Cuffs + Betrayal by Emachinescat
A MacGyver Fan-Fiction
Summary: Mac already feels betrayed by his team for thinking he's compromised, but when Russ orders him to be restrained, the hurt cuts that much deeper. Slight AU for 4x11. For Grettiwrites on Tumblr.
A/N: Written for Whumtober 2021 Day 5: Betrayal. This fulfills a request by grettiwrites on Tumblr. Also, this was so therapeutic to write. The way everyone – mostly Russ and Desi – treats him in this episode has always bothered me so much, so a lot of my feelings came out as Mac's feelings. :)
Cuffs + Betrayal
Mac followed behind Russ and Desi, only vaguely aware of their conversation through the buzzing in his ears.
"All right," Russ said, urgency painting his voice, "do we have a black site ready? We need to transport the Merchant out of here."
Desi's response didn't filter through the commotion in Mac's mind, his eyes locked ahead, despair and anger raging through his body as he was forced to accept the realization that they'd failed. Beyond that, they'd put the rest of Phoenix in the line of fire with their stunt. All that had been poured into this charade – the time, energy, talent, and resources – was for nothing. Mac himself was exhausted, at the end of his rope mentally and emotionally. He'd forgotten just how draining undercover work could be.
And this particular undercover job was one he had a personal stake in. This was the reason, he knew, that everyone kept looking at him whenever he was dragged out of the cell for "questioning." He'd seen it on all their faces. The concern. The uncertainty. The distrust. He could hear it in Russ's voice, see it in the slight curl of Desi's upper lip when she regarded him, feel it in the way Bozer squeezed Mac's shoulder a little longer than necessary before he went back in. They didn't trust him anymore, he could tell.
As much as Mac hated the thought, had never been one to throw these words around because he knew the truth about the world he lived in, it just wasn't fair.
Russ claimed to be concerned about his well-being, but it was obvious in his eyes and words and guarded demeanor that he saw Mac as compromised. He was certain that the Merchant's words about family, about his family, had gotten into Mac's head and now his agent was not to be trusted. He'd been influenced by the enemy. Never mind the fact that Mac had spent the past couple days living in a shadow box of hell.
Sure, he knew that he wasn't actually a prisoner, that most of the cuts and bruises scattered across his body weren't real and that he was safe – or as safe as one could be when locked in a room with a dangerous terrorist. And yes, he realized that his friends were watching him the whole time, that if the Merchant had shown any sign of true violence, that they would send someone to collect him, to drag him forcibly out of the room to safety.
But that didn't take away the psychological toll of playing the part of a battered and tortured prisoner. It didn't relieve the stress of knowing that the Merchant could, if he were really inclined, easily kill Mac without a weapon and before anyone could come to his aid. Nor did it take away the real fear that had spiked through him when the Merchant gleefully tormented him with the stun gun.
Ultimately, though, it had been the Merchant's words about Mac's family, about their desire for a better world and their steadfast belief that Codex was the way to achieve this for future generations, about doing whatever it takes – sacrificing everything and everyone – for that assurance, that had shaken Mac to the core. So in a way, he supposed grimly, Russ was right. He had been affected by his time in a false prison cell with a cold-blooded, smooth talking terrorist.
He wasn't compromised, though. He was just tired, and his heart ached with that shrill, piercing sickness that he'd only felt a handful of times in his life – the death of his mom, the death of his Grandpa Harry, the death of his father. Watching Jack leave for who knew how long – maybe forever. What was he mourning this time? He pondered this question vaguely as Russ and Desi traded strategies for transporting their prisoner's transport. The loss of control? Of his comfortable life where everything was in its place and he at least knew where he stood with the people surrounding him? Of himself?
His gut twisted again, violently, as he was jerked back to the present at the sight of the Merchant, dragged into the corridor by a couple of guards. A smile that could very easily have been taken for genuine had Mac not just spent hours in a dingy cell with the man, a tightly gripped arm attempting to wave – and eyes locked upon Desi.
"Oh, hello, Desiree," the Merchant chirped, disgustingly chipper considering the situation he was in. "Lovely to see you again."
Something angry and fierce shifted on its haunches deep within Mac's chest, and before he even realized his lips were moving, he took a step forward, fists clenched at his side. "Don't you talk to her."
Hadn't the Merchant taken enough? His peace of mind? The last few days of his life? The trust of his friends? His credibility as an agent? And now he was attempting to… what? Charm Desi? Gloat? Whatever the reason, the fury purring inside of him bared its fangs as the Merchant commented glibly, "She's lovely. I can see why you're so devoted."
The beast roared, and all the stress and hurt and betrayal and anger from the past few days cascaded down upon him in a wave too concentrated to escape. Mac prided himself on keeping his cool, being slow to anger. It was kind of a necessity for his job. He saved people, and to do that, he had to think and create and build. To do that, he needed a clear mind and steady hands.
Now, having barely slept for over 48 hours, emotionally drained and betrayed, he had neither, and he lunged at the Merchant, ripping him from the grip of the guards. He felt the terrorist's shirt bunch beneath his fists, heard the firm thump of the man's back hitting the wall. Mac didn't know what his hands were going to do. His body had gone rogue, disconnected from his drowning mind, and he just knew that this man couldn't be allowed to hurt anyone, anymore, and this was Desi –
"Where's the Codex bunker?" The words spilled from his mouth though he never planned on releasing them. He certainly knew that the Merchant would never tell, but it felt so good to demand answers, to shake the horrible little man in his hands. "Tell me, or I swear to God–"
As if from beyond a veil, he heard Russ's voice. "Calm down!" Those words meant nothing to him. The Merchant was smirking, and no one would believe Mac anymore, and his mom had wanted to blow up the world. Everything was crumbling around him, and Russ wanted him to calm down.
Suddenly, Mac's hands were ripped away from the Merchant's collar as other hands latched onto his own arms. He struggled wildly as he was pulled away. "Get off me!"
A slight hesitation, then a loosening of grip. Mac stayed still just long enough to lend them a false sense of security, then bolted forward, out of their grasp, barrelling into the Merchant once more.
As the hands returned, wrenching him roughly away from his quarry, Russ's voice, higher pitched than usual, punctured the struggle: "You are letting him get to you! Calm down!"
Control gone, the beast inside howling in the face of this injustice, Mac shouted, "I don't care! Let me go!"
"Put him over there!" More hands were on him now, dragging him, shoving – was that Desi restraining him now? – and he was pushed, fighting madly like a trapped animal, against the wall opposite the man who had felled the teetering tower of Mac's self-control.
Mac continued to fight in vain as he felt himself spun around to face the wall. The surface was cool and hard beneath his cheek and still he fought. He only stopped when he heard the click of handcuffs and felt the chill of metal clasp around his wrists.
He froze, the rage and fear and hurt in his soul compounding and imploding upon itself, forming a great, empty pit as he came to his senses.
He was forcibly turned around once more, and saw with perfect clarity the culmination of his fears and the reality of the betrayal. Russ had been the one to cuff him, like he was a criminal. Meanwhile, the real criminal smirked, held tight but not yet restrained like Mac was.
And it hurt.
What hurt worse, though, was the solidified expression of certainty in Russ's eyes – and in Desi's. His outburst had confirmed what they already believed deep within: Mac was no longer in control. He'd been manipulated by the enemy and was going to be a danger to their mission. Throw aside any logical, normal reasons he might be a bit on edge. Just assume that because he's playing the role that you assigned, and playing it well, that he is going to hop on the Codex bandwagon and kick start the apocalypse.
Desperate to make them see that it was still him, that he wasn't compromised, that he was still in control, still Mac, he forced himself to calm down. He felt his pulse slow as he breathed in through his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, the Merchant had been escorted away. Russ and Desi still looked at him like they didn't recognize him, Russ with a kind of arrogant superiority – the thrill of being right – and Desi with disappointment and resignation.
Somehow, Mac found his voice and reigned it in. The sound of it was calm, completely belying the emotional turmoil bubbling just beneath the surface. "I'm okay now." It was a lie, but he had to try.
Tears welling up in her eyes, Desi spat, "Well, I'm not!" Her voice trembled and Mac knew it was from anger. He also knew that no reassurance that he offered would be enough to show her that he was still on her side. That he wasn't losing it. That he wasn't going to join Codex.
She spun on her heel and stomped away.
Mac locked eyes with Russ, and if Mac hadn't known any better, he might have thought he spotted a deep sadness somewhere within their dark depths. But this was Russ Taylor, and so Mac reasoned that it was just his imagination. "Well, Taylor, we've got a Codex attack to prepare for, and the Merchant to transport," Mac managed. His own voice shook the slightest bit. "Want to take these cuffs off?" Want to tell me why you thought they were so necessary in the first place? Mac knew, of course – it was a power move. It was a heel ground into the back of a man already pushed face-first into the dirt.
For a long moment, Russ just watched Mac, who never could tell exactly what was going on behind those hard brown eyes. Russ scratched his chin, cleared his throat, and shook his head. "No, not until you've had a proper chance to cool down."
Another spike of anger, though this one so tinged with exhaustion that Mac barely registered it. "Don't we have more pressing matters at hand than your power play, Taylor?" To punctuate his jab, Mac yanked at the cuffs and the hands still holding him against the wall. "Let me go, and we can talk this over after we deal with Codex."
"You're going to be no help like you are," Russ decided. "You're compromised."
The confirmation of what he'd seen on his friends' faces felt like a dagger to the stomach, but Mac forced this feeling down and reasoned, "You know I'm not a danger. Take. The. Damn. Cuffs. Off."
Russ didn't hesitate this time. "No."
"Taylor, you–"
"Take him for a walk, don't let him wriggle out of the cuffs," Russ ordered the guards. "In fifteen minutes, bring him back here, and then we'll talk. But if I feel you're still too… distracted to be of any use, I will have you restrained and locked up until we've neutralized this threat. I will not let you be a liability to the lives of those in this building."
Another knife, this one in his back. The brutal betrayal of it all took Mac's breath away. Why was he not allowed to break without losing the trust of those around him? Hadn't he been through enough? And now the humiliation of being restrained, treated like a naughty child who had to behave if he wanted to go to the birthday party…
He felt sick, and the fight left him. A deep sadness overtook him, and as the guards began to gently guide him away, Mac called back, resigned but determined, "We both know that not letting me be involved is going to put more people at risk than my sitting out." Unspoken but keenly understood by both parties: You know you wouldn't be able to contain me for long no matter how hard you tried. Mac saw in Russ's guarded expression that he did indeed know this. And yet the stubborn son-of-a-bitch stood his ground.
"Fifteen minutes, Angus. Then we'll talk."
They parted ways, one by choice, the other by force.
This wasn't over by a long shot, Mac knew, but he also knew that Russ, strategic as he was, would not allow such a valuable asset to remain on the sidelines.
Mac would help stop Codex and get what they needed from the Merchant, and then…
Then, Mac thought, fists clenched behind his back and arms taut beneath the unwanted hands holding and pushing him forward, he was going to do whatever it took to beat Codex at its own game… even if…
Even if he had to dish out some betrayal of his own to do so.
For the greater good, right?
His soul felt sick, betrayal thick upon it – that of his friends who would not trust, and that of his own that slowly formed in his mind, the only way he could think to take down Codex.
The same place the crushing flow of betrayal stemmed from – the inside.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed! :) I'd love to know your thoughts!
~Emachinescat ^..^