Me and guns don't mix, 'cos I always jump them.
Anyway, I got an invite to write a little something. So I wrote a little something. It's speed-typing, speed-yarn-weaving, and it's about MacGyver (oh my, I feel a teenager again!).
I know where it is going, and I intend to have it laden with drama and MacGyverisms and heroics and... yeah. Anyway... feedback is appreciated, as I don't know what you like, and this is what I like only.
Yes, I'll stop talking now, and just post the damn thing.
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Summary : MacGyver is sent to rescue a doctor with important research data. Or is there more to it than just that?
Part One I don’t get it.
No, really I don’t. No matter how many answers I can find to problems, no matter how much and how often I see what others are reaching for in the dark, this one question remains unanswerable:
Just what is it that they envy about me?
I know the logic- it’s the science-savvy, the street-smarts and the ‘go against the odds and win’ part of who I am that sounds alluring, or cool, or what have you. People look at me as if I am a miracle worker, and that is what they envy. But don’t they also see that being who I am means I get shot at, gassed, clobbered, smothered, hunted, punched, trapped, throttled, smashed and chased by over-conscientious old ladies?
Just how fun is it to wake up everyday and literally not know if night will find you well and whole? Let me tell you:
Its. NOT. Fun. “Aaaaaaargh!”
The scream was torn from the deepest part within his body, and the doctor cringed. She hated to have to be the one to cause this much pain to her rescuer, but she had no painkillers with her, and the swiss army knife blade she had to work with was not the most appropriate tool to gouge out bullets from a pain-wracked man.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” she bit her lip but her sure hands did not pause, hesitate or stop their task. “Only a little while longer now,” she added as an after thought.
MacGyver panted, cold sweat drenching his body as he was lying face down on the cave floor where his rescuee had taken him to… well… rescue him, too. For a petite woman, she certainly had strength.
“Just… tell me when … when’ts’over…” he managed to choke out.
Of all the times NOT to be able to lose consciousness! The metal clang of a wrinkled up bullet told him that she had extracted the second one from his upper arm, dropping it in the tip cup with the first one. It was amazing speed, considering the tools she was working with, but for MacGyver each second that passed was century-long and full of agony. The SAK blade mercilessly dug in the hole further down his arm, closer to his elbow. Although MacGyver tried his best, he couldn’t help screaming again.
“Don’t try te keep it in,” the doctor’s quiet, cool voice reached his ears. “Screaming will help ye be in pain less.”
“Really?” MacGyver panted, shutting his eyes. Or were they already shut? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to ask her why she said that, and if that was why women had such a higher resistance to pain, but he had no breath left to do it with. He had no way to ask the doctor to keep on talking, to distract him from the waves of white hot pain that took him at the pace of his heart.
But it seemed she already knew, and she kept on talking, her agile hands working without pause, fingering the entry wound, guiding the blade to the shortest way to the bullet lodged inside his flesh.
“Sure! It gives ye something else to focus on. Ye use up the pain before ye can fully feel it. Oh, and some endorphins work fer you more,” her slightly accented voice seemed carefree, as if she was preparing tea. It gave Mac solace while it bewildered him. Of all the people he’d been sent by the Phoenix Foundation to save, this little doctor- Dr. Farrah Wallace- was by far the one standing out; not because of great looks or intelligence or anything, though Mac knew from her file and from her comments when they first met that she was quite intelligent indeed.
She actually
worked with him. She let him take the lead from moment one, she didn’t ask questions that could be answered later, she didn’t throw tantrums, she didn’t object when she had no business objecting. She even stayed put when he told her to! It had been the easiest, smoothest rescue he had ever had, up until the shoot out. They had come out of nowhere, those hitmen, and something about them was bothering Mac.
That is something I will have to factor into the equation of who Dr. Wallace has gone up against- when I get my brain back from the PAIN! “Shyte,” Farrah suddenly hissed under her breath, and the SAK blade seemed like it caught fire while in his arm. She withdrew it while he was howling, and deftly began wrapping up his mangled right arm with the bandages she’d made of her shredded shirt. The first layer was warm and still-damp from the water she’d boiled the straps of cloth in.
The pain began to quickly recede to a dull throb that he could handle, but she was silent as she was working now, and that somehow alarmed him. He opened his eyes and carefully turned his head to look at her.
“Whatissit?” he mumbled. He felt so very tired.
“I can’t extract the last bullet. I’m sorry. If I do now with just yer switchblade, we are risking nerve damage. I want you to keep those capable arms of yers. That’s why I am binding it as-is. We have to keep yer arm as immobile as possible. If we don’t get te a hospital by tonight, I will suture the bullet wounds, but I am hoping you can get better than clothes’ thread and a safety pin to sew you up. I just wish I had the right equipment with me, I wish I could do more for you.” Farrah sighed dejectedly, glancing once at the things at her disposal- mostly the contents of MacGyver’s pockets.
“You’ve already done more than anyone’s expecting- I’m the one who should be doing the helping,” MacGyver smiled weakly at her, cringing as she tightened the binding over his shoulder blade. She hadn’t told him anything, but he suspected the bullet had caused some fracture there. “And we haven’t even properly introduced.”
The doctor grinned as she helped him back into his sweater, bullet holes and all, and then immobilized his arm by tying it firmly against his torso. The dullness of the pain was making MacGyver drowsy, but he knew he couldn’t sleep or rest. Farrah unscrewed his water bottle and helped him drink- small mouthfuls.
“You have my file; ye know I’m Farrah Wallace. I just don’t know yer own name.”
“Name’s MacGyver,” MacGyver said. “Dr. Wallace. What’s the verdict? Will the screamer live?” he tried to jest.
Farrah smiled and MacGyver scrutinized her at his leisure for the first time. She was an odd mix, this one. Definitely Mediterranean, likely Egyptian. She was 35 years of age- he knew that from her file- but she looked twenty. Her eyes were dark green, nearly black, her complexion olive, her hair dark and probably straight- Mac couldn’t tell, she had it up in a knot. Everything else screamed
Irish on her, from the turn of her nose to the slight hint of a brogue in her words. Her features were very interesting to look at.
“Aye, you’ll live. And it’s just Farrah, please,” she said, taking her eyes from his to wipe his SAK against her sleeve until no blood stain implied that she’d used it to carve into his shoulder and arm. “Here’s yer knife.”
By then, Mac’s arm and shoulder had numbed, if one dismissed the throb of his pulse beating at him with relentless cadence. Farrah was tidying up, shoving everything back into MacGyver’s pack that she would carry now. A bird call sounded over the quiet of the forest. Farrah ignored it but MacGyver tensed up, ignoring the pain that shot up through the numbness; pain that only a moment ago, when there was no reason for alarm, he could barely tolerate.
“And that’s our warning to get going, doc. Right now,” he clenched his teeth, tears smarting at his eyes as the doctor looked at him in bewilderment, “or we won’t be gettin’ you and your data to safety after all.”
Stay with us for Part Two! Intelligence is the one variable everyone believes to be constant.
Good start! 
