Before you begin, folks, grab yourselves a snack and some water and get comfy; these damned things just keep getting longer. As always, special thanks to Haven126 for her invaluable help. Please make sure to read the author's note at the end, and as always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter.
Matty came to like crawling out of a dark tunnel, her senses returning to her one at a time. Her skull was throbbing to her heartbeat, but she pushed past it, trying to figure out where she was. She was moving. In a car, she realized. At first, she assumed she was still with Kyser, but then she remembered the crash. The director forced herself to open her eyes, and sure enough, she was not in the same car. She was once again in the passenger seat with her seatbelt on, but Kyser was not driving. Matty blinked a few times to clear her vision, and then her breath froze in her lungs.
Murdoc.
The psychopath must have felt her eyes on him, because he glanced her way and smiled.
"Good morning, Matilda," he greeted her cheerfully. "You're up a bit early."
Matty didn't answer, her head swimming as she looked around. She tried to reach for the door, only to find that her hands were cuffed in front of her.
"Oh, don't be like that," Murdoc chuckled. "Settle in."
"Kyser," Matty demanded, her voice slurred.
"Who?" Murdoc asked innocently.
"Kyser," the woman repeated, shooting him a pointed glare. God, her whole body hurt...
"Oh, your chauffeur?" the assassin sneered at her as he pulled over on the side of the road and put the car in park. "He's alive; don't worry. Or, at least he was, when I left. Whether he remains that way depends on how fast your people can get to him. Although, considering where you crashed...I wouldn't hold my breath."
As he spoke, he pulled a syringe full of clear liquid from the middle console and plucked off the cap. Matty tensed, shifting away from him, but she had nowhere to go.
"Now," Murdoc turned his eyes to her, "not that I don't enjoy our chats, but I have some work to do, and I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
Before Matty could do anything to defend herself, Murdoc plunged the needle into the base of her neck, and in seconds, she was sucked back into the cold, waiting darkness.
Kyser was gasping desperately on the ground beside the car, bits of glass still embedded in his skin as his body trembled violently, lying flat on his back in the grass. Murdoc had left not long ago with Matty; the medic had gotten a glimpse of the car as it passed him. His first call to Simmons had gone unanswered, but he'd tried again, putting the call on speaker as he tried to slow his bleeding, staring up at the inky black sky above him. The wound wasn't too bad, he was pretty sure—he supposed that there certainly could have been more blood—but he frankly wasn't all that concerned about it, regardless. He had lost Matty. Oh, God, he'd lost Matty...He had to get her back, which meant that he needed to get in contact with Simmons now.
Just as the medic was about to hang up and try again, his team leader finally answered.
"Mark, hey, sorry I missed you," Simmons apologized. "I was trying to stop Mac from having a panic attack. You and Matty headed back?"
"Simmons, listen to me," Kyser had to force the words out, his body panicking, and the medic tried to get as many pertinent details out as he could. "He's travelling south...back towards the city. Sedan. Dark color. Late model. I didn't see the plate. He...God, he has Matty; I'm so sorry. I should have seen him...I should have—"
"Kyser, who has Matty?" Simmons demanded, his voice steady, giving nothing away. Kyser could practically hear his poker face; he must have still been within eyeshot of Riley and the others.
"Murdoc," Kyser growled in frustration. "You've gotta find her, Grant, I..."
The medic trailed off. Something was wrong. His vision was swimming with even the smallest movements. With his still-intact, trembling left hand, he reached up and felt his pulse. It was thready, rapid, and not nearly as strong as he would have liked it. His skin was cold and clammy, even in the warm night air.
"Shock..." the medic blinked in confusion, hardly remembering that his boss was still on the line, barely even hearing him calling his name. "Shock; why...why am I going into shock...?"
Kyser slowly, carefully forced himself to lift his head, looking down at his wounded abdomen. When he did, his heart sank.
"Ah, shit..." he muttered to himself, collapsing flat again. "That's a lot more blood than I thought it was gonna be..."
"Kyser!" Simmons' insistent voice finally got the medic's attention. "Hang on, man; I'm sending a medevac to you. Three minutes."
"No, no, no," Kyser shook his head, trying to stay calm and conscious, his left hand applying as much pressure to the gushing injury as it possibly could. "No, don't...don't send them after me; just...just find Matty..."
"We will," Simmons promised. "But we're coming for you, too, Mark; just stay with me."
"I should have seen him," Kyser breathed, feeling his eyes grow heavy. "Fuck...I should have shot him while I had the chance..."
"Listen to me, Mark," Simmons growled, obviously trying to control the volume of his words. "We can talk about who should have done what when later. Right now, while we look for Matty, the most important thing is that you keep breathing, okay? You stay awake and stay with me, understand?"
Kyser didn't answer him, hearing a helicopter headed his way, and the medic gave a small smile. "I hear it...I hear the chopper...God, Grant, I'm sorry..."
"Mark, stay with me," Simmons ordered. Kyser shook his head as his eyes fell closed.
"God, I'm so sorry..."
Kyser couldn't make himself speak anymore, feeling his grip on consciousness slipping fast, and Simmons' calls went unanswered. He tried to keep his mind awake and engaged, but it was no use; every time he'd think of something, his train of thought would soon derail. By the time the helicopter touched down near him, he was unconscious.
Jack was watching Simmons like a hawk from inside the war room. They'd been in there for nearly four hours, apparently waiting on their sleeping arrangements to be taken care of. Simmons' team was standing outside, putting a little too much effort into seeming casual. Jack had seen the team leader take a call shortly after they arrived. Simmons had kept his poker face the whole time, but still, Jack knew something was wrong. He could feel it. And the fact that no one was looping him in was pissing him off more and more with each passing second.
Finally, the former Delta couldn't take it anymore. Not wanting to worry or upset Riley any more than she already was, he cleared his throat and looked over at Mac, who was leaning against the back wall, his eyes a million miles away.
"Mac," he got the younger agent's attention. "Let's go see what's taking these cots so long."
Mac hesitated, then gave a nod, and the two of them quietly left the room. The second the door closed behind them, Jack turned on Simmons expectantly.
"Simmons, what the hell is going on?" he demanded, folding his arms over his chest. "And for your own sake, don't even bother with that 'nothing's wrong' song and dance. I am not in the mood for it right now."
Simmons hesitated, looking back and forth between them, then let out a weary sigh.
"Unless you think she can handle it, we're keeping Riley out of the loop for now, okay?" the tac team leader looked them both in the eye. He waited until they nodded in agreement before he continued. "Riley wasn't Murdoc's next target."
"What are you talking about?" Jack heard the tremble in Mac's voice, and when he glanced at him, he looked just as terrified as he'd thought he would.
Simmons hesitated, and Jack felt his stomach drop.
"Where's Matty, Simmons?" he asked quietly. Simmons' jaw tightened, and he shifted his feet.
"I don't know all the details," he admitted with a sigh. "But, from what Kyser managed to tell me and from what was found at the scene...Murdoc ambushed them. Their car was flipped, and...Matty's gone."
"He has Matty?" Mac was in clear disbelief.
"And Kyser just let him walk away with her?!" Jack demanded incredulously.
"Murdoc shot him, Jack," Simmons explained, turning to his long-time friend. "Twice, so I'm told. One in the hand and one in the gut. He called me, told me everything he knew, but by the time medics got to him, he was out cold."
"Is he going to be okay?" Mac asked, the words tentative.
Simmons shot him a sympathetic look. "I don't know," he said finally. "He should be getting out of surgery right about now. We'll know more when he wakes up."
"Well, then, let's go see what he has to say for himself," Jack waved an arm emphatically.
"Jack, he's probably not going to be awake yet," Simmons argued.
"I don't care!" Jack snapped, taking a threatening step towards him and causing Mac to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Jack shrugged him off angrily. "That psychopath is coming after people I care about, Simmons! He was in Riley's apartment—in her room—and now you're telling me he's got his grimy little hands on Matty? And he left Kyser alive to tell the tale? He knows somethin' useful, Grant, and I'm going to find out what. Now, are you going to come with me to the hospital, or am I going to have to bust out of here on my own?"
Simmons swallowed hard, then rolled his shoulders and looked over at Ramirez.
"Ricardo, go see if Boze and Riley need anything," he ordered quietly. "I'm taking Mac and Jack to the hospital to see Kyser."
Ramirez nodded solemnly, moving into the war room with his poker face on. Simmons motioned to two of the remaining members of his tac team—Michael Reeves and Aaron Dixon—and the five of them made their way down to the parking garage.
"Jack, I'm so sorry," Mac said quietly as they walked. "I never even considered that he'd go after her first; I should have known..."
"What did I say about cancelling your damn pity party?" Jack growled at him. The former Delta didn't miss how Mac practically flinched away from him and dropped his eyes, falling silent, and he stifled a sigh. He'd talk it out with the kid later; right now, they had more important things to worry about.
As the Phoenix crew approached Kyser's room, they could hear a commotion coming from within.
"Well, he's awake, alright," Jack muttered, and Mac glanced at him, a myriad of emotions on his face.
"He's been off sedation and pain meds since he got out of surgery," the nurse escorting them explained. "The docs needed him completely coherent, since they had a few tests to run."
"Bet they regret that, now," Simmons scoffed. The team leader opened the door to Kyser's room quietly, and caught the tail end of the argument the medic was having.
"—hell with your tests; I need to talk to my team right now!" he snapped at a rather irritated-looking doctor.
"If you talk to your team, will you let me do my tests?" the doctor—Mac saw that his scrubs identified him as Doctor Chang—asked, barely maintaining his calm tone.
"Yes!" Kyser threw up his hands in exasperation. The blond agent felt his stomach lurch when he saw that his right hand was wrapped in thick rounds of gauze and braced. Studying the operative more closely, Mac took note of the small cuts and nasty bruises on Kyser's face—one particularly bad one resting on the right side of his jaw. His left hand, while not wrapped quite so extensively as his right, did have gauze encircling his palm and part of his wrist. There were little cuts all over his arms—from glass, he realized—and a blood bag was hanging on his IV stand, feeding into his left arm.
"Well, good," Jack spoke up, his voice sharp, before doctor or patient could say anything else. Kyser jumped in surprise, wincing in pain at the sudden movement, before turning to look at them. "Because we're here."
"Thank God," Kyser let out a breath of relief. The medic was nearly manic, talking rapidly and gesturing emphatically.
"Kyser, what the fuck happened?" Jack demanded with a growl as Doctor Chang flipped up the bottom of Kyser's blankets, exposing his bare feet to the room. The corners of Mac's eyes twitched in confusion as he watched, his heart starting to sink when he realized what tests Doctor Chang wanted to run. "How could you let that psycho walk away with Matty? You were supposed to protect her, man!"
"Jack, believe me, I know you're angry," Kyser looked over at his friend of nearly ten years with a wounded expression. "And trust me, I will lead the 'I hate Mark Kyser' parade when this is over, but until then, we need to talk."
At the bottom of Kyser's bed, Doctor Chang took his pen and lightly dragged it over the soles of the medic's feet, first one, and then the other.
"You feel that?" Chang asked, cutting his patient off just as he was about to say more and glancing up at him. Kyser looked at him in annoyance and confusion.
"What? No," he denied dismissively, and it seemed as though all five visitors' stomachs dropped, Jack's anger seeming to fade considerably. Kyser didn't seem to make the connection between the doctor's question and anything being wrong; he just turned back to his guests and kept talking.
"I said I didn't see the plate, but I was wrong," the medic pressed, seeming oblivious to the obvious shift in the room. Down by the end of his bed, Chang repeated his test, pressing a bit harder with the pen.
"What about that?" he questioned gravely. Kyser growled in frustration.
"For God's sake, no! You're not even touching me!" he snapped, once again turning back to them. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jack surprised them all by cutting him off.
"Mark." Kyser froze. Not only had Jack called him by his first name—something Mac knew he'd only done a handful of times since they'd met—but all of the anger seemed to have faded from his voice. Jack gave his friend a sympathetic look. "I think you need to pay attention to the doc for a second."
Kyser blinked at him, then slowly turned to meet Doctor Chang's eyes. The doctor held his gaze, then placed the middle of the pen on the nail bed of Kyser's left big toe and applied pressure.
"Can you feel that?" he asked quietly. Kyser swallowed hard.
"Barely," he admitted. "Barely anything at all. Doesn't even register as pain."
Mac's eyes fell shut for a moment, feeling his stomach churn. Doctor Chang nodded, then released the pressure and did the same on the other foot. Kyser's response was the same; despite knowing that even slight pressure on the nail bed should hurt like a bitch, he barely felt a thing.
"Okay," the doctor's voice was gentle, knowing that the realization was setting in. "Can you curl your toes?"
In response, Kyser's toes twitched downwards, holding their position for just a fleeting moment before going slack again.
"Okay," Doctor Chang nodded, putting his pen away. "Well, Mr. Kyser, I think you're looking at an incomplete spinal injury."
"You're telling me he's paralyzed?" Simmons gawked at him.
"Well, partially, yes," Chang confirmed. "He was able to move his toes—if only a little bit—so the paralysis isn't total, and he does have some sensation in his feet. These are good signs, but...there's no guarantee that this won't be permanent."
Mac felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Kyser's career was likely ruined and his life forever changed...and all because he went up against Murdoc on his behalf. He was at least part of the reason this happened. His colleagues were being targeted because of Murdoc's obsession with him. One way or another, if he'd done more, he could have prevented this, could have spared Kyser's ability to walk, could have kept that psycho from getting his hands on Matty. He knew he could have. But he didn't. And now his friends were suffering the consequences.
While Mac's mind spun into guilt-ridden turmoil, Kyser settled back in his bed, staring off for a moment as the news settled in. After a few seconds, his jaw tightened, his eyes fell closed, and he shook his head.
"It doesn't matter," he stated finally, his tone resolute and leaving no room for debate, shocking everyone.
"Kyser..." Simmons began, but the medic's eyes flew open, and he shot his team leader a glare.
"I. Will walk." Kyser spat the words through clenched teeth, his light brown eyes burning with anger and determination. "And if I can't, well, there's really no point in worrying about it, now, is there? There's nothing anyone can do to fix this right now. So let's do something productive and focus on Matty."
His team stared at him, conflicted and pitying, but they nodded.
"Okay," Jack agreed, glancing at Doctor Chang, who took his cue to leave. "Tell us everything. Start from the beginning; what happened?"
"First of all, I caught a partial plate," Kyser sighed, clearly glad to finally be able to talk without getting interrupted. "Juliet, Quebec, seven, three. That's all I got as he was driving off."
"Hey, it's something," Simmons gave a smile, quickly texting the new information to Jill.
"From the top, Kyser," Jack repeated, his voice becoming stern, but when Mac glanced at him, he quickly realized that the order only sounded harsh to make their wounded friend feel a bit more normal.
"Matty had a source who said he knew where we could find Murdoc," the medic explained. "She had Jill vet it as much as she could on short notice. He was part of Murdoc's Collective, said he'd only talk in person, that she could only bring one agent with her...We were headed out to meet him..."
Kyser shook his head, reaching up with his left hand to rub his brow, pinching his eyes shut for a moment. "God, I knew it was a trap. I knew it. I even told her so, but she said she wasn't in any position to turn down a lead, so we kept going...I should have turned around. I should have listened to my gut; if I had, she would still be here. She would—"
"Hey, Kyser," Simmons interrupted him as his tale quickly devolved into a guilty rant. "You were acting on explicit orders from the director. No one can blame you for that. Got it?"
The medic paused, clearly struggling to get the 'if only's out of his head. Eventually, he nodded, then took a deep breath and continued.
"About ten miles before we would have hit the forest, something shot out of the bushes on the side of the road just...a few feet in front of us," he told them, his voice surprisingly steady. "I think it was a spike strip. I braked, but couldn't avoid it...the tires popped, we rolled...Matty was unconscious. I cut myself out of my seatbelt, heard footsteps coming up on my side of the car, pulled my gun, crawled out...I tried to aim, but...he was already there. He kicked my gun away, and he..."
Kyser looked up at Jack, his expression troubled. "He said that I wasn't the one he was hoping for."
"He was hoping for me?" Jack raised an eyebrow. The very idea made Mac's blood run cold; Murdoc couldn't be gunning for Jack already, could he? The blond agent had been more or less banking on the idea that Murdoc would save his partner for last. He'd already been wrong about who would be targeted first; what if he was wrong about all of it?
"I'm assuming so," Kyser shrugged. "Before he left, he told me to be grateful I wasn't you, and that if I was, it could have been a lot worse."
"Great," Jack sighed, shaking his head. "We'll deal with that later. Now, I know you didn't just lie there while he went and took Matty, so what happened?"
"He started towards the car to grab her," Kyser swallowed hard. "I still had my knife in my hand, so I stabbed him in the leg."
"Jesus," Simmons muttered, looking impressed, and Mac's eyes widened in shock.
"Atta boy, Kyser," Jack grinned.
"It was just the dinky little two-inch I keep strapped to my arm when I gear up," the medic shook his head. "Wide blade, but not long. I didn't have an angle on an artery or major tendon, so it was just an outer thigh hit. It didn't stop him."
"No, but it'll slow him down," Jack pointed out. "Take the win, Kyser; it's more than any of us have managed to do."
"I guess," Kyser allowed. "Anyway, after I stabbed him, I tried to get to my gun, but he shot my hand before I could reach it. Then he kicked me in the jaw, shot me in the gut, tossed me my phone, grabbed Matty, and left."
"He gave you your phone?" Simmons blinked at him in confusion.
"Yeah," Kyser confirmed. "He wanted me found."
"Of course he did," Mac spoke up for the first time, his voice flat. "How else would he be sure I knew what happened?"
"Alright, there has to be something else," Jack was quick to change the subject, and Mac could tell that his irritation was growing. "He had to have given you some kind of clue; that's his game. Think, man; he had to have said or done something else."
"There was no clue, Jack," Kyser shook his head helplessly.
"There has to be!" Jack snapped, that anger and frustration he'd buried coming back full force for all to see. "You said yourself, you weren't the one he was after, and if that were true and he didn't have another use for you, you would be dead! He kept you alive for a reason; now, think!"
"Jack," Mac hissed the warning, but it was too late. At that moment, Kyser's carefully crafted, relatively calm, optimistic facade cracked and broke away. The medic lashed out, knocking everything off the nightstand to his right and only barely grimacing at the pain.
"This is his reason!" Kyser snapped, tears now gathering in his eyes. "Leaving me to have to face you knowing I let him get away with Matty—that's his reason! Taking away my ability to walk, leaving me just as utterly useless as I was when he shot me, for the rest of my life—that is his reason! Taking away my ability to shoot a gun, so I can't defend myself or anyone else—that is his reason!"
Some tears leaked from his eyes, and his voice started to tremble, but it was as if he didn't notice; he forged ahead as his team and Mac stared at him, speechless. "Killing me would have been letting me off easy! He knew exactly what he was doing and what he was taking from me when he shot me! He has ruined my life! That's his game! I've given you everything I know; I'm not a clue, Jack! I'm a warning! A cautionary tale!"
Kyser let out a bitter laugh, wiping at his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less angry—though that anger was very obviously not directed at them. "I'm a scary story you tell young recruits, and that's all I'll ever be. That's why he left me alive, Jack. So that I would suffer for the rest of my life, knowing that he beat me, that I let him get away with Matty, that everything that happens to her after this is on me, and so that I could scare the hell out of the rest of you. That's all. I don't have an answer for you, Jack. I wish to God, more than anything, that I did, but I don't. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."
Mac felt his heart ache with sympathy, and when he looked at Jack, he saw the older man's anger melt away. The former Delta walked towards his friend of ten years—stepping over the broken lamp and disconnected phone that lay between them—and held out his left hand, almost as if he were going to help Kyser up. The medic hesitated, trying to get control of himself, then let out a breath and grabbed his hand, forcing himself to meet Jack's eyes.
"You got nothing to be sorry for," Jack told him, his voice sincere, and everyone in the room saw how surprised and truly grateful Kyser appeared to hear those words. "You just focus on you right now, okay, man? We will find Matty, and we will get this son of a bitch for what he's done; I promise you that. You just keep moving forward; that's all you can do."
"It actually doesn't look like I'll be doing a lot of that for the time being," Kyser pointed out, but Mac didn't miss the small, teasing smirk on his face. It appeared that Jack didn't, either, because he scoffed and punched the medic lightly in the shoulder.
"You know damn well what I mean," he grumbled with a small laugh. "Quit tryin' to guilt trip, you little shit."
"You start playing the pity card and me and you are gonna have problems," Simmons spoke up, and when Mac looked at him, all the worry and pity he'd observed in the team leader had vanished. A conscious decision on his part, Mac was certain. "I expect you back at the Phoenix when this is over."
"Yes, sir," Kyser gave a tearful laugh, wiping at his eyes again and sniffling.
"Alright," Jack let out a sigh and straightened. "We've gotta go find Matty. You get some rest, man; we'll see you soon."
"I'll send Locke and Ramirez by to keep an eye on you," Simmons added. "If you remember anything else, you let us know."
"You will be the first," Kyser assured him. "Er...the second, technically..."
The tac team chuckled, and Simmons met the medic's eyes. "Get some rest."
"I will," he promised. Mac watched as Jack turned away from Kyser's bedside, and the smile the older agent had been wearing vanished instantly, anger and frustration once again flaring in his eyes. Mac's jaw tightened at the sight, but as he and the others turned to leave, Kyser called him back.
"Mac," the medic got his attention quickly. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Yeah," Mac agreed, then glanced at the others. "I'll catch up, guys."
The other four members of their little convoy dutifully left the room—Jack with some obvious reluctance—and Mac made his way over to his bedside, chewing his lip guiltily.
When the door closed and they were alone, Mac let out a weary sigh, "Kyser, man, I...I am so sorry..."
"Mac, dude, I love you, but shut up," the medic's voice was firm, but not unkind. "You're not the one who shot me; don't apologize."
Mac blinked at him in surprise, then slowly nodded in agreement. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kyser cut him off.
"No, just...listen for a minute, okay?" the older man sighed, slightly frustrated—and not, Mac realized, with him. "Murdoc did this to me just to freak the both of us out. He lined up his shot perfectly; he knew it was going to be a spine hit. And he did it just so that you would have this look on your face that you have right now. He did it to distract you. And you looking at me like you just ran over my dog is giving him what he wants; stop it."
"Kyser he did this to you because of me," Mac argued, knowing he was right but unable to shake the guilt. "It's my fault."
"You didn't pull the trigger," Kyser growled right back at him. "It's not on you. Murdoc's obsession is not your fault. Listen to me: I am going to be fine. I'm going to walk again out of sheer spite, if nothing else. And if I somehow don't, well, then I will settle for kicking all your asses in wheelchair races."
Mac laughed at that slightly, loving how matter-of-fact the medic's tone was, and Kyser cracked a smile in return.
"Listen, Mac, you've beaten this guy before," he reminded him, his exhaustion seeping into his tone. "You can beat him again. Just get the hell out of your head for five minutes, okay? Don't just hand him the win. Look, I...I lost Matty. That's on me. I may never be able to make that up to anyone. But you can get her back. There's a way; this wouldn't be fun for him if it was rigged for you to lose. There has to be a way. You can find it. I know you can; we all know you can. So stop thinking about Murdoc's game and just do your thing, man."
It was a lot easier said than done, and they both knew it. But, oddly enough, it did make him feel a bit better; when Bozer said it, while it was comforting, it felt a little like it was just his best friend trying to make him feel better. When Kyser said it, on the other hand, it felt a bit more like a statement of fact; although the two of them were friends, they weren't all that close, so it at least felt as though Kyser had less of an obligation to make him feel better. Mac gave him an appreciative smile.
"Thanks, Kyser," he said sincerely.
"Don't mention it," the medic's smile was just a bit forced as he shifted position slightly in his bed. "Normally, I'd rely on Jack to give you that pep talk, but I don't think I have to tell you that he's not himself right now. Don't take anything he says to heart for the time being; he's angry and he's frustrated and he doesn't have anyone to take it out on right now. He's going to say a lot he doesn't mean."
"I know," Mac nodded. He could tell just by the look on Jack's face that he was looking for a reason to go off, and he knew that the odds were high that he'd be the one he went off on.
"Keep your head up, kid," Kyser sighed, glancing out into the hallway through the window. Mac could see that his eyes were glimmering, and he knew that the medic was just keeping it together for appearance's sake. "One of us has to, and honestly, you're a lot better at it than I am."
The blond agent gave him a half-smile. "I'll do my best," he promised. "Now get some rest; we'll let you know what happens."
Kyser just nodded at him, and Mac turned and started to leave, but again, the medic stopped him.
"Hey Mac," Mac stopped and looked back at him, and Kyser swallowed hard. "Get that bastard for me."
Mac gave a solemn nod, then finally left the room, rejoining his partner and tac out in the hallway. They were talking to Doctor Chang.
"We will be performing another surgery to fully repair his hand in the next day or so," the doctor was saying. "The bullet completely severed one of his flexor tendons, so we'll have to graft it back. Won't be a problem, though; he has the palmaris longus muscle—an extra, vestigial tendon in his wrist. With time and a lot of physical therapy, it should make a full recovery."
"But you can't say the same about his legs," Simmons pressed, concern in his expression.
"It is entirely possible that he could regain full use of his legs," Chang allowed. "Unfortunately, it's far more likely that he will remain at least partially impaired for the rest of his life. The next few days and weeks will be critical; if he regains more feeling and muscle response, his odds will be a lot better."
The medic's team nodded, processing this information, and Doctor Chang let out a sigh.
"Does he have any family we should be contacting?" he asked. "Anyone who could maybe stay with him while he recovers?"
"No," Jack shook his head. "Well, I mean, yeah, he has family, but they had a falling out and haven't spoken in years. We're all the family he's got."
"Well, then, I recommend looking into some live-in help, especially in the first few months as he gets used to limited mobility," Chang told them. "Obviously not something urgent, but definitely something to think about, going forward. I've gotta get back to work, but if you have any questions, please feel free to ask."
The group thanked him and started making their way back out to their car. Jack and Simmons led the way, and Mac, Reeves, and Dixon followed close behind. For now, all that was left to do was wait until either Jill found Matty, or Murdoc reached out to start the game.
Riley was struggling to stay awake in the war room, having found out from Ramirez what happened to Matty—any hope they had of keeping it from her vanished when she saw the heated exchange between Simmons and Jack in the hall, and after hearing the news, it was all too easy for Riley to put her own concerns on hold in favor of locating her boss. She and Jill had teamed up to try and find the car Murdoc left in, which they did. They'd found it, abandoned in a grocery store parking lot about twenty miles from the crash site. It was in a camera blindspot; the only reason they found it was because they had a shot of it coming in but not going out, and they didn't have any evidence of it being anywhere else. They'd searched the area, of course, but found nothing; Murdoc must have switched cars out of sight of the cameras.
With nothing else to do until Murdoc made contact, they were left to wait. Riley watched Mac pacing back and forth along the glass wall to her right, clearly getting more agitated by the second, and Riley couldn't blame him; it had been almost six hours since they'd left her apartment, just over five since the crash, and they'd heard nothing. Jack was also very obviously tense, pacing in the back corner of the room. Glancing over at Bozer, Riley could tell that he, too, could feel the disconnect between the two partners, and it clearly made both of them uneasy. Mac and Jack being out of sync never led to anything good.
Watching Mac walk back and forth and back and forth in front of the glass nearly lulled the analyst to sleep, her exhaustion taking its toll, but when he suddenly stopped in his tracks, she perked up, the change in pattern jolting her awake. Sure enough, Mac came in soon after, his eyes on his phone screen.
"Riley, I just got an email," he reported. "It's a link; can you pull it up?"
"Yeah," Riley gave a nod, picking her laptop up and opening the email Mac had forwarded to her. It was from a throw-away account, and the subject line said 'Near, Far, Wherever You Are.' She quickly beamed the image up to the big screen, then—after checking to make sure it wouldn't unleash any malware on the Phoenix system—clicked the link as her colleagues gathered around her.
"Hello, Angus," Murdoc's smiling face greeted them after a short buffering period. The link had brought them to a video chat. "Apologies for my tardiness; you can thank Agent Kyser for that."
"Where is she, Murdoc?" Mac demanded, his voice surprisingly steady. He was about to say more, but Murdoc cut him off.
"I so wish I could be there in person," the psychopath lamented, "but, rest assured, I will be keeping a close eye on you as you complete your task."
"What have you done to her?" Mac pressed, sounding a tad frustrated. As he spoke, Riley was already hard at work, running a trace on the connection while trying to identify where Murdoc might be, based on the limited background they could see, as well as the background noise.
"Mac, I don't think this is live," Bozer spoke up. Sure enough, Murdoc continued talking as if none of them had spoken, warming to his subject.
"Now, on to the first examination! I know you must be excited, Angus, but there are certain guidelines I should make you aware of before you begin, and I don't think I have to explain to you the importance of reading all of the instructions before you begin. First off, there is an auditory component to this exam, so please, listen carefully, and be sure that you have board-approved audio equipment at your disposal." His voice had taken on an animated quality that reminded them of a flight attendant, rattling off a safety review. He was having far too much fun with this for Riley's liking, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"The list of acceptable calculators should be posted in the room—not that I think you'll need one; I've never seen you use one before—but, should you need one, be sure that it is a board-approved model. No graphing calculators will be accepted."
Riley pulled her eyes off the screen for a moment to glance at Mac, who'd given up trying to interact with the recording and now stood perfectly still, absorbing everything Murdoc was saying with an intense, singular focus.
Jack had come up behind him, but he wasn't in his usual position by Mac's shoulder; instead, he was standing a bit off to the side, and his fingers were methodically clenching and unclenching themselves into fists.
"Let's see; what else...? Oh!" The psychopath beamed at them from the screen. "This is an open book exam. I know, I know, but there's no need to thank me. I thought I'd throw you a softball for the first one, just to get you used to the format, my teaching style, et cetera. Some students don't fare quite as well in online courses, and, y'know, it's really quite appalling, but in the state of California, a non-tenured professor's raise is actually partially dependent on satisfaction surveys completed by their students." Murdoc shook his head, almost as if disappointed. "Even in institutes of higher education, we've dumbed everything down to basic Yelp reviews. It's a wonder your generation knows anything at all, really."
"...he sure does like to hear himself talk," Bozer muttered, half to himself. Jack turned to glare at him briefly, then shifted his eyes to her, and Riley quickly shook her head.
"Nothing yet. The video's bouncing through at least a dozen VPNs, but I'm getting there—"
"Step it up, Riles; he's not gonna keep babbling forever."
Riley opened her mouth to retort, but Murdoc's prattling suddenly changed course.
"—on to the more germane details: This is a timed exam. Exactly how much time...well, don't hold me to the atomic clock." Murdoc waved a hand lazily through the air. "I had prepared exactly two hours and twenty minutes—allowing the opportunity for two five-minute breaks, of course—but then Agent Kyser decided to get cute." His tone hardened slightly. "You can imagine my dismay—and, frankly, my surprise—at finding out that Jack delegated something as important as Director Webber's personal security to a mere stand-in. Although, I'm sure that neither one of them will make that mistake again."
Riley didn't miss the dig—a stand in. Something it sure sounded like Kyser might never actually be able to do again. Jack didn't miss it, either; fury was radiating off of him in waves as he stalked towards the screen.
"I swear to God I'm gonna rip this fucker apart."
And then Murdoc looked down and to his right, as if he could really see Jack standing there, and gave a delighted little chuckle. "Now, Jack, that's not very nice."
Everyone in the room froze in surprise, and Murdoc's grin broadened. "Of course, I can only imagine what you just said, but you are so very predictable. Old Reliable, wouldn't you say, Angus?" here, he shifted his gaze to the left, where Mac continued to stand perfectly still. Riley noticed, though, that his fingers had started to curl as well. The blond agent didn't say a word, and he didn't look over at Jack; instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the screen.
"Reliable, of course, until tonight. And I'm still scratching my head over this one, Jack. I really am. You entrusted the safety of your boss—with whom you have so much history—to a third-string hitter at best, when I literally could not have made the trap more obvious if I tried?" Murdoc tutted, seemingly unaware of the low growl that was rumbling out of Jack's chest. "I mean, if you didn't think you could handle it, why not at least send someone who'd put up a better fight, instead of just screaming like a baby?"
By this time, Jack was nearly trembling with rage, and Murdoc gave a shrug.
"Though, I will say that you certainly did shatter my expectations. Agent Kyser's, too, I think."
"I'm gonna kill you for this, you sick son of a bitch," Jack promised him, his voice hardly more than a snarl. "And I am gonna enjoy every minute of it."
Murdoc laughed quietly—at his own joke, apparently, or at whatever he imagined Jack would say to that—and then paused for a moment to school his features again.
"Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the examination is timed, but it will be up to you to calculate exactly how much of it there is. The deadline...will be fairly self-explanatory." Murdoc leaned closer to the camera, and Riley found herself leaning away from him, his eyes seeming to bore into the room. "If you manage to solve the little scenario within the time allotted, you will receive a message containing her address and any other pertinent details related to recovering dear Matilda while she's still alive."
He paused, then, and gave his head a little shake. "Well, that's not entirely true; you'll receive the message whether you pass or fail; the difference becomes whether you pick up a person or a corpse."
"If you hurt her..." Riley wasn't sure if Mac knew he'd said the words out loud.
"The exam will begin in..." Murdoc glanced at his watch, "I'd give her another few minutes to come around. And don't give me that look, Angus," the psychopath chided. "My examinations are nothing if not fair. I need that five star review, remember? Matilda will begin the scenario with all of her capabilities and charms intact. I haven't harmed her at all—well, not any more than the crash did, but it didn't seem to do much damage at all. Your director is remarkably...durable." His eyebrows bunched, as if his own word choice had surprised him, then shrugged.
"Physically, anyway. I suppose we'll find out how mentally resilient she is in the next few hours."
The video paused for a moment, as if waiting for something, but this time, Murdoc was wrong; no one said a word. The assassin blinked at them silently for a few seconds, then continued.
"The clock starts as soon as she contacts you. I'll link you the camera feeds then. I do hope you were paying attention, MacGyver, because I don't believe in grading on a curve. You'll have to earn that pass or fail all on your own. In the spirit of fairness, I will personally assure you that you have all the tools you need, so long as you're clever enough to use them. Best of luck."
Riley glanced at Mac again and watched his Adam's apple bob as if he was going to speak.
He didn't.
Murdoc flashed them all a grin. "Oh, and Jack? No matter what happens, just try to remember that Angus did try his very best, and so did Agent Kyser. Go easy on them. Don't forget that that C-list agent you sent me did take two bullets for you, and I can only imagine how MacGyver will feel if he fails in front of a live studio audience. This isn't something either of them will be able to just..." amusement lit up the psychopath's face, "...walk off."
"Keep talkin'," Jack scoffed furiously. "You just keep runnin' your fuckin' mouth while we track your sorry ass down—"
"You won't," Murdoc interrupted him, almost apologetically. "Track me down, that is. Even the talented and beautiful Riley Davis can't untangle the technical net I've woven."
Murdoc turned, then, and looked directly at her. Riley realized with a lurch that it wasn't a recording. It never had been. It was live, and he'd been watching and listening to them the entire time. The assassin frowned at her, his brow furrowing in mock concern.
"Although, I think you might have a better shot if you didn't look so exhausted," he mused, and then his eyebrows lifted as he lowered his chin and offered a knowing smirk. "Maybe you should get some sleep?"
The analyst's blood ran cold, and her fingers froze over the keyboard. All the terror she'd managed to ignore suddenly came back in full force. Jack's eyes flashed with rage, and he opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get a word out, Murdoc gave a spine-chilling smile and continued.
"I'll get back to you promptly with your grade, MacGyver," he promised. And just like that, he was gone.
When Matty woke up for the second time after the crash, her head was once again pounding, and her neck was stiff. Her eyes seemed glued shut, and, as uncomfortable as she was, she felt content to just lay there for a while, too tired to try and move. However, as she slowly became more and more awake, she remembered what happened, and she realized that she couldn't afford to remain napping, so she forced herself to pry her eyelids apart.
The director found herself on a cold, metal floor, lying on her back. There were no lights, but when she looked around, she could barely see the outlines of a couple shelving units, a workbench, and two recesses in the walls that she could only assume were doors. With a groan, she carefully sat up. The second she moved, the room lit up with blindingly bright lights, and the air was suddenly full of loud, blaring circus music. Matty grimaced, covering her ears and closing her eyes until she adjusted to the unpleasant surroundings. She blinked a few times, then stood up, nearly stepping on the phone and Bluetooth earpiece that had been placed on the floor at her feet. Picking them both up, she found that the phone already had the dial pad open with Mac's number all typed in.
The director let out a sigh that was completely drowned out by the obnoxious music that continued to drill into her aching skull. She did not like the idea of being the latest pawn in Murdoc's sick game. The very idea that he was trying to use her to hurt her people was absolutely infuriating, and evoked a sense of helplessness that she was not used to feeling. If there was one thing she prided herself on being able to do, it was helping and protecting those she cared about. But, clearly, she didn't have a choice in the matter, so after another moment of hesitation, she turned the earpiece on, put it in her ear, and called Mac.
Mac was once again pacing restlessly, glancing at his watch every few minutes, his anxiety radiating off of him in practically-visible waves. Riley, still trembling after the call with Murdoc thirty minutes earlier, was leaning against the wall by the door, pacing small circles and trying to get a grip again. Bozer was the only one of them not in motion, sprawled out on one of the chairs in the back of the room, staring up at the ceiling and clearly fighting to stay awake—it was nearing three in the morning, and stress could only keep him awake for so long. Jack, much like Riley and his partner, was pacing, but his movements were more angry than anxious. He was pacing the back wall, his face an apparently-permanent scowl, and he was being quite obviously cold towards the younger agent.
Mac glanced in Jack's direction and sighed internally. He was trying really hard not to take his partner's behavior to heart, like Kyser had warned, but it was easier said than done. It felt as though Jack were blaming him for the whole ordeal, and it was hard not to be hurt when the person whose support he needed most had barely spoken to him since Riley called. Jack was the one that said that they needed to stick together, that Murdoc was going to try and drive them apart and they couldn't let him, but he'd shut down at the first sign of the psychopath resurfacing.
That sign, however, had been targeting Riley, the closest thing Jack had to a daughter. She'd called him in tears, utterly terrified; the idea that he could have hurt her clearly scared Jack just as badly as it had scared her. The blond agent tried to remember that, and remember that his partner's obvious anger wasn't actually directed at him, but still—he was used to going into these situations with Jack's full support. This time, he felt alone even with his team in the same room. He felt nearly as alone as he did the night Jack was shot. And that was not how he wanted to feel going up against Murdoc to try and save Matty's life.
Mac again glanced at his watch, his worry level growing. Why hadn't Matty called yet? Murdoc said he hadn't hurt her, but there was no guarantee that that was true; it's not like he was known for his honesty. What if this first test wasn't a test at all, but just a way for Murdoc to get to him, get inside his head, prove that no one—not even Matty, who never even ventured into the field—was safe? What if all he wanted to do was kill her to take away the feeling of safety she gave him? What if he thought what he did to Drew simply didn't drive his point home enough?
Maybe all Murdoc wanted to do was show him—and his friends—what they should fear.
Before Mac's mind could spiral further into the abyss, his phone, at last, began ringing. The young agent froze in his tracks, looking down at the screen. He didn't recognize the number, but who else could it be? He shifted his eyes to Riley urgently.
"Riley, you're up," he told her, and the analyst quickly went to her computer, clearing her throat and getting to work trying to trace the call to its source as Mac answered, putting the call on speaker as Jack and Bozer moved towards him. Immediately, they heard circus music, blaring and distorted through his phone's speaker.
"Matty?" Mac called, flinching away from the noise.
"Figure out a way to turn this shit off, Blondie," their boss snapped irritably, wasting no time with pleasantries. Her team let out a collective sigh of relief, glad that she was indeed not only alive but unhurt—or, at least, not hurt badly enough to make her not act like herself.
"I'm working on it," Mac promised, waiting for the email Murdoc had mentioned so he could see what he was dealing with. Sure enough, seconds after their call connected, Mac got another email that he instantly forwarded to Riley. This time, the subject line read 'It's been 84 years...' The email contained two links and one sentence: 'Sorry for the delay.'
Riley clicked the first link and beamed the image up to the big screen. It showed two camera feeds, both displaying a metal room with two doors on adjacent walls, a workbench, a few shelving units, and, to their relief, Matty. Their boss was standing near the middle of the room, looking pissed off but relatively unhurt. The second link pulled up a window, but whatever camera it was linked to appeared to be offline.
Mac stepped closer to the screen, his eyes searching, trying to find the source of the music.
"Hey, Matty, see if you can find the speakers," he told her, his voice steady and calm, already feeling a bit better now that he, one, knew Matty was okay, and two, was faced with a problem he knew he could solve. They all watched as their boss started to make her way around the room, following the sound back to its source. Finally, she found it behind a crate in the corner and pushed the crate aside to expose the speaker to the room. Mac noticed the brand label and instantly started pulling up the specifications on his phone.
"Okay, Matty, I'm gonna walk you through disabling that thing," the agent sighed, not looking up. "First, you're going to want to—"
He looked up with a start when he heard a loud smashing sound, and saw Matty pounding away at the speaker with a thick hammer that had been hanging on the side of the workbench, effectively getting rid of the awful music. Mac blinked in shock, then made a face and shrugged.
"Or not," he said finally. "That works, too."
"What happened to Kyser?" Matty demanded.
"He's okay," said Mac, telling himself it wasn't a total lie—and, hell, for all they knew, it could end up being the truth. "We found him. He was shot, but he's alive."
Matty let out a breath, visibly relieved. "Good," she nodded. "Good...okay, now, how do I get out of here?"
"I'd say start trying doors," Mac shrugged. "It won't be that easy, but it's a start."
Matty agreed, and as she went about finding something to climb on to reach the wheel that would open the door, Mac studied the room carefully, frowning to himself.
"What are you thinking, Mac?" Bozer asked quietly, having come up beside him.
"That this looks familiar," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had a sense of déjà vu washing over him as he looked at this apparent storeroom, studying it—the walls, the shelves, the doors, everything he could see. When the obvious finally hit him, he frowned, feeling his heart sink.
"Matty, it looks like you're on a ship," he said at last as his boss moved on from the first door—which was locked—to the second.
"Lovely," Matty sighed, stepping onto the plastic milk crate she'd found and grabbing the door's wheel. This time, it turned easily, and she pulled it open. The moment she did, the second feed lit up, showing two side-by-side angles of another room, much like the first except that it appeared to be a generator room. The four agents could see their boss opening the door from one angle, and the rest of the room from the other.
"Um, Mac..." Director Webber sounded a bit nervous.
"Yeah, I see it, Matty," Mac nodded gravely. The ship's hull was being crushed inwards; the metal was groaning loudly, and water was leaking into the room, pooling on the floor. Mac fought to settle his stomach as it twisted into knots. It was starting to make sense, why the emails were titled with Titanic references. Why there was an inner tube left behind at the crime scene. The blond agent recalled what Murdoc had said as he'd attempted to diagnose his deepest baseline fear: "You weren't enough to save your grandfather, your training officer, or even that adorable little graduate studentsicle."
The ship that Matty was on, wherever it was, was going to sink, just like the ship Zoe had been on. For his first test, Murdoc was putting him right back in one of his biggest failures to date. Not exactly great for the confidence, but that was surely the point.
"Mac," Riley's voice was quiet, yet full of uneasy recognition; she'd noticed the resemblance between the scenarios, too. Judging by Matty's face, she'd had the same realization.
"I see it, Riley," he assured her.
If Murdoc had modeled this test after what happened to Zoe, then it was surely rigged to fail. Though, why would he do that? Like Kyser said, it was no fun if there was nothing he could do. Unless, of course, he was right before, when he was waiting for Matty to contact them: maybe all Murdoc wanted to do was see Matty dead, to make him think he had a chance only to find out that Murdoc had all the power.
The blond agent shook his head. Even if he was right, it didn't matter; he had to try. And he could be jumping to conclusions. Mac looked down at his phone screen and saw an option to add video to the call, which he quickly did.
"Hey, Matty, do me a favor and accept that video request and show me the door," Mac tried not to let the dread he felt be too audible. Matty did what he asked without question, and when the blond agent got a good look at the door, his face fell.
"The compression gasket is torn," he reported, worry and defeat on his face. "Just like what happened with Zoe Kimura and the R.V. Bancroft."
"Who?" Jack spoke up irritably. Mac fought the urge to flinch.
"You remember I told you about that research vessel in the arctic?" he cast his partner a weary glance over his shoulder. "And how all but one of those on board survived? Murdoc has put Matty in the same situation, and it looks like he's got her playing the part of the one I couldn't save."
All three of his companions deflated, and Matty closed her eyes for a moment. Mac quickly shook his head and cleared his throat.
"Hey, Matty, don't worry about it," he ordered, forcing a smile as he turned off the video sharing to conserve both of their phone batteries. "It's gonna be fine; there's some good news, here. First of all, you haven't been gone nearly long enough for me to think you're actually in the arctic. Second of all, it seems like he's just focusing on the last part of that whole disaster. And third of all, I know exactly how to get you out of there."
"But is that the test?" Matty challenged. "You didn't get anyone out of the ship, Mac; you just prevented it from sinking long enough for the Coast Guard to get there. Is that what he wants you to do now? Just seal me in on the other side of this door? And then what?"
"Matty, I don't..." Mac shook his head, his voice wavering just slightly before he cleared his throat. "I don't know. But this is the best starting point I know of. You're just going to have to trust me. Can you do that?"
Matty hesitated, taking a deep breath, then nodded, "Yes."
"Okay," Mac smiled slightly. "Then here's what I need you to do..."
As Mac started telling her all the ingredients she needed to gather to make the expanding resin and the detonator, he studied the leak in the ship's hull. Based on approximate dimensions of the room and the rate of water flow, they had about an hour before that door needed to be sealed. That was plenty of time. He could do this. Just because it didn't work last time didn't mean it was rigged; Murdoc was just trying to get inside his head and make him doubt himself.
Matty gathered all of the ingredients by the door, the last of which being a canister of diesel fuel. This particular item was on the far side of the flooding room, and the water had gotten deep enough that Matty had to swim over to it and retrieve it from its place on the shelf. Mac narrowed his eyes at the screen, his gut tightening at the sight, though he wasn't sure why. Matty's impatient voice jolted him from his thoughts.
"Mac!" she snapped for what was apparently not the first time. "What now?"
"Right, sorry, um..." Mac shook his head to clear it, checking his watch. The gathering of the ingredients had taken about fifteen minutes. "Start mixing the calcium carbonate with the diesel fuel. The ratio isn't important for this part; just use it all."
Matty nodded, going through the ingredients and selecting the bottle of calcium carbonate, pouring the whole container into the bucket before her. She picked up the canister of diesel fuel, removing the cap and beginning to lift it, but Mac's eyes grew wide as realization crashed into him.
"Matty, stop!" he shouted, just as she was about to start pouring. His boss froze, putting the canister down.
"Mac, what the hell?" Jack demanded. "She doesn't got a whole lot of time before that room fills up!"
"Her buoyancy's off," Mac sighed, rubbing his temples with the heels of his hands. "She was floating way too much. The ocean has an average salt content of about three-point-five percent, and Matty, the way you were floating in the water just now, that water is at least eight or nine percent. You can't just turn up the salinity of the ocean, so either you're in Mono Lake, or this is some kind of trick. And since I'm pretty sure someone would have noticed a sinking ship in the middle of Mono Lake..."
"This is a trick," Bozer concluded. They could hear Riley typing away, probably checking out Mono Lake via satellite just in case.
"Yeah," Mac gave a nod. "Murdoc has to be controlling the water, which means that either this ship is in a closed-down aquarium or something, or this is not a ship at all and the water is being pumped in."
"Well what the hell difference does it make where the water's coming from?" Jack demanded, looking at him like he'd sprouted another head. "Aquarium or pump doesn't change whether or not she drowns!"
"This is Murdoc we're talking about, Jack," Mac growled quietly, shooting an irritated look in his partner's direction. "Of course it makes a difference; he hasn't done a single thing by accident so far, so why would he start now?"
"Jack, just let Mac work it out," Matty ordered through the phone, trying to remain calm. "What are you thinking, Blondie?"
Mac took a moment—trying to ignore how Jack was bristling behind him—and assessed the materials at their disposal, then frowned.
"Shit," he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. "I don't have enough materials to make more than one bomb; if I get the point of this test wrong, it's game over."
"What the hell do you mean, you don't have enough materials?" Jack scoffed. "You could make a bomb out of a stick of gum; how do you not have enough materials?"
"I don't know where everyone seems to have gotten the impression that I am the god of explosives, but I'm not." Mac's voice was a bit sharper than he'd intended, and he forced it to soften when he continued, "I can only work with what I have, and based on what I have, I can make exactly one bomb. I can seal the first door or I can open the other one; that's it."
The blond agent let out a breath, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes for a second as he tried to think. Either it was a ship sinking in water, or Matty was on land and the water was being pumped in. It had to make a difference which one; why else would Murdoc play with the salinity levels if he didn't want Mac to notice? Unless, of course, he just wanted him to waste his time trying to figure out what difference it would make one way or the other.
Mac let his hands drift around the back of his neck and hang there as he lifted his head, looking up at the screen. After a second, he dropped his hands and tilted his head a bit.
"Or, maybe I don't have to choose," he mumbled, then raised his voice so his boss could hear him. "Matty, you see that generator?"
"Kinda hard to miss it," Matty confirmed.
"We're gonna try to make a winch," Mac nodded to himself, working through the math in his head. "Bypass the explosives altogether and just rip the door right off its hinges."
"Brute force; I like it," Jack approved, pacing away from his partner a bit, still very clearly tense.
"Alright, Matty, there are a bunch of wrenches hanging above the work bench," the blond agent sighed. "Grab the one...actually, just grab them all; we may need them later. You need to open that generator up for me, okay? I'll walk you through it from there. And take the materials you gathered and put them on the workbench, too; we'll need them dry if we have to come back to this plan."
"On it," Matty was already gathering up all of the materials and bringing her makeshift step stool—three milk crates held together with cable ties—over to the workbench. She made quick work of placing all of her supplies on the workbench, then climbed up onto its surface, gathering the wrenches. Then she quickly moved into the other room, bringing the step stool with her. After testing a few wrenches, she found the one that fit, and got to work. It became immediately apparent that this task would take some time; Matty was having trouble creating the force she needed to loosen the bolts securing the cover to the generator.
"C'mon, Matty..." Mac urged under his breath, watching the water level continue to rise. Matty's arms were shaking with the effort she was putting into loosening the first bolt, but, sure enough, it was turning. It took a precious ten minutes, but the director finally got all the bolts off and was able to lift the cover off the generator.
"Okay, good," Mac nodded. "Alright, first things first: see that silver thing in the middle, there? That's the alternator. Remove that; when we turn it on, that's gonna make electricity, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you why that's a bad thing."
"No, you do not," Matty chuckled softly, panting. She quickly swapped to the appropriate wrench and got to work. These bolts, however, were refusing to budge. After struggling for a few minutes, Matty let out a frustrated growl.
"I can't get it!" she yelled in irritation.
"Matty, these bolts were probably factory tightened," Mac sighed. "They won't give as easily as the first ones, but they will give eventually."
"The first ones didn't give easily, Mac!" Matty snapped at him, her frustration and terror manifesting in anger. "I'm telling you, it's impossible! I cannot turn these damn bolts!"
"You're gonna have to try," Mac countered helplessly.
"I did try! It's not working!"
"Mac," Jack's voice was low as he turned his back to the screen, his arms folded over his chest. "I think you might need to come up with something else, man."
"I don't have any other ideas, Jack," Mac hissed back, his eyes flashing as he tried with all he had to keep his poker face.
"Look, this is nothing against that big brain of yours," Jack tried to assure him, although Mac couldn't help but be less than convinced. "I'm just...I'm not sure Matty can physically do this, brother. Are you sure there's nothing else we could be trying right now?"
"Of course I'm not sure!" Mac finally snapped, glaring at his partner with a look of desperation, frustration, and fear on his face. "I'm not sure about any of this! I don't know which choice is the right choice or even if any of them are right at all! All I know is that if we choose wrong with these explosives, we don't have another shot, but if we can rig up the winch, it will get the door off."
The blond agent turned back to the screen and let out a breath, forcing his voice to soften. "This is the safest bet, Matty. I know that whole speech just now didn't exactly fill you with confidence, but I'm never sure, okay? I'm never sure, but I am usually right. Look, just try one more time. Take that screwdriver hanging off the edge of the workbench and put it in the hole at end of the wrench, then push against that. That should do the trick. And I mean that mathematically speaking; there's no way that doing this won't allow you to overcome the inertia of a factory-tightened bolt. You've gotta trust me, Matty. Just try."
Matty let out a frustrated growl, then visibly deflated, her shoulders slumping. After a moment, she gave a nod, then left the wrench in place and walked over to retrieve the screwdriver, having to slosh through the water to do so. As she made her way back towards the generator, Mac cast a glance in Jack's direction, finding his partner staring at him. The blond agent gave him an apologetic look, promising they'd talk later without saying a word, then turned his attention back to the screen. Matty was just putting the screwdriver in place. Their boss took a deep breath, then began pushing with all her strength.
The bolt wouldn't budge.
Mac cursed under his breath, his muscles tightening as he clenched his teeth together. A rush of anger ran through him as he pressed tightly-clenched fists to his forehead and let his eyes fall shut.
"Mac, it's not working," although she tried to hide it, Mac—and the rest of the team—didn't miss the growing amount of fear in her voice.
"Murdoc probably tampered with them," Mac told her with dread in his voice, sounding exhausted as he dropped his hands and opened his eyes. He tried to hide the defeat he felt, but he knew Jack had caught it. "Guess we'll have to go back to square one."
"Great," Matty said quietly, her voice flat. Then she cleared her throat and shook her head. "What do you want me to do?"
Mac looked at the screen sympathetically. "Matty, listen, I will get you out of this; I promise," the young agent tried to sound confident—or at least reassuring—and he wasn't sure if he'd managed it. "I'm not gonna let Murdoc kill you, okay? You believe me, right?"
Matty nodded without hesitation, "Of course I do."
"Good," Mac sighed with relief as Bozer stepped closer to the big screen, tilting his head as he examined the images, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Now just give me a minute to work this out. You'll be out of there in no time."
"Hey, Mac," Bozer spoke up. "Check this out."
"What?" Mac stepped up beside him, trying to find what had caught his best friend's attention. Bozer pointed to one of the two angles of the second room, at one of the corners on the far end of the room, along the wall where the water was coming in.
"Those bubbles don't look like they're from the water," he noted. Mac took a closer look at the image, and sure enough, he was right.
"Hey, Matty, you think you can go over there and see what might be making those bubbles?" he asked, gears already turning in his head. Bubbles meant gas, but what kind of gas? His first thought was flammable as opposed to toxic; Matty would probably have noticed adverse effects by that point. As far as flammable gases...the usual suspects—commercially available gases like propane and natural gas—all had a strong smell added to them that Matty definitely would have noticed. So, eliminating all of those options...
"It looks like a pipe," Matty reported, treading water near the corner in question, looking at the distorted image in the water. They watched as she drew a breath and swam down under the surface. When she came back up a few seconds later, she pushed her hair out of her face, wiped her eyes, and nodded.
"It's a pipe with holes drilled into it. Sealed on both ends and welded to the floor. It's...maybe two feet long, an inch and a half in diameter," she reported, swimming back to her step stool and climbing on top of it to keep most of her body above water.
"Okay, well, if it's not toxic or mind-altering, and it's not a commercial flammable gas, then..." Mac muttered to himself, his mind scrambling, trying to figure out what they were dealing with. After a moment, realization struck him.
"Shit," he breathed. "Okay, so I have good news, and I have bad news. The good news is, I figured out why Murdoc messed with the salinity of the water. The bad news is, he did it to facilitate the electrolysis of water."
"Okay, and what does that mean to people who haven't gone to MIT?" Jack's voice had a hint of irritation in it, and Mac felt his jaw tighten.
"You remember how I escaped my cell with El Noche?" he asked, glancing over at his partner.
"You blew the door out," Jack nodded.
"Yeah, and I did that using the electrolysis of water," Mac told him. "Salt acts as an electrolyte; add a current, and you separate the oxygen and hydrogen atoms in a water molecule. Oxygen is heavier than air, so it has been accumulating on the surface of the water, and hydrogen is lighter than air, so it has been accumulating at the ceiling for...probably at forty minutes. Both are obviously flammable, which is...a bit problematic for us."
"How so?" Riley asked, only half paying attention as she continued to try and trace the source of the video.
"Well, if we can't safely get the winch to work, then we're back to either sealing the door or blowing the other door open, both of which require a detonation that would definitely cause another, much larger and deadlier explosion by igniting the gas," Mac explained grimly, already doing the math in his head, trying to figure out how much gas had already accumulated.
"Then let's seal the pipe and stop the gas from escaping," Jack said, as though the solution were obvious.
"Anything we try to plug those holes with is just gonna get forced out by the gas buildup," Mac shook his head, his arms folded across his chest and eyes still distant. After a moment, he blinked and looked up again. "It doesn't matter anyway; with how long the pipe has been submerged, the salinity of the water, and the maximum current he could generate in these conditions without electrocuting Matty, that's still way too much gas accumulation. Even if we managed to stop any more of it from being formed, the damage has already been done. If that gas blows, Matty dies."
"What does that mean?" Matty demanded. "Can I get out of here or not?"
"Yes," Mac stated firmly, leaving no room for doubt. "It might be a bit messier than I wanted, but it'll happen. This doesn't change anything in that respect."
"So what's the plan?" Bozer asked, looking at Mac encouragingly.
"Well, the only way I can think to protect Matty from an explosion would be by putting the water between her and the gas," the blond agent mused. "Which means that sealing the door is officially out; we need the water level to keep rising. So, Matty, I'm gonna need you to grab a few more things for me."
Mac began directing Matty around the rooms, picking up the ingredients they'd need and then instructing her how to mix together an ammonium nitrate-based explosive putty with a booster and craft a detonator, and although his voice was steady and he sounded confident in his plan, his expression was grim. He was looking at the open door, gauging its thickness and calculating how much force they'd need to blow it off. Based off of what he saw, they had just enough material to get the job done, but that was if there were no surprises—such as, for example, Murdoc welding the door shut. If he'd done that, or in some other way reinforced the door, the blast wouldn't be enough.
Just as Matty finished combining all the ingredients in the bucket, Jack grabbed his partner's attention, clearly wanting to ask him about something. Mac nodded quickly, then turned his attention back to the screen.
"Alright, keep mixing that until it gets a consistency similar to Play-Doh," he ordered. "You're doing great, Matty. Almost there."
With this, Mac muted his microphone and turned to Jack expectantly.
"How is this gonna work, Mac?" his partner asked, his tone tense but not confrontational. "I mean, I'm no expert, but I have experienced my fair share of explosions, and even underwater that shockwave is gonna disorient her, maybe even knock her out; what are we gonna do about that?"
"I don't know," Mac admitted. "I don't know how to prevent that, and I'm not sure I even can. But Jack...this is our only shot. Look, I'm pretty sure she's not on a real ship. There has been no ocean movement, as far as I can tell, and the water is choppy today; unless it's a huge ship, which someone would notice sinking, I would have seen some evidence of that. So, if I'm right, and we can blow the door off, then all the water will drain out and carry her with it, and she'll be fine. If I'm wrong and we can't blow the door off, then the water will be too high and it won't matter if it knocks her out; she'll be dead anyway. It sucks, but this is the only play we got. Just...trust me, Jack. Please."
Jack hesitated, studying his partner critically. Finally, he gave a small, nervous nod, stepping back and giving him space. Mac looked at him gratefully, then unmuted his phone's microphone.
"How're we looking, Matty?" he asked.
"Putty's all ready," his boss reported. "Now what?"
"Now, we make the booster," Mac told her. The water was now nearly at the top of the workbench. "A higher-grade, more sensitive explosive that will trigger the putty. It's a quick one; after that, though, I think you're gonna have to find higher ground to make the detonator."
"I think you might be right," Matty agreed, her voice betraying her uneasiness. Mac grimaced, but didn't respond to that, instead walking her through how to construct the booster packet. When it was finished, and the high-grade explosives were neatly packaged in what was essentially coffee filter paper scavenged from the air intake of the now-useless generator, he had her place the package on the tallest shelf of the shelving unit beside the workbench that she could reach, in an effort to keep it dry.
By then, the water had risen over the top of the workbench, and all of the remaining supplies had been moved to the shelving unit. Mac could hear his boss's anxiety level rising with every breath.
"Matty, just stay with me," Mac urged. "We have plenty of time to get this done. You can do this; just stay calm."
"Calm," Matty scoffed out a laugh. "Right."
"Yeah, well, try," Mac chuckled. "Okay, now we're gonna make the detonator, so grab that walkie-talkie for me."
Matty did as she was told, picking up the device from the shelf.
"Now, we're gonna pop the chasis off—maybe just a bit more gently than you did with that speaker," the blond agent instructed, pleased when he managed to get a smile and a bit of laughter from her. "After that, you're gonna want to pull the orange and yellow wires off the board. You don't have to be too careful; we're gonna strip those."
The director had already grabbed a small flathead screwdriver, anticipating what he was going to ask, and she worked it into the seam of the walkie-talkie body. "I don't even have this thing cracked open yet, and you remember what color the wires are?"
Mac didn't take his eyes off the monitor, but he lifted his phone a bit closer to his mouth so that he could speak more quietly.
"How could I forget?"
It wasn't quietly enough; Jack still heard him. "What do you mean, 'remember'? You've pulled this trick before?"
Mac opened his mouth, to respond, to explain, but something behind him captured Jack's attention, and low speaking voices met his ears. Probably Riley, explaining it to Jack and Bozer. How he'd walked another relatively-short woman through this exact same scenario.
Matty didn't question him; she just snapped the plastic body open and located the two wires he'd called out. And they were there; it was the exact same model that had been on the R.V. Bancroft.
How did Murdoc know? How could he have possibly known everything—right down to the tiniest detail—about what happened on that ship? And if he did know, and he knew how this had turned out the first time, how could Mac trust that this walkie-talkie was actually going to work? Clearly he'd tampered with the generator bolts; what was stopping him from tampering with this? There were no guarantees.
Matty was very obviously thinking the same thing, even as she struggled with the wire strippers. "Mac...this is probably a bad time to ask, but do you know what went wrong last time?"
Mac hesitated, swallowing hard, and forced his voice to steady before he spoke.
"No," he admitted. "I have theories, but...listen. Murdoc clearly knows what happened, and I'll get to the bottom of that mystery after we get you out of there. Still, this won't be any fun for him if he's stacked the deck too much in his favor. He knows we're taking a risk, trying this again when it clearly isn't foolproof. It should have worked then—hell, it did work then, on my end—and it will work now. Just...try to keep the battery compartment completely dry, if you can."
The look Matty gave the camera would have made him laugh, if the circumstances had been less dire.
"I'll get right on that," she quipped, using the heel of her thumb to push her sopping hair out of her eyes.
The low-pitched murmuring behind him had stopped, and Mac didn't dare look back at any of them. He could imagine their faces well enough. Besides, Matty had finally managed to strip both wires.
"Alright, now, strip both ends of both of those coils of wire, and attach one end from each coil to one of the wires you just stripped," he instructed. "It doesn't matter which one goes where; both are going to the same place."
Matty had gotten the hang of the wire strippers, and made quick work of this task.
"Perfect," Mac's lips twitched into an anxious smile. "Now, listen: I'm almost positive you're not on an actual ship, so I'm gonna ask you to punch a hole out of the wall instead of blowing the door open."
"I don't follow," Matty frowned in confusion, looking at the water—which was getting ready to rise over the top of the workbench—worriedly.
"Well, I wouldn't put it past Murdoc to have somehow reinforced the door to make it harder to blow out," Mac sighed. "And since we get exactly one shot at this, I'm not going to take that chance. And if you're not actually on a ship, the walls probably aren't as strong as they seem. So, take that putty and start making a new door; it's safe to touch with your hands. Try to get as close to the floor as you can."
Matty took a deep breath, then grabbed a handful of putty and jumped into the water, swimming down to the floor and using the leg of the workbench to help herself stay down while she started putting the putty in place. By the time she was done, the putty outlined a roughly four-and-a-half-foot-tall door shape, and the water reached just above Matty's ankles when she stood on the workbench.
"Great work, Matty," Mac approved. "Now, take that booster, stick it halfway down one of the sides of your new door, and cover it with the last of the putty. Then take the two wires of our detonator and insert the stripped ends into the booster—and make sure you reach the booster through the putty."
"On it," Matty nodded, picking up the small coffee filter package she'd hung on the board behind the workbench among the tools, containing the small amount of a stronger explosive that would ignite the putty she'd made, as well as the last heaping handful of putty and the long coils of wire connected to the walkie-talkie they were using as a detonator. The director made quick work of her task and returned to her place on top of the workbench in about a minute.
"Alright, now, put the walkie-talkie in the plastic bag and tape it shut," Mac instructed, his heart starting to pound. "Make sure no water can get to it. Leave the wires out. Then, we've gotta wait a little bit, let the water fill up so you have more of a cushion against the blast."
"Got it."
Mac watched nervously as his boss did as she was told, making sure the device was sealed off from the water around her. Then, they had no choice but to wait about ten minutes by Mac's estimate, until the water was up to about Matty's shoulders as she stood on the workbench.
"So, how is Kyser, really?" the director asked hesitantly.
"Matty..." Mac sighed wearily.
"Hey, we've got time," Matty's voice was just a bit sharp, like she was not in the mood to argue, and she wasn't. "What else is there to talk about?"
"Yeah," the blond agent's voice was small. "Yeah, I guess you have a point..."
"What happened to him?"
Mac heaved another sigh, knowing that he couldn't very easily lie to her, even over the phone, but not wanting to stress her out more than she already was.
"Well, like I told you, he was shot," he began finally. "Twice. One of those shots was through his hand. According to him, he'd been reaching for his gun at the time. Bullet severed some tendons, but his doctor thinks he'll make a full recovery. He's scheduled for surgery to repair it tomorrow—er, today, technically. He busted a couple ribs in the crash and has a bit of a concussion, but he's gonna be okay."
"Well, that's good," Matty seemed relieved.
"He also managed to stab Murdoc in the leg," Mac added.
"And he's getting a raise and a party when I get back."
All five of them laughed at that, and then Matty spoke again and silenced them all.
"What about the second shot?"
Mac hesitated, swallowing hard and shifting his feet.
"Matty, maybe we should just focus on the matter at hand," Jack began. Matty was having none of it.
"What about the second shot?" she repeated, her voice sharp.
Mac looked down and shifted his feet, taking a deep breath before lifting his head and speaking.
"The second shot was a gut shot," he explained. "The, ah...the bullet hit his spine. They're calling it an incomplete spinal injury; he's got partial paralysis of his legs."
Matty's eyes fell shut, and she let out a shuddering breath.
"Hey, but nothing's certain yet," Mac rushed to add. "It's an incomplete injury; he has some feeling and some movement in his legs. His doctor says that there's a very real possibility that he could partially or even fully recover. He's not giving up, so we can't, either."
"And you call that 'okay'?" Matty's voice took on an angry edge. "The agent I dragged into that trap may never walk again and you're here telling me he's gonna be okay?!"
"He's gonna be fine," Jack sounded a lot more confident than Mac knew he felt. "Whether he walks again or not, we're gonna take care of him. He'll be alright."
"And it's not your fault, Matty," Mac added.
"I chose him to come with me," their boss snapped. "He tried to warn me that it was a trap, but I didn't listen. I told him to keep driving. If I'd just listened to him—and listened to my gut—he wouldn't be in this mess, and maybe I wouldn't, either. If it's not my fault, then whose is it?"
"Oh, I dunno," Bozer shrugged, stepping closer to his best friend. "Maybe the guy who shot him in the first place?"
Matty sighed, but didn't respond. By then, the water had risen to her chest, so Mac cleared his throat.
"Matty, I'd love to give you an extensive breakdown of Kyser's current condition, but we've gotta get back to work," he prompted gently. "You with me?"
Director Webber hesitated, then gave a nod and swallowed hard.
"Okay," he sighed. "Now, here's the hard part. You've gotta get as far away from this explosion and as close to the floor as possible. The shelving units are bolted to the ground, so try one of those. Hold on tight if you can, but if you can't, the water should carry you out, so it shouldn't matter too much. Since you're going to have to go underwater to detonate this bomb, we...we're gonna lose communication. If the shockwave doesn't damage the phone or the earpiece, we'll still be able to talk to you, but you won't be able to respond. And if...if this doesn't work, Matty..."
"Then I'm literally dead in the water," Matty finished his thought for him, her tone almost comically casual. "I gathered that."
"Right..." Mac confirmed grimly, his stomach turning over.
"Listen, Blondie, if this doesn't work, don't beat yourself up over it," Matty ordered, her voice both firm and compassionate. "You did what you could. You all did. It's no one's fault but Murdoc's."
"I don't know about that," Mac laughed humorlessly, feeling his throat get tight. His boss was already swimming for her position with the detonator in hand, letting the wires uncoil behind her.
"Mac, if you're gonna tell me Kyser's condition isn't my fault, then my situation certainly isn't yours."
"Well, you didn't pull the trigger and shoot Kyser," Mac pointed out. "If this doesn't work, you'll...you'll die as the direct result of an explosion I helped make."
"Someone smack him for me," Matty rolled her eyes. Back at the Phoenix, her team laughed slightly.
"But, seriously, guys..." Matty's tone sobered, and she looked up at the camera with a look in her eyes that made Mac's stomach churn. "If I don't make it back, I need you guys to know that it was never your fault. I need you to—"
"Save your goodbye speech, Matty," Jack growled, though there was a slight waver in the words. "You won't be needing it for a long time."
"Thanks, Dalton," Matty scoffed, her voice trembling a bit. Then she took a quick breath. "Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck."
"Good luck," Riley and Bozer said in unison, while Mac and Jack both stayed silent. They all watched, frozen, as Matty inhaled deeply, then dove under the surface. A few seconds later, the bomb detonated, and they saw both rooms get engulfed in orange flame a split second before the camera feeds cut out, the windows closing completely.
"Matty?" Mac's voice shook when he said his boss's name. He received no answer, so he tried again, "Matty!"
"What happened?" Bozer asked no one in particular. "Was that it? Did we win?"
"I don't know," Mac could feel panic rising up in him as he spoke, and he quickly brought his phone closer to his lips. "Matty!"
"Riles," Jack turned to look at the analyst. "You find her?"
"The signal's gone," Riley shook her head, fear on her face. "I couldn't pin it down; I'm sorry."
Mac's chest grew tight as he felt the color drain from his face. He was as sure as he could possibly be that his solution was the right one, but still...did he just get Matty killed?
The blond agent looked down at his phone, noting that his call with Matty had been disconnected, and stared anxiously at the screen, waiting for some kind of contact from Murdoc. It felt like hours had passed before, at last, his phone notified him of a new email. He opened his inbox immediately, and found an email with just the word "Grade" in the subject line. Mac drew a quick deep breath before he tapped on it. He then skimmed over the body of the message, just trying to determine whether he was right or not. Thankfully, he was, and after determining this his eyes were drawn to a set of coordinates a the bottom of the message.
"Is tac ready to go?" Mac asked his partner.
"Simmons and Carter both have their teams standing by," Jack confirmed, his eyes hopeful.
"Perfect," Mac let out a breath, sending the coordinates to both tac team leaders before lifting his head to look at his team. "We were right. Murdoc sent her location."
Bozer and Riley both let out relieved and elated noises, but Jack turned to Mac.
"What else did he say?" the former Delta asked, his voice quiet. Mac swallowed hard and looked back down at his phone, and Jack moved so he could read over his shoulder.
Very good, Angus. Though, not your best work, I have to say. A few close calls. Still, points for creativity, and you did, ultimately, get the correct answer. I'm glad to see you did study; let's just hope for your sake that you study a bit harder for the next exam. All that being said, I give this effort a solid B. You passed, but don't think it'll always be this easy. I'll see you soon, MacGyver.
"Oh, I am going to kill this bastard if it's the last thing I ever do." Jack muttered.
Mac shook his head, putting his phone away and going to sit down in one of the open chairs, his body collapsing in pure exhaustion. His head was spinning with a million thoughts, the tension in his weary muscles refusing to release. He couldn't keep doing this. He barely saved Matty this time—and, really, he wasn't even certain she was okay—so if the next 'exam' was going to be even harder...
The blond agent blinked, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He couldn't think about that now; if he did, he'd just drive himself insane. For now, it was over. For now, that was enough. And, thanks to Kyser, Murdoc likely needed time to recover from this exam just as badly as Mac did, so for now, he could breathe.
For now, he'd won.
It was the second time in twenty-four hours that Jack had gathered in a hospital room with his friends and colleagues, waiting for news of another friend's condition, and he had to say, he was getting damn near sick and tired of it. Matty was unconscious in her hospital bed, but Doctor Chang said she was going to be just fine. When Simmons, Carter, and the rest of tac found her, she was lying in the middle of an old manufacturing plant near the coast. The place had been totally cleared out, apart from a large, newly-created metal structure that had been used to simulate the two rooms of the ship. Mac had been right on many counts, including that the door had been welded shut and that the water was being pumped in. The director had been bleeding and unconscious, lying on her back on the damp concrete floor, but the source of the blood—and lack of consciousness—was simply a nasty bump on the head, right along the hairline. She'd have a headache, but she'd be alright.
The former Delta glanced across the room at Mac, who was sitting beside Matty's hospital bed, his eyes distant and hands clasped in front of his face as his knee bounced restlessly. The kid looked like crap; his shirt was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and the circles under his eyes were dark and heavy. He looked like he was one step away from going right over the edge. They hadn't had the chance to talk yet, but that was mostly because Jack knew that trying to get him alone at the moment would be next to impossible; he wouldn't leave without first knowing that Matty would be okay. Until she woke up, they were just going to have to suffer in silence.
"Well, don't you all look like a cheerful bunch," Matty's slightly-gravelly voice drew all eyes to her, and the four agents smiled widely.
"Matty, hey," Mac spoke first, his relief evident. "How're you feeling?"
"Sore," Matty told him honestly. "Like I was just in a car accident and then blew up a room while I was still in it."
Everyone in the room laughed, and Mac gave a shrug. "That's fair."
Matty looked around, and, realizing she wasn't at the Phoenix, frowned and asked, "Where am I?"
"At the hospital," Riley told her. "Simmons didn't want to take any chances, so he brought you here to make sure you were alright."
"Kyser is right next door," Bozer added. "Er, well, he will be; he went into surgery about twenty minutes ago. Jack got tac to secure this floor, and Ramirez and Locke secured the OR. Murdoc is not getting anywhere near either one of you any time soon. Not without having to go through a whole bunch of pissed-off, revenge-driven members of the tac team."
"Good," Matty approved. "And what's the word on me?"
"Concussion, some bumps and bruises, and a nasty cut on your head, but no broken bones, no lasting damage," Mac reported.
"Do you remember anything?" Jack asked, speaking for the first time.
"Not really," their boss shook her head. "I got knocked out in the crash. I woke up briefly in the car with Murdoc, but then he drugged me, and I didn't wake up again until I was on that boat." She let out a weary sigh. "Except that it wasn't a boat, was it?"
"Nope," Mac shook his head. "Just an elaborate set Murdoc put together."
"Of course," Matty grumbled. "Well, after I detonated the bomb, the wall burst open, all the water went rushing out, and I lost my grip on the shelf, so I got swept away with it. I hit my head on something on the way out, I guess, because I don't remember ever seeing the outside of that thing."
"You didn't miss much," Bozer promised.
"Any leads on Murdoc?" Matty looked hopeful, but Riley shook her head grimly.
"Nothing," she told her, defeat in her tone. "He's gotta be working with someone, because his digital tracks were covered like a pro, far beyond anything he could pull off alone. I'll keep trying, but there's not a whole lot I can do at this point."
"Hey, guys, maybe we should let Matty rest for a bit," Jack suggested, though he clearly wasn't asking. When their boss opened her mouth to say something he cut her off, "Matty, you've just been through a helluva lot; you need to get some rest. I'll go let the doc know you're awake. Mac," he shifted his gaze to his partner, and Mac looked over at him almost hesitantly, "walk with me."
Mac paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, then nodded and stood up, giving Matty a smile.
"I'll be right back," he promised. Matty gave an understanding nod, then both partners left the room. Doctor Chang was just coming around the corner towards them, so Jack quickly filled him in. As the doctor headed into Matty's room, the former Delta clapped a hand down on Mac's shoulder and guided him into Kyser's vacant room.
"I don't think I need to tell you that we need to talk, brother," Jack sighed as he closed the door behind them.
"No," Mac shook his head. "No, you don't."
They were both silent for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. Mac found his voice first.
"Listen, Jack, I'm sorry," the blond agent told him, guilt in his words. "I was wrong...well, I've been wrong a lot recently. I was wrong about securing Riley's place, I was wrong twice about who Murdoc was going to target first, I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier..."
"Hey, hey, Mac, no," Jack cut in before Mac could ramble any further. "You got nothin' to be sorry for, brother. You hear me? Nothing. I'm the one who should be apologizing, here. I've been an ass to you since Riley called. You did nothing wrong, man. You had Riley's place locked down as tight as you possibly could. And listen, as much as you may want to, you can't protect all of us at all times; there was nothing you could have done to prevent this. You got it?"
Mac hesitated, looking at him like a scared kid, just trying to gain some control over this chaos. After a second or two, he nodded.
"Good," Jack approved. "Now, look, Mac...the two of us really screwed the pooch on this one. We were at each other's throats the whole time; we gave that bastard exactly what he wanted. I know neither one of us was in our right mind throughout this whole mess...but we really need to make sure we practice what we preach. Or else next time, it might not turn out as well as it did."
"I know," Mac let out a breath. "He kicked our asses back there, Jack."
"Yeah," Jack couldn't help but laugh, the sound bitter and angry. "Yeah, he did. And I can't tell ya how sorry I am, Mac. I did not have your back when you needed me. There's no excuse for that. I let that bastard get in my head, and I let you pay the price for it."
"Yeah, but then, when you got it together, I was the one shutting you out," Mac reminded him. "Jack we've been out of sync for a while, now; this just showed us how much. And I don't know what to do about it. I don't...I don't know how to fix any of this."
"Well, I think that we may need a few more ground rules, on top of the 'no lying' thing," the older agent suggested.
"Such as?" Mac lifted an eyebrow.
"Such as, you need to relax and not insist on doing everything yourself," Jack stated bluntly. "And I know that's easier said than done, brother, but you work yourself any harder and your brain's gonna be fried the next time this bastard shows his face, and then what are we gonna do? Start sharing the load; the rest of us want to help anyway. Stop trying to say you're fine all the time, too; we have eyes, Mac. We know you're struggling, and that's okay; we can help. And you know that I will do my best not to let this bastard rattle me like this again, but if he does, you call me out, got it?"
"Got it," Mac nodded.
"And hey, I know I haven't been cleared for the field, and I know you don't want me to get myself hurt more than I already am, but for the sake of my sanity, please stop handling me with kid gloves," Jack continued. "It's infuriating. I may not be a hundred percent, yet, but I can still have your back. And probably the most important thing, stop looking at me—at all of us—with this look in your eyes like you killed our dog or something. He's gonna use that guilt against you and it's not your fault. Saying that Murdoc being obsessed with you is your fault is like saying there oughta be tits on a bull; it's ridiculous."
"I know," Mac let out a heavy breath, visibly deflating as he dropped down into one of the chairs by the door. "God, I know, Jack, but..."
"No buts," Jack shook his head. "Mac, you are so much better than this guy. No one in the world has got a brain like yours. I've been working with you for, what? Six years, now? And in all that time, no matter how insane the situation, you have never let me down. Not once. So why should I or anyone else—including you—think that would change now? He's obsessed with you because you can and have beaten him; honestly, he has more faith in you than you seem to, right now. Keep in mind, Murdoc has never gotten away on your watch, only once he's been out of your control. Of everyone, you can beat him."
Mac stared at him, something like relief or gratitude—or both—on his face.
"That said," Jack sighed, making Mac's face fall just a bit before he continued. "You gotta let us in, Mac. To tell you the truth, we'd really like to be looped in on this. Since, y'know, he's coming after all of us, not just you. We've been trying to help you for a month, brother; let us. You could probably get a lot more done with five pairs of eyes instead of just one, too. So, do we have a deal?"
Mac paused, seeming conflicted, but he nodded anyway. Jack's face broke out into a goofy grin, which put a smile on Mac's face, too.
"Good," Jack approved. "Then, let me be the first to say, that was damn good work today, brother."
"Thanks, Jack," Mac said sincerely. His body looked less tense than Jack had seen it in a month, and the sight made his grin grow even wider.
"Anytime," the former Delta dipped his head. "Now c'mon; let's go join the others before Kyser gets out of surgery and Ramirez comes and talks our ears off."
Mac laughed, the sound genuine for the first time since he was shot, as far as Jack knew, and the blond agent got to his feet, "Let's go, then."
The two partners made their way back to Matty's room, falling into step beside each other as naturally as breathing. Neither could say they were totally back to normal, but this was as close as they'd been in a long time. For now, that was enough.
That was so damn long and I applaud you for making it to the end. Now, you may have noticed that I marked this story complete. That's because it is; this is just exam 1. The second exam will be its own story, and it is being written (or at least plotted) as we speak—er, well...as I type. I'm very excited to continue this story line and I hope you stick with me until the final exam. I promise, it'll be one hell of a ride. Please let me know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you soon for the next one!
