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When Matty looks at Mac, she sees a man with a hundred faces who wears a thousand masks.She watches as he steps into the room and drops his shoulders, shedding the persona like a false skin. Dressed up in a three-piece suit and a thin black tie with his blond hair brushed expertly across his forehead, he looks every bit like the Hollywood elite, and yet nothing could be farther from the truth. His cocky, brazen attitude died with the confident smirk that melted away the second he reached the safety of the secure meeting room, the personality his looks make it so easy for him to adopt nothing more than a part to play, an unwelcome necessity of the job that he discards distastefully at the first available instance.The young, handsome bachelor who strode through the ballroom with a swagger to his step is nowhere to be found in the quiet but composed man who stands before her now, his eyes sharp and his mind working faster than the computers stacked before him. This is the real man, not the flirt but the genius, dedicated not to the beautiful women who flock to him in the ballroom but to the mission at hand. He's determined, focused, powerful, and the hard gaze and clenched jaw that define him as he scans the security footage of the ballroom is a far cry from the teasing smirk and soft eyes he wore moments ago.She finds herself marveling at just how different of a person he can make himself be in an instant, a chameleon in his own right, able to stand out or blend in with only the right look in his eye. He's an enigma, even among those in their trade, ready to be whoever he needs to be whenever he needs to be, and she attributes at least some of that power to the fact that even his true self is a million different people all at once.Around his best friend, he's confident, carefree, and joyful. Around his partner, he's cocky, sarcastic, and brilliant. Around his coworkers, he's shy, quiet, and eager. And around her, his boss, he's calculating, kind, and careful. He has a million different personalities reserved for everyone in his life, each custom-made to satisfy a different expectation of him. Those who share his occupation see his talents as incredible, his uncanny ability to be anyone and everyone treated as a superpower, but she knows better.Knows that it's easy to slip into someone else's skin when you don't have one of your own.He nods to one of the screens, and she watches silently as he returns to the persona of before, becomes someone he isn't who is filled with elements of a million someones that he is. And when he steps back into the ballroom, that flirtatious grin returning to his face as if it was never gone, it looks to her as if it's meant to be there.And she wonders, when he sheds his false selves at home alone and looks into the mirror, what version of himself he sees staring back at him. Which one of a million lives is the one he's crafted for himself?
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After MacGyver leaves the war room, Matty starts to count. It takes exactly five minutes and seventeen seconds for Jack Dalton to burst in, red-faced and angry. He shuts the door behind him, activates the frosted glass windows, and turns to Matty with his arms crossed and fire like she's never seen before burning in his eyes."What the hell did you say to my boy?" Jack asks without preamble, and Matty nods to one of the chairs. Jack crosses the room and bypasses the seat entirely, choosing instead to stand as tall as he can right in front of Matty, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes. "He came out of here looking like a puppy that's been kicked about a hundred times too many. What the hell did you do?""MacGyver and I made a deal," Matty says patiently, carefully. She's wary of this angry, protective side of Jack Dalton that she's never seen before, certainly never seen directed at her. Any doubts he may have had considering their previous relationship went out the window the second Matty infringed on MacGyver. Here Jack is, defending the blond, and he doesn't even know against what. "If his luck runs out," Matty continues, "he stops with the improv.""If his luck... excuse me?!" Jack sputters, shaking his head. "You told him to stop improvising?""I told him that if he messes up, he has to start following the rules," Matty says, crossing her arms. "MacGyver's reputation precedes him, but one day his luck will run out, and I'll be the one who has to answer to Oversight." The anger drains from Jack's eyes all at once, and he sags a bit, sitting down on the side of the coffee table as what looks like understanding fills his gaze."Mac isn't lucky, Matty," Jack says with a patience Matty has never seen before, either. MacGyver seems to bring a lot of interesting emotions out of the soldier Matty once thought of as stoic. "He's a genius. The smartest person in every room he's ever stepped foot in. All that crazy stuff he does in the field, it isn't luck. It's his big, complicated brain working about a million times faster than anyone else's can, cooking up insane plans that always, and I mean always work." Jack pauses, leaning forward to look Matty right in the eye. "And I'm sure you're frustrated because Mac doesn't fit nicely into any of your little boxes, but that's because he's Mac. He's in a class all his own. And that 'luck' of his, that improvisation, that's his life. That's how he works, Matty, and it isn't something you can control, and it isn't something you can stop. If Mac has an idea, he's going to put it into motion, regardless of his orders, and he's probably going to save the day by doing it. If you try to stop him, if you try to keep him from being who he is, I guarantee you he'll sooner quit the Phoenix than follow those orders. And if he walks out those doors, I'm going to be right behind him.""Calm down, Dalton," Matty says in a tone of voice far kinder than her usual. It's purposeful, and it works—Jack leans back a bit, relaxes a bit, looks like he's willing to listen to Matty's side of the story. Because she has a side. She always has a side.Matty shakes her head, nodding to the bowl of paperclips behind Jack on the table."I'm not planning on clipping MacGyver's wings. My warning was just that, a warning. Some people aren't big fans of federal agents who don't follow orders, and one day Mac is probably going to have a run-in with one of them.""So what, you just decided to scare him?" Jack asks, clearly irritated by the prospect."Call it a reality check, Jack." Matty corrects. "Patricia Thorton ran a loose ship. She let her agents get comfortable. When agents get comfortable, people die. And it's my job to keep that from happening. MacGyver needed a reminder that he isn't perfect. He needed a reminder that what he does is dangerous, and it can fail. Anyone can fail.""There are a lot of ways to remind us that there are lives at stake, Matty, but calling Mac's skills into question shouldn't be one of them," Jack says, standing back up and crossing his arms. "That kid is either going to die saving the world or outlive both of us, Matty, and the more he doubts himself, the more likely it is to be the former." Jack leans forward and pokes Matty in the chest, fire flashing in his eyes once more. "You're putting that doubt in his head, Matilda, making him falter. If he fails, that's going to be the cause. Not his luck running out or him getting too comfortable or whatever other crap you've learned at the CIA. Phoenix isn't the CIA, Matty, and we aren't ordinary field agents. Mac is never going to be the person you want him to be, so I suggest that you learn to accept him for the one that he is." Jack pokes Matty in the chest once more, forcefully, before turning and striding from the room without another word. Matty watches him go, a ghost of a smile forming on her face.She had heard that Jack had formed a strong bond with the skinny blond EOD technician he met in Afghanistan, but she never could have believed it had she not just seen it for herself.If there's one thing Matty knows for certain, it's that this job is going to be very interesting.
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The most important thing right now is that Jack is okay.It's a reminder that becomes a mantra as Mac stares down at his hands, at the red skin already forming into blisters. Jack climbs to his feet and falls to his knees and Mac's thoughts falter, his mantra failing at its simple goal—to justify Mac's actions to himself. Jack is okay, yes—for the most part—and Mac certainly saved his life, there's no doubt about that. But as a simple touch from Jack sends Mac collapsing to the floor, his vision blocked by tendrils of smoke and fire that only he can see, Mac's mind insists that there must have been another way, preferably one that would have saved Jack's life without damaging him—and Mac—in the process.The reasonable side of Mac's brain says that he did the best he could under the circumstances, that tender feet and scorched palms can heal but cremated friends can't. The logical and emotional sides—more often than not at odds but apparently in agreement now—disagree, claiming instead that there must have been a less-painful, less dangerous solution staring Mac in the face, if only he had been smart enough, been fast enough to spot it.It's a message that has been drilled into Mac by his instructors, by his teachers, by his own mind, again and again: if someone gets hurt, you must have done something wrong. There's always another way, always another solution, never any reason for anyone to be killed or injured or even inconvenienced. If Mac does his job right, no one should get hurt, especially Jack.The increasing pace of Mac's heartbeat is matched by the throbbing of his hands, and the voices in his head quicken the rhythm of their chant to keep time.It's another, more forceful mantra, one that Mac is all-too-familiar with. He's become accustomed to failure, used to making mistakes and getting an innocent—or worse, a friend—hurt or killed. He knows that if he doesn't force those voices down he'll spiral, lose sight of what went right and focus only on what went wrong.It's easier said than done."Mac, look at me." A familiar voice says in a familiar tone, his voice low and soft but also tight with pain. Mac looks up, meets the eyes of the concerned friend he just saved from a fiery death, and tries to convey everything he's never able to say, everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling in a single look. And all it takes is a single look.Jack pulls Mac close and wraps strong arms around him, taking special care to avoid touching Mac's injured hands.The most important thing right now is that Jack is okay, Mac reminds himself—and now, in the arms of his best friend, the voices leave him be.
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There's always one instance that comes to mind when Mac thinks of his worst day, but it's continually changing. Sometimes his worst day is standing on a street in Amsterdam, realizing that he may never get to go home again. Sometimes it's his head lolling, and his vision blurring as Murdoc sits across from him, a too-happy grin stretching across his face. Sometimes it's staring at static, replaying the last breath of a beautiful woman over and over again as his eyes fill with tears. Sometimes it's El Noche. Sometimes it's Nicki.Mac has had a million bad days, but when he thinks of the worst one, it's never the same day twice. Maybe Mac's life is just destined to be filled with bad days, each worse than the next until one day he finally does die, alone and afraid and unable to save the day for the first time.But then he thinks of the good days. He thinks of sitting on the deck, drinking a beer with Jack and teasing him about his gray hairs and his obsession with Die Hard. He thinks of hiding in the Lab in Mission City with Bozer and planning their next experiment. He thinks of the grin that spread across his face when Riley saved the day without any help from him. He thinks of every mission that succeeded, of every life he saved whether or not the people who lived on another day even knew he was there, to begin with.There's always a million memories that come to mind whenever Mac thinks of his best day, and they're always changing, too—every time, without fail, there are more of them.There's a lot of bad days in Mac's line of work, a lot of days that look like they're going to be the worst, and sometimes they turn out to be. But there's a lot of good days, too, and more often than not those turn out to be the best.On Mac's worst days, he nearly dies alone. But on his best days, he saves hundreds of lives, and his friends are at his side every step of the way.
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Mac is the first of the team to enter the war room, and so is also the first to see the unexpected occupants. Three men are standing with Matty near the screens; their heads are bowed, and their whispers are filtering across the room, untranscribable even to Mac's practiced ears. Mac clears his throat quietly as he steps further into the room, and when Matty lifts her head, Mac raises an eyebrow and gestures to the three strangers. Matty merely nods to the chairs, her eyes returning to the three men almost immediately—the entire silent exchange couldn't have taken more than five seconds. Mac glances over his shoulder at Jack, Riley, and Bozer, shrugging in response to their questioning gazes before walking over to his usual seat. Mac's trio of friends are quick to follow his lead, each taking a seat around the room—other than Jack, who takes up position behind Mac's chair in an instinctive reaction to the intruders—and quietly, warily observing the men and Matty in their discussion.Mac pulls his eyes away from the conversation a few times in the following minute to look at his friends, judging their reactions to this strange occurance—unannounced guests in the war room is rare, but a summons from Matty at 3 am is even rarer. Jack taps his foot quietly to the beat of whatever song is stuck in his head, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. Riley carefully pulls her laptop out of her bag and turns it on, preparing herself for whatever Matty throws at her. Bozer catches Mac's gaze and raises an eyebrow, asking a silent question that Mac answers with a slight shake of his head—he has no idea what's going on, either.After a minute that seems more like an hour, Matty lifts one hand, and the three men fall silent. Matty turns and nods to the four Phoenix agents and the three men follow suit, turning toward the team. Mac looks the three over, and his eyes widen when he takes note of the military uniforms two of the men are wearing and the extensive medals that adorn them."Who's your friends, Matty?" Jack asks, eyeing the uniforms apprehensively. Seeing someone in uniform isn't entirely unheard of—Phoenix is a government agency, after all, and they've worked with the armed forces in the past. It's the fact that these uniforms are distinctly British that is setting both Mac and Jack on edge. Combined with the late—or early, depending on how you look at it—hour, this is bound to become one of the strangest missions Mac has ever had."This is General Mark Everett of the British Royal Guard, Captain George Marshall of the British Royal Air Force, and Mr. Brendon Chester, current head of the British Secret Intelligence Service," Matty says, nodding to each man in turn as she introduces them. "General Everett, Captain Marshall, Mr. Chester, these are the two men I was telling you about. Ex-Delta Sergeant Jack Dalton and EOD Specialist Angus MacGyver." Upon hearing his military title, Mac stiffens, exchanging a worried look with Jack. Riley and Bozer are quick to draw Mac's eye, wordlessly asking him more questions he doesn't know how to answer."It's an honor to meet you, General, Captain, and sir," Jack says stiffly, and Mac is quick to echo the greeting. Whatever's going on here, it's obviously something big. Very big."I'm afraid the circumstances surrounding this meeting are not pleasant." General Everett says, his tone halfway between stoic and apologetic. "We contacted several intelligence agencies worldwide, and they all recommended the Phoenix Foundation. As such, we came immediately to your headquarters to request help with a matter of utmost importance.""When these gentlemen approached me with their case, I knew that you were the ones for the job," Matty adds, sounding almost hesitant. Mac just nods, exchanging another weighted look with his partner."And the job is?" Mac presses. Captain Marshall clears his throat, drawing all eyes in the room to him."Sixteen hours ago, a Royal Air Force helicopter crashed about 50 miles away from US Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan." Captain Marshall explains. "A team of American soldiers was immediately dispatched to the scene, and all military personnel who were on the helicopter were found dead, except for the co-pilot, who could not be located.""A search and rescue op?" Jack asks with a frown. "That seems like a job MI6 could handle, why come all the way out to LA?"This missing copilot, he's important." Mac infers, and all three men are quick to nod in agreement."The copilot is Charles, heir apparent to the British throne and currently serving his second tour in the Royal Air Force as a helicopter pilot," Chester says grimly. "As of now, His Majesty has been MIA for almost sixteen hours. It is presumed that he was either taken hostage shortly after the crash or thrown from the helicopter. Until a body is recovered, we are working under the assumption that he is alive, and as such the British public has not yet been made aware of the situation." Mac nods slowly, swiping a paperclip from the bowl on the table and twisting it as he thinks—something tells him he's going to need it."Again, why come to Phoenix?" Jack asks curiously. "I mean, you just wasted a good 12 hours coming here. Wouldn't it be better to keep this in-house?""Mr. Chester and I were in Afghanistan when we were informed of the crash." General Everett explains. "As of now, only the three of us and approximately a dozen high-ranking officials in His Majesty's Armed Forces are aware that the missing pilot is actually Prince Charles. Neither the British nor American soldiers involved at the crash site were told his identity.""And by involving MI6, you run the risk of alerting everyone on the base to the fact that the crown prince is missing." Mac surmises. "Coming to us is probably for the best." He continues mostly to himself. "If His Majesty was taken hostage, releasing that information to the public, whether intentionally or not, could incite an international incident." Mac looks up, meeting Matty's eyes and furrowing his brows. "Is there footage of the crash site?" He asks, and Matty nods, smiling softly."I was wondering when you were going to ask, Blondie." Matty picks her tablet up off of the table and presses a few buttons, bringing up seventeen photos on the screen. Mac stands, walking over to the screen and flipping his half-finished paperclip sculpture in his right hand while he moves the images around with his left. After a minute, he shakes his head, turning back around to face the rest of the room's occupants and leveling his gaze on Captain Marshall."You said the helicopter went down about sixteen hours ago, Captain," Mac says, and the Captain nods. "Do we know the cause of the crash?""The helicopter was largely destroyed upon impact, but the working theory is engine failure or a technical malfunction." Captain Marshall explains, but Mac is quick to shake his head— a few theories are running through his head, but a malfunction isn't one of them."Nothing failed, sir," Mac says, turning back to the screen. "Riley, can you blow up the picture of the main body of the helicopter?" Riley types rapidly on her laptop, quickly following Mac's instruction. "Now zoom in on the bottom center of the craft, the floor of the cargo bay." Riley's fingers fly across her keyboard, and a moment later the image on the screen punches in, depicting a large, blurred picture of the floor of the interior of the helicopter. "Now enhance that section there as much as you can." Mac points to a slightly darker section of the bottom of the craft, and after a moment the image sharpens. It's still blurry, but the damage is apparent enough to confirm the theory Mac really hoped it wouldn't. Mac nods again as he examines the detail he noticed initially once more, drawing all the wrong conclusions.He turns back to the room as a whole and points to the darkened patch of metal, biting his lower lip for a fraction of a second."The helicopter didn't just fall, it was knocked out of the sky." Mac traces the outline of the scorch marks on the metal and in particular the slightly lighter area in the middle. "There was a bomb right there, one that was weak enough to leave the floor intact but strong enough to bring the helicopter down. Looking at the marks it left behind, I'm guessing a small but powerful IED. The fact that the blast marks are on the interior of the craft means that the bomb was on the helicopter when it took off, maybe stowed by one of the crew members in a box or a large duffel bag." Mac pauses as a new half-baked idea begins to take shape in his mind—an idea he likes even less than the first one. He turns his attention back to Captain Marshall, who straightens. "Is there a list of items recovered from the site?""A preliminary one, yes." Captain Marshall confirms hesitantly."Riley?" Mac questions, and within thirty seconds a bulleted list is on the screen beside the photograph of the helicopter. Mac skims through the items, opening a few of the accompanying photographs and shaking his head each time as his theory is confirmed once again. With one final look at the image of the destruction, Mac turns his attention back to the Brits. "The crew Prince Charles was transporting, they were EOD, correct?" The three nod, all clearly surprised by Mac's inference. "The bomb that took down this helicopter was placed inside an EOD bag." Mac points to a couple of the evidence photos—one shows a scrap of tan nylon and the other half of an EOD shoulder patch. "This wasn't an accident or a random coincidence, this was an assassination attempt. One of the EOD technicians on that helicopter intentionally set off a bomb, likely in the hopes of killing Prince Charles either in the explosion or in the ensuing crash.""And yet he's the only one who wasn't at the scene." Bozer points out, and Mac nods, his mouth set in a grim line."I don't think Prince Charles was taken hostage," Mac admits. "If he were alive and in the hands of the Taliban, the world would already know. Either he died in the plane crash and his body was taken by rebels who plan to try to sell it back to you or to the highest bidder, or he survived. And if he survived, if he dragged himself out of that helicopter, then he's currently stranded in the middle of an active war zone with nothing but the clothes on his back and an unknown number of serious injuries.""So you'll help us find him?" General Everett asks, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. Mac glances at Jack, and Riley, at Bozer, and upon seeing the same determination in all of their eyes, he turns to the Brits and nods."Matty, how soon can we get on a plane?"
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When Mac steps out onto the deck for the last time, the fire is crackling. His friends have all left—even Bozer, who is spending the night with Leanna—and so Mac is alone, staring into the flames and remembering.He remembers the first time he stepped foot on that deck, just after he returned home from Afghanistan for the last time. He remembers that DXS had just recruited him and Jack was with him when he unlocked the door, was with him when he dropped a few logs into the fire pit and lit the first of many fires.He remembers the day Bozer moved in with him, determined to start a film career and willing to pick up his entire life and head to LA to live with a friend who was gone more than he was there. Mac remembers spending just one night with Bozer before he had to leave on a mission, remembers realizing on the flight back that he had to come up with an explanation for his dislocated shoulder and black eye that he supposedly got at a convention in Miami. Remembers how much it hurt to lie time and time again.He remembers the first time he brought Nicki over, how the two of them sat practically on each other's laps and barely listened to Jack's stories and Bozer's jokes, just enjoying their closeness and the warmth of the fire and the Los Angeles skyline. He remembers the first time the two of them sat there alone, kissing until the flame died out.He remembers the months when he avoided the deck like the plague, unable to force himself out that door for fear of losing himself in the memories of the woman he thought he loved. He remembers how much it hurt to find out she never really loved him back.He remembers going out there for the first time to burn all of his pictures of her, remembers Jack and Riley joining him—Riley's first visit, and Thorton's, too, when she stepped onto the deck and told them that DXS was gone, that they were going to be the ones to create a new organization. He remembers staring into that fire and watching Nicki's picture burn, feeding the fire and making it greater. He remembers when he realized that it was time for him, for DXS, to do the same thing—and thus the Phoenix Foundation was born.He remembers the terror that struck him when Murdoc's body shattered the window and the rail as Mac's improvised bottle rocket launched him out of the house before he could kill Mac and his two closest friends. Remembers Jack telling him about the George Washington mask that Murdoc left behind, Mac's Swiss Army Knife stabbed through the eye. He remembers sitting on that deck when Matty told him he was going to be arrested, staring into the distance after Zoe died, looking out the window when the Ghost wired the entire house to explode.He remembers endless games of charades, trading stories long into the night, eating shrimp and paperclip cake on his birthday and making his own snow on Christmas. He remembers the millions of times he laughed on that deck with his friends around him and the millions of times he stared over the railing with tears in his eyes and Jack standing silently at his side.The deck holds a million memories for Mac, both good and bad. But all things, good and bad, must one day come to an end.Mac's house was never his, always his grandfather's in his mind and his words. But the deck belonged to Mac, to his friends, to his family. It was a place where he could be himself without fear of judgment, where his family could be safe and happy, where he could be safe and comfortable. There was a sense of ease, of freedom, that came over him every time he looked into the warm flames that were present almost as often as Mac's closest friends.But now when he looks into that fire, Mac only sees the chaos behind it, the anger within it, and the destruction it leaves in its wake. The deck is no longer a safe haven, transformed in an instant into a reminder of the innocence Mac held. It's still a part of the house, a connection to the grandfather he trusted and the father he couldn't. It hurts, letting this place go, but it's necessary. It's time for Mac to make his own decisions, away from the invisible influence of his father that he now knows has been hanging over his head his entire life.It's time for Mac to take control of his memories.With that thought in mind, Mac takes a deep breath to steel himself and picks up the ever-present bucket of water that rests in one corner of the deck. With a swift motion, he tosses the water into the fire pit, dousing the flame.The last embers of the fire die out, and Mac walks off of the deck for the last time.As the lights in Mac's grandfather's house go dark and the front door closes and locks, a thin stream of smoke wafts upwards toward the stars, freed from the dark oak that held it at bay by the fire of a million memories.
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Madeline Perkins has been working at Oceanside Memorial Hospital for 37 years, but she's never seen a family quite like Angus MacGyver's.She's just clocked in for the day when they bring him in, a lanky blond thing with bandages wrapped around a worryingly large amount of his body. His eyes are closed but they're moving rapidly as he struggles in his sleep, fighting an invisible foe and the hospital staff at the same time. Madeline watches as he's put into one of her rooms, watches as Dr. Silverman—Matthew to his patients, Matt to his co-workers and his friends—injects something into his IV, watches his body go still. Madeline has never met this young man before but in that instant, seeing him lying so quiet, she knows he's the type of person who never stops moving.Her first thought is that he must be a soldier. Her second is that he's far too young for that.When Madeline does her rounds, she dawdles a bit in the young man's room—he looks so lonely, lying there in that bed—and wonders what happened to him. She reads his chart—his name is Angus MacGyver, and he was in a two-car accident that resulted in a fire—and marvels at his brief medical history. He's 28 years old but Madeline was right, he was a soldier. Now he works at a think tank in Los Angeles with no listed address. His file is surprisingly empty, and his military record is mostly redacted, but he has an emergency contact and Madeline wonders if anyone has called.Her question is answered by the man who strides into the room, his face paling five or so shades at the sight of the young blond man lying prone in the hospital bed.This is his father, Madeline thinks immediately, it must be. The way he looks at that young man, the way he collapses into the cold plastic seat beside his bed and reaches for his hand like it's a lifeline, the way his eyes can't stop cataloging the damage, it's all signs Madeline has seen a million times before. A caring father, seeing his son in pain.Madeline slips out of the room without a word, giving the man some time alone with his son.When she returns to Angus MacGyver's room half an hour later, there's a young woman, a few years older than the patient at the most, standing beside the bed opposite Angus's father. She strikes Madeline as an older sister, despite the apparent differences in race between her and Angus—that same familiar worry in her eyes, the way she pushes the sleeping young man's hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ear. Adopted, perhaps, or even a particularly close family friend?Madeline slips into the room and goes about her business, taking care not to listen to the conversation the father and the sister are having. When she makes to leave, the young woman's hand shoots out, staying Madeline's motion."Is he in pain?" She asks with tears in her eyes, her voice and her hands shaking in time with one another."No, I can't imagine he is," Madeline says soothingly, smiling sympathetically at the pair. "I'll fetch Dr. Silverman and have him check on Angus.""Mac." The father corrects automatically. "He goes by Mac.""Mac, then." Madeline amends, exiting the room without another word. She glances back over her shoulder once, watching as the father pulls the young woman into an embrace. He's undoubtedly her father, as well, the same way that she's Angus– Mac's sister.When Madeline makes her next rounds, she's unsurprised to find Mac's two guests still present in his room, but she isn't expecting a third occupant. A young African American man is standing at the foot of the bed, staring with stricken horror at the condition of the still-unconscious blond—Dr. Silverman sedated him heavily, citing a possible head injury and his body's need to heal. The young man looks older than Mac and his sister, and his relationship doesn't appear to be quite the same, either. He's standing more distantly than the other two, for one thing, and the fear in his eyes doesn't appear to be quite as potent—born less from a familial love and more from that of a close friend.A very close friend, Madeline surmises as the young man ducks his head and shudders. A best friend, one of many years. One that is practically a brother, but not in the same way as an actual member of the family would be. A relationship that isn't forced but nurtured.Madeline continues on her way with a smile on her face—Mac is turning out to have quite the family.On her last trip to Mac's room before the end of her shift, Madeline is surprised to see that only Mac's father remains of the trio. He isn't alone, however, accompanied instead by a short woman who is standing stiffly on one of the plastic chairs, looking down at the unconscious blond with a fury in her eyes that causes Madeline pause. As she approaches the room, she picks up on the end of the woman's sentence, directed at the father rather than the son."...and he'll regret ever doing this to us, Jack." The woman finishes, her eyes never leaving Mac's. The father—Jack—nods slowly, rubbing light circles in the back of Mac's right hand—one of the single pieces of his skin left untouched by the fire—as he considers the woman's words."Mac will be okay, Matty, you know that, right?" Jack asks softly, and to Madeline's surprise, the fury melts from the woman's eyes as she lowers herself carefully to the ground, rounding the bed and pulling Jack into a tight hug.The mother, Madeline decides with a soft smile, turning away from the room. The last member of Mac's little family.For two weeks, Mac recovers in that same room, and every time Madeline sees him he has at least one member of his family by his side. Jack—Dalton, not MacGyver, a fact which surprised Madeline—never leaves, not even at night, sleeping in the cold plastic chair until Madeline brings him a cot, and then falling asleep in the chair most of the time anyway, his hand still holding on to Mac's. The young woman—Riley— often visits, usually with a laptop in her hands and a worried expression on her face as she speaks quietly to Mac—who woke up on the third day with a concussion but no sign of more severe brain damage. The other young man—Bozer, he introduced himself as one day when he ran into Madeline in the cafeteria and recognized her as one of Mac's nurses—comes daily, always with a smile on his face that quickly spreads to the ordinarily sullen Mac. Madeline doesn't see the woman very often, but she's still a familiar presence by the time Mac is discharged. She's no-nonsense when she speaks to Madeline or Dr. Silverman—or any of the staff, really—but whenever she talks to Mac or Jack, her tone softens and her entire demeanor changes. She acts a lot like a businesswoman, Madeline thinks, when she's not around them. But when she is, she becomes a mother.A father, a mother, a sister, a brother. All four are present the day Mac is discharged from the hospital with pink skin and bandages that only cover half of his body rather than all of it.Madeline watches them leave and shakes her head, smiling. She knows now that none of the members of Mac's little group are indeed related, but that doesn't mean her initial thoughts weren't true. A family doesn't have to be blood to be a real family.And Madeline has never seen a more real family than that of Angus MacGyver.
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"Are you sure about this, man?" Bozer asks hesitantly, eyeing the remote in Mac's hand with more than a little trepidation."I'm about 78% sure that this will work," Mac replies with a grin. "Which is pretty good for me.""We know that, brother, but this is a pretty risky maneuver." Jack comments. "If this goes wrong, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do.""And the fallout will be massive," Bozer adds."I'm glad you have so much trust in my skills," Mac says, circling the red button on the remote with his thumb. "Trust me, guys, this will work.""And if it doesn't?" Bozer asks."It will work." Mac insists, pressing the button before either of his friends can change his mind.The TV in the living room switches on, displaying the static channel Mac set it to two hours ago when his latest half-baked idea started to take shape in his mind. The photoreceptor pointed at the screen—which Mac created out of an old ham radio, a broken solar yard light, and various other odds and ends that were scattered around his bedroom—activates, sending a current through a wire and into a repurposed potato clock that starts counting down from 00:15. When the timer hits zero, the potato explodes—this wouldn't be a true MacGyver creation if something didn't explode—and knocks a marble into a chute. The marble rolls through a series of tubes across the room, landing in a small basket made out of a paper bowl and sinking to the ground, which lifts a thumbtack until it hits and pops a balloon. The expanding air from the balloon spins a pinwheel, which knocks another marble into a button on a different remote, which turns on a machine Mac put together on the deck last week."What the hell?!" Riley exclaims from outside as the skies seemingly open above her head, drenching her—and the entire deck—in water. Mac quickly grabs the marble and pushes the button again to turn off the machine."You're in trouble now, brother," Jack says in a tone that's half-teasing, half-sympathetic. Mac bites his lip, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as Riley storms inside, water dripping from her hair and her clothes—and her laptop."Oh, crap." Bozer squeaks, taking a few steps back. Jack follows suit, leaving Mac alone in the center of the room to be scolded by a very irritated Riley."Mac, what did you do?" Riley asks, holding up the laptop."I can, uh, I can fix that," Mac says."What. Did. You. Do?" Riley repeats slowly."I built a rain machine last week and decided to make a Rube Goldberg machine to test it out," Mac says. "The Rube Goldberg machine worked great, but my rain machine must have malfunctioned.""You think?" Riley asks rhetorically. "That wasn't rain, that was a hurricane.""Uh... yeah," Mac replies, ducking his head. Riley sighs, setting her laptop down on the bar in the kitchen."Fix my laptop, and all is forgiven," Riley says. Mac nods quickly, heading into the kitchen and opening a few cabinets to gather the supplies he'll need to repair the computer. Riley turns her attention to Bozer and Jack, staring them both down with one hand on her hip."We're gonna go... mop up the deck. Yeah, mop the deck." Bozer says hurriedly, practically sprinting out the door with Jack on his heels. Mac grabs a butter knife out of the silverware drawer and sets it down beside Riley's laptop, glancing up to find her standing in front of him, her arms crossed."So, how do you turn that rain machine of yours on?" She asks nonchalantly, and a grin stretches across Mac's face."That red button right there." Mac points to the remote for the rain machine, and Riley sends him a conspiratorial wink before pushing the button and activating Mac's faulty creation once again."Hey!""Agh!"As Bozer and Jack—now both looking and smelling a lot more like wet dogs—storm back into the house, Mac and Riley burst into laughter.When Matty enters Mac's house, she finds Bozer and Jack soaked to the bone and sulking and Riley—who is also soaked—and Mac laughing their asses off in the kitchen. Matty just smiles, shaking her head and heading to the living room, where she turns off the TV that's on a static channel for reasons unbeknownst to her.This is probably the weirdest group of people Matty has ever met.But she wouldn't trade them for anything.
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How good is someone who never thinks of others? Someone who only does good when it benefits them, who switches sides the instant they're offered a better deal? Is the good that they've done enough to call them a good person, or is it automatically voided by all of the bad?After Murdoc saved MacGyver's life, Mac begins to find himself lying awake at night, wondering if the accepted definition of the word "good" honestly applies to anyone. After all, everyone has, at one point or another, done something bad—whether on a minor or catastrophic scale—because it benefitted them in the moment. Mac has broken numerous laws and put his own life and the lives of his friends at risk to do his job, to save the day, but he wouldn't be surprised to find someone who didn't look at it that way. Who didn't see the good Mac has done—the lives he's saved, the crises he's averted—but the bad, the bombs and the broken laws and the deaths that persistently haunt Mac's conscience.So what's really the difference between a good man who does bad things and a bad man who does good things? Murdoc is a killer, but he saved Mac's life. It's an oxymoron, a paradox, an illogical blip in the system of Mac's logical world that, try as he might, he can't seem to wrap his head around. When Mac turned around and saw Murdoc's gun pointed at his chest, he ran through every possible outcome—not one of them including Murdoc sparing him.Mac knows that Murdoc isn't capable of compassion, that he didn't save Mac because he cared about whether the blond lived or died but because it was the easiest way to protect himself. But unlike Murdoc, Mac can feel. And regardless of the circumstances, he automatically feels thankful to anyone who saves his life. Even if that person is incapable of returning the thanks or merely accepting it.Murdoc has been fascinated with Mac since their first meeting, since the day Mac successfully became the first person to avoid the assassin's bullets and catch him in the act. But, truth be told, he isn't the only one.Mac has found himself thinking about Murdoc more and more as of late, fascinated with the way he doesn't care just as much as Murdoc is fascinated with the way that Mac does.It's an oxymoron, a paradox, a blip in the system. It's two opposing sides of the same coin.Mac can only hope that those two sides remain separate.How can someone be so kind when the world has turned against them? How can they keep wanting to help, wanting to save others, when no one has ever tried to return the favor?It's a puzzle Murdoc has tried to figure out, a code he's been attempting to break since MacGyver refused to pull the trigger that day in the junkyard and sent Murdoc away in handcuffs instead. The little blond boy captured Murdoc's attention with his peculiar inventions and kept it with his annoyingly persistent sense of optimism—realism, Mac's voice corrects in Murdoc's mind. MacGyver is an enigma, a perfect example of the good in a world that has never been good. He's a case study of Murdoc's, a fascination turned obsession, a shining piece of humanity that challenges all of the beliefs that Murdoc holds—the beliefs that led him into his chosen profession. MacGyver is a challenge, too, an opportunity too golden for Murdoc to overlook, a chance for him to prove to the world and to himself that anything good can be broken if one only bends it hard enough. Murdoc has told MacGyver as much, told him through his particular style of speaking in riddles, half-truths, and pointless anecdotes that sets anyone and everyone on edge—everyone, that is, but MacGyver.The little blond boy was irritating at first, unyielding even to Murdoc's most successful tricks, but the more he learns of Angus MacGyver, the easier it is for him to find the right buttons to push, and the closer he gets to breaking the perfect little agent. When he pointed that gun at MacGyver's chest in that warehouse, Murdoc knew he wasn't going to kill him, knew he needed MacGyver alive so he could escape without a bullet from the blond's pet bodyguard in his gut. And he also knew what it would do to MacGyver, knowing that the "cold, emotionless" Murdoc spared his life, saved his life. To break MacGyver's mind, Murdoc must first break his trust in the system of logic he holds dear.Murdoc told MacGyver that they were more similar than the little blond boy was willing to believe, and he meant it—there's a darkness inside MacGyver, an anger, a raging fire that only Murdoc knows how to stoke. He has a plan that started the day MacGyver wrapped his delicate hands around Murdoc's throat, and it's well into motion now.The fire inside MacGyver needs time to grow before it can burn everything good about him to ash. Murdoc is willing to wait.He knows that when he's ready, MacGyver will fall right into his trap.
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Mac doesn't remember how it happened, but he knows it was his fault.The first time he speaks a word after he wakes up in the hospital, it all comes out in a landslide, his scattered memories spilling out for Jack to make sense of. Mac tells Jack about the flames, about the innate feeling that he's the one who caused them. Mac tells Jack about the smoke that forced its way down his throat, burning his esophagus and his lungs and leaving him unable to properly breathe. Mac tells Jack about slumping against a wall, about the image he saw of a man in a fireman's uniform approaching him, only to disappear into the haze of the smoke and the blur of Mac's eyes as they slipped closed—he doesn't remember that that man was Jack, not a fireman, and Jack doesn't tell him. Because Mac also doesn't remember how he ended up trapped in a building that he burned to the ground.Mac doesn't remember the molotov cocktail that was thrown into his hands, doesn't remember Jack screaming for him to get rid of it as quickly and as safely as possible. Mac doesn't remember the bullet that tore through his shoulder as he ran through the door, forcing his hand open. He doesn't remember the horror on his own face as glass and fire spread across the room, doesn't remember getting cut off from Jack, doesn't remember turning around when he heard the cry of a little boy.Jack is the only one who remembers, and he doesn't tell Mac.In the days after Mac wakes up in the hospital, everyone but Jack walks on eggshells around him, refusing to explain why it is that they're suddenly treating him like he's made of glass. Jack knows they all wonder if Mac trapped himself in that building on purpose, set that fire with the intention of drowning in ash and flame. Jack wants Mac to tell them that there are much more straightforward, less painful ways of ending your own life, ways that don't result in extensive property damage that someone else has to deal with. Jack wants Mac to tell them that he'd never even think about killing himself because if he did, Jack would pull him out of the afterlife by the seat of his pants and kill him again for doing it. Mac tells Jack that. Jack doesn't tell anyone else.Matty and Riley and Bozer tell Mac what happened, little by little, not the origins of the fire—Jack was the only one there for that, and he's not telling anyone what happened—but the aftermath. The gutted building, the smoke still rising into the sky three days later, the too-small bodies in too-small coffins. It was a preschool they were protecting, the three-year-old son of a senator and all of his classmates, when that cocktail was thrown and that bullet was fired. Mac went back to save the lives of thirteen toddlers. He rescued nine before he passed out inside the building.Jack watches hopelessly as Mac's guilt grows, as he blames himself for a situation that was out of his control, a situation that would have been much worse had he not been there. But Mac doesn't remember what happened and Matty, Riley, and Bozer never knew, and Jack can't tell them, can't explain that Mac is innocent, that nothing that happened was his fault.After five days, Mac asks about the fireman, and Matty tells him the only part of the truth that she knows, and Mac blames himself even more. Jack wants to scream that it isn't his fault, wants to yell that the burns on Mac's arms and the ghosts that crowd his mind aren't the result of any action of his, that they're just as much his fault as the bullet fired into his shoulder.But he can't tell them, can't say a word at all because his throat has been torn and burned and any attempt at speech makes him sound like a bullfrog with a cold, his words unintelligible, and every time he so much as swallows everything inside of him burns. Jack went after Mac that day and had to make a choice between his life and Mac's, and he made the easiest decision of his life—he'll always choose Mac's life over his own. When the ceiling caved in, Mac was lying unconscious on the street, and Jack was the one trapped inside. By the time they got him out, the damage had been done.And now Mac is the one getting all the blame because Jack can't vouch for him.Jack can't vouch for him, can't speak for him, but he can be there for him, and that's always what he's been best at, anyway. Jack Dalton is really good at talking but he's even better at listening and so listening is precisely what he does, every day in that hospital room while Mac rambles on and on about his guilt until he can't take it anymore, and then Jack does another thing he's really good at and he pulls Mac into a hug.It's a relaxed hug because Mac's arms were burned so severely by the fire that he can't move his hands, but it's the proximity that matters and it never takes long for Mac to relax into Jack's arms.And as Mac's arms heal, he starts to hug back.And as Jack's throat heals, he starts to talk back.And Jack tells Mac what really happened that day, and when Matty and Riley and Bozer come to visit he tells them, too, talking until his scratchy voice goes out and then talking some more just for good measure. He doesn't stop talking until he knows there's not a doubt in anyone's mind that this wasn't Mac's fault, that it couldn't have been.And if he works his throat so hard that he can't swallow for another week without it feeling like the fires of Hell are alive in his belly, so be it.He'll always choose Mac's life over his own.
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The first time Steve stumbles upon a tiny metal sculpture, it's lying on the floor of his office beneath his couch, right up against one of the legs. He doesn't think much of it at first, the little doodad roughly in the shape of a hibiscus flower. He just picks it up and shoves it absentmindedly into his pocket before grabbing the object behind it which was his reason for looking under the couch in the first place: a half-finished report that blew off of his desk when Danny loudly and dramatically stormed out of the room about two minutes before.Steve doesn't even remember that the metal flower is there until he's changing for bed that night and reaches into the wrong pocket to grab his phone. When he pulls out the tiny sculpture, he very nearly throws it away, but at the last second, he decides he likes it enough to keep it around. He leaves it on the counter in his bathroom while he showers, and eventually the little hibiscus moves to his dresser, then his nightstand, then back to the dresser again, until at some point it ends up wedged beneath the frame of his mirror in the upper left-hand corner, where he can see it every morning while he gets ready.Despite seeing the small piece of art every day, Steve doesn't think much of it—it's not remotely dangerous or threatening in any way, so he doesn't need to give it a second thought. At least, not until he stumbles across another sculpture.This one, Steve finds abandoned on the corner of the smart table. It's in the shape of a Five-0 badge, complete with the small rectangle in the center that carries the Five-0 designation. Steve spins it around between his finger and his thumb and comes to the realization that the little badge has been fashioned out of a paperclip. These things must take a great deal of concentration to create, well-made as they are.As the door opens and Kono and Chin slip inside, arguing about a witness they've just returned from questioning, Steve slips the new trinket into his pocket. When he returns home that night, the little badge is deposited on his dresser and promptly forgotten about until the next paperclip shape appears.The cycle keeps repeating over the following weeks: small sculptures of anything from a shrimp to a surfboard to a file folder appear all over the place, popping up wherever Steve goes. He finds a stethoscope on top of a file cabinet in Noelani's office, a pencil outside of one of the interrogation rooms, a tiny palm tree in the sane next to Five-0's usual table at Kamekona's shrimp truck. Steve pays little mind to the strange creations, merely scooping them up without a thought and discarding them on his dresser whenever he next returns home, sometimes adding two or three paperclips at a time to his rapidly growing collections. They seem to be harmless, perhaps a nervous habit of a Honolulu resident, and although they mostly appear to show up in areas that Steve frequents, he isn't too terribly concerned.Then one day, he finds a small trident on the arm of one of the chairs in his backyard that overlook the small beach.Steve twists the paperclip trident thoughtfully, wondering for the first time if these aren't a symbol of a killer or a stalker, much like the chess pieces left by Dr. Madison Grey for his team to find. No one else appears to have taken note of the tiny metal sculptures as of yet, but Steve promises himself that he'll bring them up the next time he's in a room with his entire team.As it turns out, he never has to bother, because when Steve heads back indoors with the trident still resting in his palm, he encounters Jack Dalton in his kitchen, and the soldier takes one look at the paperclip before bursting into a massive grin."Looks like he likes you, Steve," Jack says, sounding genuinely happy about Steve's discovery of the little trident."What do you mean?" Steve asks, and Jack nods to the paperclip in his hand."Mac, man," Jack explains. "He's always making little pieces of paperclip art and stashing them all over the place. Where'd you find that one?""On one of the beach chairs in my backyard," Steve says, frowning. "You mean Mac's the one who's been leaving these things all over the place for the past month or so?""Yeah, Steve," Jack says with a laugh. "The kid's got a major fidgeting problem. Can't ever seem to keep his brain or his hands busy. His granddad got him into the habit of messing with paperclips when he was a kid, and he's been doing it ever since.""Why do you think this one means that Mac likes me?" Steve asks next, his curiosity getting the best of him as he holds up the trident-shaped paperclip."It's a trident, Steve," Jack says. "A SEAL trident, or at least a more literal version of one." Steve's eyes widen when he makes the connection between the trident and the SEAL insignia. "Mac makes those little sculptures all the time," Jack continues, "and more often than not they reflect whatever he's thinking about. After his girlfriend turned out to be a traitor, he musta made about fifty broken hearts. I'm still running across some of them tucked away in his house.""The first one I found was a hibiscus flower in my office at the Palace." Steve comments and Jack's grin widens."I'm guessing this was not long after Mac and I arrived on the island?" He asks and Steve nods, aligning the timeline of Mac's presence at certain locations with his own discovery of the paperclip trinkets. "That's the state flower of Hawaii, the hibiscus, isn't it?""Yeah, it is," Steve confirms, a small grin growing on his own face to match his friend's. "I'm guessing that had something to do with Mac adjusting to Hawaii." Jack nods, a proud expression on his face."Now you're getting it, brother." He says. "You know, I haven't been finding many of Mac's little artworks since we got here.""That may be because I've been picking them up as I discovered them," Steve admits. "I've got a pile of maybe thirty on my dresser upstairs, all sorts of things. Some of them I get, like a palm tree and a shrimp and a surfboard, but others not so much. Why would Mac make a paperclip SIG?""Steve, don't even try to understand what's going through Mac's head at any given time." Jack shakes his head and barks out a laugh. "I found seven variations on a teddy bear in three days once, and I still haven't figured out the meaning behind them. Sometimes whatever Mac's hands make only makes sense to him, and sometimes he isn't even sure what he's doing. The paperclips are just a way for Mac to focus his thoughts, I think, and even if they don't end up revealing much of anything of use, they do help.""They keep him focused on whatever's going on around him." Steve infers, and Jack nods."Back home at the Phoenix, we've got a big glass bowl sitting in the middle of the war room that's always filled to the brim with paperclips, just for Mac," Jack admits. "I'll admit it's a little weird, but it helps him think, and for as long as his thinking keeps saving lives I'll let him do whatever he needs to think better.""Out of curiosity, where does he get all those paperclips?" Steve asks. "He must go through a hundred every month.""Well, a lot are from the big bowl at Phoenix," Jack explains. "And he gets boxes of 'em from time to time, usually from coworkers. Everyone at Phoenix says Mac's the easiest person in the world to shop for, which is probably true." Steve laughs at this, recalling Mac's excitement at being given permission by Danny last week to take his old, broken toaster—which is now sitting on Steve's kitchen counter, fully functional and capable of toasting bread in half the usual amount of time."Yeah, that doesn't surprise me." Steve comments."The rest of the paperclips come from me." Jack continues, twisting the wolf ring on his finger in circles—a subconscious tick of his in the same way that Mac messes with paperclips, Steve figures. "I keep a stash of paperclips on me wherever I go and pass them on to Mac when he's too distracted to question where they're coming from. It's pretty useful when he's lost in his own head, and they've also come in handy on more than one occasion when he's needed a small, bendy piece of metal to create a taser or disarm a bomb.""I have to say, Jack, I used to think you were one of the weirdest people I'd ever met," Steve says conversationally. "And then I met MacGyver.""He's a weird one, Steve, I won't deny that." Jack agrees. "But he's also the best damn agent and the best damn person I've ever met." As he speaks, Jack digs around in his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a paperclip sculpture that's been twisted into the logo of the Texas Longhorns. "Mac and I got off to a rough start in the Sandbox, believe it or not," Jack says, smiling warmly at the paperclip. "The day after I signed on for another tour to be Mac's overwatch, I found this on my pillow. I like to think it was Mac's way of forgiving me for being an asshole to him. I've kept it with me ever since.""He's a good kid," Steve says, watching as Jack tucks the paperclip carefully back into his wallet."That he is." Jack agrees. Steve heads upstairs, pausing in front of his dresser and looking at the paperclip sculptures with new eyes. These little trinkets are pieces of Mac's mind, physical evidence of his thoughts. Steve knows that Jack must have a collection like this back in LA, and he decides that he's going to give most of these paperclips to his friend. Most of them.When Steve returns to his room half an hour later after giving the majority of the paperclips to Jack, he looks at his mirror and smiles.Wedged beneath the frame of the mirror are the trident, the Five-0 badge, and the little hibiscus flower.
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Mac stops outside of the house and frowns, his eyes automatically drawn to the wide-open front door.
Okay, here's a tip most horror aficionados already know: an open door is never good.
"Hello?" Mac asks, cautiously poking his head inside.
But that's only in the movies, right? I mean, the guy who lives here could've just left it open.
Mac pushes the door open the rest of the way, and his frown deepens when he sees that the furniture in the entryway has been knocked over.
Or he could be dead somewhere, after a violent struggle for his life.
Mac pauses when he hears the sound of someone moving, hand inching toward the pocket where his Swiss Army Knife is resting.
Oh, and in case you're wondering what I'm doing here, let me start from the beginning.
"Mac? What are you doing here?" Matty asks as Mac takes the seat across from her, clasping his hands together in front of him. "We need to talk," Mac says simply."Okay," Matty replies. "It's gonna have to wait. I'm about to start a meeting." Mac smirks at this and Matty frowns."With Deputy Director Michaels of the FBI's LA field office?" Mac questions. "Yeah, he's not coming. I canceled your lunch." Mac opens his bag and pulls out a printed copy of the file Riley gave him. "Do you know what's on this?" Mac asks rhetorically. "Probably not, so I'll tell you: it's the complete, unredacted dossier you compiled on my father.""If that's true, do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking by being in possession of it?" Matty asks. "Oh, yeah," Mac replies offhandedly. "But I'm not here to talk about what I've done. This is about what you've done. You investigated my father for months, Matty. Ran surveillance on him, tapped his phones, had him followed. You even interrogated him yourself, for a week. But when I asked you if you knew my father, you lied to my face. And now, you're gonna tell me why." Matty hesitates, clearly struggling internally about something. After a minute, she looks back up at him and shakes her head."MacGyver, I can neither confirm nor deny any details related to any investigation that I may have been a part of during my tenure at the CIA," Matty merely says, and Mac scowls."That's it? That's your answer?" He asks incredulously. "It's the only answer I can give you," Matty replies."Well, then, this is gonna be a lot easier than I thought," Mac says with a shake of his head. "I cannot work with someone I do not trust, so I quit.""I'm sorry, Mac, but you can't quit," Matty says, sounding almost sympathetic. "Not like this.""Just did." Mac points out, standing to leave."You can't quit to me, because I don't have final say," Matty explains hesitantly. "Oversight does. So if you really want to quit, you need to tell him, in person." Mac pauses, then nods, fixing Matty with an impatient look."How do I find Oversight?"
And that is how I ended up in this ransacked McMansion.
Mac rounds a corner and spots a man with his back to him, messing with something in what appears to be some kind of chest. He takes a step forward, and the floorboard creaks beneath his foot, causing him to freeze instinctively."Wouldn't take another step if I were you." The man says without turning around. "That weak floorboard is actually a pressure plate attached to an IED.""You're lying," Mac replies, his voice much more confident than he feels. IEDs aren't exactly something he likes to take risks with."Maybe." The man says. "Take another step, and we'll see." He pauses, still not turning around to face Mac. "What do you want?""Director Webber sent me here to speak with Oversight," Mac says hesitantly—there's no guarantee that he's not talking to someone he shouldn't be."Oh, then, you got him." The man says, turning around, and Mac's eyes widen."Dad?" He asks in disbelief, and the man grins, reaching for the gun at his side."Duck!" A voice yells behind Mac, and he instinctively obeys, dropping to the ground just as his father starts firing. "Time to go!" The same voice repeats and a hand grabs Mac's arm, pulling him to his feet. Mac sprints after the stranger, glancing over his shoulder just once to see that his father has disappeared."Who are you?" Mac asks breathlessly as he drives away from the house—and his father—with the stranger in the passenger seat of his Jeep."Oversight." The man replies. "Also known as Jonah Walsh."
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When Mac walks into the war room and looks around, his brain pretty much short-circuits. Luckily, rather than stopping in his tracks—which would result in all three of his friends walking into his back—Mac's body starts to move on autopilot, and he walks over to the table, scoops up a couple of paperclips—something tells him he's going to need them—and then moves to his usual corner of the room.Instead, Jack is the one who stops in his tracks in the doorway, and just as Mac predicted, Bozer walks into him, followed by Riley walking into him and nearly sending all three of them to the floor in an ungraceful and very embarrassing heap. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—it's not easy to knock Jack Dalton over, and he's able to right himself and the two younger agents behind him."What the hell, Jack?!" Bozer exclaims angrily, and Mac finishes completely processing his surroundings just in time to send his best friend a smirk when Bozer forces his way past Jack—who is still blocking the doorway—and finally sees what it is that caused Jack to stop in the first place. "Wh-What the- You're the- How the...""Calm down, Boze," Mac says, waving his friend over to his side as he twists one of his paperclips. Matty, who has been watching the entire ordeal with a slight smirk on her face, just rolls her eyes."How are you not freaking out right now, Mac?" Bozer asks in utter disbelief. Riley chooses that moment to unceremoniously shove Jack the rest of the way into the room, and the soldier blinks twice—he looks almost like he's rebooting, Mac notes in amusement—then turns his attention to Bozer, grinning."Trust me, his brain shorted out the second he stepped into the room," Jack says confidently, walking over to join the rest of the team and apparently deciding that his best course of action is just to ignore everything unusual about the room. Following Jack's lead, Riley avoids eye contact with the unexpected guests and heads to the front of the room, stopping next to Bozer and sitting down in the sole unoccupied chair, where she promptly pulls out her laptop and boots it up. "Mac's just too smart to stop walking." Jack continues to explain, much to Mac's chagrin—he needs to keep a few secrets, or his tricks won't be nearly as impressive. "When his brain stops working he just goes on autopilot until he's done thinking.""It's a talent." Mac comments dryly, smirking at Jack for a moment before turning his attention to Matty. "So, I'm assuming our guests have something to do with the 3 am call about an urgent mission?""Got it in one, Blondie," Matty says. "Now, if you're all done fangirling, I'd like to introduce you to our guests.""Or we could save the time and just introduce ourselves to them since it's already been well established that we know exactly who they are," Riley suggests, turning and pointing to each of the guests in turn. "Captain Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow. And Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. There, now we're done." Matty shakes her head exasperatedly, holding out a hand in Riley's direction."Riley Davis." She announces to the Avengers. "A computer genius who joined our organization after spending two years in prison for hacking the Pentagon." Matty turns to Bozer next, and when the Avengers follow her gaze Mac fears that his best friend is going to pass out right where he stands, or maybe melt. "Wilt Bozer." Matty continues, either oblivious to or ignoring Bozer's pale face. "A master of prosthetic disguises who joined the team after he was nearly killed by an assassin in his own home.""Fun." Stark comments and Mac bites back another smirk. It's apparent that Matty is trying to make the team seem impressive to the Avengers, which implies that they aren't currently happy with this arrangement—whatever it may be."Jack Dalton." Matty moves on without acknowledging Stark's comment and turns her attention to Jack. "A weapons expert and sniper as well as a covert operative with over fifteen years of experience. He did 10 years in the CIA and then joined the Army's Delta Force. He spent his last two years working overwatch with the EODs before being recruited by Phoenix. Which brings us to Angus MacGyver." Matty turns to Mac, who starts twisting his paperclip a little more furiously in an attempt to hide his discomfort at the sudden attention being paid to him. "A bomb expert and all-around genius. He got into MIT at 16, then dropped out two years later to enlist in the Army. He was the best Explosives Ordinance Disposal technician in Afghanistan by the time he was 19. Jack was assigned as his overwatch, and two years later, they were both recruited by Phoenix.""MIT at 16, huh? That's impressive." Stark comments, his tone half sarcastic and half genuinely curious."Mac's IQ is higher than Einstein's, and his specialty is creating anything he needs out of whatever is available to him." Matty is quick to come to Mac's defense, and he frowns—he isn't entirely surprised that the Avengers would doubt his skills, considering how young he knows he looks, but they were the ones who came to Phoenix. Probably. Mac's unasked question is answered by Matty's next words as she turns back to the Avengers, fixing them with one of her trademark scathing glares. "This team is, admittedly, a pretty eclectic mix of talents, but as soon as the director of SHIELD called me I knew that they were exactly what you needed.""Now that introductions are out of the way, why don't you tell us what it is that you need?" Mac says, pulling out a second paperclip and tossing his first one onto the table. It slides to a stop right in front of Stark, who leans forward to pick it up."Is this my arc reactor?" He asks curiously, holding up the paperclip. Mac shrugs, already focusing on his next creation."Focus, please," Matty says, her exasperation rising by the second—she makes it a point to ignore the hum of approval that comes from Stark's direction shortly afterward."Tony." Captain Rogers warns, hands clasped behind his back in what appears to be a slightly relaxed form of parade rest. Beside him, Agent Romanoff is standing similarly to Jack—a pose that seems carefree at first glance but is clearly a fighting stance to Mac's trained eye. Stark is sprawled across the couch, much to Mac's amusement and Captain Rogers's disdain, and Agent Barton is reclining in the chair not occupied by Riley, his legs resting over one arm. Mac doesn't miss the pen Barton is twirling between his fingers, and despite knowing that Matty would never allow anyone but Phoenix agents to bring weapons into the building, Mac doesn't doubt that in an emergency Barton could use that pen as a deadly projectile."You called us here at three in the morning, so whatever is going on must be pretty time sensitive." Mac infers, drawing the room's attention back to the matter at hand."It is." Captain Rogers says, nodding to Mac in what he interprets to be a gesture of thanks. Mac just shrugs, continuing to manipulate his paperclip. "The Avengers were invited several months ago to a large fundraising gala here in LA that takes place tonight.""The Reynolds Foundation Charity Ball," Riley interjects. "Phoenix was invited as well.""We have reason to believe that a terrorist group called D77 is planning an attack on the gala." Rogers continues. "But we don't have any information about the attack itself.""Not those assholes again," Jack mutters, shaking his head."You know these guys?" Bozer and Barton ask simultaneously, turning to grin at each other."Jack, Riley, and I were sent to Malaysia to arrest D77's money man two years ago," Mac explains for the benefit of Bozer and the Avengers. "He gave us intel that helped us stop a major terrorist attack in Miami. But I was under the impression that D77 fell apart not long after that.""They did," Matty says. "All but the very highest leaders of the organization were arrested. They've likely been rebuilding their forces under the radar for the past two years, and this attack on the ball is their way of returning to the playing field.""She's right," Riley says shortly, pulling up several CIA and Interpol reports that confirm Matty's statement."So, what, we're trying to figure out their plan of attack?" Bozer asks."That, and hopefully bringing down D77 in the process," Matty adds."Stop a terrorist attack we know nothing about and bring down a terrorist organization we thought was dead until two minutes ago," Jack says, shaking his head. "Piece of cake.""Riley, scour the Dark Web for any chatter relating to the Reynolds Foundation or their charity ball." Matty orders. "Bozer, you're going to be creating disguises for yourself, Riley, and Agents Romanoff and Barton?""What about the rest of us?" Jack asks."You, Mac, Captain Rogers, and Mr. Stark will be attending the gala as yourselves," Matty explains. "You did, after all, receive invitations. Just in case we don't get enough information before the gala to stop the attack, you'll be tasked with preventing the attack after it does start.""So our job is to do absolutely nothing until everything goes off the rails?" Mac asks for clarification, and Matty smiles."Precisely." She replies, nodding. "Will that be a problem, Blondie?""Of course not," Mac says, grinning. "Improvisation is kind of my specialty."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mac is sitting on his deck, tinkering with a broken microscope when there's a light knock on the front door. Bozer is having breakfast with Leanna, so Mac is home alone, and with that thought in mind, he grabs his phone as he stands and heads for the door. Mac dials Jack's number, and his thumb hovers over the enter button as he peers through the peephole, frowning when he sees no one at the door. With his free hand, Mac unlocks the door and pulls it open, looking down to see if someone has left him a package—and freezing when he sees a familiar child, no more than ten years old, staring up at him."Are you Mr. MacGyver?" The boy asks as Mac's thumb comes down on his phone. Mac puts the phone up to his ear as he steps back, allowing the child into the house. The call connects after half a ring and Mac gestures for the kid to sit down in the living room."Mac?" Jack asks, and Mac runs his free hand through his hair."Get the team to my house," Mac says. "We've got a small problem.""How small are we talking, brother?" Jack asks worriedly."About 4'2"," Mac replies. "And his name is Cassian.""Cassian, what are you doing here?" Matty asks sweetly, sitting down on the chair across from the boy in question, who is sitting beside Mac on his couch. As soon as Mac ended his call to Jack, Cassian repeated his earlier question, and when Mac confirmed that he was, indeed, MacGyver, Cassian sat down on the couch beside him and refused to move.Cassian ignores Matty entirely, looking up at Mac's face and then down to the paperclip in his hands, which Mac has been manipulating feverishly ever since the rest of his team arrived—Mac knows that Cassian is by no means his father, but Murdoc must be involved in this somehow, and the memories of his past encounters with the assassin are not ones that Mac enjoys reliving."Mr. MacGyver, I'm scared," Cassian says softly, and Mac pauses, biting his lip. He's not great with kids—he's not great with people in general if he's honest—but Cassian seems to be focused on him, so it looks like he's going to have to be the one doing the talking."Why?" Mac asks as nicely as he can, channeling his inner Momma Bozer as he speaks. "Cassian, how did you find my house?""My daddy has a bunch of pictures of it," Cassian says, frowning. Mac glances at Matty, who looks worried, and Jack, who looks angry. "Mr. MacGyver, is my daddy a bad guy?""What do you mean?" Mac asks nervously, well aware that Cassian doesn't have any knowledge of Murdoc's day job—or at least, he didn't."We learned about some bad guys at school once," Cassian explains. "They sounded a lot like my daddy.""How so?" Matty asks."They had guns and knives and funny laughs, just like my daddy," Cassian says. "And sometimes they make people disappear, just like my daddy does.""Disappear?" Mac repeats hesitantly—regardless of who his father is, Cassian is just a kid, and he deserves to keep his innocence. How much of Murdoc's life does his son know about?"Sometimes he brings people home with him, and they go to the basement," Cassian explains. "My daddy tells me that they've gone back to their houses, but I never see them leave. I don't think he's telling the truth.""Why did you come to my house, Cassian?" Mac asks, and the boy looks up at him earnestly."My daddy told me about you, Mr. MacGyver," Cassian says in that sweet, innocent voice that only a child can have. "He said you were going to come to our house soon." Cassian pauses, frowning, and Mac tries very hard not to let his breathing quicken—although there isn't much he can do about the blood that drains from his face. "I don't want my daddy to make you disappear, Mr. MacGyver. So instead of going to school today, I came here.""Cassian, how close is your house to here?" Matty asks softly, a nervous edge to her tone. Cassian points across the room at the closed front door."We live that way. I went to the bus stop at the corner and walked here instead of getting on the bus." Cassian says."Cassian got here at 8:53, and I'm pretty sure the local elementary school starts at 9," Mac says, running a hand through his hair. "Depending on the bus stop, he could have been walking anywhere from three to twelve minutes. Regardless, he lives in Hollywood Hills." As Mac's face pales a few shades, Jack's gains color, growing redder and redder by the second at the implication that Murdoc has been hiding out a few short minutes away from Mac's home. Bozer looks greatly discomforted by this revelation, as does Riley, and Leanna and Matty both tighten their jaws. "And he's a small kid, he probably wasn't walking as fast as an adult would." Mac continues with a shake of his head. "They probably live a few blocks away at the most.""Matty, what do we do?" Riley asks, and all eyes in the room—minus Cassian, who is still looking at Mac—turn to the director."Everyone is going to the Phoenix Foundation." Matty decides. "No one is staying at this house until Murdoc is behind bars. Bozer, stay at Leanna's apartment. Mac, you'll be staying at Phoenix.""Why can't I stay at Jack's place?" Mac protests immediately."There's no guarantee that Murdoc doesn't know where all of us live," Matty says. "You're his target, and I'm not taking any chances." Mac opens his mouth to protest again, but Matty lifts one hand to stay his argument. "You'll either be staying at Phoenix until this is over or I'll be placing you into protective custody, and you'll be staying at a safe house. I assumed you would want to be involved in this investigation." Mac nods, glaring at his hands and twisting his paperclip even more furiously. There's nothing Mac hates more than being sidelined—and it's not like that worked out very well the last time Murdoc was involved, anyway—but he has to admit that staying at his house doesn't really seem like the best idea, and Matty is probably right about Murdoc knowing where Jack lives, too."What about Cassian?" Mac asks instead of protesting Matty's orders. Matty nods, interpreting the change of subject as Mac's acceptance of the plan—which, he guesses, it pretty much is."Seeing as you're the only person he'll go within 5 feet of, it looks like he'll be staying with you," Matty says. "Murdoc will be looking for his son before long, and he finds out that Cassian came here to warn you I don't think he'll be thrilled." Cassian frowns at this, looking up at Mac once again."Hey, Cassian, do you want to see where I work?" Mac asks, and the boy nods hesitantly. Mac glances at his team then turns back to Cassian and hands him the paperclip he's been manipulating, which is now in the shape of a pair of headphones. Cassian smiles, tucking the paperclip carefully into his pocket and standing. Mac follows suit and holds out his hand, and Cassian grabs it, squeezing tightly as if he's afraid if he lets go, Mac will disappear."Let's go," Cassian says confidently, heading for the front door."We do need to go," Mac says to his team as he follows Cassian to the door. "Cassian's school will be calling his dad soon to tell him that Cassian didn't show up for class. We need to be gone before Murdoc decides that this is a good place to look for him." As if on cue, the window in the kitchen shatters and Mac jumps back, pulling Cassian with him and protectively wrapping his arms around the boy, who whimpers quietly."Oh, MacGyver!" Murdoc calls in a singsongy voice as Jack and Leanna jump into action, putting themselves between the front of the house and the rest of the team and drawing their weapons."Bozer, Riley, get Cassian to my room," Mac whispers urgently, attempting to pass the raven-haired boy off to his friends only to realize that Cassian has wrapped his arms around Mac's waist like an octopus."Don't leave me, Mr. MacGyver," Cassian begs, looking up at Mac with tears in his eyes."I believe that you have something that belongs to me!" Murdoc shouts, and another window shatters, this time next to the front door."Mac, go with him!" Jack whisper-shouts, waving one hand aggressively at his partner. Mac scowls but complies, heading toward the back of the house with Cassian practically hanging off of him, unsurprisingly terrified out of his mind. It's only when he reaches his bedroom that Mac realizes he and Cassian are alone—Bozer, Riley, and Matty either stayed with Jack and Leanna or went into another room.That's about the same time that Mac registers a distinct lack of mocking shouts or gunfire, and by then, it's far too late."Mr. MacGyver!" Cassian screams as something slams into the back of Mac's head, sending stars bursting across his vision. Mac groans, collapsing to the ground as his knees buckle beneath him. "Mr. MacGyver!" Cassian cries out as a pair of too-familiar hands grab the boy's arms, dragging him out of Mac's sight."It's time to play, MacGyver." Murdoc's voice is right in Mac's ear, and he flinches away, only to groan again when the movement sends stabbing pain through his temples and makes the whole world darken several shades. Mac's eyelids flutter as he wages a losing battle against the darkness, praying that his friends realize something is wrong before it's too late."Mac?" Bozer's voice echoes through Mac's mind, but it sounds far away, and far too calm for Bozer to know what's happening to his best friend."And guess what?" Murdoc continues gleefully. "This time, we'll have a special guest." Hands wrap around Mac's wrists, and he groans, fighting weakly and only aggravating his monster headache. "Well, we can't have that," Murdoc says thoughtfully, dropping Mac's wrists. There's another sharp pain, this time in Mac's neck and his eyes close of their own accord as his fight against unconsciousness finally fails.The last thing Mac remembers is the sound of a door clicking shut and a chorus of muffled, frantic shouts from at least three different voices."Mac!"