A/N I'm not entirely sure about this one. There were some doors left open for Part 3 to cover but I hope it still works...? I'll let you all be the judge. Please, let me know if it doesn't work.

Everyone Needs a Little Jack in Their Life - Part Two (Hole Puncher)

Jack Dalton was having one heck of a bad day. First, he'd gotten out of bed way too early that morning and cracked his toe on the leg of his bed while making an emergency trip to the bathroom – a night of drinking enough to drown the memory of your best friend pretending to be a sociopathic serial killer tended to weigh heavily on the bladder, and didn't often see fit to wait for the sun to come up before waking you to empty it.

Now, admittedly, a stubbed toe wasn't too bad in the grand scheme of things – although, this one was definitely one for the history books – however, it had definitely set the stage for the rest of the day.

Unable to get back to sleep after hobbling to the washroom to answer the call of nature and later icing his throbbing toe, Jack decided to put the early morning hour to good use and hit the gym. Seemed like a simple task at the time. He just threw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, stuffed a clean towel and a change of clothes into his duffel bag, then headed out the door – and almost tripped over the cat food dish.

A Maine Coon had taken to visiting him lately, and he'd gotten in the habit of placing food out on the front step for him. He wasn't sure where the cat came from, but didn't want the poor thing to starve if he turned out to be a stray.

Happy to see the dish was empty, he set it aside so that he could take it inside and clean it when he got home from his workout. As he approached his car, though, something seemed a bit off. The GTO was listing to one side.

"Nonononono," he muttered to himself. But, sure enough, he rounded the back of the vehicle and discovered the front driver's side tire was flat. With a sigh, he returned to his house and made a detour into the attached garage. Setting his duffel down on the floor, he reached beneath one of the worktables to extract the spare tire he stored there. Only to find the spot empty. He hadn't replaced it since the last flat.

Frustrated, he made a move to stand up… and smacked the back of his head on the underside of the worktable! Biting back a curse, he plopped down on his rear, rubbing at the back of his head with one hand. He looked at his fingers, relieved but mildly surprised to find no blood.

Pulling out his phone, he called roadside assistance and quickly explained his situation. They gave him an eta of 90 minutes but did manage to find someone who could also supply a spare tire so he wouldn't have to get a tow. So, there was that.

But it appeared his early morning work out was dashed. He could always go the MacGyver route and at least opt for a run, but Jack preferred weight training over cardio – he got enough running in when chasing the bad guys, anyway.

To fight the headache that he knew would be on the way, Jack popped a couple extra strength Tylenol into his mouth. With no water handy, he swallowed them dry, and settled back to wait for his tire change service. To pass the time, he decided to give Mac a call. He wasn't worried about him after his method acting the night before, of course. He just wanted someone to chat with while waiting for his roadside assistance to arrive, plain and simple. And if the topic of a movie marathon that afternoon came up, so be it.

"Hello?" MacGyver sounded less than coherent, which was weird because the kid was always up before the sun, even on a day off.

"Hey, bud," Jack said. "I was wondering if you might like to watch some Bruce Willis movies with me this afternoon?" After a moment of silence, Jack started to think his partner had fallen back to sleep. "Mac?"

"Yeah, sorry, I'm here." Jack could still hear the grogginess in the kid's voice, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Not today, Jack. I'm, uh, not feeling very well."

Jack's MacGyver-meter ratcheted up ten-fold. For Mac to be feeling 'not well' enough to actually admit to it, he must be in pretty bad shape. That would explain the sleepy sound to his voice, too. "You need me to make a stop at the pharmacy, brother?"

A soft chuckle came through the phone, easing the knot in Jack's stomach by several degrees. That was something, at least. "No, Jack. That's okay. I think, I'm just gonna sleep."

"Okay, but call me if you need anything, all right? I'll be out 'n about, anyway."

"Yeah, sure, Jack. Thanks."

"Any time, bud. You know that."

"I do. Bye, Jack," MacGyver said tiredly, his voice fading as he pulled the phone away from his ear.

"Hey, Mac!"

He could almost picture Mac putting the phone back to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Drink lots of fluids."

This time, he pictured the wry grin on his friend's face. "Yes, Dad."

Two hours later, Jack's vehicle was driveable again and he considered heading straight over to Mac's with plenty of meds and O.J., but quickly dismissed that idea. MacGyver was a grown man and didn't need taking care of just because he'd been bitten by a cold or flu bug.

Then again, Jack couldn't help but think that this was more than just a physical thing. He'd heard that emotional stress could bring on symptoms that disguised themselves as a flu – headache, nausea, depleted energy. And if anything was going cause emotional stress in his boy, it would be posing as a psychotic sociopath for 12-hours.

In the end, he decided on a compromise. He'd let Mac sleep, then pop by around lunch time with a pizza and supplies designed to fix any kind of ailment. For now, he would indulge in a mid-morning workout.

MacGyver lay curled up on his bed, cocooned in a thick comforter he usually saved for chilly winter nights. Heading into the second week of April, it wasn't exactly hot in Los Angeles yet, but it certainly wasn't cold, either. Yet, he just couldn't get warm!

Headache, nausea, chills. Great. A flu was just what he needed after the events of the last few days!

He'd barely slept at all the night before, and the sleep he did get had been riddled with nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Murdoc's annoyingly creepy smile; Jonah's look of terror when he thought Mac was going to kill him. But, most of all, he saw a replay of the one moment in the entire MacGyver-as-Murdoc scenario that truly terrified him.

"…See, I know that your sweet mother has passed. You have my condolences."

The snake sitting across from him daring to even mention his mother is what got MacGyver's adrenaline pumping. But then –

"But dear ol' daddy's still alive and well. I wonder what he's doing today. Oh, I think it's his fishing day –"

And, BOOM! Just like that Mac exploded; the anger, the rage, the hatred boiling inside him was like nothing he'd ever felt before!

Even now, lying in bed, almost 24-hours later, MacGyver could feel the tendons in Murdoc's neck contract beneath his grip. He stared down at his hands –

Suddenly, music blasted through the otherwise silent room and Mac jumped! Figuring it was Jack calling to check on him again, he picked up the phone to gaze blearily at the Caller ID. Huh. Toll free number. Putting the phone on silent, he set it back on the nightstand. With Riley and Bozer off at some conference courtesy of Matilda Webber, the only call he'd miss would be Jack – and Mac was okay with that. At least for this morning.

Jack just always seemed to have this uncanny skill to slip past MacGyver's defenses, which was exactly why MacGyver needed to keep a bit of distance between them for a little while. Mac didn't want anyone to know what had happened in those moments with Murdoc. Ever. Even Jack.

He shivered again. Clearly needing something extra to warm him up, Mac moved to the kitchen and turned the kettle on to boil. In his search through the cupboards for a flavour of tea that appealed to him, he came across a bottle of rum and remembered his grandfather making him a hot totty once when he was sick. Figuring that was exactly what he needed to both warm him up and help him forget the conversations with Murdoc – one, in particular – Mac snagged the rum off the shelf, then grabbed a box of lemon ginger tea bags.

Pouring the boiling water of a tea back in his favourite mug, he followed it up with a swig of rum.

"I wonder what he's doing today. Oh, I think it's his fishing day –"

Without thinking about it, Mac added another swig to the mug.

When Jack got to the gym, he quickly discovered that he'd forgotten his duffel bag in the garage at home. So, he couldn't go straight to MacGyver's from the gym, after all. Although, he did have a change of clothes and extra toiletries there, something told him Mac was going to need his undivided attention.

The little something he couldn't identify in the kid's voice earlier had been nagging at him ever since. Something was definitely up. And Jack was going to find out what.

So, he rushed home to get showered and changed; put out another dish of food for his not-so-little feline friend; and headed for the door. Patting his pockets, he found that he didn't have his phone with him. After several minutes of searching, he had to face the fact that he had lost his phone!

Seriously? What else could go… He grit his teeth without finishing that thought. Despite what Mac would say, Jack wasn't superstitious… except when it came to Cairo-day and other days that had proven themselves to have come straight out of the books of Murphy's Law... like the day he was currently trying to get through, for example.

As he retraced his steps back to the gym, he couldn't help but imagine a sick MacGyver calling him for help and not getting an answer. He wanted nothing more than to go straight to Mac's place to check on him but being a covert agent 'n all kinda necessitated his need to put the freakin' phone at the top of his 'things to do' list.

It was encrypted, of course, but there was always someone out there figuring out new ways to hack into technology. Miss Riley Davis being one of them; thank goodness, she was on their team! He could always call Phoenix and have them send out a signal to erase everything from the data chip to be safe but that would mean having to enter everything back into a new phone, and he really didn't want to have to do that again.

But, secret spy stuff or not, if he didn't find the thing in 30 minutes, he was going to go to Mac's place anyway – he'd just tell the powers-that-be he needed his partner's help to find his phone.

Pulling into the gym's parking lot, the non-superstitious agent wanted to park in the exact same spot he had abandoned earlier because he knew that otherwise he would never find his phone again and, perhaps, you know, the ground might open up and swallow him whole. But, unfortunately, the spot was taken – by a freakin' Mini Cooper of all things! I mean, sure, every vehicle deserved a parking spot but why couldn't the Coop driver have pulled in next to the bike rack, or something?

Settling for the spot directly after the Mini-Coop, Jack went into the gym and asked at the front desk if anyone had turned a cell phone into the lost and found. The guy behind the desk checked but no one had turned it in. Returning to the parking lot, Jack retraced his steps to the best of his ability, moving from the front door to the spot now occupied by the Mini-Cooper.

He made a face, scowling at the pavement. It was still wet from the previous night's rain. With no other option, he got down on his hands and knees and scanned the area beneath the car.

There! The phone was closer to the other side of the vehicle but after a quick look, Jack determined there would be no room for him to crouch between the Cooper and the vehicle on the other side. So, he lay down flat on the pavement, grimacing at the feeling of muddy water soaking into his tee and the front of his jeans, and stretched as far as he could. His finger tips grazed the edge of the phone but not enough for him to inch it closer to him. So, he wiggled a little bit more under the vehicle, now feeling the water from the car seeping into the back of his shirt. Wonderful. All right, just a little bit further… Got it!

A pair of white and pink sneakers suddenly appeared next to his face. "Can I help you?" a distinctly female voice inquired, though she sounded anything but ready to provide any assistance other than a swift kick to his posterior."If you don't get out from underneath my car, I'm going to call security."

Jack pulled himself to his knees, keeping a firm grip on his phone as he slowly rose to his feet. "Sorry, ma'am, I - " he started, stuttering to a halt when he saw her face. Never again would he insult a Mini-Cooper driver because before him stood possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Shoulder length red hair, full pink lips, and electrifying blue eyes. For the first time in a long time, Jack was rendered speechless.

"You, what?" she asked, clearly not as effected by his looks as he was by hers. He couldn't really blame her, though – he was covered in mud, after all.

"Phone," was all he was able to get past his tied-up tongue, but he did manage to hold up the phone as if that would explain everything.

"Really? I find you trying to weasel your way under my car and now you're asking for my phone number?"

Jack shook his head in denial. "No, no! I – " why couldn't he get himself to speak in whole sentences?

A moment later, the angel standing in front of him dissolved into laughter. "Relax, hun," she said after she'd recovered. "I heard you asking at the desk for your phone."

Relieved, Jack smiled and was pretty sure it even came across as semi-charming.

"Uh, now that you've found your phone, can I please get to my car? I'm running late for work."

"Right, sorry," he said, stepping to the side. And for the first time in the last three minutes, he managed to not sound like he was just now learning the English language.

She unlocked her door and slipped into the driver's seat, then watched him do the same with the GTO. "That your car?" she asked.

Jack nodded, not trusting his words to work a second time in a row.

"Sweet car," she told him with an appreciative smile. After that, she drove away, leaving Jack to think he might never see perfection like that ever again.

Jack balanced the bag of groceries and large pizza in one hand, while unlocking the door to MacGyver's house with the other. The first thing he noticed when he slipped inside was the sweltering heat. Mac usually preferred the house to be fairly cool. Filing that information away for the moment, he toed his shoes off and tiptoed into the kitchen.

He placed the pizza and groceries on the counter, then draped his jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and headed back to the spare room to find a clean shirt out of the duffel bag he always left there for emergencies. He really wanted to take a shower after his impromptu mud bath in the gym parking lot, but needed to check on Mac first.

After detouring to the washroom to toss the dirty shirt into the bathtub, he slipped a fresh tee over his head and peeked into Mac's bedroom. Having expected to find boy genius fast asleep, he was surprised to discover the bed was empty.

Curious but not yet concerned, he retraced his steps to the front of the house and turned on the living room light. Before his eyes could adjust to the contrast, a growl sounded from the blurry form on the sofa.

"Turn it off," Mac ordered.

Surprised at the tone, Jack complied. For now. "What's with the mood lighting, bro?"

"You don't like it, you can leave the same way you came in."

Whoa, someone was cranky today. "Nah, you know me, I love a good dark room." Okay, even Jack didn't know what that one meant, but he was too busy trying to figure out what the heck was bothering his friend to come up with a witty remark. He'd seemed a bit off earlier, sure, but nothing like this.

He blindly found his way over to a chair, then sat down facing where he was pretty sure Mac was sitting. He was itching to ask what was wrong but his instincts told him to just wait him out. Those instincts proved correct when, a few minutes later, Mac finally spoke.

"I told you not to come over."

"Judging by your current state of mind, I'm glad I didn't listen."

"My state of mind is fine, Jack."

"Really. So, you always sit alone in the dark?" Suddenly, a familiar scent filtered through his nostrils. "Dude, are you drinking?"

There was a long pause, then: "Maybe."

"It's 12:30 in the afternoon."

He sensed rather than saw the noncommittal shrug. "It's nighttime somewhere."

"Yeah, that's good, brother. Cuz I've never heard that one before." Having had enough of the blind leading the blind, Jack reached over and flicked on the light sitting on the end table closest to him.

Mac was slouched on the sofa, thick comforter pulled tight around his shoulders. Jack was just able to discern a half empty bottle of rum clenched in one hand and resting between the kid's knees before MacGyver's arm swept out and yanked the lamp off the end table, throwing it, cord and all across the room.

They were plunged into darkness again seconds before the lamp smashed against the wall. "I said no lights," Mac said angrily.

'What the - ?! Screw this,' Jack thought. He stood up, stalked back to the light switch on the wall and turned the ceiling light on again.

Slamming the bottle of rum onto the coffee table with a loud clatter, MacGyver surged to his feet and stormed across the room. He tried to push his way past Jack, reaching for the light switch as he did, but Jack pressed his shoulder against the slim chest and shoved him backwards. Mac tried again to get past him. This time, they struggled for a minute or two before Jack got the upper hand, grabbing MacGyver by the arms to hold him in place.

"Mac, stop it! Stop it!" Finally, the blond gave up and wrenched himself out of Jack's grip, but not before Jack got a glimpse at the red rimmed eyes and the tortured depths within. "What is wrong with you, brother? What happened?"

"Nothing! Jus' leave me alone!? Why can't you ever jus' leave me alone?"

A long moment of silence followed that question, while Jack studied his partner; the slightly slurred speech did nothing to alleviate the concern coiling in his gut. "Because," he replied gently, "I promised you a long time ago that I never would. You remember that, kiddo? Back in the dessert?"

"Yeah, I remember." The words were said on a sigh, so quiet that Jack might have missed them if he hadn't been so carefully tuned into the MacGyver-frequency. "Why do we do what we do, Jack?"

That one caught Jack off guard. He knew it had to have something to do with whatever had happened but he had no idea what.

"Why do we stop the bad guys?"

"Oh, well, even I can answer that one, bro. Because it's the right thing to do; because we're the good guys."

Now, MacGyver spun back to face him, stumbling a bit as he did. He brushed off Jack's offer of assistance, placing a hand against the wall to steady himself. "Are you sure 'bout that?" he asked.

"Well, I might fall into the grey area, but yeah, I'm sure that you're one of the good guys. One hundred percent."

Mac seemed to cringe at his words, shrinking away from him a bit. "What if I'm not, Jack?"

"What're you talkin' about? You're the best good guy, I know."

"No, I'm not. You, you didn' see what I did."

"Is this about your method-acting last night? Because, let me tell you, I saw enough. And Jonah walked away, Mac. He's alive. Thanks to you."

Mac laughed and the hollowness of the sound sent chills up and down Jack's spine. "How much of that rum did you drink, brother?"

"Something else happened yesterday. Something you don't," he swallowed convulsively, feeling the nausea churning in his stomach. "Something you don't know about."

"Okay, what? Talk to me, bud!"

"Before 'The Organization' moved up the time for the meet… I was talking with Murdoc… and… "

"And what?"

MacGyver made hesitant eye contact with his friend, not wanting to tell Jack what happened but needing to face the repercussions – even if it meant seeing shame in the eyes of the one person whose opinion actually mattered. "He brought up my mom."

"That sonofa – "

"Then he talked about my dad, how he's still alive… Jack, he talked like he knows where my dad is…"

"Okay, but Murdoc's in prison, Mac. He can't get to us or your dad."

Mac continued like Jack hadn't even spoken, his voice growing louder with each admission. "He was threatening him, I knew he was, and this… this feeling of… I wanted him dead!"

Jack's voice took on a soothing tone. "We all want him dead, kiddo. There's nothin' new about that – "

"I lunged at him! I wrapped my hands around his neck... and I squeezed! So help me, I wanted to squeeze the life right out of him!" He held up his shaking hands, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else.

Jack was stunned. He'd never seen the kid like this before.

"It was recorded, Jack. If anyone sees that footage, I - " His voice was shuddering as much as his hands were now.

"Okay, just relax. We'll figure something out. I'm sure Riley can hack into prison security – "

"No! You can't tell anyone! Please! Riley, Bozer, they can't know!"

"They won't think any less of you," Jack began but then quickly backtracked when the panic in Mac's eyes increased. "All right, all right. I won't tell a soul, you have my word." At least that still meant something to the kid because he visibly calmed. "But what you gotta remember here is, you didn't kill him, man. The cockroach is still alive and well in solitary confinement."

"But I wanted to, Jack. God help me, I wanted to kill him, so badly!" His eyes filled and when one tear made it past his barriers, he swiped it away angrily.

"Okay, but it's over now, kiddo. I know it was tough but you did what you had to do to save lives. Okay?"

Mac's gaze returned to his hands, trembling so badly now, even Jack could tell from three feet away. He'd seen this kind of thing so many times in his fellow soldiers; heck, even in himself. No doubt about it. He stepped forward and clasped the kid's hands tightly in both of his, trying to absorb the shaking himself. The blond tried to pull away from the contact but Jack held fast.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Classic case of PTSD, brother." He gestured toward the bottle of rum sitting on the coffee table. "And you know as well as I do, alcohol is never a loyal friend. Sometimes it helps us forget, but more often than not it makes us our own worst enemy; our memory of events becomes too clear, our defenses are lowered."

A crooked smile took shape on Mac's face; he tried to chuckle but it came out more as a choked sob. "Is that why I feel so cold, too?"

Jack considered grabbing the thick comforter off the sofa but that would mean breaking contact with MacGyver. Besides, this place was like a sauna. The cold Mac was feeling was coming from the inside, and no amount of blankets in the world was going to help.

So, Jack did the only thing he could think to do. He used his grip on MacGyver's hands to pull him forward, wrapping his arms around the slender shoulders. Mac wriggled a bit to get free but his hands were trapped between them, leaving him with very little leverage.

Once again Jack was slipping past his walls of defense, and Mac fought it with all his might – even though he knew it was a losing battle. Finally, instead of fighting, he buried his face in Jack's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, allowing his friend to help keep him from shaking apart at the seams, while he concentrated on keeping at least the most important walls intact.

"Murdoc got under your skin, Mac. It's what he does. He wanted you to attack him, so that you'd doubt who you are. You can't let him win, man."

"But I almost – !" Mac started, voice muffled by Jack's shoulder.

"I don't care what you almost did, brother. What counts is what you didn't do, okay? You didn't kill Murdoc, Mac. That's what counts. We've all almost done things in life, things that we really wanted to do, and it takes a huge amount of strength to stop ourselves. You have that strength, Mac. You always have. Okay?" Silence. "Mac?" Only now realizing that the shaking had finally ceased, Jack pulled his head back a bit to get a better look and realized that MacGyver had fallen asleep; or passed out.

Either way, Jack's heart filled with a deep-seated fondness as he leaned down and scooped the kid up into his arms. He walked the short distance down the hall to Mac's bedroom and stretched the limp form out on the bed, then returned to the living room for the comforter, turning the thermostat down with one flick of the wrist.

After spreading the blanket overtop of his young friend, Jack scrubbed a hand down his face and plopped down on a nearby chair. Another crisis averted.

This kid had had to learn to bury his emotions from a young age. His mother, of course, couldn't be blamed for getting sick and dying – God rest her soul.

His father on the other hand… well, he was a totally different story. When Jack finally got his hands on that man, Murdoc might just be the least of the guy's worries.

THE END (until Part 3)

A/N Too much? Are you still wanting to read Part 3?