[MacsChick]

Wandering Blind Part Four
Rated: R

As MacGyver remained at D.B.’s cabin and got to know him better, he performed more duties and tasks around the place, mending what needed to be mended, using his own ingenuity and style, continuing to impress and amaze his host as he did so with his extraordinary talents.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fix things the way you do, so cleverly, using just what’s available in new ways,” he said one evening after their dinner, sitting in front of the fireplace. “Whatever you do for a living, I sure hope you get to put those skills to work. It would be a shame to waste them.”

MacGyver stared blankly at the fire, watching the flames dance, wishing he knew. D.B. watched him.

“Handy, listen to me,” he said. “I’ve got something on my mind that’s been bothering me about you. You don’t talk, but why? Is it because you can’t, or because you want to protect me from something?”

MacGyver looked at him, his eyes once again piercing and intense.

“Look, I know we met under strange circumstances and that someone tried to kill you,” D.B. said, refusing to be intimidated by that stare. “If you know who it is or if you’re worried that they’ll come after me…don’t be, all right? I can take care of myself.”

MacGyver frowned and shook his head, showing that he didn’t know.

“Well, if you feel you need to go to the police and file a report about this…that’s fine. I’ll come with you as a witness if you need me to. It’s just…I know about silence. I know about cops. I’ve had bad experiences with both. Nothing major, you understand, just run-ins and a few scrapes and brushes with the law, is all. I got busted on battery and assault charges once. Drunken brawling, you know, idiotic stuff like that. It’s just…I don’t know,” he sighed. “When I came back from ‘Nam I was so confused, you know? Angry. Hostile, just like many of the guys that came back, I guess, finding themselves in a world that just doesn’t make sense anymore. I just wanted to beat up the first guy I saw for the sheer pleasure and feeling of it, I guess just to release that aggression and hostility I felt. I had seen some ugly things during the war that made me doubt and dislike humanity, and I guess that’s part of the reason I moved out here, to be away from it all, to hide, to retreat like some coward.”

MacGyver touched his big, rounded shoulder and shook his head, indicating that he didn’t think D.B. was a coward.

“Well, thanks buddy,” D.B. said, smiling, “but maybe I am. Maybe all this tough guy roughing it out in the backcountry stuff is all an act, all a big show. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, I guess. I don’t know if I even had a point, other than if you’re hiding something out of fear, you shouldn’t be. It’ll only cause more trouble for you. You should know by now that you can trust me, that you can tell me anything that you’ve got to say. But there’s no pressure, all right? Only when you’re ready.”

MacGyver nodded, showing he understood. They both stared at the fire for awhile as if mesmerized by it, the dancing flames soothing and putting them in a trance.

“It looks like the fire’s dying,” D.B. said at last. “Do you want to gather some more firewood?”

MacGyver nodded.

“All right. You know where it is, by the shed that you just rebuilt for me and made sturdier. Thanks again for doing that, by the way. I don’t think it would’ve survived another winter.”

MacGyver smiled.

“Okay, go get some. Just be careful out there, all right? I’ll be waiting here for you when you get back.”

***

Murdoc peered through his binoculars, watching the cabin in the darkness, firelight flickering in the windows. He couldn’t believe it, and he was furious. MacGyver had beaten him again. When he returned to the scene of his crime, he expected to find either MacGyver still there, hanging lifelessly from the tree, or to see it surrounded by police and crime scene investigators. Instead, he found MacGyver’s body missing, only a remainder of the rope still hanging from the branch. Examining it closely, he noticed that it had been cut. Someone had rescued him. It only took him a little while before he found the cabin and observed it over a period of several days, watching the man who owned it and MacGyver. Now, as he watched the cabin, he knew it was his chance. He had to stop MacGyver before he could escape him once again.

***

D.B. heard a knock on the door. “Handy, is that you?” He asked. “You can come on in.”

Murdoc entered, smirking, pointing his gun at him.

“What is this? Who the hell are you?” D.B. asked.

“I’m looking for a dear friend of mine,” Murdoc said. “His name is MacGyver. Perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me where he is and help me find him.”

“MacGyver? I don’t know any MacGyver,” D.B. said.

“Don’t play ignorant with me. I’m not in the mood,” Murdoc said, thrusting the gun forward, pointing it directly at D.B’s chest.

“Seriously, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” D.B. said.

“Come now, you’ve been keeping him here at your cabin for several days. I’ve seen you two together.”

D.B. began to piece together what the man with the gun was saying. “You’re the man who tried to kill him, aren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, and you’re the man who ruined my plans by saving him. Now, it’s time to pay me back.”

“What do you want with him? What did he do to you?”

“None of your business. Now, tell me where he is or I shall have to blow a hole through your heart.”

MacGyver entered just then, carrying firewood. He saw the man with the gun pointing it at D.B. For a moment, memories flooded back to him, the man’s face seeming familiar, although he didn’t know from where. His thoughts then raced to the night he was being hung and made a connection between them.

“Run, Handy!” D.B. shouted at him.

Murdoc turned when he saw MacGyver standing there with the firewood, grinning and preparing to fire. Before he could, MacGyver acted quickly, throwing the firewood logs at him, providing a distraction so he could run. Murdoc pursued him, chasing him into the night. Before MacGyver had run, he managed to grab D.B.’s hunting rifle that had been leaning on the side of the cabin, and since he had a head start over his pursuer, he used the extra time to his advantage, hiding behind some bushes, listening to Murdoc’s footfalls, waiting until he got closer. He gripped the rifle tightly in his hands, prepared to ambush his enemy. At that moment, still uncertain of his identity, his memories hazy, he did not think about the rifle in his hand, about how it felt strange and wrong in his hands somehow. All he knew was that he knew how to use it, and he was prepared to if necessary. He heard Murdoc stop running, panting and searching the woods. The planes and angles of his face were sharp, prominent, and well-defined in the moonlight. As MacGyver watched him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, he thought he recognized him from somewhere before, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Come on, MacGyver, you can’t hide from me forever,” he said.

The distinctive British accent was also familiar to MacGyver. He remembered hearing it when he was being hanged, and the connection to this man and the man who had committed that atrocious deed grew stronger. Still, he didn’t know why this man was calling him MacGyver. Was that his name? Somehow, it seemed right, but he didn’t know for sure. All he knew was that there seemed to be a long history between the two of them, a history he couldn’t remember clearly at that moment. He waited just a while longer before emerging from behind his hiding place in the bushes, pointing the rifle at Murdoc.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Murdoc said, laughing in amusement.

Without hesitation, MacGyver aimed and pulled the trigger, firing at Murdoc’s leg, the loud blast reverberating through the surrounding mountains. The bullet pierced Murdoc’s leg and he reeled backward, a stunned expression on his face. Usually, he considered himself in control of these deadly games he played with MacGyver, never considering his target a threat he couldn’t overcome. Now, as he looked at MacGyver and saw a coldness and lethality in his dark eyes that he had never seen before, he had to admit he was afraid. He had never seen MacGyver this way before, a killing machine, determined to shoot again, aiming the rifle again, ready to kill him. He had always had a desire to see if he could push MacGyver to the edge, to see if he could push him to kill without thinking or remorse, and now that he saw that he was capable of it, it terrified him. Before MacGyver could fire at him again he staggered back and retreated, limping as he ran.

“Handy! Handy, are you all right? I heard gunshots!” D.B. shouted, running through the woods towards MacGyver, carrying a flashlight, the beam bouncing around as he ran, randomly hitting trees. When he caught up to MacGyver he saw him standing there, alone, the rifle still in his hands, a blank, expressionless stare on his face. “What happened?” He asked. “Where did he go?”

MacGyver said nothing, continuing to stare in stunned, dumbfounded amazement.

Pointing the flashlight at the ground, D.B. saw the drops of blood. He followed them, noticing that they receded deep into the woods. Being an expert hunter, he knew what happened.

“Looks like you hit him pretty good,” he said. “You must’ve scared him off.”

The scene replayed in MacGyver’s mind—him aiming and firing, the stunned look on Murdoc’s face as the bullet struck him. Somehow, it didn’t feel as if he had been the one to do the shooting. Someone else was standing in his place, someone he didn’t know, some stranger. It wasn’t him.

“Great job, Handy!” D.B. said, slapping him on the back. “You really are something, you know? Wow, man. Whatever you do for a living, it must be highly specialized. You can rebuild something out of random parts, aim and fire with precision…I wonder if you were ever in the military. That requires some serious skill.”

MacGyver didn’t know and couldn’t say. Something about military life seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he wasn’t sure. His identity was still a mystery to him, with loose fragments and pieces of it emerging on occasion to haunt and confuse him further. Looking down at the rifle in his hands, it began to feel more foreign and strange to him. He dropped it suddenly as if in disgust and sat down, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them, rocking, lost in deep thought.

“What’s wrong?” D.B. asked, sitting down beside him.

MacGyver stared out into the night, tightly clenching his jaw, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s over. You got him. Chances are he’s pretty scared and won’t come back. After all, you probably did wound him pretty badly. If he does come back though, we’ll be prepared this time. It’ll be fine, I promise. Just relax. It’s all right.”

He watched as MacGyver continued to stare and rock, furrowing his brow as if he were trying to work something out in his mind, deep in intense concentration.

D.B. sighed. “I wish you could tell me what’s on that brilliant mind of yours,” he said. “But I know. Maybe you still can’t. It’s all right.” He wrapped his arm around him in support. “I think I understand what you’re going through, at least with what happened here tonight. You had to defend yourself. It isn’t an easy thing to do, thinking about shooting and possibly killing a man. But you did it. You did what you had to. There’s no sense in trying to rationalize it now. It’s over. Now, you just move on, if you can. I know it isn’t easy. I don’t know what your whole story is, but I do know from my own experience that you can’t brood and dwell on these things once they’re done. You have to move on, keep living your life, learn from your mistakes and pick up where you left off, just like any other human being. You know?”

MacGyver looked at him and nodded, showing he understood.

D.B. smiled at him and stood, grabbing his rifle. “Let’s get back to the cabin,” he said. “I know it’s been a pretty wild night, but we should try to get some sleep. I’ll keep this nearby in case that lunatic decides to return.” He offered his hand to MacGyver and helped him stand. He still saw traces of worry lining MacGyver’s brow, and he wondered if it had to do with something deeper than shooting at an intruder. He didn’t know. There was so much his guest was unwilling or unable to divulge, and he wished he could know more, wanting to help him but unsure how.

***

Images of the house on the water returned to MacGyver in his sleep, except this time they were more vivid. He saw it in the daylight, swaying and rocking gently, a pale blue color. It began to look even more familiar to him in that context, and something about it suggested that he belonged there, that he was supposed to be there. As he dreamt, he even thought he knew where it was and how to get back to it. Waking abruptly, the images still fresh in his mind, he realized what he needed to do. Although he still wasn’t clear about who he was, he knew where he lived, and he had to return. It was the only way he could begin to reconstruct his old life, whatever it was. Grabbing the pad of paper and pen he had been using to communicate with D.B., he tore a sheet from it and hurriedly jotted down notes as to the location of the houseboat, planning on hitchhiking and showing the directions to the driver so they would know where he wanted to go, hoping it was real, hoping he was getting close to discovering his identity and having it return to him at last.

Pausing, he looked across the room in the cabin at D.B., who was still sound asleep. Dawn was breaking, faint sunlight streaming in from the windows onto his hulking body, made even larger by the blankets piled on top of his massive frame. MacGyver smiled sadly at him, regretting what he needed to do but knowing there was no other alternative. Something was impelling him to move on, to return to this houseboat, just as something had impelled him to leave it and venture far into the wilderness alone. He wanted to ask D.B. for a ride, but he didn’t think his battered old pickup would make it as far as he needed to go, and he hated saying goodbye. His mind deliberated on it for awhile, debating whether he should wake the man who saved his life and had been so kind to him as he recovered. It felt base and cowardly to him to not wake him up, to not say goodbye and make him understand that he needed to move on, but he was still in an uncommunicative state and was unsure if he could effectively convey what he needed to and make D.B. understand him. The only tool he had at his disposal was the notepad, the one he had used so often over the past several days to send notes to his new friend. Now, he would be using it to send one final note of goodbye. Sighing, even slightly tearful, MacGyver returned to the notepad and composed his note to D.B., hoping the man would forgive him for what he needed to do.

D.B.,

I think I am beginning to know who I am again. I’m starting to remember where I live, and I’m going to return there. I appreciate everything that you have done for me, and I could never thank you enough, but it’s time for me to move on and return to my old life, if I can. I want you to know that I will never forget you, and I will come back to visit you. I could never forget a friend. For now, though, I need to sort some things out, and I need to do it alone. I hope you will understand. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon, I promise.

“Handy”


Finished with the note, MacGyver took one final look around the cabin and at D.B., who was snoring softly, completely oblivious. Smiling through his tears and gathering the few meager possessions D.B. had given him in a small duffle bag, he turned and left.

***

D.B. awoke to find MacGyver’s bed empty. “Handy?” He called. “Handy, where’d you go?”

Searching the cabin and the surrounding woods, he found nothing. He began to worry. He knew the man was unstable and not quite sure of who he was yet, and he hoped he hadn’t wandered off to somewhere unknown again, somewhere where he could possibly be in danger, the man who tried to kill him still out there, still a threat, tending to his wound somewhere. When he returned to his cabin after finding nothing, he saw the note. After reading it, he darted back out of his cabin, running down the dirt path towards the road, knowing that was where he had to be, looking for a ride. As he reached the road, he saw nothing. He wondered how long ago the note had been written, realizing that MacGyver had probably left hours ago. Still, he refused to give up looking for him, walking up and down the road.

“Handy!” He shouted. “Handy, where are you? Come back! I’ll give you a ride, okay! Don’t do this, you hear? It could be dangerous! Handy! Come back!”

All he received in reply was silence, his own voice echoing through the valleys, cruelly mocking his solitude. He realized it was too late. MacGyver had left him hours ago. Even though the note explained everything and he had promised to return, D.B. had a strange feeling he would never see him again. He was gone.

To be continued…

[ghostdoll]

For some cruel reason or another I do "liked" the part where MacGyver actually fired the riffle. And no, I don't like it because I like guns, I just liked the idea that since he isn't able to remember who he really is, is like another person and in the end ny person will try to survive when confronted with a life-death situation.

Heh, that should teach Murdoc not to be so cocky all the time and to think he knows MacGyver completely Excellent chapter, MacsChick. I wonder if Mac and D.B. will see each other ever again.