Murdoc + MacGyver - Everyone Else by Emachinescat

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

Summary: AU ending to 5x10. Murdoc never planned on killing MacGyver in that skyscraper. Certainly not for the likes of Andrews. Or, in which Bozer doesn't do his trick with the comms and Murdoc sends a very clear message to all of Codex that MacGyver is HIS.

A/N: So I've been wanting to write this since 5x10, but just now got the chance. This is a look at the ending scene from Murdoc's creepy, possessive obsession with Mac, and it plays with the idea of what might have happened if Bozer hadn't done the trick with the static (sorry Boze for taking away your moment of glory, but creepy Murdoc trumps hero time). Anyway, I hope you enjoy my twist on this episode. It was fun to write. Murdoc is fun to write. What does that say about me? ;)

I really hope you enjoy!

Murdoc + MacGyver - Everyone Else

It was adorable, really, Murdoc thought as he lowered the improvised cutting torch slowly, steadily, agonizingly closer to MacGyver's bruised and bloody face, that Eric Andrews thought that Murdoc was going to go through with this. The general was a ridiculous man, the kind that Murdoc most enjoyed killing. Arrogant and pretentious,yet stupid enough to believe he could manipulate, even control, Murdoc, he was a man who would look lovely with Murdoc's gun pressed squarely between his eyes.

Yet despite his faults, he had been useful. He'd helped Murdoc escape from the blacksite, and in return, Murdoc had vowed to help him set a trap for MacGyver. Andrews wanted to broadcast Angus's death to the heads of a terror cell. It was his way of "interviewing" to become the head of the organization. And what would Murdoc get out of this arrangement? Other than his freedom, he would be given the opportunity to play with MacGyver before Andrews dealt the final blow.

So Murdoc used Andrews to escape the blacksite, and together they set this ingenious little trap for the genius himself. He'd used Andrews and his resources as a means of playing his newest game. He smiled and nodded when Andrews spouted his rhetoric, adjusted his plans as Andrews directed, and valiantly kept from gutting the egocentric wackadoodle – somehow – during the course of their time together. He'd almost snapped and killed the guy, once.

He hated the way that Andrews spoke about his Angus MacGyver, gloated about how cathartic it would be to see the light go out of those blue eyes. How he relished the notion of feeling MacGyver's life sleep away, how he fantasized about wrapping his chains around that smooth, pale neck and squeezing, slowly and intimately, with all of Codex watching – after Murdoc had had his fun with him, of course.

Murdoc's profession had always allowed him to maintain a rather fluid lifestyle, and until MacGyver had come onto the scene, the killer had moved from one job to the next without distraction. He had never been one to get caught up or fixated on any one thing – as a killer, he understood the impermanence of life in a way few others could.

That is, until Angus "Boy Wonder" MacGyer. Suddenly, Murdoc had a muse, a partner in his games, a worthy opponent, his very own Sherlock to his Moriarty. And the thought of anyone – especially Andrews, that self-important crackpot who was so empty all he could do was spout the words of people who'd come before him – looking at Angus MacGyver with that kind of fire in their eyes, that kind of hatred, that dark intent, stirred something primal and angry deep within the hollow, twisted remnants of Murdoc's soul. Even worse was hearing that obnoxious, pedantic voice boasting about all the ways he planned to hurt MacGyver, all the ways he planned to kill him in front of a live studio audience. A foregin, almost protective rush had overcome Murdoc. The things that Andrews described, the torture, the killing itself – those were things that no one except for Murdoc himself could do to Angus MacGyver.

Murdoc could have snapped and killed him, then. He almost had. The trap had been set, MacGyver would soon be on his way. Murdoc could take out Andrews in one surprise hit and wait for his BFF to arrive. They might even get some time alone together before the rest of the love triangle showed up. But he had stayed his hand. He needed Andrews to contact Codex. He had a message he needed to send.

And so he'd resisted the drumbeats of death so loud they blocked out his thoughts, and hadn't put a bullet between Andrews's eyes.

And now, here he was, in the moment of truth. It had been a bold move, out of character, if you will, for Murdoc to take on MacGyver in hand-to-hand combat. Normally, Murdoc avoided using brute force, not because it wasn't fun – because, boy howdy, was it fun – but because his tools were much more precise than fists, and could cause more pain with less chance of unintended damage.

But this was a special occasion, and he allowed himself to indulge. And it was a truly delicious situation, made all the more exhilarating with the knowledge that so many people were watching him work. Not Codex – he hadn't given a rat's ass about Codex in that moment – but Phoenix, whom Murdoc had just manipulated and played with like a puppet master with his creepy little mannequins. He kept an eye on the girls, and chills ran down his body as he saw the fear and desperation in their eyes, the way they strained helplessly against their bonds to get to their friend who was himself completely at Murdoc's mercy. He couldn't see Matilda or Bozer or Taylor, but he could hear the fear in their voices when they spoke, and his mind's eye conjured a splendid picture of their terrified eyes fixated on the screen, forced to watch as their golden boy was beaten and eventually murdered in front of them. It was glorious. Murdoc wished that moment could go on forever.

He truly had relished every hit he'd landed on MacGyver. Bless him, he tried to fight back, but he was just a spy trained in field comat. Murdoc was a killer. Just because he didn't use his fists that much anymore, it didn't mean he didn't know how to. He was quick, and stronger than his lithe frame would suggest. Beneath the long-sleeved shirts and black leather jackets, lean, deadly muscles lurked like a snake in the grass, always ready to strike – and strike fast. Every kick, every hit, every punch to the face sent bolts of electricity up Murdoc's arms. He saw the moment when MacGyver's cheek split open, watched the blood slowly trickle down as he wound up for another hit. After about three hits directly to the face, MacGyver couldn't hold himself up anymore and he made weak, desperate grabs for Murdoc's jacket. Murdoc felt the tug on the fabric, relished the feeling of MacGyver needing him in that moment. When he threw MacGyver against the heavy metal support, he felt like a god.

Now here we was, with his greatest foe having literally just been under his boot. His left hand was wrapped around MacGyver's right wrist, pinning it down, his knee pressed against the half-conscious agent's chest to keep him in place. In his hands he held a tool that, as he had said moments ago, would be the most poetic end to MacGyver he could have concocted – finally silenced by one of his own fancy little inventions. For a moment, Murdoc was tempted to plow ahead, not to kill, but to play, to hurt, to watch the dazed fear in his muse's eyes turn to pain and sheer terror… but he had more important things to do. Maybe he would take this toy with him when he left, and save it to use on MacGyver another day.

He leaned in close, his knee pressing harder into MacGyver's sternum, and the boy wonder grunted in pain, gasped for breath. Murdoc leaned closer, his face inches from his prey's, and watched MacGyver's concussed eyes go wide at the close proximity. Murdoc noted with satisfaction that he'd really done a number on his blue-eyed buddy this time – the pupils were unequal, one dilated and the other not. Murdoc whispered in Mac's ear, "Don't worry, friend, I would never let a pig like Andrews kill you. I've got your back." He pulled back and winked conspiratorially. Then, in one fluid motion, he dropped the torch, drew his gun, and shot Eric Andrews one, two, three times, right in his smug, ugly face. The general didn't even have time to be surprised by the betrayal. He was already dead.

From across the room, Murdoc could hear one of the girls – probably the loud, bossy girlfriend – yelling something, but he didn't pay attention. Instead, he gripped MacGyver by the front of his jacket, hauled him to his feet (sort of; MacGyver slumped in Murdoc's arms, unable to stand on his own, but Murdoc had no problem with that at all), and stood there facing the drone. He could feel MacGyver trembling in pain, and it nearly sickened him that he was going to cut this meeting short. Still, once he took care of this pesky Codex visit, he could look forward to plenty more games with his adversarial soulmate in the future.

Glaring up at the camera, Murdoc gave Mac's weak, beaten form a little shake. "See this guy?" he demanded, not waiting for an answer. In the second of deadspace between his question and answer, he did notice that Desiree had stopped yelling. No one at the Phoenix was speaking. Everyone was waiting, he knew, with bated breath, to see how this would turn out. "Angus MacGyver, here, is mine." He felt MacGyver stir weakly in his arms, protesting Murdoc's claim even when concussed and barely cognizant. "Hush, now, Angus," Murdoc hissed. "I'm trying to save your life."

To Codex, he continued, "I love a good murder as much as the next guy. Hell, more than the next guy. Way more than him, actually. So much more that I'll kill the next guy just to scratch that itch." He grinned his most feral grin. "But MacGyver is not on the market, you hear me? The only one who is allowed to murder him is me. Your Andrews was pathetic, a great brute who pretended at being a scholar because it made him feel important. I meant what I said earlier, fellas – and ladies – this guy is so smart. Way too smart for the likes of you. Too smart for Andrews."

He bared his teeth, shaking MacGyver once more to emphasize his point. "Angus is my muse. He's my dance partner in this crazy murder-tango we've been doing for the past few years. You thought I was being dramatic when I started reminiscing about the good old days earlier?" He paused, thought, then amended, "Okay, so I was being dramatic, but I meant. Every. Word. And it all boils down to this: The only one who's going to end his life is me."

A voice from the speakers, a female's, cold and dead, offered, "Then kill him now. Perhaps we can find a place in Codex for one as ruthless as you."

Murdoc laughed out loud, throwing his head back. His body trembled with giggles, and he heard MacGyver emit a grunt of pain at the motion. "Whoops, sorry, buddy," he apologized giddily, then shook him a bit more, this time for fun. MacGyver stayed steadfastly quiet this time – bor-ing!

Murdoc sobered in an instant, letting every ounce of hatred, death, and chaos flood his gaze as his lips set into a thin line and he tightened his grip on MacGyver, who pushed feebly against his arms. "You really think I want to be a part of your girl scout troop? Please. Codex before Angus MacGyver happened to it, maybe. But now? You all are ridiculous, dethroned kings who scrabble hungrily for any crumb left to you in your moldering ruins. You aren't powerful. You aren't smart. That Leland was the only good thing you had going for you, and now he's gone." He all but purred his next words: "And with what, a shot to the chest? Precisely aimed, almost like a hit man had taken him out? Hmmm…."

"You are claiming responsibility for Leland's death?"

Murdoc shrugged. He finally, reluctantly released his grip on MacGyver, and the blonde tumbled to the floor. Murdoc watched from the corner of his eye as he immediately began to drag himself slowly, agonizingly, away from Murdoc and toward his gal pals. Murdoc rolled his eyes and clamped his boot down on MacGyver's bruised back once more, effectively pinning him in place. Too easy. He peered into the camera again, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and hissed, "Believe what you want about Leland's death. But do you really want to mess with the bastard who killed this great paragon of new wave terrorism? Not saying it was me, but damn. Whoever this guy is must be one tough cookie. And I would advise you, friends," – never had that word held so much derision – "to not play with his toys." He ground his heel into MacGyver's back a little deeper. "The TL;DR? MacGyver is off-limits. If you kill him, I kill you, ten times more slowly and painfully than I plan to kill him. Got it?"

Without giving the council a chance to respond, he raised his gun and shot the drone out of the air. He tossed the gun aside, sighed, and stepped off of a weakly moving MacGyver. He grabbed the genius under the armpits and dragged him to the opposite side of the room from the girls. Producing another zip tie, Murdoc secured MacGyver to the nearest piece of equipment and stood back to observe his handiwork. Paying no mind to the sorry state he was in, Angus was already stubbornly pulling himself up to a sitting position, bloody face set in pain and determination. "You," he panted, lifting his eyes up to meet Murdoc's, "are insane."

Murdoc laughed. "I thought we'd already established that long ago, dear."

"Don't call me," MacGyver wheezed, "dear. Despite your… delusions, I do not … belong to you. Or to anybody."

"Expect maybe Miss Davis?" Murdoc mocked. "And please, Angus. Can't you see that I was just putting on a show for the 'evil Zoom meeting'?" He hadn't been, and he could tell that MacGyver was seeing straight through his lie. "Look," Murdoc said, "I hate it when we fight. How about we both take some time and pick this back up when we've had a little time to heal and reflect?"

Through gritted teeth, MacGyver growled, "How about you go away and never come back?"

"Tsk, tsk, Angus. That isn't any way to treat your rescuer. But you are concussed, so I'll let it slide. Actually, I need to motor. Now that the situation's neutralized, the authorities will be all over this place. I really don't fancy going back to that blacksite, so I'll leave you here to wait for your buddies." He bent down, patted MacGyver on the face, grinned when his adversary jerked his head away from the touch. "'Til next time, Mac." He made a face. "Actually, scratch that. My calling you Mac is almost as unsettling as Taylor calling Miss Davis Riles." He heard an indigent noise from over the comm – he'd almost forgotten Phoenix was listening in, they'd been so quiet. He chuckled, relishing how fun Russ Taylor was to annoy. "Anway, I'll see you soon, Angus."

Murdoc removed the comm and crushed it under his boot, then backed away and sauntered from the room, whistling his slow, eerie funeral dirge, "Home on the Range."

He knew that even while injured and concussed, MacGyver would be out of the zipties and releasing his friends before the polícia arrived. He'd then be whisked away to a hospital, and all of Phoenix would have to deal with the fallout of the secrets that had been revealed. He wondered if MacGyver would choose Desiree or Riley. In the end, though, he knew that it wouldn't matter who MacGyver chose. He could deny it all he wanted, but in the end, there would be Murdoc.

There would always be Murdoc.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this little foray into Murdoc's mind! I might end up writing more of the aftermath from Mac's POV, maybe even a sequel, but we'll see. Right now, I'm happy with it as it is. If you're interested in more, let me know!

Either way, I'm absolutely writing more MacGyver fics in the future! :) I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you're so inclined to share them!

~Emachinescat ^..^