Wunderkind

by The Thistle Girl

Jack Dalton's DXS team's last mission left his computer-genius partner Riley Davis with a bullet wound, their analyst Nick Carpenter dead, and a canister of a deadly virus in the wind. Their only chance may be a young former vigilante currently serving time for domestic terrorism, known to the criminal underground as "the Phoenix", and to law enforcement as "Angus MacGyver".

11. Scissors

MAC AND BOZER'S HOUSE

SUPPOSEDLY THE HOME OF THE WORLD FAMOUS BOZER FAMILY PASTRAMI

Riley's not sure how she got roped into this. It's the day before Christmas Eve, she's finally enjoying some of her hard-earned vacation time, and she's up at the crack of dawn because she for some reason agreed to Bozer's invitation to come watch him make a Christmas pastrami. Sam, having had the good sense to turn him down cold, is still in bed. Riley tried to guilt her into coming, but there's no out-psyching the mind reader.

Still, Riley's in a good mood when she finally gets to the house. She stopped and got her caffeine fix at a Starbucks on the way, her radio is playing her personal favorite playlist of holiday music, and she's more than ready to help get the house ready for the party, which Mac insisted on having it at his house because it was bigger than either Riley or Jack's apartments, and Thornton refuses to give the location of her house to anyone.

But that good mood takes a hit as soon as Riley turns into the driveway. The last time she was at the house, after they all got back from Mr. Ericson's retirement party, the house looked like a holiday movie threw up on it. There were lights everywhere, the second they got in the house Bozer started blasting Christmas radio on his phone, and there was a tree in the corner that was actually slowly spinning, probably courtesy of one of Mac's moments of genius. Riley's already been wondering if she's going to get a headache from the combined smell of cinnamon, WD-40, and candles that seemed to permeate the house the second she walked in. Only Mac and Bozer's house would smell like a car repair shop that doubles as a bakery.

Today, not only are the porch lights conspicuously not on, and the house dead quiet aside from an insistent beeping, Bozer's car isn't in the driveway. There's probably nothing wrong. Maybe Mac's sleeping in and Bozer went to get something he forgot for the pastrami. Sometimes Riley overreacts to normal life events. Not everything is an international emergency. She wonders if it's possible to ever really leave this life behind once you're in it. Jack once told her soldiers never really come home, not all of them, whether they lose a limb or not. She wonders if the same is true of spies.

You're jumping at shadows. But she knows, knows, something is wrong. Bozer is nothing if not methodical. He wouldn't have forgotten an ingredient for his pastrami. Riley knocks on the door. "Hey guys, it's me. Riley." She doesn't want to sound worried, but something about this whole situation screams disaster.

The door's locked.

She dials Mac's phone, it rings through to voicemail. So does Bozer's. She pulls up her location tracking program while she walks around to the back deck. Mac's tether says he's at the house. She doesn't recall getting an alert that anything was wrong.

As soon as she steps around the side of the house, she notices the smoke, drifting lazily from the deck. Why would you have a fire going now?

There's a burnt smell, charred meat, and Riley freezes. That never means anything good, good God don't let this be something horrible. She's seen too many bomb sites and body disposals to not feel sickened by the smell.

She wishes she'd brought her gun. Unlike Jack, she doesn't carry her duty weapon around with her, or even in the car, when making social calls. She peeks around the corner of the porch and breathes a small sigh of relief when she sees the source of the smoke, the grill. Maybe Bozer decided to let Mac cook, and Mac ruined the pastrami. Maybe that's why he went to town.

But it doesn't explain why Mac isn't answering the door. Riley steps up onto the deck. Everything says he's home. So what's wrong?

There's a very, very blackened pastrami in the grill. And beside it is Mac's smashed phone and his ankle tether. Riley feels her stomach drop out as she dials Jack. What the hell happened here?

...

DECEMBER 23

THE FIRST ONE JACK HAS SPENT AT HOME IN FOUR YEARS

It's not that Jack doesn't love Christmas. He does. But he feels like a combination of Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch when his phone starts blaring Metallica at seven-thirty in the morning, the day before Christmas Eve. I took a week of vacation. What the hell?

It's Riley, he notices sleepily when he rolls over. That's weird. His mind takes a moment to process the fact that Riley Davis is less of a morning person than he is and her getting up before noon on a holiday is extremely out of character.

"Hey, Ri, what's goin' on?"

"Jack, Mac's missing. So's Bozer. I went to the house and they were gone." Jack feels suddenly cold, empty, numb. What the hell?

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?!" He's scrambling out of bed now, grabbing for the clothes flung haphazardly in the corner. They were supposed to be thrown in the washer, they're sweaty and filthy from working on the GTO yesterday, but it's faster than hunting through the drawers. He jams the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulls on his jeans.

"Like something out of "Left Behind"!" Riley says, and Jack can hear the strained panic in her voice. "Their phones are dead, going to voicemail. They're right here, smashed. And Mac took off his tether. It's right here too."

"I'm on my way. It's gonna be okay, Ri." No, no, nothing is okay. Something awful happened. Something that would make Mac risk removing his ankle monitor. He's scared to death of what happens if he breaks the rules with that thing. Something's gone really, really wrong.

His phone begins beeping. Someone else is calling him. He glances at the caller ID; it's Patty. "Ri, Patty's calling. I gotta take it." He hears Riley's sharp intake of breath.

No matter what, this isn't gonna be good. Whether Patty's calling with a mission or information on what happened to Mac, shit is about to hit the fan.

He hangs up on Riley and answers Patty on the last ring. "Hey Patty, what's up?" The forced cheerfulness hurts. But if she doesn't know Mac is in trouble, we should hold off telling her until we get a chance to look into it.

Patty's voice is clipped and cold. "Dalton. We have a serious problem. You need to get to the War Room. Now. Tell Agent Davis as well." If she's resorting to last names it's bad. And she didn't mention Mac at all.

"What's this about?"

"MacGyver." And then Patty hangs up, and Jack stands there and watches the room tilt. This can't be happening. I must be dreaming. I have to wake up. But he doesn't.

When he walks into the War Room, Patty's there, her usually neat clothes rumpled, her hair down and loose. "What happened to Mac?"

"It's more a question of what he's done," Patty says, and there's a cold edge in her voice. Jack's about to ask for more information when Riley rushes in, rig already open, nearly tripping over the carpet and a chair.

Patty stiffens and her voice goes crisp, like this is any other official briefing, but Jack can see the pain behind the ice in her dark eyes. "At 07:48 this morning, Technical Consultant Angus MacGyver broke into the Phoenix labs, stole enough chemicals and components to build a powerful IED, and disappeared."

Jack flinches like someone's jabbed him with a cattle prod. "No. No way. Mac would never do something like that."

"Well, according to security cameras he did," Riley says. "He swiped into the lab with his access card, took enough supplies and components from the disarmed bomb locker to make a bomb that could take down a ten story building, and split. It wasn't until a tech noticed he wasn't at a workstation that security was alerted; there aren't too many people here today, with the holiday." Jack has a moment of concern that they have something down there they call the "disarmed bomb locker". I know we bring the damn things home with us sometimes, hell, we just did this week after Shanghai. But I guess I didn't expect that they just went in a locker down there with the nerds.

"This doesn't add up," Jack says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. A headache's coming on full force. "Mac's trademark was creating bombs outta whatever he found lyin' around. Hell, he still does it. So why would he break into a place he knew was under surveillance, to get stuff he prob'ly coulda whipped up himself?"

"Because he wanted to get caught." Riley's frozen the video, and is focusing on Mac's left hand. "He slipped something onto a desk when he walked past it." Sure enough, Jack can see a small, folded scrap of paper in Mac's hand, that then disappears into a cloud of sticky notes papering the surface of a lab technician's desk.

"Whose desk is that?" Jack asks.

"Jill Morgan, one of our forensics techs." Riley's zoomed in on the desk's nameplate. "She's in today."

"Jack, call her. Now. Have her check her desk and bring us whatever she finds," Patty says. "I want to know what's going on." She turns to Riley. "Start searching every available security camera in the area. Find out where he went once he left the Phoenix."

Jack dials Jill's extension from the Phoenix directory. It's not often he has to call the labs. Usually that's Riley's department.

He's surprised Jill is still here. Does she not have family she goes home to? When she answers, it's clear she already knows why he's calling. "Agent Dalton, I didn't see anything. I'm so sorry. I got caught in traffic on my way to work, and I was late. He was gone before I got here."

"Hey, hey, it's okay. No need to panic." Jack says it even though he feels like screaming. This isn't Mac. Why would he do that? Unless it has something to do with the reason Bozer's missing too. He has to be being blackmailed. It's the only explanation that makes sense. "Listen, we think he left something on your desk. A note. Somewhere on the right side of it."

"Okay, okay, okay." He can tell Jill's barely holding it together. There's a thud as she sets down the phone, and then the frantic shuffling of moving paper. "I've got it!" She gasps.

"Okay, bring it up to the War Room," Jack says, then hangs up. He paces anxiously until there's a clatter of shoes and an out-of-breath Jill, her blond hair messy and flying, her glasses slipping down her nose, practically crashes through the door.

Jill hands him the note. It's scribbled on the envelope of a Christmas card addressed to Wilt Bozer, the handwriting shaky, and smudged in a few places with marks Jack learned a long time ago, from letters from home that came to the Sandbox, are tear stains.

Jack, Riley, Thornton, I'm sorry. But if I don't do this Bozer's going to die. They said if I told anyone they'd kill him. I couldn't think of any other way to let you know and keep him safe. I'm sorry.

Jack feels like crying himself. Oh buddy. Oh Mac. I'm so sorry you thought you had to do this by yourself. Jack knows Mac wanted to follow their instructions to the letter, but still, Jack and RIley are the people you call when people tell you not to call the cops.

"I got him leaving Phoenix," Riley says suddenly. "Someone's phone caught a picture of him two blocks down, getting into a vehicle with the duffle he put the bomb components in. It looks like he's still got Bozer's car. We can track it using security cameras," Riley says.

"Dalton, Davis, go get our agent back," Thornton says. "Now."

"What's going to happen to him?" Jill asks, and Jack knows exactly what the young woman is afraid of. Jill watched Mac get taken back to prison once already.

"We're going to find him, and we're going to fix this." Jack sighs. "While we still can." What happens if that bomb gets out of Mac's hands, if someone uses it, doesn't bear thinking about. We'll never see him again. Jack doesn't think even Patty will be able to save him then. If another bomb he's connected to kills someone, he's never getting out. But Jack already knows Mac has no intention of going back inside. If we don't stop this, he's going to run. And he's either going to spend the rest of his life hiding or get himself killed.

...

LOS ANGELES

THE TRAFFIC IS APPARENTLY EXEMPT FROM THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

Mac hasn't driven in two years. He'd be nervous and on edge anyway, but the bag beside him makes him feel like his heart's going to beat right out of his chest. He's terrified of getting pulled over by the cops who are frustrated about having to deal with increased holiday traffic and liable to attack the slightest infraction. So much for good will and peace on earth.

LA is a nightmare to drive in around the holidays, with people traveling to and from the airport, doing last minute shopping, or traveling to relatives' houses. Everyone's in a hurry.

Trying to actually obey the rules earns him the angry blast of a semi horn, three cab drivers yelling out their windows, and the middle finger from three middle-aged soccer moms, a guy in a suit, the driver of a plumbing van, and one Santa Claus in a black Chevy Cruze.

He doesn't want to get run into either. Because that will mean he has to stop, because he can't just leave the scene of the crash. And when cops show up, they'll find the bag, they'll know he doesn't even have a license, and he'll get locked up again.

The roads are a clogged mess and he's afraid even if he's careful and doesn't get pulled over, or in an accident, he'll be late. The dash clock is moving closer and closer to 9 am, and if he doesn't make it to the rendezvous point by then, he'll more than likely get there only to find Bozer's body on the side of the road with a bullet in his head.

He doesn't know how today went to hell so fast. One minute he was helping Bozer adjust the grill (Mac was working on tweaking it so it would cook the pastrami faster; they bought an extra chunk of meat to test it so they didn't ruin the real one tomorrow for the party) and the next minute Bozer was being dragged backward with a gun to his head, and Mac couldn't think of any way to get him free without getting him shot.

He can't believe his job put Bozer in danger again. Except this time it wasn't his work for the Phoenix that had armed goons showing up in his house. It was his past as the Phoenix. Gavin Richards had been one of the people whose plans Mac had thwarted a dozen times over, and apparently there was something about his expertise the man had come to appreciate. I wish bad guys would stop being impressed with me.

All of which is the reason he's currently driving Bozer's car through LA Christmas traffic with the makings of a bomb in the passenger seat. Richards wants to exchange the bomb for Bozer. 9 am, at the park where his old cartel, the Cincos, used to make their deals. Mac knows the place well. He's the reason the Cincos stopped using that location for drops. Mostly because he's the reason three of their top lieutenants got arrested, and flipped on the whole cartel.

When Mac pulls up to the park with three minutes to spare, there's a van parked half off the road, next to a few trees. Mac doesn't see anyone else around. Not even a single homeless person,and the park is usually home to at least a few. Richards probably chased everyone away.

He grabs the duffle; it feels so much heavier than it should. I don't want to give them this. But he doesn't have a choice. Not if he wants Bozer to live. I can't tell Deja her only living sibling is gone because of me. Especially not at Christmas. She's lost too much already. Their dad, their little brother, their mom. I won't let her lose Boze.

The van door slides open, and Richards steps out. "Hand it over, Angus."

"Not until you hand over my friend." Mac's scared to death. But he's at least got some control over his voice and the shaking his hands want to be doing right now. A few sessions of interrogation training with Cage are starting to pay off. He's nowhere near the expert negotiator the Aussie agent is, but he's getting the idea of sticking to a firm demand and forcing follow-through.

"You have something they want, or they wouldn't come to you. Make sure you remember how valuable what you have is to them."

"I could just shoot you and take that bag off your body. But I'm feeling the spirit of the season. Never let it be said Gavin Richards was a Scrooge. I'm in the giving mood today." The man raises his hand, and two goons step to the door of the van with Bozer. He's bound and gagged, but in one piece. For now.

"Hand it over, and we can all go on about our days." Richards holds out his hand. Mac holds out the duffle, eyes on Bozer. Richards snatches the strap and jumps back up into the van. "Here's your friend back, Angus, I've even gift wrapped him for you!" He says, as the tires spin, the two other men shove Bozer out the door, and the van disappears in a cloud of dirt and exhaust fumes.

Mac rushes to Bozer, who's rolling across the asphalt, unable to stop himself with his hands and feet tied. Mac crashes to his knees beside him, barely feeling the roadside gravel tear through his jeans.

He tugs the gag off Boze's mouth, but Boze doesn't stop gasping and sputtering. Did he fall hard enough to crack a rib? Did he puncture a lung? And then Mac sees the cable around Bozer's neck, cutting into the skin.

He rolls Boze over. There's a little box at the back of his neck, with some kind of mechanism winding the cable in slowly. And to top it all off Mac can hear sirens in the distance. Richards wasn't content with setting me up with the bomb. Now he's going to get me accused of murdering my best friend.

He pries at the box with the flat of his knife blade, but whatever it's made out of is too tough to break through. He's going to choke to death in minutes if I don't figure this out. Mac's brain is going haywire, too much happening at once. The sirens are making it so hard to think. He drops his knife and tugs at the cable, like Bozer's already doing. It doesn't do any good.

Boze's eyes are wide with panic, his lips turning purple. He's staring at Mac in absolute terror, and maybe he can't talk but his entire expression is begging for help.

What do I do? Mac wants to curl up in a ball and scream and cry, but he can't. He has to fix this.

He looks down and sees his knife in the grass. Grandpa always said it had everything I ever needed to get out of any situation. He picks it up and quickly does a mental rundown of the tools it contains. Blade, can opener, corkscrew, saw, scissors...Scissors. He just needs enough leverage.

There's a long, thin piece of metal lying by the side of the road, part of a sign that no one bothered to pick up. And he has some wire in his jacket pocket…

Mac's fingers are flying now. He attaches the metal piece to the handle of the knife, braces the other side of the scissors against a rock, slips them under the cable, which is now leaving thin streaks of blood dripping down Bozer's neck, and shoves down.

For a minute it doesn't feel like it's going to work. And then there's a snap, Mac nearly falls from the suddenly released pressure on the metal bar, and Boze collapses forward, hands going to his neck, sucking in gasping, greedy breaths. Mac crumples beside him, lying on his back in the grass, shaking. And then the whine of the sirens gets louder.

"Boze, we have to go." He slips his shoulder under Bozer's arm and helps him to his feet, both of them staggering toward the vehicle. Mac shoves Boze into the backseat and then gets in, driving away in the opposite direction of the sirens.

I saved him. But I have nowhere left to go. He wants to cry or scream, because he did the right thing, the right thing, he saved Bozer's life, but the Phoenix will never want him back.

I've messed up too many times already. He's breathing too fast, he can feel the panic attack coming on. His hands and legs are shaking and he can't stop thinking about it and he knows what will happen and he should have thought of this. I tried to do the right thing and I'm going to get punished for it. Just like always. I can't catch a break. I never do. I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could have been paying more attention so they didn't take Bozer. I wish I would have told someone, let them help. I wish...I wish...I want to go back, I want to fix this, I can't I can't I can't…

He's so scared and there's nothing he can do but run away. He wants to go home. He wants to go home and hide and never come out from under his bed again ever. He can't do this. He's been given second chance after second chance and he keeps blowing them. Eventually everyone's going to get tired of dealing with him. They're going to decide he's too much work. That he makes too many messes, he breaks too many things, he's just trouble.

He's shaking and he wants to fix this but there's nothing to fix. He can't put this back together with duct tape and hope. This is really, really bad. This is like the time he smashed the side mirror on the Bozers' car when Wilt let him drive home from school. He ran into the side of the garage door and the mirror broke so badly it was hanging off the car by the power cord, and there was a huge scrape on the whole passenger side.

He'd been scared to tell Mama Bozer. She cried or yelled about everything then, it was two months after they lost Jerry and she was drinking nonstop. He tried putting the mirror back together with duct tape but it wouldn't bend out properly and it was an absolute wreck, and he knew she'd see and he didn't want her to blame Boze or Deja. He'd had to tell her, and promised to pay for it himself.

He'd cried, Mama Bozer just sort of stared and then kept drinking, and then he took the car to Weathers's because it was the only place he could think to go. He remembers standing there in the office and twisting the key lanyard in his hand, trying to explain the problem. He was trying not to cry but he knows he was, because everything was a mess after Jerry and Grandpa and Dad. And Dan Weathers just sat there in his beat up chair and then he shook Mac's hand and said they had a man's deal. And he showed Mac how to fix the car himself; the first one he learned, and then offered him a job on the spot because he said he wanted a kid that honest working for him.

He thought that was bad. This is worse.

He parks the car in a secluded spot near the park where he knows no cameras will catch it, hotwires a sedan in a nearby parking lot, and drives back. Bozer's still dazed-looking and wobbly. Mac helps him into the new car and they drive off.

The Phoenix trained him to disappear. I hope they trained me well enough to run from them. Part of him desperately wanted Jack and Riley to figure this out. To realize something was wrong, to track him down somehow. He didn't try all that hard to go unnoticed, and while part of that was his panicking rushing to finish the job, part of it was a vague, desperate hope that somehow Jack and Riley would put the pieces together and come save the day. I wasn't sure if I wanted them to show up or not. He knows he was supposed to come alone, and maybe if they'd been here Richards would have just shot Boze, but maybe Jack and Riley could have helped. Maybe they would have been able to find a way to fix all this. But it's too late now.

"Mac?" Boze is sitting up in the back seat, staring at him, wide-eyed. His voice is broken, raspy from being choked.

"It's okay. You're safe." Mac doesn't know what else to say. What's going to happen to Bozer? Is he going to get in trouble too? Mac doesn't think they can accuse Boze of anything, but what if someone uses him to try to get to Mac? I don't trust some of the agencies not to sink to that. Not when they think they're hunting a cold-blooded terrorist. They might decide Bozer's an accessory to it. But the longer Bozer's with him, the worse this looks.

He pulls over on a deserted side street to get a better look at Boze's injuries. The cuts on his neck, while they're bleeding pretty heavily, are superficial. His arms and legs are covered in cuts and scrapes from rolling across the road. But the most concerning things are his left ankle and his very evident concussion. His ankle is swelling badly above his tennis shoe, and when Mac tries to feel it for breaks, Boze hisses and jerks away automatically.

"We'll need to get that looked at." Mac's starting to shake again. "I'm going to drop you off at a hospital." Hopefully they'll leave him alone. He's not safe with me. Maybe Thornton will find a way to protect him, if she doesn't hate me for what I did. "As soon as you get a chance, you need to call this number. Tell them who you are and what happened, and they should help you." He scribbles Thornton's extension on Bozer's arm with the pen he pulls out of the glove compartment.

"So you can run off and I never see you again?" Boze asks. "Hell no. Mac, I can't lose you again. I'm not going anywhere. Unless you want to tie me up and throw me out of another moving vehicle today."

Mac sighs. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve a friend like this. "Boze, you know we're never going to be able to stop running, don't you?"

Bozer nods. Mac can see fear and determination mixing on his face. "I'm ready for it. Knew reading all those dystopian adventure novels was gonna come in handy someday. Just thought it would be a movie, not my real life." He leans back against the seat. "I trust you. Let's go."

Mac wants nothing more than to get out of town. But he's more worried about Bozer's injuries than he let on. His ankle shouldn't be that swollen, and he can't tell if Bozer's disorientation and dizziness is just the concussion or a symptom of lack of oxygen. What if that cable damaged his throat, and it swells later, and he can't breathe again? And they're close to a place he knows can do a better job helping with that than he can. If we weren't so close, I wouldn't stop. But we need some help.

…

Riley feels absolutely numb. This can't be happening. She directs Jack at every turn Mac's taken, watching the trail of security and traffic cams on her rig. But she feels mechanical, like she's just the voice of an onboard navigation system.

She doesn't think this is ever going to change. Anytime something goes wrong, on a mission or in normal life, Riley gets this strange disconnect, like she's watching someone else's life play out in a movie, watching the plot twist that makes everything fall apart. It doesn't feel real.

By the time they reach the place the car disappeared from cams, there are two police cars on scene. Jack hands Riley the ID from the car that says she's an LAPD detective, Sarah Hayes. He grabs his own, and the badge that goes with it, both labeled for a Frank Austin.

The two of them walk up to the police cars. "What are we looking at?" Jack asks immediately. "My partner and I are here on a kidnapping case and we trailed our perps here."

"We've found evidence that someone was dropped off here," one of the officers says. "There's some blood on the pavement, and we found these." He holds up an evidence bag containing some sort of cable and box contraption, covered in blood, and another that holds some scraps of cloth that Riley thinks look an awful lot like parts of Bozer's "Kiss the Cook" apron.

"Awesome. Tag 'em and bag 'em, Hayes."

"I'm sorry, we can't just hand this evidence over," the officer says. "Orders come from HQ. We're dealing with possible terrorism. Nothing goes anywhere until it's logged for that case." Riley feels the blood draining out of her face. Someone set Mac up really good. Probably made a call about seeing him here making the exchange.

"OK, I ain't gonna squabble with HQ over that." Jack probably doesn't want to risk shattering their flimsy covers. If this guy decides we're a problem, he's going to start asking about us, and find out we aren't who we say we are. "Can we at least look the scene over?"

"Sure. But if you find something, it's ours first." Jack nods.

Riley immediately starts walking back toward where tire tracks are clearly visible pulling off the shoulder, where the first few scuffs of drying blood are marking the pavement. And then she sees it, half buried in the gravel. She reaches down and a broken keychain charm is dangling from her fingers. A small black and white clapperboard, the kind used on film sets.

Riley recognizes the little clapper board keychain. This is Bozer's. He was here. But we're too late. She glances back at the officers. They're still doing something down where they found that awful cable thing. She doesn't think she wants to know what it was.

She slips the keychain into her pocket, then walks back to Jack. "Hey Austin, I think we're better off heading back to the station and taking another look at our files on this one, at least till HQ hands over what they've got."

Jack follows her back to the car. As soon as they're inside, Riley pulls up her rig. "It looks like they've made the exchange. I found part of Bozer's keychain; it looks like he's the one who was tossed out of a vehicle back there."

"And those cops found his car. Parked up the road a little way."

"No wonder we lost it here." Riley pulls up her rig. "They could be driving anything now." She pulls Mac and Bozer's pictures from the Phoenix databases and starts running them through her facial rec software. It's a long shot, but it's all they can do now.

This is falling apart. Now that bomb is somewhere out there, and if it's used Mac's going to be implicated. Riley's running a background program looking for the other vehicle that was at the scene, syncing all that data to the War Room computers, but that's not her focus right now. She just wants to find Mac. And then her computer pings.

"I've got them. They're in a little Puerto Rican neighborhood; just went into a local clinic." It's not too far away. She can see that Bozer's leaning heavily on Mac. At least they're both still alive. She quickly searches for the clinic in the Phoenix database "It's run by a former Army medic, Carlos Rivera, some nonprofit outfit."

Jack guns the car, weaving in and out of traffic. Riley doesn't even flinch. I hope we get there in time. Because she has the feeling that once Mac leaves that clinic, he's going to vanish. We taught him the basics of how to deal with a field op gone wrong, what happens if we get disavowed. They taught him how to avoid being caught by authorities anywhere. And yes, we might know some things he might do, be able to predict some movements, but this isn't like a normal agent disappearing. He doesn't just know our tricks, he has his own. Mac was a vigilante in this city for almost four years. He knows every inch of it. He knows how to avoid camera, cops, everything.

If they lose Mac now they might never get him back. And Riley can't imagine that future. It's like the blankfaced Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come from A Christmas Carol, pointing at the gravestone that tells Scrooge he dies alone and unloved. She used to hide her head under a blanket at that part every time she and Mom watched The Muppet Christmas Carol. She just watched it with Sam two days ago, and it still gave her the creeps.

I want to wake up, like Scrooge, and be able to fix the future I'm seeing. But she already knows no Christmas miracle is going to do that for her. We don't get a do-over of today. But maybe they still have the chance to make this right. Maybe it's not too late to give up praying for some kind of miracle.

…

Bozer's not sure if it's oxygen deprivation or if reality hasn't set in yet. We're fugitives from the law. Shouldn't that be scarier? But at the moment he can only focus on the stabbing ache in his ankle and the burn of road rash on his arms and legs and shoulders. Does this actually happen in real life? Are we actually going to be running from the police? From everyone?

And then the door's opening and Mac's pulling him out. They hurry to the back of a small building with a mural of a psychedelically colored orchid on the side. Mac shoves open a window after prying the latch loose with his knife, and Boze can feel Mac shaking as he helps him slide through the opening.

They're inside what looks like a doctor's office exam room. Mac helps Bozer onto the paper-covered table and goes to the door. "Just stay here, okay?" Where do you think I'm going on a busted ankle?

Boze glances around the room. There's an eye chart and a list of flu symptoms in Spanish, a couple photographs of somewhere with sandy beaches, the usual small sink and jars of cotton balls and tongue depressors. The light feels too bright, like it's stabbing his eyes. He closes them and leans back on the table, wincing at the pressure on the bruises and scrapes on his back.

Then the door opens and he sits up fast. Too fast. His head spins, his stomach churns, and he covers his mouth with his hand. And then someone's shoving a trash can under his chin, and he's grateful for it. There wasn't all that much in his stomach, but he can't keep it down.

Finally, he stops retching, his head aching even worse, the taste in his mouth revolting, the pain in his throat a knife. He wipes his face on his sleeve and looks apologetically toward the person he almost barfed on. A pair of kindly brown eyes meet his. From behind the guy, Mac speaks up. His voice sounds like it's coming through water.

"Boze, this is Carlos. We can trust him."

The name sounds familiar. But Bozer's too tired and achy and dizzy to process why.

"Wilt, I'm a good friend of Mac's. I'm gonna take a look at you, okay? Make sure nothing's really wrong." Carlos's voice is soothing, which is a relief. Bozer already feels a little calmer. "Mac said your ankle's probably broken, and that you have a concussion. I'm going to agree on the concussion front. And you've got some nasty scrapes I'd like to disinfect while we're at it."

"I'm sorry about your trash can," Bozer mutters, then stops, because talking hurts.

"Don't worry about it. Earlier this morning a kid with the stomach flu ruined my shoes." Carlos chuckles warmly. "You might want to lie back." Bozer does.

Carlos shines a light into his eyes, and Boze thinks if there was anything left in his stomach it would be coming back now. He moves on to feel the damage to Bozer's neck. "I'm not at all sure there isn't trauma to the trachea that's not visible." His voice is gently concerned. "I'd feel much better if he were in a hospital where someone could be monitoring this more closely."

"We can't go to one." Mac has his eyes down, kicking at the floor. "I'm in trouble again."

"I figured as much, when you came asking for my help. I have to admit, I was hoping it was a social call to a friend for the holidays." Carlos's gentle manner is relaxing. Which is good because reality is starting to kick in, and Bozer feels like he's just downed three espresso shots. Just like the night before our final film class projects were due.

We're actually running. We're hiding from the police, asking one of Mac's friends from his vigilante days for help. Bozer finally remembers where he knows Carlos's name from. How did Mac do this for years? Bozer used to beg to go with Mac on his nightly adventures. It sounded fun. But it was probably a lot more like this.

Bozer doesn't know how Mac did it. He had to be in this much pain or more so often. And he hid it from almost everyone. He remembers standing guard at the bathroom door while Mac washed out wounds, helping him wrap his right wrist when he sprained it badly, using up all the 'Ivory 10' shade of his stage makeup hiding the bruises on Mac's face. He was hurt more often than he wasn't. And somehow, through all of it, Mac kept going.

Bozer's dragged back to the present by a sharp pain in his ankle. He barely bites down on a scream, biting his tongue instead, and tasting blood. Somehow that almost hurts worse than his ankle.

"It's actually probably just a nasty sprain," Carlos says. "It's gonna hurt like hell and I'm going to have to wrap it, but I don't think anything's broken. And all that blood is just road rash."

Mac sighs, and Bozer can almost read his expression. He's so rattled. Mac is panicking, and Boze would guess it's equal parts that Mac was worried about him, and that now Mac's more than likely a wanted fugitive. Again.

"Thank you, Carlos."

"Listen, Mac, I really don't feel comfortable with this being a wrap and run. His neck's got some pretty severe bruising. There could be a hematoma forming, and if it puts pressure on an already damaged trachea…"

"How long until we know for sure?"

"I'd like to watch him overnight if you can't go to a hospital."

Mac sighs shakily. "Okay. We'll stay."

As much as Bozer hates it, he knows he has to say something. Mac can't hang around town. He has to go now, while he might still have a head start on the cops. He doesn't stand a chance of making it out when the streets are crawling with them.

He forces his burning throat into action. "Mac, you have to go." He sounds croaky and weak to his own ears.

"I'm not leaving you. I got you into this mess. I have to make sure you survive it." Mac sits down on the end of the exam table as if he's the one whose leg will give out under him.

"I'll go get a brace for that ankle," Carlos says, stepping out.

Bozer sits up a little, ignoring the returning dizziness and the way the room starts to spin. "Mac, you gotta stop doing stuff like this for me."

"Boze, you're my best friend. What else was I supposed to do, let you die?"

"What's gonna happen to me if you go back to prison, Mac? You think that wouldn't kill me?" Bozer reaches for his arm. "I don't want to live in a world where my best friend is thrown into a hell on earth because of what he tried to do for me." To think of that being Mac's fate for the rest of his life, and Bozer being the reason for it, is unbearable.

"And I couldn't imagine a life worse than one where you died because of me." Mac starts to shake like he's cold. Bozer forces himself fully upright and wraps an arm around his friend's shoulders. Mac's breath hitches and he shudders, turning and leaning into Boze's shoulder. Bozer pulls him close and lets him cry. It isn't fair. Mac deserves so much, and life keeps breaking him.

Carlos is standing at the door when Bozer looks up. He's not sure how long the man's been there. Mac must feel the change in Boze's posture, because he looks up as well and quickly sits up straight, brushing away his tears with the back of his hand.

Carlos carefully wraps Bozer's ankle. Mac starts to get down from the table, but Carlos stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Oh no you don't. Not until I get a look at those hands and knees." Bozer realizes Mac's hands are bloody, and it's actually not Bozer's blood. There are raw cuts where he must have been pulling on the cable around Boze's neck. And his knees are skinned up the way they were when he got pushed around in middle school.

Typical, he's hurt but he's trying to hide it, trying to deflect everyone's worry onto someone else. Actually, knowing Mac, he probably didn't realize he was hurt. He has such a ridiculously high pain tolerance.

"I'm okay." Mac tries to push away Carlos's hands and hisses when it probably stings the cuts on his hands.

"If I had a dollar for every time you said that, I'd be able to buy a house in the Hills," Carlos chuckles. "I know you too well to let you get away with that one. Now sit still."

Despite the pain and worry, Bozer smiles, just a little. At least someone knows how to handle Mac. At least someone is going to take care of him. It's not really just them against the world. And for some reason, having just one person who still wants to help them makes Bozer feel a whole lot less scared. Maybe we will be okay after all.

...

CARLOS RIVERA'S CLINIC

FREE TO THE PUBLIC...AND THE OCCASIONAL VIGILANTE

Jack parks the GTO in the lot of the little clinic Riley tracked Mac and Bozer to. It's in a shabby neighborhood, but a lot of the walls have murals painted on them and the clinic looks surprisingly new.

He opens the front door and a bell tinkles. There are a few people in the small waiting room, a couple with a baby, and a kid holding an icepack to his nose. Jack walks up to the desk secretary, a petite woman with the name Kamila embroidered on her scrubs.

"Good morning. I'm looking for a friend of mine, Angus MacGyver?"

"I'm sorry. No one by that name is here." But there's a nervous tremble in the woman's voice.

"I promise, we don't want to hurt him. We're his friends." And then the door to the back offices opens and a man in a white coat and blue scrubs enters the waiting room. Must be Dr. Rivera.

"Can I help you two?"

"Yes. We're looking for two people. Angus MacGyver and Wilt Bozer." Jack nods to Riley, and she pulls up the pictures on her tablet. "I promise, we're not with the police. We're his friends."

"I haven't seen them." Carlos glances at the floor. I don't have to be Sam to know this guy's lying.

"Listen, we saw them going into your building on security cameras. I swear we're here to help, but we can't do that if you won't tell us where they are!" Jack knows he's getting too loud but he can't help it. Mac's probably scared to death and beating himself up for this. The faster we get him back and let him know we aren't mad, the better off he's gonna be. Jack's seen the kid's downward spirals. They aren't good. Not at all.

And then there's a muffled exclamation from somewhere in the back. "Jack?"

"Mac?"

Jack's a little shocked when the kid walks out of the door. Mac looks defeated and exhausted. "Carlos, it's okay, they are my friends." Mac's eyes are suspiciously red and his cheeks look damp. "Jack, Riley, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, genius," Jack says gently. "We were worried."

"You're really not here to arrest me?" Mac whispers, and the disbelief in his eyes cuts Jack to the quick.

"No. We're here to help you. Is Bozer okay?"

"Kind of. He almost died," Mac whispers, and Jack can tell the kid's about to break down. "He seems okay but Carlos didn't want him to leave yet in case something gets bad." Mac sniffles. "I couldn't leave him. I couldn't run away."

"Hey, Dr. Rivera, is it okay if we go talk in the back?" The people in the waiting room are starting to stare. We don't need to draw more attention.

"Of course."

Mac pulls them down the hall to one of the exam rooms. He leans against the wall, shaking, and Jack aches to hold the kid tight but he's not sure how bad a place Mac's in right now and he doesn't want to set him off. "I'm so sorry. I was just so scared. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt any of you. Thornton's going to get rid of me, isn't she?" Oh kid. How many times do we have to explain that no matter what you do, you're family and we all love you?

"Hey, hey, it's okay. We're gonna fix this. We got your note. No one at the Phoenix is mad at you. We just wish you'd asked us for help before it got this bad."

"They told me if I talked to anyone else they'd kill Boze." Mac shivers. "They gave me two hours to get their components and hand them over. I did the only thing I could think of." He takes a shaky breath. "I wanted you to know I wasn't just turning on you."

"I'm sorry we didn't get your message soon enough. I'm sorry we didn't come in time." Jack can feel the guilt gnawing his stomach. We didn't figure it out in time. We failed him. Again.

"But the police are still looking for me," Mac whispers.

"Yeah, we know. But we didn't call them. Patty's keeping this in-house as long as she can." Jack sighs. "But Mac, what the hell's going on here? Who took Bozer?"

Mac sits down heavily on the exam table. "His name is Gavin Richards. He was a cartel hitman, until I took down the cartel he worked for. He went freelance and now he's taking jobs for any cartel who will pay his asking price." Mac sighs. "His specialty is getting other people to do his dirty work for him. Blackmail, threats, kidnapping, whatever it takes. He gets away clean and someone else takes the fall. It's the only way he's avoided arrest for so long." Mac glances at Jack. "He especially likes to settle old scores that way. He sets up someone he has a grudge against to take the fall, and he gets paid for the job. Kills two birds with one stone."

"No surprise that he didn't like you." Jack says.

"And now they have the bomb." Riley says. "Mac, it's okay. We'll find them."

"It won't work." Mac whispers. "I couldn't give them a live bomb, so I rewired the detonator. They have a slightly dangerous paperweight." He sighs. "But that won't help me when the bomb squad finds it. My fingerprints are all over it from disarming it."

"Then we just have to find it first." Jack's got something to do now. He likes that. We just have to find the bomb and find a way to implicate Richards.

Riley looks up from her rig. "Turns out all that time I spent hacking the multiple levels of the LAPD paid off. I found the case file that those officers at the drop scene were talking about. It looks like there was an anonymous tip called in about seeing someone matching Mac's description handing over a bag of what looked like wires and blocks of something to a person in a white car."

"That's wrong," Mac whispers. "Richards called that tip in. It was a blue van."

Jack's struggling to keep up with what's happening now. We know Mac broke into the Phoenix labs. The cops know he handed over something suspicious to someone. And they're probably gonna get Bozer's DNA from the blood there was on-scene. He glances at Mac's scraped knees and bandaged palms. Maybe Mac's too. And his will definitely be on file. If they don't get this fixed fast, Mac's going to be right back where he was two years ago.

"Well, at least that gives me something to look for." Riley pulls up her rig.

"He's too smart to keep the van. He'll have ditched it." Mac mutters.

"Yes, but he drove to the meet in it. Maybe we won't get to see where he's going, but we might be able to find out where he's been."

Jack nods. "When you've got something, Ri, we'll hit the road." He pulls his gun and checks the clip. Full, and there's two extras in the car. He knows he really shouldn't want to just kill these guys, but he wants to for what they did to Mac. "Mac, is it safe for you to stay here?"

"Carlos won't turn me in." Right, isn't that the guy he said used to help him when he was a vigilante? Jack thought that name was familiar.

"Then you and Boze stay put here until we come back for you, okay?" Jack doesn't want to risk Mac getting caught before they have chance to get Richards into custody. If we have a big fish like him, hopefully Patty will be able to do something to help get Mac off the hook.

"What's going on? Mac?" Jack jumps at the voice from behind him. Bozer's leaning on the doorframe, a slightly loopy look on his face and one ankle in a boot brace. "How did they find us?" Boze looks like he's ready to fight Jack and Riley both.

"They're gonna help. Or at least they're gonna try," Mac says quietly.

Bozer stares at Jack. "Who are you people? You're not a defense lawyer." Jack's suddenly, painfully aware of the gun in his hand. Oh shit. They've done such a good job keeping the secret from Bozer, and now… "Mac?"

Mac slumps even further, curling into himself in shame and guilt. "Boze, please…"

"Mac, why does he have a gun? If they aren't your lawyers, what were they doing coming to the house?" The guy's none to steady on his feet as it is, and Jack thinks Boze just might pass out if he keeps working himself up like this.

Riley sets down her rig. "Bozer, I promise we'll explain everything when we have the time. But right now we're trying to help Mac."

"You say that, but you've been lying to me this whole time! How can I trust you?" Bozer's yelling now. "How do I know you're not working with that psycho?"

"If we were, I'd have shot you by now!" Jack snaps back. Bozer stumbles back a little, eyes wide. Damn, that came out too harsh.

"I should have known something was wrong a long time ago!" Bozer yells. "I should have known when they didn't stop coming after you got sent back to prison. And when they let you go after that girl in Mission City. Mac, what the hell are you mixed up in?"

"Bozer, I can't tell you." Mac looks like he's about to cry. This day's going from bad to worse for him. Mac's been accused of terrorism (again), gotten blackmailed, is on the run from the cops, and now his oldest and best friend is angry with him for lying to him. What a giant fucking disaster.

…

Mac just wants to go to sleep for a hundred years and wake up and all of this to be over. He thought there was no possible way for today to get worse. And now Bozer's angry and scared and Mac couldn't even manage to keep his job a secret. If they didn't want me gone already, they will now. I screwed up. I screwed up so badly.

"What the hell do you mean you can't tell me?" Boze snaps, his half-wrecked voice echoing in the small room. "You've never kept secrets from me!"

"Mac didn't tell you because he couldn't." Jack says. "He works for a covert government agency. The think tank is a cover."

"And I'm Martian." Bozer retorts.

"No. Really. Boze, I know it sounds crazy, but that's the truth." Mac figures there's no point in lying anymore. What did Grandpa Harry always say when I lied to him? 'Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.'. And now it's all unraveling. Bozer pulled on the wrong thread. "That's why I'm always gone."

"That's why you come home hurt!" Bozer yells. "And I was afraid you were trying to be a vigilante again! This is worse, Mac, this is worse!"

"Bozer, I wanted to tell you. But it's technically illegal."

"So was being a vigilante! You told me about that!"

"If I told you about this my boss could have had me sent back to prison!" Mac says. This wasn't just about being a do-gooder. This was about national security and laws that are a hundred pages long, and prisons they don't tell you exist.

"A lot of good that did, you got sent back anyway!"

"It wasn't what it looked like…" Mac trails off, aware that now he's the one pulling on that wrong thread. He stops and puts his head in his hands.

"You said it was a prank gone wrong! That someone at the think tank…" Now it's Bozer's turn to trail off. "Oh my God. No, please tell me that wasn't-"

"I've got a hit," Riley says suddenly. Mac almost forgot the team was in the room. They must be so uncomfortable right now. Riley's probably trying to break the tension, keep this from exploding. Mac feels like he's dead center of one of his own improvised bombs, one that's seconds away from going up in smoke.

"Okay, let's go." Jack steps for the door, but Bozer blocks him, despite the fact that he's swaying on his feet and looking considerably exhausted.

"Wait. Just answer me one thing, Jack, or whatever your name really is."

"It's Jack. Jack Dalton."

"I don't care!" Boze snaps. "What I want to know is, did you people send Mac back to prison on purpose?"

Jack looks like someone's shot him. And there it goes. Mac can't stop the sob that rips through him. His whole world is falling to ashes all around him. I burned all my bridges with the Phoenix, I stole from them and now I gave away their secret. And now Bozer's angry at my team, who aren't even my team anymore. He has no one and nothing left. Maybe I should just turn myself in. There's no point in running now. He would have gone with Bozer, they could have made it together. But Mac doesn't want to run alone. It's not worth it. I ruined everything.

Riley whispers chokingly, "Bozer, we didn't have a choice-"

"That's bullshit!" Bozer's actually screaming now. "We don't want your help! You stay away from us!" Bozer's probably somewhere between ready to hit someone and breaking down sobbing. "Do you know what you did to him? Don't fucking touch him!"

"We never meant for him to get hurt-" Riley half-whispers. Mac can tell she's on the verge of crying too.

"Of course not! Because you sit behind a desk and you don't have to know what it's like for people like us in the real world. You have your ivory towers and government paychecks and get out of jail free cards, and you don't get it!" Bozer's gasping for air now. "You get in trouble and you just call that scary boss of yours and she makes it go away for you! But you didn't help Mac!"

"Boze, they're telling the truth," Mac chokes out. "Please, just listen to me-"

"No! Mac, tell me you don't believe them. All they've done is hurt you!" Boze is crying, tears rolling down his bruised cheeks. "How can you still even look at them after what they did to you? I can't believe I let these people into our house, I let them eat with us, I thought they were our friends. I can't believe this. I trusted them, I thought they were helping you!"

"They are."

"No. No, Mac, they're using you. I can't watch this. I can't. Please, Mac, don't listen to them."

"Bozer, you're wrong."

"Mac, can't you see?" Bozer's voice shudders to a halt. "They don't fucking care. All they care about is catching their next bad guy. I care about you. Choose a side." He turns and hobbles away.

Mac feels like someone ripped out every bone in his body. He sits on the exam table in shock. Riley's stopped typing, Jack is gripping his gun with white knuckles. It's suddenly horribly silent. And then Mac starts to sob. He can't stop; this day has been absolutely wretched and he feels lower than dirt. I betrayed my team, I stole from my job, I helped a killer, and I lied to my friend. No one who tells Mac he's a good person is right. He slides to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and rocking slowly back and forth. I ruined everything. I'm ruined. No one should care about me, I don't deserve it.

He feels warmth surrounding him, and slowly realizes Jack and Riley are sitting beside him, each one with an arm around him.

"You should go get Richards," Mac whispers.

"That can wait." Jack says. He pulls Mac a little closer. "Oh kid, I'm so sorry. This is my fault."

"No." Mac hiccups. "It's mine."

"How? Because you took a job that would get you out of that hellhole you were in? Because international laws kept you from telling Bozer the truth? Because some nutjob with a grudge against you kidnapped your best friend? Because you did what you had to to save him?" Jack rubs his hand up and down Mac's back, then starts running his fingers through Mac's messy hair. "Kiddo, we put you between a rock and a hard place. That's on us."

Riley stands up and comes back with a cup of water from the water jug in the hall. She hands it to him and he takes a few shaky sips. "Mac, Bozer's not mad at you. He's mad at us. And he has every right to be. He's right about one thing, we didn't do enough to protect you."

Mac shakes his head. "Wasn't your fault."

"And none of this was yours." Jack says gently. "Go talk to your friend."

"He doesn't want to talk to me."

"Yes, he does. He just might not know it," Riley says. "Go. We'll keep trying to find Richards."

Mac stumbles to his feet. His eyes hurt and he feels lightheaded. But he makes it down the hall to the room Boze was originally in.

Wilt's sitting on the floor, his back to the cupboards under the sink. His face is tearstained, and he's got the jar of tongue depressors on the floor beside them. He's slowly bending them until they snap. There's quite a pile of pieces next to him already.

"Boze…" Mac sits down next to him, picking up one of the broken tongue depressors and flipping between his fingers. "Please, it's not like you think."

"It's not like I think?" Boze chokes out. "Mac, what I think is that these people blackmailed you just like Richards did. That they took advantage of you needing a way out of prison. They could ask you for whatever they wanted and if you said no they'd just threaten to send you back."

I used to think so too. And then they proved that wasn't it at all. "It's not like that, Bozer. They really are trying to get my conviction overturned. They have connections, people who can help prove I didn't kill anyone with that bomb."

"Then why haven't they already done it?" Bozer asks. "Why are they waiting so long?"

"It's hard to get the evidence they need…"

"Is that what they tell you?" Bozer asks. "Mac, they're lying. They're never gonna let you walk because if they do they know they can't control you." He's full on crying again now. "Mac, this is exactly what I was afraid of."

Mac can't say he hasn't had those same fears. Jack and Riley would never do that to me. I don't think Thornton would. But they're not the ones who control what the Phoenix does. The mysterious Oversight does. The same person who was adamant that they do whatever was necessary to appease the FBI. The same person who insisted on sending Mac undercover to Bishop. What if Oversight is holding up the investigation? Whoever they are, they might be doing exactly what Bozer said.

"Mac." Boze reaches for him, a hand resting warmly on his shoulder. "Mac, they're no good for you. You're killing yourself to do what they want, and they haven't lifted a finger to help you in return."

"That's not true. They got me out of CCI-"

"Because they wanted your skills. Mac, all you are to them is another tool. You're their Swiss Army knife. Handy to have around, can do anything they want, and can be replaced if they lose it or break it." Bozer's voice breaks. "Mac, you're worth so much more than that."

"That's what they said too." Mac wants Bozer to see Jack and Riley like he sees them. To understand that no matter what the agency does, Jack and Riley and Cage and even Thornton are family. "Boze, they really do care. Jack's risked his life for me so many times. So has Riley. They're not just government suits behind a desk. They put their lives on the line every day, just like I do. Boze, I have trust issues the size of Mt. Everest. Do you really think I'd keep working with people I didn't absolutely depend on and trust with my life?"

"I think you'd do anything to protect the people you care about." Bozer says quietly. "Tell me the truth, Mac, did they use me against you?"

"Never." Mac can at least honestly say that. "Boze, I swear, they're good people."

"I'm not sure how ready I am to believe that," Bozer says. "I can't get past that they put you in prison. Or that they made you lie to me."

"I'm sorry I did. I was going to tell you. I was. But I was too scared to. And not because of them," Mac says hastily. "Because it really is a violation of the Espionage Act and the government could throw me in a hole somewhere and lose the key."

"That's exactly the kind of situation I don't want you in," Boze mutters. "Are you ever going to be able to get out?"

"I don't know." Mac figures honesty's the best policy at this point. "Maybe if they get my conviction overturned. But even if I walk on the murder and terrorism, there's still going to be some charges that stand. I did actually break the law. And it's hard for an ex-con to get a job." I used to think about that a lot. What I'd do if and when I was a free man. But now it's hard to imagine a life without the Phoenix. Without Jack and Riley and Sam and Patty.

"So you would voluntarily stay with a place that sends you off to get nearly killed on a semi-weekly basis?"

"You're talking to an ex-vigilante who nearly got killed on a daily basis." Mac's attempt at humor falls flat.

"And do you know how much that scared me? Mac, I stayed up every single night you were gone. I laid there in bed and prayed I wasn't going to lose another brother. I wanted you to quit, but I never would have asked you to." Bozer twists his fingers into Mac's. "I don't want you to die. You shouldn't have to pay for other people's mistakes with your life."

Mac sighs. So there's the sticky point. "Boze, that's what I do. That's who I am, who I'll always be. In any life. What do you think I'd be doing if I wasn't here?"

"Doing something you wanted. You wouldn't have been forced to either join a danger-courting secret spy ring or rot in prison. You didn't have a choice."

"Maybe not. But maybe that's still where I would have ended up." Mac runs a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. "Boze, I'm not the kind of person who gets a nice ordinary life. People like me don't get picket fences and suburban two-kid families and office jobs. We don't even get lab spaces and Nobel prizes. I would have been a cop. Or a soldier. Or an agent, just like I am now."

Bozer sighs, a shaky, tear-laden sound. He knows it's the truth. Because he knows me. "I'm still pissed that you lied. And that they lied."

"We really had to."

"Maybe I'll get it. Someday." Bozer shrugs. "And don't ask me to make nice and shake hands and forgive them for everything they made you do." He looks up at Mac, and there's a world of love and hurt in his eyes. "Mac, you know I love you. And I know you're an adult, and you can make your own decisions about where to work and who to trust. But for one, I'm allowed to disagree with those choices, and tell you, because that's what a good friend does. He doesn't watch his buddy throw himself off a cliff."

"I promise, I'm not doing that." Well, not figuratively anyway. Literally...we won't bring up Switzerland…

"And two, make sure it really is your decision. Not theirs, not some Big Brother mystery boss. Yours."

…

CLINIC EXAM ROOM

THIS IS THE MOST STRESSED RILEY HAS EVER BEEN IN ONE...AND THAT'S SAYING SOMETHING

Riley really, really wants to go after Mac. But it's clear Bozer hates her guts. Hates her and Jack and the entire Phoenix at this point.

"I just want to tell him what we found," she sighs, leaning on the padded table. I think I need a padded room.

"And make him more upset? Just keep digging, Ri."

I've got nothing. After Richards took Boze, he drove aimlessly around the city for an hour and a half and then went to the rendezvous point. And then just like Mac said, he ditched the van someplace we couldn't see. He could be anywhere in the city now. She hasn't been able to pull a clear image of the man off any of the cams, and his dossiers, where they even exist, have only vague physical descriptions attached.

She jumps when Mac walks through the door. He still looks like a kicked puppy, but less like a kicked, starving, whimpering puppy abandoned on the side of the road in the rain.

"I thought you were leaving?" He's holding a cup of water. "I went to get Boze something to drink and heard you talking."

"We hit a dead end. How's Bozer holding up?" Jack asks.

"He's still mad. But he understands a little better."

"I didn't expect one conversation to be a miracle cure," Jack says. "I get it, man. I do. Lying to family, or to the people who become family, that's a hell of a weight on your shoulders."

"That's not my only problem," Mac says quietly. "If we don't find Richards, Boze isn't gonna have to worry about the Phoenix sending me off to get killed. Cause I'm going to go back to prison. Not that I won't anyway because I let a civilian find out about the Phoenix."

"It happens more often than you'd think," Jack says. "My great-aunt found out. Because she's freakin' nosy...and because I might have accidentally gotten caught on camera at a failed assassination of a senator…" He grins. "She's a nightly news junkie, she's got eyes like a hawk, and she's a tinfoil hat conspiracy theorist. So thank God no one believes her at family reunions."

"But I'm not an agent like you. I'm on probation," Mac says quietly.

"Doesn't matter. Patty'll straighten the whole mess out eventually. I promise, nothing's gonna happen to you or Boze, okay?" Riley knows Jack can't promise that. Mac or Bozer or both of them could be in real trouble. It's not Mac's fault that his secret got out but I doubt Oversight will see it that way. And there's no way Bozer's gonna be allowed to walk out without any problems, knowing what he does now.

She wonders how everything went so wrong so fast.

"So Richards's van was a bust?" Mac asks.

"Yeah. He doesn't show up on any cameras until he's getting into it in an alley. And he drove around aimlessly after he took Boze, and then dumped the van somewhere we can't see." Riley sighs. "You said the bomb won't go off, right?" That at least gives us more time.

"Not the way I put the detonator together. Of course, if he gets suspicious he might just use a different one." Mac sighs. "And even if it doesn't, Richards is a perfectionist. He doesn't leave a job to chance. So he's going to have his people ready to kill his target if the bomb doesn't work."

"So we have to figure out who he's been hired to kill." Riley shakes her head. "You said he usually works for cartels?"

"Anyone who will pay him." Mac shrugs. "And he didn't say anything that would help me figure out who he's after."

"Maybe not to you." Jack says. "But you had someone on the inside." Mac glances up. "Right now, the only person who can help us figure out what Richards's plan is, is Bozer."

…

When Bozer limps back into the room, Jack can feel the murderous glare aimed at him and Riley.

"I hope you both know I'm not doing this to help you. I'm doing this for Mac."

"We know. And for what it's worth, we're sorry," Riley says quietly. Jack thinks she's taking this harder than normal. She and Bozer were friends. She liked having someone who wasn't part of the agency to talk to.

"You ought to be. And you ought to be apologizing to Mac, too." Bozer's voice is hard. "All you did to me was lie. People have done that my whole life. But what you did to Mac…"

Jack can't take this anymore. Riley blames herself enough for what happened in Bishop. She already thinks it was her fault. He doesn't get to make this worse. "Bozer, that wasn't our decision to make. Our boss sent Mac back to prison, not us."

"I don't care." Bozer's got the firm determination of someone trained to withstand interrogations. "Because of you people, he's been hurt. More than just that time. And I don't take kindly to people who hurt Mac."

"Boze, please," Mac says placatingly. "Don't fight with them, not right now. We can't afford to."

Bozer looks like that's going to send him into another tirade, but he cuts himself off.

"Boze, I'm so sorry to have to ask you for anything, and I know this is a lot to take in, but without your help a lot of people might die, and I'll definitely get sent back to prison." Mac takes Bozer by the shoulders, leaning down and looking him in the eye. "Do you remember anything? Overhearing anything that might help us? Something they said, something you saw?"

Bozer closes his eyes. "I need all of you to be quiet. And get me a chair. And Mac, please tie my hands and ankles."

"What the hell is he doing?" Jack asks.

"It's an acting exercise, Mac explains, rifling through a drawer for bandages. "A memory technique. Like studying in the same room for a test. Memory's better if you're in the same position or situation as when you first heard the information." Bozer sits down, and Mac follows his directions as to where to tie his hands and ankles.

"Okay, we should be quiet," Mac whispers.

"And shut the lights off!" Boze hisses. "It was dark in there."

Jack complies.

The only sounds in the room are the four of them breathing, the hum of the water pump somewhere, the muted chatter and a crying baby in the lobby, and some sort of soft latin music playing somewhere. And Mac's breathing sounds so broken and wet and shaky.

And then Bozer speaks up. "It was dark, and they were talking really quietly. They didn't say much, there was an argument about where to buy bagels. And someone wondered if Mac was actually going to come through with the deal."

"But-" Jack starts.

"Shhh!" Boze hisses. "They didn't say much after that. They got food, I could smell cheese bagels. I was hungry." He takes another breath. "And then there were a lot of horns and someone was yelling and cursing out another driver, and we swerved, hard." His voice goes up in tone, excited. "And a newspaper fell off a shelf inside. On the floor by my feet." Jack wants to scream at the guy to tell them what was on it, but he knows that won't do any good."

"One of the articles was written all over," Bozer says. "It was about the only thing in there to look at. It was all in Spanish, and mine is so rusty it's nonexistent, but it sounded like it was about someone named Estevez. It was hard to read much in the dark."

Jack can already hear Riley typing, and she looks up with a small triumphant shake of her fist. "Javier Estevez. A Columbian diplomat," Riley says. "He's coming into town to make a speech about cooperation with the DEA in trying to track down shipments of drugs from his country into the U.S. Apparently LA's been flooded the last few months by drugs laced with a toxic herbicide that was traced back to Columbian sources."

"So he's here trying to seal a deal cracking down on whoever's distributing the drugs." Jack's not sure how far he trusts the man; it's probably a political power play. Still, if it gets more drugs off the streets, Jack's willing to overlook some ladder-climbing. And the guy definitely doesn't deserve to die.

"Okay, now you can get me out of here." Mac rushes over to untie Bozer, and Jack flicks the lights on so the kid doesn't trip over something getting there. There's a crash and a muffled "ow" as he turns around. Too late. Mac's biting his lip, it looks like he smashed his foot into the rolling supply cart. Nice job, klutz.

"At least now we have his target."

Riley's typing even faster. "He's going to be staying at a hotel in town. He'll be making his speech at City Hall, but since the Ghost bomb LAPD's tripled the kind of security they have at events like that. I don't think Richards could sneak the bomb to the speech."

"He can't afford to have Esteves ever even meet with the LAPD in person. He has documents he's refused to hand over any other way than to the commissioner himself, in person. He knows the cartels have officers in their pockets."

"And where is he meeting the commissioner?"

"His hotel. The bomb is probably intended to take them both out together."

"How is she doing that?" Bozer gasps. "Is that all in the newspapers? About the meeting?"

"No, I hacked the LAPD's mainframe a few weeks ago, and I have access to all their information. Including the commissioner's private files and email."

"No way." Bozer collapses back into the chair. "You people are freaking insane."

"Okay, so we know it's Mr. Esteves, at the hotel, with the bomb." Jack cuts in. "So now what?"

"If we try to warn Estevez and get him to safety, they'll make their move sooner," Mac mutters. "They probably won't let him out of their sight."

"And how would we even warn him? 'Sorry, one of our agents got blackmailed into making a bomb to kill you, which actually won't work, but there's still a hitman coming after you'?" Jack shakes his head. "The only thing we'd accomplish would be getting ourselves under suspicion and incriminating you."

"When does his flight land?" Mac asks, and Jack can hear that little I have a plan sound in his voice.

"In four hours."

"Boze. How fast does that new polymer we worked on set?"

"Forty-five minutes, an hour to be safe." Bozer looks shell-shocked. "Why?"

"That would be cutting it really close…" Mac sighs. "But it's the only chance we have. Boze, we need a face. We need a fake Esteves." Mac looks from the floor to Bozer, head hanging. "Please?"

"I think I can make it work." Boze glances at all of them. "It won't be my best work, but it might be enough to fool their killer."

"What's going on, kid?"

"One of the oldest tricks in the book. A bait and switch," Mac says. "We're going to pick up the real Esteves at the airport, then swap him out for someone in disguise. That way they don't decide to change the plan, and we can find the bomb and draw out the shooter at the same time."

"It's not a bad idea," Riley says. "It could work." She glances at Mac. "The hotel has closed circuit security, I'll have to be inside to get access to the cameras and see if we can find out where Richards's people planted the bomb."

"I'll be tracking down the sniper," Jack says.

"I'll be posing as Esteves," Mac finishes.

"No, you won't be," Bozer says. "Because I will." Jack starts to argue, and so does Mac, but Bozer shuts them both down with a glare worthy of Patty. "You've risked Mac's life I don't know how many times in the last few months. I'm not scared to take his place for once." Jack can see the faint trembling of fear, but there's the same hard courage in Bozer's eyes that Jack saw over and over in the Sandbox. Men willing to throw their lives on the line for the people they cared about. For the people they'd come to call brothers. "I have to do this."

…

MAC AND BOZER'S HOUSE

MAKING MASKS IS LESS FUN THAN DECORATING COOKIES

This has got to be the strangest Christmas party Bozer's ever had.

When they arrived at the house, it was surrounded by flashing red and blue lights, rather than the twinkling Christmas decor Bozer's had hanging from the eaves for a month. Somehow a couple phone calls ended with the police quickly exiting the scene, apparently under the impression that some Homeland Security agents were taking over the case because of the terrorism suspicions. I think I would have left too. Bozer's not sure exactly what Jack and Riley said when they went to go talk to the officers, but he'd guess it was something along the lines of threatening "leave or spend the rest of your life in a very small box".

He's currently mixing the slurry for molding a mask, Riley (apparently that's still actually her name, but it's Riley Davis) is on the phone with her roommate, (Who's still Sam, but her last name is different too), who's conning a rental company that caters to Hollywood bigwigs out of an official-looking (and highly secure) black SUV. Apparently they have them at the Phoenix office, which is actually the agency Mac's working for, but because this isn't something official they can't use those vehicles without getting someone in trouble.

"Esteves has a police escort," Riley's saying. "I'm going to try to stall them in traffic by hacking the lights, but that's not a guarantee they won't be there."

Mac's in the living room, with Jack (who also is definitely not a lawyer, not even close) who's cleaning his gun. As much as Boze hates everything about this, he's starting to think maybe Mac could be a little bit right too. Because the way Mac is leaning into Jack, the way Jack sets aside his disassembled gun to pull Mac into a reassuring hug, that's the kind of trust Boze thought was reserved for only himself now.

Mac wouldn't act like that with people he was afraid of. With people who hurt him. Boze has known him too long to think anything else. That's not some kind of forced acceptance, it's not Mac pretending he's okay. That's the real deal.

Boze isn't sure he's over the shock yet. I knew something was wrong. I just didn't want to believe it. He's not even sure how this works. Mac's supposed to be going from home to work and back again. How is he doing this? But then again, if their team has a hacker who can break the LAPD, he's pretty sure they can also fake the records Mac's PO has been getting.

Riley hangs up and walks over to where Bozer's pouring the mixture into a base mold. He doesn't have exact specifications, but he has several pictures of the Columbian diplomat and that's good enough. He's always had a talent for being able to recreate what he sees.

"I didn't realize making a mask was such a process."

"It should actually be more," Boze says. He can't just not talk to her. It feels wrong. He and Riley were friends. He wanted to be more, even if she was giving him the cold shoulder on that front. And realizing it was all lies hurts. But at the same time, something hasn't changed. Riley is still Riley. She's still the same person who fixed his CGI program and laughed at his jokes so hard she snorted her beer up her nose. She couldn't fake everything about who she is. "This is a quick and dirty version. A really good prosthetic can take a week to create."

"Wow. I've had to requisition them for ops before but I didn't know what went on to get them to me." It's weird to hear her say that. But all of a sudden so many more pieces are clicking into place. Suddenly the way Jack reaches for his leg when startled is perfectly logical. The funny little twitch Cage's lips get when she knows Boze is exaggerating one of his stories. The way Riley didn't bat an eyelash at stealing a paramedic's radio last week. They're all agents. They're actual freaking secret agents.

"This mask only has to hold up for one use, so I can use a more rapid setting polymer. But the ones I film with have to be reusable, so they get a heavier duty base. It takes longer to set. But the hardest part is the painting. On a really detailed job I can spend eight hours getting shading and colors right."

"That's amazing." Riley looks from the mold to Bozer, and he sees the pain and guilt on her face as clearly as any stripes of paint on one of those masks. "If it means anything to you, I truly am sorry we had to lie to you. So is Mac." She swallows. "You can hate me and Jack and Sam and Patty if you want. But please, please don't let what we did rip you and Mac apart."

"But you're not going anywhere," Bozer says, leaning on the counter and watching the minutes tick by on the microwave clock. "It's not like we can say it happened, it's over, and we never have to deal with you again. Mac isn't going to be able to quit what he does. If he's even still going to have a job when this is over. And whether you all stop coming to the house or not, I'm never gonna stop thinking he's there. With you."

"I don't expect you to forgive us. At least not right now," Riley says. Damn right. There's a hell of a lot of betrayal and pain here. It's not going away any time soon. "Just don't take it out on Mac. He didn't have a choice."

"I'll try." He doesn't want to admit that there's no good option here. Because he doesn't want Mac to be wrong about these people. He can't get hurt again by someone he trusts. He'll shatter. But at the same time, watching Mac and Jack sitting on that couch, looking like they don't need anyone else in the world but each other, it hurts.

Does he trust them more than he trusts me now? Bozer always thought it was going to be him and Mac against the world. That was the way it had always been. When they first met, and Boze found himself becoming the target of the middle school's worst. When it had been his fists and Mac's crazy shoelace contraptions against Cal Forester and his cronies.

And then when Mac became a vigilante, Boze had felt like the loyal sidekick, helping Mac stay hidden, helping patch him up when he came home injured, keeping his secret. I was the only one who knew who "The Phoenix" really was. And that made me feel more important and happy than I'd ever admit. It was a storybook adventure. Until it all came crashing down.

Even then, Bozer had tried. Tried to make Mac understand that no prison sentence, no accusation, would tear them apart. Obviously Mac hadn't felt the same way, and that hurt, but Bozer had been starting to accept that his friend was hurting so much he didn't want anyone to know.

And then Mac came back, and it was supposed to go back to the way things were. Except it didn't. Mac vanished at all hours, he was never home, he avoided Bozer's questions, and he outright lied. Boze is never going to stop loving that kid because God knows he doesn't need another person who gets fed up and gives up on him, but Bozer's just been so worried and hurt.

I wasn't going to spend a whole week with Deja. I was going to come home as soon as the cops caught that psycho. But when he called Mac to make sure he really was safe, Mac had seemed happy. Happier than Bozer had seen him since Bishop. Was he really better off without me? Because it seemed like one night spent with Jack had started to heal the broken fragments Bozer hadn't even been able to get close enough to touch.

As much as he hates to admit it, Bozer felt jealous when he heard a tiny bit of Mac's smile through the phone. When he heard the kid get excited, actually excited, about some camping trip Jack was going to take him on. When I left him he could barely hold his head up. He was empty. Just a shell. And somehow Jack had managed to change that.

However I feel about whatever they've done to him, that fact still remains. The more Boze thinks about it, the more he realizes he can't deny that Mac needs these people. There's no way I can pretend I understand the kind of PTSD he lives with day in and day out. Jack carries himself like every ex-military man Bozer's ever seen. I noticed when I first met him, but I figured he might have done ROTC, or a couple tours before getting out and getting his law degree paid for. It hadn't occurred to him that Jack might still be on the front lines of a war no one got to see. Doing what he says he does, he's got to have seen the kind of things that would keep a person up at night.

Boze learned a long time ago not to discount the effects of his own trauma, not to belittle the pain and the lingering ache of losing a sibling. But he also knows that now he and Mac have two very different experiences of life. And I'm just not always equipped to be there for him. As much as Bozer wants to be everything Mac needs, the sad fact remains, that that just isn't true.

That's about the time he realizes Riley's watching those two with the same kind of ache in her eyes.

"Riley? Is something wrong?"

"No." She turns away quickly, glancing back at the mask. "How close is this to done?"

"Still got at least fifteen minutes." Bozer looks back at the two on the couch. Something about that hurts her like it hurts me. Riley's a trained spy. She's not just going to blab to him what's going on in her head. She won't tell him what's hurting her. But he can guess.

The way they talk to each other, Jack's her father figure. She probably had the same "you and me against the world" vibe going on. It was her and Jack out there being super spies, kicking ass and taking names. And lately it's been clear that Jack's started to focus a lot on Mac. And she won't complain. Doesn't think she has a right to. Probably tells herself that after everything Mac has been through, he needs Jack more than she does.

"Sitting here watching paint dry...well, a synthetic polymer but hey...isn't any fun." Bozer opens the fridge and pulls out a milk bottle. "Egg nog?"

Riley nods, and Boze pulls out two mugs. "Okay, there's only one more question I have about your whole secret identity thing. Is Riley Davis the kind of person who wants the "Don't interrupt me unless this is empty" mug, or the "Periodic table of the Elephants"?"

"Elephants. Definitely." Riley grins. "And I'm going to blame my love of bad puns soley on Jack."

It's not okay. Nothing is okay right now. But somehow Bozer's starting to think this might be salvageable. Mac always told me, there's always a way to fix something if you look hard enough.

…

Jack can't honestly say he's not worried about every single bit of this. He's taken his gun apart, cleaned it, and put it back together twice already.

Mac's curled up next to him on the couch like he wants to go to sleep but is way too keyed up to do it. Bozer and Riley joined them at one point, both of them with mugs of egg nog, and Bozer even offered Jack some. Aside from the slight concern that he was about to be poisoned in retribution, Jack doesn't think he can stomach anything right now, so he turned the offer down.

Now Bozer's at the dining room table putting the finishing touches on an absolutely startling copy of Estevez's face, Jack just heard Sam pull the SUV into the driveway, and Mac is checking his knife with the same kind of obsessive attention Jack was using on his gun.

If we screw this up, we all go down. They can't technically be doing something like this on domestic soil. And it's not even an officially sanctioned op. If they get caught, Patty will have to disavow them. All of them will be implicated in the same terrorism charge that's currently being pinned on Mac. If any one of us screws this up, all of us go to prison.

Boze finally leans back from the mask. "This should be good enough." He lifts it to his face."Do I look ready for my close-up?"

Jack sighs. "For the record, I don't like this plan."

"I'm the only one who's the right height and not a woman." Bozer says, but his hands and voice are shaking. "And everyone else has something to do. Riley has to find the bomb, Mac might have to disarm it, Sam has to keep Estevez safe, and you have to find the guy who wants to kill me before he gets a chance to."

"But we're still sending out a civilian to get shot at."

"It's not like I haven't had a target on my back before," Bozer says, and Jack hears a kind of brokenness he's already experienced too much of. "Besides, that's what you're already doing with Mac."

"That's different. Mac has training-"

"Did you train him to stop a bullet with his bare hands?"

Honestly it wouldn't surprise Jack if the kid figured out a way to do just that. But the truth is, Bozer's right. Mac is just a civilian. He didn't sign on for this like the rest of us. And we throw him to the wolves anyway.

And that brings him to the thing Jack truly hates most about this plan. In order to find their sniper, he has to leave Mac. Riley will be in the hotel with him the whole time, but Jack just can't shake the feeling that something bad can happen if he's not right there. They'll be shooting at Bozer, not Mac. He's the one who's going to look like their target.

The door opens and Sam steps in. "I hope you all appreciate this. Do you know how hard it is to find a rental vehicle in LA at Christmas time?"

"Car keys." Cage tosses Jack the SUV's key ring. "Don't wreck it if you can help it. I convinced the guy we needed a low profile transport vehicle for Bruce Willis. And that I'm his PR agent."

"Nice." Jack grins. "But next time, you might want to avoid doing that at Christmas. I mean...let's not tempt bad luck, shall we?"

"Okay, time to hit the road." Riley's packing up her rig. "Estevez's plane is landing in thirty minutes. I've got eyes on the LAPD transport, and I'm going to start trying to slow them down soon, but we have to get past the same intersections before I can do that."

"Here." Jack hands Riley the GTO keys. "Try not to beat the old girl up, okay?" Riley nods, eyes wide. How else were you gonna get to the hotel?

"Okay." Jack, Bozer, and Cage into the car, and Jack takes a moment to appreciate it. Man, I think we need to start getting all our rental vehicles from places like that. Not only is the car fully tricked out with bulletproof glass and metal sheeting, it's got absolutely massive internal video screens, a stellar sound system, and even a minibar. It's official, I need a cover ID that lets me pass myself off as a Hollywood celebrity.

But no one's actually in the mood to enjoy the accommodations. Cage is checking over her weapon, and Bozer keeps pulling off the gloves he's using to hide his hands and tugging at the stiff collar of his dress shirt, looking like he's suffocating. Too much happened today. He can't even start to process it.

They pull into the airport and Jack gets out, standing next to the car in the best imitation he can do of an undercover cop trying not to look suspicious. In a few minutes, three men in crisp suits step out. Two of them Jack instantly pegs as a security detail. The third he recognizes because Bozer's wearing his face.

"Javier Estevez?" Jack asks.

"Are you the escort?"

"If you mean the driver the LAPD sent, yes. But if you mean anything else, sorry man, I'm not for sale." Jack realizes the joke fell completely flat. "I'd feel safer if you were in the car."

Estevez nods and Jack opens the car door. He can tell the second Estevez sees Bozer inside, because the man shrieks and starts to scramble backward.

Estevez's security guards jump, training their weapons on Jack. "Hey, hold it, fellas, let me explain. Wait, there is no time, let me sum up." What, I can't help myself. He glances at Estevez. "We have reason to believe your life is in danger. This is just a precaution." He flashes his fake LAPD ID. "My partners and I are going to make sure you make it to your hotel in one piece."

"How do you know this?"

"Listen, it's a long story, but I meant what I said about feeling safer with you in the car." Jack says. He watches Estevez and his men climb into the car, then slams the door and gets in.

Okay. Time to see how good an actor Bozer really is.

…

Riding in the GTO with Riley is a totally different experience than riding in it with Jack. Mac doesn't feel like he has to cling to the door handle every time they go around a curve, or like he'll slam his head straight back through the headrest when they take off after stopping at a light.

He knows some of it is that Riley's babying Jack's prized car. Some of it is also trying to make sure they don't catch any unwanted attention from cops. And a very very big part of it is the laptop propped on the console that Riley occasionally glances at, clicks something on, then hits the spacebar.

"Is it working?" Mac asks.

"Well, considering they kept taking alternate routes, it's not working as well as I hoped. And I'm not willing to create a pileup to try and stop them for good. And now the traffic control system's found my backdoor and locked me out, so no more red lights for me." Riley shrugs. "But they're going to be at least forty minutes late."

"That should give Jack and Sam and Boze enough time."

"I hope so." Riley's quiet the rest of the way to the hotel.

When they get out, Riley tells Mac to follow her lead. He carefully adjusts the glasses and hat Bozer gave him, they'll cover his face enough that he shouldn't be easily identifiable.

Riley asks for the hotel manager and introduces herself as a regional manager of the company that installed the security system. She hems and haws over why she's there until she finally coughs up the "secret" that there's a glitch in that particular make of camera, and that the company wants to handle it as discreetly as possible. "Just a small software update, and no one has to know anything. I'd appreciate it if you kept this quiet, we don't need all our customers jumping ship," she says in such a perfect fake conciliatory tone that Mac would almost have believed her himself.

Which gets them half an hour with the computers. More than enough time, at least Mac hopes so. The commissioner's supposed to be meeting Estevez when he arrives. Riley did manage to jam the police escort's radio signals, so the LAPD won't know their people didn't pick up Estevez until it's too late. We don't know who on the force is compromised. If anyone finds out Estevez didn't get picked up like he was supposed to, it could blow this whole thing. There are a lot more dirty cops on the force than anyone knows. He found that out the hard way. I thought the only people I was going to have to worry about would be the ones angry I took the law into my own hands. But they were nothing compared to the ones who wanted to make me pay for what I did. He was lucky he wasn't killed then.

"I think I have something." Riley pulls up a security feed from around ten a.m. Two men in workman's coveralls are walking in with a handcart. It looks like they're working on the elevator shaft, but then one of them moves to a pile of empty decorated gift boxes that are part of the hotel's holiday decor, and carefully slides a duffle bag into one. Mac recognizes the bag.

"Yes, that's them." There's enough explosives in that bag to collapse this building. As soon as the commissioner and Estevez arrive, it's going to blow.

"I'm setting a jamming signal now. If it's remotely triggered, this should stop them from being able to set it off."

Riley closes her rig and follows Mac to the display of stacked boxes. "It looked like it was under a couple others…" She trails off as Mac begins pulling each one down, then tossing it aside if it's too light. This isn't the time to be subtle. The commissioner will probably show up soon.

And then he feels it, the box that's definitely not empty. "Got it." He sets it down carefully on the floor, then opens the lid. Inside is that very familiar duffle bag, still zipped shut. He carefully opens it, and that's about the time the manager shows up, apparently confused as to why the security systems manager's tech aide is wantonly destroying the holiday display.

"Is that a bomb?" The woman shrieks. Please don't make any loud sudden noises right now. Mac's under enough stress as it is.

"Listen to me, you need to evacuate this whole hotel, right now," Riley says. "Don't panic. Just calmly and orderly evacuation, okay?" We don't have time to try and keep this under wraps anymore. When he opened the bag, Mac just triggered a countdown timer. And they have one more very big problem.

"That's not my detonator," Mac whispers. "It's actually going to blow."

"Can you disarm it?"

"I hope so." Mac stares at the blinking lights, ticking down the time until the commissioner is supposed to arrive.

…

Jack already knows two things about the sniper he needs to find. One, they're going to have to be close to the building, to react if things go wrong. Two, they won't shoot until the bomb fails to go off. The bomb will destroy all the evidence Estevez has without risking it getting into police hands. A simple shooting won't do that.

When they pull up outside the building, Jack leans toward Cage. "Keep an eye on that bodyguard. I'm not positive one of them isn't our man." She nods, and he sees her rest a hand on her gun in her lap.

He opens the door for Bozer, who steps out followed by one of the two bodyguards. Jack watches the man carefully, but he doesn't see any sign of suspicious action.

Bozer must be scared out of his mind right now. But he's holding it together as well as any trained field agent Jack has ever seen. He's walking tall, the only sign he's nervous the way he's pulling on the fingers of his left glove.

Jack scans the passersby. Unless this dude has a death wish he won't be inside. He hopes this plan works. This is the only chance we've got.

And then the doors slam open and a flood of people starts pouring out. Someone already found the bomb. Jack doesn't have time to wonder if that someone is Mac and Riley, or some random cleaning lady.

They just know their plan went to hell. Jack glances around the crowd one more time, and then he sees it. Off to the side, barely reacting to the yelling, surging masses of people, a man shoves his phone in his pocket with a glare, reaches for his side, and pulls out a gun, leveling it at Boze's head.

He never gets the chance to fire. Jack's own gun is out, and the second he sees the glimmer of light on metal he fires. The would-be killer stumbles backward, blood streaming from his shoulder. Jack shoves his way through the now even more panicked crowd to reach him, kicking the gun away from his hand.

"Oh hell no, you don't," Jack snaps, then reaches into the man's pocket for his phone. Bozer appears at his side, wearing his own face now, sweating and shaky, but apparently not about to have a nervous breakdown.

"That's one of the men from the van."

"Here, hang onto this," Jack says. "Riley might be able to trace the signal back to Richards." He quickly cuffs the man's hands behind his back, ignoring the yell of pain when he pulls on the injured shoulder, then rushes toward the hotel. This op isn't over yet.

…

"Hey kid, how's it looking in there?" Mac would know Jack's voice anywhere. But he can't talk right now.

"We found the bomb but it's going to go off in three minutes if Mac can't disarm it!" Riley yells back. Thanks. No pressure. No pressure at all.

He's vaguely aware of Jack and Bozer rushing up and skidding to a halt on the floor, but he can't think about them. All he has time for now is the bomb.

Mac watches the blinking numbers as he carefully pries open the casing of the detonator. It's a basic circuit-based system. Break the circuit of the wires running between the clock and the detonation switch, set off the bomb. Which is what's going to happen anyway when those red numbers reach zero. He glances at the wall beside him and the string of colorful Christmas lights plugged in there, and suddenly he knows exactly what he's going to do.

Every string of Christmas lights has tiny little fuses in the plug. It's a fire safety precaution, so if something shorts out the tree won't catch on fire. But those same fuses just might be able to conduct the same current that's going to set off this bomb and redirect it.

He unplugs the string and pops open the plug base.

"What are you doing?" Riley asks.

"If we just cut the wires the secondary failsafe will kick in. But if I redirect the current…"

"The clock will still think it's connected to the trigger."

Mac carefully shaves away the coating on the wires, then wedges the fuse between them, completing the circuit early. Then he positions the scissors over the red wire.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Jack asks.

"Well, there's about a twenty percent chance that I did this wrong and the whole thing will blow up in our faces."

"I like those odds." Jack grins. "Do it, kid."

"You all need to get out of here," Mac whispers. "Please."

"Oh hell no." Bozer rests a hand gently on the arm that isn't holding the scissors. "We're not going anywhere."

Mac sighs. And then closes the scissors.

There's an audible click. He braces himself for fire and pain, but nothing happens.

When Mac opens his eyes, he's staring at a snipped wire, a clock still ticking down, and his three friends whooping and hollering and high-fiving.

Jack grabs Mac's shoulders and shakes him, a little roughly but it's Jack so it doesn't matter. "I can't believe you disarmed a bomb with Christmas lights."

"Well, I could have done it with paper clips or a gum wrapper, but…"

"Just let me enjoy it, Mac."

…

DECEMBER 24

NOT A DAY YOU WANT TO SPEND IN THE POLICE STATION

Patricia Thornton is seriously considering early retirement. I'm going to have an ulcer from the things these idiots keep doing. Now she's spending the wee hours of Christmas Eve explaining to a the police commissioner that her people are the only reason he's still alive and has Estevez's information.

The official story is that members of the LAPD, most notably a very mysteriously uncommunicative Detective Austin, stumbled upon the bombing plan while working a missing persons case. Wilt Bozer, the kidnapping victim, wa able to provide valuable information that led to not only the prevention of a bombing attack, but also the arrest of one Gavin Richards, whose personal files indicated that he was responsible for no less than a hundred cartel hits over the past three years.

When Cage showed up at the Phoenix with Mac, Patty ordered them both in no uncertain terms to stay put until the investigation was over. His involvement is being kept strictly off the books. And since the phone number that was used to place the anonymous tip call that had implicated Mac in the first place belonged to one of Richards's accomplices, that tip is being thrown out of evidence.

There's still plenty of wrangling, plenty of cover stories, plenty of things to fix to make this go away. But as both Patty and Commissioner Wilson finish their fifth cups of coffee, she sees something resting on the corner of his desk. It's immediately recognizable as one of Mac's creations, a paperclip bent into the shape of a bird in flight.

Why does he have one of those?

She notices that he's followed her gaze, and he picks up the wire sculpture almost reverently. "When I first took this job, I promised a hard crackdown on cartels. They didn't take too kindly to that. There were three or four death threats in my mailbox every day."

"You don't get this far without making enemies. Especially if you take a hard stance for what you believe in." Not everyone likes a person who does the right thing.

"One day I went out to my car, just like any other morning. And there, on the hood, was this." He picks up the paperclip. "And right next to the car was a disarmed bomb. When the bomb squad arrived they said the explosives had been connected to my starter. If I had turned that car on, me, my house, and my wife and the two kids inside would be gone." He looks straight at Patty. "You and I both know what happened out there today. But sometimes there's no point in worrying about the technicalities when what happened saved a life." He smiles. "I'm not one to look a gift horse too long in the mouth, Ms. Thornton."

Patty collects her paperwork. "I assume that means the rest of my team is free to go?"

"Of course. Merry Christmas to you."

"You too." Patty lets the door swing shut behind her.

Jack, Riley, and Bozer are very quiet in the car on the way back to the Phoenix. They look like kids who've been caught breaking the rules. No one says a thing until they're in the War Room, where Mac and Cage are waiting.

Patty's the first to break the silence. "Well, I must say, this has been the most interesting Christmas Eve since 2004."

"I'm sorry," Mac whispers.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Agent MacGyver," Patty says crisply. "This op was a success." She can feel Jack and Riley's eyes on her, the telegraphed confusion. "Thanks to your willingness to work a dangerous undercover operation, a man we can link to over a hundred murders and acts of terrorism is now in prison."

"But this wasn't-" She cuts Mac off.

"Of course, Operation Secret Santa had to remain off the books until it was complete. We couldn't risk compromising it by letting anyone at the agency know it was a legitimate mission." There's going to be a hell of a lot of paperwork to cover all our asses on this one. But it's worth it. It's worth it to see the look in Mac's eyes as he realizes she's going to have his back. That she's giving him the best gift she can, her trust.

"Unfortunately, it seems that a civilian was caught up in the operation, and became privy to information that is highly confidential." She wants to see how Wilt reacts to this. What will he do if he thinks he'll be punished for this.

"All due respect, Patty, it's thanks to him that Estevez is still in one piece and not a million." Jack's speaking up now.

"I'm aware of that. However, giving him information on the Phoenix was a severe breach of the Espionage Act." Patty pauses. "You realize that the consequences for you and Davis could be a court martial. And MacGyver and Bozer could face immediate imprisonment."

"It wasn't Mac's fault. I kept pushing. I listened in." Bozer steps forward. "What do I have to do to make them see it was only my fault?"

He's loyal. Brave. Self-sacrificing.

"Nothing. Mr. Bozer, the only people currently aware that you now know about the Phoenix's real operations are in this room. And that is the way it can stay. If you want." She nods to him.

"I won't tell anyone anything about this. And there's no point in threatening me. I'll do whatever I need to to make sure Mac stays safe. His secrets are always going to be safe with me." Patty likes his spunk. She likes him.

"It's been a long past two days," Bozer says. "So if it's all over but the shouting, if you don't mind, I'd like to take my best friend home and get some sleep. Can I walk out that door or not?"

"You can; but your car's still in police impound as evidence," Patty says. "You're welcome to stay here until you can get a ride."

"I'm not staying in this building another minute." Bozer starts for the door again.

"I'll take you home," Jack speaks up, and Patty can hear the heartbreak in his voice.

"We don't want your help either." Bozer says coldly.

"Boze. Please. Let him." Mac's voice is an exhausted echo of itself. And Patty watches Bozer melt, nodding his assent. Mac is his whole world. She wonders what it is about the kid that has that effect on people. What I just did, I don't know if I would do that for any other agent in this building. I don't know if I would do it for my own flesh and blood. She still doesn't understand why she's gone to the lengths she has to protect Angus MacGyver. Even if Oversight is going to give her hell again for this mess, she doesn't regret it.

Maybe it's just knowing that the world's been everything but fair to him. So we do all we can to make it right.

…

Jack can't bring himself to look in the rearview mirror at Mac and Bozer huddled up in the back seat. This time yesterday morning the world was a lot simpler. For both of them. He's honestly not sure how they're going to cope with all of this.

He doesn't want to watch Mac have to choose between his job and his friend. Between Bozer and Jack, Riley, Cage, and Patty. And Jack will admit that is because some small selfish part of him says Mac will choose Bozer. He'll choose the person he's known most his life, the person who doesn't ask him to lie and put his life on the line.

The worst part will be that Mac won't just vanish. He won't be one of those people who break off a friendship and leave town. Because he can't. He needs the job at the Phoenix to stay out of prison, at least for now. I don't know if I could bear to come to work knowing he's in the same building and he doesn't want to talk to me. Because Mac could easily ask to stop working field teams and go to R&D again.

I don't want to lose him. The realization is one that Jack knows has been at the back of his mind for a long time. Since he followed the kid through the night to a Mexican compound. Since he watched Mac cut the wires on a bomb that could have blown Jack off the face of the earth. Hell, it's been there since he watched the kid parachute out the back of a truck with half its canvas strapped to his shoulders and Jack's little girl, the most precious thing in his whole world, held safely by his side.

Because Jack's tiny little wolf pack has grown. Somehow, along the way, Mac worked his way into it. And Jack's been taking it for granted. I just never thought that he might have to make a choice about what he wants, like this. Now that it's staring Jack in the face, he doesn't like it.

He pulls into Mac's driveway on autopilot and parks. Bozer gets out and goes straight for the door, like being around Jack might be contaminating somehow. But Mac stays. He leans over the center console and taps Jack's shoulder lightly.

"I'm sorry I made such a mess of things." Mac's eyes are glossy with tears, his lips trembling slightly. "I'm sorry it got you all in trouble."

"Listen. Mac. No matter what, you can come to us. You don't have to deal with your problems on your own anymore. That's what you have family for." Jack can't help himself. I just want him to know how I feel. To know that if he cuts and runs it'll break my heart.

Mac smiles. Jack hasn't seen that since...he doesn't actually think he's ever seen the kid smile like this. That's the look of someone who's still not sure a good thing has actually happened to them, but is choosing to accept it anyway. "Thank you."

"No problem. Merry Christmas, Carl's Jr."

"Merry Christmas, old man."