A/N: Hello. I was always a big fan of MacGyver; however, most of what I've written here is from my memory of the characters and facts of the show. In other words: I apologize in advance for anything I get wrong. :) I am planning on buying the DVDs. I promise.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I mean, come on. Really.
The thing about hacking or otherwise electronically pushing your way through a state of the art security system without being caught or filmed is that in many cases, simply put, it's impossible. No matter how many spy films you watch that seem to prove otherwise, sometimes you just can't get a hold of the resources to take one of these systems down. Take for example, the system at the Klaus building on Fifth. Forty six stories. Twenty-four hour guard, private elevator, each room alarmed. And as much as MacGyver would've loved to be able to use the ever-present Swiss Army knife in his pocket, he realized this particular job would take something a bit different. Something with a bit more finesse. Something that had him reluctantly pushing a pair of plastic-rimmed glasses up on his nose and adjusting an ugly bow tie, shifting the grip he had on the briefcase he held in his left hand.
The idea was simple. MacGyver was to get in, make his way up to the twenty-third floor, room 2308, and get his hands on the stolen Miranda Diamond that was supposed to be hidden there in the wall safe. The diamond was taken from a visiting dignitary from Zaire. It was worth millions, one of the largest in the world. All MacGyver had to do was bag the jewel, grab enough evidence to put Klaus, the rich businessman and part-time crook, away for a conveniently long time, save the world, blah, blah, blah. Easy, right?
Right. MacGyver sighed and approached the building. He met the guard at the door, flashed a badge he'd gotten from Pete. The guard nodded and opened the door. MacGyver made it to the front desk, unceremoniously heaved his case up on the desk in front of a startled middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and bright red lipstick that looked like it could glow in the dark, and said in a whiny, nasally voice, "I'm here to take a look at Mr. Klaus' computer. He said he's got a bug or something."
The woman looked surprised. "Mr. Klaus sent for you? What's your name?"
MacGyver rolled his eyes. "I'm assuming he sent for me; I'm here aren't I? What, did you think I'd choose to drive all the way out here at…11:34 at night because I could use the practice?" She opened her mouth, but she didn't get a chance to speak. "Well I didn't. Mr. Klaus said if I don't get his computer fixed by the time he gets here tomorrow, it'll be my neck. Oh, and, um, my name is Dexter. Pleased to meet you," he grumbled.
"I'm going to have to call up and clear you," she said skeptically, reaching for her phone.
"Yeah, fine. Whatever," the nerd formerly known as MacGyver griped. The woman placed the call. What she didn't know was that inside the case was a sweet little jamming device MacGyver rigged up for the occasion. The contraption redirected any outgoing signal to a van waiting outside with Pete and a man named Greg Smith who specialized in doing voice impressions. One irate German businessman coming right up.
The woman hung up the phone, looking confused. MacGyver got the idea it was a look she wore often. "Well, he says to let you up." She handed him a card with a magnetic strip. "This will give you access to the elevator. Bring it back when you're done. I'll ring the guard on floor twenty three, so he'll be expecting you. He'll switch off the alarm for the room you need."
"Finally," Dexter huffed. "You know I could be at home sleeping right now. I don't get enough sleep as it is. Sinus problems." She was nodding in a why-isn't-he-leaving? kind of way. "Doctor says it could be due to stress. Like this is gonna help any." With that he ran his sleeve under his nose, grabbed the case, and headed for the elevator.
"Mister, um, Dexter," she called. He froze. "You're going to have to sign in here."
He quietly let out a breath, rolling his eyes as he turned. He took a clipboard and scribbled something illegible that could've either been "Dexter Smith" or "Ootm 8nllln."
Once he reached the twenty-third floor, he checked in with the guard who showed him to room 2308. The man shut the door on his way out after "Dexter" went into a detailed account of his post-nasal drip problem. Finally on his own, MacGyver set to work. Pushing the annoying spectacles up to rest on the top of his head, he looked around the room. For an office, it was enormous. There were five steps leading down into what was really a sitting room, a full sofa and love seat tastefully centered around a rich cherry-wood coffee table that matched the giant, intimidating desk at the back of the room. There were seven pieces of framed art around the room. Any one of them could've been hiding the safe. Except, wait… One of the pictures was tilted slightly to the right. MacGyver walked up to it. Removing the piece, he found what he was looking for. A digital pad was built in, which wasn't a difficult obstacle to overcome. In fact, it hadn't been. Four keys had a dark powder outlining the prints. Someone else had gotten here first.
MacGyver tried combinations of the four until the safe opened. It was empty.
He looked up as the door opened, expecting to see the guard, his mind already racing to come up with some excuse. But it wasn't somebody coming in. It was somebody slipping out. "Hey!"
MacGyver ran to the door, trying to catch the thief. The moment he stepped out the door, however, the alarm sounded. He saw the thief in the hall, going for the elevators. The guard saw him, too. As the big man went for the thief, the smaller figure surprised him. He threw something small and round at the guard. The thing erupted upon impact, splattering a wet, dark liquid across his face and in his eyes. The man yelled, hands going up immediately to rub at his eyes. The thief ran past, swiped a card through the reader and dove into the elevator car. Before the doors could slide shut, however, MacGyver managed to slide in.
The stranger was shorter than he. Skinny. He wore a black hoodie and jeans, his face concealed by a Halloween Spiderman mask. There was a short pause, each watching the other guardedly with little clue as to what to do next. Finally, "Spiderman" said shortly, "Going down?" before punching the button.
"Who are you?" MacGyver demanded.
"Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman?"
"Try again." MacGyver was estimating his chances of overpowering the thief. The odds looked good.
"No need," the guy said lightly as he reached out to hit the stop button, halting the elevator just before it landed on the ground floor. "This is my stop." Before MacGyver could say more, his world erupted into a sea of black as something wet and sticky hit him in the face. He stumbled back, instinctively reaching up and scrubbing at his eyes. He felt the stranger slip something in his pocket. He didn't hear anything more from the guy.
Using his sleeve to clear the stuff from his eyes, he looked up just in time to see the doors being pried open and several guns in his face. "Police! Freeze!"
"Hi, guys," MacGyver said, nervously cheerful. "Would you believe this is all a big misunderstanding?" None of the officers replied. "No? I didn't think so. Great," he muttered. "Just great." A quick glance around the car confirmed what he already knew. The thief was gone. The jewel was gone with him.
"So this mystery man just disappeared into thin air?" Peter Thornton asked his friend. MacGyver was sitting across from him in his office at the Phoenix Foundation, face still stained dark in places from the disastrous mission the night before.
MacGyver gave a frustrated sigh. "Pete, please. I've been all over this with the police. I just spent a night in jail. I just want to go home for the night and..."
"Lick your wounds?" Pete asked knowingly.
Another sigh. "Kid threw an ink bomb in my face. I didn't see it coming. I screwed up, okay? I'm sorry."
"MacGyver, I'm not blaming you," Pete reasoned. "I just need to know what happened. This one was supposed to be easy. Then the police show up out of nowhere, find you with a fake I.D. right after you left the room where Klaus' hidden safe had just been cracked. You're lucky Klaus couldn't admit to anything missing, otherwise we'd have had no way to make excuses for you being there. As it was, they were reluctant to release you. And we still have a missing diamond on our hands. Now, I don't have to tell you how important it is we get that back. Prime Minister Narimobi is about ready to cry conspiracy."
"I know, Pete." MacGyver did know. He hated this feeling, and he wasn't used to it. This kid-in-the-principal's-office feeling of guilt and humiliation, of not having done the job, of messing up royally. Of being really, really tired after spending a night in jail after being unable to convince law enforcement officers he wasn't actually a crook with essentially nothing to tell them other than "Spiderman did it." "The guy didn't disappear. There was only one way out of the car. He was smart. He was able to get in the hard way. Those ink bombs he had were nothing more than coffee filters, ink, and rubber bands. He was inventive, resourceful. He was…"
"Like you?" Peter asked. It almost wasn't a question.
MacGyver had no comment for that. He went on, "He had to have gone out the top of the car. There was a fire escape on the second floor. He easily could have climbed up there from on top of the elevator. He used that to get out. With the intruder alarms already blaring, no one would've heard the fire alarm."
"How do you know that's what he did?"
MacGyver met his friend's eyes meaningfully. "It's what I would've done."
Pete nodded. "What about that card in your pocket?"
MacGyver pulled out the card. "Business card for the comic book store on Cherry Street."
"A calling card?" Pete asked.
"More so than you think. It has a date and time on the back. I think I'm supposed to meet him there."
Pete's eyes widened. "And you didn't think to bring this up before? With the police, maybe?"
"I don't want to involve the police until we have to. This is still about keeping the peace with the Prime Minister of Zaire, which means this is still about the rock, which means this is still up to us. I'll get the diamond back from him, Pete. My word on it."
"But it doesn't make any sense. Why would the thief want to meet with you?"
"I have no idea," MacGyver admitted. "But I'll find out."
"You still think he's going to show?" Pete's voice came in clearly through the mic in his ear. "It's been over an hour."
"I know," MacGyver mumbled, pretending to pour over the latest issue of X-men. He was working with a handicap. He had no idea what the guy looked like, but the thief knew him. Not the best position to be in. "I'm going to wait outside."
The comic book store was situated between Cherry Street and an alleyway. MacGyver paced up and down in front of the store, wondering if he'd been stood up. As he crossed in front of the alley, however, those fears were quickly put to rest—as whole new ones took their place. The cold metal of a gun was pressed up against the back of his head. "Spiderman, I presume."
"Take out the earwig. Don't turn around." The voice sounded out of breath and horribly young.
MacGyver immediately plucked the tiny device from his ear and flicked it to the side. "Nice observation," he said dryly.
"Yeah, well, you can keep the wire you're wearing. I don't care if your people can hear me or not. Hey, your guy's okay," he said loudly enough to make it clear he was speaking to whoever was listening in on their conversation. "I'm a thief not a murderer. This is just for my protection."
"Good to know," MacGyver said.
"Yeah. Slowly back up into the alley, 'kay?"
"Okay." MacGyver did as ordered, going deeper into the alley until they had some privacy, and holding still a he was patted down.
"Okay. You can turn around now if you want."
MacGyver did, taking in the person before him with sharp eyes and mouth slightly hanging open. The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. He was wearing what looked like the same hoodie and jeans from the other night, which were now dirty and streaked with mud in places. A fading black eye decorated the left side of his face. And perhaps the most surprising: he had no gun. Instead, dangling from his right hand was a heavy metal pipe. But held up against the back of his head, it had felt exactly like the barrel of a gun.
"Clever," he commented, motioning toward the pipe.
The kid shrugged. "Not a big fan of guns."
"I see." MacGyver said approvingly. The kid was no dummy, though. He held the pipe casually, but from the way he stood, and the way his eyes tracked the man's every movement, it was obvious he'd be ready if MacGyver tried anything. "So…you want to tell me who you are and what I'm doing here?" MacGyver asked.
"I thought you were a thief. I gave you my card because I thought you could use my services." He looked straight into MacGyver's eyes. "But you're not really a thief, are you, Mr. MacGyver?"
MacGyver's eyes narrowed. "No, I'm not. Now how about telling me how you know all that."
"Got your picture from the security tapes at Klaus. Ran it. You think I'd show up here to meet some thief I'd just made a fool of without knowing what I was walking into? What if you'd been a murderer?" The eye rolling said enough about what he thought of that.
"So if you know I'm no thief, then what am I doing here?" MacGyver demanded.
"You work for the Phoenix Foundation." It wasn't a question. "I've heard some good things."
"What do you want, kid?"
"A trade. I'll get you the diamond if you..." He trailed off, looking wholly uncertain.
"What?"
"If you help me stay alive." The young man swallowed. "The man I was working for is trying to kill me."
Chapter Two
MacGyver studied the teen for a long time. The thief's breathing was still off, a little too rapid and shallow. He's hurt, MacGyver realized. He sighed. "What's your name, kid?"
For a moment, MacGyver was sure he wasn't going to tell him. But the boy surprised him. "Grant Colbey."
"Do you have any parents, Grant Colbey?"
"No I don't, Angus MacGyver." He said it slowly and deliberately. Like he hated answering that question but had gotten used to it.
MacGyver made a face. "About that. It's just MacGyver, okay?"
"Whatever. Do we have a deal?"
MacGyver pressed his lips together in a thin line as he thought about it. This kid was very smart, maybe dangerous. But there was something about him, some indefinable something that made MacGyver believe he needed help. And when someone needed help, MacGyver just couldn't walk away. "Yes. We have a deal." He held out his hand and they shook on it. "Come on with me."
He turned and began walking out of the alley toward the street, knowing the teen would follow. Grant didn't disappoint. MacGyver turned around to address him again. "Oh, and, you're going to have to leave the pipe here."
Grant looked down at the hard piece of metal before letting it slide out of his hand and fall to the ground with a clang. He looked up and for a moment, met MacGyver's eyes. It was then that MacGyver knew what it was about him. He had the look of a man in way over his head who knew he was about to drown. And MacGyver had just asked him to let go of his life preserver. The moment was broken as Grant glanced away, hunched his shoulders and walked out of the alley. "Let's go," was all he said.
"Look, we don't need to make a big deal about this. All I want is enough money to get out of town and hide. That's all I need. I will give you the diamond if you just hand me a plane ticket and enough cash not to starve while I find a job and a place that's livable."
"Grant, we've been through this. We can't just give you money and let you run. We need you to tell us who this guy is, and maybe we can get him in jail before he can get to you or hurt anyone else," Pete said reasonably.
"See, it's that little bitty 'maybe' in there that makes me kind of uncomfortable," Grant retorted.
They were in Pete's office. Pete was miffed enough that MacGyver had wanted to bring the boy into the building in the first place without anything other than his word to go on, but now the kid wouldn't give them anything like a solid lead, and MacGyver could tell from his place leaning against the door jam that Pete was getting pretty irked. He stepped in.
"Look, Grant, why don't you tell us why this guy wants you dead."
Grant sighed. "I would love to. But I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I have no idea."
"Give us a name, Grant," MacGyver said softly but firmly. "We can't help you until you give us something. It's a simple matter of trust."
"Then I'll put it simply. I don't trust you."
"Then we can't trust you. We're not going to let you run off by yourself. We're just not. Give us a name. Help us catch this guy, and you'll be way better off. Otherwise you just spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder."
Pete looked at MacGyver. MacGyver looked at Pete. Grant wouldn't look at anybody. "John Rahmier," he said at last. The gasp he heard from Pete made him wince slightly.
"John Rahmier, the crime lord, John Rahmier?" Pete asked in shock.
Grant nodded. "I'll help you. I'll probably be dead by the end of the week either way, so I might as well, right?" His smile held no humor as he finally looked up.
"Hey, we're not going to let him get to you, alright?" MacGyver promised.
Grant gave a short laugh that sounded vaguely terrified. "Sure. Whatever, man."
"Wait, what about the diamond?" Pete asked. "Can you really get it back for us?"
"Oh. Yeah." It sounded like he'd forgotten all about it. The teen surprised them both by pulling the jewel out of his hoodie pocket and letting it clunk onto the desk in front of him. "Here."
Pete picked it up, examining it carefully. "This is really the Miranda Diamond," he said disbelievingly. "You've been carrying it around in your pocket?"
Grant shrugged. "Well, to carry it in a safe would've looked ridiculous. Besides, you ever read The Purloined Letter? All that 'hiding in plain sight' stuff?"
Pete looked askance at MacGyver. The man was grinning.
"This is a boat." The words came out bluntly with just the slightest hint of distaste.
"House. Boathouse," MacGyver corrected. They were standing at the marina in front of MacGyver's home sweet home. Although one of them didn't think it was quite that sweet.
The teenager looked at him skeptically. "You live on a boat? Really? I mean, is that even safe?"
"Of course," MacGyver smiled.
"What about leaks and stuff?"
"I have plenty of duct tape."
Grant studied him as though trying to figure out whether or not he was joking. "I'm out of here."
"Hold on, I'm kidding; I'm kidding," MacGyver laughed. "Relax, kid."
"How did I get stuck with you, anyway? Do you have any experience at all with the whole protective custody thing?"
"A little," MacGyver said with a grin. "Besides, this is perfect. Who would look for you here?"
"Hopefully not John," Grant said flippantly, right before he winced and his arm went to his side.
"You okay?" MacGyver asked, his hand moving automatically to rest on Grant's shoulder.
The teen wrenched away, turning angry eyes on him. "Fine," he ground out. "Don't do that again."
MacGyver held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, sorry. But you've been favoring your right side all day. You want to tell me what's up?"
Bright green eyes looked away as he calmed down. "Nothing. I'm fine. Can we just go in, please?"
"Yeah," MacGyver said, voice tinged with confusion. "Let's go."
Inside, Grant looked around, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. MacGyver stepped around him, turning around as he walked, arms spread in presentation. "Well, here she is. I know it's not much, but it should work for us for a few…" he trailed off as he realized he had no idea how to finish the sentence. A few weeks? A few months? They had no idea how long this was going to take. He cleared his throat. "You can have the bedroom upstairs. I'll take the couch."
"No, it's your place. Sleep in your bed. I'll take the couch." MacGyver looked like he was about to argue, but Grant cut him off. "Really. It's okay. I'd rather sleep down here, anyway."
MacGyver shrugged. "Okay, if that's what you want."
"Yeah. Thanks. Uh, where's the bathroom?" MacGyver showed him. "Thanks." Without another word, he went in, shutting the door behind him.
MacGyver sighed. This might be harder than he'd imagined. Truthfully, he'd volunteered for the assignment. Pete wasn't sure, but MacGyver had insisted. He'd handled scared kids before. Grant was just another scared kid, right? A scared kid who could break in and out of a high security building without being caught. A scared kid who'd done jobs for one of the most powerful crime lords in the state. Sure, Mac. This'll be a piece of cake.
Grant placed both his hands on the sink, leaning on it heavily, looking wearily at his own reflection in the mirror. The black eye was fading. It kind of made him look tough, which was nice, because most people took one glance at his big eyes and small frame and assumed he was as soft as he looked. But he wasn't. He was rock hard.
He sighed and stood up straight, wincing at the pain in his side. He carefully peeled off his shirt. Ignoring the bruises in various stages of healing on much of his chest and back, he instead focused on the long cut on his side. A cut made by a bullet graze. A bullet that was only a few inches from ending his life. Staring at the ugly, long patch of torn flesh, and thinking such chilling thoughts, made Grant feel suddenly very nauseated. He looked up to see the color drain from his own face, and he slumped to sit on the edge of the tub, head down, breathing heavily. He shook his head. Seeing himself injured always made him feel sick. But he could do this. The last thing he needed was an infection.
Standing, he steadied himself on the sink, avoiding his reflection as he opened the medicine cabinet. He found what he was looking for. Rubbing alcohol and a first aid kit. Primitive, but effective. Pouring the alcohol on a piece of gauze, he braced himself for the pain.
A sudden knock at the door startled him, and he jumped, the hand still holding the bottle of alcohol jerking, spilling a large amount of the liquid right onto his wound. He gasped silently as his side burned as if on fire, and he dropped the bottle, grabbing the sink in a death grip to keep from screaming.
"Grant? You okay in there?"
It took Grant a moment to clamp down on the pain enough to get his voice sounding somewhere near normal. "Fine." It sounded strained even to his own ears.
"Is that…rubbing alcohol?" Grant looked down and saw the spilled bottle lying on the floor, the strong-smelling liquid going under the crack in the door. "Open up."
He sounded mad. This was not good. "Wh…I…I'll clean it up!" he called through the door. Tears stung his eyes as he looked around for his shirt. It was on the floor. Already soaked with alcohol.
"Grant, it's fine. Open the door, okay?"
He fought down the panic as he weighed his options. He could defy the man and risk angering him further by keeping the door shut until…when? There was no way out of this one. Or he could open the door like he'd been asked and face the music. He already hurt so bad, though. But he could take it. MacGyver wasn't going to actually kill him. It was the man's job to keep him breathing. So there was really nothing to worry about, right? "Okay. I'm unlocking the door."
As soon as MacGyver got a look at Grant, his breath caught in his throat. He actually had to struggle to get the words out. "What happened?"
Grant wasn't looking at him. "Dropped it. Sorry. I'll get it, though, okay?"
MacGyver could only shake his head. The kid thought he was talking about the alcohol. "Rahmier did this to you?" A startled look and then a shrug was the only response he got. "Come on. I think we need to get you to the hospital."
"What? No way!" Grant immediately objected.
"You're hurt. That looks like a bullet graze to me."
"Nothing gets past you. Yes. It is a bullet graze. A bullet fired by one of Rahmier's men. Which means a hospital is one of the first places they'd look. I'm all for hiding in plain sight, but that's more like begging the guy to come kill me. I won't go."
"Grant, this could need stitches. It needs to be cleaned out. You've been letting this go for three days?"
"Two. But considering my options, I'll take my chances with an infection. I'll just butterfly it and I'll be good to go. I've had worse. But I swear if you try to dump me in some hospital…"
"Okay, okay," MacGyver acquiesced. "Calm down. I'm not dumping you anywhere. I promise." Grant nodded and calmed down, eyes sliding away to study the wallpaper. MacGyver sighed. "Let me just…Geeze, you look horrible. Look, let me just clean you up. Alright?"
"Thanks, but I can manage," he said quietly.
"Grant, come on. I'm just trying to help."
Grant considered it. The guy seemed to genuinely want to help, and that probably wouldn't last long. And just because he was letting someone help him didn't mean he needed someone. It just meant he wouldn't have to look at the nasty cut anymore. Plus, if he gave MacGyver what he wanted, kept him happy, he'd probably have a longer life expectancy. It was a win/win. "Fine. If you really want to. It doesn't matter to me. Just a scratch, anyway."
MacGyver gave a huff that might've been a disbelieving laugh. He led the teen into the living room and sat him down on the couch. Then, after cleaning up the bathroom, he used what little alcohol was left in the bottle to gently clean and disinfect the wound. It must have hurt like crazy, but Grant didn't make a sound. Not one sound. MacGyver could only wonder what kind of conditioning it took to be that tough. If the bruises coloring much of the kid's torso were any indication, he'd had plenty.
As soon as he'd finished applying antibiotic ointment and a bandage, MacGyver found the young man a shirt he could borrow.
"Thanks," he said as he carefully slid it on over his head.
"We'll get you some clothes of your own as soon as possible," MacGyver offered as he sat down next to him. Grant nodded. "So…you want to tell me what the heck happened?"
"Told you. Rahmier's guy clipped me with a bullet."
"Okay. So what happened to the rest of you?"
A shrug. "Life, I guess."
MacGyver nodded. "Care to elaborate?"
"Not in the slightest."
"You just really don't want to tell me anything about you at all, do you?" MacGyver sighed.
"I have records. You want my life story? Read them. If you haven't already."
"I haven't. I figure if there's anything you want me to know, you'll tell me, right?"
Grant found the idea slightly amusing. "Yeah. If there's anything I want you to know. Sure, Mr. MacGyver."
"Right. Drop the Mister, would you?"
"Yes, sir."
MacGyver started to correct him again, but figured the teen was probably doing it on purpose. "Okay, well, I'm going to hit the sack. Extra blankets are in the closet there. If you need anything else, holler."
"I will holler," Grant said. It was more of a dismissal than anything else.
"Great." MacGyver held in another sigh. It would only be redundant. He stood. "You do know I'm just trying to help, though, right?"
Grant met his eyes. "I know that. Good night." It wasn't exactly friendly, but it was less of a dismissal.
"Okay. Good night." He trudged up the stairs to his room. What am I doing? he wondered. Just then the phone rang. He picked up the one on his bedside table. "Hello?"
"MacGyver, it's Pete. I found out some things about your houseguest I thought you should know."
"Has he murdered anyone, Pete?" MacGyver asked tiredly, sitting down on the bed.
"What? Um, not that I know of. But…"
"Then I don't need to know."
"But MacGyver, his parents…"
"Pete, you can't tell me. I told him I wouldn't go snooping. I promised. If there's something I need to know, it has to come from him."
"MacGyver, what if he doesn't want to tell you anything?"
"I'm working on it, Pete. He'll come around. I hope."
"You can't help him if he won't let you." Pete knew him too well.
"I can try, though, can't I? Maybe he just needs someone to try."
Chapter Three
"That kid is impossible!" Mike Geller angrily slammed the door to the conference room. He was an impatient, tight-knotted, greasy-haired little man, an assistant district attorney. He'd come down to the Foundation to speak with Grant to see how much the boy knew and whether or not it would be enough to build a case against John Rahmier. Apparently it was not going well.
"What seems to be the problem, Mike?" MacGyver asked casually.
"He won't answer my questions. He just kept saying he didn't know or he wasn't sure, and now he's just sitting there, and he won't speak at all! Where did you find this punk? Because I'd bet my paycheck he's playing you for a few free meals."
MacGyver rolled his eyes toward Pete who spoke, "Did you ever consider that maybe you weren't asking the right questions?" he asked stiffly. MacGyver smiled. Pete was starting to get all mother bear for this kid, a protective streak that had flared up right after he'd read Grant's records, which MacGyver wasn't sure should be a concern or a relief. In any case, Papa Bear Pete didn't happen often, and it was very fun to watch.
Geller looked indignant. "The right questions? The right…" he trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why I even wasted my time coming down here. You do-gooders can't even see past the ends of your philanthropic noses to see you're being taken for fools by a teenager. Why do you think he came to you instead of the police? If he can't give me any real evidence or at least a few solid leads for the real police to follow, then this entire thing was just one huge waste of my time."
MacGyver watched as Pete stood straighter, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. "How much is your paycheck, Mr. Geller?"
The man looked confused. "I beg your pardon?"
"He's taking your bet," MacGyver said with a grin, crossing his arms.
Pete nodded, pen raised over his checkbook. "Are we talking weekly or monthly?"
With that, MacGyver left Geller in Pete's very capable hands and walked into the conference room. Grant was sitting in a chair, arms crossed, staring at the table. MacGyver stepped up next to him, turning around to lean on the table, facing the teen. "Hey."
"I'm not going back on our deal," Grant said softly. "Really, I'm not. He just started asking me all these questions about arms dealings and drug rings and racketeering or something, and I couldn't answer them. All I know is what John told me to do. If he wanted to ask questions about that stuff, I could answer them."
"Are you okay?"
The question came as a surprise, and he looked up sharply. "What?"
"Are you okay?" MacGyver repeated.
"Wh…Um. Yeah. I'm…fine."
"Good. I can't stand that guy."
The ghost of a real smile touched Grant's lips. "Yeah? He was kind of…" he held up his hands and bugged out his eyes, the look on his face saying better than words how Geller was, "wasn't he?"
MacGyver laughed. "Oh, yeah. Pete's outside right now, giving him what-for, Thornton style. Guy was a complete jerk."
"Yeah," Grant agreed quietly.
MacGyver nudged him with his leg. "Let's get out of here."
Grant's head shot up, and he looked at MacGyver like he was crazy. "What?"
"You want to go for ice cream or something? I'm sick of being here. Let's go."
"But…he's an assistant D.A. I mean I can't just walk…can I?"
"We'll write up a report and fax it to the D.A.'s office later. Besides," he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "this is really going to tick Geller off."
Another tiny smile. "I like ice cream."
"Great! I'll buy." MacGyver hopped up from the table, pretending not to notice the way the sudden movement made Grant flinch, if only slightly, and making a mental note. "Grab your jacket."
Grant complied, snatching up the borrowed jacket and following MacGyver out of the conference room with a kind of nervous intrigue. As Geller saw the object of his interrogation—interview—walking out he called out, "Hey! Where are you going?"
"Ice cream!" MacGyver called back cheerfully, not even slowing down. "Thanks for coming down, Mike. Don't call us; we'll call you, okay?" Grant tossed him a wave.
Geller sputtered for a moment before turning to Pete who was looking rather satisfied. "Are you just going to let them go?" Geller demanded.
"Mm-hm," Pete nodded once. "So really, are we betting a week's pay, or a month's?"
"So I have to ask, Grant, what was with the Spiderman mask back at Klaus? I mean is that kind of an artistic thing, or what?" The two were sitting on a park bench licking vanilla ice cream cones. Grant had been a bit wary of the open space, but a quick call had a plain-clothes security detail of four watching their backs. Even so, the kid hadn't quite relaxed. But then, he hadn't quite relaxed since MacGyver had met him.
Grant shrugged, licking a vanilla drip off the edge of the cone. "I like Spiderman, I guess. I was never much into comic books, really, but it was kind of an interesting story. And the mask kind of adds to the theatrics, you know? Makes the whole thing seem almost ridiculous to people until you're walking off with their stuff." He stopped abruptly, glancing away. It was the most candid he'd been since MacGyver had known him.
"You're not really a thief, are you?" MacGyver guessed.
Grant gave him an odd look. "Ah, no, I'm definitely a thief."
"All the thieves I've ever known love to brag on themselves, about what they've scored. And from what I can tell, you've done some pretty amazing jobs, but you seem ashamed every time the subject comes up. Something tells me this wasn't exactly a lifestyle choice for you."
The teen was silent for an agonizingly long moment, so long MacGyver worried he'd lost every bit of the little progress he'd made. Then Grant said softly, "Not a lifestyle choice. No." Another moment of quiet passed before he spoke again. "Did you read my records?"
"No, I didn't."
"You sure? 'Cause it would save me some time."
"My word that I didn't."
A deep breath. "Thanks." Another pause as he finished his ice cream. "My parents died when I was twelve. Car accident. No other relatives that wanted me, so I wound up in an orphanage, or children's home or whatever. But the kids at the home get loaned out on foster care from time to time. That's how I met Rahmier. He fostered me for awhile." The flat tone of voice did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes.
"John Rahmier was your foster parent?" MacGyver couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Not a parent as such. He needed me for a job. I'd just turned fourteen at the time. It started off with simple stuff. They'd need someone small to fit through a window or whatever. Except that I was good. I never got caught. I always found a way to get out with whatever it was he wanted. So he'd bring me in for a job, I'd do it for about a sixth of the price he'd normally pay, and then he'd send me back."
"People can do that?" MacGyver couldn't help asking. "They let people keep taking the same kid?"
"Oh. No, he'd have someone else come in and get me. A few fake documents that said they went through foster training and all that, and they were good to go. After awhile I was getting a few jobs on my own, keeping my clients by charging way less than the going rate, putting everything in a savings account so I'd have enough to run when I turned eighteen."
"Once you're eighteen, you're no longer in the foster care system."
"Exactly. Nine more months and I'm home free."
"So why didn't you take your chances and run three days ago?"
"The account's frozen. I've got nothing. Couldn't even afford a bus ticket. Rahmier's doing, I'd just bet."
"It doesn't make any sense, though," MacGyver said. "Why would Rahmier try to kill you now? Especially before you could hand over the diamond?"
"I don't know," Grant sighed, the conversation visibly taking its toll. "The guy's a jerk, but he's always put his bottom line first. Why would killing me suddenly become top priority? I don't even know why he chose me in the first place. I mean, yeah, I was a smart little kid, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing about me that just screams thief."
"You're right. Why you? Let me ask you something. When they take you back to the orphanage, do you usually look like you do now?"
"What's that got to do with anything?" Grant asked defensively.
"I want to know who runs this home and lets this happen right under their noses. Seriously, is it always this bad?"
Grant's hesitation was enough to tell MacGyver everything he needed to know. Grant saw the look on MacGyver's face and tried to joke, "Well…the gunshot wounds are usually kept to a minimum."
MacGyver could only stare. He reached up and placed his hand on Grant's head, ruffling the soft brown hair a bit, much to the teen's surprise. "This isn't happening again. Not to you. I promise."
Grant shifted, ducked the hand, and stood up. "Sure. Shouldn't we be getting back?"
"I suppose we could. Or we could go get you some clothes. Your call."
"But won't Pete get mad?"
"Pete will be thrilled. He'll be able to personally tell Geller that we're not coming back today." MacGyver grinned. "He likes that."
"You don't have anything better to do?" It was a painfully honest question.
MacGyver stood up, clapping Grant on the shoulder. "Come on, you and me out on the town? What could be better than that? Let's hit it."
"MacGyver," Grant said seriously, removing the man's hand from his shoulder. "I'm going to testify against John. You've got my word on it."
"I know that," MacGyver said, slightly perplexed at the abrupt change of subject.
"So, you don't have to do the buddy thing to keep me happy. Just keep me alive and I'll be fine. As soon as this all blows over, I'm gone. So you don't have to be all…nice all the time. Really. It's okay."
"I'll keep that in mind." MacGyver draped an arm across his shoulders, mildly surprised when the teen tolerated the touch for a moment before putting that deliberate foot of air between them again. "Now, come on. We have stuff to buy."
"Okay," Grant said agreeably. "But we should probably go back to the Foundation first."
"Why?"
Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, watch, and money clip. "Geller probably shouldn't drive without his license."
MacGyver's eyes widened. "You lifted all that? While the guy was interrogating you?"
A shrug. What might've been a grin. "The guy was driving me crazy. I wasn't going to keep it. It was just something to do."
MacGyver laughed out loud. "Grant, my boy. You're insane."
The scream from downstairs had MacGyver awake and out of bed in a moment. Running down the stairs, he was ready to fight off whoever was messing with the kid who'd been sleeping on his couch for the past week. He wasn't ready for what he found.
There was no one there except Grant, who was lying on the floor, his breathing rough and shallow. MacGyver was immediately at his side, reaching down to help him up. The moment he touched him, Grant reacted, violently struggling away with a startled yelp, staring at MacGyver with bright, unfocused, angry eyes. "Just get away from me!" he screamed, voice laced with fear.
"Grant!" MacGyver yelled, hoping to snap the kid out of it. "Hey! It's me."
It worked. Grant awoke from the nightmare with a start, eyes darting back and forth across the room until they landed on MacGyver. "Mac?" His hand went down to his side, coming away with a few spots of red. "Aw, man." He looked up helplessly as MacGyver switched on a lamp.
"Don't move, buddy, okay?" MacGyver said gently. Grant nodded vaguely, and MacGyver hurried to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. When he got back, the kid really hadn't moved. Not an inch. His eyes were far away. Haunted.
MacGyver approached him carefully, not wanting to startle him again. "Grant," he said softly. No response. "Grant," he said again, louder this time. Huge eyes looked up to meet his own. "Come on. I need to look at your side."
Grant was nodding. "I'm really sorry."
"It's okay. Let's just take care of you, okay?" Wrapping his arms around the teen's chest, MacGyver got him to the couch, where he sat them both down, leaning the teen into him, the boy's head landing on his shoulder. Grant was shaking, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead.
Lifting up Grant's shirt, MacGyver was relieved to see the damage wasn't too severe. The cut had been deep, but after a week of healing time, it was mostly closed. Struggling in the throes of the nightmare, Grant had torn off part of the scab. Ointment and a bandage soon had the situation under control. Grant hadn't put up any resistance, hadn't said a word through MacGyver's ministrations. He just sat stiffly against him, still trembling slightly. MacGyver continued to hold him, even after he'd finished, completely at a loss.
Finally he asked softly, "What happened?"
He felt Grant shrug. "Stupid dream. You mad?" His voice was quietly nervous.
"No," MacGyver answered immediately. His hand went up to rub soothing circles through the sweat-soaked hair. The word had the desired effect. Grant's body relaxed slowly, the rigid anxiety gradually melting away. MacGyver turned the question over in his mind. Am I mad? he thought. What kind of question is that? What did he think I was going to do? Recalling the kinds of marks still fading on Grant's body, MacGyver realized exactly what the kid thought. He unconsciously held tighter. "You want to tell me what it was about?"
"Just life I guess."
MacGyver didn't fail to notice those were the same words he'd used nearly a week earlier to explain the bruises all over his body. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Grant sat quietly, still worried out of force of habit that if he moved wrong or said the wrong thing, it would set the man off, make the pain start all over again. But as he sat there, held up against the broad chest, fingers still working soothingly across his scalp, he realized it would be so easy to let himself get too relaxed, to let himself give in to that nagging feeling of needing someone that he didn't want to admit to. It would be so easy to trust. And maybe, just maybe, MacGyver, this guy who was so obviously different, was someone who could carry that trust.
But no. It wouldn't—couldn't—last. MacGyver was an atypically good guy. But at the end of the day, he was still just doing his job, wasn't he? Grant's heart sank at the realization of what he'd known all along, and he felt unexpectedly lonely at the thought of being on his own again. But it didn't matter, he told himself. After all, it was just the way things were. Other people needed people. Not him. He was rock hard. "No. I'm okay. Thanks, though."
Grant thought he heard a quiet sigh go past his ear. "Okay, kid. You want me to get you a glass of water or something?"
"No," Grant said abruptly, maybe a little too loudly. "I…the tap water tastes weird." Don't let me go, yet.
MacGyver heard him. "Yeah. Been meaning to get a filter." They sat in silence for another long moment. "Go to sleep, kid. You're okay here."
Even as he nodded and closed his eyes, basking in the impossible comfort of hearing MacGyver's heart beat just beneath his ear, Grant told himself firmly he wasn't crumbling. He wasn't. He was still rock hard. This would be the last time he let anything like this happen. Tomorrow things would be back to normal. Don't touch me; I can do it myself, thank you. That's right. Tomorrow.
A/N: I'm a little new at all this uploading documents stuff, so please be patient with me until I get it all figured out. That said, I should have the next installment up shortly; so if you're interested, check back.