Commitment - CanterburyBelle - MacGyver (TV 1985) [Archive of Our Own] (2025)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The April sun shone red over the lake when Mack and his son Sam arrived at Pete's cabin near the Widowmaker. You can hardly tell it was rebuilt only last year, Mack thought, admiring the small split-log frame with its high-pitched roof. He silenced the engine of his classic Harley and began his end-of-trip routine: sunglasses into the case in his leather jacket, helmet off and dangling on the handlebars, gloves.

Beside him, Sam ruffed his brown hair free of the sweat-molded cap it had become after three hours under a helmet. It was almost a year since they'd set out traveling the country together, and Sam had grown a couple of inches, not quite reaching his father's six-foot-plus stature, but close. Barely twenty, the kid's easy posture betrayed a cocky self-confidence that reminded Mack of his own youth. At forty-two, Mack needed time to work the stiffness out of his lanky frame after a long road trip. He dismounted and stretched his back.

"I'm hungry," Sam said.

"Pete'll prob'ly have somethin'," Mack told him, unconcerned.

Sam squinted at the trees. "What happened here?" he asked, pointing at the fire damage on an old trunk. "Aren't these trees a little far from the cabin to have been damaged when it burned down? Nothing else here is touched."

"True," Mack answered.

"So?"

"Ask me again after dinner," he answered. He took his heavy saddlebags from the back of his bike. Sam fell in beside him as they walked the dirt path to the rustic door.

Sam glanced at him sidelong. "How did the cabin burn down?"

"Ask me after dinner," Mack repeated.

"Hmmpf."

Mack knocked before pulling open the door. The interior was lit by a cheery fire. Mack entered first.

"Mack! Just in time for dinner," Pete said, rising from a kitchen chair.

"Your instinct for food continues to amaze me," added a female voice.

"Nikki?" Mack asked, incredulous. "No way! It's been years!"

"Nikki was kind enough to drive me up here," Pete said. "She's been working for Phoenix the past six months. We were able to entice her back after your departure left a big hole in field operations."

"Pete bribed me up here with promises of quiet in the woods. He didn't warn me you'd be here."

MacGyver ignored the teasing barb, took both her shoulders, and kissed her cheek. She smiled. "Nikki, you look great. I missed you, y'know. After you left for that FBI gig..."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't all that great in the end, after all. I was glad when Pete called. You look great yourself. This must be Sam?"

Sam had hung back by the door, watching the fuss with a lopsided grin. "Yes, ma'am," he said, coming forward.

"Don't ma'am me, young man," Nikki said. "I'm not that old. Call me Nikki. Nikki Carpenter." She took his hand in a firm grip. She hadn't changed: brazen, confident, and never timid about speaking her mind. And just as lovely as he remembered, with her hair loose around her face, brushing her shoulders, her hazel eyes, the sardonic humor in her smile and wit.

"I'm glad you could come too, Sam," Pete said. "Make yourselves comfortable."

The table was already set; Mack helped Nikki to carry the food over.

"How's your trip been?" Pete asked. "Managed to stay out of trouble since last summer?"

"Mostly," Sam answered, laughing around his bread.

"Where 'mostly' probably means at least five separate close encounters with death, knowing your father," Nikki teased, brows raised at him.

"No comment," MacGyver answered. "Though I might remind you of your own track record, in that area."

"Let's see--I saved your hide from that German soldier, and there was that bomb in the mail truck--"

"I saved yours from that strangler. And your murderous boyfriend."

"Deborah. Murdoc. The bomb under the office chair."

"All right, all right. I didn't realize it was a competition." Mack laughed.

"Are they always like this?" Sam asked.

"Actually, they've mellowed quite a bit," Pete answered. "More than once I had to throw them out of my office."

"I was wondering about the burns on the trees out at the parking area," Sam said. "And how the cabin burned down. Dad said I needed to wait until I got here for the story."

"Oof," Nikki said. "That wacko Murdoc was responsible. Thinking about him is enough to put me off dinner."

MacGyver smirked. "See, Sam? That's a story for after dinner." Sam rolled his eyes.

"What was the trouble you got into last summer?" Nikki asked.

"We found a mercenary camp out in the boonies," Mack explained. "They were gettin' ready to hijack a nuclear warhead in transit to Wyoming."

"Dad knew the guy in charge," Sam said. "John Chandler."

"Like a bad penny," Pete said.

"Did you ever find out who put that price on my Dad's head?" Sam asked.

"No," Pete said. "Whoever it is, he's been really selective about who he talks to."

"You have a bounty on your head, Mack?" Nikki asked. "Pete, why didn't you tell me?"

"We've had intel working on it for almost a year," Pete told her.

"I'm hoping the bounty's expired," Mack told her. "I've made extra efforts to stay untraceable while we were on the road, just in case."

"That doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would just run out, someone wanting you dead."

"Actually, whoever it is wanted me alive. So maybe whatever they wanted me for has just resolved itself."

"Seems to me that would depend what they wanted you for," Nikki said.

"Well that I just can't know, can I?"

"You could continue being careful. You could go into hiding."

"C'mon, Nikki. I'm not going to alter my life because of some vague shadowy threat."

"Thousands of dollars of cold cash is not vague--not when someone's laid it out for your kidnapping."

"Almost a million, actually," Sam corrected quietly.

"What!"

Mack winced. He knew what Sam was trying to do--they'd had the same argument on the road. "Look, I don't want to argue about this. One attempt to shanghai me nine months back is not enough threat to keep me from home."

"We could set up surveillance," Pete said, repeating an offer he'd made over the phone more than once.

"I'm not going to be babysat, either," Mack said. "Look, could we talk about something else?"

"If you insist," Pete said. Sam shrugged. Nikki just looked at him, disapprovingly. He could tell she wasn't going to let it go for long.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Later that evening, after they'd cleaned up dinner and traded stories, Sam and Mack rolled out their sleeping bags under a stand of pine trees near the cabin. Fireflies lit the night with their morse code. The moon rode full over the lake, casting a glittering path across the almost-still surface. The Milky Way bridged the sky in a glowing arc. Silently Mack named the constellations as he had learned them long ago from his mother: Casseiopeia, Cepheus, Ursa Minor. The summer constellations still hugged the horizon, like old friends returning. He knew many of the star names, but wished he knew more. He resolved to get himself a guide book at their next stop in town. He smiled at the thought of packing more in his saddlebag. It was a running joke between him and Sam, now: whose bag was likely to overflow first. Maybe he'd just find the book he wanted at a library.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Why did Nikki leave Phoenix? The three of you seemed to dance around the issue all night."

MacGyver sighed. "I wish I knew. I got back from an overseas assignment one day and she'd already gone. Never even said good-bye."

"What about her other friends?"

"Other than Pete, I never really knew her other friends. She'd only been in LA six, eight months altogether. Lived in DC before that, all her life."

"She didn't have many friends in the area?"

"I don't really know."

"So you weren't close?"

Mack shifted uncomfortably. "I dunno about that. She's a very private person. She never talked about herself unless I asked directly." Or demanded, Mack thought. He hadn't found out about her former husband until he confronted her about it—and been a little nosy on the side.

"Like you," Sam snorted.

"I've been open with you," Mack protested.

"With me, sure, and with Pete; but not with any of your other friends we've met. I've watched you, remember? You're the master of the vague answer."

Mack lay back, flummoxed. "I've had a complicated life. It's hard to explain to people."

"I'm sure that's part of it," Sam replied.

"Meaning?" Mack asked, turning to face him.

"Come on, Dad, you know what I'm talking about. You and Mom parted ways because of it."

"Trouble with commitment."

"And the emotional closeness that comes with it. Like with Mike Forrester."

Mack lay back again, remembering. He'd told Sam that story, trying to explain why he felt a need to overcome his fear of commitment; why he still had such difficulty doing so. Here in the shadow of Widowmaker, where Mike had fallen to her death, he felt that need as an ache: Mike's ghost haunting him. He missed her.

"Nikki came here after Mike's death. She was trying to help me get over the pain."

"Is that why you were both here when Murdoc came?"

"Yeah."

"So you were close."

"We grew closer, after that. We went through a lot together. Before she left, I felt like I was starting to understand her, how she thought, how she worked; I think she felt the same about me."

"How did you feel when she left?"

Mack rolled to his side to face his son; studied the young man's face in the moonlight. Sam stared back, frank and curious. "Why all these questions about Nikki?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "I'm a journalist. I smell a story."

"Is that all?”

Sam shrugged once more.

Mack raised his brows, dubious. "I felt hurt," he answered finally. "I missed her."

"Pete said you fought a lot, at least when you first met."

"Yeah," Mack smiled. "Yeah, we did. We really got on each other's nerves."

"But you got to be close friends, anyway. You care about her."

"She's really an amazing woman, once you get to know her--she cares about people, and she cares about getting things right. And she's a really good field agent. I'd rely on her to get me out of any tight spot, and she called me more than once when she needed help. I guess I got used to her... more irritating qualities."

"Like?"

"Like she's really critical, and she doesn't mind telling you her opinion. And she's stubborn."

"Oh, that's nothing like you." Sam grinned, teasing.

"I am not that critical."

"You are when you feel strongly about something. And when the person is someone you care enough about."

Mack rolled his eyes; rolled to his back and pulled up the cover of his sleeping bag. He stared at the stars. He could sense Sam's amusement. "Am I really that critical?" he asked finally.

"Not often," Sam conceded, "and not without good cause."

Sam fell silent. Mack lay still, considering: were he and Nikki really so alike? He'd gotten himself kicked out of his young friend Lisa's house, once, for being critical of her parents--though he'd just been trying to help. Chuck Thompson, his childhood friend, had complained at him more than once for criticizing his decision to sell guns in his sporting goods shop. Nikki's criticisms had seemed to him more capricious, at least at first.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?" Mack grunted, surprised that Sam was still awake.

"Were you and Nikki ever lovers?"

Mack snorted. "Heck, no." He looked over at Sam. "Is that what you were trying to get at all this time?"

It was Sam's turn to look uncomfortable. "Maybe," he answered. "Partly. Don't you find her attractive?"

"Of course I do. I've just never been interested." Sam opened his mouth, but Mack forestalled him. "And neither has she."

"Are you sure about that?" Sam asked.

"Yes," said Mack decidedly. Sam smirked at him. Exasperated, Mack slugged him with his pillow. Sam laughed. Mack felt a surge of affection for the nosy kid. "Go to sleep, would you? The sun’ll have us up early tomorrow."

"I don't intend to let that keep me from sleeping in." Sam settled in and closed his eyes. "G'night."

"Good night," Mack said. He turned to stare at the stars once more. Sleep was far from reach. He thought, since when have I ever been sure of anything, when it comes to Nikki?

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Nikki woke to dawn light and silence broken only by birds. Mesmerized by the rosy color outside the loft window, she dressed quickly and slipped down the ladder. She took a bagel from the counter, grabbed her hiking shoes with her other hand, and padded barefoot out the back door and down the ramp to the dock, admiring the view.

"Good morning," MacGyver greeted her quietly, startling her. She hadn't seen him, half-hidden as he was, sitting with his back to the dory that was resting, upside-down, upon the dock beside her. His long legs stretched out in front of him, his hands in his pockets: his position reminded her of the day she'd found him here, depressed and listless, after Mike's death.

"You're up early," Nikki said. She sat down beside him to pull on her shoes. "I thought you liked to sleep in."

"Had trouble sleeping last night," he answered, staring out at the lake.

"I'm sorry," Nikki said. "Maybe you should try the couch--"

"I was comfortable enough," Mack interrupted her. "Just had a lot on my mind."

"Want to talk about it?" She glanced at his face, quiet and sad. She'd forgotten how expressive his eyes were. She turned back to tying her shoes, hair falling around her face.

He didn't answer for so long she began to think he wouldn't. Finished with her shoes, she leaned back, brushed her hair back with her fingers, and picked up the bagel and napkin from the dock beside her.

"I was remembering Mike," he told her, still gazing across the water.

When he didn't continue, she broke her bagel in half. "Breakfast?" she asked him.

He looked down and smiled faintly, taking the half she offered. "You always were practical," he said.

"Tell me about Mike."

He ate slowly, silently. She waited, getting a feel for his mood, watching the changing sky.

"She was Jack's friend, first," he said finally. "They dated for a short while, but that didn't go anywhere. She told him she wanted to be friends. But I don't think Jack ever stopped loving her. That was part of the problem, right there." He stopped, staring, and she followed his gaze. An enormous bird glided over the water.

"Golden eagle," Mack said quietly. "There's another, there--" he pointed, and she saw it, gliding up, and up, rising beside the rocky crags of the mountainside to the north. "That'll be the male," he told her.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"This one's female," he answered. "She'll only share her territory with her mate. Or a potential mate..."

Nikki watched, enthralled, as the great raptor, her feathers luminous in the growing intensity of light, circled the lake, rising. Finally she flew north, toward where the male had gone.

"After I finished my tour in the military," Mack continued, "I wanted to do something different. Jack proposed some expedition, I forget what, and I went along with it--more for the adventure than for whatever Jack thought we'd get out of it. Buried Aztec gold, I think. Mike came with us. She'd just graduated, and she wanted to study South Amerian ecology. There we were--two twenty-five-year-old guys, and a twenty-two-year-old girl. I can't tell you how many scrapes we got into, the next few years."

"Years? You spent all that time traveling?"

"Two and a half years," Mack confirmed. "We circled the globe. Well, it was more of a meander. We had to stop and work, sometimes, to pay our way."

"I imagine you would!"

"We weren't too choosy about work, food, or lodgings," Mack said. "I had my military pay, and occasionally one of Jack's schemes would pay off in a small way. And I won some money on the European racing circuit. Mike made sure we stayed solvent. She had a talent for keeping Jack in line—as much as anyone could. Jack could hardly go a week without getting all three of us into hot water."

"And you?"

Mack smiled, embarrassed. "We found I had a talent for getting us all out of trouble. So we could do it all over again..." His voice trailed off. "I want to hike to the top of Widowmaker this morning. Want to come?" he asked suddenly, looking at her directly for the first time since she'd joined him.

"Sure," Nikki answered, startled as always by the sudden change in his mood. "I'll grab some water."

"And trail mix--I'm still hungry," Mack smiled at her, direct and open. Nikki quickly turned away, to the kitchen. Something about that smile was a little too painful to see. He's known death and guilt as I have, Nikki thought. It shows.

Pete was just waking up when they entered the cabin. Nikki grabbed water bottles, two apples, and a handful of granola bars. Mack picked up a small shoulder bag. He held it open for Nikki to stuff before slipping it over his head.

"Nikki and I are headed up the mountain, Pete," Mack said. "We'll be back in a few hours. Sam's still sleeping."

"Alright, MacGyver," Pete answered. "Have a good walk. I'm gonna do a little fishing off the dock, myself."

"See you soon, Pete," Nikki said.

Mack and Nikki headed up the trail. The woods were quiet and still, their footsteps breaking the silence with soft whumps and the crackle of twigs. Nikki breathed deeply. After Los Angeles smog, the mountain air was a taste of heaven.

"So you and Jack and Mike traveled together for a couple of years, getting into trouble," Nikki prodded. "Why was it a problem that Jack still loved Mike?" The flippant answer Nikki expected didn't come. She waited. Mack had never been open about his past with her before; getting him to talk about himself had been difficult at best. She half expected that the window of opportunity she'd found open that morning was now closed. He surprised her.

"Mike was in love with me," he answered finally, softly.

Nikki stopped and stared. Mack walked on a few more steps. He turned halfway toward her and half-sat, half-leaned against a boulder, looking at the ground. Nikki walked up to him. "But you didn't love her?"

His silence was telling, Nikki thought.

"I told myself, and her, that I only wanted to be friends," Mack answered.

"Because Jack loved her."

"That was one reason."

"Was it the truth?"

Mack crossed his arms, hugging himself. "I told myself it was the truth. I never questioned that, up until the day she died."

"Oh, Mack," Nikki said, "don't second-guess yourself that way. No good can come of it."

"Can't it? Maybe there's a lesson I still need to learn—before I hurt anyone else."

"You still blame yourself, don't you?" she asked. "Mike's equipment failed. Her death wasn't your fault."

"She fell," he said, "and I had something to do with that."

"You can't know why she fell," Nikki protested.

"She was crying," Mack answered. "I knew she was crying. I knew she shouldn't be climbing when she was so upset. I should have stopped her. But I didn't. I was afraid to act, afraid to take the next step, to face her..." His voice trailed off to a whisper.

Nikki put her hands on his shoulders. He rested his head on her shoulder. She held him that way for several minutes, feeling the tension in him slowly draining. "Let it go, Mack," she told him. "Let it go."

"How about you?" he asked finally. "Have you let it go? Your guilt over Adam' death?"

Nikki closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She withdrew. "I try."

She opened her eyes to see Mack gazing frankly at her. The sorrow in his face pierced her. She looked away. He touched her arm.

"We should keep climbing," she told him. "Pete and Sam will wonder what's keeping us."

They climbed on. Nikki breathed in the fragrant bay, the spruce, and heard a wood thrush call. Somehow the loveliness of the morning was almost more than she could bear. Color, scent, music, light: she wanted to drink in the beauty. At the same time she wanted to retreat. She felt raw; exposed. What is wrong with me? She wondered.

"Why did you leave Phoenix five years ago?" Mack asked her.

"I don't know," Nikki answered, surprising herself. "I thought I wanted a change, I guess."

"A change of what?"

Nikki focused on climbing. The trail was growing steep; she needed to watch her footing. Why did Mack want to know, anyway? She pulled herself up a fissure in a large boulder, but her foot slipped; she slid down its face. Mack caught her around the waist.

"Careful," he said, hugging her from behind.

For a moment she rested against him. He was warm, his scent mild and pleasant: soap and sweat. She pushed from his grasp. "I can do it," she told him. He let her go. Suddenly she wished she had not agreed to this climb. That she'd stayed in bed this morning. Better yet, that she'd stayed home--let someone else drive Pete to the mountains.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Nothing's wrong," she snapped. She pulled herself up the boulder like it was a personal challenge to her dignity and independence. Mack waited until she reached the top before climbing after her. They hiked on in silence. The sun lit the spring green of the trees to shades of emerald; sparkled, dazzling, on the dancing water of the mountain stream the trail had found. They caught glimpses, through the trees, of the valley spread below them.

"Sam would love this hike," Mack said. At her questioning look, he explained, "he's a professional photographer. Usually he does investigative reporting, but he also enjoys nature photography."

"You and Sam have been getting on well since you met?"

"We have," Mack told her. "I've really enjoyed traveling with him this year."

"He's worried about you," Nikki said.

"I know," Mack answered.

"But you won't take steps--even easy steps--to protect yourself."

"I don't think it's necessary."

"Sam does. What's wrong with letting Pete set up surveillance? Or finding somewhere else to lay low for a while?"

"Until when? The rest of my life? I don't think we're ever going to find out what that bounty was all about."

"It doesn't have to be forever. If you let Pete put a team together, maybe we could flush out--"

"If there's anyone even looking for me anymore."

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" she challenged him.

"I just don't see--"

"Why don't you think of someone besides yourself, for a change? Why don't you think of Sam?"

"Why are you so angry?"

"Too stubborn to change, too proud to accept help. You haven't changed at all, Mack."

"Nikki--" Mack began, exasperated.

"Someone's got to think of the people who care about you. You seem to think no one would care if you live or die."

"Look who's talking! You left five years ago without a word or a warning. You think I didn't care?"

Nikki stopped, face flushing hot. She turned away so Mack wouldn't see.

"Why, Nikki?" he whispered harshly. "I need to know."

"Why? I'm not your kid or your lover," Nikki said bitterly.

"Why does that matter?" he asked, coming up behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders; brushed the hair back from one side.

Nikki wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "I'm cold," she said. "We should keep moving."

Gently, he pulled her closer, warm against her back. "Why does it matter, Nikki?"

"Maybe it doesn't, to you. You're good at loving and leaving."

He stiffened, and his arms fell. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She stepped away from him. "Think about it. How many more Sam's could be out there? Could you even answer that question if you tried?"

Silence answered her. She didn't turn around.

"Nikki, that's not fair.” She could tell she’d wounded him.

Nikki pursed her lips and continued up the trail, leaving him behind. A minute later she heard him following. She didn't look back. She struggled over and around the next few boulders, but he didn't offer any more help. The magic of the morning was gone.

Why won't he go back? she wondered. Then, as they continued on, unspeaking, she began to wonder: Why did I pick that fight with him?

He's right, of course. I'm not being fair.

He trusted me, and I slapped him down.

Nikki's face burned with the shame of it. The last thing she wanted was to apologize. It would be easier to walk back to the cabin, drive home, and never see him again. She slowed, knowing she really didn't have an option. He passed her, entering the clearing at Widowmaker's peak, hands in his pockets, not looking at her. She followed.

She reached the last trees and stopped short. A helicopter sat on the bare rock ahead, silhouetted against the rising sun. She could just make out a gold disk on a blue field, painted on the tail. Two men stood nearby, talking.

Mack stopped also, and went to stand at cliff's edge, facing the view. His stiff posture and bent head told her he wanted to be left alone. Nikki leaned against a tree. She knew she'd have to pluck up the courage to approach him, anyway.

Then she felt a sting at her neck. She slapped at it. She felt suddenly dizzy. She fell to her knees.

"MacGyver--" she whispered. The world receded and went dark.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Mack stood above the cliff. He stared blindly at the valley spread below. Nikki's words stung, but he had to admit their truth. Though he'd never intended to hurt any of his lovers, he'd never made sure of them either. He'd assumed... Susan had once told him the same, when he'd expressed a wish to continue their relationship. That he flitted from one thing to another, and expected the women in his life to remain unchanged. And Mike--"all those women, and you've never learned." She'd been right about that, about him, about so many things.

"Gorgeous view, isn't it?" It was one of the men from the chopper. He hadn't noticed them approach.

"Yeah," Mack agreed listlessly.

"I hope you enjoyed your hike," said the other man. He pulled a gun from beneath his coat and pointed it at MacGyver.

That got Mack’s attention. "What's going on?"

"Just a bit of profit, Mr. MacGyver," the first man answered. He, too, now held a gun. "Do what we tell you, and you won't get hurt. If you would?" The man gestured toward the chopper.

Grimacing, Mack moved. He tried to be unobtrusive about scanning the tree line. Where was Nikki?

"It's that bounty you're after, isn't it?" he asked.

"You got it," answered the second man. "You should've listened to your girlfriend last night."

"Speaking of whom," said the first man, "you can stop looking for her. Our associate just knocked her out."

"You didn't--" Mack started angrily.

The first man waved his gun menacingly. "She'll wake up in a few hours, with nothing more serious than a headache to worry about. So keep moving."

Mack hesitated.

The first man lifted a two-way. "Hank, wave for our guest."

Looking to the forest, Mack saw a man step from behind a tree and wave.

"Let him know how his pretty friend is doing."

"Sleeping peacefully, J-man. Never knew what hit her."

"See?" said the second man.

"She'll be fine," said the first, "so long as you behave. So make this easy for us."

Still concerned for Nikki, Mack did as he was told. The first man climbed into the pilot's seat of the chopper. The second took Mack's arm. "Strap yourself into the center rear seat." Mack climbed in and put on the lap belt.

"Drop the bag," the pilot instructed Mack, still pointing a gun at him. "Now put both hands on the bars over your head." The second man stowed his gun in his jacket, and secured Mack to the grab bars with handcuffs. He took the bag—Mack and Nikki’s trail breakfast—and threw it out the far door. It sailed down the cliff face.

"All right, Hank," the pilot said into his 2-way. "Time to go."

"What about Nikki?" Mack asked.

"Your kid will come looking for her soon enough," answered the second man.

A man dressed in camouflage ran up and climbed in on Mack's other side while Jared started the engines. In moments they'd lifted away. Mack looked down, out the windows, as they left the cliff and turned. There was the lake. He couldn't see Pete's cabin. Sam might still be sleeping under the tree. How long until they grew worried enough to come looking?

----------

Sam sat at the table opposite Pete, his lunch barely touched in front of him. It was a late lunch: he and Pete had delayed, waiting for Mack and Nikki to return. They'd left at dawn. They'd been gone nearly seven hours. What had seemed amusingly late three hours ago now had Sam downright worried.

"How long did Dad say they'd be gone?" Sam asked again.

"Not this long," Pete said. An hour ago he'd still been reassuring Sam. Now he was clearly uneasy himself.

"I'm going to look for them," Sam said, finally decided. He took his jacket and daypack from the hook beside the door.

"If you're not back by four," Pete told him, "I'll call out Search and Rescue."

"Right," Sam agreed. If one of them was hurt on the mountain, and Sam couldn't get them down, they'd be grateful for the help. Thinking again, he packed the first aid kit and two more water bottles. Then he was out the door.

He'd never taken this trail before, but Pete had described it to him while they were waiting for his father and Nikki to return. It was easy to find and follow. The sun was high, and Sam was soon warm enough that he pulled off his jacket and tied it around his waist. The lonely silence of the woods was eerie. He hurried on, scanning the trees on either side and the trail ahead. Every few minutes he called out. "Dad? Nikki?"

The trail passed near a stream. Sam slowed, searching the wet mud for clues. There: the prints of boots, heading up the trail. One set larger than his, the other smaller. Though he spent several more minutes looking, Sam could find no other recent prints heading up or down. He hurried on, searching. Why did this trail seem so familiar? He was certain he'd never been here before... His feet found their own chant: lost, lost, now they're lost...

The trees thinned, bare rock becoming more common. He caught glimpses of the valley below. "Dad? Nikki?" He called again, slowing. There was not much more of the trail left to search. Finally he emerged onto the peak. "Dad?"

"Sam! Over here!"

Sam ran towards Nikki's voice. He soon saw her, standing with her arms around a gnarled western oak.

"Where's my Dad?" he asked, approaching.

"They must have taken him, Sam. I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do."

Sam's heart dropped. He saw, now, that Nikki's eyes were red. Her arms were scratched, too; her hair and jacket dusted with bits of bark and twigs. "Do you know how to pick the locks on these cuffs?"

Sam shook his head, then again, clearing his head. "Dad's been teaching me, but I'm not so good at it yet. I can try. They left you tied here?" He examined her wrists, fastened together with steel handcuffs. Her wrists showed the evidence of hours of escape attempts: they were scratched raw.

"Never mind," she said. "If you've got some tools for it, I can do it myself."

"Here," Sam said, taking out his pocket knife. He opened the flathead screwdriver, pulled out the pick, and put them in her hand.

"Thanks," she said. She shook out her arms. Then two twists and a click, and one cuff fell open. She slid to the ground, chafing her arms and wrists, and unlocked the second cuff. She sat there, rubbing her shoulders.

"Tell me what happened," Sam said.

Nikki was silent for a moment. Then, "when we reached the top, there was a chopper sitting here in the clearing. It looked like the pilot was working on it. Your dad went out to the cliff. I was standing by the trail there--I think I was hit with a tranquilizer dart. I woke up three, maybe four hours ago, cuffed to this tree. Your father was gone."

"Are you sure he's not... cuffed somewhere else?"

"I've been calling for hours, now. No one's answered."

"Bounty hunters?" Sam asked.

"That's my guess."

Sam walked to the cliff, searching the ground. He peered over the edge. "Dad?" he called. No one answered. He found imprints in the packed dirt, where the chopper must have landed, but no other clear tracks, and no sign of a scuffle. Nikki came up behind him.

She pointed down. “That’s the bag we brought.”

Sam spotted a brown canvas bag, lying on a ledge. His breath caught. “You don’t think—“

“No,” she interjected. “He was wearing it. They must have taken it from him and thrown it down there.”

"Damn," Sam cursed quietly. "How did they find him?"

"They've got to have a bug in Pete's cabin," Nikki said. "How else would they know we were climbing the mountain this morning?"

"But how did they know we'd be here?" Sam said. "We always called from pay phones, and Dad and Pete never mentioned any dates or names of places..."

"So they bugged Pete's phone, and heard enough to figure out you'd be meeting him here. It's no secret Pete owns this place."

"How long has it been?" Sam asked, defeated.

"Since about seven this morning..."

"And it's two o'clock now. Seven hours, eight by the time we reach the cabin. They could be anywhere by now."

"I saw some of the symbols on the chopper," Nikki offered. "If we start back now..."

"Yeah, let's get moving. Here--" he handed Nikki a water bottle, which she accepted gratefully. She drank deeply. They started down the trail.

"We'll get him back, Sam."

"I just hope we find him before anything happens--"

"Yeah."

They hiked the rest of the way in silence.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Jack Dalton lounged in the airport--well--lounge. Not too bad for a little hole-in-the-wall joint, he thought. My kind of place. The walls were hung with old gambling memorabilia; the lights dim; the sun had set an hour before. Jack relaxed, nursing a cold beer, doing what he did best: waiting for a break. The hard part, of course, was making the breaks pay off.

Yesterday he'd had a job flying copilot to Peru on a cargo run. Not his style, but it would’ve paid off in cash. He'd flown from LA to Vegas, in a battered but functional behemoth. The pilot wasn't much of a talker, but Jack more than made up for that. Then he'd discovered the promised cargo wasn't just American goods headed south: the return trip would involve some nasty addictive-type stuff. Jack had signed off then and there, no hard feelings, he just wasn't into that racket. Of course the pilot hadn't seen it that way. Jack stowed away in a cargo truck and made it out of town. At least he'd found an airport. Nothing else here but dust. Now he was looking for a slightly more respectable job to fall in his lap, so he could make some money and head home.

At the next table, another pilot was taking his poor luck with rather less aplomb. He was deep in his cups. Jack didn't envy him the hangover he would have next morning. Not that he was averse to a good stiff drink, now and then, of course.

A tall man, dark hair, approached the drunkard.

"Flanders, you idiot!"

"Have a dring... a dring... Jared."

"I came to tell you we leave in twenty minutes. This is your idea of 'ready and waiting'?"

"Jus... jus need some coffee, Jared."

"You need a lot more than coffee. I'm not taking a drunkard on a nonstop cargo run to Eastern Europe. I need a copilot, not a stinking snoring lush."

"I kin sleep it off, Jared, on the plane."

"Not in time to be any use to me."

"Excuse me, sir," Jack interjected. "I'm a licensed pilot, between jobs. I can spell you on a cargo run. Provided the compensation is acceptable, of course."

"One thousand, in cash. Good enough for you?"

"Sure, that sounds--" Jack began.

"Let's see your license," the man demanded. Jack fished it out of his wallet. Jared glanced at it, then nodded. "Jared Somerset," he introduced himself, sticking out his hand.

"Jack Dalton. Listen, I really appreciate--"

"Can you be ready in fifteen?"

"Of course. I can be ready now," Jack answered. He pulled on his pilot's hat and shouldered his bag.

"Come on, then," Jared said. Jack followed him out of the bar.

"What's the cargo?" Jack asked, as they walked towards one of the larger hangars.

"One exotic snake bound for a rich man's mansion."

"Snake? A snake?" Jack was incredulous.

"From Vegas to the Balkans. Except I can't afford berthing in Vegas. One snake, and a hold full of other goods to make the trip more lucrative. Plus a couple of buddies to help me unload and sell it."

"Sounds like a sweet deal."

"It's an income."

"I hear ya, man. I'm just glad to be flying again."

They entered the hangar. A battered cargo plane was being loaded by two burly men in jeans.

"There's my bird," said Jared proudly. "You'd better be good to her, or I'll have your hide."

"Oh, don't worry," Jack said. "I'll treat her like a lover."

"I hope you're good to your lovers," Jared laughed.

"Always," Jack answered, affecting a wounded tone.

----------

Nikki sat with Pete and Sam in Pete's office at Phoenix, at the computer, reading through yet another report in Mack's personal file. She added the name of a Bulgarian ex-general to the pad beside her. Yet another enemy Mack had made in his long years as a field agent: another enemy who might have access to the kinds of funds that had been offered for Mack's capture. Nikki rubbed her eyes, stifled a yawn, and took another sip of now-tepid coffee.

"You're sure that's it?" Pete asked, phone to his ear. "But no one can tell you about the men who used it?" Pause. "Yes, I realize it's one in the morning," Pete sighed. "Tell the owner I appreciate that he allowed you unfettered access to the premises." Pause. "All right, Tim, get some sleep. I'll talk to you again tomorrow." Pete hung up.

"They found the chopper?" Sam asked, leaning over the table where they'd spread maps of the region. More hung on the wall behind him.

"They did," Pete confirmed. "Tim is certain this is the one. It has gummy residue all over the surface from large decals that were appplied and then removed sometime today."

Nikki sighed. They'd lost valuable time that afternoon searching for a chopper that didn't exist. The markings that Nikki had seen and described to the police turned out to have been faked. The markings matched a local tour company, but all its choppers could be accounted for. They'd searched the records, logs, and facilities of that company for hours before realizing that the markings could have been forged.

"They were planning this for weeks," Sam groaned. He put his head in his hands.

"Maybe we can trace them by the decals," Pete offered. "They were probably special-ordered."

"We can analyze the glue," Sam said. "It's possible that's unique enough to be traceable."

"Tim took samples," Pete confirmed. "We can have them analyzed tomorrow."

Nikki yawned again, then clicked through to a report on the Bulgarian general--especially his whereabouts and connections.

"Nikki, you've been up since dawn," Pete said. "You spent half the day tied to a tree. Go get some rest. Mack's file will be here in the morning." He hadn't pointed out that Phoenix intelligence experts had already combed through this data, for which Nikki was grateful. She felt a need to review it herself.

"I can't get over how long and complex Mack's history is," Nikki said. "There's got to be some inaccuracies in here. And so much of the information on the people he went up against is just incomplete."

"I know, Nikki."

"Intel's already been through the most obvious connections. It's got to be something that's not obvious."

"Well," Pete sighed, "we know it's someone with a connection to John Chandler."

"Too bad Chandler's dead," Sam added. He'd explained to Nikki earlier how Chandler had made the first attempt to capture the bounty offered for Mack--and failed.

"Get some sleep, Nikki," Pete repeated. "You can look through the data with fresh eyes tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I intend to be out looking for leads," Nikki objected.

"Not on zero sleep, you won't be. That's a recipe for disaster."

Nikki put her head in her hands. She was tired. But she felt driven. Since the kidnapping, she'd felt a desperate need to find Mack. Regret was bitter on her tongue. If she hadn't let her anger run away with her--if she hadn't upset Mack--they might have seen the bounty hunters coming.

"Nikki, are you all right?" Sam asked softly.

"Just tired," she said.

"Go to sleep, Nikki," Pete insisted. "Use the couch in the women's room, if you must."

"All right," Nikki conceded. "I'll do that." At least there, she'd have a hard wake-up call at the start of work in the morning. She stood and shouldered her pack, swaying.

"I'll help you carry it," Sam offered.

"No," Nikki objected. "I can manage." She could see questions in the young man's eyes--questions she wasn't prepared to answer. She left without a backward glance.

----------

The sun was still low on the horizon when Sam and Pete returned to Phoenix. The security guard at the front desk had no news to report. Sam gave Pete his arm on their way to the elevators. The building was hushed--empty of the characteristic daytime bustle.

"Thanks for driving me home and back, Sam."

"I was happy to, Mr. Thornton. Thanks for letting me sleep in your guest room."

Pete smiled. "You remind me of your father when I first met him. Such an earnest young man."

Sam glanced at Pete's sightless blue eyes. He felt a wave of melancholy. "How did you meet him?" He'd heard the story from his father, of course, but suddenly he wanted to hear it from Pete. They exited the elevator together.

"Your father was twenty-four when I first met him, but that hardly counts: I never knew his name, or got a good look at his face." Pete opened the door to his office and stepped inside. "No, our first proper meeting was three years later, in L.A., after he'd left the military for good. He was a kid in high-tops and ripped jeans driving a cab for his friend--even then Jack Dalton took shameless advantage of him. For a while I hardly saw beyond that casual, good-natured surface."

"Neither did I, when we met," came Nikki's voice. "Though what I saw was a reckless playboy." Nikki sat behind the computer again. She'd changed clothes, and her hair was damp, but otherwise she might have spent the night there.

"Please tell me you got some sleep, Nikki," Pete said, echoing Sam's thoughts.

"At least as much as you did," Nikki answered. "So can we get a flight to this helicopter touring company, or do we need to drive?"

The phone rang. Pete answered. "Hello?" he paused, then brightened. "Good news! Give the owner my thanks. Tell him we'll be happy to pay his rental expenses. Oh, is he? Even better. All right, Tim. Talk to you soon." Pete hooked the phone on its cradle. "The owner of the touring company, a Mr. Chavez, is flying Jenny here himself, in the chopper that was used by the kidnappers. Jenny's bringing pictures and records. She's Tim's partner," Pete added for Sam's benefit. "They'll be here in about an hour."

"What about Tim?" Nikki asked.

"He's staying to ask more questions of the employees when they arrive."

"I was going to do that," Nikki said.

"You can interview the owner," Pete said. "He met the pilot personally; spent some time with him."

Nikki put her head in her hands.

"Nikki, what's up? Tim is a competent investigator. You know that."

"You're right, Pete. I'm just..." She didn't finish, instead turning back to the computer.

Pete raised his brows.

"Mr. Thornton," Sam said, "before Jenny and Mr. Chavez take off, can they have the fuel tank checked?"

"Tim said the chopper was refueled, per the contract, when it was returned. They're bringing the records from the fueling station, so they know how much fuel was used."

"They should also drain the tank and check the fuel composition before they head out, and bring a sample from their own fuel station."

"What are you thinking?" Nikki asked.

Sam walked to the map of Widowmaker Peak and the surrounding areas pinned to Pete's wall. Last night he'd marked the hangar where Tim had found the chopper with a red pin. "They would have had to land somewhere other than the hangar or the mountain to apply those decals. They probably landed again in the same place on the way back to take them off, and to move Dad."

"Aren't the refueling records sufficient to tell us how much fuel they used, against how much they should have used?" Pete asked.

"So we can calculate how far off the direct route they would have flown," Nikki added.

"And we can have an idea where to look for that site," Sam finished. "But if they also refueled at their stop--"

"Then our calculations would be off--maybe way off," Nikki said.

"If they did refuel, then the new fuel will be at least slightly different in composition from that at the touring company," Sam explained. "By analyzing the contents of the tank, we can see if there is another kind of fuel in there, and also the proportion of different kinds of fuel, so we can again calculate the distance, based on the assumption of either one or two refueling stops."

"Good thinking, Sam," Pete said. He picked up the phone. "Helen, can you get Tim back on the line?"

"If they refueled twice, won't that complicate things?" Nikki asked Sam.

"The times they left and returned to the hangar will provide additional clues," Sam answered. "Let's see what the records say." With any luck, he thought, my hunch will pan out. Luck...

Nikki rubbed her eyes, then looked at the clock. "Twenty four hours," she sighed.

"Since Dad was taken, you mean?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. The guys on missing persons detail at the FBI used to say..." she stopped.

"Used to say what?" Sam prompted.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

"That chances go down after twenty-four hours? Of solving the case?" Sam guessed. He was surprised to see Nikki's eyes fill with tears.

She looked away. "Something like that."

"Nikki, are you okay?" Sam asked.

"I'm fine," she answered. "I cry too easily. Not the best trait in a field agent." She tried to laugh, and took a tissue from the box on Pete's desk. She turned back to the computer.

"Thanks, Tim." Pete hung up the phone.

"Pete?" Nikki asked, staring at the screen. "Who is David Reyerson?"

"He was an illegal arms dealer. Mack last dealt with him, oh, seven or eight years ago. Reyerson died at the hands of a military dictator in South America not long afterwards."

"His name comes up in both MacGyver's file and John Chandler's. Looks like Chandler used him as arms supplier for a small guerilla war in the southern Balkans a decade ago."

"That's right," Pete answered. "MacGyver thwarted that operation as well. Thing is, Nikki, Reyerson is dead."

"Are you certain of that?" Nikki asked. "It looks like Mack got in Reyerson's way at least three times. The last time ended with Reyerson in a military gulag. He'd have reason to want revenge."

Pete sighed. "There's no way to be absolutely certain. I'll have intel look for possible matches with known weapons trafficking activity, in case he's set up shop again."

"How about DXS intel? Might they have any further information?"

"Nikki, I've already asked DXS to look into Mack's disappearance. I can hardly request they investigate someone they reported dead."

"I thought you had connections--" she persisted.

"And I'm using them, believe me."

"But--"

"Nikki! Trust me, I'm pulling in every favor I can. Mack is my best friend, for heaven's sake."

"Right. Sorry."

Pete sighed. "I'm going downstairs to talk to intel. I'll be back soon."

After Pete left the room, Sam turned to Nikki. She was staring at the computer screen, motionless.

"Nikki, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

Embarrassment at questioning an older woman, one he barely knew, warred with Sam's instinct. "I mean, you seem really upset," he said finally. "Did something happen? Something you didn't want to tell us about?" To my Dad? Sam wondered. Or to you? Or to both of you?

"Your father's my friend. He's been kidnapped, by men accustomed to violence," Nikki answered. "I have a feeling he's in serious trouble, well over his head. Isn't that enough?"

"Of course it is," Sam answered, ducking his head. He turned back to the map, studying it for possible landing sites. Nikki was silent behind him. Still, he couldn't help but think, she didn't answer my question.

----------

Jack hummed to himself. The cargo plane was a beast, a dragon aloft. She had personality, and a mind of her own. Jack was in second heaven. He scanned the controls, the skies ahead, and made minor adjustments. One of Jared's strong-arms, Darren, sat beside him in the copilot's seat while the other two rested. They'd been ten hours in transit, one fueling stop in Greenland.

"Jared pay you well for this joy ride?" Jack asked, striking up conversation.

"Quite well," Darren answered, grinning.

"For a snake?"

"Absolutely. Not everyone wants to handle a snake. Especially not the poisonous kind."

Suspicion tickled the back of Jack's admittedly suspicious mind. He swatted it away. He needed this job.

"It's not a stuffed snake?" Jack winced at his own double entendre.

Darren laughed. "You sound worried, Jack." He slapped Jack's shoulder. "The snake's not going anywhere. Your job is to fly the plane, not deal with the snake. That's my job."

"Just as well. I hate snakes."

"Ever fly cargo runs before?"

"Sure," Jack answered. "Used to have my own cargo plane, once. Flew runs to South America."

"Yeah? So where is she now?"

"Buried in the rainforest. I ran into trouble with people with guns."

"Guerillas?"

"Military, actually. The kind that can't stand the light of day."

Darren whistled, looking impressed.

"Yeah, they put a few holes in my girl. I didn't take kindly to that."

"What'd you do?"

"Dumped the leader in the ocean, let him swim to shore. Left the rest to the mercy of the jungle. Flew out on a wing and a prayer. Yeah, I thought I was a goner, but my baby got me safely to shore."

"Sounds like fun."

"Sure, if you like hiking out of the wilderness with man-eating bugs chasing you and venomous snakes under every rock." Jack didn't mention the friendly missionaries who gave him a ride on their boat, almost to civilization. If you could call a collection of straw huts civilization.

"The only snake here is safely caged, Jack," Darren laughed again. "Two more days and we'll be home again, with money in our pockets."

"Enough to last a little while, anyway."

"Or more than a little while," Darren said airily.

"For delivering a snake," Jack said, dubious.

"Let's just say Jared's creative about getting us work."

"Does Jared have more snake transports lined up after this one?"

"Not likely, my friend. But I'll tell you what; if another job comes up we'll keep you in mind."

"Sure," Jack said. "I'm all for easy cash." He looked out at the clouds. Some rough pockets of air, ahead. He pulled up the dragon's nose. He'd rather leave trouble below.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

"A needle in a haystack would be easier to find," Nikki complained. She stared down at the landscape: trees, now. Earlier it had been farmland. They'd been flying for hours; they’d already made ten fruitless stops and refueled once. "Are you sure we have to check this far afield?"

"The bounty hunters knew what they were doing," Sam said, checking the view out the window against the map. "They made it seem they flew nearly directly to Widowmaker peak and back, because there was half a tank left."

"It would have worked if you hadn't thought to drain and analyze the fuel in the tank."

"After refueling at the touring company, the tank contained only about half company fuel. The tank must have been near empty when they reached their secondary stop, before they headed back to the touring company. So the secondary stop must be about a half tank distant from the touring company, but still within range of Widowmaker peak." Sam explained. "That significantly narrows down the area we each have to search." Tom and Jenny were flying with another of the company's pilots, doing their share of the searching.

"Maybe it does—but it’s still a huge area!” Nikki exclaimed. “Not to mention that the landing site could be a lot closer to the touring company than you've calculated, if they decided to fly around a bunch to use up fuel. Which I wouldn't put past them, given the tricks they've already pulled."

"True," Sam agreed. "But at least we can start with the simplest explanation."

Nikki exhaled sharply. There was no point to arguing; Sam was right--they had to start somewhere. Her eyes searched the landscape for clearings large enough to hold a chopper. They were surprisingly numerous, despite the thick forest and mountainous terrain. "How about that clearing by the gray shed?" she asked, pointing. "Looks like a parking area—there's hardly any undergrowth."

Sam searched the survey maps. "Belongs to a campground," he answered slowly. "It’s on the outskirts of the property. The main buildings are closer to the lake, there."

Nikki peered through the window at the lake Sam indicated. She pulled out her field glasses to get a closer look. "What buildings, Sam? All I see is a couple of dark tangled patches." She lowered the glasses and stared, hardly daring to hope.

"Let me see?" Sam asked. She handed him the glasses. "Could you swing around the lake, Mr. Chavez?" Sam asked the pilot. The helicopter swung in a slow arc. Nikki took the maps from Sam. There were the buildings, drawn as they had been just two years ago: a wide arc of lakefront cabins.

"There must have been a fire," Sam said slowly. "You can see some blackened snags sticking out of the tree line. Mr. Chavez, do you know anything about this property?" Sam shouted to the pilot. "Hidden Lake Campground, it's called."

"Sure," the pilot shouted back. "That was in the papers last year. Big fire, caused by some idiot renter. Owner lost everything. Not enough insurance to cover rebuilding. Town talked about buying the property for public use. Nothing came of it, far as I know." Ernesto Chavez, the owner of Chavez Sky Tours, was past retirement age, but still flying. He knew at least some small nugget about every property they asked about.

"Can we land in that clearing, you think? Check it out?" Sam pointed to the gray shed.

"I'll radio the sheriff for permission," Chavez answered.

Nikki took the field glasses back as they waited. "There's a road leading past the gray shed to the waterfront," she said. They circled lower. "Oh, it's not a shed--there's windows, and a porch."

"Camp office, maybe?" Sam proposed.

"Maybe. How would they get aviation fuel in here?"

"On a truck," Sam answered. "They might not even need a fuel truck, given the amount they must have used."

"Over an unimproved dirt road?"

"So long as they went slowly enough," Sam countered.

"All right, we're going in," Chavez told them. "Wait until the rotors are stopped before you climb out, please." Slowly, gently, the chopper settled to the ground by the gray building. As they descended, Nikki saw that the clearing was a rough dirt and gravel patch. She hardly noticed the bump of their landing. She clutched her seat belt with impatience. The rotors spun and slowed. When she could make out each individual blade, she popped the latch on her harness. Sam followed her out the door.

The gray building was indeed labeled "Camp Office". The wide windows were boarded with plywood; the small porch colonized by weeds. Nikki fished a flashlight from her rucksack as Sam examined the ground around the chopper in widening circles. She approached the building. The door was locked and nailed shut. She peered around the edge of the plywood covering the window. Sunlight filtered through other cracks, leaving bright lines and wide shadows.

Nikki circled the building, testing each window in turn. The fourth side was a small shed or garage built onto the side of the building; its doors the old carriage-style swinging doors. These too were boarded up. All were untouched, and shut tight. Nikki crouched to examine the ground. Two wide arcs in the packed dirt and gravel marked the paths of the doors opening. The bottoms of both doors were coated with fine, fresh dirt. Nikki stood. She examined the long boards blocking the carriage doors. There were dents on the boards that might be fresh. Nikki pushed at the doors. They rocked, but remained closed. The boards were firmly attached, as well. She returned to the front of the camp office. "Mr. Chavez, do you have a hammer or a pry bar?" she called.

The white-haired pilot was inspecting his machine. Over his shoulder he yelled, in a voice surprisingly robust given his thin frame, "I have tools like that back at the hangar, but not here." Damn, she thought.

"Nikki, look at this!" Sam called.

Nikki hastened to join him. He was crouched, staring at the ground, pulling his camera from his backpack. "What is it?"

She followed his gaze. Half buried in sand and gravel was a red pocket knife. Sam took several pictures. Then he brushed the dirt away and took it in his hand. He popped out the screwdriver blade. "It's Dad's," Sam said, fingering the edge. "He nicked the end here working on a stripped screw three days ago. He was going to file it smooth when we got home."

"Then he dropped it here," Nikki said.

"Or they did, taking it from him," Sam said.

"Half buried, like that? More likely he stepped on it to hide it from casual view."

"So we would find it," Sam agreed.

"Someone broke into the office through the shed doors on the side," Nikki said, "but they boarded it up again. We'll need tools to get in."

Sam looked up at her. His warm brown eyes, brow furrowed in concentration, reminded her of his father. "Maybe we'll find something we can use on the premises?"

"It's a big property," Nikki said, remembering the map.

Sam closed the knife and stood. He turned slowly, surveying the area. "They had to get in and out some other way than the chopper. We should check the road in for tracks." He looked back at Nikki, as though for approval. She nodded. In tacit agreement, they walked to opposite ends of the lot--entry and exit for the main access road.

Gravel gave way to the rough camp road. Nikki stopped at its edge. The dirt bore two worn tracks from vehicle traffic. She stepped closer, crouching to examine the furrows. Stunted weeds grew over everything. She saw no sign that any had been crushed. She walked thirty feet down the road. A breeze sighed, rippling the leaves. Something moved in the grass. The roadside was a tangle of burrs and brambles; whatever creature had stirred there would remain hidden. Nikki crouched to examine the wheel ruts, and saw no difference: still no evidence of recent human activity. She stood, and returned to the road.

Sam waved to her from the opposite end of the camp office, camera still in hand. She joined him. His shutter clicked as she approached, photographing the ground. Two deep furrows marked the gravel there by the office. She followed the tracks across the parking lot to the main entry road. There, where gravel gave way to dirt, she saw the fresh print of wheels: clear and deep. By their width and depth, Nikki guessed a van or truck, heavily laden. She walked back to Sam. The tracks led straight toward the carriage doors.

"I didn't see any recent signs of vehicles on the other end," she told him. "They must have driven in and parked in front of the garage, or in it."

"A truck, you think? The tires are pretty wide."

"A pickup, or a large van," she agreed. "Something heavily laden. But only four wheels."

"We need to get inside," Sam said thoughtfully. He scanned the landscape.

Nikki looked away. The young man's resemblance to his father, in face and mannerisms, was eerie. She heard him take off around the building, still looking. She walked to the chopper.

"Mr. Chavez, do you have anything I could use as a lever? Anything that might take some of those boards off?" She smiled at the old gentleman, and put an edge of pleading in her voice. A little charm never hurt.

His dark eyes crinkled with pleasure. "Oh, I think we could find something. Let's see, how about this big ol' wrench?"

"That's perfect. Thank you." She gave him her most winning smile and took the tool.

"Do you need some help with that, dear?"

"I can handle it, thank you, with Sam's help," she called back.

Sam appeared from behind the office, holding a metal fence post, just as she arrived. "You try that end," she told him. He slipped the post behind the first board, close to the end, and leaned back, pulling. Nikki followed suit at the opposite end. She heard the creak of nails from his end, but hers didn't budge. She pulled harder, bracing against the wall with her foot. The wrench slipped. She fell backwards onto the rough ground, and cursed softly.

"You all right?" Sam asked, and offered his hand.

"Fine. Just a bruised dignity," she answered, and accepted it. She brushed herself off.

"The wrench is a little short for this job," Sam told her. "I can get more leverage with the fence post. Why don't you let me finish?"

"Sure," Nikki ceded. She returned the wrench to the chopper. He was half done when she got back. She leaned against the wall, watching. Sam worked quickly and efficiently. In less than five minutes he had the doors clear. Watching him work made her feel old, and that just wasn't fair.

He pulled the doors open. Nikki joined him. With the sun opposite, the space was dark and cool. Sam found a light switch and flicked it. As Nikki had expected, nothing happened. Odds and ends lined the walls: signs, gardening equipment, old tools... A door in the wall opposite led into the office.

"Walk around the edge of the space," Nikki told Sam. "Forensics might be able to get something from this." She edged around toward the door, Sam following. Nikki pulled out her flashlight and played the light over the floor and walls. The floor was cement. It was dusted with dirt, making two indistinct trails, as though dropped by wheels. At the end of the dirt tracks, she found scrape marks, and flecks of white. She crouched to get a better look. The white flecks were styrofoam. "Packing material?" she wondered aloud.

"Something heavy was dragged through here recently," Sam said. "Maybe a crate?"

"Maybe," Nikki said. She turned to the door. It was unbarred. She pulled gloves from her bag, and tested the latch. It was unlocked as well.

Light filtered softly into the main room. The effect was gloomy and mysterious. Nikki wondered if MacGyver had found it so, as well. Sam took pictures as she worked her way around the edge, shining her light on the wood planks. She stopped. The floor was dusty. "There's tracks everywhere," she told Sam. "We need a forensics team here, now." Anger made her voice sharper than she intended. It would be hours before they could get an interpretation of this room--hours they could not afford.

"We might find something to show Dad was here," Sam objected.

"We already know he was here," Nikki said. "We need to know who took him. And for that, we need this evidence to remain undisturbed for the professionals."

"What if there's some other evidence?" Sam asked. "Something Dad left, to show where he was going? Shouldn't we at least check?"

"We can't afford to disturb what's here. Look, I don't like it either."

"There's a bathroom behind us," Sam said. Can we at least look inside?"

Nikki turned, annoyed with herself that she'd missed the door, slightly ajar. Gloves still on, she pushed it open by the frame. Sam used another high-powered flashlight brought from Phoenix to light the interior. She shone her own light across the floor, searching. She saw no further clues there.

"Nikki, look at this," Sam said. He played his light over the grimy white porcelain sink. On either side was a smear ending in clear fingerprints, as though someone had lurched forward and caught himself there. Sam pulled out his camera. "Can you get prints from this with what you're carrying?"

"Not easily," Nikki answered. "You're better off trying for some close-up pictures." Sam stepped carefully into the corner near the sink. His flash lit the room.

Leaving him to it, Nikki turned back toward the main room, crouching to examine the floor. She saw dark specks congealed in the dust. "This looks like dried blood," she told Sam.

Still, she struggled with growing frustration. She had little doubt the prints were MacGyver's. What good would it do to prove it? And if the blood was his, as well, then again this would tell them only what they already knew: that he'd been here; that he'd been hurt here. What they needed was a clue to connect him to the bounty hunters. Who were they? And who was their client?

Twenty-four hours...

"I haven't seen any sign of the decals they used," Sam said, returning from further explorations. "Maybe the tire prints will give us a lead?"

"Possible, but unlikely," Nikki told him. She stood and stretched, and stepped out of the bathroom. "What we need is a witness: someone who saw the van come in here, if that's what it was."

"So we check with the neighbors?" Sam asked.

"That's a long shot too," Nikki sighed. "This place is really remote. What's the likelihood someone saw a van coming or going?"

"At least, if someone did see it, it would stand out as unusual," Sam pointed out.

"That's a big if," Nikki complained.

"How about the styrofoam? I don't see how they'd use that kind of packing for moving helicopter fuel, or decals. It's all over the garage."

"What else were they moving? Maybe it's left over from when they packed up this place."

"They were moving my dad," Sam pointed out.

Nikki stopped and stared at Sam. "So maybe they packed him in some sort of big shipping container?"

"A wooden crate maybe? That would explain the scrape marks."

"Why would they do such a thing, if they had a van for moving him?" Nikki asked. "Unless they were going to move him onto some other vehicle, something larger..."

"A semi, maybe? A freight train? An airplane?" Sam guessed.

"A ship?" Nikki added. She ran a hand through her hair. "There's too many possibilities!"

"Maybe Pete's come up with some other lead," Sam offered.

"Yeah. It's time to radio Pete." Decided, Nikki stepped out the door. Time to regroup, and decide on their next move.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Nearly twenty-four hours after leaving Nevada, the dragon and her passengers arrived at the airport in the capitol city of the middle of nowhere. It was morning, local time. They'd sold Jared's goods, rented a van to move the snake box, and driven four hours into the true middle of nowhere. Fifteen minutes ago the road passed between a tiny collection of houses--barely meriting the term "village", never mind "town"--so old they might have been occupied by the ancestors of the current residents: sometime in the middle ages, that is. Now they'd pulled up to a house that was half castle--a castle on a lake.

"This might take a while," Jared told Jack, hand on the frame of the delivery van door. "Stay in the van. Take a nap or something."

"No problem-o." Jack signed an A-OK as he lay down on the bench seat, tipping his hat brim over his face. Behind him he heard the rear van doors open, Jared and the other two grunting as they slid the heavy crate onto a waiting dolly. Footsteps receded; doors opened and closed. When all was silent, Jack opened his eyes and peered over the seat back. The circle drive was deserted.

A smart man would leave well enough alone, Jack told himself. Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes. But then again, nothing ventured nothing gained. With that thought, Jack let himself out the door farthest from the house and closed it carefully behind him. Light from a large round room lit the drive and part of the lawn. He walked around the front of the van, towards the crowd of greenery adorning the front of the mansion. He could still pretend he was getting fresh air if he found someone watching.

Movement in the distance, towards the high ornamental fence. Man with dog, patrolling. Walking away from him--his luck at work. Jack dove across the drive into the bushes under one brightly lit window, half-open to the cool evening air. He lay still a long moment. Then, not hearing any half-expected shouts, he raised his head into the danger zone to peer inside.

The three men were ranged around the crate--Hank and Darren pulling out tools, while Jared smoothly negotiated with an old man dressed in a pale gray dinner jacket over a dark shirt. He was thin, but his flesh hung on him, suggesting he had once been a heavier man.

"You will receive the full amount when I have inspected your cargo and found it in the promised condition." The oldster's thin British-accented voice quavered with excitement, or infirmity. He leaned forward on his cane, watching as Hank inserted a crowbar under the top panel. With a creak one corner popped up, shortly followed by the others as Hank worked his way around. When the final corner popped free, Darren and Hank slipped their fingers beneath the edges and lifted the top to one side.

A terrarium? Jack wondered. He could see the webbing of steel mesh. His impression was confirmed when the two men lifted this as well, and set it atop the crate lid. Next, Darren reached in and removed an enormous snake, handing it to Jared.

The advertised contents, Jack thought.

Next came the habitat. It was a large shaped faux-rock wall, covering most of one corner of the terrarium. From the shaped polystyrene beneath, the two men pulled a water dish, fluorescent light...

Where was the stash?

The polystyrene came out next. But what followed took even well-travelled world-wise Jack by surprise: it was a man.

It was a man he knew.

If ever there was a time to start believing in divine intervention, Jack thought, this is it.

MacGyver was clearly in trouble. He was hog-tied, hands and feet behind his back, and gagged. His eyes squeezed shut against the light. The two men removed the duct tape from his wrists, ankles, and mouth. They set him on his knees in front of the old man. He knelt there, rubbing his arms, cool as a cucumber.

"Did the bounty hunters cause you any permanent harm, MacGyver?"

"No," Mack answered, his eyes still shut against the light, "but they sure didn't treat me nice."

The old man chuckled. "'Nice' wasn't in the contract," he said. "Do you know who I am, or where you are?"

"I was just wondering that," Mack answered.

The old man turned to Jared. "Take your men and your box to the front hall," he said. "Mr. Dunning has your money in the library. You may count it and then you may leave." Jared dropped the snake into the terrarium. His two cronies replaced the packing and top on the crate. The three left the way they'd come.

"You sure sound familiar. If I could see you maybe you'd look familiar, too," Mack said.

"Maybe," the old man answered, "or maybe not." His voice hardened. "I changed in that prison your little exploits sentenced me to. Two long years lost and forgotten in a South American cell. Solitary confinement, torture... do you have any idea what that can do to a man?"

"Some," MacGyver admitted, more subdued.

I don't like the turn this conversation is taking, Jack thought. And neither do you, old buddy.

"Then perhaps you'll understand why you're here," the old man said. "I kept myself alive dreaming of my revenge. Waiting for the day I would escape, or be set free. Once that day had finally come, working and building my fortune again. Waiting until I had the resources and the plan to do it right. To bring you here. Do you understand yet?"

"No," Mack answered, "can't say I do. I know I don't approve of those kinds of prisons, even for the worst kind of criminals. Whatever happened to you is nothing I would have knowingly got you into."

"You ruined everything!" the man whispered vehemently. "As if it weren't enough that you got me deported from two countries, that you ruined my business not once but twice, you and that nosy reporter trespassed on my estate. You took what you wanted, and then you ran. You led us a merry chase, MacGyver, all the way across the border. And then you stood on the other side and laughed! Leaving me with that madman and his cronies."

"David Reyerson." MacGyver looked shaken. He blinked, tentatively, squinting.

"Indeed, MacGyver. Now you remember."

"In my own defense, Dave, it was you who chose to have dealings with the General. You put yourself in his hands."

"Everything was under control until you came along, MacGyver. You and your meddling."

"Yeah, but whose control? Certainly not the local people's. That's the part that always gets me, you know?"

Reyerson swung his cane. MacGyver ducked, but not fast enough. The cane caught the top of his head, sending him sprawling. He lay on the floor, rubbing what must be a growing lump.

"Don't think your sanctimonious attitude is going to earn you any points here," Reyerson growled. "I will break you. You will beg me for death before I'm done--that I promise." He turned to the corner. "Take him downstairs. He's in your charge, doctor."

Oh jeez, Jack thought. Not good. Definitely not good. Jack watched an enormous man throw MacGyver over his shoulders and carry him out of the room, followed by another beefy man and a gorgeous tall blonde. Gorgeous, but cold. Ice cold.

The sound of the entry door opening reminded Jack of his own predicament. He crouched, undecided, for only a moment. Then he crawled toward the back of the van. Mack's kidnappers were still talking to Reyerson's man. He darted behind the van, opened the back door, and crawled in.

When Darren opened the back door so they could load the now-empty crate, he found Jack lying on the floor, hat over his face.

"S'up, man?"

"I decided it was a little more roomy back here for my siesta," Jack answered, tipping his hat back. He got up on his elbows. "What, didn't the guy want his whatever-it-is?"

Darren laughed. "He did. Just not the packaging. Give me a hand, man. This thing is heavy."

"What, you want help from moi? I suppose so..."

Jack's mind raced. He needed a way to stay here, stay close. But he also needed a way to call Pete. Rescuing Mack from this fortress in the boonies was going to take some heavies. Pete Thornton was the best one to organize that.

"Ready for dinner?" Hank asked, coming around the back as they slid the crate inside. "We can go to that hole-in-the-wall joint we ate at last time we were here."

"The tavern? Last time we ate there I was sick for days, man."

"So don't eat the pork cakes."

"They tasted great on the way in, man."

"Just keep in mind how they tasted on the way out," Hank said.

"Bleah."

The men climbed back in the van. The beginnings of a plan were starting to gel in Jack's brain. He chuckled to himself. He asked, "so what are pork cakes? All grease and unidentifiable bits?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Hank agreed.

"Sounds like my kind o'grub."

The bounty hunters laughed. "Only if you want to spend the next five days in the hospital," Jared told him.

"Who, me? I have a stomach of iron," Jack said.

"Don't say we didn't warn you," Hank told him.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Slung over the shoulders of the heaviest of Reyerson's hired heavies, both wrists caught in one meaty fist, MacGyver reviewed his options. They were frighteningly few. He was still feeling stiff and weak from the long hours he'd spent bound and gagged in that crate. They descended a narrow service stairway to the basement. From the scent and sounds, he guessed there was a kitchen nearby. He heard a heavy door close, and the sounds were abruptly cut off. Well, a door was better than a wall.

Ahead of him, the tall woman that Reyerson had called "doctor" pulled a ring of keys from her pocket. Behind him, another of the heavies followed. They reached the basement landing. A guard sat there, blocking the way to a steel door. The woman keyed open a padlock on a second steel door to their left. If that was his cell, he'd better think of something fast. He wasn't going to be picking that lock from the inside.

"Y'know, I think I could walk from here," he said. No answer, not even an eye blink from the woman. Not good.

They entered the room: MacGyver, two guards, and the woman. The ceiling was high for a basement, about nine feet. They walked right around the room's centerpiece: a steel cage, about eight feet cubed. The room itself was much longer than it was wide, about fifteen feet by twenty-five, with the door in one long wall. There were no windows; bright fluorescents cast the grey of steel and concrete into harsh relief. The open space to the right of the cage was bordered by a much newer wall of cinder block, with a locked iron gate in one end. The room beyond was dark. MacGyver was dumped to the ground. He scrambled to his knees. The beefy guard clamped both hands on his shoulders, preventing him from standing.

This end of the room held a few more furnishings: a steel cabinet, a sink, a long hose. Two lengths of chain hung from the ceiling and were fastened to the wall. "Nice place you've got here," MacGyver said, his heart sinking.

The woman turned and, for the first time, looked directly at him. She was a handsome woman, in her early or mid-thirties. She dressed simply in slacks and a button-down shirt. MacGyver might have found her attractive, if her face weren't pinched in a permanent frown.

"You will undress, now," she ordered him. Her accent was Slavic, possibly Russian. She gestured to the guard, who released him.

Mack stared, not knowing how to respond. "Isn't it-- kinda cold in here?" he asked haltingly.

"I have other clothing for you to wear," she said.

Brows raised, MacGyver pushed himself to his feet. The burly guard stood beside him. Strapped to the man's belt was a knife, sheathed. MacGyver shifted his position toward it.

"Do you mind--" Looking at the woman, MacGyver gestured turning around.

She smirked. "Does it bother you that I watch?" she asked.

"Uh--yeah, actually."

She didn't answer, only shifted her posture to make it clear she was paying close attention.

MacGyver sighed. So that's how it was going to be... Slowly he undid the buttons on his shirt. Still moving stiffly, he pulled it off. Then he whipped it around the burly guard's face. The man reached for it. In that moment, Mack grabbed the man's knife. One very large fist swung toward his head. MacGyver ducked and spun backwards. He grabbed the woman, pulling her close, and put the knife to her neck. The two men stopped.

"We're gonna leave now," MacGyver told them.

"I think not," the woman said. "Guards, you will restrain him, now." The two men stepped forward.

"Don't!" MacGyver shouted, and stepped back.

"Or what?" the woman asked. "You'll kill me? You don’t have it in you."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I will be very surprised, and Reyerson will have to do without my services. Guards?" She gestured them forward.

MacGyver threw the woman into the burly guard and slashed at the other, drawing blood from his arm. He ran between them for the door. It was locked. He turned around to find the burly guard just behind him. The man grabbed him by the throat and wrist, pinning him to the door.

"Sorry...?" he gasped. He dropped the knife from his pinned hand. The second guard, still bleeding, twisted Mack's other hand behind his back. The two men propelled him back to the cinder block wall, where the woman had pulled the chains from the wall hook. They ended in thick manacles, dangling now from the ceiling.

"Primitive, but effective," the woman commented as she fastened them to his wrists. The chains left him some mobility, but he wasn't going far. "Now, the clothing," she said.

"Umm--" Mack said, indicating his undershirt, which would not come off with his wrists bound.

The burly guard, in one swift motion, ripped it off.

"Right." he sighed. Things were going downhill fast.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Another late night at Phoenix. At least this time they had something more to work with. Sam sipped coffee and ran one hand through his hair. A group of Phoenix scientists, some of them old friends of his father, were working on the data brought back by the forensics field team. The table was spread with a large schematic of what they'd found, together with pictures and notes. Willis, a baby-faced environmental scientist who had worked with Mack many times before, examined tracks and other samples with the microscope.

"Here," he said, turning to Sam. "Here they are again. These seeds don't belong where you found them. They were definitely brought in by the bounty hunters: we found them in this boot print, and in the tire track."

Sam looked in the lens. "So what are they?"

"Well, I'll have to get some actual samples to be certain, but I'm fairly sure they're from a plant native to the Nevada desert, particularly the southwest."

"Which would confirm your guess based on the dirt samples you found," Sam said.

"Yup. Now that doesn't mean you'll find MacGyver there..."

"It's the best clue we've got so far."

"I'm betting on the blood samples and prints, myself," Willis said. "But that might take days, if it pans out at all." He picked up some printouts. "I'll go double-check the library for the seeds. I'll let you know what I find."

Nikki walked into the lab, looking exhausted, as Willis walked out. "Find anything?" she asked Sam.

"It was definitely a van. The van and at least one male kidnapper recently spent time in southwest Nevada," Sam told her. "Plus Dr. Gupta and Ms. Williams think they have a storyline for what happened. They're searching databases for matches on the blood samples and fingerprints now. How about you?"

"We couldn't find anyone who saw the van, the helicopter, or any other unusual traffic yesterday. We got one more employee at Chavez air to give a description of the pilot, and we built another composite from that. What's the storyline?"

Sam moved to the table, and the schematic spread there. "There's three sets of footprints in the garage area, one of which was Dad's. The van backed in, parked just inside, and the two men lifted some heavy things out of it. One was a metal tank--they found some filings where it rubbed on the cement, and a pair of wheels taking it out the garage door and then in again." Sam pointed to the pictures they'd made of the enhanced tracks. "That must have been the fuel they needed for the helicopter. The other heavy item was a large wooden crate." Sam pointed to the splinters gathered from the site. "There was solid styrofoam inside, which they cut a gap into. The pieces they cut were found in one of the trash barrels in the garage. They cut out enough to leave room for a man." Sam and Nikki's eyes met.

"So you guessed right about how they moved him."

"Maybe." The whole theory felt like a house of cards to him. Too many possibilities, too many unanswered questions... "I compiled a list of possible shipping centers, where they would handle containers of that size. There are none within a hundred miles--nothing standard, anyway. Either they drove a long way, or they used non-standard shipping. If they shipped him at all..."

"What about these tracks in and out of the office?" Nikki pointed to the prints entering and exiting the main office building.

Sam grimaced. "Two large heavy men. They escorted Dad inside, leaving prints on the doorknob. They used the bathroom. Dad left the prints on the sink. Then there was a scuffle. Someone slammed into the wall, here. A small amount of blood was spilled. Then Dad was pushed face-down on the floor: we matched his prints, here. We're pretty sure his hands were tied behind his back at that point, and his feet as well. He was dragged out on his knees: there were traces of denim left in the wood floor."

"Creeps," Nikki snorted angrily.

Sam looked away. "Yeah."

Nikki touched his arm. "So then they sealed him in the crate."

"That seems the most likely explanation," Sam agreed. "There's no trace of him returning to the garage. They could have carried him down the step and into the crate."

"And the blood?" Nikki asked.

"We have a match," Pete answered, entering the lab. "It's not MacGyver's."

Sam sighed relief. Nikki perked up. Pete handed her one of two files in his hand.

"Dr. Gupta says it's almost certain to be this man."

Nikki opened the file. "Henry—Hank—Levesque," she read.

"Levesque has a police file: minor larceny, breaking and entering, assault." Pete handed more photos to Nikki. "He spent some time in prison, so Dr. Gupta was able to match his blood sample. But the best part is, he has two known associates, one of whom is this man." He gave Nikki the second file; Nikki passed the first to Sam.

"The pilot," Nikki said. "The photo matches both the composites."

"Very close," Pete agreed.

Sam peered over Nikki's shoulder at a middle-aged man, hair brown and thinning, medium build, with a long face and a mildly sardonic twist to his mouth. She turned to a second sheet, this one with biographical data. "Jared Somerset, age 44, white male. Born in California, current residence unknown." Nikki looked up at Pete. "It says he's been a suspect in several weapons smuggling cases, but never enough evidence to bring him in," she said. "Could he be the connection to Chandler?"

"Not likely," Pete said. "He's a small-time smuggler, not a dealer. He lives on the edge--rather like Jack Dalton, actually, but less scrupulous and somewhat more successful."

"Known associates, Darren Powers and Hank Levesque," Nikki read.

"Powers was once picked up on suspicion of organized crime activity, but released for lack of evidence," Pete said.

"So now what?" Sam asked.

"I've already set intel looking for Somerset's plane. He owns a small cargo plane; last year he was renting hangar space near San Diego, but he gave up that space ten months ago."

"Not long after the bounty was posted on my Dad," Sam said.

"As far as we know," Pete said.

"Wait a minute," Nikki said. "A cargo plane? Does he actually move cargo?"

"He's been known to," Pete said. "Why?"

"Because we're almost certain Dad was moved in a shipping crate," Sam answered. "And now I think we know how."

"We don't know what aiport he was using," Nikki objected. "We don't even know for sure that they moved the crate using Somerset's plane."

"He would have used the plane," Pete answered.

"You're positive?" Nikki asked.

"If he's anything like Jack Dalton--and I'd guess he is--he won't leave his airplane behind," Pete said. "And I can't see him simply shipping MacGyver to the client. He'd want to be there in person to collect the bounty. So that means he'll go by plane--his own."

"So we find his plane, and we find him," Sam said.

"Exactly."

"Pete, you said Somerset is a small-time pilot like Jack Dalton," Sam said. "Any chance Jack Dalton might know him?"

"It's possible," Pete said. "But do you know how to find Jack?"

"I was hoping you did," Sam answered.

"What's the nearest small airport to Widowmaker peak?" Nikki asked.

"Or somewhere in southwest Nevada," Sam added.

"Nikki, intel's got that covered," Pete objected.

"What, by phone? No, this is something to check in person, with photos in hand."

Pete sighed. "I'm not sure. There's probably several."

"Might as well start trying," Nikki said.

"Tomorrow," Pete said. "It's almost eleven o'clock. They're long since closed. Besides, you need rest."

"But--"

"Nikki, you're worn out. No more travelling tonight. We can get you a flight tomorrow morning."

"All right," Nikki signed grudgingly.

"I'll go to Dad's apartment and try to find contact info for Jack Dalton," Sam said.

"Good," Pete said. "We'll meet back here tomorrow morning."

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Still shivering after stretching his cramped muscles and bouncing around in his tiny cell, MacGyver sat in a corner and wrapped his arms around his knees. Being wet didn't help. While it was true he had needed a shower after being transported in a crate with a snake, water that felt like it was pumped directly from a spring-fed well in April was not what he would have chosen. The clothing he'd been given to wear wasn't exactly appropriate to the ambient temperature either--white hospital-style pants and v-neck short-sleeved shirt. He'd pulled them on while still soaking wet, and like his hair, they remained damp nearly an hour later.

Security was tight. All right, so this place was one step short of a fortress. The cell was bare: solid steel bars sealed into concrete, and not a tool in sight, never mind reach. There was no way he was getting out without help. So, he'd just have to find help: knowing or unknowing. They had to feed him sometimes, right?

Bad idea. Thinking of food reminded him how hungry he was. At least twenty-four hours ago he'd shared a bagel with Nikki on the dock. Probably longer: he'd lost track of time in the dark. His stomach growled insistently. He had to think of something else.

He had no idea who the bounty hunters were that had snared him. They were smart, and efficient. They'd executed a well-thought out plan nearly perfectly. The trail where they'd left Nikki was rarely frequented on a weekday morning. Within two hours, he'd been stowed in a crate and loaded into a van: long before Nikki would have awoken, or Sam would be out looking. As long as Nikki had gotten a glimpse of the helicopter before they knocked her out... surely she and Sam would guess what had happened, where to start looking.

All right, well, help wasn't likely from that quarter, at least not immediately. He'd have to rely on his own wits and skills to get him out of this. It wasn't the first time. If only he'd listened to Sam and Pete and Nikki... Mack squashed that thought as soon as it surfaced. There was no point cursing the past. It was the present he had to worry about. He needed to stay positive, and stay focused.

The door to the cellar room clanked and swung open. In came the same two guards, and the woman. Burly, Curly, and Doc, MacGyver thought. If they weren't going to give their names, he might as well coin some handles. Mack glimpsed a third guard behind them, shutting the door--shutting them in.

"Not to complain about your hospitality or anything, but I could really use some dinner," Mack blustered. Burly took a key from a chain around his neck to open the cage. Curly walked around the back. Mack stood. "And a blanket, or at least a sweater..." he said, his voice trailing off. He turned to keep both men in sight, but Curly only shifted to stand behind him again. Then Burly was looming in front of him, taking way more space in the cage than he had any right to. Mack took a step back, sensing this was the expected response, but not seeing any viable alternative. Burly advanced. He was no longer carrying a knife. Mack took another step back. Burly's arm shot out, pressing him against the bars by the neck. Curly grabbed one arm from behind. With his free hand, Mack pulled at Burly's choke hold. His vision narrowed--exhaustion, hunger, and now a lack of oxygen taking their toll. Curly stretched Mack's arm sideways--something bit into his wrist. Burly pulled Mack's free hand out to the other side, and again, a sharp pain at his wrist.

Burly released him. Mack sank to his knees, breathing deep and ragged, and bowed his head to encourage blood flow. Fainting might be an easy way out of the next ten minutes, but the thought of being unconscious in this situation was even more frightening to him than his predicament. Which was not good. His arms were spread and pinned--Mack glanced to one side--fastened to the bars with plastic cable ties.

Burly thumped a wooden stool beside him. Doc approached, bearing a black leather doctor's case. She repositioned the stool slightly, then lowered herself gracefully onto it, setting the bag beside her. Burly set a second stool between the bag and MacGyver.

Doc examined him with a clinical eye. MacGyver stared back, defiant, and more than a little nervous. She opened the bag; pulled out a length of rubber tubing, a syringe, and a small glass vial, setting these upon the second stool.

"What is that?" Mack asked, staring at the vial. It was unlabeled and unmarked. The woman smiled mockingly at him, and secured the rubber tubing tightly around his bicep. Drugs, then. He hated drugs. Breathe, he told himself.

Doc filled the syringe from the vial. She expelled the air from the syringe, squirting a tiny fountain of clear liquid from its tip.

"Wait," Mack protested. "Why are you doing this?"

Again she only smiled. With one hand she took his palm, twisting his arm into position.

MacGyver tensed like a coiled spring, then leaped to his feet. The cable ties bit into his wrists. He was stopped short by Curly's hand on his shoulder; Curly's arm curling in a headlock around his neck. He was forced back to his knees.

Again, the woman took his palm and twisted. Burly tightened the cable tie until MacGyver could feel his own pulse. Breathe, he told himself. He couldn't turn his gaze from the approaching needle. It bit into him. He closed his eyes. Cold spread through his arm to his shoulder.

Curly released him; Doc took the rubber tubing from his arm and calmly put away her equipment. Then she took a stethoscope from her bag, and a small notebook and pen. She put the stethoscope to his chest.

"What was in that injection? What's it for?"

"Do not speak," she instructed him, still listening. She scribbled notes, one-handed, into her pad. Her writing was cramped. MacGyver craned his neck, but couldn't make it out.

"I'm not your guinea pig!" he burst out in frustration.

Doc looked at him measuringly, knowingly, one brow raised. Then she glanced at Burly. Eyes widening, Mack watched the man raise his fist. As the blow fell, he rolled his head with it. His ears rang.

Once again Mack's vision narrowed. Once again he struggled to hold on to consciousness. He breathed deeply. The dizziness faded--but the tunnel vision worsened, like he was shrinking inside his own head. Reality grew slowly more distant. MacGyver felt like he was falling into darkness--or like his mind was being swallowed, overrun by an advancing tide. He focused on one point: the notebook, the pen scribbling. Curling, twisting lines of black flowing from the point of a pen. It wasn't enough.

What was happening? It had something to do with that pen--the woman holding it--the pain in his arms. All else faded, blurred. Sam-- Pete-- The names echoed in his mind, but he could not summon their faces. A tree--he remembered a tree, a pine tree, and stars...

"My name... my name is MacGyver," he whispered. "Angus James... MacGyver. Born..." the memory wouldn't come. Numbers swam in his head. Twenty-one... Factors seven, three, one. Fifty-one... factors fifty-one and one. One, two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen... he followed the primes, chanting them in his mind. What followed twenty-nine? Thirty-one... My name is MacGyver... Thirty-seven, forty-one, forty-three... MacGyver... Forty-seven, fifty-one, fifty-three...

A delicate hand lifted his chin. He stared into cold blue eyes. Blue, azure, cerulean, indigo... he held on tightly to the thread, following. Navy, aquamarine, turquoise... sapphire... opal... topaz... ruby... More, he needed more… Diamond... carbon, cubic crystal, octahedral cleavage... His lips moved, soundlessly. Blue eyes frowned. Released, his chin dropped to his chest. Pyrite, iron sulfide, cubic crystal, cubic and octahedral cleavage... Calcite, calcium carbonate, trigonal crystal, rhombohedral cleavage... fear drove him like a current. He held on to the thread, tenacious, though reason eluded him. Sulfur, orthorhombic crystal, no cleavage… Graphite, carbon, hexagonal crystal, basal cleavage…

"Strike him," he heard. It meant nothing.

Pain rocked him; his head snapped to one side. Names scattered like jewels. He pursued them, grasping, brushing their edges, so close... the black tide swallowed them, one by one, their sparkling promise vanishing, snuffed, and he felt like crying... He tasted a thick wetness, pain in his mouth, metallic, iron, hematite, blood, platelets, plasma, cells, mitochondria, nucleus... relieved, he clung to this new lifeline. Following, there was only the path, the following... The black tide rose. RNA... ribonucleic acid... it was growing more difficult to continue, each step an agony of searching... there was another... what was it? He strained for it... what was it? In panic, drowning, he reached...

Thought flickered, and went out.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Southwest Nevada: hot, dry, and dusty. A few steel hangars, an office building, and a single landing strip that doubled for take-off were all the assets of this tiny local airport.

"Okay, Bill," Nikki said. "Third time's the charm."

Bill worked unhurriedly through his post-flight routine, shutting down and checking the readouts for his white-and-yellow Cessna. Bill Garrett was an old friend from her days in D.C. Knowing she needed a few days of unfettered transportation, that he'd moved to California some years back, she'd looked him up. She'd gotten permission from Pete to offer him a Phoenix contract for the work, telling Bill she needed help with an investigation. Already they'd visited two tiny airports. This wasn't the smallest. Nikki shifted impatiently in her seat.

"Hold your horses, sweetheart. I'm almost done," Bill said in his soft Irish lilt. He waggled his thick brows at her. He knew she hated endearments, but he could never resist teasing. Once, with Adam, she would have laughed and teased him back. Now she just bit back her irritation and looked away.

"All set," he said finally. She followed him out his door. It was simpler. He steadied her as she jumped down.

It was a long walk across the compound to the office. Even in April the sun beat down. Nikki put on her sunglasses.

"What's eating you, Nikki?" Bill asked.

"I don't know what you mean," she answered after a startled pause.

"I mean you seem to have lost all sense of humor."

"I have a job to do," she said.

"Is that all?" He stopped; waited for her to turn and face him. "I've seen you twice since Adam's funeral. Seven years out, and you still haven't put that death behind you. It worries me."

"You've only seen me twice," she objected.

"Yes, and that's another thing--"

"Don't start, Bill." she turned to walk away. He grabbed her arm.

"We were close, once. Good friends. You think I can't see the difference in you? I think the long absences make it more obvious."

"Make what obvious?" she asked, with more heat than she'd intended.

"Why are you so angry, Nikki?"

Just two mornings ago, Mack had asked the same question. She still couldn't answer.

"I care about you." He stepped closer, hand on her shoulder. "It pains me to see you lonely and bitter. Is this what you want for the rest of your life?"

That hurt. Nikki closed her eyes. She didn't have time for this.

"Bill, the man I'm looking for was kidnapped. He also happens to be my colleague. My friend. I have to find him. Okay?"

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Bill asked, shocked. Nikki winced. She didn't know how to answer. She had tried to keep his involvement on a business level. She hadn't wanted him to do her any favors.

"You didn't want me to know, did you?"

"Bill, don't--it has nothing to do with you. I just didn't want--" she sighed. "I don't want to talk about it." She started walking again. He kept pace.

"With me."

"With anyone."

"No wonder you're lonely," he said. Mercifully, he didn't press the issue.

The woman staffing the office was reading a Harlequin when they entered.

"Hang on," she said. Half a minute later she dog-eared her page and closed the book. "Sorry about that. It was a really good part. What can I do to help you?"

"The little Cessna is mine," Bill said. "Can I get a fuel-up?"

"Sure," she said, and handed him a form. "Go ahead and fuel up yourself."

"Thank you, miss," Bill said, and walked out.

"Hey, can I help you with something else? Ladies' room?" the girl asked Nikki.

"Actually, I'm looking for some people," Nikki said. "Have you seen any of these men?" She fanned out the pictures she carried: Somerset, Levesque, Powers, and MacGyver.

"Oh, a mystery!" The girl said. "Lemme see--" she pulled out the picture of Somerset.

"You know him? Nikki asked.

"Sure. He's been renting a hangar with us for the last six or eight months. You just missed him, though. He closed his account a couple days ago. Jared something. What’d he do?"

"Do you know where he went?"

"I can look up his last flight plan," the girl said. She rifled through files in an old steel cabinet. "Here he is, Jared Somerset. Says he was going to Juneau, Alaska. Quite a trip, hunh?"

Nikki looked at the file. Most of the details were meaningless to her.

"Maybe you have a home address for him?" Nikki asked. She doubted it, but it would be worth a look at his file.

The girl fished around in the cabinet again, pulling another file. This one was thicker, containing invoices and other paperwork. "Do you need copies of this stuff? Are you a detective?"

"Copies would be great," Nikki said. "I'm happy to pay for them."

"Even better," the girl said. "Though my boss would never notice, anyway. He's my uncle."

"Could I take a look at the hangar he used?"

"Don't see why not. Nobody's in there, now."

"Has it been cleaned up, yet?"

"Jared was supposed to leave it empty. Oh yeah, there's a van in there. They asked my uncle to drive it somewhere for them, but he's got the gout real bad the past few days, said he'd do it later." The girl took a keyring from behind the counter and walked out the door. Nikki followed.

"My name's Jamie," the girl said.

"Nikki."

"Nice to meet you. Is that big Irish guy your husband?"

"Oh, no," Nikki said. "He's an old friend."

"He seems real nice. I love his accent. Here's the hangar." Jamie unlocked the small side door, entered, and flicked on the lights. They made little difference in the enormous space, especially after the bright sunlight. In the far corner, Nikki could just make out a dark-colored van. She walked toward it.

"Where would he put his trash?" she asked.

"There's a dumpster just outside, around the corner."

Nikki opened the rear doors of the van. "Jackpot," she muttered. A large plastic bag was tucked behind the driver's seat, stuffed with crumpled sheets of bright blue plastic. Nikki climbed in. They were, in fact, large decals reading "Horizon Tours". She bent to inspect the floor. On the anchors for a set of optional seats, she found slivers of wood. Further inspection of the van turned up little. She couldn't find the registration forms. She wrote the license plate number--California plates--in her notebook. She heard Jamie chattering again from the other side of the hangar.

"Find what you were looking for?" Bill asked from behind her.

Nikki turned around. "I did," she said. "More clues, at least."

"Are you gonna check the rest of the hangar?" Jamie asked Nikki. She turned to Bill. "Is she a detective?"

"That's a good enough name for what she does," he answered. "Any sign of your missing friend?" he asked Nikki.

"Nothing," she answered. "But that doesn't mean I won't find something."

"Jared?" they heard a voice call from the door. "That you?"

Bill and Nikki exchanged glances.

"He's not here, Joe Flanders, so you can't ask him for a job," Jamie called out. "Joe's a pilot, on the rare occasions when he’s not drunk," Jamie whispered to Nikki and Bill.

"He gay' me a job," Flanders complained, entering the hangar. "Lef' wid'out me."

"What job was that, Mr. Flanders?" Nikki asked, approaching him.

"You a friend of Jared's?"

"No," Nikki said. "I'm just looking for him."

"Well, when you find him, you say he should'n'a lef' wid'out me."

"I bet you were drunk," said Jamie.

"I'm a good pilot. I could'a slep' it off halfway."

"Halfway to where?" Bill asked.

"Europe somewhere," Flanders said, waving his hand dismissively.

"What was the job?" Nikki asked.

"Copilot. To spell Jared. Far away, Europe."

"And where to after that?"

Flanders looked flummoxed. He shrugged. "Back here."

Nikki raised her brows. Somehow she doubted that. "What was the cargo?" she asked.

"Cargo?"

"The reason you were flying to somewhere in Europe," Bill said gently.

"Oh, that. Chartered flight. Jared had a snake to deliver to some rich guy."

"A snake," Nikki repeated, dubious.

"Yeah. A snake. And some other stuff, too, to sell there. More profit. That's what Jared told me."

"I bet," Nikki said. "Where in Europe?"

"Dunno. Somewhere."

"He didn't say where?" she pressed.

"East. Somewhere east."

"Did he tell you what country?" Bill asked.

Flanders thought for a moment. "No," he said.

"Bulgaria?" Nikki prompted. "Germany?"

"He didn't say. Jared didn't say."

"You were going to fly with him and you didn't know where to?"

"Hey," Flanders protested, "he could tell me that on the plane."

"Was he gonna fly over Russia?" Jamie asked. Bill and Nikki looked at her. "From Alaska. His flight plan said Alaska."

"Or he was lying about where he was going," Nikki said.

"That guy took my job," Flanders complained, half to himself.

"What guy?" Jamie asked. "You mean that pilot hitchhiked in?"

"What kinda pilot hitchhikes into town?" Flanders said.

"Seemed nice to me. At least he wasn't a drunkard. This guy Jack Dalton," Jamie told Nikki and Bill.

"Jack Dalton flew out with Somerset?" Nikki asked.

"Jared was yellin' at me," Flanders whined. "Dalton jus' up and offered to take my place. My job."

Nikki just stared, stunned. Jack Dalton, of all people! It didn't make sense. Or maybe it did--Mack's legendary luck at work again. She could imagine Pete's blood pressure rising at the news.

"You know him?" Bill asked.

"Only by reputation," she answered. "Look, I have to call Phoenix. Can you see if you can get any more information out of Flanders?"

"Sure," Bill agreed, bushy brows raised.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Cold. MacGyver woke suddenly. He shivered violently. He was lying face-down on the cold cement floor. Gingerly he sat up. His bones ached; he ached everywhere with the cold. How long had he been lying here? How long had he been unconscious? He stood to re-examine his prison.

The room was unchanged, except for one detail: a fountain of water now sprayed from the wall opposite the door, splashing onto the floor, where it ran out a drain. MacGyver swallowed, suddenly thirsty. He stretched his arms through the bars. He could just reach the falling water. Cupping his hands, he let them fill, then pulled them close to the bars to drink. The water was cold. He spilled more than he gained. Such a tiny reward, for such effort! Again he filled his hands, and again, until his thirst was slaked. Now if only they would feed him... Strange. He felt no more than mild hunger.

He decided to stretch and move around. He'd never had much talent for sitting still. Stretching eased the ache; movement eased the cold. As he moved he let his mind wander. What was the drug he'd been given? Had he woken because the effects had worn off? Why was Doc experimenting on him? What were Doc and Reyerson up to? He could find no answers. The effects he'd experienced were unlike any he'd heard described. He wondered if Doc were testing experimental drugs on him. The thought was sobering. But Reyerson wanted him alive: surely they wouldn't be risking his death. Everything they'd done so far pointed to his value as a prisoner, whole and unharmed. Why?

There was something more to this than simple revenge.

Mack's thoughts turned to Pete's cabin. The morning had started with such promise. He'd been enjoying himself, until Nikki's anger caught him by surprise. She had always been quick to anger. But what had set her off this time? He remembered asking why she'd left. She'd brushed him off, and he'd pressed the issue. But even before that, she'd been irritable, starting when he caught her as she climbed a particularly steep boulder. Why?

He'd invaded her space. It was like a reflex with her. The closer he got, the harder she pushed back. It wasn't the first time. Before she left Phoenix, he'd thought she was starting to let her guard down. Apparently the old walls were back, stronger than ever. Why hadn't he seen? Instead, he'd let himself go cold and hurt, like some kid.

And then he'd walked straight into a trap.

The chain on the outside of the main door rattled. Mack scanned the room for ideas, any idea, for how to handle the coming situation. He had to admit he was stuck. Breathe, MacGyver. Focus on the positive. He waited by the cage door, one hand on the bars.

Curly entered, followed by Doc and Burly. Once again, Curly took a position behind him.

"This again, hunh? Same routine?" Mack asked, turning his head to follow Curly, then back, watching Burly undo the lock and hasp. "Not much for talking, are you?"

The door swung outward. Mack stood his ground. Burly entered, pushed him, and grabbed him by the throat. He slammed Mack into position against the side wall, where Curly took hold of him as well. They tied him to the bars as before, kneeling.

Mack coughed. His throat and neck ached from the abuse. His eyes watered. "Can't you guys just tell me what to do?" he gasped. "Why do you have to get so physical?" When he looked up, Doc was sitting before him once again. She placed syringe and vial on the stool.

On impulse, Mack lifted himself by his hands. It was enough to free his foot. He kicked the stool. Syringe and vial flew across the cell and smashed on the floor. There was a moment of silence, all three men watching the doctor. She stared back at MacGyver.

She stood. "Secure him," she told Curly. "Then clean up the mess." She picked up her bag. "I will be back shortly." She walked through the cell door and knocked on the outer steel door.

Burly grabbed him by the neck and lifted. Curly took hold of his ankle and strapped it to the bars. Uh-oh, Mack thought, here we go again...

Hours later--he was pretty sure it was hours, though it seemed forever--he lay on the floor of his cell groaning. He clenched his gut, doubled in two. Pain radiated from his abdomen in waves, courtesy of Doc's most recent concoction. But at least this time the Doc had used a different drug. Pain he understood. He could cope with it. The drug that swallowed his consciousness simply terrified him.

Once Doc had seen that the pain was affecting him, they'd cut the cable ties and left him. Was this punishment for breaking Doc's vial? He had no idea. He was completely ignorant of her purpose, of her motivation. Doc seemed amused by his questions. She showed no inclination to answer them.

The door rattled. Once again the three stooges entered. Mack smiled grimly at the comparison. Breathe, he told himself. He braced himself for the next onslaught. Feet appeared before his face. He closed his eyes.

The two guards bound him to the cell wall as before, hand and foot. Curly added something new: a strip of cloth around his eyes, holding his head upright against the bars. He was unable to do more than twitch, which only made the pain more difficult to bear. He focused on controlling his voice. He didn't want Doc to have the satisfaction of hearing him yell.

He didn't see the needle go in, but he felt it; he felt the cold spread through his veins. What would it be this time? MacGyver... My name is MacGyver... Another wave of pain rolled in, harsher than before. He gritted his teeth against it. And then he felt it: the dulling of his consciousness. He struggled to call up faces, memories: Sam, Pete, Nikki, Harry, Jack, his mother... he couldn't remember his mother's face. He couldn't remember! Pete... Sam... And the pain was growing again... This time he clung to it, embraced it. If he could still feel pain, still know it, then he was still himself, still awake and aware. He embraced the pain, and bottled his voice. Breathe... Breathe... Pain edged his consciousness... Time stretched to an eternity...

Something stung his face. He could see again, from one eye. Harsh light; dull colors. He closed it. Breathe. Breathe.

Voices. The clang of metal. The pain went on. Was he feeling his own death? The failure of his organs? It's only pain. Breathe, Mack. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe...

His arm again... The bite of the needle; the cold... What now? What more? Would he die of an overdose? He laughed at the irony of Reyerson angry over his death. Breathe... Breathe... and then, unbelievably, the pain increased, all his nerves on fire. He sought to ride it, to embrace it. It was too much. He screamed. Darkness sucked at him. He screamed again.

Once again, conscious thought abandoned him.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed through the window, striking Jack full in the face. He whimpered and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. He'd had the most horrendous dreams...

He'd thought for sure he was dying. His stomach still groaned at the insult. He felt weak and watery.

He'd never eat another fatty pork cake, as long as he lived.

A cheerful nurse chattered nonsense at him, and pulled the blanket from his head. She put a thermometer in his mouth, and took his wrist to check his pulse.

Jack pulled out the thermometer. "Can't you wait until a decent hour to do this? Like noon?"

The nurse only smiled, reinserted the thermometer, and said something else unintelligible. Great, Jack thought, and on top of that she's a foreigner. He lay back, with his free arm covering his eyes.

A moment later he was struggling to sit up. He pulled the thermometer from his mouth. "I'm in a foreign country! I gotta call Pete!"

The nurse scolded and pushed him back in his bed.

"No, you don't understand! I need a phone! A telephone!" He mimed putting a receiver to his ear. "Phone? Tel-lef-fon-nee?"

The woman nodded and pointed to the hall. Still speaking gibberish to his ears, she scolded again, and again reinserted the thermometer.

"M'kay, m'kay, I'll wait," Jack mumbled around it. He looked at the nurse. She was really quite young, and pretty. He grinned at her. She repaid him with a dubious smile, then took the thermometer back, read it, and shook it down.

"See, I'm fine!" Jack exclaimed. "Now show me the phone. Phone?" he asked, miming again.

The nurse pushed him back in bed, and raised a finger at him warningly. Then she left.

"The heck with that," Jack muttered. He looked around. A man snored under an oxygen tent at the far end of the room. The other two beds in the ward were empty. "They let you sleep," Jack complained at the other patient. He peered out the door. There were plenty of people out there--all passing by. He swung his legs off the bed.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Jack told himself. He felt more than a little woozy. But Mack needed him--needed him bad, as he recalled. Carefully he shifted his weight onto his legs.

His legs folded under him. He clutched the bed.

Another nurse, older and crosser, ran in.

"Meester Dalton!" she exclaimed in thickly accented English. "You are not well enough to be out of bed. You have had a very bad case of food poisoning."

"Is that all? I assure you, madam, I have a stomach of iron. All will be well in a moment, you will see." She heaved him back into his bed; he was too weak to resist.

"You must stay here under observation for at least twenty-four hours more."

"Please, ma'am, I need a phone," Jack pleaded. "It's really important. I promise I'll behave if you'll get me a phone."

"The telephone is in the patients' lounge. You may use it when you are well enough to walk again. Tomorrow, I think."

"I'll crawl there if I have to!" he said.

"You will do no such thing," she told him.

"Can't you bring me there in a wheelchair? Ten minutes, that's all I ask! Please? Pretty please?" He put on his best puppy-dog demeanor.

"We are very busy, Meester Dalton. This is a hospital."

"Well, what happened to the guys who brought me here last night? Maybe they could help..."

"Meester Dalton, you have been here for four days."

"Four days?"

"No one has come to visit you. Do not worry, you have been well cared for."

"Isn't there anyone who could get me to a phone? I'll pay for it. Good American cash. My wallet's around here somewhere..." he muttered, looking around. Then again...

"Your valuables are locked in the hospital safe. Do not worry, Mr. Dalton. I will send an aide to help you. I can see you will not rest until you get your way."

"Thank you! Thank you, ma'am, I am forever in your debt..." he called after her as she walked out the door.

Four days...

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Sam lay on the couch trying to sleep. Five nights later, and he still couldn't bring himself to use his father’s room. He hadn't bothered to open the sofa bed in his father's study, either. Light flickered through the two-story window fronting the apartment: a car passing on the road below. The city never slept.

The phone rang.

Half-asleep as he was, it took a minute for Sam to realize what he was hearing. He sat up and grabbed the receiver before the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Who's there?"

"Sam. Who are you?"

"Where's Pete Thornton?"

"At home, asleep. I hope. Who is this?"

"What are you doing in Mack's apartment?"

"Living here, at the moment. Look, it's three in the morning..."

"Sorry, I forgot the time difference. Can you get me Pete's number?"

"Yeah, it's here somewhere. Why do you want him?" Sam fished around for his father's notebook. Suddenly he realized. "You're Jack Dalton!"

"Yeah..."

"Where are you, man? We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Middle of nowhere. Why are you looking for me? Shouldn't you be looking for MacGyver?"

"We are. We tracked him as far as the airport in Nevada. Some guy there said you'd taken a job as a copilot with his kidnappers. But then the trail went cold."

"I've been stuck in the hospital. Food poisoning. But I know where Mack is. It's this castle mansion thingy on a lake up in the mountains. The Baltics. Balkans. Whatever."

"Can't you give a better address than that?"

"I can't even get out of bed without help, right now. It's gonna take me some time to find the place again. But I need Pete's help to get Mack out, okay? The place is a fortress."

"I've got Mr. Thornton's number..."

"I gotta go, I'm out of time. I'll call again as soon as I can."

"Wait--"

The line went dead.

Sam sat for a moment, staring into space. It was so little to go on, but so much more than they'd had for days...

He turned on the computer and pulled out an atlas. In another few hours, he'd call Mr. Thornton. In the meantime, he could do a little research.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Jack hung up the phone, staring at the door across the hall. The orderly beside him stood.

"Hang on a minute, would you?" Jack asked absently. When the man shifted his feet, Jack turned his attention more fully to his helper. "Look, I just want a change of scenery, okay? Fifteen minutes." He opened his wallet, retrieved from the hospital safe. "Here, good American cash." He handed the man a ten, his attention already returned to the nearby door. "Thanks for pushing me here."

The man said something unintelligible to Jack's ears, and left. Jack wheeled slowly across the hall, dodging brisk nurses and meandering pedestrians. His eyes never left the door. A cluster of chatting nurses dispersed when he arrived, revealing a large window beside the door. It framed the space inside: a few seats, shelves of medicines, a counter. A pharmacy, then. The white-coats behind the counter confirmed that impression. The woman who had caught his attention--tall, blond, and cold--stood before the counter, looking impatient. Jack edged closer to the door to listen.

"I need a two month supply. This is unacceptable." Her voice was sharp enough to cut, even from a distance.

"I need more warning to guarantee supply," the pharmacist said blandly. "These strong psychotropics are not drugs we normally keep in stock."

"Trouble enough I have to complete this errand in person," the woman snorted angrily. "Now you tell me I have to make the trip twice. Can you at least manage a one-week supply, until my order arrives?"

"I can give you two days. Your order should be here by then."

"It will have to suffice," the woman muttered.

The pharmacist nodded and busied himself filling the order. The woman sat, crossed her legs, and tapped her nails on the table beside her. Not a patient lady, Jack thought. A tall man dressed in plain dark clothes positioned himself at attention beside her. A guard, or a servant. Or both.

Less than five minutes later, the pharmacist returned with a small bag. "Dr. Lundborgh," he called. She stood, elegant and haughty, and took the bag from him.

"In two days, my order will be waiting here?" she asked.

"That's right."

"I will not be able to come myself. I will send my assistant here, Mr. Portnoy, in my stead."

"That is contrary to hospital policy," he objected.

"I will need the drugs for my patient. I will send Mr. Portnoy with a signed letter, and I will sign a statement now of my intentions."

"All right," he said. He handed her pen and paper. "I will need a copy of his identification."

Tall Mr. Portnoy removed a card from his wallet, which the pharmacist brought to the back room. A few minutes later he returned with the card and a sheet of paper. The latter he stapled to Dr. Lundborgh's note.

Jack studied his hands as Lundborgh and Portnoy left the pharmacy, walking quickly. Two days to think of a way to join or follow Portnoy back to the mansion on the lake. Surely he could think of something in that time. For now, however, he had to admit he was flagging.

"Meester Dalton!" a woman called. It was the nurse. The woman took his wheelchair and swung it around. She walked him briskly down the hall. "You must return to bed this instant! You promised only a short phone call, and now I find you wandering the halls."

"Thank you for coming to rescue me," Jack said, using his most charming manner. Bed sounded like heaven.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

For the fourth time, Mack woke with his face pressed to the concrete floor of his cell. He closed his eyes. He was exhausted: physically, mentally, and emotionally. He might just be tired enough to sleep on the cold floor.

It was no use. He was shivering violently. His mind came awake: a fact that both frustrated and relieved him. Doc had given him four doses of the mind-swallowing drug so far. Each time, he became better at resisting its effects. Each time, he held out longer. Each time, Doc increased the pain. How much longer could he resist?

Each time, he woke up thirsty--but never hungry. That fact alone disturbed him.

Thinking of water, Mack pushed to his knees. A flash of silver caught his eye, tucked against the unrelieved gray of bars and concrete. He crawled toward it.

It was the needle from the syringe--the one he'd broken an age ago.

He picked it up and sat down, considering. What could he do with it?

His gaze fell on a curl of white plastic just outside the bars. He reached for it: the snipped end of a cable tie. With this and the needle, he might be able to open the padlock on his cell. But then what?

He'd have to think of something.

Carefully he hauled himself up the bars to standing. He leaned there a moment, trying to shake off the drugs in his system; the exhaustion that dogged him. He worked his way to the door.

He had to reach around a steel plate set into the door to find the padlock. He found the keyhole by touch; inserted the needle. The plastic tab was just stiff enough to twist the cam. He raked the pins with the needle; felt for the remaining tumblers. With any luck, this would be enough. The needle was too brittle to bend at the tip. He twisted. The lock popped open.

Silently he placed the padlock on the floor, keeping the needle and plastic in hand.

It was strange to be out of the cell, alone. What to do first? There were the locked iron gate and the locked cabinet to explore. He decided to try the gate, first. It was padlocked like the cell. Light from the main room cast it in deep shadow. He stared into it as he worked the second lock, willing his eyes to adjust.

There was a slight step down on entering--a few inches. Inside the foundation was older; rough and dusty. A fieldstone wall, five feet from the door and about waist height, curved away from him. Mack threaded the needle into his shirt and tucked the plastic into the seam at his sleeve: he would need them later.

On the other side of the wall was water.

Light from the main room sparkled on its surface. The wall curved into a ring: a well, then, or cistern. How was it fed? Mack walked the circle. The walls and floor around it were bare, except for three pumps, one at each wall. At each pump, a steel pipe ran up to the ceiling; another into the water. They were set to automatically draw from the water. The third pipe MacGyver found at the dividing wall between the cell room and this one. That would feed the shower, Mack guessed--hopefully not also the fountain he drank from, at least not directly. This too was an outlet, not an inlet. Which meant, in the absence of an above-ground inlet, that this was a well. It would have to be fed from below: an unlikely candidate for an escape route.

The pumps, however: electricity and steel pipes, a promising combination. The door was steel as well. A plan began to form in his mind. If he could booby-trap the door, he'd have a chance, however slim, of escape: especially if he could take out one or two guards in the process. Perhaps he could find something in the locked cabinet that would better his chances. But first...

Mack detached the steel pipe from the nearest pump and lifted it from the water. As he'd hoped, it was a good eight feet, plus four after the bend: long enough that three together would reach from the well room to the steel entry door in the cell room. If he repositioned the pump, he could wire the pipe into the pump's circuit. Turn on the switch, and the door would go live...

The outer door rattled. Mack groaned inwardly. Think, MacGyver, think... he could run back to the cell and try again later, or come up with some new plan. A moment's indecision gripped him. Not enough time... He bashed the bend of the pipe against the wall. The short half fell into his hand. He ran to the door just as it opened, makeshift bludgeon at the ready.

The guard entered bearing a bludgeon of his own, which he jammed into Mack's kidneys. A smile played across the man's lips as Mack fell to his knees. The man had known what to expect, Mack thought, groaning. How? A hidden camera?

The new guard kicked away the section of pipe, and put Mack in a headlock. Larry, Mack thought wildly. This new guard with the straight hair is Larry, and the balding one coming in is Moe.

Reyerson followed, grinning triumph.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Nikki picked at the food piled on her plate. Pete had ordered Chinese, cooling rapidly while he made nonstop calls with MacGyver's phone. When Pete dropped the receiver into its cradle, Sam turned from his father's computer, despondent. "We have sixty-seven sites so far that could fit Jack's vague description, and we've only been able to eliminate twenty-two of them."

"If Jack really meant the Balkans," Nikki muttered.

"Helen's called more than fifty hospitals in Bulgaria," Pete said, "and she couldn't find Jack Dalton registered at any of them."

"Jack's sent us on a wild goose chase," Nikki said. She'd done many of the research calls, but the possible locations fitting Jack's descriptions were far too many. They could spend weeks at this, and never get closer.

"I know," Pete sighed. "I'll stay here tonight, with Sam, in case Jack calls again."

The phone rang.

Nikki and the others stared. Pete broke the silence. "Probably Helen calling back," he muttered, picking it up. The attached tracing device got to work.

"Hello?" Pete listened only a moment before engaging the speakerphone.

"Is that you this time?" Jack whispered loudly.

"Yes, Jack, it's me. Sam told me you called late last night. Where are you?"

"In the hospital, like I said."

"Which hospital? And why are you whispering?" Pete asked, with obvious annoyance.

"Because it's the middle of the night, and because I've seen some, you know..."

"No, I don't know."

"People. Friends of ours. Not really."

"You mean, some of the people who took MacGyver?"

"That's right."

"Okay, Jack." Pete said. "Where are you? What's the name of the hospital?"

"How am I supposed to know? The writing's all weird here."

"Greek? Or Cyrillian?"

"It's all Greek to me. But I know where we landed the plane. Ivan-something, that's what it said on the map. In English. English writing, anyway."

Pete sighed. "What country?"

"Umm..."

"Bulgaria? Greece?" Pete prompted.

"No, no. More north than Greece. North of the Black Sea. Mostly."

"Ukraine," Sam said, looking at his father's atlas. "It has to be. Ivansk, Ukraine. It's in the Carpathian Mountains."

"Yeah, that's it," Jack said. "That's Sam, right?"

"Yes," said Pete. "And you told him the Balkans, not the Carpathians."

"Yeah, well, one of those. I was close, right?"

Pete gritted his teeth. "Where's MacGyver?"

"Well, when we flew in here--I was the copilot, you know?"

"We know."

"So, we landed, and we sold a bunch of cargo. We didn't get good prices, Jared didn't like that. Nobody here has money."

"Ever since the dissolution of the Soviet Union," Pete said. "Now get to the point."

"Right. So we rented a van, and we drove up into the mountains. The middle of nowhere, really. It took hours. And we got to this castle place. Not really a castle, just this really big old house. But it had some old stone walls, too. And it was right next to this lake, with a mountain behind it. This huge old place. And Jared said I should stay in the van while they took the snake in."

"The snake," Pete said.

"Yeah, in this enormous crate. But I figured they had to be smuggling something, right? There had to be a stash. I mean, chartered shipping for a snake? So I snuck a look through the window. There was a snake in there all right, but no drugs."

"Mack was in there," Pete prompted.

"Bingo. And this old guy, the buyer--Ryanson, I think. He was makin' a stink. Something about a general, and gettin' stuck in prison."

"He wanted revenge," Pete sighed.

"Yup, one o' those. So I figured I better call you, cuz the place is an Alcatraz. Not that I was gonna let that stop me. My plan was to ditch Jared and the others, find my way back there."

"So how come you're in the hospital?"

"Food poisoning. I ate this really greasy stuff, and I was gonna tell the guys I felt too sick to fly. But..."

"But you were too sick to fly," Pete guessed.

"I don't even remember anything since that dinner," Jack said, sounding embarrassed for once.

"All right, Jack. We're going to try to figure out where the mansion is."

"You won't have to," Jack said. "I've got a plan."

"No plans!" Pete said. "Just wait until we get there."

"No really, this doctor is sending a guy here tomorrow to get some medicines. Psycho drugs. I can weasel a ride back with him."

"What doctor, Jack?" Pete asked.

"Lumberg something. She's gorgeous and she's nasty. She's in charge of, you know."

"Of MacGyver?" Pete's voice rose.

"Yeah. The old guy said so. So I'll follow the driver guy back."

Nikki glanced at Sam. His eyes were wide and worried. So he’d caught the implications as she had: they were drugging his father. Psycho drugs...

"Jack, listen to me," Pete said. "You've got to be careful. You do anything foolish, they'll know we're on to them. We can't let them know we're coming."

"Yeah, I understand that," Jack said.

"So promise me, promise me you won't do anything until we get there."

"No sweat," Jack said. "I'll just get a job there or something, or I'll get a place nearby. You know."

"Jack, they can't know you're there."

"I know, Papa Thornton. Look, I gotta go. I'll call when I get there, okay?"

"Jack--"

The line went dead.

"That idiot," Nikki exploded.

Pete looked at her, startled. He set the receiver in its cradle. "I feel strange defending him, but--we wouldn't know where to find Mack without his help."

"That was dumb luck," Nikki objected.

"True." Pete agreed. "And Jack is far better at getting Mack into trouble than at getting him out. Still, he's always been a loyal friend. He'll try to help." Pete rubbed his temples. "I just hope he doesn't do anything crazy before we can get there."

"How will we get there?" Sam asked.

"We're going to need a cover," Pete said.

"Jack said Ryanson," Nikki put in. "The details fit Reyerson."

"They do," Pete agreed, "and Ukraine is an excellent place for an arms dealer to set up shop right now. There are plenty of Soviet-era radioactive materials and weapons manufacturing supplies floating around, with too little security. He could be setting up to cause a lot of trouble. Which means the DXS will be interested."

"You'll pull them in, now? Is that wise?" Nikki asked.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. "Don't we need the help?"

"Because their priority will be nailing Reyerson, not getting Mack out."

"Mack is a former DXS agent," Pete said. "He's in hot water with Reyerson because of work he did on behalf of DXS. They'll take care of their own."

"I hope you're right," Nikki muttered.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Jack sat in the patients' lounge, across from the hospital pharmacy. He held a magazine in front of his face, turning pages to look at the pictures. The text was all Greek--okay, Russian. Close enough, he thought. The important thing is, Pete's on the way.

A tall, dark figure he recognized entered the pharmacy. That was his signal. Jack put down the magazine, picked up his satchel, and walked in behind the man. There was a short line in front of the counter. With any luck, there'd be a wait. These kinds of places always made you wait. It was a requirement of the profession: Want medicine? Wait.

Jack turned quickly, bumping the courier with his bag. "Oops! Sorry," he apologized to the man's disgruntled frown. "Hey, nice suit. Do you always dress so well?"

"This is my uniform," the man replied.

"Cool! So what do you do? Drive a fancy car?"

"I do," the man said in stiff English. "And I run errands for my employer's household."

"Pretty heavy stuff," Jack said. "Hey, my name's Walton," he said, sticking out his hand. "But you can call me Jack. Better than John-boy." Jack grinned.

Hesitantly the man took Jack's hand. "Portnoy," he replied.

"I'm looking for employment myself," Jack said. "Something I can do for a few months, pay my travel expenses. Any chance your boss is hiring?"

Portnoy looked Jack up and down. "We are in need of a new houseboy. The last one came to work drunk and was dismissed."

"What's a houseboy do?"

"Make beds. Clean rooms. Serve meals. Run errands."

"Oh, I could do that," Jack said.

Portnoy raised his brows. "You would have to convince the house manager."

"With my charm? No problem-o."

The man smiled in spite of himself.

"How's the pay?" Jack asked.

"Not bad," the man replied, "if you like the countryside." He grimaced. "Also room and board are included."

"Sounds great to me," Jack said.

The woman in front of them finished her transaction, and Portnoy stepped up to the counter. "Mr. Portnoy here to retrieve a package for Dr. Lundborgh," he said.

The pharmacist nodded and left for the back room.

"So, Portnoy. How should I request the job of houseboy at your place of employment?" Jack asked.

"You should present yourself to Mr. Dunning, the house manager."

"Might I... follow you there on my motorbike?" Jack asked coyly.

"You may," Portnoy laughed. "But I have a suggestion for you."

"Yes?" Jack arched his brows.

"Do not try to win Mr. Dunning with your charm. He has no sense of humor."

"Aye aye, sir. Loud and clear." Jack saluted.

The pharmacist returned with a small paper bag for Portnoy. "Please complete this form and sign, sir."

Portnoy took the proffered pen.

"May I help you?" the pharmacist asked Jack.

"Antacid, please, and aspirin." He felt in a dapper mood as he counted out Ukrainian coins he'd exchanged that morning. He had a motorbike, and his plan was underway. Get ready, Mack, here I come...

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Firelight flickered on the walls--wet walls, red as blood; rough-hewn rock. MacGyver clutched the bars and made himself as small as possible, shrinking into the corner. He was trapped, and the lion paced closer, smelling his fear, baring its teeth. Mack considered his bare feet and hands. He carried nothing, bore nothing, wore little. Nothing at hand but bars fixed in rock, his prison. He would fight when it came to it, but his chances were worse than slim.

He glanced up at the shadow approaching, red light dancing behind. The compact figure of a man, close-cut hair, a sawtooth blade clutched in his teeth as he crept forward. Eyes glittered blue ice. MacGyver held his breath. It was only a matter of time before he was seen. An explosion shattered the rock beside him. He covered his head and shuddered.

"It's not real, you know."

Shocked, he looked up. He knew that voice. He'd never expected to hear it again.

"None of this is real, Bud. You can tune it out if you figure out how." The man sank to one knee before him, a tall and lanky figure with a tousled gray mane.

"Harry?"

"That's right, Bud."

MacGyver breathed deep, his heart still racing. "I've never felt such terror--"

"Some of that is real."

"Are you real?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe--?"

The ghost of a smile touched Harry's lips.

"Why are you here?" MacGyver asked.

"Because you need me."

"Isn't that the truth." Mack stared at the fire creeping closer. He felt its heat as a burning in his skin; flinched away from the brightness. "is that real?" he asked Harry, turning back to his grandfather.

"Is what real?"

He looked again. The floor writhed with scaly bodies. Some slipped through the bars, seeking his mammalian warmth. He pushed to a crouch against the bars; cried out when they burned his back. He felt a rising panic.

"Listen to me, Bud. Pay attention!"

"Harry?"

"It's not real, Bud. Look at me. It's not real."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you."

"Am I losing my mind?"

"No."

He rubbed his eyes and tried to think, tried to remember. His thoughts moved like molasses. "Doc gave me something different this time. Some sort of hallucinogen."

"I 'spect so," Harry agreed.

His dead grandfather waited patiently. So Harry was just another hallucination, MacGyver thought. He sighed. Did it matter? "Talk to me, Harry."

"Sit down."

MacGyver looked dubiously at the floor. Acid ate a pattern into the stone. "It's not real," he told himself. "Not real..." Carefully he lowered himself to sitting. He gasped at the pain where his body touched the floor. "Are you sure it's not real, Harry?"

"Dead sure. I ever told you the story of my father and the bear?"

"Lots of times."

"Good. Now back when your great-granddad was a young man..."

MacGyver closed his eyes and listened to the familiar words. No other sound, no other sensation mattered.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Fresh in his new uniform, Jack listened to the butler's instructions with half an ear and a sweet smile. Mr. Dunning wasn't really a butler—his official title was “house manager”—but his stiff manner and British accent screamed it.

"...when you are not needed you will stand unobtrusively in the corner," Dunning told him.

"They won't know I'm there," Jack agreed.

"You will watch carefully to see if they need more water, or their plates removed. Their discussion is not your business."

"I'm deaf but not blind," Jack nodded. He congratulated himself. He'd found the perfect role for a spy and infiltrator. As a houseboy, he was not only invisible; he also had the freedom of the house.

"Very well. Help Josef set out the food and dishes, and take your position."

"Yes, sir."

"Remember you are on probation, Mr. Walton. We have been doing fine without you this past week; we can do without you again."

"Of course, sir."

The man frowned and took off for the kitchen. Like a runaway remote- controlled plane, Jack thought--zipping around where it wasn't wanted. Jack stepped across to the cabinets where Josef was loading dishes and linens onto the base of a trolley. The man smiled at him. Jack smiled back and peeked in the steaming food warmer. He'd already found that Josef's English was limited. The two men pushed the food trolley into the dining room: a large, paneled room overlooking the lake and forested mountainside beyond. Jack set two places at the long table, taking his time fussing over the arrangement, while Josef set out food and drinks on the sideboard. As Josef wheeled the trolley out again, Jack examined the wine. Neither bore a label he could read. Dunning had informed him that he himself would arrive in time to open the wine and pour. He hadn't shown Jack the wine cellar on his tour of the kitchens and pantries, either.

Voices in the hall alerted Jack to his employer's entrance--David Reyerson, or Mr. Reyerson, as Dunning had instructed him. Jack took his place in the corner. Dunning sailed smoothly through the service entrance. He gestured for Jack to help him seat Reyerson and Dr. Lundborgh. Then the butler shooed Jack to the sideboard to scoop out food while he waited table. Jack was kept busy for the next few minutes. Finally, Dunning served the wine, bowed, and exited, leaving one bottle open on the table. Jack retreated to his corner, a white napkin over his forearm, doing his best impression of Dunning--if Dunning were a statue. Reyerson and Lundborgh sat with their backs to him, facing the view.

"How progresses your patient, Veandra?" Reyerson asked finally.

"Not at all, today. He was in no condition to continue with the treatments."

Reyerson looked sharply at her. "And why is that?"

Lundborgh sipped her wine and took her time answering. "You may recall, David, that I explained to you the importance of pain in my protocol?"

"You said he mustn't be damaged. I did not have him damaged."

"I said I must have complete control over the pain. I must be able to begin and end it at will. What you have done will last days."

"He is mine."

"Of course. Why, then, did you bother to bring me here, if you have no wish to follow my instructions? Am I wasting my time?"

They ate in chilly silence.

"I will not make the same mistake twice," Reyerson conceded finally. "But I must have access to him."

"There are other methods available," Lundborgh said coolly.

Jack held his breath, willing himself invisible. He didn't trust himself to clear away dishes with a cool head for at least a few more minutes. Thankfully, their talk turned to lighter matters. Lundborgh excused herself early, leaving Reyerson to sip his wine in silence, staring out at the lake. The tapers on the tables melted away; Jack quietly stretched his hamstrings and waited, idly wondering if anyone would notice if he snuck off on a quick explore.

Reyerson stood, picked up his cane, and left without looking around. Jack would have bet the man never noticed his presence. He stretched again before retrieving the trolley from behind the service door. Time to clean up. He wasn't above snitching a bit of dinner, either.

Dunning came to check on him when he was nearly finished. The man reorganized the stacks of dinnerware, scolding all the while: "if you break any plates, I will dock your salary. It will take you weeks to pay them off!" And so on. Jack used one of his great skills: tuning him out while appearing to listen. After another hour of carting and cleaning, a late but tasty dinner with the rest of the help (not Dunning or the cook), and still more clean-up, Dunning called for him once more. Jack groaned silently. What else?

But Dunning only wanted to show him the linen closet, so he could get sheets for making his own bed. And, of course, so he could make more beds tomorrow. From the staff dining room beside the kitchen, they walked up a narrow stair to the main floor of the estate. The stair gave onto a narrow landing, a small door, and a large one. Dunning showed him the cleaning supplies behind the small door. Then he stepped to the large one. "You must exit with caution. Do not go charging in front of Mr. Reyerson or his guests. Make a dignified entrance behind them, or when the hall is empty." The man demonstrated, gesturing for Jack to follow. They crossed a wide hall, richly carpeted and decorated with paintings. To one side, tall windows and two sets of French doors let onto a small courtyard garden. They entered a similar door on the far end. This was a closet the size of a small room, with two doors, the larger being the one they'd entered by. The shelves were piled high with sheets, blankets, pillows, and the like, which Dunning raided, piling a set of the plainest bedding in Jack's arms.

"What's that way?" Jack asked.

"Back stairs to the private rooms," Dunning answered, "and the guard station. We return down the kitchen stairs, to staff quarters." He led the way back across the hall and down. The landing gave onto a service entrance, the pantries, the kitchen, and a short hall. Jack had already been shown the pantries and kitchen; these and the forbidden wine cellar were at the back of the house, dug into the hill; through the kitchen was storage for china service and the door to the dining room at the front of the house. The next door in the hall led to the staff dining room; Dunning led him farther down the hall to yet another door.

"Where's that one go?" Jack asked, pointing to the steel door set into the end of the hall.

"Private area," Dunning said shortly, and led Jack into a long sitting room. Two doors were set in the wall to the left and two across; in the far corner was the entrance to a narrow hallway. A battered couch and television occupied the center of the room; Josef sat watching a soccer game. He looked up and smiled; Jack smiled and waved back.

"The women's rooms are on this side," Dunning said, indicating the doors. "Yours is this way." He led Jack down the small hallway, stopping at the first door on the right. "I expect you in the staff dining room for breakfast at 7am sharp. There will be no drinking or lewdness, nor excessive noise--here or anywhere in the house. Sunday and Monday are your personal days; you may get drunk in town if you must, but you are required to get a room there if you do. Do not return here drunk. You understand?

"Yes, sir," Jack said.

"Very well." Dunning stalked off.

Jack opened the door. It was a tiny, shabby room, furnished with bed, dresser, desk, and an overstuffed chair. Jack wondered about that touch. There was no window, but the lighting was decent. He entered and put the sheets on the bed. His bag, stowed that morning in the dining room, had been moved here.

"Not much, yes?" Jack spun around; tall dark Portnoy stood in the doorway.

"Not much, but it suits my needs," Jack said.

"Yours is the least favored room, because you are newest here," Portnoy explained in his thick accent. "It is not smallest, however. Josef has the smallest."

"Why doesn't Josef have this room?"

"He did, until last night. Last night he moved across the hall."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"He says he heard screaming in the night. Very superstitious, these rural farmboys."

"Screaming?" Jack asked.

"Through the wall behind you. Like a man suffering the torment of hell, he said."

Or of Reyerson, Jack though grimly.

"So what do I do if I hear screaming?" Jack asked.

Portnoy shrugged. "Grin and bear it?" he suggested. "I go to sleep now. Good night, Walton."

"G'night, man," Jack said. He closed the door behind Portnoy. Time to make his bed and get some sleep. Some time in the middle of the night, he'd go upstairs for another blanket. He wanted a look at that guard station.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

"Harry."

"I'm still here, Bud."

MacGyver rolled to his side, opening his eyes. The floor heaved and rolled under him, making him nauseous. He tried to swallow around his swollen tongue. It might have been weeks, or merely days, since the world had taken a turn for the weird and disturbing--drugs, he reminded himself. He was Doc's guinea pig for a series of experiments with psychotropics. During that time, she and her stooges had come in a number of times--to stick him with needles; to force-feed him some bland-tasting stuff (which he had promptly vomited). Mack had only fuzzy recollections of all the nightmares that had gripped him. In all that time, Harry had been the only constant: his anchor to memory, to sanity, to reality. Or at least, to a version of reality that he could cope with. He struggled to hands and knees. His constant thirst pushed him to brave the terrors that greeted his open eyes. He pushed his hand through the bars to the fountain, to catch what he could. He reminded himself that what he was seeing was water. The dark color, the oily feel--these were not real. At least, he hoped not. The sight of Harry standing just outside the bars reassured him. He drank.

Too tired to continue, he turned and slumped against the bars. Harry sat, now, within the cage with him. Mack didn't question. It was Harry, after all. The ground heaved again. Mack gripped a bar to ride it out.

"How long is she going to keep this up?" he asked.

"Wish I knew," Harry answered. His own thought, really. It didn't matter.

The gray walls, dark and slick, swelled and heaved in the strange red light. Tiny shadows shifted there. Mack closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about what he was seeing--or thought he was seeing. It all made his head hurt. "Tell me a story, Harry. Tell me about Mom and her first bicycle."

"That one again, huh?"

"Again," Mack agreed.

Clang. Bang. The rattle of a chain. Mack heard the door swing open. He drew a nervous breath. Would Doc be real this time? More than once she'd come as a nightmare, leaving him screaming, only to find, when Harry calmed him, that he still had all his fingers after all, that he was still whole and human. Even these nightmares were preferable to Doc in reality. "Is she real this time, Harry?"

"She's real, Bud. Stay calm."

His arms were stretched and pinned--the usual position. He was gripped in a suffocating headlock. He suppressed a whimper as the needle went in. He was tired, so tired... His mind felt dull...

"Fight it, Bud. It’s the mind-stealer again." Harry's voice shook MacGyver from the grip of creeping numbness. After so long, so many hallucinogens, barbituate cocktails, he'd almost forgotten the terror of this one. The feeling of losing himself, losing control. A small death.

"Harry, help..." he called softly.

“You have to fight this. You can fight it," Harry told him. "You just have to remember yourself."

"Tell me a story, Harry," Mack breathed.

"Your Mom's first bicycle. Tell it with me, Grandson."

"She was eight years old..."

"And the first girl on the block to get one," Harry continued.

"It was powder blue, blue seat... shade of cornflowers," Mack whispered. The drug pulled at the edges of his consciousness.

"Her favorite color," Harry said. His voice kept the dullness, the darkness, at bay.

A little girl in a blue dress danced in Mack's mind. Together he and Harry spun the story.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Sam pored over a map of the Carpathian Mountains, sadly out of date, with growing frustration. He highlighted another lake that might fit Jack's description. There were far too many. Lost again...

"Come on, Jerry, this is me you're talking to. Those satellite images... I know that's classified data. I'm asking for the clearance on this one, you know my record. Jerry... I don't get it. No, I don't. Since when does former agent matter in a case like this? Jerry..." Mr. Thornton hung up. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"They won't help," Sam said flatly.

"They're stonewalling," Mr. Thornton said. "I don't know what's going on. He said we had no proof that your father's in trouble because of work he did for DXS."

"That matters?"

"Apparently. Maybe Nikki's having more success." Nikki had gone to work her senate connections. "If they'd just give us those satellite images, I'd forgive them for holding back the manpower until we have more evidence..."

"Mr. Thornton, I have to fly out today. At least I can search the countryside."

"I agree," the older man sighed. "If Jack hasn't called by now..."

The phone rang--but not Mr. Thornton's phone this time. They'd forwarded MacGyver's line into his friend's office. Sam punched the speakerphone.

"Hello?"

"Is Pete there?"

"Jack, it's been more than two days," Mr. Thornton complained.

"Yeah, well I didn't want to use Reyerson's phone. This is the first I've been able to get out of the house."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in this tiny village about 10 minutes from the place--Caperna, I think it's called. I rented a room above the bar."

Sam found the name on the map. For once, Jack was right.

"And?"

"He's not looking so good, Pete. He's alive, though, and I think they'll keep him that way."

Sam grimaced. Jack actually sounded serious.

"What are they doing to him?" Mr. Thornton asked, subdued.

"Reyerson had him beat up, but I don't think that'll happen again. Lundborgh was pretty p.o.'ed. She's that doctor I told you about. Mack's her guinea pig, don't know for what."

"So how did you get to him?"

"I didn't. The guard station is right next to the linen closet. The door going through there has a nice big old-fashioned keyhole that looks right over the video surveillance. I saw Mack in the monitor. They're keeping him in a big cage-thing in the back part of the cellar. There's a monster steel door going that way but I can't figure how to get through--no one goes that way, and it's locked or barred or something from the other side."

"There's got to be another way in," Mr. Thornton said.

"There is: one of the back staircases. Thing is, the only way to it is through the guard station. I haven't figured out a way around that, yet."

"Don't. You need a way out, not just a way in."

"I'm not a total idiot, Pete. Listen, how soon can you get here with the big guns?"

"I'm working on that. Sam at least can meet you there in two days."

"No good. They expect me back at the big house Monday at noon. If I'm late, I'll prob’ly be axed. The butler doesn't like me much."

"We'll try to reach you before then. Where can we find you?"

"Every Saturday and Sunday night I'll be staying at this bar."

"All right, if we can't get there before you leave we'll try to reach you some other way."

"Right-o."

"Hang in there Jack, just lay low. We need you on the inside."

"Don't I know it," Jack said grimly. "Get here fast, okay?" He hung up.

Sam turned off the speakerphone. "That didn't sound like the same Jack Dalton," he said.

"I know. That worries me. Let's get you onto the next flight to Ukraine. You and your camping gear, I think, so you look like a touring student. In the meantime, I'll keep working on DXS." Mr. Thornton picked up his phone.

"I'll be getting packed," Sam said. He folded up the map on his way out the door. He could be back at the apartment in ten minutes if he hurried.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

"No, Jack Walton. Use your hand to make the crease in the sheet. Like so." Lilia demonstrated. Jack imitated her from his side of the bed. "Good. Now tuck."

"Like this?" Jack asked.

"No, no!" the girl laughed. "Try again."

She made him do it several more times, until he got it right. Jack didn't mind. Lilia was a sweet kid, with a pretty smile. He could make beds with her all morning. Come to think of it, he probably would. They smoothed the blankets together. This time Jack's efforts passed muster after only two tries.

"So how'd a pretty girl like you end up in a place like this?" Jack asked.

Lilia giggled. "I get money. Same as you, yes?"

"Yes, true." Jack turned on his charm. "I think Portnoy is sweet on you."

"Oh no, no," Lilia protested, smiling bashfully.

"Oh yes, yes. All morning at breakfast: would you like some juice, Lilia? Can I get you a pastry, Lilia? Let me help you with that chair, Lilia."

Lilia giggled again, this time hiding her face behind the pillow she was stuffing.

"Do you like him?"

"He is very handsome," Lilia admitted. "He is nice, too."

"You should let him know," Jack said. "He's a bashful guy, he needs some encouragement."

Lilia smiled. "We get the laundry for cleaning, next," she said. "And we change the towels."

Jack went to their cart to drop off the dirty laundry, and get fresh linens. Lilia was dusting when he got back into the suite.

"Tell me about the other people who live here," Jack said. "What are they like?"

"Oh, I don't know that," Lilia said.

"Sure you do. Like that woman that eats with the boss. Who's she?"

"The doctor? She is here to care for Mr. Reyerson's mad relation."

"His mad what?"

"I think he is a nephew. I do not know. I see him upstairs sometimes when I am cleaning. He walks like he has no brain inside, you know?"

"What's he look like?"

"Not so old as Mr. Reyerson. Like your age."

"Blue eyes? Brown eyes?"

"Oh, I do not know that," Lilia said. "Why would you want to know?"

"Umm, well," said Jack, stalling, "because I think I've seen him around. A tall skinny guy, longish light brown hair, wearing hospital jammies?"

"Yes, that is the man. He scares me, you know?"

"Really? Why?"

"He looks scary." Lilia glanced at the door, then leaned toward Jack. "And I think I hear him screaming at night, sometimes," she whispered. "I am glad of you being here, today."

The girl returned to her work, stealing furtive glances at the door. Jack pulled out the vacuum. Mindlessly cleaning the floor, he thought over Lilia's words. Why would Mack be walking around upstairs? From what Jack had seen of him, he looked exhausted, but not mindless. Could this be the result of one of Lundborgh's experiments? To what purpose?

A few hours later, their work on the main floor completed for the day, Jack and Lilia carried laundry and cleaning equipment to the linen closet. Lilia dropped the laundry into a chute—the laundry room, it turned out, was in the basement across from the staff quarters—and turned to Jack.

“Now we clean the doctor’s room,” Lilia said nervously. “She is very particular about how her rooms are cared for, so you must watch me closely, yes?” She piled sheets, towels, and blankets in Jack’s arms, and picked up a laundry bag and a bucket of cleaning equipment.

“How do we get there?” Jack asked from behind the tall pile. “I can barely see where I’m going.”

“Follow me,” she told him. The girl checked the main hall, then led Jack out, turning immediately to enter the next room. The guard room.

“Lilly, lovely Lilly-a, “ a guard cat-called.

Lilia smiled nervously and ducked her head.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“He is new,” she said quickly. She darted up the stairs. Jack followed, trying to avoid tripping on the bottom step.

The narrow hall at the top of the stairs was empty. Lilia placed her things under a small table against the walls, and indicated that Jack should place his bundle on top.

“Where’s that door go?” Jack asked, pointing to the end of the hall.

“To the rest of the upper floor. It is always locked. The doctor’s rooms are this way.”

Lilia knocked upon the door beside the table—the only other door in the hall was too narrow for a room—and waited. When no one answered, she pushed inside. Beyond was a large parlor, furnished in plush carpets and sofas. Light poured in through two tall windows. The door opposite was closed.

“If we are lucky, the rooms will be empty,” Lilia whispered. “When they are not, we must clean this parlor, and wait for them to leave.” The girl shivered as she approached the far door. Again, no one answered her knock. The girl looked over her shoulder at Jack.

“That’s okay, I’ll open it,” he offered. He pushed open the door. “Hello?” he called.

No one answered.

Jack pushed the door open further, to a sun-drenched square hall, complete with reading chair, lamp, and table in the far corner. The window let onto a balcony, and the courtyard. The door across the way stood open on a large bedroom. A third door, across from the window, was shut. Jack entered, and knocked upon the inner door. No one answered. He took hold of the knob.

“We are not permitted in that room,” Lilia said, standing timid by the parlor door.

“It’s locked, anyway,” Jack told her.

“Good,” Lilia sighed. “That means no one is here.” She spun around, returning to the outer hall and their supplies.

As soon as she turned away, Jack walked to the small table. It held one shallow drawer. Jack opened it, but found only pens and paper: no key. He walked into the bedroom and looked around. If I were a key, he wondered… He didn’t think about whether the locked door was worth opening. If it was locked, it was worth opening.

The bedroom, however, was enormous. He’d had apartments that could fit inside this one room. A giant bed took up the corner, dressed in maroon and gold satin. To the left, the door to the bathroom stood ajar.

Lilia entered behind him. “Help me with the bed, first,” she directed him. “If we work quickly, we can be done by meal time.”

As they cleaned, Jack took every moment he could to peek in drawers and into nooks and pockets. Lilia’s bustling left him little time to search, however. They cleaned the bathroom, gathered the laundry, changed the linens… Soon little was left but the dusting and vacuuming.

“Should I carry the vacuum upstairs?” Jack offered gallantly.

“No, there is one in the hall closet. I will get it. You do the dusting,” Lilia told him.

“I’m on it,” Jack said. “Jack the duster.” He posed with the feather duster.

Lilia giggled. “Do you remember how?”

Jack lifted a small but heavy bronze statuette of a man kneeling at a woman’s feet. “Lift item. Dust item. Dust under. Return item. See?”

“This is good. We will finish soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry.”

Lilia left for the hallway. Soon Jack heard her in the parlor, vacuuming. The furniture and rugs there would occupy her for a while. In the meantime Jack had noticed something: the statuette he’d dusted was hollow, but not empty. He ran his fingers over the figures, looking for cracks.

The man’s head twisted off. Inside was a ring of three keys. “Ah-hah! Jackpot!” he whispered.

Brandishing the duster, Jack returned to the locked door. Lilia was engrossed in her dust-finding mission, cushions piled beside her, vacuum whining noisily.

The largest key opened the door.

Inside was a large windowless room, spare and tidy. A laboratory, or a doctor’s office—or maybe a cross between the two. A desk and countertop lined the wall to the left; a heavy oak storage unit with glass doors and wooden drawers stood against the back wall. A narrow gurney stood isolated in the center of the room. Heavy leather restraining straps fastened to the sides of the gurney. Lovely, Jack thought. The glass cabinets were filled with medicines and drug paraphernalia. Notebooks sat on a shelf above the desk, between bookends. Where should he start first?

He heard voices.

The vacuum was silent.

Quickly Jack ducked back into the hall, and closed the door behind him. He peeked through the door to the parlor.

The ice doctor was talking to Lilia. The girl ducked her head. Lundborgh paused for answers, but Jack couldn’t hear them—whether because the girl was speaking too quietly, or not speaking at all, Jack didn’t know. Hurriedly he locked the door behind him, and slipped back into the bedroom. He plopped the keys back in their hiding place, and screwed on the head. Then he scooted across the room to dust the lamps on the long dressers.

"Jack, we must leave now," Lilia said to his back. "The doctor is returned."

"Right," Jack said, spinning around. His eyes widened. Lilia stood beside the bronze statuette hiding the keys. The male figure’s head faced backwards.

The girl followed his gaze. She paled, then twisted the head back into position.

“I no longer require your services,” the doctor said coldly as she entered, staring at Lilia. The girl quickly returned the statuette to its place. The doctor walked to the dressing table and set down her bag, turning her back. “Now leave.”

Lilia left without a word. Jack scooted to the door. Had the woman seen what Lilia had done? He spun around and bowed. “On my way out, ma’am.” He flourished his duster.

“Now!”

Jack jumped. He shot out the door, and pulled it closed behind him.

Lilia waited for him in the hall, pale and trembling, a bag of laundry and pail of cleaning supplies at her feet. She brightened at the sight of him.

“Hungry?” he asked. “Ready to smile prettily at Portnoy?”

Lilia covered her mouth, giggling nervously.

Together they carried their things downstairs.

When they reached the staff dining room, Portnoy was already there, filling his plate from the serving table. He smiled nervously at Lilia. She smiled shyly back, then took a seat next to one of the other girls.

"I'm telling you Portnoy, she likes you," Jack whispered to the young chauffeur.

"I do not think so," he said. "She will not sit near me."

"She's shy. But I know she likes you. Why don't you sit next to her?"

"Oh, I could not do that," Portnoy answered. He sat at the second table, at the far end from two older men. Jack had been introduced, but he couldn't remember their names: only that they worked on the grounds.

Jack heaped his plate and sat beside Portnoy. "She talked about you. She said you're really hot."

"Hot?"

"Good looking. You know."

Portnoy shook his head, disbelieving. "What else did you talk about?"

"Oh, she told me about the people living here. She says Reyerson has a crazy nephew."

"Is he a nephew?" Portnoy asked.

"You've seen him too? How come everyone's seen him but me?"

"I have not seen him. I know because I got his medicines for Doctor Lundborgh. That is when I met you, at the hospital."

"So what's wrong with him?"

"It is like Lilia says. He is--how you Americans say--loopy."

Jack pushed the beef and potatoes around his plate. "This needs ketchup," he said. "Don't we have any?"

Portnoy's brow creased. "Ketchup? Of course, there is ketchup in the pantry. Why do you want ketchup?"

"It's an American thing. Ketchup can make anything taste better." Jack stood. "You should try it."

"I do not think so," Portnoy answered.

Jack shrugged. "Watch my seat, buddy, I'll be right back."

Whistling, Jack crossed the hall. He stopped when he saw the pantry door was open, and the lights were on. He recognized the deep voice of one of the guards.

"Damn thing keeps shorting, look."

"We'd better check it out anyway."

"It's pouring out there. Come on, we know that camera's always shorting out. The wiring's flaky."

"Gotta check it out anyway, you know the rules."

The first, deeper voice snorted. "Yeah, I know."

Jack retreated around the corner, then did a u-turn and headed back. "Hi guys," he waved at the two guards. They passed him, looking disgruntled, on their way to the service entrance.

The pantry was dark and empty. Jack flicked the switch and poked around. A fuse box hung on the rear wall, between two racks of shelving. Jack opened the access door. Inside, the switches were labeled: camera 1, front drive. Camera 2, west lawn... all the way to camera 24, boathouse. Jack whistled soundlessly. Carefully he checked all the labels. None was for the basement. For that matter, none was for an indoor camera. Closing the panel door, he turned to find the ketchup.

Back in the staff dining room, Portnoy stood by the serving table, head to head with Lilia.

"...go to the city with me Sunday?" Jack heard Portnoy ask as he returned to the table.

"I would like that," Lilia said shyly. Jack grinned to himself and knocked ketchup onto his roast beef. At least something he'd put his mind to in this miserable place was going right.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Pete took Nikki's arm for the climb down the steps to the tarmac. They'd needed a three-step flight, including a chartered jet for the last leg, to get here: but now, at last, they were in Ukraine, just a few hours' drive from Reyerson's estate. They walked to the small airport for customs, and to get their bags: thankfully a relatively brief process.

A man—tall, dark, cool--fell in beside Pete as they walked to the car rental agency. Nikki squeezed Pete's hand, at her elbow, in warning. "What the hell are you doing here, Thornton?" the man asked.

Pete stared at the man through dark glasses. "Johnson. You know why I'm here. DXS refused help, so I'm taking matters into my own hands."

"Can't let you do that, Pete," he said, scanning the airport foyer, hands in pockets.

"You can't stop me," Pete shot back.

"Look, Pete. We're not unsympathetic. First opportunity, we'll get him out--"

"That’s not good enough."

"Reyerson's got word out he has a 'secret weapon' about to hit the market. We need to know what it is. From what I understand, our friend is not in any immediate danger. But if we go in after him now, we'll spoil our chances of catching his supplier."

"Not to mention you'd like to get your hands on the merchandise yourself."

"You never used to be so cynical."

"You never used to be so ruthless."

"Look." Johnson stopped, taking Pete's arm. "If you proceed with this path, we'll take you into custody. I'd rather not take that step."

"Especially since Phoenix would make a big stink about my absence," Pete said.

"I can offer you a compromise. We have a safe house near Reyerson's place. You can have a suite there, we'll give you intelligence, you can send your people out to scout. But your rescue attempt waits for my say-so."

"Which will be what, next year?"

"A week at most. I promise it."

Pete hesitated.

"Come on, Pete. Mack would want us to take this guy down, and you know it. He can hold tight a little longer."

"A week at most? You promise?"

"If we haven't got the intelligence we want by then, we're not going to."

"All right. We accept." Pete sighed heavily.

"You sure, Pete?" Nikki asked.

"I am."

"I have a car out front," Johnson told them.

"No thanks," Nikki said. "We'll follow in our own."

"We're going to need it," Pete agreed.

"All right." Johnson looked around, coolly. "You'll see a gray sedan leaving the inn at Carena when you arrive. Follow it. And be careful, will you? Reyerson has ins with some of the local police and officials." With that, Johnson left.

"Another week, Pete? What were you thinking?" Nikki berated him.

"They could have shut us down, Nikki. We had to give something. Besides, we're probably going to need their help."

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

Sitting on the floor of his cell, head on his drawn-up knees, Mack heard the rattle of chains. He looked up. His eyes showed him monsters, fangs bared and red eyes glowing, entering through the far door.

"Harry--?" he asked, his heart racing once more. His hands were shaking, palms slick with sweat.

"They're monsters, all right, but not literally. Just the human kind. Stay with me, Bud. Don't look at 'em, if that helps."

Mack wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face. A swat to the side of his head knocked him sprawling. He glimpsed a hairy fist with long green claws and squeezed his eyes shut once more. He was lifted by the neck and slammed against the cell bars. Something rough and slimy wrapped around him from behind, holding him there--a tentacle? His eyes slipped open. Other, slimmer tentacles pinned his arms and ankles.

"Harry! Don't leave me!" he croaked.

"I'm right here, Bud. I'm not goin' anywhere."

A smaller creature with scales pale and slick approached. From one of her heads a long yellow tongue shot out to wrap his bicep tightly. Her mouth closed on his arm, and bit down. Her venom was cold.

"Harry?"

"Close your eyes, Bud."

Obediently, Mack shut his eyes. He was breathing too quickly: he worked to slow the rhythm, drawing deeper breaths.

"That's it. It's okay to be scared. Jus' try not to let it control you."

"Harry, where're you goin'?" Harry's voice was fading, everything was fading in a rising sea of black.

"Still here, Bud. You gotta hang on, though--gotta remember who you are. Remember all the nights you spent studying with your Mom, back when you were eleven or twelve?"

"She wanted to be a science teacher."

"I'd be cookin' dinner while the two of you were cookin' up experiments. Like that crazy catapult you cooked up. Or the magnet-thing you made to run a flashlight."

"Electromagnet."

"That's the whatsit. I used that thing in the barn for years. Beat diggin' up new batteries."

"Kitchen chemistry--"

"Yeah, all those 'experiments' with chocolate chip cookies. Not that I was complainin', mind you. Your mom loved that time with you, just the two of you."

"Me too." Mack remembered the long evening hours after dark. Mom said she wasn't about to get too busy to spend time with her son. So she recruited him to help her figure out physics and chemistry, and how to teach them. All day in school he'd be dreaming up new challenges, new experiments to try.

"She missed that time with you, once she finished night school and started teaching full-time."

"Kept experimenting."

"You did. Even got banished to the barn after you blew something up in your room."

"Time with you, Harry--"

"Yeah, well. I jus' taught you the way around an engine. Nothin' out of the ordinary there."

"More 'n that..." Mack struggled to put his thoughts into words. The long days spent in the woods, fishing and tracking. The hours of hockey and baseball. Puttering with engines and tools of all sorts. The strict discipline, and the wisdom imparted, old man to young boy.

"That was jus' plain fun, Bud."

"Harry--"

The monster's grip on his arm tightened. She stung again.

"Hang in there, Bud. Remember the year your hockey team went to junior nationals?"

The excitement of his first overnight stay in a hotel. Eighteen pre-teen boys, too wired to sleep the night before the competition.

Pain exploded in his middle. Mack cried out. His eyes shot open. The scaly creature stared at him with glassy eyes. One of her heads bared bloody teeth at him. It bent to feast on his gut.

Mack screamed. "Harry!"

"It's not real. It's not real! Don't let them win--"

He tried to hold onto the words. The world faded. Is this how it felt to die?

The monster bent again to its meal. He screamed. He let go. All went mercifully dark.

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

Sam lowered his camera. From his vantage on the mountain, the lake spread below him, he had a fair view of Reyerson's mansion. The zoom lens brought people on the grounds into focus. He dug in his pack for pencil and paper. In the past few days, he'd counted six different guards. There were always at least two patrolling the grounds, and one manning the gate. He'd seen no sign of Jack Dalton; presumably his father's childhood friend spent all of his working hours indoors.

Once again, he wished for his father's presence. Surveillance he knew; investigative reporting--but how to get in and out of a place, how to pull off a rescue--he felt woefully underprepared. But Dad needs me, he thought. He needs all of us: a blind man, a woman living with her own demons, a kid, and a hapless dreamer. That's us, to the rescue.

Sam stowed his gear and hoisted his pack. It was almost gathering time at the local inn. Just the night before, Sam had discovered this when he walked in as the townsfolk dispersed. The innkeeper, also the bartender, had encouraged him to join the group 'so he might learn something from the elders'. Sam hiked down the hill to the beat-up motorbike he'd bought in the city. With luck, he'd learn something useful.

The sun was low on the horizon when Sam parked behind the inn and climbed the back stairs to his room. He wanted to drop his gear and change clothes before heading to the bar. He was surprised to find his room already occupied.

"Nikki, you made it!" He closed the door for privacy.

"We almost didn't. Pete's friends from DXS threatened to arrest us at the airport."

"Oh, no." The implications weren't good: that they'd have to work against the agency instead of having their help.

"Pete worked out a deal. We let them decide when the rescue happens, they don't lock us up."

Sam grimaced. "And how long will that be?"

"They claim no more than a week."

"A week?"

"I know." Nikki stood and paced. "We're staying in their safe house. Mostly so they can keep an eye on us, I think."

"How is that any different from arrest?"

"Well, they are letting us out and about... so far." Nikki shrugged.

"Do they know about me being here?"

"'Fraid so. They saw you come in."

Sam banged his fist on the doorframe. "So what do we do?"

"For now--get all the information we can. Make a plan. And don't count on help--though I wouldn't say that to Pete."

"No." Sam had noticed Pete's instinct to protect them. Not that he could blame the man—he was trying to juggle priorities--but Sam had his own agenda. "I'm going to spend the evening in the bar, talking to the locals. Care to join me?"

"As what? Your aunt?"

"My stepmother? And Dad isn't feeling well..."

Nikki gave a lopsided smile. "Don't make me feel old, remember? But all right, that should work."

Sam changed in the small bathroom, and they went down together. At the bar, Sam stopped to make introductions. "Mr. Savchyn, my stepmother Nikki. She arrived with Dad a few hours ago, but he isn't feeling well."

"It is fine to meet you, ma'am. May I ask where you are staying?"

"We rented the cottage on the mountain lane just south of here. Sam says you've been looking out for him."

"We always do, the young ones. It is good to have the young ones traveling, seeing the world. Good to have them here. Will you visit with us tonight? We gather here after dinner. Mostly the men talking, but still a bit of a party."

"I'd like that," she smiled, putting on the charm. Sam smiled to see it. They ordered a light dinner, then he led Nikki to a table nearby.

Before the food had even arrived, people were trickling through the door: mostly men, but also a few women, all of them older than Nikki. When Savchyn brought dinner to their table, he also brought a grizzled older man.

"This is Tomko Duma. He does a little of everything, has his hand in every pot and bucket, eh?" The two old men laughed.

"Please join us," Nikki said graciously.

The man sat down in a free seat. He smiled. "Savchyn has fun with me. I work with pots and buckets to make my living," he said with a twinkle.

"How's that?" Sam asked.

"I am plumber, electrician, mason, and painter," he said proudly. "I have my hand in every house in the valley."

Nikki smiled. "You must know them well. There doesn't seem to be many of them."

"There are more than you can see in the town, many more," Duma said proudly.

"I've seen more in the mountains, riding the back roads," Sam told Nikki. "There's a few old cottages tucked up the mountain to the north, and there's a huge old place just over the mountain south of here."

"Oh yes, the old Desyantnik estate. That old castle--a foreigner buy it. Not long ago. I am one of those he call to work on it, what, three years ago?"

"What's it like inside?" Nikki asked. "Do they give tours?"

"No, the owner is English. He likes privacy. Cameras all over the grounds, I wire them myself."

"I hope he didn't make too many changes," Nikki said earnestly. "Old mansions have such a lovely feel, when they're kept up."

"Mostly he leave it alone. Big changes to electrical and plumbing. And to security. Can you believe he put bars in the well?"

"The well? Why would he do that?" Sam asked.

"Protect against tourists from the lake, I suppose." The old man laughed.

"What, the well is connected to the lake?" Sam pressed.

"It is," Duma said. "You think we have pipes to go that way from town? Also it is much too rocky to sink proper well. No, estate get water from the lake. But you not to worry about contamination. I install water purification system myself," he boasted.

"Did you put in the gates, too?" Sam asked, smiling to show he meant the question in jest. He held his breath for the answer.

"Oh no, no," the man said. "My nephew with his friend. That is task for the young. They need scuba suits and breathing tanks and all that fuss. They give me a fright when they pop out of the well. I was working on the pump." Duma startled, wide-eyed, in demonstration, then laughed.

"I wouldn't mind that job," Sam grinned.

"A task for the young," Duma repeated.

"Not me." Nikki shuddered. "I'd much rather see the public rooms. The dining room must be gorgeous. Is there a ball room?"

"The dining room looks over the water. A glorious view. But I think you like paintings in the drawing room best."

"Are there any pictures of the interior? Any paintings?"

The man laughed. "If yes, they are in city museum, far from here. But I have something." His eyes twinkled, and he leaned in conspiratorially. "Blueprints from construction."

"Don't get her started," Sam groaned. "Nikki remodels and redecorates homes for a living. She loves daydreaming around blueprints."

"I don't daydream, I make a good living," Nikki said sternly.

"You are welcome to blueprints," the old man offered. "They are--how you say--collecting dust. You come to visit soon? My wife likes this, to meet and talk."

"Oh, I'd just love that!" Nikki gushed. "Doesn't she come here in the evenings?"

"She has tea and talk with sister now. I get out of the way, yes? But tomorrow?"

"I'd like that." Nikki smiled prettily. "I'd like that very much."

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

Jack filled his bowl with stew from the serving table. After waiting table and cleaning up afterwards, he was starving. He took a seat next to Portnoy. "What's your plan for this Sunday, Romeo?"

"Romeo?"

"You know, Romeo and Juliet? Famous love story?"

"The Shakespeare? Where the young lovers end up dead?"

"Well--"

Portnoy laughed. "We go to see a play. Not a tragedy, I think."

"Good, good. Tragedy's bad for a first date. Where's Lilia, anyway?"

"She is still upstairs, cleaning."

"Lundborgh's rooms again?"

"Yes. I do not like this. Neither of the girls likes to clean up there alone."

"I'm sure she'll be done soon."

They heard a distant bang.

"What was that?" Portnoy asked. Around both tables, the half-dozen servants present were asking the same question in three languages.

"It sounded like a car backfiring," Jack said slowly.

"Not one of Mr. Reyerson's cars," Portnoy averred.

Lilia's friend burst into the room. "Someone fired a gun upstairs," she said breathlessly.

"How do you know, Maria?" Portnoy asked.

"I was cleaning Mr. Reyerson's rooms upstairs," she explained, "when I heard it. It sounded l ike it was coming from the doctor's quarters. I ran straight down. Where is Lilia?" she asked, noticing her absence.

"Upstairs," Portnoy said, paling.

"I'll go look for her," Jack said, standing. "The guards will know where she is."

"I will come also," Portnoy said, rising to join him.

Jack led the way to the first floor and across the sunlit hall.

"Why do we not go to the second floor directly?" Portnoy asked.

"We can't get in that way, the door is locked. Besides, we need to ask the guards."

Jack knocked on the guard room door before entering.

"We're busy," the guard snapped from behind his bank of monitors.

"We're looking for Lilia," Jack blurted. "One of the girls heard a gun--"

Dunning came down the stairs--not hurriedly, the man never hurried in his life--but more quickly than usual. "Walton. You are needed upstairs. Bring cleaning supplies."

"What about Lilia?"

"She learned of a family emergency several hours ago, Mr. Portnoy. She was released to take care of it."

"When will she be back?"

"If we have not found a replacement by the time she is ready to return, she will of course be re-hired. Walton? The cleaning supplies?"

"Of course, sir." He ducked out the door and around the corner, into the linen closet, where supplies were kept on a shelf. Gathering them into a bucket, he heard Portnoy ask, "What about the gunfire Maria heard?"

"It is no concern of yours," Dunning answered, "but if you must know, Dr. Lundborgh's patient attempted suicide."

Jack dropped the cleaning fluid. His bucket fell from its perch on the towels and rattled onto the floor. Quickly he gathered the scattered supplies and returned to the guard room. He heard Dunning tell Portnoy as he entered, "Tell the others the patient is being sedated, and precautions are being made so this will not happen again. They need not worry."

"Yes, sir." The man brushed past Jack as he exited, his face a mask of worry.

Dunning turned on his heels and headed up the stairs without a word. Jack followed.

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

Jack sat at the bar of the village inn, a bottle of vodka in his hand. Why the hell do they make the glasses so small? He eyed the tiny shot glass, willing it to hold still. Finally he gave up, and swigged from the bottle.

"Here now," the bartender complained.

"It's all right, Savchyn," said a female voice beside him. "I'll take care of him."

Jack eyed the lovely woman beside him: dark-haired, with a heart-shaped face and sad green eyes.

"You will?"

"That's right. You've had enough to drink." She put an arm around him and slipped him off the stool onto his feet. He swayed.

"Didn't finish," he said.

"It finished you," she snapped at him. So there was a sharp edge behind that softness: figured. She propelled him toward the back stairs. He hung back. "Pete's waiting," she said, for his ears only.

"Oh he is, is he? 'Bout time."

"Just shut up and walk, Jack," she muttered. She passed the stairs leading up to his room, instead walking past the kitchen to the back door. A battered old car waited in the alley. She pushed him toward the passenger door.

"I can get myself in," he said.

"That would surprise me." Still, she opened the door and waited.

He stumbled into the seat, half-falling. "See?"

She grimaced and levered his legs up into the car, then shut the door. Jack squirmed into a more comfortable position, or tried to, as the car lurched into motion.

“You’re here a day early,” she said.

“Threw up before dinner. Butler made me take a sick day.”

“Are you sick?”

“Just sick at heart.”

The woman took her eyes briefly from the road to examine Jack. She didn’t press him, however.

"Where we goin'?"

"House in the country," she said. She took the winding road that led back to Reyerson's estate.

"Umm..." he averred.

The car lurched onto a side road Jack hadn't explored. It wound into the high country. The woman zipped along, heedless of Jack's lurching stomach.

"Could you slow down a bit?" he asked. "Actually, you'd better pull over."

She glanced at him, then pulled quickly to the side. He pushed the door open just in time. The woman sighed. She waited while he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the grass.

"Done?" she asked.

"You're all sympathy," he complained. "Yes, I'm done."

She handed him a pack of tissues from her jacket pocket, and a bottle of water from the floor behind his seat. He rinsed his mouth and face, then closed the door. She took off up the road again, driving a hair more slowly this time.

"You have the advantage of me," he said--a poorly executed attempt at gallantry. She glanced at him, brows raised. "I don't know your name," he tried again, rubbing his aching temple.

"Nikki," she answered. "I work for Phoenix, with Pete."

They arrived at a small, run-down house in a clearing. It might have been charming, in another light. Jack swung his feet out the door. "I can walk," he insisted, when she offered help again. His pride demanded it. She took some bags from the trunk while he climbed out, and walked beside him as he staggered to the house under his own power.

A thin man, dressed in black, answered her knock. He let them in without a word. Government type, Jack thought. Nikki led the way down a narrow stair into a root cellar.

"What's Pete doin' down here?" Jack asked.

Nikki touched the wall--must have been some sort of mechanism there, because a pantry shelving unit swung open to reveal a long tunnel. They walked in, the hidden door swinging closed behind them. They passed several other doors, one of them open, revealing battered furnishings. Another government type looked up, then back to his newspaper. They turned a corner, then another, and stopped at a door like the others. Nikki knocked. Pete answered.

"Pete, where th'hell have you been?"

"You're drunk, Jack."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Jack fell onto the overstuffed sofa by the door. Pete sat across from him; Nikki pulled a chair beside them.

"Jack--"

"Don't start, Pete. I don't wanna hear it. You gotta get Mack out tonight."

Pete and Nikki exchanged grim looks. "I don't know if that's possible," Pete said.

"I don't wanna hear that!" Jack shouted, lurching to his feet. He made an effort to calm himself. They had to understand... "They're breaking him down. I saw--" He stopped. "You gotta get him out before it's too late. It may already be too late."

"What happened?" Nikki asked.

"Does it matter? You brought the big guns, didn't you?"

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Your 'big guns' are here, but they have their own agenda. They want to know Reyerson's buyers and suppliers before they take him down. Apparently he's been advertising a new 'secret weapon'."

"We can't wait," Jack said.

Pete sighed. "We have some ideas for a plan. But without backup, it's going to be risky, really risky. Not to mention the difficulty of sneaking past DXS surveillance, if we go around their backs."

"We need to know what you know," Nikki said.

"It's not enough to know that Mack's in trouble? I just saw my best friend... and there I was, helpless to do anything to help... Pete..."

"Jack," Pete said gently, "tell us what happened."

Jack shook his head. He wanted to bury that memory, not call it up.

"Is MacGyver hurt?"

Jack barked a short, sharp laugh. He plopped back onto the couch and dropped his head in his hands.

"Did something happen today?" Nikki asked.

Jack pulled at his hair, trying to find a way in to this story. "I was called up to the witch's apartments," he said finally. "Lundborgh's. To do some cleaning. The staff were buzzing, we'd just heard a gunshot up there. So I went up. I figured it might be important. I heard Mack yelling inside. The guards let me in. He was lying on the floor... covered in blood..."

"He was bleeding?" Pete said sharply.

"It was all over his shirt, the floor..."

"Was he still yelling?" Pete asked more gently.

"Yeah, and fighting. Three guards on him, but they could barely hold him. I thought he was gonna break his own arm. They carried him into one of the inner rooms, Lundborgh’s lab…"

"So what happened to him? Did they shoot him?" asked an anguished young male voice. Jack looked up. A kid sat in the corner, Lilia's age, his eyes and longish hair rich brown. Jack hadn't noticed him coming in.

"I don't know," Jack said. "Reyerson said..." He heard the voice again in memory, found it just as unbelievable as the first time.

"He said what? Jack?" Pete asked.

"He said it was attempted suicide."

Silence answered this.

"Do you believe him?" the kid asked.

"No," he said quickly. Then, "I don't know." He covered his mouth with his hand. He definitely didn't want to go there. What happened to that bottle of vodka?

"What aren't you telling us?" Pete asked.

Jack shook his head.

"What was MacGyver yelling, Jack?" Nikki asked slowly.

Jack closed his eyes. "He was yelling at them to let him go. That he wouldn't, I don't know what. That he'd rather..."

"...be dead?" Nikki asked.

Jack nodded. He stood, quickly, and walked to the wall. He didn't want the others to see him so upset... or to ask what he'd seen next, from the shameful safety of the linen closet. The guards snickering as they watched the monitors... Where was that vodka?

"We have to go, Pete," the kid said in a low, insistent voice. "We can't leave him there. I'll never forgive myself--"

"And Mack would never forgive me if you died in the attempt," Pete snapped. "Either of you."

"We have a covert way in and out," Nikki said.

"And Jack's already said Mack's under surveillance," Pete answered. "You need time, which you're not going to have if they see you in that cell."

"So we create a diversion," the kid said, "to get them away from the cameras."

"It'll have to be a pretty big diversion to keep them away for fifteen, twenty minutes," Pete said.

"We can rig the surveillance," the kid answered, "so they think he's still there."

"Hey, I could do that," Jack said. The others looked at him. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve. "I have a reason to be in the linen closet. If we can get the guards out, I can play with the equipment."

The kid pulled a pile of papers from a shelf in the corner, and opened one into a map, or rather--Jack got a better look as the kid spread it on the coffee table between the couches--a schematic. "This is Reyerson's estate. We got this from a local who's done construction work there recently," he explained to Jack.

"We're guessing from your description that they're keeping MacGyver here, in this room in the basement," Nikki added, pointing.

Jack looked. "Yeah, that's it," he agreed. "They keep this door sealed and guarded." He pointed to the steel door separating the kitchen and staff quarters from the "private" area, as Dunning had described it. "The guard station is at the top of the stairs. Those are the only ways in or out."

"Not the only ones," the kid said. "The aqueduct to the well here is large enough for a swimmer."

"And now we have scuba gear and underwater blow torches to take out the gates,” Nikki added.

“Nikki and I could go in tonight." The kid’s eyes were bright, though nervous.

"Hang on," Pete said. "We still don't know how you're getting the guards away from the cameras."

"Aren't you kinda young for this?" Jack asked, staring at the kid. Why did he look so familiar?

"I'm twenty," he said impatiently, brown eyes flashing. "I can take care of myself."

Twenty: same age as Lilia. "A kid. Pete," Jack appealed to the older man.

"I couldn't stop Sam if I wanted to," Pete said. "Don't worry; he has his father's talent for making things work."

"His father?"

"We haven't actually been introduced," the kid said to Pete. "I'm Sam," he told Jack. "We talked on the phone, when you called."

"You were staying at Mack's place," Jack said slowly. "So who's your father?"

"Jack, MacGyver is Sam's father," Pete said softly.

Jack stared, temporarily speechless. "Pete, what are you talking about? Mack doesn't have a son. He never did. If he had, he'd never run away from it. You know how he is." He stared at the kid. Those brown eyes, so earnest...

"Dad didn't know," Sam said. "Mom never told him. I only found him last year."

Jack continued to stare, unbelieving. The kid shrugged a half-smile at him, then turned to Pete. "We can set charges in the weapons storage shed on our way in. It's close to the lake; we'll barely need to climb out. Then we jump back in and keep going."

"There's enough ordinance in there to blow it sky-high," Nikki said. "That should give us the distraction we need."

"There's at least eight guards," Jack objected, still staring at the kid. "That's not enough to get all of 'em out."

"Jack's right," Pete said. "You'll need something else, something that gets them out patrolling."

"Can we take out the cameras first?" Sam asked. He leaned over the schematic. "Where's the camera feed? If we can knock out the supply--it's gotta run through here somehow, all the wires for the outdoor cameras--this is all new." He pointed out a wiring callout.

"I've seen the guards there," Jack agreed. "It’s the wiring for the cameras, all right. That's the pantry. I could take that out, too. They're gonna know as soon as I do..."

"Explosive on a timer," Nikki suggested. "That'll get them paranoid."

Sam nodded. "As long as Jack isn't seen planting it. Is there a camera in the pantry?"

"Not that I've noticed," Jack answered. Crazy, but he was beginning to believe the kid...

"You'll need bulletproof vests," Pete pronounced. "I'll get them from down the hall."

"I'll get them," Nikki said.

"I may be blind but I'm not useless," Pete said. "We don't want the light to alert Mallett. I won't need one."

They leaned forward over the table, planning in earnest.

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Jack entered through the staff door by the kitchen. At one in the morning, only the halls were lit. He slipped into the pantry and flicked on the light, closing the door behind him. He picked up a box of cereal and a tin of tuna. If anyone came to investigate, he was here for a midnight snack.

At the back wall, he pulled open the subpanel door. He fished in his pockets. Where had he put the device Sam gave him? There it was, his inside jacket pocket. He attached the tiny pieces to the door with adhesive and checked his watch. Two minutes to set the clock: time to spare. He pulled a cheat sheet from his jeans pocket. Now for the tricky bit...

One and a half minutes later the device was set. Who said he wasn't any good at this stuff? Jack Dalton, saboteur extraordinaire... He double-checked the diagram Sam had drawn for him. Wait a sec...

He'd gotten two of the parts reversed. Jack Dalton, you idiot... quickly he swapped them. He checked his watch. Right on time. He started the timer and closed the panel door. He had ten minutes to get clear. He returned the tuna and carried the cereal to his room.

Portnoy was dozing in front of the television in the staff lounge. He startled awake as Jack passed.

"Walton," he said.

"What's up, Portnoy? Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep for the big date tomorrow?"

"Lilia is missing." He stared at Jack with such distress that Jack immediately sat down opposite him.

"Whaddya mean, missing?"

"No one has seen her since the gun fired," Portnoy said. "Mr. Dunning said that she was working upstairs, and then he said she had to go home for a family emergency. But no one saw her or spoke to her, and Maria says she left her things here. Surely she would have told me she was leaving? I would have taken her home."

"Easy, Portnoy," Jack said. "She's probably just worried about her family."

"I try to tell myself that," he said. "But Jack--you saw the doctor's rooms after--was Lilia there? What happened?"

"I didn't see any sign of Lilia up there," Jack reassured the man. Still, his mind spun at the news. "You go to bed. I'll let you know if I find out anything more."

"What happened upstairs?"

"Dunning said that the mad nephew found a gun, and tried to shoot himself."

"Did you see it?"

“He was covered in blood," Jack said grimly.

Portnoy sighed. "Then I will stop worrying for Lilia. You are right, she was worried about her family. She will send word soon."

"Good man." He helped Portnoy to his feet, and walked him to his door. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?" Jack said. He entered his room and shut the door.

He threw the box of cereal on the bed. Only a few more minutes before his little explosion threw the guards into a tizzy. Should he slip upstairs before the guards started looking for the culprit? Or should he wait, and use the confusion to cover his trip upstairs once more? Given he had only a few more minutes, he decided that waiting was the better option. He swirled the contents of the bottle of gin he'd stowed in his jacket pocket. The desire for alcohol had left him, but the bottle might come in handy later as a prop. He pulled off his jacket and changed into pajamas. He was likely to lose his clothes tonight, but that was no big deal. Everything of value he'd left at his room in the inn. Absently he opened the cereal and munched a handful.

He lay on the bed, tossing and turning. It would help his performance to look rumpled, he told himself. His thoughts turned to Lilia: her sweet young face. Where was the kid? Jack didn't buy Reyerson's story for a minute.

What had so totally wigged out MacGyver? Mack, the most patient, steady man Jack knew. A man who'd never shown a sign of panic in all the years Jack had known him--more years than Jack cared to admit.

Whose blood was staining Mack's shirt, and the floor?

Jack heard a distant bang. He sat up; pulled on his jacket over his pajamas; pulled on his shoes. He spilled the cereal on his bed. Showtime.

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

Nikki surfaced in the darkness. A quiet splash alerted her to Sam's arrival beside her. In the dark of the waning moon, she could barely see him. She looked up. They'd found the dock underwater; the boathouse loomed above them, lit from behind.

"Are you all right?" Nikki asked.

"I will be," Sam answered. He checked the waterproof watch they'd bought. "Jack should have the cameras down in five minutes. Let's set those charges."

They had decided to try entering the lake from the same cave system where the safe house was located. That way they could avoid the notice of both the DXS agents and Reyerson's guards. They knew from Duma’s nephew that a natural aqueduct linking the caves to the lake could accommodate a scuba diver; what they hadn't known was how tight it would be. Sam had gotten stuck. It had taken them five minutes of careful maneuvering, taking care not to damage his equipment, to get him free.

"All clear," Nikki said in a whisper just loud enough to reach Sam.

"Same here," Sam called softly from the far side of the dock.

They slipped off their equipment, tied it together with a cord, and rested the bundle at the base of the deepest dock piling. Then they swam the thirty feet to shallow water, and crept to shore. Nikki crouched at the lakeside doors of the boathouse to set her charge and timer, under the dock. She kept her ears and eyes sharp for guards. Sam scuttled to the other side, where small bushes gave some cover. Nikki checked and double-checked the settings, waiting for him to return. She shouldered her pack when she saw him coming.

"All set," he told her.

She nodded. "Let's go." She glanced around.

"Don't move!" A dog's barking punctuated the command. A bright spotlight flicked on, and sought them out.

As one, Sam and Nikki leaped onto the dock and ran. If they could only reach the deep water--

Shots rang out. In the harsh light, Nikki saw Sam knocked from his feet. He fell with a splash.

More shots. Nikki was stunned by the impact between her shoulders. She, too, was thrown into the water. Slowly she sank. Sam was close, below her, swimming down. When the light was only a dim glow above, she kicked out and swam after him. Her lungs burned.

Sam handed her the mouthpiece for her tank. She breathed deeply. He pointed to himself and gave a thumbs-up. Nikki repeated the gesture, thankful for the bulletproof vests Pete had "borrowed" for them. Without them, they would surely be dead or captured now.

They swam into deeper water. Next stop: the mansion. With any luck, Jack's efforts would have paid off, and the mansion would be in chaos.

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

Strangely, all was quiet in the basement hallway. Jack peered around. Hadn't the guards come to check on the subpanel? Perhaps they were occupied with the destruction of the boathouse. By now, Sam and Nikki should be on their way. Jack hurried up the service stairs. Stairs and hall were both vacant. He crossed to the linen closet.

Jack knew right away that something was wrong. He heard a guard talking in the next room. The guardroom should be empty.

"There were two: a man and a woman. We caught them on camera eight when they tried to leave. Strakh shot them both, clean shots, just before the boathouse exploded. They must have been setting charges. They're dead now, sir."

"I want the bodies recovered."

"Strakh isn't answering his radio; he must have been caught in the explosion. But we have four more men out there now."

"I want to know the identities of those intruders.."

"We have tape, sir. As I said, we saw them on camera eight. Strakh turned on the spotlight, so we got a good look at their faces."

"Let me see the tape."

Jack peered through the keyhole, his heart sinking. Sam and Nikki's faces were clear on the tape. Jack could only hope they were okay--they were wearing Kevlar--but why hadn't the cameras gone out? If he'd gotten them killed with a stupid mistake--

"Do you recognize them, sir?" the guard asked.

"No. But I have an idea who might," the old man said. "Rewind the tape to the beginning."

Reluctant, Jack stood. He had to get back to the pantry. If Sam and Nikki were still on their way, they'd need the distraction to get in. And if they weren't--he'd have to think of something.

The halls and stairwell were still deserted, as was the pantry. Jack pulled open the subpanel door. The timer was stopped at 9:54.

How had that happened?

He'd started the timer. Clearly he'd started it, but six seconds later it had stopped.

Jack looked at the timer, and at the wiring. Was it some sort of short? Nothing he could see… He swung the door back and forth, thinking. Suddenly he stopped. What if--? He pushed the door almost closed, and looked into the crack. He swore. What had happened to Jack Dalton's famed luck? The timer stop button was right in line with one of the switches. By closing the panel door, he'd stopped the timer. Quickly Jack reset the timer. Four minutes: just enough time to reach the linen closet. He pressed 'start', and this time left the door ajar.

Back to the dim hallway. His dumb luck once more--the butler stood there, speaking Russian to a sleepy-looking Josef. Jack closed the pantry door to a crack. Josef returned to the staff room, while Dunning stood tapping his foot, watching the door. Jack had no way to get out without being seen--and the timer was counting down.

As Josef carried the staff TV into the hall, the butler rapped on the steel door dividing the basement. With a clank and rattle, the door swung open. The giant guard Jack had seen upstairs just that morning took the TV from a staggering Josef with one arm. He returned, pulling the door shut behind him.

"The VCR and table as well," Dunning ordered, then repeated himself in Russian.

The time was too close. Jack would have to reset the timer. He returned to the back of the pantry. Ten minutes should be enough. He couldn't afford to wait longer. He returned to the pantry door to watch and wait.

Finally done with his delivery chore, Josef staggered off to bed. Dunning exited by way of the stairs--he had a room on the first floor, near the main entrance. Jack counted to twenty before following the man.

Luck was finally with him--the upstairs hall was deserted once more. Jack let himself into the linen closet, careful to pull the door silently closed behind him. He leaned to the keyhole. A lone guard manned the equipment. He was busy scanning the outside cameras. That was a mercy, at least. The cameras showed most of the estate's security complement out on the grounds. Two of the men were dragging the lake around the dock.

Screen three flipped back to a view of the cell. It took a minute for Jack to comprehend what he was seeing. Reyerson stood there, and Lundborgh, one on either side of a large box.

The staff TV.

They were showing Mack the security video.

No, Jack thought, oh no. What Mack would think--he'd have no way to know--

Reyerson stepped close to the cell, where Mack had pressed himself against the bars.

"I think they were important to you. Was that the best they could do for a rescue attempt? Too bad."

Mack's hands flashed out. He grabbed Reyerson's cravat and pulled, twisting: choking. The man's mouth gaped like a fish, dying.

Oh, Mack.

The guards sprang into action. One grabbed his arms; the other hit him with a long wand-like device on the end of a cord. Electricity crackled. Mack cried out, and let go the old man, who fell to the floor, gasping.

"Hurt him," he rasped.

They tied Mack's wrists to the top crossbar, nearly lifting him from his feet. Then they struck him with the shocker: again, and again. Jack looked around wildly. He couldn't just sit here, with his friend tortured and despairing just below him.

That's when the bomb in the pantry finally went off.

Two of the three monitors went to static. The guard grabbed his radio.

"Fletcher, Strakh, anyone, what's going on?" he demanded.

"Fletcher here. What are you talking about, Lynch? Over." the radio barked.

"Rizzo-All's clear here," followed a second voice.

"All the perimeter cameras went dead. Over," Lynch answered. "I heard another explosion."

"Crap. Check the pantry. We must have more intruders. Over."

"Roger that. I'm going to check now. Over." Lynch hooked the radio at his belt and pulled out a sidearm. He exited to the main hall.

The guard room was empty. For the first time, Jack pulled open the door he'd spent so much time peering through. He had the guard station to himself. He fiddled around with the VCR decks until he found the one that was recording from the camera on Mack's cell. Jack pulled out the small folding toolset Sam had given him. A small Phillips-head: in less than a minute he had the box open. Following Sam's directions once again, he reversed the wiring for the "record" and "pause" switches.

Lundborgh was giving Mack another injection. Damn. He needed to get down there. Think, Jack, think: how are you going to get past the guard in the stairwell?

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

The stone walls opened outward, and light shone, scattered, through the water. Sam and Nikki rose slowly, pacing themselves with their hands against the inner surface of the basin, so as to break the surface almost silently. They needn't have bothered: the crackle of raw electricity and the din of raw screams echoed in the enclosed space. Then, suddenly, it stopped: replaced by ragged sobs. Ice cold horror seized Sam: he recognized his father's voice. Sam felt a distancing, like he was a ghost intruding on someone else's dream: the walls, the sounds, the water seemed suddenly unreal. He and Nikki hugged the wall of the basin, hidden behind the upper edge.

"Any more might kill him," said a deep male voice.

"We can't have that, can we, MacGyver?" asked a thin, older male voice.

Sam heard vehement whispering.

The thin voice laughed. "Is that the best you can do? If you want me angry enough to kill you, you'll need to do much better."

More whispering.

"Veandra," the thin voice said angrily, "don't you have something you can give your patient..."

"I do," said a woman's voice.

"No--" this voice was hoarse and high with panic. Sam had trouble believing it was his father's. Sudden heat filled him, a furnace of rage rising.

"Hold him," the woman said.

They heard quiet sobbing again. Sam turned to Nikki. Her face was hidden against her hands. He forced himself to wait, though he wanted more than anything to act: they had no means of exiting the basin quietly. If only Reyerson and his cronies would leave...

"It won't be long now," the woman said.

"You said that this morning," the old man answered.

"He's stronger than I thought possible. But he can't hold on forever."

Something rattled. A door opened. Shadows grew against the wall behind them. A new voice spoke in quiet, urgent tones: "Sir. There's been another attack. The perimeter cameras have been sabotaged. Someone set a bomb in the pantry, and blew the electrical panel."

"A bomb in my house?" the old man said, low and dangerous.

"Yes sir. We're looking for the intruder now."

Sam bit his lip. If Jack had missed the first deadline... Could they trust that he took out the cell camera?

"The others will join you." Reyerson raised his voice. "Yurkov, Fedoriv, you're needed on the grounds. We may have more intruders. Chapman, remain to guard the doors."

The voices grew faint: Sam heard them echoing in a new space; then a metal door clanged shut. Sam heard nothing now but ragged breathing. He saw Nikki peer up at the top of the basin. She nodded. He grabbed her belt, kicking hard with his flippers, and boosted her the few inches she needed to reach the lip of the basin. She pulled herself up; glanced around; lifted herself from the water. She reached down to give Sam a hand up. They sat together on the cement wall around the basin. Water splashed around them, pouring and then dripping from their clothes and equipment. They stripped down to wetsuits and one bag. No one came to investigate.

They stood in a small basement room. The basin filled most of it. A cement block wall, newer than the rest of the construction, blocked their way. At one end was a gate made of steel bars. Sam stepped over a large pump on his way to it, Nikki close behind, and peered around.

On the other side was a larger room. The door they'd heard shut was in the nearest wall. Everything about the room was cold and bleak and gray, cement and steel. Spotlights around the edges made a show of the room's main feature: a steel cage, about eight feet by eight feet. The cage was empty, except for one thing: Sam's father. He hung limp against the near bars, facing them, his wrists tied to the cage wall above his head. He wore a simple white shirt and pants, loose on his frame. He showed no awareness of their presence.

"The camera," Sam mouthed.

Nikki shrugged and shook her head. She stepped around Sam, and went to work on the padlock holding the gate. Within seconds, she had it open. Still, his heart begrudged the time, though his head was thankful for her skill. He followed her into the room, his pocket knife already in his hand. She went immediately to work on the lock holding the cage door. Suddenly cold once more with dread, Sam went to face his father.

Mack's eyes were half-closed, his face haggard, his hair cropped short. He looked like he'd aged ten years. He didn't appear to see Sam.

"Dad?" Sam called softly, and touched his father's cheek. MacGyver blinked slowly, his responses sluggish. Sam frowned in worry.

Then Nikki was through the door. She put her arms around MacGyver's chest; held him while Sam cut the plastic zip-ties binding his wrists; lowered him to the ground while Sam came to join her.

"Mack? MacGyver, talk to us--" she held his limp body against her chest; his head rolled back to rest against her shoulder.

"Dad," Sam said, taking hold of his father's shoulders with both his hands. "Can you get up? You're coming with us."

"Can't," he muttered, "...won't let me..."

"Dad, don't you recognize me?"

MacGyver's eyes struggled to focus. "Sam..."

"That's right. Can you get up?"

"Forgive me... should be me... not you... Nikki..."

"MacGyver, you're not making sense," Nikki said.

"Dead... all dead..."

"We'll have to dress him and carry him out," Sam told Nikki. She nodded, and handed him the wetsuit. He bunched the legs and struggled to pull the bulky material over Mack's thin pants.

"Harry, I'm sorry..." MacGyver said to the air as Sam worked. "I tried. I tried..." His breathing grew shallow. He struggled weakly.

"Shh, Mack, hold still," Nikki whispered to him. "Hold still, we'll have you out of here soon."

"Don't leave me alone!" he cried softly. "Harry! I don't-- I don't want to be the only one left--"

"Dad!" Sam grabbed Mack's head again, forcing him to look his way. "You're not alone. Can you see me? It's Sam, Sam and Nikki--"

"Sam--" MacGyver echoed, whispering. His eyes welled with tears.

"That's right. See?" Sam put his father's hand on his face. "You've got to focus. Stay with us."

He pulled his father up so Nikki could pull the wetsuit around to his back. She pulled the shirt over his head, letting Sam remove it. She gasped. Sam winced at the mass of colorful bruises that stained his back, arms, and sides. But there was no time to pause. He helped Nikki pull on the arms of the wetsuit, all the while trying to maintain contact with his father's drifting consciousness. Finally they had him zipped in. They pulled him to his feet between them.

"Dad? Can you walk? Come on." They eased him forward, but MacGyver stumbled.

"MacGyver, you can do this," Nikki snapped at him. "Walk!"

They got as far as the cage door. Then MacGyver doubled over, groaning and clutching at his belly. He sank to his knees. Sweat stood out on his face.

"Now what?" Sam asked, growing frantic.

"We don't have time for this," Nikki said. "We'll have to carry him."

Sam looped his arms under his father's. Nikki took his knees. Somehow they made it to the basin. MacGyver lay where they lowered him to the floor, curled in pain.

"How are we going to get him back through the tunnels?" Sam asked, despairing.

"We'll manage," Nikki said. "We have to. We can't leave him here."

Looking back toward the glaring prison behind them, Sam shuddered. On that point, he agreed completely.

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

From his hiding place in the linen closet behind the guard room, Jack could hear Reyerson and Lundborgh's voices. Jack's alterations of the surveillance equipment were working perfectly; even better, he'd seen Sam and Nikki enter the cell in the few seconds before he finished. Now the tape was set on "pause", to a screen just after Reyerson and company left the room. Just to be sure, he'd also disconnected the live feed from the camera. He felt almost giddy with relief. With continued luck, his sabotage would be enough to buy Sam and Nikki time to get in and out. Now it was time to save his own skin. The further he was from this mansion of horrors when they figured out his deception, the better the prognosis for his continued health. He opened the door a crack and peered out. Lundborgh and Reyerson were just exiting the guard room.

"...no change so far, but it may take time. The hallucinogen has had unpredictable effects."

"Why did you use it, then?"

"He is weaker now. His ability to counter the ill effects should be compromised."

"He'll be more likely to have rampant nightmares, you mean."

"Indeed..."

The voices faded around a corridor. Seeing the hall empty, Jack stood and took a swig from the bottle in his pocket. Then he picked up a pile of neatly folded linen sheets and ambled out the door.

His ill luck: on his way across the hall, he met the butler.

"And where do you think you're going, Mr. Walton?"

"Back-- Back to bed, thir." Jack affected a slur and wobble.

"Are you drunk? In this house? I thought I made clear to you that such activities were to be confined to your off-site excursions, Mr. Walton!"

"Indeed-- indeed you did, thir. Jutht go-- going to bed, thir."

The man pulled Jack through the door onto the landing for the kitchen stairs. When it was safely closed behind them, he reached into Jack's pocket and pulled out the bottle. "Then what is this?"

"Medithinal, thir."

"Out."

"Out, thir?"

"Out! Out of this house. Now! In fact, let me escort you to the door." He took the sheets and placed them on the bench in the hall, then propelled Jack down the stairs and out the door to where his motor-scooter was parked.

"Very kind- kind of you, thir. Thall I-- be back in the m- morning, then?"

"Absolutely not! I shall inform the guards to turn you away if you do."

"R- right, thir. I thall not thee you in- in the morning, then." Jack saluted and climbed on his bike. With a cough and a splutter, it started to his touch. He sailed right past the laughing guard. With any luck, the rest will be this easy, he thought. Then his thoughts turned to Sam, Nikki, and MacGyver. He could only hope they were safe and out of Reyerson's reach. And Lundborgh's.

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They made it to the tight spot in the tunnel. Nikki glanced across at Sam, who was pale, his eyes wide. Still, he hadn't panicked. Like his father, she thought: it's in his nature to hold on, to stay calm and focused even when he was terrified. Stubborn as a billy goat.

Nikki swam ahead, pushed her tank through the crack, and swam after it. She pulled it on again, turned and gestured. Sam wrestled the tank from his father’s back and passed it through to her. Then he pulled and pushed MacGyver until she could reach his hands. He remained unresponsive, limp in the water, but he was still breathing. Nikki pulled, Sam pushed, and in a moment he was through.

Through, but not without complications. The mouthpiece had fallen from his lips--or been knocked out. Nikki could see he'd already breathed in water. She felt a surge of panic, which she quickly suppressed. The surface wasn't far--nothing left but to get him out. Locking her hands around both his wrists, she kicked with all her strength, and kicked, and kicked again. She was rising--so slowly! He was too heavy--! And then she broke the surface. She pulled herself onto the shallow ledge.

"Nikki?" Pete cried out anxiously.

"Help me!" She pulled Mack's hand up, out of the water. Pete stumbled to his knees beside her. "He's still under, pull him up!"

Pete thrust his hand into the water, grabbed, and pulled. Together they wrestled MacGyver onto the bare rock, face down. He wasn't breathing. Nikki climbed out beside him and shrugged out of her tank harness. She pressed down on his back, squeezing his chest, expelling water. Then she rolled him face up, tilted his head back, opened and cleared his mouth, and leaned down to cover his mouth with her own. Gently she puffed air into his chest: once, twice... she counted, then pushed the air out, counting, over and over, breath in, breath out... "Breathe, dammit!" she swore at him. Vaguely she was aware of Sam climbing up on Mack's other side, his eyes wide; of Pete watching, muttering his own prayer, "breathe... breathe..."

Suddenly he coughed. Quickly she and Sam rolled him to his side. He spluttered and coughed again, his body racked with it. Sam held him steady. Nikki's vision swam and blurred. Then Pete's arms closed around her, holding her, comforting.

"Can't stop shaking--Pete--" Nikki tried to explain.

"It's all right Nikki, you did it, it's all right." Pete squeezed her close. "What happened?" Pete asked Sam.

"It all went to hell," Sam answered, his voice thin and shaky. "They did something to him, I don't know what. He was helpless when we reached him. We had to carry him back the whole way. I didn't think he was going to make it."

Nikki remembered it like a nightmare. Hearing his pain, helpless to stop it--she'd had to focus down, one step at a time, knowing they had too little maneuvering room in their plan.

Mack's coughing finally slowed. Still shivering, she scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her wetsuit, and shifted out of Pete's embrace.

"We should get him back to the safehouse," Sam said. His eyes were red as well. He removed the mask for Nikki's scuba tank from his father's face. Mack was breathing, but he remained unconscious.

"We should all get back, and get dry," Pete agreed. "But we're going to need help to carry MacGyver out of here."

"We can use those old pipes." Sam nodded to a pile of old pipes to the side of the pool. Once, not so long ago, they'd carried water to the house above. "Those, and the harnesses from the tanks. I should retrieve mine and Dad's..." He frowned at the water.

"I'll get them," Nikki volunteered. She needed something to do, something that would let her be alone for a while. Pulling on her tank, she stepped into the pool. The light filtering to the bottom was dim, especially after sitting above in the relative brightness. Nikki spotted the two tanks immediately. Then memory seized her: MacGyver, his mouthpiece loose, breathing in water. Nikki froze, reliving her panic. Why couldn't she shake it? She closed her eyes, but the vision didn't disippate. Finally she dove, catching up first one harness, then the other, ignoring the images replaying themselves. The only way on was forward. She swam to the surface.

"...but what did she do that so terrified him?" Pete was asking.

"Must have been a drug," Sam answered. "He was lucid before that, but by the time we reached him, he hardly knew where he was. He kept talking to Harry."

"To his dead grandfather?" Pete asked incredulously.

"It really scared me," Sam said. "I think Harry was more real to him than Nikki and I were."

"Give me a hand, Sam," Nikki said. He took the harnesses from her, pulling one tank up onto dry rock, then the other. Nikki climbed ashore and took off her own tank. She noted that Sam had placed two pipes parallel on the path, almost as far apart as MacGyver was wide. He set to work removing the harness from one tank; Nikki took up another. Then, while she removed the harness from her own tank, he arranged the first harness under the pipes. When all three harnesses were in place, she helped him to carry MacGyver and lay him face-up on top. His breathing was much improved, though still rattling. Sam secured the pipes under him.

Like MacGyver would have done, Nikki thought.

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MacGyver came slowly to consciousness. Light flickered on the walls around him, flashing in his eyes, dazzling him. All around him he heard the clanking of machinery. He stared around him, willing his eyes to adjust.

He was strapped to some sort of conveyor belt. He could move his fingers, but his arms and legs were trapped. He felt sheathed in a tight cocoon. Around him the machines banged, fulfilling their purposes. He moved towards them.

Then one opened beside him, enormous metal jaws. The tools inside, like teeth, were razor sharp.

It closed on his arm.

MacGyver tried to cry out, but his voice was trapped, silent. His arm was gone, replaced by a robot limb. He could sense this limb was part of him, now. Instead of fingers, it bore an array of deadly weapons. But this wasn't merely a dead prosthetic: MacGyver could sense an evil intent in the arm. It wanted to be used. He fought it.

He was approaching another machine now, on the opposite side, of similar design to the first. MacGyver cast around, desperate for some escape. Seeing nothing, he struggled to free himself. The jaws clamped down on his other arm. In agony, he tried to scream once more, and failed.

The conveyor stopped. MacGyver fought the pain, searching wildly for something, anything he could use to end this nightmare. Two more machines approached his legs. Mack shuddered with dread. Still, he could not give up, could not give up the habit of fighting--but he feared it was too late. He was already lost.

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They were nearly back to the safehouse when Sam felt his father stir on the makeshift stretcher. Sam held the front and Nikki the back; Pete followed, his hand on Nikki's shoulder and a lantern in his hand, casting flickering shadows on the stone of the narrow path threading its way through the caves. MacGyver groaned and his breathing quickened. Sam could feel him struggling against the harnesses.

"Sam..." Nikki said.

"I know. We're almost there." He stopped at the narrow, irregular opening that led to the hidden back door. "Pete, can you open the door?"

"Coming," Pete said. He felt his way up to Sam, then disappeared into the crevice. Sam followed, stepping backwards; he and Nikki maneuvered the stretcher through the crevice into the small entry tunnel. Pete stood by the door, an incongruous slab of steel swinging open from cave into dark kitchen.

They set Mack down on the table, Pete's light bobbing crazily around them as he closed the heavy door, camouflaged on the inside as a shelving unit. Sam flicked on the overhead light. The shadows vanished. They were three dripping bodies in black and one rumpled in khaki, looking shell shocked in the dingy setting. Sam rejoined Nikki at the table, across from her. He pulled at one harness buckle, loosening it. Mack strained against the others, his eyes blank and staring wildly at the ceiling.

"MacGyver, calm down, shh..." Nikki said. "Pete, can you help? He's fighting so hard, I'm worried he'll hurt himself."

"Maybe if we can free him from these buckles," Sam said doubtfully, "he'll settle down."

Pete took Mack's shoulders, making calming noises. Sam pulled the harnesses from his legs, and Nikki freed his arms. Immediately Mack flipped from Pete's grasp, falling from the table. Sam and Pete caught him and lowered him to the floor. Sam wrapped his arms around his father's chest, holding him. He continued to struggle, but without strength or coordination to break free. Sam looked helplessly at Pete and at Nikki, now kneeling in front of them. They looked as lost as he felt.

The door in the living area opened and the light flicked on. "Pete? Nikki? Anyone here?"

"Jack!" Sam shouted. "What did they do to my Dad?"

Jack's round face appeared at the kitchen door. He took in the situation, then pushed between Pete and Nikki and grabbed both sides of MacGyver's head. "It's not real, Mack. C'mon, buddy, it's not real. It's just a really bad trip. C'mon, snap out of it!" MacGyver continued to struggle. "Sorry about this," Jack muttered. He slapped Mack's face.

MacGyver collapsed in Sam's arms, the fight gone out of him. He was shaking. Jack took hold of him again, more gently this time. "It's just a bad trip. It's not real. The witch gave you those drugs again. See? I know you can resist them. She said you've been doing it all along."

"Machines...got me..." He stared at his hands and shuddered.

"Not real."

"Harry said that. He left... Hasn't come back," MacGyver said.

"Mack, Harry's dead. He's not real, either."

"Are you real?"

"Yeah, I'm real. See?" Jack put Mack's hand on his face. "I need a shave." Mack stared. "Okay, buddy?"

"So much blood..." MacGyver whispered.

"Not real. The blood is definitely not real."

"They're all dead, Jack. Harry and Sam and Nikki..."

"We're right here, Dad!" Sam interjected, but MacGyver didn't notice.

"and that girl, I killed that girl." His voice broke. "So much blood--I tried to stop it--but she was already dead..."

"Mack, you've got to snap out of it. You didn't kill anyone," Jack said.

"I killed her!" The pain in his father's voice tore at Sam. "They're all dead, they all went on without me!"

"Stop it!" Nikki yelled suddenly. "MacGyver, stop it!"

Sam could feel his father stiffen and curl in pain, as he had earlier, when they were leaving Mack's prison. Sam lowered him gently to the floor, feeling helpless. MacGyver wrapped his arms around himself. He burst into a fit of coughing.

"He's going to catch pneumonia in that wetsuit," Nikki said, breaking the spell that Mack's delirium had cast on them all. "I'll get him some dry clothes."

Pete stood as well. "I'll go break it to Mallett that we disobeyed his direct order. Mack needs a doctor, fast, and Mallett can get us one."

"Come on, Jack, help me get my dad out of this thing," Sam said, eager for some small task he could succeed at, to stave off the feeling that events had spiraled far out of his control. Jack joined him in pulling off the wetsuit, with uncharacteristic quiet.

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One hour later, Nikki sat on the edge of the bed in the tiny room the others had ceded to her, facing the wall. They'd succeeded in wrestling MacGyver into sweatpants, a t-shirt, and bed, despite his continued delirium and bouts of pain. Eventually it had become apparent that either the drugs were wearing off, or he was becoming too exhausted to fight them any longer. Jack had volunteered to sit up with him, insisting that he could keep watch while Sam and Nikki rested. Pete was still running in and out, swearing--apparently he believed he could wear down the DXS team leader with sheer persistence.

The tension and mania of the past five hours had settled into uneasy anxiety, but Nikki couldn't rest. Her mind kept replaying scenes from the past few hours, the past few weeks. And then her mind turned to a scene from long ago, a memory that she thought she'd left behind these past five years. The burning shell of a car: her own. Running toward it, the horror, the dread... She sprayed the flames with the fire extinguisher Adam had installed in their garage, near the door to the kitchen, after he'd accidentally started a grease fire. She yanked open the driver side door. "Adam! Adam!" She called his name, weeping, but she was afraid to touch his raw flesh. She heard sirens in the distance, and close at hand, his breath rattling in his throat. He opened his eyes, clear blue eyes, and he smiled at her. He formed her name with his lips, silently. And then his eyes closed, and his breathing stopped.

Nikki scrubbed her eyes. She'd left the door to her small room open, disliking the claustrophobic closeness, but wished now that she'd closed it. She sensed a presence behind her, peering into the darkness.

"Want to talk about it?" Sam asked quietly.

Nikki hung her head. She didn't, really. But she could sense Sam's unwillingness to leave, his own need. And he was so young--he'd kept his head, played his part well, but he was barely more than a boy. "Come in," she said.

He sat across from her on the bed, legs crossed under him, hands folded in his lap. He sat quietly, undemanding, and apparently unwilling yet to talk himself. Nikki let the silence rest between them. Her thoughts had turned away from nightmare memories to him, and that was something to be grateful for.

"It hurts to see him this way," he told her finally.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"When I was little," he said quietly, "when it was just Mom and me living together, before she died, she used to tell me stories about my father. Every night she'd tell a story. I think she wanted me to grow up feeling like I had a father, like I knew him, you know? Even though we couldn't be together. And it worked. She loved him--you could tell from the stories, how she told them. He was always a hero, always helping people. Later, when I was a teenager, I couldn't help wondering if she'd made them up. If she'd made up the father I needed, out of love for me. Or made up the husband she wanted, out of love for him."

"Were you angry?"

"Sometimes. When I needed them most. But mostly, I missed them. I missed them both, even though I'd only ever known my dad in stories." Sam chuckled. "And then I found him. I carried him out of a warehouse on my bike, never realizing until we stopped and I saw his face, who he must be. I can't tell you how many hours I spent staring at that one photograph I had of him, in my locket. I can't tell you how many male faces I studied, looking for that one face that I belonged to. And then, there he was."

"It must have been a shock to you," Nikki said, caught up in the wonder of it.

"It was. Most of all, it was a shock to find I already knew him. He was exactly like my mother had described him. He was the man of her stories. Not so surprising, now I think of it: journalism was her trade. She was in the business of understanding people, and of telling about them." He paused, and grimaced. "Today... today I saw him from a different angle. His strength, and his weakness. I'm still trying to understand. All I know is, it hurts. And somehow... somehow it makes me feel closer to him. Somehow I'm finding I love him more than ever. And I'm afraid."

"Afraid you'll lose him," Nikki said.

Sam nodded. "Like I lost my mother."

"He was talking like he wanted to die," Nikki said, remembering.

"He wants to be with the people he loves," Sam corrected.

"So did I," Nikki said, almost too softly to hear. She felt Sam's eyes on her, measuring, but she didn't look up. They all went on without me. She had recognized that pain. She'd known it too often herself.

"Who did you lose?" Sam asked gently.

"Everyone." Nikki felt tears gathering again. She shook her head. She didn't want pity, not even self-pity.

"Your parents? Your husband?" Sam asked.

"All of the above." Her voice broke in a half-laugh, half-cry. "And my brother. I'm sorry, I can't--"

"Sorry for what? For missing the people you care about? For being miserable enough to cry about it? I won't tell if you don't."

She looked sharply at his face. His eyes, too, sparkled with unshed tears.

"Oh, Sam, I'm sorry. Here I am thinking about myself..."

"Don't. Don't be sorry. You listened; you cared. You didn't judge. It's what I needed."

"I judged your father. From the first day we met--I never gave him a chance. Always assuming the worst. Criticizing, scolding... I was never fair to him."

"Nikki, my dad cares about you. He really respects you."

"I know, and I-- As I got to know him, it got harder to keep--" Nikki closed her eyes-- "pushing him away. I never told him."

"Nikki..." Sam shifted, looking uncomfortable. "If you don't mind my asking... why did you leave Phoenix? Dad says he came back from an assignment one day, and you were gone."

"I didn't want to say goodbye."

She remembered that time: the offer from an old colleague, jumping at the chance to move away. And then the feeling of relief, realizing that MacGyver would not be back in time to question her decision in person. Better to skip the arguments, the farewells.

"Did you leave to get away from him?"

Nikki shook her head. "I felt restless. Trapped. I needed a change."

"A change in work? Were you so unhappy at Phoenix?"

Nikki didn't answer. No, she'd loved the work at Phoenix: the challenges, the variety. She'd realized that mistake as soon as she returned.

"Did you leave because of my father?"

"He-- he was my friend. He understood me-- better than anyone else."

"Why would that make you feel trapped?"

Nikki drew up her knees and lay down, curled on the pillow. You are not jinxed, he had told her, and then he held her as she cried. She had never been easy with other people, always had trouble making close friends. Adam was the only one who had found the path to her confidence, and to her heart. And Adam was dead, his life destroyed by a car bomb meant for her.

"I didn't want to be understood." The realization came to her as she spoke, like a door opening. "I didn't want to need him."

"You were falling in love with him."

You were falling in love with him.

Nikki buried her face in her pillow.

"Nikki-- I'm sorry-- I didn't mean to hurt you--" She felt Sam's touch on her arm.

"Don't be," she said, trying to keep the harshness from her voice. "Just leave me alone for a while, okay?"

Sam didn't move.

"I promise I won't run off to the FBI." She tried to laugh, but her throat hurt. "Just go."

He squeezed her arm and left, pulling the door almost closed behind him.

Alone in the dark, she saw him again, lying on the floor, exhausted and in pain, delirious, but still fighting.

She wanted to hold him.

She wanted to run away.

Unable to do either, she cried herself to sleep.

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Some time later, she woke to a hand on her arm, shaking her.

"Nikki?"

"What is it, Jack?" Nikki yawned and looked around, disoriented. A blanket had been draped over her while she slept. She felt a twinge of embarrassed affection for the men sharing the safehouse.

"Would you come take a look at Mack?"

Nikki came suddenly awake. She threw off the blanket, and sat up. "What's going on?"

"Maybe it's not a big deal," he said, laughing nervously.

"But?" She was already on her way to Mack's room.

"He's really hot."

"Feverish?"

"I tried cooling him off with a wet cloth, but he just keeps getting hotter."

MacGyver lay restless on the bed, his face flushed, lips moving soundlessly. Jack had pulled the blankets down around Mack's hips; his hair was damp. She kissed his brow.

"He's burning up," Nikki confirmed. She ran a hand through her hair. "He needs a hospital."

Jack and Nikki frowned at each other. They'd both heard the reports from Mallett through Pete: Reyerson's men had enlisted corrupt officials to search the area, and all the local roads. Mallett was enraged, because his plans were endangered. But even worse, from Nikki's perspective, was that they had no way out. They were trapped in the safehouse.

"We should give him an antipyretic."

"Like aspirin?" Jack asked.

"Yeah." She was halfway out the door already, on the way to the kitchen, where they kept the medical kit. A packet of aspirin-- a glass of water--back to Mack's room.

"We'll have to get him to sit up and drink. The fluids will be good for him, too."

Jack lifted MacGyver to sitting. He coughed, weakly: a dry, hacking cough. Not good.

"What's wrong with him?" Jack asked as she tried to get him to drink. He turned his head, mouth closed.

"I'm guessing his lungs are infected. He breathed in a lot of questionable water." She tried again to get him to drink. "C'mon, MacGyver, you need this." He turned away again. "Mack!" She shook his shoulder. "Mack, wake up. Wake up!" His eyes slid open a fraction, then closed again. He remained limp in Jack's grasp. "I'd better get Sam," she said.

"Why? What's going on?" Sam asked from the door, Pete on his arm.

"Help me get some aspirin into your father," Nikki said. But even with Sam's help, they couldn't get MacGyver to wake up, nor could they get him to drink.

"We'll have to force it down," Sam said finally.

"Is it really that bad?" Pete asked.

"He's already dehydrated," Sam said.

"And his fever's really high, well over a hundred," Nikki added. "An infection could kill him in his state."

"His breathing's too shallow," Sam said, his ear on his father's chest.

"Well, Johnson's just going to have to listen, now. At least he can let me talk to a doctor."

"He's going to need more than that," Sam muttered as Pete left. "Is there any tubing in the medical kit?" he asked Nikki.

"No."

"There's gotta be something--" he left for the kitchen.

"Let's raise his head--crank up the bed," Nikki told Jack. She thought she could guess what Sam had in mind.

Sure enough, Sam was back a minute later with a turkey baster, a liquid measuring cup, a spoon, and a cutting board.

"I'll crush the aspirin," Nikki volunteered. Sam handed her the cutting board and spoon.

"Pour about a quarter cup of water in here, okay Jack?" Sam asked. Shortly they had a solution of crushed aspirin in the measuring cup. "Okay, you two will have to hold him while I get this in," he told them. Nikki winced at the sight of the turkey baster funnel. Like Pete, she wished this weren't necessary. But MacGyver was still insensible, and still fighting every attempt to reach him. Firmly she grasped his jaw in one hand. The bones of his cheeks stood out in his face, bruised and gaunt. His skin was rough, but he'd clearly had a shave within the past day or so. He struggled weakly against her grip and Sam's; eyes slipped open on unseeing dull brown, then closed once more. Her other hand gripping the back of his head, she watched Sam pour the medicine into him. At least it worked, she thought.

"Okay," Sam said, "that's it for now. Let's hope Pete can get us a doctor."

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Sam sat by his father's bedside, Nikki keeping vigil across from him. They had scrounged up every resource they could find in the tiny safehouse to cool his father's raging fever and soothe his violent coughing. Cold, damp compresses seemed to be the most effective for the fever--but they weren't enough. Getting fluids into him was difficult at best, and he was clearly dehydrated. Nearly forty hours after they'd brought him back, MacGyver had yet to regain lucidity. He drifted in a strange, nightmare world: muttering, yelling, thrashing. Sam could get no more from him than occasional recognition. Sam and the others took turns watching. Mack had already thrown himself from the bed once.

Sam recognized Pete's step and looked up. A tall, blonde woman followed Pete into the room, carrying a black bag. "This is Dr. Zarif," Pete said. "She practices at the U.S. Air Force base in Germany."

The woman took in the situation, barely nodding to Sam and Nikki, and immediately went to the bedside. Sam stood back to allow her access. She opened her bag onto the small table. Her examination was quick and efficient.

"He has pneumonia," she pronounced, "but there's more going on here. I'll need to analyze a blood sample. He'll also need an intravenous feed of medications and fluids. He should be in a hospital."

"I've been trying to convince Mallett of that, but he won't allow it," Pete said.

"I will speak to him. Right now I need your help." She pulled a pair of vials from her bag, a few tubes, and a handful of syringes, setting them on the table.

"What's going on?" came Jack's sleepy query, from the doorway.

"The doctor's here," Pete said. "Give us a hand."

"Hold him steady," Dr. Zarif instructed, "so I can medicate him."

Sam took his father's hand. MacGyver tossed his head back and forth, whispering incomprehensibly. At the sight of the doctor filling the syringe, however, he roused. His eyes focused in on the needle. "No," he protested. He pulled suddenly from Sam's grasp.

"Hold him," the doctor said sharply.

"He's had too many needles lately," Jack said. He leaned on Mack's legs.

"The infection is killing him," the doctor answered. "He needs these antibiotics."

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of Mack's arm. "Dad, it's alright. It's okay..."

MacGyver struggled to pull away. Nikki sat on the bed behind him, pillowing his head on her chest, making soothing noises. It didn't seem to be helping. Mack still struggled weakly, all his dwindling energy focused on escape.

"Is there something else we can do?" Sam pleaded. Dr.Zarif was rummaging in her bag. She took out a small plastic device as well as some medical tape and scissors.

"He's going to need an IV," she told them. "Rather than put him through this multiple times, we'll focus on getting the shunt in once."

"Let me go," Mack protested. "Let me go. Don't do this..."

Sam bit his lip. There must be some other way... but he could think of nothing.

"Shh," Nikki said, cradling him even as she held him immobile. "It's all right. It's going to be okay. Shh..."

In a few short minutes, Dr. Zarif had the shunt inserted into the back of MacGyver's hand and thoroughly wrapped. She picked up the first of the needles, hiding it from Mack's view behind Sam's body. Sam glanced back at his father's anguished face. "Almost done," he said, as though to a child. His father might as well be a child, he thought, for all the sense that was left in him. For the thousandth time, he cursed Lundborgh and Reyerson.

"Done," the doctor said.

Sam let go of his father's arm, as Nikki gently released him, settling him back against the pillows.

"Now what?" Sam asked the doctor.

"Now I take this blood sample to the hospital for analysis. I can get the rest of the supplies I need there. The antibiotics I just gave him will last in his system until I get back."

"And you'll talk to Mallett about hospitalization?" Pete asked.

"I will."

"Mack, no!" Nikki shouted. Sam glanced down. His father was tearing at the bandages around the shunt. He and Nikki each took hold of one arm. "He slipped his hands under the sheet," Nikki told them. "I couldn't see what he was doing at first."

"Let me go!" Mack begged. "Let me go!"

"He'll have to be restrained." Dr Zarif shook her head. "He's going to need an IV to survive. I'd sedate him, but I don't want to risk an interaction effect with the other drugs in his system. He has to be restrained."

"How?" Jack asked, once more holding Mack's legs. "He's a regular Houdini at the best of times."

Dr. Zarif pulled a small rolled canvas case from her bag. Carefully she unfastened the velcro, then transferred the delicate tools into a rolled bandage. She fastened the case around Mack's wrist and the frame of the bed, securing him there. Mack pulled at the bindings, trying to slip his hand free, pulling against the shunt. Dr. Zarif re-fastened the band more tightly. Then she pulled another roll of tools from her bag to repeat the process. "Roll a sheet tight around his legs," she instructed Jack. Sam and Pete went to help him.

"I don't know about this," Jack averred as they wrapped Mack's legs snugly in the fabric.

"I know what you mean," Sam agreed. The whole process was clearly distressing MacGyver. "Why doesn't he recognize us? I can't get through to him anymore."

"His fever's high enough it might be interfering with his brain function," Dr. Zarif told them as she fastened MacGyver's other wrist with the second velcro.

"Isn't that bad for him?" Sam asked.

"I've given him antipyretics, so the fever should come down quickly," she told them. "But yes. It's possible he's already suffered some neural damage."

Nikki's eyes met Sam's. She looked as shocked as he felt.

"I'm sorry," the doctor told them. "We can only hope for the best at this point. I'll be back as soon as I can, no more than six or eight hours. Try to keep him calm and hydrated."

"How can we do that when he doesn't even recognize us?" Nikki protested.

"And we have him trussed like a pig for butchering," Jack muttered.

"Doctor," Sam said. He waited for her to look up from packing her bag. "Is my father going to live through this?"

"I hope so," she told him gently. "Keep him safe. Help him want to live. That's the best you can do for him right now."

"He thinks we're dead. He thinks we're ghosts," Nikki said.

"Then at least he knows you're there," she said.

Pete walked with her to the door. "We can talk to Mallett on the way out."

"I think his fever's dropping," Nikki said, after they left. She put a hand to his neck, then to the arteries under his arm. "Still hot, but I think his core is cooling down. MacGyver, what's wrong?"

Wordlessly, soundlessly, Mack stared into space, but his face was all misery, his eyes wet with unshed tears, though his lips were dry and cracked for lack of water. Sam gripped his father's arm and shoulder, feeling lost, though it was his father who was adrift.

"We have to let him go," Jack whispered. "We can't hold him like this. We're just hurting him."

"You want us to give up?" Nikki snapped at him.

Jack shook his head. "You don't understand--the last time he was strapped to a bed like this--" he shook his head again.

"What did they do to him, Jack?" Sam asked.

"He's remembering. Actually, for him--those crazy drugs--it's probably re-experiencing. Don't make him go through that again."

"Go through what?" Sam asked. But Jack wouldn't answer, only pulled at the sheets wound around Mack's legs. Sam watched, frozen. What should he do? Which was worse, having his father spend all his strength fighting them? Or having him trapped in a memory of torment?

"MacGyver, look at me!" Nikki's voice was sharp as a slap. She stared into his face, holding him with both her hands. "Look at me!" Mack flinched.

"You can hear me, I know it. Focus, dammit! Let me help you!"

"Nikki--" he whispered. "I can't stop her. I can't--"

"It's not real. Shut it out."

"I can't--"

"Do you remember when you pulled me off the cliff? When you told me to grab your wrists? Do you remember that? On Widowmaker?"

"Mike died--"

"After that. I was hanging from the cliff. I said I couldn't do it, I couldn't let go to grab you--"

"You have to--"

"That's right, you told me that. Remember?"

"I can't--"

"You have to. You have to, Mack! Now take my hand." She put her hand in his. "Hold it! Hold my hand and don't let go. Good..." She pulled open the restraint. "Now just hold on." She gripped his hand in both her own.

"I can't--"

"You have to. Stay with me, Mack."

"I can't! Let me go. Let me go, Nikki."

"I won't do that. I'm not going to let you die."

"Let me go!"

"Dad, you're safe here!" Sam said. Mack turned his anguished face to him.

"Let me go. I killed her! Let me go!"

"Mack, you didn't kill anyone," Nikki cried. "Hold on! Stay with us!"

But he was lost again, adrift in some other world that only he could sense.

"We'll just have to watch him," Jack said. Nikki nodded.

"We'll take it in shifts," Sam agreed. If they couldn't keep his father's drifting consciousness with them, they'd just have to keep vigil until he came home again.

Chapter 40

Chapter Text

Jack leaned back in the stuffed chair by the bedside, watching. Mack's chest rose and fell--slowly, rhythmically, though his breath rattled. For five minutes now, his friend had slept. Jack, though exhausted, was anything but relaxed. He was glad that Mack was finally sleeping, and hopeful that it would last a while. But MacGyver's ravings haunted him.

Mack's breathing quickened. He groaned. Jack leaned forward, making soothing noises. He put a hand on his friend's arm. Touch, comforting voices-- both seemed to help. MacGyver relaxed back into sleep.

I killed her. Jack couldn't stop thinking about Mack's insistent words. He had to mean Lilia. Jack hadn't left the safehouse since the rescue--if you could call it a rescue, with MacGyver's mind still trapped. But he was willing to bet Lilia never returned to the mansion, or called. Portnoy was still waiting and worrying. The girl was dead. Somehow the witch had made Mack think he was responsible: yet another cruel act to lay at her feet.

No one deserved this torment less than MacGyver. All the times Jack had dragged him into trouble, all the times Mack had pulled him out--complaining all the while, yes, but never failing to be there, no matter how crazy the situation, no matter how foolish Jack's ambitions. MacGyver was a brave and loyal friend. He deserved better than Jack Dalton's ineptitude.

Come on, Jack, he told himself. You can't help anyone by being down on yourself.

But there it was: two weeks. It took him two weeks, and plenty of help, to pull off a mangled rescue.

And since when has anyone been as good at this stuff as MacGyver himself? If Mack couldn't get himself out, how could any single person blame himself for it being too big a job?

Face it, Jack. What you're really upset about is that Mack is hurt, probably dying painfully, and there's nothing you can do about it. Not much you've been able to do all along, but witness... And on top of it all, that sweet kid is dead. The poor kid. Lilia. Why did Lundborgh have her killed?

Mack cried out weakly. He twisted, pulling, straining the velcro binding on his IV arm. When he twisted back, reaching for it, Jack caught his free hand in both his own.

"Easy, Mack. Settle down, buddy."

"Let me go," Mack whispered. "Let me go. I won't do it. I won't--"

"You won't do what, Mack?"

"Can't make me..."

"No one's gonna make you do anything. 'Cept maybe get well."

"Let me go--"

"Jeez, Mack, I hate to see you like this. Time was, I thought we could do anything. You and me together. Or at least, you... I messed up pretty bad, getting Pepe killed, getting Mike caught by drug dealers... Jeez, what haven't I messed up?" He saw Lilia's frightened face, fixing the statuette he'd messed up...

Mack's eyes opened, staring wildly at nothing.

"Hey! It's okay, buddy. Look, it's okay." He pulled Mack to face him. "That stuff you keep seeing? It's not real. You're safe."

MacGyver's face contorted. "I killed her, Jack."

"That wasn't your fault." You're the last one at fault...

"She's dead."

"Mack, you gotta get past that. You're stuck in your own head. We can't help you find the way out."

Mack's eyes lost focus once more. "Let me go," he pleaded.

"Come back to us, old buddy. We need you."

He watched MacGyver's return to restless nightmares.

"I need you," he said to himself.

Chapter 41

Chapter Text

Nikki stood over a pot of bean stew, stirring. Of all the members of their small group, she had arguably the best cooking skills. A scary thought: Nikki grimaced. She knew barely enough to stay out of trouble in the kitchen--mostly. Growing up, Nikki had been her mother's despair in the homemaking sphere. Luckily the men sharing the safe house with her weren't too demanding. At least, if they were they didn't say so. Of course, if anyone did, he would likely end up responsible for the cooking chores himself...

Pete entered the kitchen behind her. "Smells good. Thanks for taking care of dinner." He took a seat at the table. "Dr. Zarif just left. She says Lundborgh's drugs have finally cleared Mack's system."

"That's good news," Nikki said, turning to look at the older man. He slouched over the table, hand on his chin. "Pete, you look exhausted."

"Mack was delirious through most of my shift. I couldn't reach him, Nikki. I tried."

"I haven't been able to either, Pete. Not since the doctor's first visit."

"Well, now that the hallucinogens are out of the way, I'm hoping he'll stop fighting us. He fell asleep just before the doctor came; slept for the last hour I was sitting with him."

"Good," Nikki said fervently. MacGyver hadn't slept more than fifteen minutes at a time in three days, a lack that distressed them all. "Were they able to figure out what Lundborgh gave him?"

Pete breathed out sharply. "Only a few elements of the cocktail. They think she tailored her own drugs, using some standard psychotropics as a base. She was using him as a guinea pig."

"But no indication for what purpose."

"No."

Nikki turned back to the stove. "But at least he'll get better now?"

"I don't know." Pete sounded lost. "The doctor says he's incredibly weak. Between Lundborgh's designer drugs and the pneumonia... The next twenty-four hours should tell us whether he's going to get better or worse."

"He has to get better," Nikki said in a low voice.

Silence answered her. She stirred the soup.

"Nikki, what happened between you and MacGyver on the mountain?" Pete asked softly.

"I don't know what you mean," she answered. "Dinner's ready, if you want to bring some to Sam." Jack was sleeping.

Silence answered her. She pulled bowls from the cupboard; filled three. Two she set on the table.

Pete stared at the far wall. The light in here was difficult for him, she knew. What must it mean, to him, that he could not participate directly in MacGyver's rescue? That he was unable to help with many of the tasks for his care? Nikki had never seen Pete complain about his new disability, but she knew it affected him profoundly. She pulled spoons from a drawer and set them in the bowls.

"I said things that should never have been said. That I didn't mean," she confessed, almost too quietly to be heard. "I hurt him, and then he walked right into an ambush. We both did."

She looked back at Pete, who was gazing now in her direction, his eyes soft with sympathy.

"That wasn't your fault," he said.

"I hurt him," she repeated.

Pete pushed himself wearily from the table. He stood beside her at the stove; put a hand on her shoulder. He kissed her cheek. Then he took the third bowl and left the room.

Chapter 42

Chapter Text

Warmth around his legs. Cool on his chest. A firm but gentle touch. Slowly Mack grew aware of his surroundings. He lay in bed, his legs covered by blankets. He felt his arm lifted; a warm damp cloth scrubbing. He opened his eyes a slit: even so little was frighteningly difficult. He felt heavy, drained of life. The room resolved into a small, dim-lit space; an overstuffed chair at the bedside; a table holding a basin; a woman's hand dipping into the water. She squeezed the cloth; her dark hair swung into his view, her delicate features, eyes downcast, face strangely quiet. Nikki. She returned to her task, now sponging his chest and abdomen.

Mack closed his eyes. He felt suddenly, irresistibly aroused. Heat rose to his cheeks. He struggled to wet his dry mouth.

"Nikki..."

She froze.

"MacGyver?"

"Thirsty..."

He heard water pour into a glass; felt her arm behind his neck and shoulders, lifting. He slit open his eyes.

The water was cool; he thirsted for more even as he only managed small sips. She held him, patient. When he could take no more, she lowered him to the pillow, put the back of her hand to his brow. Then she kissed him, her lips soft and dry on his forehead.

"Fever's down--almost back to normal," she said quietly.

"Whut... happen'?" He struggled to form the words, pausing to breathe. Fragmented images--Pete's cabin, dinner with Pete and Nikki and Sam.

She frowned. "You've been really sick, but you're past the worst of it."

Sick? He was so rarely sick--

"Where?" he asked.

"A safe house. It's okay, we're well hidden."

"Whut..." he was stopped by a fit of coughing, harsh in his lungs, and painful. He felt hot and dry. The coughs shook him. Nikki held his head, easing him. The fit passed. He sank back, already exhausted.

Nikki lifted him to drink once more. He managed a few small sips. She settled him back against the pillow and tucked the blanket higher around his chest. He tried to speak, but no sound passed his lips.

"Shh..." she told him. "Sleep. You need rest." She kissed him once more; stroked the hair from his face; took his hand.

He sank back to grateful sleep.

Chapter 43

Chapter Text

Sam sat up on the couch and threw off his blankets, running a hand through his hair. It was his turn to sit by his father and care for him. It was nearly two days since MacGyver had finally fallen asleep on Pete's watch. He hadn't roused since.

Jack slept on the couch opposite. All else in the small suite was still. Sam went to wash his face and freshen up. He had time for a quick shower and meal before his turn, but first he tapped on his father's door to see if Nikki had any news.

Nikki was perched on the edge of the stuffed chair. She leaned over the bed, holding Mack's hand. She looked up at Sam and smiled.

"He woke about an hour ago," she told him. "He knew me."

Stunned and suddenly hopeful, Sam entered. He took the folding chair by the IV, across the bed from Nikki. His father's face was peaceful in sleep; his breathing easy.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

"He called me by name," she said. "He asked for a drink; tried to ask for news, but he was much too weak." Concern flitted across her face.

"He took water? Voluntarily?"

Nikki smiled again, but her eyes didn't leave MacGyver's face.

It was the best news they'd had in weeks. So why did Sam feel like crying?

"Have you eaten?" Nikki asked. "Hey, it's okay." She reached across the narrow bed to touch his hand.

"Sorry, I--"

"It's all right. Are you hungry? If you don't want to leave, I can get you something."

Sam nodded. "Thanks," he said.

Nikki placed Mack's hand on the blanket with delicate care. She reached across to squeeze Sam's shoulder. Then she left the room.

Alone, Sam let the tears fall. He touched his father's fingers where they emerged from the bandages and the short splint that held his hand still; held the IV in place. He marveled at the sense of attachment he felt for this man he'd only met the year before. But no, he'd known and loved him all his life, in his imagination. That dream father hadn't lessened since he'd met the real thing: it had grown. The dream had taken on the subtle complexity of reality. His father was larger than life--and yet frail and human. At twenty, Sam found he still needed him.

"Sam--" he heard a whisper.

Sam stared. His father's eyes stared back, dark and tired and utterly sane. With his free hand, Sam scrubbed that side of his face dry.

"What's wrong?" MacGyver asked, his voice barely audible. His fingers under Sam's twitched.

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing that matters, anyway," Sam answered.

"Why the tears?"

"Relief," Sam confessed. He wiped the rest of his face. "Nikki told me you woke up. I guess I was afraid you wouldn't."

Mack's free hand slipped from his chest; he lifted his head.

"Don't try to get up," Sam said, pressing him gently back. "Just rest. You have to get better."

MacGyver sank back and sighed. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I feel awful."

"You were in awful shape when we got you out. Then you got pneumonia on top of it."

"Out of where?"

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at his father consideringly. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

MacGyver closed his eyes. "Dinner with Pete," he answered, opening them once more. "Nikki was there."

Sam tried to hide his shock. "Nothing after that?"

MacGyver's brow creased. "What happened?"

"That's... a long and complicated story," Sam averred, "that should probably wait until you're feeling better."

"Sam," his father protested.

"Dad, your voice barely carries above a whisper. You haven't the strength to sit up. You haven't spoken more than three words at a time. You need to conserve your strength, and get well."

Mack stared at him, but his eyes were glassy. They slid closed, then open.

"It's okay to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up, or in the next room. We won't leave you alone."

A smile touched MacGyver's lips. "Later," he whispered.

"Don't worry," Sam answered. He watched his father slide into sleep.

Chapter 44

Chapter Text

Jack woke to the sound of voices whispering: one of the few sounds guaranteed to rouse him. He pushed himself to sitting. "Whassup?" he asked, blinking.

The sound stopped. Jack rubbed his eyes, then blinked again. Blurs resolved into Nikki and Sam, standing at Mack's door, staring at him. Both wore silly grins.

Jack pushed to his feet and stumbled their way. "C'mon, you two. Whassup?" He rubbed his stubbly face. "You have good news, I surmise."

"Dad's back," Sam said simply. "He's asleep now," he added sternly, seeing Jack about to whoop.

Jack turned down the volume, and whooped at a dull whisper. Not as satisfying, but he didn't really care. Nikki chuckled. It was the first real smile he'd seen from her.

"So how is he? I mean, you know, besides the physical stuff."

"Same as ever, except tired," Sam answered.

"You sure?" Jack asked.

"He doesn't remember," Sam explained.

"Doesn't remember... what?"

"Any of it," Sam said.

"Nothing since the night before he was kidnapped," Nikki elaborated.

Jack's jaw worked soundlessly. If he didn't remember--well, that was a good thing, right? Except-- "How long will it last?"

"I wish I knew," Sam said.

"The question is," Nikki said, "what do we tell him?"

"We don't," Jack said. "I mean, no way. After what they did to him? He's better off not knowing."

"He won't take no for an answer," Sam said.

"Then we put him off for a while. We say we'll tell him when he can, I dunno, walk around without help."

"But not while he's still too sick to stand," Nikki agreed.

"Yeah. I think you're right." Sam grimaced. "He's not gonna like it, though."

"He doesn't have to like it. He just has to get better," Nikki said firmly.

So they were agreed. Jack couldn't help feeling relief. The experiences of the last few weeks, especially his last few days at the mansion, were the stuff of his nightmares. Mack didn't need those nightmares returned to him. If he never remembered, that would be soon enough.

Chapter 45

Chapter Text

It was hunger that woke him. MacGyver opened his eyes. The room was dark and still. His eyes followed the path of the IV tube from the bag on its pole to his hand, heavily bandaged. He tried to lift his hand, but found he could not. Looking more closely, he saw it was strapped to the bed rail.

A toilet flushed somewhere nearby. MacGyver heard water running, and then a door open and close. A few seconds later, Jack entered the room. Something was different about the way his old friend carried himself--but what? Jack swung the door mostly closed behind him, stilling it with his hand. He picked up a magazine from the bedside table, then sat heavily in the chair, eyes downcast and face preoccupied.

Where was the spring in Jack's step? Where was the jovial bounce?

"Jack?" MacGyver said in a coarse whisper--still the best he could manage.

Jack's head snapped up. His wide eyes met his friend's, his face an unreadable mix of emotions: surprise, relief... guilt? All quickly melted into an unreserved grin that was all Jack.

"How're you feelin', ol' buddy?"

Mack smiled. "Old. And hungry."

"Hungry we can deal with. I can get you some of Nikki's soup. Not my style, but you'll like it. It's got all kinds of vegetables and stuff." Jack twisted his mouth and crossed his eyes.

Mack chuckled. He looked up at the IV. "What happened?" he asked.

"No one else wanted to cook," Jack shrugged, looking away. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Jack--" MacGyver called softly. But Jack was already out the door.

A minute later, Sam entered, Jack close behind. Sam took the chair by the IV.

"The soup's warming, Dad. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Mostly tired."

"Good. Let's see if we can get you sitting up."

"My hand's tied down," MacGyver pointed out, looking at Sam, hoping the young man would answer his unspoken question.

The rip of velcro separating answered him. Sam put the strap on the bedside table. Then he reached below the bed. There must be a mechanism of some kind there, because the head of the bed started to rise--albeit at a snail's pace--as Sam pumped something.

"Where did you get this old dinosaur?" Jack asked.

"It was here when we arrived," Sam answered. "Nikki's is the same."

"We're in a safe house," MacGyver said slowly.

Sam glanced up at him.

"Nikki told me."

Sam went back to work.

"Sam--" he reached for his son's head, just a few inches from his hand. He misjudged the weight of the bandages, and his strength. His hand dropped; the splint under his wrist knocked Sam's ear.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all right," Sam answered, and settled Mack's arm back on the blankets. "You're getting stronger. Last time you woke up you could barely move at all."

"Why was my hand tied down?" Mack asked.

Sam rubbed his face, clearly not wanting to answer. "Earlier this week, your fever went really high. We couldn't get you to hold still. We tied down your arm so you wouldn't pull out the IV."

Watching Sam, Mack could tell there was more to the story. But what? Sam bent back to the pump, or crank, or whatever it was. Jack lifted MacGyver's shoulders--surprisingly gently--and rearranged the pillows behind him.

"Jack, what happened?" he asked.

For a moment only, Jack's face closed down. Then his jovial grin was back. "Got yourself into trouble as usual, buddy. Nothing you need to worry about. You just gotta get better."

Mack stared. He felt a rising sense of dread. What were Jack and Sam hiding? Clearly it was something horrible.

"Don't do this," he pleaded.

Sam sat up, worry creasing his eyes. Jack looked away.

Imagination provided him half a dozen scenarios--all of them dire. "You're scaring me," he said. "Why won't you tell me what happened?"

"Dad, there's nothing to worry about. You just need to get well."

"Then why a safe house? Why not a hospital?"

Sam looked down, then up. "Dad, can you trust us?"

"Sam--"

"It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Please, Sam. Just tell me."

Sam looked at Jack, pleading.

"Jack?" MacGyver asked.

A brief look of panic crossed Jack's open face. Then his features settled to calm firmness. "When you're better," Jack said. "Doctor's orders." His eye twitched.

Jack tucked the blankets firmly around Mack's chest. MacGyver watched him with disbelief. If he only felt well enough, he'd throttle his friend...

"Sam?"

Mack looked up at the sound of Pete's voice. Pete stood silhouetted in the doorway. Pete would take pity on him, and satisfy his desperate need to know.

"He's awake, Pete," Sam answered. "More awake than yesterday."

Pete used his cane to find his way across the room. Sam vacated the chair for him, perching on the side of the bed. Pete sat, then leaned forward, squinting, and gripped Mack's arm.

"I'm all right, Pete."

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Strange." Mack pushed his free hand through his hair. It was cropped short--shorter than he'd worn it in years. Another unwelcome surprise. He grimaced. "The strangest, though, is not knowing what's going on."

"Dad doesn't remember anything since that night at your cabin," Sam explained. Pete's brows arched.

"Nothing," Mack confirmed. "Feels like that was yesterday, but I guess it's been at least a week. These two won't fill it in for me, either," he complained.

Pete examined Mack consideringly for a long quiet moment. Mack grimaced, imagining what his old friend must be seeing. Jack had propped him up on pillows, but he lay limp against the white sheets. Even with his sight so far gone, Pete would be able to tell that Mack was far from well.

"There's nothing that frustrates you more than a mystery you can't solve." Pete smiled sympathetically. "It must be maddening, and more than a little frightening, to see us all so upset and yet feel so sick and helpless and utterly in the dark."

"Pete, there wasn't any really... global... disaster, was there?"

"You mean like a nuclear war, or a major earthquake?" Pete smiled sadly. "Nothing on such a grand scale. No, our disaster was much more personal."

"But if there's anything I can do to help--"

"There's nothing you can do. So long as you're too sick to get out of bed, or climb a flight of stairs, there is absolutely nothing you can do."

MacGyver sighed deeply, then tilted his head to study their faces: Sam's, watching him steadily with eyes so like his own, and Jack's, with a false grin plastered on. "Then I guess I'd better work on getting well," he said quietly. "Some of that soup for me, Sam?"

Chapter 46

Chapter Text

Nikki watched him from the stuffed chair at his bedside, her book closed in her lap. Some color had returned to his cheeks; his breathing was easier--no longer strained and rattling. Nikki watched, and wondered: why did she feel such attachment to him? Why did she feel such desperate need?

What was she going to do?

He grew restless in sleep. His free hand opened and closed; he tossed his head, his breathing irregular. Dreams--uncomfortable dreams, from the look of it. Yet she hated to wake him. Wait it out, she thought--he's had spells like this, but they pass. He settled to quiet sleep once more.

She wanted to touch him, to hold him. Instead, she kept silent vigil--silent but for her own thoughts. She saw the walls she'd built, now: the walls she'd built, and forgotten, as a shield and a haven, as a fortress. For too long, she'd held herself apart: for fear of what? For fear.

He had crept in; hollowed a passage for himself. He had touched her. Even now, helpless and haunted, he touched her.

He twitched and murmured. His breath caught and quickened. His eyes flicked open, darting wildly.

"Shh... You're safe."

He found her face. With an outpouring of breath, he relaxed.

"You all right?"

"Just dreams." He rubbed his face.

"Nightmares. I wasn't sure if I should wake you this time."

He looked at her consideringly. "How long have you been watching?"

She picked up her book; turned it over in her hands. "I took over from Jack four or five hours ago."

Silence answered her. She looked up to find him staring. He looked away, embarrassed. "You have a system?"

Of course he wouldn't know. "You were sick for days. You almost died. You needed the care, and we were the only ones available."

"But I'm okay now. I mean..."

"You're getting better."

"But you don't have to--"

"Would you rather I leave?"

"No! I didn't mean-- I just meant--"

She smiled at his fumbling. "I don't mind. It's not like I have anywhere to go. That is, if you don't--?"

"I don't mind," he said quickly.

"Do you need anything?"

"Water," he said, humbled.

She poured him a glass from the pitcher by the bedside, then cranked up the head of the bed. He shifted to accommodate the changing angle.

"You're getting stronger," she said.

"I feel stronger," he said. "It's easier to breathe."

She handed him the glass.

"Do I really need to be watched around the clock?" He smiled.

"Are you well enough to get out of bed?" she asked archly.

"I can holler if I need someone."

"Humor us for a little longer," she said, looking sadly at the IV shunt in his hand.

He looked sharply at her face, suddenly serious and intent. "Nikki," he said slowly, "what happened to me?"

Nikki scolded herself for letting her poker face slip. "What do you remember?" she asked.

"Nothing of what happened. Last I remember we were all at Pete's cabin. Except Jack..." He frowned.

"Dinner?" she prompted.

"We had dinner together," he agreed. Then Sam and I went to sleep outside. We talked for a while..."

"About what?"

He stared off into space, silent, then looked at her, hesitant. "He had some questions... about you."

"About me?" she asked, taken aback.

"About why you left Phoenix. I told him I didn't know."

"And then?"

He lay back against the pillow, thinking. "I don't remember anything beyond that night," he said finally.

She watched him, watching her. There were questions in his eyes, questions she didn't want to answer. Some that she owed it to him to answer.

"After Adam died..." She faltered. Subtly his expression changed: curious, perplexed--but still open, undemanding. She drew breath and continued. "After Adam died, I didn't want to be close to anyone. When Danny was killed-- that only made it worse. He was the one person I could still talk to..." Her voice shook. She paused, uncertain how to approach this. "Adam's friend Bill--our friend--said I'd lost all sense of humor. That I was angry all the time. It wasn't completely true, just--"

"Just with people you had been close to."

She nodded. "And with those I found myself... getting close to. It hurt too much. I was afraid."

"You were getting close to people. So you left Phoenix."

"I didn't say goodbye because I didn't want to face you," she admitted. His brown eyes remained unwaveringly sympathetic. "I want you to know--I'm sorry for that. For everything I did, to drive you away."

He smiled. "Like getting me arrested?"

"For that," she smiled back, but her smile quickly faded. "But mostly, for everything I said--all the times I was unfair to you--"

"To annoy me?" he asked lightly.

"To annoy you. And to hurt you."

He shook his head. "Nikki--"

"You don't remember it, not yet. But you will. And I want you to know I'm sorry. I was trying to drive you away for good. But all I succeeded in doing was hurting both of us."

He put his hand over hers. "You feel responsible for my being here."

She looked away. How could he read her so easily?

"It takes one to know one," he said softly.

"You and Mike Forrester."

He nodded. "I think you and I are more alike than either of us has ever wanted to admit."

She studied his face. How much did he see? What did he feel for her in return?

"I'm sorry, Mack."

He smiled again. "Somehow I doubt you're responsible for giving me pneumonia."

She shook her head. She couldn't explain.

"Tell me what happened."

"You know we have a pact about that," she said lightly.

"Not you too," he groaned.

"I know, I know, the worst torment we could devise for you: keeping you in the dark."

He sighed.

"Are you up for a game of chess?" she asked.

"Sure," he agreed.

She left to retrieve the pieces.

Chapter 47

Chapter Text

Sam walked aimlessly through the rough passages of the DXS hideout, his thoughts crowded and his feet restless. Passing the open door to the DXS operations room, he barely gave it a glance. Two men stood over a table, talking. He walked on.

"Here, now. You can't go that way," came a deep male voice from the room, now behind him.

Sam stopped. "Why not?"

An older man, medium height, bland looks, stood at the open doorway, hands on hips.

"I told Thornton to keep you people inside."

Sam hadn't planned to go out, but he didn't say so. Instead he found himself challenging the man: "why not?"

"Don't push me, young man. I can have you arrested for what you've done. Interfering in a matter of national security-"

"You would have left my father to torture and death. Or worse."

"It was your own actions that nearly got him killed. Your amateur stunt nearly got yourself killed, as well."

"You could have helped."

"I told Thornton I would have."

"Too late."

"You jumped the gun, kid. Now I have to clean up after you, and hope our operation isn't compromised."

"Forgive me if I don't cry for you."

"I'll make sure you do, if you've screwed us over." The man turned his back and walked down the corridor.

Sam watched him go, seething.

"He's just blowing steam," said the second man, now standing in the doorway. "We have a lot riding on this."

"Enough to sacrifice a good man's life?" Sam asked.

"To be honest, our intel said his life wasn't in danger." The man stuck out his hand. "Johnson."

Sam ignored it. "There's more to a life than just breathing."

Johnson dropped his hand and sighed. "I know. I don't feel good about it. I'm just trying to explain."

"What are you waiting on, anyway? Don't you have enough on Reyerson to bring him in?"

"Maybe." Johnson looked sidelong at Sam. "He's put out word he's going to have some sort of new weapons technology up for sale soon. We were hoping to catch his supplier and buyers in the same net."

"What kind of weapon?"

"He's been cagey about that. All we know is, it's good for operations requiring stealth."

"So you don't even know what you're looking for."

"Nope." He looked frankly at Sam. "Look, kid, I appreciate how you feel. I'm sorry about how things went down. I'm just asking that you keep a low profile for a while, okay? Let the rest of the operation play out. Stay out of Mallett's way. Your dad's out of danger, now, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He sighed. "All right, I'll stay out of the way."

"Thanks. It'll all be over soon, I promise."

"Yeah." Sam felt Johnson's eyes on him as he returned to the suite. He wished he felt like he could trust Johnson and the others. Wait and see.

Chapter 48

Chapter Text

Jack lounged on the longest, squashiest sofa in the main room, his feet on the coffee table. Plop. The checker landed in the bowl. He picked up another; perched it atop his closed fist. His thumb shot up. The checker sailed in a long arc. It bounced on the table: click, click, then onto the floor, where it rolled under a chair.

"Jack, what are you doing?"

"Oh, hi, Pete. Just a bit of recreation."

Pete stood beside the chair, frowning.

"Sounds more like making a mess."

"Yes, well, how else do you know you've been having fun?"

"And are you having fun?" Pete settled himself into the stuffed chair by the wall.

"Most fun I've had in days," Jack muttered. "How's our favorite convalescent?"

"He slept most of the time I was in there. It's a wonder he can: seems like he's still having non-stop nightmares."

Out of ammunition, Jack leaned over to gather checkers from the floor. "Yeah, well--no surprise there."

"He doesn't seem to remember anything when he's awake, though. He tried again to get me to tell him what happened."

"You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Of course not. I agree it's too soon. Besides, I'm still not sure what did happen."

Jack leaned back, setting up his next shot.

"Jack?"

Plop.

"What did happen, Jack?"

"I told you what happened."

Plop.

"You know what I mean. What are these nightmares Mack keeps having? What's haunting him?"

Click, click.

"Why do you need to know? Isn't it enough to know he lived a nightmare?"

"I want to be able to help him when he starts to remember. And to be honest..."

Click, click.

"I'm worried about you, Jack."

"About me?"

"Yes, you. Believe it or not. I've never seen you affected like this. You're not bouncing back. So what's eating you?"

Click, click. Out of ammunition, Jack slumped into the soft back of the sofa. He stared at Pete.

"The other servants at the castle."

"The other servants?"

"There's some really nice kids there, you know? Earning money for their families, or so they can afford to start a family..."

Jack thought of Portnoy, asking Lilia out on a date. Would that have been her first real date?

"Jack?"

"Lilia's such a sweet young thing. She taught me how to make a bed, can you believe it? My foster mother would be proud..." She'd taught him to dust, too; and how to get stains out of clothes. But not how to get blood out...

"What happened, Jack?"

Startled from his thoughts, Jack found Pete's face.

"Lilia disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?"

"She vanished. Poof, gone. She was there at breakfast, at lunch she wasn't."

"Did she quit?"

"Dunning said it was a family emergency."

"But you don't believe that."

"Do you know, she told me she was afraid of Mack? She'd seen him upstairs a couple of times."

"Jack," Pete said quietly. "What happened?"

Jack shuddered. "I've wondered ever since we got him back: what happened to the blood I saw on him that morning?"

Pete blinked. "There were no wounds on him."

"No."

"You think he killed that girl?"

Jack sat up. He looked Pete full in the face. "I think he thought he did. I think they meant him to think he did. Why else would they warp his mind with psycho drugs? It wasn't for recreation, that's for sure." Jack rubbed his neck, hard.

Pete sighed. "I'm sure you're right. That's what he kept trying to tell us, after we brought him back."

And when his memories start coming back, what then? Jack thought. Will it all remain a nightmarish haze? Or will he blame himself? Will he be able to understand what they did to him? He shuddered. He didn't understand it, why should Mack?

"What else, Jack?" Pete pressed.

"What else, what?"

Pete eyed him in silence. "You're blaming yourself, aren't you?"

"For what that crazy witch doctor did? No way." He laughed nervously.

"What did she do?"

"Haven't I told you enough? What do you want, a confession?"

"What are you confessing to?"

"Nothing! I did nothing! Nothing." His voice broke. "Nothing at all..." He felt the sobs rising, uncontrollable. He ran for the kitchen.

"Jack!" Pete called after him. "There was nothing you could do."

He didn't want to hear it. He stepped into the tunnels and pulled the hidden door closed behind him. He needed to be alone for a while.

Chapter 49

Chapter Text

Mack studied the board. Nikki was good. She had his queen pinned. He had an idea for a way out, however--all he needed to do was sacrifice one knight.

The door swung open: it was Sam, his face cloudy.

"What's wrong?" MacGyver asked.

"Nikki?"

"What's up?"

Sam glanced at his father.

Mack raised his brows. "More secrets?"

Sam sighed. "Jack ran out the back door. Mr. Thornton was trying to talk to him; he says Jack's pretty upset."

"Pete got Jack upset?"

Nikki looked worried. "I can look for him."

"Why don't you both go? I don't need babysitting."

Sam and Nikki exchanged glances.

"We need to avoid attracting attention," Sam said, again addressing himself to Nikki.

"I'll go," Nikki volunteered again.

"Would you? I'm not sure he'll talk to me," Sam said.

"I'll find him," Nikki said. "I doubt he went far." She half-smiled at MacGyver--he guessed it was meant to be reassuring--before darting out the door.

"Sam, what's going on?"

"I told you. Jack's gone out; Nikki's gone to look for him."

"Don't give me the runaround. If there's something you don't want to tell me, just say so."

"I've told you all I'm going to. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"Jack can be unpredictable, but he doesn't upset easily. He's far more likely to annoy Pete than to get upset over a scolding."

"Mr. Thornton was just trying to help."

"Pete was trying to help Jack?"

"Dad--"

"Come on, Sam, Jack is my oldest friend!"

Sam paced around the bed. Mack watched him turn in the small space, and wished he had the energy to join him. The heck with that... He threw off the blankets.

"Dad, don't. You're not ready to get up."

"If you're not going to tell me what's going on, I'll find Jack myself." He threw his legs over the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness left him reeling.

Sam took the table with its chessboard and moved it carefully aside. He levered his father back into the bed.

"Sam, please--" He hated to resort to begging--hated to admit the need--but he was too weak to fight.

"I'll tell you what I can. Just lay back and promise me you'll rest, okay?"

"Okay, I promise." It didn't seem his body would leave him much choice, anyway.

Sam tucked the blankets around him once more, and adjusted the pillows. MacGyver leaned back, watching Sam's face.

"Jack blames himself for what happened."

"To me?"

"That, and other things." Sam sighed.

"What did Pete say to him?"

"He was trying to get Jack to talk about it. He was trying to help him see it wasn't his fault."

"Sam, Jack's never been the kind of person to blame himself for something he didn't do. If anything, he's had the opposite tendency--"

"I guess people can change."

"Sam, what is going on? First Nikki blaming herself, then Jack..."

"She told you about that?"

"You already knew?"

Sam opened his mouth, then shut it, looking embarrassed.

"Do you have some confession to make, too? Something you want to apologize for, without ever telling me what it is you're sorry about?"

Sam flushed red. "Dad, please..."

"I'm sorry," MacGyver apologized, immediately contrite. "I can see you've all been through hell. I'm just frustrated."

"Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine. Just keep me company."

Sam pulled the chair close to the bedside.

"So what did Nikki tell you? When you talked..."

If anything, Sam flushed redder. "I think she'd better tell you that herself."

Mack's jaw worked. He felt bewildered. "I'm glad you seem to be getting along well," he tried.

"We were talking about... losing the people important to us. I just needed to talk. She's a good listener."

"Yeah." MacGyver studied his son's face. "So what's got you all off-balance?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your mind's only half here. What's up?"

"You know you can be kinda scary when you read me like that?"

Mack smiled and waited. Sam picked up a pawn from beside the chessboard, turning it over in his hands.

"I got chewed out pretty bad, about an hour ago."

"Someone got mad at you?"

"The guy in charge of the safe house."

"What for?"

Sam paused; MacGyver could see he was choosing his words carefully. "He doesn't like the way I took some risks... on your behalf. He thinks I caused some serious problems."

"Problems with what?"

"We're not just here for our own protection. We're also here to keep us out of the way of a DXS operation that we... inadvertently got mixed up in."

"DXS?" MacGyver's brows climbed. "Anyone I know?"

"I only know Mallett and Johnson."

"Mallett's the one who gave you an earful."

"You do know him."

"He can get testy. What's the operation?"

"That's one of the things I can't really tell you."

Mack puffed in frustration. "Tell me again what all the secrecy is for?"

Sam chuckled. "Because your anxiety over not knowing is easier to manage than if you knew."

"Oh, that makes me feel much better. What's today's date, anyway?"

"May seventh, I think."

"May seventh? But that's almost a month!"

"We arrived at Pete's cabin on April thirteenth," Sam confirmed.

"How did I lose three weeks of my life?"

"I'm sure it will come back to you in time."

"What if it doesn't?"

"That... would be a relief."

"You're serious."

Sam held his father's gaze. "Dead right, I am."

Chapter 50

Chapter Text

Nikki pulled the hidden back door shut behind her, and picked up a flashlight from the box on the tunnel floor. The light bounced eerily off projections of rock from the rough-hewn walls and ceiling of the narrow back entry, casting dancing shadows. She ducked around the corner to the side tunnel and listened for footfalls: silence. If I were Jack, she thought, where would I go? Not toward the main tunnel, and the DXS agents. Towards the pool, then.

She walked quickly, scanning the tunnel for signs of side openings. Numerous passages branched away, but nothing she would expect portly Jack to remotely consider squeezing through. The tunnel opened into a cavern--the underground lake. She'd never been beyond this point. She skirted the water, searching the shadows for clues. Her light picked out spaces beyond the lacy walls--most small, some larger. Only when she reached the far end of the shore--where the water splashed against the walls and spilled off somewhere distant--did she find evidence that Jack had passed this way: wet tracks on the dry rock. Shining her light upon the far wall, she saw a wide opening. Below, a natural bridge of sorts: a shelf of rock that, in dryer times, might be exposed. For now, it sat an inch or two below the level of the lake.

Nikki pulled off her shoes and socks, and rolled up her pants. The water was cold! She skipped across, then paused at the far side to dry off and pull her shoes back on. Picking up her light, she continued on.

The tunnel wound around several bends, steadily rising, growing narrower before opening out once more. Light, natural light, filtered in from somewhere ahead. She heard wind on leaves, and birds. One final bend: green light dappled the floor of the small cavern, bright to her eyes. She shut off the flashlight and placed it on the floor, beside a second--more evidence that Jack had passed this way. Shrubs and vines shrouded the entryway. She pushed gently through the opening Jack had made before her, pausing for her eyes to adjust.

She stood in a narrow gully on the mountainside. She walked downhill to where it opened onto a saddle. To the right, a wide vista: the lake, and Reyerson's estate beyond. Jack was nowhere to be seen. To the left, a faint trail hugged the mountain. She chose this path as the more likely.

Trees, trees, and more trees; plenty of rocks and downed branches to step over. She heard a car below and to the right. It stopped. Male voices, indistinct: one might be Jack's. Quickly and cautiously, she continued. There, below: she saw the road, and a small beat-up blue car, and two men. One was tall, lank, and young. The other was Jack.

"If you were not guilty,then why did you run away that night?" the young man demanded in a thick Russian accent.

"I didn't run away. I was fired for drinking in the house."

"You were not drunk when we spoke about..." the man looked like he might cry.

"Have you seen Lilia, Portnoy?"

"I just come back from her family." His voice broke. "They have not seen her in months; they have not had her call in two weeks."

"God, Portnoy, I'm sorry--"

"For what? For what are you sorry?"

Jack didn't answer for a long moment.

"I think Lilia was murdered."

"Why? Who would want to do such a thing?"

"Lundborgh."

"The doctor? But why?"

"After we spoke I went up to the linen closet, to see if I could hear any news from the guard room." Jack's voice dropped to a pained whisper. "Lundborgh was torturing her 'patient'."

"They said he tried to kill himself--"

"Portnoy, he wasn't wounded."

Again, silence.

"The blood you cleaned--"

"And then I remembered that the really expensive rug that Lilia had just cleaned was missing."

"You think--someone killed Lilia--and then--"

"Covered it up. Rolled her body in the rug. Made up a new story. Snowed us all--"

"Oh, Lilia. She hated cleaning those rooms." The young man covered his mouth.

"Maybe... she saw something she wasn't supposed to... Or Lundborgh thought she did..."

"I cannot return there."

"I'd find a new job if I were you."

"And you, my friend? Where have you been this week?"

"I've been trying to lay low. I don't want them to figure I know too much, and come after me."

"They have been looking for you. Do you wish a ride to the city? I go there, next."

"I'd like that..." he said, shuffling his feet. He looked away. "But I can't. There's... something... I have to take care of here."

"Be careful."

"Don't worry, I'm good at taking care of myself." Jack's words sounded bitter to Nikki's ears.

The two men parted. Jack waited by the side of the road, watching his friend drive away. Nikki climbed down to him.

"Jack--"

He glanced her way, eyes vague, then turned back to the road, where Portnoy had gone.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. We should get off the road."

He nodded, and accompanied her up to the trail.

"I'm sorry about the girl. You were fond of her."

"Yeah."

"How did it happen?"

"I don't know."

"But MacGyver--"

"They were trying to force him into something. Or trying to make him crazy. I don't know. It doesn't make sense." Jack marched on, leading the way.

"How did you know to find Portnoy here?"

"I didn't. That was good luck."

Or bad, Nikki thought. One more person who knows Jack is still in town... "Like finding the back door to the caverns?"

"My luck at work." Jack's response sounded more ironic than boastful.

They reached the opening to the caverns and ducked inside. The air was cool and damp; the shadows impenetrably deep. They picked up their flashlights and turned them on.

"Why did you come out here?"

"Claustrophobia."

Nikki waited for him to elaborate. Jack was the kind who would. Their flashlights danced: tunnels of light within the tunnels through rock.

Sure enough, a few minutes later: "I just needed a little space. Some fresh air."

"Pete said you were upset."

"Yeah, well."

"He was worried about you."

"Pete can be a mother hen."

"So what upset you?"

Jack stopped and turned to face her. Nikki stopped, waiting.

"I'd really rather not talk about it," he said quietly.

"Are you sure?" Nikki asked.

"Yeah," he said, turning away. He walked on in silence.

Chapter 51

Chapter Text

Sam pulled the door mostly closed on his way to the suite's small common room. His father was sleeping once more. Sam continued to be shocked by his lack of energy: even a few hours of talking drained him. At least he's improving, Sam thought.

Sam checked the second bedroom, and the kitchen: the others were still gone. He pushed away a flash of worry for Jack and Nikki, and raided the cupboard for a snack. When he returned to the common room, Mr. Thornton was just returning through the main door.

"Are they back yet?" he asked.

"Not yet."

Mr. Thornton frowned, then took a seat on the longest sofa.

"Can I get you something?"

The old man smiled. "Thanks. One of Nikki's cookies would be great."

Sam returned to the kitchen. He poured some of the ever-steeping coffee, and piled cookies on a plate.

"Here you are, Mr. Thornton." He placed the plate on the coffee table.

"Call me Pete, Sam. You've earned it."

Sam placed the mug in the blind man's hand. "I don't feel like I've earned anything, sir," he said finally.

"Mallett's attitude eating you?"

Sam looked sharply at him.

"He gave me an earful when I went to talk to him. Don't let him get to you, Sam. You did what you needed to do, and you did it well. You and Nikki both."

Sam sat in the chair opposite. "I don't like the way he discounted my father's situation. Like the only thing that mattered was whether he could draw breath."

"I know."

"But I can't help thinking he's right. Our rescue almost cost Dad his life."

"It was a tricky situation, no matter what you did."

"Dad would have done better."

"Don't discount yourself, Sam. You have excellent instincts. You can go far, if you learn to trust them."

"Like my father?" Sam asked, half mocking.

"You don't think his incredible success is simply due to cleverness and luck, do you?"

Sam leaned back, thinking. "But what does that mean? Having good instincts?"

"It means you're a good judge of character, and of situations. You may not be able to express it, but you know. You know what to do, and what you need to say, to make things work out right."

"I wish I felt that way."

"I'm sure it's not always the case. Some of that will come with experience. But trust me, you have the gift. You should learn to trust it; to trust yourself."

"Thanks... Pete."

The secret door in the kitchen banged; Jack and Nikki appeared at the door.

"Jack?" Pete asked.

"I'm fine, Papa Thornton," he said. He entered the bathroom and closed the door.

Nikki shrugged. "He won't talk about it," she said.

"Where did he go?"

"There's a way out of the mountain, past the lake. It leads to the road."

"He was leaving?"

"He just wanted a time out."

Sam got up to close his father's door. Peeking in, however, he saw he was awake again.

"Sam," MacGyver said quietly.

"I'm sorry we woke you," Sam said, entering and closing the door behind him.

"Jack came back?"

"Nikki found him."

"Is he okay?"

"Sort of." Sam sighed. "He's still not himself, and we don't know why."

"Maybe I can get him to open up."

"You're too tired for talking. You need sleep."

"When I wake up again. Jack's turn is after yours, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll get it out of him."

Sam smiled his affection. His father closed his eyes and breathed deeply: easily returning to sleep, an ability they shared. If anyone could get Jack to talk, his father would. Good instincts.

Chapter 52

Chapter Text

Jack settled into the stuffed chair at Mack's bedside and leaned back. He wasn't much for reading, so as long as Mack was sleeping peacefully, he'd just as soon catch some z's. The problem was, every time he closed his eyes he saw Lilia's face--Lilia's, or Lundborgh's.

"What's wrong?"

Jack startled. Mack's dark, knowing eyes stared back at him.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Chair's just hard to sleep in." He wriggled in his seat, pushing at the cushions.

"Your eye's twitching."

"I'm tired."

"Who died?"

Startled again, Jack stared at his friend.

"Has to be that. Last time I saw you like this was after Pepe died."

"That doesn't mean--"

"So tell me about it."

"Mack--"

"Another kid?"

Jack looked away, frowning. He did not want to talk about it.

"How old was he?"

"She. She was Sam's age. What does it matter, Mack? She's dead."

"How?"

"Murdered."

"Why?"

"Because of me!" Jack spat. Rage, self-loathing rose up to choke him. "I--"

"You what, Jack?"

"I had to meddle. I couldn't leave well enough alone. I found a key, a hidden key, but the witch came back too soon. So I put it back, but I did it wrong. Lilia didn't even know. She didn't know anything--about the key, any of it. But she saw the mess I made, and she was cleaning it up--when the witch came back."

"What witch, Jack?"

"And then she paid for it, and you paid for it, but not me--I got off scott free. Jack's luck saves the day!"

"Doesn't sound to me like you got off easy at all."

"What do you know about it?"

"You're hurting so bad you don't know what to do with yourself."

Jack wiped away angry tears.

"I didn't know what to do, Mack."

"It wasn't your fault."

Jack shook his head. "You would have known what to do."

"Jack--"

"But not me. Nothing. That's all I did, nothing."

"Jack--"

"They shot Lilia, and they hurt you, and all I did was--"

"Jack!"

MacGyver had pushed himself up in the bed. He was pale as his sheets.

"Hell, Mack, what did I say?" He jumped to his feet. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't've--"

"Jack, shut up for a second."

Jack helped his friend lay back. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please don't... don't..." remember, he finished silently.

MacGyver gripped Jack's wrist. "Sit."

Jack perched on the edge of the bed. He wiped his face with one sleeve. MacGyver settled back, eyes never leaving his face.

"You and I have known each other a long time," Mack said.

"Since we were kids."

"And as long as I've known you, you've always tried--tried, mind you--to do right by your friends."

"Tried isn't doing, Mack. I'm also really good at being stupid."

"That's not the point."

"Isn't it? It's stupid got me into this mess."

"But you meant well."

Jack didn't answer. He'd been trying to find a way to help MacGyver. How was he to know his look in the lab would be pointless? Dangerous? Pete told me to lay low.

"You're not prescient, Jack. Seeing the consequences of your actions has never been your strong suit." MacGyver grinned wryly.

"Yeah, well, it's got me into trouble more than once. Got more than just me into trouble--"

"You can't always help that. The best you can do is try."

"I didn't try hard enough. I didn't--"

"And sometimes you can't find a way out because there isn't a way out. Sometimes a situation is beyond your abilities. It's happened to me before. It's happened to you, and you were wise enough to recognize it. Why else would you come get me to help rescue Mike from the drug cartel?"

"Mack, I know what you're trying to do--"

"And?"

Jack looked at his friend, at his knowing smile. He couldn't help himself. He felt better. "I don't deserve a friend like you."

"That's not the Jack I know and love."

Jack snorted. "I don't want to feel better. Stop making me feel better."

"Stop wallowing." Mack's smile softened his sharp words. "Are there any more cookies?"

"Yeah." Jack looked at his hands. "Thanks, Mack," he said softly.

"Thank me with a cookie. Peanut butter, my favorite."

"Right. Peanut butter cookie, Nikki's best. Coming right up."

Chapter 53

Chapter Text

Cold. Darkness. He was trapped, unable to move. Each breath pained him. He focused on breathing. Then exhaustion would overtake him, and he dozed, until the pain in his belly built to agony once more and he clutched his fists, stifling a scream.

Then distant voices murmuring, incomprehensible. An insistent pull on his mind: oblivion calling. Not sleep, but something darker, something voracious, pulling at his self-control: he dared not rest. At first silently, then quietly, whispering, he found distractions, focusing devices: he recited the Morse Code. He figured prime numbers. At 117, he felt the pain inside begin to build again. He rode it like a cresting wave--still it built--still he hung on--focus crumbling, still he held on to the edges of self-control, refusing to scream, refusing to give in, and the darkness pulled at his mind--

"MacGyver, wake up!"

"Let me go! Let go!"

"It's a dream, it's only a dream, wake up!"

Gasping and shaking, MacGyver collapsed against sheets wet with sweat; opened his eyes to dim light filtering through the open doorway. Nikki held both his shoulders, leaned over him, eyes glinting in shadowed face. Seeing him awake and calm once more, she brushed the hair from his face.

"All right now?"

He nodded.

"How about a drink?"

"Yeah."

She poured; helped him sit up; held the glass to his lips. He accepted gratefully. He was still shaking too badly to hold the glass himself.

"Better?" she asked when he had finished.

He nodded once more, then lay back, trying to relax. Nikki checked that the IV was still secure in his hand, then pulled the blankets up, tucking them around him.

"Nikki?"

"Hmm?"

He waited until she looked back at his face.

"Are my nightmares real? Are they memories?"

She pulled her chair close beside him; settled in, unspeaking. She touched his arm, lying atop the blankets with the IV snaking from it. "I don't know," she told him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He closed his eyes: his dream still seemed real to him, still had the power to set his heart racing. But it was fading, thankfully. He opened his eyes once more to Nikki, watching him steadily, that persistent sadness in her face.

"I keep dreaming that I'm trapped. It's dark, and it's cold, and I can't move. And there's something terrible stalking me..." his voice faltered.

"An animal?"

"No. I don't think so. More like... a ghost." He sighed.

She was silent a long moment, watching him steadily.

"It doesn't sound very real, does it?"

"No," she answered, "but it might be a metaphor for something you experienced. How did you feel?"

"Helpless. Trapped. In terrible danger. And there was so much pain... Is that what you and the others have been shielding me from?"

She half-smiled, ruefully. "In essence. Do you really feel you're ready to hear it?"

That part of him that chafed at being dependent was eager to agree. But, remembering his dream, remembering the horror in Jack's eyes, he shuddered. Jack's confession, only a few hours before, had brought him close to memory--of terror. Maybe he wasn't ready for that. Maybe Sam was right, and he was better off not knowing--ever.

He could wait, and trust. "Not now. No. I'd rather think about something more... pleasant."

She sat back in her chair, tucking her legs up under her, but left her hand on the bed, lightly touching his wrist. "Then tell me about high school. Tell me about my brother, Danny."

Danny. Generous, eager Danny-- MacGyver smiled. "A story about Danny, then." He smiled, remembering--cheerleaders, and a lime green sports car.

"Danny would try anything. He never worried about getting hurt, or about getting in trouble. And he'd do anything to get a girl. We used to tease him about it. Our senior year of high school, he fell head over heels for a new girl on the cheerleading squad. None of us took it seriously--this was something he did about every other month--but the girl wanted nothing to do with him. Usually a girl he set his sights on would be won over by his good nature and his charm within a week at most, and they'd break up no more than a month or two later, once she realized his grandstanding and crazy antics weren't going to stop on her account."

Nikki smiled. "I remember once--I was eight or nine--he came to visit for the summer. He took me into town. We went to a park for ice cream, and he saw a girl there--she was sitting on a park bench feeding the pigeons with her little sister. So Danny took some branches from a bush nearby--" Nikki chuckled at the memory-- "and we used them as wings to get her attention."

"Let me guess--it worked."

"The older sister thought we were crazy at first. But Danny was so good-natured about it, and we were having such fun, that her little sister begged to do it too, and soon we were all cooing like the pigeons and laughing. We went and had ice cream together, too. And the little sister, who was about my age, asked me if my big brother was always so much fun. He was. I would do anything he asked."

"He could get almost anyone to go along with him, if he set his mind to it. I can't tell you how many times I fixed up some old junker he'd managed to pick up; how many times he convinced me to help with some prank or scheme."

"But this girl was immune to him?"

"She was new in town. When he couldn't win her over with his usual tactics, he pulled out all the stops. He rigged a banner to cover the scoreboard at halftime at one of the football games: 'I love you Cherie, won't you go out with me?' He got a new junker--an old sports car--and painted it lime green, with pink polka-dots. She had a dress in that color."

"Oh no, he didn't!"

"He did! She thought he was teasing her. So then he convinced the cheerleaders to do a stunt for him at the homecoming game. You know how they'd put up letters to spell things during their cheers?"

"Yeah, like a school slogan."

"They spelled out 'Danny heart Cherie'. Then he went up to her with a big bouquet--the whole crowd was chanting--and she gave in. She agreed to go out with him."

"Oh, Danny."

"Yeah. Well, it lasted a lot longer than any of us expected it would--all the way to Easter. More than half a year--a record, for Danny. I think she finally figured out he wasn't teasing or messing with her--he was just being Danny. He talked about asking her to marry him. But then she dumped him for a big brawny football player."

"How did he take it?"

"He sighed for a few days, but he never got angry. He never did. Just went on to chase a new girl. My own girlfriend at the time, Ellen, was more upset about it than he was. She confronted him about it."

"What did he tell her?"

"That there wasn't any reason to be upset, because they each had to do what was right for them."

Nikki smiled wistfully. What if you didn't know what was right for you?

Chapter 54

Chapter Text

Hours later, Nikki was reading, the book spread in one hand, still clasping MacGyver's hand in her other, when he stirred, opened sleep-gentle eyes, and looked up at her. She closed her book and laid it on the bedside table. "No more nightmares?"

"No, just pleasant dreams this time."

"What about?"

He smiled awkwardly at her hand over his. "You'd laugh at me."

Nikki grinned wickedly. "Try me. I could use a laugh."

"Thanks," he said wryly.

She watched, and waited, not willing to let him off the hook. He glanced up at her, then began, "well, we were in the hospital, only it was me taking care of you."

"Oh, that sounds pleasant," she teased.

"Well, you were only there because you'd just had a baby. I was holding him..." His voice went soft, almost whispering.

Nikki's eyebrows arched. She felt a wash of emotions: sorrow, longing, amusement.

"Nikki? Are you okay?"

"Yeah." But his concern only pushed her closer to tears. She breathed deeply and looked away.

"What's wrong?"

Should she answer? Why was she so affected? This was an old pain, after all. Old and long since accepted.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I shouldn't pry."

She looked back at him. He'd turned his face away, quiet and sad and still.

"It's okay," she said, "you just took me by surprise, that's all."

He turned back to her.

"That's a change for you." Her attempt to tease him fell flat in her own ears.

His brow creased.

"Not... prying," she elaborated, embarrassed now.

"Yeah... I guess so..."

"I didn't mean--"

"It's all right."

An uncomfortable silence rested between them. Nikki looked at her hands, turning them over in the dim light. So much time had passed--sometimes her years with Adam seemed as bright and distant as childhood.

"Adam and I were expecting a child, about a year after we were married."

Dark brown eyes, steady and intense, found her own.

"I miscarried about five months in. He-- he was too small to survive."

"I'm so sorry."

Nikki looked away. "The doctors said I would never conceive again."

He rested his hand on her arm. His eyes never left her face. His gaze warmed her, though she wouldn't meet it.

"Tell me the rest of your dream," she said finally.

He looked away. "It hardly seems--"

"No, tell me. You said it would make me laugh."

He smiled in spite of himself.

"We were both there. So who was the father?"

He looked sharply up at her. He grimaced, half laughing, half mocking. "I was."

At this Nikki did laugh, a soft low chuckle.

"I said you would," MacGyver sighed.

"I think it's sweet," she reassured him, placing her hand on his. "You dreamt we made something new together."

"Do you think that's what it means?"

She smiled at him without answering.

He turned his palm up to cup hers. His eyes searched her face. For once, he looked off-balance. "I'm hungry," he said finally.

She leaned forward to kiss his brow. "I'll be back in a minute."

Chapter 55

Chapter Text

Jack rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for a snack. All of Nikki's cookies were gone; she'd shared them with Johnson in exchange for a more 'interesting' selection of groceries. Jack grimaced when he came face-to-face with one of the more spectacular of those items in the fridge: something green and hairy. Now that's just wrong, Jack thought. He preferred his food properly packaged, and obviously human-made. He settled on bread and butter. Even brown, how bad could it be?

He wandered into the common room with his plate piled high. The rest of their cozy group was sleeping; even Sam was snoozing on the couch, book open on his chest. They had all ceded the night watch to him. No one else was willing to stay up until four in the morning. Now that Mack was getting so much better, he didn't feel bad about snacking in front of a glossy magazine. He'd picked up a few good ones from Johnson. They'd occasioned raised brows from Nikki, but she hadn't said a word. Interesting girl. A little sharp for Jack's taste, not that it mattered. She was obviously smitten with Mack.

A soft knock on the door startled Jack. The agents didn't usually stop by after ten. News of Reyerson's capture, finally? But no, it was Dr. Zarif. Jack stood a moment, staring.

"May I come in?" she asked quietly.

"Of course, come in--I can wake Pete--"

"If you think it's necessary. I'm sorry to arrive late, Mr. Mallett insisted I arrive under cover of darkness.."

"Right. Of course. He would."

"Mr. MacGyver is still..." she pointed to his room.

"Oh! Yes. He's in there."

The doctor pushed open the door and flicked on the light. Mack stirred and squinted.

"I'm sorry to have to wake you, Mr. MacGyver. Mr. Mallett insists I return before morning, so I'll make this quick." She opened her bag on the bedside table.

"Do I... know you?"

"Dr. Zarif. You were not conscious, last time I was here. Mr. Thornton has kept me apprised of your progress, but I feel it is important to follow up in person. Pneumonia is a serious condition." She took his wrist to measure his pulse.

"Right." Mack blinked a few times, then settled back, allowing the woman to poke and prod him, breathing on command.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better. Lots better."

"You are in much better condition than last time I saw you. Any worries? Complaints?"

"When can I get out of bed?"

"You can try a few steps while I'm here, if you like. If that goes well, you should start walking tomorrow. In fact, I encourage you to get on your feet, as long as you take it slow and easy."

"How about my memory?"

"Mr. Thornton told me about that. It is unusual, but not unheard of, to lose recent memories after intense trauma. Has any of it come back to you?"

"Not really."

"It may return, or it may not. Either way I would say you got off easy. Your pneumonia and fever were severe enough they could have killed you, or left you with permanent brain damage." The doctor disconnected the IV and took out a syringe.

"What's that for?"

"I need to have a blood sample for the lab, so we can be certain all the illicit drugs have cleared your system."

"What drugs?"

"Hasn't Mr. Thornton given you the report?"

MacGyver glared at Jack, who cringed. "No, I was told I'd have to wait until I was walking again before they would explain what happened to me. That wasn't your order?"

"No, it wasn't by my order, but it was good instincts on their part."

"So, what were the drugs?"

"We're still not certain. At least two separate psychotropics; the rest we haven't been able to identify."

Mack's brows raised in surprise. His mouth opened.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out soon," Jack cut in smoothly.

Dr. Zarif removed the clear canister of blood from her syringe, and popped on a second. Blood spurted into it. Jack looked away. Mack wasn't looking either, he noticed.

"I'm going to remove the needle now, all right?" Quick and efficient, she cut the bandages and tape. "Just a quick sting." She pulled the needle, then removed more tape.

"Ow."

"I know, the tape is often the worst part. Done now. Are you ready to try standing?"

In answer, Mack levered himself to sitting. Jack hastened to put a hand under his arm. He and the doctor pulled him upright.

"Jeez, you're tall," Jack said.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

"Not too bad." He sat. "Not back to normal."

"Take it slow. You should be walking around again within a few days. Get as much sleep as you can."

In answer, Mack struggled to his feet once more.

"Dad, you're up!" Sam called happily from the door.

MacGyver sat once more. "In a manner of speaking."

"But that's great!"

"He's doing well," the doctor confirmed.

"Now that I'm walking you can tell me what happened," MacGyver told Sam.

"You call this walking?" Jack objected.

"Cute," MacGyver snapped.

"Don't overdo it," the doctor cautioned. With deft hands, she maneuvered her patient back into his bed.

"See?" said Jack.

"Can I have a minute to talk with the doctor?" MacGyver asked, irritated.

"Sure!"

"Alone," MacGyver pressed.

"Oh," he feigned surprise.

Sam took his arm and dragged him from the room, then pulled the door closed behind them. Jack inserted his hand just in time to keep it from clicking shut.

"C'mon, Sam, you know he's just going to ask her what happened."

"It has to happen eventually. He's better now."

Jack grimaced at Sam's retreating back as the kid beat it to the kitchen. Alone, he leaned his ear to the cracked-open door.

"You'll have to ask your friends; I don't really know what happened."

"My friends won't tell me."

"They're not simply trying to protect you. They're also protecting themselves."

"Yeah, I'd guessed as much," Mack answered.

The doctor finished with a string of directives.

"Jack!" Sam whispered loudly.

Jack spun, grinning innocent mischief. The door opened behind him.

"Call me if you need me. I will be in touch with the blood test results," Dr. Zarif told MacGyver.

She showed herself to the door. Jack followed, and opened it for her.

"Thank you, Doctor,"

The woman smiled knowingly, and left.

Chapter 56

Chapter Text

Sam pulled a chair away from the kitchen table, grinning.

"You'd think I was winning a marathon," his father said, walking slowly around the corner. He settled himself gingerly into the chair.

"You can do that tomorrow," Sam joked.

"Sure," Mack snorted, "right after I bike the Tour de France." He leaned back, breathing deeply, face pale.

"Water? OJ?" Sam asked lightly. He didn't want his father to hear the concern in his voice.

"I'm fine," Mack said sharply. "Just give me a minute to rest. OJ sounds great."

"I didn't say anything," Sam protested. He pulled the pitcher from the refrigerator, and two glasses from the cupboard.

"So where's the back door Nikki mentioned the other day? I've only seen the one door."

"Hidden." Sam placed a full glass in front of his father, then went to the side wall to demonstrate. "When you pull here..." The tall cupboard swung open as a unit, revealing the dark tunnel beyond.

"Intense." Mack frowned. "Is this whole place stuck in a cave?"

"Built into a natural cave system. It dates back to the first world war. This door leads to a side tunnel, but the entrance is camouflaged from that side as well--we think that's why the DXS guys don't watch it. Either they don't know about it, or they don't know we know."

"How did you find it?"

"The first time Nikki brought me here, we were having some trouble with the lights in this room. I lit a candle so we could fix it, and I noticed the draft."

"Nice." Mack sipped his juice while Sam swung the door closed. Sam sat opposite him at the table before he spoke again.

"So what happened to me?" he asked softly.

Sam breathed deeply: so the time had come.

"Woah! She got you!" Jack hollered from the common room. He was the peanut gallery for a game of chess between Pete and Nikki--ostensibly helping Pete with the pieces.

"Jack..." Pete warned.

Mack grinned. Sam closed the kitchen door--softly, so it wouldn't catch the attention of the others.

"Who are we being surreptitious for?" his father asked.

"Mostly Jack," Sam said. "He'd just as soon not tell you at all. What have you figured out so far?"

Mack fingered his glass. "That I was shanghai'd. That Jack was somehow involved in the rescue. Did the bounty catch up with me?"

"It did."

"Who and why?"

"David Reyerson, for vengeance."

"And I thought he was dead."

"So did we."

"How long--?"

"Too long. We'd never have found you if it weren't for Jack. You were lucky: Jack got hired as copilot on the cargo run when you were shipped."

"Shipped."

"In a crate. To Eastern Europe."

Mack whistled soundlessly. "And I take it things went downhill from there."

Sam nodded. "But Jack had the worst of it. He took a job at Reyerson's estate, gathering intelligence, waiting for us to arrive. He won't talk much about it--"

"He couldn't stop what was happening, so he blames himself--"

"Yeah."

"But DXS--"

"They're waiting for some big meeting with Reyerson's suppliers and buyers, for the big bust. We got in the way."

"You and Nikki?"

"We weren't prepared to wait for their approval to go in after you. Mallett--"

"Don't take Mallett seriously. Dour is his way of life."

"Yeah, well, he's made it clear he considers me a troublemaker. "

"He would leave me stranded."

"Yeah. Well--"

"What?"

"Nothing." Sam shook his head.

"Did Mallett try to convince you that I would've been better off if you'd waited?"

"You did come really close to dying--"

"From what little I've heard it sounds like that would have been preferable to staying there."

Sam shuddered. In memory he heard his father cry out in anguish.

"Sam..." His father took his shoulder. "What is it?"

Startled, Sam blinked back tears. "It's over now."

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"Maybe if you told me--"

"No." He looked his father full in the face. "I just wish I could forget." He looked away. "Anyway, it's Jack who saw the worst. I still don't know what--he won't tell any of us."

"Sam--"

"Dad. Don't push it."

Mack leaned back, eyes intent. Sam ignored the unspoken questions, instead downing his juice. He stood and filled the empty glass with water.

"Is Nikki--"

"Why don't you ask her?" Sam interrupted. His father grimaced.

"It's hard to ask her questions like that. She gets all defensive."

"Even now?"

Mack looked up, startled. "I guess--I hadn't tried."

Sam could feel the weight of his father's unspoken questions. His own questions bubbled to the surface of his mind. Would Nikki ever tell him how she felt? Had he guessed? The two of them deserved each other. They could make each other happy, if they'd only stop running away from each other. He stomped that thought. It was not his business to play matchmaker.

"What's up with the drugs they gave me?" Mack asked finally.

Sam raised his brows.

"The doctor said they found hallucinogens, including barbituates, in my blood stream, and some other unidentified substances. What's up with that?"

Sam leaned back against the counter. "There's a woman working with Reyerson--a Dr. Lundborgh," he said. "All I know is, you were her guinea pig. I don't know for what. Jack might have some ideas, but he's not sharing, and I doubt he knows for sure."

"So it all comes back to Jack."

"Dad--"

"I know. I won't press him. I just feel--" he blew air. "Vulnerable. Not knowing--like there might be something I need to know, something I've forgotten--"

Sam dropped his eyes. "I know--" he began quietly. "I know those drugs terrified you. I heard you beg them to stop--just before we pulled you out." He paused, remembering, feeling his father's silence. "When we got to you--it was like nothing was real to you anymore. You talked to ghosts. You thought we were ghosts. For the next three days--" He shook his head.

"That's when I got sick?"

"We had to take you out underwater. You almost drowned. That's how you got pneumonia. You were completely insensible--we're still not sure whether that was due to the drugs, your high fever, or both."

Mack sighed and rubbed his face. "Jack hasn't said anything else?"

"He might have talked to Pete. He's careful not to say anything in front of me." At his father's frown, Sam explained, "I think he's trying to protect me, like he's trying to protect you."

"Jack and Pete have never gotten along before..."

"No," Sam agreed. "But they're trying."

"Jack, are you helping me or not?" Pete yelled from beyond the door.

Sam grinned sheepishly at his father, who chuckled.

"Spot me getting out there, would you?" Mack asked.

"Sure," Sam agreed, his heart already lighter.

Chapter 57

Chapter Text

MacGyver leaned forward over the chessboard on the coffee table, hands on his knees. He still tired easily, but it felt good to be up and dressed, sitting on the sofa in the common room. "Who taught you to play?" he asked. His knight was in danger, but the opportunity open to his queen was difficult to ignore. He moved the queen. Immediately Nikki took his knight.

"My father. He was confined to his bed for most of the last year of his life. The cancer crippled him before it killed him."

"So you figured out ways to keep him company."

"Every day almost, after school, I'd come home and play a game with him. It was one of the few ways I could help."

"How did you deal with high school and friends? Most kids that age don't want to think about death."

"Some of my friends started to avoid me. Others tried to keep me busy, keep my mind on other things, which was a help sometimes. The only one I could really talk to about it, though, was Adam. Even then we were close."

"You loved him."

"He didn't care about my masks, my moods... he cared about me, and how I was feeling. He'd poke and prod and bully me out of feeling sorry for myself. He made me feel... real. And good. A good person. Even when I wanted to run away, to hide from my father, his slow dying..." Nikki moved her bishop.

"You're lucky you had Adam. I remember when my father died. I felt in a world apart. I couldn't just be--one of the kids--again."

"I know what you mean. Suddenly the world was a dangerous place."

"Yeah."

Their eyes met, and held.

Jack rolled over, snorting, on the couch behind them, and returned to sleep.

MacGyver studied the board. He was missing something--of that he was certain. Nikki laid careful plans. The path to victory looked clear--too clear.

"Your move?" Nikki prodded.

"I don't suppose you'd allow a time out?" MacGyver asked.

"Conceding already?" she teased.

"I already know you're better than I am," he grinned. "I can tell there's a trap, I just haven't found it."

"Don't discount yourself," Nikki said. "I think we're about evenly matched. I plan better, but you have better instincts."

"Could we go for a walk?"

"To where?"

"Where Jack keeps ducking out."

Nikki's brows climbed. "That's a bit of a hike. Half an hour, in your condition--one way."

"I don't mind taking it slow if you don't."

"I dunno--"

"We can turn around any time. Please, Nikki? I'm feeling sunshine-deprived." Mack smiled sweetly.

Nikki snorted. "Now that's just not fair."

"What?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. That smile. It's devastating."

Mack blushed. He didn't know what to say.

"I didn't mean it," Nikki said hurriedly, flushing herself. "Come on, let's go."

The hidden door swung open silently at Nikki's touch. At some point, Mack told himself, I'm going to have a look at that mechanism. Nikki put her arm under his as they stepped across the threshold onto rough stone. She pulled the door closed behind them, then picked up a flashlight from the floor and clicked it on. They stepped around a bend and up a slight incline, then Nikki ducked through a narrow gap. Alone in the sudden, cold darkness, MacGyver shivered.

Then Nikki reached back for him, shining the light at his feet. He took her hand and let her draw him through.

They stood in a somewhat wider tunnel, cut into a natural cave system."DXS has their suites to the right," Nikki whispered. "There's two more exits that way. We're going left."

She waited, looking up at him. He put his hand on her shoulder. She slipped her arm around his back, and matched his slow pace. The light danced and sparkled on the damp rock formations to either side, picking out shapes and shadows: fairies, or goblins? Mack chuckled at his own fancy. Nikki shifted, warm against his side. He stretched his arm to reach her far shoulder, brushing against the curl of her hair, the softness of her neck. He halted.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, looking up at him, eyes wide and dark in the low light, lips curved in a slight smile, touched by worry.

He wanted to kiss her.

He breathed deeply. The tightness in his chest was nearly gone, now. "Yeah," he whispered back, looking a head. "I just needed a rest."

They walked on. The dark opened into an echoing cavern. Nikki's light picked out ripples; water splashed gently against rock: the shore of a small underground lake.

"Underwater..." Mack stopped once more. "Sam told me how we got away from Reyerson--"

"Pete helped me pull you out there." She shone the light onto a shallow shelf, only an inch or two under the water. "You weren't breathing. Sam was behind us--there's a tunnel to the main lake, there." This time she shone her light on the far wall. "That was tough for him. Your son doesn't like tight spots."

"No, he wouldn't," Mack agreed, thinking of the abandoned mine in Minnesota where he'd nearly lost Sam to John Chandler.

"There's a place to sit--let's rest here." She led him to a natural bench.

"Someone used to get their water here," MacGyver commented, seeing the end of a pipe poking through an opening.

"As far as we can tell, yes. There's a house above this complex. It's one of the main entrances."

"How'd you find this place?"

"The lake, or the complex?"

"Both."

"We didn't find the complex. DXS stopped us at the airport, and brought us here. The lake--we learned about the underwater passages from some local teens. They talked about swimming into a cave; we thought this might be it. Reyerson's place has an underground cistern also--but at the other end of the valley. We figured we could get you out from under his nose, with no one the wiser. For better or worse, we were right."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"You almost died, Mack."

"Had you known that would happen, would you have left me there?"

"No." Nikki stared across the water. "No, there was no way in hell we were leaving you."

MacGyver studied her face, still as the water. That look of grief, that he'd seen in flashes this past week--it was there, naked on her features.

"Nikki, what's wrong?" he whispered, afraid he would frighten her into hiding once more.

She shook her head.

He waited.

"Since you almost drowned--I keep remembering Adam's death--" her voice caught.

"Hey, it's all right--"

"Why can't I get past it? Why can't I move on?"

"I wish I had an answer. My parents' deaths still define my life."

They sat in silence, now, watching the water.

"Let's move on," she said finally. "Or should we go back to the safehouse?"

"I can keep walking."

"The tunnel climbs after this point."

"I'll be fine."

She helped him to stand. He stretched his stiff joints. She led him the rest of the way around the lake; took off her shoes at the far shore. Looking across the shallow water, he saw a narrow opening on the far side.

"A natural ford," he guessed, slipping off his own shoes.

In answer, she stepped quickly across, carrying her shoes, and sideways through the opening. He saw her shadow backlit on the far side before she turned to light his path. He followed her, across the icy water and into a narrow passage sloping steeply upwards.

"Brr," he shivered, exaggerating for effect.

She smiled. "Ready to turn back yet?"

"No way."

She placed the flashlight on the tunnel floor beside her to pull on her shoes. In the near-dark he shivered once more, this time with something more than cold.

She touched his face, crouching before him; he startled from dark thoughts. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked.

At something in her expression, the easy denial faded from his lips. "Something about this place..." he shook his head.

"...reminds you of your nightmares?" she asked softly.

"Tell me why."

She took his hand. "I'll tell you in the sunshine," she said. "First sit down; put on your shoes."

He did as she commanded without complaint; even allowed her to help him. He chuckled.

"What?"

"I never used to let you boss me around."

"I guess you're still not fully recovered," she teased.

"Something." He let her pull him to his feet. She put her arm around his back and set her pace to his as they climbed the tunnel. MacGyver found himself stopping frequently to breathe.

"Sorry," he muttered after the fifth or sixth pause. He leaned on one arm against the tunnel wall.

"You're doing well. You couldn't walk at all two days ago."

"I suppose not." He pushed on.

"We're almost there. You can rest at the top."

A few steps more, and he could see she was right. A dim glow around the far bend grew brighter; he could smell flowers and trees, hear birds and the wind in the leaves. His step quickened, his heart already lighter.

Past a curtain of greenery, they emerged into sunshine.

MacGyver blinked, closed his eyes, lifted his face to the sun.

Nikki's hand slid from his waist to find his hand. "Over here, there's an old log we can sit on." He allowed her to draw him into dappled shade. The breeze teased her hair into her eyes; she pulled it back with her hands. He smiled. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he answered. His eyes slid to the surrounding trees and flowers. "Southeast Europe?"

"That's right."

He breathed deeply of the rich mountain air. He felt his mind clearing.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

She sighed. "I don't know everything--"

"Sam told me it was Reyerson who put the bounty on my head."

Nikki looked away, into the blue distance. A raptor wheeled there.

"What do you remember of the morning after you arrived at Pete's cabin?"

MacGyver searched his memories once more. "Nothing."

"We both woke early. We decided to hike up the mountain together. We argued on the trail. I picked a fight, really." Her voice grew quiet, husky.

"You told me."

Nikki picked a grass stem; twirled it between her fingers. "You were hurt, angry: with good reason. You walked alone, ahead of me, to the cliff's edge. The bounty hunters were waiting. They knocked me out and took you before either of us knew what was happening."

In his mind's eye, MacGyver saw Pete's cabin wheeling away, as though from a great height. He felt an echo of fear.

"And then?"

"And then we lost you, until Jack called."

MacGyver looked past the trees. The raptor had gone. All he could see was sky and mountain. "What did they do to me?"

"All I know is Jack's hints--and what I saw when we came for you."

Nikki leaned back against a tree behind, still staring at the blade of grass, twirling in her fingers.

"I feel like--it's important, somehow. To understand, to know what they were trying to do."

Nikki closed her eyes. She dropped the grass blade. It fluttered to the ground. MacGyver waited, watching her face.

"They were running some sort of experiments on you."

"Sam told me Reyerson was working with a Dr. Lundborgh, that she was giving me experimental drugs."

Nikki nodded.

"Why?"

"I don't know, but I think she has a lot of standing with him. Jack told us when he called that Reyerson's goons beat you up, but that it wouldn't happen again, because Lundborgh put a stop to it. He told us she was in charge of you."

"In my dreams--my nightmares--it's always cold. The tunnels--"

"They kept you in a cell in a basement. There was a trickle of water down one wall, just within your reach."

"There's always pain."

"I know Jack saw them torture you. So did Sam and I, on our way in to get you."

"How?"

"Electric shocks."

MacGyver clenched his fists. In memory he felt the pain. He heard the snap and hiss off electricity. He heard screams: his own, he realized with a jolt.

"Why?" he asked, bewildered.

"I don't know. Jack has said--he thought they were trying to break you down, to get you to do something--"

"To do what?"

"Jack might know, or he might not. He's refused to talk to Pete or me about it."

"He won't talk to me, either."

"He did tell me--" she hesitated. "They killed a girl--Jack thought they did it to affect you."

"Jack told me they killed her because of something Jack did, because they suspected her of it."

Nikki looked sharply up at MacGyver. "Is that what he was hiding? How did you get him to talk?"

"Just seeing he was feeling crazy with guilt about something. He wouldn't say much more. Just that they killed the girl and hurt me, and he felt responsible--" Once more MacGyver felt the memory of panic, of being trapped in an unendurable situation, desperate to find a way out. He shivered.

Nikki shook her head. "If anyone can get the full story out of Jack, I think it's got to be you."

"I think he's been avoiding me since we talked."

"That wouldn't surprise me."

Mack slid off the log onto the ground, using it as a back rest. Nightmare memories came to him in flashes. What was so important, what was it that kept eluding his memory? Urgency grew in him. Heedless of the pain, the fear, he grasped at the wispy edges of memory, but it slipped away. The world paled to his senses.

"MacGyver..." Nikki's face swam into view. She crouched before him. "Mack, answer me." She touched his hand.

MacGyver shook his head, shook away the dreams. They crouched in the corners of his mind. "I'm all right," he told her.

"You'd better be. I don't want to have to explain to the others that I let you push yourself past your endurance."

"I'll be fine. I was just... trying to remember." He rubbed his face. "I'm starting to see why you didn't want to tell me."

"We should get back. The others will be getting worried." I'm getting worried, her face said. He let her draw him to his feet.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For walking with me. For talking with me."

At her soft, sad, smile, he put his hand on her shoulder. He wished he knew some way to take the sorrow from her lips, her eyes. "It should be easier going back, right? It's all downhill."

She put her arm around his waist and led him back through the bushes. "We're still going to take it slow."

Chapter 58

Chapter Text

Nikki lay on her bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. She wasn't sure what had woken her, but she was having trouble returning to sleep. Her mind replayed the events of the day before. MacGyver had been exhausted by the time they returned, though he tried not to show it; she'd seen it in his eyes, his slow step. He'd fallen asleep almost immediately after their arrival. Sam had been waiting for them--worried, though he'd tried not to let them see. Like father, like son. He'd taken a book into his father's room, to read while sitting sentry, though really MacGyver didn't need constant care any longer. Nikki had remained in the kitchen to put together something they could call dinner.

In memory Nikki saw again MacGyver's quiet smile, the compassion in his eyes. She resisted the urge to walk to his room, to see his face again, peaceful in slumber, or vulnerable with remembered pain. He'd frightened her, disappearing into his thoughts, there on the mountain. She'd called him three times before he answered. The lost, horrified look on his face reminded her of his fevered, drug-crazed first days in the safe house.

She sat up and swung herself out of the bed; pulled on her robe. She ran her hands through her hair, then went to the kitchen. Perhaps a drink of water and a short walk would settle her thoughts.

Sam and Pete occupied the two couches in the living room, both sleeping peacefully. Turning into the kitchen, she found Jack rummaging in the refrigerator.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, peeking back at her under his arm.

"Couldn't sleep. What are you looking for? There's not a lot of variety there."

"Tell me about it. I've seen caves better stocked."

Nikki smiled. "Jack, this is a cave."

"Oh. Yeah."

Nikki filled a glass from the tap and took it to the table. Jack took out bread, pickles, and sardines.

"Is MacGyver still sleeping?" she asked

"I think so."

"He thinks you're avoiding him."

"What, me? Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe to avoid his questions?"

"Not at all. I like answering questions. I can answer questions about airplanes, and magic tricks--"

"Jack, he needs to know what happened to him."

Jack whirled around, the can of sardines tight in his fist. "Why?" he demanded. "Why does he need to know--any of that?"

"He has a right," she insisted.

"He doesn't know what he's asking."

"Besides, he might have forgotten something important."

"Like what? The color of the cable ties they used to strap his wrists to the bars? How long it took before he started screaming? How many times he begged them to stop?"

"Jack--"

"I don't know anything worth knowing."

"Jack, what were they trying to do?"

"I don't know!"

"But MacGyver might."

"Maybe he does. But I'm not going to help him get there."

"Jack? What's all the shouting about?" MacGyver appeared at the door, sweats and hair rumpled, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry buddy, I didn't mean to wake you." He tripped the mechanism on the hidden door.

"Where are you going?" MacGyver asked.

"Out for a walk. I need some fresh air."

"But Jack--"

"I'll be back in a few hours!" he sang back as the door swung shut behind him.

"What was that all about?"

"I asked him why he was avoiding you," Nikki sighed.

Mack's brows climbed. "He did it again, didn't he?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked sleepily.

"Not you too! I'm sorry we woke you, both of you."

"She got into an argument with Jack," MacGyver explained. He sagged against the wall.

Nikki jumped to her feet. "Go back to bed. You can barely keep yourself upright."

"Yes ma'am," Mack grinned. "How long are you gonna keep babying me?"

"Until you stop wearing yourself out." She put her arm around him, guiding him to the door.

"That might be the rest of his life," Sam warned.

"All right, maybe not that long."

"I can take it from here," MacGyver said softly at the door to his room. His dark eyes held hers with a strange mixture of yearning and uncertainty; he stood, unmoving, with his arm around her. She gazed back at him, entranced by the gentle gravity, the naked honesty in his face and posture.

"MacGyver? Nikki, is everything all right?" Pete wheezed from the couch, struggling upright.

Mack smiled; his eyes sparkled. "Go back to sleep, Pete. I am. You already missed the excitement."

"I did? What excitement?"

Without answering, MacGyver slipped from Nikki's side into the dark room, closing the door behind him.

Reluctantly, Nikki turned away from the door. Sam, standing at the door to the kitchen, caught her eye. He smiled knowingly.

"Go back to bed, if you like. I'll stay up and wait for Jack."

Nikki nodded. She rubbed her eyes. She felt heavy, suddenly, with weariness.

"What's Jack done this time?" Pete asked, blinking owlishly.

Nikki closed the door to her room; she didn't hear Sam's answer.

Chapter 59

Chapter Text

Jack stumbled through the passage leading to the lake, his light bobbing crazily. He jumped across the narrow lake outlet; slipped and fell on hands and knees, one foot splashing in the water. His light blinked out. Uh-oh. He climbed to his feet and squeezed through to the far tunnel. He shook his flashlight, to no effect. Great, he thought. Just what I needed. So do I go back, or go on? The way on was shorter, and easier to follow. He took a step. His wet sock squelched in his wet shoe. He grimaced, and continued, following the tunnel wall with his fingers, soon puffing from the steep climb. He slowed.

A plane to fly, and the means to fly it: that's all he asked. What was so hard about that?

Fresh air brushed his face: he'd reached the last corner. He followed the rough bend in the tunnel wall, the rustle of trees. Moonlight on leaves turned the grotto walls ghostly. Green shadows danced; green fingers reached for him. He shivered, pulled his pilot's jacket close around his portly gut, and ducked outside.

He was glad for the jacket: the night was crisp, clear, and cold. Stars dusted the sky. He walked downhill to where the paths diverged: one way to Reyerson's castle, another to the road, a third across and up the far hill. With barely a glance to either side, he headed up the third path. It led to a rocky knoll, hidden in the trees. For now, it was his favorite place to sit and be alone for a while. He stumbled over roots and rocks. Always before, he'd gone this way in daylight. Moonlight barely penetrated the canopy to light his path. It was dark! He stopped, leaning against a tree and breathing hard.

Distant pops drew his attention. A backfiring car on the road? Intuition told him it was something darker. He turned and raced downhill, back to the saddle where the paths converged, and he had a clear view of the castle. All was silent. The lake glittered in the moonlight. A car hummed away in the night, on the road behind him. What was going on?

"Jack!" he heard. "Jack!"

He spun around, staring. The voice was faint, probably calling from the road. He stared into the trees, wishing he had a clear view. What should he do?

"Jack!" the voice wailed. It carried pain.

That third call goaded him to action. He galloped down the winding trail, heedless of obstacles, catching himself on trees to control his headlong rush. The trail wound on for an eternity. He didn't hear the voice again.

Finally he burst through the trees. The road was empty, the night dark and still around him.

"Jack," the voice called--weaker, now.

Jack followed the sound to a thicket of bushes by the roadside. "Where are you?" he called.

"Here." Coughing sounded from the center of the thicket. The moon brightened as a cloud drifted past. He saw a pale hand; a light-colored sleeve.

He pulled the man from the bushes. His clothes were wet with blood. It was Portnoy.

"What the-- what happened?"

"I am sorry, Jack. They are coming."

"Who's coming?"

"Ambush-- at the estate. Is a diversion-- for your agents. I did not want to tell--" he gasped, clutching his chest. Jack saw, now: he'd been shot.

"Easy, buddy. Easy."

"They are looking for you-- I had to tell them-- where I found you--"

"Portnoy, I have to go get help--"

Portnoy clutched his jacket. "Jack--"

"Hang on, okay?"

"You were right about Lilia. Do not let them find you--"

"Easy, Portnoy."

But Portnoy went limp in his arms.

"Portnoy? C'mon kid!" He felt for a pulse. It was gone.

Gently Jack eased the young man to the ground. He knelt beside him. It was all too much: these kids, Mack--

Oh, God. Mack. What if they found the way to the safe house?

He jumped to his feet. What if they were in the tunnel now?

An ambush, Portnoy said. A diversion, to get the agents away--

If the others were alone, unguarded, in the safe house--

The front door. The little house wasn't far from here; it was just up the road. if he ran there instead--

There was a chance he could get there in time, or if not that, at least he could call for help. It was the best chance they had.

Jack set off at a run down the long, dark road. Too late, too late... the words echoed in his mind with the rhythm of his footfalls. He ran faster, pain searing his throat and side. Slaps turned to crunches as he turned into the gravel drive. He fell up the stairs, pulled himself up the door, and pounded.

It seemed an eternity before he was answered.

The door was yanked open. He fell onto his face. Strong arms lifted him into the house and shut the door behind him.

"Jack Dalton! What the hell are you doing?"

"Portnoy--dead," he gasped. "Reyerson--coming..." he stopped. He needed air.

"Are you drunk?"

"No!" Jack pulled himself up a low table and leaned against the wall. He faced two agents, one tall and thin, the other fat and graying. "I ran the whole way here!" he snapped. "My buddy Portnoy is dead. He told me--"

"Who's Portnoy?"

"Reyerson's chauffeur. Now would you listen? They shot him and left him in the bushes. He said Reyerson and his men were coming here. Or to the safe house. He said your agents were set up. It's a trap, a diversion. You gotta get them back here!"

"You've been talking to Reyerson's chauffeur?" Tall and Thin asked, with a dangerous edge.

"He's dead! They shot him!"

"What did you tell him, Dalton?"

"Nothing! Not a damn thing! He knew!"

"Knew about what?"

"About you guys, about the ambush. I don't know how! Look, this is stupid. Just call them! They need to get back here before it's too late."

"Just sit tight, Dalton."

"What could it hurt to call?" Fat and Balding asked. He led the way downstairs.

Jack followed, keenly aware of Tall and Thin's eyes on the back of his head. "Exactly," he muttered. "Just call." In the basement, he watched anxiously as Fat and Balding sat behind an old hardwood desk and flipped on a large radio.

"Mallett," the man called into the handset.

"Here."

"Dalton just came pounding at the front door. He says he was just talking to Reyerson's chauffeur, who told him you're facing an ambush."

"Dalton," Mallett said, low and deadly.

"Tell him to come back!" Jack entreated.

"All's quiet here," Mallett said. "Hold Dalton. Figure out what he knows, all of it, and what he spilled."

"I didn't say anything!" Jack wailed. "I'm here to warn you! You gotta come back and protect MacGyver--"

"Shut up and tell us exactly what you told your friend." Tall and Thin pushed Jack into the chair behind him, gun pointed at Jack's middle.

Jack jumped up, surprising himself with his own recklessness. "At least let me warn my friends!"

"First you're going to explain what you did to compromise our operation."

"Nothing. I didn't even know about your operation until Portnoy told me about it."

The man pushed him back into the chair.

"This situation is not my fault!" Except, in a way, it was. He'd let Portnoy know he was still in town. He'd told Portnoy his hunches about Lilia, probably setting the young man on to a risky investigation of his own. Now Portnoy was dead, and Mack and the others may already be in the hands of the enemy. Heart sinking, Jack realized that probably his best way out of this, if there was a way out of this, was to start talking: fast.

Chapter 60

Chapter Text

"You don't have to sit up with me," Sam said, filling a glass with water from the sink.

"I won't be able to get back to sleep. Besides, my watch starts in--" Pete craned his neck towards the clock.

"Just over two hours," Sam told him.

Pete yawned.

"You sure you don't want to get back to bed?" Sam grinned.

Pete grinned back, not answering.

Sam poured a glass of juice for Pete, then settled at the table with a salad. They ate in companionable silence, but for the hum of the refrigerator, the whir of the air exchanger.

"What are Mallett's crew up to?" Sam asked, finally. "They were busy prepping for something, this evening. Yesterday evening, I guess."

"They wouldn't say, but it must be their raid on Reyerson."

"They're all out there?"

"I'm sure they left one or two behind."

Sam shook his head. "I hope they bring him down. I hope they bring them all down."

"Cheers to that," Pete said, raising his glass. "What were Nikki and your father doing, earlier?"

"Nikki couldn't sleep," Sam said. "Dad woke up when she got in an argument with Jack."

"They've been spending a lot of time together. It's hard to credit. They used to drive me insane with their bickering."

Sam smiled into his glass. "Maybe they just needed an excuse to let go of old, bad habits."

"Well, I'm glad to see it. The past few weeks have been hard enough, sharing this tiny space, without constant arguments."

"If the DXS operation is on for tonight, we could be heading home this morning."

The heavy main door creaked open; they heard footsteps in the common room.

"They're back already?" Sam guessed.

"Usually they knock," Pete said. He stood and padded to the kitchen door. "Mallett? Johnson?"

"Shut up and put your hands in the air," ordered a deep male voice, thickly accented.

Pete grabbed the kitchen door and slammed it. He slid the flimsy latch. "Run," he whispered. "Get out, and get help."

The doorknob twisted; the door rattled.

"What about you?" Sam said.

"I'll hold them off. Go!"

The door shivered under Pete's hands. Sam tripped the secret door and slipped out. The last thing he heard, as the door swung silently closed behind him, was the crash of the door bursting open. Heart in his throat, he ducked around the corner to the passage.

Chapter 61

Chapter Text

Nikki startled awake. A thick, meaty fist gripped her bicep and dragged her from her bed. She struggled, reflexively, to pull away. A blow to her head left her seeing stars. She fell limp. She was half-dragged, half-carried into the common room before she fought her way to wakeful clarity. She was dropped face-first onto the floor; caught herself on hands and knees.

The door to the kitchen hung, split, in the frame. A second man--tall and beefy--dragged MacGyver from his room and dropped him at the door, facing her. MacGyver pushed up on his hands, looking dazed, but the beefy goon's foot planted in the small of his back prevented him from rising further.

Something had to be done, and fast. Nikki rolled back, heels-over-head, aiming for the door to her room, and her gun. A bullet shattered the doorframe just inches from her face. Splintered wood stung her cheek and arm. She threw her arms over her face.

"Nikki!" MacGyver croaked. Turning only her head, she saw him twist and grab the beefy man's leg; the man smacked him in the back of the head with a handgun. MacGyver collapsed. The first man stepped into view, his gun aimed at her head, and grabbed her arm once more, spinning her to face the center of the room. A third man pushed Pete through the ruin of the kitchen door, and knocked him to his knees. A fourth man entered through the main door, then a tall woman in her thirties carrying a black medical bag, on the arm of an old man bearing a cane--Reyerson. They formed a small ring: three dazed captives in night clothes and four grunts, with the old man and the woman lording it over them all.

The fourth man--Grunt Four, Nikki thought--pulled strips of plastic from his pocket as he passed her guard. He pushed Nikki face-down on the floor, and quickly secured her hands behind her back with a plastic cable tie. Grunt One pulled her to her knees. Nikki watched MacGyver's still form anxiously. Slowly he stirred and clutched his head. Grunt Two, the beefy one, stowed his gun. Grabbing MacGyver by both wrists, he twisted them up behind his back, lifted him to his knees, and held him there. His breathing ragged, MacGyver slowly raised his face to survey the intruders.

So suddenly it all changes, Nikki thought, furious with her own carelessness and complacency. We didn't see this move coming-- She winced as Grunt Four pulled a second plastic cuff tight around her ankles. She could only hope that Sam had escaped out the hidden door, and would return with help.

"Search the rooms," Reyerson told Grunt One. "There should be two others." Grunt One ducked into MacGyver's room, his gun held ready. He turned the largest easy chair to face his prisoners, and lowered himself into it, like a king surveying his court.

"Mack? Are you alright? Nikki?" Pete called.

"I'll live," MacGyver answered.

"Me too," Nikki added.

Grunt One, finished with his search of Mack's room, moved on to the kitchen. The split door creaked as he pushed past. Grunt Four took charge of Pete then, pushing him to the floor as he had Nikki, and securing his wrists and ankles. Grunt One moved on to Nikki's room, but quickly emerged empty-handed. He pulled Nikki into a sitting position against the wall, while Four did the same with Pete.

"All clear," Grunt One reported to the old man.

"Check the kitchen again," Reyerson ordered.

Grunt One obliged. He tried to fasten the door open, but the latch was smashed. Shrugging, he let it fall closed behind him. Nikki heard cupboard doors banging. Finally he returned.

"Empty, boss," he reported.

The old man turned to Nikki and Pete. "Where is the boy?" the old man asked. "Where is Jack Walton?"

"Not here," Pete lied. "They left over a week ago, trying to find us all a way out."

"You want me to encourage a better answer?" Three leered.

"It doesn't matter," Reyerson answered. "We need to finish this and get back to the estate."

The woman loaded a syringe from a glass vial, her black bag gaping open at her feet. She would be handsome if she didn't look so sour and menacing, Nikki thought bitterly. The evil queen-- and she has us in check. Syringe full, the woman approached MacGyver, whose breathing quickened at the sight of the needle.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

The woman stopped, brows rising. "You don't remember?" A nasty smile touched her lips.

Mack glanced at Nikki, eyes wide.

Nikki shook her head slightly. She mouthed. "Don't answer."

The woman lifted Mack's chin. "I asked you a question," she said softly. She studied his face. Then she released him. She tied the rubber tube around his bicep. Then she raised the syringe.

Mack twisted suddenly, challenging Grunt Two to hold him steady. His silent desperation tore at Nikki. "Stop it! Let him go!" she demanded.

"Silence yourself or be silenced," the woman threatened carelessly. "Someone help."

Grunt One was watching the doors, his gun held ready. He stowed it in the holster under his jacket as he joined Grunt Two. With one arm he pulled MacGyver into a headlock. With the other he twisted MacGyver's right arm into a tighter pin. Meanwhile, Grunt Two pulled Mack's left arm out parallel to the floor; pushed up his sleeve; bent his fingers back. MacGyver arched and gasped, elbow locked and veins protruding.

Biting her lip, Nikki's eyes filled with angry tears. Where is Sam?

"Well done," the woman complimented them. She squirted a fountain of gold liquid from the tip of the syringe. Satisfied, she crouched before MacGyver and tightened the rubber tube around his upper arm. Then she inserted the needle into his pulsing vein, and slowly injected the full contents of the vial. She deposited the empty syringe and rubber tube back in her bag, and pulled out a stethoscope. Unbuttoning the top of MacGyver's white henley, she pressed the silver disk against his chest and waited. He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. Sweat beaded on his brow. Still she waited.

"Fight it, MacGyver," Pete encouraged him. He spoke quietly, but his intensity carried in the charged atmosphere.

"Silence him," the woman commanded, not looking up. Grunt Three took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and stuffed Pete's mouth.

Mack’s eyes slid open, frightened, desperate, skipping from face to face--until they found Nikki's.

Hang on--Nikki mouthed the words. Her silent entreaty echoed Pete--just a little while longer--she was certain Sam must be cooking up a distraction or a rescue, certain MacGyver would have realized this as well. He stared at Nikki as though she were his only salvation. He was taut, trapped like a fly in a web, the woman crouching over him like a spider. Nikki watched with growing trepidation as the minutes ticked past. He shivered uncontrollably, his clothing soaked with sweat. How long could he hold out against her poison?

"How much longer, Veandra?" Reyerson demanded.

"Patience, David." She touched MacGyver’s face; followed his gaze. Her eyes narrowed; Nikki could feel her malice. The woman turned back to MacGyver. "Cover his eyes," she ordered.

Grunt One twisted MacGyver's arm behind his back once more, causing him to cry out in pain. Then he put his free hand over Mack's eyes.

The woman turned once more, but this time she caught Grunt Four's eye and nodded. He came forward, pulling something from inside his jacket; Nikki couldn't see what. The woman leaned away, holding the stethoscope end before her, as though poised to strike. Grunt four reached out with a steel wand to touch MacGyver's chest.

He jerked against the two holding him. A yell burst from his lips.

The woman raised her hand. Grunt Four stepped away. MacGyver hung limp in the goons' grasp now, breathing quick and ragged. She lifted Mack's shirt, moving the stethoscope to his ribs. The fingers of her free hand brushed his chest in a slow arc, then traced a lazy path across his abdomen to the waist of his sweats. He shuddered. His muscles strained and spasmed.

Bitch, Nikki silently cursed her.

The woman turned her attention to MacGyver's face. His lips pinched tight, he shuddered once more. Then, all at once, face and body relaxed.

"Ivan?" she asked.

"Da," he answered.

She smirked with nasty delight, then spoke again in what sounded like a Slavic language. Grunt One uncovered his face..

MacGyver opened his eyes, but the brown irises, the open face that normally showed every emotion, were blank. He looked like another man, or a zombie. He answered the woman in the same language, his voice dull.

Oh no, Nikki thought. Hurry, Sam--before it's too late--

The woman nodded at the two Grunts, and they released MacGyver. He knelt, silent and unmoving, as though he were a fixture not a man.

"Well, Dr. Lundborgh, it seems you have succeeded," Reyerson said jovially. "Though I remember we thought so once before."

"We lost control of the experiment at that point, if you remember. But he is receptive, still--in fact more receptive than before. Your gun--" Lundborgh held out one hand to Grunt Two, who placed his gun within it. Switching once more to the other language, she took MacGyver's hand, placed the gun within it. He lifted it, examined it as though he'd never seen such a thing. The sight chilled Nikki.Then he looked up at Lundborgh, who was still speaking to him softly, encouraging. His gaze turned to Pete, and he raised the gun--

"MacGyver, no!" Nikki shouted, and threw herself into Pete. The gunshot echoed from stone walls. Pete toppled slowly, crimson blooming on his pale blue shirt. "Pete--" Nikki sobbed, her eyes trapped by the sight.

"He hasn't given it up yet, Veandra," Reyerson's wry voice commented from the overstuffed chair by the door.

Nikki turned back to see MacGyver shaking, the gun loose in his hand. Lundborgh deftly removed it and returned it.

"You told me yourself he was strong, David. The primary personality continues to resist. But every death by his hand, particularly these deaths, will contribute to its downfall. Sooner or later the primary must shatter. And then--" one hand under his chin, she lifted MacGyver's face to hers. The blank eyes stared back, body calming.

"And then I will have my assassin--and my vengeance. But if you're wrong?"

"Then vengeance will have to suffice."

"My investment in your experiment is significant."

"You knew the risks involved."

"You can't do this." Nikki quivered with outrage, rocking forward on her knees. Lundborgh turned and stared, brows raised. Nikki felt like an unexpected specimen under a microscope. The feeling revolted her. "You high-handed cold-hearted bitch."

Lundborgh smirked. "You are an interesting one. Too bad my plans are set. Ivan--" she turned to MacGyver, switching again to the other language.

MacGyver climbed slowly, clumsily to his feet. Nikki shrank away in sudden dread. He approached-- knelt before her. She tried to catch his gaze, but found no recognition in his vague eyes. Lundborgh continued her slow, steady directives, putting a hand on his shoulder. He raised his arms, and locked his hands around her throat.

"MacGyver, fight this," she begged. His hands tightened, and she felt the first sharp stab of pain. "MacGyver--" she whispered, desperate.

Something stirred in his eyes. Was she imagining it, or was he letting up the pressure?

"I know you're fighting. Don't give up."

Lundborgh directed him once more. Once more his hands tightened.

"Mack-- no--" she croaked.

He was definitely agitated now-- his hands shook, and loosened their grasp. Lundborgh spoke sharply to him this time-- Like a tennis match, Nikki thought wildly, and he's the ball-- but all she could do now was form the words with her lips. She was starting to feel light-headed. She fixed her eyes on his, and silently she pleaded. She could not believe he would give up. He could be overwhelmed, overpowered, but he would never give in, never surrender. She put all her faith in him, all her thoughts, into her eyes, into that silent communication, and hoped.

Shaking, his hands loosened once more. Nikki gasped, pulling in tiny amounts of air, then larger breaths. The world steadied. But Lundborgh was chiding him again-- it wasn't going to be enough-- the edges of her vision went dim, her world shrinking, the blood rushing in her ears-- MacGyver--

At the edge of consciousness, Nikki heard a sharp bang, and then another. She smelled chemicals. Then, suddenly, she was released. She fell over, coughing, on the floor. In front of her, Sam sat astride his father's back, syringe in hand. A sedative, of course, she thought. We left the medical kit in the kitchen.

One of the grunts, Nikki couldn't tell who, grabbed Sam from behind. Sam rolled forward, throwing him to the floor. Her coughing fit went on and on, and she felt faint again. She heard gunshots, and shouting. Then Jack's voice, and hands at her wrists. Her hands were freed. She gulped air.

"Nikki? Nikki, are you okay? Nikki!"

"What-- took-- so long?" she whispered.

"We had to get rid of the thugs in the tunnel." Jack rolled her gently to her side. He brushed her throat with one finger, shock and distress clear on his face. How bad is it? she wondered. Another fit of coughing shook her.

"She's breathing, at least," Sam said, now kneeling at Pete's side. "Jack, get the first aid kit. We've got to stop this bleeding."

Jack took off for the kitchen.

"Pete's alive?" Nikki croaked.

"He is. And he'll stay that way, I think, if we can just stop the bleeding and get him to a hospital."

Tears filled Nikki's eyes once more. She heard more voices--they sounded like two of the agents from the house-- Sam answered them. She didn't pay attention. Crying was painful, but the harder she tried to stop, the faster the tears came. She pulled herself close to MacGyver, whose face was peaceful in drug-induced sleep. She draped an arm over his back, buried her face in his shoulder, and wept.