A/N: Sorry about the delay! My internet connection got messed up.... Anyway, I'll try not to let it happen again! Thanks for the reviews; keep 'em coming!!

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Steve waited several seconds before he knocked again. He saw MacGyver go into his apartment just a few minutes ago, but now it was taking him forever to come back to the door. Steve sighed impatiently; he knew Mac was slow on his feet, but this was ridiculous! With a grin fading from his face, Steve knocked loudly one more time. Now he was starting to worry. He peeked through the window, the curtains revealing no movement in the apartment. Steve checked the pockets of the leather jacket MacGyver had left in his car, the reason he was knocking on the door, and found the extra set of keys he knew Mac had on him that day. Steve had relinquished his house-sitting duties that morning when Mac returned from vacation, giving back his keys. He opened the door and looked around, grateful at first to see nothing wrong. As he walked around the room he heard a slight intake of breath. He turned to see MacGyver still face-down in the couch cushions and just coming to.

"Mac?" Steve inquired, kneeling down next to him.

MacGyver was still trying to clear the cobwebs from his head and lift himself from the floor. "Grmph!" he muttered through the couch cushions after he momentarily forgot his shoulder injury.

Steve helped MacGyver sit up, taking care not to upset his arm or his neck. "Sit still right here. I'll get you some ice for that head." The sounds of drawers and cabinets opening and closing seemed like explosions going off in Mac's head. He was relieved when Steve finally emerged with a rag holding some ice. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he said, carefully applying the ice to the base of his neck. "I came in, checked my messages, and the next thing I know you're walking around in my living room. Did you see anything?"

"No, I didn't," Steve replied glumly as he carefully searched the room, not touching anything to preserve any possible fingerprints. "No one came in through the front. I was out there the whole time. By the way, you left your jacket in my car."

"Yeah, I'm real sorry about that." MacGyver gingerly felt around his injury. "Steve, can you help me get this sling off? I can't get anything done with it on."

Steve let out a low whistle as he obliged. "Looks like you got a pretty good hit! It sent the clasp from this sling pretty deep into your skin."

"Yeah, I kind of got that." MacGyver winced as he reapplied the now dripping rag; the banging around in the kitchen resumed as Steve looked for a bandage. "You know, one injury a day used to be enough for me. I think I am learning too much from you. I seem to have upped my quota!"

"Look at it this way: The metal clasp from the sling probably stopped the stick from doing more damage." Steve held up a hockey stick for Mac's observation, a small crack in the handle the only evidence of its ill-intended use. Steve didn't want to admit it, but for the second time that day he found himself feeling lucky that he wasn't MacGyver. He pushed the thought (and the sarcastic remark, "Well, I'm not the one who's been to the hospital today!") to the back of his head with a slight grin, tossing the antibacterial he found in MacGyver's general direction as he went off to the bathroom in search of a very large Band-Aid. He applied it to MacGyver's injury before replacing the sling and leaving him to his much-needed nap.

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A knocking on the door interrupted MacGyver's nap. He sat up with a groan. "I'm coming," he spat out with some venom, muttering "Can't a person get any sleep around here?" as he slowly pushed himself up off the couch and trudged over to the door. "Pete, what are you doing here?"

"MacGyver? You're a mess! When you never came back with that package I kind of wondered where you went. What happened?" Peter Thornton stared in surprise at the rumpled appearance of his friend. He noticed the sling that supported his right arm, then saw the bandage on the back of his neck as Mac turned to let him in.

"Nothing. I'm fine." The answer came in a bit of an irritated tone.

"Well, I figured I'd come over here and give you some warning. Someone down at the Foundation found a guard tied up in a closet, no uniform, no name badge. He said that someone came and attacked him from behind and the next thing he knew he was in the closet, a rag stuffed in his mouth. I went over the security videos; you'll never guess who was on them."

MacGyver flopped down on the couch, his left hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Pete, I really don't feel like playing Twenty Questions. Who was on the tapes?"

"You're not going to like this." Pete paused to make sure he had Mac's attention. "It was Murdoc."

"Murdoc. That explains it!" Mac stood up - very, very slowly - to pace the room, explaining as he went. "After I left the hospital, Steve gave me a ride home." MacGyver ignored the raised eyebrows that accompanied the word "hospital". "Someone was in here waiting for me and knocked me on the back of the head. Steve came back up and scared whoever it was away. Neither one of us saw anyone come in or go out."

"That could be Murdoc, but if it was what are the chances you'd be dead now?" Both men considered the depressing odds momentarily before they both shook their heads, subconsciously clearing away the thought. "By the way, what happened to your arm? Did Murdoc do that, too?"

"No, this was a result of my little field trip to the post office." Mac suddenly pulled a sheepish, apologetic face. "It looks like you're going to need to order a new shirt. Sorry, Pete." Pete opened his mouth, a million questions ready to spill out, but MacGyver's raised hand pre-empted him. "Back to the matter at hand: Murdoc."

"Doesn't this seem a little sloppy for Murdoc? He usually has these elaborate plans that nearly work."

"Well, the last time we saw him, he kinda started getting sloppy. He's probably getting desperate by now, or as close to desperate as he comes. He's tried to get me seven times and hasn't succeeded yet - eight, if this one was him. And he probably would've taken me, too, if Steve didn't come to the door when he did."

"Now who is Steve? The name sounds familiar..."

"Steve Sloan. Remember, the cop? Mark's son?"

"Oh, that's right. But Murdoc has never let an innocent bystander get in the way; that's how he originally came after you, because you were with me. Anyhow, there's always some sort of psychological game to show how he's superior when he attacks you. Where's the superiority in this? This just seems like a wild attack, a shot in the dark."

"You could go a few ways with this one, Pete." MacGyver ticked off the items on his fingers as he spoke. "Superior intellect: he was ready to attack while I was off guard. Superior strength: he could've taken me if Steve hadn't come up when he did. And this could be a mind game; think about it, when we think about Murdoc we think of some elaborate scheme to get to me. We never think of him just coming out and clobbering me on the back of the head. That's too obvious for Murdoc, too simple, but subtle enough given his track record that we'd never suspect it. He got in here and left no trace, no evidence of a break-in or an intruder. Steve checked. Plus he probably thought we'd figure he was dead after we saw him die."

"Mac, how many times have we seen that guy 'die'? Six, seven times?"

"Exactly. And you all thought I was paranoid the last time because I refused to believe that he was really dead. And you know I still don't believe he's dead. This could've been him."

"And if it is, it won't be the last time he tries."

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Steve sat behind his desk, staring at the uncooperative computer screen. He tried running his search again, not wanting to believe what he saw in front of him, but the same results came up again. After speaking with Pete this morning (which MacGyver would hopefully never find out), Steve decided to try to find out what was going on with this Murdoc guy. What he found was not pleasant; anything he turned up pointed toward a serious mental illness and an obsession with MacGyver. The only record the LAPD had of him was seven different violent deaths, none of which ever turned up a body. There were even witnesses to some of these events, but still he came back. Steve just shook his head; this guy was like a cat! He seemed to be running low on lives, but not on tricks. Steve clicked "print" and handed the stack of papers over to Cheryl a few minutes later. "Take a look at this." He watched as her look changed from one of curiosity to total disbelief.

"And we thought we get nowhere. At least we usually know when we're done with a particular suspect; death usually seals that up for us. But this guy just keeps coming back!" Cheryl shuddered involuntarily at the thought of some of the scum they'd put away coming back for revenge. "So, what's your interest in him?"

"You remember MacGyver?" He waited for a nod before he continued. Cheryl smiled; she remembered well the handsome guy from the Phoenix Foundation who helped them more than once on cases. "Well, he had a little run-in at his apartment today and he and his boss from Phoenix thought it looked suspiciously like something Murdoc would try. So I looked the guy up. Compare these files to the stuff that Pete gave me that never made any law enforcement data base and you've got one serious psychopath with a deadly obsession with MacGyver."

"So what? Are you saying this guy's still out there and he's after Mac again?" Cheryl was a bit skeptical. "That seems a little far-fetched, don't you think?"

"Cheryl, look at these files. This one is a time when a deceased Murdoc tried to kill MacGyver. This one's a time when he tried posthumously to kill MacGyver. So is this one and this one and this one. These were the only times I saw someone almost outwit the man. He's sick, and he seems to have a knack for getting Mac in trouble."

Cheryl had been reading one of the files, soon losing interest in what Steve was saying. "So you think this guy is really after Mac again?" Steve nodded grimly. "Well," she said with a sigh, "what do you suggest we do about it?"

"I don't know yet, but I have a bad feeling about this."

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MacGyver opened his eyes slowly. What is that pounding? Slowly the realization dawned on him that the sound was someone knocking on the door. He looked at his watch and a new realization hit him: the anesthetic from earlier had worn off on his shoulder. He lowered his arm slowly. Three in the morning! Wondering who could be knocking at that time of night, he slowly forced his body off the couch. "Steve! What-?"

MacGyver was cut short by the warning finger Steve placed over his own lips. Steve jerked his head in the direction of the side entrance to the apartment, a more gentle motion urging Mac to follow Steve toward the street. He was surprised to see Steve's car, his partner Cheryl waiting in it. Steve motioned MacGyver into the back seat, closed the door, then returned to the apartment, gun in hand and two uniformed officers in tow.

"What the heck is going on?" he finally managed to ask.

"Pete stopped by the station to see me today. He's had a couple units out here since he left earlier." MacGyver's jaw dropped, his eyes rolling. "It's a good thing he did," Cheryl said with exasperation, her own eyes rolling then returning to the apartment window. "About five minutes ago we saw someone disappear into your apartment through that door, and any minute now Steve or one of the officers should come out with whoever it was in cuffs."

As Cheryl finished her explanation, Steve appeared in the doorway, a hard set to his jaw. He motioned for MacGyver to re-enter the apartment, wincing slightly as he moved his arm. "I think you'd better see this," Steve called out as MacGyver approached. Mac followed Steve through the apartment until he reached the bedroom. There were feathers all over the place, the pillowcases strewn around the floor along with some shreds of blankets.

MacGyver's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "What happened?" He continued through the bedroom, noting the now-opened window and, a bit belatedly, the small trail of blood working its way down Steve's arm.

"By the time we got in here, the bed already looked like this and he was working on the bathroom." As Steve spoke he opened the bathroom door. "I thought I had cornered him in here, but he was already half way out the window when I got here, and he had this all set up for you."

Both men looked toward the bathroom mirror. "Be ready, MacGyver. Our games have just begun." MacGyver moved in to take a closer look at the medicine cabinet. As he looked one of the uniformed officers approached to dust for prints. "Hold on a second," he said, waving him away. "Steve, look at this." Steve changed places with the officer to look over Mac's shoulder. "Do you see what I see?"

"That depends; do you see a trigger wire?"