Okay guys, here's the final part of this hotly debated story!
You'll see that I didn't make Sam a saint, but he's certainly not a total villain, either. Read on!
A Crack in the Foundation Part Six
Rated: PG
Relief came to Pete when he saw MacGyver begin to awaken. He had sat by his friend’s hospital bed all night, waiting for any kind of response. Now, MacGyver was stirring and moaning, his eyes slowly opening and scanning the hospital room. Pete gently took his hand, rubbing it with his thumb to soothe him.
“It’s all right Mac, I’m here,” he said.
MacGyver turned his head toward Pete at the sound of his voice, looking at him and smiling weakly. He looked so pale and fragile that Pete was heartbroken to see him in such a condition. He’d seen him worse, near death, but something about MacGyver’s deep, haunting eyes staring at him, pleading with him, always filled him with tremendous sadness. He could feel his friend’s suffering through those eyes, and he almost wished he could trade places with him to relieve his suffering. Even though he couldn’t see those eyes as well as he used to, he could feel their intensity, the memory of their darkness seared in his memory. Anytime MacGyver was hurt or emotionally wounded, he could see those eyes boring into him.
“How do you feel?” He asked.
MacGyver grinned tiredly and closed his eyes. “Like I’ve been shot,” he said.
Pete smiled, glad his friend’s sense of humor remained intact. “Well, you were,” he said, looking at the bandages covering his left shoulder. “You were lucky, Mac. The man who shot you could have struck your heart. You could have died.”
“Well, at least he wasn’t a good shot,” MacGyver said, opening his eyes again and looking at Pete. “How long have I been out of it?”
“Hours,” Pete said. “Actually, I lost count a long time ago. I’m just glad you’re out of surgery and recovering.”
“Sam,” MacGyver said suddenly.
“Mac?”
“Pete, what’s going to happen to him?”
Pete sighed, gripping his friend’s hand a little tighter as if to brace himself for what he had to say. “He’s going to prison, Mac,” he said, “that can’t be changed. He sold out his country.”
“Pete, you should know that he did do the right thing, at the last minute,” MacGyver said. “I saw him. He gave Gorman a computer virus, not our secrets.”
“I know that,” Pete said. “He told me himself. My computer experts are checking up on his story right now.”
“They don’t need to,” MacGyver said. “I saw him. He did it.”
“I know that, Mac, but they just want to make it official.”
“So, since he gave Gorman a computer virus instead of our intelligence, that has to count for something, doesn’t it? I mean, can’t Sam get a reduced sentence? He did end up helping us, after all.”
Pete thought he heard a protective sound to his friend’s voice, as if he was still acting like a father to this young man who was anything but his son. He thought about his own son, Michael, and all the problems he had caused stealing Phoenix Foundation intelligence. It hurt him deeply to know that his son was capable of something like that, but at least he had admitted his guilt and worked to correct the situation. His cooperation had given him a reduced sentence, which helped ease the disgrace Pete felt within his family. Maybe Sam could get a reduced sentence as well.
“I’m working on it, Mac,” he said. “He’ll probably end up with a similar deal that Michael had, but that still means he’ll have to serve time. I’m sorry.”
“I guess that’s fair,” MacGyver said. “If he hadn’t made the choice he did at the last minute, a lot of our secrets would have been severely compromised.”
“I know,” Pete said, once again looking at MacGyver’s bandaged shoulder and his many scratches and bruises. “Worse than that, he used you as a pawn in this game. If Gorman had his way…who knows what kinds of people he would have delivered you to?”
MacGyver winced, partly because he didn’t like to think about what unpleasant experiences he might have endured at the hands of his many enemies, but also because the pain in his shoulder was returning. He leaned back into bed, releasing his hand from Pete’s grasp and holding his shoulder with it. He closed his eyes tightly, groaning.
“Mac, what is it? Are you okay?” Pete asked, watching him writhe in the bed, biting his lower lip.
“My shoulder hurts again, Pete,” MacGyver said, “Oh God, it hurts…”
“I’ll call the nurse,” Pete said, hitting MacGyver’s button. “I’ll have her give you some more painkillers.”
“Thanks, Pete,” MacGyver said. He opened his eyes, and Pete saw they were glazed with pain. “Pete, I need to see Sam when I get out of here. I want to talk to him about what happened. Can you arrange that?”
“Sure, Mac,” Pete said, “but you need to recover first.”
The nurse entered. “What seems to be the problem?” She asked, looking at MacGyver.
“Please, my friend is in a great deal of pain,” Pete said. “Could you give him something?”
“I’ll administer some new pain medication,” she said, prepping a syringe and injecting it into MacGyver’s IV. When she was finished, she gently touched MacGyver’s forehead in a maternal gesture and looked up at Pete. “He should be feeling better shortly,” she said. “Call me if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” Pete said, watching her leave.
He looked back at MacGyver, who still had his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He was clutching at his shoulder and squirming, but his movements soon decreased and he relaxed, feeling exhausted. Pete watched him as he grew limp and began to drift away to sleep. His right hand fell to his side, no longer holding his wounded shoulder. Pete held it again.
“Rest, MacGyver,” he said. “You can see Sam later, I promise.”
MacGyver moaned slightly, acknowledging his friend’s words, and then he fell into a deep sleep.
***
Several Weeks Later—Federal Penitentiary
MacGyver wasn’t used to visiting people in prison. He had to go through a sweeping security protocol, removing his knife and anything else considered a weapon until he felt completely stripped and vulnerable. The guards led him into a room divided by wire mesh embedded in the bulletproof glass that separated the free from the imprisoned, a telephone line the only means of communication between the two vastly different worlds. He had seen it enough on TV, but to actually be present in such a stark, brutal setting made him feel understandably uncomfortable. Soon, the wall of glass dividing the criminal from the honest citizen began to blur, making it difficult to know who the prisoner was and who was free. It was a creepy, claustrophobic feeling, and MacGyver didn’t like it. He worried about how Sam was doing in such a nasty, ugly place.
He heard a door electronically click open and turned to look in its direction. Sam was being led in on the other side of the glass by two guards. He was dressed in the standard issue orange and handcuffed, but it was his demeanor that surprised MacGyver the most. Instead of appearing defeated, Sam held himself confidently, even smiling when he saw MacGyver. The guards pulled out a chair for him and released him from his handcuffs. He sat down and grabbed the phone on his side. MacGyver waited until the guards left the room before he sat and grabbed his own phone.
“MacGyver, I’m glad to see you,” Sam said. “How is your shoulder?”
MacGyver glanced at his shoulder and then back at Sam. “Oh, it’s fine,” he said. “I mean, you know…it still hurts occasionally, but it’s healing.”
“Well, I’m relieved to hear it,” Sam said. “MacGyver, I was scared to death when you were shot. I…I thought you were dead.” He sighed and looked down at the table where he had placed his hands. “I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry all of it did, actually.”
“It’s over now, Sam,” MacGyver said. “You’ll be out of here soon, and my shoulder will survive just enough for me to continue making semi-decent slap shots.” He smiled.
“Hockey again, huh?” Sam asked, grinning.
“Yeah.”
Sam’s expression grew serious again. “MacGyver, I can’t imagine how hurt you must have been,” he said. “Not only did you learn I’m not your son, you had to deal with me committing some serious crimes against this country.”
“Hey,” MacGyver said, “you did the right thing when it mattered. That’s all that counts.”
“I had to,” Sam said. “You might not be my father, but you still influenced me. I saw that what I was doing was wrong, and I had to stop it. When Gorman’s men were hurting you…I just couldn’t take it anymore. You’re a good man, MacGyver. I admire you. I thought I could emulate you doing the things I was doing, but you were right—what I was doing was nothing like you at all.”
MacGyver smiled and nodded, acknowledging Sam’s earnest apology. “So, what do you think you’ll do once you’re released?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I wish I could work with you, but with my record and what I did, I understand why I can’t.”
“I’ll miss you,” MacGyver said. “You made me believe for awhile that I was a good father.”
“You are,” Sam said. “You’d make a great one. And listen, just because we’re not related doesn’t mean you still can’t give me one of your famous father-son lectures once in awhile.”
MacGyver winked at him. “I appreciate that,” he said.
“Promise to visit me once in awhile, no matter where I end up, okay?” Sam said.
“You’ve got it,” MacGyver said. “Take care of yourself, all right?”
Sam nodded. “I will,” he said. “You too, MacGyver.”
The End
"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
