A/N: MacGyver has become one of my favorite fandoms. There is just a well of untapped stories for fanfiction out there. I know that there have been some stories for The Widowmaker 'cause really, how can we leave that episode alone? Though I have thoroughly enjoyed other tags and have no illusions that mine can surpass them, I wrote it anyway. It made me feel happy. I hope that you will enjoy it as well.

One fact you may need to know: Die is the singular of dice. Not common knowledge I have discovered. Yes, I have a dice collection and no, I couldn't resist added one of my obsessions to another one of my obsessions. My apologies.

MacGyver is not mine, but I can dream, right?

-000-

It was not your fault!

MacGyver had been hearing it a lot lately, from Nikki, from Pete, from Jack... But standing here, in the early morning breeze, dew clinging to his boots, he could do little else but accept the guilt that had shrouded his soul.

He had missed the funeral, not being able to make himself go. Going to the service would have meant that he had to accept that Mike was dead, that he would never see her again. But standing at her grave in a small Minnesota cemetery did just that.

He didn't know why he was here. It had been three weeks since that ill-fated rock climbing trip. Three weeks since Mike had requested something more and he had turned her down cold. About two weeks since the nightmare at the cabin involving Nikki and Murdoc. Two weeks since Nikki had told him that it wasn't his fault as he held on to Mike's severed harness.

It's not your fault, MacGyver.

Before he had known what he was doing, he was on a flight to Mission City. He hadn't been there in so long and even before he had reached the cemetery, he had questioned his motives. But by then it had been too late. He couldn't have stayed away even if he had put a real effort into trying to.

Though her funeral had been in California, Mike had always wanted to be buried at home, in Minnesota. The grave itself was a testimony of how many people had loved Mike. She had always been vocal on how much she hated flowers, so instead, surrounding the grave were numerous objects from teddy bears to wall plaques. There were handwritten letters, some laminated for protection against the elements.

"Mike," the murmur out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I am so sorry." He stood there in silence for a little bit before carefully bending down and balancing on his knees. He chose a spot near the headstone and carefully dug a small hole in the dirt with his finger, before dropping a small object into it.

"Oh Mac!" Mike sing-songed as she came bouncing into the High School classroom. "I've got a present for you..." Her blue eyes twinkled.

"Oh really?" Mac had crossed his arms and leaned against the teacher's desk. Mr. Barlow's calculator had broken and Mac had been asked to fix it, his ability to fix things with random objects wasn't a big secret. He had been fixing things around the school since second grade. "Now why would you give me a present?"

"Call it..." She hesitated, and looked up at him. "Call it a early graduation present."

She had grabbed his hand, dropped something into it and closed his fist around it. "It's for good luck," She had whispered before slipping back into the hall.

He opened his fist. In his palm lay a tiny, golden die.

He had never figured out why she had given him a die. He had never cared about dice before and they didn't have anything to do with good luck. But that was Mike for ya, random and spontaneous. Always doing odd things that would make you smile.

He covered the die with dirt so that nobody else would see it. The was for Mike and her only. Nobody else needed to see it, to wonder at it's significance. Over the years, the die had become a symbol of their friendship. He had always kept it. Until now.

He stood, remembering all the times she had made him laugh. All the times when they had hung out together, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with Jack. And he remembered that day, just weeks ago, when she had looked him in the eye and said "I want more." And he remembered how he had rejected her.

He had been scared. The friendship that he and Mike shared was so important to him. He had seen it so many times; friendships ruined when romance went bad. He never wanted to go through that with Mike. He had never wanted to risk the relationship he shared with his best friend.

But now she was dead and buried. All he had now was the memories. But he knew from experience that memories faded. The memories of his father and grandmother had long since faded leaving only old pictures in dull frames in their stead.

And suddenly, he was back down on his knees, tears clogging his eyes, his senses on overload. She was gone. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could have done. It had happened too fast, there was no way it could have been stopped. Logic had always been his alley, but now it just caused the tears to come faster, for the pit in his stomach to grow wider. There's nothing he could have done. She was gone.

-000-

Years later, in a small London gift shop, he saw one just like it. A golden die. It looked faded and scarred as it sat on the dusty shelf. The faded price tag simply read 50 pence. He hesitated for a long time, before taking it up to the counter. Now, it sits on his shelf, out of sight behind old western DVDs. Nobody else knows it's there, but Mac will never forget.

-000-

No I do not have a tiny golden die. I would love one though. So, if you find one, mentally send it to me and I will mentally send you a cookie in return. Deal?

-902