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Her Christmas tree is beautiful. Dressed to the nines.
He’ll make sure not to ruin it.
Key scrapes in the lock.
His mouth twitches.
It’s showtime.
He’s been rather patient waiting for her to come home.
Lights come on, that’s his cue. His time to shine.
Lips pursed as he whistles.
“Mac?” Her Aussie twang echoes throughout the apartment.
A sharp thrill runs down his spine; it’s almost showtime.
He hears her footsteps come closer.
“Are you seriously trying to repeat what you did with Jack?”
He turns and starts walking towards her.
Her face starts to drop. “Mac?” Her voice shakes a little. “Murdoc.”
The gun is heavy in his hand.
“Ho ho ho.”
Two easy, rapid shots, a gasp for air, and she drops to the floor.
Her blonde hair is fanned out, almost angel like, wholly pathetic.
He kneels beside her, studying her.
She’s beautiful, even more so like this.
No wonder MacGyver is so fond of her.
Scissors lay beside her head, he quickly rids her of them.
“Last time I shot you, you were wearing a vest.” He says factually.
Her blood is dark red on her black gloves, he gently sweeps a thumb across his fingers, lingering on the texture and the slick of the glide.
“Not this time.”
She coughs, her eyes struggling.
A smile eases on to his face.
“I’m leave you to die now.”
As he walks away he can hear her grunts.
He glances back and for a moment watches her grasping for her phone.
He wishes her the best of luck.
Part of him wants to walk back over and finish the job.
But where’s the fun in that?
She deserves to suffer, he’s seen the looks she’s thrown.
Macguyver is his.
He’ll realise that soon.
They all will.
He leaves her apartment chuckling to himself; Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year.