Author's note: a rejiggered version of an AU of mine. Based rather heavily on "The Mountain of Youth".

Pete groans, pours more non-dairy creamer into a mediocre cup of coffee. This is going to be one of those nights.

"Jack, MacGyver's dead. We had a memorial service. You set my house on fire afterwards."

"Aw, it was only the bar. Nobody should have been drinking at Mac's wake, I just made sure they didn't. But it wasn't even real, was it? No body."

There's a clink of cheap cup hitting shaky table. One of LA's more obscure diners. This is not a conversation he wants the Phoenix Foundation to know ever happened. "He'd requested a cremation. Said it was more ecologically sound."

"I bribed the funeral director. He never saw a body either. So I started calling around, to figure out who'd seen him last - would you believe I even tracked down that English assassin? Can't say as I recommend his idea of a skiing vacation. In fact, it seems the last person who saw Mac was me. Last year, when you guys had me fly him out to the Ammukash again."

He should never, Pete reflects, have allowed that breach of secrecy. Only it'd been so last-minute, and MacGyver had insisted... "Was that all you wanted to say to me? That you've successfully tracked down the location where he died? I don't see how that does anybody much good."

"Not a lot," Jack agrees, noisily slurping. "If, that is, he is dead. I think he isn't. I think you guys finally talked the idiot into a long-term cover mission, the kind he always ducked out of before. I think he's busy sabotaging the nuclear power plant the Chinese keep trying to build there, and making sure that the entire planet doesn't hear about that magical water of youth. Speaking of which, I figure he might be on that mission quite a while."

Nonsense. Stuff and utter nonsense.

The only trouble is, Jack's also correct.

"Suppose," Pete says casually, downing his drink in one. "Suppose I asked if you'd mentioned this idea of yours to anyone?"

"Why would I do that? You're the only one I need to blackmail."

Jack passes over a single piece of paper. Phoenix Foundation letterhead at the top. "I broke into your office earlier, so I could do this up nice on your raised-letter typewriter. No trouble reading it, right?"

Cheeky rascal. "No. What is this? A shopping list?"

"Sure, just like I wrote down there. Ten SAKs of the models I've specified, couple of rolls of duct tape, I don't know about the contact lenses but you must have his prescription on file somewhere -"

"Hold on. Hold on. What's it all for?"

"Look, I know exactly how much luggage Mac brought on my plane. Extra change of clothes and a spare knife. Even for him, that's pretty rushed packing."

Pete sighs. "The first tanks rolled into the valley about an hour after you dropped him off. That the entire Chinese leadership isn't now immortal suggests that whatever he did to stave them off, it worked...and he's promised to stay put until Phoenix can figure out what to make of this situation. There's no precedents for how to ethically handle a genuine, reliable, but limited source of immortality, and currently we're strongly inclined to just leave well enough alone- why would he need two Rolexes?"

"Because he's going to break the first one open and use the crystal for some kinda thingamajig. I should make that three."

"A bag of polished, high-carat diamonds and rubies."

"You never know when you'll need some ready cash."

"A guitar. You want to go on an espionage mission with a guitar?"

"Sure. He loves noodling around with the thing. Maybe he can teach me how to play, while he's at it."

"You- no. Absolutely not. In fact, you are not going anywhere near the Ammukash. Understand?"

"Nope."

"Jack, I mean it. The only thing, and I mean the only thing, that the board and I can all agree on right now is that MacGyver's the only person ethical enough to trust with this thing. You aren't even close to being that reliable."

"Mac'll keep me in line if he's around, you know that. As opposed, I don't know, to my making a small fortune flogging this story to every other secret agency in the alphabet?"

"None of them would believe you."

"Wanna bet? How will that fit in to the Phoenix ethics calculations, if the CIA and everybody else start sniffing around the place too? I mean, I don't have much of reputation as a spy, but I sure am known for having a big mouth. People'll hear."

Dammit. They will.

A coo, a girlish giggle, and now there's an unwanted refill in his cup; has Jack been amusing himself by flirting with the waitress? "We aren't talking about a weekend there and back again. He might be there for years. And we can't have his cover blown by your continually wandering in and out of the place, either."

"I figured that," Jack says, with a shudder in his voice. "That's what the list's for. All the stuff of civilisation I don't really wanna do without- well, there's a lot more of that, but I'm trying to be realistic here. If he's bent on staying put there, I figure I can do the same...you know he's got an even worse case of wanderlust than I do. He oughta have someone to keep him company."

The pilot's quiet now. Regretful, but determined. Pete's starting to think he's serious.

Not that he intends to let on. "And I'm supposed to believe you'll spend god knows how long there, out of sentiment? Is that what I'm supposed to tell the board, when they ask why I let you go?"

"Just don't mention it to them. Besides, how much of a motive do you think I need?"

"Let's put it this way. Is there an ulterior motive to all this?"

"Let's see," Jack says thoughtfully. "Here's our hero, terrific smile, long brown hair, athletic, both can and has pulled just by walking down the street…"

Pete closes his eyes. He just wishes he could close his ears as well.

"…nah, immortality's good. You want to draw up an NDA for me to sign saying I promise not to mention any of this?"