Okay, here we go--I'm wrapping this one up. I hope you enjoyed it! I have a new story I'm posting a little later on!
Quarantine Part Eight
Rated: PG (Conclusion)
“Here we are, home sweet home,” Pete said cheerily, helping MacGyver into his houseboat.
Although MacGyver had fully recovered from the virus and showed no further signs of contagion, he was still underweight and weak, leaning on Pete for support as they entered his beloved home, his refuge, the place he thought he would never see again.
“Where to?” Pete asked.
“Take me straight to the couch, please,” MacGyver said.
“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather rest in your own bed?”
“What are you gonna do? Carry me upstairs?” MacGyver asked with a sly, teasing grin.
Pete looked at his friend, still a mere shadow of who he had been before his long, ravaging illness. He was so light and slender and Pete was a strong, sturdy enough man that he knew he probably could carry his friend upstairs in his current condition, although he knew MacGyver would refuse to submit to such an indignity.
“No, I suppose not,” he said, smiling. “The couch it is.”
As MacGyver hobbled and Pete half-supported, half-dragged him towards the sofa, a pizza box slowly came into view, resting on the coffee table. The fragrant aroma of garlic, oregano, and fennel wafted from the steam that was escaping from beneath the cardboard lid. MacGyver saw it and smiled.
“Pete, is this for me? You shouldn’t have,” he said.
“I uh…wanted to surprise you,” Pete said. “I thought this would be a nice addition to your homecoming, since you’re probably tired of hospital food by now.”
“Not only that, but I was tired of being stuck in that room.” He turned and looked at Pete, smiling broadly. “It’s great to be home. Thanks, Pete.”
“You’re welcome.”
The two men embraced, and it still disheartened Pete to feel MacGyver’s sharp, prominent bones and his body tremble weakly, barely able to stand on his own. At least now he could actually touch and feel him, the barrier of the protective suit absent. He held him for a moment, listening to his heart beat, now stronger and more regular than it had been during his illness, his breathing also returned to normal, confirming to himself that his friend was indeed still alive, still regaining his health.
“Here, sit down, I’ll get us some plates and then we’ll watch one of your westerns. How does that sound?” He asked, releasing his friend and gently helping him onto the sofa.
MacGyver surrendered his body completely to rest and the support and familiar comfort of his sofa, collapsing and leaning against it, feeling he could go to sleep immediately.
“Sure Pete, that sounds fine,” he said, smiling lazily, his eyes half open.
He struggled to remain awake as he watched Pete busy himself in the kitchen, grabbing two plates from the pantry and making a great deal of noise in the process, the ceramic plates clanging against each other.
“Do you want something to drink?” Pete asked.
“Water’s fine,” MacGyver said.
Nodding, Pete grabbed two glasses and filled them with tap water from the sink.
“Oh…Pete?” MacGyver asked, his voice groggy.
Pete looked up from his task and saw how limply MacGyver’s languid body lay on the sofa, almost draped over it like a formless blanket. He looked at him in deep sympathy, knowing how exhausted he still must’ve been.
“The bed…you can…sleep on it if you want…later…I mean, you can stay…”
“Do you want me to?” Pete asked.
“Please…”
Pete smiled at him. He knew how difficult it was for his usually self-reliant friend to be so dependent, to admit that he needed help and company, and it touched him that he would ask him to stay. It confirmed to him how close their friendship had grown.
“Sure Mac,” he said. “I will.” He left the kitchen, carefully balancing the glasses of water and plates in his hands, eventually setting them down beside the pizza box. “Now, let’s see how good this is before it gets cold,” he said, gently lifting the lid, a fresh burst of aromatic Italian spices filling the air.
“It smells good,” MacGyver said.
“I’m glad you have your appetite back, because I want you to have most of this.”
MacGyver arched an eyebrow and grinned. “What are you trying to do? Make me fat?” He asked.
“No, but I am trying to put some meat back on those wasted bones. Now, eat,” Pete said, offering him a plate with a sizeable slice of pizza on it. “I made sure not to put any anchovies on it. It’s vegetarian, mushrooms and peppers, I think.”
MacGyver accepted the plate with bony, trembling hands. He looked down at the slice and smelled it. It was colorful, almost decorative, in appearance. Whoever had made it had taken time to evenly top it. “It looks good. Thanks again,” he said.
“Now, you just sit there and enjoy, and I’ll get the movie ready,” Pete said, staring at the collection of westerns on the shelf. “Do you know which one you want to see? Which one are you in the mood for?”
“I don’t care,” MacGyver said through a mouthful of pizza. “Which one haven’t you seen yet?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Pete said, sighing.
“Just pick one. It doesn’t matter.”
“All right.”
After picking one, Pete went over to the VCR to set it up. “How is the pizza?” he asked.
“Good,” MacGyver said, his response once again muffled by a mouthful.
Pete smiled. “It sounds like it,” he said.
“Hurry before I eat the rest of it.”
“You know me. It takes me forever to figure these electronic gadgets out.”
“Do you want me to help?”
“No, I’m not that helpless. I do have one at home, after all. You just relax and eat.”
They were silent for awhile, MacGyver focused entirely on his pizza, devouring it hungrily, and Pete working on getting the VCR in working order.
“The thieves were caught finally, by the way,” Pete said over his shoulder.
“That’s good news,” MacGyver said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but you were recovering and on your way out of the quarantine room. I was just so excited to have you back and well that I neglected to mention it.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It turns out they were Phoenix men, not moles or plants, but they were willing to sell the virus to the highest bidder on the black market.”
“It’s a good thing that virus will never infect anyone again,” MacGyver said, momentarily dropping his half-eaten slice of pizza and shuddering, remembering how awful he felt and how terrible he still felt, dull pain and fever revisiting him on occasion. “Sandra had to destroy it, I suppose.”
“Yes, and she wasn’t too happy about it, let me tell you,” Pete said. “But, we supervised the entire operation and searched her laboratory for any possible remaining traces of it, and it’s completely gone, successfully removed and eradicated.”
“That’s good to hear. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through what I did.”
Pete paused from his mechanical task and looked gravely at MacGyver, who still looked pale. Even though his veins were no longer visible and he had regained some flesh, he still looked ghastly. “I know,” he said. “I don’t, either. It was bad enough with you. In fact, it was a nightmare. I was so worried and scared for your life.” His voice trembled slightly as he held back tears.
“I know, Pete,” MacGyver said. “So was I.” He picked up his slice of pizza again and absently picked at it, thinking.
“Have you seen your relatives who have passed on again?” Pete asked.
“No, not really,” MacGyver said. “They were a comfort to me when my recovery was uncertain, though.” He sighed. “I just wish there was some way I could know whether it actually happened, whether I really saw them or not.”
“Well, I know you scoff at it, but we are conducting paranormal research at Phoenix,” Pete said, pressing a few buttons on the VCR. “Maybe someday you will know.”
The television came on, and the VCR at last whirred to life, the charcoal images of cowboys projecting on the screen.
“Ah, there we go,” Pete said, stepping back from the TV and smiling at it, proud of his work. “It’s all set.”
“The volume, Pete,” MacGyver said, handing him the remote control. “Don’t forget that.”
“Oh…yeah,” Pete said, taking the remote from his friend’s shaky grip. He turned up the volume and soon the living room of the houseboat was filled with the shouts of men on horseback and the reports of gunfire. Satisfied, he grabbed his own slice of pizza and sat in the chair next to MacGyver’s sofa.
MacGyver returned to eating, grabbing one more slice before he was full. Sated and tired, he soon drifted off into sleep, slumping down on the sofa and unable to keep his eyes open long enough to enjoy the movie, even though Pete had picked one of his favorites. For awhile, Pete thought he was still awake, but he couldn’t tell for sure, only able to see the top of his head with its ruffled, sandy hair. As he observed him, he realized he was completely still and silent except for a small, intermittent moan or snore that rose from his lips. Pausing the movie, he got up and looked down at his friend. MacGyver was asleep, the plate with a half-eaten slice of pizza resting on his stomach, rising and falling with each breath he made, a small, contented smile on his placid features. Smiling, Pete took the plate away and grabbed a blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa, arranging it comfortably around the sleeping, lank form.
“Good night, Kid,” he said, gently stroking his cheek. “You’re going to be all right, now.”
***
In her laboratory, Dr. Sandra Milhouse stared at her collection of computer disks containing her research. They were all that remained of the virus and the vaccine she had created. She was almost tempted to destroy them as well, but she held on to them almost as if in mourning, as if it were some symbolic gesture over the loss and her grief. Of course she was consoled by MacGyver’s successful recovery and the capture of the thieves, but she had lost half of her life, half of her career, and she could never recoup those losses. Still, she knew she wasn’t finished, not yet. She was determined, and she had sent an organism into space where it would either thrive or die, where her experiment would either produce substantial results that would benefit mankind or unleash some new horror upon it. All she could do, all mankind could do, was wait to see what she would do next.
The End
"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
I should follow his example 
;_;
