AN: This last week has been utterly insane! I was in the lab until midnight on Sunday, and until 2:30 am on Wednesday (Thursday?). I'm still recovering, but I did manage to finish this off! Hope you guys like it!
CHEZ DALTON
LA
Mac, Bozer and Riley stood just inside the door of Jack's apartment, frozen (unfortunately).
In the living room, Diane managed, somehow, to wrap a throw blanket around herself with some dignity, even as Jack sat on the couch in his boxers looking just as uncomfortable as his three younger friends.
Eventually, Riley broke the extremely awkward silence and strode over to the kitchen, to the cupboard where she knew Jack kept his liquor.
'I need a drink.'
I don't blame her.
Walking in on your parents is supposed to be one of the most uncomfortable things a human being can experience, after all.
…I think I'd like a drink myself, actually.
Bozer leaned over and poked his BFF in the arm.
'Brain bleach, bro. Get on it! Some things, I don't want seared into my retinas!'
Yeah, sorry, Boze, but that's not happening.
Some things actually are impossible. Brain bleach is one of them.
Mac and Bozer strode over to join Riley in the kitchen, and wordlessly, she poured Bozer a shot of vodka.
(Mac didn't drink vodka, for very good reasons.)
(Half of which were classified.)
Note to self: next time, knock. Loudly and repeatedly.
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
Matty looked even more serious than usual when the four of them filed into the war room. She tapped the glass to frost it over, and Mac automatically reached out and grabbed a paperclip from the bowl.
He had a feeling he'd need it.
Their boss tapped the screen, bringing up a selfie featuring a teenage couple clearly taken from Instagram.
'This was posted seventeen hours ago. Tags and metadata confirm it as being taken in Barstow, California.'
'Uh, Matty, not saying that you've made a mistake, 'cause you're you and all, but why're you showing us a cute 'lil selfie of modern-day Sandy and Danny Zuko?'
Matty didn't roll her eyes or even cross her arms, which made Bozer and Riley exchange a glance, the former slightly wide-eyed.
Meanwhile, Mac was just staring at the photograph, and on some kind of autopilot, he walked up to the screen and pointed at someone in the background.
It was a little boy of about eight, with a head of dark-brown hair.
He looked familiar.
Very familiar.
Jack put the pieces together and spoke.
'Cassian.'
Mac nodded, stepping back from the screen, face set and deadly serious.
'And Murdoc.'
The Phoenix had been chasing Murdoc for months, ever since he'd killed several of the guards at the secure facility where Cassian had been in protective custody and absconded with his son.
They'd always been several steps behind, finding his handiwork, but no sign of Murdoc himself.
The assassin had clearly been on some kind of revenge mission, taking out every single one of that group of assassins he'd put together who'd ultimately betrayed him.
But with almost no intel on who the targets even were or where they could be found (unlike Murdoc), they'd been flying blind and had struggled.
Until now.
Jack started towards the door, the mission clear to all of them, but Matty spoke again, stalling him.
'We've been authorized to use lethal force.'
Jack turned, withdrawing his hand from the door handle.
'License to kill?'
Matty nodded.
'On sight.'
The air grew heavy. Bozer and Riley swallowed and glanced at each other, then at Jack and Mac.
The former didn't seem terribly perturbed…but the latter looked utterly lost in thought, his mind in turmoil.
Murdoc was very, very evil. There was absolutely no hope that he'd stop killing people and reform to any degree, and his escapes over the last couple of years showed that he could not be safely contained.
Realistically, there was only one fool-proof way to prevent him from hurting people, posing a danger to the community, to national security.
And to the people that Mac loved.
The only problem was that that way crossed a red line. Was something Rubicon-crossing.
There'd be no going back, and he was terrified of what was on the other side.
Mac had killed people.
He'd been an Army EOD and seen combat in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was a covert operative for the US government.
He took great pains to avoid it (literally, sometimes – he'd let himself be injured, taken beatings and bruises and a couple of bullets), but sometimes, it was unavoidable.
It kept him up at night afterwards, occasionally returned to haunt him from time to time, but he could live with it.
Could live with himself.
But he had never, ever killed in cold blood.
(He was no longer convinced that he wasn't capable of it.)
(Hadn't been since that terrible, horrible mission orchestrated by The Organization under the guise of Omnus.)
(Now, he was convinced that he might well be capable…at least when it came to Murdoc.)
(And that was what was terrifying.)
(The feel of Murdoc's throat under his hands, the choking noises the assassin had made, that all-consuming rage, that murderous urge…that still haunted his nightmares.)
Mac tossed down the paperclip his hands had been re-shaping onto the coffee table.
He stared at the little wire set of scales for a beat, then swept out of the war room.
BARSTOW
CALIFORNIA
'You sure, Ri?'
The hacker nodded. It wasn't really necessary for Jack to ask that anyway; the Snapchat story currently being posted by a fourteen-year-old girl which had caught a glimpse or two of Murdoc and Cassian at the local park, complete with a Frisbee, was pretty definitive.
Without Mac or Jack having to ask, Riley pulled up a satellite map of the area surrounding the park, and the two more experienced agents leaned forward to take a better look, as Bozer wordlessly took over surveillance of Murdoc and Cassian as the three of them planned.
OFFICE BUILDING
OPPOSITE THE PARK
(THE SIGHTLINES ARE REALLY GOOD)
BARSTOW
CALIFORNIA
Jack was uncharacteristically silent and serious as Mac picked the lock at the top of the stairs to the roof. He was uncharacteristically silent and serious as he set up his sniper rifle too.
In fact, he remained uncharacteristically silent until Mac turned to head down towards the park.
The plan called for Mac to let Murdoc sight him at the park.
Ostensibly, that was so he could draw the assassin out so Jack could get a good shot.
They all knew that there were several other reasons for Mac's insistence on acting as bait.
Jack reached out and caught his partner's arm.
'You don't have to do this, son. I can end it from here in seconds.'
Part of Jack wasn't completely certain that it would be that simple (nothing ever was, with Murdoc), but he thought it was literally worth a shot.
He could shoot Murdoc between the eyes without losing sleep, at least, not for the assassin's sake.
In fact, Jack would sleep better knowing that the man was six feet under.
But he'd lose sleep for poor little Cassian, orphaned and losing the only family he'd ever known.
(At least it wouldn't be literally before his eyes. Jack knew Mac would prevent the boy from having to watch.)
(And he himself would do everything he could to make sure it was out of the kid's line of sight, when he took the shot.)
Mac was quiet, still, for a moment, before he shook his head, looking the slightest bit apologetic, but also, somehow, very, very firm in his convictions.
'I…I can't, Jack.'
They stared at each other for a long moment, before Jack nodded in acceptance and squeezed Mac's forearm briefly, before letting go.
Mac reached out and grasped Jack's shoulder for a beat, before turning and running down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
This fundamental point of difference had always sat between them. It always would.
But they respected and loved each other too much for it to come between them.
THE PARK
BARSTOW
CALIFORNIA
Mac darted between trees in the most heavily-forested part of the park, handily restricting lines of sight from the office building across the road (the only decent sniper's nest in the area), keeping a careful eye on the area of open grassy space just beside the trees where Murdoc and Cassian were tossing a Frisbee back and forth, the little boy laughing with joy and Murdoc with a smile on his face that could only be described as fatherly that really, really unsettled something in Mac's stomach.
Murdoc had spotted him, just as planned, he was sure.
He was completely certain when the assassin tossed the Frisbee far too hard and far too wide, causing it to lodge itself into a tree, quite high up, about sixty yards from Cassian.
'Daddy!'
'Sorry, buddy. Why don't you go grab it? You're a really good climber…'
Cassian beamed and ran off to retrieve the Frisbee without looking back.
Murdoc whirled around, shoving a hand into his pocket, his expression and posture completely changing, voice creepily sing-song.
'Come out, come out, wherever you are, MacGyver…I know you're there…'
Behind a tree, Mac made his decision and stepped out from behind it.
Not even a second later, six red laser dots clustered over his heart, and Murdoc grinned at him in a way that was just as unsettling as his fatherly smile.
Mac looked down at his chest, then up at the assassin.
'Running out of new tricks, Murdoc?'
He laughed, that same laugh that haunted Mac in the dark of the night.
'Oh, you really are something, aren't you, Angus? Hasn't anyone told you that if it ain't broke, don't fix it?'
Mac gestured with his head towards the origin of one of the laser dots.
(The only one he could pin down the location of, but Murdoc didn't need to know that.)
'This is an awful lot of effort for a trip to the park.'
'You're not the only one who was a Boy Scout.' Murdoc chuckled, pacing closer to Mac. 'Or the only one who got kicked out. Turns out trying to hang one of your fellow Scouts is heavily frowned upon…' The assassin's expression changed, shifting into something more serious and possibly even creepier. 'But you're not here so we can reminisce about our childhoods…' Murdoc reached into his pocket again, and five of the laser dots left Mac's chest, instead dancing around others in the park, in the distance. A couple walking their dog. A young woman jogging. An old lady sitting on a bench. Two children running through the grass. Murdoc smirked evilly, stopping six feet from Mac. Just a little too far for him to try anything. '…though I would love to catch up with you. Just the two of us. It'll be just like old times!' Murdoc's smirk grew a little wider, and even more menacing, voice dropping that faux-friendliness. 'Come quietly, MacGyver. Or I'll have to cause a scene…' The threat was clear, made even more obvious by Murdoc reaching into his pocket yet again, fingering the controller he had in there. 'And you would so hate for that to happen, in front of my little boy to boot…'
Cassian's voice rang out, the excitement and the pride and simple, innocent joy in his voice jarring against the heaviness in the air.
'I got it, Daddy!'
Murdoc called back, all menace gone from his voice.
'Great work, pal! Be careful climbing down, alright?'
'I'm always careful, Daddy! Stop worrying!'
Cassian was now making his way down the tree. Mac could see some of the leaves shaking.
Mac swallowed, as Murdoc, very deliberately, took four steps to the right, immediately causing a red dot to appear on his forehead, dead centre between his eyes, holding Mac's gaze.
It was a taunt. A dare. A challenge.
One that Mac could not meet.
Could not allow himself to meet.
And Murdoc knew that.
Mac swallowed again and spoke, addressing his partner over his earpiece.
'Stand down, Jack.'
'Son-'
'Stand down!'
His voice actually cracked.
There was silence on the other end, and then, after a beat, the red dot between Murdoc's eyes disappeared.
The assassin smirked even wider, lording his victory over Mac, and gestured to the blonde's head, before reaching into his other pocket.
'Swapsies, Angus.'
Mac, left without a choice, took out his earpiece and tossed it to Murdoc, receiving a vial of clear liquid in return.
It had drink me written on it in black permanent marker.
Murdoc looked expectantly at him, sliding one hand towards the pocket holding the controller to his own sniper rifles, and Mac took a deep breath, uncorked the vial and swallowed the contents.
'Nightshade derivative?'
Murdoc smiled darkly.
'New and improved.'
It probably was. Whatever it was (the Phoenix had never quite been able to pin it down, even with Jill and Ritchie working on it for days, last time), it was fast-acting, because Mac was already feeling a little woozy. Murdoc reached out and put an arm around him, under his shoulders, helping to hold him up, and smiled at Cassian as the boy ran up, holding the Frisbee.
'This is my friend MacGyver, bud. He isn't feeling so well, so he's going to be our guest for a while…'
He vaguely recalled, deep in a haze, being driven to a very ordinary house.
He heard, as if from far away or from underwater, Murdoc telling Cassian to go upstairs to his room, suggesting that the little boy draw him a picture using those brand-new crayons he'd just bought him.
He had the impression of being dragged without any care or consideration down the stairs, into the basement.
He was quite sure that he'd felt the weight and tightness of restraints going around his ankles, his wrists.
And then…there was nothing.
He woke to a very unpleasant sight.
An unpleasantly familiar sight.
He was restrained to a chair in a dank, dark room, complete with mould growing on the walls and what disturbingly may have been blood stains.
(It was chains this time, instead of duct-tape, which was even worse. Harder to escape.)
There was an IV coming out of his arm, feeding a clear liquid into his arm, which he knew just had to be more of that nightshade-derived sedative he'd been forced to drink earlier.
And in front of him, grinning with sadistic joy and satisfaction, was Murdoc.
Next to the assassin was a whole bunch of various household appliances, tools and knives on a table.
Torture implements.
'Good morning, MacGyver. How nice of you to join me at last. I was starting to get impatient…'
Murdoc ran a hand almost-lovingly along his rows of torture tools.
The one small mercy was that Cassian wasn't in the room. Wasn't in the dungeon. Wasn't going to have to witness this.
Mac looked up defiantly at his captor, as best as he could, anyway, since he was sort-of seeing two of him.
'Not a fan of starting them young, Murdoc?'
It was a low blow.
He knew it.
(Especially since it wasn't as if this was the best option, the one that caused the least harm, like in that cabin in the woods on his and Leanna and Bozer and Riley's fake honeymoons, for example.)
(He really could have stayed silent; it wasn't as if saying anything was helping him get out of this situation, after all.)
But Murdoc hadn't fought fair. Never had, really.
Sometimes, in cases like this, you had to fight dirty.
Fight fire with fire.
Mac swore that he saw something flash across his nemesis's eyes for a millisecond, before it was gone, replaced by that extremely unsettling glee and levity that Murdoc so often had.
'Daddy MacGyver did, didn't he?' There was a moment of panic in Mac's chest as the (illogical) conclusion that Murdoc somehow knew the truth, the whole truth, about his father crossed his mind, but he was able to dismiss it (his dad wasn't going to win any Father of the Year awards, but he was a world-class secret agent), and to conceal it as simple surprise. 'Oh, don't look so shocked, Angus…you spent so long looking for him and you couldn't find him. Only one kind of man could hide from a trained professional with your dogged, foolish determination for that long. Simple deduction.' Murdoc spread his arms out. 'Elementary, my dear MacGyver.' Murdoc's smirk turned darker. 'But you've just given me the most interesting clue…'
Mac swore internally, but leaned back as best as he could in his seat (it was hard; his head kept wanting to loll forwards).
'A, despite popular belief, Sherlock Holmes never actually said that, you know. B, my dad never dragged me on a cross-country road-trip with a side of murder…'
He swore that hit a nerve.
Something crossed Murdoc's eyes, something darker and angrier than usual. A little wounded. A little hurt. Something that reminded Mac of a cornered predator.
That made a voice in his head wonder, ask, if Murdoc really did love Cassian.
At least, if Murdoc loved his son as best, as much, as Murdoc could love anyone. A twisted, deformed kind of love, perhaps, but love nonetheless.
If he really was determined to be a good father.
It wasn't all that surprising, perhaps, if Murdoc's story about his own father that he'd told him on that train over that can of beans was true.
It was an unsettling thought.
One that Mac wasn't quite sure how to process, or where to place, or even what it truly meant. What the implications were.
He was pulled out of those thoughts by Murdoc finally, after perusing his large collection of torture utensils, selecting a very heavy-looking wrench.
He approached Mac, wrench in hand.
The Phoenix agent steeled himself for the pain.
Murdoc held the iron ever-closer to Mac's left shin. The blonde did his best to wiggle away as much as he could, but he was so weak, so tired, so foggy, and firmly, expertly restrained to boot that he made essentially no progress.
The iron touched his trouser leg, pressed against him, for the briefest of seconds, causing him to yowl in pain.
(He'd done everything he could to stay silent, to hide his reactions, and he still was trying, but strength of will could only get you so far.)
The iron was withdrawn. Mac gritted his teeth and focused on the Periodic Table, trying to ignore the searing pain it left.
'…gallium…germanium…arsenic…selenium…'
Murdoc laughed.
'You really are adorable, Angus.'
He inched the iron closer again.
Mac breathed hard, fighting to get as much air into his system as he could during what he knew would be a brief reprieve.
Murdoc, meanwhile, just smiled darkly.
'…three, two, one…time's up, Angus!'
He pressed the cattle prod into Mac's stomach again, and the blonde completely forgot about breathing, arching in pain, yanking on the restraints binding him to the chair (which was bolted to the ground, so did not move), face contorting into a silent scream.
He tried to focus on the lanthanides and actinides, but he was too lost in pain and drugged murkiness to do so.
Unconsciousness, when it came, was a blessing.
PHOENIX VAN
BARSTOW
CALIFORNIA
'…We lose him here. For good.'
Riley pointed to a fork in the road two miles out of Barstow.
She and Jill had pooled their skills, the forensic analyst helping via video link from the Phoenix. Jack had contributed his AMOS knowledge, and Bozer his eye for detail.
The local FBI had chipped in too.
But try as they might, they could not find Murdoc.
Could not work out where he'd taken Mac.
Jack tossed the water bottle he'd been holding to the floor.
'That's not good enough, Riles! Do better!'
He turned and stormed out of the van, pushing past a concerned Bozer, watched by a wide-eyed Jill and an unsurprised, but worried, Matty on the screen.
Riley, meanwhile, swallowed the hurt that Jack's words caused (he didn't mean them, not really) and got up, stepping outside after him.
Jack was pacing along the side of the road, kicking rocks with great force.
Riley leaned against a tree, crossed her arms, and waited for the older man to let out the worst of his anger.
Finally, after a couple of minutes, when his pacing slowed, she spoke as he walked past her.
'It's not your fault, Jack.'
That made him stop in his tracks, his back to her, and then, slowly, turn to face her.
'I should've killed him last time, when I had the chance.'
A part of Riley actually agreed with that.
(It didn't make her happy or satisfied; in fact, it made her a little uncomfortable, even ashamed, but that part of Riley wholeheartedly agreed that it'd have been a good idea.)
(It'd have saved a lot of people a lot of pain. Matty wouldn't have had to go and tell several families that their father or mother or husband or wife or sister or brother wasn't coming home from work. Mac wouldn't be doubtlessly suffering right now. They wouldn't be undergoing a different kind of suffering right now.)
(And Cassian…well, she'd thought she'd had a shitty father growing up. She'd thought Mac had a shitty father who was still pretty shitty. But that poor kid had it hundreds of times worse.)
Jack sighed, reading as much in Riley's expression, most of the anger going out of him, leaving guilt behind, as he joined her in leaning against the tree.
He really was completely convinced that he should have killed Murdoc that day in that warehouse.
He would have, was about to, if Mac hadn't stopped him.
He didn't think his partner would have ever completely forgiven him if he had.
(Murdoc had saved his life, even if it was only because he wanted something only they could give him, and because he wanted to kill Mac himself.)
(Besides, even without that, Mac was no killer.)
Oh, they'd still work together, just as much a well-oiled machine as they always were. They'd still be partners. They'd still be friends. They'd still be family.
But it would always, always have sat between them.
In a moment like this…Jack thought he could live with that trade-off.
Riley seemed to know which way his thoughts were going, because she reached out, put an arm around his shoulders.
'You can't change the past, Jack.' She would know. 'But sometimes…you get a chance to fix your mistakes.'
She said that neutrally, not encouraging or discouraging him from any course of action, just stating a fact.
Jack was silent for a moment, before pulling her into a side-hug.
'When'd you get so wise, Ri?'
She gave a snort.
'I always have been, relative to a certain someone, anyway.'
MURDOC'S SAFEHOUSE
LOCATION: UNKNOWN
'Mr MacGyver? Mr MacGyver?'
No-one called him Mr MacGyver.
Blearily, Mac forced his eyes open as consciousness returned fully. Or at least as fully as it could, considering the drip he could still feel in his arm.
He did a double-take, wondering if he was hallucinating, suffering from some side-effect of that new-and-improved, nightshade-based sedative, or if his brain had decided to make this all up to try and help him cope with the pain.
The image in front of him didn't change.
He probably wasn't hallucinating.
Murdoc was gone, but in his place was Cassian, who looked rather concerned and was holding up a bottle of water.
When he saw Mac was awake, the worry in his eyes faded slightly, and he brought the bottle to the Phoenix agent's lips, helped him drink his fill.
Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cereal bar, holding that up for Mac so he could eat it.
Then, without saying another word, Cassian stuffed the wrapper into his pocket and tucked the half-empty water bottle into his jacket and made to leave.
Mac called out, causing the boy to turn and look back at him.
'Thank you.'
Cassian gave a little smile, then darted out of the basement.
PHOENIX VAN
BARSTOW
CALIFORNIA
'…Nope, sorry.'
Jill, on one of the computer screens in the van, really did look very sorry, and almost as worried as Jack, Bozer and Riley felt, but it didn't make any of them feel any less terrible.
Attempting to run down and trace quite literally anything that they knew Murdoc would have bought or could have bought or might have bought recently wasn't getting anywhere.
The guy was too good.
He cursed under his breath, which made Riley turn her head, glance over at him in concern. He shook his head, a silent request in his eyes, which she understood, giving a little nod of acknowledgement and returning to chasing down leads.
The only thing that would get rid of that creature gnawing at Jack's guts was getting his partner back.
Did you know that even in 17th century England, the rack was considered such a horrific form of torture that it required authorization by warrant and there were questions on its legality?
Probably why Murdoc chose it…
MURDOC'S SAFEHOUSE
LOCATION: UNKNOWN
Mac couldn't help but scream and struggle in an attempt, futile though it was, to relieve the horrible, horrible pain, that sensation of being literally pulled apart.
All attempts to focus on the Gettysburg Address had failed.
Murdoc, a terrible, sadistic gleam in his eyes, finally let go of the wheel, letting the rack contract back to its usual length, relieving the strain on Mac's limbs.
He panted, catching his breath, before looking up at Murdoc, seeking out his eyes.
He was now as convinced as he ever was about anything to do with Murdoc that, somehow, despite the fact that he was clearly some kind of psychopath, Murdoc cared about his son.
Loved Cassian, or at least, loved him as well as Murdoc could love.
In his own, very twisted way.
Yeah, maybe I am a naïve fool, looking for the goodness in everyone.
But no-one's born evil.
Not even Murdoc.
And maybe a little good – the tiniest, tiniest amount - has survived.
'This…this is no way for him to grow up, Murdoc. Moving all the time, not being able to have close friends…'
Something flashed in Murdoc's eyes. Something Mac read as anger.
'And he had all that, Angus. Until someone's people swooped in and took him into protective custody.'
Guilt bloomed in Mac's mind.
He hadn't approved of using Cassian against Murdoc.
But he'd allowed it to happen.
Allowed the little boy to be taken from his school, from his friends, from people who might just have been family to him.
Then, suddenly, Murdoc threw his head back and chortled, getting words out between laughs.
'Oh, you're so easy, so predictable…so soft, Angus! So, so easy!'
The guilt prickled into annoyance, into anger.
'This is not a childhood, Murdoc! Don't you want him to have everything you didn't?'
The assassin just kept laughing, shaking his head, even slapping a hand against his thigh.
'Oh, you are so, so predictable…' Murdoc gave a haunting grin. 'You really did buy that story about my daddy dearest, didn't you?'
Ignoring that prickle of doubt (he was as sure about that as he ever was with anything to do with this madman – aside from the fact that Murdoc's ultimate endgame was always his death after a whole lot of pain, which was a certainty), Mac looked up at him again and spoke with more certainty than he actually felt.
'Because it's true.'
Murdoc smirked.
'Or is it?' His smirk widened, darkened further, and he leaned closer and closer to Mac, so their faces were only a couple of inches apart. 'You'll never, ever know, MacGyver…'cause you'll be six feet under.'
Murdoc eyed the wheel that shifted the panels of the rack apart, and then clicked his tongue, seemingly changing his mind.
He walked over to his table of torture implements, and after perusing them, picking a couple up and discarding them, he picked up a standard, everyday hammer, beating it lightly against his palm like a baseball bat.
A dark, happy, eager light in his eyes, he stalked back over to his helpless prisoner.
Mac took a deep breath.
It felt like hours later (but he knew, objectively, it couldn't have been more than a few minutes) when he thought he finally let the last of that breath go.
The world was starting to swim around the edges again, and he knew it wouldn't be long before unconsciousness (blessed unconsciousness – a respite, no matter how brief) took him again.
With great effort, Mac turned his head a little to face Murdoc.
His ribs ached, his throat burned from screaming and he wasn't sure if his lungs would ever feel fully-inflated again, but he forced himself to speak, as hoarse and weak as his voice was when it came out.
'You…you do care…about Cassian…in your own way…and…and you think that's a weakness. But…I promise you…it isn't. It's…it's the opposite…'
Somewhere in the dark, bottomless pit of Murdoc's eyes, something ignited, and Mac could practically see the assassin's control snap.
Murdoc raised the hammer, brought it down, out of Mac's sight, and next thing Mac knew, the world had contracted down to nothing but pain in the vicinity of his right kidney.
And then…nothing.
When Mac woke again, he was back in that chair, tightly secured, with the drip coming out of his arm, keeping him woozy and incapacitated.
His prison was quiet, the rack gone, the other torture implements secreted away again.
(Both times he'd left the room, Murdoc had moved everything into a storage room off the side of the basement, as if concerned that Mac might somehow get out of the chair and use those tools to escape.)
But he wasn't alone.
On the far side of the room, right next to the door, Cassian was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, knees up to form a makeshift easel on which an art pad rested, a crayon in hand, more in a brand-new box next to him.
He looked up when he seemed to sense Mac was awake, and the two of them stared at each other for a long moment.
Cassian looked him up and down. Mac was pretty sure he'd look horrifying to a kid; he felt like one giant bruise and had to look like one too.
He was pretty sure the nasty, jagged cut over his left eyebrow was still seeping blood, too.
Finally, the little boy broke the silence.
'Did my daddy do that to you?'
His voice was quiet, but more certain, less hesitant, less innocent than Mac had suspected.
It seemed that Cassian was not as ignorant to the truth as his father wanted him to be. Had tried to keep him.
Still, Mac didn't want to nod, didn't want to say yes.
Didn't want to destroy what innocence and ignorance the eight-year-old had left.
He'd been twenty-seven when he'd learned that his father wasn't who he'd thought he was.
And while his father probably wasn't a good guy, he wasn't a Bad Guy either.
And he definitely wasn't a monster.
And it'd still hurt. Still torn his world apart.
Still, Cassian seemed to get an answer from his non-answer, because his face fell, and he returned to drawing with his crayons in silence.
This time, Mac broke the silence.
'Does…does your daddy know you're here?'
If Murdoc knew that his son was in here, knew that he was actually talking to Mac, knew that Cassian had brought him food and water, shown him kindness…
Mac feared what the assassin would do to the boy.
(He might love him, but Mac harboured no illusions that it wasn't a twisted, possessive, dark form of love.)
Cassian shook his head.
'No. He doesn't know I know how to get in.' He sounded very much an eight-year-old…and very much not at the same time. 'I'm not supposed to be in here. For my own protection.' Cassian made a face, looking supremely unconvinced and like he felt like he'd been unjustly wronged. 'That's what the people who took me away from my school and all my friends and wouldn't let me go play in the park with my new friends or invite them over to play said too, and Daddy had to rescue me from them.' Cassian paused and shrugged with all the certainty of a kid. 'Besides, you're nice and not scary.'
Despite everything, despite that flare of guilt that Cassian's words triggered, Mac gave a little laugh and a smile.
Especially compared to the other people who'd probably been in Murdoc's basement before him, he probably did look particularly unthreatening and nice.
'I think you're nice and not scary too.'
Cassian smiled up at him, before returning to his drawing.
It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but Mac felt a calm, a peace (perhaps the eye of the storm?) settle in the air.
'Dad? You're back earlier than usual…'
Murdoc stood at the top of the basement stairs, the look in his eyes only describable as murderous.
He strode down the stairs, coat billowing out behind him, and stood over Cassian, who looked frightened.
'You're not supposed to be down here, Cassian.'
There was dark, ominous and tightly-leashed anger in his voice.
'Dad, I just-'
Murdoc's control slipped, and he lunged forward.
For a second, Mac feared the worst. His brain started reeling through things, anything, that he could say to refocus the assassin's anger and wrath, bring it down on him, instead of the poor kid whose only crime was to be sired by a terrible excuse for a human being.
But thankfully, Murdoc simply wrenched Cassian's precious crayons from his hands, and tossed them against the wall next to the stairs.
'Go to your room, now, Cassian.'
The anger was just as dark, just as ominous, but less tightly leashed this time.
Cassian, thankfully, recognized that, and lowered his head meekly, scuttling over to the stairs, stopping only to retrieve his broken crayons.
Meanwhile, Murdoc just stared at Mac, his control on his anger slipping inch by inch.
As soon as the door slammed behind Cassian, Murdoc advanced on the Phoenix agent, the look in his eyes boding terribly for Mac.
No matter what…better me than him.
Always.
PHOENIX VAN
BARSTOW
CALIFORNIA
'…We know Murdoc was trying to put together that Rogue's Gallery for Mac, but then when they went all Judas on him, he started taking them out on his cross-country road-trip of murder.' Jill, Matty, Jack and Riley, the former pair on a screen, the latter sitting beside Bozer in the back of the van, all nodded, as Bozer continued. 'Well…what if he didn't just take 'em out, but also took their contingency stuff? Like fake IDs and weapons caches and safehouses?'
Bad guys did that sort of thing in movies and on TV all the time.
Why not in real life?
Maybe they'd been too focused on Murdoc himself. Maybe the key to catching Murdoc wasn't in chasing him, but his victims?
(Bozer refused to believe that he was just clutching at straws, because that was his BFF that Murdoc had in his evil little hands.)
Jill and Riley instantly started typing away.
'Cross-referencing all of Murdoc's known movements with any and all known safehouses and boltholes belonging to the assassinated assassins…'
Matty nodded, seeking out Bozer's eyes.
'Good work, Boze. You might be on to something.'
Jack just stared at Riley's laptop screen as images and algorithms flashed across it.
MURDOC'S SAFEHOUSE
LOCATION: STILL UNKNOWN
Cassian wiggled himself through the tiny little crawlspace (one that no adult could hope to fit through), until he came to the vent that was his target.
The vent that opened out into the basement.
He watched, completely silent, through the grill as his dad (wearing a gas mask), sprayed Mr MacGyver with something that smelled really, really spicy.
Mr MacGyver was crying. He looked like he was in pain.
His dad looked really, really happy.
It made Cassian uncomfortable. It made something prickle in the back of his mind.
A voice in his head screamed that this was wrong, and he had to do something about it, stop his dad from hurting Mr MacGyver.
Just like when he'd seen Bobby Tate take Casey Donovan's lunch money.
And his favourite teacher, Mrs Maple, always said that hurting other people was wrong. Was bad.
Mrs Maple was really nice and really kind and really wise, so he trusted what she said.
Even when it was his daddy who was doing bad things.
(Because, sometimes…Cassian got that uncomfortable, uncertain prickly feeling around his dad, when he smiled a certain way or came back from some of his business trips or left on some of them or brought certain 'guests' over.)
(Or, very, very occasionally, when his dad got mad at him. Really, really mad, like just then, when he'd caught him in the basement.)
It wasn't right to let people get away with doing bad things.
Mrs Maple said if you just stood there without doing anything, you were a bully too.
Cassian figured it still applied when your dad was the bully, since it applied if your best friend was the bully too.
He shimmied backwards, back towards the small hall closet that the vent's other opening was in.
In the hallway, Cassian paused next to the hidden compartment where his dad had put the emergency phone, the one that Cassian was supposed to use to call him when he was away on a business trip if any strangers came by or even if his Spidey-senses went off.
He could use it to call the police.
As far as he knew, you were supposed to call the police for serious cases of adults being bullies.
But his dad didn't like police.
He'd told Cassian that if the police found them, Cassian would be taken away from him and would have to change schools yet again and wouldn't be allowed to play with his friends anymore.
Cassian believed him.
That was what had happened last time, when the people who were even more powerful than the police had showed up at his school in Switzerland.
He shook his head, coming to a decision.
He wasn't going to call the police.
He didn't want to be taken away from his dad, even if his dad was bullying Mr MacGyver.
He was still his dad.
Cassian headed for the basement.
Cassian's father had a bag of fish-hooks in hand, and was smiling in that way that made Cassian get that uncomfortable, prickly feeling in his brain at Mr MacGyver.
Cassian gathered his courage and spoke, loudly and clearly.
'Dad, stop!' His father whirled around, dropping the fish-hooks. Cassian swallowed and raised his chin. 'It's wrong to hurt other people. You have to stop.'
Cassian's father just advanced towards him, almost shaking with anger.
He'd never seen him so angry before.
(He'd thought his dad had been mad at him before, as mad as he could ever be at him, but clearly, he'd been wrong.)
There was a look in his eyes, all anger and fire and darkness, that terrified him.
Cassian had seen that look in his dad's eyes before.
But never, ever directed at him.
That voice in his head was telling him to run, run as fast as he could, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. He felt frozen in place, as his dad got closer and closer and closer, that scary look on his face getting scarier and scarier…
He still couldn't see very well thanks to Murdoc's liberal use of DIY capsicum spray on him, but Mac could see well enough to see Murdoc advancing on his own son.
His eight-year-old son, who looked truly, genuinely, completely, utterly terrified, in a way that he hadn't when Murdoc had broken his crayons earlier.
Like he really did fear that his dad was going to hurt him, truly, truly hurt him, not just scold him or confiscate his toys or ban dessert for a month or even break his crayons.
Mac didn't need his near-eidetic memory or excellent imagination to see the look on Murdoc's face in his mind's eye.
He had to do something.
Now.
He forced his painfully hoarse voice to work.
'…As you can see, I can be very persuasive, Murdoc…'
The assassin whirled around, his anger finding a new target, and Mac was thankfully able to see Cassian's legs start working and the little boy run up the stairs as fast as he could, before Murdoc was on him and a searing pain grew across his cheek…
PHOENIX VAN
BARSTOW
CALIFORNIA
'Got an address.'
Riley's declaration was more relieved than triumphant, and Jack jumped up and leapt into the driver's seat without so much as a quip or a cracking of his knuckles.
'Buckle up.'
His voice was flat, completely serious.
And completely unlike Jack.
As they secured themselves and their equipment in the back of the van as Jack started the engine, Bozer and Riley exchanged a glance.
They had more than a sneaking suspicion that Jack had plans for Murdoc that didn't involve throwing him into a ten-by-ten concrete box.
No, the plans probably involved a wooden box, six feet under.
And that coffin would sit between the partners forever.
MURDOC'S SAFEHOUSE
LOCATION: NO LONGER UNKNOWN
As the local SWAT team, led by Jack, advanced through the front yard, they were startled by one of Murdoc's 'insurance policies' (a semi-automatic that ran on a semi-automated system) falling out of a tree, clearly disabled.
The men looked up, pointing their weapons at the source of the destruction.
The leaves shook a little, and then, a small face popped out from the foliage, then shoulders and arms. Cassian already had his hands up, and spoke, voice small and a little hesitant and scared, but with a note of relief in it too.
'Are you friends of Mr MacGyver?' Jack nodded immediately. Cassian looked more relieved, and pointed at the house. 'The basement, hurry!'
Jack didn't need to be told twice.
Jack stared at the assassin in front of him, who had his hands up, clearly knowing he was beaten.
(Jack's weapon was trained between his eyes. Six assault rifles belonging to the SWAT team's members were trained on his heart.)
He wanted nothing more than to beat the hell out of the man, to inflict just as much pain on him as he'd inflicted on Jack's partner.
(Bruises were starting to bloom on Mac's cheekbones – unsurprising, since Murdoc had been repeatedly punching him in the face when they'd burst into the basement. There was a still-sluggishly-bleeding cut over his left eyebrow. And his eyes were horrifyingly red.)
(And that was just what Jack could see on his face.)
And then, he wanted to put a bullet between his eyes and one through his heart for good measure.
Personally, he thought, knowing Murdoc, that'd save them a hell of a lot of trouble later.
Jack was just about to pass off his weapon and force-feed Murdoc a feast of knuckle sandwiches when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
They were an unfamiliar cadence, so not Bozer or Riley. And far too light to be one of the jack-booted, body-armour-wearing SWAT commandos.
It could only be one person.
Jack swallowed, and forced his desire to beat Murdoc to within an inch of his life, tear him limb from limb and then give him lead poisoning aside.
Not in front of Cassian.
The poor kid had been dealt a terrible lot in life.
He didn't need Jack beating his father to death in front of his eyes.
Jack gestured with his head to one of the SWAT team to cuff Murdoc, and sheathed his weapon and made his way over to his partner instead.
He pulled the lock-pick he'd borrowed from the SWAT guys out of his pocket and got to work on the cuffs.
Once his hands were free, Mac, a little clumsily but with great determination, reached out and tugged the IV out of his arm.
Jack eyed the trickle of blood that followed warily, before reaching out to help his partner to his feet, wrapping an arm firmly around him as Mac stumbled.
'You gonna be okay, son?'
Mac managed a small smile.
'I will be now.'
'…I don't care if it's potential evidence, it's every worldly possession an eight-year-old has…' Matty rolled her eyes. She and Gonzales' team had arrived ten minutes ago, as she wasn't trusting escorting Murdoc to prison to anyone else. And she was already having to deal with idiots. 'We've already run a bug check, the Phoenix has top-notch jamming for foreign signals and the best forensic analyst on the West Coast will check over everything non-invasively and send you her detailed report. We're not idiots.'
She left the unlike someone unsaid.
(Matty the Hun could be diplomatic, after all.)
Matty slipped back into Cassian's bedroom, where Mac (whom the little boy had attached himself to and refused to let out of his sight), after being checked over by Anita the medic, and Riley were helping him pack.
Cassian paused after handing Mac an armload of clothes, which the blonde immediately started rolling up efficiently and packing into a suitcase that Bozer had found at a local thrift shop.
The little boy flopped onto the bed, eyes falling on the open box of broken crayons on the floor, resting against the wall.
He fiddled with the bedspread for a moment, before grabbing his pillow and hugging it to his chest, then speaking, looking at the floor.
'My…my dad's a really bad guy, isn't he?'
He sounded like he already knew the answer, but simply didn't like it.
Mac and Riley exchanged a glance full of empathy, while Matty made her way over to Cassian's bed and sat down beside him with a nod, seeking out his eyes and speaking gently, but firmly. With great certainty.
'You aren't defined by your father, Cassian.'
Matty looked pointedly over at Mac and Riley, and the hacker picked up the thread, sitting down on Cassian's other side.
'Sure, he's your father, but you get to choose your family.'
Mac sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall next to Cassian's crayons, looking the boy in the eye.
'And the family you choose…who you choose to be in it, is more important than the one you're born with.'
Cassian was silent for a long moment, still hugging his pillow, before he leaned, seemingly unconsciously, a little closer to Riley and nodded in understanding.
Matty, Mac and Riley all gave little smiles, and after a moment of hesitation, Riley raised a hand to rub Cassian's shoulder comfortingly.
There was silence for a beat, before Cassian's eyes fell on his broken crayons again and his expression grew painfully, heart-breakingly sad.
Riley squeezed his shoulder.
'We'll buy you some new crayons.'
Mac, meanwhile, glanced at Cassian as if asking for permission, his hand hovering over the crayons, and when the little boy nodded, he picked them up and started examining them. A moment later, he looked up at Cassian and smiled, holding up a broken-in-half crayon.
'And I can show you how to turn this…' He waggled the crayon in his hand. '…into something new, something useful.'
Cassian gave a little smile.
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
As they walked into the Phoenix, Cassian, a little awed and made nervous by the new environment, tucked himself a bit closer to Mac and Riley (whom he'd grown very attached to, very quickly). Mac offered the boy his hand, and after a moment of internal debate (he was eight, he wasn't a little kid anymore!), Cassian took it.
Jack and Matty glanced at each other, then at the three younger Phoenix agents, before they headed off towards the war room to handle business.
As they reached the corridor that led to the lab, Bozer, who was holding Cassian's suitcase, and Riley, holding a bag containing the last of his belongings, stopped, causing Mac and Cassian to stop too. Mac leaned over to his friends, speaking quietly.
'Can you help Jill find the stuff on the list I texted her? We'll meet you in the lab in about half an hour.'
Bozer and Riley both nodded, Bozer giving a little salute, clearly taking the assignment very seriously. Then, they headed off towards the lab and Jill, while Mac led Cassian further into the Phoenix.
The little boy tugged on his hand.
'Where are we going, Mac?'
He looked down at Cassian and smiled wryly.
'Somewhere where I spend way too much time…'
Mac didn't miss the way that Cassian's hand tightened a little on his when they entered the infirmary.
Thankfully, he'd anticipated that that might be the case, and Beth was waiting for them in the little room she'd set up for Cassian with a warm, friendly smile on her face.
(She was the Phoenix's least-scary-looking doctor by a country mile, and she had a particularly gentle touch and was good with kids.)
(Besides, Cassian had taken to him, seemed to trust him and consider him a friend, and it was always easier to trust a friend, especially a close friend, of a friend.)
She raised a hand and waved when she saw them, and Mac led Cassian over to her.
'This is my friend, Dr Beth.' Beth crouched down, which put her a few inches below Cassian's eye level, and held out her hand. Hesitantly, Cassian shook it. 'She's going to give you a check-up.' Cassian had scrapes and bruises from hiding in the crawlspace and climbing up and down trees to disable Murdoc's security system. He was also almost-certainly in shock and they had no idea if he'd had a health check in the almost-year since Murdoc had taken him from protective custody. Cassian's hand tightened a little more on Mac's. 'Uh…right after she gives me one.'
Beth kept her 'check-up' of Mac quick and cursory.
He could tell that, unsurprisingly, she was not happy about his condition. She also wasn't exactly happy about being 'quick and cursory' and not really dealing with his injuries, but she'd been trained to triage.
He'd been patched up by Anita already, and he knew that the medic would have updated Beth on his condition.
Besides, Murdoc had been keen on extracting every single possible drop of pain from him, which meant doing things very, very slowly.
He was badly bruised, and had some cuts and scrapes and burns, as well as what he suspected was bruised ribs, bruised kidneys and a potentially bruised cheekbone, plus badly strained muscles and probably a pulled ligament or three, but there was really nothing all that serious about his injuries.
And most importantly, this check-up wasn't for him.
It was for Cassian, who was sitting next to him on the bed, watching Beth's every move.
He'd watched her cautiously at first, warily. Now, he seemed to be watching more out of curiosity.
Beth smiled at him, and held out a still-sealed Band-Aid.
'Can you open that for me?'
Beth finished checking Cassian's heart and lungs using her stethoscope, and turned her attention to checking his blood pressure instead.
Before she attached the cuff, though, she pulled several different kinds of Band-Aids from her scrubs pocket, laying them down next to Cassian on the bed so he could see them. There was a plain one, three different Dora the Explorer designs and three Frozen ones.
(Mac gave a little smile at that. He was pretty sure that be prepared was Beth's life motto.)
'You've got a few scrapes that we're going to need to clean and put Band-Aids on. Which Band-Aids would you like?'
Cassian's eyes lit up as the blood pressure cuff tightened around his arm. He didn't even seem to notice it, and pointed eagerly at the Frozen Band-Aids with his free hand.
'Do you have any ones with Olaf on them, Dr Beth? He's my favourite character, 'cause I love summer!' He paused and looked bashful. 'Please?'
Beth's smile widened as she removed the blood pressure cuff, noting down the measurement on her tablet, then turning back to Cassian.
'I like Olaf too, because he always tries very hard to be cheerful, has a big heart and is also really wise.'
Cassian beamed.
'Some people are worth melting for!'
Beth nodded sagely in agreement.
'Yes, they are.'
(Mac couldn't help but smile a little wider.)
When she finished Cassian's check-up, Beth reached into her seemingly-bottomless pockets and pulled out a snack-size pack of M&Ms, which she handed to Cassian, making the little boy grin.
'Thank you, Dr Beth!'
'You're very welcome.'
After popping an M&M in his mouth, Cassian tilted his head to the side quizzically.
'Why doesn't Mac get any?'
Mac, still sitting on Cassian's other side, chuckled, before raising an eyebrow at the doctor teasingly.
Beth smiled, half-sheepish, half-wry, addressing Cassian.
'Well, he probably does deserve some this time…' She reached into her pocket and pulled out another pack of M&Ms, handing them to Mac. '…but he's usually a pretty bad patient. Maybe he can learn from your excellent example.'
In the elevator on their way to the lab, Mac shot off a very quick text.
I'll be back in 45 minutes for a proper check-up, I promise. I just have to do something for Cassian first.
He got a reply from Beth almost-instantly.
Don't you dare be late, Angus MacGyver.
And let me know if there's anything I can do to help.
When Mac and Cassian walked into the lab, they found one of the benches cleared of all chemicals and experiments, instead covered with the break room microwave, an assortment of paper cups, a huge hunk of wax, some wicks, small glasses, popsicle sticks and Cassian's broken crayons.
Bozer, Riley and Jill stood behind the bench, Riley smiling, Bozer and Jill grinning. All three of them were wearing craft aprons, too, and Jill hurried over with two more in hand, passing one to Mac and helping Cassian with his, introducing herself with a grin.
Twenty minutes later, Cassian was poking his tongue out a little in concentration as he carefully used a toothpick to spread a globule of wax over the top of one of his candles to make a flower pattern, just like Bozer had shown him.
He set down his toothpick proudly as he finished. It was wonky compared to Bozer's, but the Phoenix's resident movie buff bumped his fist to Cassian's with great enthusiasm and an awful lot of pride.
'That's awesome, man!'
Cassian beamed.
UNKNOWN SECURE LOCATION
(EXTREMELY SECURE LOCATION)
SOMEWHERE IN LA?
Matty stood in front of the one-way glass, watching Murdoc, who was wearing an orange jumpsuit and cuffed to the table.
He was also whistling obnoxiously.
'Honestly, Matilda, must we really play this game? We both know you're just watching and waiting…'
She heard the door to the observation room open behind her, familiar footsteps cross the room to stand beside her.
Matty looked up at her boss. He looked tired, which wasn't surprising.
He'd just gotten off a plane from Bogota, where he'd been chasing a lead.
A lead that he considered so important that he'd made himself uncontactable, even by her, gone dark completely.
Consequently, she hadn't been able to get word to him that his son had been taken by Murdoc until well after his rescue.
(Then again, it probably hadn't mattered.)
(If the lead that he was chasing was what she'd suspected he was chasing…she didn't think he'd have left it, let the trail go cold, even to rescue his son from this monster.)
(James had never been very good at understanding what was really important in life.)
'Hello, Murdoc.' James paused. 'I'm Matilda's boss.'
Matty had the great pleasure of watching surprise, surprise that she was sure was genuine, appear on Murdoc's face, when James walked into the interrogation room and spoke, and Murdoc recognized him.
(It wasn't hard.)
(James did look an awful lot like Mac, even if his son had inherited his mother's colouring.)
(Their dress senses and the fact that James was toying with his Swiss Army knife, using the pliers to bend a paperclip, kind of made it unmistakeable.)
Still, the assassin recovered quickly.
'It's so wonderful to meet you at last, MacGyver Senior! Or can I call you James?' Murdoc smiled wider, more darkly, and Matty knew, right then and there, that even though they had Murdoc locked up in a supposedly-inescapable prison, he was far from being backed into a corner. 'How is your son's pretty blonde friend? The new girl?'
James sat down opposite the assassin, poker face firmly on.
'Fully recovered, no thanks to you.'
Murdoc steepled his fingers together, tapping them against one another.
'Surely curiosity runs in the family…' He tapped his chin. 'Have you ever wondered, James, how a girl from Down Under winds up working for the CIA? Isn't it…odd?' Murdoc smirked. 'Especially when her name isn't really Samantha Cage.'
AN: Dun, dun, dun! How many people saw that one coming?
I have a sneaking suspicion that 'Cassian discovers the truth about his father' is going to be a major plot point in the Season 3 opener…I mean, they have to make Mac change his mind about quitting the Phoenix somehow! I think he'd come back to stop Murdoc, and talking to/comforting Cassian after the kid learns the truth would probably trigger some introspection and cause him to change his mind. I maintain that it's going to have to be one of two things that makes Mac return to the Phoenix (for one last mission which turns out to be not one last mission) and work with his father – either Murdoc or pursuing Jonah Walsh because Walsh killed his mother.
Anyhow – I hope you guys enjoyed my take on this potential scenario. I feel really, really terrible for Cassian, and I think that'd extend to the team as well, especially Mac and Riley, whom I think would have quite a lot of empathy for him. I also firmly believe that someone important would authorize the use of lethal force against Murdoc (he's extremely dangerous, a threat to national security and clearly cannot be safely contained), and that Jack would be ready, willing and able to use said lethal force, but that Mac would not (though he wouldn't be able to avoid thinking about the possibility, evaluating it as a potentiality and the next time Murdoc goes and kills several people and threatens his loved ones, he'll feel guilty for not killing him – or letting Jack kill him – when he had the chance). I hope you guys liked the characterization of everyone in this ep, particularly Mac and his decisions, Jack and his feelings regarding killing Murdoc, Murdoc's relationship with Cassian and Cassian himself. (We have pretty much nothing to go on about Cassian – aside from the fact that he's pretty ignorant to what his father really is and likes to draw – so I inferred and made up his characterization.)
There's no episode tag for this episode, mostly because I'm too tired to write one, so here's the press release for the next episode:
3.13, Answers to Questions. The team hunts three of Murdoc's former employers, who, he claims, know something about Cage that they should know, a secret that she's hidden from everyone, even Matty, for years. Is Murdoc telling the truth, or just messing with their heads?