Authors Note: I love both MacGyver and Stargate SG1, and I especially like reading crossovers about them, so I thought I'd write one of my own. Its a bit weird and very AU but it should be fun, and I hope you enjoy it.

Bold stands for Symbiote speech. Italics for thoughts.

Disclaimer: I do not own either MacGyver or Stargate SG1.


Jack was going to kill Jack Dalton. As soon as he was done cleaning this floor he was going to go out and kill him. They had both decided to play the prank. They had both done it. They had both groaned when something went terribly wrong. But somehow, Dalton, with that smooth tongue of his, managed to escape punishment.

Jonathan O'Neill dipped a sponge into a bucket containing soapy water. Jack gave the sponge a disgusted look before setting it to the store's tiled floor. He scrubbed slowly, not daring to look up to see how much he had left. He knew it was a lot. He sighed, moving a hand up to run through his sandy-colored hair. His hand stopped before it reached it, though, as Jack realized his hand was soapy wet and dirty. It was bad enough having it covering his hands and clothes. He did not need it in his hair. Jack glowered at the sponge, before glancing around the store. It was a small grocery shop but very popular. Unfortunately, it also seemed to have a large amount of floor space. His back was sore and so were his knees from kneeling on the hard floor. Yeah, he was having serious second thoughts about using something so sticky for the prank. Of course, technically, he was lucky that Mr. Peters, the store owner, didn't turn him over to the police, or call his mom, but washing the entire store floor was, was...

Crash! The shop door banged opened as a man scrambled in. "Excuse me?" Jack pointed to the door. "The sign says closed."

"Is there a back way out of here?" the man gasped.

"No," Jack answered.

As soon as the word left Jack's mouth the man began to snatch things off the shelf.

"Hey!" Jack yelled jumping to his feet, knowing that he would be the one to have to clean everything up. "What are you doing!"

The man never had a chance to answer. The door burst open again, and before Jack had time to react, two other men charged into the store. One raised a firearm and coolly aimed. A soft gunshot sounded, and the first man, who still had a packet of baking soda in his hands, fell to the ground. Jack took a step forward, but hesitated, slightly unsure of what to do. The two killers ran up to their victim, smiles on their faces. The injured man was still trying to mix some of the items together. One of his persecutors pointed a gun at him.

It was then that Jack did something that, on hindsight, he realized was stupid. He moved out of his safe, so far, corner, and shouted, "Hey!" Immediately the men turned on him, their faces showing surprise. It wasn't until then that it occurred to Jack that he had no weapons, he had just witnessed an attempt at murder, the murderers were standing right in front of him, and they did have weapons. The eyes of the man who had fired the first shot narrowed. "It looks like we have a witness."

Jack raised his hands in a pacifying manner. "Witness? Nah. A witness is someone who's seen something. I haven't seen anything."

The man smiled and lowered his gun for one misleading moment, then slowly he raised it again. The pistol, with silencer attached, was pointed directly at Jack. "Nice try." The gunshot's dulled sound filled the air, and Jack felt a blazing pain that was anything but dull in his midriff. Crying out, he collapsed to the ground.

Jack had never been shot before. Shot at, but never actually hit. It was a lot more painful than he had imagined, and frightening. The world seemed to have gone grey, and he barely registered the two men speaking.

"What do we do now?"

"Get out of here. Jones is dead and the boy's dying. He won't live to tell anything."

One word struck Jack. Dying. He couldn't die. Dying was bad. Jack opened his eyes. Seeing the men were gone, he attempted to struggle to his knees. He needed help, now. The attempt failed miserably as he slipped in his own blood. He hadn't the energy to try again. His eyes closed, and he could feel himself growing weaker. The pain from his wound was gradually diminishing. Panic filled him, but there was nothing he could do. He opened his eyes, a surprisingly hard task. The sight that met him would normally have made him draw back or reach for a gun. But his strength was gone, and he could only watch as the creature approached him. It seemed he was not only to be shot, but attacked by a snake as well.

The snake (for that was the only word Jack could think of to describe it) was almost at him now. Jack's eyes widened slightly in fear, but it didn't really matter did it? He was dead anyhow. Then the creature lunged straight at his face. Jack felt a sudden pain in his throat, before unconsciousness took him.

Jack awoke slowly. For awhile he just laid there, not daring to open his eyes. The last thing he remembered was getting shot and being killed by a snake. It wasn't a pleasant memory. Carefully he opened one eye. He was still in the store, so he couldn't be dead. He had been shot, hadn't he? And where was the snake? Quickly he sat up, his hand feeling the place where the wound had been. His shirt was bloody and there was a hole in the material, but there wasn't a hole in him. Jack looked around. Had it been a dream? But no, the blood and the corpse proved that it hadn't. So he had been shot. But why wasn't he dead like the other man?

The door opened again, its bells jingling happily as if nothing had happened. Jack flinched, wondering if more men with guns would appear. A man with a gun did appear but it was Sheriff Roberts, not a criminal. "Jack, are you alright?" He asked.

"I'm fine," Jack said, stopping the Sheriff from coming forward and examining him.

Roberts nodded. Jack didn't seem to be dying. He bent down to examine the man on the floor. He might still be alive, though the Sheriff had a feeling the man was already beyond help. He checked for a pulse. Slowly he got to his feet.

"Is he dead?" Jack asked.

"Afraid so," Roberts answered.

Jack stepped back as a strange, intense grief filled him. A grief that wasn't his own. The type of grief Jack hadn't felt since the day his father and grandmother had died in a car crash. It swelled, growing inside him. It's intensity like the sudden release of a dam. Jack staggered under the weight of it. He fought against it, panic filling him. What was happening! Than in an instant, it was gone, leaving behind only a trail of confusion sprinkled lightly with sadness.

"Jack?" The Sheriff grabbed the young man by the arm.

Jack shook his head. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You better let me take a look at you."

Jack glanced down at himself. He looked like he had been shot, which he had. But he couldn't tell the Sheriff that. "I'm fine," Jack repeated for the third time. He detached himself from the sheriff and walked over to the dead body to prove his point. To prove that he didn't know the man, and was not upset at his death.

Roberts gave Jack an unsure glance before changing the subject, "Poor fella," he shook his head. "I don't remember seeing him around town. I don't suppose you know anything about him?"

"His name was Frank, Frank Jones."

"You knew him then?" Roberts was surprised.

Jack shook his head. Where in the world had that come from? "No," he lied, "the men who shot him said something about it."

"Are you sure you are okay?" Roberts asked again.

"Positive,"

"Then I'm going to have to ask you to tell me what happened."

Jack did the best he could. Telling about everything except getting shot, and about the snake. Instead he lied, saying he was hit in the head.

When this was over, the Sheriff looked at him kindly, "Go on home, Jack. I'll take your written statement later."

Jack didn't argue. Quickly he exited the store and headed home.


Jack stared at his house apprehensively. It would be better if he got into his room without being noticed. His mother did not need to see him covered in blood. Jack imagined the look on her face and shuddered. Yep, he definitely needed to get cleaned up first. He already had to sneak, using back ways to get to his house without being seen. He had thought about taking his shirt off and stuffing it in a trash can, but he was bloody as well, so it wouldn't do any good.

He was glad that his mother wasn't the type of woman that sat and looked out her windows all day long. Hurriedly, he snuck around the house. It was a typical two-storied white house, a remnant from when the land used to be a farm. His room was in the second story towards the back of the house. It so happened that there was a large tree that reached up and above the house. It also so happened that one of its branches reached outwards towards Jack's window. Jack thought of that tree as one of his friends. It was always useful when he wanted to sneak in the house, like now.

Grabbing a lower branch, he swung up on to it, and scrambling up onto the next one, he began scaling the tree. Reaching the branch that was near his window, he paused and looked down. He always did this. He loved the sensation of being up high; it gave him a certain thrill. But this time he felt, besides his usual joy, a certain nervousness. And when he swung into his room, a slight relief. He shook his head. What was wrong with him today? Perhaps seeing somebody killed had something to do with it? Ya think? He answered himself.

Pulling off his shirt he stared down at it. Maybe he should have thrown it in the trash. There was no way he was going to get away with throwing it in the dirty clothes hamper. Looking at it in disgust, he shoved it under his bed. He would deal with it later. Right now he needed a shower.


Jack lay down on his bed. The shower had removed some of the tenseness from his body, and had cleaned the blood off pretty well. It had, though, done little to relieve his aching mind. Questions scurried through his mind like mice after cheese.

Why was he still alive? Who were his attackers? What was going to happen next? And what was wrong with him? Why had the name Frank popped into his head? And why had he felt so sad at the man's death? Jack still didn't understand that. He hadn't even known the guy, for cryin' out loud!

"No, but I did."

Jack sat up, "Who's there?" He asked. He darted to the window and looked out. All he saw was the backyard and the tree branches. Now he crept carefully to the closet on the other side of the room. It was the only place someone could be hiding. He swung the door open, his fist tight and ready, but there was no one there.

"You aren't going to find me."

"Who are you!" Jack cried. The voice sounded like it was coming from... but no, that couldn't be true.

"The name's MacGyver. I'm not out there." The voice hesitated slightly. "I'm in you."

Jack groaned. "I thought so, but I was hoping." Here he was hearing somebody who didn't exist.

"You're not mad."

"Says the voice in my head."

Jack heard MacGyver sigh. "I guess I'm going to have to explain things. Man, I hate doing this. Well, to start off with, you can talk to me by thinking. You don't have to say everything out loud."

"That's good to know," Jack thought. "Now nobody will know I've gone bonkers."

"You haven't gone bonkers. This is going to sound weird." MacGyver paused for a minute before hurrying on. "I'm actually in you. I belong to a people called the Tok'ra. My race needs a host to survive. Without one we sorta shrivel up and die."

Jack felt something brush against his consciousness. It was soft like a feather, but still a touch, still an intrusion. He shuddered. He could almost feel something crawling underneath his skin. He placed a hand to the spot and could actually feel movement. He wasn't just imagining things, there was something in his head. Jack's eyes widened and he gasped. Forgetting that he could think to the creature, Jack screamed, "Get out. Now!"

"I'm sorry," MacGyver said guiltily.

"Then get out!"

Jack felt another touch against his mind, almost comforting in nature. He revolted against it. Falling to his knees he scratched at his neck as if he could tear the thing out himself.

"Calm down."

"Get out and I will!" Jack growled. His fists clenched, and his breath came in rapid gasps. Terror grabbed him. All he knew was that he had to do something. He had to get it out. He had to. Jack jumped to his feet. He was going to run, run till he left it behind.

Jack felt something grab his mind and shake it. It had the same effect as someone grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. It snapped him out of it. The panic left, though fear still clung to him. Jack sunk back down to the floor. "Please get out," he whispered.

"I would, but it would leave a hole in your head, and you'd most likely die from it. I don't think that's what you want. I am sorry, Jack."

Jack took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Panic never did anybody any good. "How do you know my name?"

"Well, I heard the Sheriff call you by it, so I guessed."

"When did you... how long have you been, here?" Jack gestured toward his head, not quite able to say the words yet.

"Since this morning."

Jack's eyes widened in revelation, "you're the snake!"

"Tok'ra," MacGyver corrected. "Snakes are different."

"They don't climb into people's heads, for one thing."

"Well, no they don't, but that thing isn't really my choice. If I don't, I die."

"Okay, so I know when you got into my head, but where on earth did you come from!"

MacGyver thought about the many answers he could give to this question. He decided the shortest one was better, the rest could be explained later. "My last host was the man you saw killed today. He was dead. I tried... I couldn't do anything to help. You were still alive. I could save you."

"So you're why I'm still alive." Jack felt strange owing his life to something that needed to live inside him to survive.

"I don't just live in you taking stuff. I give back things too. We're partners. I can heal you and keep you healthy. Think of it! No more colds for the rest of your life!"

Jack smiled slightly at this, but he still felt like he was in a dream, or some sci-fi show, or horror movie. "So was Frank your old whatever-you-called-it?"

"Host," MacGyver supplied, "Yes, his name was Frank. I let that slip along with my emotions. I'm sorry. I'll try to keep my feelings to myself until you're more comfortable with it."

"Your feelings?"

"Yeah. Hosts and symbiotes tend to share feelings."

"Symbiote?"

"It's what each individual Tok'ra is called. You're a human and I'm a Tok'ra. You're a host and I'm a Symbiote."

"Why don't you tell me the advantages and disadvantages of being a host, and get it over with."

"Okay, which do you want first, bad or good?"

'Bad. That way I'll have something to look forward to."

"Uh," MacGyver struggled to think of something that would be bad in Jack's eyes. "I'm with you all the time, and you can't get rid of me, but that won't be so bad once you get to know me. We share memories, feelings, and I can read your thoughts. You can't lie to me, and I tend to attract trouble wherever I go."

Jack blinked and rubbed his head, that was quite a lot. "Any good things?"

"Yes. I can heal you. You won't get sick. You'll have a much longer life span than the average human, probably over two hundred years. Your senses are stronger than they used to be and you're stronger too. Plus you'll never be lonely."

"Sounds good. Of course that depends on how much of a pain you are."

MacGyver chuckled slightly at this. "People have told me that I'm easy to get along with."

Jack started. It felt strange to have somebody else laughing in your head. He walked back to the bed and sat on it. How on earth had this happened to him? Jack realized that unless he wanted to die, he would have to give up his privacy. MacGyver could read his mind, knew how he felt, and even shared his memories. Everything Jack did MacGyver would know, and Jack wasn't sure how much he liked it.

"I'm not a nosy old lady. I won't be listening to your thoughts all the time."

"You just did!"

"I'll give you privacy when you want it."

"Alright, I want it now. I need time to think about all this... stuff."

"Okay." MacGyver withdrew, knowing he needed to give his new host some time.

As it turned out Jack didnĂ­t have much time to think.


Well there's the first chapter. Review if you enjoyed it. It will help me write the second chapter faster.