It was with trepidation that MacGyver pulled up to the cabin on the lake. Of course he'd been invited- for two weeks of camping "with the boys"- but Chuck and Neil didn't know he was bringing a sixth member to join their party.
Mac's childhood friends Chuck and Neil had already arrived the night before at Neil's cabin with their sons. Chuck's son Danny had been shot three years before, in an incident involving the local drug pushers, and MacGyver had saved his life. Neil's son Sean, Danny's friend, had been the cause of the trouble. Since that trouble, Mac had managed to visit Minnesota and his friends and their sons for at least a few days of camping and fishing every year. This year they'd planned two weeks, now that both boys were back from their first year of college.
MacGyver parked his motorcycle beside Neil's truck. Sam pulled his sleek silver machine next to him. They'd been on the road together for only a few weeks, since MacGyver's broken arm had finished healing. Two months before, MacGyver hadn't known he had a son. He was still getting used to the idea.
"Ready?" Sam asked, unfastening the chin strap of his helmet. They'd been through this before: M introducing his son to his friends; the inevitable shock. It was never a comfortable experience.
"MacGyver!" Danny called from the lake trail, Sean beside him. "We heard you come in."
"Who's your friend?" Sean asked. He stopped, surprised, when Sam pulled off his helmet.
"This is Sam. He's nineteen, same as you. Sam, meet Danny and Sean. "
"Hey, man, good to meet you." Danny stuck out his hand in easy greeting.
"Yeah," Sean echoed, a little more off-balance. Sam's generous smile, though, seemed to put him at ease. "Cool bike. How long you been riding?"
"We've been on the road a couple weeks now, from L.A. But I got the bike last year, when I turned eighteen."
"Your parents got it for your birthday?"
"Nope, bought it with my earnings."
"Sam's a professional photojournalist," Mac put in.
"You brought a journalist, MacGyver?" Chuck's jesting voice came from behind, as he and Neil emerged from the woods. "Are you expecting us to make news, this trip?" His grin turned to surprise when he saw Sam's face.
Neil raised his brows. "Either you're the youngest journalist I've seen, or you have an enviably young face." He smiled. "I'm Neil Ryder, this is Chuck Thompson. Looks like you've met the boys?"
"He's same age as us, Dad," Sean put in. "His name's Sam."
"Sam-?" Neil began.
"Sean A. Molloy, sir. Sam is what everyone calls me, for my initials."
"No way! I'm Sean Andrew. Andrew was my Granddad. How about you?"
Sam hesitated, glancing at MacGyver, who shrugged. "Angus, for my father."
Chuck and Neil shot stares at their old friend. Danny, not seeing, said, "Angus? That's kind of…"
Sam grinned. "Unusual? Old-fashioned? Definitely not my favorite."
"His mother loved it," MacGyver said lamely, avoiding his friends' openly assessing glares.
"Funny," Chuck said ominously, "I don't know too many guys with the name Angus. And you knew his mother, A.J.? How did you keep her from using it?"
MacGyver winced at hearing his childhood nickname. "By calling her Katherine every time she tried. She hated that—she preferred Kate."
"A.J.?" Danny asked, cottoning on.
"It's what we called him in elementary school," Neil answered. "A.J., for Angus James. Your father came up with that, didn't he, Mac?"
"Yeah, that was his name for me. After he died I just didn't want to hear it anymore."
Sam cleared his throat. "So, I hope you don't mind that my Dad brought me along. We would have called to ask, but we were on the road, and we only got your message last night."
"Too late to catch you," MacGyver added.
"Not at all, Sam," Neil said smoothly. "You – and your father," he added meaningly, "are both welcome. Sean, do you want to show Sam around the cabin? I'm sure he'd like to freshen up after his long ride."
"Uhh… sure… Come on, Sam. Can I carry a bag for you?"
Sam raised his brows at his father, who waggled his fingers at him to go on ahead. Mac knew that Neil and Chuck wouldn't let him rest until they got more of an explanation.
"Thanks, Sean, but I'll get them later."
"Yeah," Danny said, glancing at the older men. The three youth headed down the trail. MacGyver heard Danny ask, as they turned the corner, "So MacGyver's really your Dad?" He smiled ruefully. No matter how he tried to keep a low profile, he always managed to inspire curiosity: one of the hazards of having too many professional secrets.
"So?" Chuck asked, arms crossed, head tilted expectantly.
"So…" Mac hedged, stalling.
"So where did this boy come from," Neil asked bluntly, "and how come you never told us you had a son?"
MacGyver met Neil's stare with calm. "His mother was Kate Molloy. We dated as college seniors. We graduated. She went to work in Brazil; I started my own work overseas. We sent occasional letters. I never saw her again."
"I can't believe… You, of all people, would leave a girl…" Chuck started.
"She never told me. All right? She never told me. Sam and I happened into each other about two months ago, now."
"You said his mother was..." Neil began slowly.
"She died," Mac said shortly. "Ten years ago."
"And Sam was raised by…"
"Friends of hers. Colleagues. Now one else knew how to find me; she hadn't told anyone."
"Why not?" Chuck asked.
Mac sighed. "That's a long and complicated story. Do you mind if I use the facilities before launching into it?"
His friends chuckled. "Sure," Neil answered, "go ahead. We have two weeks to catch up. If you can stay?"
"I was planning to," Mac confirmed.
"Not that we're going to let you off the hook that long," Chuck teased.
The tension was broken. MacGyver grinned. "Speaking of hooks, there's fish in that lake with my name on 'em. Do I at least get this afternoon?"
Neil laughed. "Oh, go on." He pushed Mac playfully and fell in beside him on their way down the trail.
Six hours later, they lounged around a campfire at the lakefront, eating fresh trout and bluegill coal-baked in tin foil with wild onion, and watching the sun go down over the forest. Sam had done plenty of fishing growing up – in lakes, brooks, rivers, and oceans all around the world – but he'd never spent time in the backwoods of Minnesota, and he was more than happy to let Danny and Sean show him the ins and outs of this particular lake, which they'd fished since they were old enough to hold rods. MacGyver spent the day as a lazy fisherman, resting on the bank and reminiscing – watching the boys reminded him of his childhood, and time spent in the woods with friends and family, with nothing better to do than lie beside the water, observing the clouds scudding by and the social lives of birds, waiting for a bite. Still, come supper time the crew had caught more than enough for a hearty meal for six, even without supplements from Neil's food stores in the cabin.
Danny stretched, leaning back against a log that served as camp furniture, his tin plate beside him holding scraps and bones. Then he settled down, hands pillowing his head against the rough wood. Sean, who'd finished first, was fooling around with an acoustic guitar, quiet plinking making a pleasant background noise.
"So Sam, tell us about yourself," Danny asked.
Sam, just picking clean his fourth bluegill, asked, "what do you want to know?"
"Where'd you grow up? Where'd you go to school?"
"Grew up all over the place. School was sort of catch-as-catch-can. Kinda complicated."
Neil chuckled. "You sound like your father."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mac asked from his seat against a large boulder. He was fussing with the fire, a long stick in one hand.
"Come on, Mac," said Chuck, "You never answer a question about yourself straight. Never any details, always kinda complicated. We still have no idea what you've been doing with most of your adult life."
"Don't mean to be mysterious," MacGyver said.
"All over the place where?" Danny persisted.
Sam grinned. "You want the long version or the short version? I warn you, the long version is really long."
"Start with the short version."
"Name a country, and I've probably spent some time there. I've spent months at a time here in the states, in various parts of the country. After that, I've probably spent the most time in China. Mom had a long-term assignment there, as a photojournalist."
"You speak Chinese?" Neil asked.
"Pretty well."
"So how did you do school?" Danny asked.
"A combination of embassy schools, military base schools, home schooling, correspondence courses... As I got older I'd often audit classes at whatever college was nearby. But mostly I taught myself, or leaned on whoever was handy to teach me what I wanted to know."
"Sounds lonely," Neil said.
"Yes and no." Sam shrugged. "I met a lot of great people, and I learned a lot. There wasn't much continuity. Still, I think that suited me pretty well."
"Just you and your mother?" Danny asked. "She sounds pretty amazing. What's she doing now?"
Sam dropped his eyes; set his plate on the ground, as though suddenly having lost his appetite. "She's dead," he said shortly.
"I'm sorry…" Danny said quietly.
Sam shrugged. "It's been a long time…" His voice trailed off, gaze caught by the fire.
The fire popped and hissed. Neil looked from Sam to MacGyver, who was staring sadly at his son.
"Play for us, MacGyver," Neil said. "Give him the guitar, Sean."
Sean handed the guitar to MacGyver.
"I –"
"Come on, Mac. I know you play beautifully."
"Tolerably, you mean. Neil, I haven't practiced in ages."
"Stop playing modest and give us a song," Chuck chided. "Honestly, MacGyver, loosen up a little. We're your friends; no one here is going to castigate you for a few dropped chords."
MacGyver opened his mouth as though to argue, but thought better of it. He crossed his legs, cradling the guitar, and checked the tuning, making minor adjustments. Then, glancing at Sam, he began to play: a sad, sweet finger-picked melody. Sam settled back against the log beside Danny. Slowly the mood relaxed. One after another Mac played them, barely finishing one before launching into another: his own compositions mixed with songs he'd picked up over the years. The others listened, not interrupting. Mac had forgotten how rewarding it could be to play to an attentive audience of friends. Eventually, though, his softened calluses began to trouble him; he finished one last tune and stopped; leaned against the boulder behind him with the guitar resting on his abdomen, his hand stilling the strings.
"Thank you, MacGyver," Neil said serenely.
"That was great, man," Danny agreed.
"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Chuck smiled. "And now I'm ready for bed. My aging bones don't take well to sitting on the ground half the night."
"Yeah," Mac agreed. "Thanks, Sean." He handed back the guitar. Then he picked up his stick and knocked apart the dying embers.
Sam hung back to speak with him.
"That was beautiful," he said quietly. "Will you teach me to play?"
"Sure, Sam. Though a guitar is not the easiest thing to carry on a motorcycle."
"We'll figure something out," Sam said, his voice light. They entered the cabin.
Mac woke when a pillow hit his face.
"Come on, MacGyver, how long are you going to sleep?" Neil asked.
Mac covered his eyes with one arm. "For as long as I can get away with it."
"Chuck's been out on the water for hours, questing for a record-breaking muskie. The boys are up and eating. If you want any breakfast you'd better get up now, because it's disappearing fast."
"Breakfast? You said the magic word." MacGyver threw open his sleeping bag and stretched. He'd spent the night on one of the camp mattresses Neil kept stacked in a corner of the cabin. It was quick work to stow it and his bedding before stumbling to the table.
Sam laughed when he saw his father. "Dad, your hair's sticking straight up again."
"Good morning to you, too. Food first, then grooming. It's a matter of priorities." He took plate and fork from the stacks on the counter and shoveled on pancakes and eggs.
"I don't know how you can eat so much and stay so thin," Neil said from behind the stove.
"Genetic inheritance," MacGyver answered. Then he sat down and focused on eating.
The boys were gathered around one corner of the table, talking and eating. Neil sat down next to MacGyver, his own plate much lighter than his friend's. "Have you decided what you want to do yet?" he asked his son.
"We're gonna hike up Pine Peak," Sean answered in his gravelly voice. "We'll need lunch and day packs."
"There's cold cuts in the fridge," Neil answered. "Don't forget to bring plenty of water."
"We have done this a few times before, Dad," Sean said, rolling his eyes.
"Really? I must be remembering some other kid who forgot his canteen last year." He smiled. "Sam, we have extra day packs in the closet if you need one."
"Thanks Mr. Ryder, I have my own."
"Just call me Neil, son. No need to be formal here. More pancakes? I think we might actually have extra."
"Thanks."
"You eat like your father, but I reckon we brought more than enough to keep us."
"I'm still growing, and I intend to at least reach six feet before I'm done. Mom was five foot eleven."
"Heaven forbid you can't at least pass your mother's height," Neil jested. "She set a high bar, though."
"Not as high as my Dad. He makes me feel like a shrimp."
"I'll try to slouch for you," MacGyver teased.
Danny organized sandwich making at the counter while Sean pulled equipment out of a messy back closet. Sam soon joined Danny in putting together lunches. MacGyver, finally slowing down, watched the chaos with amusement.
"Another fifteen minutes, I'd guess," Neil predicted. "Then they'll get a hundred yards down the trail and remember something else they wanted."
"Did you have plans for today?" MacGyver asked.
"Me? No. Chuck, of course, has plans for fishing. Muskies at dawn, bass in the early hours, and scrappies. And anything else he can snag. He'll have us out in the dory an hour after he gets back, I'd bet my boots."
MacGyver grinned. He plucked an apple from the bowl in the center of the table and leaned back, pushing his empty plate away. The apple was tart; he was down to the core before the boys assembled at the door.
"We'll be back by dinner," Danny told the adults. "We'll stay out of trouble if you do."
"Have a good hike," Neil said. "Brats. Get out of here." He watched, smiling, as the young men set out. When they had vanished from sight beyond the trees visible from the window, he turned to MacGyver. "So. What's it like suddenly finding yourself a father?"
Mac stood and gathered the dirty dishes. "Fun. Disconcerting at times."
"Like?"
"In some ways he reminds me of his mother. In others… it's like looking in a mirror. But he's still Sam, he's not like anyone I know, and I'm constantly learning more about him. Does that make sense?"
"Sure it does. I'm still learning things about Sean, and he grew up with us. Sometimes—like his interest in art and music. That blossomed just in the last year or so, I never would have expected it. Have you seen his landscapes?" Neil pointed to a framed painting on the wall.
MacGyver shook his head.
"He started in high school, senior year—we were trying to find ways to get him involved in life again, after—you know. His teachers there and in college say he has real talent, real potential. Where that came from, I don't know."
"Maybe it grew out of that experience—the need to make sense of his life, during and after addiction."
"Yeah." Neil sighed. "Yeah. And that's another thing I never expected."
"You're still blaming yourself."
"It's hard not to. I keep asking, why didn't I see it?"
MacGyver turned on the tap, adding hot water to the soapy wash basin.
"I sometimes think… I dunno." Neil picked up his glass.
"What?"
Neil didn't answer—only stared into space, lost in thought. MacGyver eyed his friend over the dishes.
Finally Neil said, "Have you ever felt—like the important events in your life, in your childhood especially—they shape your life? Sometimes in good ways. Sometimes not."
MacGyver rinsed several dishes, reluctant to answer. "All the time."
"The incident when Jesse was killed."
"Yeah."
"I became a cop. Maybe I would have anyway… But maybe I was driven by guilt. Or that was part of it. The need to make amends, to make a difference."
"That's not so bad, is it?"
"No... But also I feel like… I drew away from people. You know? Not on an everyday level. On the deeper level. I find it hard to connect. I sometimes wonder if Jesse's death started that… that reluctance."
MacGyver played with the soapy water, aimlessly stirring.
"Chuck never seemed to have that problem."
"No. Funny, isn't it? Chuck became the guy who would share heart and soul with someone he met that day. And he never felt a need to pay a debt to society."
"Maybe that was his way of paying off a debt."
Neil looked up. "Maybe." He studied MacGyver for a long moment. "What about you, Mac? How did it affect you? I mean, we all know how you started your crusade against guns…"
"Yeah." Mac stopped and looked out the window. The trail was empty: the boys hadn't returned for some forgotten item, as Neil had predicted. "I guess it affected me about the same as it affected you," he said. "That, and the other deaths," he added, almost too quietly to hear.
"Your Dad. Your grandmother. Your mother."
"Josh Beckett."
"Jeez, I'd forgotten that. The drunk driving death."
"A kid once called me… what was it? A runner. She said we were both running because of the deaths in our lives. It's hard to get close to people when you're running."
"Well, hell, all the girls you broke up with in high school, she's probably right," Neil chuckled. "We used to call you the 'lost cause'. Not that I blamed them for trying. You were a good-looking guy. You still are."
MacGyver's mouth quirked in embarrassment. He turned back to the dishes.
"Is that why you never stayed with Sam's mother? Why she didn't try to contact you?"
Mac was startled to find this question difficult, even painful, to answer.
The door swung open, and Chuck backed in, carrying a cooler. "The two of you missed a perfect morning for fishing. The weather was perfect, the fish were hungry... Luckily they're still biting. You are ready to come out on the water with me? " He swung the cooler around and dropped it on the floor, then looked up at Neil and Mac.
MacGyver leaned against the counter, looking down at the cooler. "Sure, I'm up for some boating and fishing. Did you get your record muskie, Chuck?"
Something of their conversation must have shown in their faces, because Chuck looked askance at his friend, then turned a questioning glance at Neil, who grimaced at Mac. "Should I come back later?" he asked.
"No," Mac said immediately. "We can continue this later..." He looked at Neil, who sighed.
"Don't you want to eat some breakfast first, Chuck?" Neil asked. "There's still some pancakes."
MacGyver turned back to the pile of dishes. "What about the muskie?"
"No muskie this time. The old granddad made off with my bait." Chuck grabbed a plate and pancakes and settled himself at the table.
Neil got up to empty the cooler into the fridge. "You might as well tell us the whole story while you eat," he said.