Based on an Anonymous prompt from Tumblr: 2x04 fic that expands on the mental impacts of Mac's kidnapping.

Basically, this first chapter sets up this prompt. In chapter one, Murdoc tortures Mac a little more than we saw in the episode. Chapter two is where all the comfort/expanding on the mental impacts of Mac's kidnapping will live!

Trigger Warning: This story contains a slightly graphic injury to the forearm/wrist via knife. If you think this will be triggering for you, please DO NOT read! I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable so if this is something you know will trigger you PLEASE skip this one.

XxX

Mac wasn't expecting the taser blast to the neck when he opened his front door.

His personal, one-person Paris mission had been a bust. He knew it was a long shot and yet he still got on that plane and sat in that Parisian cafe for hours waiting for someone who had only known his father for a short period of time a decade and half ago. They had never even met in person. They worked on a project together, sure, but the correspondence began and ended with a few handwritten letters. Nothing more, nothing less. The Professor didn't even know his father was from the United States as they both wrote exclusively in French, so he definitely didn't know where he was now.

Even worse than the dead end, though, was how much Mac messed up with Jack. He was so caught up in the mystery, in the pain his father's disappearance caused, and in the possibility that he might get some answers, that he pushed away the one person who promised to always stand by his side and protect him. He had made the exact same promise to Jack, too. Mac's search for his father had nothing to do with the job but Jack was right - they were never truly off the clock. Their enemies followed them around like shadows, just waiting for the right time to pounce. Just because they weren't on a mission didn't mean they weren't still in danger.

All Jack was trying to do was protect him, from himself, from his search, in some ways from his father, and from the tail he caught at the airport that Jack took care of for him.

He was definitely distracted if he didn't even notice that he was being followed - not only by the man who wanted to kill him, but by his friend, as well. He was so lost in thought, trapped in the neverending whirlwind of activity in his brain, that it was like he had blinders on sometimes.

He didn't think it was negatively influencing his performance on missions. Hopefully he wasn't putting his teammates in danger because he was so distracted. He would never do that intentionally, and he didn't think he was, but he couldn't be sure. He would have to pay more attention to make sure he was keeping his head in the game. If anything happened to Jack, or Riley, or Bozer, or Cage because he was distracted, he would never be able to forgive himself.

He already wasn't sure if forgiveness was going to come so easily in terms of what happened with Jack. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he could push Jack away completely. Maybe he got too comfortable in their friendship, in their partnership, because Jack came to California after their tour was up. They became inseparable during their time in the Sandbox, despite how rocky the first couple of months were. Jack never left and maybe he started taking that for granted.

Hopefully he would get the chance to make it right. Mac needed Jack to know that he appreciated everything he did for him. He knew it was hard watching out for him, keeping him safe, and the last thing he wanted to do was seem ungrateful. He definitely didn't mean to imply that Jack was, in any way, stupid.

Mac had to admit, that was the part he felt most guilty about. He never wanted to make someone feel like he was looking down on them intellectually - especially not Jack - never Jack.

Yeah, he definitely owed him a massive apology.

He thought he was getting his chance when the doorbell rang.

He wasn't expecting the taser.

The shock locked his muscles, seized his limbs and his lungs, and he hit the ground before he even knew he was falling. He could feel himself twitching, his lungs stuttering in his chest as they tried to expand and let in even the smallest breath of air, but his eyes were locked on the masked faces standing over him. He couldn't tell if there really were three of them or if his vision was just blurring that badly.

Since only one of the figures kneeled down, hovering above him like a vulture, he figured there must really be more than one. That was bad. If there was only one attacker, he might stand a chance of fighting them off, even with his limbs locked in post-taser muscle paralysis. But three? In perfect condition he could take three people on by himself, even thirty seconds earlier he would have stood a fighting chance, but he was already down.

The choice was taken away from him when the figure leaning over him pulled a syringe out of his pocket. Mac could only stare wide eyed as the needle came toward him. He felt the sharp bite of the needle, followed by the ice water that spread quickly through his body.

He could almost see the smile in the eyes behind the mask, familiar yet snake-like, but as the tremors wracking his body faded, every muscle went limp. He didn't stop staring at those predator-like eyes, dangerous and cold, even as his peripheral vision faded. Starbursts flickered along the edges, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, and then that was overtaken by the darkness, too.

His final thoughts were that Jack was going to kill him for getting in trouble again, and he had absolutely no idea what was going to happen when he woke up.

Mac slid back into consciousness slowly.

His head was heavy, pounding in time with his racing heartbeat, and it took a long time before he was able to pry his eyes open.

Even in the dim light, his head still seared when he finally pulled it up enough to look around. He was sitting in a cold, metal chair. His hands were cuffed to the armrests and when he pulled on them his arms felt more like limp noodles than human limbs. His legs felt similar. They weren't tied down but he didn't think he could move them if he tried. What the hell did they give him?

The room itself was as nondescript as it could possibly be. It was empty except for another chair in the corner, the concrete walls were covered in mold. It smelled like a dying thing in there, rotten and assaulting. He tried not to breathe through his nose, but then he could almost taste it instead.

The crook of his right arm hurt. He let his blurry eyes track an uneven path to the site. A crude IV was taped there, the line running to a bag hanging on an IV pole behind him. The bag was unlabeled but he could see the liquid running through the tubing, and he could definitely feel the fogginess that came with being drugged.

Mac's heart was beating too fast. He had no idea where he was, or who took him. He didn't know what was running into his veins or what it was doing to him. He didn't know what was going to happen next or if he would even make it out alive. The thoughts jumbled together in his blind panic, his brain too offline still to put anything in order.

He needed to think of a way out before he discovered the answers to any of the other questions.

But he couldn't move. He couldn't think. He was useless.

"Hello?" He called out, needing help but knowing that wasn't the way to get it. He couldn't stop himself. His tongue felt heavy, clumsy.

The only sound that met him was way too familiar whistling. Mac's whole body sagged in the chair. He couldn't stop the shivers of fear that ran through him.

Murdoc.

Of course it was Murdoc.

Mac fought against his eyes that wanted to slip back shut, his drugged brain that was trying to give into the pull of unconsciousness, and forced himself to watch the doorway as Murdoc appeared, clad in his usual all-black attire and sinister smile.

"Oh MacGyver, I have missed you." Murdoc hummed, delighted, his dark eyes slipping shut blissfully. "I've been counting the days for us to meet again. Today seemed like a pretty good day for a reunion, don't you think?"

Mac didn't say anything but he swallowed down the nausea that rose up within him. Murdoc walked down the short staircase and made his way to the only other chair in the room and dragged it over until it was positioned right in front of Mac's.

"This seat taken?" Murdoc asked, giggling, as he sat down. "Course it isn't. No one else is here."

"Murdoc." Mac's tongue was so heavy but he forced the words out, wincing internally at how sluggish he sounded. He didn't want Murdoc to see or hear any sign of weakness but whatever was flowing through his veins was making it nearly impossible.

Before Mac could respond, Murdoc leaned forward and twisted the needle in his arm. Mac grunted, crying out as the muscles in his forearm seized. It felt like a knife was digging into his skin.

"Oh good, you can still feel pain!" Murdoc let go, pleased beyond words. "Setting the dose was tricky. I had to give you just enough to slow you down without making you pass out."

Mac tried to get his breathing to slow down but it felt like whatever Murdoc had drugged him with was enhancing not only the pain from the abuse of the IV but also his nerves. He didn't feel more relaxed, in fact, Mac felt like a live wire. His body was slower, his reflexes were shot, and his brain was processing information at a snail's pace, but pain and distress were overwhelmingly heightened. What the hell had Murdoc dosed him with?

"What do you want?" He bit out, forcing his eyes open.

"To see you of course," Murdoc sat back, crossing one leg over the other, and clasped his hands in his lap. "I wanted to catch up with my good friend MacGyver, and, you know, get him to tell me where my son is by any means necessary."

"If you think I would ever tell you where he is," Mac shook his head. "You shouldn't have wasted your time."

"Au contraire, mon frère." Murdoc leaned forward. "You see, I'm not wasting my time at all. Either you tell me where Casian is, or I kill you and nab Bozer next. Or maybe Riley. I'm sure they'll tell me. They don't have the same training as you or Jack. It almost wouldn't be fun to torture them."

"You already took me." Mac smirked, already seeing the flaw in that plan. It wasn't a surprise that Murdoc would threaten his team to get him to talk, but that tactic had one very specific detail that would never allow Murdoc to be successful. "The team is going to figure that out and then Jack won't allow you to get within three miles of them."

"I have my ways, MacGyver." Murdoc's voice lowered. "I could always call them in on our little party here. Make them watch me torture you instead. I'm sure they would sing like canaries then."

"You can do whatever you want but they're not going to tell you any more than I will." Mac didn't feel confident about a lot in that situation but that was one thing he felt more sure of than anything else.

"You think they would continue to hide my son from me even if I was hurting you right in front of them?" Murdoc smiled again, clearly entertained by the notion. "Is that a hint of trouble in paradise I'm detecting. Maybe that's why you just returned from dining alone on the Seine?"

Mac frowned and Murdoc laughed again, clapping his hands together delightfully.

"Oh yeah, I know all about the blond boy scouts search for dear old daddy." Murdoc leaned forward a little. "How's that going by the way? He really seems to not want anything to do with you. I have to admit, you're a handful now. I can't imagine how difficult you must have been as a child. He must have hated you. No wonder he's staying so far away."

The words cut deeper than Mac liked to admit. He felt rage bubble up inside him and he couldn't stop himself from jolting forward. He didn't even know what he would do if he could get his hands on the other man, he just knew he wanted Murdoc to hurt, too.

The cuffs around his wrists stopped his forward momentum. The needle in his arm pulled, sending a sharp spike from wrist to shoulder. He cried out, bending over protectively and settled for stomping his foot into the ground instead.

"Woah-ho-ho, careful there." Murdoc taunted, clapping his hands down onto Mac's knees and leaning in close. "Hurting you is my job, remember?"

"Get on with it then," Mac grunted, flinching away from Murdoc's touch.

"Oh, don't you worry about that." Murdoc said. "We're going to have all sorts of fun today. I think you're going to like the game pieces I've so lovingly crafted. Maybe not like, but I think you'll appreciate the ingenuity of the designs. You inspire me, MacGyver. The way you make things out of other things - I love that."

"The longer you torture me-"

"The longer Jack has to find us?" Murdoc interrupted, jumping up from his seat. "Oh no, I've hidden you away quite well, my friend. Even good ol' Jackie Boy won't be finding us here."

"No," Mac smirked. "The longer you torture me, the longer Jack has to get everyone else far away from you."

"I'm confused, MacGyver." Murdoc's eyebrows rose curiously. "Do you really believe your guard dog isn't coming to rescue you? What, did you finally push him away, too? Just like dear ol' daddy?"

Mac looked away, which only made Murdoc laugh harder. The sound seemed to echo through the musty room, bouncing off the cold walls and hitting Mac just as effectively as a fist. He didn't want to admit that maybe he really had pushed Jack too far, broken something that he had long since started to believe couldn't be broken at all. It wouldn't be the first time he had driven someone away. His dad didn't want him, his grandfather couldn't handle him for long, and now he hurt Jack.

"You are too much fun, MacGyver." Murdoc taunted, slapping his gloved hand against the side of Mac's face. "I don't know if this is any kind of consolation, but you haven't driven me away, my friend. And now I think it's time for you to meet the tools I made just for you. Maybe you can give me some critiques on how to improve. You are the expert in improvisation, of course. I'm always looking to learn from the masters' of their craft."

Murdoc didn't stop talking all the way up the small staircase but Mac tuned him out. His eyes scanned the room for what he could use to escape. He could use his teeth to get the needle out of his arm and use it to pick the handcuff lock. Then, he could use the IV pole-

Mac never got the chance.

Murdoc must have been keeping his bag of supplies just outside the door because in less than five seconds he was trudging back into the room. Murdoc dropped the black bag on the empty chair with a solid thud. The sound of metal clinking against metal was muffled but still effectively conjured up horrible images in Mac's molasses mind about what could be inside.

As Murdoc riffled through the bag, he started whistling again. He took out several terrifying looking tools, most of them with other tools crudely taped to them. There didn't seem to be much of a rhyme or reason to the modifications but either way, on their own or taped together, the tools would still get the job done. Mac shifted in the chair, testing the bonds again, and swallowed hard when it was clear his energy was still zapped from the drugs in his system.

Murdoc finally stilled when he pulled Mac's own Swiss Army knife from the bag. Mac would recognize it anywhere. There was a groove cut diagonally across the cross and shield of the Victorinox symbol from the helicopter crash in Kazakhstan that would be almost impossible for Murdoc to have recreated so perfectly.

Murdoc opened a few of the tools until he got to the large blade. He pushed the other tools back into place, leaving only the knife.

"You know, MacGyver, it's quite impressive what you're able to do with just this little knife." Murdoc gripped the red handle tight and leaned over Mac. He pressed the sharp edge against Mac's cheek, just under his right eye. It wasn't enough to cut him, but it was enough to set Mac's heart hammering against his ribcage. "What is it about guns that makes you so reluctant to use them, I wonder?"

Mac frowned but didn't respond. He barely dared breathe with the knife so close to his eye.

"Could it be this?" Murdoc asked, running the knife down his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, until it came to rest right over his bullet wound scar under his shirt from Lake Como. "Lung damage, tissue damage, muscle damage, and oh so close to the heart, am I right?"

"How did you-"

"Did you think our dear Riley was the only hacker in the world?" Murdoc cut him off, digging the knife in a little harder. It didn't break skin but Mac sucked in a breath anyway. "I know people, too, and I got my hands on your medical files and learned some pretty interesting things about you. I had no idea you were so injury prone. It's amazing you're still alive really, but that's what makes you so damn intriguing. You haven't just survived me, something no one has ever done before, you've survived a whole host of people who've tried to kill you. And here I thought I was special."

"Sorry to disappoint." Mac smirked, eyes fluttering as a stronger wave of disorienting dizziness passed through him. The back of Murdoc's hand cracking against the side of his face was enough to wake him up more.

"I appreciate the apology, Angus, I really do but it isn't necessary." Murdoc gripped his jaw tight, the knife sharp against the pulse point in Mac's neck. Mac could feel every heavy beat of his heart pressing harder against the knife and willed his pulse to go back down to a less frantic rhythm. "In fact, knowing you've survived so many near death experiences, so many wonderful injuries, is what makes this so much more fun. I'm honored that I'm the one who gets to kill you, MacGyver, I really am."

Murdoc backed away, tracing the knife's edge across his shoulder and down the arm that didn't have the IV needle in it. When he got to the inside of his forearm, Murdoc stopped, pressing the blade in until a tiny nick appeared in Mac's pale skin. When Mac tried to jerk away, not that he could with the restraints - both physical and chemical - Murdoc grabbed onto his wrist with his gloved hand. Mac could feel the small bones grinding together in Murdoc's tight grip.

"You know, I've always been fascinated with your hands, MacGyver. They can do some incredible things. But the thing I'm even more curious about is what makes your hands work. I'm sure you can appreciate that, given what you do. You're never satisfied with the thing itself, you need to break it open and see what's inside, how the pieces come together to make it work. That's what I'm proposing now, a peek inside, to see how your pieces fit together and make you work."

Mac flinched, a shock of fear pulsing through him at the words. He knew his time with Murdoc wasn't going to be full of sunshine and roses, but that sounded really, really ominous.

"You might be surprised to learn that assassins of my caliber have to go through almost as much training as doctors, only the things we learn would never be found in the USMLE.

At first, Murdoc only made a slight cut along Mac's forearm. It wasn't enough to really injure him, and the cut barely bled, but it was enough to still Mac's breathing as he waited for something worse.

"You have to become an expert in human physiology, anatomy, biology. You see, it takes more skill to hurt someone than it does to heal them, a certain je ne sais quoi if you will, but mastering that artform is so satisfying."

The cut went deeper and it felt like his whole arm was catching on fire.

"See here you have to be very careful. There are some pesky arteries in this area that can cause all sorts of problems when severed. Since we've only just begun, we wouldn't want that to happen. So, it's important to know exactly where everything is so you can avoid things you don't want to damage."

As Murdoc continued meticulously carving into his arm, Mac had to close his eyes against the rolling dizziness washing over him. He was biting the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood but he didn't want to give Murdoc that satisfaction of seeing the pain he was causing. He's been through worse, had more serious injuries, he could take it.

"See, I think you're really gonna wanna look at this, Angus." Murdoc clasped the knife back into place and put it in his pocket. His eyes were glued to Mac's arm, bending over it like an overeager student on dissection day. His hand still gripped Mac's wrist too tightly but he could barely feel it as blood dripped from his injury.

Mac didn't want to, he really didn't, but as dizziness cascaded over him yet again, his head became too heavy and his chin fell to his chest. The second his eyes caught sight of his arm, he almost threw up. The wound was deep and he could easily see the muscles and tendons in his forearm. Murdoc was careful and he wasn't bleeding fast enough for an artery to be cut. The blood still flowed out of the wound at a good pace, though. If Murdoc didn't do something to stop the bleeding he would be in trouble.

"It's incredible." Murdoc crooned, sounding almost like a child on Christmas morning. "You can easily see the flexor carpi radialis tendon and the palmaris longus tendon, right next to the median nerve. There's a whole collection of bones, tendons, muscles, and nerves in your arm, wrist, and hands that all work together perfectly and allow you to do what you do. You see, the interesting thing is they look no different than anyone else's, you'll just have to trust me on that one, but still - no one can do what you do, MacGyver. Why is that? Of course, no one else has that brain of yours. Except now, I guess, I do. I know from your file that you are willing to donate your body to science in the event of your unfortunate demise, so I feel like it should bring you some comfort to know that your body will, in fact, be used for research - mine."

When Murdoc finally backed away, Mac tried desperately to calm his racing heart, to put a lid on the overwhelming panic coursing through him. A combination of the drugs in his system and the pain and blood loss from his arm were making that nearly impossible.

He needed to get away, that was all too clear. He did not want to know what it was like to get vivisected any more than he already had been. At least his arm could heal if the torture ending with that. Having it go any further would make the chances of survival even more slim.

As if the universe was on his side, Murdoc's cell phone suddenly chirped. Murdoc took the phone out of his pocket and studied whatever was on the screen intently.

"Saved by the bell, MacGyver." Murdoc tutted, placing the phone back in his pocket. He zipped his torture bag back back up and hefted it over his shoulder. He placed Mac's bloody Swiss Army knife on the now empty chair. "I have a very urgent matter to attend to for this little Collective I've been forming. No rest for the wicked and all that. You can try to escape if you want, in fact, I'm planning on it. It's oh so much more fun when I have to catch you."

Mac watched Murdoc's every move as he walked back up the stairs. He paused at the top, peering back at Mac as if taking in the last moments of a beautiful sunset.

"Don't get too comfortable, MacGyver." Murdoc smiled darkly. "I'll be seeing you again real soon."

With that, he was gone.

As soon as he was alone, Mac cried out, trying to bend over his badly injured arm protectively. Now that he didn't have to hide his pain, it was like his body was finally making him feel all of it. He tried not to look at the wound but his eyes kept tracking over it, taking in the split skin, the muscles and tendons, even the bone visible inside.

Taking deep breaths through his nose so he wouldn't pass out, Mac leaned toward his uninjured side until he could get a hold of the IV needle between his teeth and pulled. He grunted as the needle slid out of his arm and dropped it back in his hand.

Mac nearly screamed as he forced his injured arm to move until it got close enough so he could pick the handcuff lock with the needle. The handcuffs sprung open so he was half-free. Unfortunately, that meant he had to use his left hand to unlock his right side. He tried not to think about the muscles and tendons in his arm that allowed his hand to move but he still felt nausea running through him.

He almost didn't lean over fast enough before the breakfast he had eaten on the flight back from Paris made a reappearance on the dirty floor.

Mac groaned when he was finally done and tried again. He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to think, as he gripped the needle tight in numb fingers. Luckily, Mac literally could pick locks with his eyes closed, and even though it took a little longer than it normally would, the metal clasps of the handcuff on his right arm finally clicked open, too.

Before he even tried to stand, he pulled the hem of his shirt up and used his good hand and his teeth to try to rip a strip off to use as a bandage. It was no use. The fabric was too strong and he let it fall back to his side. He leaned back in the chair, gripping above the wound tight, and breathed heavily through his nose so he wouldn't pass out.

When he felt more stable, he looked around, eyeing his abandoned knife on the chair a few feet away. That would work. It cut through him easily enough, his shirt wouldn't stand a chance.

Hauling himself out of the chair was a feat of strength. He wavered when he was finally upright, leaning heavily against the arm rest, his injured arm tucked protectively to his stomach. He could feel the blood seeping through the fabric and shivered when it made him feel cold. His arm felt like it was buzzing as injured nerves shouted out their warnings to the rest of his nervous system. It ached in his shoulders even, pounding deep into his chest as well.

The drugs were still wreaking havoc in his body as well. His vision was wavering, kaleidoscope-stars trickling through his peripheral vision as invisible, lead weights hung from his every limb.

He felt awful - beyond awful - and all he wanted was Jack to find him and tell him he was safe, it was all going to be okay. He needed the reassurance that Murdoc really was gone and that Jack wouldn't let the assassin hurt him again. But those were all selfish feelings, ones he didn't deserve to feel after everything that went down in Paris. He didn't get to push Jack away and then need him when he was gone. It didn't work like that.

Instead, Mac pushed all the negative feels down, pressing them deep into a box with the world's strongest lock - maybe made of tungsten carbide and wurtzite boron nitride. Yeah, that would work. He took that box and bolted it down deep inside him where no one could get to it, not even him.

He pushed himself off the armrest of the chair he had been tied to and nearly missed Murdoc's chair. He caught the back at the last second and it saved him from making an unfortunate trip to the ground. His vision wavered again as he reached for his bloody knife, absentmindedly wondering, yet again, what the hell Murdoc dosed him with that was making him so disoriented. He sat down heavily and pulled the large blade out using his teeth. Then, using his teeth again to hold onto the bottom of his shirt, he stabbed a small hole in the fabric a few inches above the hemline. He pulled the knife along the fabric parallel to the hem and then spit out the dirty fabric to rip it the rest of the way with his good hand. Laying his injured arm on his lap, Mac spun the shirt-bandage around his forearm several times, biting down on a shout of unbridled pain when the fabric was pressed down onto his flayed skin.

The blood went through the dark material immediately. Mac huffed out a shaky breath and hesitantly pressed his hand over the wound as tight as he could. That time, he did scream. He couldn't help it but he bit it off at the end so it was more like a hoarse shout. The room blurred around him as consciousness started flickering out. He leaned forward, putting his head between his knees to stave off a full blown black out.

He wasn't sure if the blood had slowed but it didn't matter. He couldn't bother with the wound anymore. He had to escape or he wasn't getting out of there. Even worse than not being able to apologize to Jack was forcing the other man to find him dead in Murdoc's torture room. No, he couldn't hurt his partner twice in one weekend like that.

Mac wavered blindly toward the stairs, barely cognizant of each step. He pressed his hand to the door, fumbling for the handle, but it was no use. Murdoc may have left him alone to bleed out or escape but he definitely didn't make the escape option easy for Mac.

His boots caught on themselves and he had to catch himself against the wall when he all but fell down the stairs. Mac was honestly surprised that he hadn't hit the ground yet, but hey, the night - or day, he wasn't sure anymore - was still young.

Staggering back to the chairs in the center of the room, he leaned against Murdoc's with his good arm, and took in the rest of the space. There had to be something he could use to escape. That was his thing. He could take anything and use it to save the day, and in this case, he needed to use that skill to save himself.

His eyes clocked in on the IV pole and the pressurized steam pipe by the stairs. He could use them to make a hydraulic jackhammer. Yes, that could work.

Mac went to the IV pole first. He removed the IV hooks and kicked off the wheeled base at the bottom. When he only had the hollow pole in his hand, he made his way to the steam pipes. It was hard with only one fully functioning arm but he was able to put the two pieces together with some trial and error and finally he had his key to freedom.

He was slower up the stairs the second time but all the more determined now that he had a solid way out. He just had to get the door open and then he would stumble his way back to civilization if he had to.

When Mac got to the top of the stairs, and had his hydraulic jackhammer in position in front of the lock, he let himself close his eyes for only a second. He wasn't looking forward to how much it was going to suck to have the full force of the jackhammer recoil shooting back at him. He didn't have a choice, though. Well, he did. He could stay in the room until Murdoc returned or he died, or he could use the last of his strength to escape.

Mac chose escape.

The recoil was even greater than he anticipated and it sent him crashing back down the stairs. He couldn't grab onto anything to slow his descent and gasped when he landed hard on his back. All the air seemed to whoosh out of him and he couldn't move. Even worse, he couldn't prevent his arm from smacking against the ground when he landed. He couldn't even scream as ice water shot through his entire body.

It seemed to take forever before he was finally able to breathe, to think beyond the shooting pain radiating throughout his entire body, but finally the world righted itself around him and he was able to pull himself into somewhat of a standing position.

This time, when he finally made it up the stairs for the third time, the door swung open on its hinges easily. Mac fell to his knees again when he burst out into a spacious, yet abandoned, warehouse.

There was only one door in the larger room but there were many blue-tinted windows. Unfortunately, from the view outside the windows, it seemed like he was deep inside the warehouse. And even worse than that was he didn't know where the warehouse was located even if he made it outside. Mac wasn't sure how far he was getting. The drugs were making him feel disoriented and the blood loss and pain was making him cold. He could feel shock setting in and once that happened there was very little he was going to be able to do on his own.

He still had to try.

There were weight-bearing pillars spread throughout the room. If he could make it to one pillar, then the next, and then one more, he would be at the door. He didn't know what was on the other side but it was something - a plan. It was better than he had a few seconds ago, at least, so he went for it.

The first pillar came at him quickly. Mac wasn't sure how he made it there since his vision was blurring again, so badly this time he couldn't tell which way was up and which was down. By the second pillar, he was out of breath, clinging to the cold metal like his life depended on it.

The third was in view, he could see it ten feet away, but it could have been a thousand. He made it only halfway before he fell. On reflex, he put both hands down to stop his fall, and when his left hand hit the concrete, his whole brain shorted out.

He might have screamed again, his throat definitely felt raw, but he didn't hear it beyond the ringing in his ears. He felt even colder when he could see again. He pulled himself to the third pillar, pressing his clammy forehead to it when he finally made it.

He flinched when the double doors flew open, hitting the walls with enough force to rattle dust off the pillar and into Mac's hair. He gasped, fearing the worst - that Murdoc had returned - and squinted against the harsh beams of three flashlights pointed right at him. Either Murdoc grew another arm or it wasn't Murdoc.

"Mac!" Jack's frantic voice called out to him. With the lights out of his eyes, he could see his partner running toward him. His head bobbed a little when two Jacks kneeled down in front of him. Instant relief ran through Mac and it was almost as effective as fast acting pain killers - almost.

"Jack?" Was that really his voice? He sounded awful even to his own ears. It took some of the relief off of Jack's face and replaced it with more worry. His bad shoulder was leaning against the pillar so his partner couldn't see his injured arm but Mac knew Jack was only going to get more panicky when he saw it. "What are you doing here?"

He really was surprised to see his partner after what happened in Paris. Mac wanted to apologize but the words got stuck in his throat.

"We're here to rescue you." Jack said. He reached for Mac's uninjured arm and squeezed reassuringly. "Wait, are you saving yourself right now?"

"Yeah, sorry, I can go back in there if you want." Mac slurred, giving his partner a weak smile. It felt good to banter -normal - like he could pretend he didn't wreck their relationship the day before. Jack seemed okay, not angry at least, but that didn't mean he wasn't still pissed. Mac searched every inch of Jack's face, looking for a crack where the truth of what the other man was feeling might be shining through. But he saw no anger. All Mac could see was concern, and relief.

"No way, man." Jack brought the reassuring hand from his shoulder to his hair, ruffling it slightly. "You look like you could use some fresh air. And some serious medical attention."

"You could say that." Mac said, leaning more heavily into the pillar. He let his eyes wander behind Jack's shoulder where Cage and Bozer were hovering.

"Can you walk?" Jack asked, frowning again as his eyes trailed up and down what he could see of Mac.

"Yeah." The answer came easy but even Mac didn't believe it that time. He could feel it. He was going down soon, and when he did, he was going down hard.

"Hm, I'm not really believing you right now, hoss." Jack's eyes darted around, taking in the room they were currently in and the open door behind Mac. "Is that nut job still here?"

Mac started to shake his head, no, but in all honestly he wasn't completely sure. Murdoc said he was leaving, and Mac hadn't seen him since his sad attempt at an escape, but that didn't mean he wasn't lurking in the shadows ready to pounce any moment. The whole thing could have been a trap for the rest of the team with Mac as the bait. It didn't make a ton of sense but when did anything Murdoc did make sense?

"Don't know," Mac couldn't hold back a weak groan as lightning shot up his injured arm again. His head felt too heavy and he let his forehead fall back against the pillar. It felt so cold. He felt so cold. He just wanted to close his eyes and let Jack take care of everything, even if he didn't deserve it. He didn't care anymore.

"Woah, hey, what's wrong?" Jack asked, his hands coming to hover over Mac's body as if unsure of where to touch. After a moment, Mac felt a calloused palm against the side of his neck as fingers gently felt his pulse. "That feels pretty weak, man. Where'd he hurt you?"

Mac pushed himself away from the pillar enough to bring his wounded arm forward. Jack paled at the sight of the blood soaked fabric. It was clearly still bleeding, rivulets of blood cascading down his wrist and hand to drip off his fingers.

Jack went to reach for it, to see the damage for himself, but Mac pulled his arm away like a wounded animal.

"Okay, I won't touch it." Jack promised. "Did he get you anywhere else?"

"Drugged," Mac hummed, wincing when everything started swirling around him again. Jack's hand on the side of his neck was the only thing that kept him from landing on a heap on the floor...again.

"We're gonna get you out of here," Jack promised. "We just have to get this bleeding a little more under control, okay. You hearing me, hoss?"

"Hear you." Mac groaned, leaning heavier into Jack's support. Mac opened his eyes when there was the rustling of fabric and Cage's light blue shirt was passed over Jack's shoulder leaving her in a grey t-shirt and her bulletproof vest.

Mac bit his tongue to keep from crying out and forced himself not to pull away when Jack wrapped the shirt around his bleeding arm. Jack only gave him a second of warning before he pulled the material tight and Mac choked on the scream that got stuck in his throat. He could feel the blood draining from his face, the shivering that had become a constant companion increasing until he was sure his bones were going to rattle apart, but he didn't let himself pass out. Not when Murdoc could be around any corner. Not if his friends were in trouble because he was used as bait.

When he could open his eyes, his face was pressed against Jack's solid chest. The warmth of his friend's body was a welcomed change to the frigid warehouse and he didn't want to pull away. He did anyway to find Jack murmuring soothing words of comfort in his ear, and Bozer kneeling by his other side, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his back.

He tried to smile at his friends but their deepening frowns made him think he wasn't very successful or reassuring. Oh well, at that point he was happy to still be conscious.

"Alright," Jack schooled his features, looking more determined than Mac had seen him in a long, long time. "You ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

Mac smirked weakly, wincing when Jack's hand tightened its grip on the mess that was his left arm. He had been kidnapped, tased, drugged, and tortured. The last place he wanted to be was right where most of that had happened.

"You have no idea."

To Be Continued.