#Jack telling Mac he’ll feel a bit better after a shower

[lailuhhh]

Orr thoughts on the thoughts that I sent you before

But Mac failing to disarm the bomb. Someone died. He was too late. Too clumsy. Too slow. He’s coated in ashes from the explosion. (This also falls into the intimacy that jack and mac have that has been floating around) but Jack sends mac to shower and comes back and mac is still just sitting on the floor in a daze(probably guilt ridden) and jack has to take him step by step through getting cleaned up(THE WHOLE TIME JUST RAMBLING AND COMFORTING WITH JUST HIS STEADY PRESENCE)

Do with that what you will but I’m dying because of the thought of it 🥹 and I thought you’d enjoy these thoughts :))

IM GRINNING LIKE A COMPLETE MORON AT WORK BECAUSE OF THIS HOW COULD YOU MAKE ME FEEL THIS WAYYYYYYYY

[ego-driven-one-wing-angel]

Send a number | Answers

Thanks again for 250 followers!!!

What’s one animal you wish you could have as a pet but can’t?

A penguin. I love them so much.

Favorite thing to wear to sleep?

Sometimes I wear one of those “drug rugs” or baja hoodies. With shorts. And sometimes knee high socks. I HATE pajama pants. So if I’m cold I find alternatives. 

What song really gets you going?

Right now, Drinking Alone by Carrie Underwood. But usually Tranz by Gorillaz.

Where do you usually eat your meals?

At my dining table or in the family/living room with my mom.

Favorite meal: breakfast, lunch, or dinner?

BRUNCH

Most embarrassing habit?

Sometimes I’ll pick my nose at the most inconvenient times like a child.

Chocolate or fruity candy?

Chocolate

Soft or hard tacos?

When I ate meat regularly, soft, with carne asada. 

Worst way to break up a fight?

Throwing a pan at them? Dude I don’t know. Wrestle them to the ground? I feel like either of those are terrible.

Best thing to say in an elevator of strangers?

“You’re all probably wondering why I gathered you all here today.”

What color/design are your bedsheets?

Teal. And my comforter is a black/white diamond pattern.

Any hidden talents?

I was a dancer for roughly nine years. So I’m pretty good at that.

Favorite thing to drink out of (mug, glass, etc.)?

My Star Wars Luke Skywalker lightsaber water bottle. 

Socks or bare feet around the house?

Bare feet man. Those who wear shoes in the house are weak and will not survive the winter.

 Favorite board game?

Clue!

Do you sleep with the fan on or off?

I don’t even own a fan.

Heat on or keep it cold with lots of layers?

Heat at 67.5 and a sweater. Perfection.

Do you sing in the shower?

Who doesn’t?

Favorite song to belt out at the top of your lungs when you’re alone?

Tranz by Gorillaz. All time favorite song EVER.

Last thing you cried about?

Watching Zack die YET AGAIN in Crisis Core. I don’t think I’ve ever watched that scene WITHOUT crying.

At what age did you first have alcohol?

15ish. Wine.

Relationship status?

Single

What’s the most amount of money you’ve spent on a single item of clothing?

249$ A Guess coat that I absolutely adore.

What do you typically wear to formal events?

A modest dress. Heels. And a Louis Vuitton bag to match.

Favorite memory?

Probably almost getting arrested with my friends back when I was 17. We were at a closed park, after hours, past curfew, and it was like 3 am. We bought 64 tacos from Jack in the Box and pigged out in the venue. Super rad.

Gum or breath mints?

Gum

Favorite shoes?

Probably my Guess sneakers. I don’t wear them often, but I love the design.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My chubbiness. I’m not fat per say. But I’m not skinny either, but I want to look more like a classic, 1950′s pinup model more than anything.

What is the natural state of your hair?

My hair has very soft curls. Naturally, there more like “beach waves”

Have you ever had braces?

YES. WORST YEARS OF MY LIFE

Most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?

Ghost hunting. I was illegally trespassing, and the building was real sketchy. 

Most embarrassing thing your parents have caught you doing?

I’m just an embarrassment through and through. What haven’t they caught me doing. But I guess writing porn is a close first.

Last time you had an orgasm?

I’m a virgin who has never experienced anything remotely sexual. 

Celebrity crush(es)?

Sebastian Stan, Bill Skarsgard, Sam Claflin, Karl Urban, Sebastian Stan

Windows or Mac?

I’ve never owned a Mac, so I’m biased when I say Windows.

How old were you when you learned to ride a bike?

Six, seven? I was still quite young.

Makeup or natural?

MAKEUP

What color do you wear the most?

I wear a lot of neutral colors like gray.

Favorite season?

Winter.

Umbrella or rain coat?

Umbrella.

Have you ever fallen out of a tree?

No

First car you ever owned?

A 2002 Toyota. Super old, and the chip was painting off. My trunk also broke. Oil leak. Y’know, a traditional first car.

What time do you usually go to bed?

Anytime between 11-1 am.

Are you a competitive person?

Yes.

Least favorite color?

Orange.

First pet you’ve ever owned?

A cat :)

Sweet or salty?

Sweet

Favorite pasta dish?

Ravioli 

Favorite kind of chips?

Cheetos

Talk about something you’re passionate about.

Writing. I love being able to put my ideas on paper, let my thoughts and emotions run free in a world where I have to act a certain way. I can be anyone while writing!

What are some of your hobbies?

Writing

Drawing

Watching too much television

puzzles

Caffeine? If so, what kind?

I’m a tea gal. But I LOVE coffee. Especially mochas and caramel. With extra pumps of espresso. Hell yeah.

Favorite kind of pizza?

Ranch and Chicken or just plain cheese.

Fast food or sit-down restaurant?

Sit-down

Lots of acquaintances or a handful of close friends?

I love having a large circle, but I choose my best friends wisely. I only have about two or three of those and they’re the one’s I keep close to my heart.

Something that ruins your appetite?

This is a bit more dark, but my dad and I don’t bond outside video games. And he’s the type that believes it’s his way or no way no matter what. So if you get him angry he acts like a two-year-old who just got a toy taken away, and will try to push your buttons until you’re the same way. I saw the signs years ago, but whenever his anger is targeted at me I just don’t want to eat. I write instead. 

Favorite labels about you?

As in names? It’s near 1 am while writing this so I might have just gone stupid. But I love it when my friends call me cutie. Or my good friend Charlie calls me Smarties. And he’ll pull out a smartie from his pocket when he does it. I also get called Reid, as in Spencer Reid, a lot.

Are you a religious person?

Yes. I try to be at least. I’m Christian.

Night out with a bunch of friends in public or night in with one friend having deep conversations?

Night out. I spend too much time indoors with one friend as is.

What size shoe do you wear?

9

Favorite thing about yourself?

My confidence, or my keen fashion sense. 

Have you ever told someone you loved them first?

No.

Have you ever had sex on the first date?

No.

Heroes or villains?

Villains. (Sephiroth, Bucky Barnes, Loki, etc.)

Favorite fruit?

Pomegranates. 

Least favorite fruit?

Bananas. I’ll eat them, but there are a lot better choices honestly. 

Favorite vegetable?

Broccoli

Least favorite vegetable?

Brussels sprouts

How many plates can you eat at a buffet?

About a good three. First is salad. Second is fruit. Third is desert. 

Favorite dessert?

Ice cream. Bubble gum flavor is my favorite!

Do you play any sports?

Nope.

Age you learned how to swim?

Seven or eight.

Tell a funny story.

Maybe this is just funny to me, but earlier today my cat was trying to lick her coat but she set her front paw on a piece of paper and anytime she bent over to lick herself she slid and she would have to readjust herself. She did this like four times before she decided to move.

What’s one interesting thing about your culture?

As someone who is a part of the Navajo tribe, something neat is the more fat you have on your bones the more people respect you because they believe you have money.

What’s one annoying thing about your culture?

We can’t touch cold-blooded animals. It’s said if you touch the scales of a snake, or even breath in the same air, you’ll get the same skin as them.

What job would you be terrible at?

Accounting. I can’t do math to save my freaking life.

Would you rather watch a TV show or a movie?

TV shows.

What’s your favorite compliment to give?

“Cute Outfit!” or “Love the Hair!” You have no idea how many people light up on either of these, male/female/nonbinary. Looking good is a happiness found across all the spectrums. 

What’s your favorite compliment to receive?

“Cute hair.” Or “Love your makeup/nails.” 

Has your opinion changed on something recently?

I can’t remember. Like I said, it’s close to bedtime where I’m at and boi, it’s hard to concentrate right now.

Do you always order the same thing at a restaurant or order something different each time?

I order the same. 

What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t yet?

This sounds awful, but I’ve always wanted to try ecstasy. I have buddies who’ve taken it and say, if you do it right, the first time is pretty bomb. 

If you could learn to do anything right now, what would it be?

Singing. I can’t carry a tune.

Favorite physical feature about yourself?

My eyes.

Least favorite physical feature about yourself?

My wide hip/waist ratio. If my waist was thinner I wouldn’t mind as much.

What’s one amazing thing you did that nobody was around to see?

OKAY. I scored a strike on Wii bowling while i was on the toilet one time. Two rooms away and not even looking at a screen. Just using my heart and determination and it was SUPER COOL AND I WISH PEOPLE COULD HAVE SEEN THOSE SKILLS.

If you could change your height, would you?

Yes. Everyone is a good foot taller than me. So I would most definitely want a few more inches.

What’s something you would rate 10/10?

Final Fantasy 7 Remake’s Character concept for Sephiroth. The eyes, the height, the hair. WOW. In love.

Heels or flats?

Heels

What’s something you wish you had more knowledge about?

Politics. I want to get more involved but every time I do I get so confused.

Would you want to be famous?

I wouldn’t mind. But I value my private life.

What’s something you would get arrested for?

Well I already almost got arrested for eating tacos in a closed park at 3 am. So maybe that.

What’s your spirit animal?

A cat. 

What’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to you?

The fact that I graduated high school. I was developing anxiety and literally had no idea what the frick was happening with me and no one told me what it was. So I ended up skipping loads of school for that reason. 

Are you the type to have an organized mess, or no mess at all?

Organized mess. Or just a mess. 

Do you tend to make decisions based on the past, present, or future?

The future.

Are you a planner or a more spontaneous person?

Planner. I hate when things are sprung on me last minute. I have to emotionally prep up before a social event so 5-10 business days are needed.

Thoughts on the oxford comma?

I was taught to use it, but it’s literally so useless? I found myself either not using it or just doing it on instinct. So in one story you could probably find multiple instances where I use it and where I don’t use it, maybe in the same paragraph. I just do whatever fits that moment I guess.

What do you hope never changes?

My squad. I love them to pieces and it would break my heart if at some point they’d want to split.

How would you celebrate your 100th birthday?

Something extremely dangerous like skydiving or zip lining across a canyon. 

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: By His Side (Always)

A MacGyver ficlet. This one means a lot to me. I don’t even know why. 

So many changes in their lives. Mac’s still an asset, Jack’s still his bodyguard. Everything else’s different. A future fic. Jack’s POV.

It’s those damn birds that wake him up, again, screeching their little hearts out right outside his window, those sick bastards. He would throw a shoe at them, again, but he still hasn’t found the last one yet.

With a groan, Jack rolls onto his side and peers at the alarm clock blearily. 6.37 am. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, he’s too old for this shit.

He could try falling asleep again but it wouldn’t do, he knows, he’s too cranky now. And so, with a resigned sigh, he crawls out of bed and stretches carefully, enjoying the cracks and pops in his joints and the ache in his muscles. Then he scratches his belly and gives his near future a deep thought: shower or coffee? And since they’ve just had yet another hot summer night and he feels as sticky as a well roasted marshmallow, he decides that shower it is. And heads for the adjoining bathroom.

Showered and brushed - shaving’s reserved for special occasions these days - Jack dresses in clean clothes - he really needs to do laundry soon - shoving a gun into his side holster - just a precaution - and heads for the kitchen to make coffee.

The open-space kitchen slash living room’s already full of bright sunlight when he steps out of the short hallway leading up to the bedrooms in the “west wing” as they like to call the left side of their cabin. The “east wing”, the right side of their home, is pretty much a mirror image in design, only there’s just one big room there instead of two smaller ones.

And by said room’s door, there in the shadowy recess of the opposite hallway, there’s a small red light blinking, signaling a transmission in progress. It makes Jack pause and lift an eyebrow. He wonders how long that’s been going on. He should check it out but first, coffee!

He starts the state of the art coffeemaker going - he insisted on that one; before, he used to drink any sludge available, as long as there was caffeine in it, but these days, he likes to actually enjoy his coffee, thank you very much! - and then he heads for the living room with its comfy furniture, a big stone fireplace - and an even bigger TV! Another thing he insisted on.

While the coffeemaker’s doing its thing, burbling and hissing quietly on the counter, Jack switches the TV on and several smaller screens pop up on the big one: surveillance in black and white, cameras set at various angles all around the cabin and the surrounding woods; one’s even aimed down at the lake. All seems to be working right, all looks clear. Later on, he’ll have to go through the night feeds in greater detail, just to be sure, but not before coffee.

The coffeemaker beeps cheerily and Jack walks around the counter to pour himself a mug. Oh yes, he thinks as he closes his eyes in pure bliss, inhaling the strong aroma of a really good coffee, living the good life. Then he pours another cup, grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and heads for the “east wing” and for their very own “war room” there.

He has to fumble with the mugs and the bottle for a bit to press his right hand to the scanner by the door, but finally the door clicks softly and then unseals itself with a little hiss of pressurized air. He nudges the door with his hip.

Walking in, Jack has to pause and let his eyes adjust; the room’s dark - there’re no windows in here and the lights are off - and he would hate to trip, considering the floor is sunken a good three feet below the main level. It’s all done as a precaution, for protection, just like everything else in the cabin. From what Jack understands, a missile could hit their home and this room would survive, maybe a little shaken in its proverbial boots but otherwise intact.

There’s a wall of screens opposite the door, glowing with images of a… desert, it seems. Someone with a camera - probably clipped to his or her vest - is running, hiding, then running again, headed for a ramshackle building, barely discernible in the gathering twilight. If it’s a live feed, it must be somewhere in... Asia? Probably, considering the time difference. Then the camera catches a glimpse of another figure, running along - a man in a desert camo. Ah, Jack thinks, one of those missions…

Finally able to see again, he walks down the steps and heads for the ergonomic chair, made of real leather so buttery soft it makes one want to weep, facing the screens. “Here,” he whispers, handing over one of the mugs.

Mac looks up with a grateful smile and accepts it, wrapping his right hand tightly around the handle. “Thanks,” he whispers back, inhaling deeply; yeah, even Mac learned to appreciate good coffee.

Soft voices are rasping out of the speakers, issuing and accepting orders. Jack sets the bottle of water down on the small table by the chair, then he taps at his ear and points at the screen in a “Can they hear us?” gesture.

Mac takes a little sip of his coffee - it’s still rather hot - and setting the cup down on the table next to the water bottle, he switches something off on the console that seems a part of the chair. “Now they can’t. We have a moment before they need me again,” he says.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks, watching the men, US soldiers from the look of it, sneak closer to the building. There’re two very quiet puffs and a lookout by the door drops dead, then the one at the corner of the house.

Mac points at the screens with his right hand, his left one cradled in his lap. “That’s a terrorist hideout,” he informs Jack simply. “Based on our intel, these people might’ve gotten their hands on a live nuke. The guys had to get in right away to grab it, they couldn’t wait for an expert to arrive and accompany them so…”

“They called you,” Jack finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Mac says. “I got the call at two in the morning, while they were already on the plane. We’ve been going through the basics ever since. Luckily, one of them went through an EOD training so they won’t be going in completely blind.”

Mac reaches out for his mug to take another sip - and in the glow of the screens Jack catches the little twist of Mac’s lip, the tightness in his face as he sets the mug down again, the tremble in his left leg as he tries to find a more comfortable position.

“How’s the pain?” Jack asks, aiming straight for the heart of the matter. 

Now Mac grimaces openly but he also answers truthfully; he’s learned long ago not to lie to Jack about these things, he learned it the very hard way. “Bad,” he admits, sighing. “I haven’t had the time to take my meds yet.”

“Alright. Do you want them now or once this is over?” Jack points at the screens with his chin.

“After,” Mac replies immediately. “They need to get out of there within the next hour or so or they’re all dead anyway, bomb or not. Besides, I need my head clear for this. It is a live nuke we’re talking about here.”

Jack nods. “Fine. I’ll make breakfast and have your meds waiting for you in an hour.”

Mac grimaces again. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Egg-white omlets it is, then. With sausages and pepper. And hash browns,” Jack adds, enjoying the look of horror on Mac’s face; yup, he’s in for a lecture about cholesterol over breakfast. Honestly, he can’t wait.

“9-1-1, you there?” a voice crackles out of the speakers.

Mac flips the switch on his console back on. “Yes. What’s your status?”

“Two guards down, two to go. Geiger Counter quiet.”

Smiling, Mac replies, “That’s good, team leader. We’ll have you on your way back, safe and sound, in no time.”

Jack stands there a moment longer, watching the men on the screens take out two more bad guys and then enter the building. That used to be him, during his Delta Force days, then later on working for the CIA and in Afghanistan, spying for the Phoenix Foundation, and a part of him misses it, the action and the thrill. But another part, a much bigger part, is glad to be where he is right now.

He pats Mac on the shoulder and heads out, mug in hand, to let the kid focus on his job.

Jack takes his coffee out, down to the lake, and walks along the pebbled shore for a while. He has his phone on him, should Mac need anything, but Jack would be of no help to him right now. Assisting people in the field, that’s Mac’s job; under the code name 9-1-1 he seems to have made a name for himself over the last few years. But he also made new enemies. And it’s Jack’s job to make sure that nobody gets to him, just like always. Only these days, they don’t run around the world anymore, no. The world needs to come to them.

His phone rings and Jack pulls it out of his pocket with a smile. A special ringtone for a special person. “Hey, Matty. What are you doing up so early?” He stares across the lake, sipping his coffee and breathing in the fresh air with relish.

“Some of us are actually working, Dalton,” she snaps back playfully. “But why are you up at this hour? You’ve never been a morning person. I would’ve loved to wake you up and make you miserable.”

“You would!” Jack replies, chuckling. “It’s those damn birds, Matty. I swear, one of these days I’ll just shoot them all and make myself a roast!”

She laughs too. Then she asks, “How’s our boy wonder?” Her tone’s light but there’s genuine concern for Mac there. She’s always worried but much more so ever since the explosion that almost killed Mac, scarring him both physically and mentally for life.

“Working at the moment,” he says simply, not going into details. This might be a secure line but even those have ears these days.

“But how is he?” Matty asks again. She’s not asking about his job for the army and the various alphabet soup agencies. She’s asking about Mac as a person.

Jack sighs, still staring out across the lake. “Not getting any better, physically.”

“We knew that, Jack,” she says softly. “The doctors did tell us that this was as good as it would ever get.”

Pausing for a moment, Jack says, “I know. It’s just killing me, seeing him like this. I would switch places with him in a heartbeat if I could but I can’t and-and sometimes, sometimes that makes me so mad I want to punch something.” He takes a harsh breath and lets it out. “But I learned to be grateful that he’s still alive. Small miracles and all that.”

“Yeah,” Matty responds. “You said physically. How about the other stuff?”

Jack takes a gulp of his coffee, now only lukewarm. “His nightmares are almost gone. His PTSD’s getting better, too, slowly. The peace and quiet around here helps. He’s still not ready for big crowds, though. Not after--”

Not after the bomb that he couldn’t disarm and that almost killed him - and that did kill five people down in Miami. The Ghost’s present and his revenge in one. The madman finally found a bomb that Mac couldn’t defuse. It was almost the same scenario as in Mac’s house all those years before - two bombs, connected through a wireless receiver - almost but for two slight modifications: a motion sensor and, most importantly, a timer ticking down fast. 

Disarm this one and the other one, hidden somewhere else, will blow up. Let this one explode and the other one will deactivate on its own. Control the number of casualties or leave it to fate. Choose, MacGyver, choose...

Mac made a judgment call. He let the one he found go. He let the timer run out while they tried to evacuate as many people as possible from the bus terminal where it was found. Still, five people didn’t make it and Mac, too, got caught in the blast. The other bomb, they found it in a hospital later on. It would’ve killed many, many more people if it exploded. Still, Mac never forgave himself.

But they never talk about this, at least not with the others, about The Aftermath. About the weeks Jack spent in the hospital, at Mac’s bed, trying to keep his best friend alive through sheer force of will. It was a dark time, between the explosion and Matty’s new job offer. Because when it became clear that Mac would never be able to go back in the field, there came the question, now what?

Jack turns to look at their log cabin. It was built with the help of the Phoenix Foundation, the men and women who usually maintained safe houses - which this turned out to be for Mac. A sanctuary, a workplace, a new home. Jack and Bozer helped with the rough jobs while Riley and Cage outfitted the house with the best tech and best security measures, their little family banding together to help one of their own.

And then they moved in and Mac became an asset of a different kind, always there, always knowing what to do, just a phone call away, but safe, hidden in the middle of nowhere and with Jack guarding him both from his enemies and his inner demons alike.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, phone still pressed to his ear. He’s been quiet for a while but Matty’s waiting him out, she understands. She knows when to push and when not. And he’s never loved the woman more than in this moment.

“He would like to see you guys in person again,” Jack says, opening his eyes and looking up at the blue, blue sky. “He misses you. And so do I.”

“And we miss you, too,” Matty replies softly. “The team’s on a mission right now but once they’re back, we would love to come for a visit.”

“Speaking of which, how are they doing?” he asks, smiling a little.

There’s a smile in Matty’s voice, too, when she replies, “They’re doing great, Jack. Cage, Riley and Bozer have become one of our best teams.”

“Not as good as me and Mac, though, right?” Jack protest, mock affronted.

“No, Jack. No one’s better than you two, I promise,” she says kindly and it makes Jack’s chest feel warm.

Then he sees the cabin door open and Mac steps out onto the back porch. Leaning heavily on his cane, he walks up to the railing and waves down at Jack, just a little with his weak left hand before he curls it around his midriff again. In the bright morning sun the scars covering the whole left side of his body seem more visible than ever and Jack’s heart aches for his friend again.

But at the same time, seeing Mac there, alive and actually smiling down at him, makes him happy. Mac’s here and he’s safe, despite everything, which is much better than the alternative. Jack lifts his mug in acknowledgment - his coffee’s now gone cold - and starts heading up the slope, back towards the cabin again.

“I gotta go, Matty,” he says into the phone. “His Highness left the audience room and will be expecting breakfast now.”

She laughs a little. “Tell Mac I said hi.” But then she sobers a little and asks him the same question she asks every time. “Do you regret it?”

Jack doesn’t need to ask what. Do you regret leaving your job? Do you regret moving out here where there’s nothing but trees and ducks? Do you regret giving up your whole life to guard this brilliant broken nerd whom you couldn’t love more if he were your own flesh and blood?

And his answer is the same as always. “No.”

Then he hangs up, and putting his phone away, he runs up the slope, chiding Mac before he even reaches him, “You said I had an hour!”

Mac, who’s standing there, waiting for him, shrugs. “It was easier than I expected. When they said ‘live nuke’ I thought it would be something actually complicated. Turns out it wasn’t. But do you really want to hear about that?”

Jack walks across the porch and holds the door open for Mac, who hobbles inside, his cane tap-tap-tapping against the hardwood. “Do I want to hear about a nuke on the other side of the world? Hm, let me think. Did it go kaboom? No? That’s enough for me.

“Oh, by the way, Matty says hi,” Jack adds as he passes Mac on his way to the kitchen. 

Grimacing a little, Mac sits down on one of the stools at the counter. “Did you talk about me?” he asks, a little annoyed.

Unruffled, Jack replies, pouring Mac a glass of apple juice, “Always.”

Mac glares at him but then his frown turns into a grateful little smile when Jack sets the glass down in front of him together with several pills of various shapes and colors.

“So, breakfast, then!” Jack says, rubbing his hands. It’s not a question. Mac’s appetite hasn’t been what it used to be since the incident and if it were left up to him, he would exist on dry toast only.

Mac swallows a pill and nods, replying as expected, “A toast will do.”

Jack laughs. “Think again, buddy.”

Smiling, Mac suggests a compromise. “And... blueberry jam?”

“No food that turns any part of your body blue can be good for you!” Jack states, shaking his head, mock disturbed.

“And all that fat clogging your arteries is?” Mac asks with raised eyebrows.

Jack points a finger at him. “But at least I can’t see that!”

“No, but you’ll definitely feel it very soon,” Mac retorts. “At the very least once you have to buy new pants because your old ones popped at the seams.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jack leans against the counter threateningly. “Are you calling me fat, kid?”

Unafraid, Mac points out, “I think your new wardrobe speaks for itself.”

“Says the noodle with the skinny ass!” Jack snaps back.

They keep it up, glaring at each other, a second or two longer. And then they burst out laughing and Jack reaches out across the counter to ruffle Mac’s hair fondly. Jesus, he loves the kid. And whatever lies ahead, Jack’s exactly where he wants to be, by Mac’s side.

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: Now You Know

A MacGyver fic (4.500 words! O.O). Angst, murder, mayhem - and Murdoc being his crazy self. Told from Matty Webber’s POV.

After they return from Nigeria, Mac gets a fever. And that’s how it starts.

Once the doctors rule out things like Ebola, malaria and similar diseases, they deem the fever harmless, just the symptom of a common flu or exhaustion. Nothing dangerous about it. Still, it makes Mac cranky, as his friends find out, because he feels tired and his head hurts and he aches all over. Matty orders him to take a Tylenol and sleep it off, the simplest of remedies sometimes works best.

It doesn’t in this case, as it turns out.

Several days later, Bozer finds Mac passed out in the shower and before the ambulance arrives, Mac starts seizing, scaring the crap out of an already rattled Bozer. And he doesn’t wake up again, not in the ambulance, not at the hospital. When his temperature shoots through the roof and continues climbing, his doctors come to the conclusion that Mac’s fever is not a flu symptom. Geniuses, every one of them.

Now they’re standing in the hospital hallway - Jack, Bozer, Riley, Cage and Matty - and they’re looking through the window into Mac’s hospital room, watching as doctors and nurses rush around, trying to cool down Mac’s still rising temperature.

“I don’t get it,” Jack says in a low, desperate voice. He leans against the window frame and lets his head hang for a moment, before looking up again. He stares at Mac. “When we came back from Nigeria and he got sick, doctors put him through a whole battery of tests - I know because I was there, keeping him company, and I had to listen to him complain about it for hours! And they found bupkis, a whole lot of NOTHING. This” --he points through the window-- “is not nothing!”

Before anyone can respond - not that they would know how - Matty’s phone rings. Annoyed, she pulls it out of her pocket and snaps “What!” into the receiver.

“Matilda! Is that a way to answer a phone? Tsk tsk,” comes the snide response from the other end of the line.

Her eyes widen, then narrow again. “Murdoc! I should’ve known!” she snaps and puts him on loudspeaker so that everyone can listen in. And they do, gathering around anxiously.

“How is our boy wonder, if I may ask? Has he started seizing yet? I bet he did! It’s such a shame I missed that, it must’ve been quite a sight,” Murdoc says in a wistful voice.

Jack’s face flushes with fury and he opens his mouth to snap something, but Matty raises her finger sharply to stop him. He subsides but he balls his hands into fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“What did you do to MacGyver?” Matty asks. She sounds composed but her eyes are blazing. Her ability to keep her emotions under control in the most dire of circumstances is why she’s being paid the big bucks.

“Oh, you know. A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Murdoc replies airily. “Though I have to give myself a pat on the shoulder, Matilda, because it was quite an ingenious plan.”

“Then why don’t you tell us about it, you genius?” Matty prods him.

Murdoc tsks again. “I can hear the sarcasm in your voice but I’m sure that even you will appreciate this: a two-component poison, my dear. The first part was in the substance I drugged Mac with a few weeks ago. The other… well, all I had to do was wait for our fearless hero to go south and get something as innocuous as a vaccine. Separately, those to components do nothing. Together?” He imitates the sound of an explosion.

Looking from one of his people to another and finally settling on Jack, forcing him to keep quiet with the strength of her look alone, Matty asks, “And what do you want, Murdoc?”

Suddenly, all the amusement disappears from Murdoc’s voice, it’s as if a switch was flipped and it’s quite terrifying. “It’s very easy, Matilda. I want my son. Cassian for the antidote. And before you start yammering about how you can’t put a child in danger or some other nonsense, think it through: whose safety is more important to you, director, some brat’s you don’t even know - or your company’s most important asset?”

Matty has to grit her teeth to keep from snapping at the psycho. She swallows her anger and tells him reasonably, “Well, now that I know that Mac’s been poisoned, what’s stopping my people from finding out what with and saving him on their own?”

And the amusement’s back. “Oh, nothing, nothing at all. I’m sure your lab will figure it out eventually, the Phoenix Foundation employs only the best of the best, after all. But!” He pauses for effect. “Will they figure it out in time? Before fever turns MacGyver’s brain into mush? I bet it’s already happening, right now. And the longer you wait with your decision to give me what I want, the higher the risk that he’ll suffer a severe brain damage. Just think about it, all that knowledge, all that intelligence… lost.”

This time, Jack won’t be stopped. “I’ll kill you for this, Murdoc. You hear me? I’ll find you and I will kill you!”

There’s a dark chuckle. “Oh, Jack. So good to know you’re listening in. I think you actually believe you can do that! I understand now why Mac keeps you around. You’re quite funny!”

Then, Murdoc’s humor disappears again, replaced with a bone-deep chill. “I’ll call in one hour, Matilda, and give you instruction where to bring my son. Oh, and do watch over our boy genius for me, will you? I want him to live and suffer for a while yet, you know?”

And then he hangs up.

They all start talking at once, but once again, Matty raises a finger to shut them up. Then she walks over to the door to Mac’s hospital room, opens it and beckons one of the doctors out into the hallway to tell him what she just found out.

“Is it possible?” Matty asks anxiously when she finishes.

Doctor Wheeler rubs his chin. “Well, in theory, sure but--”

She interrupts him, “Then act as if it did happen and focus on that. Our man told me that there is a good chance we could find the antidote ourselves, just not fast enough.”

She pauses and looks inside the room where Mac’s lying unconscious, surrounded by beeping and blinking machines. He doesn’t look good at all. “How long does he have?”

Sighing, the doctor looks at Mac, too. “Not long. At this rate, if his fever continues climbing…” He shakes his head. “If you really think he was poisoned, we’ll start working on it immediately. But since we know nothing about the poison, it might take days, even longer for us to find the antidote.” He falls silent, then he looks down at her. “He does not have days.”

Matty tightens her jaw. “I understand. Start working on it anyway. We’ll try to get the antidote from the source.”

“What will we do?” Bozer asks, wringing his hands, when Matty comes back.

“We can’t just hand Murdoc his son over,” Riley says. “Mac would be the first to insist on that!”

“But we have to do something!” Jack protests, loudly, angrily.

“Maybe we could draw Murdoc out and force him to give up the antidote?” Cage suggests.

Jack turns to her angrily. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Murdoc can’t be forced. He’s crazy! And even if - if! - we gave him the boy and he handed over the cure, he might double-cross us and let Mac’s brain get fried like an egg just for the hell of it!”

They start arguing again, snapping at each other, their anxiety and fear for Mac getting the better of them, until Matty yells at them to shut up or else!

“You’re right, Jack,” she tells him reasonably. “Murdoc’s crazy, unpredictable, and I doubt very much we can pressure him into anything, true. That said” --she sighs-- “we’ll have to try anyway, I’m afraid, because I don’t see any other option. We’ll agree on cooperating - and we’ll set up a trap and capture the psycho. And we’ll pray that either our people find the antidote in the meantime or we will figure out a way to make him give it up!”

They all look at each other grimly, unhappily. They don’t like it. They don’t like it all. There are too many options, too many variables, too many uncertainties. They’re about to play with a madman for stakes that are too high for anyone to be comfortable with.

In his hospital room, Mac starts seizing again. They’re running out of time.

An hour later, Murdoc calls them with instructions where to meet him. He gives them an hour to get there or the deal’s off. Just the ride will take them fifty minutes at least! Murdoc doesn’t care, take it or leave it. And he hangs up again. The bastard!

And so they decide to follow the plan, however unhappy they are with it, they don’t have anything better, no tricks left up their sleeve. They double Cassian’s security detail, they post guards at Mac’s room and leave Bozer there to watch over him. Riley they drop off at the headquarters from where she’ll follow them over satellite and cameras all over the city. And then they send a SWAT team ahead to take positions - “Stealthily, gentlemen! Mac’s life depends on this!” - while Jack, Cage and Matty go in… with Matty as the decoy.

“This is so humiliating,” Matty grumbles, pulling at her hoodie, while they sit in their car, parked inside the abandoned warehouse were they’re meant to meet Murdoc.

Jack looks in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, Matty, but neither of us two is small enough to pose as a kid.”

“It’s still humiliating!” she reiterates, squirming a little in the backseat.

Cage smiles, scanning their surroundings. “It was your idea,” she reminds their boss.

“I’m aware!” Matty snaps. “And if any one of you ever even breathes about this, I’ll have your liver for lunch!”

She expects Jack to protest but instead, he’s quiet for a moment and then, in a voice that’s entirely too serious, he whispers, “Yeah, well. If this goes well, if we actually get Mac the help he needs, then I’ll swear I’ll never talk about it to anyone.”

Matty’s face softens and she leans forward to squeeze his shoulder lightly. “It’ll be okay.”

“I hope so, Matty,” Jack says, patting her hand. “I really hope so.”

But Murdoc doesn’t show. They wait ten minutes, fifteen, half an hour - and nothing. And then, just about the time they start getting really anxious, Matty’s phone rings. They all stare at it for a heartbeat or two, apprehensive, then Matty picks up.

“Yes?” she says.

“You know, Matilda, I’m wounded,” Murdoc’s voice echoes through the loudspeaker. “We’ve known each other for months now - and you still take me for a fool.”

Matty glances from Jack to Cage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hm, really? So, you did bring Cassian with you to our private little rendezvous?” Murdoc asks in a pensive voice.

“Yes,” Matty confirms. “I sent Cage and Jack with him, they should be there by now.”

“That’s funny, because I’m looking at him right now and he’s definitely not in the warehouse where your people should be,” Murdoc points out sharply.

They all freeze and their eyes, trained on the phone in her hand, widen.

“I don’t--” Matty starts saying.

“The people you sent to him for extra protection? They were really easy to follow. Where did you even find them? Spies-R-Us? Oh, doesn’t matter now, they’re dead anyway,” Murdoc says airily.

Matty pauses for a moment to gather herself. “You’re lying,” she says in the end, unwilling to give away anything just in case he’s playing them.

“Am I?” Murdoc says - and he proceeds to give her an address: the address of the safehouse where they’ve been hiding little Cassian for weeks now. Christ…

Then, Murdoc continues in a voice that’s as hard as stone, “The deal’s off. Whatever happens to MacGyver now, is on you, Matilda. On you. And, by the way,” he adds matter-of-factly, “I would get out of there, if I were you. You made me very angry. And when I get angry, I get even.”

Eyes snapping up, Matty yells, “Go, Jack! Go, go, go!” and she braces herself against the front seat with her feet.

They barely make it out before the warehouse explodes, flipping their car over and sending it rolling.

An hour, that’s how long it takes them to escape from the clutches of the local police and every other agency and service that one could even think of - Matty thinks she might’ve even seen the IRS guy lurking in the bushes - but enough is enough!

“Hey, Detective Deaf!” Matty snaps at the policeman who just asked them again to tell him what happened here, for the fourth time already! “We’re done here. We’ll answer all your question tomorrow. Right now, we have a psychopath on the loose, possibly a child missing - and one of my operatives is actually dying in the hospital while we yammer here! So, excuse me if I don’t really care about a pile of rubble on your home turf!”

The detective sputters and is about to object, but Matty pins him in place with her look. “Have your lieutenant call me - tomorrow! Now get out of my way or you’ll be singing soprano for the next decade!”

Under any other circumstances, Jack and Cage would laugh at the way the six foot plus guy built like a brick house scampers out of Matty’s way when she gets rolling. Under any other circumstances. But not now, not today. They’re just happy to get out of there.

They confiscate one of their SWAT team’s cars, leaving them to deal with the mess, and head for the safehouse where Murdoc’s son, Cassian, has been kept.

Riley tells them she informed Bozer about what happened - “He’s getting worse, Jack, I’m sorry,” she tells Jack when he asks about Mac in a thick, quiet voice - but she can’t raise Cassian’s protection detail, not on their coms or on their cellphones.

When they arrive at the house, they find out why: they’re dead, all four of their people, three women and one man, shot in the back of their heads, execution style. And Cassian’s gone. Matty tells Riley to send forensics in while Jack and Cage search the house, but it’s all in vain. There’s nothing left, no clues that would lead them to Cassian’s - and Murdoc’s - whereabouts.

And then, all of a sudden, Riley says urgently, “Matty, I can’t raise Bozer anymore! I tried both him and our people, but nobody’s responding, nobody’s picking up their phones, even though GPS is telling me that they’re all still at the hospital!”

Matty curses a blue streak. She feels like a puppet whose strings are being pulled. It seems that they’re doing exactly what Murdoc wants them to do, playing right into his hands!

She considers involving hospital security, sending them to check on Mac and her people - but staring down at her dead agents, she decides against it. The last thing they need are civilians caught in the crossfire.

“Matty?” Jack asks. Both he and Cage are standing in the doorway of the large living room, looking at her with deep apprehension.

“We need to go, now!” Matty tells them and she marches out of the main door, leaving her dead agents lying on the floor in pools of congealing blood. Her throat’s thick and her eyes burn a little, but most of all, her heart hammers with rage. Murdoc will pay for this!

At the hospital, everything goes from bad to worse to absolute disaster: their agents are dead, their bodies hidden in the bathroom in Mac’s room, Bozer’s gone and Mac… Mac, too. And Matty’s starting to get really tired of playing catch-up with a madman.

“Where is MacGyver?” she snaps at the first nurse she sees walking by while Cage’s checking out their dead agents and Jack’s leaning against one of the two windows in the room, taking deep, deep breaths, trying to calm down - and failing.

The woman startles so hard she almost drops her files. “Who--? The patient in this room?” She points at Mac’s room. “Doctor Wheeler signed him out.”

“He did what?” Matty barks out and takes an aggressive step forward.

The nurse looks around anxiously. “Well, one of your people came in with all the proper paperwork. Doctor Wheeler refused at first but” --she shrugs-- “I guess he was afraid your company might sue or something? And since the paperwork was in order--”

“When did they leave? Where did they go?” Matty keeps asking in the same furious voice.

“Half an hour ago? Maybe?” the nurse replies meekly. “I don’t know where they went but they took one of our ambulances?”

Matty grits her teeth and lets the nurse go. Then she contacts Riley, ordering her to track down all the ambulances via their GPS or whatever damn system this incompetent hospital’s using.

It takes Riley fifteen minutes. Fifteen endless minutes during which they call the cops and a real havoc erupts when the staff realizes that a multiple murder actually took place in their hospital. But they do get the location of the one ambulance that’s not responding, and that’s the most important thing right now - Matty needs to think of the people she can still save! She sends Jack and Cage to check it out because someone needs to stay there, in the hospital, and deal with this mess on top of all the others. Damn it!

It’s another twenty minutes before her phone rings. It’s Jack.

“Tell me some good news, Jack!” Matty orders. She really needs to hear some good news right now.

There’s a pause. “Bozer’s alive,” he tells her in a dull voice. It’s not that Jack’s unhappy about Bozer’s survival, it’s what follows that’s crushing him. “But the ambulance crew is dead, just like Doctor Wheeler. And Mac’s… Mac’s not here, Matty. He took him.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. More bodies, more innocents dead because she made a judgment call. And though she doesn’t know what she could’ve done differently to prevent this, it’s still all on her, just like Murdoc said, Mac’s fate, all of this…

“Why did Murdoc let Bozer live?” she asks a little hoarsely.

“He was told to give us a message.”

“What message?”

“Hold on,” Jack tells her quietly and apparently hands to phone over to Bozer.

“Matty?” Bozer whispers. He sounds like he’s been crying.

Matty doesn’t blame him. She feels like crying herself. “Hey, Bozer, are you alright?” she asks him gently.

“He shot them, Matty,” Bozer replies still very quietly as if afraid he might be overheard. “He killed the EMTs and then Doctor Wheeler, too! He-he threatened Doctor Wheeler’s son, that’s why the doc went along with the whole thing, with signing Mac out and-and everything else. It wasn’t his fault!”

It seems important to him that Matty understands it and she assures him that she does, that she doesn’t blame the doctor for anything.

Bozer pauses for a moment, gathering himself, before he continues, “He let me go because he wanted me to tell you why he was taking Mac. He-he said that you made him angry - you, Jack and Cage, but mainly you because you thought him stupid. He wanted to prove to you that he’s not. And… punish you, us - all of us - for taking his son away from him, by taking Mac away from us.” He swallows loudly. “He took him, Matty. He just took him.”

In the background, Matty hears Jack slam the ambulance door shut with all his strength, using all his rage. She knows very well how he feels.

Three days later, they still don’t know anything. The trail has gone cold. They did everything, checked everything they could, from traffic cams to satellite images. Nothing. And considering the state Mac was in when they last saw him, they’re slowly starting to lose hope.

“If Murdoc didn’t give him the antidote by now, if he didn’t--” Jack’s voice fails him and he turns away, towards the windows in the conference room; outside, it’s bright and sunny. “He might be dead already. Mac might be gone and we might not never even find out if the psycho decides to keep it to himself, what he did with Mac.”

They all glance at him and then away again because they know he’s right. It’s now all up to Murdoc. And it’s killing them, this frustrating helplessness.

Then the phone rings, Matty’s phone. And she knows.

“Yes?” she asks, picking up. And hearing the voice at the other end, she puts the caller on loudspeaker.

“... Matilda! So nice to hear your voice again.” Murdoc. And his voice’s dripping with glee. The bastard.

“Where’s Mac?” Matty snaps at him immediately, motioning to Riley to track the call. They do it every time, try to catch Murdoc unaware, but it never works out. That doesn’t mean they should stop trying.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Murdoc clucks his tongue. “First thing first - are you ready to apologize yet?”

Is the guy absolutely serious? The audacity!

“Apologize?” Matty barks out, finally losing her temper; it’s been a trying few days. “Are you kid--”

“We apologize,” Jack interrupts her, jumping in. She shoots him a shocked, furious look, but he doesn’t pay her any mind, his eyes are on the phone in her hand. “We apologize, Murdoc, alright?”

There’s a pause at the other end. “Well… I wanted an apology from Matilda, but” --he grins, they can hear it in the tone of his voice-- “somehow, hearing it from you is even sweeter, Jack. You must love our boy wonder very much - and you must be truly desperate.”

Jack grits his teeth and keeps quiet, letting Murdoc talk.

Another pause. Then, “Say please, Jack.”

Matty watches as Jack’s jaw tightens and his face flushes angrily. But then, suddenly,  all the fight goes out of him and he replies softly, “Please, Murdoc. Please, give him back.”

There’s a cackle on the line. “Finally!” Murdoc yells, his tone as deranged as they’ve ever heard it. “Finally you know how I felt when you took my son away from me! How do you like it, huh? How do you like it, Jack?”

When Murdoc falls silent, nothing but heavy breathing can be heard over the phone. Nobody speaks, everyone’s waiting for what Murdoc’s next step.

Then Riley’s eyes widen and she waves a hand sharply to get everyone’s attention, mouthing, “Got him!”

But before they can rejoice, thinking that they finally outsmarted him, Murdoc continues, his voice calm and under control again, doing another one of his terrifying personality switches, “Since you said ‘please’ so nicely, Jack - Miss Davis, did you finally manage to track my phone or will I actually have to give you the address?”

“We… we got it,” Riley answers him haltingly.

“Good. Now off you go,” Murdoc tells them, adding, “But you’re getting him back only because I allowed it. Me! I could’ve dropped him on your doorstep with a broken neck! I could’ve let him burn out… I could’ve never told you where he was! But I decided to let you have him. Never forget that!”

And with that he hangs up.

They find Mac in a cheap, nondescript house in the suburbs where every unit is a clone of its neighbours, where nothing and nobody stands out. If Murdoc hadn’t pointed them in this direction, they would’ve never even looked here.

The house’s empty, every room except for the one that’s set up like a hospital room, with all the necessary machines, beeping and blinking, and a bed. And in it - Mac. Pale and thin, but feverless and… alive!

Matty stands in the doorway, watching with a thick throat and burning eyes, as Jack returns his gun to its holster and leans over the bed, touching Mac’s arm with one hand and stroking his hair with the other. And when Mac slowly opens his eyes and croaks out Jack’s name, Jack nods, crying - actually crying! - and whispers back, “Hey. How do you feel, son?”

And when Mac coughs a little and grumbles, “Lousy...” - they all laugh.

They’re back at the hospital - no, they wouldn’t let Mac go home, that was absolutely out of the question, considering that only a few days before, he was on the verge of dying! - Mac’s sitting up in his hospital bed, Jack’s sprawled in the chair next to it and the rest of them is standing around, relaxed for the first time in almost a week.

Jack shakes his head. “I just don’t get it. Why did he give you the antidote? Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he rushes to add, “I just don’t get it. It was him who poisoned you in the first place and we didn’t give him what he wanted, we tried to trick him.”

Mac sighs and rubs his forehead. “Before he left, he told me that he wanted me to be of a ‘sound mind’ when he killed me. Apparently, watching me turn into a vegetable was not ‘fun’ or ‘challenging enough’ or something.”

Bozer shudders dramatically. “What a creep!”

“I’m just sorry that we lost Cassian,” Riley comments seriously. “I’m afraid of what he could do the boy.”

But Mac shakes his head. “I don’t think he’ll hurt his son. If there’s anyone Murdoc might come even close to loving, it’s Cassian.”

“Well,” Matty says, “I’m sorry if I don’t take your word for it. I let all the other agencies know about what happened and they’ll help us search for him. I’m not giving up on that child!”

They all fall silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

Then Matty claps her hands sharply and says, “We should let you rest, Mac. I doubled your security detail - that’s non-negotiable, you won’t get rid of them until you’re able to walk out of here under your own power, you limp noodle!” she snaps, glaring at him, when he opens his mouth to protest.

They all stifle a laugh and file out of the room - all of them but Jack, who makes himself even more comfortable in the chair by Mac’s bed. Matty stops in the doorway and looks back for a moment.

“You should go home, Jack,” Mac tells him reasonably.

“Uh, uh, nope, not gonna happen, forget about it!” Jack refuses, shaking his head adamantly. “You’re stuck with me, boy. I’m not letting you out of my sight for the foreseeable future!”

Mac rolls his eyes, enough though he looks a little touched, too. “Jack--”

“Did that fever somehow fry your hearing?” Jack cuts him off. “I’m not going anywhere, deal with it!”

Mac glares at him for a moment, their wills clashing - but then he gives up and smiles a little, sliding down the pillows and burrowing under his blanket. “Alright,” he agrees.

“Alright,” Jack says, nodding firmly, and crosses his arms on his chest.

“Thanks,” Mac whispers, his eyes sliding shut.

“You’re welcome,” Jack replies.

Smiling, Matty walks out and closes the door.