Mac looked up from the couch when he heard a knock on his door. He and Jack were hanging out, getting ready to watch the game, in the apartment Matty had arranged for him. Well, one of a few. There were actually about eight safehouses in the pool, and she moved them around them at random, sometimes making them bunk together, sometimes setting them up alone. Riley, though, was never alone. In the three months that had passed since Murdoc's last attack, she hadn't gone anywhere without an escort or two. It didn't take a mind reader to see she was going a little stir crazy by then, but Matty wasn't taking any chances with her.
Jack got up from the couch and went to open the door, finding Ramirez grinning and holding up the bag of takeout they ordered.
"Awesome," Jack mimicked the other man's grin, snatching the bag from his hand. "C'mon in."
Ramirez made his way inside, closing the door behind him.
"So how is everyone?" Mac asked as Ramirez plopped down on the other end of the couch and Jack started distributing the Chinese food.
"Well, I dropped Kyser back at my place and Riley off at Phoenix," the tac agent reported with a sigh. "She said she had a few things she wanted to work on there, something about the footage from that hotel. Not sure what she's gonna find; she's analyzed every goddamn frame of that thing."
"Yeah, well, she's next on that psycho's hit list," Jack grumbled, sitting down in the recliner off to the side. "She's extra motivated to find something."
"Speaking of Kyser, how's he doing?" Mac asked curiously, opening a pair of chopsticks and grabbing for the mongolian beef, doing his best not to dwell on Jack's comment. If he was honest, he'd much rather be at Phoenix with Riley, but Matty, Jack...pretty much everyone had basically teamed up to force him to take a step back from all of this. He saw their point, of course; he was stressed beyond belief, and staring at that mountain of evidence that had yet to yield any significant clues was really not helping. Still, it didn't exactly feel good to be forced to take an entire weekend away from Phoenix and the Murdoc evidence, especially when Riley was starting to feel the heat herself.
"He's good," Ramirez nodded. "Getting better all the time. I hear he's gonna be working on standing up in PT, soon."
"Damn," Jack whistled, looking impressed. "Good for him. Knew that bastard couldn't keep him down for long."
Ramirez chuckled, grabbing the dumplings and a set of chopsticks. "So did I. But Doc has been going just a little stir crazy lately. I think he expected to be further along by now."
"Yeah, can't feel good to be stuck in a chair when the guy who put you there is on the loose," Mac acknowledged.
"At least he's got his shooting hand back," Ramirez shrugged. "Hopefully that'll help him feel a little safer."
The other two men murmured in agreement, then settled in to watch the 49ers take on the Seahawks.
About half way through the second quarter, Mac's phone started to vibrate on the coffee table. The other members of his viewing party were starting to get loud, so the blond agent grabbed the phone and headed into his bedroom, closing the door before he checked the caller ID. It was Kyser, so he didn't hesitate to answer.
"Hey, Kyser. What's up?"
Immediately, Mac was met with ragged breathing, and the blond man's stomach dropped.
"Mac," the medic's voice trembled unsteadily.
"Yeah, Kyser; I'm here. What's going on? What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" another voice broke in, and it made Mac go ice cold all over. "Oh, Angus, where do I start?"
"Murdoc," Mac forced the name past his lips. "What...what are you doing?"
"Why, I'm just spending some quality time with my favorite tactical agent." Mac heard the assassin clap a hand down on Kyser's shoulder, which was immediately followed by a gasp of surprise, a growl of anger, and the creaking of wood. By this time, Mac had already taken his phone from his ear and was texting Jack.
Murdoc just called me from Kyser's number.
He has Kyser.
Kyser might be hurt.
"If you do not get your fucking hands off me—" the medic began furiously, spitting the words through his teeth. Murdoc cut him off.
"Now, now, Mark; if you keep struggling, you're only going to kill yourself faster," the fugitive chastised him, as though he were a small child. Kyser let out a ragged breath and audibly stilled, though his breaths continued to shake.
"What did you do?" the blond agent demanded, hearing the TV get quiet in the other room as Jack started reading the onslaught of texts from his partner, explaining what was happening.
Don't come in, phone on speaker. He might not know you and R here; could speed up his timetable.
"Well, it's quite simple, really." Murdoc sounded uncomfortably cheerful. "Mark, over here, has one glass balanced on each leg. If he moves, or his legs can no longer maintain this position, those glasses will fall and their contents will react with the substance I have doused the floor with, which will then produce toxic fumes that will kill your dear medic in minutes."
"This isn't fair, Murdoc," Mac growled furiously. "Kyser has nothing to do with this."
"Maybe he didn't before," Murdoc allowed. "But then the little bastard stabbed me and found my hotel room—even if you can't get anything from it, it was still rude. Not to mention the fact that I let cute little Sofía live, I let your bestie keep his eye when I really should have taken it, and I let you get away with borderline cheating in your last exam, so I am well within my rights, here. Call this a pop quiz, MacGyver."
Mac swallowed hard and heard Kyser choke out a pain-filled whimper despite his best efforts. The blond man felt his stomach drop even further, straight to the floor.
After explaining the situation as best as he could over his texts to Jack, his partner replied with a single question: Where?
"Look, Murdoc, just tell me what you want me to do," Mac implored. "Where do you want me to go?"
In response, Murdoc just started whistling that damned song, Home on the Range. Words could not express how much the blond agent had come to truly hate it.
Mac hesitated, then. In the months since Murdoc's last attack, since the assassin murdered a young mother right in front of him, he had moved past feeling guilty about it. He still felt guilty, of course, but even more than that, he was mad. Furious, even. And that blinding fury made Mac's thumbs move of their own accord, tapping out a reply to his partner.
Ramirez's place. I'll stall as long as I can. Hurry!
Outside, Mac heard Jack and Ramirez quickly leave, trusting that Mac would remain under the watchful eyes of the agents outside assigned to protect him.
Mac had other plans.
"Be there in twenty," he told the psychopath on the other end of the line.
"Better hurry, Mac," Murdoc warned cheerfully. "Not so sure your little friend is gonna be able to hold on."
"Fuck you," he heard Kyser snap. Murdoc just laughed.
"Tick tock, Angus."
With this, the line went dead, and Mac knew that he was on his own.
Jack sat in the passenger seat of Ramirez's car, watching as the tac agent's hands wrung the wheel. He looked about ready to crawl out of his own skin, and Jack didn't blame him. Kyser had been lucky to be alive after Murdoc shot him, and after being partners for about six years, hardly anyone was more grateful for that than Ramirez. The idea that that psycho was coming back to finish the job...
"Ramirez, I know you're freaking out, man, but you gotta take a breath—" Ricardo didn't let him finish.
"Shut up, Jack," he growled, his eyes fixed to the road in front of him. "This is exactly what Mark was scared would happen. He only just got clearance to use his gun hand again; I never should have left him."
"No, don't do that," Jack warned. "Neither one of you could just put your whole lives on hold because of this guy. None of what we might find is your fault. Besides, Mark was never supposed to be a target. It was wrong place, wrong time the first time around; no one thought Murdoc was going to come back for him. He has no reason to."
Ramirez didn't say anything, instead just shaking his head and grinding his teeth as he wove through the traffic. Jack's phone vibrated in his hand, and he looked down at the screen.
"Matty says that she's got backup on the way," he reported. "Until then, we're supposed to wait."
Ramirez scoffed, "You can wait. I'm getting my partner out of there."
"We're on the same page, there, man," Jack assured him. "I got your back."
Ramirez shot him a grateful look, and then Jack's phone buzzed again.
"Riley doesn't see anything on satellite, but that doesn't mean anything," he reported. "There's no thermal satellite in the area, so there's nothing to go on except images of the street itself."
"At least we know Murdoc probably didn't bring an army," Ricardo offered lamely, turning into his neighborhood with a grim expression.
Finally, Ricardo brought his car to a stop along the curb about a block from his actual residence, and he and Jack didn't waste time jumping out and making their way over, being as casual as possible. When they got closer to the house, they drew their weapons and split up, circling the residence and peering through windows, trying to get a feel for what was going on. They saw no one inside, but the curtains in the living room were drawn, and they could hear the TV on.
The pair met up around back, where they silently made a plan. Ramirez gave Jack a key to the front door, keeping the back door key for himself. Jack went back around to the front while Ramirez pushed his key into the lock as silently as he possibly could. He counted to ten in his head, then threw the door open and rushed right into the living room while Jack burst through the front door. Spotting a figure on the couch, Ramirez took aim, shouting orders to keep hands where they could be seen. Jack joined in on the shouting, until suddenly, they both broke off, blinking in surprise.
Mark Kyser was sitting up on the couch, gun up in his right hand and sweeping back and forth between the two intruders, finally stopping on Jack as he realized who he was looking at. In his left hand was what remained of a toasted lettuce, guac, bacon, and tomato sandwich—the medic's specialty. His cheeks were still puffed out from the large bite he'd taken just before they came in. His hair was wet like he'd just had a shower, and he was staring at them in a mix of shock and confusion. But, most importantly, he was fine. Totally unhurt. Safe.
After a few seconds of complete silence, broken only by the Netflix show playing on the TV, Kyser wordlessly chewed the bite in his mouth and swallowed, slowly lowering his gun until he put it—and the sandwich—on the table in front of him.
"Hey guys," he greeted them, grabbing his napkin and wiping his mouth. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Kyser," Ramirez was pale and his voice was weak when he spoke.
"Yeah, that's me," Kyser chuckled, giving them both a strange look.
Neither of the able-bodied agents put their guns away, although they did lower them.
"Are...are you okay?" Jack asked after another second or two.
"Yeah, fine," the medic's confused look only deepened as he reached out and grabbed the remote, pausing the show. "Why?"
"You...you haven't heard or...or seen anything weird?" Ramirez pressed.
"Not until you two burst in here," Kyser chuckled slightly, a victorious smirk on his face. "I mean, c'mon; it was a good attempt, but you know I'm not gonna fall for a weak-ass prank like that. I know I'm a little out of commission at the moment, but please, remember that you're dealing with a master, here. Now, what's this about?"
Ramirez let out a breath, allowing his posture to relax slightly, feeling his legs turn to near jelly with relief. Without a word, he put his gun away, walked over to his partner, bent down, and pulled him into a hug. Jack left them to it and began clearing the rest of the house.
"Whoa, ah...okay..." Mark hesitantly hugged his roommate back, looking more confused than ever. "A hug won't get you out of some well-earned retaliation, you know. Am I...missing something, here...?"
Ramirez just sighed and released him, straightening up. "You're getting a dog."
"What?" Kyser blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Just...you're getting a dog," Ramirez repeated. "A big dog. End of discussion."
"Eric, we've been over this—" Kyser began wearily, but Ramirez cut him off when he got a glimpse of what show his partner had been watching.
"Hold up, you were watching Mindhunter without me?!" he gawked. "Oh, you rat bastard..."
"Hey, I warned you that I've nearly burned through my queue already," Kyser held up a hand as if to absolve himself of guilt. "You were on episode three."
While they bickered, Jack confirmed Kyser's story—there was no sign of foul play, and no grinning psychopath in black leather lurking behind the door—and he returned to the living room, pulled out his phone, and called Matty.
"Yeah, Matty, me and Ramirez went in anyway, and you can cancel that backup," he reported, noting Kyser's cell phone resting on the coffee table next to his plate as he put the call on speaker. "We got Kyser; he's fine. The bastard's not even here."
"Your blatant insubordination is noted and will be discussed later," his boss sounded a bit perturbed, but mostly relieved. "Looks like Murdoc was bluffing. I'll have Riley call Mac and let him know."
"Murdoc?" Kyser looked at Jack with a touch of fear in his expression. "Guys what the hell is going on?"
"I'll explain in a minute," Ramirez promised before looking over at Jack. "But why would he lie?"
"I might have an idea," Riley's voice chimed in, sounding grim. "Mac's phone keeps going straight to voicemail. And not in the 'I'm still on the line with Murdoc' kinda way. I mean in the 'pulled out the battery' kind of way."
Now it was Jack's turn to lose all color in his face. "Is his detail still on coms?" Jesus, it was a play to get straight to Mac. Halve his protection detail and have all their attention on the other side of town—
They could only hear Matty's side of the conversation. "Agents Burns and Hamilton, come in...confirm you still have possession of the package, now." She paused then, one beat, two, and it told Jack everything he needed to know.
They in fact did not have possession of the package. And there was no way on God's green earth that Murdoc could have gotten into that apartment, subdued said package, and spirited it away without being seen. Mac would have managed to make some kinda noise.
No. Mac had left that apartment of his own free will, probably still believing that Murdoc had Kyser, and that he had no other choice. He'd intentionally ditched them.
And not just his detail. Mac had just ditched him. Ditched Riley. Ditched Phoenix.
"Find him, Riley," Jack ordered. "Now."
Mac popped the phillips screwdriver blade into the motorcycle's ignition, giving it a little bump with the flat of his palm before turning it, and the bike obediently purred to life beneath him. Then he flipped his knife closed and tucked it away, safe and sound, before kicking up the stand and cruising sedately away from the apartment complex.
When the Phoenix team had evaluated the apartment's security, they'd ignored the telephone pole outside the apartment next door—mainly because there was no way to climb up it before the camera up on the roof completed its timed security sweep of the east side of the building. Murdoc couldn't use that pole to get up to them, not before Phoenix analysts would spot him.
But getting down? That hadn't taken more than fifteen seconds.
As soon as he'd turned the corner, he cranked the bike's throttle and took off like he meant it, and thirteen minutes of land speed record trials found him in the hills, about a block away from his grandfather's house.
From there, he continued on foot, as fast as he could without drawing attention. As he approached his home, Mac slowed his pace, observing it from a distance. The curtains were all drawn, but he could see the shadow of a person pacing in front of his kitchen window. Obviously, that wasn't Kyser, which meant that it could only be one person.
Murdoc.
Mac took a moment to think as he inched ever closer to the structure, making sure to stay out of sight. He wanted to go for his secret tunnel, but, well, if the Ghost knew about it, Murdoc probably did, too, and would be ready for him. But, if Murdoc was in the kitchen, then there was no way he would see Mac slip into the garage. Besides his own room—which, to the blond man's knowledge, was still booby trapped like hell—the garage would give Mac the best range of options in terms of...well, he hadn't quite decided yet.
He continued his train of thought as he came up to the side of the garage, going about disabling the traps he'd once set in hopes of capturing the assassin currently inside, checking to make sure he still saw movement in that window every few seconds. His first priority once he got in would be to grab Kyser from wherever Murdoc stashed him—probably the bathroom, since it was easy to enclose for gassing purposes, and with no windows, it was also easily defensible and easy to hide a person in—and get him out of the line of fire. To do that, he'd need a gas mask for each of them, and some kind of diversion to buy them time. After that, he'd figure it out.
He came to this conclusion just as he managed to disable the traps on the window and slide it silently open. It was dark inside, but Mac was fairly confident it was empty when he peered in, and he quickly mashed the battery back into his phone and dropped the device in the flower bed to make sure that it wouldn't get destroyed before climbing inside. Hey, he was pissed off, not stupid; he knew he wasn't at a hundred percent yet, and he knew he'd probably need backup. Turning off his phone would slow Riley down, but not for long; as soon as they got to Ramirez's house and realized he'd sent them on a wild goose chase, they'd come looking for him. All Mac had to do was keep Murdoc occupied and distracted long enough for him to be caught and for Kyser to get help. Then the bastard could rot in jail for all he'd done.
And in the meantime...well, he kind of wanted to know if he agreed with Bozer about whether the memory of punching Murdoc in the face until he passed out would be worth all the psychological trauma in the world.
Mac slipped through the window and dropped soundlessly to the floor, grabbing the flashlight off the tool bench to his right that he knew would be waiting for him. He kept it aimed at the floor, hoping he wouldn't draw attention, and turned around to venture further into the space.
He almost crashed right into Murdoc.
"Hello, MacGyver," the psychopath beamed. "You're right on time."
Mac blinked, then sprang into action, kicking out at Murdoc's knee and making him stumble before wildly swinging the heavy flashlight at his head. The assassin managed to recover enough to make what would have been a direct hit to his temple nothing more than a glancing blow, but Mac wasn't done.
He swung his fist and connected with Murdoc's cheekbone, causing the assassin to take a few quick steps back, but just when Mac went to follow up with a kick to the man's gut, thinking he might actually get the upper hand, the assassin hit back, his fist colliding with Mac's still-healing ribcage, and the blond agent gasped. He faltered, shuffling back a few steps as his eyes bulged, his hand instinctively flying to cover the site of the pain, gasping loudly. Murdoc followed up with a backhand that sent him reeling, dropping the flashlight and barely managing to catch himself on the tool bench. Before he could recover and come back swinging, he felt Murdoc's arm encircle his throat, cradling his Adam's apple in his elbow and tightening, immediately cutting blood flow to the blond agent's brain.
Feeling more than seeing the darkness begin to encroach on his vision, Mac did his best to fight Murdoc's grip, but it was no use. In just a few seconds, he went limp in the assassin's arms.
He woke up just about a minute or two later, sitting upright in a wooden chair, his head pounding. He felt something encircling his chest, and quickly recognized the sound of duct tape. Quick tests found that his wrists and ankles had already been restrained, and he groaned softly, his head rolling as he pried his eyelids apart, squinting and blinking when he found that the garage lights had been turned on.
"Welcome back, Angus," Murdoc sounded almost cheerful, but there was a spine-chilling anger under the words. "I hope you enjoyed your nap."
"Where is he?" Mac demanded, still a little groggy as he tried to orient himself. "Where's Kyser?"
"Oh, you poor thing," Murdoc pouted, tearing the duct tape he'd been winding around Mac's chest and sticking the end behind his chair, slowly moving to stand in front of him. "Honestly, MacGyver, you're just really starting to disappoint me."
"Can't say that I'm sorry about that," the blond man scoffed. He grunted and winced when Murdoc predictably backhanded him.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your comments to a minimum," the assassin snarled in his face, and Mac involuntarily pulled his head back, feeling fear prickle in his gut at the look of fury on Murdoc's face. But still, he was more angry than scared, so he glared daggers at his captor as Murdoc straightened up, looking down at him in disappointment with his hands folded behind his back.
"So, what? Is this meant to scare me?" Mac raised an eyebrow. "We both know you're not going to kill me, Murdoc; you've spent too much time on this little game of yours to give it up now."
Murdoc actually laughed, then, and Mac suppressed a shudder.
"Oh, Angus, it's almost cute how little you understand," the psychopath looked at him in mock pity. "You may have been right before, but now? You're taking all the fun out of it, MacGyver. I understand that you're tired, but maybe try thinking about someone other than yourself, here? I've gone to a lot of trouble to get this perfect, but if you just..." he threw his hands up in exasperation, "couldn't be bothered, then what is the point of all the fanfare?"
"Hang on, are you actually complaining to me that I'm not making you targeting my friends fun enough for you?" Mac gawked. He wasn't surprised Murdoc felt that way, of course, but...even he had to hear how insane that sounded, right?
"The least you could do is appreciate the effort I went to for you, Angus," Murdoc snapped. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was much calmer. "I think it's pretty obvious that you failed this quiz. And frankly, I'm starting to get concerned for your final grade in my class, so," he grabbed the stool from in front of the tool bench and placed it in front of his reluctant student's chair, sitting down dramatically, "welcome to my office hours."
Mac scoffed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and hearing the same creak he heard on that phone call with what had to have been a fake Kyser. Hey, if Riley could generate a person's voice on a computer, why couldn't Murdoc?
Although how Murdoc had managed to make that voice sound scared, angry, and in pain—
"Now, Angus," to the blond man's surprise, it seemed that Murdoc was actually trying to sound sympathetic, "as I said, I'm getting worried about you. You walked blindly into what might actually have been the most blatant trap ever set up in the history of traps—those traffickers could not have been more obvious if they walked up to you and said to your face that they were about to send you into a trap, and you fell for it anyway. You cheated on the last exam—twice, arguably—and still couldn't even get up into the B range. You've been cowering for three months since then and refusing to study for the upcoming exam. You've apparently all but forgotten that adorable little helper I got to give you your final grade, which, can I just say, is beyond rude—"
"You think I forgot?" Mac interrupted angrily, feeling his throat tighten as he pulled furiously against his restraints. "You murdered an innocent young woman right in front of me, and you think I forgot?"
"You sure as hell act like you forgot!" Murdoc snapped. "Honestly, I went through all that trouble to get my lessons through that thick skull of yours, and you have the audacity to act like they never happened? So far you've done absolutely nothing to prepare for the next exam—really, Angus, it's like you want me to fail you!"
"For God's sake, this isn't some fucking college course!" Mac yelled, just a touch of desperation in the words. "Do you not get that? You're not a professor! I'm not a student! The way you're talking, it almost sounds like you believe your own lie, like you think I agreed to this!"
Murdoc blinked at him for a moment, looking truly surprised, before that surprise gave way to genuine disappointment and pity. It was Mac's turn to be surprised, then, as the assassin in front of him rubbed his brow wearily.
"Angus, did you not pay attention at all while I was going over the syllabus?" he asked at last, looking at him irritably. "I'm ultimately trying to help you, here."
"Well, you're shitty at it," Mac scoffed, absolutely dumbfounded and already bracing himself.
Sure enough, Murdoc's eyes flashed angrily, and he punched his captive, connecting with his cheekbone. Mac bit back a cry of pain, instead offering another grunt as his head snapped to the side. The sociopath, now on his feet, grabbed a handful of Mac's hair and forced the young agent to meet his eyes.
"I told you to keep your comments to a minimum," he snarled, and Mac glared furiously at him until Murdoc released his grip and resumed his seat like nothing happened.
"Now, as I was saying," Murdoc sighed, and Mac started surreptitiously looking around, trying to figure out what to do. Sure, he knew the assassin wasn't going to kill him, lest he end his game early—and despite what the man said, Mac was still confident that he wouldn't do that—but he still needed to be sure that he kept this going long enough for Riley to send tac after him. Murdoc had been smart; there was nothing immediately in his reach that he could use to escape. But, his chair was not bolted to the floor. If he could tip it with enough force, then, judging by the sound it was making every time he moved, it would surely break, and he could get out. He might not be able to get away—he was certain that the impact would jar his ribs again, which would slow him down—but he could, at the very least, distract Murdoc and probably prolong this lecture a bit.
Mac had just settled on this plan when Murdoc dealt him another vicious backhand, and the blond agent yelped pitifully, not having braced for that one.
"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about!" Murdoc yelled at him furiously, once again on his feet. "I'm sitting here trying to talk to you, trying to help you, trying to get you to understand what's going on, here, and you're not even listening!"
Mac didn't answer, gasping for breath in his chair, and Murdoc rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, sitting back down and regarding his 'student' with a look of exasperation. He took a deep breath, but it seemed to be doing nothing for his obvious frustration.
"I'm going to say this once," Murdoc's voice was steady and even, which made a chill shoot straight down MacGyver's spine. "You've lost any chance you had at passing this class well enough to buy you and your friends a free pass."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do not interrupt me again," Murdoc snarled. "That's what you were playing for, Angus. If you got at least a B in the course, you would pass and we go on as we were. If you got below that, you and all your buddies would move to the top of my kill list. If you got through everything the way you should have, you would have been free. I never would have targeted any of you again, except in cases of direct self-defense. But you failed at that. You've lost your edge. I'm starting to wonder if I wasted my time with you. And I'm betting your friends are thinking the same right about now, after you once again put your own petty need for revenge—your need to beat me, to win—ahead of what they need."
Mac opened his mouth to argue again, but Murdoc's eyes flashed furiously, and he pulled out his gun and aimed it at his captive.
"I swear to God, Angus, if you say one word, I will throw it all away and kill you right now," he growled, pressing the barrel to the blond man's forehead. Mac felt his gut clench, but he still wasn't quite afraid; there was no way Murdoc was going to shoot him. Not before his game was over. No matter what Murdoc said, he was having too much fun with these exams; Mac could see it written all over his face in those clips when he was slicing up Bozer. Murdoc was angry, and that in itself was terrifying, but he wasn't going to kill Mac before the good part. Still, the blond agent obediently shut his mouth.
Murdoc pulled the gun back from Mac's skull, but didn't put it away, instead just lowering it slightly so that it was aimed more center mass. "They needed you rested. You needed to be busy. They needed you focused. You needed to find me. They needed you to let them help you. You needed to go it alone. They needed you to listen to their perfectly valid concerns. You needed to believe that you could save a bunch of snot-nosed brats. They needed you to be safe while they went to save poor Agent Kyser—whom you still have not asked about after I merely implied that he wasn't here, despite insisting that I was a liar during that last exam. You needed to take your shot at me. Whether you want to admit it or not, Angus, you have been putting yourself ahead of every last one of your friends since the very beginning."
Mac didn't say anything, doing his best not to dwell on the killer's words, eyeing that gun. Honestly, now that it wasn't aimed at his head, he was a little more nervous. He was confident Murdoc wouldn't kill him, but wound him and not give him time to heal before the next exam? That, he would do.
"And don't get me wrong, Angus, I'm proud of you for realizing that the only person you should be concerned about in this world is yourself, but if it's going to affect your performance this badly, I'd much rather you just be a pathetic little Boy Scout again; I'd still kill you in the end, but at least it would be more fun!"
Mac scoffed softly, dropping his pounding head for a moment and blinking hard a few times, using the opportunity to glance at his watch. By that time, Phoenix had to know what he'd done, and Riley had no doubt figured out where he was. The question was, how fast could they get there? Another second to process what time it actually was made Mac have to suppress a smirk. His distraction would be there shortly.
Just as he pulled his head back up, it happened. Across the street, his neighbors' kid, Gary Brooks, was getting ready to go to his shift at the hardware store Mac frequented. Murdoc likely wouldn't know much about Gary, considering the fact that he'd been away at college since January, and had only returned a few weeks ago after taking summer classes to finish his degree a year early. As it did every day when he was home, Gary's beat-up truck backfired loudly, echoing through the neighborhood and invariably causing every dog on the block to start losing its mind. Murdoc instinctively looked out the window, and Mac didn't waste his chance. He threw his weight to the right, and the chair he was in toppled. He was right before; the impact both broke the chair and caused pain to grip his ribcage and squeeze. Murdoc, as expected, whipped his head back around instantly, and Mac forced himself to ignore the fact that his lungs were refusing to draw in enough oxygen, and instead kicked his now-free leg into Murdoc's gut. The strike was enough to wind him a bit, and the blond man used that window to scramble to his feet.
Mac went straight for the gun, swinging at it with the arm of the chair that was still taped to his wrist. Murdoc dropped the weapon, and Mac didn't give him time to recover, swinging his improvised club at his tormentor's skull, connecting with a satisfying thump. The blond agent kept his assault going, swinging and kicking at anything he could, and he couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement when he saw that he managed to draw blood.
He managed to knock Murdoc down to one knee despite the tape around his chest limiting his range of motion, but when Mac swung his club arm again, ready to knock the man out, the assassin surprised him, grabbing the chair arm to which he was attached and instead punching Mac in the ribs hard enough that he was sure he felt one crack again beneath his skin. The agent's eyes went wide as he struggled to pull in enough air. It was all too easy for Murdoc to just push him onto the floor beside the work bench. Once the blond man was down, Murdoc wiped away the blood from his nose and mouth, then scooped his gun up off the floor and moved to stand over the object of his obsession.
"It was a good try, MacGyver," Murdoc told him pityingly, taking aim at Mac's skull and offering him a small, sickening smirk. "But still, you disappoint me."
"C'mon, Riles, talk to me," Jack implored. He, Ramirez, and three tac teams were speeding to Mac's house as fast as they could without drawing attention from law enforcement; neither was particularly in the mood to be the subject of a high speed chase at the moment. "Are you sure he's still there?"
"No," Riley admitted regretfully. "Mac's phone hasn't moved an inch since I remotely turned it back on. I haven't seen anyone leave the area, but—"
"But Murdoc is a crafty bastard," Bozer chimed in. Following Mac's earlier phone call and subsequent disappearing act, Boze had been taken immediately back to Phoenix, as per their security protocol in the event that Murdoc got hold of one of them. "He coulda found a way to slip out with Mac."
"Regardless, the house is our best bet," Matty sighed. Jack's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything as they pulled up along the street in front of Mac's place, their vehicles hidden by the foliage by the curb. Everybody hopped out, Jack and Ramirez being the only ones not in full tac gear, and Simmons wordlessly tossed each of them a vest, which they gladly put on.
"We'll be going in as soon as we can get in position," the tac team leader assured them before turning and starting to direct the other teams, telling them where to go and reminding them that Mac had boobytrapped the hell out of the place. All of it was nonlethal, but all of it would ruin any stealth approach they were aiming for. He'd just finished giving instructions when they all heard a loud retort that each and every one of them instantly recognized as a gunshot.
"Garage!" Jack shouted to them, having been looking at the house in time to catch the muzzle flash through the garage window.
"Everybody move in!" Simmons ordered as tac began to scramble, desperately trying to cover the exits. "Jack, with us!"
The three teams converged on the home, splitting up as previously determined, and Jack stuck with Simmons' team as they moved in on the garage.
Back at Phoenix, Matty, Riley, and Bozer watched Simmons' bodycam footage, holding their breath, as the team stormed into Mac's garage. They saw the usual collection of odds and ends, rather haphazardly stuffed towards the walls to clear a workspace in the middle of the garage floor, and on that clean-swept concrete there were the busted remains of a wooden chair. Just beyond that, to their horror, they could make out Mac's crumpled form.
"Mac!" Jack sounded just as desperate and terrified as his team felt, rushing to his partner's side. Simmons joined him after ensuring that his team had the area covered, and gave the group in the War Room their first clear look at Mac.
He had blood pooling under his head. There was so much of it—it matted his hair, stained his face...he was slumped over on his side, held in that position by the pieces of chair still taped to his body. His eyes were closed, and the footage wasn't steady enough to tell if he was even breathing. Jack was visibly struggling to remain calm, frantically trying to find where the blood was coming from, his other hand pressed deep into Mac's exposed throat.
"He's breathing, but I can barely feel a pulse," the former Delta reported, his voice clipped and tense. "Riley?"
"Ambulance is on its way," the analyst promised. "Two minutes."
"Jack," Ramirez got the older man's attention and tossed him a reasonably clean-looking hand towel, which Jack caught and quickly used to help apply pressure to the gushing wound in his partner's head. All the while, deeper in the house, they could hear the sound grenades Mac had rigged up all those months ago blaring loudly. Stealth was clearly out the window, and everyone was much more focused on trying to clear the house quickly before Murdoc could get away.
"Anybody got eyes on that son of a bitch?" Jack demanded loudly as the sound of sirens began to add to the noise, the ambulance drawing closer by the second.
"Negative," Cassidy Todd reported, shouting to be heard over the sound grenades, which tac was now rounding up and silencing. "House is clear; the bastard's gone."
"Search the surrounding area," Matty ordered. "He couldn't have gotten far."
The ambulance arrived just after she finished speaking, and Jack was soon pushed aside, his hands covered in his partner's blood.
"C'mon, stay with me, Mac," Jack mumbled quietly, barely loud enough to get picked up by Simmons' vest cam. "Not here. Not like this, brother. Not today. Please..."
Mac, of course, didn't answer. He was completely unresponsive as the medics quickly and efficiently cut him free of the chair pieces he was still attached to, put a collar around his neck to keep his head stable, and transferred him to the stretcher, one of them maintaining pressure on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. Jack followed them out to the ambulance without a second thought, jumping in with them, refusing to leave his partner's side for even a moment. He let the medics do their jobs, but he wasn't letting Mac out of his sight. Not this time.
As Mac slowly started to wake up again, he first noticed the sound of a football game. For a brief moment, he thought he was back in his safehouse apartment, that he'd fallen asleep and was still with Jack and Ramirez, that none of what happened with Murdoc actually happened. That thought was quickly abandoned when he picked out his heart monitor's steady beeping. He felt a dull ache in the back left side of his head, which led him to the conclusion that they had to have him on some painkillers, and it took him a minute to realize why that had to be true. Carefully, he pried his eyes open, blinking a few times to clear his vision. Sure enough, he was in a hospital. The TV was on across from him, showing the Sunday night game, and in the chair to his right sat Jack, watching the screen with a grim expression. On the wounded agent's left was Bozer, utilizing the recliner. Rolling his eyes to the door, he saw Simmons and Jada standing in the hallway. Riley and Matty were nowhere to be seen, but Mac was sure they were nearby. After another couple of seconds, he finally spoke.
"49ers win?"
At the sound of his gravelly voice, his best friends both whipped their heads to look at him. Jack got to his feet, looking equal parts relieved and furious, and Bozer pushed the foot rest of the recliner down and swiveled the chair to face him.
"Mac," Jack studied his partner's face carefully, "how you feelin'?"
"Okay," Mac promised.
"Good," Jack nodded in approval, his features seeming to settle predominantly on anger, "because I swear to God, man, if you ever run off and do something that goddamn stupid without me ever again, Murdoc won't have to kill you; I'll do it myself."
Mac chuckled slightly, although he wasn't amused. He forced his drugged mind to focus before he spoke again, meeting his partner's eyes.
"I'm sorry, Jack," he apologized sincerely. "You're right; I never should have gone in there alone."
"Damn right," Jack agreed, seeming surprised by his friend's quick acceptance of blame.
"Is Kyser okay?" The blond agent's next question was tinged with worry.
"He's fine, Mac," Bozer assured him. "He was never at our place. Murdoc never had him."
Mac's brow furrowed in slight confusion, but before he could say anything else, the door opened, and Riley and Matty walked in, Riley holding a can of pop. They ceased their conversation when they saw that Mac was awake.
"About time," Matty frowned, though she, too, looked concerned. "You ready to walk us through what the fuck was going through your head earlier?"
"Um, a bullet?" Mac joked, feeling light and floaty thanks to the painkillers being fed through his IV. Jack smacked him on the arm, only semi-gently.
"This isn't funny, Mac," his partner glared at him. "He tagged you point blank. There's three pints of blood dryin' on the floor in your garage. We almost lost you, man. You do get that, right?"
"Yes," Mac assured him. "And you're right; I'm sorry, it's not funny."
"Just..." Bozer rubbed his brow, looking frustrated. "Start at the beginning."
"Well...I wasn't lying at first; I genuinely did think he had Kyser," Mac promised. "I don't know how Murdoc did it. He could have cloned his voice like Riley did way back when, but...Kyser sounded scared. He sounded hurt."
"Did he ever address you specifically?" Riley asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
"Only once, and he only said my name," Mac admitted. Jack broke in somewhat angrily.
"And that was enough to make you ditch all of us—on purpose I might add—and launch your one man rescue mission?"
Not precisely. "Jack...at first, I really did think he was at Kyser's, and considering it was me, not you, who pissed him off so royally during the last encounter—" because he flatly refused to call it an exam— "I didn't want to—to break any more 'rules.' I was hoping he didn't know we were together, or maybe he'd miscalculate how long it would take us to mobilize a response. By the time I figured out that he was at my place, you were already out the door."
That wasn't entirely true, he could have called them back, but it truly had sounded just like the tactical team medic. Mac let his eyes slide towards Riley. "It really sounded just like him."
"That's no excuse," Matty snapped, temporarily regaining his attention. "Mac, even if he had Mark Kyser, you knew that at best he was merely bait or a distraction for us so Murdoc could isolate you."
There was no point in denying it, so Mac didn't. Matty's lips thinned.
"I don't know how to make you understand the situation that you're in," she started, and for some reason her voice started fusing with Murdoc's, saying the same words. Mac found himself shaking his head.
"The situation is that a high-functioning sociopath has targeted all of us, and he's out there, and the longer I leave him out there the higher the chance that he's going to make another move." He glanced back at Riley without thinking; the painkillers were making it hard for him to corral his thoughts.
The higher the chance that he was going to get his hands on Riley Davis. The higher the chance that the next 'encounter' would end with the death of one of his friends—or worse. "I can't wait him out," Mac added firmly. "And he knows it. Taking the bait guaranteed I'd get a chance at stopping him. I was careful. I thought he was in the kitchen but—"
But either he hadn't been, or he'd set up some kind of surveillance in the garage and had known the second Mac had opened the window. But wouldn't he have heard the door to the house opening if—?
"Well clearly you weren't careful enough," Matty scoffed, pulling his attention again. "Mac, he shot you. In the head. That bullet could have done serious damage. Brain damage. Did you intentionally push him that far? Or is he just tired of playing his own game?"
Mac shook his head slightly, "No, Matty, I think we all know that if he really wanted me dead, he wouldn't have just grazed me." Even if it sounded like the graze was a little more than a graze.
He was fine...wasn't he? The floaty feeling was just the drugs.
...Right?
"So what did he want?" Bozer tilted his head a bit in uneasy confusion.
"He just...wanted to talk," Mac shrugged, frowning. "He was pissed off because I wasn't making it fun enough for him."
Jack scoffed irritably, "Yeah, of course he was."
"He basically just spent several minutes telling me how much of a fuckup I am," Mac shook his head, rubbing his eyes gently. "He chose that moment to tell me that apparently I'd been trying to get a high enough 'grade' that he would never come after us again. And also that it was literally impossible for me to achieve that, now. I'm sorry, guys; I didn't even get anything useful. I—"
"Matty, can I talk to you for a minute?" Riley interrupted, the gears turning behind her eyes. "And Boze, you went to PT with Kyser, right?"
"Yeah," Bozer confirmed, giving her a look.
"You, too, then," the analyst practically ordered, already walking towards the door. Matty glanced at Mac, Jack, and Boze in confusion.
"Riley," Mac tried to call his friend back, but Riley cut him off.
"Just give us a minute, Mac," she nearly snapped at him. "We'll explain later."
With this, she quickly left the room, Matty following and Bozer trailing behind much more slowly. Soon, Mac was left alone with his partner, and he could already feel the man frowning at him.
"Listen, Jack, I—" Mac began, but again, he was cut off.
"No, Mac, you listen," Jack growled. "We said no more lies. You lied to me, man. You turned off your phone so we almost didn't find you in time. You intentionally sidelined me, Mac, and I...I almost found you dead on the floor! Do you have any idea what that was like? Walking in there, finding you unresponsive with blood pooling under your big head? You shut me out! You made me unable to protect you!"
"Jack, no, I really did think Mark could have been at Ramirez's house," Mac argued, which was only partially true. "It was a 50/50 situation."
"And you're lying to me again!" Jack's eyes flashed furiously. "Mac I know you well enough that if you really thought it was 50/50, if you were really keeping the team in mind, you would have told me about both. You were at least mostly sure he was at your place, and you went alone anyway."
"What do you want me to say, Jack?" Mac asked him, sounding wounded. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. What else is there to say?"
"How about you tell me what the fuck was going through your head to make you think that was a good idea!" Jack was almost yelling, and Mac flinched back from the sound, closing his eyes for a moment as his concussion became determined to make its presence known.
"I was trying to save our friend," Mac argued lamely, irritably, reaching up and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"That is bullshit and you know it!" Jack shot back. "Even if Ramirez and I had already left, you still ditched your detail! You went there without backup on purpose! Do you even understand how fucking stupid that was? How reckless?!"
"Well I got shot in the head, Jack, so yeah, I think I've got a pretty good idea," Mac growled in response, his hands trembling with a mix of anger and something the blond man couldn't quite identify as he placed them on his blanket again.
"I'm really not sure that you do!" Jack scoffed. "Why the hell would you go it alone on this, huh? Do you even know the answer to that? Do you have any idea what would happen to the rest of us if you went and got yourself killed? Did you even think about that? Do you even care anymore?"
Mac felt something in him snap, and he practically screamed back at his partner, ignoring his throbbing head's immediate protest. "Of course I fucking care, Jack! How could you even ask me that? And you really think I don't think about that? It's all I ever fucking think about! Maybe you'd know that if you bothered to actually try and help me figure this out and didn't just totally shut me out like everyone else! You're supposed to be my partner, Jack, or did you not think about that?"
Jack looked about ready to shout back at him, but before he got the chance, the door behind them opened and a nurse rushed in, scowling at the two of them.
"That is quite enough," the older, matronly woman stated severely, striding over to them. "You," she pointed a stern finger at Mac, "just suffered a serious concussion; you're supposed to be resting. And you," she shifted her gaze to Jack, "need to stop antagonizing my patient. Now get out and let your friend rest."
Jack opened his mouth to protest, but the nurse cut him off, raising her voice a bit, "Now. Before I have you banned from the room altogether."
"You can't do that!" Jack argued.
"Yes, I can," she folded her arms and glared at him. Mac, meanwhile, had finally started to surrender to his throbbing, screaming head, closing his eyes as he listened to his nurse continue, "I can ban anyone from the room if they are detrimental to the patient's health. Now go."
Jack looked like he thought about arguing, but after one more harsh look from the nurse and a glance down at his partner's pained expression, and he dipped his head in acceptance and stalked out of the room, the nurse following him. She turned off the TV, dimmed the lights, and shut the door before walking back to the nurses' station, which was directly across from Mac's room, and watched him like a hawk. Jack let out a weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck while Simmons and Jada looked between each other, the head nurse, and Jack with a mixture of shock and amusement. After a moment, Jack finally walked off, deciding that he needed to cool off anyway and wanting to find the others.
He found them in an empty conference room on the same floor, where Reeves and Dixon—two other guys from Simmons' tac team—were standing outside the door. Matty wasn't taking any chances with a pissed-off Murdoc on the loose. When he walked in, he found his three friends in a somewhat heated discussion, with Riley scrolling on her phone with urgency on her face.
"Hey," he said, grabbing their attention. "What's going on?"
Riley shushed him as she put her phone on speaker, allowing the others to hear it ring twice before it was answered.
"Hello?" Ramirez sounded exhausted when he spoke.
"Ramirez, you still at your place with Kyser?" Riley asked, causing Jack to tilt his head in confusion.
"Yeah, why?" The tac agent's voice suddenly lost all drowsiness.
"Is he with you now?" Riley pressed.
"What is this about?"
"I'll explain when I get there," Riley promised. "Just don't talk about anything sensitive in front of him right now."
"What? Hold on, you're not seriously suggesting that Mark could be—"
"Of course not," Matty broke in. "No one is suggesting that Kyser could be helping Murdoc."
"Not knowingly," Riley corrected.
"Now wait just a fucking minute," Ramirez's scowl was almost audible.
Riley groaned, then let out a breath, rubbing her brow. "Mac said he heard Kyser on the phone when Murdoc called him. His voice. Now, yes, I've computer generated someone's voice before, but I needed a pretty decent sample of their voice to do it, and even then, I can't synthetically add in emotion. Mac said he sounded scared, hurt. The only way that's possible is if Kyser actually said the things Mac heard. That it was truly Kyser's voice, either recorded or live. Since live doesn't make any sense—"
"He had to have recordings of Kyser's voice," Boze finished.
"Right," Riley nodded. "So don't say anything in front of Kyser; we're on our way."
Without waiting for a reply, she hung up and started making her way out the door, pushing past Jack along the way. Taken by surprise at the attitude, Jack simply stared at her retreating back.
"Riley, wait!" Bozer called after her, rushing to catch up. Matty let out a sigh and started to follow.
"Jack, you stay here with Mac," she ordered. "We'll let you know what we find out."
With this, she walked off, leaving Jack alone, and the former Delta let out a weary sigh. He knew the boss was going to be mad at him for a little while after he and Ramirez ignored orders, but hey—at least she wasn't as mad at him as she was at Mac. Not wanting to go back to Mac's room quite yet—and not sure that he could get past the head nurse anyway—he instead decided to take a few laps around the hospital, staying on the same floor as his out-of-commission partner and acutely aware of Reeves and Dixon trailing behind him, keeping an eye out for him.
After about fifteen minutes, he finally came back to Mac's room. He cast a glance over at the nurse's station and saw the head nurse look him up and down before pointedly turning her attention back to the paperwork in front of her. Seeing that as the highest level of approval he could hope to get, Jack quietly slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
Mac was lying in his bed, looking exhausted and pale, his eyes closed as his heart monitor beeped steadily.
"Mac," he kept his voice quiet, "you awake?"
His partner did not respond, so Jack walked over and lowered himself into his previous seat, turning it to face the younger man.
"I know we're gonna have to have a talk when you wake up, but hell if I don't need a rehearsal," Jack chuckled to himself. He was quiet for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Mac. I was outta line before. I know you care what happens to us in this whole mess; we all know that. But man...you're really not acting like you give a shit what happens to you in this, and that is scarin' the holy hell outta me. I was almost too late today, man. I felt just as helpless as I did when we were goin' after Boze. I know I should be helping you try and figure this crap out, not sidelining you, but Mac...you're driving yourself into the ground, here. I'm just trying to keep you alive, bud. And you're not doin' much to help with that."
Jack exhaled through his nose, frowning to himself.
"But I still never shoulda said what I did," he said after a moment. "It wasn't fair."
"No, it really wasn't," Mac's gravelly voice chimed in, and Jack jumped just a bit as his partner half-opened his eyes sleepily. The blond man visibly bit back a smirk before he continued. "But that doesn't mean you weren't right."
"No, Mac, I wasn't," Jack frowned.
"Yes you were," Mac nodded, his heavy eyelids falling shut again. "Going alone like I did was stupid and selfish and unfair. I know that, now, and I'm sorry. I won't do it again. But Jack…this is scaring me too. More than you know. And worse, it's…" He broke off, eyes still closed, voice still quiet and exhausted. "When we bunk together, Boze, he…he has nightmares. Bad ones. Kinda like after the fake Zito. Back then, he'd—he'd talk about it with me. Let me in, let me help. Now he plays it off, holds it all in like it's not happening. Like he can't—like we can't...I think he's trying to protect me, you're all trying to protect me, and keeping me out of the loop entirely instead of just...I don't know, getting me to slow down...it's making it a lot worse. For me, for him...I was just so angry at him, Jack. At Murdoc. I'm so damned angry, all the time, about what he did to Boze, about the people he's hurt or killed, what he's doing to all of you, and—how am I supposed to help, how can I stop him when even—even you won't let me?"
"There's not much you can really do right now, y'know," Jack reminded him gently. "Most of the viable evidence we got right now, it's all Riley's wheelhouse. He wants to see you fall apart, and working yourself crazy over something you can't change is just gonna give him what he wants."
"Believe me, Jack, I know," Mac chuckled humorlessly. There was a beat or two of silence, and then the blond man's eyes opened. When he spoke again, his voice was almost hesitant.
"I know how we're gonna beat him."
Whoo! And just like that, we're half way there. Never thought this was going to be THIS BIG of a project, but I'm here for it anyway. Again, sorry I'm taking so long, but, y'know, life shit, adulting, ugh.
A couple people in the last exam were asking why I added such a heavy content warning for the kids but not the, um...fun things that happened to Bozer, and, well...I don't know. I mean, what happened with the kids was, I dunno, a lot more real for me? Like what happened with Bozer kinda felt like some shit out of a Saw movie, and therefore not real, and therefore easier for me to write. Does that make sense? Hope it does because that's the best I got lol.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed and are getting pumped for Riley's exam! It's almost time for the final and I am getting STOKED, y'all. I hope you guys have been paying attention; I've been dropping little hints this whole time.
Well, as always, don't forget to leave a review! See you guys next time!