Okay, here we go again.
This story is essentially the same story I already posted here called Shattered Survivor, but revised and re-worked. It's the sequel to Shake Hands with the Devil, and I think this version turned out better than what I had before. I'm going to take a little more time with it and see where it goes, but for now, enjoy the newer part one!
Oh, and one more note...Mac's flashbacks are italicized.
When He Wakes…
Part One
Rated: M
“He won’t remember a thing,” a voice echoed in the dark corners of MacGyver’s mind.
When he opened his eyes to try to see the source of the voice, his vision was blurry and clouded, as if he were looking through a strip of gauze. Slowly, as his sight improved, he saw the figure of some woman he couldn’t identify standing over him, her presence almost ethereal and ghostly, her form transparent and shimmering, as if she were a mirage. She held something in her hands that he could now clearly see was a syringe. Before he could protest, she plunged the needle deep into the skin on his right arm. He could feel it, stinging…
“MacGyver? MacGyver, can you hear me?” Pete asked, watching as his friend struggled to regain consciousness, his eyes opening to slits and fluttering.
The image of the woman with the syringe evaporated as MacGyver became more aware, replaced with two bald men staring down at him. One of the men was Pete. The other was Dr. Ladd, his psychiatrist since his return from South America. He noticed almost immediately that Pete was injured, bruises and cuts on his face.
“Pete,” he said groggily. “What…what happened to you?” His eyes searched the stark, bleak surroundings of the almost bare room where they were. It almost looked like a hospital, but something about it felt different. “Where am I?”
Pete and Dr. Ladd exchanged sad glances, unsure of how to tell him what had happened. MacGyver noticed their hesitation and grew even more anxious.
“Please…tell me,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Both men sighed almost simultaneously. Dr. Ladd opened his mouth and was prepared to speak when Pete stopped him, wanting to be the one to tell his friend the truth, no matter how difficult or painful.
“Several days ago, your jeep was found abandoned in a remote area of the Arizona desert,” he said. “Hikers found you miles away from it on the trail, unconscious. You had been exposed to the extreme heat for some time and had to be treated for severe dehydration, but the doctor at the hospital assured us you would be fine.” He paused and looked at Dr. Ladd.
“I…I remember driving through the desert,” MacGyver said, licking his chapped lips, still slightly sunburned. His eyes wandered around the room again. “How…how did I end up…I don’t understand…”
“I don’t know what happened, Mac,” Pete said, his voice tremulous with the tears that threatened. “You just went berserk. When you regained consciousness and your strength, you seemed to be doing fine. You were lucid and speaking to us normally when suddenly…you just attacked. Me, the hospital staff—you broke a nurse’s nose during your violent struggles. You seemed to be frightened and angry, desperately trying to fight everyone who approached you and tried to restrain you from harming yourself or anyone else further. You were wild…like an animal…biting, punching, howling…your expression was fierce and determined…I’d never seen you behave that way before. It made no sense.” He looked down at the floor, not wanting to see MacGyver’s shocked, horrified expression. He bit his swollen, quivering lower lip gently, trying to suppress his tears once again. “You even hit me, several times.”
MacGyver strained to sit upright, battling waves of dizziness, nausea, and the hazy, drowsy feeling that threatened to send him back into unconsciousness, flecks of light and darkness gathering around the edges of his dry eyes, the muscles around his delicate eyelids twitching with fatigue. He gasped, trying to catch his breath, the action of sitting up requiring more energy than he seemed to have at the moment, his body feeling numb and exhausted. Trembling with weakness, he leaned against the wall to support himself. Now, he was able to see the surroundings of the room more clearly. The enclosure had no windows, save for one, tiny barred window on the door that let in the only light, and it was harsh, artificial fluorescent light. He was sitting on a simple cot that appeared to be nailed into the floor. A small dresser completed the furnishings, a sink, toilet, and a cramped closet the only other features of the otherwise humble, featureless room. It looked like either a prison cell or an ascetic monk’s quarters, but the more MacGyver absorbed his surroundings, the more he knew what purpose the austere room really served.
“No…” he whispered. “It can’t be…are…are you saying I…? No, no this can’t be right…I don’t remember hitting anyone, let alone you, Pete. Please…tell me this isn’t real. Tell me I’m dreaming. This can’t be right…”
Even though Pete tried to avoid seeing MacGyver’s reaction, he nevertheless caught a glimpse of his wide, sorrowful, and bewildered dark eyes, and it was almost an unbearable sight. Along with his disheveled appearance and the white uniform the psychiatric hospital had given him to wear, stripped of a waistband lest he should use it to harm himself, he truly looked insane and as if he belonged there. It pained him beyond description to see him that way.
“I believe you suffered a vivid flashback episode from your time in captivity under El Diablo,” Dr. Ladd said, speaking at last, examining MacGyver carefully with his piercing blue eyes. “When I arrived to help the hospital staff subdue you, you were screaming obscenities and pleading in Spanish. Your eyes were unfocused, as if you were somewhere else.”
“A…flashback? But, why? I’ve never had one that severe before. I mean, I’ve had nightmares that were pretty realistic and terrifying, but I’ve never acted out like that before. Why now? It’s been five years. El Diablo is dead. I…was going on vacation. Everything in my life was improving. I just don’t understand…how did I end up in the middle of the desert? It just makes no sense at all,” MacGyver said.
“I know, and that’s why we’re going to try to help you figure out the answers,” Dr. Ladd said.
He watched as MacGyver placed his hands on the wall, noticing that he already seemed claustrophobic. It was a condition to be expected from someone who had been subjected to the most brutal and restricting confinement he had ever heard of, even from the former POWs he had worked with. He knew it was a risk to commit MacGyver to an institution, but he knew of no other alternative given his violent and unpredictable outburst, knowing that the damage he could have caused to himself or others could have been a lot worse than it was.
“I want you to understand that your stay here is only temporary,” he said, trying to reassure his confused and frightened patient. “Once we understand why this happened and are able to control it, you’ll be released. Right now, unfortunately, it’s simply too much of a risk—to yourself as well as others.”
MacGyver nodded sadly, knowing that he was right. He was dangerous and uncontrollable and had to be locked away. When he looked at Pete’s many cuts and bruises again, knowing that he had been the one to inflict them, he broke down into sobs.
“P-Pete,” he said. “I’m sorry…I-I didn’t mean to hurt you…oh God, I’m so sorry…h-how could I have…?”
“Shh, it’s all right,” Pete said, embracing him, once again feeling the raised whip scars on his back through the thin fabric of the hospital uniform, feeling a renewed sense of hatred for the man who had done this to him, even though he was dead. “I know you didn’t do it intentionally. I’m just a little banged up, but there’s no permanent damage. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. You have to believe that, Mac. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”
The two men released each other, and MacGyver wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his arm.
“It’s going to be fine, Mac,” Pete said again, attempting to smile even though he felt like crying and his puffy, sore face hurt whenever he moved any of his facial muscles even slightly.
“He’s right, MacGyver,” Dr. Ladd said. “Your situation is not hopeless. I’ve worked with many survivors of trauma similar to what you experienced—hostages, prisoners of war—I’m not saying it will ever be easy, but you have overcome much in these past few years. I know you can recover from this as well.”
MacGyver’s face grew expressionless, his eyes staring blankly at some distant point.
“MacGyver?” Pete asked, surprised by his sudden change.
“It looks like he’s about to suffer from another flashback,” Dr. Ladd said, observing his patient carefully. “Listen to me, MacGyver,” he said, looking directly at him, his voice strong and forceful, trying to revive him. “Can you hear me? I need you to come back from wherever it is you are. It’s over, do you understand me? It’s all right. You’re safe now. I need you to come back to me from wherever it is you are…”
He slunk through the jungle, using the dense foliage and mud as camouflage, trying not to allow the searing pain he still felt on his back from the deep whip slashes to slow his progress. He was a few miles away from the compound, and he had managed to evade recapture so far. Yet, as well concealed as he was, El Diablo’s forces still found him, buried in the deepest part of the jungle. They were professional, highly experienced soldiers trained in all kinds of warfare, strategy, and military tactics. There was nothing they hadn’t encountered. When they saw the muddy form slither near them, they knew it was a man and not some jungle beast. Best of all, they knew it was the man El Diablo wanted back, the man who had somehow managed to escape his iron grasp despite the injuries from the whip. Clamping their hands on him, they pulled him from the jungle, struggling and fighting desperately to free himself, trying to do anything he could to avoid being sent back to that hell… “Come on, MacGyver, calm down!” Dr. Ladd shouted as several burly security guards for the hospital tried to restrain him as he lashed out wildly, grunting and groaning, his face red and covered in sweat from his exertions.
“MacGyver, you have to stop this!” Pete shouted, despair in his voice as he once again helplessly watched as his friend lost his grip on reality, his sanity fading.
MacGyver’s fist made contact with Pete again, knocking him to the floor. His limbs flailed and he snarled, his face creased with rage and determination. The men holding him found it increasingly hard to do so, never seeing anyone with so much raw and incredible pugnacity, aggression, energy and strength, refusing to be held back, no matter how many men surrounded him. More staff entered, working to sedate him but finding it a challenge as he wriggled and squirmed, practically carrying the bulky, muscular men across the floor with him, his adrenaline surging. At last, they were able to find a good vein and inject the sedative…
No matter how much he fought, El Diablo’s men fought harder, beating him viciously into the ground until he was barely conscious, kicking him several times on his whipped back to hear him scream. Once he was sufficiently weakened by their blows, they fettered him with heavy chains around his wrists and ankles, using another set of chains to strangle him, pulling them tightly across his throat. They dragged him back to El Diablo where he belonged, and where their paymaster could exact his brutal punishment… Dr. Ladd watched as MacGyver slumped in the arms of the security guards, his body going limp as the effects of the sedative began to take over his body.
“Put him back in bed,” he said, trying to regain his calm, dabbing sweat from his forehead.
Nodding, the guards moved MacGyver’s unconscious body towards the bed, gently lifting him and placing him on it. As they left, Dr. Ladd turned towards Pete’s fallen body. Still dazed by the blow MacGyver gave him, he lay groaning on the floor, touching his face.
“Are you all right?” Dr. Ladd asked, helping him stand, bracing him since he was still unsteady from the punch.
“I think so,” Pete said quietly, gently probing his face again. “How bad is it?”
Dr. Ladd examined the red, swelling mark around his eye. “It will form another bruise, but it’s not bleeding and you should heal just fine,” he said.
“Yeah, but what about MacGyver? Will he heal?” Pete asked, turning to look at his friend, who was now sleeping peacefully after being so uncontrollably bellicose.
Dr. Ladd shrugged. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “His condition is far more serious than I first thought. It’s going to take a lot of effort and work on his part to learn to separate reality from his disturbing flashbacks.”
“But why, Doctor? Why is he having these flashbacks now, after so many years?”
“I wish I knew.”
“You heard MacGyver say so himself. El Diablo is dead, he was going on vacation, he was finally finding closure. It makes no sense.”
“I know, but they did find him lost in the desert. Perhaps something that happened out there triggered it. I guess we won’t know for sure until I start to work with him again and try to get this issue resolved.”
“What if he doesn’t remember?”
Dr. Ladd looked at his sleeping patient. “He’ll have to,” he said.
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
Yeah, you posted it! It looks great, MacsChick!
Hmm, does there happen to be a lady with a syringe in this ? 
