Mac couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed, but every time he looked behind him, there was no one there. He even took turns down blocks that spit him back out where he started just to make sure he didn't have a tail. No tail.

Once he'd established he was alone, he parked the jeep in the public lot for the running trail. Instead of the necessary joggers and tennis shoes, Mac was wearing his work clothes, BDUs and a dark colored henley. He'd let himself slip lately, not wanting to run, only sparring and combat, and even that was only because he was forced to. He needed to build up his endurance again with a quick sprint up the mountain, in boots. Of course he was still in top shape, he just needed an excuse to get out. The last mission was uneventful, but left him unfulfilled. He'd missed the chase. He was in a funk and had not been able to shake it no matter what.

He pumped himself up for the run. To run like he was being chased. He let the adrenaline build on the drive there. Now it was time. Mac was pumped! He leaned into the back of the jeep for a Gatorade to take with him and turned around to land face to face with someone unexpected. Murdoc.

Before he had a chance to run away or even throw a punch, he felt the sting in the side of his neck and his muscles refused to cooperate. His last thought was how bold it was for Murdoc to do this in a public place. The last thing he saw was a lopsided smile of satisfaction creep up on his nemesis' lips.

He awoke to darkness...and motion. He was definitely moving, probably in a vehicle. Time to check assets. Hands, bound behind with...duct tape. Feet, secured to something unmoving, chair legs maybe. Trunk, immobile, very secure, not ropes, likely tape. He wiggled his hips to gauge his range of motion, non-existent. His thighs were definitely taped around the chair as well. Yes, definitely a chair, but he still felt the sensation of motion despite his senses being dulled with some kind of blindfold? No, too warm and kinda smelly, had to be a hood or bag. Why can't they ever just go old school and use burlap, at least he can see light through burlap. This was a fairly breathable thick cotton with a tight weave, and he was probably in the dark.

Attempting to open his mouth, he confirmed the presence of more duct tape. Was that really necessary? It stretched from ear to ear and was most definitely caught on a good bit of hair. The blatant overuse of one of his favorite multi purpose items was probably intentional because it was Murdoc. Irony, but what Jack would call "the Alanis Morissette kind" of irony. He was definitely still feeling the effects of the drug because he laughed out loud. Well, it was more of a snort, but he was amused nonetheless. The snort made his ears pop, but there was still a muffled feel, he swallowed to check again and then initiated a yawn to open them up. More popping, but still muffled. There was definitely something besides the hood, something stuck in his ears. Moving his jaw side to side he could feel whatever was stuffed in there move slightly as his ears popped again. He was on a plane!

Oh God, not a plane. Murdoc usually chose to do his cat and mouse shenanigans locally, but Murdoc had been scarce for a couple of years. He'd probably cooked up something very diabolical and sinister. Come to think of it, he'd not heard from his friends since the last mission. They didn't do the thing on the deck with the fire pit anymore, they all just went home. No he didn't run into anyone in the office that day either, had they been a part of Murdoc's plan? Did Murdoc take his friends too? At the thought of his team in danger, Mac struggled at his bindings. His fingers clumsily fumbled at the duct tape around his wrists in an attempt to free his hands.

"Nuh, uh, uh Angus. No picking at your restraints." Murdoc's voice was surprisingly clear through the various barriers dulling his senses, he was close enough and loud enough that he wanted Mac to hear him. Mac felt a sting on his neck again and tried futilely to fight it for a moment with a muffled scream and a struggle, but his chin dropped to his chest and he was out again.

Jack had lost two of his men the previous week to preventable errors and bad intel. They were getting tired. Two years on an unending manhunt and they were all too strung out to stay on top of their game. They'd used the same base camp for a while and made a name for themselves as mercenaries, respected and feared by civilians and military alike. The loss of their two soldiers was a painful one; and Jack's team took a week off to regroup and offered a bounty to some locals to retrieve the dick that gave them the bad Intel.

Around 3 am, there were two loud raps at the door. The locals must have found their man. Several of the team members say up in bed to assist. "Stand down. I got this one, guys" Jack announced with a hand out to wave them off.

The exhausted delta was now reinvigorated with vitriol and rage. He'd teared up that night finally handwriting the letter to send back home to be delivered to the families of his two lost brothers.

He looked out the window and peephole, then opened the door to the compound with his weapon drawn. No one was around to collect their bounty, they'd just left their prey duct taped to a chair like a gift wrapped offering.

Jack dragged the chair inside, slamming the door behind him. He righted the chair onto its 4 legs and stared down his hooded captive.

He noticed a piece of folded paper fastened to the prisoner's shirt with a paper clip. It was addressed specifically to him. Jack hadn't given his real name to anyone that wasn't part of his team. Jack was intrigued and a little fearful. He looked around the body for any kind of booby traps or bombs and found none. Nothing but an unconscious man taped to a wicker chair.

Timidly, he pulled the paper from under the clip and opened it.

"We had a deal, Jack. You keep our boy alive and functioning at his highest level so that I can, shall we say, challenge him. You've been seriously neglecting your end of our agreement. Absence is no excuse. A depressed and broody Angus is just no fun. Fix him so that we may resume our games. -XOXO Murdoc"

Puzzled, Jack took in the thin frame and what he could see of the familiar shirt and boots. "Mac?"

He pulled off the hood, static sending blond hair on end in every direction. Jack dropped to his knees in front of him, placed his hands on either side of Mac's neck and jaw, and lifted his head to see. It was definitely Mac.

Jack rubbed his thumb gently across Mac's cheek and over the duct tape. "Mac. Hey Mac, it's me." His voice was gentle, tearful. "I'm gonna pull off this duct tape, and it's probably gonna hurt, ok?" He still didn't get any response. Jack hissed in sympathetic pain as he ripped out several long hairs while trying to gently remove the tape with one hand and gingerly holding Mac's chin up with the other.

Figuring that wasn't the most expedient way to go, Jack tightened his grip and yanked the tape off. His reward was an annoyed groan from his partner. Jack apologized profusely, "I'm so sorry buddy." He swept the hair from Mac's forehead with one hand while cupping his cheek with the other. "Are you coming back to me?"

Mac huffed out of confusion and pain, cracking his eyelids and turning away from the offensive light in the room.

"Hey, hey, you're alright. I'm here. Jack's here."

Mac squinted and tried to focus on the scraggly bearded man in front of him. He wasn't convinced.

"It's me, I swear." Jack let go of Mac's face once he seemed to be holding his head up on his own. "Maybe a little dirtier and hairier than you remember, but still me. Skinnier too, I guess. I haven't even seen a pizza in a year, these stupid MREs can barely sustain the cockroaches."

"Jack?" Mac blinked slowly a few times, trying to shake the fuzziness out of his head. "Where are we?"

"Mac!" Jack encircled Mac's entire body in a hug. "I definitely wasn't expecting to see you here. Now lemme cut you loose." Jack pulled a large knife from a sheath attached to his pants pocket and strategically sliced through the layers of tape so that they could pull all of the adhesive away. Together they made quick work of the task and Jack offered Mac a hand up to guide him to the worn old couch the team had procured.

Jack piped up first, "Man, you are absolutely the last person I expected to see here."

"I could say the same about you." Mac added, voice still weaker than he'd wanted. "I definitely never would have guessed this was Murdoc's plan." Mac looked around the room, "did you get him?"

"No, he left you at the door like the FedEx guy. I didn't know it was you. I'm glad he left that note. I was about to go all gitmo on you in the interrogation room."

"Note?" Mac raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, like he dropped off a basket of puppies on someone's front doorstep."

"What did it say?"

"That you haven't been yourself and he's worried about you."

"Damn, that's a new twist."

"Well, what's going on? I haven't heard from you in a whole damn year. I thought you'd just forgotten about me and moved on. But if Crazypants McGhee is hand delivering you to me, there's got to be something up."

"I don't know...it's complicated."

"How does Murdoc know what's going on, but I don't? Hmm?"

"I honestly don't know. I mean lots of stuff has happened, but I mean, maybe I'm...I don't know. Unless Murdoc is watching me drinking at home alone in the dark…"

"Hoss," Jack cut him off, "what did I tell you about drinking alone?"

"I know, I know." He conceded in sing-song.

Jack scooted closer to Mac on the couch and put his arm across Mac's shoulder and pulled him close. "Well I'm here now. It's time to talk. Start from the beginning."