AN: Warning- self-indulgent, deliberately-vague and plotless fluff ahead. Read at your own risk. (This is my Christmas present to myself.) Happy holiday season from hot and sunny Australia, everyone!

Mac glanced behind him as he, Jack and Riley ran out of the bad guys' laboratory.

Unfortunately, his timing was terrible, because at that moment, one of the pursuing mad scientists lobbed a grenade-like object at him.

It burst into smoke as it approached him, and he got a face full of gas.

He gave a hacking cough, earning a concerned glance from his two teammates, but he shook his head at them insistently and kept running.

A moment later, they burst out into the sunlight, where Thornton and back-up were waiting.

The bad guys were quickly cuffed, and Jack, Riley and Thornton turned to him.

'You're getting checked over by a medic, brother.'

Mac just shot Jack a look. He was ignored. Riley crossed her arms stubbornly, and Thornton looked over at him, expression firm.

'You got a face full of that stuff, and we've got no idea what it is, Mac.'

'Whether you like it or not, you're being looked over by a medical professional as soon as possible.'

Mac shook his head at his friends' worries.

'I'm fine, I appreciate it, but I'm-'

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.

'Sardines, chilli oil, apples and cookies-and-cream ice cream?'

A sharp glare was shot at him.

'Last week, you turned a blender, an alarm clock, a couple of other odds and ends, some paperclips and half a roll of duct tape into a device that automatically makes me fresh ginger tea every hour, on the hour.' A spoon was jabbed at his chest. 'You have no right to criticize my food choices for being creative!'

A practiced eye looked over his latest project.

'Most expectant fathers go overboard buying baby stuff. I should not be surprised that you go overboard making baby stuff…is that a sat-phone baby monitor? And a solar-powered automatic bottle warmer? And a self-rocking cradle?'

'It rocks at twelve different frequencies and it plays lullabies. It's also earthquake-proof and bullet-proof.'

An impressed look, and a smile.

'Of course it does, and of course it is.'

The toaster was completely disassembled, but he couldn't bring himself to be mad.

The little boy, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, and even his chin, smiled sheepishly up at him.

'I just really, really wanted to know how it works, Daddy…I'm sorry…'

'Hey, Mini-Mac, how's it going?'

'Hey, Uncle Bozer! Daddy let me watch one of your old movies.' The little boy made a face. 'Your CGI skills used to be terrible! The monster who ate General Wang looks like Daddy covered in ping-pong balls!'

His best friend chuckled and reached out and ruffled his son's hair.

'Thank God for your Auntie Riley, Mini-Mac. She fixed it up for me, and helped me grow my mad skills!'

The little boy grinned up at Bozer.

'Is that why you married her?'

'Well…uh, not exactly…well, it didn't hurt…'

'Grandpa Jack, look what Daddy and I made!'

He followed his son out onto the deck area, and watched the older man pick him up and swing him around.

'Oh, you're getting big, kid. I'm not going to be able to do this for much longer!'

Two women, both with greying hair, one with curls, and one with straight locks, came over and listened to the boy babble about their latest project.

'Look, Grandma Diane, Grandma Patty, it hovers!'

'Ready to come and help me set up the snow?'

The little boy nodded eagerly, and he smiled at his enthusiasm.

'Yup!' He then made a face. 'But I'm not climbing up on the ladder!'

His son had inherited his fear of heights, as well as his tendency towards what the whole family now called MacGyverisms.

He grinned and reached up, pulling a drone off the shelf, the snowmaker mounted on it, and watched as his son's eyes lit up.

'No ladders at all this year.'

'Daddy, the grill's on fire again! Uncle Bozer's trying to fix it, and I wanted to help, but Auntie Riley said to come get you…' Wide blue eyes looked up at him. 'She doesn't look happy, and you know she's almost as scary as Grandma Patty!'

'Grandpa MacGyver!'

His son ran up to his biological grandparent, who knelt down and hugged him. His father looked up at him with a smile.

'You did good, son.'

He looked down at his dad, then over at the rather-crowded deck area (he had a lot of family, a lot of loved ones, now) smiling.

'Thanks, Dad.'

'Daddy, where do babies come from?' The four-year-old looked up at him, a very familiar, curious expression on his face. 'Grandpa Jack told me that most babies are delivered by stork, but MacGyver babies are delivered by drone. I don't believe him, because then why is Mommy getting fat?'

He looked around the room, panicked. There was no way he could build a gadget to get himself out of this situation, was there?

The sleeves were far too long, as was the rest of the jacket, but his son grinned, raising his brown-leather-clad arms up to hug him tightly.

'Thanks for letting me borrow your jacket for Halloween, Daddy! Now I look just like you!'

He ruffled the boy's hair with a smile.

'I promised you could, didn't I?'

The boy nodded eagerly.

'And you never break your promises!' The five-year-old looked very serious. 'And I am never, ever going to either, I promise!'

He looked down at the stray dog, a puppy really, in his son's arms. His daughter stood by her brother, stroking the dog's head gently. Both children looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

'Please, Daddy? Please?'

'We've already named him!'

'Please let us keep Archimedes the Second!'

'We even named him after your dog from your stories!'

'You have to let us keep him!'

How could he say no?

They were woken by jumping on the bed.

'Pancakes for breakfast! Pancakes for breakfast!'

'Pancakes from your special pancake-making toaster, please, Daddy!'

The last time he'd used that, they'd ended up with pancake batter on the ceiling.

'Exploding pancakes, pretty please with sugar and paperclips and duct tape on top, Daddy?'

A fond, yet wry smile, and a poke in the chest.

'As long as Daddy promises to clean it all up, including the ceiling…'

He got up, picking up his little girl, and taking his son's hand.

'I promise. Now, let's get breakfast going!'

Mac came to, slowly.

He was lying in a bed, an IV coming out of his arm.

Jack (no longer half-bald with grey hair) and Bozer (looking about twenty pounds lighter) sat by his bedside. Riley (with longer hair than he recalled her having for years now) was standing at the foot of his bed, and Thornton (the streaks of grey completely gone from her head) stood by the doorway.

All four of them looked at him with concern.

Mac shook his head, blinking, trying to clear those very strange thoughts from his mind. (His friends looked exactly the same as they did when he last saw them; where had those thoughts come from?) He suddenly remembered what had happened to him; going on a mission, getting hit in the face with that strange gas, the bad guys getting caught, his friends fussing over him. He must have blacked out.

He shook his head again, and looked up at his friends.

'Whatever that gas was, it has really weird effects…'

But wouldn't it be nice, if that was a glimpse of the future?