said, as he got out of the car as well.

“We could be very unlucky,” Mac said. “Three bad guys in one day. Could be a record.”

Murdoc laughed. “Come on, boy scout. This way before the bazooka comes back.”

“Rocket launcher,” Mac corrected. Mostly it was just a way to distract himself from what was actually happening. But also, he just liked being pedantic.

“Bazooka,” Murdoc replied, as he dragged Mac away from the now on fire Jeep. Great. Today was just going so well, seriously.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Mac asked.

Murdoc shrugged. “Not exactly.”

“Great,” Mac said. “Just great.”

“Don’t be so gloomy, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “At least we have this wonderful view.” He gestured towards the expanse of abandoned warehouses and tree stumps.

“Wonderful,” Mac parroted. “That’s one way to describe it.”

Murdoc grinned. “At least we have some good cover.”

“And no cell service,” Mac pointed out.

“I told you Helman was good,” Murdoc said. “Getting us alone like this. Getting rid of our car and our supplies. Hitting us at our weakest.”

“We’ll still beat him,” Mac said, forcing himself to feel confident. “It’s nothing either of us haven’t dealt with before.”

“Au contraite, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “He is most definitely nothing either of us have dealt with before. Remember when I said I tried to kill him, and accidentally hit his wife? It’s not because I’m a bad shot, Macgyver.”

“I’ve beaten you,” Mac pointed out.

“And he’s worse than me,” Murdoc said.

“But,” Mac said, squeezing Murdoc’s hand. “He’s alone. We’re not.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Murdoc said. “Helman probably wasn’t expecting me to be anything more than a lone wolf.”

“See. We have the element of surprise,” Mac said. He thought of something, grinning. “And I bet he doesn’t know about my skill set, either.”

Murdoc frowned. “You were just arrested for making a bomb. That doesn’t exactly make your skill set a surprise.”

“That’s just a bomb,” Mac said. “And it was two hours ago. He was probably busy setting up his sniper's nest.”

“I suppose that could be true,” Murdoc said. They had made it to a warehouse. “And this certainly does give you a lot to play with.”

Murdoc wasn’t wrong about that. The warehouse was filled with old equipment. And rusted metal. There were a lot of things that had potential. A plan was already forming in Mac’s brain, actually. Multiple plans. A lot of plans. His head was spiralling with how many plans he had, actually. But the problem was, well, all of his plans needed bait. Which was, okay, not exactly convenient. In any way, shape, or form. He didn’t really want to leave Murdoc in front of Helman alone, even if it was Murdoc. Murdoc was never defenceless, and he was strong, but at the same time, Murdoc had admitted that Helman was better than him. Or better than him when he was younger. Either way-

“Please tell me you have a plan, boy scout,” Murdoc said, shaking Mac out of his thoughts.

“I have a plan,” Mac said. He hadn’t actually chosen which plan he was going to use, yet, but they were all functionally the same anyway. They all involved Murdoc being bait. “I just- you’re going to hate it. Or knowing you, you might love it. But either way, you’re definitely going to have very strong feelings about this plan.”

Murdoc grinned. “Lay it on me.”

“When Helman comes in,” Mac said. “I need you to distract him. And make sure that he steps right over there,” he added, pointing.

“How could you ever think that I would hate this plan?” Murdoc asked. “I’m wounded.”

“You might end up that way,” Mac pointed out. “You’re acting as bait. For Helman.”

Murdoc shrugged. “Either we don’t do anything and we both get shot, or we do your plan and only I might get shot. I love our chances.”

“Stop grinning when you’re there’s a killer hunting us down,” Mac said, swatting Murdoc on the arm.

“I don’t think there’s much hunting going on,” a voice said. A voice that Mac didn’t recognise. “Considering that I found you.”

Mac started working on his plan, staying out of Helman’s eye line.

“Helman,” Murdoc said, being even more dramatic than usual. And that was saying something. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You’ve gone soft, Murdoc,” Helman said. “You were too easy to track down. LA, really?”

“I’m not dead yet,” Murdoc pointed out. “I couldn’t have gone that soft.”

“I only didn’t shoot you so I could savour the kill,” Helman said. “You deserve more than just a sniper rifle.”

“Oh really?” Murdoc asked. “Breaking out the handcuffs?”

Helman groaned. “You really haven’t learned when to shut up, have you?”

“Nope!” Murdoc said, grinning.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Helman said, flatly.

“I’ve changed,” Murdoc said. “Settled down.”

“Right,” Helman said. “That blonde I shot.”

Murdoc paused. Mac almost dropped the pipe he was messing with.

“You think Samantha was who I settled down with?” Murdoc asked.

“She’s certainly your type,” Helman said. “Blonde. Out of your league. Could easily kill you.”

“Is that why you shot her?” Murdoc asked. “So I could experience some of your pain?”

“No,” Helman said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I shot her because she was closest to the window.”

“Well,” Murdoc said. “You shot the wrong blond.”

Helman frowned. “The scrawny one, seriously?”

“What’s wrong with the scrawny one?” Murdoc asked with a dramatic gasp. “His scrawniness is appealing, thank you very much.”

Mac scowled as he worked on his plan. He wasn’t that scrawny. He wasn’t scrawny at all, actually. Rude. They were both just plain rude. But he couldn’t focus on that, he sort of had to actually focus on his plan. Right. His plan. His plan that he was supposed to be working on right now. Yeah. He moved slowly towards a tarp that was laying on the warehouse floor, being careful to make as little noise as possible with it. His plan was almost done. He just needed one more thing. Or maybe two. And he needed Helman to be standing in the right position. And he needed Murdoc not to get shot. That one most importanly, actually.

“How do you even get persuaded to settle down?” Helman continued, ignoring Murdoc. Ignoring Mac. “You were so against me retiring.”

“I haven’t retired,” Murdoc said. “I’ve just changed. Different kills. Different home.”

“You don’t change, Dennis,” Helman spat. Did he just say Dennis? Seriously?

“Sure I do,” Murdoc said. “I change hair colours. I change coats. I change guns. Don’t you remember that awful orange hair I had at one point?”

Mac had seen a photo of that. Murdoc looked like someone had dumped a bag of cheetos on his head.

“Murdoc,” Helman wanted.

“What?” Murdoc asked. “You want me to take your threats more seriously? Your little taunting game more seriously?”

“Well, yes,” Helman admitted. “It’s hard to shoot somebody who’s giggling.”

“That’s a you problem,” Murdoc said, as he slowly circled the warehouse. He was making sure that Helman was in the right placement.

Finally, Mac finished his trap. It was basically just a drop net trap, like people used for wild animals. Except, well, it wasn’t made out of the standard materials. It was instead made out of an old tarp, and some rusted pipes, and some springs that Mac found on the floor of the old warehouse. It wasn’t exactly a traditional drop net trap, nor was it exactly safe for wild animals. But Mac wasn’t using it on a wild animal, he was using it on Helman. Helman, who was too distracted by Murdoc’s blabbering to notice Mac or what he was making. Helman, who was too busy pointing a gun at Murdoc to notice Mac, securing the trap in place. Helman, who was too enthralled in figuring out the most poetic way to kill Murdoc to notice Mac letting the trap go off.

It scooped up Helman in the trap, keeping him locked in a tarp prison.

Mac scrambled down from his position. “There were go,” he said. “One Helman, to go.”

Murdoc grinned. “You got him.”

“I did,” Mac said. He frowned. “You could have gotten shot, though. I was slower than I wanted to be.”

“He didn’t,” Murdoc pointed out. “Because of your plan.”

“I guess,” Mac said. He was too tired to argue. “Now, we need to find a way to contact Matty and have her bring a Phoenix team here to properly arrest him.”

“Or,” Murdoc said, raising his gun at Helman. “We can end this a lot quicker.”

Mac froze. “Murdoc-”

“What’s wrong, boy scout?” Murdoc asked. “Did you forget you’re dating a killer?”

“I’m not dating a killer,” Mac said, slowly. “I’m dating you.”

“There’s no difference, Macgyver,” Murdoc said. He was still holding the gun.

“You told me yourself you aren’t proud of who you used to be,” Mac said. “You kill on purpose, now. For a reason.”

“Oh trust me, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “I have my reasons to kill Helman.”

“But do you want to?” Mac asked. “Do you really, actually want to?”

“Of course I do,” Murdoc said. “Killing’s easy.”

“Fine,” Mac said. “But do you want to kill him in front of me?”

“Macgyver,” Murdoc said. “If I don’t kill him, he will come after us again. Prisons can’t hold him.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Mac said, bringing his hand up to touch Murdoc’s. “Together.”

Muerdoc shook his head. “You really have no sense of self preservation, do you?”

“That’s why you love me,” Mac said, grinning.

“Yeah,” Murdoc said, slowly. “I do love you.”

Mac watched as Murdoc slowly lowered the gun. Mac released a shaky breath.

Oh thank god that actually worked. “Thank you, Murdoc.”

“When he breaks out I’m blaming you,” Murdoc said with a huff.

“Sure,” Mac said. “You do that. But can we just finish enjoying Chroistmas, for now?”

Murdoc smiled. “Sure, boy scout.”

The Phoenix agents came to pick up Helman eventually. And Mac and Murdoc were free to go home. Or, back to Mac’s place anyway. Cass was going to be brought back there, which was good. Mac could tell that Murdoc needed to see him to make sure that he was safe. And honestly, Mac needed to see him to make sure that he was safe, too. He needed to see all of his friends to make sure that they were safe, actually. Bozer and Riley and Jack andMatty and Sam. Oh god, Sam. Sam who had gotten shot because of who Mac was dating. Sam who had gotten shot because Helman had thought she was the one dating Murdoc. If Helman was less of an idiot, it would have been Mac who had been shot. Sam who had taken the shot meant for Mac, in a lot of ways. He needed to know that she was okay. That everyone was okay. And, he also needed to make sure that Mac himself was okay.

Today had been, well, a lot. More than a lot, honestly. Today had been the most that Mac’s life had ever been, maybe. He had gotten arrested for a crime that he had only sort of half committed. He had gotten interrogated by cops that were way too passionate about their jobs. He had almost been killed by a Mexican cartel member while in police custody. He had gotten out of police custody, only to have his friend shot during his second Christmas party. He had had to track down his boyfriend’s assassin teacher. And then trap his boyfriend’s assassin teacher. And then talk his boyfriend out of killing his assassin teacher. And- and it had just been a lot. So much. Just so much. And Mac needed a nap. A very long nap.

But time passed. A few days, anyway. And Mac did get the chance to nap, which he really needed. He was pretty sure that everybody needed the chance to nap, actually. It had been a really exhausting day, for everybody. Sam probably needed the rest the most, though. Sure, Mac had been arrested and chased and almost shot a few times, but Sam had, you know, actually gotten shot. So, yeah, she definitely deserved to rest the most. And she needed to rest, physically. She had a doctor tell her that, and everything. The doctors had told her a lot of things, actually.

And at the moment, Mac was sitting at Sam’s bedside.

It had been almost a week, and she was done with surgery after surgery now. The doctors said that she would be fine, she just needed to heal. She was asleep at the moment, but that didn’t stop everyone from cramming into her room anyway. Technically, Mac was pretty sure that it wasn’t actually visiting hours, but Matty was there and she wasn’t going to let a nurse tell them when to leave. They had been playing cards for an hour. It had started as poker, and then devolved into the game Cheat, which had then devolved into an intense game of Crazy Eights. After the fifth noise complaint from a nurse, they were currently stuck playing Go Fish. Mac was pretty sure it was even more competitive than when they were playing poker.

Mac was just about to say go fish, when Sam’s eyes fluttered open.

“Ugh,” Sam groaned. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost 6,” Riley said.

“Dinner,” Sam said, with a forced smile.

“You feelin’ alright?” Jack asked. “Anything we can get you?”

“No,” Sam said. “I’m happy just like this.”

“If you say so,” Jack said.

“Want to be dealt in?” Bozer added, brandishing his cards.

Sam squinted at them. “What are you playing?”

“Go Fish,” Mac admitted.

Sam laughed lightly. “Yeah, alright. Why not?”

“Good,” Riley said, as she started dealing a new round. “Now I can beat you, too.”

“You lost the last three rounds,” Bozer pointed out.

Riley groaned. “She was asleep! You didn’t have to tell her!”

“He totally did, hoss,” Jack said. “Or I would have.”

“Snitches,” Riley muttered.

Mac laughed. “So, Sam, has the doctor said when you’ll be discharged?”

“Or when you’ll be back to work?” Riley added.

“Discharged, they’re thinking a day or two,” Sam said. “I’ve been healing well. And for back to work- I don’t know if I will be going back to Phoenix.”

Mac nearly dropped the cards that Riley had dealt him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll be needing a lot of physical therapy,” Sam said. “And I’d rather do that in Australia. Getting shot made me realise that maybe I should be closer to home. And if I’m in Australia to heal, then-”

“Why not stay there,” Jack finished. “They got a lot of spies in Australia?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever return to being a spy,” Sam said, softly. “I was thinking about teaching surfing, actually.”

Riley grinned. “Really?”

“If I can surf safely after this, then yeah,” Sam said.

Mac ignored the pain he felt at losing Sam. At losing his normal. “That sounds great.”

“It does,” Bozer said. “Very Mad Max.”

“Mad Max?” Riley asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s set in Australia,” Mac explained with a sigh.

“Exactly,” Bozer said. “Would you rather I have said Crocidile Dundee?”

“Yes,” Mac said. “At least that one has crocodiles.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Mac, are you telling me you don’t like Mad Max?”

“It’s not my thing,” Mac said. “Too many cars.”

“The cars are the best part,” Jack said with a groan.

“Mac just has no taste,” Bozer added.

The conversation steered away from Sam leaving, which gave Mac a second to really process all of it. Sam was okay. She was healing. And she was going to be leaving Phoenix. Not just on medical leave, but leaving Phoenix. For good. She’was going to move to Australia. She was going to move to the other side of the world. She was going to stop being a part of their team. Stop being a part of their crew. Stop coming over for beers and board games. Stop being a part of their inside jokes. Stop being a part of their missions. Stop being a part of their lives, except for over the phone and maybe some spontaneous trips. Because she was leaving Phoenix, and she was moving to Australia.

And Mac was happy for her, he was. It would be good for her, to heal and make up with her family and all that.

But at the same time, Mac could just- he could feel everything changing. Everything was going to change.

And Mac wasn’t a fan of change. He wasn’t a fan of change at all.

Chapter Text

It had been a few weeks since Sam had been discharged from the hospital, and cleared to fly.

Mac was happy for her, he was. He was happy that she was healing well. He was happy that she was enjoying being back in Australia. He was happy that she was reuniting with her family. He was happy for her, he really, really was. But at the same time, it was weird not having her around. Really weird. He would think of something that would make her laugh, or something that she would find interesting, and he would lean over to talk to her, and she wouldn’t be there. He would send her a text, and then remember that it was actually night where she was, and that she was probably asleep, and she wouldn’t see his text for another eight hours.

What was even weirder, though, was considering how much he had been stressed because Sam had joined. And now, he was just as stressed because Sam had left. It was- it wasn’t funny, per say, because Mac was spiralling and going a bit crazy missing Sam, but it was ironic. Maybe ironic wasn’t the right word, either. It was just plain odd, really, going from freaking out that Sam was there to freaking out because Sam wasn’t there. But she had managed to burrow right into Mac’s heart. Into Mac’s crew. Into Mac’s friend group. Into Mac’s routine. She had managed to push her way past Mac’s walls and cement herself as his friend.

And now she was gone. Just totally gone. Gone from Phoenix, anyway. Gone from the world in general. Gone from LA. Gone from their friend group. Gone from board game nights. Gone from missions. Gone from post mission hang outs. Gone from drinking around the fire pit together. Mac could still text her. Mac could still call her. And Mac knew that Riley had been making use of that fact plenty, especially since she didn’t sleep much at night anyway. Still, texting wasn’t really the same. And Sam- it was like there was a hole, wherever there should have been. During board game nights and missions and post mission hang outs and the fire pit, there was just a hole where Sam should have been. An indent. Like when a plastic bottle got crushed and it was impossible to pop back into its original shape. Sam had left a dent. A crease.

But Sam wasn’t the only person Mac was worried about. There was Murdoc, too.

And, okay, maybe ‘worried about’ was a bit harsh. Mac wasn’t worried about him. It wasn’t like Mac thought that Murdoc would stab all of them and disappear into thin air, or anything. But Helman had been a lot. A lot. And Murdoc had almost killed him. Almost. And Cassian had been sent back to his boarding school early, because of all the danger, and- And Mac was worried about how Murdoc was handling all of it. And he was sort of curious about Murdoc’s past, too. Maybe more than ‘sort of’ curious about his past, actually. Mac was very curious about Murdoc’s past. But more importantly, Mac was worried about Murdoc’s future.

Mac had just gotten back from his first proper mission after Sam had left.

They’d been in New Orleans. There’d been an issue with one of Jack’s aliases, one of Jack’s messy aliases, and they had needed to clean it up. The mess had turned out to be a whole lot of things. A con artist. A lot of people who had wanted Jack dead. Like, a lot of people who wanted Jack dead. Which, knowing Jack when he really got into undercover work, made sort of sense, but still. Yeesh. So yeah, the mission had been a bit messy. A lot a bit messy. Very, very messy actually. Mac couldn’t name one part of the mission that had gone according to plan, actually.

At the very least, the mission had been short. Messy, but short. Blissfully short. The plane ride back had felt longer than the entire mission, honestly. And okay, sure, maybe Jack had almost gotten burned alive in an incinerator. And maybe Mac had gotten some nasty burns on his hands from fishing Jack out of the incinerator. Mac had said that the mission had been messy. And Matty had joined them on the mission which had just been plain weird, even now that Mac was way less terrified of her. Or maybe just more comfortable with her, considering that Mac was still definitely very terrified of her. She was a scary lady, and her coming on the mission had only proven that. But still, it had been a short mission. Not a clean one, but a short one.

Despite how messy the mission had been, he hadn’t been fully focused on it. Instead, he remained focused on Murdoc, at least a little bit. Like it was on the back burner of the stove that was his mind. And on another burner a pot full of water was boiling over. And another burner was on fire. And- And the metaphor was spiralling a bit, but the point still remained. Mac was worried about Murdoc. They hadn’t talked about what had happened with Mac getting arrested and Helman and everything, even though they had talked after that had happened. They had talked a lot, actually, but never about anything important. Mac was so worried, in fact, that once Mac had his hands checked over by a Phoenix medical team, had Jack drop him off at Murdoc’s, instead of going back to his own place.

Because, well, they needed to talk. And it didn’t seem like Murdoc was going to be the one to start that conversation, so Mac was going to have to.

Mac made it to Murdoc’s house, letting himself in. “Murdoc?” He asked casually, as he walked inside. “You here?”

Murdoc peeked his head out from under a pile of blankets on the couch. “Boy scout,” he said, his voice groggy from sleep. “What are you doing here?”

“Our mission ended early,” Mac said. “I thought we might hang out.”

“Aren’t the others at your place?” Murdoc asked.

“It was a long mission. A loud mission,” Mac explained with a shrug. “I could do with a bit of one on one company.”

Murdoc grinned lecherously. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

“No,” Mac said, shaking his head fondly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Although, maybe later-”

“Why wait, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

“I’m tired,” Mac said, settling down on the couch beside Murdoc. “And besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

“We called every single day of your mission, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out. “It’s not as though we haven’t been talking.”

“This isn’t really the kind of conversation we can have over the phone,” Mac said.

“You know what else we can’t do over the phone,” Murdoc teased, leaning up to kiss Mac.

“Not what I meant,” Mac said. “I meant that we needed to talk about what happened with Helman. Actually talk about it.”

Murdoc’s grin vanished. “What would we need to talk about?”

“The fact that you almost shot him,” Mac said.

“I’m a killer, remember?” Murdoc asked. “I’ve shot a lot of people.”

“Fine, then,” Mac said. “We need to talk about the fact that you didn’t kill him. And why you didn’t kill him, for that matter”

“It would have been more paperwork for you,” Murdoc said, nonchalantly.

“Murdoc,” Mac said. “I’m being serious.”

“And I’m being serious,” Murdoc said with a huff. “I don’t want to talk about shooting Helman.”

“Then can we at least talk about Cass?” Mac asked. “Is he doing alright?”

“I upped his security at his boarding school,” Murdoc said.

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Mac countered. “He saw me get arrested. He saw Sam get shot. He saw you pull a gun.”

“Those are formative moments for a kid, you know,” Murdoc said. If he was trying to be funny, it just fell flat.

“Murdoc,” Mac warned. “I know you wanted to keep Cass away from all of this. And I know that because he was in LA, because you were in LA, that got ruined.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Macgyver,” Murdoc said. “It isn’t a good look on you.”

“I’m not blaming myself,” Mac said, frustration leaching into his voice. “I just want to know if he’s doing okay. Is he talking to anybody? Has he been asking you any questions? Any nightmares?”

Murdoc sighed. “Yes, he’s talking to somebody. His boarding school has a wonderful in-house psychologist. Who also has an incredible respect for client-patient confidentiality, and no respect at all for the law.”

“Of course it does,” Mac muttered.

“And he’s asked me a few questions, sure. He’s been curious about what I do. But he knows that it’s too dangerous for him, and he respects it,” Murdoc said. “If he had any nightmares, I would kill them myself.”

“He’s a good kid,” Mac said. If Mac found out that his dad was a killer or a spy or something, he would have freaked out. Maybe run away. But Cass was different.

“Yeah,” Murdoc said, a faint smile in his voice. “He is.”

“But seriously,” Mac said. “If Cass is okay, how are you?”

“You’re nosy today, aren’t you, boy scout?” Murdoc said. “Asking all these questions. Poking around.”

“Because I care about you, Murdoc,” Mac said. “I really, really care about you.”

“And I really care about my privacy,” Murdoc retorted with a pout. “So you can stop asking your questions, then.”

Mac’s eyes lit up. He had an idea. “There then,” he said. “Why don’t we play twenty questions?”

“What?” Murdoc asked.

“Come on,” Mac said, urging Murdoc on. “We each get ten questions. The other person has to answer truthfully. This way, I’m not the only one asking questions.”

“It still lets you snoop,” Murdoc said indignantly.

“Come on,” Mac said. “Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to know about me?”

Murdoc made a dramatic show of thinking about it. “Fine,” he declared. “I suppose it’s fair.”

“Thank you,” Mac said.

“But it’s five questions each,” Murdoc demanded.

“Fine,” Mac said. “I guess that’ll be quicker, anyway.”

“And I get the first question,” Murdoc added quickly.

“Sure,” Mac said. As long as this gave a chance for Murdoc to actually talk about his feelings, he would be happy.

Murdoc grinned sinisterly. “Were you ever going to tell me that your first name was Angus, or were you just going to cruelly deny me of that fact if I didn't manage to read your file myself.”

“Probably not,” Mac admitted.

“And why is that?” Murdoc pushed.

“Was that your second question?” Mac asked, smiling a little.

“If that was my second question then that was your first,” Murdoc pointed out. “Now answer.”

Mac sighed dramatically. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not that embarrassing, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“I was named after a billboard for angus beef, Murdoc,” Mac said. “It’s pretty damn embarrassing.”

Murdoc paused, processing the information. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My ears must have deceived me, because I just heard you say that your parents named you after a billboard for beef.”

“Because that’s the truth,” Mac admitted. “My mom gave birth to me under a billboard sign for angus beef.”

“That’s just cruel,” Murdoc said with a huff. “If your mother weren’t already dead, I’d hunt her down and make her pay myself.”

“Murdoc,” Mac warned.

“Fine, fine,” Murdoc said. “I won’t kill your dead mother. “Ask your second question, then, boy scout.”

“Is your real name seriously Dennis?” Mac blurted. He had meant to ask about how Murdoc was feeling, but the question leapt out of his mouth of its own volition.

Murdoc sighed. “Seriously? Is that your question?” he asked. “That was rhetorical,” Murdoc added quickly, before Mac could argue that that counted as Murdoc’s third question. Which was smart, because Mac was totally going to do that.

“That’s my question,” Mac confirmed. “So come on. Dennis?”

“Yes,” Murdoc said. “My name is dennis. Or was Dennis, anyway. It’s not as though I use it anymore. At all.”

“Helman used it,” Mac pointed out.

“Helman also shot a bazooka at us,” Murdoc said.

“True,” Mac admitted. “But Dennis. Dennis. I’m dating someone named Dennis.”

“Dennis is in the past,” Murdoc said. “You’re dating Murdoc.”

Mac smiled. “Yeah, I am,” he said dreamily. “And I’m glad I’m dating Murdoc.”

“Stop being cute,” Murdoc said grumpily.

“Never,” Mac replied. “Now. Give me your third question!”

“Hmm,” Murdoc said, dramatically thinking it over. “What’s your worst fear?”

Mac groaned. Did he really have to talk about that? “Heights.”

“Huh,” Murdoc said softly. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“I’m a man with many layers,” Mac teased.

“Heights, though,” Murdoc said, shaking his head. “Didn’t you tell me that you clung onto the outside of an airplane as it was taking off, to stop Nikki?”

Mac shrugged. “It was worth it, at the time.”

“And what about when you scaled that mountain to escape me?” Murdoc prodded.

“I can get over it, if I need to. But I hate them. I really, really hate them,” Mac said. “Now, it’s my turn. Stop asking free questions.”

Murdoc sighed. “Fine.”

“Why did you name Cassian that?” Mac asked. He was curious, okay?

“I like the meaning,” Murdoc said.

Mac frowned. “But Cassian doesn’t have curly hair.”

“Not that meaning,” Murdoc said. “The greek meaning.”

Mac frowned even deeper. “Hollow?”

“Exactly,” Murdoc said.

“And why would you name Cass hollow?”

“Because,” Murdoc said, smiling softly. “My life felt hollow before he was born.”

Mac blinked slowly. “That’s- that’s really touching, Murdoc.” It was kind of unexpectedly poetic actually.

“And,” Murdoc added cheerily. “There’s also Saint Cassian! He was martyred!”

“Martyred,” Mac said, slowly. “Seriously?”

Murdoc nodded happily. “And he was killed by being stabbed to death by pens.”

Mac sighed. “Of course he was.”

“Now,” Murdoc said, his fingers drumming on the couch cushion as he thought. “What was the worst thing you ever did as a kid?”

Mac groaned. “Do I really have to answer that?”

“Yes,” Murdoc said, grinning. “Come on, boy scout. It can’t have been that bad.”

“I burned down my middle school football stadium,” Mac blurted out. It was better to just rip the bandaid right off.

“Excuse me?” Murdoc asked.

“I burned down my middle school football stadium!” Mac repeated.

“I knew you were secretly more interesting than you let on,” Murdoc teased. “Arson’s exciting.”

“It wasn’t arson,” Mac groaned. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Murdoc said, with a raised eyebrow.

“A science experiment gone wrong,” Mac explained. “Bozer helped. Sort of.”

Murdoc gasped excitedly. “You even implicated Bozer in your crimes?”

“It wasn’t a crime,” Mac stressed. “Okay, maybe the cops held us for a night but-”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Murdoc said. “You’re not a boy scout at all. You’re a little criminal!”

“I’m not a criminal,” Mac stressed. “Okay- technically I’m a criminal. In several countries. But they’re for a good cause.”

“And how was destroying a football stadium a good cause?” Murdoc asked.

“Scientific progress?” Mac said sheepishly. “And I’m pretty sure my school had wya less concussions once we got rid of it.”

Murdoc laughed. “You keep telling yourself that, boy scout.”

“Okay,” Mac said. “Now, seriously, how are you feeling after everything that went on with Helman and Sam and me getting arrested and Cass seeing all of it?”

“I’m fine,” Murdoc lied.

“Murdoc,” Mac stressed. “We said truthful answers.”

“Do you really want to know how I feel, boy scout?” Murdoc asked.

“Yeah,” Mac said. “That’s sort of why I asked. And why I’ve been asking.”

“Fine then,” Murdoc said. “I- I don’t feel any different, okay? I feel the exact same.”

“You promised you’d tell the truth,” Mac reminded him.

“And I am telling the truth,” Murdoc said. “I’m crazy, remember? I’m not fine, because I haven’t ever been fine. But I’m the exact same sort of crazy that I was before all of this happened. I’m protective of Cassian. I’m protective of you. Nothing’s changed.”

“You’re telling me you feel the exact same way about Helman as you did when all this started?” Mac asked.

Murdoc shrugged. “I always knew that he would catch up to me, eventually. I just thought that that would end with one of the two of us with a bullet in them. Or maybe both of us with bullets. Bullets were definitely a part of the equation.”

“And yet neither of you are dead,” Mac said.

“And now neither of us are dead,” Murdoc repeated. “And I wasn’t expecting that, but it hasn’t changed the way I feel. Helman is still a threat, even if he’s in jail.”

“And yet you didn't kill him,” Mac said. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Nuh uh,” Murdoc said. “I’ve given you enough freebies. It’s my question now.”

“Alright,” Mac agreed, mostly because he still had another question left after this. Otherwise, he definitely would have fought harder.

“Okay,” Murdoc said, after a second. “I’ve got it. What did you think of me when you first met me?”

Mac hadn’t been expecting that, honestly. “When I first met you?” Mac asked. “Or first saw you? Because those are very different things.”

“Both,” Murdoc said with a grin.

“Fine,” Mac replied. “But only because this is your last question anyway.”

“Go ahead then, boy scout,” Murdoc said, gesturing with his hand for Mac to keep going.

Mac sighed. “When I first saw you I was- I was scared, obviously. You were kind of trying to kill me. Kind of. And you had a seriously creepy smile. Like, very creepy. And yet at the same time, I couldn’t exactly stop thinking about you. Mostly because you were just that creepy.”

“And handsome?” Murdoc asked.

“I suppose you being handsome might have had something to do with it,” Mac teased. “But mostly, you just stuck in my mind. I didn’t know why. I still don’t know why, really. But you stuck there.”

“How romantic,” Murdoc cooed.

Mac shoved Murdoc playfully. “Shut up.”

“What about when you actually met me for the first time, then?” Murdoc asked.

“I definitely thought you were creepy then,” Mac said. “And annoying. Definitely annoying.”

“You didn’t think I was charming?” Murdoc asked.

“You threatened me with a gun to my back,” Mac said. “Remember?”

“I suppose that did happen,” Murdoc said. “Are guns not charming to you?”

“Guns are the opposite of charming, Murdoc,” Mac replied.

“When were you charmed by me, then?” Murdoc asked.

Mac smiled sheepishly. “Remember when you saved me from those terrorists and put me in your safe house?”

“You were charmed by me being your knight in shining armour?” Murdoc asked.

Mac shook his head. “It wasn’t that. It was, uh-” Okay this was actually kind of embarrassing to say, actually. “It was when you made me dinosaur egg oatmeal.”

“That’s what charmed you?” Murdoc asked. “Not any of the tantalising banter. Not me complimenting your skills. Not even me saving you from terrorists. It was- it was the oatmeal?”

“I’m a simple man,” Mac said. “And it was really good oatmeal.”

“It wasn’t even homemade!” Murdoc cried out. “It was packaged! You were wooed by packaged oatmeal?”

“It’s my question now,” Mac said, cutting Murdoc off. He was not talking about the oatmeal anymore, thank you very much. “Why did you leave Helman alive?”

“That’s what you’re using your last question on?” Murdoc asked. “You could be asking me something much more intriguing. Like what my middle name was. Or when I found you charming. Or what the most embarrassing thing that happened to me as a child was. Or-”

“Murdoc,” Mac warned. “Answer the question.”

“Yes, yes,” Murdoc said. “I’ll respect the rules of the game.”

“Then actually answer,” Mac replied.

Murdoc sighed. “I didn’t kill him because you didn’t want me to, okay?”

“Really?” Mac asked.

“It would have been easier if I killed him,” Murdoc continued. “It would have been safer. It would have been better. But I know you have those pesky morals, and you were right there, and you had asked me not to. So I didn’t.”

“Thank you, Murdoc,” Mac said, softly.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, boy scout,” Murdoc replied. “All I did was not put my finger on the trigger and pull.”

“Exactly,” Mac said. “Thank you.”

“I’ll never understand you, Macgyver,” Murdoc said, softly.

“And I’ll never understand you,” Mac replied. “But I don’t need to understand you to thank you. Or to love you.”

Murdoc leaned into Macgyver. “Thank you, boy scout.”

Mac just kissed Murdoc. “I still can’t believe your name is Dennis. I’m kissing a Dennis.”

“And I’m kissing an Angus,” Murdoc pointed out. “So I think we both have a pretty rotten deal here.”

Mac laughed. “We should just focus on the kissing, then, I think.”

“Definitely,” Murdoc replied. And then neither of them were doing much talking at all.

Mac wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, after he and Murdoc talked.

But it felt good to get it off his chest. To learn what Murdoc was feeling. He knew a few more things about Murdoc’s past. Murdoc knew a few things about Mac’s past. Murdoc was certain that Cass was doing okay, which meant that Macgyver was sure that Cass was doing okay, too. They had talked about their feelings, sort of. Mac could release a bit of the guilt he was feeling about everything that had happened. Mac was a bit more certain that Murdoc really was okay, after Mac getting arrested and Helman and everything. They had talked about it. They had discussed it. They had done some other stuff which didn’t exactly change their feelings, but did definitely boost their moods. Definitely.

Overall, though, nothing had really changed at all. Time still passed. The world kept turning. Sam was still gone. It still felt a bit weird. A bit strange. A bit painful. Mac had replaced his window, finally, from when Helman had shot through it. Mac was pretty sure the window guys all knew his name at this point, just because of how many times he had had to replace his windows. His house got shot at a lot. And sometimes he caused explosions. A lot of explosions. The electricians knew Mac by name, too, because he also caused a lot of power outages. Whoops. Because that was what Mac did. And that was what Mac kept doing. And life just kept moving on around him, as he went through his routine. Even if his routine wasn’t exactly, uh, routine to everybody else.

He still went on missions. One in France, teamed up with a new agent from the CIA. Who Bozer had met during spy school. And was definitely dating. A trip to Chernobyl, which had been intriguing and also quite a bit nerve wracking. He still made time for his friends. Movie nights with Bozer. Talking about some of the new advancements in computer tech with Riley. Building one of those expensive airplane model things with Jack. He still missed Sam. Mac texted her, though. Did some group calls. Sent her photos of Riley asleep on the couch, drooling. He still made time for Murdoc. Hikes near Mac’s house. Breakfast together on the patio, watching the sunrise. Trips to fancy restaurants. Time just kept moving. Life just kept flowing.

Mac had made a lot of time for Murdoc, actually.

It was one of those times right now. Mac and Murdoc had managed to find enough time to actually have a date out, for once. And because they had actually had time, Murdoc had decided to treat Mac out for dinner. Mac hadn’t actually known what sort of dinner, at first, because Murdoc had been extraordinarily secretive about it. Knowing Murdoc, Mac had been expecting a fancy dinner. An extravagant restaurant. Something with three michelin stars and chandeliers that cost more than Mac’s whole house.

Instead, Murdoc had brought Mac to a diner. To Mac’s favourite diner.

“How did you know about this place?” Mac asked as they sat down.

Murdoc smiled sheepishly. “Bozer may have told me.”

“Oh good,” Mac said. “I was scared you had started stalking me, or something.”

“I stopped stalking you a while ago, Murdoc,” Murdoc said.

“Murdoc-” Mac started.

“I’m just joking, boy scout,” Murdoc promised. “Stalking is such boring work.”

Mac laughed despite himself. “How dare you make stalking funny.”

“I make everything funny,” Murdoc said. “It’s my talent.”

“I thought your talent was shooting things,” Mac teased.

“Touche, Macgyver,” Murdoc said.

Mac smiled to himself. “I didn’t think you were much of a diner guy, Murdoc.”

“I’m not,” Murdoc admitted. “But you are. And I wanted this to be special.”

“Why?” Mac found himself asking.

“Our Christmas wasn’t exactly the most romantic, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out. “And you spent New Years on an airplane. And now it’s nearly Valentine’s Day and you haven’t had a free day in weeks. I’m hedging my bets.”

“Oh,” Mac said. He hadn’t even realised how close it was to Valentine’s. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need an apology, boy scout,” Murdoc promised.

“But-” Mac started to say.

Murdoc cut him off. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I don’t care what day we celebrate. I just wanted to do something special with you.”

“You could have told me we were celebrating,” Mac said, pouting slightly. “I could have worn something better.”

“You still would have worn a flannel,” Murdoc pointed out. “Or that horrendous brown leather jacket.”

“I would have worn a better flannel, though,” Mac said defensively. “And there’s nothing wrong with my jacket.”

“There is everything wrong with your jacket,” Murdoc said.

“You wear all black,” Mac countered.

“Just because I wear all black doesn’t mean I don’t have taste,” Murdoc pointed out.

Mac groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Murdoc cooed.

“Yeah,” Mac said, smiling. “I love you,”

“And,” Murdoc added. “You’ll love me even more when you see the gift I got you.”

“Gift?” Mac asked, internally panicking. “You didn’t tell me we were doing gifts!”

“Because I didn't want you to get me a gift, Macgyver,” Murdoc said.

“But-” Mac started to say.

“Today is about celebrating you,” Murdoc said, interrupting Mac’s spiral. “You can make me some gift later, don’t you worry. For now, boy scout, just let yourself enjoy it.”

“Fine,” Mac said, even though he was still a bit bitter. Mac liked getting Murdoc gifts, thank you very much.

Murdoc placed a long, black box on the table in front of Mac.

Mac took it, gingerly. He shook the box, but he couldn’t hear anything rattle. Interesting. He opened it, and then he gasped. “Murdoc-”

“Isn’t it nice?” Murdoc asked.

Mac stared at the necklace in front of him. It was a thick silver chain, and it shone beautifully in the diner light. But that wasn’t what made Mac so intrigued. Instead, it was the pendant that was attached to the chain that caught Mac’s eye. “It’s a swiss army knife,” Mac said, slowly. He could barely process it.

“Most don’t actually function,” Murdoc said. “But I had it custommade.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “It actually folds up?”

“And most of the blades are actually big enough to function,” Murdoc added. “So that way, if you ever lose your regular one, you still have one.”

Mac couldn’t even say anything. He just kept staring at the necklace in front of him. It was absolutely amazing. Like, just so incredibly amazing. It was-

“What do you think?” Murdoc asked, shaking Mac out of his thoughts.

“What do I think?” Mac parroted. “Murdoc, it’s perfect. Like, actually perfect. Like nothing has ever been so perfect, perfect.”

Murdoc grinned wider than Mac had ever seen before.. “Do you want me to put it on you?”

“Obviously,” Mac replied. And he couldn’t stop smiling. The necklace was just so practical. And thoughtful, too. So damn thoughtful.

And slowly, things started to heal. Mac started to heal.

Or maybe not heal, exactly. He wasn’t missing Sam any less or suddenly over the fact that Helman had tried to kill them. But Mac was adapting. Growing. Continuing. It was like- it was like Mac was expanding to make room for what had happened, instead of just evicting it. He wasn’t done thinking about what had happened. It wasn’t as if it had just poofed away and disappeared. There was no magician inside his brain, or anything. That would have just been weird. But his brain had expanded to the point where there was room for him to think about other stuff, too.

And the other stuff that Mac got to think about, that stuff was pretty darn good. He had a good job. He got to help people. He got to be useful. He got to really make a difference. He had a team he could trust. He had people that Mac knew would always have his back. He had friends that really cared about him. He had a group that would be down to do whatever random idea had popped into Mac’s brain, or talk about whatever fun fact that Mac had been thinking about on loop. He had a boyfriend who really cared about him, really, really, cared about him. He had a boyfriend who would never leave him, or betray him, or anything. And he wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

Because Mac was happy. He was really, truly, happy. His life was just- his life was good. There was no other way to describe it, really. His life was just good. He had good friends, and a good job, and a good boyfriend. A great boyfriend, actually. And Mac had fun, too. His life wasn’t just good on paper. It wasn’t like he had a perfect life because that was what le thought perfect was. He had a perfect life because he was happy. Because Bozer talked his ear off about strange movies Mac had never heard of before. Because Jack sang classic rock at the top of his lungs when they drove together. Because Riley always got way too competitive whenever they played video games. Because Murdoc told Mac fun facts which were always a little bit creepy, but mostly cool. Because Mac was happy.

And it was nice. It was really nice.

A part of Mac wished that he lived in a world where none of this happened. Where he didn’t get arrested for doing his job. Where his boyfriend didn’t have crazed killers hunting down him and everyone he loved. Where Sam hadn’t gotten shot. Where Cass wasn’t in danger just by living with them. Where everyone Mac had ever met wasn’t in danger just by having met Mac. Where Mac could just live and not have to look over his shoulder all the time. Where Mac wouldn’t be tired all the time. Where Mac wouldn’t be flying from mission to mission to mission, always jetlagged and never with enough of a break.

But Mac didn’t live in that world, though.

Mac lived in this world. His world. A world that wasn’t a perfect place. A world that needed help. A world that needed people to step up, and actually care about the little guy. A world that needed saving. A world that needed fixing. A world that needed Mac, really. And so long as Mac was needed, he was going to save it. He was going to help people. He was going to care. He was going to help the people who couldn’t help themselves. He was going to stop terrorists and disable bombs and arrest human traffickers. He was going to donate to ecological programs and volunteer at youth centres whenever he had spare money and time. He was going to help, in whatever way, and in every way, that he could.

Because Mac liked his world quite a lot, thank you very much.

Even if Mac was tired. Even if Mac was longing for a break. Even if Mac was constantly looking over his shoulder. Even if Mac had to save the world every single day and every single night. Even if Mac’s bones were a bit creaky from the amount of times that he’s broken them and sprained them and pulled muscles. Even if Mac was covered in scars from bombs and bullets and knives. Even if Mac’s head hurt and his ears still rang from getting banged around one too many times. Even if Mac could never commit to any long term plans. Even if Mac never knew if he was really safe somewhere or not. It didn’t matter, as long as it meant keeping the world, his world, safe. Because it was worth it. God, it was worth it.

Mac’s world was nice. Mac’s world was good. Mac’s world was Mac’s.

Chapter Text

Macgyver was finally getting a vacation.

Which was a good thing. It was definitely a good thing. Mac knew that it was a good thing. Mac deserved a break. Mac needed a break. Like, he really needed a break. He was tired . He was exhausted. He was overworked. He had been going from mission to mission to mission with hardly a break in between. He would finish one mission and then suddenly have another one. Even Christmas, which had meant to be his break from all of this, had been interrupted. That hadn’t been Phoenix’s fault, or anything, but it had been a lot. Everything had just been a lot, lately.

So, yeah, Mac definitely needed a break. He had earned one. He knew that.

But at the same time, Mac could think of a lot better things to do with his time than just relax, or just sit on a beach somewhere. There were people who were struggling. There were people who were hurting. There were people that would get hurt because Mac wasn’t working. There were people who needed Mac, who would need Mac, and Mac wouldn’t be there to help them, because he would be on vacation. There would be missions that only Mac had the skill set to solve. There would be people that only Mac could help. There would be, and there would always be, things that only Mac could handle. And if he took a break, then that would mean letting down all of those people.

It wasn’t as though all the other Phoenix agents were bad at their jobs, or anything. But everybody at Phoenix specialised. Some people were good with tech and computers. Some people were good with guns. Some people were good with hand to hand combat. Diplomacy. Explosives. Robotics. The list went on and on and on. But everybody was specialised at something. And Mac was specialised in a lot of things. He had a rudimentary understanding of every scientific topic. He was a good improviser. He was an explosives expert and an engineer and a fighter and whatever else he needed to be at any given moment. And with Riley and Jack and Bozer backing him up, his team was just better at some missions than other people at Phoenix were. That was just the reality of it.

Whatever Mac decided to do on vacation wouldn’t be worth everyone that would be hurt because he was busy, would it? What could he even do with his time that would ever be worth that? Mac didn’t exactly have a lot of things to do, outside of Phoenix. He could spend time with Murdoc, but he already did that every spare second he had. He could spend time with his friends, but he already worked with all of them. He could visit Cass in Switzerland, he supposed, but the school year was in full swing. He could tinker, but that was what he did anyway. He could read, but Mac wasn’t much of a fan of reading unless it was scholarly articles, and he read those on the plane trips anyway. So there really wasn’t any reason for Mac to take a vacation, except that Matty was making him.

But then it hit him. Mac knew one person in particular who needed his help. And he was on an island, so that counted as a vacation, right?

It was Carlos, his old buddy from basic training. Him and Mac had been really close, Mac then. They had drifted apart, when they had both been assigned overseas and then Mac had joined Phoenix and Carlos had settled down and had a family in Puerto Rico. But they still talked, every so often. And when Carlos’ house had been wrecked by Hurricane Maria, actually, when the entire island had been devastated by Hurricane Maria, Carlos had told Mac. And Mac had wanted to help, but he hadn’t been able to find any time off. But he had time off now, and he could still help Carlos. Maybe rebuild his house, since Mac knew that still needed to be done. He could actually help Carlos.

But Mac didn’t want to just leave his friends while on his vacation. Or Murdoc. Especially Murdoc.

So, he asked them to come with him. Riley, and Bozer, and Jack, since they had all been given a vacation at the same time. They worked as a team, so if one of them had a break, then the rest of them did too. It wouldn’t have been practical, otherwise. And Mac had asked Murdoc to come, too. Mac didn’t have to worry about Murdoc getting a vacation, or anything, because he made his own hours. Found his own missions. He didn’t have to worry about being so busy that he couldn’t take a break. Or worry about letting people down when he did take a break. So they all had the option to go, but Mac wasn’t sure that they would agree. Who would want to use their precious vacation time, just to go build a house on a broken island?

And yet, they all said yes. Mac had been so grateful that they had all said yes. He hadn’t expected it, honestly. They all had better things to do. Bozer could have been meeting up with Leanna, who everyone sort of knew about but also sort of didn’t actually talk about. And Riley could have been working on her personal computer projects, or making up with her dad, or she even could have gone to Australia and visited Cage. Jack could have- okay, Jack probably would have just spent the week flying planes or something, but still. He could have been doing something else. And it wasn’t like Murdoc was wasting his vacation, or anything, since he didn’t have a boss. But at the same time, he wasn’t exactly the most empathetic of people. Or the most selfless.

So it had been surprising, when they all agreed. All of them. It had been a good thing, definitely, but also surprising. Definitely surprising. But it was good, too. Really good. It meant that Mac could help Carlos. It meant that Mac had even more hands to help him help Carlos. Building a house wasn’t exactly a one person job, and Carlos had a day job. And his wife had a little girl to take care of. So it worked out, having them be there. And it meant that they got to hang out during their vacation, even if it wasn’t on some picturesque beach or something. And, besides, Mac wanted them to meet Carlos, too. Murdoc especially, actually. Carlos was important to Mac, okay? They had been really close during training, when Mac had rubbed the wrong way with a lot of people. He wasn’t the best at following orders.

But Carlos had had his back then, and Mac wanted him to meet the people who had his back now.

Mac got his wish. They were in a plane at the moment, commercial since this wasn’t a Phoenix trip, heading towards Puerto Rico. Just managing to find a flight in had been tricky, honestly, considering how messed up all the airports were. But they managed to find one. And they managed to actually make it to Carlos’ house, too. And Mac- Mac knew that Hurricane Maria had done a number on Puerto Rico. He knew that. Logically. But seeing it was a whole other ordeal. And Mac wasn’t the one who had lost everything. Carlos had lost every single thing, and Mac couldn’t even imagine what that was like. At all. But he was here to help now, at the very least.

And help was what they did. Mac was eager to get started, in all honesty.

They started working as soon as they had made it to Carlos’. It wasn’t as if they only worked, or anything. There were dinners with Carlos and his family. His grandmother’s pasteles. Playing with Carlos’ daughter, who was quite frankly adorable. Her and Riley got on amazingly, which was so cute to see. And Jack got on well with Carlos’ grandmother which- okay, was way less cute to see. Bozer was excited about all of the cooking. And it was nice being able to just hang out with Carlos again. To talk to him again. Just relax, and have some beers, even if it was in a makeshift shelter as they rebuilt his house. It was nice. It was really nice.

And then there was Murdoc. Mac, if he was being honest, wasn’t sure how Murdoc was going to get along with everybody. Murdoc was, well, he was a bit off putting to most people. His smile was a bit creepy and his eyes just sort of screamed ‘killer for hire’, most of the time. Mac didn’t mind it, but he acknowledged that it was definitely true. And yet, it didn’t seem to be much of an issue. It had maybe taken a day or two of warming up, but that wasn’t much. He and Carlos got along great, especially when Carlos realised that Murdoc was the person Mac had talked about dating. And Murdoc was great with kids, apparently, even ones that weren’t Cassian. So that had been a nice, albeit unexpected, surprise.

They had spent most of their time working, though. Mac didn’t really mind it. He liked building things. And he liked fixing things. That was sort of Mac’s whole thing, actually. The weather was pretty nice, if a bit hot, and the labour was simple. It was hard work, sure, but nothing complicated. Mac had to whip up a few pulley systems and levers, yeah, but that was practically child’s play for him. And besides, working gave him plenty of time to just hang out with his friends. It was just as easy for them to joke around while putting up support beams, as it was when they played Mario Kart, or something. They just needed something to do, as they talked. And building a house was definitely something to do.

The week flew by. Soon, it was almost over, as quickly as it had begun.

They had gotten a lot of good work done on the house. Mac was glad. He would have felt bad if he had to leave when they had barely gotten anything done. Actually, Mac felt bad leaving either way, but still. At least they had gotten a good amount of work done. Still, Mac did want to stay. Puerto Rico was really nice. And hanging out with Carlos was refreshing. There was no need to look over his shoulder, all the way here. It was just nice. But Mac had to leave. Everybody had to leave. They had a job to do, as soon as their vacation was up. It was just how these things worked. As much as Mac wanted to stay, he knew that in less than a day, he would have to go back to work.

And then Carlos had gone missing.

He had been meant to just go for some supplies. A quick errand. Back in an hour or so. And then it had been multiple hours, with no Carlos in sight. Mac hadn’t noticed, at first. His sense of time wasn’t exactly the best. And when Mac did notice that maybe it was a bit longer than it should have been, Mac just assumed that something had come up. It took Carlos’ daughter pointing out that, yeah, it had definitely been way too much time for it to be a simple thing that came up, that made Mac decide it was time to investigate. He and Jack took off on some borrowed motorcycles, and went to search. They found his truck, but not much else. Well, not much else except for a flat tire, the keys still in the ignition, and bullet holes in the wind shield. Carlos was definitely in trouble. And Mac needed to help him.

Mac had had to ask Matty for permission to go after Carlos. Mac didn’t know how to feel about that. Because Carlos was his friend. And sure, Mac knew that he had promised that he would be back to work the next day, ready to help with whatever Phoenix needed him to, but still. Carlos was missing. He could have been in danger. And Mac had needed to ask Matty to let him go look. And he only had a few hours to do it. It was- it was frustrating. Mac didn’t blame Matty for it, or anything. And he knew that there were other issues Mac had to help with, too. Mac just wished he could be in two places at once, or something. But he couldn’t. He could only be in one place at a time. Focus on one problem at a time. Save one person at a time.

Which meant that Mac just had to work fast, looking for him. And they did work fast. Mac and Jack went to investigate some leads, while Riley, Bozer, and Murdoc went to go file a missing persons report. And hopefully, actually get some police help on this. Mac was going after a neighbour that Carlos had had some trouble with, but it had been a dead end. Riley and Bozer found less of a dead end, though. The cops were so busy because they were protecting a shipment of aid money. Aid money that was going to be deposited at the bank that Carlos managed. Which meant that the people that attacked Carlos had probably attacked him to use him as a hostage. That was less than ideal. Definitely less than ideal.

Still, they found Carlos.. Or rather, they found out where Carlos was. And why he hadn’t come back.

Riley managed to pull up the security footage quickly, thankfully. There was Carlos, entering the bank. And there was somebody else, pressed up close behind him. It was tough to see, but he was definitely holding a gun. And there were a few more people in the bank that Mac had a feeling were part of this, too. All Mac could do was watch as his friend was held by gun point. All Mac could do was watch as his friend set off a silent alarm. All Mac could do was watch as one of the robbers heard it on a police scanner. All Mac could do was watch as the crooks roughed up Carols. All Mac could do was watch as they shot Carlos in the leg. All Mac could do-

They raced to the bank as quickly as they could.

It wasn’t fast enough, though. God, it wasn’t fast enough. Carlos was bleeding out as they drove, with probably no medical help at all. And, sure, Mac knew that he could probably patch up his own wound if he needed to, but that didn’t mean that the criminals holding Carlos captive would let him. Mac knew from experience, being held hostage sucked. Like, really sucked. But there was nothing Mac could do, as they drove. All he could do was focus on what he would do once they got there. On how Mac would actually be able to help Carlos. On making a plan. On-

Mac had an idea. It was, technically, a dumb idea, but so were most of Mac’s ideas, anyway. And the idea was necessary, anyway. Because, the thing was, Mac wasn’t any use to anybody while outside the bank. Mac wasn’t any use to Carlos while outside of the bank. Mac wasn’t skilled at tactics, or anything. And he definitely wasn’t a hostage negotiator. He wasn’t a sniper and he wasn’t a hacker. There was nothing Mac could do from the outside. All of Mac’s skills involved him being close to the action. Improvising. Making things. Picking locks. Mac couldn’t do any of that from outside of the building.

Which meant that Mac had to get inside, if he wanted to help Carlos. And Mac definitely wanted to help Carlos. It was what Mac did, helping people. And he especially helped the people he cared about. And sure, Mac didn’t talk that much to Carlos anymore, but that didn’t matter. Mac still cared about him. And Mac was still going to help him. Of course Mac was going to help Carlos. And he needed to get inside to help Carlos. And this idea was the only way Mac could think of to get inside. This idea was the only way Mac could think of to help Carlos. This idea was the only way-

When they finally made it, Mac immediately got out of the car and started running towards the bank.

“Where are you going so quickly?” Murdoc asked, as soon as Mac opened the door of Carlos' rusty truck.

“Coordinate with the cops when they get here,” Mac said.

“Mac,” Murdoc pressed. “What’s going on, boy scout?”

“It’s fine,” Mac said, as he started running. “Probably. Just get in contact with the cops.”

“Nah, murder brain over here is right,” Jack called out. “Where the hell are you going, hoss?”

Mac turned back at them. “To become a hostage!”

There was only so much time that Mac had to be able to actually sneak into the bank. Even if it had taken them a bit to drive there, Mac still had a bit of time. The robbers would be busy dealing with the people in the main section of the bank, maybe tying them or at the very least scaring them. They wouldn’t be able to search any of the other sections of the bank, break rooms and washrooms and the like, until afterwards. It gave Mac a bit of a time window to sneak in, but not much. Still, Mac was pretty sure it was enough. Probably. There wasn’t any time to worry about that now, anyway.

Mac was too busy scaling the wall of the bank. That wasn’t a sentence that Mac said regularly, or ever, Mac had to admit. Scaling bank walls wasn’t exactly a hobby of his, or anything. But it was similar enough to rock climbing, and the building was short. All Mac had to do was get up to the roof. And then once he was on the roof, he just entered the air shaft. And once he was in the air shaft, he managed to get himself into the ceiling. Thankfully, the ceiling was made of those weird, loose tile things, instead of an actual ceiling. Otherwise Mac’s plan wouldn’t have worked that well. Now all Mac had to do was find somewhere where there weren’t any criminals to see him sneak in. Or to just plain shoot him. .

He managed to find his way to a washroom. He was fairly confident it was the men’s. Mostly. He moved the tiles out of the way, and then slowly lowered himself down into the washroom. His feet touched the toilet tank with a weirdly satisfying thunk. He moved the ceiling tiles back into position, before climbing down off the tank and onto the ground, using the edge of the stall for support. He barely had time to walk out of the stall, before a man came rushing in with a gun. Mac didn’t even have to fake his look of surprise as the man waved the gun at him, with seemingly no care in the world for gun safety. He slammed Mac to the floor, and then searched Mac’s pockets. And took his swiss army knife. Rude.

Still, Mac’s plan had worked. He was officially a hostage now. Yay!

Mac’s attacker took him over to the main lobby of the bank, dragging him to sit with the other hostages. It was good that they didn’t decide to keep him away from the other hostages. Or just shoot him. But he was far away from Carlos. Too far away. And Carlos looked like he was in rough shape, too. It was clear that the blood loss was getting to him, even as he clutched his leg to try to stop some of the bleeding. And it was clear that he was in pain, too. Lots of pain. Getting shot was no fun, Mac knew that. And Mac knew that Carlos knew that, too. So for him to be reacting this out of it- things were bad. Mac watched as Carlos groaned in pain, as the robbers tried to get him to stand up.

But there was nothing Mac could do. He was too far away to help. Or, rather, there was nothing smart Mac could do. But there was a very stupid thing Mac could do.

“Hey, guys-” Mac said, standing up.

The scary people with the guns didn’t seem to like that. Especially the one with the nicotine stained beard, who seemed to be the leader.

“Woah, woah, woah,” the leader warned, flashing his gun at Mac. He was a bit more careful with his gun than the guy who had grabbed Mac, who seemed shaky beyond belief, but seriously, who had taught these people gun safety? Or how to be a criminal at all? “Maybe I wasn't clear with the rules. Nobody moves and nobody talks.”

“Look,” Mac said, slowly, as he put his hands up in the air. “If you don’t let me help, then the one person who can get you into the vault dies. Just let me treat the wound,” Mac said, leaving out the please. But god, Mac really hoped this worked. He really hoped this would work.

The man smirked at him. “What are you? Some kind of doctor?”

“No, I’m not” Mac admitted, trying not to sound too much like an agent. And not like he was used to being held at gunpoint, which at this point he honestly was. He wound up channelling a bit of Murdoc. Whoops. “But I know how to treat a gunshot wound. And it doesn’t look like any of your guys know how, and he’s bleeding out.”

The leader made a face, clearly considering it. “You have five minutes,” he declared.

“I only needed four,” Mac said. He actually only needed three, but he also wanted some time to figure out what to do after he fixed up Carlos’ leg. Namely, how to get all the other hostages out. And talk to his friends on the outside. And-

The priority was Carlos at the moment, though. “I will need my knife back, though,” Mac said.

The man who had taken Mac hostage begrudgingly gave it back. It was good to have it back in Mac’s possession.

Mac focused on fixing up Carlos. He talked to him, and made sure that he was at least partially okay. He used his belt as a tourniquet to help with some of the bleeding, and then he had the person closest to them, a bank employee named Lucy, keep pressure on Carlos’ wound. And then Mac started rifling through drawers. He found black pepper, luckily, and a pencil. Those were both important for the moment. He also found a pen, and a pair of headphones. And car keys, that was good. He didn’t actually need those at the moment, but they would definitely come in handy soon.

He had to admit that pepper was a sort of weird thing to use when trying to help a gunshot wound. But black pepper worked as a natural coagulant, okay? Once Mac got some onto Carlos’ leg, it would help the bleeding stop and the wound close. It would definitely hurt like hell, though, which was what the pencil was for. You know, so Carlos could bite down on it. Carlos was willing to let Mac painfully season his leg, thank god, even though it definitely hurt. Finally, Mac used some of Carlos’ shirt as a makeshift bandage, just to be sure. And there, Carlos was- okay, he definitely wasn’t good, but he was better. And he wouldn’t bleed out. And he could stand. Kind of.

]

The robbers took Carlos away as soon as Mac had finished, practically dragging him along. It wasn’t ideal, but at the very least it gave Mac time to work on the next part of his plan. His very, very hastily made plan. He talked to Lucy, again, asking where the exits were and other vital information. There was only one other, a second floor window. Great. And then Mac started working on his radio. He wasn’t sure if he could actually call headphones wrapped around a pen, attached to the radio receiver from a car key. But hey, it worked, and that was what counted. Or, at least Mac hoped it would work, anyway. He shoved the pen and the chord of the headphones down his shirt, so that the robbers wouldn’t be able to see it. There was only one robber with them now, which was good. And then he put the earbud in, and started fiddling with it.

Radio static buzzed to life in Mac’s ears. Perfect,

“Jack,” Mac called out. “Murdoc,” he added, when he remembered that he would be there too. He wasn’t really used to Murdoc being there on what was essentially a mission. “Jack.”

“We’re here, hoss,” Jack said. “It’s good to hear your voice again, hoss.”

“What were you thinking?” Murdoc added.

“That I could help Carlos,” Mac said. “Which I did, by the way. No other hostages have been harmed. The robbers are at the vault with the money, right now. Most of them, anyway.

“Okay,” Jack said. “But what’s the plan?”

“I don’t have much of one,” Mac admitted.

“Clearly not,” Murdoc mumbled. Mac could just barely hear it over the radio.

“But I’m gonna start releasing hostages,” Mac continued, ignoring Murdoc.

“That’s great,” Jack said. “How are you gonna do that, hoss?”

“I don’t know,” Mac admitted. “But have people waiting outside the drive through lane.”

“Or we could just rush in and get you,” Murdoc said. “Quick and easy.”

“As sweet as that is,” Mac said. “That will only get people killed. And Carlos is still down at the vault. Just wait by the drive through window.”

“You got it,” Jack said.

“Murdoc?” Mac asked. “You got that?”

Murdoc sighed dramatically. “Yes, boy scout, I understand. No having fun under any circumstances.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Mac promised, repressing a chuckle. He pulled out the earbuds when he saw the robber walk closer to them.

Now all Mac needed was an actual way to get the hostages out.

Getting the hostages physically out of the building from a second story window was the easy part, surprisingly enough. It wasn’t actually easy, actually, but it was easier than the whole ‘getting hostages away from a bunch of skittish criminals with guns’ part. So, yeah, comparatively, it was easy. When the guard wasn’t looking, Mac darted over behind a desk and grabbed a length of ethernet cable. He started tying it together, making something of a rope ladder. But, you know, out of ethernet cable. This way, the freed hostages would have something to use to climb out of the window and down towards Jack and the others.

But Mac still had to free them so that they could use it. Which meant that he had to create some sort of distraction for the guard. Luckily, there was only one criminal up with the hostages at the moment. And he seemed more preoccupied with staring out the windows at the cops than worrying about what Mac was doing. Which meant that he would be easy to distract. He grabbed a coffee cup from one of the desks, and asked Lucy where they stored the dye packs. Yeah, dye packs would work really well for this, actually. He stuck the dye pack to the mug, and then instructed Lucy to get as many people as possible out with the makeshift ladder.

And then he threw the mug, far into one of the corners of the bank. Just as Mac had hoped, the skittish criminal ran towards it, brandishing his gun. He searched the area, eventually finding the mug. He turned it over, triggering the pressure sensor on the dye pack, and- there. Bright blue dye everywhere. Mostly, though, it was on the guard's face. And glasses. Mac urged Lucy and as many other people as he could to start running, although he didn't even try to get out himself. As long as Carlos wasn’t out, as long as any hostage wasn’t out, Mac was staying here.

The important part was that hostages were released. Some of them, anyway.

The guard’s screaming alerted the other thieves, though. They all came running back. And Mac still needed to get all of the other ones out. And Carlos. Carlos definitely needed to get out. And that was a lot of people, especially considering that the robbers were now on edge because of Mac’s stunt with the mug. And the criminals were trying to figure out what had happened, and who had set the trap for the guard. And they were angry. And hurting people. Hurting people who had had nothing to do with releasing the hostages. Mac didn’t know how he would be able to get any more hostages out. Or even just prevent the crooks from hurting anybody else. Honestly, at this point, it would be easier to just get the criminals out, then get the hostages out. Actually- Mac had an idea.

And, okay, Mac knew that this was a dumb plan. Even dumber than everything else that he had done today. But it was the only thing he could think of, okay?

“It was me,” Mac blurted out. “I released the hostages.”

The leader pointed a gun right at Mac’s face. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

“Because,” Mac said, willing his breath to be even and steady as he spoke. “I can get you all out of here. No cops, no jail. And with your money. As long as you release all of the hostages. And nobody else gets hurt.”

“Why the hell should I trust you?” The man asked.

“Because I just made a radio out of a pair of headphones and snuck three hostages out of the bank without you noticing. Using Ethernet cable and a coffee mug,” Mac said. And, sure, he was sort of bragging to a bunch of criminals. But Mac couldn’t really help himself.

Mac knew that it was a dumb idea. He knew that it was dumb idea. But it was the only idea he had.

“Fine,” the leader said, begrudgingly. “How?”

“First,” Mac admitted. “I need you to buy me some time.”

Mac got to work. He grabbed a coffee pot. And a trash can. And a whole bunch of pens. Literally every single pen Mac could find, actually. Mac was lucky this was a bank, because there were so many pens. Specifically, counterfeit detection pens. Which were filled with iodine. Perfect. And then he nabbed some ammonia, and some other cleaning chemicals, from the cleaning room, and got to work. He combined them all into the coffee pot, ignoring the stares of the criminals around him. He brought it down to where the vault was, shook it, and let it to do it’s work on the floor under them.

Boom. A homemade acid solution that was also sort of a bomb to be able to get them down the sewers. Perfect.

“Let’s go,” one of them said, nudging Mac with his gun. “Through the tunnel, now.”

“Hey,” Mac said. “I’m a hostage, remember? You said you’d release all of them.”

“Not when you’ve made yourself this useful,” the leader declared. “Now move, blondie.”

Mac sighed. He should have known this was how this would work out. Great.

Once they made it outside, they made him steal a car. Which, okay, Mac had stolen cars before. A lot of cars. But he didn’t appreciate being forced to do it by gun point. Or, for that matter, being forced to steal a car to help his attackers at all. And he especially didn’t enjoy being forced to drive the car. But there wasn’t much he could do, really. There were way too many guns trained on him for Mac to try anything tricky, and there was nowhere for him to run in the cramped car. Which meant that he was stuck. For now, anyway. But if he managed to get out of the car, if they got a flat tire or something, then Mac could-

A bullet shot through the window, taking out one of the thieves. It happened so fast Mac wasn’t even sure what had happened, at first.

“What the hell was that?” The leader asked.

“There’s someone shooting,” one of the guys said. Everyone moved and pointed their guns at the windows. Everyone except the leader, anyway.

“Do you know anything about this?”

“How would I know about this?” Mac asked. “I’ve been stuck here with you.” But the truth was, Mac was pretty sure he knew who was shooting. And why. He wasn’t exactly sure how he had managed to find them, but he was grateful. Very grateful.

“Keep driving,” the leader ordered, and then turned to start shooting out the window too.

Mac looked around, just to make sure that none of the criminals were watching him. And then he swerved the stolen car into a ditch.

The car crashed, sending everybody tumbling. Everybody who wasn’t already dead, anyway. Murdoc was way too good of a shot. Mac knew that it was Murdoc, even if could have technically been a SWAT sniper or something. But Mac just knew that it had been Murdoc. And he was grateful that it had been, because Mac wasn’t even sure what he would have done if he hadn’t been able to get himself out of this before they managed to get off the island.

Mac pulled himself out of the car, just as SWAT started to swarm. And Phoenix. But no sign of Murdoc, yet.

“Mac,” Jack said, pulling him into a bear hug. “Thank god you’re okay, hoss.”

“Yeah,” Bozer said. “You had us scared, man.”

“What were you even thinking?” Riley asked.

Mac just shook his head. “Are the hostages all okay?”

“The hostages are fine, Mac,” Riley assured him.

“You should ask Murdoc if he’s okay,” Bozer teased.

Mac froze, suddenly scared. “Did something happen?”

“He’s pissed,” Bozer said. “At you risking your life.”

“All of us are, hoss,” Jack added. “You could’ve been hurt.”

“Or shot,” Riley said.

“Or taken off the island,” Bozer continued.

“But I wasn’t,” Mac said.

“Because we found you,” Bozer said. “Or, rather, Murdoc found you.”

Mac frowned. “Yeah,” he said. “I wanted to ask about that. How did you even find me?”

“I dunno, man,” Jack said with a shrug. “You’re gonna have to ask Murdoc yourself.”

“Ask me what, exactly?” Murdoc asked. Mac hadn’t noticed him arrive. “Why you were dumb enough to risk yourself? How you could have possibly thought this was a good idea? How-”

“Are you mad?” Mac asked.

“I’m not mad,” Murdoc said. “I was worried. Very worried.”

“I’m here now,” Mac pointed out. “And yes, I know it’s only because you found me. And shot the car. Which brings me to my actual question. How did you find me?”

Murdoc grinned. “It’s a secret.”

“Murdoc,” Mac said, flatly.

“You’re no fun, Macgyver,” Murdoc whined. “But if you absolutely must know, that little necklace I gave you isn’t just a necklace.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “It’s also a swiss army knife.”

“Well,” Murdoc admitted. “The swiss army knife is also a tracker.”

Mac sighed. “You’ve been tracking me?”

“You have a track record of getting kidnapped, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out.

“No I don’t,” Mac grumbled, crossing his arms defensively.

“You totally do, man,” Jack said.

“And left to die,” Riley pointed out.

“Or poisoned,” Bozer said. “You’re really bad at staying alive,”

“But I’m still alive,” Mac pointed out. “So I can’t be that bad at it.”

“Still,” Murdoc said, dramatically. “You can’t even pretend to care about your own life, can you?”

“People need me,” Mac said with a shrug.

“And I need you,” Murdoc pointed out.

“You can’t talk him out of it, man,” Jack said, shaking his head. “He’s been like this since I’ve met him.”

“Like what?” Mac asked.

“Self sacrificial,” Jack said easily.

“Way too selfless for your own good,” Riley added.

“Completely lacking in self preservation skills,” Murdoc added.

“I’m not lacking self preservation skills!” Mac said. As soon as it left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t exactly true.

“You totally are,” Bozer said. “Don’t you remember that time with the baby bird? You almost fell off that roof, dude. Twice.”

Mac sighed. “Can we please just get to the plane? Please? Or maybe get me an ice pack?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s go find someone to look at those wounds.”

“Do we still have a mission after this?” Bozer asked.

“You better now,” Murdoc said. “Mac was just in a car crash.”

Jack shrugged. “He did crash the car himself, so-”

“He still needs a break,” Murdoc asserted.

Mac didn’t really care what happened, honestly. He was too tired to care at the moment. Which, okay, that probably meant that he definitely wasn’t ready to go on another mission, but still. If people needed Mac, he would go. If Matty needed Mac, then he would go. If Phoenix needed Mac, he would go. For now, though, Mac just had to worry about getting checked out by the doctors. And finding a doctor in the first place. But Mac wasn’t even the one who had to worry about that. He had a bunch of other people who would worry about all of that instead. They would worry about all of that for Mac.

And Mac was grateful for that. Even when he was hurt and tired, all he could think about was how grateful he was.

All he could think about was how amazing his friends were. All he could think about was how protective his friends were.

And, okay, maybe Mac was also thinking about how tired and in pain and wrecked he was. But still.

Chapter Text

Mac was tired.

He had been tired for a long time, actually. A really long time. He had been happy, but he had been tired. He had been really happy, but also really tired. It was just a part of the job. Long hours. Long missions. Not knowing when you would have to jet off across the country to save the day. Not knowing when you would be able to sleep in your own bed again. Not being able to plan any sort of trip or date or anything. Not being able to promise that he could make it to anything. Being hurt and being tired and having to put everything in front of his job. Constant bruises and gunshot scars and aches and pains from lingering wounds. Headaches and fatigue and never being able to really get a break. There was always another job. Always another mission. Always another person to save.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Mac’s job was important. Mac knew his job was important. And he liked it, even. He liked helping people. He loved helping people. And he was good at helping people. He was- he was especially equipped to help people. It was what he was good at. It was what he did. It was what he needed to do. It was what gave Mac a purpose. It was what gave Mac a reason to keep going. It was what made Mac useful. It was- it was the only thing that Mac knew how to do, really. Help. Rescuing hostages. Defusing bombs. Reclaiming information. Stopping rare diseases from being spread. That was what Mac was good at. That was what Mac did. That was- that was all Mac could do. That was what Mac had a responsibility to do.

He was tired, though. God, he was tired. It seemed to be mission after mission after mission, lately. Job after job after job. There was always a new person to help. There was always a new terrorist group to dismantle. There was always a new gun that they had to prevent from being sold on the blackmarket. There was always a new person trying to kill Mac. There was always a new human trafficking ring popping up. There was always a new bad guy. A new criminal. A new mole. A new bomb or a new assassin or a new chemical agent. There was always a new mission. A new person to protect. A new person to arrest. A new thing to stop. Every single day, a new mission.

And Mac- Mac was just tired. Tired of the cycle. Tired of never helping enough. Tired. And Murdoc noticed that he was tired, too.

Mac had just gotten back from a mission, maybe an hour or two ago. They had done their normal post mission ritual of coming back to Mac and Bozer’s after. DRink some beers around the fire pit, talk about what had happened, that sort of thing. But Mac- Mac just wasn’t feeling it. Mac hadn’t had enough energy to really participate in those in a long time, really. They had just had mission after mission after mission. And sometimes, even when everyone else was off from missions, Mac was called in to consult on something, or help the chemistry techs, or something. So Mac was just tired. He was always tired. But he was especially tired today. So he had retreated off to his bedroom after maybe half an hour of nodding along to words he could barely hear.

And then someone knocked on Mac’s bedroom door.

“Boy scout,” Murdoc said from the other side of the door. “You alright in there?”

“I’m fine,” Mac said, half mumbling into his pillow.

“Would it be alright if I came in?” Murdoc asked.

Mac nodded before he remembered that Murdoc wouldn’t be able to see that. “Come in,” he said, eventually. Once his mouth started working again.

“Alright,” Murdoc said, opening the door. “What’s going on, boy scout?”

“What?” Mac asked. “Nothing’s going on?”

“You were like a zombie out there, boy scout,” Murdoc pointed out. “And you have been every time you come back from a mission, honestly.”

“I dunno,” Mac muttered. “I’m just tired.”

“You’ve been on a lot of missions, lately,” Murdoc pointed out.

“Yeah,” Mac agreed. “It’s tiring.”

“Have you talked to Matilda about lightening your mission load?” Murdoc asked.

Mac gave Murdoc a look. “People would get hurt if I did that.”

“And you’re getting hurt right now,” Murdoc said.

“It’s not that bad,” Mac replied defensively. “I’m just a bit tired.”

“Those bags under your eyes are so big you would have to pay a fee for them on an airplane,” Murdoc teased. His smirk disappeared. “I’m serious though, boy scout. This isn’t good for you.”

“I’m fine,” Mac said.

“You’re not, Angus,” Murdoc said. A hand stroked softly on Mac’s arm.

“I’ll be fine once I get some sleep,” Mac corrected.

Murdoc shook his head. “Have you ever thought about leaving Phoenix?”

“What?” Mac asked. Because, seriously, what? “That would be crazy.”

“I was just asking,” Murdoc said.

“But why?” Mac asked. “I help people there. I save people.”

“You might want to try giving saving yourself a try,” Murdoc said, softly.

Mac was too tired to figure out what that even meant. “I know you’re not a fan of governments, or people who arrest people like you, Murdoc-”

“That’s not what this is about,” Murdoc asserted. “This is about you.”

“And I’m fine,” Mac said. “I promise.”

“You keep saying that,” Murdoc said, barely audible. “And yet I don’t find myself believing you.”

“Look,” Mac said. “Can we talk about this when I’m not sleep deprived?”

“Sure, boy scout,” Murdoc replied. He didn’t sound happy, but Mac was too tired to know what to do about that. “I’ll see you. Have a good rest.”

“Yeah,” Mac muttered, mostly into his pillow. He fell asleep sometime after that, he was pretty sure.

When Mac woke up, he didn’t know what to do with that. Any of that. So, he ignored it. He just ignored it. He focused on missions. He focused on work. He focused on the job. On job after job after job. He focused on helping people. He focused on helping so many people that Mac had lost track at this point. And sometimes, Mac didn’t even really know who he was helping. Sometimes he was just helping the government. Recovering data drives that he didn’t even know the contents of- But he ignored it. He ignored the alarm bells going off in Mac’s head. He ignored the dissatisfaction of it all. He ignored just how tired he was. He just kept doing missions. He just kept helping people. He just kept doing what he always did, even if he didn’t feel like doing it anymore.

He ignored the bags under his eyes. He ignored the way it felt like his ears were constantly ringing. He ignored the way that his shoulder never really worked quite right, after he had gotten shot there. Twice. He ignored the way that when a car backfired near his house, Mac would flinch and look over his shoulder. He ignored the way that he crashed as soon as he got back from missions, these days. He ignored the way that it was getting harder to get out of bed every day. He ignored what Murdoc had said, even when it kept echoing in Mac’s ears over and over and over again. He ignored all of it. Every scar, every flinch, every protest.

Mac had a job to do. He didn’t have time to worry about any of that, when he had a job to do. There was always a kid somewhere that needed saving. There was always a bomb somewhere that needed disarming. There was always a terrorist group somewhere that needed stopping. Or an arms dealer. Or a cartel. Or an assassin. Or a corrupt politician. Or a human trafficker. Or an animal trafficker. Or- Or anything, really. Because there was always something. There was always some mission. There was always some person to save. Or some person to stop. Or some artefact to rescue. Or some data to recover. So, Mac ignored it. He ignored everything. He ignored all of it. He ignored every single thing that was bothering him, and focused on the mission. Or, rather, he ignored it until he couldn’t anymore, anyway.

Because Murdoc wasn’t the only one who had noticed that something was up.

Mac and Boze were having a movie night. Or, they were trying to have a movie night, anyway. Mac couldn’t actually tell you what movie they were watching, or even what genre it was in. He was- he was just sort of out of it. His head hurt and he was on pain meds from when he got stabbed on their last mission, and Matty had told them that there was going to be a new mission tomorrow and- And Mac was just tired. But he forced himself to keep his eyes open for Bozer, even if he was too tired to really register what was going on. There were a lot of gunshots, Mac was pretty sure. And underwater scenes. And English accents. That was all Mac could make out, really. But he stayed up, for Boze. And because Mac liked spending time with him. He liked movie nights. He liked-

“Mac?” Bozer asked, sounding concerned. “You good, man?”

Mac jerked upright. He must have been falling asleep. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You look half asleep,” Bozer said.

“It’s fine,” Mac said, shaking his head. “Just had a late night at Phoenix yesterday. There was the whole engineering competition thing and-”

“I thought you said you didn't have time for that?” Bozer asked.

Mac shrugged. “I found time. Matty said it was important.”

“For Phoenix, maybe,” Bozer said. “But you really need the rest.”

“What makes you say that?” Mac asked with a frown.

“Man,” Bozer said flatly. “You look like roadkill on your good days. You need a vacation, or something.”

“We just had a vacation,” Mac pointed out.

“Puerto Rico was not a vacation,” Bozer said. He had paused the movie, at some point, though Mac didn't know when.

“Why not?” Mac asked.

“Because you built a whole house,” Boze pointed out. “And then you saved Carlos. And then you got kidnapped.”

“It was still a vacation,” Mac said. “And I really don’t need another one.”

“You look worse than when you did when you stayed up for a whole week before that physics exam, man,” Bozer said. “I’m worried.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Mac said.

“Are you sure?” Bozer asked. “Because I’m sure if you talked to Matty you could get like a leave of absence, or something.”

“A leave of-” Mac started to say. “Why would I need that?”

“Because you need a break,” Bozer stressed. “You’re tired, all the time. And you keep getting all these special assignments and whatever, and you just need a break, man. Even just a few days of no missions.”

“I’m fine, Boze,” Mac said, even if it felt hollow as he said it. He shook his head. “Murdoc was saying something similar to me, though.”

“Really?” Bozer asked.

“He asked if I had thought about leaving Phoenix,” Mac said. “Which is crazy, obviously, and-”

Bozer cut Mac off. “It really isn’t that crazy,” he said. “It feels like Phoenix has been eating you alive lately.”

“What?” Mac asked. “You- you would be okay if I just left?”

“As long as you’re okay, then I’m happy,” Bozer said.

Mac didn't know how to respond to that. “Can we just keep watching the movie?”

“You sure you don’t want to go to bed?” Bozer asked.

“I’m sure,” Mac asserted.

“Alright,” Bozer said. “Whatever you say. But if you fall asleep and drool on me-”

Mac laughed. “I won’t drool on you, man. Just hit play on the movie.” He was pretty sure he wound up falling asleep and drooling on Boze, but it was all kind of a blur.

But Mac didn’t know what to do about any of it. He didn’t even know how to feel about any of it. Especially given what they had both said about Mac leaving Phoenix. It wasn’t like he could leave Phoenix. Phoenix was his home. Phoenix was his life. Phoenix was what gave Mac a purpose. A life. A reason. A job. What would Mac even do, if he didn’t work at Phoenix? It wasn’t like he wanted to go back to the army, or anything. And those were the only two jobs Mac had ever had, unless you wanted to count selling chocolate bars to fundraise for school, or fixing Mrs. Jackson’s generator for some spare cash in high school. What else could Mac even do? Phoenix was what Mac was good at. And Phoenix was what Mac wanted to do. Or, rather, Phoenix was how Mac could help people. And Mac wanted to help people.

And besides, even if Mac could leave, all of his friends worked at Phoenix. And, sure, Murdoc didn’t work at Phoenix and he managed to be friends with them but that was because he was always at Mac’s house, and Mac worked for Phoenix. And, sure, Mac lived with Bozer, who worked for Phoenix. But- but what if his friends wouldn’t want to be friends with him, if he stopped working at Phoenix? What if they felt like he had betrayed him? What if they felt like they didn’t have anything in common, now that they didn’t work at the same place? What if they felt like Mac was letting people die, by not working there anymore? What if-

None of this really mattered, though. Because Mac would never actually leave Phoenix. Mac could never actually leave Phoenix. Mac’s work was important. And not many other people in the world, let alone just at Phoenix, could do what Mac did. And that meant that, if Mac left, there would be nobody like him to take his place. And if there was nobody like him to take his place, then there would be nobody to do what he did on missions. And that- And that meant that people would die, if Mac ever left Phoenix. And Mac- even if Mac wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Because people would get hurt, if he wasn’t there. People would get seriously hurt.

It wasn’t like Mac could just walk out and leave Phoenix, right? Right?

At this point, Mac knew that he needed advice. He needed to talk to somebody. He needed to figure out what he actually needed to do. What he even could do. And if it was a bad thing that Mac was even considering thinking about leaving Phoenix. Mac just needed advice. He seriously needed advice. And when Mac needed advice, there was someone that Mac always went to. And, sure, Mac was a goofball sometimes, but he always knew when to be serious. And he was more familiar with how government agencies like Phoenix worked than any mac knew. So, when Mac and Jack wound up in a slightly stolen car alone while on a mission, Mac took his chance.

“Jack,” Mac said, once they started moving. “Can we uh- talk for a second.”

“We’re talking right now, Mac,” Jack pointed out, a dumb grin painting his face.

“I mean- I mean about something serious,” Mac said. It was hard to get the words out.

“Is it about feelings, hoss?” Jack asked. “Because you know I ain’t one of those touchy feely guys, man.”

“It’s not feelings,” Mac said. “Or it- it kind of is, I guess. But just- look. I’ve been tired a lot lately.”

“Yeah, man,” Jack said. “You have been. Our workload has been rough lately.”

“And-” Mac started to say. “I don’t know. Do you ever think about what it would be like if you didn’t work for Phoenix?”

Jack shrugged. “What would I even do, hoss?” He asked. “I’m a soldier, through and through.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “That was my thought, too.”

Jack laughed. “You ain’t a soldier, Mac,”

“I was literally in the army,” Mac pointed out.

“That’s not what I mean,” Jack said, sharply turning the car. “I mean that I ain’t got much of a transferable skill set. I can shoot guns, and follow orders, and drive well. But you’ve got a lot of skills in that head of yours. A lot of brains, too.”

“Still,” Mac said. “I can’t even imagine leaving Phoenix.”

“Why are you even thinking about this, hoss?” Jack asked. There was something like concern in his voice.

“I- just-” Mac tried to say. “You know that it’s been pretty busy for us. Tiring. A heavy workload. And Murdoc was worried.”

“He thinks you should quit?” Jack asked.

“He didn’t say that,” Mac said, shaking his head. “He just asked if I had even thought about it. Which I hadn’t. Ever.”

“You’ve never thought about it?” Jack asked. “Even when Matty’s being annoying, or you have to do paperwork, or you’re on sick leave?”

“No,” Mac said. “Why? Do you?”

“Uh, yeah, hoss,” Jack said. “I imagine if I had become a pilot instead. Or a cowboy. And then I realise that I’m just fine working at Phoenix, anyway.”

“I’ve never even considered anything else,” Mac admitted. “But now it’s in my head, and-”

Jack shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of people come and go from agencies, Mac,” he said. “And some people just realise it’s time to go.”

“I don’t know,” Mac said, shaking his head. “I mean- I can’t imagine not being at Phoenix. And not being friends with you and Ri and-”

“Man,” Jack said. “If you think you’d lose us just because we stopped workin’ at the same place, you’re crazy.”

“Really?” Mac asked.

“We ain’t coworkers, hoss,” Jack said. “We’re friends. We spend Christmas together, man. We’re not gonna stop doing that even if you did leave.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Mac said, softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack replied. “Don’t go all feelings on me now.”

Mac laughed. And then bullets started flying towards them, and Mac was suddenly thinking about the mission again, instead of anything else.

Still, it felt wrong. It just- it felt wrong. To leave his friends. To leave his family. Because that was the truth of it. Phoenix had become something like a Phoenix, to Mac. It had become something like a second home. And it wasn’t like it was just his friends, either. It wasn’t just Jack and Riley and Bozer who made Phoenix feel like home. It was Matty. It was Leanna. It was Jill. It was all the other techs, who all worked there. It was the people that Mac collaborated with in the chemistry department. It was Sam, when she had been there. It was the people that Mac randomly saw in the hallways and in the break rooms. It was the people who had helped Mac prank Jack, even if they didn’t know either of them. It was- it was all of it. Phoenix was just Mac’s home, at this point.

And Phoenix held memories, too. It was all Mac had known, for a long time. He had gone into it right out of the army. He had met Nikki there. He had dated Nikki there. He had mourned Nikki there. And he wouldn’t have met Riley, if he hadn’t worked there. He wouldn’t have met Sam. He wouldn’t have met Matty. And he wouldn’t have met Murdoc, either. Almost all of Mac’s recent memories were tied to Phoenix. Drinking beers after work. Joking while on a mission. Meeting interesting people. Helping strangers. All of those memories were connected to Phoenix. All of Mac was connected to Phoenix.

Because that was it, wasn’t it? Mac didn’t know who he was, if he wasn’t at Phoenix. He had met most of his friends because of Phoenix. He had met every serious partner he had ever had, which, okay, was only two people but still, at Phoenix. He had made most of his friends at Phoenix. And even if he hadn’t met Jack and Bozer at Phoenix, they worked there now. And them working there had helped strengthen their friendships. And Phoenix was all that Mac knew, now. It was what he did. It was what he focused on. It was basically the only thing on his resume. And- And the truth was, Mac couldn’t imagine leaving Phoenix. But Mac couldn’t imagine being happy staying at Phoenix, either. And Mac just couldn’t think of anything else to do.

But maybe somebody else could. Somebody who was good at troubleshooting. Problem solving. Logic puzzles.

Mac found Riley on the airplane. Jack was asleep, snoring loudly on one side of the plane. Bozer wasn’t on this mission, which meant that Riley and Mac were the only people actually there on the plane. Which meant that Mac could talk to her. It was honestly kind of nerve wracking. Because, honestly, the more people Mac told, the more real it felt. And Mac hadn’t even actually decided if he was going to quit yet. Or take a leave of absence. He was just thinking about that. And even just telling people he was thinking about quitting, that was terrifying as hell. Still, Mac could use Ri’s advice. He could really use Ri’s advice.

“Hey,” Mac said, carefully. “You busy?”

Riley stopped whatever she was typing on her laptop. “Nope,” she said. “Why?”

“I was wondering if we could talk?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, Mac,” Riley said, closing her laptop entirely. “I’m all ears.”

“Okay,” Mac said, psyching himself up to actually talk to her. “Right. Yeah.”

“You good?” Riley asked.

“I’m good,” Mac promised. “I’m just- I’ve been thinking about something. Or about the possibility of something, anyway. And it’s just- I dunno. How would you feel if one of us left?”

Riley frowned slightly. “Leave as in what, exactly? Left across the globe? Disappeared forever?”

“Like left Phoenix,” Mac clarified. “I- They’d still be friends with us, and everything. Just not, you know, working there.”

“That’s fine,” Riley said. “Sam left, remember?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “But we haven’t talked to her much, lately.”

“That’s because she’s on the other side of the planet,” Riley pointed out. “Not because she left Phoenix.”

“Right,” Mac said. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

“What’s even brought this on?” Riley asked.

Mac shrugged. “A lot of things, I dunno.”

“Are- are you thinking about leaving?” Riley asked.

“Maybe,” Mac said. “I’ve been thinking about thinking about leaving, if that makes sense.”

“Oddly enough, it does,” Riley said. “But why?”

“I’m just tired,” Mac said. “And I never stop being tired, because I never have enough time to rest. And I just- I want to rest, Ri.”
“Yeah,” Riley said. “That’s understandable. But nobody would care if you left, Mac.”

Mac made an offended face. “Ouch, Riley. Ouch.”

“You know what I meant!” Riley cried out.

“Yeah,” Mac said, laughing. “I do. And thank you.”

“Any time, Mac,” Riley said. “And I mean that. No matter what you decide about all of this. I’m here, any time.”

“Thank you,” Mac said. He turned back to the airplane window, looking out it. His brain was working fast.

Honestly, Mac still didn’t know how to feel about any of it, though. He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that it seemed like Riley was okay with him leaving. That it seemed like Jack was okay with him leaving. That it seemed like Bozer was okay with him leaving. Because, the truth was, Mac was hoping that they would tell him to stay. Because, the truth was, Mac was hoping that they would make this easy. That they would tell him all these reasons why Mac would stay, and he would listen to them. That they would tell him all the reasons why Mac was wrong, that he was crazy for trying to leave, and he would be able to ignore these thoughts. He was hoping that they would tell him just how much he needed to stay at Phoenix, and he could put all of this behind him.

But that wasn’t what they did. That wasn’t what they did at all. Instead, they had agreed with Murdoc. That was rare in and of itself. And for them to agree with Murdoc about this- it meant that there really was a possibility that Mac would be happier if he wasn’t working at Phoenix. It meant that there really was a possibility that Mac wasn’t crazy for thinking about leaving, or for feeling tired all the time, or just wanting a break. It meant that there was a really big possibility, a really big possibility, that leaving Phoenix would be the right option for Mac. Or at least, that it even was an option for Mac at all. It hadn’t felt like an option, before. And yet, every sign seemed to be telling Mac that it was an option. That it was the option.

Still, it wasn’t like Mac could just up and leave Phoenix, no matter what his friends said. Or what his body said. Or what his heart said. Mac- Mac couldn’t just leave. What if people got hurt, because he wasn’t there? What if criminals went free, because he wasn’t there? What if Mac’s friends got hurt, because he wasn’t there? But Mac hadn’t always been a Phoenix agent, and the world had kept on spinning then. And Mac had been on medical leave before. Mac’s friends had all done solo missions before. Jack had been in the damn CIA without Mac. So maybe things wouldn’t automatically explode if Mac stopped working at Phoenix. And maybe things would be better for Mac if he stopped working at Phoenix.

But still, Mac just didn’t know what to do. Or, he knew what to do, but he didn’t know if he could do it.

There were just a lot of thoughts spiralling through Mac’s brain. So many thoughts. He didn’t know what to do with any of them. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He was tired and he was sore and he was just plain exhausted. He didn’t have time to think about a grocery list, let alone figure out all of the complicated thoughts running through his head. Still, Mac knew that he would need to figure it out, eventually. And, hopefully, sooner rather than later. So, Mac went to talk to Murdoc about it. Again.

“Murdoc,” Mac said, softly. They were curled up on Murdoc’s couch together, since they had finally found some time together. “I’ve been thinking. And I- Just, if I did leave Phoenix, what would I even do?”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything,” Murdoc said.

Mac blinked in surprise. “I would need a job, Murdoc.”

“Not really,” Murdoc said. “Being an assassin makes a lot of money, you know.”

“I’m not using your blood money for groceries,” Mac said.

“You already use my blood money for dates,” Murdoc said, with a teasing voice.

Mac sighed dramatically. “I’d still go crazy if I didn’t have anything to do, though. You’ve seen me on medical leave.”

“That is true,” Murdoc said. “You’d probably disassemble and reassemble your toaster fifty times. And black out the neighbourhood, just for good measure.”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “Which means that I would need to get a job. Or, at the very least, a hobby. Or something. And I don’t even know what I’d do, if I wasn’t working for Phoenix. I’d never thought about it before.”

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Murdoc asked.

Mac shrugged. “I never really thought about it,” he admitted. “When we had to talk about it in class I’d say scientist, but that was just because I liked learning. Even when I was in college for physics, I never had a job planned out after that. I was just doing it to learn.”

“You’ve learned a lot, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “You have a lot of skills.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience, though,” Mac said, shaking his head. “Can’t exactly get hired without that.”

Murdoc shrugged. “Then just don’t get hired.”

“Yes, but I need a job,” Mac said. “We’ve been over this.”

“Be your own boss, boy scout,” Murdoc said. “Start a company. Or a restaurant. Or whatever your little boy scout heart desires.”

“Seriously?” Mac asked.

“Why not?” Murdoc replied. “It’s not like you would need to worry about a loan, or anything.”

“Murdoc-” Mac started.

Murdoc cut him off, however. “Or, you could always just become a vigilante,” Murdoc said.

“What?” Mac asked.

“You know,” Murdoc said. “Like what Phoenix does. But by yourself. And with your own hours. Get some sources, find out when people need your help, do your thing.”

“And risk getting arrested?” Mac asked.

“You know I’d get you out, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

Mac smiled. “Do you really think I should quit?”

“I think you’re miserable right now,” Murdoc said. He squeezed Mac’s hand gently. “And I don’t want you to be miserable, Macgyver.”

“I don’t know,” Mac said. “It- it’s scary.”

“All good things in life are scary,” Murdoc said with a smile.

“Like what?” Mac found himself asking.

“Like me,” Murdoc answered.

Mac laughed, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest as he did.

Okay. That- that talk had definitely made things clearer. That made things a lot clearer. And it took something of a weight off of Mac’s chest. He would be okay, if he left Phoenix. He would be okay. His friends would support him. Murdoc would support him. He would still have his friends. He would still have Murdoc. He would still have his life, even if it looked a bit different. He would find a different job. A better job. A job that wouldn’t leave Mac wrecked and hurt and tired. A job that would give Mac time for breaks. A job that didn’t work Mac to the bone. Mac would figure out life without Phoenix. And life without Phoenix could be better than life with it. Life without Phoenix could be good. And Mac- Mac knew that. He knew that, at this point. He knew that, he did.

But, that didn’t mean it wasn’t absolutely terrifying just to think about, though. Because not working with Phoenix was a change. A big change. And Mac wasn’t a fan of the most miniscule of changes. And this wasn’t a miniscule change. It wasn’t even a small change. It was the complete opposite of that, actually. It was a big change. A huge change. A giant change. Maybe the largest change Mac would ever experience. And certainly the biggest change that Mac would ever even consider inflicting on himself. Everything would change, if he stopped working at Phoenix. Absolutely everything. His friendships would change, since they weren’t working together anymore. His relationship with Murdoc would change, since they’d have more time together. His whole world would change. And Mac wasn’t a fan of change at all.

But Mac wasn’t a fan of how he was living right now, either. He wasn’t a fan of being so tired he would crash as soon as he got home from missions. He wasn’t a fan of only having a day or two at home before being whisked away on another mission. He wasn’t a fan of constantly getting hurt. He wasn’t a fan of never having time for Murdoc. He wasn;t a fan of being in seven different timezones in the span of seven days, maybe less. He wasn’t a fan of risking his life for the government, without even knowing why sometimes. He wasn’t a fan of the secrets. He wasn’t a fan of the life that he had, even if he was a fan of the friends that came with it. And he knew that it wasn’t sustainable, either. None of this was sustainable.

And, okay. Yeah. After all this time. After all this panic. After all this deliberation.

Mac knew. Mac knew what he had to do.

He had to talk to Matty.

Chapter Text

Mac couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. But he was. He actually was. He was going to quit. He was going to quit today. He had scheduled an appointment with Matty, even though that was mostly just a formality at this point. He was heading over to her office, now, because the meeting was about to start. This was about to start. Mac quitting was about to start. His heart was pounding in his chest and it felt there were five thousand endangered butterflies in his stomach and- And Mac couldn’t believe he was doing this. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

Mac was quitting Phoenix. He was actually quitting Phoenix. He was actually doing it. He wasn’t just considering quitting. He wasn’t just thinking about quitting. He wasn’t just dreaming about quitting. He wasn’t just fantasising about quitting. He was actually quitting. He was actually quitting today. In just a few hours, actually. He had a meeting with Matty and he had a plan for what he was going to say that he had gone over with Murdoc a million times, and- And he was actually doing this. God, he was actually doing this. There was no backing out of this now. Or, rather, Mac could definitely back out of this now, but he didn’t want to. He couldn't. He- he was actually going to quit. He was. And yet-

Mac was shaking. Of course he was shaking. Because he was quitting. He was quitting and it was absolutely nerve wracking. He was quitting and it was maybe the scariest thing Mac had ever done. Or planned to do. Whatever. He was quitting and Mac couldn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest. He was quitting and he couldn’t stop his ears from ringing. He was quitting and he was breathing heavily. He was quitting and he was absolutely terrified. He was- he was just absolutely terrified. Mac had never even imagined not working Phoenix. And now- and now Mac was leaving. Voluntarily. He was quitting and he had a meeting with Matty and- and it was just totally and utterly the most terrifying thing Mac had ever faced.

But it was for the best. And Mac was going to do it, because it was for the best.

Mac knew that it was for the best. Mac knew that this was the best thing that Mac could be doing for himself. Mac knew that this was the only thing that Mac could be doing for himself. He was constantly tired. He was constantly exhausted. He was constantly in pain. He was a jet plane running out of fuel and Mac needed to land quickly. Mac knew that. He had debated it with himself over and over and over again, and yet Mac knew that this was what he needed to do. Mac knew that this was for the best. Mac knew that he was making the right decision. Mac knew that this was what he needed. Mac knew all of that, and yet it didn’t make it any less nerve wracking when he stepped into Matty’s office.

“So, Mac,” Matty said, sitting at her desk. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah,” Mac answered, as he sat down. “I really need to talk to you, actually.”

“Okay,” Matty said. “What is it? And why have a full meeting at all? You could have phoned.”

“Not about this,” Mac said, shaking his head. “This isn’t a phone call sort of conversation, Matty.”

“Then what is it?” Matty asked.

Mac shook his head. “I- I’m here to tender my resignation to Phoenix.”

“What?” Matty asked.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time,” Mac said. “And I think that this is the best thing for me. I’ve really enjoyed having you as my handler and all, but I just think that this is my time. And I-”

“Mac,” Matty said, cutting him off. “I can’t accept your resignation.”

“I’m sorry, Matty, but I’m not working here any more,” Mac said, forcing himself to stay strong. “I know my work is important here, but it just isn’t sustainable for me any more.”

“No,” Matty said. “I mean that I can’t accept your resignation.”

Mac blinked slowly, trying to parse what Matty was talking about. “Why not?”

“It’s not up to me,” Matty said. “I’m not able to accept your resignation, I don’t have the clearance. And I’m not able to fire you, either. I can’t even put you on leave with my authority.

“Then who? You’re the director, who’s higher up than-” Mac started to ask, before he answered his own question. “Oversight?”

“Exactly,” Matty said. “I’m sorry, Mac.”

“But why would Oversight handle every single resignation?” Mac asked.

“He doesn’t,” Matty said, like that explained anything. “Just yours.”

“What?” Mac asked. Seriously, what? “Why would he control my employment?”

“Look,” Matty said, shaking her head. “I think this might be easier if you talked to Oversight yourself.”

“But who is he?” Mac asked.

Matty sighed. “I can’t answer that, Mac. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Then what can you do?” Mac said, a little shortly. Matty was supposed to be the director of Phoenix, after all. Why couldn’t she do anything about this? Or tell him anything?

“I can get you a meeting with him,” Matty said. “And he can explain everything.”

“Great,” Mac said. “When can I see him?”

Matty tapped on her phone for a second. “He’s waiting for you in his office.”

“And where is this?” Mac asked.

“Top floor,” Matty said. “Down the hall and to the left.”

“Right,” Mac said standing up.

“Look, Mac,” Matty said. “I wish I could tell you more, I really do. I wish I could accept your resignation right now. But-”

“Your hands are tied,” Mac finished. “Right.”

Mac left Matty’s office, his head reeling. He hadn’t ever thought that that would happen. Mac had thought over every possible way that conversation could go. He had considered every single variable. Matty would accept his resignation, nice and simple. Matty would decline and they would fight and have some sort of messy screaming match in her office. Matty would accept but only if Mac did one last mission, or something. Matty would try to change his mind but finally accept that he really was serious about this. Mac hadn’t been certain which of those it was going to be, but he had known that it would have been one of them. Or he had thought that it would be one of them, anyway.

But it had been none of the options that Mac had come up with. And there had been no way for Mac to have ever predicted what really had happened, because none of those possibilities had ever considered the fact that Matty couldn’t accept his resignation. That somehow, for some reason, Matty just didn’t have the authority to do that. Because, for some reason, Mac’s status as a Phoenix employee wasn’t up to her. There was- there was something blocking her from accepting his resignation. But, no, it wasn’t a something that was blocking her. It was a someone. It was Oversight. Mysterious Oversight. Someone that Mac had barely known had existed except for rumours and some cryptic words from Thornton. Because, for some reason, that was what was happening. Only Oversight was able to let Mac resign.

And that raised the question of why Oversight would be in charge of Mac’s resignation. Because, seriously, why would he be? Matty had been clear about the fact that it was only Mac, that this applied to. It was weird. It was just plain weird. All of it was just so weird. So incredibly and deeply weird. This wasn’t how things were supposed to work. Matty was the Director. Matty was Mac’s handler. Matty should have been able to accept his resignation. So why couldn’t she? And why just him? What made Mac so special? What- what was going on at all?

The only way for Mac to figure out what was going on was to actually talk to Oversight, though.

He headed to the elevator and rode it up. The highest floor of the Phoenix building was stupidly high, for an office-slash-governmental building. It wasn’t a skyscraper or anything, it was just tall. Still, soon enough, the elevator stopped. He sighed, walking down the hallway. He didn’t know who would be waiting for him when he entered. He didn’t know who the hell Oversight was. He didn’t know why the hell Mac had to talk to him to be able to resign. He didn’t know what the hell was going on. But Mac did know one thing. He knew that he was going to quit Phoenix by the end of the day, no matter what Oversight said. He was going to leave, Mac knew it. He had to leave. But in order to do that, Mac had to actually figure out who the hell Oversight was.

Mac opened the door to Oversight’s office. And there, sitting at a desk that was covered in files and clutter and trinkets and gears, was Oversight.

Except Mac knew the face that was looking back at him. It was familiar. It was really familiar. And sure, Mac hadn’t seen that face in over fifteen years, but Mac knew that face. He had memorised that face. He could never, ever forget that face. Because that was his dad. That was Mac’s dad. That was Mac’s dad, sitting right there, staring back at Mac. That was- that was Mac’s dad. That was actually Mac’s dad. That was Mac’s dad, sitting at Oversight’s desk. That- Mac’s dad was Oversight. His dad was Oversight. His dad- his- he-

“What the hell?” Mac asked. He hadn’t meant to say it, it had just tumbled out of his mouth. But that was all Mac could think to say. That was all Mac could think at all, really.

“Mac,” Oversight said. Mac’s dad said. “Matty said you requested to talk to me?”

“I requested to talk to Oversight,” Mac said, carefully. “Not to you.”

“Well, I am Oversight,” his dad said.

“Yeah, you’re saying that,” Mac said. “But that would mean that you could have talked to me, for like, seven years. Seven years! You’ve been working for Phoenix and DXS since before I was, obviously, and yet you never even thought to speak to me. To tell me you were here. To tell me you were alive.”

“Mac,” his dad said. “It wasn’t safe for you to know.”

“I’m a spy, dad,” Mac said, vitriol dripping off his voice. “Nothing I do is safe.”

“Look,” Mac’s dad said. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, but Matty said that this was important.”

“How did you want to tell me, dad?” Mac asked. “Did you even want to tell me at all? You didn’t, did you?”

“Mac-” his dad started to say.

“No,” Mac said. “Just no. I’ve been working here for over seven years! Seven! And you’ve been here this whole time, just what- looming over me. And Matty said that she wasn’t even allowed to fire me. So, what, I was just coasting along this whole time? You were- what, pulling strings from the shadows, or something?”

“When you needed help,” Mac’s dad said. “I would help you.”

“Oh my god,” Mac muttered. “You actually did it. You actually- you actually messed with my life like that. You-”

“It was for your own good,” his dad said.

“And knowing that you were here wasn’t?” Mac asked. His voice was getting louder and louder. He couldn’t control it. “And knowing that you were alive wasn’t? You left, dad. You left when I was ten and now I find out that you’re my boss.”

“You need to calm down, Mac,” his dad said. He sounded like he was talking to a spooked animal, or something. Not to a grown man. To his own son. To his own-

“No, I don’t,” Mac said. “Because I just found out that you’ve been here this whole time and-”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Mac’s dad asked.

Mac’s eyes widened. Was his dad serious right now? “I’m not sitting down. This is not a sitting down type of situation.”

“Then what type of situation is this?” His dad asked. “Matty said that it was important that you see me.”

Right. Mac had almost forgotten that he had been trying to quit. “She told me that she wasn’t allowed to fire me. Or to let me resign. So I came here to talk to Oversight. Which is you, apparently.”

“And why would she need to tell you that?” Mac’s dad asked.

“Because,” Mac said, trying to make it as clear as possible. “I’m quitting.”

His dad blinked slowly, processing the information. “What?”

“I’m leaving Phoenix, dad,” Mac said. “I- it’s not healthy for me anymore.”

“No, you’re not,” Mac’s dad said. “You worked hard for this job.”

“And this job is killing me,” Mac pointed out. “I’m exhausted. I’m overworked. I barely have any time to rest or breathe or anything. And I need out.”

“I can loosen up your schedule,” his dad said. “I can-”

“You can let me leave,” Mac said. “That’s what I need.”

“Who got you thinking about quitting?” His dad asked. “The Mac I knew would never quit anything.”

Mac sighed. “Murdoc was the one who brought it up, but-”

“Right,” Mac’s dad said, sternly. “Murdoc. Murdoc was the one who manipulated you into trying to leave.”

“Manipulate?” Mac asked. “What?”

“Look, son,” his dad said, looking at Mac right in the eyes. “I know that you’ve had this obsession with S-218, and I’ve let you have it,” Mac’s dad said. “But this? This has gone too far.”

Mac frowned. “Obsession?”

“Yeah,” Mac’s dad said, waving his hand. “You know. He’s your little pet project, or something.”

“He’s my boyfriend, dad,” Mac said. “Not- not a science experiment.”

“You can’t actually be serious about him,” Mac’s dad said.

Something in Mac felt angry. So, incredibly angry. “And what do you mean by letting me have Murdoc?”

“Mac,” his dad said, softly. Condescendingly. Like he was talking to a toddler, and not to his grown son. “Why do you think Phoenix kept you around? They were this close to arresting you. And S-218, for that matter. But I stepped in.”

“You- you stepped in?” Mac asked. “That’s what- that’s what you meant by puppeteering from behind the shadows? You stopped them from firing me?”

“I was protecting you,” Mac’s dad said.

“Protecting me from what?” Mac asked, anger leaching into his voice.

“From yourself, Mac,” his dad said. “I know you get lost in the weeds, sometimes. Get your priorities all mixed up. I was just keeping you on track.”

“Keeping me on track,” Mac parroted, absolutely dumbfounded. “I made my decisions knowing the consequences, dad.”

“You were ready to just throw away your whole career?” His dad asked. “For S-218, of all people?”

“His name is Murdoc,” Mac corrected sternly. “And yes, I was. And I am. Because I’m quitting.”

“No, you’re not,” Mac’s dad said. Like he had any say in that at all. “You’re just confused.”

“I’m not confused!” Mac said, so loud he was almost shouting. “You’re the confused one. Do you seriously think you know me, when you haven’t seen me since I was ten? Do you seriously think you have any right to manipulate my life? Any right to try to protect me?”

“Mac-” His dad started. “I’m your father.”

“You stopped being my father sixteen years ago, dad,” Mac said, shaking his head. “You can’t just come into my life, and reveal that you’ve been my boss the whole time and-”

“I had to leave,” Mac’s dad said. “For your own safety.”

“And now I have to leave,” Mac said. “For my safety.”

“Don’t do this, Mac,” his dad pushed.

“Why not?” Mac asked. “I want to do this. I need to do this, actually.”

“You’ll be throwing away your whole career,” Mac’s dad said. “Your whole life.”

“No, dad,” Mac said, standing up. “I’ll be throwing away yours. I’m happy to leave. I don’t need to be working at Phoenix to be happy. In fact, working at Phoenix isn’t making me happy at all. And I’m leaving.”

“Mac-” his dad started to say.

Mac cut him off. “This is final, dad. So you can approve my resignation, and let yourself have a little bit of dignity, or you can let your own son go AWOL from your organisation. There’s no other choice here. I’m leaving.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Mac’s dad said.

“I don’t care,” Mac said. “I’m leaving. It’s just whether I do it with your permission or not.”

“You’re serious about this?” His dad asked.

“Of course I’m serious about this, dad,” Mac said. “I- I can’t do this anymore. I seriously can’t. And even if I could do it, before, I can’t now. I can’t knowing that you’ve been here. That you run this place. That-”

“Mac-” his dad started to say.

“No, dad,” Mac said. “No. Nothing you can do or say can change my mind about this. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“And you’re serious about this?” Hos dad repeated.

“Yes, dad,” Mac said, as flatly as possible. “I’m serious.”

His dad sighed. “Fine.”

“Really?” Mac asked, his eyes lighting up.

“If there’s no way I can talk you out of his,” Mac’s dad said, shaking his head. “Then fine. I’ll accept your resignation.”

“Okay,” Mac said, slowly. His voice came out shakily. “Th- thank you, dad. Thank you.”

His dad didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Quite frankly, Mac didn’t know what to say, either.

“Are we done here?” Mac asked, finally.

“Yeah,” his dad said. “We’re done here.”

“Good,” Mac answered, standing up. “Goodbye, dad.”

“Mac,” his dad called, as Mac started to walk away. “If you want, I can get Matty to give you my phone number-”

“Goodbye, dad,” Mac repeated, flatly.

And then he was out of Oversight’s office. Out of his dad’s office.

He stepped into the elevator on shaky legs. What the- what the hell had just happened? Like seriously, what the hell had just happened? Mac was supposed to quit today, and now he had just figured out that his dad was Oversight. His dad was literally Oversight. His dad had been in the same building as Mac for seven years and Mac had never figured it out. And his dad had never said anything. And- And what was Mac supposed to do with that? How was Mac supposed to deal with the fact that everything he ever knew was now in a whole new light? That everything Mac had ever done at Phoenix was tainted by the fact that Mac’s dad had been controlling all of it?

Because Mac couldn’t ignore that part, he just couldn’t. Macs’ dad had made it so that nobody could fire Mac. Or arrest him. He was probably the reason why Mac got ex-fil so quickly when things went wrong. And if Mac’s dad had been in charge of everything around him, did that mean that he was the reason why Mac had been getting so many missions lately? Or at least complicit in that? If Mac’s dad had been in charge of Phoenix, then had they even actually wanted to hire Mac? Or had they only hired Mac because of his dad? Was anything Mac had done actually real, or was it all just his dad?

He stepped off the elevator with equally shaky legs. It felt like Mac’s whole world was crashing down around him. That was probably because Mac’s whole world really was crashing down around him. Every single thing that Mac knew was a lie. Or sort of a lie. So much of Mac was devoted to Phoenix, and part of Phoenix, and because of Phoenix. And now all of that was- it was all different now. His friendship with Riley. The fact that he and Jack stayed on the same team. The fact that Boze got hired here. The fact that Matty apparently knew about this. Mac couldn’t think about any of Phoenix the same ever again. Mac couldn’t think about anything the same ever again. Mac couldn’t-

Mac stumbled into Jack in the hallway.

“Hey, man,” Jack said. “Are you- are you okay? You look like hell.”

Mac didn’t know what to say to that.

“Mac?” Jack asked.

“Can- can you drive me home? Or- actually, can you drive me to Murdoc’s place?” Mac asked. “I- I can’t drive right now. And I need to get the hell out of here.”

“Sure, man,” Jack said. “Did you quit today?”

Mac nodded as they started walking out to the parking lot.

“And was Matty rude, or something?” Jack asked. “Because I will totally yell at her if I need to.”

“It’s nothing Matty did,” Mac promised. “I just- I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“Yeah, man,” Jack said. “Take your time.”

They drove away, mostly in silence. Mac was still reeling from- from everything. His brain was working nonstop. Mac stared out the window to try to distract himself from, well, everything. He was distracting himself from the pounding of his heart in his chest. He was distracting himself from Jack’s pitying looks. He was distracting himself from the fact that his dad was Oversight. He was distracting himself from the fact that his dad had been that close to Mac his whole life. He was distracting himself from the fact that his dad could have told him he was there, and didn’t. He was distracting himself from the fact that he didn’t know what Mac had earned and what his dad had made happen and-

It was a lot. It was just a lot. There were a lot of thoughts spiralling through Mac’s brain, even as he looked out the window. He just couldn’t turn his brain off. He just couldn’t. How could he, when his world had just gotten so thoroughly flipped on its head? He felt like the entire world was spinning. Which, okay, technically it was. Because the earth was always spinning. So Mac supposed that it felt like the world had stopped spinning, then. His whole world had lurched to a stop. The earth had stopped moving. The moon had stopped moving. The sun had stopped moving. Mac had stopped moving. Mac’s life had stopped moving. The only thing that was still moving was Mac’s heart, as it pumped rapidly in his chest.

He didn’t even know what he was feeling, about any of this. He knew that he was overwhelmed. He knew that he was angry at his dad for all of this. He knew that he was hurt that his dad had never told him he was there. He knew that he was happy that his dad was alive. He knew that he was relieved to be quitting Phoenix. But what- what did any of that mean, altogether? Mac sure as hell didn’t know. KIt just felt like a swirling cyclone of emotion that Mac couldn’t wrap his head around. It all just felt so big. So confusing. So overwhelming. So much. Too much. Just way too entirely much. And Mac didn’t know what to do with any of that. He just didn’t know.

The car stopped in front of Murdoc’s house.

“Thank you for driving me, man,” Mac said, as he climbed out of the car. He was pretty sure he was still shaking. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, hoss,” Jack said. “And if you’re ever ready to talk about what happened-”

“I’ll reach out,” Mac promised. “Just- thank you, man.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Jack called.

And then his car drove away.

Mac stood in front of Murdoc’s, unsure of what exactly to do. He was here now, at the very least, but it wasn’t like Murdoc knew he was coming over. Mac wasn’t even sure if Murdoc was actually home or not. But Mac- Mac needed to be here. Mac wasn’t sure of a lot, but he knew that he absolutely needed to be here. He needed to be at Murdoc’s house. He needed to be with Murdoc. He needed Murdoc. He stumbled up towards his door. He took a deep breath, trying to school his rapidly beating heart. And then finally, finally, he knocked. One knock. Another. And then another.

Murdoc opened the door. “Mac?”

“I-” Mac started to say.

“Are you okay?” Murdoc asked.

Mac shook his head. “I- I quit Phoenix.”

“That’s great, boy scout,” Murdoc said.

“But- but I learned something, too,” Mac said.

“Yeah?” Murdoc asked, guiding Mac to sit down on his couch. “What’s that?”

“My- my dad,” Mac started. “I know where he is.”

“Really?” Murdoc asked. “And however did you figure that out?”

Mac let out a shaky laugh. “Because he works at Phoenix.”

“What?” Murdoc asked, tone serious and bone chilling.

“He’s- he’s Oversight, Murdoc,” Mac said. “And he’s just been watching me. This whole time.”

“Oh, boy scout,” Murdoc said, softly. He squeezed Mac’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do I even do with that?” Mac asked. “Like- like he could have talked to me at any time. He was right there. In the same building. And yet- And yet he didn’t say anything.”

“Do you want me to kill him for you?” Murdoc asked.

Mac paused. The absurdity of the statement shook Mac out of whatever his brain was doing. “What?”

“Do you want me to kill your dad for you?” Murdoc repeated. “Or would you rather you kill him yourself? Because I’d love to see that, actually-”

“I’m not killing him, Murdoc,” Mac said. “And neither are you.”

“But he hurt you,” Murdoc said.

“Yeah,” Mac admitted. “He did. He really did.”

“So?” Murdoc asked. “Why not kill him?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Mac said. “And, mostly, I don’t want to set foot in Phoenix ever again. He runs the entire thing, Murdoc. He- he made it so that nobody could ever fire me. Or approve my resignation. He was controlling everything, Murdoc. And I just want to be free from that,”

“Okay,” Murdoc said. “But you would be free from him if he was in the ground.”

Mac sighed. “It wouldn’t fix anything,” he said. “It wouldn’t give me my dad back. It wouldn’t give me the last seven years of my life back.”

“Alright,” Murdoc said. “Then, what is it you do want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Mac admitted, shaking his head. “I still can’t even wrap my head around it. He’s- he’s been here this whole time. And he never said anything. And he was controlling everything, too.”

“I’m sorry, boy scout,” Murdoc said. He pressed a light kiss to Mac’s forehead.

“He’s the only reason we’re both not in jail, you know,” Mac said. “He stopped me from getting arrested when Phoenix found out that I was talking to the S-218. And he stopped them from using me to arrest you, too.”

“That doesn’t mean you owe him anything,” Murdoc said, softly.

“I know that,” Mac said. “God, I know that. I just- how am I supposed to feel about this?”

Murdoc chuckled lightly “I don’t think there any rules about feelings, boy scout. You feel what you feel and you deal with it from there.”

“But I don’t even know how I feel right now,” Mac admitted. “I’m just a swirling mess of negativity.”

“Then we’ll just have to figure it out together, won’t we?” Murdoc asked.

“Okay,” Mac said. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is there anything I could do to make this better?” Murdoc asked.

“Could you invent a time machine?” Mac answered.

“Besides a time machine,” Murdoc said.

“Could you- could you just hold me?” Mac asked.

Murdoc smiled, wrapping his arms around Mac tightly. “I believe that can be arranged, boy scout.”

Mac let out a shaky breath, relaxing into the hug. He sank into Murdoc’s leather clad arms, soaking in the smell of his now well familiar coat. Murdoc’s arms were tight around him. Murdoc’s arms were warm around him. Murdoc’s arms were strong around him. Murdoc’s arms were protective. Safe. Comforting. Murdoc’s arms told Mac that everything was going to be okay. Murdoc’s arms told Mac that he wouldn’t let anything hurt him. Murdoc’s arms told Mac that he wasn’t alone. All Mac could think about were Murdoc’s arms. Murdoc’s arms chased away all of Mac’s other thoughts. Murdoc’s arms chased away every single thing in the world that wasn’t Murdoc or Mac. Murdoc’s arms promised that Mac was okay.

And, okay, Mac would acknowledge that things weren’t good. They weren’t even fine.

Mac’s whole world was crumbling around him. Everything he thought he knew was a lie. And it was a lot. God, it was a lot.

But with Murdoc’s arms wrapped around him, life felt just a bit more manageable. A bit more like they would be okay, eventually.