[MacsChick]

This story is a response to the question of MacGyver being afraid to be alone with someone. I don't know how much I directly respond to it, but I just had a thought about how uncomfortable MacGyver might be if he was left alone with a psychiatrist having to deal with some heavy emotions that he successfully kept buried for years. I might get around to posting a second part today, too, but I'll keep you posted. Enjoy! Oh, and be forewarned--there are some heavy emotions being displayed in this one.

Guilt Part One
Rated: PG

Alaska

A dog sniffed MacGyver, and he was vaguely aware of its presence as its fur brushed softly against his cheeks. He was surprised his icy, numbed skin could still feel anything. In the distance, he heard shouts, which in his dazed, disoriented mind sounded slowed down and barely human, more like unintelligible grunts. Shivering violently, his breathing shallow and rapid, clinging to consciousness, he couldn’t respond to them. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He was dying. He could feel it. All he wanted to do was finally succumb. The frigid, unforgiving temperatures assaulted his badly wounded body, and he felt himself weakening.

“Mac!” Pete shouted, his voice echoing through the vast, desolate, arctic plain.

He and the rescue team sent to retrieve MacGyver followed the barking of their dog team and soon found MacGyver, along with two other bodies. All three men had been shot, their blood pooling out over the frozen tundra. At first, Pete found it difficult to identify MacGyver. The three men looked identical in their snow gear, which covered up their bodies and most of their faces. They were motionless, and panic surged inside Pete. Could they all be dead? A harsh, piercing cold wind cut across the plain, whipping up icy particles of snow and causing Pete to cover his face with his heavy mitts until it subsided. When he was able to look at the three men again, he saw one moving slightly, shivering. He could only hope it was MacGyver. He rushed over to the man, and soon the rescuers were not far behind.

“Here!” Pete shouted. “They’re over here!”

The rescuers busied themselves examining the other two fallen men while Pete remained with the one who was shivering. Looking closely at the pale face with blue lips, he suddenly knew there could be no mistake as to who it was. Long eyelashes slowly fluttered open, revealing two dark brown slits that stared vacantly. It was MacGyver. Pete gently touched his cheek.

“MacGyver, it’s me, it’s Pete,” he said. “Can you hear me? Can you understand me?”

MacGyver blinked slowly, his eyes glassy.

“MacGyver, please! Come on, you’ve got to pull through this!”

“The other two are dead, Mr. Thornton,” one of the rescuers said.

Pete looked up at the man, alarmed. He then returned to MacGyver. “I’m so sorry this happened,” he said, “but we’ll get you out of here. Everything will be fine.”

MacGyver could make out the blurry shape of his friend’s face hovering over him. He knew it was Pete, but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. Using his remaining strength, he parted his bluish lips and tried to speak.

“M…my…”

“Shh, MacGyver it’s all right. Don’t try to talk,” Pete said.

“My fault,” MacGyver whispered. “My fault…”

“Mac, what do you mean?” Pete asked. “I don’t understand.”

“My fault,” MacGyver mumbled, closing his eyes and losing consciousness.

“No!” Pete shouted. “MacGyver, don’t do this to me!”

The rescuers approached him. “Stand back, Mr. Thornton,” one of them said.

Pete watched helplessly as they checked MacGyver’s vital signs with their portable equipment.

“His pulse is faint,” one of them said. “He has a severe case of hypothermia and shock from the bullet wound. It’s a wonder he’s still alive, but we have to airlift him to the hospital immediately.”

***

Several months later…


“MacGyver?” A woman’s voice asked, slowly breaking MacGyver out of his tortured thoughts.

He was staring out the twentieth story window of The Phoenix Foundation building, watching as cars and people passed on the streets below. From his perspective, high up inside the skyscraper, they looked miniscule and non-threatening. He turned to look at the woman, a Phoenix appointed psychiatrist assigned to his case.

“MacGyver, do you understand why you’re here?” She asked.

MacGyver turned and looked out the window again. He never considered himself a suicidal person before, but a part of him was tempted to leap out the window and off the building. He felt terrible, and he certainly didn’t feel like talking. He looked down at the floor.

“MacGyver, you’re going to have to talk sometime,” the psychiatrist said, “otherwise Pete will never approve of you returning to the field. You know that.”

MacGyver closed his eyes and sighed. All he kept seeing was the moment the gun blasts went off, taking down Rogers and Williamson, his partners on the mission.

“Why should he?” He asked quietly, opening his eyes and staring at the doctor.

Although Dr. Walker was a well-trained psychiatrist, specializing in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, she felt herself being a little intimidated by MacGyver’s haunting, penetrating gaze. She could almost feel his anger and despair through those blazing eyes.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said, watching him.

MacGyver’s lips moved, but he found it difficult to say anything. He looked at the closed door, feeling claustrophobic. He wanted nothing more than to burst through it and flee so he wouldn’t have to discuss the horrible events of that day to anyone. He had been forced to attend these sessions, but he wondered what would happen if he simply walked away and disappeared, never to see anyone he knew from the Foundation ever again.

“I killed those men,” he said. “I don’t deserve to be an agent.”

“You didn’t kill them,” Dr. Walker said. “You weren’t responsible.”

“Yes, I was!” MacGyver shouted suddenly. “They were with me! They shouldn’t have been, or they’d be alive right now! I was the one who was supposed to die out there, alone!”

He shuddered after his outburst and grew withdrawn again, flopping into a nearby chair and covering his face with his hands. Dr. Walker listened with sympathy as she heard him sob quietly.

“I always work alone,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands and his sobs. “Why did Pete have to assign them to me, huh? Why?”

“MacGyver, there was nothing you could have done.”

MacGyver dropped his hands away from his face and stared at the psychiatrist with bloodshot, moist eyes. He broke into a nasty, sarcastic, hateful grin.

“Oh, you think there wasn’t anything I could do, do you?” He asked. “There was plenty I could have done, like not have them on the assignment with me! I could’ve told Pete no!”

“You’re suffering from survivor’s guilt, MacGyver. It’s a common condition among people who have survived traumatic events. You blame yourself for living when others didn’t. You wonder why you survived and they didn’t.”

MacGyver shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “You don’t understand,” he said. “Those men had families! They should be here right now instead of me!”

“That’s a part of the syndrome,” Dr. Walker said in a soothing voice. “You have to work to overcome it, MacGyver. You have to let go of the past, and not only this failed mission, either.”

MacGyver glared at her. “What do you mean?” He asked.

Dr. Walker pulled out a file and opened it, placing it on her lap. She perused it silently, and then looked back up at him.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“MacGyver, I’ve read your files as a part of preparing to meet with you,” she said. “It seems this is not the first incident in your life where you have lost someone close to you.”

MacGyver looked away from her, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“You lost your father and grandmother at an early age, and then you lost your mother. Your friend Mike was killed in a climbing accident.”

MacGyver hated how she described those events so casually, as if they were meaningless. “Yeah, so what?” He asked, his tone hostile and bitter. “What are you trying to say?”

“Well, each of these deaths were situations in which you felt you could have done something to prevent them,” she said.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s all in your file, MacGyver,” Dr. Walker said. “Several of your colleagues here at the Foundation have heard you on countless occasions say that these deaths were your fault, and that you wished there was something you could have done to stop them. Don’t you see? It’s a long pattern of guilt, and unless you resolve it, you’ll never be able to overcome it and move on with your life.”

“What if I don’t want to?” MacGyver asked.

“Don’t want to what?”

“Overcome it. Listen, those people died because of me. It’s a fact. I wasn’t there for them when they needed me. I’ve been selfish and reckless, and it’s time for me to do something else with my life.”

“What do you mean?”

MacGyver didn’t answer her. Instead, he stood and walked out of the room.

“MacGyver, we’re not finished yet!” Dr. Walker shouted after him.

He ignored her and sought out Pete. He knew his friend and boss was waiting outside for him. He found him, sitting out in the hallway.

“Mac, what’s going on?” Pete asked, staring at his friend.

He stood, shocked to see the state MacGyver was in, looking pale, disheveled, and unshaven, dark rims under his eyes from a lack of sleep. Even though he had survived an extreme case of hypothermia, he almost looked as unhealthy as he had then. MacGyver looked away from him, his eyes dark and lifeless. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. Pete reached out for him, gently placing his hands on his trembling shoulders.

“MacGyver, please talk to me,” Pete said.

MacGyver thought back to when he was lying in his hospital bed, covered in thick blankets, tubes of warm solutions flowing through his frozen body. He was conscious and recovering, but he had no desire to speak. He turned his head away from Pete, and all he kept hearing was Pete’s pleading. “Please talk to me…” “Please talk to me…” Still slightly numb, he could still feel Pete’s warm hand squeeze his in support—support he didn’t feel he deserved after what happened.

Returning to the present, MacGyver looked at Pete. The sadness in his eyes was enough to tear Pete apart inside. MacGyver looked devastated.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” he said, his voice barely audible. He turned and walked away.

To be continued…

[MacGyverGod]

Another great start.