Phoenix Field Agent
Posts: 1,889
Joined: 11 Jan 2006
Gender: Female
Country: USA
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Season: season 3
Episode:Passages
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Black leather
House: House boat
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Catastrophic Failure Part Two
Rated: R
As MacGyver regained consciousness inside the infirmary tent, he heard voices whispering around him. He remained perfectly still, listening to them and staring blankly.
“He’s suffering from shock and exhaustion,” the Phoenix doctor Matthew Searles said. “Witnessing the collapse of his bridge, something he created, and the subsequent loss of life that resulted from such a tragedy—well, it took its toll. I’ve prescribed a mild sedative to help him sleep, and we’ll have to keep him separated for awhile from the events outside the tent—the grieving, the massive loss of life—if he is going to recover, otherwise, he may suffer a relapse from being reminded of the traumatic incident. He needs rest.”
“Thank you Matt,” Pete said, sighing. He looked at the limp, unresponsive body of his friend sadly. “Is he going to be all right?”
Dr. Searles shrugged. “In time, perhaps,” he said. “It’s going to be a lengthy process. Physically, he’ll be fine, but mentally…”
“I understand.”
“This is indeed a sad day for us all,” Chief Nagra said in English. “I have been able to somewhat calm the chaos and reassure my people, but they will be in mourning for quite some time. It is a shame that this had to happen. You must tell MacGyver that neither I nor my people place any blame on him for what has so tragically transpired here today. I am certain that it was an unfortunate accident.” He clasped Pete’s had with his broad hand and smiled, further accentuating his wise, benevolent features.
“I appreciate that, Chief,” Pete said. “I’m sure he needs to hear that.” He looked at MacGyver’s still form once again, a few stray tears forming in his eyes, burning and stinging them. “Can you gentlemen excuse me for a moment? I want to see if I can try to talk to him and comfort him.”
“Of course,” Chief Nagra said, releasing Pete’s hand and bowing.
Dr. Searles looked at Pete, deep concern in his eyes. “Be patient with him,” he said. “Take it slowly.”
“I will, Doctor. Thanks again.”
Dr. Searles nodded and left the tent, joined by Chief Nagra. After they were gone, Pete turned back to where MacGyver lay on the cot, still motionless except for the rise and fall of his lungs as he breathed, his back turned, facing him. Unsure if he was awake, he sat beside him, debating whether or not to disturb him or to wait until he did respond.
“It is my fault, you know,” MacGyver said, his voice monotone. He continued to stare at the other side of the tent, watching the olive green fabric ruffle in the breeze.
“Now don’t do this to yourself, Mac,” Pete said, reaching out and placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”
MacGyver’s body shuddered as he heaved a despondent sigh. “It was my design, Pete,” he said. “I built it. Everything I touch I destroy, taking innocent lives along with it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“There could be multiple explanations for what happened out there,” Pete said. “The bridge may have been your design, but you didn’t build it all alone, did you? Someone on the crew might have made a mistake somewhere during the construction phase.”
“No, I refuse to believe that. The men we chose for this project were experienced and checked out our background screening process just fine. They were the best.”
“Well then, maybe some faulty materials were accidentally incorporated into the bridge that weren’t up to construction standards and they somehow missed the inspector’s attention.”
“I don’t think so. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I take full responsibility for what happened.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“I should never have taken on a project on such a large scale as this,” MacGyver said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I’ll tell you what you were thinking,” Pete said. “You were just being the selfless person you are, wanting to help a region in crisis.”
“Yeah, and some help I turned out to be,” MacGyver snorted. “I murdered those people. Their blood is on my hands. I may not have deliberately killed them, but my bridge did the work for me. I was frozen…I couldn’t do anything to save them. I can still see them, in my mind. I can still hear them screaming…” his body trembled again and he momentarily squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to block out the horrific images of the woman and her baby being dragged beneath the water, never to be seen again.
Pete gently stroked his back, trying to console him.
“It was sheer hubris, what I did,” MacGyver said bitterly, opening his eyes and staring blankly again. “Sure, MacGyver can do anything. He can make anything. He can fix anything. So, why not build a bridge? What a complete fool I was. The project was beyond my skills. I should never have had the audacity to think I could attempt something so ambitious, and now many people have paid with their lives for my arrogance.”
“MacGyver, look at me,” Pete said.
MacGyver remained still, his back facing Pete, refusing to move. He was ashamed. He didn’t want Pete to see him.
“MacGyver, please…”
“I want to go home,” MacGyver said. “I want to be away from this disaster, as far away as I can. That is, if I’m allowed to leave. I can’t believe Chief Nagra is so lenient and forgiving, that he doesn’t want to punish me in some manner for murdering hundreds of his people.”
“You didn’t do it intentionally, if at all,” Pete said. “I still maintain that something else happened to cause that bridge to collapse, something that has nothing to do with your design. It was sound. Everything was fine. Something else had to have caused this, and we’ll investigate it until we find the reason, I promise you. Why can’t you just wait and hear the results of the investigation before you decide to do penance for something you have no control over, for something that isn’t your fault?”
“It is my fault. I know it is.”
“Mac, please listen to me…”
“Leave me alone, Pete, please,” MacGyver said, beginning to sob quietly. “Please, let me go home. Get me away from here…I…I can’t stand it any longer…”
He curled his shaking body tightly into a fetal position, squirming on the cot. Pete hated watching him suffer, wishing there was more he could do, but he knew his words of reassurance were doing little to ease his friend’s distress, no matter how he tried.
“All right,” Pete said, sighing, fighting back more of his own tears. “If that’s what you want. I’ll remain behind and wait for the investigation team to arrive. I’m not leaving until we find answers. Once I hear something of note, I promise I’ll let you know. I’ll keep in touch with you, okay? Okay? Mac?”
MacGyver sniffed loudly and hugged his arms tighter around his shivering body, but he said nothing in reply. He saw the woman and her child drowning again, and he closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Just get me home,” he whispered at last. “Please.”
***
California
Being back in the familiar environment of his houseboat did little to comfort MacGyver. He was still surrounded by reminders of his bridge. A small scale replica of it along with the schematics was spread out on his table. Any time he tried to sleep, he was confronted with the screams and the terrified, panicked expressions of the dying. Not usually one to consume any pharmaceutical, he downed bottles of the sedative Dr. Searles had prescribed for him, yet he still could not get any rest and could not escape the tremendous guilt he felt. Little mattered to him, allowing his appearance to become more disheveled, gaunt, and pale, the scruffy, stubbly beginnings of a beard growing on his face, his hair growing longer and more unkempt. He spent his sleepless nights studying the diagrams for the bridge, trying to find the fatal engineering flaw that had cost so many lives, staring at them until they became blurred nonsense to his bloodshot, strained, and tired eyes. No matter how hard he looked for a fault, he couldn’t find it. Everything made sense on paper, so how could it have failed so spectacularly? He grew frustrated and angry, scattering the pages of the design across the room, crumpling them, and tearing them to shreds. He was in the middle of one such uncontrollable frenzy when his phone rang. Pausing to listen to it, its shrill, piercing sound causing tingling sensations to carry up his spine, knowing that it was Pete and dreading the news he had, he hesitated answering it at first. Soon, he could no longer ignore it, the ringing insistent. Wading his way through strips of torn paper piled up on his floor, he reached for it at last, answering it.
“MacGyver, is that you? You sound terrible,” Pete said on the other end, hearing the exhaustion in his friend’s voice. “Haven’t you been resting at all? You really have to take better care of yourself. Stop beating yourself up over this so much. Really. I mean it.”
“Just tell me what’s going on,” MacGyver snapped, almost growling. He instantly regretted it, but Pete seemed to understand, knowing that he was under a lot of stress.
“So far, our investigation team has been unable to find anything wrong with the bridge, at least not anything that could have caused it to collapse,” Pete said.
MacGyver closed his eyes, rubbing them. They felt sore from a lack of sleep. “I figured as much,” he said. “I can’t find anything wrong with my plans, either. I’ve been going over them, sort of conducting my own investigation.”
“Well, the team will continue to salvage as much of the wreckage as they can to determine the exact cause, but it hasn’t been easy. So much of it has been washed away by the river, and what remains is almost irretrievable because of how treacherous the river is. Still, we’ll find something to explain this. I know we will. Don’t give up hope on me, Mac, all right? Just…try to take care of yourself, if not for your sake, then for mine. I’m worried about you.”
“Thanks, Pete, but I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will,” Pete said, his voice filled with doubt. “I’ll continue to keep you posted when I have new information for you. In the meantime, just...try to get some rest, huh?”
“Sure. Goodbye, Pete.”
MacGyver slammed down the receiver and tossed the phone aside, anger rising in him again. No evidence, no explanations—it all amounted to one thing in his mind. He was responsible. There was nothing that was going to exonerate him. Sighing in irritation and rubbing his face, he glared at the small scale model of the bridge. It had become the most hated object in his houseboat, and it seemed to mock him, its perfect design showing him what might have been. The miniature survived, remained in perfect form while the real one had been obliterated before his eyes, affecting real people. It looked so beautiful, so harmless, just like any dream. When his dream had been realized it became a nightmare, cruelly taunting him with reminders of the dead. Snatching the model from the table, he thought about throwing it across the room, hoping to smash it into small pieces like its large scale twin, making the destruction complete. Instead, he stopped himself before he was about to throw it and stared at it, getting a better idea. He didn’t want any of it left, not even pieces. Grabbing his matches from the kitchen drawer, he took it outside and lit it on fire, watching it glow in his hands, mesmerized by it, purging himself of it. When the fire spread and began to lick painfully at his fingers, burning them, he tossed the model into the water, listening to it sizzle as the flames were quickly extinguished, a small puff of smoke rising from the water as it sank. He found himself hyperventilating and almost laughing at the same time, relieved to be rid of it, yet the feeling was only temporary. The symbolic sacrifice of his idea would never bring back those who had lost their lives, and he would continue to carry the burden of guilt with him. He had to escape somehow. He had to go somewhere more remote, somewhere where Pete couldn’t contact him, where no one could contact him. Returning to the house boat, he grabbed a set of keys that hadn’t been used in awhile—the keys to Pete’s cabin. It had been restored and rebuilt since Murdoc torched it with a flamethrower, and it was the only sanctuary he could think of, the only place where he could think, reflect, and at least try to relax. Hastily, he packed a bag and then left, leaving his houseboat in a disordered condition, papers still strewn about, making the place look ransacked, but he didn’t care. He had to get out of there immediately. Jumping in his jeep, he fled, anxious to be gone, anxious to be in hiding as any fugitive would.
The man following him in the truck grinned. He was pleased. His plan was working perfectly. He knew exactly where MacGyver was going. It was the same place he always went when he felt guilty about something. He chuckled when he thought about how predictable his prey could be. It would make for a much easier hunt.
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
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