Phoenix Field Agent
Posts: 1,889
Joined: 11 Jan 2006
Gender: Female
Country: USA
SAK owned:
Favorites
Season: season 3
Episode:Passages
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Black leather
House: House boat
|
Quarantine Part Six
Rated: PG
Several days passed with Pete keeping vigil over MacGyver’s still body in the quarantined area, but little changed. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was beginning to lose hope that Sandra’s vaccine would do anything to improve his friend’s condition. Then, one day when Dr. Robertson was also present in the room, checking on his patient, MacGyver’s eyes slowly began to open. Pete was the first to notice it, seeing those dark brown orbs staring up at him, made larger and saucer-like by the absence of substantial flesh around them, contrasting sharply with the pallor of his skin, combining with his emaciated frame and making him look like some wraith-like, otherworldly creature.
“Doctor, look!” He said.
Dr. Robertson saw what Pete was referring to and double checked MacGyver’s vital signs, noting a significant change on the heart monitor, indicating a regulation and stabilization of his rhythms.
“He’s regaining consciousness,” He said, smiling in relief and disbelief. “It appears that Dr. Milhouse’s vaccine might prove effective, after all.”
“Oh, thank God,” Pete said, also smiling, sighing deeply, continuing to watch his friend return to awareness after such a prolonged period immobile and lost in the darkness.
MacGyver’s eyes stared blankly for a moment, and then he began to blink slowly and tiredly. They became wide, large, and frightened, darting frantically around the room, bewildered and disoriented. He made small, twitching movements and whimpered feebly against the tube in his throat, struggling to speak.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Pete said, moving into a position where he could be as close as possible, making sure MacGyver could see his face through the mask of his protective suit so that he could be reassured and calmed. He gently took his delicate, bony hand in his. “It’s just me. It’s Pete. Can you hear me? It’s going to be fine now. I’m here.”
MacGyver moaned softly and made more grunting, guttural noises against the tube, groaning and trying to swallow, tossing his head from side to side.
“Listen to me, MacGyver,” Dr. Robertson said, smoothing back his patient’s matted, sweat-dampened hair, trying to hold him still. “Look at me. It’s all right. You have a tube in your throat to help you breathe, but with any luck you won’t need it much longer and I can remove it soon. Right now I need you to calm down and relax. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
Still confused, MacGyver’s eyes shifted between the suited figures of Pete and Dr. Robertson, trying to understand and make sense of what was happening to him, desperately seeking an explanation.
“I don’t think he remembers what happened,” Pete said, still watching MacGyver and stroking his hand to soothe him, noticing the terror and puzzlement that remained in his haunting dark eyes.
Dr. Robertson nodded. “Let me try something,” he said. He turned back to his patient. “Listen to me, MacGyver. My name is Dr. Robertson. I’ve been in charge of your care. Do you remember any of the events leading up to your hospitalization? Just blink once for yes, and twice for no.”
MacGyver blinked twice, the action requiring some effort, his body atrophied and fatigued, his eyelids twitching and fluttering with the exertion. He stared pleadingly up at both suited men, evoking their pity for him in his weakened state, helpless and completely dependent on them.
“You were on assignment to destroy an organism that had mutated and become dangerous,” Dr. Robertson said. “The men on your team tried to steal the organism, but you fought them. In the process, your suit was torn, the vial of the substance was shattered, and you were exposed. Since then, your health has declined rapidly. You almost died and until recently you were in a coma. Dr. Milhouse was able to create a vaccine from a diluted sample of the organism, and we believe that is the reason you have regained consciousness and may now be on the road to recovery.”
MacGyver seemed to be listening, his earlier fear and confusion gradually waning. Vaguely he began to remember being in the lab, the men he was working with unexpectedly turning against him, trying to yank the vial from his gloved hands, and the violent struggle that ensued afterward as he fought to maintain control over the sample and keep it from leaving his protective grasp. He remembered little else after that. Other, stranger, memories surfaced, memories of being with those who had departed from life. He couldn’t explain those or understand them fully, only that they seemed so real, so vivid. He wished he could speak, the uncomfortable hardness of the tube in his throat preventing him. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to relate to Pete about his bizarre dream, if that was what it was. He couldn’t be sure. All he felt now was exhaustion, deeper than he had ever felt it before, his body feeling light and insubstantial, floating, numb, and disconnected. He was unbearably hot one moment, shivering from cold the next, his fever still running high.
“We had to place you in quarantine as a precaution,” Pete said, pushing the clear mask of the suit closer to his face so that MacGyver could once again see him clearly and know that he was safe, that he wasn’t with strangers who meant him any harm. “That’s why Dr. Robertson and I are in these protective suits. We didn’t want to risk having the virus spread and become a major outbreak.”
MacGyver nodded slightly, as much as his enfeebled body would allow him to move, showing Pete that he understood.
Pete smiled at him, tears moistening his eyes. “You’re going to get better now,” he said. “Sandra’s vaccine is working to create an immunity to the virus in your body. You’ll be out of here soon, I promise.”
MacGyver nodded slightly again and closed his eyes. Now that he was reoriented to his surroundings and reassured that he would be fine, he allowed his body to slip back into sleep, exhaustion overwhelming him, his extremely thin body once again going slack and limp as he collapsed back against the pillows into a deep slumber, wondering if he would once again encounter any of his deceased relatives.
“We should let him rest now,” Dr. Robertson said, watching his patient sleep peacefully. “He is going to need time to fully recover. Usually, a coma patient slowly and incrementally remains conscious for longer periods of time. That he was awake for as long as he was is impressive and a good sign. He’s strong, Mr. Thornton. We will have to continue monitoring him to see how much progress he makes on his recovery, but for now I have no doubts that he will regain his strength and be restored to full health.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Pete said.
***
Sandra was once again in her office, staring at her computer, prodigious amounts of text filling the screen, volumes of notes and research she had conducted on the virus and the subsequent vaccine she had to hurriedly develop glaring back at her. She was so absorbed in them that she barely noticed or acknowledged Pete’s entry until she heard his voice.
“MacGyver is conscious again,” he said. “He’s out of his coma and resting peacefully now.”
“That’s good news,” she said, still staring at the bright screen.
“Dr. Robertson credits your vaccine for the improvement in his health. He still has a long way to go until he’s healthy again, but he has made an important first step towards recovery.”
Sandra shuddered and cringed with strong feeling of foreboding, knowing that she was about to be disappointed. She closed her eyes. “I know what you’re going to say next,” she said, sighing. “You’re going to recommend that the organism be destroyed.”
“Sandra, it was supposed to be destroyed before any of this happened. You know that.”
She turned to face him. “I’ve created a vaccine for it now, one that judging from your report on MacGyver’s progress appears to be effective,” she said.
Pete shook his head. “I’m afraid that it will have to be destroyed as well once we know for certain that MacGyver will return to complete health,” he said. “We have to eliminate all traces of this virus, no matter how benign the form. We simply can’t afford the risk.”
Sandra gestured angrily towards her computer screen and the notes contained on it. “Look at this, Pete,” she said. “This is a life’s work, a major discovery. Do you realize how difficult it was to create this vaccine, how long it took, how uncertain the outcome? Now we find out that it just might work on MacGyver and you want to destroy it? All my work, all of my efforts will have been futile! I’ll have to begin again, and it could take years before I arrive at another discovery this important, this potentially beneficial to mankind!”
“Beneficial? That thing almost killed Mac!”
“I’m talking about the vaccine, Pete. Imagine—if somehow some remnant of this virus was to survive and escape the confines of this laboratory, released into the public. At least we would be prepared to combat it.”
“We’re going to make sure that won’t happen,” Pete said. “We’re going to guarantee it this time. I want it completely eradicated before it becomes a new plague to contend with. If we were to store some part of it, even a weakened version of it in the form of a vaccine, it could still potentially fall into enemy hands and be engineered to be something perhaps even more potent by scientists working for rogue dictators seeking the ultimate biological weapon.”
“All this fear-mongering…” Sandra muttered in irritation.
“Do you think I’m exaggerating? Look, we’ve already seen the devastating effects that this virus had on MacGyver. Do you want it to proliferate into something beyond our control? Do you want to live with that uncertainty? Because I sure don’t.”
Sandra’s lips trembled as she tried to suppress a sob. “You don’t understand,” she said. “After all this hard work…it will have been in vain…I will have nothing to show for it. It will all have been a waste, a great loss to the scientific community.”
“No it won’t,” Pete said. “You will have learned something that you can apply to future experiments.”
Sandra looked at him, tears glistening in her icy, hard eyes. “We could have learned so much more,” she said. “My research on the virus and this vaccine…all of it is in its infancy. We barely understand what we have yet, what its potential uses could be.”
“No, I disagree,” Pete said. “I think we’ve seen enough, and I certainly don’t want to see much more.”
“If you could only open your eyes to possibilities and see…”
“Look Sandra, I’m not a narrow-minded bureaucrat, as much as you would like to see me that way. I am all for advancements in science, as long as they are not at the expense of human life. You claim to be a humanitarian, to want to better our existence on this planet? Well, there comes a time when you have to admit where you have failed and move on. The virus may be a living, extraordinary thing, but so is MacGyver. Which life do you value more? You’re going to have to decide.”
Sandra looked down at the floor. “It’s unfair for you to frame the argument that way,” she said.
“Well, it’s unfair that MacGyver had to suffer needlessly.”
“They are two separate entities, two entirely different forms of life, each special and unique in their own right. How am I to decide between them, to sacrifice one of them like that?”
“I should think it would be easy. Besides, science often involves making sacrifices, some of them unwanted.”
“You think that just because MacGyver is a human being that his life has more value than a lowly virus? We introduced this virus into the world, and now we’re going to kill it? Who are we to make judgments about life, about what life is worth more?”
“One of them destroys life!” Pete shouted, outraged by her statements. “Look, MacGyver didn’t ask for this. He didn’t ask for his body to be invaded by this organism. It doesn’t make any distinctions about who should live and who should die. It’s a virus. That’s its function. It has no other. It has no conscience, no higher brain capacity. It’s a threat that has to be eliminated.”
“If we keep thinking that way, keep reacting in fear, then we will never learn anything, never risk anything for progress.”
“You think that you can alter the behavior of this virus, make it something useful instead of harmful, but I don’t think I need to remind you that is what you were attempting to do before this whole thing spiraled out of your control. When are you going to learn that sometimes you can’t make things go the way you want them to? Sometimes you have to learn to accept failure and defeat and move on. I know it isn’t easy to do, but you have to, or your days of working for this foundation may become limited.”
Sandra looked up at him. “Is that a threat?” She asked.
“No, it’s the reality,” Pete said. “You’re a brilliant, capable scientist, and I believe you will do great things. However, you’re also a loose cannon, and this incident with MacGyver proves it. I’m not asking you to limit your creativity or not experiment, but you’re going to have to learn to exercise at least a bit more caution next time.”
Sandra laughed slightly. “Maybe next time I will develop an organism that extends life so I can catch up on all the work I’m about to lose,” she said sadly.
“Sandra, this isn’t all about you and your work,” Pete said. “Someday I hope you will understand that.” He looked at the computer screen. “Now, nobody is suggesting that you erase your files. You can keep those. Your notes and research on this virus and its vaccine could still prove valuable in the future. While MacGyver is still sick and might still need our help you can study all that you need to about the virus and the vaccine. But you are going to have to get rid of them when he’s well. There is no avoiding that inevitability.”
Sandra nodded. “I know that,” she said. “I know. And I do care about MacGyver, regardless of what you may think of me.”
“I know you do,” Pete said. He glanced at Ace, who was sleeping on his dog bed. “I also think that you’re going to have to decide where your priorities lie before another accident like this happens again and you end up either wiping out the human race—or destroying yourself and your career.”
Pete didn’t realize it at the time, but in a year his words would become prophetic.
***
Dressed in her protective suit, Sandra visited MacGyver. He slept during most of her time in the quarantine room, oblivious to her presence. He was still painfully thin, still very ill.
“God, look at what I’ve done to you,” she said, her eyes tearing. She touched his hollow cheek, feeling his warmth through her gloved hand. “I had to see you again, to see the effects, to see what I’ve become. Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps I am the monster they claim I am. They say I have no remorse, that I am a cold-hearted, clinical, detached dragon lady, devoid of all feeling, concerned only with my ego, my ambition, and my success. Well, maybe they’re right. Maybe I have taken things too far. But damn it, I’m trying to do something here. I’m determined to do something to help people, not hurt them. That has never been my intention. I’m not some mad scientist, some crackpot. I truly believe I can improve life on this planet, because I know…I’ve seen suffering like yours. I understand what it means, the devastating consequences…” she bit her lower lip, stifling her tears.
“For what it’s worth, I want you to know how truly sorry I am, how I wish none of this had ever happened, and that you would accept my apology. You have every right to hate me for what I’ve done, and you don’t need to forgive me. All I ask is that you accept that I am sorry, that I do care, even if it doesn’t seem that way. I’m not…good at expressing my emotions. I never have been. What does that make me? Does that make me a contemptible person? I’m trying to understand, trying to better appreciate what people feel. I’ve been alone most of my life, so I’ve never had a strong bond or attachment to anyone. I don’t know what that’s like, what that means. I…I don’t know how to relate well to others, except to demand that I get my way. I suppose that has made me hardened and selfish. But I am sorry, MacGyver. I’m sorry you had to go through this because of me, because of what I’ve done. I wish you were awake, so that you could hear me. I’ve never been this candid with anyone, and frankly I’m a little out of practice. It scares me a little, to be perfectly honest. I just…well, I wish for you to know that. All of it. I made a mistake, and now you’re paying for it. I wish you didn’t have to. If anyone should have been infected, it should have been me. I deserve it, after all.”
She didn’t realize it because she had been pacing the room anxiously during her admission, but MacGyver’s eyes were now open, and he was watching her. He wanted to tell her that he had merely been dozing lightly, that he had heard everything she’d said and appreciated it, but the tube silenced any vocalizations he could make except for a few small, strangled grunts. Hearing him, Sandra turned and faced him, getting close to him, showing him her face behind her mask so that he would know who she was and why she was there, so he wouldn’t be frightened upon awakening, still isolated and lost in a strange, new, and foreign environment.
“Can you hear me?” She asked. “Did you hear anything I said? Because it’s the truth. You deserve to know the truth, after all you’ve been through.”
MacGyver nodded slightly and blinked slowly, showing her he understood.
“You’re kinder to me than most,” she said. “Why are you so accepting after all that has happened? Why don’t you hate me like the others?”
MacGyver shook his head. I don’t hate you, he said in his mind, unable to communicate it because of the tube. I think you’re misunderstood. You need to learn humility, to admit when you’re wrong, and I think you just did that. I only hope the lesson is permanent.
Not able to hear his thoughts, all Sandra could do was wonder what MacGyver would say to her if he had the ability, if the breathing tube was freed from his throat and not obstructing his powers of speech. She hoped she was interpreting his nonverbal reactions to her correctly, that he did at least accept her apology. For now, all she could do was speculate, and for the moment she thought he was looking at her with accusatory eyes, blaming her as all the others had.
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
|
