Here's another piece, Campers. Hope you like so far.
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MacGyver shot upright with a start, his heart hammering wildly against his chest. Slowly the vivid images of the mountain began to melt away, leaving him surrounded by the relative darkness of his bedroom. It had been a dream. The mare, their exhilarating run through the valley, the crazed deer, his fall. It had all just been a wild dream.
All except the pain in his head, anyway.
He fell back against the pillows with a groan.
Not again… he thought, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. His body was still reeling from the dream, the fall from the horse playing over and over in his mind. The whole experience just seemed too real to have been the product of a tired, overstressed mind. But he knew it was.
When the pain failed to diminish, MacGyver untangled his legs from the bed covers and sat up. The room started to slowly spin and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing against the nausea that gripped his stomach. He’d been having the headaches for a while now, but their intensity and accompanying side effects were fairly new. Blaming his symptoms on the increased stress at work, he was hopeful things would remedy themselves as the pressure eased.
If I make it that far…He released a shaky sigh and hesitantly opened his eyes, relieved to find that the room had stopped spinning. On the nightstand, his clock read 11:23. Less than two hours had passed since he’d retired with a book -- even less since he’d fallen asleep.
Using the wall to steady himself, Mac stood and headed for the bathroom. He stopped just short of turning on the small room’s main light, opting for the dimmer one over the sink instead. Squinting painfully in the sudden brightness, he turned on the cold water and let it run for a moment before filling his cupped hands and splashing it over his face. At first the icy liquid caused the pain in his skull to spike, but it quickly faded into a dull ache as the cold worked its magic.
Mac looked up at his reflection in the mirror. In the low light he looked like a ghost, his skin pale and drawn across his tired features. The dark circles beneath his eyes were becoming more prominent by the day, and it would soon look like he’d tangled with the wrong end of a hockey stick. He dried his face with the front of his shirt and opened the medicine cabinet. There wasn’t much of an offering inside: just an odd assortment of bandages, jars of liniment, and a few stray bottles. He selected the one marked ‘acetaminophen’ and shook three tablets into his hand. Nothing he’d tried provided much relief, but he hoped it would take the edge off enough to allow him to sleep. He swallowed the pills with a mouthful of water straight from the faucet and shut off the light.
Back in his bedroom he paused to turn off the small TV, the Western he’d had on having finished, rewound, and ejected on its own. He took the tape from the VCR and slipped it back into its sleeve, the design on the front of the dust jacket catching his eye. Standing beneath a weathered ranch sign was the film’s main character seated atop a large gray horse.
“Hullo, thar, ol’ gal,” Mac said in his best Southern drawl. He shook his head and tossed the tape on the bureau next to several others. “Oh yeah, I’m losing it.”
The mattress springs creaked softly as he sat down on the edge of his bed and scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. He was dog-tired. These bouts of pain-caused insomnia were becoming far too common. He caught naps during the day when he could, but they were starting to leave him feeling more tired than refreshed. He was rapidly reaching his breaking point, and knew it wouldn’t be long before his performance at work began to suffer. And as a troubleshooter for one of the nation’s top independent watchdogs, a failure to see all the details could be costly.
MacGyver sighed and stretched out on his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, mentally pushing the ache in his head to the back of his mind. When sleep didn’t come after a few minutes he rolled to his side, his hand brushing something hard on the bed next to him. It was the field guide he’d been reading when he first fell asleep. He picked the paperback up and absently leafed through it, stopping at the section he’d dog-eared. It was on identifying and casting wildlife tracks in plaster, an activity he had planned to do with a group of school kids in the following weeks. In the dim light he could just make out some of the larger illustrations, his eyes immediately drawn to a familiar figure staring up at him from the glossy paper.
“The buck,” he muttered, recognizing the confident stance and wild rack of antlers. The only difference between this deer and the one he’d seen in his dream were the eyes. This deer’s eyes were wide and gentle; the other’s had been wild and angry. He still had no idea what his dream meant, but at least he knew where some of the imagery had come from.
Closing the book with a snap, Mac yawned widely. He was finally starting to feel tired and didn’t want to spoil it. He grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed and hugged it to his chest. Pushing all thoughts of wild bucks, gray mares, and winding mountain trails from his mind, he settled into the comfort of his bed and slowly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
*
The early fall sun hung low on the horizon, seeming almost reluctant to begin its lazy climb into the misty blue sky. The air was heavy with unshed moisture, a damp blanket of smog and haze having wrapped itself around the entire city of Los Angeles. From within the fog, horns honked and voices escalated to shouts as the workweek began in earnest, the streets flooding with people and cars all vying to be in the same place at once.
Perched amongst the chaos was a building of odd proportions, looking more like a blocky work of art on a pedestal than an office complex. The Phoenix Foundation seemed to stand out in the fog like a beacon, its many glass windows reflecting the rising sun’s brilliant rays. Although the building appeared quiet from the outside, inside it teemed with life as both employees and volunteers alike hurried about, working to catch up on all that was missed during the weekend.
High up on the eighth floor in Field Administrations, an elevator car signaled its arrival, opening its heavy doors with a sigh. Not waiting for the doors to open completely, the car’s lone passenger exited into the lobby as soon as the gap was wide enough for his shoulders to fit through.
The floor’s secretary looked up from her work and smiled when she recognized the handsome face. “Good morning, MacGyver.”
“Morning, Helen. Is Pete around?”
“He’s on the phone, but go ahead in,” she said, lowering her voice. “I think he’d appreciate the interruption.”
“Thanks.” He flashed her a small smile and headed for the director’s office; curious as to whom his friend could be taking to. As he approached the glass façade, he could see Peter Thornton tipped back in his chair with the phone pressed to one ear, a look of impatience and amusement on his face. He raised his hand to knock but had already been spotted, the other man waving him in.
“Yes…yes. That’s right. We’ll both be there…” Pete was saying as Mac quietly slipped into the spacious office and sank down on the couch.
“Really? Well, that’s good to hear! I’ll be sure to tell him about…” As the person on the other end of the line interrupted him, Pete shook his head and momentarily held the phone out to the side, the high-pitched sound of a woman chattering away filling the room. “What was that now?”
Only half listening to the conversation, Mac rested his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, silently urging the dull ache that had settled behind his right temple to go away.
“Right – dinner starts at 6:30 and the presentation at 8:00. We’ll be there. Ah huh – you too. Take care now. Goodbye.”
Mac straightened up when he heard the phone meet its base with a sharp click. “Trouble?”
“No. Well -- I guess it all depends on your definition of trouble,” Pete replied. “That was Lori Miller calling to remind us about the awards banquet out at the school tomorrow night.”
“I thought you confirmed everything last Friday?”
“I did. Twice. And once over the weekend too.” Pete chuckled and shook his head. “I guess she’s really looking forward to the donation the Foundation is presenting to the school.”
“She certainly has a reason to be,” the troubleshooter agreed. “She’s been running that disabilities outreach program for almost 4 years now with hardly any funding. Hopefully this’ll help her get some new equipment she needs.”
“Lori also mentioned that the pond you’ve been working on is flourishing. Apparently they had a late bunch of frog eggs hatch overnight. She can’t wait to show the kids.”
“That’s great.”
Pete shuffled a few stacks of paper around on his desk. “So, how are things with you? Between my meetings and your projects, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. Have a good weekend?”
“It was all right. Spent most of Saturday out at the school, but I didn’t get a whole lot done. Had trouble getting motivated, I guess.”
“Really? I thought you looked a little tired,” he replied, having noticed the dark patches beneath his friend’s eyes.
“Yeah, well, less than three hours of sleep will do that to you,” Mac muttered, idly tracing the faded design on the upholstery with his finger.
“Rough night?”
“Sort of.” His aching head had woken him just after two and he’d been awake with it since.
“You had another headache, didn’t you?” Pete asked, sitting forward in his chair.
The troubleshooter gave a noncommittal shrug.
Pete took the deliberate silence as a yes. “And you still haven’t seen someone about it?”
“Nope.”
“How come?” They’d had the same conversation several weeks before, and knowing MacGyver as well as he did, Pete was certain the answer would be the same.
“Because I’m just tired.”
“But you’ve been saying for the past six weeks. Come on, MacGyver, when’s enough going to be enough?” Pete pushed, genuinely concerned for his friend. “There’s obviously something going on because you’re not yourself. Your color’s off, you’ve been overly quiet, you don’t have your usual energy… And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Several people have asked me if you were all right.”
Mac looked up from picking at his calloused palm. He knew his fellow coworkers cared and meant well, but he didn’t want to become a hot topic at the water cooler either.
Am I that obvious? “I just…” He sighed and pinched the bridge of nose, an action that was becoming more of a habit than relief for his aching head. “I need a break. Things have been really busy around here, plus I’ve been helping Willis with the computer upgrade and Lori out at the school on weekends… I think it’s all finally starting to catch up with me.”
Pete frowned, realizing how true his words were. Having been caught up in the preparations for the upcoming budget negotiations himself, Mac was left with more than his fair share of work on top of his voluntary time at the school. It was no wonder the man felt and looked the way he did.
“After the banquet tomorrow night, the books are clear of any major projects for the next few weeks. Why don’t you take some time for yourself?” he offered. “Go camping or fishing – I’ll even fly you half way around the world to go skiing if you want to. Just go -- get away from things for a while.”
Although tempted, Mac shook is head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I promised Willis I’d help him finish the computer upgrade.”
“I thought you two finished that project weeks ago?”
“Only half of it -- the parts were on back order. We had enough to upgrade the integral computers, but the rest had to wait. The materials came in over the weekend, and with the recent hacker scare, Willis wants to get it installed and tested as soon as possible. I spoke with him this morning and it looks like we’re aiming for Wednesday.”
“Wednesday? Willis has plenty time to find someone else to help him before then.”
“I promised I’d help him finish,” Mac replied with a sigh. “Besides, it should only take a day…unless we run into a snag.”
“Well, if you think you’re up to it. Just do me a favor and don’t over do it, okay?”
“Yes, Pete,” Mac said, smiling at his friend’s mothering. “Whatcha got for today?”
“Not much, believe it or not. I’m due to have lunch with some of the other Foundation directors and there are just a few odd things that need to be done. An easy day, really.”
“What’s first?”
“Well, there’s the…” Pete stopped and carefully eyed the young man across the room from him, taking in his tired, almost haggard appearance. He closed his planner and selected a folder from the sorting tray on his desk. “I have a better idea. Drop this file off at the front desk and than take the rest of the day off for yourself.”
Mac looked startled. “What?”
“In fact, take tomorrow too. I want you to be good and rested for that banquet tomorrow night.”
“But, Pete, there’s stuff to be…”
“Ah!” Pete lifted a finger to cut him off. “Your boss is telling you to go home and get some rest. So just say ‘thank you’ and go. We’ll be just fine here. Trust me.”
He opened his mouth to protest further, but thought better of it when he saw the expression on Pete’s face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now go get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
MacGyver stood and collected the folder that needed delivering. “Dinner’s at 6:30, right?”
“Yeah. Listen, why don’t I have my driver swing by your place about 5:00 and we’ll ride out together?” Pete offered.
“Sounds good.”
“Great. Wear something nice; it’s a formal gathering. And I couldn’t talk you into a haircut, could I?” he asked.
Mac grinned and shook his head. “Nice try, Pete.”
Whoa, never expected it to be a dream.
Thanks for your interest in the story so far! 
Great story, Bander! Keep it coming! 
