Work Text:
The bell above the door jingles as MacGyver shoulders his way into the cramped bookstore, Murdoc a half-step behind him with that infuriatingly pleased smirk. December air clings to their coats—cold enough to redden Mac's knuckles, which he flexes absently while scanning the shelves.
"Pick something you think I'd hate," Murdoc says, already plucking a battered copy of Advanced Knotwork for Sailors off a display.
His gloves creak against the spine. Mac exhales through his nose. Past the cashier, a handwritten sign proclaims Holiday Blind Date With a Book! in looping cursive, wrapped titles stacked like gifts. He thumbs one free—The Care and Feeding of Stray Assassins, its cover swaddled in butcher paper—and feels Murdoc's chuckle against his shoulder blade.
Home is Murdoc's safehouse tonight, though safe feels generous given the knife block on the counter. Mac sinks into an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, knees bumping Murdoc's as he folds himself into its twin. The paperclips come next: a small tin pressed into his palm earlier, its contents spilling silver across the side table. He straightens one idly, twisting the wire into a tiny trebuchet between paragraphs.
Murdoc watches from over Knotwork, gaze tracking Mac's fingers. The firelight softens the crow's feet at his eyes when he smiles.
"Adorable," he whispers, turning a page.
Sleet ticks against the glass. Silence laps at them, warm as the whiskey abandoned on the floorboards between chairs. Mac's heel knocks against Murdoc's ankle, stays.