My fics didn't survive the crash, so I'm reposting. Feel free to comment again!


Hate Meets Justice

Author’s note: I own all characters except for MacGyver, Pete, and Sam. Those three are the property of Paramount. The fictional Center for Social Justice is modeled on the real-life Southern Poverty Law Center in Montgomery, Alabama. All historical events referred to in the story are real.

Los Angeles, California, Early January 1996

Cold rain poured down, and the wind was blowing hard. Bending her head down to keep the rain out of her eyes, Stacey couldn’t see much, but she knew she was being followed. She had come a long way to escape her abusive stepparents and their friends, who had used her and were now trying to get rid of her. The rain plastered her hair to her head, and her clothes were soaked. She had taken off her black windbreaker and tied it around her waist so she could move more easily. At least her backpack was waterproof, so her things in there would stay dry… including those incriminating documents and the tape she had secreted in there just before taking off.
She was tired and weak: she had already crossed paths with the militia’s henchmen once, and though she’d taken a severe beating, she’d escaped somehow. Now she was just trying to survive. All the way to LA from Montana… these characters didn’t give up easy, and unless she found a good hiding place, she’d be dead before morning… and these secrets would continue to fester… until they exploded in deadly violence.
Stacey looked up. She was at the entrance to a marina. Maybe she could hide out on one of the boats until morning, and with any luck, the goons wouldn’t find her. After that, she didn’t know what she would do, but right now it was most important to get herself hidden.
She hurried down the dock and slipped onto a large boat; it looked like a houseboat. Dizzy and weak, she didn’t have time to do anything further before she blacked out.

The two men in camouflage were doing their best to stay in the shadows, though the lights at the marina were bright. It was cold, and pouring rain. They were both soaked to the skin, but neither seemed to notice. They were ex-Marines, and had seen much worse. Anyway, the girl was what was on their minds.
“See anything?” The man who spoke was a big burly guy, with a dark crew cut and bright, hard blue eyes. “She’s got to be here somewhere.”
“Negative, Carl. I hate to admit it, but I think she may have finally slipped through our fingers.”
“Bullquack. She can’t have gotten very far, Ed. We beat on her pretty good, and if you hadn’t turned your back on her, she might be taken care of right now.”
“How was I to have seen it coming?” Ed whined. “Anyway, that’s what can happen when you train kids for war. Sometimes they turn on you… and the kind of shape Stacey’s in, I’m not too surprised she got away.” He rubbed his jaw, which still hurt after Stacey’s fist had connected hard with it. “She may be just a little bitty thing, but she’s one of the strongest girls in the group. She’s damn smart, too. Her ideas, though, those still need considerable work.”
“She has those confidential documents, and we think she has that tape, too. If she manages to get those to anyone affiliated with ZOG, we’re done for, and you know it. We’ll never have the chance to defeat the Jewish conspiracy, and the white race will be killed off.” Carl’s voice was hard, and his eyes glittered with cruelty.
“I know, I know.” Ed sighed. He wasn’t quite as hard-core as Carl, and was constantly having to prove himself. “So what do you suggest? We can’t exactly go door to door in cammies with our AK’s here, you know. We’d give ourselves away in no time flat.”
Carl was quiet for a moment. “We’ll have to give it up, for now. There’s no way we can find her tonight, and I’m pretty damn tired. Coming all the way from Montana has done a real number on me. I mean, I’m tough, but even tough guys have to get some rest and food sometime. And I think I heard the Commander say something about a backup plan, in case we don’t get her tonight.”
“Backup plan? Then why is he so eager for this to work tonight?”
Carl sighed. Ed wasn’t exactly the brightest light the militia’s recruiters had found. “Because, you dumbass, if it doesn’t, it’ll take away energy and focus from the main plot. We can’t afford to lose manpower on something like this.”
“Oh, right. Isn’t there a WAPLA compound around here somewhere? I thought I heard the Commander say something about that.”
“Yeah, but it’s out of town about thirty miles, way back in the woods.” Carl sighed. “We better go now, I guess. We can take this up again when the weather clears. It’ll be easier then. God, I never figured California would be so quacking cold.”
“Record cold snap, from what I’ve heard.” Ed stood up. “Come on, Carl. We better get moving if we want to make it to the compound in time to get some rest. I’ve got their phone number on me, so we can have someone pick us up halfway.”

MacGyver flopped down on his couch, running his fingers through his long blond hair. He was tired. The last few days had been more than enough, even for him. The assignment Pete had sent him on had been tough, and he’d barely escaped with his life. So what else is new? he thought with a wry smile. He’d come out of “retirement” and come back to California, picking up where he’d left off. He was experienced, but that didn’t make it any easier. Next time I see Pete, I’m definitely telling him I want a long vacation, and I’m not going to accept “just one more minor assignment” first. On the other hand, the holidays were over, which was a relief. MacGyver had had a tough time with Christmas for a long time; he always thought of his mother. She had been gone for nearly fifteen years, but the pain was still fresh, especially so at the holidays.
He looked around. It was quiet on his houseboat, and the rain was pounding hard against the windows. It rarely rained like this in Los Angeles, and when it did, it made for a nice change of pace. The temp had dropped; the thermometer read low forties, and with the wind, Mac was willing to bet it felt more like thirty. January in California. A little warmer than back home, but not by much. The weatherman had said this was the coldest snap California had seen in almost fifty years, and the citrus growers were losing money by the bushel. The water in the marina was just a little rough, making the houseboat rock gently. It felt nice, though. How many people were this lucky, getting to live on the water? He was doubly lucky: though the houseboat he used to own had burned almost five years before, he had been able to find this one, which was just as nice, and a little bigger. It had an extra bedroom, which came in handy when his son decided to spend a few days with him, plus some room for his computer equipment and extensive library. That loft I had for awhile was nice, but the houseboat was always my favorite, he thought.
Mac had already eaten, and was thinking about what to do next. It was still early: not quite six o’clock yet. A movie, maybe? It had been a long time since he’d seen a good Western flick. But with that rain and wind… well, it would be tough getting to the store; visibility was awful. The power had been on the blink since the storm started, anyway. With his luck, it would cut out right in the middle of the movie. He was sitting on the couch, trying to think of something to do, when he heard a creak out on the deck.
A visitor? Well, that would be nice. He got up and strode to the door, getting there just as his best friend and boss Pete Thornton came into view on the other side of the glass door. Mac sighed, hoping Pete was there just to shoot the breeze, not to ask him to take on another assignment.
“Hey, Pete. Miss me already? I hope to God you don’t have another assignment for me.”
Pete grinned as he stepped inside, out of the rain, folding his umbrella and shaking off water. “Nope. Just thought I’d drop by… the family is out of town for a few days, and I’m bored stiff. Besides, we still have some catching up to do. How’d it go?” Pete watched the younger man’s face darken for a moment. “That bad, huh?” He and Mac knew each other well enough by now that each could tell what the other was thinking, even without words.
“Worse… don’t ask.” Mac groaned and went to the fridge. “You want something?” He took out a bottle of water.
“No, thanks, I’m fine.” Pete carefully made his way over to a chair and sat down. His glaucoma was getting worse: he could still see, but not very well anymore. Good thing Mac never rearranges his furniture, he thought wryly. He’d had to give up driving quite some time ago, but he could still make out his best friend’s face.
“Well, there’s plenty here, so if…” Mac stopped suddenly. “You hear that?”
They both listened as a soft creak or two issued from the deck.
“Yeah. Sounds like someone’s on the boat. You expecting anyone else?”
“No…” Suddenly they heard a weak cry and a thump. “Someone’s out there, Pete. And it doesn’t sound good.”
“Want me to call 911?”
Mac shook his head, even as his long legs carried him to the door quickly. “The phone’s been out since this storm started, and my cell doesn’t work, either.” He looked at Pete. “Well, let’s see what’s up, anyway.”
He opened the door cautiously and looked around. Seeing a small figure lying on the deck, he took a sharp breath. “Pete, I think you better give me a hand here.”
Mac hurried over to the small person lying motionless on the deck. By the light on the deck, he could make out a young woman’s face. Her eyes were closed, but as he felt for her pulse, he could see that she was breathing. Her pulse was a bit weak, but steady.
Pete stepped forward. “What is it?”
Mac crouched down, and picked up the young woman. “Hold the door for me, will you?” He brought her in, laying her on the couch.
Pete moved beside him. “Oh my God.” His face froze in shock. He couldn’t see much, but what he could see was awful.
Mac couldn’t even speak, as his deep hazel eyes took in what was before him… and his mind tried to process it. The woman—or more accurately—teenage girl who now lay on his couch, was a terrible sight.
She was a petite girl, maybe sixteen or so, with short blond hair. Her face was badly bruised, with two black eyes and puffy lips. She’d been smacked in the nose, and the blood was starting to dry below her nose and around her mouth. She wore soaked, tattered jeans and worn sneakers, a red T-shirt, and a black jacket that was much too light for this weather was tied around her slim waist. She looked to be in fairly good shape, tight abs and upper arms. Her arms were covered in bruises, though, and her left elbow was virtually black. Mac had had to move her left arm slightly when he laid her down, and her elbow, already scraped, had moved funny, with a faint grinding noise. Mac was no doctor, but he knew a broken elbow when he saw one.
“What the hell…?” Mac was speechless. This was the worst he’d seen in a long time. “We should get her to the ER.”
“We can’t, Mac. The rain is coming down so bad, you can hardly see a foot in front of the car. The temp is dropping fast, and this rain may well start freezing soon. The weatherman is talking record lows tonight. My cab driver nearly went off the road at least four times on the way over. And my cell is dead, too. I just tried it.”
“Of all nights for us to get a taste of real winter…” Mac scowled and shook his head. “Any ideas, Pete? I can tell you she’s at least got a broken elbow.”
Pete scratched his head. “Who is she? Did she have any kind of bag with her? Any ID at all?”
“I’ll check.” MacGyver stepped out onto the deck again, playing his flashlight around carefully. There, in the corner, he could make out a good-sized dark package of some kind. He stepped forward, and found a large, heavy, dark backpack. He picked it up and hurried back inside, shivering.
Pete was sitting beside the girl, watching her carefully. “We need to get her out of these wet clothes.”
“Yeah, I know, but I don’t want her to come around while when we’ve got her clothes off, and freak out on us.” Mac gave his friend a wry grin. “She’s probably going to be pretty scared, anyway. But we can at least get that jacket off her.” He untied the jacket, and pulled it out from under the girl’s body, then hung it up on the arm of the chair. He reached for a woolen blanket, and covered the girl with it. “That should help a little. Wool is warm, even when it’s wet.”
He unzipped the backpack, finding clothes, some simple toiletries—soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, comb—and a wallet. He flipped it open. $30 in cash, an ATM card, a Visa card, an ID. Then, reaching into the pack again, his fingers touched something else, and he looked in. An audiotape, in a plastic bag. There was also a larger plastic bag that looked to be full of papers. What the hell…? Pete watched him intently. “Do we know who our mystery girl is? And what have you got there?”
“Yeah, her name is Elizabeth Ross. But something’s weird about this, Pete.”
“What?”
Mac was about to show Pete the tape and the bag full of papers, and to try to articulate the idea nagging at the back of his mind. Suddenly Elizabeth moaned and started to move a bit. “I think she’s coming around, Pete.” Mac took a seat beside the injured girl on the edge of the couch, and waited for her to open her eyes.