So I may have started writing about Mac being Murdoc while the show was on? Possibly?

I actually like this, though, and it felt right while I was writing it, so...

The scenes are in chronological order and are all canon, and two of them aren't shown but are canon-compliant. Hope y'all enjoy!

This show is honestly is so good, man, and I'm pretty sure everyone here agrees with me, and i'm really hoping that the new season is just as good as this one.

Warnings: bit of discussion about Murdoc's general creepiness; passing mentions of someone throwing up.

"Let's get to work."

Mac looked at Jack for a second, his gaze unfocused as thoughts whirled through his mind, thoughts that he had pushed into the back of his mind until now.

What if he couldn't pull this off? Worse, what if he became like Murdoc?

Jack put a hand on his shoulder, ducking his head a bit to catch his eye. "You okay? We can still pull out of this. We'll find another way."

The blond took a deep breath, then shook his head. "I can do this."

Jack's hand slid off his shoulder, slowly, and Mac raised his chin. He walked into the cell, hesitating just a moment before stepping into the room. Stepping into his role as a sick, twisted monster.

He had to do this.

The blond retched into the trash can, his stomach heaving and his thoughts churning just as much as his insides.

Murdoc kills for free. For free.

Mac rested his head on the cool metal, his stomach finally settling. He couldn't act like this, like he was completely fine with pretending to kill people with the excuse that he was bored, or a sociopath- he couldn't act like he enjoyed this.

But he had to. Infuriatingly, sickeningly, horribly, he had to.

He pushed aside his nauseousness and stood, letting anger take over.

(Anger's easier to feel than a burning pit in your stomach that pains you at every move.)

"You're a killer, just like me."

Mac reeled back, his mind screaming at him. What had he just done? He had attacked Murdoc, just snapped, because he mentioned his father.

He settled back into the chair, flushing with exertion and shame and anger- at himself, at Murdoc, at his father for leaving. That old, burning anger that never quite left him. He pushed it aside with effort. This mission was complicated enough without dragging an old grievance into it.

He refocused his gaze on Murdoc. The older man's gloating gaze rested on him, a slick smile covering his face. Mac felt like he was going to throw up.

Desperately, he clutched at the mantra that had been pounding in his head throughout the past day or so.

I'm not like him. I'm not like him. I'm not like him. I'm not like him. I'm not like him.

"You sure you wanna do this?"

Mac glanced over at Jack. No, he wanted to say, I don't. Please stop me. I don't want to do this. I can't.

Mac tore his gaze away and forced it back to the road. "Yeah."

I have to, he thought to himself, and tried to ignore the way that Jack's gaze seemed to become heavier, more worried, more disapproving.

"Do you have any idea how unsettling that is?"

Mac's shoulders stiffened, hunching automatically. The disgust he had felt for Murdoc earlier was beginning to transfer onto himself, had been ever since he had seen the terror in the guard's eyes earlier. The pure unbridled terror of a man that was sure he was about to die, that had come into work expecting a day like any other but had been horribly surprised, that was being held captive by a murderer-

He swallowed, forcing out, "Sorry. Just getting into character."

I'm not like him. I'm not like him. I'm not like him.

Mac drove the car out of the garage, his teeth gritted together so hard that he felt like his jaw was going to break.

The pain kept him grounded.

He watched the parking garage disappear in the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry, Jack," he whispered.

Then he raised his chin and drove on. He was here for a mission, and the mission came first. It always did. It came in front of grudges, of debts, of personal issues.

In front of any reservations.

Mac whispered to the man, over the panicked breathing that filled the silence. "If you love your wife and kid, you'll come with me."

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run back to safety and tell Matty that he couldn't do it. That he was out. Jack would support him, and Riley and Bozer would too.

Jack. Jack, who had always told him he looked wide-eyed and innocent.

The blond forced the man into the trunk, slamming it closed and then turning and throwing up, finally giving in to the overwhelming nausea he'd felt since this whole thing had started.

Wiping his mouth, he sunk into the driver's side of the car. He slumped into the leather, his head knocking back against the headrest.

I'm not like him. I'm not like him.

The words were losing their conviction.

Mac watched as the man tipped over, stalked towards him and talked in the silky tone that he had adopted as 'Murdoc.'

The man continued babbling, his eyes wide and pleading as he desperately said that he had a wife, a kid, another on the way, please-

Mac bent forward, slowly, watched as the man squeezed his eyes shut, flinching away from the knife.

What am I doing? He doesn't know anything.

Mac cut the cord quickly, then stumbled back and half fell, half leaned against the wall, sinking down to sit on the floor. He forced out, through quick, shallow breaths, "If you don't know who Omnus is, then why are they paying ten million dollars to have you killed?"

If you don't know who they are, then why am I being put through hell for this?

"I went full Murdoc on this guy."

The blond listened to Jack's protesting voice filtering through the phone line and felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Someone still believed he was separate.

He was separate.

Jack was right, he hadn't gone full Murdoc. "Well, I went Murdoc as far as I'm willing to go, and it was far enough to scare me, and it was far enough to break any civilian."

Mac spoke past the sudden lump in his throat at the admission. He was aware of his former captive's stare burning a hole in his back, judging, accusing, and he resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders defensively.

Jack said you didn't, he reminded himself. I'm not like him.

The blond watched as the man stepped back, his eyes flashing bright with fear, and, mixed in there, disgust.

Anyone, no matter how terrified, could spare a little of themselves to be disgusted by someone who was the lowest of the low.

Maybe he wasn't so different from Murdoc after all.

Finish the job, idiot, then worry about becoming a sadistic killer that manipulates everyone around them.

He covered up his unease by asking Josh about his job, trying to ignore the way that the man flinched away from him, letting his mind lose itself in a stream of thoughts, analyzing any way the man could've given Omnus reason to come after him.

I'm not like him. I'm not like him. I'm not like him.

Am I?

Even through his panic at being found- the rush of adrenaline and pure terror that jolted through an agent for just a moment every time they were made on a mission- Mac felt a surge of relief.

They didn't but that he was Murdoc. He didn't play Murdoc well enough to make the Organization think that he was.

I'm not like him.

As he began to build traps, his mind going a thousand miles an hour as he evaluated what he had and what he could do with it, he spared a moment to be- not grateful, not exactly, because this wasn't a situation that he wanted to be in, but not not grateful, either- that he was doing this again.

Protecting someone. Not terrifying them.

This is what he did.

As Mac let the jacket slide from his shoulders, something seemed to slide out of his chest. The world became clearer, the air easier to breathe, despite the fog still swirling in the cool night air.

Murdoc- Macdoc, perhaps- slipped off of him. It became easier to think, to believe that he wasn't a cold-blooded killer with no regard for any human life but two- his own, and his son's.

The mission was over. He didn't have to be Murdoc.

He walked close to Jack, their shoulders brushing, and the younger man took comfort in the older' familiar chatter.

Jack slung his arm over Mac's shoulder, and the blond ignored the uncomfortable tac vest and instead let his friend's warmth push away the coldness that had filled his chest ever since he had assumed- really, truly immersed himself in- Murdoc's identity.

I'm not like him. I never have been, and I never will be.