A/N: Hello all! Thanks so much for all the feedback! I was thrilled at the reviews, likes, and favorites I received on this fic - and I'm very much looking forward to continuing it! I want to be able to respond personally to each of you, but I'm having to put my spare time into writing right now, but please know that I am SO grateful!

So yeah, I'm already getting antsy for the fourth season - the show was renewed, in case anyone doesn't know! - so fan-fic will be a great way to pass the time until then. :)

Oh, and I don't own MacGyver, or Captain America, or Taken. Really wish I owned the first one especially - there'd be far more whump, h/c, and Mac and Jack bromance. :)

Here's the second installment. I'm not entirely sure how many parts there will be in all, but maybe look for two or three more in the future. :) Please review, and enjoy!

MacGyver - MacGyver

Part Two

Mac was pissed. Pissed at Walsh for being a creepy, sadistic SOB. Pissed at his father for, well, a whole hell of a lot, to be honest. For leaving, no matter his self-placating justifications, for dictating his entire life, for being so close for so many years without ever attempting contact, for claiming he wanted to protect his son but then also claiming to have guided him into the same dangerous occupation, for being so smart but so incredibly stupid when it came to what should have really mattered, for being arrogant and rude, and for being so preoccupied by his own hunt - and patting himself so heartily on the back for having tracked down his old partner - that he didn't even suspect it might be a trap…

He realized distractedly that he was far more angry at his father than at the man holding both of them captive, trying to force James to finish the twisted Captain America serum. There was a lot wrong with that, he realized, a lot he did not have time to unpack, as his hair was finally released from Walsh's vice grip and he was shoved to a chair that one of Walsh's goons had brought into the room. Sick and tired of having someone else's hands on him, Mac struggled with every ounce of strength he had. When he glanced over and saw his father watching the scene passively, it was like something possessed him. Pissed off turned to enraged in a handful of seconds, and all the hurt that Mac had been struggling so hard to contain over a decade came flooding back.

Fueled by what he would realize later was an irrational amount of rage directed at the wrong person given the circumstances, Mac fought fiercer and harder than he ever had before. He barely registered what he was doing as he bucked and twisted against his attackers. He had been so complacent before, worried that his father would be punished if he resisted, but now he realized two things: One, that his father hadn't shown him an ounce of concern in over fifteen years, so Mac's worry about his father's health was obviously one-sided, and two, Walsh needed something from his father, not from him, and had made it very clear that Mac was to be used as leverage. If he needed to worry about anyone's safety, it was his own.

Mac managed to get a hand free and punched one of his captors in the side of the head so hard that Mac felt two of his knuckles bust and the man he'd hit slumped bonelessly to the ground. With a grim smile, Mac thought that Jack would be proud.

His victory was short-lived, however - at this point, Walsh himself decided to get involved. The enormous beast of a man towered over Mac, and despite the growing dread in his gut, Mac stood his ground. He looked Walsh right in the eye and smirked, "You got the wrong leverage, man. If you know my dad as well as you say you do, you should know that he's not going to do what you say no matter what you do to me. His work is his number one priority, not me."

Mac didn't look away from Walsh, but he felt his father's eyes on him. Part of him imagined - hoped for, perhaps - a hurt, even ashamed expression, but he knew the far more likely reality was that his father was stone-faced, maybe even giving a curt nod of agreement.

Walsh smirked, leaning over, bearing down on Mac, and sneered, "Well, I guess we're finally going to see just how much your old man values you, then." Without warning, Walsh struck like a viper as he head-butted his captive in the forehead.

It could have only been a handful of seconds later when Mac came to, because as awareness slowly began to return to him - along with a concussion-grade headache - he was just being lifted from the ground and shoved into a chair near the center of the room. He groaned, but wasn't cognizant enough to fight his captors, and found himself unwillingly but limply allowing his wrists to be tied with something thin - wire? - to the arms of the chair. His head began to clear as his feet were tied to the front chair legs, and instinctively he yanked his wrists against the restraints, looking for any slack.

Pain shot through his wrists, agony tore through every nerve as he pulled against the wire, and he watched, grinding his teeth against the pain, as the wire somehow sank into his flesh and blood welled up around it. He stared transfixed, still too dazed from the head injury to understand right away what he was dealing with. It slowly sunk in, even as he heard his father's voice, not angry, not emotional, just calm and logical and infuriating, murmuring to someone in the background.

Razor wire.

Panting through his nose against the pain, Mac raised his eyes to meet those of his antagonizer. Jonah Walsh smiled darkly down at him, obviously relishing in the agony he saw in the sweat-tinged face, bloodied wrists, and gritted teeth of his captive. "I had to be safe," Walsh told Mac conversationally, and it struck Mac yet again how terrifying this beast of a man was - perhaps the scariest thing about him was the way that he acted and spoke in such a sinisterly familial way. "After all, if you're anything like your old man, then you can probably wiggle your way out of pretty much anything. Razor wire is a sure-fire way that you won't be able to just Houdini your way out of this. The more you struggle, the deeper you cut, and the deeper you cut, the more blood you lose. And the more blood you lose..." He considered Mac for a moment that lasted just a bit too long, and then remarked amicably, "You seem like a real smart kid. See if you can guess what comes next."

Refusing to play into Walsh's manipulative games, Mac merely stared sullenly back at the man, refusing to answer the patronizing question. When Walsh grew impatient, he backhanded Mac sharply across the face. His entire left side singing in agonizing harmony with the rest of his skull, Mac tasted blood at the corner of his mouth but didn't respond other than to continue glaring at Walsh.

Rolling his eyes, Walsh nodded to one of his henchmen that Mac had quite honestly forgotten were in the room. The goon pointed his gun at James MacGyver's head.

Mac's heart sped up at the sight of his father's peril, but he remembered two things that put him at ease: One, Walsh needed his father, so he wasn't going to kill him. Two, his father had barely reacted when his son had been used against him. Perhaps that was in an attempt to keep Mac safe, like he claimed all of his absences to be, but even still, bitterness lodged in Mac's heart, a feeling that was once quite foreign to him but that had become a more constant companion since the search for his father had begun - and even more when it had ended. His father didn't care about him. Why should he care what happened to his father?

Mac answered his own question instantly with a surge of guilt. Because he wasn't his father, that was why. He wasn't going to let the man's lack of compassion change who he was as a person. Mac was stronger than that. He was better than that.

Still, he reminded Walsh in a voice raspy with pain, "You're not going to kill him. You need him."

Rage flashed across Walsh's face, and for a second, Mac braced himself, certain he was going to be hit again. Instead, Walsh took the gun from his henchman and pointed it at James MacGyver's shoulder. "A clean hit through and through isn't going to kill him. It might slow him down, but I've seen him do what needs to be done with more damage than a flesh wound." His gaze found Mac's and the rage Mac saw there caused the cliche chill to travel down his spine. "Now answer," Walsh growled, "The damn. Question." He cocked the gun, keeping it trained at Mac's dad.

Mac knew that Walsh didn't care at all about the question - what question was it again? His head was swimming; he certainly had a concussion and the pain in his wrists coupled with the blood loss wasn't helping - but that all of this, this prolonged, ridiculous spitting contest, was a play for power. He'd seen his father do similar things before, but Walsh's violent, unstable tendencies made him a real threat instead of just a nuisance. Unfortunately, those violent, unstable tendencies coupled with his obvious need to control put Mac's father in jeopardy, and as little as the man seemed to care about his son, Mac had already resolved that he couldn't just stand - sit … well, slump painfully - here and let something happen to his dad.

And so, though he hated himself and Walsh and his father and this whole messed up situation with every word, he conceded, nodding his head curtly in acquiescence, nausea boiling at the movement. Definitely a concussion, then.

Thankfully his scrambled brain was able to recall the question that started this whole insane deviation: The more you struggle, the deeper you cut, and the deeper you cut, the more blood you lose. And the more blood you lose… You seem like a real smart kid. See if you can guess what comes next.

"The more blood I lose," Mac gritted, "the more I weaken myself. So struggling will actually make it more impossible to escape, and I also lower my chances for survival and increase the chances of infection." He felt dirty for having given in to Walsh's twisted demands, but the gun was taken off his dad, so he breathed easier.

What could almost pass for a genuine smile save for the malice lurking beneath the surface split Walsh's face. Looking at Mac, he asked patronizingly, "See, kiddo, was that so hard?" Anger boiled to the surface, but before Mac could say anything to get himself hurt even worse, Walsh turned to James with a wicked, even predatory, glint in his eyes. "That is what real parenting looks like, Big Mac. 'Course I wouldn't expect you to know that, since you so happily skipped out on that part of your life."

For the first time since he'd been head-butted, Mac caught his father's eyes. Despite the even expression on the older man's face, Mac could see something bubbling behind those dark, sharp eyes - anger? hatred? guilt?

"You know," Walsh said slowly, advancing on Mac now, obviously enjoying the power he held over his enemy and his son, "when I first found out about how you just… left little Mac, I couldn't believe it. I mean, imagining that sweet kid growing up without a father figure … You know, a couple of times I thought about taking up that role myself, but I wasn't sure I'd be daddy material, you know…? Not that stopped you from becoming a dad."

An icy finger traced itself down Mac's back as he realized the implications of what Jonah Walsh was implying. Had he really considered kidnapping a young Mac just to get to his father? To prove some sort of a point? Just because he could? The idea of what his life could have become if that had happened made Mac nauseated in a way a concussion never could. He didn't know if Walsh was telling the truth or just trying to rattle their cages, but Mac couldn't help but wonder if his father would have gone Liam Neeson on Walsh to get his son back.

Walsh's next words stole any thoughts of the what-ifs of the past from Mac's aching head: "I might even have to consider taking up that father role after all this is over, depending on how well you two behave." Cracking his knuckles, he handed off the gun to his conscious goon, then stepped toward Mac. "Now," he threw over his shoulder at James, "get to work."

The threat was clear and obvious, and Mac had never felt so helpless. He was truly trapped, perhaps for the first time in his life, unable to even struggle without hurting himself so badly that even if he were to somehow free himself he still might not make it, being used as leverage by a sadistic bastard who was also using his father against him to further discourage escape, and even if his dad gave Walsh what he wanted, Walsh might just take Mac with him to play with further, just to spite a dad who hadn't cared enough to be present during most of his life…

Mac was used to being able to get out of any situation, to being able to rely only on himself, to have his life in his own hands.

His life was now in the hands of three men, none of them his own: Walsh, who literally had the power of life and death over him right now; his father, who had to choose between his son and countless lives, and who, despite their rocky relationship, Mac didn't blame at all for the decision he would inevitably make; and Jack Dalton, who currently was clearing the area but blissfully unaware of the level of peril his partner was currently in.

And yet, Mac realized, as he prepared himself for what was to come, he trusted Jack with his life more than anyone else's - even his own.

A/N: So this story has taken a bit of a different direction than I originally intended, and although I definitely wanted to play with the idea of Walsh trying to be that pseudo, psycho father-figure just to mess with his captives and to intimidate/threaten James into cooperating more, but he turned out even creepier than I intended. I'm also spending a bit more time than planned fleshing out Mac's daddy issues and showing what a crap dad James is, as well as getting into Mac's head as he sorts through all of this… I also drew out the whump, emotional and physical, a bit... as I do, and hinted at the bromance to come. More whump will come before it gets better, though… next chapter is where things pick up. I also really, really like playing with the concept of Mac being unable to help himself, not because of his mind being compromised like with Murdoc, but because of his hands being unavailable. The importance of Mac's hands is often overlooked in the show - it's not just his big brain that gets himself out of sticky situations, after all.

I realize a lot of this chapter was introspective, but I feel like it's just as important as the action and dialogue, especially considering everything Mac's had to go through mentally and emotionally to get to this point.

All that to say, I really hope you enjoyed this installment! I should be updating sooner next time, since I'm finally getting back into a regular writing schedule.

Please review, and I'll post the next part soon!

Thank you again for all of the support!

~Emachinescat ..