I've been feeling a little experimental lately with my Mac fic, which I've done before. I just hope you like this one. He travels back in time, kind of like in Good Knight MacGyver, only I hope my version isn't quite as campy!
Accusations Part One
Rated: PG
The body appeared to have only recently washed ashore of the raging river, lying face down on the muddy bank, drenched and motionless. MacGyver acted quickly, turning the limp, lifeless person over. It was a young woman, her pale face coated in mud, wild tangles of her long, wet hair clinging to her damp, clammy skin, her lips taking on a bluish tinge. Feeling for her pulse and finding it absent, he began to perform CPR, alternately breathing into the mouth and pressing on the chest, hoping to resuscitate, hoping it wasn’t too late.
“Come on,” he whispered as he continued to frantically work to save her. “Don’t do this. Come on back to me, now. Please, come on…”
He bent his ear over her mouth to listen for any breath escaping her lips. Still not satisfied, not hearing any response, he returned to his work, pressing on her chest and breathing life back into her. Moments later, she began coughing and gasping, the fluids that had been trapped in her lungs gurgling out her mouth, her eyes slowly fluttering open.
“Thank God,” MacGyver said, feeling for her pulse. It was weak but present.
As the woman continued to cough and regain consciousness, color returned to her complexion, her eyes opening wider, darting around the woods, confused and frightened, searching and struggling to make sense of her surroundings.
“Can you hear me?” MacGyver asked her, smiling down at her and stroking her wet hair, brushing it away from her face. “It’s all right. You’re going to be okay.”
When the woman saw him she shrieked and tried to pull away from him, pure terror and wonderment in her eyes. She was too weak to go very far, and MacGyver restrained her gently.
“Hey, it’s all right,” he said, smiling at her to reassure her. “It’s okay. You almost drowned.”
Seeming to calm down at least slightly, yet still wary of him, the woman stared at him in amazement, speechless.
“It’s gonna be okay now,” MacGyver said. “I helped you. You’re going to be all right. You might need to go to a hospital just in case, although you don’t appear to be injured otherwise, which is a miracle considering the power of the current in that river. Your clothes look pretty shredded, but other than that I don’t see any obvious signs of fractures.”
The woman continued to regard him with a combination of fear and curiosity. “Who…are you?” She asked, her voice weak.
“Name’s MacGyver.”
The woman looked around the forest, bewildered. “The last thing…I remember…I fell into the river. I could not escape. It…dragged me under, pulling me along…I was helpless against its mighty force…”
“Yeah, well you almost drowned,” MacGyver said. “You were fortunate it washed you ashore, and that I happened to be around to save you.”
The woman stared at him in fascination, mesmerized. “You…revived me,” she said.
“Well yes ma’am, I did.”
“How is that possible?”
MacGyver frowned, unsure how to respond to her question, thinking everyone knew what CPR was. Also, he began to feel uncomfortable the way she was staring at him, almost as if in awe of his presence. He wasn’t used to being studied so closely by another person and being the object of their full attention.
“CPR,” he said.
“CPR? What is that?” The young woman asked.
“You don’t know?”
“No, I do not. Pray, tell me what it is.”
MacGyver grinned sheepishly, feeling embarrassed and awkward. “Well, CPR is…what I did to save your life,” he said. “You press on the chest and breathe into the mouth to restore a heartbeat and respiration in someone who is dying, someone who is not responding. As you weren’t. You were drowning. Fluid had built up in your lungs. I had to try to get you breathing again so you could cough it out and live again, breathe normally.”
The woman continued to study him, intrigued. “Well, if you are capable of such an act, then you must possess magical abilities,” she said.
MacGyver raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?” He asked, laughing slightly. “No, it’s not magic, trust me. It’s an emergency medical procedure.”
“I…do not understand. Your language is strange, as is your manner of clothing.”
MacGyver looked down at his clothes—jacket, jeans, boots—certainly nothing out of the ordinary. With a small, delicate, trembling hand, the woman hesitantly reached out, pulling on his zipper, smiling with delight as she saw the interlocking metal teeth mold together. MacGyver looked down, not understanding the source of her amusement.
“It’s just a jacket,” he said, shrugging.
“Perhaps you are a traveler from afar,” the woman said. “Whatever your origins, if you possess magical abilities and have used them for well instead of ill, then you must be an agent of God instead of Satan.”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” MacGyver said.
Looking at her more closely, he began to notice the details of her own clothing, made ragged by the destructive force of the river’s current. It was plain and appeared to be homemade. It also looked as if it belonged to another period, sometime in the distant past. He began to realize he didn’t know how he had ended up in the forest, not remembering how he got there or where he had been before. The woman, his adrenaline, and the sense of urgency necessary to revive her had distracted him, kept him from wondering about how he had ended up there.
“How did I get here? Where is here?” He asked, looking around the forest.
“The village is not far from here,” the woman said. She smiled slightly. “My name is Emily. I want to express my gratitude for what you have done to preserve my life.”
“Well Emily, you’re welcome,” MacGyver said, still looking around the forest, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. “So, this village…do you mind pointing me in the right direction to—
“Oh no, you mustn’t!” Emily said in horror, gripping his arm with strength he didn’t know she had, especially after almost drowning.
“Why?” He asked. “Look, something’s happened, here. Something isn’t right. I don’t know what’s going on or how I got here…wherever here is. Maybe I can find some answers in this village and try to find my way back home somehow.”
“But you cannot,” Emily said. “If you enter the village, they will imprison you.”
“Imprison me? For what reason?”
Emily sighed. “I believe you are an agent for good after restoring my life, but the others will not be so easily convinced,” she said.
“What others?” MacGyver asked.
“The magistrates,” Emily said. “They fear a great evil has possessed the innocent of our village and they suspect the work of Satan. Daily, our own citizens are accused, tried, and sometimes executed for witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft?” MacGyver asked. “Oh, my God. I think I just realized where I am. What year is this?”
“It is the year of Our Lord, 1692.”
“The witch trials,” MacGyver muttered, remembering his history. “You think I’m a…?”
“No, I do not believe you are,” Emily said. “Saving my life could not be considered an act of evil. However, the others would only have to see your strange clothing and manner of speaking to fear and suspect you. Besides that, no one has ever seen you before. It is as if you have materialized out of nowhere.”
“Tell me about it,” MacGyver said. “I don’t even know how I got here.”
“You must have been sent here by one of God’s servants,” Emily said, smiling at him. “I am glad you came. I would not be alive were it not for you, but I fear for your safety. If the others find you, they will show you no mercy or compassion. They will not be kind to an outsider of such strange appearance and mysterious origins.”
MacGyver was beginning to like Emily. He could tell she was intelligent and seemed skeptical, despite her superstitious upbringing.
“You believe the trials are unjust, that those accused of this so-called ‘witchcraft’ are innocent. Don’t you? I can tell,” he said.
“Yes, but I could never mention such doubts without being accused of the crime of witchcraft myself. That is why I want to protect you. Those on trial for the offense of witchcraft do not …well, many are outsiders, such as yourself, the undesirable among us. They have done nothing wrong, nothing to harm anyone, and yet they are sentenced to hang by false, baseless accusations. I do not wish that to be your fate as well. You have been exceedingly kind to me for saving my life, and I wish to repay you.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
“That I hide you, somewhere far in the wilderness where they cannot find you.”
“Emily, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can’t hide out forever,” MacGyver said. “I have to figure out some way to get back home.”
“Do not listen to him, my child,” a man said, appearing from behind the trees with several other men. He was tall and gaunt, his sickly, yellowish skin the texture of parchment. His companions were more robust and appeared to be jailers, one of them holding a set of heavy chains and shackles. “He is trying to deceive you. He is an agent of Satan!”
“This man saved my life,” Emily said glancing at MacGyver in concern, her voice trembling as she spoke, doing her best to remain strong in his defense. “How could one who saved my life be an agent for evil?”
“I know. I saw. I saw it all! I saw him appear as if from nowhere! I saw him…use his evil power to restore your life. Only God shall decide matters of life and death. He had no right to interfere with God’s will, therefore he is one of the devil’s servants, sent to bring destruction upon us all!”
“Oh, please,” MacGyver said. “Aren’t you being just the slightest bit melodramatic?”
“Take him into custody!” the gaunt man shouted. “The magistrates shall determine his fate.”
Before MacGyver could react, several of the larger men surrounded him. He tried to struggle and resist them but they savagely beat him, pummeling him with their fists, knocking him and pinning him to the ground, forcing him into submission and securing the shackles around his wrists and ankles. They were heavier than he expected, restricting his movements. Not that there was any possibility of escape, two of the men on either side of him, grabbing him by the arms, yanking him upright. Battered and bloodied, every part of him sore, he fought to remain conscious, battling a bout of dizziness, stunned and dazed from all the blows he’d received. The left side of his face was puffy and beginning to swell and bruise, his eyebrow cut and cracked open, blood leaking into his eye, which was also beginning to swell shut. He released a moan and, unable to remain conscious any longer, the pain from the beatings too extreme and unbearable, collapsed in the arms of the men holding him, his body going limp.
“No! Please, he has done no harm,” Emily said, looking at MacGyver’s slumped, unconscious form in sympathy, horrified by the brutality she had witnessed.
“Ah yes, but the devil can assume a pleasing shape,” the gaunt man said. “He hath misled you, my child. It is time that he be tried and judged by God’s people and receive the punishment that he deserves.” He looked at the jailers holding MacGyver, supporting him as he remained unconscious, covered in bloody cuts, lacerations, and bruises. “Take him to the village prison, there to await trial for the crime of sorcery.”
The men nodded, beginning to drag MacGyver away in chains. Emily knew the gaunt man as Thomas Wycliffe, one of the town magistrates assigned to the witch trials. He had a reputation for being excessively cruel and brutal when extracting confessions from those suspected of witchcraft. She also knew that being accused of the crime of sorcery would almost certainly lead to MacGyver’s execution. For now, all her protests in vain, all she could do was wait until there was an opportunity to help him, and she was determined to help him after what he had done for her. She still didn’t know exactly what he was or where he had come from, but he wasn’t evil, and she would do the best she could to convince the magistrates of that before it was too late.
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
I'm an evil person for not liking cowboy movies/shows/stories BUt I think anyone should complain to my father! He made me watch Bonanza far too many times until I hated it! 
So there! Is his fault! NOT mine! 
