AN: Hello! Welcome to the 3rd of my MacGyver fairytales (yeah, I don't know where they came from either – and there are two more running around my head right now, so we'll see what happens next!). This one is a re-telling of The Little Mermaid. It's more of a re-telling than Give Your Heart a Chance was of Cinderella, but less than The Stone-Hearted Queen was of Beauty and the Beast. The title comes from Kiss the Girl from Disney's The Little Mermaid.
This story is complete, I'm sorry it took me so long to write – lab work is exhausting, and my science is not working particularly well right now (you know, I used to think that Mac only let his science 'breathe' when he was at MIT because he wanted to spend more time with Frankie and play her lab assistant, but now I'm thinking that part of it was he really did need to let his science 'breathe'…that's practically word-for-word what a couple of the senior lab members like to say!), and I'm not sure if it's as good as my previous two stories in this series. There's probably more typos and the like, since I haven't got the time/energy to proof-read as much as I usually did. Still, I hope you enjoy it!
MACGYVER'S RESIDENCE
LA
Wilt Bozer, FBI forensic accountant extraordinaire by day, amateur filmmaker by night (and by weekend), straightened his waistcoat, adjusted his hat so that it was on the perfect jaunty angle, rolled his left shirt cuff a tiny bit more up his forearm so that it matched the right one and double-checked that his two-tone saddle shoes were nice and shiny, and then, after practicing a suave smirk in the mirror, walked out of his bedroom, into the living room.
His roommate and BFF-since-they-were-nine-and-eleven, Angus MacGyver, former Army EOD turned JPL engineer and crazy-mad-scientist-genius-puppy, was sitting on the couch, the coffee table in front of him littered with his laptop, a notebook and four pens, several potatoes, a brand-new second-hand toaster that he'd bought last week at Mrs-Patel-from-two-doors-down's garage sale, four cut-in-half tennis balls, two prisms from his collection, a packet of pretzels, several other doodads that Bozer didn't recognize, and the usual bowl of paperclips.
Mac tossed a couple of pretzels in his mouth, then picked up a potato and half a tennis ball as he chewed, as Bozer shook his head, something fond in his eyes.
'Sure you don't wanna come out with us, bro?'
He was going clubbing with some of his co-workers, plus an agent named Leanna Martin who was on temporary assignment from the San Francisco office, and Riley Davis, Mac's JPL co-worker who'd wound up at JPL after following an even more unconventional path than Mac (which was really saying something, since Mac had dropped out of MIT to disarm bombs for a living, choosing to solve real problems to save lives than to continue to solve theoretical problems as a student).
(Riley's path involved a black-hat past, an awful, near-disastrous run-in with an extremely nasty hacker group called The Collective, getting deliberately caught while hacking the NSA after they'd threatened her mom, and spending two years in prison. She'd gotten out when a District Attorney named Patricia Thornton had stumbled upon her case while taking down The Collective, and gotten Riley a parole deal. Ever since, Riley had gone straight and become a JPL software engineer and white-hat.)
(She and Mac had become friends after collaborating on a project, and the rest was history.)
(History that Bozer fully intended on using as inspiration for a movie one day – he had about a quarter of a script done.)
(Seriously, it was like something out of a movie or a TV show. Riley's mom's ex-boyfriend, the closest thing she'd ever had to a father, had happened to be Jack Dalton, ex-Delta Force, now a mechanic and owner of Dalton Auto Repair, Mac's partner in their unit in Afghanistan, and Bozer's BFF's other BFF and surrogate father-figure.)
(Obviously, there'd be some tension between her and Jack for a while, but they were all good now.)
Mac shook his head, swallowing his mouthful of pretzels.
'No thanks, I'm good, Boze.' He gestured to his laptop (there was a video on it that seemed to be about making potato cars), then to the assorted stuff on the coffee table. 'I've got a whole queue of YouTube videos I want to watch, and I've got a couple of project ideas…'
He trailed off as his eyes got caught on a particular metal thingamajig, his whole face lit up, and he seized the thingy and pulled his Swiss Army knife from his pocket.
Very much recognizing that look on his best friend's face, and realizing that Mac's attention was now very much elsewhere (when he was caught up in an idea, Mac tended to forget about things like societal convention and manners, such as asking for permission to use or fix or improve other people's things, and sometimes even forgot to explain what in the world he was doing, which was almost-always necessary because it looked really, really weird), Bozer shook his head with affectionate exasperation and checked his hat one last time in one of the several mirrors from Mac's not-unsubstantial collection (his BFF wasn't a narcissist or excessively vain or anything like that - Bozer was pretty sure Mac really didn't look at himself in the mirror much, or it'd actually be possible to convince him of the fact that he was really good-looking and bore a distinct resemblance to that actor from the X-Men reboots with a large following of fangirls; the mirrors were for science purposes), that, for reasons probably known only to Mac, were scattered around their living and dining rooms, plus the kitchen.
As he straightened up, satisfied with his hat, the front door opened, and in stepped Riley (who'd been given a key and told she didn't have to knock over a year ago), wearing a shiny, slinky, silver skirt with a matching top that showed a little sliver of her stomach, with matching heels and bling.
Bozer grinned, and pointed at her with a finger-gun.
'You look amazing.'
(He admitted to checking her out a little.)
(What?)
(He was very much single, and Riley was really, really hot, and all-round attractive, too. She was brilliant and so very strong – she'd gone to prison for her mom, survived things that would have given Bozer nightmares for months, and come out even stronger for it – and awesomely sassy and snarky and confident, she had great style and was kick-ass at video games and CGI and loved burgers almost as much as he did, and she loved fiercely and protectively and deeply.)
(He admitted that it was very much physical at first – he'd called her his 'future girlfriend' at their very first meeting, which really wasn't one of his best moments.)
(In fact, the first eight or so months of their friendship had had several of his definitely-not-the-best moments.)
(He'd let his hopes about what they could be get in the way of what they were. He'd totally deserved and needed that kick up the ass that Jack had given him when Riley had started texting Kalei, a Hawaii-based fellow hacker whom she'd met at a conference JPL had sent her on.)
(Riley and Kalei's brief thing hadn't lasted, but Riley and Bozer's slightly-different and very-much-improved friendship had.)
(Even though Bozer did have the occasional backslide.)
(Riley was okay with that, because she knew that he was genuinely trying – old habits died hard, and some of the kinda-creepy and somewhat inappropriate stuff was just Bozer anyway – and that his heart was in the right place.)
(So, yes, Bozer admitted to checking her out a little, but he definitely wasn't going to try and pull any moves on her, absolutely, definitely not.)
(Their friendship came first, and it was far, far too valuable to risk. For anything.)
Riley smiled right back, leaning against the doorframe and appraising his outfit, before giving a nod, her smile widening a little.
'Not bad yourself.'
Bozer preened, and Riley rolled her eyes with fond exasperation, reaching out to sock him in the arm affectionately, then called out to Mac, who was now screwing the metal thingamajig, which had been attached to a piece of toaster using a couple of paperclips, into a potato.
'Staying in?' Mac nodded, not really able to speak around the paperclip hanging from his mouth, and Riley smirked teasingly, crossing her arms. 'You're spending too much time with Jack, Mac.'
Bozer picked up the thread, smirking mischievously and mirroring Riley's posture.
'His old-man-ness is rubbing off on you!'
Mac rolled his eyes, pulling the paperclip out of his mouth and pushing it through the hole he'd just cut into one of the tennis ball halves using his Swiss Army knife.
'A, I dare you to say that to Jack.' It'd spark, at the very least, tit-for-tat affectionate digs, and he calculated that there'd be a roughly 20% chance of it starting a prank war. 'And I'd like to point out that, B, I am younger than both of you, and C…' His face screwed up a little in concentration. '…spend, on average, by my best estimation, only about an hour more with Jack than you, Boze, and Riley, we're pretty much even.'
Riley and Bozer both snorted.
'You're only as old as you feel, Mac. Or act.'
'Or dress.'
Bozer gestured pointedly at Mac's outfit, which, like it did very frequently, consisted of a pair of chinos (today's were beige – they were always navy, olive, brown, beige or grey, never anything interesting like red or purple), a button-down shirt (in a similarly boringly-neutral and conservative colour; burgundy was as adventurous as Mac got, fashion-wise) and his favourite brown leather jacket.
(He and Riley were firmly in agreement that Mac dressed like a grandpa, probably because he dressed like his actual grandpa.)
(The blonde always turned down their offers for a makeover, generally with something along the lines of uh, thanks for the offer, but I'm good.)
(He was also far too smart for them to trick into a makeover, such as by making him lose a bet.)
(Bozer hadn't managed to make his BFF lose a bet since he was sixteen and Mac was fourteen and he'd made Mac lose a bet so he'd had to ask Darlene Martin to Prom.)
Mac shook his head, now attaching the tennis ball half hanging from the paperclip to the potato that had bits of metal sticking out of it.
'Have fun, you two.'
Riley and Bozer exchanged a glance and a grin.
'Oh, we will.'
'See you later, Mac. Don't wait up!'
As Bozer and Riley headed out the door, Mac grabbed a second potato.
Yeah, I know, it's kinda sad and lame. I'm twenty-six years old and I'm staying in with a queue of nerdy YouTube videos and a couple of my latest science projects instead of going out clubbing with my friends.
But clubs really aren't my scene.
And trust me, I'm already not much of a dancer, and next to Bozer and Riley, I look like an elephant with four left feet.
And I'm definitely a nerd, but…playing mad scientist beats out just about anything else.
CLUB POPULAR WITH HIP YOUNG THINGS
(SO BOZER AND RILEY'S SCENE)
(NOT MAC'S)
(AND DEFINITELY NOT JACK'S)
LA
Bozer grinned as he, four shot glasses in hand, walked over to the table their group had claimed, passing a drink to Riley, his co-worker, forensic computer analyst Jill Morgan (Lil to her closest friends, apparently), and Leanna, taking the fourth for himself.
All three women grinned back at him, something a bit closer to a smirk in Riley and Leanna's expressions. Riley reached out and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side-hug in thanks for buying this round. Then, the four of them, arranged into a rough circle, raised their shot glasses, clinked them together in a toast, then downed the whiskey.
When the burn faded, Bozer smirked and gestured at the packed dancefloor, already starting to bop along to the beat.
'Come on, ladies!' He adjusted his waistcoat, tucking his thumbs into the front. 'After all, couldn't deprive you of the chance to see my moves!' He pointed at Riley. 'You better put this on Instagram; you're all gonna wanna say you were here tonight!'
Riley snorted, rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm with very exasperated fondness, while Leanna simply arched a sceptical eyebrow and crossed her arms, and Jill nodded slowly, her own brows raised.
Bozer decided the best way to prove his point was just to show it, and with a just watch me gesture, he headed out onto the dancefloor, grooving towards where he spotted Cal from Cartography.
Bozer, standing at the bar, nodded in thanks and paid the bartender, taking his beer with a smile. He leaned back against the bar for a moment, sipping his drink, waving to Riley, who was dancing enthusiastically and excellently with Leanna (who was almost as enthusiastic and almost as amazing) and Jill (who looked a little more awkward, but was clearly having a lot of fun – she was laughing loudly). She grinned back, and then, as the song changed to Uptown Funk, she gestured to him to come and dance, but he lifted a shoulder, holding up his drink, affecting an exaggeratedly-sad expression, even pretending to trace a tear down his cheek with a finger. Riley shook her head with a snort of laughter, but let Leanna pull her further into the crowd of people on the dancefloor.
On the fourth 'Hot damn!', a woman wearing very high heels stumbled and nearly fell in front of Bozer, and he reflexively put down his drink at the bar, reaching out to help her catch her balance.
'You alright?'
He studied her face, looking for any signs that she was overly intoxicated or (he gave an internal shudder of revulsion and felt a little rush of righteous anger) had been drugged.
But her pupils and expression seemed normal, and she didn't look any more flushed than one would expect from the exertion of dancing and the embarrassment of tripping over on thin air, so he relaxed as she smiled at him.
'Yeah, I'm okay, thanks.'
Satisfied that this damsel-in-distress had been rescued, Bozer just grinned and gave an exaggerated little bow, as the woman smiled a little wider, gave a little laugh, and then walked off to join her friends.
Bozer leaned back against the bar and picked up his drink again.
Riley grinned at Jill and Leanna as the song ended, then with a gesture of her head towards their table (where Cal and a couple of his friends were chatting and minding everyone's drinks), headed over, leaned on the table, and looked around for Bozer.
(Uptown Funk had been six songs ago, and he hadn't made his way onto the dancefloor, even when Beyoncé had started to play.)
(She wasn't that worried; chances were, Bozer was trying to impress a woman…hopefully without those lines he'd tried on her.)
(Some of them were a touch creepy. And being overly persistent was definitely more than a touch creepy.)
(Riley knew that he knew that, but old habits died hard.)
(Besides, the real Bozer – who was, admittedly, still a little inappropriate at times and fond of cheesy, corny or just plain weird quips – was heaps better than 'trying to impress a woman' Bozer. He was funny and really sweet and kinda cute, and had great taste in video games and movies and even better taste in food.)
She scanned the dancefloor, then the bar, then the other clusters of tables, but she couldn't spot him.
Her heart rate increased, something prickling in the back of her mind. Something worried, something fearful.
(She'd been practically alone, loved no-one, save her mom, for years, and she'd nearly lost her – and it'd been her fault.)
(That was far from being the case now; she had loved ones, she had a family, but even though if something happened to any of them – God forbid – she'd still be far from being alone, the idea of losing any of them was absolutely and utterly abhorrent.)
She stepped slightly away from the table, searching in earnest and thoroughly now, stretching up to get a better view.
Finally, she spotted him, but her relief was short-lived.
Bozer was leaning against the wall, practically hugging it as he staggered along, looking like he was really, really intoxicated (which she knew he wasn't; Bozer definitely liked to drink and have a good time when they went out, but she knew he was pretty good at pacing himself and wouldn't let himself get into this state – besides, he'd been fine six songs ago). Riley immediately started making her way through the throng, towards her friend, as he stumbled, losing his balance and nearly hitting the floor.
Expression growing even more concerned and set as she lost sight of him, Riley pushed more firmly through the crowd.
Riley pushed open the men's bathroom door, ignoring the shocked voices ('Hey!' 'Wrong door, babe!'), expression very, very grim, set and worried, with a touch of anger.
She'd seen Bozer go in here, and she knew that he absolutely couldn't be alone right now.
(She had a very, very bad feeling what had happened to him.)
(If she could work out who'd done this to him – and she would be able to with very little information – they'd find themselves with, say, their credit history linked to a convicted embezzler or fraudster or thief with a similar name, or signed up to 10,000 spam mailing lists…well, perhaps not.)
(She really did try and stay on the right side of the law – and not take it into her own hands – nowadays.)
(More likely, they'd find themselves reported to the police via anonymous email, detailing all the evidence needed to get a really solid conviction.)
(…Maybe she could do the spam.)
She found him slumped on the floor next to the toilet in one of the cubicles, seemingly heedless of his location…or the smell.
Ignoring that olfactory assault, Riley crouched down next to her friend, whose head was lolling as he stared at the floor. He seemed to make an effort to look up at her, but couldn't quite manage it, instead staring at the vicinity of her knees.
'…Ri…Riley? I…I don't feel so good…like…like that morning after we had that really good vodka…times like…nine hundred…' His speech was really slurred. This absolutely could not be good. Riley pulled out her phone and texted Leanna and Jill. Given that it seemed as if he was going to be dead weight, she'd never be able to get Bozer out of the bathroom on her own. 'Riley…where….where am I?' He made a face. 'It smells icky…kinda…kinda like when Mac was trying to make…whatcha-ma-call-it?'
Tucking two fingers under his chin so that she could get a good look at his eyes, Riley dialled 911 one-handed.
'911, what's your emergency?'
'I need an ambulance; my friend's been drugged…'
As she answered the operator's questions, Riley shifted, taking Bozer's hand and heaving him to his feet, into a mostly-standing position leaning against the wall, then tucked her arm under his armpits to help hold him up.
A moment later, there was another round of shocked and confused voices, and a second after that, the cubicle door opened, revealing a very-worried-looking Jill and Leanna. The blonde reached out and took Riley's phone, holding it for her to free her other hand and telling the operator the address of the club, while Leanna helped Riley manoeuvre Bozer into a position that let both of them put an arm around him to support him.
Riley tightened her arm around the man who was, honestly, probably her best friend for a moment, something plaintive and vulnerable on her face, in her eyes, in her voice for a beat, before it was rearranged into reassurance.
'Let's get you out of here, Boze. You're gonna be okay, we're getting you help…'
CHMC-LA
LA
Mac parked his car in the hospital carpark, then rushed out, towards the hospital entry.
He'd received a rather frantic (or, at least, as frantic as Riley ever was – she wasn't one prone to blind panic, knowing full well that panicking didn't help) and extremely concerned phone call from Riley, telling him that Bozer had been drugged and was being taken to hospital by ambulance.
Of course, Mac had immediately abandoned his YouTube videos and the three projects he had going, and gotten to CHMC-LA ASAP.
Just outside the entryway, he almost-literally ran into Jack and Diane, who looked just as worried as Mac felt.
(He also noted that both of them were rather dressed up, as if they'd had dinner in a nice-but-not-fancy restaurant. The sort of place you'd go for a date. Jack was wearing very nice jeans and a button-down shirt with his smartest and least-beaten-up leather jacket, while Diane had a very stylish little black dress on with plenty of bold gold jewellery)
(He pushed aside the inevitable conclusion – after all, there'd been talk of second chances and Diane had even kissed Jack at poker night the week before, and after that charades night the week before that, Jack had started rambling a little about how Diane was jumping around in his head. And Bozer and Riley did seem to be plotting something – or, more accurately, Riley was plotting something and had convinced Bozer to help her; Riley had invited her mom to charades night, after all, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just because Diane had just moved back to LA.)
(Sure, Jack hadn't mentioned anything about going on a date, let alone with Diane, but Mac couldn't blame the maybe-couple for wanting to keep this between themselves for now.)
(With their history, and how much Jack valued his renewed relationship with Riley – he'd needed Mac's encouragement after charades night to decide that he should at least see if Diane would give him a second chance, mostly because he feared screwing it up again and losing Riley again – and the fact that he, Riley and Bozer were definitely rooting for them, perhaps a little too strongly – Bozer didn't do subtle, Riley wanted them to get together again almost as much as those kids from The Parent Trap, and Mac wasn't trying to push too hard, but he wasn't the best at social interaction – it made perfect sense to him.)
Riley met them inside, still in her silvery skirt and top, but with a hospital blanket wrapped around her shoulders, looking just as worried (or possibly even more so) than Mac felt, and also a little guilty.
Wordlessly, Diane pulled her daughter into a very quick but very tender, comforting hug, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Riley's head. As Riley led them to Bozer's bedside, Jack put an arm around the young woman's shoulders, ducking his head a little to say something into her ear.
Mac's keen hearing picked up something that sounded very much like hey, it's not your fault, kiddo.
(A sentiment he agreed with wholeheartedly.)
Of course I know you're supposed to look after and look out for your friends when you go out.
Actually, that is a sentiment that should apply to life in general, not just in clubs and bars, but you get the point.
But you can't protect the people you love from anything and everything.
You can only try. Do the best job you can.
And that has to be enough.
Even though sometimes it doesn't feel like it.
Bozer was lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed and seemingly unconscious, apart from the fact that he occasionally muttered very slurred, hardly discernible words.
(Mac picked up something to do with Bruce Willis and Sharknado, as well as something that might have had to do with Kobe beef and Gouda.)
A nurse was checking his vitals, and the man nodded, seemingly satisfied, and made a note on Bozer's chart, just as a young, brunette woman in a doctor's coat approached Bozer's bed.
She clearly recognized Riley, and glanced quickly at Mac, Jack and Diane before turning to her, a question in her eyes.
'They're family.'
The hacker spoke very resolutely, almost as if she was daring the doctor to say otherwise.
To her credit, the doctor (Dr Taylor, according to her nametag), simply nodded in acceptance, taking Bozer's chart and making a note on it.
'I just got the tox screen results; it's definitely Flunitrazepam.' She offered them a smile that was very reassuring-doctor, somehow professional but warm. 'He's going to be fine. We're keeping him overnight for observation, but he'll be discharged tomorrow morning.' She replaced Bozer's chart. 'Does he live alone, or…?'
Mac shook himself out of what was best described as relieved stupor (he'd just discovered that he didn't cope very well with the idea of Bozer in any kind of danger, coped with it worse than he would if it was, say, Jack, in this situation, which he supposed had to be attributed to the particulars of their relationship – he had, after all, met and befriended Jack in a warzone and the two of them had been shot at often, nearly blown up almost as often and, essentially, nearly died more than a dozen times, while he and Bozer had met and become friends as kids at school, where the biggest danger was Donnie Sandoz and his friends).
'We're roommates.'
Dr Taylor nodded, and her next words were primarily addressed to him.
'You'll need to keep an eye on him for the twelve hours or so after discharge. He's going to have balance issues, impaired cognitive functions and there might be some vomiting.' Something wry, a touch of that finding-light-in-the-darkness humour that'd gotten Mac, Jack and their squad through some terrible times, crossed her face. 'It'll probably be like the worst hangover of his life.'
A wry little smile appeared on Mac's face.
'And acetaldehyde dehydrogenase won't help.'
There was a flicker of something surprised across the doctor's face for a moment, before she nodded with a smile, a smile that seemed to be more, for lack of a better word, genuine that her earlier doctor-y smile (genuine wasn't a very good term; her earlier doctor-y smile had seemed very real too, but this smile seemed to be the one that she might wear off-duty).
'No, no it won't.' Her expression returned to that caring professionalism again. 'It is also likely that he won't remember much, if anything at all, from tonight after he was drugged.'
AN: How was that? Did you guys like my re-telling of the 'rescue' from The Little Mermaid? Or mad-scientist-homebody!Mac? Did I lay the ~foreshadowing~ on too heavy at the end there? :P
Updates will be every third day.