Hey all! I'm back again! Someday we will make it to the end of this story; I promise. Anyway, if you're a returning reader, welcome back! If you're new, stop right now, because this story cannot be read without first reading the following:
MURD 201: Syllabus by Haven126
MURD 201: Exam 1 by me, and
MURD 201: Exam 2 also by me.
Other than that, good to have you here! I hope you enjoy this, and as always, I have to thank Haven126 for her absolutely invaluable help. On with the show!
"Alright, Kyser, what's the—whoa," Simmons broke off when he saw the state of the room his out-of-commission teammate had claimed as his office. Jack, Matty, and Riley followed him, and each stopped short when they saw it. The walls of the small office space had been covered in papers, each one with at least one bit of data highlighted. They seemed to be clustered in groups, and on the left hand wall, it started organized, but it was easy to see the decline that happened as time went on. The clusters became more haphazard as they went around the room, and the small table in the middle, surrounded on all sides by stacks of banker boxes, looked like a paper warzone. At the center of it all, was Kyser.
Mark Kyser looked up from the paper in front of him, where he was highlighting something in green, with another, yellow highlighter gripped in his teeth. He had dark circles settled under his eyes, and his hair stuck up at odd angles. He looked like he drank at least ten cups of coffee before they arrived, because despite his disheveled appearance, his eyes were wide and freakishly alert. The medic blinked, then took the highlighter out of his mouth.
"What took you so long?"
"Ah...Mark, how long have you been awake?" Jack asked tentatively. Mark frowned at him.
"Only, like..." he looked at his watch, "twenty hours? Twenty-two? I don't know; twenty-five, tops. Why?"
"I thought you said you just couldn't sleep," Simmons said slowly, looking around at the madness decorating the room.
"Yeah, last night; no big deal," Kyser gave him a look. "I can only be trapped alone in a house for so long before I start to lose my mind."
"No offense but it kinda looks like you might have lost your mind anyway," Riley remarked.
"Yes, but productively," Kyser rolled his eyes. "Do you people want to hear what I found or not?"
"Yes," Jack confirmed. "What did you find?"
In response, Kyser grabbed an evidence bag off the table and tossed it to him, maneuvering his wheelchair around the table as Jack and the others examined the item inside.
"This is the room key, right?" Jack asked after a moment. Kyser nodded.
"Yep," he confirmed. "Mac found it tucked under one of the bottom panels of one of Murdoc's boxes, like, a couple months ago. Thought the bastard might've dropped it by mistake. But, turns out, the card's old school, and can't be easily linked back to one hotel in particular. Mac didn't see the point in chasing down a place we knew Murdoc simply wasn't at anymore if it was going to be such a hassle, so he asked a tech to do what she could with it and that was that. What she did was trace it digitally as far as she could, and from there, requested," he waved a dramatic arm at the file boxes stacked around the table, "a metric fuckload of paper records. Which, of course, then sat ignored because everyone here has something to do every day. I, on the other hand, have absolutely nothing to do most days apart from PT, so, here we are."
"You went through all of that by yourself?" Simmons gawked.
"Have I mentioned how fucking bored I've been since landing in this chair?" Kyser raised an eyebrow, then pushed the joystick on his electric wheelchair until it brought him to the first cluster of papers, positioned to the visitors' left. "And not quite all of it; there were some records I didn't end up needing. The FBI provided a master list matching serial numbers to manufacturers. Once I found the manufacturer, I got to eliminate about half the paperwork—RIP, those trees. Shipping records got me a region—American west coast, big shocker there. Then sales records got me a state—California, again, big shocker."
As he'd been talking, he'd been moving around the room to each cluster of papers, before stopping at the one that took up the entire back wall. At that point, he turned his chair back to them and sighed. "Then it got a little trickier. I knew that this card was sold in California in 1982, but, I mean...Do you have any idea how many hotels and motels were in California in 1982?"
"Let me guess," Matty eyed the stacks of banker boxes surrounding the table like a fort and the paperwork wallpaper plastering the back wall. "A metric fuckload?"
"Someone get this woman a prize," Kyser chuckled. "So I looked into the coding of the card itself. Based on the complexity of the algorithm, I'm thinking the hotel has somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy rooms."
"Since when do you know coding?" Simmons blinked at him.
"First of all, under all the computer speak, this was more math than coding," Kyser rolled his eyes. "At least, in my head it was. Second, do I have to repeat how fucking bored I've been lately? I started teaching myself some basics a couple weeks ago. I also started learning three new languages, one of which is fictional."
"On your way to becoming a renaissance man, I see," Riley smirked. Kyser laughed.
"Don't worry, Riley; I'm not gunning for your job," the former medic teased. Then he cleared his throat.
"So, as I was saying—something like seventy rooms," he continued, moving to a smaller cluster on the wall. "That narrowed it down a lot. I mean, I still had over sixty possibles, but it was better than hundreds. Then I looked through property records since we know that wherever this place is, it was, at the very least, in business and still using the old cards as of three months ago."
He paused to yawn, blinking hard and shaking his head before moving to the next cluster. This one was the smallest yet, and was set up next to a map of southern California pinned to the wall, decorated with colorful pushpins.
"That knocked my list way down—only eight places had both of those requirements as of three months ago." Despite his apparent failing energy levels, Kyser sounded excited. "Now, this was likely the last place Murdoc stayed before that night with Drew and Elliot—otherwise, why not just toss the keycard? If he managed to orchestrate that whole thing, down to that very last detail, he had to have been watching Mac for, at the very least, a few days beforehand. So, his hotel probably wasn't too far from either A," he pointed to one of the pins sticking out of the map, a blue one, "Mac's house; B, the Phoenix," another blue pin, "or C, the lumber yard where Drew and Elliot took Mac." He pointed to the last blue pin.
"Makes sense," Matty nodded.
"Of course, Murdoc is also a crafty bitch, so I decided to set the radius at a two-and-a-half-hour drive from any of these points," Kyser continued, gesturing with his still-healing hand, which was free of its brace for the first time in a while. The scars from the bullet Murdoc had shot through it and the resulting surgery were still very red and pronounced, catching everyone's eyes. Their wheelchair-bound friend, though, didn't flinch.
"That got me down to two possibles," he said with a devious grin. "Of those two," he pushed his right index finger against the only green pin on the map, "I think this one is our best bet. It's the only one within three hours of all three points—and within an hour of both Mac's place and Phoenix."
"Sounds good to me." Jack couldn't help but sound excited. "What do you got on this place?"
Kyser wordlessly wheeled himself over to the table again, picking up the folder he'd been highlighting when they arrived and handing it over. "It's all in there."
"You are a god, Kyser," Simmons beamed, almost giddy to finally have a lead.
"Alright, Simmons and Jack, grab a team and go check it out," Matty ordered. "Riley, you're on support. Let's go."
The three of them quickly exited, leaving Kyser alone with Matty. Director Webber looked at her wounded employee and smiled just a bit.
"Great work, Kyser," she commended, causing the exhausted man to grin before she continued, "Now get some sleep; you look like shit."
Kyser laughed wholeheartedly. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am."
The pair of them left the small, windowless room behind and began making their way back upstairs, Kyser to wait for a ride to come and take him home, and Matty to join Riley in the War Room.
Jack, Simmons, and half of Cassidy Todd's tac team—due to the irregular hours everyone had been working over the past few days, teams were starting to get mixed up to try and allow everyone to get much-needed rest—arrived outside the Epiphany Hotel a little over an hour after they left Phoenix. It was an unassuming building, five stories high, and was clearly in the middle of a renovation; there were two dumpsters outside, as well as piles of construction equipment. According to Kyser's file, the hotel was bought by a new owner about two months ago, at which time renovations began.
"Alright, guys," Jack sighed, addressing his group of four other people as they climbed out of their two cars. "Heads on a swivel; we probably won't have any trouble, but this is Murdoc we're talking about."
The four men murmured in agreement, and then the five of them made their way into the building. The lobby was doing its best to be presentable despite the construction—one hall was blocked off entirely by sheets of plastic from the floor to the ceiling, taped all the way around the edges, with a sign stuck to the front warning of asbestos—with a small seating area by a muted TV that was showing the news. It was deserted, as expected, apart from a lone employee behind the front desk. Said employee appeared to be playing a game on his phone, earbuds in his ears and back half turned to them. He had a navy blue beanie over his shaggy bleach-blonde hair, a well-kept beard, a pronounced nose, and large-framed glasses. He didn't seem to notice their approach, so Jack rang the bell. Immediately, the employee jolted, standing up from the stool he was sitting on and whipping around to face them.
"Uh..." the employee—Alex, from his nametag—blinked at them in surprise for a moment before clearing his throat, taking out his earbuds, and continuing, "I'm sorry; due to renovations, we're not accepting reservations right now."
"We're not here for a reservation," Jack assured him, pulling out his phone and bringing up Murdoc's mugshot. "Do you remember if this guy stayed here? Woulda been a few months back."
"You guys cops or something?" Alex asked, lifting one eyebrow.
"Something like that," Jack shrugged. "C'mon, man; you remember him?"
"I'm really not supposed to say one way or the other," Alex frowned.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, and Simmons tapped him on the arm to silence him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. From behind his ID, he pulled out a California private investigator license and showed it to the young man behind the counter.
"I'll admit we're not cops," he allowed after a second, allowing for Alex to process what he was seeing. "Our firm was hired to track down a missing boy from up north. He went missing about a year ago, and his mother isn't too happy with the police's progress. The man we're looking for might have some information we can use."
Jack did his best to hide his surprise at how easily his friend had come up with the lie. It seemed to be having its desired effect; Alex pulled his lips in and pressed them together, looking around and shifting his feet.
"A kid, huh?" the hotel employee asked. Jack and Simmons nodded gravely. Alex hesitated, then finally let out his breath and nodded.
"Yeah, okay, fine; I remember the guy," he confirmed finally. "Don't get a lot of check-ins on my shift, so he stood out. Plus, who wears leather gloves in SoCal?"
He chuckled, and the group chuckled with him, though Jack felt his stomach turn over inside him. The idea that this kid had no clue whom they were discussing was oddly unsettling.
"When did he check in?" Jack asked. Beside him, Simmons had shifted to look through the guest book left open on the counter.
"Um..." Alex puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled, scowling in thought. "I'm not sure. I don't remember a name, so I can't just look him up in the system. Had to be a few months ago, though...ah...May I?"
He pointed to the guest book, and Simmons gestured for him to take it. Alex grabbed it from him and started flipping back through it, eventually stopping on a page and scanning the names. Finally, he tapped on one name and smirked triumphantly, turning to type it into his computer.
"Arthur Shawcross. Checked in on March 1st at about 1:30 AM, stayed until the 19th," he announced. "His check in was the only time I really saw him; for the most part, he was already in his room by the time I came on shift."
"Can we see what room he stayed in?" Simmons asked. Alex fixed them with a regretful look.
"Sorry, dudes," he shook his head. "He stayed in room 407. The fourth floor is being treated for mold problems. The whole building is a giant health and safety violation."
"If we got a mask, could we look around?" Simmons pressed. Alex gave him a weird look.
"Not sure what you'd find," the young man said slowly. "Everything that was in those rooms was taken out before they started opening up the walls."
"What did they do with the furniture?" Jack questioned.
"I'm...not sure..." Alex again looked confused. "You'd have to ask the owner."
Jack and his companions all visibly deflated. Alex must have picked up on their disappointment, because he added, "Y'know, the few times I did see him, he was holed up in the business center for hours."
The visitors perked up immediately.
"Do you know what he was doing?" Simmons asked eagerly.
"I checked in once or twice," Alex admitted. "He made a lot of phone calls, spent hours on his laptop...I figured he just, like, had overseas clients or something. But we save all of our security recordings for six months; I could make you guys a copy if you think it might help."
"Certainly couldn't hurt," Jack smiled, grateful for any sort of lead. Simmons' phone began ringing, and Alex disappeared into the back 'employees only' room as he stepped away to answer it.
"Hey, Matty, we're at the hotel now. Not much to go on, but we might have something on security—" Simmons broke off, frowning for a moment before his eyes grew wide with horror.
"Simmons?" Jack felt his stomach drop. "What's wrong? Is it Boze?"
Simmons shook his head, still listening, and Jack went cold.
"Mac?" He asked tentatively. Simmons glared at him and gestured for him to shut up. He listened for a few more seconds before speaking again.
"Yes, Ma'am; we're headed back now. We'll be there as soon as possible."
The tac team leader hung up and turned to the three men from the other tac team.
"Make sure to get that footage back to Riley," he ordered before turning to Jack. "We gotta go. I'll tell you in the car; let's go."
Jack swallowed his question, instead hustling after the man back to their car. In minutes, they were speeding back to the hospital.
Mac was still staring off into nothing a whole hour after Annie was shot right before his eyes. He'd zoned back in a couple times, picking up bits and pieces of conversations. Jada was doing her best to not only keep it together, but keep Mac from hearing anything too upsetting. For the most part, she was succeeding, but that didn't mean that Mac was totally in the dark.
None of tac was in the room with him and Boze anymore, which meant that they'd fully secured the whole building and they'd probably already located Murdoc's (now-empty) sniper nest. But since there were still two agents outside the door, it was also safe to assume that they didn't catch the bastard while they were at it.
"Mac," Bozer's voice finally broke through his fog, and Mac jumped just a bit before turning his attention to the man in the bed across from him. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," the blond agent shook his head dismissively, his eyes roaming the room. They both knew he was lying. Mac's gaze fell upon the needle feeding into the back of his hand, and before he could be called out, he pressed on. "Hey Boze, what do you remember about after I got you out of that freezer?"
"Not much," his best friend was still clearly on a healthy dose of morphine, his words slurring just slightly. "Why?"
"Do you remember asking me for a syringe?" he asked hesitantly. Bozer swallowed hard.
"No," he admitted at last. "But I remember the syringe."
"What was in it?"
"Mac it's not im—"
"Just..." Mac interrupted him before he could finish, "what was in it?"
Bozer paused, studying his roommate as well as he could with only one eye. Eventually, he let out a sigh. "When Murdoc was, ah...done with his little project," he began slowly, "while I was still strapped to that table waiting to go into the freezer, he picked up that syringe and showed it to me. He...he said that he'd let me forget what he did to me, if I wanted. If it was too much. He said it was my choice; he wouldn't make me. At the time, I...I thought he was just doing a little reverse psychology, so I said no. He said that was fine, but if I changed my mind, it would be in the cooler. I guess after the freezer I might have changed my mind."
Mac looked like he'd just taken another rib shot. The guilt in his expression was overwhelming. "God, Boze...I'm so sorry..."
"Don't be," Bozer was quick to shut down what was inevitably trying to build into a guilt-riddled rant. "I'm glad I remember. I don't want to forget."
"What?" Mac blinked at him in shock. "Why?"
"Dude...whatever happened to me, I punched Murdoc in the face until he passed out," Bozer smirked with mischief and pride in his eye. "I'll take whatever psychological scarring I have to if it means I get to remember that."
Mac scoffed before a smile slowly split his face. "You what?"
"Oh yeah. Pinned him between two bean bag chairs and lived the dream, man." He slowly—and a little drunkenly—mimed the action with a loose fist. "Made me a Murdoc beat-down sandwich." The smirk never left his face. "An' then I rubbed salt in it by refusing to give him make-up tips. Bet those bruises looked faboo on camera."
Mac's own smile grew a little wider, even as he shook his head in disbelief. Bozer waggled an eyebrow at him, and then they both burst into laughter.
Outside in the hallway, Matty, Jack, and Simmons were all finally arriving. They approached Jada first, who was standing outside Mac and Bozer's new room, still standing guard. To the untrained eye, she looked all business, but one look at his partner told Simmons that she was barely keeping it together.
"Jada," Matty was the first one to speak, commanding the tac agent's attention. "What happened?"
Jada paused, taking a breath and clearing her throat. The trio noticed that she was trembling—but with fear or rage, they couldn't say. From what little Simmons knew, probably both.
"Nurse came in to check on them," she began, surprising them with how steady her voice was. "I noticed her acting a little off. Just stiff and shifty...It was a gut feeling more than anything. Anyway, turns out Murdoc was talking in her ear, started using her as a puppet to give Mac his final grade...I tried to get her—him—to back off, but he...he called me by name, and then he called Tim and Cora by name."
"Jesus..." Simmons breathed.
"He knew their names, Matty," here, her voice wavered just a bit, and her eyes gleamed. "He knew their routine. He knows where we live." Matty looked at her sympathetically.
"I already had Ramirez pick them up and take them to the Phoenix," she assured the new mother, and Jada looked visibly relieved. "They arrived about fifteen minutes ago. I want you to join them as soon as we're done here."
Jada let out her breath, looking down and closing her eyes as she swallowed hard and nodded quickly. When she looked up, the clear distress was gone from her expression, and when she spoke, her voice was once again steady.
"Nurse's name was Annie Ford," she told them, getting back on track. "As soon as she was done giving Murdoc's message, he or someone he hired shot her in the head. There was nothing anyone could do for her; she was dead before she hit the floor. His perch was the office building across the way; the tenth floor is getting completely overhauled. We found Annie's car in that building's parking garage. Her husband, Logan Ford, and their five-year-old son Matthew were inside. Murdoc didn't leave any witnesses this time."
The three new arrivals felt their stomachs drop. It was exactly what they didn't want to hear. Just when they thought they'd managed to get through this exam without any casualties, Murdoc took out an entire young family. And the reminder that Murdoc didn't care how young or innocent you were, and that he could and would murder children—Jack didn't begrudge Jada the fear she so clearly was feeling.
Murdoc was doing everything he could to freak them out—and not just Mac, not just his team. He was trying to unsettle the entire Phoenix, and he was making it personal, one agent at a time. Trying to pull the carpet right out from under Mac's feet, take away his foundation and any feeling of security. And Jack could see, from the set of Matty's jaw, that she was very well aware of the psychological war Murdoc was waging on her people. All of her people.
"Are Mac and Boze okay?" Jack asked finally, breaking the silence. Jada nodded quickly.
"Neither was hurt during this," she assured him. "At least, not physically."
"Thank you, Jada," Matty said sincerely. "That's all we needed. Go be with your family."
"Call me if you need anything, okay?" Simmons chimed in, looking at his partner worriedly.
Jada just dipped her head in gratitude, clearly eager to go, before speed walking down the hall. Matty turned to Simmons.
"I think we can start rolling back our presence here, let our people get some rest," she told him. "Yes, Murdoc just killed three people, but he told Mac whatever he wanted him to hear, and if Mac's right, Riley's the one up next, so Mac and Boze will be fine."
"Plus it looked like Boze managed to get a few good licks in, himself," Jack added. "Murdoc might need to take a breather just as badly as we do."
"Would you be up for coordinating a skeleton crew?" Matty continued. Before Simmons could reply, she added, "One that you're not on, since you need rest more than just about anyone on tac?"
Simmons smiled wearily and chuckled, nodding. "I can do that. Thanks, Matty."
Matty gave him a smile, and then she and Jack went into Mac and Bozer's new room, surprised when they found the pair laughing.
"Hey guys," Jack interrupted them. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Bozer confirmed with a still-dreamy smile. "We're good, Jack."
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," the older man apologized sincerely, his eyes on his partner.
"It's okay," Mac promised, trying to get him to believe it, not missing the guilt in his eyes. "What'd Kyser find?"
"The hotel Murdoc stayed at before he kicked off this whole mess," Jack told him, moving closer to the blond man's bed, his eyes searching his face, trying to get a feel for where his head was at. "Couldn't get into the room, since it's being renovated and has mold problems, but the kid working the night shift is getting us surveillance video from his stay. Hopefully, that'll get us something."
"Good," Mac looked both skeptical and relieved—likely just grateful to have something even though he doubted it would amount to much.
"Now, listen, guys," Matty began with a sigh. "I know this is probably a bad time, but..."
"We get it, Matty," Mac nodded. "The longer you wait to debrief us, the less accurate we'll be."
The director just fixed him with a sad, pitying look. "I'm sorry, but, yes. You guys up for it?"
"Well, not that we really have too much choice in the matter," Bozer chuckled, actually sounding amused—probably thanks to the drugs. "I'm ready if you are, Mac."
Mac nodded in agreement, much to Jack's surprise—whatever drugs these doctors had them on were really doing the trick—and Matty forced a smile. "Okay. Well, we're going to start at the very beginning and work our way towards today, so Mac, if you want to leave for this part, I can have you moved to another room."
"Thanks, Matty," the blond agent sighed, "but I'm good. I'll stay."
"Okay," his boss agreed. "Then in that case, Boze," she turned to her other agent, "start from the top."
At roughly 2 AM the following morning, Mac and Bozer were both woken up by the unfortunate reality of their morphine doses wearing off. Mac opened his eyes first, looking around to find that their room's lights had been dimmed. Looking out the window into the hallway, he could see a lone tac agent standing guard outside their room. Jack was sprawled in a chair beside the blond man's bed, snoring ever so softly. It couldn't be a comfortable position, especially considering Jack's own broken ribs, and he would likely regret it when he woke up. Mac chuckled slightly at the sight, then sucked in a sharp breath, feeling pain shoot through his ribcage.
"Yours wore off, too, huh?" Bozer's quiet, gravelly voice piped up from across the room. Mac looked over to see Bozer's uncovered eye looking his way.
"Yeah," Mac admitted, and started absently hunting around in the blankets for the nurse call button. "I got it."
"Cool," Bozer murmured, apparently aware that Jack was in the room and sleeping. "Mine's on my bad side."
It was hard to tell which side that was, though Mac didn't say it out loud. Listening to Bozer's explanation of events—culminating in being dissected while alive and conscious—had seemed somehow distant, like a book or a movie, when the pain and anti-anxiety meds were still in his system, but both had dried up. Mac was now excruciatingly sober, and well aware of how much pain his best friend was in.
And how much pain he was going to be in while he healed. Eyes were one of the most sensitive places in the body, and he had no idea how much of Bozer's was left, if Murdoc had taken the whole thing or just ruined it. He wasn't even sure if the doctors had discussed it with Bozer at all; they certainly hadn't done so with Mac in the room. He still had one eye, so he wasn't blind, but driving, all the detail work he did with prosthetics—it was way too early to say how it would all be impacted, but his days of going into the field were over. And that scar, running the length of his abdomen...there wasn't enough plastic surgery in the world to get rid of it. Even if he healed up perfectly, he was never going to be the same.
Mac didn't even want to think about what PT was going to look like. Boze was going to be in constant pain for months. And Murdoc had the gall to call that a 'prize.' Call it 'going easy.'
Called it homework. Called it an exam. And even with a near perfect memory and all the intention in the world, shitty spot welding and some cook's love of crème brûlée had saved Bozer. Not him.
"Y'know," Bozer's gravelly voice continued, "I was jus' thinkin'...you said you picked the wrong door...left instead of right..."
"...Yeah," Mac responded, when it didn't seem like Boze was going to finish the thought. How many years had they done that now, read each other's minds, finished each other's sentences? Mac didn't realize how much he treasured that, how much he needed that, until now, when Murdoc might have taken it away.
"...wouldn't'a mattered," Bozer concluded. "Nothing would have changed. You'd have...what, gotten me out like two minutes faster?"
That was kinda true. "And saved myself a heart attack." It came out of his mouth without thinking, and Mac actually bit his lower lip when he realized how stupid it was. As if anything he went through was even close to what Bozer had described.
"Yeah," his best friend agreed soberly. "Mac, you know I don't blame you, right?"
Yet. "Think I'm doing that enough for both of us."
"Yeah, I know. I can hear you blamin' from all the way over here."
Mac mentally debated the finer points of 'blaming' as an action verb as he finally found the button and clicked it. "That sounds like something Jack would say."
Jack was still softly snoring, unsteadily enough to make him think that his partner was actually still asleep, and Mac couldn't help a selfish thought that he wanted him to stay that way. This conversation with Bozer, it should just be with Bozer. They were both his brothers—they were equal, but different, and Jack wouldn't understand.
The speakers at the head of his bed clicked, but thankfully the volume was low. "This is the nurse's station. Do you need something?"
Mac cleared his throat quietly. "Wilt and I are both awake and, uh, pretty uncomfortable—"
"Yes, sir, I'm sorry about that. Your physicians have ordered a new pain management regiment for you both. We've got a tech already headed to the pharmacy; they'll be with you in just a few minutes."
"Thank you," Mac told her, putting as much sincerity into his voice as possible, and after a moment, the speakers clicked off.
"I'd'a just said, owwwwwww," Bozer joked, and Mac heard fabric shift, just a little. "This is gonna get old fast."
"I hear ya, buddy." It wasn't his first go-round with broken ribs, but he was becoming more and more aware that his lung was pretty upset with him at the moment. "Anything else I can do?"
Bozer thought about it for a second, while another muffled snore floated in the air. "Nah. Eye itches a little, but I know better than to try and rub it."
Phantom pain. Same as amputees reported. Mac closed his own, not sure how to even broach that topic. There was no Hallmark card for 'Sorry my arch nemesis stabbed you in the eye.'
"Plastic surgeon would kick my ass," Bozer continued, and Mac had to wonder if he was quite as sober as Mac felt. "I think you were asleep. Dude's this huge, tatted up body builder."
"Man, I am so sorry..." He really didn't know what else to say. But then his eyebrows furrowed. "They...already fit you with a prosthetic?" That didn't make any sense. There'd be swelling while the socket was healing, unless treatment now included something temporary, to provide positive pressure for the muscles and structures around where the eyeball had been...?
Wilt, too, didn't seem to know what to say. "Uh...yeah. I went for the skull and crossbones on the glass eye. Pirate theme, y'know?"
Mac stared at the ceiling for another second, then craned his head up and looked across the room to see that his roommate was also watching him with his uncovered eye, a patronizing smirk on his face. "A black pirate?" he prompted. "In Los Angeles? Really, Mac?"
He continued staring at Bozer, totally confused, and his roomie exhaled what would have been a laugh if it wouldn't have hurt so much, and dropped his own head back to his pillow—slowly. "The stitches, numb nuts. I'm not supposed to itch it 'cause of the stitches. Doc said 'long as I don't mess with 'em it probably won't even scar."
Mac was unsure what to do with this piece of information; despite his fear of the answer, his curiosity won out. "So...your eye...?"
"Fine. Murdoc didn't touch it." Finally, some of the amusement in his voice drained away, fading back into a tired rumble. "Sure as hell thought he did, though, at the time. Guess that's what he meant when he said he 'went easy' on me," he added bitterly.
Mac let out a breath. He couldn't help but be a little relieved; yes, Bozer's life for the foreseeable future was basically going to be on hold, but 'normal' was still within reach.
It was more than he could say about Kyser at the moment. More than he could say about Annie. Hell, more than he could say about Riley, Jack, or himself at that point.
Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened quietly, and the promised nurse arrived, drugs in hand. He flicked on the lights, needing to be able to see what he was doing, and Jack jolted in the chair, gasping and then groaning as he reluctantly straightened up, one hand on his ribs. As the nurse stepped farther into the room, Jack rubbed his face with both hands, glanced groggily at his watch with his eyes only barely open, then got to his feet, heading for the door as he grumbled something about chocolate pudding. Mac looked over at his roommate, biting back a smirk, and saw Boze was snickering to himself. Once the older agent was gone, they both laughed in spite of themselves, quickly cutting it off and grimacing in pain, but neither regretted it.
"Sorry to keep you guys waiting," the nurse apologized once the door was closed again, offering a somewhat-forced smile. Mac got the feeling that the nurses had to draw straws to see who would have to come into their room. After all, it didn't exactly end well for the last nurse.
The nurse, a man in his late twenties with short dark hair and blue scrubs, pulled up Bozer's chart on his tablet first, double checking the dose that was approved by their doctor, then went over to the wounded agent's IV and injected the proper dose. Once that was done, he addressed his patient. "I'm gonna let that take effect real quick and take care of your friend, but after that, it's time to change your bandages, okay?"
"M'kay," Bozer nodded, eagerly awaiting the painkiller's effects, pain starting to line his expression no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Mac forced his eyes away, letting his head fall back against his pillow as the nurse came towards him, pulling up his chart on the tablet. When he was close enough, the blond agent caught sight of his ID badge clipped to his shirt pocket, identifying him as Darius Evans. The man took a moment to update Mac's chart before drugging him back up.
"How's that lung feeling?" He asked the blond agent.
"Like it had a hole in it," Mac quipped with a painful chuckle. "But better, now. Only hurts when I breathe."
"Oh, is that all?" The nurse laughed with him. "Scale of one to ten, how bad does that hurt?"
Mac thought about it, taking a few experimental breaths and gritting his teeth. "Three."
"Mmm," it didn't sound like the nurse quite believed him, but he didn't say anything, making a note on the chart. "Don't worry; painkiller'll take care of that and then some."
"Thanks," Mac said sincerely.
"Don't mention it," Darius smiled at him. The routine repeated itself, with Darius double checking the recommended dose before finally administering it. By then, Bozer's dose was starting to take effect.
"Alright," the nurse sighed, moving back to Bozer's side of the room. "Feeling better? No more pain?"
"I feel great," Bozer grinned, his face relaxed once more. Darius chuckled softly, then went and retrieved some fresh bandages from the nearby cabinet, and Mac couldn't help but watch closely as he carefully, gently peeled the gauze back from Bozer's eye. The skin around the socket was a bit swollen, still, and Mac could see the dark stitches sticking up. His roommate had the eye shut while the tape was removed, but as Darius threw the gauze away, he opened it, and Mac felt weak with relief.
The eye was there, fully intact, just like Bozer said. The newer of the two agents saw him looking and smiled.
"Hey Mac," he grinned, reaching up and covering his good eye, "I can see you."
Mac laughed wholeheartedly, the pain of the action significantly dulled by that point. "That's great, Boze. I'm glad to hear it."
Bozer just kept smiling, even as Darius cleaned and redressed the wounded eye. When he was done, the nurse leaned a little closer to Bozer and spoke quietly so that Mac couldn't hear him, and only then did his patient's smile fade. Bozer glanced over at his roommate and frowned, as though contemplating something, then flicked his eye back to Darius and nodded. The nurse dipped his head in understanding, then straightened and grabbed hold of the curtain that had been pulled partially shut to shield Boze from the window, giving it another tug so that the agent was now hidden from Mac as well. For a moment, Mac was confused and concerned, but after watching the faint shadow that his roommate cast on the curtain for a few seconds, he understood.
Darius helped Bozer sit up slightly and pulled his hospital gown forward, exposing his torso, then went about changing the gauze covering the incision in his abdomen. Bozer didn't want his best friend to see the damage Murdoc had caused, didn't want him to see how far he had to go before he could get healed up. Didn't want him to see the permanent mark the assassin had left on him, which would serve as a constant reminder of what happened, what was done to him.
He was trying to spare his friend that pain, that guilt. But Mac didn't have to see it to know what it probably looked like, to guess how many stitches it had taken to close him back up. After all, he'd watched it happen.
Darius was quick, gentle, and efficient; in no time at all, he was pulling the curtain back again, revealing Bozer exactly as Mac had last seen him, gown replaced over his body. This time, his friend wouldn't quite meet his eyes.
Their nurse quickly went back over to Mac, asking him as well if he'd like the curtain closed before he changed the bandage covering the incision where the doctors had gone in to repair his ribs and lung. Mac declined; even between Murdoc and that trafficking ring, his wounds were nothing compared to Bozer's. Darius got him cleaned up and back in his hospital gown quickly, and then he flashed them a smile, looking just a bit relieved.
"Well, if there's nothing else..." he looked between the two of them expectantly but neither agent said a word. "Hit the call button if you need anything at all."
With this, he left the room, hitting the lights again and closing the door behind him. Now alone again in the darkened room, the silence stretched between them.
"I'm serious, Mac," Bozer said finally. "What I said before...I don't blame you. How could I? Without you, I would have died in there."
"Without me, you never would have been there to begin with," Mac argued quietly, not looking at him.
"Well there are no circumstances in the world that would make me regret having you in my life, man, so let's not go there," his best friend gave him a look. "You got me out of there. You saved my life. And I was right before; I knew you'd get me home, and you did."
"That's the thing, Boze," Mac shook his head. "I didn't."
"...I don't follow," Bozer admitted after a moment.
"Boze..." Mac sighed, pain heavy in the word. "Look at you, man. I—I couldn't get to you in time. I didn't even know he'd taken you until hours later. I couldn't do anything to stop what he did to you. And when I finally got to you, I couldn't even recognize your silhouette on that floor. Once I picked wrong, I wouldn't have been able to circumvent Murdoc's deadbolt before you died. If that wall had been properly installed, you would be dead right now. And if Murdoc had been smart enough to toss the kitchen and get rid of that torch...I don't know that I would have been able to come up with a way to get you out of there in time."
"Yeah, and I might have been hit by a car on the way to work last week if I left the house on time," Bozer scoffed. "Yes, Mac, this was a close one, but dwelling on what might have happened doesn't do anyone any good. Besides, even if you couldn't have gotten through the wall I'm sure you would have ended up making a saw out of toothpicks and coming in through the ceiling or something. And you said it yourself, your choice of door made sense based on what information you had. You won, Mac. That bastard threw every bullshit trick in the book at you and you still won. That's why he's so pissed off right now; he thought he beat you."
"And he's gonna take that anger out on Riley," Mac muttered, staring off at the window into the hallway.
"Not if we catch him first," Bozer shot back, frowning at him. "I don't like the way you're talking, Mac; it's not you. Stop acting so beaten, man, because he didn't beat you. You beat him. And what happened with the nurse...that wasn't your fault. That was a sociopath throwing a temper tantrum because he lost again. You couldn't have prevented it."
"Boze, you don't get it, I..." Mac broke off, shaking his head and looking out into the hallway again as he fiddled with the hospital bracelet around his wrist. Bozer stayed quiet, letting him gather himself. It was a few moments before the blond man spoke again. "What that psycho planned for you, Boze, what he put you through...that was when he was more or less happy with me. Now he is beyond pissed off, and it's Riley's turn. You say we'll catch him before he can get to her, and maybe we will, but what if we don't? I barely saved you last night, man. Barely. If not for an insane amount of luck, you might be dead right now. So if that was when he was happy, what the fuck am I gonna do now that he's pissed? Boze, if I lose Riley..." He hesitated, his voice catching on their friend's name, and he swallowed hard before he continued. "If I lose her, Jack will never be able to forgive me. I'll lose them both."
"Mac," Bozer looked at him pityingly, his eyebrows bunching in concern. Mac wouldn't let him finish.
"He'll try," Mac nodded, almost to himself, as he spoke. "He'll try to tell himself it wasn't my fault, that I did everything I could. But he'll never be able to look at me the same way. Never. I'm just...I'm scared, Boze. Yours was way harder for me than Matty's; if he makes Riley's even harder, which he will...I don't know if I can beat him."
"You will," Bozer's voice had absolutely no doubt in it. It was the same confidence Mac had heard when they'd been on the plane to Seattle—what felt like a lifetime ago—and Bozer told him that if Murdoc ever grabbed him, Mac would have him home before lunch.
He was wrong then. What was stopping him from being wrong now?
"Mac if you can just get out of your weird headspace you've got going on over there, Murdoc literally can't beat you," his roommate continued. "No one's mind works like yours. He can't back you into a corner because you'd just find a way to use the corner to your advantage, one that Murdoc couldn't have seen coming."
Mac was about to reply, but at that moment, Jack returned, pudding cup in hand, and shuffled back to his chair. The room settled back into silence, and it didn't take long for Bozer, once again medicated, to fall back asleep. Mac's troubled mind took a little more convincing.
Before he could even think about following Bozer's lead, Jack leaned over and smacked him on the arm with his pudding spoon. "Knock it off already."
Mac opened his eyes and gave his partner a look, but apparently it wasn't up to snuff, because Jack frowned at him. "You and I both know you ain't gonna find the answers up in that ginormous head of yours, so just stop tryin'."
Which wasn't really fair, because he wasn't looking for answers so much as—
Mac took the closest thing to a cleansing breath his still-hurting lung would let him, and Jack looked about thirty-two percent mollified. "You gotta see it by now, Mac. There's no right or wrong here. No rules, not consistent ones anyway. This ain't some chemistry test you're failing. It's the Captain Coa-coa Puffs Show, and we're all just along for the ride. I can damn well see you kickin' yourself here, man, and it's not gonna do a one of us any good, so just give it a rest already."
Mac managed a weak smile. "Trying, if people would stop hitting me with flatware..."
Jack looked at his weapon of choice, which was legitimately a metal spoon and not a plastic one, and then frowned harder. "Not gonna lie, when this is all said and done, your kitchen might creep me out for a week or two. And I really didn't get it, not 'til today."
Mac blinked at him, wondering if the Dilaudid was messing with him more than he thought, and Jack settled back in his recliner, plopping the spoon back into his half-eaten pudding cup and depositing both on Mac's tray table. "The night Drew and Elliot got the drop on us...I didn't really get it. What that was like for you, gettin' hit with that drug." He scowled—his protective scowl, not an angry one, and not directed at Mac. "God, man, listenin' to you takin' hits not ten feet away from me and the only thing I could do was blink about it...I told myself I was never gonna admit this to you, but we said no lies, so I gotta tell ya, man...that was probably the most terrified I've been in a long time. Not a feelin' I got any desire to repeat, not ever."
As unsettling as Mac had found the muscle paralytic, all those months ago, he knew it had to be worse for Jack. Physically protecting them was his primary job, it had been his focus for his entire military career, long before they'd met. Just as Murdoc had meant to make Mac feel totally helpless, during his initial 'lesson'—
He'd just done the same to Jack. He'd rendered Jack totally ineffective, and he'd done it in a way that Mac couldn't fix. Just like Bozer. He'd been slit open and stuffed in a freezer before Mac and Jack had ever set foot in that old TV studio. There was nothing he could do during that 'test' to prevent what had happened to his best friend. The only thing he could actually do, once he arrived, was exactly what he'd done.
Let Jack take a hit for him. Let Boze shiver in that freezer while he fumbled through a pre-selected set of increasingly macabre 'tests' that weren't any measure of his skill or intelligence, but the arbitrary whims of a sadist.
Jack was right. He wasn't going to find a reason or a solution, not with the information he had. Analyzing and re-analyzing the decisions he'd made was not going to uncover a fatal flaw. He'd done the best he could with what he had, and playing into Murdoc's construct of 'right' and 'wrong' decisions wasn't going to net him a way to beat the sociopath. Murdoc might be adhering to rules of his own, but they certainly weren't printed on the box.
"You fully recovered? From the paralytic?"
Jack gave him a long look. "Bud, it's gonna be a while before any of us can claim that. And that ain't your fault. But I am definitely better than I was, and I promise you, man, we're gonna catch that SOB. We've got a lead, and even if this one don't pan out, we'll catch another. You just rest up, and don't climb too far into that head of yours. Don't do his job for him."
Mac nodded and closed his eyes, resettling in his angled bed, and carefully didn't remind Jack that this was Step Four, and his plan was definitely starting to crack. They were quiet for a moment, and then Mac let out a long breath.
"Hey Jack?"
"Mmm?"
"No more lies, right?"
"No more lies. You ready to talk about what's really eatin' you?"
Mac opened his eyes and looked over at him in surprise, and Jack raised an eyebrow. "I have eyes, y'know."
The blond agent scoffed, chuckling just slightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. For a moment, he considered bringing up what he'd talked with Bozer about—his fears about Riley's exam and what failing it would mean—but he wasn't ready to hear whether Jack would indeed blame him or not. Besides, he wasn't sure if even Jack could really answer that question. So instead, he found himself saying something he didn't think he'd ever say out loud.
"I gave up, you know."
Jack leaned back in his chair and looked at him for a few seconds before speaking.
"What do you mean?"
"When I ran into that freezer, and I turned that body over, and it wasn't Boze..." Mac trailed off, shaking his head and trying to blink away the memory. "I gave up, Jack. I thought it was over. If I didn't attack that wall afterwards...I might have let Boze die."
"Now, hang on, Mac," Jack interjected, ready to argue, but Mac cut him off.
"I was ready to say it was over," he stated, meeting his partner's eyes. "I wasn't even going to try something else if I didn't happen upon a solution when I did."
"You don't know that," Jack argued, frowning at him. "In the moment it felt hopeless, sure, but I know you, man. After that moment was over, you would have gotten mad and you would have, I dunno, made a drill out of a whisk or something. You would have figured out a way into that damn freezer come hell or high water; I'd bet my life on that. This time, I know you weren't yourself after everything that happened in San Diego. You barely had any time to recover. You weren't firing on all cylinders, so yes, you lost hope for, what? Ten seconds, max? You didn't give up on Boze, Mac. You let yourself have one moment of grief. After all that sonuvabitch has put you through, I think you earned that."
"Maybe so, but Jack, I thought what he wanted me to think," Mac broke in somewhat desperately. "He got me to come to the conclusion he wanted me to. What if he does it again next time? What if..." he broke off, his blue eyes shining as he looked away, clearing his throat and swallowing hard before he collected himself. "What if I let one of you die just because I let him make me think I didn't have a choice?"
"That's not gonna happen," Jack shook his head, reaching out and grabbing his pudding cup back without another thought.
"How do you know that?"
"How long have I known you? Not even death could turn that big brain of yours off, Mac. Not for long. And if death can't, Murdoc sure can't. Maybe he gets you to think it's over, but that'll pass real quick, because first of all, you know his game, now, and second of all, you'll get all upset and down and all that and then you'll look up and see a packet of fun size M&Ms and suddenly I'll turn back around and you'll have somehow blasted a hole in the wall because that's just what you do."
Mac laughed at this, the sound actually genuine for the first time in a long time. Jack grinned at him, delighted with the sound, before he continued.
"I get that this bastard has made it personal, but you are no more fucked now than you have been any of the other times we've been in the thick of it. If you can make it out of all of those situations, you can make it out of this."
Mac let out a slow breath, nodding slowly. He wasn't sure if he quite believed his partner, but it made him feel better to hear it, regardless. "Thanks, Jack."
"Anytime," the former Delta fixed him with another grin. Then he settled back in his chair and turned his attention back to the pudding cup in his hand. "Get some rest, Mac. I'll wake you if anything interesting happens."
Mac chuckled, the painkiller starting to pull his eyelids shut. "Goodnight."
"Yeah," Jack scraped the sides of the pudding cup, the sound lulling his partner back towards unconsciousness, "goodnight."
Hey everyone! I'm back! Happy New Year! Just a quick one for you guys; I only anticipate 2 parts (please, nobody hold me to that) and I have a lot of the next part done so-nope not gonna put a time expectation on it I have learned my lesson there!
Anyway, I hope you guys have a great New Year's Eve, and I hope you enjoyed this installment of the series! Don't forget to drop a review, and I'll get the quiz up ASAP.