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Guilt Part Three, PG
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MacsChick
Posted: 21 April 2007 - 12:35 PM                                    
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I finally have some time to write again since it's the weekend, so here's the third part! Enjoy!


Guilt Part Three
Rated: PG

Several months earlier—near Alaskan/Canadian border

Pete and his teams managed to capture Scorpion and his men, spotting their Sno-Cats as they headed in their direction. MacGyver, Fred, and Andrew had performed their jobs well, leading the terrorists in a path that landed them straight into the custody of the authorities. It was a massive operation, and Pete was glad these dangerous men had been removed from the list of the country’s largest threats. Still, MacGyver and his team were nowhere to be found. At the command post The Phoenix Foundation and other government agencies such as the FBI had set up near the border, he stood near Scorpion, who was handcuffed to a chair. Another agent was with him, broad-shouldered and tall, doing his best to look imposing and intimidating, baring his thick, muscled arms to show the terrorist leader that he was physically capable of anything.

“What have you done to my men?” Pete asked. “Where are they?”

Scorpion sneered at Pete, remaining silent. Pete glanced at the burly agent. He hated torture, but in some cases, that’s all they could do to coerce someone as vile as Scorpion to cooperate.

“We could painfully convince you to speak,” the agent said, an intense, severe look on his face. He clenched his hands into tight fists.

Scorpion looked at the agent and smiled. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” he said. “Your men are dead, anyway. Shot like the foul, filthy dogs they were.”

Pete looked at the agent again, a look of horror on his face. His thoughts instantly turned to MacGyver. He was concerned about Fred Rogers and Andrew Williamson as well, but MacGyver was his friend. He couldn’t bear the thought of MacGyver being dead. It just wasn’t possible.

“Where are they? Where did you leave them?” Pete asked.

Scorpion grinned, pleased by how much worry he could cause by only killing a few American agents.

“Answer me!” Pete shouted.

The massive agent grabbed Scorpion’s neck with his large hands and squeezed.

“Wait! I’m receiving a signal, Mr. Thornton!” A man across the makeshift center shouted.

The agent gripping Scorpion’s neck released him, and Scorpion coughed. Pete forgot him as he listened to the persistent beeping on the advanced monitoring equipment they had set up inside the center. He rushed over to the man who had made the announcement and watched the screen carefully, noticing a steady green light blinking.

“What’s happening?” He asked.

“Fred Rogers’ GPS transmitter is sending us a signal,” the man said. “Soon, we should have a good idea of their current location.”

Pete sighed with relief. “Thank God,” he said. “So, there’s a chance they’re still alive.”

“Yes, sir.”

At that moment, Pete didn’t realize that Fred had activated his emergency tracking system right before he was shot with the fatal bullet. He listened to the beeping of the signal, which was becoming almost rhythmic, like a heartbeat—a lifeline to his men and his friend.

“Well, do you have the location?” He asked, growing impatient.

“The signal is about 60 miles north of here,” the man said.

Pete glanced at a map. A push pin was on the location of the terrorist outpost. Running some calculations quietly in his head, he realized that they had actually traveled quite far from the outpost with Scorpion before they were shot. Still, they were miles away, and the situation was urgent, especially if they were shot as Scorpion claimed, boasting proudly of his violent deed.

“Organize the search and rescue units immediately,” Pete said. “Keep us informed of any movements with that signal. I’m going with them.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

The present…

Pete was still sitting in MacGyver’s disorganized living room, listening to the occasional creaks and groans caused by the house boat shifting calmly in the bay. He didn’t know why he was still there. MacGyver had gone to sleep hours ago. Still, he refused to give up on his friend. He knew MacGyver would have to emerge from the darkness of his room sometime. Minutes later, he did, descending his spiral staircase slowly, like a zombie, his sandy hair more wildly disheveled than usual. He barely acknowledged Pete’s presence as he went into his kitchen and mindlessly poured himself a glass of water from the tap.

“You’re still here,” he said blandly, more a statement than a question. He stared down at his glass and drank in small sips, almost as if he didn’t have an appetite to even consume water.

“Of course I am,” Pete said. “I’m not giving up on you, Mac.”

A strange, pained smile formed on MacGyver’s lips. “Well, you should, before you end up getting hurt, too,” he said.

“You know, MacGyver, I was the one who assigned Rogers and Williamson to you,” Pete said.

“No Pete, don’t you start this,” MacGyver said.

“But you see what I mean,” Pete said. “By your logic, I should be just as guilty as you are.”

“Pete, you weren’t there. I was. I could’ve saved them.”

“You lost a lot of blood and you had hypothermia,” Pete said. “There was no way you could’ve functioned normally during all that. Besides, they were already dead, weren’t they?”

MacGyver closed his eyes.

“They were, weren’t they, MacGyver?” Pete asked gently. “There was nothing you could have done. The damage was already caused—by Scorpion and his men, not you.”

“Please leave, Pete,” MacGyver said quietly, his eyes still closed.

“No, I won’t leave, not until you agree to return to sessions with Dr. Walker.”

MacGyver turned away from Pete, his back facing him. He rubbed his hands through his hair and then held his face in his hands. He sighed heavily, doing his best to ignore Pete.

“You have to understand,” Pete said, not caring if his friend was trying to block him. “It was Fred Rogers’ signal that led us to you. He wanted to save you, even though he knew he was going to die.”

“I should’ve activated mine first,” MacGyver said. “I was an idiot. Those men might have lived had I done something so simple.”

“Mac, you don’t have to be the savior all the time!” Pete shouted. “Fred sacrificed himself for you. Not only that, we managed to catch Scorpion and his men because of the route you started them on—why can’t you see that? You served nobly, all three of you.”

MacGyver whirled around, glaring angrily at Pete. “No, Fred and Andrew served nobly. I was a coward,” he said. “I’ve always been a coward. I abandoned my parents when they needed me. I was terrified of heights, so Mike fell to her death because I was paralyzed with fear. Fred and Andrew died senseless deaths because they were with me, and I couldn’t adequately protect them. Don’t you understand, Pete? I’m not worthy to be in the position I’ve held. I’m ashamed.”

“What about all the people you’ve helped?” Pete asked. “Don’t they count at all for anything?”

Pete’s question stopped MacGyver cold. He didn’t know how to respond.

“I…I helped them because I couldn’t help the others,” he said finally, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“No, it’s more than that,” Pete said. “You’re not motivated by guilt alone. MacGyver, you’re a naturally helpful person. You’re heroic, at least to me.”

MacGyver laughed bitterly. “You place me on a pedestal,” he said. “None of it is true.”

“But it is!” Pete said, leaning forward. “Mac, remember all those times you saved me? You didn’t do that because you felt guilty and it was an obligation to set things right. You did that because it’s your nature. Sometimes, things don’t work, but you do the best you can. Mac, you’re only human.”

MacGyver’s sad brown eyes wandered around the room, trying to avoid Pete’s gaze. He didn’t want to believe the things he was saying, but a small part of him began to realize he might be right.

“I don’t care if you leave your work at the Foundation,” Pete said. “Retire, start a new life far away from here. But I’ll tell you something, Mac—you leave and you’ll regret it later. You may think you failed Rogers and Williamson, but there are still a lot of people out there who could use your expertise to help them.”

MacGyver stayed silent, staring blankly, barely blinking. Pete watched him carefully, still alarmed by his despondent state. He stood and approached his friend until he was standing only inches apart from him. Even though he was close, Pete could still feel the wall of armor MacGyver had erected, creating a protective invisible barrier around his battered soul.

“I don’t know how much I’m able to reach you right now,” Pete said. “I just want to tell you that I don’t care what you do, so long as you agree to finish your sessions with Dr. Walker.”

MacGyver looked up at Pete, and for a moment Pete thought he saw a flicker of recognition in his dull eyes, as if he was starting to get through to him.

“I can leave the Foundation?” He asked.

Pete shrugged. “If you want to,” he said. “If after your sessions with Dr. Walker you don’t feel that anything has been resolved, you’re perfectly free to go. I won’t hold a grudge against you. After all, you’re my friend. I care for you, Mac. You have to do what’s best for yourself.”

MacGyver could hear Pete’s voice tremble slightly as he tried to restrain his emotions. He knew Pete would be devastated if he decided to leave, but he was being a true friend by giving him a choice. For the first time in awhile, he felt slightly relieved and not as trapped.

“I appreciate it, Pete,” he said. “Tell Dr. Walker I’ll see her in the morning.”

***

Several months earlier—Alaska


The pain and the cold were beginning to affect MacGyver. He was shaking violently, and while the extreme cold was beginning to numb the pain in the side of his abdomen where the gunshot wound was located, it was still excruciating to move, requiring great effort. He tried to pull himself toward the fallen bodies of Rogers and Williamson to check on them, groaning as his body protested each movement, no matter how small. He found himself quickly out of breath, collapsing back onto the icy ground.

“Fred?” He called out weakly. “Andy?”

He heard no response from either of them. When he looked up and saw their motionless bodies and noticed that no breaths were fogging up around their mouths, he knew they were dead. Still, he forced himself forward, crawling on the ice and moaning in pain until he reached them. He looked down at them. Fred’s eyes were slightly open but glassy, already frozen. Andrew lay peacefully, his eyes mostly shut. MacGyver jabbed at them, and they didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shivering, the symptoms of hypothermia already beginning to take effect despite his layers of clothing, the bullet wound no doubt accelerating them. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. What have I done?”

MacGyver fell back onto the solid, frozen ground, closing his eyes, wishing to die along with them. It would be hours later until he would be rescued, leaving him to suffer from memories of Fred staring vacantly up at him, almost as if accusing him of causing his death.

***

The present…

“So, that’s what happened, isn’t that right, MacGyver?” Dr. Walker asked, watching as her patient paced the office. “Rogers and Williamson were already dead. You couldn’t do anything to revive them.”

MacGyver ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He stopped pacing and looked at the Doctor, wondering if it was a mistake to agree to finish his sessions with her. He felt like he was covering the same ground over and over again without reaching any conclusion. Nobody seemed to be listening to him, least of all her.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” He asked. “If they hadn’t been with me in the first place, this never would’ve happened!”

“But that wasn’t your call, was it?” Dr. Walker asked calmly. “It was Pete who assigned them to you. You couldn’t control everything that happened. You were outnumbered by several armed men. There was nothing you could do.”

“How am I supposed to explain that to their families?”

“You’ll do that when it’s time,” Dr. Walker said. “Right now, you have to heal. You have to be patient, MacGyver. These things take time.”

“Well, thank you, Doc,” MacGyver said sarcastically, flopping into a chair and sighing, rubbing his fingers together in agitation. He looked around the room as if trying to find another escape route from these torturous sessions. Why had he agreed to continue them?

“I want you to do something for me,” Dr. Walker said.

“Oh, yeah, what?” MacGyver asked, almost whining as if he had been asked to do chores.

“I want you to consider each of these circumstances where you felt guilt over surviving when someone close to you didn’t. I want you to think about them carefully. Let’s begin with your parents. What happened when your father and grandmother died? Where were you? How old were you?”

MacGyver didn’t answer, sniffing. He stared at a far wall in the office and then squeezed his eyes shut as if he could avoid her uncomfortable, probing questions.

“You were ten,” Dr. Walker said, answering for him in a soothing voice. “A child. You didn’t know they were going to be in an accident. Now, let’s move on to your mother.”

MacGyver shifted uncomfortably in his seat, desperately fighting the urge to lash out at the psychiatrist, trying his best to block the images from his memories of so much death and tragedy. He responded to the psychiatrist as if hypnotized, volunteering information he had been trying to withhold for so long. He was just too exhausted anymore to keep his feelings buried, surrendering.

“I was on assignment,” he said quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I…I couldn’t be there…”

“Yes, and you didn’t know she was going to die, did you?”

“No, but I should’ve been there…I …”

“And Mike?”

“Mike fell…because I told her I didn’t want a serious relationship.”

“No, Mike fell because it was an accident. Do you see a pattern, here?”

MacGyver opened his eyes, staring at the psychiatrist. “Why are you doing this?” He asked, hurt.

“I’m trying to establish a pattern in these deaths for which you feel responsible,” Dr. Walker said. “I’m trying to demonstrate to you that these deaths were either the result of an accident or something that was beyond your control. That’s all they were, MacGyver. You’re not the guilty party, here. You’re innocent. Do you understand that yet?”

MacGyver didn’t respond, rubbing his wet, sore, and tired eyes with his fingers.

“I’m sure those you have lost would forgive you if they could speak to you again,” Dr. Walker said. “Can you imagine them talking to you? What would they say? I’m sure they’d tell you that you’re blameless.”

“Yeah, well we can’t know that for sure, now can we? They’re dead, and nothing is going to bring them back.”

“Yes, but feeling guilty about the past isn’t going to improve the situation, either. You have to move on, MacGyver. You have to.”

Dr. Walker’s phone buzzed, and her receptionist could be heard on the other end.

“Dr. Walker?” The voice asked.

“I’m in the middle of a session,” Dr. Walker said, slightly irritated that she had been interrupted.

“I understand that, Doctor, but Peter Thornton is here. He says he has some news he needs to share with you.”

MacGyver looked at the door, slightly panicked. He didn’t want Pete to see him again.

“Send him in,” Dr. Walker said, glancing at MacGyver.

The door opened and Pete entered, just as MacGyver stood and tried to leave to avoid him. He stood there awkwardly, not sure what to say or do.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I think MacGyver needs to know something,” he said, looking sympathetically at his friend.

“What is it?” Dr. Walker asked.

“Scorpion has escaped from the federal penitentiary where he was being held.”

To be continued…












"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."

--Henry David Thoreau

brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver

 
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Firniswin
  Posted: 22 April 2007 - 08:15 AM                                    
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clapping.gif Oh, please continue! Hurriedly, if you don't mind- otherwise I might go crazy from anxiety! blink.gif

Firn duct.gif



"Dexter" is one good-lookin' geek! Geeks rule!

 
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MacsChick
Posted: 22 April 2007 - 08:47 AM                                    
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I will try to comply with your request. wink.gif happy.gif

Seriously, I should be able to post the fourth part today--stay tuned, and thanks for reading! smile.gif



"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."

--Henry David Thoreau

brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver

 
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MacGyverGod
Posted: 22 April 2007 - 09:00 AM                                    
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Interesting. MacGyver's gonna wake up now this guy has escaped.



I think the poison that was used was applied to this knife, passed to the mutton when it was cut and then activated by the wine. - MacGyver.
Sometimes you just have to die a little inside to be reborn and rise again as a stronger and wiser version of you.
It's better to be a little sad than to be fake content.

 
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