Being arrested really wasn't any fun, but it was definitely more fun than mulling over the very real possibility that he'd actually killed someone, and not just any random someone, an innocent civilian on top of it all.

Luckily (which probably wasn't the appropriate choice of word) it ended up not being his fault and Mac didn't think he'd ever felt relief that profound in his life. Sure he'd felt relief before, mostly when it came to life threatening situations that involved very real danger and a very high possibility of death – he'd experienced his fair share, but still, somewhere in the back of his mind there was always this knowledge that somehow, someway, Jack would always be there to save him and vice-versa.

But killing someone – the guilt that came along with it, that would have been something not even Jack would have been able to save him from.

And like normal people, who had normal friendships and normal jobs that didn't involve thwarting murderers and terrorists on the down low every day, they – and by they, he meant Bozer – had decreed that a little arrest for domestic terrorism and a small case of 'almost got killed by a cartel hitman', didn't automatically mean that Christmas was completely ruined.

In his words: "The Christmas pastrami still lives!"

Mac honestly didn't think that the pastrami could get any worse, but it defied even his expectation and somehow year after year it continued to get progressively worse. He wasn't going to be the one to tell Bozer that though. He might be all about logic and the science, but he wasn't an asshole to his friends.

The doorbell that suddenly rang wasn't indicative or anything, it just meant that someone was at his front door. He knew it wasn't Jack because the only time Jack had ever used the doorbell was when a police officer had escorted him over there while he was drunk because he'd somehow forgotten where he actually lived. He knew Cage was going to be late because she'd just gotten back from interviewing Hector Ruiz and was trying to squeeze in some last minute shopping. Bozer was at some secret dead-drop to get his present from Leanna which really only left Riley and Matty, and he knew Matty had a knack for making a grand entrance.

The doorbell rang again, shaking him out of his reverie before he put down the scissors he was using to cut the wrapping paper, hollering out, "I'm coming," while trudging down the steps when the third ring came almost immediately after the second.

The hallway and living room was dimly lit when he got down to the foyer; the only source of light was from the tree in the living room. The house was barren and silent, the only sound coming from the distant Christmas music playing loudly at one of the houses down the street.

There was no one at the door when he pulled it open, only a small almost unnoticeable wrapped package left on the welcome mat on the stoop.

Mac half stepped out, looking around the yard, not finding any sign that there was even anyone there before he bent down to pick up the package.

"Bozer, is that you?" he said aloud, looking around, almost waiting for Bozer or someone to come jumping out of the bushes yelling surprise.

But there was only silence.

His hand automatically reached for his phone in his pocket but found the pocket empty, so he grabbed the small package and turned to enter, closing the door behind him before making his way towards the stairs leading to the veranda.

It was the sound of the hammer of a pistol clicking that stopped him dead in his tracks. He felt his heart drop to his stomach and he mentally kicked himself for being so stupid.

"Murdoc," he said through gritted teeth; turning to look towards the darkened living room and the Christmas tree that stood unassumingly in the corner.

A shadow moved in the dark.

"Very good, MacGyver," came the almost purring drawl. "Too bad you weren't as vigilant when I slipped into your house nearly fifteen minutes ago. You'd think after my last visit, you might have set up slightly better security measures. But hey, what would I know," he said, slithering into the brightness; the light from the tree framing him like an unbefitting colourful halo.

"What are you doing here, Murdoc?" asked Mac, straightening his back and levelling Murdoc with a glare.

"I just came to extend my most heartfelt seasonal greeting to my favourite boy wonder," he said with a grin. "I was going to pay one of your team a visit instead but I thought – hey, I haven't seen MacGyver in a while and to be completely honest, I've missed our back and forth banter. Do you know how hard it is to find a conversational partner that's smart, interesting and easy on the eyes?"

Mac's mind was already moving a mile a minute, glancing around the room at anything he could use to disarm Murdoc; his house was filled with it, the only problem was trying to make a move before Murdoc could even –

The pain was sudden, unexpected and almost mind numbing.

He found himself propelled back into the wall and for a second he couldn't move or think and for a split second he felt absolutely nothing.

The pain came gradually like a leaking dam. First it started in his abdomen, spreading out across his chest and torso and almost causing him to see white as his brain tried to process the level of agony his body was feeling. His legs couldn't support his weight and he found himself sliding down the length of the wall, slumping heavily onto the hardwood floor.

His hand subconsciously went to his stomach and even in the darkness of the room he could see the gleaming red liquid trickling through his fingers and down his arm when he lifted his hand up in front of his face.

Murdoc just shot him.

Murdoc tsk-ed disapprovingly when he moved closer, stopping about a meter away and lowering himself down to a crouch in front of Mac. Mac couldn't concentrate on the eyes that were gazing creepily at him; he couldn't even concentrate enough to reach for the glass bottle beside him or the brass pail full of pennies that Jack for some reason thought was an appropriate choice for decoration. He couldn't even think of protecting himself or taking out Murdoc even though the man was within reach. He could only concentrate on trying to breathe in and out and not allow the stars that were already flooding his vision to get the better of him and lose consciousness. Murdoc had taken him once, and he was never going to let that happen again.

He just needed to stall… he needed to make time for Jack to get there… for Matty and Cage… they would catch Murdoc. They'd get him and arrest him and… they would come…

Everything was dipping in and out of focus around him, he couldn't he focus on the image of Murdoc's face in front of him or the peculiar look he was wearing.

He looked down and could only focus on the blood that was slowly pooling around him, like he was sitting in a puddle that was getting progressively bigger. The whole left side of his shirt and pants was saturated in blood and the blood kept leaking through his fingers no matter how much pressure he applied on the wound.

"W-Why?" he rasped out, feeling the word being ripped from his throat like a gasp.

"Do I need a reason?" asked Murdoc. "I am a killer after all. To be honest, I didn't want to do it this way; I'm far too fond of you to let you go out in such an… underwhelming manner – but I'm also about entertainment, you see. I didn't hit any major organs, so really the only real risk here is blood loss and I see you're already losing a whole lot," he said. He'd moved in close and was crouched barely a foot away, his gloved hand reaching over to touch the blood that was slowly trickling down to the floor; fiddling with it between his fingers.

Mac's breath was coming out ragged, he could feel his eyelids drooping through he kept his eyes trained on Murdoc. He could feel a cough bubbling inside his chest, the sudden jolt was agonizing on his body, but the worst was the copper tang he suddenly tasted on his tongue. His brain could still process what was happening but he just couldn't concentrate. He was so focused on trying to keep conscious and trying to keep breathing he could scarcely do more than that.

"Oh dear," said Murdoc, the tone of his voice almost disappointed when he noticed the tinge of blood on Mac's lips. "Seems like the bullet ricocheted and must have nicked your lung," he said with a sigh, "Looks like my skills have gotten rusty. Damn. I honestly wanted to play around more, MacGyver. Think of this as my Christmas present to you – a test. You seem more than capable of getting yourself out of any kind of distress, consider this the ultimate one. If you manage to survive this then you have my utmost respect."

He reached over with his blood soaked glove, cupping the side of Mac's face in his palm. Mac could only muster up a weak glare, unable to even slap his hand away. His could feel the rattling inside his chest and the blood that was backing up his windpipe and he knew it was bad.

As quickly as the touch came, it was gone; Mac could feel his own warm blood staining his cheek and jaw and all of a sudden Murdoc was on his feet.

"Well, MacGyver, it's been fun. I left a gift specially for you under the tree for when… you know – until then all have to say is 'may the odds be ever in your favour'," he said. Mac couldn't even muster up the energy to keep his eyes on Murdoc as he walked away, only the sound of his whistling signaling his departure as his got further and further away until he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing and then there was only silence.

He tried to move but only managed to jolt the wound in his side causing him to hiss in pain. He couldn't push himself up or move even a fraction, but he needed to get to his phone, he needed to call Jack… he needed… he needed…

He felt himself slipping sideways down the wall now slick with his blood, crashing painfully to the floor on his injured side. He didn't have the energy to push himself up or call for help or to even keep his eyes open. The only thing he could do was lie there and hope that Jack would come and save him, as he'd done over and over again; as he would continue to do until the day he died.

He was assured of that.

His last conscious thought was seeing his mother's beautiful face crouching down in front of him, her presence framed by the light behind her almost like a halo. In his last moment, he couldn't keep the smile off his face as he found himself muttering the unfamiliar word, "Mom."

He forgot how much he missed seeing her face.

And then there was nothing.

"I'm telling you Riles, my Spidey-senses are tingling. And they've not yet lead me astray," said Jack as he pulled his car into the familiar driveway.

"You mean your MacSpidey-senses? I swear Jack, you helicopter parent Mac even worse than you do me," said Riley with a chuckle. "He's a big boy."

"He's a big boy with a big brain and a small sense of self-preservation, miniscule, there's the difference," said Jack as he put his car in park and stepped out before he could even finish the sentence. "I called him and he didn't pick up and I don't like it one bit."

"You need to relax Jack, it's no point giving yourself a heart attack on Christmas getting all riled up over Mac probably being in the bathroom or getting preoccupied growing his own chemical Christmas tree or something Mac-ish like that."

Jack didn't wait for Riley to catch up. He was half way across the lawn, not even heeding Riley's question about the presents in the backseat.

The house was dark when he approached, which didn't help his apprehension one bit. He fumbled with the keys in his hand, singling out the familiar key for Mac's house and stepped up to the stoop and almost immediately a dark, foreboding feeling came over him. He immediately signaled for Riley to stop in her tracks, which bless her, she did without question. It must have been something on his face or in his demeanor that spooked her.

Jack immediately reached for his gun, sliding the key into the lock at the same time. When the clicking sound of the mechanism unlocking reached his ear, he turned to Riley who was staring apprehensively at his back. "Call Matty and Cage and tell them to get their asses down here. Something doesn't feel right," he said and watched as Riley immediately rummaged for her phone.

He didn't stick around to wait for her to make the call; he pushed the front door open and carefully stepped in.

The whole lower level was dark, only the light from the Christmas tree and the oven still heating up Bozer's Crapmas pastrami – that crap was absolutely not natural – allowed Jack that bit of visibility.

"Mac?" he called out cautiously, looking around the room and peering around the bend before he entered. His hand reached for the light switch but it wasn't working. The main must have shorted out, or in a much worse case scenario: someone messed with it. "Mac, you're really stressin' me out now, buddy," he yelled out. "Okay, I believe in Santa Clause, ya' happy now?" he added. "Mac, come on man."

There were dark tracks on the floor that he could see even through the darkness and a scent in the air that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He didn't like it. He did not like it one tiny bit.

He had only maybe thirty percent visibility when he entered the hall leading towards the veranda and no real depth perception so when he kicked something that had been lying haphazardly on the floor he almost went stumbling to the ground.

He could only see a dark shadow when he turned to look at what he'd tripped on but somehow in his gut he just knew.

There were protocols for this type of situation: clear the perimeter, make sure the threat has been neutralized or really gone and wait for back up. But for Jack, when it came to Mac, protocols would always go flying out the window.

"Mac!" he yelled, rushing over, dropping to his knees; his momentum causing him to skid the last few inches. He could feel the wetness soaking into the knees of his pants the moment he crouched down beside the still figure. "Riley!" he yelled out immediately after. "Check the mains! I need light!"

He didn't know whether she heard him, but not a minute later there was a loud click and brightness suddenly burst into the room.

Jack was blinded for half a second but when the whiteness cleared from his eyes, he almost wished he were blind, because in front of him was a sight he never ever wanted to see and a sight he knew he would never be able to forget.

Mac was lying in a pool of blood. His blood. He was unconscious on his side, blood spread around him like a sinister tapestry. His shirt and pants were soaked and it was still trickling down his side, rippling in the pooling liquid beneath him.

"Oh my god, Mac," he yelled. His hands hovering over the still figure for a solid second because all of a sudden he didn't know what to do. "Riley, call an ambulance! Riley!" he yelled. A part of him realized that calling Riley probably wasn't the best course of action because hearing the desperation in his voice she surely was –

"Oh god!" came the voice as Riley appeared in sight, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Call an ambulance – call… call Matty – call someone!" said Jack, stuttering and lost, like he didn't even know what to do in that moment. All his skill and experience had suddenly gone flying out the window along with the protocols because this was Mac and he had Mac's blood all over his hands and staining his clothes and it was not a situation he ever wanted to find himself in.

Bless Riley, he thought in that moment. She rushed over, one hand fumbling with her phone calling… someone, Jack didn't know who, and her other hand quickly reaching for the wound on Mac's side, pushing up the material of his shirt and allowing them to see the extent of his injury.

"Jack! You need to put pressure on this!" she yelled. The sound of her voice and the desperation in it immediately shook Jack free of his dark thoughts. "Jack?"

Immediately the wall came down and he didn't just focus on the most important person in his life lying there bleeding to death; he had to do something, he needed to stop the bleeding, stop the life from continuing to pour out of him without mercy.

"Jack!"

That was the last push he needed; he leapt to his knees and ran to the kitchen to grab the hand towels, bringing all he could find back and bundling them up against the wound (a bullet wound, most likely made by a 9mm, Glock if he had to care a guess, he made a mental note to himself) pressing down as hard as he could. Mac gasped the moment he did but didn't wake up.

"How are we on the ambulance?" asked Jack.

"They're two minutes out," said Riley. She'd moved to Jack's other side, reaching to find a pulse on the side of Mac's neck. "He's got a pulse, it's weak, but it's there."

Jack exhaled loudly; he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Matty? Cage?"

Right on cue they heard the sound of cars pulling up into the driveway, the sound of rushing footsteps before a panting Cage appeared in sight.

"What happened?" she asked, dropping to her knees and reaching to grab Mac's hand.

"I don't know. I had a bad feeling when he didn't answer his phone and I came back to find the whole house completely dark," said Jack. His eyes moving from Cage to a flabbergasted Matty who suddenly appeared behind her and a handful of armed men shuffling by, disappearing deeper into the house.

"Do you know who did this?" she asked.

Jack cursed under his breath. "Do we even need to spare a guess?" he asked through gritted teeth.

The sound of Mac's wet, painful cough immediately halted all conversation.

"Mac?" said Jack, turning to look at Mac as his eyes cracked open a fraction.

He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.

"Mac, do you know who did this?" asked Cage immediately, reaching over to place her hand on the side of his face, feeling the dried tracks of blood on his cheek under her finger tips.

Mac didn't answer. His eyes were glassy and unfocused and his eyelids kept drooping.

"Hey, Mac, you stay with us, okay?" said Jack, forcing a smile onto his face. "Mac, you're gonna be okay, man, ya' hear? Who else in this world can succeed in getting arrested for domestics terrorism and get shot all on the same day? Just you, man," he said.

A small smile tugged as Mac's lips before it dropped and his eyes slipped close again.

"Mac? Mac, come on, stay with me," pleaded Jack. "Where the hell is that ambulance!"

"Our medics are thirty-seconds out," said Matty, returning to the room, her phone still plastered to her ear.

"We don't have thirty-second, Matty!" yelled Jack. He could already feel the dampness pooling in his eyes when he looked at his boss but he couldn't stop them from coming.

"It's going to be okay Jack," said Cage, reaching up to grasp him on the shoulder.

It wasn't comfort that Jack needed though, it was help for Mac. Jack was going to go out and kill the person who did this, no two ways about it. But right then he couldn't think of anything else besides keeping Mac alive and making sure he got the help he needed. That was the only thing that mattered. Mac was the only one who mattered.

"It's gonna be okay, Mac," said Jack, and he wasn't sure if it was more reassurance for Mac or for himself.

The med team couldn't have arrived sooner though Jack was hesitant to completely relinquish his hold on Mac. He stood hovering close as the Phoenix's medical personnel worked diligently on Mac, trying to get his blood pressure stabilized and stop the bleeding. The bullet had ricochet when it hit and punctured his lung and Jack had to force himself not to turn away when the team was forced to intubate. It was the worst moment of his life from when he found Mac bloodied and unconscious on the floor, to the agonizing wait for the medical team and watching them working on Mac, keeping him alive by any means necessary and knowing that there was not a damn thing he was able to do to help them or to help Mac.

He'd trade places with him in a heartbeat.

Watching him so hurt and so absent; not at all like the lively, amazing young man he'd come to know and love was agonizing. He'd never seen Mac so injured; he never wanted to, and in that moment he couldn't stop thinking that if he had been there, if he hadn't left Mac alone after what he'd been through, if he hadn't been so useless, then maybe Mac wouldn't have gotten hurt. He'd take a bullet for the kid any day of the week forever. That was how much Mac meant to him.

The ride to one of the subsidiary hospitals that was part of the Phoenix foundation felt way to long. Jack was insistent on riding along with Mac and the medical team with Cage and Matty following in Cage's car. Riley opted to stay behind to wait for Bozer to let him know what had happened.

Jack didn't let go of Mac's hand for even a second from the moment they got into the back of the ambulance. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Mac's too pale skin and the dried blood that shaped what looked like a handprint on the side of his face. Mac had always been a few shades too pale, but at that point his skin was almost translucent, the redness of the blood and the blue veins standing out almost in stark contrast to the rest of him. His chest rose and fell with every squeeze of the blue rubber ambu-bag by the med-guy but Jack tried not to focus on that. He forced himself to focus only on the positive things; Mac was young, and strong and he wouldn't let a little bullet bring him down. He definitely wouldn't leave Jack behind like that.

Jack told him, he wouldn't be able to live with Mac's death on his conscience. Mac knew that and he wouldn't do that do Jack. He just wouldn't.

Jack had to find comfort in that at least because Mac's skin was too cold to the touch and his face was too pale and at that point he looked more dead than alive and it terrified the shit out of Jack.

"Hang in there," he said. "You hang in there – I can't lose you, not you too, Mac – I just can't… so… please. Hang on."

tbc