As usual, all credit for the Spanish translations belongs to ghostdoll. Thank you again for all your support and suggestions!
Shake Hands with the Devil Part Five
Rated: R
The Present…
Anxious to tell MacGyver about his encounter with Enrique Cruz and how his suspicions had been confirmed, Pete returned to his house boat. A part of him was also still worried, wanting to remain there with him when he saw how in shock he still was, trembling and staring blankly. If MacGyver hadn’t insisted that he was fine and wanted to be left alone, Pete knew that there was a chance he might never have been able to arrange a meeting with Enrique and learn the stunning revelations that what MacGyver believed about Gutierrez was the truth. The news would both ease and unsettle his friend. An important member of the political underground agreed with him that indeed Gutierrez was the same man as El Diablo and was gathering all the necessary evidence he needed to prove that assertion to the world, but releasing that information in time before Gutierrez could assume power and once again become a threat was vital, and it remained uncertain as to if that could happen in an expedient timeframe. When he entered the house boat, he searched for his friend lounging on the sofa as was customary for him when resting. He didn’t see him. The house boat was quiet, the rocking motion with the gentle waves the only sign of any activity.
“MacGyver?” He called out, looking around.
An ear-splitting cry shattered the silence, originating from the upstairs bedroom. Pete ran up the spiral staircase to find MacGyver, flailing around in his bed, twisting his sheets into knots, moaning, locked in a disturbed sleep, drenched in sweat, his face pinched with agony.
“¡No voy a decirte nada! (I won’t tell you anything!)” He shouted.
Pete raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear him shouting in another language. He was speaking to his tormentor, begging with him, lost once again inside that unpleasant memory from the past.
“¡Por favor! ¡Déjenme ir! (Please! Let me go!) No…oh God! D-don’t do this to me! No! No…NOOOOO!”
His frightened screams wrenched painfully at Pete’s heart, stabbing at him like knives. He debated whether to wake him or not. Of course he wanted to end MacGyver’s nightmare, hating to watch him suffer, but he wasn’t sure of the best way to do it. If he shook him, he might only increase his friend’s agitated state, terrifying him even more in his confusion, causing him to lash out violently. The psychiatrist had warned him to be gentle and exercise caution whenever MacGyver had nightmares or flashbacks for that very reason. Now sobbing, his tears staining his pillow, MacGyver curled to his side and balled up his hand in a fist and began biting and sucking on it, regressing to a childlike state where he felt more comfortable, trying to hide from the painful visions assaulting him.
“Help me,” he mumbled. “I’m scared…lost…help…please…scared…”
“It’s all right, Mac,” Pete said in a soothing voice, once again assuming the role of surrogate father. “I’m here.”
MacGyver winced and squirmed some more, fighting his demons, and Pete knew he was sleeping too deeply to ever hear his comforting words. He felt helpless watching him, time doing nothing to erase how often he had felt that way since first seeing MacGyver in the hospital.
***
Five years earlier…
Pete had to wait before he got to visit MacGyver as he underwent emergency surgery to set his broken bones. It would be the first in a series of operations over a period of time to help him heal properly, and Pete would grow accustomed to waiting. For a time, he used to joke that MacGyver should take up residence in a hospital, getting injured as often as he did. It was a joke he shared with his friend, but now the situation was far more serious than it had ever been before. Dr. Sturm was the most accomplished surgeon in the state with incredible talent and the ability to reconstruct even what at first seemed to be the most hopeless cases, and he didn’t think it was any coincidence. Whoever had delivered MacGyver to that hospital must have known he would be receiving the best possible care at that particular hospital under that particular doctor.
“Mr. Thornton?” Dr. Sturm asked.
Pete looked up at her with tired, bloodshot eyes after hours of waiting. The distinguished surgeon was a petite yet formidable woman with strong, angular features, black hair tied back in a ponytail, and piercing dark eyes.
“You can see him now,” she said. “Follow me.”
Nothing could prepare Pete for what he saw. He heard the word “torture” from an inside source and knew to expect the worst, but actually seeing it was an entirely different experience. The man lying in the bed swathed in bandages didn’t look like the Mac he knew, the Mac he remembered. So thin that his skin was transparent and he could see his bones beneath it, he was covered in cuts, bruises, and several jagged stitches that would leave scars. Even with the broken bones reset into position, his body looked warped, twisted, and pulled out of shape. A tube was inserted in his throat and taped to his mouth, a ventilator helping him breathe and take the stress off his traumatized, weakened body and broken ribs. Several IV lines were in his arms, providing him with liquid nourishment and medication.
“We cleaned him up as best as we could,” Dr. Sturm said. “When he was brought in, he was coated in fecal matter and blood. His entire back is one massive infection, appearing to be the result of whip marks. We had to act quickly to administer antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medications to prevent his many cuts and wounds from becoming dangerously septic. He is severely malnourished, as you can see, and dehydrated, which is why we have the IVs. It wasn’t easy finding a vein that wasn’t damaged to insert them, and he has some internal damage that we had to fight to stop as well. We’ve also had to intubate him to reduce the strain on his lungs. We’re keeping him in a state of heavy sedation for the time being, so he will not awaken. His body is simply too severely compromised, and recovery is going to be a long, difficult process.”
“His broken bones?” Pete asked, choking back tears and fighting to contain the rage he felt towards the unfeeling animal that had done this to him.
Dr. Sturm sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Thornton,” she said. “The breaks were not clean, and therefore much more complicated to mend. He will need to undergo more surgeries and therapy to make sure they can function fully again, his fractures causing nerve and blood vessel damage.”
“So…what are we talking about? A few months?”
“If not more. I’m sorry.” She meant it, too. Pete could hear the emotion in her voice, breaking from her rational, detached, professional composure for a moment, seemingly as overwhelmed and distraught by the aftereffects of MacGyver’s torture as he was, never seeing anything so gruesome and objectionable in her medical career. His body was a mass of hurt, and she never thought it possible that one man could sustain so much damage and yet remain alive. “His condition is delicate and will require intensive monitoring.”
“Don’t worry,” Pete said, his voice still shaky from the tears that threatened. “I’ll be here. I won’t leave him.”
Dr. Sturm looked at him, impressed by his devotion to his friend. She managed a small smile that softened her sharp, tough appearance. “I’m sure you won’t,” she said.
She left him alone with MacGyver. No longer able to repress his feelings, Pete openly cried over his friend, wishing he could at least reassure him by touching him, holding his hand, but the broken fingers prevented him from taking any such comforting action, forcing him to remain separated from him, watching him helplessly as he remained still in his drug-induced sleep, the ventilator hissing, his heart monitor beeping steadily.
True to his word, Pete stayed with MacGyver as often as he could, using every spare moment he had to be by his bedside, much to the detriment of his own health. Dr. Sturm and her staff of nurses had to forcibly remove him on several occasions with orders to go home and rest so that they could check on their patient. Still, he always returned, keeping vigil over him, part of him wishing that MacGyver would never regain consciousness. Under sedation, even with his body as ruined as it was, he seemed almost peaceful. Once he awoke, he would have to relive the excruciating pain of his torture all over again, not to mention the inevitable psychological wounds he would experience. He may have been rescued, but his ordeal was far from over. When he regained consciousness, his nightmare would begin anew and perhaps last a lifetime, the scars on his body and his psyche following him and lingering.
As the weeks passed and MacGyver began to undergo his many painful surgeries and grueling therapy sessions, Pete often felt he was on the verge of losing control whenever his friend suffered a setback. MacGyver meanwhile seemed to bear his long recuperation with remarkable stoicism and patience, uncomplaining. Yet he was also withdrawn, saying little. Pete decided that his silence was part of his strength in the face of incredible adversity where the odds were not always in his favor and his full recovery was at times in doubt. He found himself admiring his friend’s attitude, never seeing anyone with so many challenges as he now faced handle it with such courage. It only proved to Pete that MacGyver’s indomitable will had not been completely crushed by his torturer, that he still had enough stubbornness and fortitude to cope with and overcome almost anything. At times, MacGyver was almost too aggressive, pushing and forcing himself hard in each therapy session, crying and howling in frustration when he wasn’t able to do more, demanding too much from his badly injured, weakened body. Usually encouraging, the physical therapist often chided him in disapproval when he behaved this way, telling him that he would only succeed in hurting himself even more if he persisted in such a manner. Still, he pressed on with a private, quiet determination that only he understood the reasons for his motivation. Although concerned for him when he acted that way, Pete nevertheless still found himself impressed and inspired, only hoping that if he were ever placed in such an unfortunate situation he could be just as strong.
Later, after MacGyver had been released from the hospital yet still visited the psychiatrist weekly, Pete learned that what he was witnessing in his friend wasn’t strength—it was fear and denial. He was afraid of appearing weak and fragile, refusing to mention anything about his torture to anybody except the psychiatrist, opening up only to her. When he spoke to Pete, he usually only said a few brief, terse words, attempting to smile empty smiles on occasion as if to prove that he was fine, that what he had endured didn’t bother him, that Pete didn’t need to worry about him when the reverse was actually true. It was as if he was ashamed, his torturer succeeding in degrading him and making him feel worthless. This realization didn’t occur for Pete immediately, almost as if he was also participating in the pretense, his desire for MacGyver to be all right so intense that he was blinded to the emotional baggage he was actually suffering beneath the thin surface of his calm veneer. Once he knew the truth, he couldn’t believe how easily he had been fooled, the rational side of him knowing that of course his friend would never be able to recover so easily. He only understood this when he saw MacGyver crack, when he saw how truly vulnerable he still was and would be for a long time.
One morning while he was staying with him at his house boat, Pete heard him running water for a shower. In his drowsy state, he thought little about it. As time elapsed and he became more alert, however, he realized that the water was still running. Checking the clock on MacGyver’s VCR in his living room, he noticed that MacGyver had been in the shower for two hours. For a moment, he didn’t believe that could be possible, that when he was still half asleep he must have been dreaming. Sleep, after all, often distorted one’s concept of time. As he listened, the water kept running, showing no signs of slowing down or stopping. Concerned, wondering if MacGyver had passed out of had fallen, his balance still a little unsteady from the broken ankle that had only recently healed, he rushed upstairs and tried to open the bathroom door, only to find it locked.
“MacGyver?” He asked, knocking gently on the door. “MacGyver, it’s me, Pete. Are you all right? Please, let me in.”
When he heard no response, he searched for the key to the bathroom door. Unlike his friend, Pete couldn’t fashion a clever substitute to pick the lock with, so his only hope was that key. He found it at last, resting on the top of the doorframe, gathering dust, his friend obviously never finding or needing a use for it. Pete was actually surprised he kept it at all if that was the case, but then again, he knew every object had a potential use to Mac, even if it wasn’t for its original intended purpose. Unlocking the door, he found himself having to wave away the heavy cloud of hot steam and condensation that had accumulated in the small room, settling over everything like a thick fog, making it difficult to see.
“MacGyver? Are you all right? What’s going on in here?” he asked.
Once again, he heard no reply. Carefully, he began to pull open the shower curtain, dreading what he would find. Uncovering MacGyver’s body, removing the flimsy plastic veil that separated them, he saw his friend sitting on the porcelain floor of the bathtub, curled and huddling in a tight fetal position, his head bent down toward his knees and covered by his arms, shivering despite the humid heat, the hot water droplets pelting his naked, trembling body. He was sobbing audibly.
“Aw Mac,” Pete said, his own tears threatening when he saw the heartbreaking scene.
Stripped bare, the raised scars covering his back from the whip along with his numerous other scars from the torture and his surgeries were visible, clothing no longer there to hide them. Although he had regained some of his weight back, he was still alarmingly thin. At last, Pete clearly understood the pain and misery he was going through, his emotions also stripped to their barest and rawest. He had done his best to put up a brave front and a valiant effort to hide his emotions, but now Pete could see the truth. His friend was an extraordinary hero, yet he was also very human. Turning off the water, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around MacGyver’s shivering form.
“Please go away,” MacGyver said, his voice muffled from his face being buried in his crossed arms.
“No,” Pete said, sighing, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, looking down at his friend. “No, I don’t think I’m going to do that. Whether you want to admit it right now or not, it’s clear you still need me.”
“Get out of here!” MacGyver screamed, lifting his head and glaring at him, his dark eyes fierce and moist with tears. Sobbing, he buried his face in his arms again.
Pete tried to reach out to him in a comforting gesture, but MacGyver sensed his movements and scooted away from him, pushing his body against the other side of the tub. It was a difficult thing for him to watch, never seeing his friend so traumatized and distressed before, but he needed to see it. He needed the reality of what his friend was experiencing. In some ways, it was a relief to know what he was actually feeling. The phony calm he had been projecting was much more unsettling than the truth.
“I’m not going to leave,” he said. “I didn’t leave you once during those long months of suffering and recovery, and I’m not going to leave you now. You’re still in recovery, and you need someone to support you so that you know you’re not alone. I care about you, Mac. I’m not going to abandon you while you’re in this state. That’s not what a good friend does.”
“Get the hell out!” MacGyver shouted, once again glaring angrily at him, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t need you!”
He hated Pete at that moment. Pete could tell that he hated everything—what he had been through, the results of it, and how weak he now was. Still, he remained, not giving up on him, knowing that he was at last expressing his bottled emotions, that it was healthy to feel anger, fear, sadness, and resentment after what had happened to him, that he was scared and lost and really didn’t have any feelings of ill will towards him. MacGyver collapsed into more sobs, his body starting to slide on the wet porcelain, not able to secure himself as well as he had earlier, his trembling from his uncontrollable sobs and terror from reliving his past causing him to lose stability. Pete caught him before he completely fell to the floor of the tub, embracing him. At first, MacGyver fought him, pounding his fists on his back, but he eventually tired of expending his energy and hatred and relented, his hard fists relaxing and squeezing Pete tightly, returning the embrace, clinging to him. He buried his face in Pete’s shoulder, still sobbing. The two men held each other for a long time, Pete allowing MacGyver as much time as he needed to feel comforted and safe, saying nothing, listening to him as he continued sobbing, his breaths coming from him in hiccupping gasps.
“I’m sorry,” MacGyver said, sniffing.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Pete said, gently stroking his shaking back. “You’ve been through a lot, more than I can possibly imagine. It’s going to be okay eventually, you have to believe that. It’s over now.”
“I hate that you saw me this way,” MacGyver said, his face still half-buried in Pete’s shoulder, too embarrassed to face him. He laughed slightly. “It’s my stupid pride. I…I didn’t want you to see…didn’t want you to know…it’s just, you’re used to seeing me come up with the solution…and this time, I don’t have one, Pete. I just don’t. Oh, God!” His sobs renewed in force, and he pounded on Pete’s sturdy back. “I don’t…I just don’t…I don’t know anymore…I can’t take it…”
“It’s okay, Mac,” Pete said in a soothing voice. “I understand. Listen to me. You can’t always be the hero. Sometimes, things are beyond even your control. That you can at last admit that shows more strength than denying it. I haven’t lost respect for you. If anything, I respect you even more than I did before. You’re still a brave man. You have more guts and grit than I ever will. I love you, Mac. I’m here for you, and I always will be.”
“Thanks, Pete,” MacGyver said, relaxing in his arms, allowing himself to be given the comfort, friendship, and kindness that had been cruelly denied to him, feeling as if he had at last come home.
***
The Present…
MacGyver’s screams reached a crescendo as he bolted upright in his bed, his eyes snapping open wide and darting wildly around the room, bewildered. His entire body shuddered as he gasped and sobbed.
“It’s okay, Mac!” Pete said, gently grabbing him by the shoulders. “You’re okay now! Listen to me…you’re safe! Look at me, please.”
“Pete,” MacGyver said in a croak, falling into his arms, sighing.
No longer was he ashamed to show his fear, releasing soft moans in relief as Pete held him, gently rubbing his scarred back. Even though it had been many years, MacGyver’s dreams of the events were still vivid and he often required long periods of comforting and reassurance before he was able to return to calm. Pete understood this, always remaining patient, holding Mac for as long as it took until he felt secure again.
“It’s all right now,” Pete said in a soothing, quiet voice. “You just had another bad dream, that’s all. It’s over. I’m here.”
MacGyver sighed heavily again. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “You have no idea what it’s like to wake up like that…alone. The dreams aren’t as frequent as they used to be, but they still come, and I never know when to expect them. I’m afraid to sleep sometimes. No matter what I do, I can’t avoid them, and recently they’ve only become worse ever since I saw that vile man again…it just brought back so much of the pain…”
“I know, Mac,” Pete said. “I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do to help.”
“You already do a lot for me,” MacGyver said, squeezing him tightly.
Pete was silent for awhile, listening to his friend’s heavy breathing as it gradually began to slow and regulate.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” He asked at last. “Would you like some water?”
“Please.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Pete released him from the hug and descended the stairs towards MacGyver’s kitchen. As he poured the glass of tap water, his thoughts once again returned to the important meeting he’d had with Enrique Cruz and how much he needed to share this information with his friend. Now that he was calmer, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to tell him. Reaching the top of the stairs with the glass of water in hand, he entered MacGyver’s bedroom and saw him sitting still, staring blankly, his blankets gathered around him. When he heard Pete’s footsteps creaking on the floor, he slowly turned his gaze towards him. With his tousled hair and wide brown eyes, he looked boyish.
“Here you go,” Pete said, handing him the glass, making sure he had it before fully letting it go, MacGyver’s grip still slightly shaky.
“Thanks,” MacGyver said, swallowing the water almost in one gulp, thinking back momentarily to the boy who had given him water before he was shot in front of him. Another icy shudder ran up his back when he thought about it, the violent image of the boy being struck in the head and dying while he watched powerlessly returning to him in full clarity.
“Are you all right?” Pete asked, taking the empty cup from his hand and setting it on his nightstand.
“Yeah,” MacGyver said, his voice faint and distant. He looked at Pete. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I have some interesting news to share with you.”
“What is it?”
“I met your contact…from that time. He’s the one who rescued you and brought you home. He’s in this country now, and he told me that you’re right when you claim that Carlos Gutierrez is El Diablo. He’s preparing a scathing report on the truth behind Gutierrez’s former life to present to the world. Mac, once this is released, Gutierrez will have no choice but to face the world court for crimes against humanity. He will have no chance of creating another Velazquez style dictatorship. He will finally face justice for what he did to you and countless others.”
MacGyver remained still for awhile, unsure what to say. “So…you found him?” He asked at last.
“Actually, he found me,” Pete said. “He’s a citizen of this country now. It appears he’s a valuable asset to our government because of his knowledge of the area.”
“I want to meet him. After all, I never got the chance before.”
“I think I can arrange that,” Pete said. “He wants to meet you, as well.”
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
I'm going to PM you with another question about this current story, because I could once again use your feedback. You're terrific! 
