[MacsChick]

Here's part three--enjoy!

Waking the Dead Part Three
Rated: R

The truck slowed down, and MacGyver knew it was close to reaching its destination. Rolling clear of it, he looked up and saw that it had stopped near his house boat before continuing down the street. Relieved, he snuck off into the darkness, hoping no one would see him. A single light was on inside the house boat, and he knew that Pete was still there. Even if he had returned to find it completely dark, he knew Pete would be there. Grief tended to make people inattentive to anything but their own suffering, made them plant themselves in one area and remain motionless for hours, unmotivated to do little else. He knew—he had experienced it. When he reached the front door, he looked in the window. Sure enough, Pete was sitting on his sofa, a dazed and dejected expression furrowing his brow. He looked like he had aged ten years in a matter of hours, and MacGyver felt tremendous sympathy for him. He was unsure of how to enter, knowing that of course Pete would be elated to learn he was alive, but the initial shock of seeing him might be too much for him to handle. Realizing as he stood there at his own front door that there was no protocol for returning from the dead in such a dramatic fashion, he decided the only thing he could do was open that door and show him. Turning the knob and finding it unlocked, he entered.

A sound at the entrance to MacGyver’s house boat stirred Pete from his troubled thoughts. “Who’s there?” He asked.

His body and mind shifted from the lethargy of grief to the alertness of a man anticipating danger. Could the person who entered be the one who murdered MacGyver, returning to check on his handiwork? Pete steeled himself, prepared to clutch whatever he could find nearby to use as a weapon. When he looked up, he knew he didn’t need a weapon to defend himself, but the frightening specter that stood before him made him too shocked to even react. He stood fully, aghast when he saw MacGyver, who had been declared dead twenty four hours ago, standing there. His wild, dirty appearance along with the sheets that covered his pale, half-naked body made him look like an apparition out of a horror story, the identification tag still dangling from his toe. For a moment, Pete wondered if he was either hallucinating from his long, restless hours of waiting and mourning or somehow being haunted by the ghostly image of MacGyver, as if willing him to appear out of a strong desire to see him again and a denial of the tragic events that had transpired a day earlier, refusing to believe he was gone. He remained still, staring at him, speechless. He couldn’t really be back. It was impossible. His mind couldn’t make sense of what he was looking at.

“MacGyver?” He asked, choking on his disbelief, approaching him slowly. “Is that really you?”

MacGyver tried to speak, to convince Pete that yes, strange and improbable as it may seem, he was alive, that he wasn’t some figment of his tortured imagination, but for the first time, he realized he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. His mouth opened, but no sound would come out even if he strained. Not even a small sound escaped his throat, his muscles remaining stilled. They felt cold and numb, paralyzed as the rest of his body had been. Shivering, panic rising in him as he wondered if his muteness was permanent unlike the rest of his immobility had been, he communicated his concern to Pete through his eyes, widening them and staring at him, expressing the urgency of his situation. All his predictions about the possibility of the poison remaining in his system proved true, much to his dismay.

“My God, it really is you,” Pete said, not noticing how wide and pleading his friend’s dark eyes were, desperate to tell him he couldn’t talk.

Sobbing out of joy instead of grief, Pete fell into MacGyver’s arms, clutching him tightly in an embrace, amazed to feel a solid body instead of a wisp of transparent nothingness. He was real, not a cruel illusion. He listened as MacGyver’s heart pounded in his chest where in those nightmarish hours earlier, it had been still and nonexistent. It was another miraculous confirmation that his friend wasn’t lost to him, after all. He had escaped the inescapable—death. He held him, refusing to let him go this time. He would never let him go so easily again.

“You’re alive!” He said, laughing through his tears. “Thank God, you’re alive! But…how? I…I don’t understand…what happened to you? Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’ve come back to me. Oh Mac…”

Even though MacGyver was glad that Pete was relieved to see him alive, it seemed as if he would never release him from the tight grip of the hug, his inability to speak growing more urgent. Trying to get his overjoyed friend’s attention, he tapped him several times on the back. Feeling the taps and realizing after awhile that they weren’t random pats, Pete deciphered them as Morse code spelling out his name. He pulled away from MacGyver and looked at him, now seeing the fear in his eyes.

“MacGyver, what is it? What’s wrong?” He asked.

MacGyver opened his mouth and tried to speak again, but again nothing happened. Frantically, he searched for a pad of paper and a pen, Pete watching him, completely puzzled, still trying to grasp the concept that he was alive and moving, adjusting his mind to the new reality as he had to when he thought he was dead.

“MacGyver, I don’t understand what’s happening,” he said. “Talk to me!”

Finding a scrap of paper and a pencil in his kitchen drawer, MacGyver scribbled furiously, shoving what he wrote in Pete’s direction. Pete read the scrawled, hurried handwriting.

I can’t talk.


He looked up at MacGyver. “You mean, whoever did this to you has bugged this place?” He asked.

MacGyver shook his head, snatching the note from Pete and adding to it. When he was done, he handed it back to him.

I was poisoned with something. It made me look like I was dead, but I wasn’t. It paralyzed my body, stopping all my functions except my brain. My vocal chords are still paralyzed. It must be left over from the poison.

Pete dropped the note on the counter and stared at MacGyver, stunned, everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours too amazing and fantastic to believe.

“I…I didn’t know…you were alive all that time?” He asked.

MacGyver nodded.

“Oh God, I can’t imagine…the horror of what you must have gone through…I’m so sorry…to think of what could have happened if I let them…”

MacGyver reached out and placed his hand supportively on Pete’s shoulder, nodding. The sincerity in his eyes communicated that he knew Pete didn’t think he had any alternative in that situation. The drug had so realistically copied death that there was no way he could have known he was still alive inside that stiffened, silent body. His eyes tearing again, Pete reached up and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. For the first time after experiencing a cycle of volatile emotions in the past twenty-four hours—from disbelief to shock, sadness, and elation—Pete noticed how pitiful MacGyver looked, smudged with dirt, barely covered in hospital linens, and shivering. He touched him lovingly on the cheek.

“Aw Mac,” he said. “I’ve got to get you back to the hospital. We need to find out what kind of poison this is before it harms you even more than it already has. I don’t want to lose you for real.”

MacGyver bowed his head, sighing and closing his eyes, fighting back his own tears even though he was glad to feel their watery presence in his eyes after hours of them being sealed shut. Pete placed both hands on his shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay friend,” he said, smiling. “Do you know who did this? Did you get a chance to see them?”

MacGyver looked up at Pete and shook his head, his eyes filled with sadness.

“That’s all right,” he said. “We’ll start looking for him. In the meantime, we have to try to cover up the fact that you’re alive and that you’re missing from the morgue. If whoever did this somehow learns that you survived, they won’t stop until they succeed in killing you, and you know that.”

MacGyver nodded and managed a small smile, silently thanking him.

“It’s okay Mac,” Pete said, hugging him again and stroking his hair to comfort him, more tears moistening his eyes. “You’re going to be all right now.”

MacGyver released another sigh and buried his face in Pete’s shoulder, returning the embrace tightly, never thinking he would make contact with anyone again. The phone rang, startling Pete.

“That’s probably Dr. Carr,” he said, releasing MacGyver and looking at him. “I’m sure he’s got some story to tell.” He smiled, and MacGyver smiled back.

Pete rushed to answer the phone. He barely managed a greeting when he heard the usually calm, reasoned tone of Dr. Carr rise to a frantic pitch.

“Pete, MacGyver’s body is missing,” he said. “I…I don’t know how it could have happened or who could have done it, but…”

“It’s okay, Doctor, Mac’s here,” Pete said. He looked behind him and saw that MacGyver was ascending his spiral staircase, understandably wanting to get cleaned up and dressed before returning to the hospital, wanting to resemble the living again instead of a newly revived corpse.

“What?”

“It’s a long story, but he’s fine. He was never dead.”

“Have you lost your mind with grief or something? How is that even possible?”

“I’m not sure, but it is. Look, he was poisoned with something that made him appear dead, but he wasn’t. He’s here with me now, getting ready. We’ll be in shortly, and you can see for yourself. Just…please, try not to spread the news of his body missing to too many people if you can avoid it. I’ll show you he’s all right, but we need to be careful and as quiet about this as possible. Understand?”

Pete could hear Dr. Carr make several inarticulate grunts as he struggled to respond to something so outrageous. He empathized with him, understanding exactly how he felt, still trying to accept the existence of his friend again after his death had seemed so final.

“I…guess so,” he said at last. “Pete, how in the hell…”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Pete said.

***

“This is extraordinary,” Dr. Carr said, examining MacGyver, listening to his heartbeat. “His vital signs appear to be normal, yet only hours ago he was clinically dead. I saw him. How can this be?”

He was staring at MacGyver with wide-eyed fascination as if he were a new scientific discovery, something that made him uncomfortable, shifting his gaze towards Pete. He still couldn’t speak, even after making several more attempts. Pete watched him working his mouth silently in sympathy.

“I told you over the phone,” Pete said. “MacGyver says he was poisoned.”

“About that,” Dr. Carr said, grabbing some papers and reading them. “I located the injection site for the poison on his neck, but it was so small I almost missed it. Also, our lab results indicate a faint trace of a foreign substance in his body, but we can’t identify it.”

“Can’t identify it?” Pete asked. “Come on, Doctor! MacGyver’s been poisoned! We need to know what it is so we can find an antidote! He could still be dying!”

MacGyver turned back to face Dr. Carr, searching him with his eyes, begging for an explanation. How could they not be able to identify it? Whoever had done this was even more sophisticated than he first thought, creating something so complex that it couldn’t be traced.

Dr. Carr shook his head, feeling that what he was witnessing defied science. A man who should have been dead was sitting there, staring at him, very much alive. It seemed beyond his abilities. Even the best, most logical explanation he could offer seemed inadequate for the situation.

“That’s what’s so unusual about this,” he said. “So far, from what I can tell based on the evidence of his physical examination, MacGyver is perfectly healthy and does not appear to be in any danger.”

“Except that he can’t talk,” Pete said.

“I believe that his body is metabolizing the substance, slowly breaking it down. He regained mobility and his vital signs returned to normal, so there is every possibility that he’ll soon begin speaking again as well. That he can’t speak at the moment could be due to the fact that the substance was injected into his neck and therefore its highest concentration is there. It could only be a matter of time.”

“I sure hope so.”

MacGyver’s eyes were filled with deep concern, showing he hoped so as well. As relieved that he was alive and almost fully functioning again, he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life unable to speak. Even for a man of few words, every one he uttered was essential. He couldn’t be an agent without effective communication. He stared at Dr. Carr again, longing to ask him more about the substance he found, frustrated that he couldn’t.

“Is there any chance you’ll ever be able to find out what the substance is?” Pete asked.

MacGyver looked at him and smiled, silently thanking him for probing further, something he was incapable of doing. Pete was acting as his interpreter.

Dr. Carr shrugged. “I’ll tell you, Pete, this one has us baffled,” he said. “We’ll keep testing it and searching for answers, but based on the scant information I have now, it might take awhile.”

“But who would do such a thing? Invent a drug that could for a short period completely paralyze someone and simulate death, only to have it leave the body without permanently damaging it?”

Good Pete. Keep asking questions. Stay curious. MacGyver said, still trapped in his mind from his inability to speak.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Carr said. “You said MacGyver has many enemies, that it’s the nature of your business. Did he manage to identify his attacker before the drug took effect?”

MacGyver shook his head.

“The point is, we’re going to have to be extremely cautious,” Pete said. “I know the story of a man awakening from death is a tantalizing one for the papers, but you have to keep everyone who is working on this from leaking anything. If this person learns that Mac’s still alive…”

“Don’t worry, Pete. I have control over my people. No one will know.”

“Good.”

MacGyver pushed himself to speak, just as he pushed his body to move, hoping eventually to make a sound.

“Mmm…mmmm…” he whimpered, struggling with his vocal chords. This time, he was surprised to find that he did manage to make a noise. It vibrated through his throat, the tingling sensation strange after so many hours of stillness.

“MacGyver?” Pete asked, standing up and rushing to his side. He looked up at Dr. Carr. “He’s trying to speak! You were right. The poison must be breaking down some more.” He placed a supportive hand on MacGyver’s leg. “Come on, Mac, you can do it!”

“Pete,” MacGyver said, his voice barely a whisper, the word grating and raw against his throat, unused to moving. Still, it was a result, and he smiled.

Laughing, Pete embraced him. “This is wonderful!” He said. “Mac, I’m so relieved!”

“Me too,” MacGyver said, his voice still faint. He grinned. “You have no idea.”

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Carr asked, marveling again at his miracle patient.

“Fine,” MacGyver squeaked, “considering I’m back from the dead.” He smiled.

Pete laughed again and patted him on the back.

“I’m glad to hear it, especially from you,” Dr. Carr said. “We’re probably still going to need to keep you here for observation, just to make sure that this poison exits your body completely without harm.”

“How...long?” MacGyver asked.

“A few days possibly.”

As much as he hated hospitals, given the gravity of what he had just been through, he understood. “What happens after that?” He asked.

“What did you say, Mac? I’m having difficulty hearing you,” Pete said.

“I think he asked what will happen next,” Dr. Carr said.

“Oh, well, you’ll be released of course, but given what happened, we’re probably going to have to keep you in a safe house,” Pete said.

MacGyver winced. “Pete…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Mac. Your life is still in danger. It would only be until we find who did this to you.”

“I know, but that could take forever,” MacGyver said, his voice still sounding distant, like a hissing radio with poor reception. “We don’t even know where to begin looking for this guy.”

“I know, but it has to be done this way, you know that. You have to be protected. I…don’t want to see you die for real.”

“I know, Pete. Thanks. There just has to be some better way to catch this guy. Unless…” A wide, childlike grin spread on his face, the kind he got whenever a brilliant idea struck him.

“What is it, Mac? What are you thinking?” Pete asked.

MacGyver cleared his throat, trying to see if he could speak louder. It helped, but only slightly, his voice still quiet so that Pete and Dr. Carr had to listen carefully, leaning in close to him to hear every word he said.

“This guy probably got a lot of satisfaction out of seeing me…almost dead. He wanted to extend my death, make me suffer until I actually did die. He won’t be happy until he knows his job is finished. He’s most likely hanging around out there, somewhere close by, waiting.”

“So, what do you suggest?” Pete asked.

Another sly grin formed on MacGyver’s face. “I never thought I’d attend my own funeral,” he said.

To be continued…

[Lothithil]

heh heh! HOW did I know?

*waits eagerly for next chapter*