[MacsChick]

After a late night of writing, I present to you...the next part! Enjoy!

Hidden Kisses Part Six
Rated: PG

Soft lips touched MacGyver’s, warm and welcoming. Although he couldn’t see the source, he knew he was safe, and he never wanted the kiss to end. Slowly, his vision returned to him, and the woman kissing him materialized—it was Vanessa. She smiled at him, stroking his cheek. Her smile transformed into a painful grimace as she cried out, her body falling to the floor in a pool of blood. Looking down in horror, he realized he had a gun in his hand, and he had dealt the fatal shot when only moments ago he was kissing her, loving her presence and never wanting her to leave him. He had betrayed her in the worst possible way imaginable. He had killed her. The gun grew larger, overwhelming his field of vision, while Vanessa bleeding to death and staring up at him in disbelief, pleading with him shrank until she was gone. The instrument of his guilt and his crime continued to grow, weighing him down until soon it was crushing him and suffocating him.

“NO!” He shouted.

“MacGyver!” Pete said, grabbing his friend’s arm, trying to prevent him from thrashing around on his hospital bed and injuring himself. He watched as his friend grew pale, his eyes wild with terror. “It’s okay now. It’s Pete.”

“P…Pete?” MacGyver asked, searching him with his eyes as if trying to make sure he was real.

“Yeah,” Pete said, gently taking his hand. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I killed her,” MacGyver said, sinking back down onto the bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “I shot her, Pete. I saw it. How could I do something like that? I loved her, and I…pulled the trigger, without mercy. Without compassion. I was completely heartless. And she died. Because of me.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he closed his eyes.

“No,” Pete said, placing his hand on MacGyver’s shoulder. “You didn’t kill her. You did shoot her, but she’ll be fine.” He sighed, finding it difficult to look at the misery on his friend’s face as more tears trickled down his cheeks. “Mac, you have to listen to me. You have to understand that what happened wasn’t your fault. Fyodor and his men drugged you. The drugs he injected in you were powerful enough that he could influence you to do anything he wanted. Fyodor pulled the trigger, not you.”

MacGyver opened his eyes, staring pitifully up at Pete. “But I held the gun,” he said, his voice distant and quiet. The trauma of what he had done was visible in his dark eyes. They seemed be without depth, deep black holes of grief and guilt.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” Pete said, “but it’s over now. Vanessa will heal. She forgives you and knows that you didn’t voluntarily shoot her. Fyodor and his men are gone, posing no further threat to either of you. The doctor tells me that you’re going to be fine too, Mac. He’s been monitoring you and making sure that the drug hasn’t given you any lasting effects, and so far, he thinks you’re going to make a full recovery.”

MacGyver turned his head away from Pete, staring out the window in his hospital room. “That doesn’t excuse what I’ve done,” he said. “I still pointed a gun at her and fired. Nothing will ever make that right.”

Pete found himself choking back tears as well. He had seen MacGyver suffer before, retreating into a solitary, harsh world of guilt, self-pity, hatred, and punishment, but he had never seen him quite like this before. He knew how much his friend despised guns, and he knew he had legitimate reasons. It wasn’t just the early childhood tragedy with his friend—another incident involving a gun in his past had also nearly destroyed him emotionally. Now, the object of his hatred had returned to his hands, causing more pain and needless violence, sweeping him up in it beyond his control.

“You won’t visit Vanessa?” He asked, already knowing MacGyver’s answer.

MacGyver shrugged, resigned. “Why should I?” He asked. “After what I’ve done…”

“She wants you to. She wants to reassure you that she’s going to be fine, and that she doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

MacGyver turned to look at Pete, his eyes still lifeless, deep chasms of remorse, moistened by tears. “You talked to her?” He asked.

“Awhile ago once she was out of surgery and cleared to have visitors. The first thing she asked for was you.”

MacGyver could tell by the concerned expression on Pete’s face and the earnestness in his eyes that he was telling the truth, not merely attempting to make him feel better. Still, he couldn’t bear to face her, to see her wounded—a wound he caused.

“I can’t, Pete,” he said, closing his eyes and burying them with the palms of his hands. “I can’t.”

***

“So, he won’t see me,” Vanessa said. She was bandaged, but somehow she looked stronger, healthier, and less fragile than MacGyver, who was ravaged by his guilt.

“I’m sorry, Vanessa,” Pete said, shaking his head. “He feels terrible for what happened.”

“Well, he doesn’t need to. I know what happened to him. I know how sick Fyodor is. There was nothing he could have done.”

“He doesn’t see it that way. Look, I know MacGyver. Beneath his cool exterior is a man who has been hurt, a man who feels immensely but is afraid to show it. When he does release his emotions, it’s almost as if they incapacitate him, making him incapable of anything but feeling those emotions intensely. He cares about people, and doesn’t like to see them hurt—especially if he believes he’s responsible.”

Vanessa smiled faintly. “Because he cares,” she said. She looked up at Pete. “He’s an honorable man.”

“Yes, he is.”

Vanessa sighed and looked down at the sheets on her hospital bed. “I can’t force him to see me,” she said. “He’ll have to decide for himself. In the meantime, maybe I should give him some room to make that decision.”

Pete licked his lips. “We are relocating you as a precaution,” he said, feeling awkward, knowing how much she cared for MacGyver. “Maybe that will give him the time apart from you that he needs to ease the vividness of the memories of what happened.”

Vanessa nodded slightly. “Maybe,” she said.

“In the meantime, I’ll see what else I can do to convince him.”

“No, I’d rather you not. We can’t force him. This is something he needs to do on his own.”

Pete nodded, knowing she was right. “I’ll let you rest,” he said, bowing slightly and leaving the room.

Once he was gone, Vanessa began sobbing. She had remained strong for Pete, not wanting to reveal how much she felt for MacGyver, even though she was certain he already knew. She released loud, unbridled sobs, allowing the tears to flow freely, realizing that she might not ever see him again because of the damage Fyodor caused, both mentally and physically, creating an irreparable rift between them.

“I love you, MacGyver,” she whispered.

***
Several Months Later…


Vanessa’s house boat was vacant, yet something of her lingered there and haunted MacGyver every time he passed it. At night, he could still feel her lips pressing against his, only to be replaced by images of the gun and her blood. He tried to show Pete that he was fine, taking assignments and blocking thoughts of his violent act, the act that had severed his relationship with Vanessa before it had ever been given a chance to fully begin. He spent his free hours strumming his guitar and watching his westerns, dozing on the sofa, the black and white horses racing across the screen becoming meaningless blurs as the joy of watching them faded and his emotions went flat, leaving him with nothing but the desire to hide in the oblivion of sleep and forgetfulness. He decided he would never involve himself with a woman again, let alone anyone else. Pete was his only constant friend, the only friend who hadn’t been hurt because of his actions. He became more of an isolate than before, shutting himself away in his houseboat like a hermit and refusing to take calls from anyone except Pete. At times he felt lonely, but he didn’t think he could handle the alternative. If there was one thing he learned, it was that once you let someone into your heart, there was always the potential that person would get hurt.

One afternoon while he was napping on his sofa, he felt Vanessa’s lips on his again. A part of him was aware it was a dream, and he dreaded what would happen next. The dream repeated itself frequently, always ending in the moment when he raised the gun and fired it at her. He knew in reality that she was alive, but that fact did little to console him. The dream was too vivid, and he could never control it, no matter how hard he tried. This time, he desperately fought to control it, since he was half aware of it occurring. The kiss continued, and strangely enough, it did not shift to the part when he shot her. Hopeful, he wondered if he for once was able to stop reliving the torment of watching her get shot by his own hand. He felt her breath on him as the kiss stopped, and he sensed her near him, feeling her body heat and hearing her slight movements just as he had when he first met her, chained up and blindfolded in the Russian prison. His dreams were usually realistic, but never on this level. He began to sense that she was actually present, hovering somewhere over him in the darkness of wherever he was. Moaning and shifting on the sofa, he struggled to fully regain consciousness, his eyelids heavy and stubborn, refusing to open at first. When he did manage to open them, he saw Vanessa.

“Hello MacGyver,” she said, a sad look in her eyes.

It relieved MacGyver to see her looking well, her arm no longer in a sling and no visible evidence of the wound he inflicted. It helped ease the returning feelings of guilt, but it did not fully alleviate them. He stared at her, a mixture of shock and shame overwhelming him.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, propping himself up on the sofa.

Vanessa smiled slightly. “You forget I used to be an agent, too,” she said. “I have my methods.”

She watched him, feeling sympathy for him. He looked pale, thin, and bedraggled, some stubble growing on his face. The poor man was still torturing himself—over her. She knew that proved how deeply he loved her, but it didn’t mean they could ever unite. One brief moment brought about by an evil and twisted man had ruined whatever existed between them.

“You want me to leave,” she said, noticing the stunned and morose expression on his face. He would barely even look at her, which made her want to cry, but she held back her tears.

“Yes.”

“Well, I won’t do that.”

MacGyver looked up at her in surprise, then anger, then sadness, the emotions rippling across his face. “Why have you come here, Vanessa?” He asked.

“Because I want to help you. I tried to stay away because I knew you needed time and space, but I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

MacGyver closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “God, I’m sorry.”

“MacGyver, it’s all right. You have to know that by now. You can’t change what happened. And I’m here, I’m alive.”

“Vanessa, I shot you,” MacGyver said, opening his eyes and staring at her, revealing his passion in those dark depths. “My God, I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

He looked down at the floor. “How can you even stand here in front of me after what I’ve done to you?” He asked.

“Because it wasn’t your fault. Because I forgive you. Because I love you.”

He looked up at her again.

“That’s right, MacGyver. I love you. You have to know that.”

“I just can’t erase the image from my mind…me, shooting you…all that blood…” he buried his head in his hands.

Vanessa carefully approached him, touching his shoulder. She could feel his body tremble, and she knew he was sobbing.

“I know,” she said. “I know. But I knew that wasn’t you. Fyodor tried to separate us and kill us, destroying what we feel for each other. Don’t let him succeed. We can still make something together, I know it. Don’t shut down your heart again, MacGyver. We can survive this.”

He looked up at her, his eyes moist and bloodshot. He reached out for her.

“Come here,” he said.

They fell into each other’s arms in a long embrace.

To be continued…

[MacGyverGod]

Nice work.

[MacsChick]

Thanks MG!

[trtlsoup]

*sniff*

Poor Mac. He's always beating himself up.

Terrific chapter!