Phoenix Field Agent
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Joined: 11 Jan 2006
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Season: season 3
Episode:Passages
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Black leather
House: House boat
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This part is a little more intense (hence the R rating).
Hidden Kisses Part Five
Rated: R
When MacGyver regained consciousness, the overpowering urge to vomit greeted him unpleasantly, followed by excruciating muscle spasms that balled and contracted throughout every part of his body, making it difficult to move without causing more pain. Groaning, he tried to relieve himself of the sick feeling in his stomach, but all he could manage was dry heaves. The muscle spasms grew worse, his body contorting and curling in on itself, stiffening and tightening until all he could do was lie on the floor, twisting in agony. Alternately, he felt hot or extremely cold, shivering while soaked in sweat. He didn’t understand where he was or what had happened to him, the drug making his mind hazy and unfocused. He tried to see, but even his eyes weren’t cooperating, everything he looked at taking the faint, blurry outline of a ghostly image. Whimpering and moaning, he made a few unintelligible grunts, trying to speak, to call out for help or relief. The room began to spin and he felt like he was drowning, unable to stop as the blurs became streaks of light as the spinning increased. Clutching at his head and closing his eyes, he lay twitching, hoping it would cease soon. It did, and he felt like retching again, but again all he managed were dry heaves, his stomach rolling and grumbling violently. Unable to bear the pain any longer, he passed out again.
“MacGyver,” a voice echoed, stirring him.
“Mmmmm…..” He moaned, slowly returning to consciousness once more.
At first, he felt extremely groggy, but it quickly faded, replaced with an intense feeling of urgency and the need to move. Even the queasiness was gone. All he wanted to do now was hide from whatever danger was threatening him. He didn’t know what it was—he could barely understand the shapes of the room, everything surrounding him distorted and disorienting him—but he knew something was going to harm him if he didn’t take action immediately. Jumping up, he ran to the corner of the room, crouching and preparing to strike his unseen enemy. His eyes darted around, and his body was tense and alert, coiled tightly and ready for attack. Raw instinct replaced any intellectual faculties he usually had. Those were impaired by the drug. All he wanted to do now was fight, but he was also fearful, his emotions overpowering, controlling him. He seemed like little more than an animal in his current state, a brutalized animal seeking protection but revenge as well. He remained in the corner of the room for awhile, sweating and trembling, waiting for the perfect opportunity to lash out, his heart pounding.
“Look at him,” Fyodor said, grinning, watching him under the influence of his experimental drug in fascination. “MacGyver is a physical, strong man. Stripped down to nothing but his purest emotions, he becomes a one man killing force.”
He was standing in the room with MacGyver, his security detail surrounding him in case MacGyver acted out unpredictably, ready to restrain him if necessary. So far, he didn’t seem to notice that they were even in the room with him, his eyes focused on some distant point.
“MacGyver,” Fyodor said again, watching his reaction.
Startled, MacGyver looked around the room, still not seeing Fyodor or his men.
“Danger,” he said, his eyes wild. He blinked away sweat that rolled into them.
“Yes, MacGyver, you are in danger,” Fyodor said, his voice calm and soothing, hoping he could direct his new weapon as well as he predicted he could.
“Where…where…”
“It is all right, MacGyver. I will tell you where, but you must listen. Can you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Amazing,” one of Fyodor’s men said.
“These are the hypnotic powers of the drug. As you can see, MacGyver is highly receptive. We will use it to our advantage.” He turned to look at MacGyver again, still crouched in the corner of the room, trembling with adrenaline. “I have located your target. This person wants you dead. Your job is to kill this person before that happens. Do you understand?”
MacGyver nodded, a determined yet lost look in his eyes.
Fyodor smiled. “Good,” he said. He approached MacGyver carefully, watching for any sudden erratic behavior, a gun in his hand.
“Be careful,” one of his men said. “You do not know what he will do. He could become excitable.”
Fyodor stopped and turned, showing the gun. “That is why I have this,” he said. “If anything should go wrong, I will just shoot him, Vanessa too.”
“That is what we should have done in the first place, instead of gambling on this drug of yours to work!”
“I will not hear this now!” Fyodor shouted. He lowered his voice. “Besides, I have only begun my game.”
He returned to MacGyver, who still didn’t seem to see him. “I have your weapon, MacGyver. You must use it to eliminate your target. It is the only way,” he said, gently placing the gun in MacGyver’s sweaty hands, wrapping his long fingers around it, making sure he held it. “You must use it. Do you understand? It is the only way.” He repeated his words in order to reinforce their importance, knowing of MacGyver’s aversion to guns and hoping that he would be more pliable and more willing to use it while drugged.
MacGyver was vaguely aware of something being placed in his hands. Unsure of what it was or how it got there, he looked down at the object and studied it for a long time. He couldn’t understand what he was looking at, the object not registering as anything in his confused, frightened mind.
Fyodor noticed the bewildered expression on his face and began to worry. “It is a gun, MacGyver,” he said. “You do know that, do you not? You must use it against your target. It is the only way.”
Slowly, the unrecognizable shape morphed into a gun in MacGyver’s mind. He could see it clearly now, and he remembered how to use one. What he couldn’t quite get a firm grip on was why it felt so foreign in his hands. Something about it seemed wrong. Something about his whole situation seemed wrong, but he was groping blindly trying to figure it out and not having any success. All he could feel was a sense of danger and a need to protect himself from that danger. He pulled back the safety on the gun, the click alerting Fyodor’s men, who prepared to pull their weapons. Fyodor waved them off, smiling at MacGyver, relieved that he now had a clearer sense of his mission.
“Good, MacGyver,” he said. “Now, I will lead you to this target. Can you see me?”
“Where…”
“I am directly in front of you, MacGyver.”
The shapes in the room shifted again, the figure of Fyodor revealing itself to MacGyver, except he didn’t know him as Fyodor. All he knew was that this strange man was going to help him. He looked like a mere shadow with no defined features at all—an amorphous blot of darkness. MacGyver struggled to see him more clearly, but nothing would focus.
“You do see me now, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“All right. You must follow me, and I will show you where your target is. Do you still trust me, MacGyver?”
Even though he was looking at Fyodor, his eyes still seemed distant. “Yes,” he said, his voice almost mechanical.
“Good. Now, you must follow me.”
MacGyver stood, cautiously looking around him, making sure he wouldn’t be ambushed. Faint memories of slinking through jungles, low to the ground, covered in mud, camouflage, and foliage to evade the enemy returned to him, although he couldn’t place them or frame them precisely in his jumbled mind. The feeling of danger grew increasingly real to him as he followed the shape in front of him, and he began to feel as if he might be back in that jungle, and perhaps he had never left it.
Fyodor stepped out of the room, his men parting to let him out along with MacGyver. He pointed at Vanessa, still tied helplessly to the chair. He nodded at the men watching her, telling them to back away yet remain close by should something happen unfavorably. Understanding his nonverbal communication, they nodded silently in return and moved away, watching MacGyver.
“Your target is over there,” Fyodor said. “Do you see?”
Squinting, MacGyver looked. Once again, he didn’t see anything initially, but soon an image formed in his mind of the target as suggested by Fyodor. Vanessa tied to the chair took the shape of another man with a gun, stalking him. The man’s back was to him, making a surprise attack easier. Without answering Fyodor, his black shape disappearing completely from MacGyver’s mind at that point, he moved stealthily towards the target, knowing nothing but that he had to kill this person. He felt it intensely, knowing there was no alternative. He was in serious danger.
***
Vanessa knew that when Fyodor’s grunts moved away from her that she only had moments to live. When she saw MacGyver walking towards her with a gun in his hands, her suspicions were confirmed. They were going to use him as the instrument of her death. She had witnessed Fyodor on many occasions experimenting with mind control techniques, and now he had implemented them, using MacGyver as his subject. She could tell immediately by looking at him that he wasn’t fully aware of his actions or his surroundings. A hard, set, angry yet also frightened expression crossed his features; hate and rage in his eyes along with a distant cloudiness, revealing how much his emotions were being influenced by external forces beyond his control. She was glad to see they hadn’t beaten him too badly, a bruise forming on his cheek but little else. Still, he had been beaten mentally, whether it was by drugs or something else. All she could do now was try to convince him not to kill her. It pained her to see him like this, looking lost but yet so certain of his need to harm her.
“MacGyver, please,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “You have to know it’s me. You have to.”
“Drop the gun,” he said, staring at her.
“I don’t have a gun. I’m not armed. Mac, it’s me. It’s Vanessa. You have to hear me.”
MacGyver flinched at the sound of her name. He searched his mind, trying to make sense of what the man with the gun pointed at him was saying. Most of it sounded like garbled nonsense. He hesitated for a moment, lowering the gun slightly. Noticing this, one of Fyodor’s men prepared to move forward and shoot, but Fyodor held him back.
“Wait,” he said.
MacGyver raised the gun again, and Fyodor smiled.
“I said, drop the gun!” MacGyver shouted, his voice echoing through the cavernous warehouse, his rage increasing.
“Mac, I don’t have a gun!” Vanessa said, sobbing. “Please hear me. You’ve got to stop! Please!”
“You tried to kill me,” MacGyver said, clenching his teeth and working his jaw with his seething anger, barely able to contain himself.
“You know I didn’t,” Vanessa said, watching his blurry image through tearful eyes. “You have to see things as they are. I’m tied to a chair, Mac. I can’t hurt you. I love you. Please…”
“I have to kill you before you kill me,” MacGyver said, pointing the gun at her chest.
“No! Please…don’t let that drug or whatever Fyodor did to you cloud your judgment. Come back to me. You can do it! You can beat it! Don’t let them destroy us! I love you! MacGyver!”
Somewhere in the distance, MacGyver thought he heard a woman shouting at him, telling him that she loved him. It distracted him for a moment. Where had the voice come from? He searched for a source, but all he saw was the man pointing a gun at him. Vanessa saw a brief glimmer of recognition in his eyes.
“That’s right, Mac. It’s Vanessa. I’m here. I’m sitting right in front of you. Please come back to me. I love you.”
Lowering his gun, MacGyver thought he heard the woman’s voice again. When he looked up, the man was still standing there. He prepared to fire, and MacGyver acted quickly, knowing that he had been tricked into weakening his resolve. There was no woman pleading with him—there was only this man shooting at him. He raised his gun again and fired.
***
The gunshot blast pierced Vanessa’s shoulder and sent her crashing backwards. She released a cry of pain that seemed to shatter the illusions MacGyver had mistaken for reality. Gone was the man with the gun. In his place was Vanessa, tied to a chair, on her back, bleeding and sobbing. Sharp pain filled his head as he struggled to understand what he had just done and what he was now looking at, trying to place the two images together in his mind to make sense of them but failing. Had he really shot Vanessa? He couldn’t remember her being there. Where was the man with the gun that tried to kill him? Unless that man had never been real in the first place. But he seemed real. Now, Vanessa was in front of him instead, wounded. He had pulled the trigger on a man that was no longer there. Was this some kind of cruel trick of his mind? He had shot the man, he was certain of it. He couldn’t have shot Vanessa. Dropping the gun, he rubbed his face frantically with his hands, desperate to clear his mind and understand, hoping that when he looked again, he would see the wounded man, not Vanessa. Opening his eyes, he saw that she was still there.
“Oh God,” he said, feeling sick, crumpling to the floor near her. “What have I done? Vanessa…” he began sobbing.
“It’s all right, MacGyver,” she said weakly. “It’s all right.”
“I…I shot you…oh God…how…how could I…”
His sobs grew louder. He turned to her and began untying her bonds, stroking her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I killed you. I’m so sorry…”
“Mac, you didn’t kill me,” she said. But as she looked at him, she could tell he was lost in his own world again, his eyes seeing her but not. He stroked her hair absently.
“I’m so sorry,” he kept saying, seeing nothing but her corpse. He held her, weeping.
He never noticed Pete and his men bursting through the building, rounding up Fyodor and the others, even though it caused a great commotion, shouting and gunshots exchanged around him. As the action died down and all the men were successfully apprehended, Pete felt safe enough to rush over to MacGyver and Vanessa. He saw the blood and knew he had to hurry.
“MacGyver, what happened? Are you all right?” He asked, kneeling close to the floor to get a better look. Vanessa was wounded, shot in the shoulder. MacGyver looked distraught, sobbing.
“I…shot her…I killed her…” he said.
“What? Mac, please look at me. You’re not making any sense.”
“He…did shoot me, Pete,” Vanessa said, feeling weaker each minute that passed as blood leaked out of her. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“What? No. MacGyver doesn’t use guns. Why would he do that to you?”
“I…killed her…”
Vanessa glanced at MacGyver as he continued to mutter and sob. “I think he’s been drugged,” she said, wincing and grabbing her bleeding shoulder.
“Get a medical team over here!” Pete shouted. He looked at Vanessa. “We’ll get you to the hospital immediately,” he said.
Vanessa smiled faintly. “I’ll be all right,” she said. Her smile faded. “Just please make sure MacGyver will be all right.” She took his hand and squeezed it to comfort him and reassure him that she would be fine, but he didn’t notice her, still sobbing.
Both of them watched as he sobbed, never looking more defeated in his life. It was unbearable to see him that way, so dejected he could do nothing. The shock in his dark brown eyes was devastating. As the medical team prepared to take Vanessa away on a gurney, Pete held MacGyver in an embrace, but MacGyver didn’t notice him, either.
“I…killed her…I…killed her…”
“No you didn’t, Mac. This wasn’t your fault. You’ve been drugged. Don’t worry, pal. I’m gonna get you out of here and get you checked out. Everything is going to be fine, I promise you. It’s over. You and Vanessa are safe.”
“I killed her…I killed her…”
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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Whoa... GREAT chapter. SO emotional. I can't wait for the next chapter...
