Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters such as MacGyver, Pete, ect….although I do own the character Alexis and would like to keep it that way.
Chapter 1
I never understood why I never fit in while in school, at work, or in life in general. I was your basic teenager. I loved hanging out at the mall, working on the weekends to get some spending money, dating, and just sitting around the house. I graduated this year and I'm currently working with my father at a place called The Phoenix Foundation.
I never really knew my mother—she took off the moment I was born, leaving me to be the problem of the system, but my father found out and came to get me—and consequently, got really close to him, instead, as a child. We lived on the docks in a one bedroom boat house and as a child we shared the loft, the two beds fitting up there just fine with lots of space, but as I got older I wanted my privacy, so to keep me happy we moved to a small two bedroom apartment a couple of blocks away from my school. I graduated that year and Pete, my father's—MacGyver as people know him—boss and total best friend, pulled some strings to get me into the foundation under an 'intern' program.
It was hard for me to make friends in school, I was shy and didn't like to just talk to the people around me and ended up spending more time in the school library instead of with the cliques in school. I never wanted to be a member of the popular crowd, although if they knew that I'm sure they wouldn't have been pleased. While everyone else was partying and drinking, I would be home studying, on assignment with my father or at the arcade in the mall a couple of blocks from my house, playing some video games before supper. Everyone went to prom while I sat on the beach with my father, sipping on some kind of mixture that I didn't even want to know the ingredients to, watching the sun set. I didn't mind at the time, and I was fortunate enough too had met my best friend that day, a girl named Zaven. I wasn't a big one on drinking, partying, or dances and she was drunk—or as she called in, slightly impaired—the night we met. She stumbled by us on the beach and my father and I helped her out when her, now ex-boyfriend, began to harass her and stuff. We've been inseparable ever since.
I'm your basic seventeen year old teenage girl, working in a stable job—which it is hard to explain what it is I do exactly; I'm basically sent with my father to fix problems that others have created in a peaceful manner—and I couldn't see anything that could throw my life off track, until now that is.
I was getting ready for yet another assignment, packing my things into the jeep to go to the airport, talking to Zaven on my cell phone—which I managed to save up for with my own money—camera, video, the works—while I waited for my father to get in gear.
"Yeah I know," I said into the phone, climbing into the front passenger seat and fastening my seatbelt before turning my attention to my father as he came down the front steps and into the jeep, "I promise Zave, I'll be back in time for your birthday."
"You better be," she said back in a sigh, "You know this whole job thing really sucks!"
"Why?" I asked as my father started the engine and began to drive, "You work too," I pointed out, only to hear her laugh sarcastically.
"Uh, Yeah, but my job doesn't take me out of the country," she shot back in a laugh, "just have fun and don't forget to e-mail me once you get there."
I nodded, not that she could see me, "I'll do even better," I said, turning my attention to the road in front of us instead of looking out of the passenger window, "I'll call."
"Just make sure that you realize the time change this time around," Zaven said in a groan, "My mom wasn't too pleased the last time you called."
I couldn't help but bust out laughing; the last time I had to go on assignment, I was sent to China and forgot the eleven or so hour difference and ended up calling her at three in the morning, "I wont forget," I said, still laughing as we said our goodbyes and I hung up, placing the phone back in it's holder on my belt.
"So, we're going where to do what now?" I asked, tuning my attention to my father as he cracked a smile, knowing damn well that he never told me much of anything except 'get packed, we're leaving in the morning'.
"Pete's sending us to Germany," he said, looking at me momentarily, I assumed to see my reaction, before turning his attention back to the road, "there's a chain of artifacts that are to be sent to America and they asked The Phoenix Foundation to make sure they made it there without any trouble."
I sighed softly, knowing that my father could handle this assignment on his own without any trouble, "And I'm coming because?" I asked, using what my father and starting calling my teenage snob tone.
"Because it's your job," he replied, rolling his eyes, "you do realize that it's only for a couple of days—four maximum, right?" he asked, looking at me while I nodded.
"I know," I replied simply knowing what he was getting at as I brought my attention to the back of the jeep. I had one suitcase of clothes, my laptop case, and a book bag with personal items that ranged from a hair brush to my diary/journal, while he only had a book bag of clothes.
"I don't see why you bought that thing," he said as I groaned in annoyance, hearing this for the hundredth time since I had bought it, knowing that he was referring to my laptop.
"Because I wanted it and had the money for it," I replied. I had been working odd jobs ever since I was fourteen and never went out, so I managed to save up a lot of money over the years.
"But it's not like you need it," he protested. I knew that my father loved technology as much as the next guy, just not enough to go out and buy a laptop and accessories that came to a grand total of three thousand five hundred dollars—and that's American dollars!
"Yes dad, I know," I said, leaving it at that before I got him on his tangent of how I should have gone to university and gotten a better job. Little did he know the last thing I wanted was to go back to school, where I wouldn't fit in and I'd have to go to hell and back all over again, when I had a well paying job that allowed me to see the world?
Most people would be impressed with the sights that Germany had to offer, but I had seen it all before and only wanted to get into the hotel room and relax. I had been taken there once when I was five. My father had to go on assignment and couldn't find a babysitter, so I was brought along and left in the hotel room with a good friend of his while he did his assignment, then took the next couple of to hang out with me and show me the sights. I couldn't help but smile as the memories of that trip, and a lot of others like it, came flooding back. I would miss school all the time to go with him around the world, Germany, China, Japan, Australia, which was great. Pete set it up to have all homework sent to The Phoenix Foundation, where he would then fax it to me so I wouldn't fall behind—he was a great guy that soon became as close to me as he was with my father (and get your minds out of the gutter, he and my father are strictly friends, no more!)
The hotel room was the same as every other one I had been in on these trips, but little did I know at the time, this one was going to start the dominos falling in a way that I could have never thought!
I was sitting on the bed, laptop in my lap, as my father began to walk around, calling the office to tell them that we had made it like he always did before going out to relax and get a drink with old friends while I either slept or chatted online with Zaven and Arie, another good friend of mine from high school.
"I'll be back in a few hours, Lex," he said as he grabbed his jacket, which I didn't understand considering that it was the middle of summer, but now that I think about it, he never seemed to leave with it.
"I'll be here," I called back, replying to Zaven's chat message as I waved at him over my shoulder. I heard the door close and returned my attention back to my computer screen fully.
This was the first time that something had felt off, the first time that I felt different, but at the time I shook it off, blaming the jetlag from the trip and continued to type. After a moment or two of ignoring the nagging feeling and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I told my friends that I would get back to them when I could and stood up, going to the window, cracking it opening with the intention of getting some fresh air.
I felt suddenly warm, taking off the sweater that I had had on and tossed it aside, leaving me in only my tank top, which rested a good four or five inches above my belt. I felt cooler, but not better. It was strange, trips never affected me like this, and yet, I couldn't piece together what my problem was. I walked away from the window and over towards the bathroom, splashing cold water in my face before grabbing a towel and taking a deep breath. I felt like I was either going to be sick or was going to pass out, neither of which was any good, and decided then that I should go an lay down. Turning around to head back into the main room, something caught my eye, a mark on my lower back reflected into the full length mirror behind me.
It looked strange, a couple of lines and circles all mixed together into some kind of symbol…wait a damn minute! Mark? I don't have a mark on my back. I ran a hand across it, feeling the heat and burning sensation that followed, causing me to pull away quickly, the only explanation coming to mind was a tattoo? I didn't get a tattoo! My father would have killed me.
None of this was making any sense and the more I thought about it the more I began to feel sick, and soon enough I had to lie down. I did just that, falling onto my stomach on the bed and pass out immediately, not even having enough time to kick off my shoes.
I woke up a couple of hours or so later and groaned in pain as I rolled over onto my back, knowing that my father couldn't have returned yet because I hadn't been moved. I sat up slowly, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach, like I may throw up or something. I stood up slowly, thank god, and walked over to the open window and began to think of what had just happened. Had I eaten something that didn't agree with me, or was it simply a cold or flu? The tattoo! The thought came back to me so suddenly that I was sure that if it hadn't been only that, a thought, it would have knocked me over into the corner.
I ran as fast as I could to the bathroom and looked at my back in the mirror, seeing the symbol on my back as clear as day. The blue lines and red circles mixed together made a cool design, and I had to admit that if I had thought of it first I would have probably would have gotten the tattoo someday, but the fact that it just appeared out of nowhere and I kept feeling sick was so not cool!
I returned to the main room and grabbed my sweater, pulling it on just as I heard the door open, my father coming into the room with the smile that I knew would be planted on his lips, "So you hungry soldier?" he asked causing me to spin around in a gasp, thanking god that I had managed to cover he strange tattoo before he came in.
"Uh…" I stammered, kicking myself mentally for sounding so obvious, "Yeah, sure, where too?" I managed to chock out as my laptop beeped, telling me that I had mail.
My father started to ramble on as I crawled across the bed and reached for my laptop, checking my inbox to seeing a message appear that had no return address or subject. Strange, I thought, opening it as the sound of my father's voice suddenly faded out as my attention went fully to the message, the symbol that had mysteriously shown up on my back appeared in the center of the screen and a message typed in white across the front of it said 'You are Ready'.
I gasped again and slammed down the top of the laptop until I heard it click closed, then turned my attention to my father who was looking at me curiously. "What do you say about getting out of here?" I asked, standing slowly, staying close to the bed until I was sure that I wasn't going to fall back down, suddenly dizzy for no apparent reason, "I think I'm going to lose my mind if I stay here much longer," I added, my father not knowing how close to the truth that statement was.
"Let's go," he said hesitantly, motioning to the door as he eyed me curiously. I, on the other hand, didn't hesitate in the least and practically ran out of the room, my father following closely, locking the door behind him as I felt his gaze burn a hold in the back of my head. Great, now he was on to me—and you have to trust me, my father is very perceptive! I'm talking about a man that has solved more riddles then anyone else I know. He can figure his way out of any mess and was the first to know when I've done something wrong, hiding this wasn't going to be easy.
"So where too?" I asked for the second time in the ten minutes that we had been talking, this time, trying my hardest to keep my mind focused on his response and not the sick feeling that I could now place as nerves and not a simple cold or virus.
"Anywhere that serves food sounds good to me," he said, looking at me curiously from the corner of his eye, which I caught out of the corner of mine before I brought my attention to my feet fully, letting my brown bangs fall into my eyes.
"Sounds good," I replied, suddenly worried about what all this could mean. I couldn't help but feel like I was in some television show, where everything falls apart and then turns out the be the best thing that would happen to me, but deep down I knew that this wasn't going to be so simple. I wasn't Clark Kent and I wasn't a super hero, I was a regular teenage girl that had caught a break, gotten a good job with her father, and now worked her butt off to stay ahead, being the youngest worker in a place isn't easy. None of this was making any sense to me and I was now dealing with the sick feeling in my stomach and now a major headache!
I was thinking and had managed to space out again, not hearing his comment about some restaurant that we had been walking past. I had completely forgotten about it all until I felt his hand on my shoulder, causing me to shoot my attention to him so violently that it had made my head spin and my stomach flip again.
"What was that?" I asked, watching as my spinning vision steadied itself and I could see the worried look that was etched on my father's face and in his eyes clearly.
"Are you sure that you are alright?" he asked as he squeezed my shoulder slightly. I nodded slowly, bringing my eyes back down to the ground at my feet and continued to walk.
"Yeah, dad, I'm fine," I said, lying through my teen. Why couldn't I tell him was had happened? Why did I feel like I had to hide it? I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't ask for this, so why did I suddenly feel like I was at fault, like I had asked for all of this and like he would be mad at me for it?
"You sure baby?" he pressed and I thought right then that it was my chance to tell him, but I couldn't get the words to pass my lips—as a matter of fact, I couldn't get an words past my lips and all I could do was nod as we headed into the next restaurant that we had came across and grabbed a seat at a table.
The burning in my back had gotten more and more painful as the day went on, so much so that I couldn't even sit back during dinner and I found it harder and harder to walk as the night went on. I felt sick to my stomach as every movement I caused my stomach to do back flips and cartwheels, and on top of it all, I had been lying to my father all day, which wasn't helping the feeling any, and by the time we got back to the hotel all I wanted to do was sleep.
The night wasn't any easier. I couldn't lay on my back because of the burning and pain that it shot up my spin but every time I would lay on my stomach it would cause my stomach to flip and would give me the feeling that I was going to be sick. I didn't know what this was, or how to make it stop, but all I knew was that if I didn't figure it out soon it would kill me, if not from the pain, then from the lack of sleep. I had given up on sleeping around two in the morning and had sat up, looking at the wall ahead of me as my mind raced in search for a solution.
The thought of just throwing up and getting it over with had crossed my mind several times throughout the next hour or so, but I voted against it when I thought of the noise it would cause, I didn't want to wake up my father. I then thought of getting up and researching the mark on the internet, god only knew what you were capable of finding on there, but soon decided not to when I moved to retrieve my laptop and almost cried out in pain, slamming a hand over my mouth, which hurt just as much as my lips and cheek began to sting. I groaned, rolling my eyes in aggravation, suddenly angry at myself for doing something so stupid. It was getting worst, and unless I was capable of figuring this out by morning, I would have to tell my father to explain why I wouldn't be joining him on the assignment.
It was enough to drive me crazy, and soon enough, it did, causing me to sob silently as I fell back onto the bed, not caring about the pain anymore as I closed my eyes and forced my body to relax instead of fighting against me to sit up and try and stop the pain. I curse lowly, feeling the burning grow even more until I was sure that I was on fire and I couldn't help but cry, this time making more noise then I had intended, but didn't care.
I heard my father stir in his sleep; being a parent he heard every noise in the night, even if he didn't want to, so I slowed my breathing down to the best of my abilities and closed my eyes in hopes that I would either fall asleep or just die!
When I awoke the next morning I knew that I hadn't died and that I had just fallen asleep. I could feel the heat from the sun on my face and groan in annoyance as I rolled over, whimpering in pain as the burning sensation went up my spin to attack, what I was sure was, my brain, causing my ears to ring in the process. I didn't dare open my eyes, knowing that if my father knew that I was awake he'd ask me to come along to see the artifacts and I'd either have to tell him the truth or move, neither of which I wanted to do at this point.
I could hear the sound of my own breathing, and realized suddenly that it was far to quiet in the room for someone else to be in there with me, so slowly, I opened my eyes, cobalt blue orbs scanning the room to find it empty. I sighed in relief before forcing myself to sit up and look around, seeing a note on the end table between the beds.
Gone to the museum to see the artifacts,
I'll be back as soon as I can and we'll go
out to eat. Don't wander to far and your
computer was beeping this morning.
Love, Dad
I thanked God silently that he had left me to sleep in and stood up slowly, heading to the bathroom to get a glass of water and to check my burning back. Once the water passed my lips I had regretted taking in my mouth and spit it into the sink with a moan of disgust as my stomach went back to its old tricks, flipping and cart wheeling just to spite me. I then placed the glass in the sink and looked over my shoulder to see the tattooed mark on my back had gone from its original blue and red colors to black and red—looking more evil then before. I groaned in annoyance and wet a cloth with cold water in hopes that maybe it would help the burning sensation that was running through my body.
I returned to the main room, sitting up in bed with the cloth placed between me and the head board as I pulled my laptop in my lap and turned the power on, hearing the beeping that my father had been talking about, seeing that it was signaling a low battery. With a sigh of relief thankful that it wasn't another message, I plugged it into the wall and went online to talk to Zaven.
"Hey Zaven," I typed, thanking God silently as she typed back.
"Hey, how's Germany?"
"Not bad," I lied, deciding as another shot of pain ran down my spin that maybe I should ask her about the strange symbol, "Hey, listen," I typed hesitant to continue, but did none the less, "What do you think about this symbol?" I asked, sending her the file that I had received last night.
"Totally cool," she typed back after a moment or two, "it's a symbol that means something I'm sure—hold on I'll ask David." David was Zaven's older brother, very bright, and loved ancient symbols and calligraphy. I smiled to myself, if anyone would know what it meant, it would be him—he studied it in school for crying out loud.
"Well," I asked, suddenly impatient.
"It means 'gifted one' in some kind of tribal symbol," she replied, "Why, thinking of getting marked?"
"No, not really," I replied, not really lying—I hadn't planed on it, "Got anything else on it?"
"Not right now, but I'll ask David to work on it."
"Thanks Zave," I replied, "Gtg (got to go in internet slang)."
"Yeah, np Lex (more slang that means no problem)," she replied back and we both logged off.
I couldn't tell if the cold cloth was helping or not, but I kind of felt better knowing what the symbol meant, but where did it come from, and why me? I wasn't gifted my any means! I graduated like everyone else my age, got a job because of my father's connections and managed to keep it because I was hard working and stubborn. Why was I suddenly so special?
I made a last minute decision to look the symbol up on the internet; I figured that if David knew about it then there had to be some information on it somewhere else. Finding what I needed was simple enough, but understanding the information was a completely other story.
It seems, from what I could gather that the symbol was used in ancient Greece sometime ago. The man and/or woman that the tribe thought to be gifted or thought to be super natural would get this mark tattooed on them by the age of eighteen. The symbol was then passed down through the generations of the gifted person's family tree in hopes that the tribe would always be protected from evil spirits and other such things. I was no genius on the matter, but I did know that there is no such thing as evil spirits, only evil people, therefore their reasoning were unintelligent and not logical, but it was reasonable for people back in those days.
Ok, so now I had the background, but why me? This was just a myth, a fairy tale so to speak, but, then how did it end up tattooed on my back? Is it possible that this story was true, and that somehow I was related to someone that fell under this gifted category?
No way! I shook my head violently, pushing my laptop aside and sat up fully, letting the cloth fall to the bed behind me.
"This is crazy!" I said out loud, standing up and began to pace the floor, then stopped when I realized that my back wasn't burning anymore. A placed a hand on my back, feeling my soft skin not scared and not damaged in the least. Heading back to the bathroom, I noticed the marking was still there, only now it seemed set—there forever, in its dark blood red and black colors.
With a sigh I headed back into the hotel room just as my father came into the room, smiling at me from the doorway, "You're up, are you?" he asked, eyeing me curiously.
"Huh, yeah," I replied, pulling my shirt down so that it covered my back, "let me get dressed in some fresh clothes and we can head out," I said, grabbing a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top, heading into the bathroom to get changed into the clothes.
It was strange how the mark didn't hurt anymore, not even a little, which made me come to the conclusion that the pain was only there while the tattoo settled itself. Thankful that I was capable of walking without looking like I was ninety years old and had thrown my back out, I threw on the clothes and headed out onto the street, grabbing my jean jacket on the way out.
"You seem better this morning," my father said as he looked at me, eyeing me as I continued to walk, hands in my jacket pockets.
"I'm fine," I said, capable of being honest for the first time in two days, "So how are the artifacts?" I asked, bringing up a new topic before he brought up last night.
"Oh there fine, rather old, and ready for shipment tonight," he said, placing a hand on my back as he lead me towards the entrance of a building, "Speaking of which, I have to go and talk with someone before we go out ad eat."
I nodded and followed him, pulling down the collar on the bright pink jean jacket and adjusted it so that I was presentable—considering that I was in a bright pink jacket, baby blue tank top and dark blue jeans. I was in the middle of pulling my hair back so that it wouldn't be in my eyes when a man came into the lobby area and greeted us.
"Hello Mr…" he hesitated and I couldn't help but giggle softly as he struggled to find the right words. No one knew my father's first name, and it was the way that he liked it—who could blame him with a name like Angus?
"MacGyver," he said, seeing the man squirm. I smiled, placing the clip in place to hold my hair back as he turned to me.
"And you are?" he said, his tone suddenly unenthusiastic as his green eyes met up with my dark blue gaze.
"My name is Alex MacGyver," I said, trying to keep my tone as polite as possible, considering I hated the way that he was looking at me, "his daughter," I added, pointing my thumb in his direction, sending him a smug look but soon dropped it before my father noticed.
"Ah, yes, of course," he said, glaring at me momentarily before turning to my father, "I apologize, but we don't like having teenagers in the museum, they always cause us trouble."
I hated being judged because of my age, clothes, looks, or grades. That's all high school was, a big contest and being judge was a big part of it, a part I hated, and I hated it even more when it came from an adult. I snorted lowly, "Don't judge a book by its cover," I said, glaring at the man for a moment before dropping the look as I turned to my father, smiling softly. "I'll meet you later, at the restaurant," I said, turning my back on him and began to walk out of the building, "take your time."
I hated people who were ignorant, and hated it even more when people automatically assumed I was a tyrant because I was only a teenager. I worked hard for what I've got and it burned me up when someone judged me.
I had learned a lot of things from my father, one of which was patients. I hated the fact that I was so polite sometimes, but there wasn't much I could do; it was how I was raised. I guessed a lot of the time about stuff, whether or not someone liked or disliked me and whether or not I was in my right mind to talk back to them. In this case, I thought it best to just walk away and let my father handle the bastard before I lost my temper and blew this deal out of the water.
I took a long walk, taking my time to get to the restaurant this time, this being the first time since I had gotten there that I felt up to walking around and moving about. It was great, finally feeling back to normal, except I knew that it wasn't that easy and I still had to figure out where the tattoo came from, and why it decided to make its appearance now. I knew that it was far from over, but figured that it could wait until I got back home—boy was I ever wrong!
I was just outside of the restaurant when someone was yelling, a small child, as a man grabbed her roughly and began to pull her down the street. I wasn't sure of the circumstances, but I had a feeling that this just wasn't right, so I followed in hot pursuit and ran down after them. I always seemed to be a step behind them, and the more we ran, the harder the child began to cry.
"Hey, stop!" I yelled at them and watched as the man glare back at me, a glare that I didn't appreciate nor did I want to see again. Now I knew that something wasn't right and that that little girl didn't belong with him. "Stop!" I yelled again, but this time the man picked up the child and took off running. "No!"
I had regretted saying the words the minute they left my mouth as the burning sensation returned to my back and I cried out in surprise and in pain. I felt the burning sensation go from my back to my out stretched hand, running up my arm, through the palm of my hand, and to the tips of my fingers. Just then, when I thought that the pain had become too much to bare, I saw a bright blue light shoot from my finger tips to hit the man in the back, sending him forward, stumbling as he dropped the child and fell to the ground.
I gasped, hitting my knees as a woman scooped up the crying child and cradled her closely, walking away as the man scrambled to his feet and ran off. I was in a great deal of pain, the burning sensation still in my back, arm, hand, and fingers. It hurt like hell and I couldn't hold back the urge to cry, feeling tears roll down my cheeks as I clutched my arm, curling up into a tight ball on my knees on the sidewalk.
I could hear my father's voice calling to me, but I didn't care. My vision was going black and I could breath anymore, I was going to pass out and I couldn't figure out what had just happened. The blue light was gone, and now I wasn't even sure if it was a light that I had seen or if I was loosing my mind. I couldn't have had blue light coming from my fingers; the people around me hadn't screamed or even reacted in the least. I was loosing my mind! That was it, I was loosing my mind and now I was going to die.
"Alex," he said, placing a hand on my back as he knelt down to my level, "Alex are you alright?" he asked as he pulled me into a hug, causing me more pain as I placed my head on his shoulder, but I didn't care. My fingers felt like they were on fire and all I wanted to do was die, but with my father's tight grip on me all I could do was cry out of fear and pain. My vision was completely black now, and I couldn't hear his voice anymore, all I could feel was the burning of fire.