I've noticed that these first two parts are shorter than what I normally write, not that quantity matters. I guess they serve as a prelude to the flashback scenes I have coming later. Anyway, keep reading!
Exile Part Two
Rated: PG
“MacGyver, please don’t do this!” Nikki shouted at the closed door, hoping he could still hear her inside the cabin, hoping that he hadn’t completely turned his back on her.
She heard another door slam, the sound this time originating from the back of the cabin, reverberating through the mountains. MacGyver darted swiftly and stealthily into the woods, retreating, running. She caught a brief glimpse of him before he disappeared.
“MacGyver, wait!” She shouted, pursuing him.
MacGyver had better knowledge of the rough, rugged landscape than she did, causing her to stumble several times, stubbing her toes on exposed tree roots and other natural obstacles. When she finally did catch up to him, she found him sitting on the forest floor, leaning against a tree trunk, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was sobbing.
“MacGyver…” she said in great sympathy, crouching down beside him.
She tried to embrace him. At first, he jerked, pulling away from her, resisting her, but gradually he relented, allowing her touch. She held him for a long time, listening to his muffled cries, his face buried against her shoulder, his body trembling. The rank, foul stench of stale sweat and fireplace smoke emanating from his body and his ragged clothing was overpowering, and she had to stifle the urge to gag. She wondered when he last washed, neglecting his appearance as much as he had been neglecting everything else, including his life and his soul.
“You desperately need a bath,” she said. “Would you let me do that for you? Come on, it’ll make you feel better.”
MacGyver said nothing but he nodded, silently giving his permission.
Nikki smiled at him. “Let’s go back to the cabin,” she said soothingly, whispering gently in his ear the way a mother did to calm and comfort her distressed child, rubbing his sturdy back. “I’ll prepare a nice hot bath for you. It’ll all be fine, you’ll see. I promise.”
***
Nikki was surprised to find the cabin had running water, the bathtub covered in dust from a lack of use. There was also soap, razors, and other toiletries, presumably purchased by MacGyver as he made his journey to the cabin, also unused. He was in a trancelike state, surrendering completely to her like a helpless infant, allowing her to bathe and shave him. She even shampooed his dirty, greasy hair and trimmed it, reducing its shaggy appearance. All throughout the grooming ritual MacGyver said nothing, only emitting small, soft moans on occasion, staring blankly. As Nikki washed him, she couldn’t help but admire the strong, masculine contours of his naked body, caressing it gently with soap, scrubbing away the dirt and grime that had accumulated. She also noticed the numerous scars marking his skin and interrupting its smoothness, saddened by the knowledge that he had been through so much trauma and physical pain over the years. Now he also had psychological and emotional scars, and those were deeper and evidently took longer to heal. By the time she was finished, the water had turned completely black with dirt. She watched it in disgust as it swirled down the drain, leaving behind a ring of scum and grime on the porcelain, evidence of how long he had allowed the filth to build up on his body.
“There you go,” she said, rubbing and massaging his scalp vigorously with a towel, drying and fluffing his hair. “How does that feel?” She wrapped the towel around his wet, naked form, draping it over his broad shoulders.
MacGyver smiled slightly at her but still said nothing. She noticed he was shivering.
“You’re cold?” She asked. “Well, we’d better get you dressed. I’ll try to see if I can find some decent clothes for you, because these aren’t fit to even be in the dumpster.” She wrinkled her nose at the sour-smelling rags he had been wearing, grudgingly picking them up and tossing them aside. Hunting through drawers she at last found a pair of trousers and a simple, plain white T-shirt, both of them surprisingly clean and intact. “Put these on instead,” she said, helping him get dressed. “There. Is that better?” She asked when they were finished.
MacGyver nodded.
Nikki stared at him, admiring her work. She had managed to transform him at least somewhat back into the man she remembered, the downy, silken strands of his hair shiny, golden, and fluffy, his face ruggedly handsome, no longer concealed by the thick, coarse, heavy beard that once covered it. He smelled clean, like soap and fresh outdoor air. He still looked too thin, his stringy, sinewy muscles pulled tautly across rangy body, his cheeks hollow where there had once been more flesh filling them in, but he had a nice ruddy, tawny complexion and the craggy appearance of someone who had been surviving on what was available to him in the wilderness, living a lean, meager, and simple existence. She once again found herself attracted to him, unable to resist the urge to kiss him, wanting to hold him and take away his pain, wanting to run her hands through his soft, clean hair and down his strong back. Shuddering in her desire for him, she leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled away from her, twisting his head, not allowing her to reach his lips.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed, regaining her composure, her face hot and flushed. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me.”
MacGyver stared at her with his piercing, intense dark eyes, something that was a little unsettling for her.
“Don’t you want to talk to me?” She asked, finding his brooding silence disturbing and unbearable. “You know you can confide in me, tell me anything. Come on, Mac. Say something.”
MacGyver glowered and snarled at her like a rabid dog, turning away from her, withdrawing further into his private interior world of pain.
“All right,” Nikki said, gently placing her hand on his back. “I won’t force you. You don’t have to say anything. We won’t talk about what happened. Only when you think you’re ready, okay?”
MacGyver released an audible sigh but still wouldn’t look at her.
“I’m just glad that you’re allowing me to stay here with you, that you haven’t shut me out completely,” she said, rubbing his back.
MacGyver turned once again to look at her, the immense depths of his eyes communicating more in a stare than words could ever convey or express, revealing his inner torment and sorrow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but shook his head and quickly closed it again. Nikki could only wonder what he wanted to say, what he tried to say but couldn’t.
***
While Nikki decided to straighten up the cabin as best as she could, trying to restore a sense of order and normalcy, MacGyver fell into a deep, restful sleep, his long body draped across the bed, still clothed in the trousers and T-shirt which were now becoming rumpled and creased. Watching him, Nikki wondered if this was the first time he had slept in awhile, noticing dark rims forming under his eyes earlier, evidence of exhaustion. He seemed to feel assured and safe with her presence there, allowing his body to relax. Occasionally he would stir and moan, his movements becoming fitful and restless, but most of the time he remained still. While he slept she felt it was safe to touch him, brushing back locks of his hair and stroking his cheek. His skin felt hot and she wondered if he was feverish, gathering the blankets closer around him, trying to make him comfortable. He moaned again and writhed, his face creased in a frown.
“It’s all right now,” she whispered. “I’m here. It’ll be all right.”
As he periodically thrashed around and twitched, locked in the throes of a nightmare, Nikki could only wonder what horrific event he was dreaming about, almost certain that he was recalling with vivid and disturbing detail what he had been desperately trying to avoid discussing during his waking hours--the night when his life was irrevocably shattered, the night when everything changed forever…
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
