This story is a continuation of a theme I had worked on previously of an ominous, secret shadow organization out to destroy MacGyver, The Phoenix Foundation, and other government agencies.
Recommended reading before you read this story: When He Wakes, and Shake Hands with the Devil so you understand the continuity
I will be writing another Murdoc/Mac fic when I'm done with this one, but I got another burst of creativity and had to lunge at this story first before it could escape me!
*Note: I had no idea Loth had a story with the same title, so I changed mine. The similarities in the titles were unintentional.
Enjoy!
Speechless Part One
Rated: PG
“So you just found him unconscious on the slopes?” Dr. Carrington asked, shining a penlight into MacGyver’s irises, attempting to detect any response from them.
“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it,” Pete said, staring down at his friend. “At first I thought he was playing some cruel joke on me, you know, leaving me alone out there when he knows damn well that I don’t ski that well. I imagined him out there, hiding in the trees, laughing at me as I fell flat on my face and filled my pants up with snow. That’s his idea of a vacation, after all—watching me freeze to death, suffer, and make an absolute idiot of myself. But after awhile, I didn’t see him. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I asked other skiers in the area if they had seen him, you know. I gave them his description. No one had seen him. I got worried. That’s when I requested assistance from the Ski Patrol. They conducted a search, and that’s when we found him—passed out in the backcountry.”
Dr. Carrington turned off his penlight, finished with his examination. “Pupil response is normal,” he said, shrugging. “So far, I can find nothing wrong with him, certainly nothing to explain his loss of consciousness. There was no indication of any trauma to the head. His brain scan returned a normal result—no signs of aneurisms, tumors, or strokes. His blood pressure is normal, as is his heart rate. His toxicology reports came back negative, so no one narcotized him. He’s a healthy young man, Mr. Thornton. Something about this is very strange and makes absolutely no medical sense to me at all.”
“What could have happened?” Pete asked. “I mean, why would he wander off into the woods alone like that? Mac’s an expert skier all right, but he’s not a fool.”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Carrington said. “Perhaps he’ll have more information for us and we’ll learn more about what happened when he regains consciousness. As it stands, I do not believe he was the victim of foul play. There is simply no evidence of that. There is also, however, no logical medical explanation to account for his loss of consciousness.”
Pete stared down at MacGyver, gently stroking his arm. “What could have happened to you out there?” He asked. “Please, tell me…”
As if in response, MacGyver began to stir, moaning, his eyes slowly fluttering open.
“Looks like he’s coming to,” Dr. Carrington said, smiling, looking hopeful.
Something was wrong. Something did not feel right. Instead of feeling the cold, brisk, refreshingly pure air of the mountains surrounding him, MacGyver felt warmth, room temperature. He was not flying down a slope, a blur of white passing him, the chilled air stinging his face, ice particles hitting him like tiny needles, tingling on his skin. He was lying on his back, and he had no idea how he got there or where he was. Forcing his eyes open for answers, squinting at the bright, piercing light that momentarily flooded his vision, he gradually saw the forms of two men standing over him. At first, they were featureless silhouettes, but they slowly became better defined, revealing Pete and some man he did not know and had never seen before, a man dressed in a white lab coat.
Oh man, not another hospital, he thought.
What happened this time? “MacGyver, can you hear me?” Pete asked.
MacGyver nodded, blinking. His eyes searched the room, wondering how he ended up hospitalized yet again. What accident due to his own clumsiness had befallen him this time? He couldn’t feel any pain, but he knew he could have been medicated with painkillers. Still, he felt none of the usual numbness, wooziness, and fog in his mind that he usually associated with being on drugs. In fact, he felt incredibly lucid, his mind sharp and clear. He remembered everything that happened to him—everything except how he had ended up there.
“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Carrington asked him.
MacGyver shook his head. Pete exchanged concerned glances with the doctor.
“Remember, there is no sign of any trauma to his brain,” Dr. Carrington said to Pete. He turned back to his patient. “Your friend discovered you unconscious on the mountain where you were both skiing,” he said. “Do you know what happened, what could have caused this?”
MacGyver shook his head again, feeling confused.
“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Pete said.
Dr. Carrington glanced over his shoulder at Pete, and then returned to MacGyver. “Listen to me, MacGyver,” he said. “Listen to me carefully. I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and I want you to respond, okay? Give me complete details, as complete as you can so we can try to solve this mystery, all right? Tell me, what’s the last thing you do remember?”
MacGyver licked his lips. “I was skiing,” he said.
Dr. Carrington and Pete looked at each other again, bewildered. “What did he say?” Dr. Carrington asked. “I couldn’t understand him, could you?”
“No,” Pete said, looking at MacGyver again, panic and worry lining his face. “It was like some foreign language, only no language I’ve never heard before. It was like gibberish.”
“What are you talking about, Pete? I can understand myself just fine,” MacGyver said. “What I just said makes perfect sense. It sounded perfectly clear to me.”
“He’s babbling incoherently, speaking nonsense!” Pete said.
“What? Pete, what do you mean? How come you can’t comprehend my words? What’s going on?” MacGyver asked, growing frantic himself, sitting up in bed.
“Calm down, Mr. Thornton,” Dr. Carrington said, trying to force MacGyver to lie back down again. “It does none of us any good to panic. You’re only working to frighten and confuse him as well. Although we cannot seem to understand him for whatever reason, he appears to be able to understand us, so I recommend we all try to settle down and work on this together, taking it a step at a time. Now,” he turned to MacGyver. “Can you understand me? Just nod your head if you can.”
MacGyver nodded, his eyes darting wildly around the room, sweat beading on his forehead.
Why can’t they understand me? My words sound fine. Why can’t they hear what I hear? What’s happening to me? “Good,” Dr. Carrington said, placing his hand firmly on MacGyver’s shoulder in support, trying to ease the tension and anxiety they all felt. He smiled at his patient and squeezed his shoulder. With his white hair, glasses, and bushy mustache, he had the appearance of a friendly, grandfatherly type which helped calm him slightly. “Now, something is wrong with your speech patterns, MacGyver,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to worry just yet, because we don’t know exactly what the cause is, but we’re going to need to run some tests to determine that, all right?”
MacGyver nodded again.
How could there be something wrong with my speech? I understand what I’m saying just fine. Why can’t they? Never before had he felt so isolated, separated from others, language becoming a barrier, unable to communicate effectively. In frustration, he began to gesture as if he were writing.
“He wants to see if he can write to us,” Pete said, catching the meaning of his pantomime immediately. “Maybe we’ll understand him that way.”
“It’s worth a try,” Dr. Carrington said, retrieving a pad that he used to make notes and a pen, handing them to MacGyver.
They watched as he scribbled furiously. When he was finished, he checked what he had written. Once again, it made sense to him, the language clear, cogent, and precise. They had to understand it, at least.
I can understand what I say just fine, it read.
It doesn’t sound like a disordered jumble to me. For some reason, it just doesn’t sound the same to you, but I really am speaking coherently. I don’t understand what is happening to me, and I’m just as confused as you are that you can’t understand me. He gave the note to Pete, who tried to read it, squinting at it, furrowing his brow as if trying to decipher some complex code. “I can’t make it out, either,” he said, giving the note to Dr. Carrington. “Can you?”
Dr. Carrington studied the note, looking equally perplexed. “These are not even words,” he said. “They appear to be just meaningless scribbles.”
“Hey, my handwriting isn’t that bad,” MacGyver said, laughing nervously. Even his joke was lost in translation as Pete and Dr. Carrington stared at him, puzzled.
“This is more serious than I thought,” Dr. Carrington said. “He can neither speak nor write in a way that can be understood. His phrases are disjointed, and he’s rambling and raving nonsensically. He seems to think we should be able to understand him as I can tell from the confusion and frustration he appears to be showing.”
“What could this mean?” Pete asked.
“It’s almost as if he’s displaying the symptoms of Aphasia.”
Dear God, no, MacGyver thought.
That’s a brain disorder. This is worse than I thought. Is this permanent? Will I be like this forever? Still, why is it only I can understand? Why do the words make sense to me and not to them? Why can’t I remember what happened to me? If I could only remember, then maybe I could explain. But they wouldn’t understand… “What is that?” Pete asked.
“It makes no sense in this case, though,” Dr. Carrington said, shaking his head. “Aphasia is the loss of the ability to produce or comprehend language, yet he seems to understand what we say just fine. Also, lesions or traumatic injury to the language centers of the brain are the usual causes of such a disorder, and I have found nothing wrong with his brain or any of its functions. He shouldn’t be impaired this way, yet somehow he is.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” Pete asked.
“I’m saying that this is going to be a difficult case, Mr. Thornton. If we don’t know or can’t pinpoint the cause, it’s going to be nearly impossible to diagnose and cure him.”
“Are you saying this is a permanent condition for him? Doctor, he can’t live this way!”
“Now just calm down, Mr. Thornton. I’m not recommending that we surrender. We’ll do everything in our power to help him, but it’s going to take some time and require some research.”
Pete looked at MacGyver, who was trembling, his eyes wide and terrified. He almost looked ready to cry. He had never seen his friend that way, usually so self-assured and steady. He couldn’t leave him looking so vulnerable. Rushing to his side, he embraced him tightly.
“It’s going to be all right, Mac,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out together, I promise. At least you can understand me, so not all is lost. We’re going to get you back, I know it. You’ll make sense again.”
MacGyver released a muffled sob, clutching Pete tightly. “Pete, I don’t mind telling you I’m scared,” he said. “I want desperately for you to understand me again. Please, tell me you understand me, even just slightly…please…”
Pete looked at Dr. Carrington again and shook his head. “All I hear is more gibberish,” he said. “He’s trying, Doc. He’s trying so hard to be understood. I can’t imagine the horror he’s suffering right now. Imagine, talking, thinking people will grasp your meaning, and they can’t. Oh God, Mac. It’s awful. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We’ll figure this out, though. We’ll find a way. I’m not giving up on you.”
MacGyver closed his eyes, a few tears leaking from them. “So you still can’t understand me,” he said. “Aw Pete…if only you could…”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Pete said, stroking his back, trying to quiet him, finding it difficult to hear MacGyver, who was usually so articulate, speak in meaningless fragments, unable to construct even a basic sentence of any clarity or organization. “I’m here for you, Mac. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone.”
“He does not appear to have any brain damage affecting his intelligence,” Dr. Carrington said. “He is quick to respond to us and is aware. Still, for some reason, he cannot speak normally. I’m telling you, this is most unusual and vexing for me as a doctor. I find this difficult to accept, yet here we are, faced with such bizarre evidence.”
“Something happened to him on that mountain to cause this,” Pete said, still holding MacGyver, comforting him. “It had to.”
“How? Remember, they found nothing.”
“I don’t know,” Pete said. “I admit there isn’t much for us to work with, but we have to try.”
“I agree, Mr. Thornton. We will work hard to solve this puzzle, I assure you.”
MacGyver sighed, holding onto Pete, frightened and worried, never feeling more helpless, lost, or confused in his life, presented with a strange new reality he could do nothing to control. Pete was right. Something had happened to him on that mountain, but something—or someone had worked hard to make sure he couldn’t remember and couldn’t tell anyone.
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
)
How curious that you and Loth both had the same "title" Concidenses do happen sometimes 
I do preffer "Speechless" as the tittle, though. Dunno, it feels like more interesting or deeper 'cause it could not only relate to the fact of no words spoken or written, but since this is like a "third" instalment from the whole "evil secret shadow organization", it relates with the fact of the "undetected" way that organization works, baffling the scientific and medical world at the same time. (Perhaps I'm reading too much between the lines 
Mac/Nikkie!!!!! 
Can't help it!! 
I guess that would just add to the frustration. Not being able to communicate with neither of the two people dearest to Mac - this opinion of course is based on "When He Wakes", ok? Just making sure I don't get in troubles with anyone)
