Okay, so I know James wasn't exactly the best father at times (hiding away from your son for over 15 years is just one of those Not Great decisions that he made), but I fully believe he steered Mac towards the very government organisation that he presided over just so that he could watch out for him. I just wished we'd seen more of it.
Side note – I definitely embellished some moments and may have messed the timeline up slightly on others.
Title quote from the lovely Murdoc (season 2 episode 4).
For anyone wondering which episode each snippet is set in:
May 2005 – mentioned in 1x10
March 2011 - flashback of 2x12
September 2016 - 1x01
November 2016 - 1x09
January 2017 - 1x12
October 2017 - 2x04
December 2017 - 2x09
January 2018 - 2x12
February 2018 - 2x15
May 2018 - 2x23
When I was first recruited, I thought I could keep family and work separate and for a while, I did. But the more I worked, the more enemies I racked up and I knew one day they'd come after me like Murdoc came after you. I'd already lost your mother and I wasn't about to risk losing you.
Your grandfather helped me keep tabs on you. I was never really gone, son. I mean, you think you ended up working for me by accident? I was always in the background, nudging you in the right direction.
— James MacGyver, Season 2 Episode 23.
FEBRUARY 2000
Teeth grinding together; a low hiss escaped past his tongue as he dabbed away the blood with a saline-soaked cotton ball. Of all the places his target had to get a hit in, of course it was right on his temple – not an easy spot to hide from an inquisitive nine-year-old.
He should be relived. A major terror attempt thwarted, the culprits locked up under high security, and – glancing at his watch – the promise of two uninterrupted days with his boy. So why was it the last thought, the thought of being close to his son, that left an uncomfortable pit in his stomach?
It amazed him how bright Angus was, always curious and eager to learn. So much like his mother—
His palms pressed into the cool ceramic of the sink; head bent low as he let out a long breath. He would have given anything for Ellen to see her son now. To see the intelligent little man he was growing into. But beautifully big-brained or not, Angus was still just a boy and he needed his father to protect him. And what better way to keep him safe than to draw the enemies away from his door.
The terrorists, the gunmen, the psychopaths intent on murder. Every day they drew nearer and eventually, whether he prepared for it or not, someone was going to infiltrate his defences and get too close to the thing he loved most in the world.
So if staying away kept his son safe, then so be it.
OCTOBER 2001
Matilda Webber was a force of nature. Fierce and determined. With only seven years on the job under her belt her reputation preceded her, accomplishing twice as much as half of his agents and he wanted her on his team.
Her assignment was simple: investigate him.
Interrogation, surveillance, snooping though information she shouldn't be privy to using methods she had spent years honing.
Show him what all the hype was about.
Show him any flaws in his security that would need to be patched.
She was incredible, winning him over halfway through the first day, and by the end of the week he had made a firm decision: she would be his handler. She would keep him in check and help lead his team and
– when she found information on his son, his stomach dropped –
she would help him hide deeper within this organisation where even his name would not see the light of day.
MAY 2002
LOCAL TEEN CAUSES NUCLEAR MELTDOWN
…was the headline he had spent days waiting to see plastered across the front page each time he passed the newspaper stand.
Those bold black letters would never be printed of course. Regardless of his hand in the containment of the incident, his son was much too loved in that school for them to let him come into any harm over it.
Only Angus.
And Wilt, he supposed. Though he had a feeling that his son's best friend had been an innocent – if not eager – bystander as usual. What happened to the days of Angus being satisfied with dismantling a car or stripping a DVD player for parts?
He bet the teachers were wishing they had provided something a little more stimulating for the boy genius. If they had, the giant patch of charcoaled grass might still have a football field in its place.
Then again, this was the same boy who had almost set his gym alight a few months prior with his homemade indoor lightning.
Yeah…there would have been no stopping this. He just hoped for their sake they had some good insurance in place.
For next time.
FEBRUARY 2007
His phone vibrated once against the desk as he was midway through a report. Fingers flying across the keys, he let himself finish his sentence before taking a look.
No words, just a photo.
He appreciated Harry's lack of small talk but sometimes he did wonder if his father's straight-to-the-point messages were born more out of annoyance than convenience. His father understood why he had to leave all those years ago, but it didn't mean he agreed with it.
He tapped on the photo, opening it to full screen.
Dear Angus,
On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to the MIT Class of 2008…
A warm feeling he probably didn't deserve to be having suddenly crept into his chest. Seventeen years old no less and his son had been accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the country.
The Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
He had dreamt of this day. His son's excitement at reading those words aloud. His bittersweet sorrow as his son moved far away from home and into his dorm. His pride as Angus donned his graduation cap and gown after three hard years of work.
Only, in his dream, he had been there at his son's side.
Without a word he closed the photo, returned his phone to the desk and continued with his report.
MARCH 2011
He smiled politely at the gaggle of agents as they passed him in the hallway after a meeting, recognising their faces even if some of their names escaped him. As Oversight, it was his duty to supervise the inner workings of his organisation and he'd grown very familiar with the different teams within DXS and the expertise that each operative brought to the table.
Rather basic as a code name, but conveniently self-explanatory he supposed. To oversee something.
He was aware of all active missions, all new recruits, all ongoing disputes. And though it came with a heavy sense of responsibility, he happily carried it with both hands. DXS was his pride and joy, and he was privileged to be its commander.
Which is why he felt it crucial to employ only the best.
Recruitment came from all over the country; individuals on their radar, fellow Intelligence agencies, his reach even went as far as the US military. Which is why he had been able to pull some strings to get his son paired together with a one Jack Dalton during their time in Afghanistan.
The partnership between scientists and soldiers in the field was something their organisation had been the first to introduce way back after the Second World War. Something he had thought beneficial to every team under his command. He had looked into several servicemen, but Sergeant Dalton – a former associate of Matilda Webber, no less – seemed the best counterbalance to Angus' scientific prowess. On paper at least.
He had given them the push, but now it was up to them to form the bond that would be pivotal for their eventual enrolment into DXS.
SEPTEMBER 2016
A stolen bioweapon.
A failed mission.
A dead agent; two more injured.
Patricia Thornton's carefully crafted team had been operating under him for a few years now. A world class computer analyst, a deadly skilled ex-Delta operative and an EOD tech come scientific genius. Far from the first mission they had ever faced, he had expected better from them during their time in Lake Como, Italy. They had been warned of the dangers of the device, the effects it could have on thousands of people if it ended up in the wrong hands.
And still, they let it slip through their grasp.
He paced his office as his eyes scanned the medical report that had worked its way up the chain to him.
DALTON, J.
Agent Dalton suffered a grade one concussion and scalp laceration following a blow to the occipital bone. Four stitches were required. No swelling of the brain identified and minimal blood loss occurred.
Minor cuts and bruises to the face and scalp also identified, not requiring treatment.
Recovery time estimated at 7 days.
Not ideal, but not the end of the world. One week, maybe five days at a push, and he'd be back in the field.
MACGYVER, A.
Agent MacGyver suffered a GSW to the upper left thorax causing approx. 1.5 litre blood loss at scene. Surgery to remove bullet and close wound was successful. Further blood loss managed effectively.
Intervention to reduce water in lungs also successful.
4 units blood transfusion in progress. Blood type: AB Negative.
Recovery time estimated at 4 weeks.
One month recovery time.
Also not ideal. But then, Angus wasn't hired solely for his physical capability. Even while recovering at home, his brain could still be of use to them.
GSW to upper left thorax.
He let out a grunt as his hip connected with the corner of his desk, inattention to his surroundings prevalent as his eyes were drawn to that point over and over. The chest was a dangerous place for any injury with multiple vital organs and arteries at risk.
He rubbed his thumb over the sore spot, releasing a long breath through his nose as he placed the report on the desk.
Not only was the bioweapon now firmly in the wind, they had also come this close to losing one of their top assets. And all because DXS had allowed two of their agents to cross the line of professionalism.
Angus would never have lost focus and allowed the mission to fail so terribly if only they had reinforced the no-relationship-between-agents rule.
NOVEMBER 2016
Whilst most people would be spending their weekends navigating busy malls in an attempt to get their holiday shopping underway, he was fielding multiple calls from multiple divisions demanding to know what was happening in an embassy building 5.6 thousand miles from his office.
He was keeping up with it all, of course. All comms, all decisions being made, The team on the ground were more than capable of handling it but it was a delicate situation and he had to be ready to step in if needed.
He had just ended his latest call when the phone immediately chimed in his hand.
"Yes?" He greeted, no time for pleasantries.
It was a swift conversation, barely move than five words needed from his end, as the agent provided an update.
Three hours.
He felt his stomach drop.
Three hours until exfil could reach the embassy. Three hours that the boots on the ground would need to hold the fort against the Dieva Roka and their barrage of gunfire. He couldn't lose—
They couldn't lose this embassy. It was too important to the inner workings of international relationships between multiple territories.
He was certain that the team would come up with a sure-fire way of keeping everyone safe until backup arrived, but in the meantime, he had a few more phone calls to make.
JANUARY 2017
He had eyes and ears everywhere. He knew about the mole lurking within the US government, he knew they had been feeding information to an outside terror organisation, that they had even gone as far as ordering the deaths of innocents to keep their secret safe.
What he was ashamed to have not known was that the mole was an agent within his own establishment. Instead, the privilege of identifying them had fallen on his own son's team no less.
Patricia Thornton had been the trusted Head of DXS for many years and the transformation into the Phoenix Foundation had seen her shift in roles to the Director of Operations. A role that, he now realised, suited her agenda perfectly.
How had he missed it? A mole so high up in their agency.
He would be running thorough checks on all of his employees over the next few days. And the new director? He knew exactly who to bring in for that role. Someone who had worked closely with him for several years. Someone he trusted exceedingly.
OCTOBER 2017
As the Head of the Phoenix Foundation, it was well within his right to delegate all missions to the various teams on the ground but where was the fun in that? He hadn't spent all these years honing his skills as a covert operative just to sit in an office all day once he'd reached the top.
It was a juicy assignment. Reports of a cartel leader operating out of Pasadena had led to weeks of surveillance, days of planning and finally this morning, the successful detainment of said leader and seventeen members, effectively shutting down that chapter of the cartel for good.
A few hours with his operatives and those members would spill enough intel to have them taking down the entire operation. No casualties, 100% success – it felt good to end his morning on a high. And just in time for lunch at his favourite diner.
The drive back had been a breeze in the late-morning, low-level traffic and he had just navigated his car into one of many empty parking spots when his phone began to ring from where it was clipped to the dashboard. Only a select few people had his number, and they wouldn't be calling unless it was urgent.
He wasn't sure what to think when glanced down to see the screen lit with Director Webber's name. As of this morning, she wasn't scheduled to have sent her team out on any assignments. He answered the call swiftly and let her do most of the talking, grateful that she was as to-the-point as ever with her updates.
Murdoc had returned from whatever dark hole he had last crawled into.
Agent MacGyver had been kidnapped.
Agents Dalton, Cage and Bozer had followed the trail as far as possible before it had run too cold to be of any use.
As her words washed over him, leaving an uncomfortable chill in their wake, his eyes were drawn to a young boy exiting the diner with a man that he could only assume was his father. As the boy lifted his hand for his father to hold onto, he was reminded of the reason he had stayed hidden away from Angus for all of these years.
To stop this very thing from happening. To keep his family out of enemy crosshairs. He should have known that guiding Angus into the same profession would eventually have him racking up enemies of his own.
It sent a shiver down his spine; the known murderer breaking into his father's old house. Phoenix's previous dealings with Murdoc had been enough for them to get a clear idea of the man's psychopathic tendencies and Angus had been in his clutches for a good few hours now if Matilda's timeline was correct.
Why his son hadn't secured the house more thoroughly after Murdoc's previous infiltration was a mystery to him. He thought he'd taught his son better than that.
Dalton, Cage and Bozer were returning to the Phoenix but he trusted that their search wouldn't end there. And as the young boy and his father disappeared down the street, Director Webber finished her update with a promise to keep him notified as the situation progressed. He ended the call with a thanks and reversed out of the parking spot, heading straight for his office. He didn't have much of an appetite anymore.
DECEMBER 2017
"Thank you, Director Webber." He dismissed her succinctly.
Keeping his eyes locked on his computer screen, he could pretend that his Handler wasn't lingering in his provisional, hesitating with only one foot out of his office door.
He'd been here before, the great mystery of Schrödinger's scowl. If he didn't look up, then maybe daggers weren't really being glared in his direction. But if anyone was going to win a stubbornness contest…
"Was there something else, Director Webber?" He asked coolly, raising his head and accepting the harsh eye contact.
Matilda lifted her chin defiantly, glower only deepening the longer the silence lingered between them. She rolled her eyes with a huff, stepping back into the room to close the door behind her.
"He's only six floors down, you know. If you fancied checking in on him."
He knew. Of course he knew. Where else would his son have been taken after being exposed to a lethal nerve gas if not the Phoenix Foundation's impressive infirmary. The high tech, state of the art medical floor of their building was often overlooked on the day-to-day basis of many agents who successfully made it through missions with barely a scratch on them. But for the more dangerous endings to otherwise fruitful assignments; the gunshot wounds, the poisonings, the injuries that would raise all the wrong questions at a normal hospital; their infirmary was fully manned and copiously stocked for anything that came through their doors.
As head of the organisation, he had access to the running log of those being treated at any one time and often liked to check that his agents were recovering well. That report had been open on his screen for two hours today, only closing once Angus' name had appeared at the top of the list.
Matilda crossed her arms with more flourish than was strictly necessary, head tilting perfectly to the side. He was obviously taking too long to reply.
"They've sedated him so he wouldn't even have to know you were there."
Sedated. Made sense. Nerve agents could cause havoc on the body; difficulty breathing, painful muscle spasms, severe headaches, coma, death—
He'd read the report. They'd gotten Angus back to the Phoenix before his condition had turned critical, administered the atropine and pralidoxime before anything irreversible played out. Several words had stood out from the page to leave an uneasiness sitting in his chest though – respiratory distress and seizure amongst them – but considering the devastation the VX gas could have caused to the entirety of New York had it been dropped into the water supply; they had gotten off lightly.
"Jim."
"Matilda."
Another roll of the eyes.
"You're not going to be able to hide away forever." She said sadly. Though he had a feeling that was more on his son's behalf than anything else. "For the past few months that boy has spent every waking moment he has hunting for clues that could lead him to you."
He pushed himself up from his chair as she spoke, moving to stand by the window. It was much easier to hear her words without the scrutinous stare that accompanied them. Even as a young boy, Angus was relentless when he put his mind to something, eager to solve every problem he came across. But this was different. This wasn't some old television set that could be ripped apart and screwed back together, this was life or death. And he had been perfecting the art of hiding a lot longer than Angus had been alive. His son was going to have to admit defeat soon enough.
"I'm staying away for—"
"—for his own protection, yes, so you keep saying. But whether you like it or not, your son is far too clever not to succeed in this."
The sun was setting now, long shadows being cast behind trees as the evening took hold. His window was open slightly and the eventide air seeping through was cool against his skin. Angus would be kept in for a few days, at least, medical staff checking in on him regularly to ensure his symptoms were under control and improving. The recovery statistics from such poisonings were typically very good when treated in time – which it had been – so he should be back to normal, and back to work, by the end of the week.
Wordlessly, Matilda moved back to the door, taking his reluctance to answer as her cue to leave and suddenly the question he'd been dying to ask forced its way out before he could think twice. He couldn't hide behind the impersonal technical jargon of the report, he needed to hear it from the mouth of someone who had been there, on direct comms with the team.
"Was it bad?"
He watched as her faint window reflection paused, took a breath, and turned her head just enough to speak into the room.
"Yeah Jim. It was bad."
She left the room this time, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving a sickly feeling settling in his stomach and his mind drifting downwards to six floors below. It wasn't the first time Angus had found himself there and, in their line of work, it likely wouldn't be the last.
He just didn't want to know how many more ways his son could think of to try and get himself killed.
JANUARY 2018
Okay, Angus really needed to up his security system; or better yet, move out. He knew the appeal of a safe space – especially one with an already paid off mortgage – but if multiple criminals have been able to break in and threaten your life, maybe it was time to find somewhere new.
He was halfway through his prep for a meeting when his comms completely blew up (…possibly an inappropriate turn of phrase to use under the circumstances). He had already been dealing with two failed missions, three agents stranded on foreign soil without exfil, and an agent in the hospital after being shot by a psychopath that appeared to be haunting their organisation. And now, two of his men had found themselves trapped in their own house alongside a giant bomb.
Director Webber was on the ground liaising with LAPD and the FBI, and he was happy to stay in the shadows, watching from afar while she coordinated their movements. Agents Bozer and Davies were assisting, and he was grateful for their constant communications that he was able to listen in to over the radio.
The staticky chatter filled the room with background noise while he made some calls to keep TV crews and reporters away. The last thing they needed were swarms of nosy individuals crowding the area and putting themselves in danger. That, and the mass panic that would no doubt ensue if it was revealed that there was a bomb primed to explode in the centre of Los Angeles.
His forefinger tapped impatiently against the desk. There was nothing more maddening than someone taking their time to relay information to him when there was an ongoing crisis at hand. It was a tricky situation to navigate and time was ticking. There were a lot of variables to consider when dealing with a threat situation such as this and though his team on the ground were handling the investigation of the bomb with meticulousness, he still had his part to play.
Though if he stepped back and took in the whole picture, he'd be able to see that this bomb-maker, the Ghost, had already taken the hard choice out of their hands should the worst come to the worst. Phoenix had been made aware of the threat and had, so far, been able to clear the suspected blast vicinity, keeping potentially hundreds of innocents safe. Leaving only two to be affected.
The lives of the many, outweighed the lives of the few, but it was harder to be impartial when the few included someone very important – not just to him, but to the whole world.
FEBRUARY 2018
If Director Webber were standing next to him, she would have zero reservations whatsoever about calling him a coward.
And maybe he was.
But if anything, it was her fault for putting the idea in his head. It really was easier to face someone if they didn't know that you were there. If anything, this at least made him a better father than the man two months ago who had refused to step foot into the Phoenix infirmary for fear of…something. What exactly he hadn't quite worked out. Being seen? Being recognised? Being forced to have an adult conversation with the son he left all those years ago?
So, now here he was, lingering in the long stretch of hallway, paying the medical staff no attention as they wandered past. He was stood close enough to Angus' room to see in, but far enough away to keep it from being obvious why he was there.
The distance wasn't necessary. Not anymore. Not after Angus' list of enemies had long since outnumbered his own. But hiding was second nature to him now and it seemed not even his son could reverse the trait that had been so strongly ingrained into his very DNA.
Angus wasn't alone in his room, accompanied only by his overwatch who, up until half an hour ago, had been pacing so restlessly he was sure the man would wear a hole into the polished floor. Now he was sitting in the single chair positioned next to the bed, hand periodically reaching up to run through his mess of hair or across the stubble of his chin.
He could remember that feeling all too well. A mission gone bad. A partner injured in the field. The long night waiting for news.
Angus was asleep in the bed, pale blue sheets pulled high up to his chest exposing a heavily bandaged shoulder. It was a successful surgery, he'd been informed. Bullet removed and skin stitched up with minimal issues. They would let him stay the night but by morning he'd be good to return home with an abundance of painkillers and the instruction to take it easy.
How was it that his son had been shot more times under his leadership than he ever had in an active war zone?
Though when he had hired Angus, he hadn't expected a crazed admirer to quickly be included in the package. Murdoc had been popping up on his radar repeatedly since the Phoenix Foundation's first encounter with him a year prior and his obsession with Agent MacGyver was concerning to say the least. They were lucky he had been feeling generous today, inflicting a non-fatal flesh wound with his bullet instead of anything more permanent.
And now to top it off, he'd received word that Murdoc had escaped from custody, again…
Once Angus found out, that instruction to take it easy was going to need to be a strongly worded command from Director Webber for his son to even consider following it seriously. Though he was sure the team could handle the stubborn ways of their fellow agent.
Glancing through the window, he took one final look at the pair before wordlessly slipping away to get a head start on the search.
MAY 2018
He'd been imagining this day for years.
He just didn't know why Angus had to decide to quit on the one day he finally got the intel he had been waiting months for. Time sensitive intel too. He couldn't waste this opportunity to take down Jonah Walsh just because Agent MacGyver had been having doubts about his place of work.
When Director Webber had called to inform him, he'd told her to send Angus his way. Two birds, one stone and all that.
The large country house had been mostly empty when he'd arrived, only one gun-wielding thug who, after a bit of a tumble, had been easily incapacitated. He was having a nice nap in the pantry now, safely out of the way.
It was a big, open house with high ceilings and polished furniture. Not exactly the backdrop he was expecting when notified of the cartel's latest bolt hole. But honestly, he didn't care if it was a 5-star hotel or an underground sewer, he wasn't staying long. As soon as he cracked the safe and grabbed what was inside, he was gone.
Careful footsteps approached from behind and he couldn't help but smile to himself.
Just in time.
The dial clicked beneath his fingers and as he began rotating it to the left to continue the combination, it occurred to him that he hadn't actually considered what his first words to his son would be after fifteen years.
"Wouldn't take another step if I were you." He said without thinking as Angus softly trod right on the loose board he'd noticed earlier. Good enough start as any he supposed. He never could do things normally. "That weak floorboard is actually a pressure plate attached to an IED."
"…You're lying." Angus replied sceptically, which was…surprising. Not the tone of voice— no, Angus was far too smart to not see through that. But the words. Zero comment, zero recognition of his father's voice. Maybe it had been too long.
"Maybe. Take another step and we'll see." The dial clicked again. "What do you want."
"Director Webber sent me here to speak with Oversight." Angus' voice was steady, if not a little frustrated. Unfazed by the situation he had walked into. Unprepared for what he was about to discover.
"Oh, then you got him." He turned around to look over at the man standing behind him.
Time for the moment of truth…