AN: Apologies that this took so long; it's been a crazy couple of weeks and I've been exhausted of late! I tried something a little new this time; hope you like it!
GRAVEYARD
Mac stood silently before the still-new headstone (it was almost a year old), not having any words to say.
But, as my grandpa used to say, sometimes, you don't need to say anything at all.
He swallowed, slipping a hand into his pocket to pull out a paperclip, which his fingers quickly began to re-shape without him really thinking about it.
Less than a minute later, Mac crouched down and set the paperclip, now shaped like an ice-cream cone, in front of the headstone, where it joined bunches of flowers, a genuinely adorable little ice sculpture of an adult penguin with a couple of smaller penguins nestled against her and a copy of Zoe's PhD thesis (posthumously completed by some of her students and her supervisor).
Then, he straightened, wiped the tears from his eyes and managed a smile, before turning, tightening his coat and scarf, and walking away.
ICE-CREAM PARLOUR
(A VERY PARTICULAR ICE-CREAM PARLOUR)
(IT DOES AMAZING ROCKY ROAD)
Fifteen minutes later, Mac sat at a table at the very back of the ice-cream parlour (Zoe's favourite, it'd turned out – Jack had dragged him here after the funeral, hoping to comfort him with a double scoop of rocky road, and the proprietor had taken one look at their black suits and sombre expressions and mentioned the fact, sad and sombre and affectionate), an ice-cream cone in hand.
(Rocky road, of course.)
(It was delicious. Best he'd ever had.)
(Zoe had great taste.)
(But he was sure it'd taste so much better if she were here to share it.)
They say time heals all wounds.
I'm not completely convinced.
Mom. Al. Grandpa. Zoe. Nikki, in a way. Dad, in a similar way.
My losses still hurt.
Sometimes, just as badly as the day I lost them.
Time has dulled the pain…but I don't think these wounds will ever fully heal.
And sometimes, I'm glad for it.
Yes, it hurts.
Maybe it makes me a masochist.
But if it still hurts, it means I'll never forget them.
As he waited for his flight at the airport, Mac's phone chimed, indicating the receipt of an email.
He unlocked his phone, to find that it was from his dad.
His dad practically never initiated communication. It was almost always Mac.
(Oversight would have some kind of message – read: orders – for him from time to time. But Mac's dad wasn't one to text first.)
But here was an email, out of the blue, right before his eyes.
Mac opened it.
It was short, blunt, even a little rude. But if he got anything else from his dad, Mac would consider the fact that he was being coerced and/or was leaving him a coded message to be the most likely possibility.
Angus – you remember the date.
I thought you'd like these.
Attached were a series of photographs.
From long weekends at the cabin in Tahoe to his parents' wedding to what seemed like a couple of carnival photo-booth pictures of his parents looking younger than he ever remembered seeing them (only his mom could have talked his dad into photo-booth photos, Mac was sure) to his first day at school, aged four.
He paused a little on that photo, staring at it, smiling fondly and softly and a little sadly and wistfully. He was so small, grinning in eager excitement from ear to ear. His mom was crouched beside him, her arm around him, looking so very happy and proud and a little sad that her baby was growing up so fast, and, somehow, at least 75% as excited as four-year-old him looked. His dad was standing behind them, a hand on his wife's shoulder, a hand on his son's, another one of those soft, fond, loving smiles on his face that Mac sadly hardly remembered (they'd become pretty much non-existent after his mom died), eyes shining with pride.
He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat (it'd be twenty-two years in four days), and was snapped out of his reverie by an announcement.
'Now boarding Flight 237A to Los Angeles…'
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
'…All I'm saying, brother, is that you can't prove that Marvin the Martian ain't walking around up there. And ain't you always saying that there's gotta be other life out there?'
As they walked into the war room, Jack pointed sagely at Mac, who just rolled his eyes with a very long-suffering look on his face, muttering something about the likelihood of any of those other life forms being located on Mars and having the appearance of Marvin the Martian being so improbable as to be impossible, as Bozer and Riley glanced at one another and snorted in laughter.
They grew sombre as they caught the expression on Matty's face. She looked even more serious than she usually did at their mission briefings, and they all snapped to the closest to attention they ever had at the Phoenix, Mac reaching for a paperclip from the bowl as usual. Matty regarded them for a millisecond, before reaching up and tapping the big screen.
An image of a family of four, laughing and smiling on a beach, appeared. A man and a woman aged in their mid-forties, he with his arm around her shoulders. The woman had a little girl of about four or five nestled into her side, while an older boy of about twelve or thirteen was eagerly building a sandcastle with the 'help' of his little sister.
A feeling of dread grew in Mac's belly, and he knew without looking at them that the same feeling was rising in Jack, Bozer and Riley.
There was only one reason for Matty to show them this photo.
And it's not 'cause we're getting a lesson in being a happy family.
She tapped the screen again, and the photo changed to a formal photo of the man, dressed in full military dress uniform.
'This is Lieutenant-Colonel Jonathan Walters. Stationed at Camp Pendleton until two months ago when he was transferred to the Pentagon into a position above all of your security clearances.' Jack let out a low whistle. They had very high security clearances. Not many people outside really covert covert ops had higher. 'He left his wife Miriam and their children Noah and Grace in LA. They were supposed to make the move to D.C. to join him in three months.' Matty paused, as Mac swallowed, the paperclip in his hands now finally beginning to take a definite shape. 'An hour and a half ago, they disappeared on their way home from school. Thirty minutes ago, Lieutenant-Colonel Walters received an untraceable phone call, demanding classified intelligence in exchange for his family.'
Jack sucked in a breath, and the four agents exchanged a glance, before Jack spoke.
'And we all know that the US government doesn't negotiate with terrorists.' He cracked his knuckles. 'How long we got, boss?'
As everyone knows, the US government does not negotiate with terrorists.
That aside, Lieutenant-Colonel Walters cannot give up that intel, because if he does, people will die. American soldiers. Allied soldiers. Civilians, maybe.
But if he doesn't, his family will die.
This is a problem. A terrible problem. A Sophie's Choice.
There's only one solution to this.
Only one that we'll consider.
Today's mission isn't about the big picture or even taking down the bad guys.
No, today's mission is a rescue mission, plain and simple.
Matty tapped the screen and a countdown clock appeared.
'The kidnappers gave him twenty-four hours.' She tapped the screen again, and a very limited intel briefing appeared. Everything they had on the kidnapping, which wasn't much, to say the least. 'The Lieutenant-Colonel is on his way to the Phoenix…'
Mac tossed the hourglass-shaped paperclip onto the coffee table as he quickly read the briefing, brain going at a thousand miles an hour.
They had twenty-three hours and twenty-eight minutes left.
Twenty-four minutes later, Riley slumped back in her seat, dejected and frustrated. She motioned to her laptop, as Mac, Jack, Matty and Bozer, going through what sparse intel they had, looked up at her.
She gestured to her laptop.
'Guys, it really is untraceable. I can't trace that call.'
Bozer looked astounded for a second, as did Jack, before their expressions melted away into concern, as Matty and Mac exchanged a glance.
If Riley couldn't trace it, no one could.
There went their only lead.
Twenty-three hours, twenty-two minutes.
NOAH AND GRACE WALTERS' ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
LA
Riley, with her hair in a messy bun, wearing black-framed glasses and a dress shirt and dark-wash jeans, walked into the school reception, a messenger bag over her shoulder.
She greeted the receptionist, who was just packing up her handbag and appeared to be about to leave.
'Hi, I'm Rachel from Geeks2U. I was called to fix an issue with your network?'
The issue had been caused by Riley herself, but she didn't need to know that.
The woman looked very, very relieved, and gestured towards her computer.
'Oh, thank God. Every computer just stopped working suddenly, and…' She made a helpless, slightly frazzled gesture. 'Do you need, uh, access to the other computers or…?'
Riley smiled reassuringly and confidently at her, moving to sit behind the receptionist's desk.
'I'm pretty sure I can handle it from here.'
The woman smiled gratefully at her, as her phone in her handbag rang. She pulled it out, looking apologetic.
'I'm so sorry, I have to take this…it's my son…'
Riley smiled at her as the receptionist made to duck outside.
'No problem, I should have this fixed in a few minutes…'
The receptionist looked a bit doubtful, but ducked out anyway, as Riley, a far more serious look crossing her face, got to work.
There probably wasn't anything in the school's network or CCTV, since the Walters had been taken two miles from the school, but it couldn't hurt to check.
Especially since they had no leads.
Twenty-two hours, forty-eight minutes.
Two miles down the road, Mac and Jack, dressed as workmen from the local power company (disguises were essential; they knew full well that they were dealing with pros, and they might be monitoring the area for people like them), searched the area where Miriam Walters' cell phone signal had disappeared.
It was a testament to how serious they both knew this was, how urgent, that Jack barely fooled around with the cherry-picker he was on.
Though, being Jack, when he saw his partner look up from where he was examining the sides of an electricity pole, looking like his thoughts were far too dark, he pasted a silly grin on his face that he didn't feel and pointed up to the top of a tall tree.
'Hey, brother, reckon I could touch the top?'
He pressed the button on the cherry-picker that would raise the carriage. Mac, clearly recognizing Jack's effort for what it was, returned it by looking up, examining the cherry-picker, Jack and the tree for a second, before rolling his eyes and speaking.
'Nope. You're gonna fall about five feet short.'
'Did you take into account my awesome vertical leap?'
Mac snorted.
'A, your vertical leap, while above average, is still in the eightieth percentile; I doubt that qualifies as awesome. B, yes, of course I did, and C, you're still going to fall short.'
(Mac was right.)
(But so was Jack.)
(The blonde returned to his search, mood a touch lighter, thoughts a touch calmer.)
Twenty-two hours, thirty-seven minutes.
In the Phoenix van (disguised as a vehicle from the local electricity company), two hundred yards from Mac and Jack, Bozer pored over all the local traffic cam footage in conjunction with Jill back at the Phoenix.
As they finished the last of the cameras in a one-mile radius, he exchanged a glance with the forensic analyst on his left-hand side monitor.
A very grim look.
They knew the further out they got, the less likely it would be that they'd find anything.
After a moment, Jill spoke.
'Sending you half the footage between one and two miles now.'
Bozer nodded.
But that didn't mean they would give up.
They couldn't give up.
Twenty-two hours, thirty-one minutes.
Riley's brow furrowed as she caught sight of a man wearing coveralls (barely – he had almost managed to evade the camera completely), identical to those of the school's maintenance man.
The time stamp showed that it was six days ago, at 5:30 PM, well after the end of the school day, and well after the time that the receptionist left.
The school would have been deserted, as the cleaners weren't due for another hour and there were no after-school activities on Wednesdays.
It wasn't weird in the slightest that the maintenance man was walking around at that time. It was a good time to fix a broken gutter or trim some trees, after all.
Except for the fact that that day, the maintenance man had left early (relatively speaking, anyway) in order to attend his daughter's ballet recital.
With a renewed surge of energy and motivation, Riley searched all the other cameras in the school for that day and time.
She came up with only one other still, which only showed half of his body anyway.
This guy was good.
Really, really good.
She had the left third of his body, from the back. No hope of getting his face, or even his hair colour, with the baseball cap he was wearing.
The image was blurry as hell, as well.
But he was holding something in his hand. Brow furrowing, Riley zoomed in on it.
It looked like a label of some sort, partially obscured by his hand.
Riley leaned back a little, her fingernails clacking even faster on her keyboard as she started running one of her image-enhancing programs.
She could do better than 'red label'.
She had to.
Twenty-two hours, twenty-one minutes.
Something caught Mac's eye among the green grass.
Something that didn't belong.
He crouched down, looking more closely, then pulled out his Swiss Army knife and took out the tweezers. Carefully, he picked up the fibres that'd caught his eye and examined them, taking into account the colour, apparent texture and the way that the fibres were entangled.
He pulled out a small plastic bag from the pocket of his coveralls, and put the fibres inside, before carefully prising one free, taking it out and rubbing it between his fingers.
Then, he went over to the cherry-picker and started unscrewing a panel on the base.
'Brother, what are you…' Jack groaned. 'I have a bad feeling about this…'
As Jack finished speaking, Mac pulled out a wire, cut it one-handed and used it to light the rope fibre on fire.
He watched for a moment, sniffing the air, and then nodded, pulling out his phone and calling Riley.
Jack, meanwhile, pressed the buttons on the cherry-picker to get himself down. Nothing happened.
'Riley, you said the label's red, right?' She presumably answered in the affirmative, as Mac nodded. 'Is there the word Teufelberger on it anywhere?' She presumably said that it was possible (the image was really blurry, and Riley's programs were good, but not magic), because Mac nodded in satisfaction and started muttering to himself under his breath. 'Assuming most efficient binding and knotting…taking into account their heights and assuming standard proportions…' His voice rose in volume again. 'Riley, Jill, Boze, start screening all purchases of at least twenty-five feet of Teufelberger Safety Pro-12 rope in LA in the last two weeks...'
Jack didn't need to ask why his partner knew so damn much about rope.
Mac was Mac. Enough said.
(There'd probably been a whole series of extensive experiments on all commonly-available rope brands and types in the country.)
But what he did need to ask was…
'Brother, you gonna get me down or am I gonna have to jump?'
Mac, who'd just hung up, seemed to realize that he'd left Jack stranded, looking a bit sheepish.
'Uh, sorry, Jack.' He glanced at the exposed wiring and the cut wire hanging out of the bottom of the cherry-picker. 'Umm…give me a minute.'
Twenty-two hours, eight minutes.
In the back of the van, Bozer and Riley exchanged a glance, along with Jill on the left-hand-side monitor.
There had been 346 purchases of twenty-five feet or more of Teufelberger Safety Pro-12 rope in Greater LA in the last two weeks.
(It was really popular, apparently.)
Simultaneously, Jill and Riley started typing vigorously, diverting more of their CPU power to the algorithm they had screening all the purchases.
Twenty-one hours, fifty-four minutes.
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
Matty strode into the war room, which was occupied by Lieutenant-Colonel Walters, in civilian clothing and looking very anxious, pained and guilty. He was staring at Mac's bowl of paperclips as he paced along the length of the room.
(It'd taken a while to get him to the Phoenix, as they had to essentially smuggle him away from his post, in case he was being watched.)
Her expression softened in sympathy.
'Our best team is on it. They will do anything to bring your family home safe.'
She didn't use sir or Lieutenant-Colonel.
Right now, he wasn't a leading military analyst and strategist.
He was just a man whose family was in danger and powerless to do anything about it.
He looked up at her, collapsing into the nearest armchair, rubbing his face with his hands for a moment, before looking back up again, though not directly at her.
'They're…they're my family.' He snorted sardonically. 'You could have the whole FBI searching for them, and I'd still be out of my mind with worry…'
Matty sat down on the coffee table opposite him with a little smile.
'Oh, they're better than the FBI.' Her expression grew serious, but also a touch softer. 'And I understand.'
She had no partner or children of her own.
Her job had required a lot of sacrifices. She knew it always would.
But even so, she did have a family, and whenever they were in danger (which was, as a consequence of their jobs, often), she worried too.
Twenty-one hours, thirty-three minutes.
PHOENIX VAN
RANDOM PARKING STRUCTURE
SOMEWHERE IN LA
'He's wearing a mask.' Bozer suddenly pointed at a man on the surveillance video that Riley had 'obtained' from one of the hardware stores that she and Jill had tracked one of the potentially-fishy rope purchases to. 'It's a really good one, but it's definitely a mask.'
The hacker turned to him, a little surprised, but trusting his expertise. Besides, they hadn't found anything else at all, and this was their last potential lead. She pulled up a new window and got ready to type.
'What would he need to make that?'
She could run some cross-referencing and elimination algorithms, hopefully get them a suspect.
Bozer started reeling off items, checking them off on his fingers.
Nineteen hours, twenty-seven minutes.
'They're cash transactions. All of them.'
It was a dead-end. Tracking cash transactions just couldn't be done.
Riley threw up her hands in frustration, as Mac and Jack (who'd also crowded into the back of the van) exchanged a worried glance.
It was Bozer who pursed his lips in thought, then pointed at his BFF.
'What about getting Jill to do some of that microbial forensics stuff?' They'd used that to track the cash during that Ones-to-Benjamin-Franklins case with Dawn, after all. He gestured to one of the screens showing footage from one of the shops that sold prosthesis supplies. 'I kinda, sorta know a guy who works there, I can get a sample…'
Mac and Jack exchanged another glance, some kind of silent conversation passing between them, before Jack grinned and clapped a hand on Bozer's shoulder, while Mac smiled, pulling out a paperclip absent-mindedly.
'It's a long shot…'
Jack's grin grew more wry.
'Our specialty!'
Mac reached out to bump his fist to his best friend's.
'Great work, Boze.'
Eighteen hours, fifty-four minutes.
ARTS AND CRAFTS SUPPLIES STORE
LA
'Thanks, man! I owe you one!'
Bozer's kinda-friend Patrick Wendell (whom he'd originally met as WizardofWendell) grinned at him and shot him a thumbs-up as he locked up the shop. (He'd stayed open an extra half an hour for Bozer.) The Phoenix agent (not that WizardofWendell knew that) raised the plastic bag containing some 'emergency supplies for his next big production', a sequel to General Wang and the Martian Godzilla, as well as some swabs from the till (which WizardofWendell had no idea about either) and grinned back.
'I'll see you at Comic-Con!'
With a last wave and a grin, Bozer headed off, back towards the van.
They had to get these samples back to the Phoenix ASAP.
If there was anything unusual on that cash, Jill might just be able to pinpoint a potential location or two.
Seventeen hours, fifty-one minutes.
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
A slightly frantic and very worried-looking Jill gestured to the map on the screen behind her showing the Greater LA area with an eighth outlined in red as she bit her lip, flicking through several papers at once on her tablet.
'…That's the best I can do so far, but there has to be some more tests I can do, or another database I can cross-reference with…maybe if I move on to ATPases…'
She started muttering under her breath and only half out-loud about things that made Bozer, Riley, Jack and Matty exchange confused glances, as Mac (the only one in the room who understood what she was muttering about) reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
'Hey…take a deep breath, Jill.' He waited until she'd done as told, before gesturing towards the map on the screen with his head. 'You've done a really good job; two hours ago, we had nothing. Now we've got something.'
Jill looked up slightly at him, and Mac smiled reassuringly at her. She took another deep breath, nodded and refocused.
'I think there's another test I can run, but it's a really, really long shot...'
Riley looked up from her laptop, picking up where Jill had left off.
'…We'll start running footage from the area; we'll narrow it down more if you get something.'
She and Bozer both started typing on their laptops, as Mac paced over to stand behind them to help review the footage, pulling a paperclip out of his pocket as Matty joined the trio in their task.
Meanwhile, Jack ducked out for the break room.
They needed coffee.
Lots of coffee.
It was going to be one of those nights.
Fifteen hours, forty-three minutes.
'…Stop, there.'
Bozer reached out and pointed to a man on Riley's screen.
(Mac was watching another set of footage on Bozer's laptop, with Bozer watching over his and Riley's shoulders, since he had a better eye for detail and was the best – by far – at spotting disguises.)
The hacker turned a little to look at him.
'Wearing a prosthesis?'
Bozer nodded.
'Complicated one too. He couldn't just pull that off in an alley or something.'
Riley nodded and started typing, pulling up one of her facial recognition programs and narrowing the parameters to the time and place of the ATM camera footage that Bozer had spotted the masked man on.
(It would take way too long to search a large area, even with so much of the Phoenix's computing power at her disposal.)
(And time was not on their side.)
Fourteen hours, twenty-four minutes.
Riley made a noise of frustration, pushing her wheelie chair (and consequently her) away from the desk a little, then throwing her hands up.
'I've lost him. Again.'
Mac, who'd gotten up and started mapping where the man in the mask was going on a large TV screen displaying a satellite image of northern LA (thankfully with the digital pen, instead of permanent marker like last time), pursed his lips for a second, before his face lit up with his I-have-an-idea expression and he changed pen colours and began drawing lines all over the map, muttering about LA traffic under his breath.
Jack, meanwhile, started rattling off some directions to Riley. It'd been him who'd worked out how to find the guy the last time they'd lost him, using his AMOS skills.
Mac finally finished drawing his lines and then took a step back, crossing one arm across his body and placing the other hand under his chin for a moment as he thought, before nodding once decisively and turning to Riley and pointing, just as the hacker glanced over at Jack and shook her head.
(His AMOS predictions had come up empty this time.)
The blonde then pointed to the spot where all of his lines intersected, and Riley nodded, typing in the coordinates and pulling up all the available footage of that area.
They watched, half-holing their breaths, for a minute, before Bozer made a noise of triumph and pointed at the screen's top left corner.
'Awesome job, bro! We got him again!'
Thirteen hours, fifty-seven minutes.
Mac, Jack, Bozer, Riley, Matty and Jill all stared at the photo of a very, very normal-looking, if a little small, suburban house.
After three hours of searching, they'd finally tracked the man to this address.
Presumably, it was a safehouse for whatever mysterious organization or group who'd kidnapped the Walters.
It looked so very normal.
So very innocuous.
But we all know from experience that 'normal' and 'innocuous' can be anything but.
Matty pulled out her phone and dialled a familiar number.
'Gonzales? Be ready to bounce in fifteen.'
Twelve hours, thirty-nine minutes.
SAFEHOUSE OF THE MYSTERIOUS ORGANIZATION OF BAD GUYS
(NOT THE ORGANIZATION)
(AT LEAST, WE HOPE NOT)
SOMEWHERE IN LA
Eleven hours, sixteen minutes.
Gonzales himself kicked down the front door, followed by three of his team, all four of them heavily armed with semi-automatics, followed by Riley, confidently holding one of Jack's back-ups at the ready, and Mac, who had a makeshift Taser he'd thrown together on the car ride here in his right hand.
One of the Phoenix's SWAT team's members kicked down the back door, allowing Jack to be the first man in, followed by three SWAT members, then Bozer (wielding the baseball bat kept in the secret compartment in the floor of the van that Mac had installed), and then another SWAT member.
'Clear!'
'Clear!'
'We're clear, boss!'
Jack swore, lowering his weapon, as Mac inhaled sharply, before refocusing and looking around. Something seemed to strike him, because he started muttering under his breath, before turning on his heel and walking back the way he'd come.
'…That wasn't right…'
Jack, Riley and Bozer exchanged a glance, before following, Jack motioning for a couple of Gonzales' men to follow them, while Gonzales' himself split the rest off to search the house systematically for any potential leads.
Mac had reached the front bedroom, and walked in with a purpose, stamping his feet with every step and listening to the sound, before making his way over to the closet, still muttering under his breath, eyes looking ever-so-slightly manic like they sometimes did, before flinging open the closet doors. He reached into the closet and rapped his knuckles on the back wall.
It rang hollow, and he pulled out his Swiss Army knife and started feeling along it.
Eventually, he made a noise of triumph and pressed lightly on the wall.
It popped open, revealing the practically-invisible seams.
Jack stepped forward, and without argument, Mac took a step back, letting the older man and Gonzales' men take the lead. Jack silently motioned to the nearest member of Gonzales' SWAT team, who prised open the secret door, and then he stepped through the door, weapon raised, and started heading down the set of stairs that were revealed.
Mac, Bozer and Riley shared a quick glance, before hurrying down the stairs after their three heavily-armed colleagues.
'Clear.'
Jack's voice was flat, but Mac, Bozer and Riley could all hear the tightly-leashed fury in there, protective and terrifying all at once.
Mac raised his head from where he was examining the shackles hammered into the wall…including a very small one, obviously meant for a child, that made him feel sick to the stomach and the blood in his veins burn with anger at the same time.
There were remnants of a couple of meals (apple cores and sandwich wrappers, mostly) and some clothing fibres caught in the walls, as well as a couple of traces of blood.
(Thankfully, small traces of blood, scrapes and scratches, no more.)
The blonde and his partner exchanged a silent conversation for a moment, before Jack swallowed, turned his gaze away for a beat, then looked back over at Mac, Bozer and Riley. He stared at them for a moment longer, his expression growing more set. More determined. Even fuller of that righteous fury, if that was possible.
'Toss this place.'
Eleven hours, one minute.
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
Matty paused just outside the war room door, watching as Lieutenant-Colonel Walters raised his head from where it was lying in his hands, near his knees, as he perched on the edge of the couch. After a moment of silent contemplation, he got up and started pacing, completely ignoring the selection of foodstuffs on the coffee table in front of him, which included a hearty-looking quinoa and chicken salad in a Tupperware container (which she was quite sure was supposed to have been Beth's dinner, but had been donated to the cause), a small selection of chocolate bars and a packet of pretzels, as well as a bottle of water, one of Coke and one of apple juice.
She understood that look in his eyes.
A sad, sorry look crossed her face and with a deep breath, Matty opened the door. The Lieutenant-Colonel looked up at her instantly, and Matty had no option but to shake her head.
'No news, I'm sorry.' She paused. 'I just wanted to check on you.'
They stood there in silence, each looking into the other's eyes, for a beat. Matty was well aware that he knew exactly what she meant by checking in on him.
(She didn't like it, didn't like the fact that she essentially had to police one of their nation's finest, just in case he turned traitor for what she admitted, knew, deep in her heart, were very good reasons.)
(But she had a job to do. The big picture to look after. National security to protect.)
(That was the price one paid for the corner office.)
He just nodded, once, and slumped back onto the couch. Matty nudged Beth's Tupperware container closer to him, then made for the door.
She understood why the Lieutenant-Colonel was tempted.
In her heart of hearts, she knew she'd be tempted too, in his situation.
(She would never, ever give in, but she would be tempted.)
(And if it didn't go well, if there wasn't some near-miracle…then she'd regret it for the rest of her life. Terribly.)
(But she would never, ever give in.)
Matty didn't think that he would actually give in.
(And she couldn't allow it, had to prevent it. By any means necessary.)
But it gave her an idea.
Ten hours, twenty-one minutes.
'Jill?'
The blonde forensic analyst looked up from the mass spectrometer's computer, where she was processing the last of the data from the very last test she'd been able to run on the microbe samples Bozer had gotten from the arts and crafts store.
She was also drinking a very large can of energy drink.
'Yes, boss?'
'I need you to prep some false intel. It needs to be backstopped to the moon and back and at a level appropriate to Lieutenant-Colonel's security clearance and field of work. I've upped your security clearance so you can get access to some of his files.'
'To hand over to buy some time?'
Matty nodded, and the blonde sculled the rest of her can of energy drink, wiped her mouth and nodded in return, eyes very serious and with a sudden surge of energy that couldn't be (solely) attributed to her caffeine intake.
'On it.'
Ten hours, nine minutes.
SAFEHOUSE OF THE MYSTERIOUS ORGANIZATION OF BAD GUYS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
As Gonzales' team searched in a more conventional way, Bozer examined all the objects that Jack brought him (which were all the ones that seemed even potentially fishy or interesting) with a makeshift magnifying glass that Mac had put together using a couple of glasses, some duct-tape and a spoon. Beside him at the kitchen counter, Riley was neck-deep in the dark web, and sitting on the kitchen floor, Mac was rummaging through the trash, muttering about the decay rate of the average French fry and scribbling on a sheet of newspaper.
Eight hours, fifty-nine minutes.
Jack looked from Mac to Riley and back again.
'…You sure?' He raised his hands. 'Not that I'm doubting you…' They both snorted, because they were well aware that he was. '…but this is whacko, even for you, brother.'
Mac's trash analysis had been combined with some crime scene photos Riley had gotten from Boston PD's servers, then, after she'd trawled through the dark web and solved one of Sacramento PD's cases that they'd been stuck on for months, she'd re-emerged with this.
Mac and Riley glanced at each other, then back at Jack, both nodding firmly.
Jack nodded in acknowledgment, then pulled out his phone and dialled.
'Matty? We got something…'
Eight hours, thirty-six minutes.
MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON
SOMEWHERE IN THE BAY AREA
Marc Jameson smirked as Matty strode into the interrogation room, and raised his hands as best as he could, considering that they were chained to the table.
He was the one man that Sacramento PD had managed to capture from his crew, who'd kidnapped the son of a Silicon Valley billionaire and successfully gotten a $10 million ransom from said billionaire.
He also hadn't talked.
In fact, Sacramento PD hadn't really known who they'd picked up at all, at least, not until Riley had found crucial evidence deep in the dark web, decrypted it, and solved the case.
'Oh, I'm terrified, little lady.'
Matty took the insult in her stride, and just smirked right back at the man.
There was something so terrifying in there that she could practically see him quail, even if it was just for a second, before he composed himself again.
He was good.
But she was better.
Her smirk widened, darkened, as she took a seat opposite him.
'Let's have a chat, Mr Jameson…'
Seven hours, twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes later, Matty strode out of the interrogation room, greeting the prison's warden, a grey-haired man with an impressive handlebar moustache. He glanced down at her, a wry look on his face, tucking his thumbs through his belt loops.
'You leave this one in few enough pieces we can put him back together again?'
Matty smiled up at him.
'You know I can work clean, Greg.' He chuckled, and she continued. 'And thank you.'
He tipped his hat to her, smiling.
'Eh, I still owe you a couple.' He paused. They knew each other well enough that he knew the indomitable Matilda Webber was at least a little worried. 'Good luck, Matilda.'
She nodded in acknowledgement and pulled out her phone to call her people…whoever they were.
Six hours, fifty-nine minutes.
SAFEHOUSE OF THE MYSTERIOUS ORGANIZATION OF BAD GUYS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
'…Come on, Ri, can't you type any faster?'
Mac, who was leaning on the table, looking over Riley's shoulder as she urgently (very, very urgently) ran down the list of addresses Matty had gotten them, shot his partner a look.
He knew full well that Jack, who was pacing the room, clearly frustrated at his inactivity, was just concerned, worried, for the Walters, but still…
Riley, he knew, also got it, clearly biting back her snarky response and reigning in her temper, but still rolled her eyes.
Though, Mac noticed, after about twenty seconds of thinking, she did a little something (he wasn't quite sure what, but he at least got what the outcome was) to increase the processing power and hence speed of her rig.
Six hours, sixteen minutes.
'Got it.'
Instantly, Jack and Mac, who were talking quietly in the corner, and Gonzales, who'd been conferring with his second-in-command in another corner, made their way over to the hacker sitting at the dining table in front of her laptop. Riley's voice was triumphant, but it was a clipped triumph, underscored by the urgency that they all felt.
They were running out of time, and they knew it.
Wordlessly, Riley brought up a satellite image of an innocuous-looking suburban house on the other side of LA.
They always look innocuous.
They'd be terrible safehouses if they weren't.
The three men exchanged a glance, as she brought up more and more imagery, already running a program she had to identify any security features.
Their expert eyes had already spotted several challenges.
But they usually only look innocuous.
And this one is no exception.
Far from it.
Six hours, two minutes.
TWO BLOCKS FROM THE SAFEHOUSE
SOMEWHERE IN LA
Exchanging a glance with Jack, who was dressed in full tac gear, Mac, wearing black-framed camera glasses and a baseball cap, having ditched his leather jacket, finished packing the device he'd built to disable most of the bad guys' electrically-powered defence systems, hopefully without them noticing, into the stroller that they'd 'borrowed', completing the disguise with a baby doll wrapped in blankets.
He lifted the stroller out of the back of the van, and Jack called out to him as he finished stowing the back-up to his back-up.
'Be careful, brother.'
Mac would be on his own. They could not risk the bad guys smelling a rat, and alone, he was far less inconspicuous.
(He really, really did not look dangerous. Especially in the geeky glasses and with a stroller.)
Mac just gave a little smirk, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, which had something softer, affectionate, grateful in there, as well as an urgent sense of worry, of concern.
'I'm always careful.'
Jack snorted, and glanced at Bozer, Riley and Gonzales, gesturing as if to say, see what I have to put up with?
Mac shook his head and set off, pushing the stroller, beginning to tell a story about Archimedes (his childhood dog, not the Ancient Greek scientist) to the plastic baby, looking for all the world a young father taking his kid out for some fresh air.
This has got to work.
Five hours, twenty-four minutes.
BAD GUYS' SAFEHOUSE
SOMEWHERE IN LA
In the backyard of a house two doors down (the owners, Riley had found out, were in Hawaii, and hopefully they'd never realize he was there…as long as the scorch mark wasn't too big…), Mac lit the fuse to the rather rocket-like object he'd put together from some old PVC pipe and various household cleaning products and a couple other odds and ends.
He made eye contact with Bozer, who was on the other side of the yard, having served as Mac's assistant, gesturing insistently with his head, and Bozer took off running, back towards the van (he was coordinating the assault), while Mac headed the other way, leaping the fence and running through the backyard directly next to the bad guys' safehouse, where he met Jack and a few of Gonzales' team on the edge near the safehouse.
(Handily, the inhabitants of this house were visiting relatives in Maine.)
Jack and the SWAT team looked up as Mac's makeshift rocket (designed to resemble an RPG in noise and appearance, but not quite in damage) launched and flew over their heads, and then, just a second before it made impact, the first commando leapt the fence, followed by the second, then the third, the fourth and then Jack.
Mac, meanwhile, jumped the fence to get into the backyard of the house on the next street, one across and one behind the bad guys' safehouse, before immediately jumping another fence to get into the backyard of the house directly behind the bad guys' one.
(Those owners were in Australia. Clearly, the bad guys had chosen their safehouse well.)
He met Riley, who was wearing a bullet-proof vest and carrying one of Jack's back-ups, in that yard, and together, as Jack and Gonzales and his team, aided by Bozer, caused a massive distraction, they slipped into the bad guys' yard.
They had a very specific mission.
The most important mission of all.
Four hours, forty-nine minutes.
Mac managed to get the last door in the hallway open (every single door in this house was locked – these guys clearly knew what they were doing), just as Riley finished stuffing the unconscious baddie into the nearest closet.
It was empty.
He swore, and turned to Riley and shook his head.
The hacker's expression grew grimmer.
The plan had been for Mac and Riley to remain as undetected as possible and find and free the Walters, while Jack, Gonzales and his team, aided by Bozer, kept the bad guys busy.
(They'd been counting on the fact that the Walters were far too valuable to simply kill, plus the fact that their assault was substantial enough that a quick, clean getaway – which would require disposing of the hostages – just wasn't possible.)
But they'd searched almost half the house, and found no signs of the family.
What if they're not here?
What if they're already…
Mac pushed that thought aside firmly.
He couldn't afford to think about it right now.
He gestured to Riley hurriedly, and crossed the bedroom he'd just unlocked, going to the window and opening it as wide as it could go.
He'd seen a handily-placed drainpipe that'd let them get to the next floor without going through the stairs, which were doubtlessly occupied by Jack handing out knuckle sandwiches at the moment.
It's a universally acknowledged truth that when it can go wrong, it does go wrong.
Yes, I know.
Murphy's Law and Pride and Prejudice don't exactly go hand-in-hand, but it is true.
Mac and Riley stood on the edge of the 2nd floor landing, Gonzales behind them. Jack stood at the top of the stairs, with two of Gonzales' team behind him.
All five armed Phoenix agents had their guns affixed to the three bad guys standing in the middle of the 2nd floor landing.
The three bad guys had the muzzles of their guns firmly on the sides of the heads of Miriam Walters, Noah Walters and Grace Walters, their left arms wrapped firmly around their necks.
All three of them looked terrified. Grace had tears running down her cheeks, and Noah seemed to be trying very hard not to let his own tears fall (he was mostly succeeding), and their mother was red-eyed.
The presumed leader of the team who'd kidnapped them, a man with a face rather like a ferret's and cold, dark eyes that reminded Mac a little too much of Murdoc's, smirked darkly at Jack.
'Now, you're going to let us go, or…'
He pressed the gun a little harder into Miriam Walters' head.
Jack faced him down, tightly-leashed anger in his eyes, and, Mac and Riley could tell, no small amount of worry. Of fear.
(Though they both knew that there was no way the baddies would recognize that. Only those who knew Jack like they knew him would be able to tell.)
'Let 'em go, and we'll let you go.'
(He wasn't authorized to do that.)
(Oversight would probably be furious.)
(But Jack didn't care.)
(And he knew Matty would do everything she could to back him up.)
The man laughed. It was a dark, chilling sound.
'Oh, like it'd be that easy…' He looked back at Jack. 'You let all of us go…including Mrs Walters and her lovely little rugrats. No tailing. No cheating.'
'You know I can't let you do that.'
The man smirked, even more darkly than his laugh.
'Well, then we have reached an impasse…' He tightened his grip on the trigger, ever-so-slightly. '…You leave me with no choice…'
Miriam Walters sought out her children's eyes, her voice surprisingly strong and clear.
'Noah, Gracie, close your eyes. Close them tight…it's going to be alright, Mommy promises, Gracie, it's going to be-'
And without warning, she very quickly drove her foot into the side of the knee of the man holding her, elbowing him just as hard in the stomach at the same time.
Six gunshots rang out.
The three bad guys fell to the floor with three thumps, all clearly dead, each with a bullet hole cleanly through their foreheads.
There was a fourth bullet lodged in the wooden railing of the landing.
And bullets five and six were lodged in Miriam Walters' abdomen.
(She'd bought them that crucial second, provided them that crucial distraction, needed to take out the kidnappers…but at what price?)
'Mommy? Can we open our eyes now?'
Grace had brought her hands up to cover her ears when the shots had rung out and the man holding her had gone limp, and now shifted them to cover her eyes.
Noah had opened his when the shots were fired, and was now staring at his mother, lying on the floor, shirt rapidly growing saturated with blood, seemingly in shock.
Miriam Walters turned her head a little to face her son, gesturing weakly towards her daughter, and Noah snapped out of it, swallowing and nodding and going to his sister, putting an arm around her shoulders.
Gonzales made his way over to the two kids, crouching down to Grace's level and talking to them in a low, calming voice, while Mac rushed over to Miriam's side, calling out orders (unmistakeably orders, too – his voice made it clear that there was absolutely no time to ask him what in the world he was doing).
'Riley, I need all the sheets from that bedroom we just checked, Jack, second door down the left hallway's a bathroom, I need absolutely everything in there…'
Bozer brought the van to a screeching stop in front of the safehouse, as Mac, Jack and Anita, Gonzales' team's medic, formerly of the US Navy, brought Miriam out of the front door, Anita keeping pressure on the wounds, Mac and Jack carrying a makeshift stretcher that appeared to be a door. Riley was with them, talking into her phone rapidly and holding Anita's first-aid kit.
He hopped out to help them get Miriam into the back of the van, and as Mac and Anita got her settled as best as they could, Jack ran to the driver's seat and got in, turning on the ignition (Bozer had left the keys in), while Riley hopped into the passenger seat.
Mac looked up very briefly at his best friend.
'Boze…'
'Kiddos. Got it, bro.'
He closed the van doors, as Jack floored the accelerator.
Bozer watched them go, sending a little prayer up to whoever might be listening up there that Miriam Walters would be alright.
PHOENIX VAN
BREAKING THE SPEED LIMIT
SOMEWHERE IN LA
As they sped through suburbia as fast as Jack dared (he didn't want to be pulled over, and at a certain speed, controlling the van became nigh impossible), the former CIA agent called out to his partner.
'Where to, brother?'
Mac did not even pause in helping Anita pack more gauze into Miriam's wounds. She was barely conscious and still losing far too much blood…
'Phoenix! It's the closest medical centre with the right facilities, given current traffic patterns…and it's secure; we don't know if we actually got all the guys or not!' Mac exchanged a glance with Anita, as Riley quickly dialled the infirmary's direct line. 'And faster, Jack!'
He didn't need to be told twice and floored the accelerator.
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
As Miriam Walters was transported through the Phoenix on a proper stretcher, accompanied by Max the surgical nurse, Beth and Anita, who were having a very rapid, medical-lingo-filled conversation as Max monitored Miriam's vitals, and trailed by Mac (whose clothes were covered in blood), Jack and Riley, Jonathan Walters started forward, but Matty, gently but firmly, reached out and caught his arm.
The man looked back at her, angry, even a little confused, for a moment, and Matty spoke, her voice gentle, even kind, but definitely firm.
'You'll get in the way.' He stared at her for a long, long moment, then at Mac, Jack and Riley's retreating backs (Beth, Max, Anita and Miriam had long disappeared), then turned his head back to the Phoenix's Director. 'They're the best at what they do. Trust them to do their job.'
He took a long, deep breath. Then another. And then, he nodded.
Matty let go of his arm, and then started walking down the corridor at a slow pace.
(Sure, she had much shorter legs than anyone else at the Phoenix. But she could keep pace with the big boys, in more ways than one.)
(But Jonathan Walters didn't need to know that right now.)
'Come on, I'll take you down to the infirmary.'
(She'd take the long way.)
Mac had very little recollection of arriving in the infirmary and just sort-of standing there for a moment, as Miriam was wheeled into the OR where Dr Farnham and a couple of assistants were scrubbed in and ready, waiting for Beth to brief them.
He absolutely didn't notice Jack and Riley exchange a very concerned look behind his back.
He hardly felt their hands on him as they pulled him to one side, sat him down on a spare infirmary bed.
He sat there for almost ten minutes, not that he could have told you that, silent as a tomb.
Jack and Riley, sitting on either side of him, exchanged several more worried glances.
Those went unnoticed too.
There was absolutely nothing in him left to protest when Beth emerged from the OR, picked up a neat stack of his clothes (clearly taken from his locker) already packed in a clean plastic medical waste bag and handed him the bag, before pointing firmly to the showers.
In fact, it was like it was happening in a dream.
Mac's brain was far, far too busy to pay attention to what was happening around him.
Far, far too busy.
There are 4.7 to 5.5 litres of blood in the average adult human body…the viscosity of blood is….
The Law of Large Numbers states that as the number of experiments or trials performed approaches infinity, the mean approaches the expected value…
…Including the basement, there were 13 rooms in that house…bullet trajectories are linear with a potential deviation of…deflection…the volume of the left atrium is…
In the shower, Mac gave a groan of frustration and anger (at the bad guys, at chance…and at himself) and beat his fist against the tile several times, which, as he should know by now, did not make him feel any better or slow the torrent of thoughts in his brain (you should have done better, worked it out faster, checked there first, you could have done better, and now she might die, Noah and Grace might be half-orphans, because you didn't do better…). Taking a few deep breaths, he leaned his forehead against the tiles instead.
The relative coolness of them, compared to the hot water running over him (the thermal conductivity of ceramic tiles varies from 0.6 to 1.7 Watts per metre per Kelvin…) felt nice, at least.
He stayed there, still save for his breathing, which was still a little faster than normal, for a few beats, until his heartbeat and his breathing returned to more or less normal.
Then, with a sigh, Mac reached out and turned off the water.
Jack was waiting for him, just outside.
Of course he was.
The older man just reached out and clapped the younger one on the shoulder, seeking out his eyes.
'You did your best, son. That's all that anyone can ask of you.' Jack paused, squeezing Mac's shoulder, and then gestured towards the door, vaguely in the direction of the infirmary. 'Now they're doing their best, and you well know in that too-big brain of yours that that's all you or Lieutenant-Colonel Walters and Noah and Gracie or anyone else can ever ask.'
Mac stared at him for a long moment, processing, then gave a little nod (he didn't look happy, but his expression had at least lost some of that guilt and deep-seated melancholy and what if I…), and clapped Jack on the shoulder back in thanks.
The partners slipped back into the infirmary, to find the OR still occupied and Beth's little office converted into a waiting room of sorts, since the infirmary didn't really have one.
(Agents usually made do with whatever free space there was, but clearly, the doctor had thought that the Walters family might like a little bit more privacy, or at least as much privacy as the half-frosted glass wall that divided her little office from the infirmary provided.)
Exchanging a glance, Mac and Jack made their way to just outside the doorway of the makeshift waiting room, finding Jonathan Walters sitting on a chair behind Beth's desk, his son next to him, sporting several Band-Aids and wrapped in a blanket, leaning on his father's shoulder, while his daughter was on his other side, his arm around her shoulders. Beth was just cleaning the last of her various scrapes (this one a particularly nasty-looking one around her right wrist, obviously rope burn).
She finished her work and smiled at the little girl, who managed a tiny smile back and a very polite, but very quiet, thank you, Dr Beth.
Smile widening a little bit, Beth pulled a snack-size packet of M&Ms out of her pocket and handed it to the girl, before giving her older brother one too.
Then, she got up, picked up a large cardboard box labelled 'sterile gauze' and slipped out of the room as Grace very kindly offered her dad some of her M&Ms, and motioned for Mac and Jack to follow. Wordlessly, Jack closed the door, and he and Mac and simply followed her a little ways away from the door, as she spoke.
'I'm going to make them some grilled cheese sandwiches, they, especially Gracie and Noah, could use the food.' She paused, and held out the cardboard box to Mac. 'Unfortunately, it might take a while to get them to eat, so, Mac, could you make me a heat lamp, please?'
The blonde peered into the box, and found her desk lamp, her stapler, a kidney dish full of paperclips, a roll of medical tape and several other odds and ends.
Jack hid a smile as he watched his partner's expression light up just a little bit, quickly cycling into his thinking-face, then his I-have-an-idea face. He took the box from Beth, carried it over to an empty corner of the infirmary and sat down on the floor, unpacking it and getting to work, looking the most at peace that Jack had seen him for the last 24 hours.
Beth smiled, soft and fond, for a moment, before her expression shifted back into her focused, doctor-y look and she headed for the infirmary kitchenette to put together some grilled cheeses as Mac started taking her desk lamp apart.
Jack didn't even bother hiding his knowing smile this time.
Three and a half hours after Mac finished the heat lamp, Dr Farnham, still wearing his scrubs, walked out of the OR complex (it included a small recovery room) and headed towards Beth's office-turned-waiting room.
He knocked on the door and then entered.
Mac looked up from the kidney dish of paperclips he was continually shaping and re-shaping. Jack stopped trying to pretend he was playing Candy Crush. Bozer pulled off his headphones and paused Keeping Up With the Kattarshians (cute kittens were a great remedy to the darkness of some of his days at the 'office'), while Riley put down her phone on which she'd been texting Billy and her mom (separately, of course) and Beth stopped filling out supply orders on her tablet.
A few seconds later, they saw Jonathan Walters jump up with a truly, deeply relieved smile on his face, and a few seconds after that, Dr Farnham walked out and smiled at the four agents and one doctor.
'She's awake and asking for them; she's going to be fine.'
Mac tossed the anvil-shaped paperclip he'd been holding into the kidney dish, suddenly feeling a little lighter, able to sit up a little straighter, as if a weight on his shoulders had lifted.
Jack glanced over at him, shook his head fondly, as if to say, you gotta stop doing this to yourself, son, and then reached out and pulled him into a side-hug.
MACGYVER'S RESIDENCE
SOMEWHERE IN LA
The front door opened, and in stepped Jack, carrying several take-out bags (no-one felt like cooking, after the day they'd had), and followed by Diane.
Riley immediately got up from where she was sprawled out in the armchair in the living room, and practically tackled her mother into a hug. Diane simply hugged her back, just as tightly, pressing a kiss into her hair.
Two days later, on a date that the MacGyvers would never, ever forget (and that was without the near-eidetic memories that ran in the family), Bozer carefully fashioned a pie crust on the kitchen counter, while Beth carefully weighed out cinnamon in weigh-boats (clean, of course) which Mac had specially purchased for the occasion.
(They were attempting to re-create Ellen MacGyver's incredible apple pie. There'd been a secret ingredient – or ingredients – which she had never revealed to anyone, including her father and her husband, so it'd been lost on her death.)
(Many, many times over the years – usually around this time of year – Bozer had attempted to help his BFF re-create it, but it was never quite right.)
(This year, Mac had invited his dad over to help. The tension between them always seemed to all-but-dissipate, somehow, when they shared their memories of his mom.)
(He'd also asked Beth, since she was a bit of a pie expert, it being her favourite food, and was, aside from Bozer, the only one of his friends who could actually bake a pie.)
(The less said about the time Jack and Riley had a pie-baking competition, the better.)
Meanwhile, the two MacGyvers stood at the kitchen island, on which 72 little bowls, half containing a small amount of apple pie filling, the other half not-yet-filled, sat in a grid pattern. There was a large piece of butcher paper taped to the island which specified the different spice combinations in each and every bowl. Mac and his dad each took a small spoonful from one of the filled bowls, chewed and swallowed, with near-identical expressions on their faces.
Then, they turned to each other, and spoke at the same time.
'It needs a touch more cinnamon.'
James MacGyver actually gave a little chuckle at that, something soft and gentle in his eyes, and, Bozer swore, his BFF practically beamed.
As they moved on to the next bowl (which had an extra half a milligram of cinnamon in it), James spoke, something wistful, reminiscent, even affectionate in his voice.
'You know, Angus, I tried 493 times to convince her to give me the secret…'
AN: Did you guys like that? I didn't quite intend for this episode to have so many parallels/recurring themes in it, but I'm pleased with how it turned out! I am, however, frustrated at how long this took me to write; I suspect that I'm finding writing so hard right now because I'm too tired. (Science is exhausting. I don't know how Mac does it.)
Zoe is my favourite canon love interest for Mac, and thus, I had to have that reflected in an ep! Similarly, after what happened with Mac and James in the last ep, I wanted to show a slightly more positive side to their relationship. Keeping Up With the Kattarshians is a real TV show (I think it's from Iceland), and seemed to be the sort of thing that Bozer would watch as a bit of a guilty pleasure (like how I headcanon that Mac watches HGTV!). I seriously considered killing off Miriam Walters at the end there, but felt that everyone had suffered enough. (I think I like Mac-whump less than other people do; the poor guy suffers so much in canon that I feel somewhat obliged to give him a little more happiness in my fanfics…)
There's no episode tag for Detours this week, but here's the press release for the next episode:
3.11, Aluminium Foil to Tinsel. Two days before Christmas, an earthquake strikes LA, and the entire Phoenix chips in to help their hometown. Jack and James MacGyver clear the air, Bozer, Riley and Jill team up, and Mac and Beth find themselves stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally.
Come on, I couldn't not write a Christmas episode! Here's hoping I can write something that can at least aspire to live up to the show's Christmas eps…