Author's Notes:
The story was originally published in Jeanne Gold's fanzine MacGyverisms III in 1996 and also appeared on my personal website (ancient history in Internet time!). Recently my love for MacGyver has been rekindled, so I decided to dust off my fanfic and put it back on the Internet for others to hopefully enjoy as well. I have made some changes to mesh more with my later story Family Resemblance- as well as elements from the rest of my AU series- but this basically introduces the AU setting and the character of Rebecca Ellen (Becky) Grahme.
You can find information on the philosophy and origins of the series and a timeline of stories on my profile page.
Feedback is welcome! I hope you enjoy!
-August, 1988-
Downtown Los Angeles in the wee hours could be a very lonesome place. By that time the people who work in the local businesses- and patronize the eating places and watering holes who serve them- have returned to their respective homes for the night. The streets are therefore usually dark and quiet, save for a few hardy souls left to fend for themselves.
Arthur Farrelli- a short, balding man with a mustache- sat at his desk in the back office of the restaurant he managed, totaling the day's receipts and scribing the results in a ledger while the few employees who remained in the front of the house prepared for the next day's customers. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his forehead in the oppressive heat lingering in the small room and shifted nervously in his seat, staring over at the heavy black safe where his boss had stashed some very valuable items.
How the hell, he wondered, had he wound up not only working as front man for one of the most dangerous mobsters in the region but also as informant for the FBI? How long could he reasonably keep up a double life in this manner? Surely not for much longer; sooner or later he'd have to give notice to one or the other, empty his own stash of embezzled funds, and retire with his wife and kids someplace very far away- a private island in the South Pacific, perhaps- where neither his boss nor the feds could find them.
He mopped his brow again. Who was he kidding? He was trapped between the two and he knew it. There was no way easy way out of his predicament.
Farrelli reached in a desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of Scotch and a glass- not exactly a tall, cool tropical drink, but at least it would wet his whistle. He idly considered whether he should ask someone in the front to bring him ice.
Suddenly there was a scream from one of the waitresses outside, startling him enough so the alcohol sloshed out of the glass- then muffled yelling and sounds of a scuffle. The door burst open and two burly men in black, carrying guns and wearing ski masks- completely impractical in August, he thought fleetingly- entered the office. He reached for the .44 he kept in the center drawer but the taller of the two pointed his weapon at him.
"Get your hands away from there. No sudden moves, pal." The thief pulled a length of rope from his pocket and handed it to his partner. "Tie him up."
"What did you do to my people out there?"Farrelli asked as the shorter thief secured him to the back of his chair.
"They all split when they saw us comin'. Now what's the combination to the safe? Tell us or I'll blow your brains out."
Farrelli swallowed nervously. "You...you don't want to do this," he stammered. "You know who I work for? He does terrible things to those who steal from him. Believe me, it's brutal."
The shorter thief laughed. "Like we care. C'mon, the combination already." Shamefaced, Farrelli finally gave in, blurting out the numbers.
The taller thief spun the combination and opened the safe. "It's in here, just like the guy who hired us said. Along with a ton of other goodies."
"Great. Let's clean it out and get outta here."
Still tied up in his chair, he could only stare numbly as the masked thieves quickly emptied the contents of the safe and left the office. Fresh beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he contemplated what the next day would bring when his boss's goons would come by around noon and demand the very items that had now been stolen.
Maybe that tropical island wasn't so bad an idea, after all.
He shook his head. Again, who was he kidding? No place in the would was safe from Gabriel Tarantino. Or the two creepy hitmen who worked for him.
Arthur Farrelli was as good as dead, and he knew it. His only regret was he wouldn't be able to say goodbye to his wife and kids.
MacGyver wearily unlocked the door and almost dragged himself into the darkened apartment, dropping his leather travel bag in the entrance hallway with a sigh of relief. Home sweet home, sweet home. At last. He was back from yet another harrowing assignment- aiding U.N. inspectors in their investigation of a Soviet nuclear power plant- but now it was over and Pete had finally been able to grant him some much-needed time off.
Good thing, too, 'cause there had better not be anything he needs me to do until September, and the same goes for anyone else. He had been very busy over the summer, and really wanted to spend some time with his niece before she went back to school.
He glanced up the stairs, then shook his head. Nah. She's most likely asleep by now. Better not wake her by goin' to my room. He turned on a light next to the couch in the living room, tossed his keys on the coffee table and quickly stripped off both jacket and shoes, dropping them unceremoniously on the carpet. He flopped down with a soft moan and reached for the remote, flipping through channels until landing on a black-and-white Western. I don't know why I'm watching, though, since I'll probably be asleep myself soon anyway. God, I'm wasted. Crossed so many time zones I don't even really know what day it is.
Mac was just beginning to feel some of the weariness leave his body and his mind drowsily ease into sleep when the sound of a gunshot suddenly rang through the room. He slipped off the couch, yelping as his head hit the coffee table; rubbing the injured spot he looked up at the ceiling, frowning in concern. So much for trying to be quiet. But there appeared to be no sound from upstairs and he relaxed.
It was then that the action on the screen caught his attention; he smiled ruefully when he realized that was where the gunshot had originated. He returned to his prone position on the couch, stretching out his long legs as he picked up the remote. "You won't get away this time, varmit," he muttered as he pointed it at the TV. The picture on the screen died and he groaned, reaching to cover himself with a throw blanket before closing his eyes.
Oh man. MacGyver thought as blissful sleep finally pulled him under. It's so good to be home. Can't wait to see Becky in the morning.
Golden sunlight peeked through the blinds of the second-story bedroom, illuminating a sixteen-year-old girl sitting up in bed, yawning and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. There's no better feeling in the world, Becky thought with a smile, than to wake up in the morning and know you've got the whole day ahead of you in which to do absolutely nothing. Thank God it's still summer vacation.
She glanced over at the clock. Almost nine o'clock. Might as well get up anyway; it's a fairly civilized hour, though anything earlier is decidedly barbaric. Can't see what Unc likes about getting up earlier. Me, I prefer to be a night owl rather than a morning person, no matter what he thinks about my habits.
Still somewhat reluctant despite her resolve, she got up, stretched and yawned loudly, then shuffled out of her room. Pausing by her uncle's bedroom, she noticed that the bed was still made and the note left on the bedside table remained unopened; obviously he hadn't returned last night like he had promised. She shrugged, being used to his intermittent absences over the past couple years, and continued towards the bathroom for a shower.
Afterwards she returned to her bedroom, pulling on clean underwear, tank top, and jeans then slipped on sandals. She washed and put on her glasses and brushed through her auburn hair to give it some life, regarding herself in the full-length mirror: petite frame and features that were a softer, slightly rounded version of her uncle's, though the eyes were clear, guileless blue and skin a pale, translucent complexion instead of Mac's deep brown eyes and golden tan. Yep, it's still me all right. I look pretty much like I did when I first moved in with him two years ago. Talk about aging gracefully!
Her reflection grinned wryly back at her, then frowned as her gaze rested on a picture of her family displayed next to the calendar: her father Michael, her mother Allison- Mac's older sister- and older brother Chris. Hey- it's the tenth, isn't it? It really has been two years. Jeez, I really miss them.
Two years ago, Becky recalled, she had been spending a wonderful summer vacation with her uncle in L.A, since back home Mom had to teach a seminar at the university and Dad and Chris were working at a Boy Scout camp on the coast. She had been at the Foundation waiting for Mac one day- a week before she had to return home- when Pete told her of a phone call: there had been a fatal accident, involving her family's car and a logging truck on the road from the camp. The funeral for all three had been a week later. Mac had then come to her after the service to talk about her future, giving her two options: foster care or moving in with him and allowing him to be her legal guardian.
She was profoundly appreciative that he had allowed her the choice in the first place, despite the potential risks to her own life because of his occupation. To be honest she wouldn't have blamed him if he had decided to put her directly in foster care for her safety, but even back then he believed she was smart enough to make up her own mind. Gotta admit it's been kinda weird and sometimes pretty dangerous over the past couple years, but if I had to do it all over again I'm sure I'd make the same choice.
Her gaze turned to another photo nearby, this one of the two of them taken during his surprise birthday party at the Foundation the previous year. Even with her uncle's unusual lifestyle and erratic schedule she and Mac- both solitary, independent people by nature- always found time to touch base with each other despite their busy schedules. It probably wasn't the most conventional family life out there, but what they had in some way actually seemed to work.
So, yeah. Two years ago today I was orphaned and left almost all alone in the world, without friends to show they loved and cared for me...
Becky abruptly shook her head. The thought was ridiculous. She wasn't alone in the world, and she knew it. MacGyver wasn't merely her uncle, he was also her best friend, protector and confidant, ever since she was a baby; he probably knew her better than she did herself, most times. Pete, Jack, Penny, and Nikki were her friends as well, along with Katie and others from school. There were people around who truly loved and cared for her, though sometimes she wondered if she really deserved such affection, or any kind of friendship for that matter.
She rolled her eyes at her reflection. Jeez, girl. Get a grip, for crying out loud. Stop making mountains out of molehills, as Grandpa Harry would say. She was as prone as her uncle to brooding over things that happened in the past, though they didn't really matter in the long run. Besides, Mac loved and adored her more than anyone else in the world- which was as much as she did him- and that had to be worth something. It was past time, she thought, to put her low self-esteem on the back burner and focus on matters at hand.
She took a few deep breaths and decided it was time to have breakfast.
Coming downstairs into the bottom half of their modest condo apartment she paused briefly, taking in the familiar surroundings. Two floors- three bedrooms, two bathrooms- were filled with comfortable furniture and an eclectic mix of souvenirs, books, and sports equipment, with some decorative and organizational touches of her own added here and there when she had time. The one piece of stability we can truly rely on in this crazy world, thank God. Good thing it's still tidy; I want to impress Mac with my housekeeping skills, not to mention let him know just how much I'm spoiling him!
Becky smiled wryly at the thought, then nearly jumped when a loud snore broke the silence. The strange noise eventually led her to the living room where a tall, lanky man sprawled unconscious on the couch, a throw blanket pushed down to his ankles and lamp on the side table still burning brightly. His head was turned to the side, facing her. So Uncle Mac actually made it home last night, after all! Will wonders never cease.
Shaking her head she stepped over the discarded jacket and sneakers, turned off the light and crouched down carefully beside him, lovingly studying his ruggedly handsome features, relaxed with sleep. She reached over to lightly caress his cheek and stroke the longish, light-brown hair then moved even closer, kissing him softly on the cheek; he stirred but failed to wake, though she did notice that his lips curved up in a smile. "Glad you're home," she whispered finally, then rose and went to the kitchen to make her morning tea and have breakfast.
The phone rang as she was eating her cereal. "I got it, Unc," she murmured as Mac's eyes opened and he wearily raised himself to answer. "Go back to sleep."
She picked up the receiver. "Hello? Oh hi, Katie. What's up?...You're going to the mall today? Sure, I'll meet you there. Who else is coming?...Great, I wanted to talk to the gang anyway...Well, I've got this idea for a band, but I'll wait to tell you later, when we're all together...Sure thing. See you in a couple hours, Katie. 'Bye."
"Hey, Becky." She turned away from the phone to find MacGyver sitting up and looking at her with a sleepy half-smile.
"Hey, Uncle Mac. Good to see you."
"So you're goin' out today, huh?"
"Yeah. I'm just going to the mall with Katie and a few friends from school." She came over and sat beside him. "What time did you finally come back last night? I noticed you didn't make it to your bed, so it must've been really late."
"Not sure, really," he yawned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "Must've been around two, maybe three or so. So how did it go? Peace and quiet, just the way you like it?"
"Quiet enough, except for the usual calls from Jack, asking for your help. I told him you were away, and wouldn't want to help anyway, even if you were home. But otherwise it's been pretty lonely," she replied, then added softly, "I missed you. A lot."
"Missed you too, Beck. C'mere." He kissed her and gathered her against him and she smiled, savoring the closeness; these intimate moments had become so brief and rare in their hectic lives lately, and she knew he treasured them as much as she did.
"So what was your great adventure this time, Unc? What death-defying feats did you perform?"
"Aw c'mon," he groaned, rolling his eyes. "Why do you think that every time I go away on assignment, something dangerous always happens to me?"
She looked up at him, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "I don't know. Because it does?"
He grimaced, then sighed in resignation. "You know me too well, I guess. It's a long story, but here goes. What started out as a routine investigation of a Soviet nuclear power plant became anything but when I discovered by accident there was a lot more going on than just producing energy. Turns out the workers were also stockpiling plutonium, selling it on the black market for anyone who wanted to make dirty bombs..."
She curled up against him, letting the warm, laid-back Midwestern drawl that she loved so much wash over her as he continued his story. Becky smiled to herself, content in the knowledge that the world was safe once more and- more importantly- her beloved uncle was home at last.
