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mayfieldss · 5 months ago

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Explanations - Angus Macgyver

Content Warnings: Angus Macgyver x Fem!Civilian!Reader, mentions of suicide (pet related, i don't really know how to explain this), brief mention of cancer.

Synopsis: Mac vanishes for months on a mission, and when he gets back he's got some explaining to do.

He'd been gone for months. You hadn't heard from him since early January, where the last conversation had been new years resolutions, and bullshit promises. Bullshit because despite the way he'd held your hand when he made them, Mac hadn't followed through. He'd just fallen off the face of the earth, leaving you to wonder if all the time you'd spent on him meant anything at all.

So when he walked through the door in late April, it seemed like some sort of prank.

"What the fuck?" It was the first thing you could say after the seven minutes of silence that had graced the room upon his arrival. Closely followed by, "get the fuck out."

Mac knew it was coming. He's a smart man, and there was no way in hell he thought you'd let him come back without a fight. In truth so much had gone down at the Phoenix—at his top secret government job—that he didn't know where to begin in the grand scheme of explaining things. Because he couldn't explain without putting the entire corporation at risk.

So what was he to say? That he was sorry? That he had needed time to find himself? You'd see right through that bullshit and kick the shit out of him for such a pathetic excuse. And he would let you, if it came down to it. But you didn't want him to explain, didn't give him the chance.

"Get the fuck, out!" You repeat, a little louder. You can't find it in yourself to scream at him yet. You're still in shock. But you have enough sense not to go crawling back.

Mac shifts on the balls of his feet, and then takes a step toward the door. Honestly, as much as he hates it, there's no way to fix this.

"Hold on, wait, what the fuck?" He stops at your words, and a glance your way shows confusion riddling your features. "Since when do you fucking listen to me?"

Mac has to scoff at that, because no matter how many times you told him to 'be careful', 'not come home late', 'to feed the cat', he'd never once listened. Not for lack of trying, but he was always so busy, called into work at the most unfortunate times, for missions that could not wait the five minutes for the cat.

Speaking of, where was the cat? Mac had no clue. So he asks you, the first words he's said since he wandered into your home, other than "Hey."

"Where's Steve?" His brows are furrowed as he scans the place, and the black cat is nowhere to be seen. He doesn't know why his concern has shifted to such a trivial thing, maybe he's just nervous. Maybe he's buying himself time.

"Really?" You've got your arms folded, a protective stance, but there's a hint of humor on your still unbelieving face. When you sense he's serious, you give him an answer.

"He's dead, Mac. Got hit by a car a month back."

Mac let's out a harsh breath, uncomfortable in the wake of the news. He'd known that cat for 3 years, only half as long as he'd known you.

"I think it was suicide," you utter, "he couldn't understand why you left, thought it better to end it once he thought you weren't coming back."

Mac doesn't laugh at that. He knows the comment was made to simplify a way of bringing up what he'd done. How he had left.

"I'm sorry." He says, as if that means anything. He left you alone with no explanation, with the promise of moving in that he never kept, and a dead cat a few months later that you most likely buried on your own.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Steve. God rest his soul." You don't know why you're joking right now, but maybe you're using Steve as a buffer. A wall to keep between Mac and you so you don't have to directly face how he made you feel. For now, it's how Steve feels—would have felt.

"Sorry, Steve." Mac mumbles, somewhat to the ceiling as if conversing with cat and kitten heaven.

As the seconds go by, your feelings only grow. The more you look at Mac, the more you see how much he has changed. His hair is longer than when you last saw him, and he's wearing clothes you know are new. His skin is tanned, as if he's spent all these months at the beach, out enjoying the sun. You realize the length of time you spent waiting and wondering, the more you observe the changes in him. And fucking hell that makes you mad.

Still using the cat as a buffer, you speak again. "You know, if Steve were here right now he would like to know where the fuck you went. And why the fuck you went there, mind you." You can feel yourself begin to shake, but ignore it.

Mac doesn't know how to respond, both because he's under legal obligation not to tell you anything, and because why the hell are you still talking about the cat?

"I was...working." Mac says finally, as if that makes any sense. "I had to do a job no one else could, so I left. I had to." It's entirely true, but sounds like a lie.

Mac can tell you don't believe him. "Get out." You say for the third time in fifteen minutes. You've decided you can't deal with this—that you won't.

This time, Mac doesn't make a move to leave. He's in it now, one foot in a half-assed explanation, and one foot out of it.

"I swear to god, I'm telling the truth." There's a hint of urgency when he keeps talking, because he knows any moment you could use physical force to get him off your property. "I can call my boss, they can tell you that I couldn't, for legal reasons, deny this job." He doesn't even sound like himself, and you don't trust him anymore.

"You work at a think tank, Mac. Unless you thought up a cure for cancer, I don't see why it would matter all that much."

It's on the tip of his tongue. The truth. 'I'm a secret agent that half the government doesn't even know exists. I was on a deep undercover case, one that saved thousands of lives, and I'm begging you to believe me because you are all I have outside of this job that is bound to kill me if I give it the chance.'

But as much as he's loyal to you, he's loyal to the Phoenix. Though the more he thinks about it, you might just outrank the foundation. Because his heart is clawing it's way across the room to you despite the minefield.

Instead of collapsing on his knees, he tries again with words. "The think tank, works with other people sometimes, important ones." He's sounding more and more like a criminal by the second. "They needed our help, to save some people from a lot of pain. And I helped them. I had to, even if it meant leaving you behind."

"I'm gonna needs names, Macgyver. Proof. I can't just believe this bullshit at the drop of a hat. Because that's what it sounds like, by the way, Bullshit."

You want to believe him though. You really, really do. So badly that you consider your life if you just let all this go. But of course you're not that person. You've never let anything go in your life.

Mac lists off names you know, Bozer, Riley, Jack but that doesn't make you believe him any more. "They can vouch for me, I swear it." He's got this look about him, a dog desperate to be fed.

"They're in on it, aren't they? Whatever you did?" You just can't bring yourself to believe him. "If you call Riley, she'll tell me the same shit you're spouting, sure. Bozer and Jack too, but not because it's true." You take a step toward him, a tentative one. "You know, I knew you were lying to me long before you left. But I loved you so much I let it slide."

You had to put it out there, perhaps a vulnerable push, a sharp knife thrust toward him. And lucky for you, it cuts deep. He pauses, briefly and you can tell there's thought in the silence. He wants to tell you everything he's not saying, because he loved you too. Still does.

"I don't work for a think tank." He says finally, head hung low with a shake of his head. He's disappointed in himself, you can see it. "But I can't tell you what I do."

You're grateful for the crumbs of truth he sprinkles, but you need more if you're to take him back. If you're to even consider letting him gather the stuff of his that you haven't already burned.

"Drugdealer." You say matter of fact. Mac looks up, stunned, and then his eyes go wide.

"I'm not a fucking drug dealer!"

"Sureeee, big guy. And I'm Dolly Parton."

"I'm not—why are you turning this into something you know it isn't?" There's a hint of anger within him, and you revel in the real emotions you're provoking.

"Something I know? That's the point! I don't know anything about you!"

"You do know me!"

"You're a drug dealer!" You push the point again to push him. It works.

"I'm not, fuck, I'm one of the good guys!" He runs a hand over his face hard, pulling down the skin in frustration. He can't believe he's doing this, and he knows he's going to slip up in a matter of minutes. That's just how it's always been with the two of you, and honestly Mac doesn't know how'd he'd ever been able to keep this secret at all.

"Okay so like, a medicinal drug dealer." You're still fuming, more angry than you've ever been, but there's a sadistic smile limping onto your lips. A sick dog of a grin, that's pushing Mac's buttons so you can have all the answers.

"Not a drug dealer," Mac repeats, wracking his brain for a way to explain his side of things. In the end he's losing the fight unless he gives the dog a bone. "I work for the government."

You nod, tongue pressing against your cheek. "Okay,"

Now that, is infuriating. Mac can feel his heart beat rise tenfold, feel his hands shake with the whiplash of it all. "Okay? That's all you've got now?"

"What do you do for the government?" You don't know if he'll answer this one, he probably can't, but you're determined to make him.

Mac tries to be vague, but he's in a hole he dug himself, and every time he opens his mouth he goes down deeper. He doesn't know exactly who's burying him though. You, or the united states.

"I um...do undercover operations." What the fuck is he doing? This is breaching his contract, everything he's worked so hard to keep under wraps.

"So, I've been dating a spy?" You don't entirely believe him yet, but there's an inkling of you, perhaps ten percent, that does. You don't know what you're friends would say about this if they knew, your family. Your therapist even. They'd probably tell you to run for the hills.

"Sort of." Mac mutters, and he's beating himself up with every word. The world is coming down around him, and it might be easier just to die.

"Okay, James Bond. Prove it." You're smile is gone. Replaced by the determination of earlier. Mac sees the shift in an instant, and there is no way he's getting out of this. You've got him on a leash still, after all the time you spent apart, and it's humiliating. Mac pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Jack's number. He stands with lips pursed while it rings, feeling like the shit has been beaten out of him even though he hasn't yet been touched.

"What's up kid?" Jack's voice echos through the speaker, and you listen in intently.

"I told her." Mac says simply, no other way to word it coming to mind. Jack is silent on the other end, for a minute or so, which is longer than he's ever kept his mouth shut. Though Mac can bet it's actually hanging open right about now.

"You told who? Her as in your fucking girlfriend or her as in your mother?" His accent is thick the louder he talks.

"My mother is dead Jack, so who do you think?" It's a heavy sentence, and Mac sends a glance to you, that says 'why the hell are you this difficult?'

"You broke rule number one man! Matty is gonna have your ass for this. She's gonna tear you to shreds brother, you're so gone—"

"Jack," Mac cuts off his coworker, impatience lacing his tone. "I know. I'm done." Mac hates himself for this, he's anxious as it is, and Jack isn't helping. But you wanted proof, so here it is.

"How'd she get it out of you? You're a secret agent man, you're supposed to be indifferent to torture."

Mac raises an eyebrow at you. There it is. The proof. So help him if you still don't believe it.

"She got mad." What else is there to say. It's the truth of it, and he's already started being honest so why stop now?

"She got mad? Are you kidding me brother? Tell me you're lying."

"Her cat died." Mac adds, as if that makes any difference in the grand scheme of things. Jack is quiet again, but not for as long this time. A few seconds mostly, but the peace is appreciated.

"Mac," Jack's voice crackles over the phone as he exhales sharply. Jack wants to say he can't believe it, but he can. "Her cat dies, and all of a sudden you're breaking a thousand NDA's and pushing aside years worth of training?"

Now that it's said out loud, Mac can't help but cringe. It is pretty bad, all things considered, and it shouldn't have happened this way. At the very least Mac expected that if you found out if would have been due to some sort of hostage situation, or perhaps even Mac's own death. He didn't think it would come down to some half-assed accusations about substances and a cat.

"You still there?" Jack says once Mac doesn't respond for a little too long. Before Mac can say anything though, you're striding over to him, taking up his space sooner than expected.

"Hi, Jack." There's venom in your voice before you press the red button on Mac's phone, hanging up the call. You stand there in the silence with him, looking up at the same yet different man you used to know.

"Anything else i should know about?" There is something he can't decipher in your expression, and Mac is somewhat scared to find out what it means.

"No ma'am." It's not exactly true, he does have the past six years of 'work trips' to explain away to you, including the one that took away for so long, but something tells him those details aren't what you're asking for. At least not right now.

"Good." You say with a sort of finality to the word. You reach up then, with both hands and bring his head down toward you. Mac knows what's coming. The kiss he's waited nearly four months for. And it happens, unlike he thought it would, but there nonetheless. It's passionate, and messy, and his hands come down to touch you in an instant. The brief moment of contact is like long awaited storm after drought, and you both relish in every second, until you come to your senses. You pull back, head tilted to the side and lips plump from the kiss.

With a smile ever so sinister you pat his chest. "Now, get out." You kiss him on the cheek as a sort of punctuation—or punishment Mac isn't sure.

Then you walk away, back to the kitchen and all you had been doing before he'd stepped foot in your once shared place.

He deserves it, he knows that much, but for a moment there he really thought he had you back. He's forever been a puppet on your strings, and as he moves toward the door with an ever deepening frown, he knows he'll always be in love with you. You demonstrated why so effortlessly now. Mac will forever love something that seems impossible. You're a problem he's not sure he can solve anymore, because while he might have changed in his time away, so did you. He'll come back tomorrow to make another attempt, but for now he leaves the house, a grin of disbelief contorting his face.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!!

MACGYVER TAGLIST: @ash5monster01

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