He was about halfway there when he felt someone behind him.  He quickly turned, and saw that he was face to face with one of the criminals.  This one seemed to have realized Mac had broken off from where Jack, Cage, and a few members of a TAC team were fighting, and came to deal with him.  

Mac took a split second to analyze the man, he was around the same height as he was, only an inch or two taller, but probably weighed fifty pounds more.  Whereas Mac was lean and slim, this man was built and brawny.  He knew his best bet would be to use speed and quick blows to beat this opponent.  Mac was just glad the man didn’t appear to be armed.

He shifted into a fighting stance as the man pulled back his fist, and easily dodged the punch, leaning out of the way.  Before the man could reset, Mac delivered three quick jabs to his lower stomach, causing him to stumble as he clutched his stomach. He recovered quickly though, and he seemed even angrier than before.

Mac glanced over to where Jack and Cage were fighting the remaining terrorists, hoping one of them would notice his plight, but they were both busy with their own problems.

Guess it’s just me. 

As the man approached, Mac started backing up, trying to buy as much time as possible to try and look for something to defend himself with.  He was very capable in hand to hand combat, but it didn’t hurt to have a little help.  Mac finally saw what looked like an old PVC pipe lying about ten feet away.

It was better than nothing, so he turned to walk towards it.  That shift of focus gave the terrorist the opportunity he needed.  As soon as Mac started to look towards the pipe, he sprinted towards the blonde.  

Mac turned around a second too late, the man had already barreled into his chest, sending him crashing to the floor.  He quickly rolled to avoid being pinned down, and soon he was back on his feet, once again facing the man.

He struck first this time, lashing out with his right fist, keeping his left one up to guard his face.  The man took a step back, but was not deterred.  He quickly struck back, sending three strikes in quick succession towards Mac’s abdomen.  Mac was able to dodge the first two, but the last one hit, and he found himself gasping for breath as the air was knocked out of him.

When he looked back up at the man, he was already charging forwards, towards Mac.  Mac could barely evade the next two blows that came at him, ducking away at the last second.  He tried to retaliate by striking out at the man’s legs, but his hits were blocked.  

They traded hits for a few seconds, each getting in a few good hits, before Mac saw a glint of something silver from under the man’s sleeve.  He didn’t have time to dwell on it as the man continued to lunge at him.  Mac was tiring quickly and wasn’t sure how long he could continue.  As he continued to fight, he slowly stopped throwing punches, and just started to focus on protecting himself.  

Eventually, a few well-placed jabs got past Mac’s guard.  One hit him on the cheek, causing a dark bruise to form and his lip to split, blood dribbling down his jaw, and another landed hard on his shoulder, causing pain to shoot through him as his bullet wound was irritated. 

While he was still reeling from those hits, Mac looked up towards the man, and he saw that he was smirking, his eyes glinting darkly.  Mac closed his eyes briefly as painful memories forced their way to the top of his mind.

A different criminal, a different place.

Dark eyes, glinting as he stared down at MacGyver.

A whistled tune, drifting through the air.

Mac mentally shook himself and reopened his eyes, and saw the man right in front of him, the smirk still on his face.  Mac wasn’t able to dodge the blow that came to the right side of his stomach.  He gasped again, and stumbled backwards.  When he looked up again, the man was chuckling quietly, and turned to walk away.

Creep.

Mac clutched his abdomen as pain continued to pulse from where it was hit.

Weird. He thought.  Why did this punch hurt so much more than the others? And why did he just leave like that?

Mac didn’t have time to dwell on it, he took one last look to make sure no one else planned on attacking him, and then continued with his original plan to build an explosive.  He had made it a few meters, still clutching his stomach, when he started to get dizzy.  Mac brushed it off as one too many hits to his head, and continued walking.  Once he had made it to the rack of cleaning supplies, he reached his hand in his pocket to retrieve his Swiss Army Knife.  He pulled it out, but before he could open the tool he needed, it slipped out of his hands.  He bent down to pick it up, and immediately his dizziness got one hundred times worse.  He picked it up off the ground...and almost dropped it again.  His hand was coated in blood, and so was the silver showing on the side of his knife.  He pulled his other hand away from his stomach and noticed in horror that it was the same. 

Oh, that’s why he left… Mac thought as he glanced towards his stomach, and all of the blood that was pouring out of what Mac now realized was a stab wound.  

The silver in his sleeve.  It wasn’t a watch or a bracelet, it was a knife.  That whole time, the man was just toying with him…

The realization dawned on Mac as he felt his legs start to wobble.  He was even dizzier now, and could no longer make out Jack and Cage’s forms.  He tried to put pressure on the wound, but the blood was still streaming steadily through his fingers.  

“Jack…” he called weakly, barely over a whisper.

Jack didn’t hear him.  No one did.  

“Ja…,” he tried one last time, but couldn’t finish as blood started to bubble up in his throat, and he coughed.  

He was clutching a nearby table now, blood flowing freely from the now uncovered wound, unable to support his weight as his vision became darker, black clouding out the edges.  Mac was conscious only by the sheer strength of his will and a rush of adrenaline from the fight. 

He was quickly running out of both.

He couldn’t save himself, and he had let his friends down.  He had had one responsibility, and he had failed.  He had failed. 

His friends could die, and it would be his fault.  

Tears were running down his face as his grip on the table finally failed.  He fell to the ground, toppling the table as he went, and landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor, his Swiss Army Knife falling out of his grasp and rolling a few inches, blood still dripping off of it.

I’m sorry, was the last thing Mac thought before the darkness claimed him, his eyes falling shut. 

....

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