Chapter Seventeen: Wrapping Up Loose Ends

Murdoc considered the scene before him with distaste. He could already feel the payment for 'protecting MacGyver' slipping through his fingers. Equally unnerving was the accusatory look being leveled his way by Sam. Every pore of the young man's face seemed to scream 'what did you do that for!'. 'That', in this case, referring to the assassin's recent action - namely spiriting Sam out of sight the moment they had exited the holding cell. It had been a necessary step at the time due to the fact that at that particular moment Neilson had begun descending the ladder. Spotting the threat, Murdoc had immediately taken the initiative, clamped one hand over his companion's mouth, and practically drug him into the shadows. Generous though this may sound, his action had not been without its drawbacks. One such drawback was that it had allowed no time to warn MacGyver of their impending visitor. This had, of course, resulted in the troubleshooter being left behind, followed shortly by his walking right into Neilson's grasp. Adding to this rather significant problem was also the fact that thanks to a certain irate Mr. Malloy, the assassin now sported a bleeding index finger. Teach me to put a hand over this kid's mouth. . .

Nursing his wounded digit, Murdoc tried to refocus his attention to the more pressing issue at hand. Peeking out from behind their mound of cover (the five unconscious guards still littering the floor), he then considered what to do next. Given his nature, of course there was but one possible option that presented itself. Padding down some of the fallen bodies, he searched for what he believed to be the ultimate solution . . . a gun.

XXXXXXX

MacGyver's eyes met those of his adversary and narrowed. You know, I usually try to avoid this kind of scenario. The whole high-noon-showdown sort of thing just isn't my style. . . but what're you gonna' do?

Mentally scrambling to come up with some sort of plan, Mac scanned his peripheral vision. Much to his agitation, however, nothing helpful was gleaned from this search. Not only did he fail to see anything of use escape-wise, but he also failed to spot his son or Murdoc. Deciding that trying to buy some time was his best option - or rather, at the moment, his only option - therefore, the troubleshooter launched upon an empty line of discourse. "Well, Colonel Neilson . . . Long time no see." When nothing more than a derisive laugh answered this statement, Mac continued. "So, how was prison?" he drawled conversationally.

Neilson's face darkened at the question, but he managed a mirthless smile in return. "Ah, the infamous MacGyver humor. You know that dry wit of yours is just one of the things I won't miss about you." At these words, the Colonel's features grew hard and he raised his weapon a fraction higher. "Good bye, MacGyver."

"Ya' know," Mac interrupted, lifting his finger in a 'wait a minute' sort of way. "I didn't come down here alone."

"Of that I am well aware," Neilson shrugged, unimpressed. "But they are of no threat to me. After all if they were going to defend you with any kind of lethal force, they would have already done so, now wouldn't they?" Gesturing about to the dark, empty space, Neilson grew smug. "Look around you, MacGyver . . . I don't see anyone, do you?"

Setting his eyes just a bit harder, Mac refused to turn away. If this fella' thinks I'm gonna' take that suggestion he's crazy . . . well, okay, crazier - I already knew the guy was a little nuts. Smiling blandly, Mac stuffed both hands in his pockets and relaxed to one side. He was not about to give this man even an ounce of satisfaction. Besides since when was letting an armed enemy out of your sight such a good idea anyway?

Seeing this non-plussed un-reaction, Neilson smirked. "Don't worry, MacGyver," he gloated, resuming his previous train of thought. "I shall take great care in finding all of your cowardly friends . . . after I've taken care of you."

XXXXXXX

"No!"

Sam heard his own voice cut through the air like a knife. Leaving his place of cover, the young man then boldly moved forward. As he emerged from the darkness an automatic pistol could be seen in his hand - it's muzzle pointed solidly at the Colonel. "Don't move Neilson."

A chilling, almost numb feeling raced down MacGyver's spine - not because of the gun, but out of fear for his son. He knew beyond any shadow of doubt that Sam would never pull that trigger. What's more the thing probably wasn't even loaded. With this knowledge, however, came the undeniable truth that his son was vulnerable. Completely vulnerable. The sight of the young man standing there without shelter and without defense - all because of him, for him - was almost more than Mac could take. His lax muscles at once became rigid and his determined eyes filled with a sea of emotions.

Neilson, on the other hand, had a mixed response to Sam's appearance. There was the initial shock tainted by fear, followed quickly by a renewed look of confidence. "Or what," he scoffed menacingly. "You'll blow me away?"

The harsh click of a weapon being readied instantly answered this challenge. An ominous beat of silence then followed forcing Neilson to reevaluate his opposition. At length he finally spoke. "The MacGyvers of this world don't use guns," he declared with surety. "That is a weakness of your father . . . and it is also yours. I know. Before taking you prisoner I did some research. You threatened to kill Chung, too . . . remember?" A superior smile etched itself onto the Colonel's mouth and he once again lifted his gun in Mac's direction.

"Killing Chung wouldn't have brought back my mother," Sam barked coldly. "Stopping you will save my father."

MacGyver watched the result of this not so subtle threat carefully. Neilson seemed quite taken aback at first, but a wisp of doubt could still be seen beneath the surface. Sensing that a word from him might help sway the situation, Mac entered the exchange. "Sam," he began, his voice gentle, but commanding. "This isn't the way." Immediately, the troubleshooter felt Neilson studying him - hard. Perhaps if he believed Mac was concerned, he might just think twice about doubting Sam's resolve. Swallowing hard, Mac again addressed his son. "Don't do this, Sam. Please . . . we'll find another way."

Sam felt a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach. More than anything he wanted to believe that his father knew the truth - knew that this was all just a bluff to buy some time. But what if he didn't? What if those hurt, disappointed, pain filled words he'd just heard were really what Mac thought? Pushing this idea to the back of his mind, Sam forced himself to stay focused. Clenching his jaw just a bit tighter he ground out a reply. "Not this time, Dad," he murmured darkly. "I'm not losing you the way I lost Mom. I don't care what it takes."

These final words hung heavy in the air. Neilson's attention fairly bounced between MacGyver and his son. A look of abject dread still hung on the older man's face, while the younger one practically oozed with ruthless determination. As the seconds ticked by, an unfamiliar sensation of panic began to rise in the Colonel's being. This was one eventuality for which he was not prepared. "So," he growled at length. "We find ourselves at a stalemate."

The dangerous expression on Sam's face lightened ever so slightly and he replied. "Well, not exactly."

Even as the words sounded, Murdoc materialized out of the darkness and crashed side-long into Neilson. A shot rang out at the moment of impact and soon the two struggling men rammed into the floor. The metallic skidding of a gun on concrete followed announcing that the Colonel had lost his weapon. The physical altercation persisted, however, and, much to his chagrin, the semi-retired hit man found himself on the bottom of the heap.

Kicking the fallen ordinance farther out of reach while simultaneously abandoning his own weapon, Sam hurried forward. Arriving just as Neilson delivered a deft blow to his attacker, the young man wasted no time in joining the scuffle. Funneling all of his negative energy into the delivery of five consecutive Karate moves, Sam soon put an end to the Colonel's fight for freedom. His head pounding and his breathing ragged, he then backed away.

"You should have just let me shoot him," Murdoc griped, struggling to regain his legs. "That is what guns are made for."

Sam's face steeled with conviction at these words and he whirled on the hit man. "Well that's not what we were made for."

This pointed retort made Murdoc pause. A defensive flash of anger then crossed his features and he worked to re-school his appearance. A muffled growl later, he artfully changed the subject. "Lock down will be here any second. We should go."

Sam narrowed his eyes briefly, but nodded. "Right. Let's go - Dad?" When only a soft grunt rose in reply, he turned around sharply. There lying prone on the basement floor was his father. "Dad!" His heart racing, the young man hurried across the empty space. Dropping to his knees, he then snaked one arm beneath MacGyver's neck and shoulders, raising him off the ground. With his other hand, Sam began to search for an injury. In the almost non-existent light, though, such a task was not easy. "Dad . . ." he whispered. "It's Sam. Can you hear me? Where does it hurt?"

Mac groaned once more and his eyes started to flutter. Groping with his right hand, he reached toward his face. "Head," he mumbled vaguely. "S'okay. Justa' scratch - I think."

"Here, let me see," Sam murmured. Prodding as gently as possible, the young man ran his fingers across his father's right temple. When he passed the hairline, Mac hissed uncomfortably.

"Found it," the patient reported.

Sam winced at this response to his actions and began fishing for a cloth. Finding a clean strip left over from one of the guards uniforms he pressed it solidly onto the wound.

"Ah!" Mac fussed, tensing at the unexpected pressure.

"Hey, easy, easy . . ." Sam cautioned pulling his father just a bit closer. "You're right, it is a graze, but it's a bit deeper than you think. We need to get this bleeding stopped."

"We also need to get out of here," Murdoc snapped. "Rover Two to Command . . . Peter how much time have we got? . . . Wonderful."

"Whad'he say," Mac asked already straining to stand up.

"Fifty seven seconds."

"Ah, plenty of time," MacGyver rasped casually. Placing his own hand over the makeshift bandage, he took in a quick breath, and continued. "C'mon - let's go." With Sam's help, the troubleshooter then rose to an upright position. The room was spinning wildly and seemed to be changing colors, but other than that . . .

"I'll tell Peter we're on our way," Murdoc volunteered, seeing that his favorite enemy had begun feeling for his transmitter. "You just focus on staying vertical."

Mac nodded carefully in a vague sort of way and started walking as fast as he dared. By his side, Sam kept pace with his steps and held a steadying hand on his shoulder.

XXXXXXX

"Command to Rovers Three and Four, mission is accomplished, repeat mission is accomplished. Withdrawal imminent - minus fifty seconds remaining."

Still lost in a mass of mathematics, Jack and Nikki exchanged brief glances. The moment of truth was at hand.

"You better go open the gate," Dalton advised quietly. "If that timer goes before its rolling, we'll be locked in."

Nikki acknowledged receipt of this suggestion with a subtle gesture. "Borrow your tape measure?"

Jack grinned at the familiar request and handed over the instrument. "Go get 'em Jonesy."

XXXXXXX

"Here they come, Mr. Thornton!" Willis exclaimed. "They just left the basement."

"How's the hall?"

"Looks like it's clear - so's the reception room."

Engaging the proper switch, Pete relayed this update and waited. As he listened to the reply, he found himself wondering why Murdoc had taken over all radio contact. Knowing that this was not the time for unnecessary chatter, though, he swallowed the question down unasked.

XXXXXXX

The longer he kept moving the clearer Mac's head began to feel. Colors stopped mutating in front of his eyes and the world slowed from an all out spin to a more tolerable see-saw motion. Pleased by this improvement, Mac decided to quicken his pace. Sam murmured a protest at this action, but said objection was quite summarily dismissed.

"Keep moving," the troubleshooter ordered. Reaching a hand out to the wall, feet continuously moving forward, he soon came to the end of the passageway.

At this juncture, Murdoc moved into the lead. Verifying the 'all clear' Willis had given the reception area, he then darted from cover. Coming to a halt at the entrance of the final hallway, he keyed his radio and requested another update.

XXXXXXX

Still toying with his jumbled arithmetic, Jack slid an eye out to one side. With interest he watched Carpenter approach the guard monitoring the gate. As he observed, she became quite animated, going through a variety of gesticulations and pointing at both the toy plane and the power pole several times. When these activities at last came to a halt, Jack was pleased to see the security officer retreat into his 'shack' and begin rolling the gate. That lady's a natural con-artist, Jack thought, chuckling to himself.

XXXXXXX

Piling into the closest corner, Mac leaned heavily against the wall. Finally, the side door - and with exactly twenty two seconds to spare! Of course his push for speed had not come without a price. The added exertion had resulted in his surroundings once more taking on the appearance of a kaleidoscope. Concentrating hard, he worked to again find his center of balance.

By his father's side, Sam found himself also seeking the wall's support. His breathing was growing more ragged and his head seemed to be pounding loud enough for the world to hear. Intense physical exercise on the heels of what had probably been a concussion was definitely not such a good plan.

"Well, don't you two look lovely," Murdoc snipped, approaching their position.

"Whatch'it big fella'," Mac whispered back. "From where I stand the six of you don'look s'great, either."

Though his father seeing unhealthy Murdoc sextuplets was not really a good thing, Sam couldn't resist uttering a muffled snort at the comeback line. Unfortunately, with his already labored breathing, this reaction did not go over well. A soft round of coughs instantly began, and he struggled to get them under control.

Mac placed a steadying hand on his son's back and started murmuring instructions. "C'mon now, easy . . . breath in the nose, out the mouth. No gulping . . . nice'n slow . . . that's it." As soon as Sam started to show signs of improvement, Mac then elevated his voice and addressed the assassin. "Murdoc, get'a status on those patrols - we need to get outta here."

XXXXXXX

Moments later, Thornton was listening as Murdoc relayed this request. Nodding out of habit, the man then keyed his transmitter. "Received Rover Two, stand by." Moving his fingers down the control, Pete flipped the toggles for Jack and Nikki. "Command to Rovers three and four, please advise location of outer patrols . . . ten four." Disengaging the transmitters, Pete then moved his hand back up the remote. "Command to Rover two, be advised patrol is passing your position at this time. Allow ten seconds for clearance."

XXXXXXX

"Ten seconds," Murdoc grumbled under his breath. Pressing himself closer to the wall, he then looked toward his companions. Not that he really cared how they were faring, exactly, but it was something to do. Sam, he noted, was breathing somewhat easier now and Mac's eyes appeared much more focused. When the latter caught and returned his gaze, however, Murdoc grew uncomfortable. "What?" he hissed.

MacGyver drew a smile and shrugged mysteriously. "What, what?"

Grunting with annoyance, the assassin froze on the cusp of a biting reply. Pressing a finger to his lips, he then began listening intently. Was that footsteps?

XXXXXXX

"Sir, four subjects just left the basement and are heading to the reception area!" Willis announced practically tripping over his own tongue.

"Stay calm," Pete ordered. "I'm on it . . . Command to Rover two, guards entering the reception area at this time, headed your way."

XXXXXXX

"Thanks, we didn't know that," Murdoc shot back. Then, turning to his present company, he continued. "Time's up. Move out."

XXXXXXX

Still holding his position by the consulate wall, Jack monitored the unfolding events. At the side door he saw MacGyver slip through the exit and press himself into the outer alcove. A subtle hand motion later, found Sam following suit shadowed closely by Murdoc. Shifting to the front gate, Dalton's eyes then caught up with Nikki as she skillfully drew the gateman's attention away from the side door. Extended tape measure in hand, she soon proceeded to expound upon some point of vital importance. Glancing back to the escaping trio, he found Murdoc just slipping into the rear of the van.

XXXXXXX

"Command to Rover One, pursuing subjects are now entering the hallway. Eight seconds to lock down. Seven, six, five . . . "

Mac listened to Pete counting down and held his breath. With an iron grip on the handle, he then leaned his full weight against the door.

"Four, three . . ."

A jolt followed by heavy pounding reverberated through the knob. Mac's knuckles turned white off set by a deep red as he attempted to keep the unfriendlies at bay.

"Two, one. . ."

The door cracked open a fraction, only to be snapped back in place by the troubleshooter.

Click!

"Lock down in effect . . . Mac? How'd it work?"

"We got'em, Pete!"

XXXXXXX

Looking up once more, Jack glimpsed Sam entering the van. Back in the alcove, Mac appeared to have moved forward, obviously preparing to make his exit as well. Strumming his fingers impatiently, Jack then began humming 'Any Day Now', willing his friend along.

XXXXXXX

Stepping down, Mac abandoned his position of cover just as a spray of gunfire sounded from behind. Flinching when the bullets collided with the now sealed door, he broke into an all out run.

XXXXXXX

At the gate, Nikki's one man audience instantly reacted to the noise. Drawing his weapon and swiveling to the left he prepared himself for anything - except Carpenter. Utilizing the metal encased tape measure, she delivered one good, solid blow to the back of his neck. Thus ended all show of resistance at the gate.

XXXXXXX

Jack, on the other hand, was not quite so efficient. After all with five guards idling before him, there was no way he could take them all down at once. This being the case, he opted for a more scatter-the-enemy-and-run-for-dear-life sort of approach. When the guards turned toward the commotion, he charged ahead screaming like a man with good sense. As he broke through the startled men's ranks he managed to grab a hold of the length of wire that had been entrusted to their care. Pulling with all of his might, Dalton waited until the opposing tension seemed to have reached its peak and then let go with a shout. This maneuver sent three of the five guards reeling backwards and the other two hurtling forward. Breaking into a run at this point, Jack saw with satisfaction that Mac was just jumping into the rear of the van.

"I'm coming guys!" he yelled. "I'm coming!"

This victory cry was short-lived, though, as a hand began grasping for his collar. Pulling out his only remaining weapon - the math swamped clipboard - Jack began swatting madly at his pursuer. This tactic bought him a bit of space and he wasted no time in seizing the advantage. A few steps later, found him leaping cleanly into the van's driver seat. Bringing the engine roaring to life, Jack then punched the gas and plowed ahead. As he rounded the first corner, a group of guards arrayed themselves in a show of challenge. Raising their weapons, they immediately began firing at will.

"Stand back, boys, I've got places to go!" Jack warned again stepping on the accelerator. In response to this action, the guards quickly abandoned their posts and went scrambling out of the way. Rolling back to their feet, they then instantly resumed firing. The rounds nipped at the van's fender and pinged across its broadside, but thankfully yielded little to no damage.

Screeching to a rolling stop at the gate, Dalton slowed down just long enough for Nikki to climb aboard. While she was being collected, Mac cracked open the back door and hurled the box of nails across the driveway. The sticks of metal scattered in a broad swath over the cement, landing in tandem with more enemy bullets. MacGyver flinched, pulling his head and arm once more into the safety of the van's rear compartment. The vehicle lurched forward, Jack having again trounced the gas pedal, and they spun into the roadway. A final rain of bullets marked this retreat, but soon all was quiet.

XXXXXXX

Still clinging to the passenger seat, Nikki stared straight ahead. She couldn't believe it . . . had their plan really just worked? Checking the rear view mirror for possible threats, she began to smile. They were not being followed – thanks to the newly introduced nail hazard - there were no more flying bullets, no more angry shouts. They'd really made it. Spinning around in a sudden rush of excitement she looked into the back of the van. The three passengers were all there, sitting in sprawled heaps on the floor. Gazing at each one in turn, her eyes soon came to rest on MacGyver. The smile she offered him was instantly returned with one of the largest grins she'd ever seen.

"Well, kids," he announced happily. "I think we did it."

XXXXXXX

Two hours later at a hospital in Los Angeles . . . .

"Pete," Mac practically whined. "I'm fine and you know I hate hospitals!"

"Look, who's giving the orders around here?" Pete reminded him firmly. "I may not be your boss anymore, but I am still the closest thing you've got to a father and I say you're staying."

"But Pete . . ."

"Besides, I promised Sam I'd make you stay."

"What?!"

"He's worried about you, Mac and so am I. Now c'mon. What can one night hurt? It's just for observation."

"What about Sam?" the troubleshooter questioned, changing the subject. "The doctors haven't let me see him yet?"

"Well, if it helps you make up your mind, they want to hold him overnight for observation, too. Apparently he suffered a mild
concussion due to the accident along with some moderate to severe bruising."

Mac took this news with a slow shake of the head and seemed to reconsider his options.

"He's threatening to sign himself out of the hospital if you refuse to be admitted," Pete added, his tone cajoling. Still sensing his friend's hesitation, he tried another approach. "The doctor says that both of you would be on the same monitoring schedule, so you could share a room."

There was a long moment of silence and then a heavy exhale . . . the MacGyver will had just met its match.

XXXXXXX

One hour later in hospital room 212 . . .

Mac and Sam lay settled, albeit reluctantly, in their hospital beds. Each were in a semi-raised position with an untouched tray of 'lunch' parked nearby. Pete, Nikki, Jack, Willis, and Helen occupied the remaining space of the room, sitting or standing as the area permitted. At the moment, all eyes were on Nikki as she began an oral report of their current situation.

"So, I've done some checking," she commenced. "And turns out my hunch was right. Almost every member of the consulate's security staff was operating under an assumed name. I've managed to pin down several of their ID's and from what I can find, they are all wanted by the German government for crimes against their country and or acts of terrorism. Of these, more than half are known to have ties to Killing Incorporated."

"Quite an operation," Pete commented thoughtfully. "What about the resident German Consul - Richter isn't it? - where does he stand in all of this?"

"Yes, Hans Richter; and this is where things get interesting," Nikki continued. "Evidently, he's known of their activities for a while now, or at least he's had his suspicions. According to his superiors back in Germany, he's been working to gather evidence against them for months, Neilson in particular."

"Really? So, besides going after MacGyver, what else have they been up to?" Willis prompted growing intrigued.

"Well, among other things, using the consulate as a sort of funnel - an outlet if you will - for some of Germany's most wanted criminals. KInc has apparently been manufacturing new identities for these men, burying them in the system and then arranging to have them placed in various positions throughout the Americas; especially the consulate here in California."

"Impressive," Mac murmured. "So what happens now?"

"Actually, it's already happened," Nikki returned with satisfaction. "Richter contacted me a little over an hour ago. Thanks to Sam's testimony, his government has agreed to take immediate action. Joint operations consisting of both Phoenix agents and German intelligence officers are being assembled even as we speak. They'll be divided into five teams and will strike the affected consulates and embassies simultaneously at 1700 hours PST."

"Well, there you go," Pete said with an expanse of his hands. "Sounds like they've thought of everything."

"I agree. Nikki, you are a model of efficiency and a wealth of knowledge," Dalton praised. "But I do still have a couple questions."

Rolling her eyes toward the pilot, Carpenter smirked indulgently. "Yes Jack. What is it?"

"One: Where has our favorite assassin got off to?"

"Murdoc?" Nikki clarified. Upon receiving a nod, she merely shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. He vanished somewhere between the van and the hospital, I think - current destination unknown. Next question."

Pouting at this uninformative answer, Jack nevertheless moved on to his next query. "Two: Do I get my toy airplane back?"

Raising her voice to be heard over the now rippling sounds of laughter, Carpenter managed a reply. "Yes, Jack. I explained everything to Consul Richter and have arranged to send a Phoenix repair team in as soon as possible. They will recover whatever is left of your plane and return the pieces to you, I promise."

Grinning at this, the pilot then gallantly offered Nikki his arm. "Well, in that case milady, may I suggest . . ."

Dalton's flirtatious offer was cut short, however, by the sudden appearance of the head nurse. Flanked by two of her subordinates, the determined woman immediately took charge.

"People, these men need their rest. Toward that end, visiting privileges for them are to be suspended in exactly two minutes. If you have not removed yourselves by that time I will have you forcibly ejected. Understood?"

A unanimous swallow of fear passed through the visitors and they obediently shook their heads. "Yes ma'am."

XXXXXXX

Two and a half minutes later, the patients' once crowded room was completely empty. The echo of warm good-nights and well-wishes still lingered in the air, along with the retreating squeak of nurses' shoes. Once these sounds had vanished, all was quiet. The stillness reigned for a time and then . . .

"Man, I hate hospitals."

Muttered in unison, this statement caused Mac and Sam to exchange looks. The unintentional unity of their thoughts never ceased to amaze them. It was indeed something very special.

"I feel like an Egyptian mummy," Sam mumbled, eyeing his crisp, white sheets. "How 'bout you?"

"Now that you mention it . . ." The rest of Mac's sentence was left unfinished, though, as he fell to considering the offensive covers. Moments later he began yanking on them indiscriminately. This attempt at 'tactful readjustment' lasted briefly, but soon the troubleshooter fell still. When the last billow had relaxed into place, he uttered a groan.

"What is it, Dad?"

"It's not any better," he declared with a complex frown.

Laughing, Sam shook his head sympathetically. "That's too bad. If it'd worked I was going to try it myself."

Mac smiled and gave his son a shrug of apology. Leaning back, he let a tired sigh ease through his lips and another quiet pause ensued. A few minutes later, Sam spoke.

"Dad?" he ventured, toying with the hem on his sheets.

"Yeah?"

"About the gun . . ."

"What about it?"

Hearing the gentle, understanding tone, Sam looked at his father. Meeting the dark brown eyes with his own, the young man instantly felt encouraged. Taking a steadying breath, he continued. "Were you . . . were you upset - with me?"

Mac's face grew compassionate and he slowly shook his head. "No. Never."

"You, you mean you weren't - aren't . . . disappointed?"

Climbing out of bed, Mac moved to Sam's side. Perching along the edge of his mattress, he then answered. "There weren't any bullets in that gun, were there?"

It was a statement, rather than a question, and the conviction with which it was said caught Sam completely off guard. Sitting up with a start, he again searched the dark eyes before him. "But how did you . . ?"

"Because I know you Sam A. Malloy," Mac replied proudly. "And you have never disappointed me."

Swallowing hard, Sam dropped his eyes. "I hoped you knew," he began quietly. "But then I thought . . ."

"Well," MacGyver interrupted. "You thought wrong." Tucking a hand beneath Sam's chin, he gave it a gentle pull. When at last their gazes locked, Mac continued. "Those words I said were meant for Neilson - not you."

Sam nodded vigorously, but again broke eye contact.

"Sam," Mac prompted. "Look at me."

Obediently the young man complied, his vision swimming. The sensation of a hand affectionately touching his cheek clouded Sam's sight even more and he sucked in a gulp of air. Through the growing mist, he then heard his father speak.

"Never second guess your heart, son . . . and never, never doubt my faith in you."

Nodding again, Sam felt his father drawing him close. Immediately, his arms wrapped around MacGyver in return. Burying himself in the warmth and love he found there, Sam held on just a bit tighter.

"Thanks, Dad."

XXXXXXX

Tag Scene: One week later

Christmas Day at Pete's Cabin . . .

MacGyver stood in the small kitchen, a quizzical expression etched on his face. Several cabinets stood open and dishes lay piled in various heaps along the counter. Laughter could be heard drifting in from the adjoining room along with the murmurs of Christmas music. Anxious to get back to his guests, or more appropriately his family, Mac again scanned the kitchen. Raking a hand through his hair he began muttering to himself. "Now if I were a box of Swiss Miss hot chocolate packets, where would I be?" As he pondered this question, the troubleshooter froze. Staring out the window, he could hardly believe his eyes. Surely that wasn't what - who - he thought it was . . . or was it? Moving to the back door, he silently slipped out to investigate. As he walked, Mac rolled down the sleeves of his flannel and performed a visual search of the woods' edge. When a brief movement caught his attention, he nodded knowingly and came to a halt.

"Murdoc?"

All was still for a while, then the assassin's slim form slid out of the forest and into view. An enigmatic grin decorated his face and he slowly walked forward.

"MacGyver."

In some mysterious way, this single word managed to convey both a greeting and a challenge. Mac remained relaxed, offering only his best Minnesota smile in return. "So . . . whatcha' doin'?"

Detecting the mid-western drawl, Murdoc rolled eyes. "Ever the innocent, eh MacGyver?"

The troubleshooter shrugged and took a few steps closer. "I never did get to thank you for all your help," he observed, redirecting the conversation. "Without you, Sam might not have made it."

The retired hit-man tilted his head arrogantly and looked toward the horizon. "Yes, well, don't let my brief lapse of morals cloud your vision. I still intend to kill you - eventually."

"Is that what you came to tell me?" Mac asked unruffled.

"That or Merry Christmas, I can't remember which."

MacGyver ducked his head and chuckled. "Yeah, well Merry Christmas to you, too, Murdoc. And thanks." Extending his hand, the troubleshooter then locked eyes with his long time enemy. Under normal circumstances, even getting close to Murdoc would have been unwise - or make that life threatening - but this was different. He wasn't sure why, it just was. A second later he felt the assassin's hand grip his in return. There were no explosions, no springing knives, just a smooth leather glove. Smiling at the rare moment of peace, Mac then withdrew his hand. "So long, Murdoc." With that he turned and strode back to the cabin.

XXXXXXX

Closing the door behind him, MacGyver again eyed the kitchen. "Hot chocolate," he rumbled to himself. "C'mon, it must be around here some where." Crossing to a far cabinet, he then resumed his previously interrupted search. Seconds later he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Without even looking, he tossed an easy greeting over his shoulder. "Hey Pete. What's up?"

Thornton smiled at the recognition and came a bit closer. "Having trouble?"

"Not anymore," Mac announced triumphantly, pulling forth the object of his quest. "Just found it. Now . . . why don't you tell me what's really on your mind."

Pete grunted with amusement at the man's bluntness. "Am I that obvious?"

"No," Mac rejoined with a smile. "I just know you that well. So c'mon Pete, shoot." Abandoning his hot chocolate mix, the troubleshooter gave his friend his full attention.

Thornton took in a deep breath and began. "Well, I know how hard this time of year is for you, Mac and, well I guess I was just wondering how you feel about all - this." In his own quiet way, Pete motioned to the area around him. The gesture seemed to encompass everything from the remaining scent of Christmas dinner in the air, to the sounds of music, to the sight of holiday decorations.

Mac smiled warmly at this show of concern and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You know, Pete, when Sam first suggested this trip, I really wasn't sure how I felt. For so many years, all Christmas has meant to me was an ugly reminder of, well, everything I wanted to forget." MacGyver hesitated, before continuing in a soft voice. "I could have lost him, Pete. Just like I lost Mom, Dad . . . all of them."

"But you didn't," Thornton reminded gently. "He's here. We're all here."

Mac met the warm, dim eyes and smiled. "I know Pete - I've thought about nothing else for the past week. It's hard to believe, but for first time in years, I . . . well I guess I've finally figured it out."

"What's that?"

"That Christmas isn't a time to think about what we've lost . . . or of what we could lose. It's a time to remember what we've been given." Mac paused, squeezing the shoulder under his grasp. "And from where I'm standing, Pete, I've been given an awful lot."

Thornton's face eased into a grin. "It's good to hear you say that, MacGyver, really good . . . So, does this mean no more running away?"

"Yep," Mac answered brightly, returning to his hot chocolate mix. "No more running away. I'm in the here and now, and that's where I'm gonna' stay. I've got the love of my son, a wonderful family of friends . . . my Swiss Army Knife, a roll of duct tape, and a fresh box of paper clips. What more could I ask for?"

Pete started laughing and clapped his long time friend on the back. "Welcome home, MacGyver. Welcome home."

The End