A/N: For the purpose of this chapter and beyond, I am using MacGyver's birth date of March 23rd as referenced in the episode "Friends".

**This chapter is dedicated to my friend, Sanguine, and her special guy: Thanks for (im)\patiently waiting:)

Nemesis

MacGyver ran his finger around the stiffly starched collar of his tuxedo shirt as butterflies flitted wildly in his stomach. He never thought this day would ever come. The priest standing next to him put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Sam, as best man, stood on his other side with a wide grin on his face. Giving up on his collar, Mac ran his hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down to no avail. He had offered to get it cut for the wedding, but, after months of insisting he do just that, his bride had taken him to task saying she wanted to marry him and every single too-long hair on his head. The music started, and as Frog ambled down the aisle toward the alter with two modest gold rings tied to his collar with a white satin ribbon, MacGyver looked out over the small group of family, close friends, and colleagues who would witness this momentous occasion.

The tempo of the organ changed and his attention turned to the back of the church where she stood. Joanna. His Joanna. For now and for always. The nervousness he had felt only moments ago left his body in one, slow breath as he focused on the woman he loved walking toward him. Her steps sure and her face serene as she walked down the long aisle on her father's arm. At Mac's request, she had foregone the traditional white gown and instead wore the outfit she had on the first time he saw her. A black hat with a red bow accessorized her slim black skirt, white blouse, and red blazer, along with the small bouquet of white calla lilies she carried.

Side by side they faced the priest and exchanged the sacred, age-old vows. When it came time for objections, they each looked playfully over their shoulder as if daring anyone to speak. Suddenly, the back door of the church crashed open and a familiar figure appeared.

"Starting the party without me, MacGyver? How uncivilized!"

"Murdoc!" Mac growled under his breath. He took a step forward but Jo's firm hand on his bicep kept him in place.

"Apparently my invitation got lost in the mail," the unwelcome guest said flippantly as he moved out of the shadows towards them.

MacGyver's gaze immediately locked on to the semi-automatic weapon his nemesis held casually in his hands.

"Why don't we take this outside, Murdoc," Mac ground out as he tried to control the anger that seethed through his veins. "It's me you want." He felt Jo's grip on his arm tighten in protest.

"What's the matter, MacGyver?" Murdoc mocked. "Haven't you ever heard of collateral damage?" And then chaos reigned.

Upon hearing Murdoc's maniacal laughter, MacGyver pushed Joanna to the floor, shielding her with his body, as his ears were assaulted with the horrified cries and screams of their loved ones above the steady tattoo of the gun firing off sprays of bullets.

When all became quiet once more, Mac was acutely aware of Joanna's erratic breathing beneath him even as his own heart pounded. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look up and see the carnage that must be all around them. This was all his fault. He was responsible for protecting the people in his life from Murdoc and he had failed. He took a deep breath and—

MacGyver shot straight up in bed, gasping for air. His hair was damp and beads of sweat trickled down his face and neck. He began twisting the smooth gold band around his finger in what had now become a self-soothing gesture. He felt the mattress shift as Joanna laid a cool, comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Another nightmare?" she whispered, as she always did.

Mac nodded, knowing she could see even though dawn was a long way off.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked, in the same gentle voice she always did.

Mac shook his head. How could he tell her that his subconscious had turned their beautiful, special day into a no-holds-barred massacre?

"Okay," she replied, smoothing his hair as she always did before lying down with her back to him.

He mirrored her motion, wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her close and held her tight as he always did before drifting back into dreamless slumber.

When MacGyver awoke again, he was alone in bed, a shaft of sunlight streaming through the window. He yawned and stretched like a lazy, contented cat. He smiled when he heard the whir of the blender. Joanna was already fixing a protein shake for his breakfast. He scrubbed his face with his hands as he debated whether or not to get out of bed and take a shower. Before he could decide, he heard a knock at the door.

"Hi. Can I help you?" Jo asked amiably.

"Ah, you must be MacGyver's new bride. I must say you look particularly fetching this morning."

Mac's blood ran cold as he immediately pulled on the jeans and sweatshirt he had discarded on the floor the night before and ran down the spiral staircase.

"Murdoc! You're supposed to be dead!"

"Obviously I am quite alive and well," the killer replied in his British accent, allowing an evil grin to curl his lips.

"But I watched you die! I saw your dead body in the morgue!"

"Do you always believe what you see, MacGyver? Science and technology these days is a wondrous thing if you have access to the right people and, fortunately for me, I do!"

By this time Mac had maneuvered himself so he was standing between Joanna and his long-time nemesis.

"What do you want, Murdoc?" he growled.

"Aside from killing you?"

Mac took that as a rhetorical question and remained silent.

"I wanted to come and wish you happy on your marriage."

"You're eight months too late," Mac replied in a menacing tone.

"Well, it isn't my fault I didn't get an invitation now, is it?"

"Get out of here, Murdoc, and don't come back." Mac was growling again.

"Aw, you know I can't do that, MacGyver. At least, not until I kill you."

MacGyver glanced behind him and saw the surprise and fear in Jo's eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm not interested in her."

"So what's your plan? You gonna shoot me? Blow me up?"

Murdoc grinned slowly as he reached inside his jacket and pulled out an ornate blade and waved it in MacGyver's face.

"I thought this time I would get up close and personal. I'm not letting you escape again."

Mac sensed, rather than felt Joanna's muscles tense and before he knew what was happening she bolted out from behind him to stand between him and Murdoc.

"Get out of my house now!" she shouted, pointing to the door.

"My, my. You picked a feisty one, MacGyver. Too bad you won't be around to enjoy her!"

"I told you to get out!" Joanna yelled, planting the palms of her hands on Murdoc's chest and pushing him hard.

Momentarily caught off-guard, Murdoc wavered a step before regaining his balance and shoving her to the floor.

"You said you were gonna leave her alone!" Mac protested as he knelt beside Jo to ensure she was unharmed.

"Well, she started it," Murdoc replied like a petulant child. "Come now, MacGyver. Let's get on with it. I have places to go, people to see."

Mac rose, pulling Joanna up with him and once again placing her behind him as they slowly walked backward into the living room, Mac's eyes frantically searching for a weapon.

Murdoc began to raise the knife. "Time's up, MacGyver," he pronounced with a victorious gleam in his eye.

The next few seconds played out before Mac's eyes in slow motion. Joanna screamed and once again stepped out from the shelter of his body just as Murdoc waved the knife not to stab, but to slash into MacGyver's flesh, accidentally connecting Joanna's jugular instead. She immediately crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around her head. Mac collapsed beside her, searching frantically for a pulse, but there was none.

"Nooooo!" he cried, before holding her lifeless body close to him and showering her pale face with gentle kisses. Leaning back on his heels he began to sob uncontrollably and when he looked up again, Murdoc was gone.

XXXXX

Somehow MacGyver managed to sleepwalk through the next few days. A steady stream of friends would call or drop by to offer their condolences. He took the phone off the hook and stopped answering the door after the first day. He spent hours scrubbing Joanna's blood from the carpet. The stain was gone, but nothing could erase the memory. Why hadn't Murdoc killed him when he had been helplessly grieving over Jo's body? Thrust the blade that had killed his wife into his own back. Mac would much rather have died with her than continue to live without her. His worst nightmare had come true but he couldn't decide which was crueler: Not acting on his feelings for Joanna until they only had a short time to spend together, or allowing himself to have those feelings in the first place.

The day of the funeral, a brisk March wind buffeted the mourners who had gathered at the gravesite for one last farewell. Believing she would never marry, Joanna had arranged to be buried next to the plots of her parents' eventual entombment. MacGyver had no idea where his remains would eventually end up. Even in death they would not be reunited. After one final, heart-felt prayer, the small group hurriedly dispersed to the relative warmth of their waiting vehicles. Mac saw Pete and Sam approaching so he began walking the opposite way, a silent signal that he wanted to be left alone. Suddenly, Murdoc stepped out from behind a large oak tree.

"What are you doing here, Murdoc," Mac demanded.

"Can't a gentleman come and pay his respects?"

"You're no gentleman," MacGyver rounded on the man. "You killed her!"

"It truly was an accident," Murdoc said, almost apologetically. "I've been watching you two for some time now and I almost kind of, sort of, liked her."

Mac grunted and kept walking.

"So how have you been passing your time?"

"None of your business."

"If I were you, I would be plotting ways to avenge my wife's murder."

MacGyver stopped walking and glared at Murdoc. "How? Pistols at dawn?"

"No, no. Not your style. I pegged you for a shoot-out at high noon type of guy. But then again, you don't care to play with guns, do you?"

"I might be persuaded to make an exception," Mac murmured causing Murdoc to chuckle.

"Really MacGyver, when, where, and how would you like to die? You see, I'm really quite flexible and I do aim to please."

"Why don't you just shoot me now and get it over with?"

"It's not that simple anymore. You see, I have to decide which would amuse me more. A dead MacGyver, or a grieving one."

"A dead man can't kill you," Mac pointed out.

"Well, there is that. And I have made it my life's goal to see you to your grave. For once I must agree with you, let's be done with it here and now."

Murdoc reached into his coat lining and pulled out two pistols.

"You're a walking arsenal, aren't you?" Mac observed wryly. "Do you have a machete duct taped to your leg?"

"No," Murdoc replied thoughtfully. "But that isn't a bad idea. Now quit stalling and choose a weapon."

With hesitant steps and a heavy heart, MacGyver approached Murdoc and took one of the offered guns. He tested its weight and balance. It felt good. Real good. Too good. All these years he had fought against guns, and now he was going to use one to terminate his immortal enemy. Or, if he was lucky, Murdoc's bullet would kill him first.

So this was it. There, in a deserted section of the cemetery, one or both of them would die, killed by the other's hand. They counted their paces, turned, and leveled their guns at each other. Looking Murdoc straight in the eye, MacGyver slowly applied pressure to the trigger. Millimeter by millimeter, click by click he came closer to firing the bullet until finally, one last squeeze would release the round. He closed his eyes, gave the trigger one final press, and waited for a shot that never came.

XXXXX

MacGyver's head pounded, his throat was dry, and every muscle in his body ached. He slowly opened his eyes to find himself staring at a ceiling. His ceiling. He moaned.

"He's coming out of it!" a female voice said excitedly.

"Thank God," another female voice replied, this one sounding relieved.

The voices were familiar, but he couldn't quite place them. He tried to lift his head and sit up, but his weakened body refused to obey and he slumped back onto the sofa cushion.

"Here, you need to drink something," the second voice said.

Mac lifted his head again, this time more slowly and, with the support of a gentle hand, took a sip of water from the glass held out to him. Suddenly, he was so thirsty he couldn't get enough. He began to greedily gulp the precious liquid until it was suddenly pulled away.

"Not too much right away," he was told.

He turned his head to find himself looking into the most beautiful pair of sable brown eyes he had ever seen. Eyes he knew and loved from the very first time he had seen them.

"Jo," he croaked. "I thought you got…I saw you get…killed!" His eyes welled with tears. She was alive! It had all been a dream! A cruel, heartbreaking rendering of his greatest fear played out in his subconscious.

Joanna smiled softly as she gently wiped his face with a cool, damp cloth.

"What time is it?" he rasped.

"It's late. And now that your fever has broken you need to rest."

"But—"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Jo insisted before smoothing back his hair and walking away. He yearned to reach out to her. To hold her tight and never let go. But his arms were too weak.

The next morning MacGyver sat on the couch carefully spooning warm, clear broth into his mouth. Joanna had placed a napkin under his chin as if he were a tot. In all honesty, he felt as weak as a newborn babe. When his bowl was empty, Jo took it from him and placed it on the coffee table before settling next to him on the couch, apparently ready to answer all the questions he had. He decided to start with the basics.

"What day is it?" he asked, his voice stronger now.

"It's Saturday. You've been asleep for almost forty-eight hours."

His heart skipped a beat. He had slept for two whole days?

"You've had a bad case of the flu," Jo explained before he could even ask. At least that accounted for his physical state.

"Who was here with you when I woke up last night?"

"Cynthia. She called me when your fevered spiked. She thought you were becoming delirious."

"Was I?"

"Depends on who you ask," Jo teased.

Panic set in as things began to fall into place. "What about Challengers? The grand opening is soon!"

"Relax. Everything is fine. In fact, we're ahead of schedule. Cynthia said that with you out of the way she was able to get a lot more work done. And Jack's been a big help as well. We all took turns taking care of you."

"When is it? The grand opening?" he asked.

"A week from tomorrow," Jo replied.

Mac's flu-fogged brain tried to do some calculations but failed miserably.

"What date is that?" he asked.

"The twenty-third. Why?"

"March twenty-third?" His birthday.

"Yeah, is there a problem?" Jo asked cautiously.

"No…I just…no," he shook his head.

"Can I ask some questions now?" she queried.

"Sure."

"Tell me about that dream you had."

"That's not a question."

"Close enough," she said with a shrug and he chuckled.

"It was nothing," he told her, trying to protect her from the gruesome memory.

"Last night you said you thought I was dead! To me that is not 'nothing'!"

Mac took a deep breath and related the details of his fevered dream. By the time he was done, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She had moved closer to him as he told his tale and now rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she whispered huskily.

He kissed the top of her head but didn't respond. When the silence reached an uncomfortable level, she raised her head and caught his eye.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked. "And don't say it's nothing."

MacGyver gazed unseeingly across the room. "I willingly used a gun to try and kill someone," he said flatly, hardly recognizing the sound of his own voice. "I betrayed everything I believe in, everything I fight against!"

"Mac, it was only a dream," Jo responded firmly.

"But if I was willing to do that in a dream, a part of me must be willing to do it in real life. Have I just been living a lie all these years? Am I a hypocrite?"

"Angus, listen to me," Joanna instructed in her firm teacher voice. "You are not a hypocrite and never could be. You have no control over your dreams or your actions in them, but in real life you do have control. You have morals and values and make choices accordingly. You are the same man you were before you had that dream and I, for one, am pleased that you wished to avenge me."

Mac felt a weight lift from his chest. She was right. He was in control. And he would do anything for her.

"One more thing," she prompted, looking like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. "You said in your dream we were married. What was it like?"

His heart swelled. "From what I could tell, it was pretty darn amazing."