Trees of a different kind

by Jynjyr

Trees are still Jack's nemesis. Different trees.

Trees (of a different kind)

by

Jynjyr

A Stargate: SG-1 / MacGyver story

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. They just invade my brain, play games with my mind and compel me to put their adventures on paper.

The MacGyver universe and all of its characters belong to Paramount Television and Henry Winkler / John Rich Productions.

The Legend universe and all of its characters belong to Paramount, Bill and Mike Productions and Gekko Film Corporation.

The Stargate universe and all of its characters belong to MGM/UA, Double Secret, Stargate Productions and Gekko Film Corporation.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Thank you all for letting me play in your universes.

Title: Trees (of a different kind)

Author: Jynjyr

Spoilers: Season 8 happenings for Stargate.

Season: After the start of SG-1 Season 8 and a corresponding time after the end of MacGyver (12 years).

Notes: RDA had a short-lived series called "Legend". He played Ernest Pratt / Nicodemus Legend.

SCI - Sensitive Compartmented Information, an additional protection when Top Secret isn't enough.

Warning: Violence, angst, severe Mac whumping

---

Trees (of a different kind)

Sam Malloy pulled the WWII era Jeep over to the curb and flinched at the squeal of the brakes as he rolled to a stop. Looking over at his passenger, he saw the other man sigh.

"I know, I know. We'll do the brakes this weekend. While I'm here I'll find someplace close to the apartment where we can rent the tools." MacGyver climbed out of the open car, wincing as he leaned over, putting most of his weight on his left leg. He'd screwed up his knee royally the winter before and, although it was late August, he was still doing re-hab. Normal walking was fine, but sudden sharp, jarring movements or long distances were still a problem.

"Are you sure you want me to leave you here all day, Dad? I may not get done until after seven o'clock tonight," the younger man asked, concerned. The Denver Herald had over thirty photojournalists scattered around the city documenting "24 Hours in Denver". Sam was part of the daytime group that was taking pictures from nine in the morning until five at night. "I mean, the library isn't even open yet."

"It opens in ten minutes, Sam." Mac pulled his backpack computer case from behind the seat and slipped it on. He gestured up and down the street. "There's a coffee shop and restaurant a few doors down. If I get really bored, I'll hobble across the street and get a haircut."

Sam laughed as his father pulled off a baseball cap and let his almost shoulder length, shaggy hair escape to fall over his forehead.

"OK, OK. It's just that Doc said you should still take it easy on the knee."

"Sitting in the Genealogy research room all day is taking it easy. I'll even have the librarian bring me the files." He turned away and began to walk up the ramp to the library's main entrance. "Have fun, take pictures."

Sam fondly watched his father for a few seconds before starting the Jeep and pulling away. Except for the fact that his blond-brown hair had turned salt and pepper, heavy on the salt, MacGyver still looked much as he did when Sam had met him twelve years earlier. As he turned the corner onto the street, something slid over and clanged off the gearshift.

"Dammit, Dad," Sam grumbled as he recognized the highly resented cane laying on the floor. He swung into the nearby "Exit only" drive, earning an angry blast of a horn from the dark green pick-up in the oncoming lane. Screeching to a stop in the fire lane, the young man snatched the cane from the floor and jogged up the steps, catching his father at the top of the winding ramp.

---

Jack O'Neill scowled as he one handedly maneuvered his truck around the Jeep parked in the fire lane in front of the Denver Library. The same jeep that just cut him off with an illegal left turn. He pulled into a first row parking space and, as he was getting out, a young man ran down the steps and hopped in the vehicle. Instead of pulling away, he stopped behind the truck.

"I'm sorry about that turn, Sir. Dad hates to use his cane and left it in the car again," the driver called apologetically.

Jack shook his head and yelled after the departing jeep, "Don't make a habit of it."

Picturing his own stash of discarded canes from the base infirmary, he muttered, "I know how he feels, kid."

The hanging computer case slid awkwardly against his right side as he squirmed his left arm and shoulder into a more comfortable position in the sling before heading off to the building.

---

MacGyver was standing next to his work table carefully lifting the artifacts from the metal storage box marked "Sheridan, Colorado – 1889 to 1885" when he heard a low grumble from the shelf area behind him.

"Of course, the one I need is on the top. Never fails." There was a soft scrabbling sound and the scrape of metal sliding across metal.

"OH, CRAP!"

The urgency of the exclamation made Mac swing around to check out the cause. He saw a man, his arm in a sling, losing the battle to balance the heavy box on one hand. A couple of long steps put him in position to steady the case before it could crash down.

Both men sagged back against the shelves, supporting the container between them, relieved at having averted a calamity.

Jack gratefully let the other man take control of the box when he offered to carry it. "I'm set up right over there," he said, pointing to the table two spaces away. Jack studied the man's familiar stance, as he remained leaning on the table where he put the records. Head hanging, shoulders hunched, knuckles white, fingers trying to clench into the wooden top, with the left heel raised up and the toe of his shoe barely touching the floor. The picture of a man in pain.

"Knee?" he asked, sliding a chair around so his new acquaintance could sit.

"Oh, yeah," was the groaned reply. "Third time's the charm, they say."

Jack studied the other man while he recovered. His military mind built up a description that could be used to trace a fugitive. Six foot to six-two, 185-195 pounds, grey hair – needs cutting, brown eyes, close trimmed beard and mustache, both greying, bad knee, walks with a limp and/or a cane, Midwest accent. Another thought struck him. Owns a vintage WWII jeep in very good condition.

Mac sat for a few minutes until the room stopped trying to dance around and his breakfast decided to stay where it belonged. When he opened his eyes, he saw his cane leaning against the table by his side. The only thing he liked about the stupid thing was the shape. When he put the handle end down, it looked like a hockey stick. It even had a dark wood inlay where it should be wrapped in tape.

"Nice stick, for a cane."

Mac looked over to see the other man quirk his lips in a quick smile. "Jack O'Neill," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

"MacGyver, pleased to meet you."

"Thanks for the rescue. Daniel would have never let me live it down if I'd managed to get hurt in a Library, of all places." Jack waved his hand around at the stacks of books.

"I can already hear Sam, my son. He thinks I'm sitting down all day, resting my knee." Mac gingerly massaged the area above and below the offending joint.

"Daniel's your son?" Mac asked casually, looking up in time to catch the pained look flash across O'Neill's face.

"No. Co-worker," Jack answered briskly and began tapping away at his keyboard with one hand. He knew that he was typing nonsense, but maybe it would drive the other man away. What good is it tracing your family tree if you have no one to whom you can pass it along? The question floated through his mind again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject." MacGyver's quiet comment stilled Jack's dancing fingers. He sat silently as the other man levered himself to his feet and began to walk away. "Holler if you need anything else from the top shelf."

Hours later, a dark shadow fell over the yellowed newspaper MacGyver was trying to read. He looked up over a pair of silver framed reading glasses to see Jack O'Neill standing next to him.

"It's almost one o'clock. They're going to be locking up for lunch soon. The restaurant's dismal, but the coffee shop does a great sandwich platter. Join me?"

Mac's stomach growled in answer. "I guess that's a yes. Thanks."

They stopped just inside the exit door and unknowingly mimicked one another putting on baseball caps and sunglasses.

When they came back, the two men moved to share a table and pool their research since both of them were trying to trace someone from Sheridan in the late 1800's. The afternoon quickly turned into early evening.

Sam Malloy strolled into the Genealogy room looking for MacGyver. He could hear his father's voice calling to someone, "It's bound to be in the 1875 to1879 box. Can you get that one?"

Wonderingly, he walked up behind the man still talking to an unknown assistant. "No, the paper said 1881 was the fifth anniversary of him moving there."

Sam reached out to ruffle the close clipped, iron-grey hair before him. "Geeze, Dad. When you finally get a haircut, you don't fool around. Do you?"

A few seconds later, with his arm pulled up between his shoulder blades, Sam realized his mistake. His quick yelp of pain brought Mac out from the stacks.

"Dad?" Sam rose up on tiptoe to take some pressure off his arm.

"Jack. Let him go. Its Sam, my son."

O'Neill let go and stepped back quickly. He held his hand up in a gesture of peace as Sam swung around angrily.

"Colonel?" the reference librarian asked anxiously as she hurried over. "Is there a problem? Should I call...?"

"No. Thanks, Belinda. Just a little misunderstanding." Jack eased over to sit on the corner of the table as Sam relaxed.

Belinda watched warily until she was sure the situation had cooled down. As she turned to leave, she reminded them, "We close in half an hour, Colonel … Mac."

Sam shrugged sheepishly when MacGyver asked, rhetorically, "When have I ever had hair that short?"

Sam stepped over to Jack and held out his hand. "Sam Malloy. Sorry, Colonel. You sounded just like Dad."

Jack shook the younger man's hand. "Jack O'Neill. And, actually, it's General now. But, Jack is just fine."

Still embarrassed at his mistake, Sam gestured to the research paraphernalia strewn across the table. "I guess you're not ready to leave yet. Let me give you a hand with this stuff."

As he began putting photocopies into Mac's folders, Jack spoke up. "Those are mine. The ones you want are over there."

I just cannot win today. Sam rolled his eyes, laid the folder down and stepped back to lean on the edge of the shelves. "Let me know when something is ready to go back to storage."

Mac patted his son on the shoulder before continuing his interrupted discussion. "We don't have time today to go through that next box. You going to be here tomorrow afternoon?"

"No." Jack wiggled the fingers on his sling supported left arm. "Doctor's appointment and physical therapy. How about in the morning?"

"Doc wants to poke and prod at me in the morning." Mac sighed, "I hate this "getting older" stuff. Try for Friday?"

"I'm on medical leave for a while longer. What time's good for you?"

Mac turned to his son. "What's your plans for Friday? Can you drop me here in the morning again?"

Chagrined, he answered, "Uh…no? I have to be in Colorado Springs by eight for an assignment and I'll be there all day. Sorry."

"You know," Jack spoke up, "we might not have a problem. Where do you live?"

"South of Castle Rock. But that's more than half an hour from here."

Jack smiled, "But, it's right on the way while I'm coming up from the Springs. How's eight-thirty sound?"

Mac stopped putting artifacts back into the storage box. "Are you sure? I'd really appreciate it. We're this close," he held up his thumb and finger a half inch apart, "I know it."

At Jack's nod of assurance, Mac continued, "Sam. Would you write out directions from Colorado Springs to the apartment, while I finish packing this stuff away?"

He grinned at the librarian heading his way and said, in a "Western old-timers" accent, "Ol' Miss Belinda gets cranky when she gets kept late."

The twenty-three year old woman laughed and punched Mac lightly on the arm as she answered the same way, "I'll show you cran-ky, bo-oy. You young whippersnappers got no respect no more."

She began putting the artifacts away while the two researchers sorted folders and packed their computers cases. They were only a few minutes past closing time as she locked up the Genealogy room. The men were almost to the front doors when they heard a lilting call, "Au revoir, mes amis. Et mon General." A tiny giggle floated down over the second floor balcony.

---

An accident that had the northbound side of the interstate closed outside of Colorado Springs kept the two men from their research until almost noon. They had barely begun when the reference librarian shooed them out and locked up for lunch.

Jack grumbled as they walked to the coffee shop, "Belinda would've let us stay. I wonder where she is? I've never see that old battle ax before."

"Old battle ax? C'mon, Jack. She can't be more than thirty," Mac remarked.

"Being an 'old battle ax' is a state of mind, not a condition on the calender," Jack elaborated as they entered the coffee shop and took a table.

"Take Maureen, here," he continued, putting on a broad Irish brogue, "She's a sweet, kind-hearted flower of girlhood."

The white-haired waitress laughed as she put coffee by Jack and lemonade by MacGyver. "Don't waste your blarney on me, boys. It won't do you any good. The manager sold the last two pieces of cherry pie right out of my hands."

Mac got in the game with a Shakespearean flourish. Taking her hand in both of his, he looked up at her. "I pray these lovely hands, bidden by your kind heart, have hidden away some small crumbs to nourish our poor souls."

Jack ruined the woeful effect by bursting out laughing as Maureen began blushing.

"Get away with you now," she said, pulling her fingers free, "Foolishness runs rampant in you boys' family, I see." Arms folded, she shook her head at them. "The same as before?"

Halfway across the restaurant she turned around and came back to whisper, "I've a fresh peach pie hidden in the kitchen. I'll bring it with the meal."

Mac punched the air in triumph, "Yes!"

Promptly at two o'clock, they were back to their table in the Genealogy room methodically finishing the examination of the artifacts in the 1880 to 1884 storage box. As they suspected, nothing new came to light.

Mac was swiftly typing up the few tidbits of information from that time period while Jack was starting to work through the documents from 1879 to 1875.

"Oh, yesss," Jack muttered triumphantly, "Sweet."

"What?"

"Birth certificates. March 30, 1879 birth certificates." Jack laid two records side by side on the table. "They were twins."

Mac picked up one of the yellowed papers, "Helen Ramos Pratt. Healthy, white, female. Mother: Clarinda Pratt. Father: Ernest Pratt."

Jack read the statistics from the other, "Hector Janos Pratt. Healthy, white, male. Mother: Clarinda Pratt. Father: Ernest Pratt."

He snorted a small laugh, "I guess that's where my middle name came from. We always wondered how a Hungarian name got onto an Irish family tree. Great-great-grandpa grafted it on."

Mac just looked to heaven and groaned softly.

"You have Ramos somewhere, I take it?" Jack asked.

The other man shook his head and groaned again. "Oooh-nooo. Don't. Even. Ask," he sighed.

"I'm sorry," Jack commiserated, laying a hand on Mac's shoulder while he tried to hide a grin. Military Intelligence was not only thorough but also quite fast. Angus Ramos MacGyver. No wonder he goes by Mac. He felt bad about having to run background checks on his new friends but the security of the Stargate project was paramount. Anyone that he had more than casual contact with had to be investigated and these two had particularly interesting backgrounds.

As the two men walked to the copy machine, Mac said, "Ya know, I loved my parents dearly but, there were days I just wanted to ask them, 'What the hell were you thinking?' Sheesh."

Keeping up his façade of ignorance, Jack remarked, "At least you didn't carry on the tradition with Sam. That's a pretty normal name."

"That's his initials. Sean A. Malloy. His mother named him. I didn't even know I had a son until …" Mac paused, "wow … it's been twelve years. Time flies. It's a long story."

Returning to their research, they finished off the contents of the storage box on which they were working. The only other genealogical information they gathered was that Ernest Pratt, great-great-grandfather, was born in San Francisco in 1842.

"Daniel would have a field day with this." Jack started chuckling as he took a sealed package from the bottom of the box. He held up a thin book. The cover illustration was of a man wearing a leather helmet and goggles, flying a primitive looking hang glider over a stagecoach traveling down a dusty road. The title read: Legend and the Land of the Orange Sky. "He can probably tell us, off the top of his head, more about Nicodemus Legend, a.k.a. Ernest Pratt, than either of us would ever want to know."

Mac leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out to prop them on the edge of the table. "Your friend, Daniel, is a Western History enthusiast, I take it?"

"Daniel Jackson is an enthusiast about … everything and anything to do with history and cultures. You name a civilization; he'll probably be able to talk your ear off about it." That little talent has certainly come in handy sometimes.

MacGyver sat up attentively, "Doctor Daniel Jackson? The archeologist? Wow, I've read some of his papers."

"Oh, you're not," Jack said, dismayed that he might have missed some information in his hurried reading of the intelligence reports. "Tell me you're not a scientist."

"A scientist? Uh, no," Mac answered, puzzled. "More of a practitioner, I guess. A troubleshooter, fix-it kind of guy. I just read a lot."

Before they could continue this line of discussion, the cell phone lying on the table began to vibrate and buzz across the surface.

Mac snatched it up, flipped it open and softly spoke into it, "Yeah, MacGyver," he listened for a moment before he exclaimed, "Oh, man! Where are you?"

He went out to the hall to continue the conversation. Jack followed in time to hear, "OK, I'll ask him. I'll call you back in ten minutes."

"A problem?" Jack inquired.

The other man folded the phone and fiddled with it for a moment before he looked up. "Yeah," he said apologetically, "the jeep's brake lines blew out. You know a place in Colorado Springs that can do brakes on a 1943 Willys?"

Concerned, Jack asked, "Sam's OK, isn't he? He didn't have an accident or anything?"

"Nothing major. He got it off the road and into a hayfield. No real damage except to Sam's nerves. The highway patrol towed it to a place called Speedy's. We were going to give it a brake job this weekend, but new brake lines are way beyond the scope of the apartment's parking lot."

"Speedy can probably do it, but I've got a better idea." Jack pulled out his phone. "Let me make a call," he said, punching buttons, "Bill? Jack O'Neill, two doors down. How would you and Will like to get your hands on a '43 Willys army jeep?" There was a pause, "Brakes, complete from the master cylinder out." Another pause. "This weekend? Sweet. Thanks, Bill."

"What?" Mac started to ask, but was stopped by a raised hand and more numbers being punched.

"Hey, Carter. You want to stretch your tinkering skills this weekend?" He listened for a second. "No, not my truck. A '43 jeep."

Mac almost could hear the enthusiastic answer.

"OK, later. Oh, by the way, tell Daniel I met a fan of his." O'Neill folded the phone with a satisfied grin.

"What was all that about?" asked his puzzled companion.

"It's like this," Jack leaned against the wall and explained, "Bill Newberry, my neighbor, does classic car restorations. His father, Will, spent WWII in the motor pool. You're not going to find anyone better. They'll do it for the cost of parts and a steak dinner. Just for the chance to get their hands on it."

He continued; ticking off points with raised fingers. "Speedy can tow it to my place for now. Bill's got to make a space in the shop. We can push it down there in the morning. Bill's probably on the phone with his source for parts already. You guys can stay with me, that way you won't have to worry about transportation. The barbeque Sunday will cover the steak dinner. That should be about it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mac held up his hands, stopping the flow of information. "Don't I get a say in this operation? C'mon, General. I'm not one of your soldiers."

"Airmen," O'Neill corrected absently.

"Whatever. I'm not under your command, remember." MacGyver strode away, his indignation obvious.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Jack muttered, following the other man back to their table. He put his hand on the stack of folders Mac was trying to pick up. "I'm not used to the whole 'making suggestions' thing, OK? I give orders. It's what I do. Just hear me out, then you're free to tell me to go to hell if you want."

Figuring that was as close to an apology as he was going to get, Mac sat down and looked attentive.

Jack elaborated on the details. Newberry's shop was at the back of his property at the end of Jack's street. Sam was already stranded in Colorado Springs, and it would take a day or more to fix the jeep, depending on how many parts had to be fabricated. The barbeque had been planned for weeks, now there would be four more attending. He concluded, "It's a great situation for everyone. Carter and the Newberrys get a classic car to play with. You get the jeep fixed at minimum cost and headaches."

Still skeptical, Mac pursed his lips and asked, "That's great bait. What's the catch?"

Jack had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "I'm not going to get to San Francisco in the foreseeable future, but I bet you will. Send me whatever info you dig up on Ernest. Deal?"

"Deal," Mac agreed quickly, "With one addition. Sam and I cover expenses for the cookout." They shook on their bargain.

MacGyver called Sam to explain the situation while Jack made the towing arrangements with Speedy. Once they were on the road, they worked out a plan to spend as little time as possible in Castle Rock. Sam would be stuck sitting in Jack's drive and the weather was turning cold and threatening rain.

Mac would get the gear out of the apartment that he and Sam would need for the weekend. Jack would go back to the garages and pick up the already purchased brake parts and tools.

Pulling up to the front door, Jack dropped off his passenger and drove around to the garages. He'd pick Mac up by the back door when he was done. Finding the right bay, he unlocked the door and lifted it up.

"Nice bikes," Jack said admiringly as he walked around the two motorcycles for a few minutes and checked them out. Finally, he went to the bench and experimentally lifted the toolbox sitting there. Finding that it didn't put a strain on his injured arm and shoulder, he carried it out to the truck. Leaning over to sit it down, Jack didn't see the two men slip away from behind a parked van and head his way.

They hit him hard enough to put a dent in the tailgate and leave him dazed. Jack tried to fight back one-handedly as they dragged him to the van. A punch to his bandaged shoulder made the world start to fade out at the edges. As the van sped out of the parking lot, he heard shots. O'Neill had time for one brief thought of his friend, MacGyver, before a sharp turn threw him into the wall and he blacked out.

"Did you call 9-1-1?"

"Mrs. Stewart is on the phone with them now." The scared voice continued, "That's Mr. Mac. I heard gunshots. Did somebody shoot him? Is he dead?"

MacGyver slowly realized that he was lying face down in the wet grass. At least his body was on the grass; his face was on a carpet of flowers. A quick physical inventory showed no new pain except the top of his head. He turned over far enough to get free of the flowers and cracked open his eyes. The worried faces of the teen-aged neighbors stared back at him.

"I'm OK. I'm not shot. I'm not dying." Mac was under the impression that he said these reassuring words aloud, but the teens only saw his lips twitch and the blood running over his face before he collapsed back onto the stained white blossoms.

---

"Hey, Sam," Daniel leaned around the door to Carter's lab, "If you're riding with me, the train's leaving. It's almost six o'clock; we're going to be late for the first movie. Jack's probably bored out of his mind at home and already watched all of them."

"Just one more spot." An electric arc flared briefly as Sam finished welding the broken connecting rod in the vise before her. She disconnected the equipment and laid the repaired part in line with the others on the table in the back corner of the room. After covering the dis-assembled engine with a tarpaulin, she followed Daniel out. "In a couple more weeks I should be able to get it back together and get it mounted in the bike."

As they got in the elevator, Daniel abruptly asked, "Have you heard from Jack this afternoon?"

"Yeah, he called me a little after three. He said something about a '43 jeep and that he met a fan of yours. Why?"

The man folded his arms across his chest. "I tried to call him around four and got no answer at home or on his cell. I've been trying off and on since then, but still get no answer."

"C'mon Daniel, don't be such a worrier. Maybe he's at the neighbors and didn't bring his phone. We'll be there in a bit anyway." Even though she said these words, Sam was a little concerned also.

Teal'c was waiting patiently on the surface for them. The drive down the mountain was fairly quiet. Each one troubled by the loss of communication.

As they drove up to Jack's house, Sam exclaimed, "Don't turn in. Drive past."

Mystified, Daniel went to the end of the street and turned around. "What's wrong?"

"O'Neill's truck was not in the driveway, but a strange vehicle was," Teal'c observed. "This bears investigating."

The gathering clouds brought an early twilight as the three approached the General's house. "Nobody is in the car. Daniel, watch the front. Teal'c, take the far side. I'll take this side. Ready?" The others nodded. "Let's go."

Daniel made sure the jeep was empty before slipping around the garage to stand with his back pressed against the wall.

Teal'c ran to the side of the house and edged his way into the backyard. He could see Carter as she crept along the back of the house. Together they snuck up onto the deck and advanced on the figure sprawled out in one of Jack's deck chairs.

---

"Don't. Move."

Sam's eyes snapped open at the menace inherent in those words. His gaze locked on the cavernous barrels of the two pistols pointed at his body. Slowly and gingerly, he lifted his hands from where they rested on his stomach until his assailants could tell he wasn't hiding anything.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

He glanced back and forth between the beautiful blonde woman and the huge black man; uncertain which one was more dangerous. Finding his voice, Sam answered, "Sam Malloy. I'm waiting for Jack O'Neill."

"Why?"

"He told me to?" Sam hoped desperately that they wouldn't think he was trying to be funny. They didn't look to be in a joking mood.

The big guy finally spoke up, "Tell us."

Sam gulped and stared at the man looming in front of him. He wasn't usually this easy to intimidate, but the other man was just plain scary. He looked like he could rip Sam's arm off, beat him with it and not break a sweat.

Sam got his brain in gear and began talking, very quickly, "The jeep. He knows someone who can fix the jeep. Jack and Dad worked it out. He told me to wait. They're on their way here. Really. Call him and ask."

The blonde slowly lowered her gun. Sam noted the big guy did not.

"A 1943 jeep?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sam answered, not taking his eyes off the gun barrel. "The brake lines blew this afternoon. General O'Neill knew someone who would replace them, cheap. He had the garage tow me here." He took the chance of twisting his wrist to check his watch. "That was more than three hours ago, they should have been here by now."

"It's OK, Teal'c. He called me earlier about this." The other gun was lowered as the woman introduced herself. "Colonel Carter, Mr. Malloy. We work with the General and were concerned with a strange car in his drive when he's not home."

Sam very slowly stood up as Carter stepped back. "Well, I'm concerned that they haven't gotten here yet. It doesn't take three hours to drive from Denver."

Sam followed the Colonel to the front of the house, the big guy right behind him. She was starting to make introductions when her cell phone rang. She stepped away to answer it.

The man waiting on the porch held out his hand, "Daniel Jackson. This is Teal'c."

"WHAT?" Carter's yell startled them all. "When? Where? Got it. On the way." She snapped the phone shut and ordered urgently, "Daniel, Teal'c, let's go. Now. Bring him along."

Malloy was hustled to the car and pushed into the back seat next to Teal'c.

"What's…" Sam trailed off as his companion glared at him.

"Where are we going? What's wrong? Something with Jack?" Daniel asked as they got to the end of the street.

"He's been kidnapped." Carter scowled at their passenger. "Snatched out of an apartment parking lot."

Sam Malloy blanched and stammered, "Aerie Apartments in Castle Rock. Oh my God. Dad. We live there. He was with the General."

He repeatedly called Mac's phone on the way, but never got an answer. They made the normally hour-long trip in under 45 minutes. They were getting off the highway when his phone rang.

"Malloy," he answered abruptly. "Dad, thank God. Where are you? Are you OK?" He listened for a moment then continued, "I know. I'm almost there. I'll explain when I see you."

"Can you take me to the hospital?" he asked Daniel. "Dad's there. He says some Air Force guys are trying to arrest him."

Daniel glanced at Carter, who nodded assent, before he began following Malloy's directions. He swung into a doctor's reserved parking space and dropped a placard reading, "Air Force Official Business", on the dash as he left the car.

Malloy was hurrying toward the entrance when he heard Carter shout, "Wait a minute." He turned to see her holding up her cell phone and waving him back.

"He wants to talk to you," she said, perplexed, as she handed him her phone.

He shrugged and spoke, "Malloy." His eyes flew wide and he glanced up at the windows of the hospital. "Yes, I understand."

He listened some more. "Let me talk to him. I need to know that he's alright."

Sam lowered the phone and stared at it a moment before closing it and dropping it in his pocket. "I don't know how, but they snatched the wrong guy," he said, amazed, "They think they've got my dad. They want to trade him for some pictures I took this morning."

"So why did they call my phone?" Carter was just as confused as Malloy.

"Sam," Daniel exclaimed.

"What?" Both Sams answered in chorus.

"Sam," he explained, pointing toward Carter. "You're listed as 'Sam' in Jack's phone numbers. They called … 'Sam'. Looking for him."

Malloy pulled the phone from his pocket. "They said they'd call back in a hour with instructions."

"Keep it," Carter told him as he tried to hand it back to her. "The General's best chance is if they keep believing that he's your father. At least for a while longer."

It was pretty obvious which bay in the Emergency Room their quarry occupied. Two SF's stood guard, keeping the suspect in custody.

"No. I'm not staying overnight. It was a bump on the head, I'm fine." The raised voice arguing with a doctor made Malloy sigh with relief.

"That's Dad. Hate's hospitals," he said, pushing through the curtain and noticing the tracks of blood on Mac's shirt and the traces clinging to his face and hair. "Holy Crap!"

"Nice to see you too, Sam."

While Carter pulled the SF's aside, showed them her ID and sent them on their way, Daniel peeked into the cubicle.

Sam Malloy was blocking his view of the man sitting on the bed. One arm was draped over his father's shoulder as they leaned together, foreheads touching.

"You scared the snot out of me, Dad. The Colonel told me Jack had been kidnapped from our parking lot and there'd been gunshots and somebody was rushed to the hospital. Then I couldn't get an answer on your phone, and I … didn't … sorry."

A hand came up and touched the younger man's face. "Sam, I'm fine. When they started shooting, I hit the deck." The fingers brushed the shaggy grey hair. "Unfortunately, it was Mrs. Stewart's deck … post. No holes, see."

Malloy stepped back and Daniel saw his father for the first time. It's Jack. After a few months in the wilderness.

"Mr. Malloy," Carter came in, intent on pursuing the investigation into the General's kidnapping, "We need you to come with us," she blinked twice, "… Sir."

Daniel grinned. "Jack."

"After two months off … base. On leave." Carter pulled herself back to business. "Mr. Malloy, we…"

"MacGyver," he interrupted. "Not Malloy."

"What?"

"It's MacGyver, not Malloy. And I've been trying to get those military morons to let me talk to the police for the last half hour." He slid off the bed and stood, swaying, for a moment before heading toward the exit. "I'm ready. Let's go."

An ER doctor hurried after them, "Sir, you really shouldn't …" Teal'c stepped in his path and gave him "the eyebrow". "Uh, call us if you have any problems."

Once in the car, they finished introductions and brought Mac up to speed on the situation. He told them the background story and what little he'd seen.

"It was a silver or light blue panel van with a scrape on the sliding door. I didn't see the license plate. Two guys in the back, one driving. They started shooting when they got to the driveway." He gingerly touched the top of his head. "I didn't notice much after that."

---

Since the kidnappee was military, and a General at that, Air Force CID was in charge at the scene. Major Colton seemed reluctant to believe that O'Neill was not the intended target. His suspicious mind kept painting a scenario that the demand Malloy received was a stall to allow 'a person or persons unknown' to transfer the General to a 'more secure location'. He insisted that Carter's cell be forwarded to a speakerphone capable of recording the next call. MacGyver, with the traces of blood washed away, clad in a clean shirt and jacket, and escorted by an SF, rejoined the group a few minutes before the phone rang.

At a nod from Colton, Sam picked up the receiver. "This is Malloy."

"Hey, kiddo. Ya wanna see your old man again, do exactly what I tell ya," the male voice was rough and blurred, as if it was trying to be disguised.

"Let me talk to him first," Sam demanded. "I need to know that he's OK."

There was a muffled conversation at the kidnapper's end then Jack's voice blared out of the speaker, "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dad. It's me. They haven't hurt you, have they?"

"No more than usual. They were shooting…"

Sam smiled grimly as he answered the unasked question and tipped off O'Neill to the status quo, "Jack … is fine; a bump on the head. His friends came to get him."

Colton scowled at this admission, but Carter gave Sam a thumbs up as Jack spoke again.

"Just do whatever they tell you, son. We'll get out of this in one piece."

"Good advice, sonny. Follow my directions and you'll get your old man back. Try any funny stuff and … phhhtt."

"I understand perfectly," it wasn't entirely acting that put a quiver in his tone. "What do you want me to do?"

"At nine-fifteen you be at the 'trucks only' rest area north of Colorado Springs, on the southbound side of the highway. I'll call back with directions. Have the cameras with you."

Sam yelled into the phone before it could be hung up, "I need more time."

"I warned you, kid." They heard a pained bellow.

"God. Stop." He rushed an explanation; "I'm in Castle Rock. My cameras are in Colorado Springs. It'll take over an hour to get them and get back to the rest area. Please."

There was a long pause. "You've got until nine-forty-five. Don't be late."

---

MacGyver watched as his son got ready to leave on his journey to meet the kidnappers. A civilian car was hastily procured and prepped by Major Colton's team. There was no time to get homing beacons; they would have to rely on spoken directions from an open cell line and a trailing car for visual tracking. The General's team and he would be in the chase car.

"Mr. Malloy, we have an airman standing by to take your place. You don't have to do this," Colonel Carter said as she leaned down by the open window.

Mac winked at the young man as he glanced over the woman's shoulder and told her, "Yes, I do. General O'Neill is in trouble because of us. I can't sit back and let someone else clean up my mess." Daringly, he patted her hand resting on the windowsill, "It's not the first time, Colonel."

He stopped at the end of the driveway, waiting for them to follow in Daniel's car.

Carter drove and Teal'c rode in the front with her. Daniel and MacGyver were in the back, documenting their course on a map. It was tough going, trying to discretely follow someone through the dark and drizzle.

After a few moments, Carter asked, "What did your son mean by 'It's not the first time'? You've been involved in kidnappings before?"

"Yeah … one or two." Or ten or twenty. "I take it General O'Neill didn't forward you a copy of the background check he ran on us, did he?"

"Background check," Daniel innocently asked.

"C'mon kids," he drawled sarcastically. "I've worked on enough "Classified" and "Top Secret" to smell it. Jack's not a retired anything, and you three don't work in an office with him. My guess is you all are, or were until recently, a covert operations combat team."

"And you're basing this guess on…?"

"You mesh together too well, there's no discussion of who does what, you just do it. Since Jack's promotion is fairly recent, I'd say he was commanding. Major? Carter was 2IC, and something more. Teal'c, fascinating name by the way, I'd love to know the origins, is also military. But not ours. Doctor Jackson is the hard to place one. Why would you need an expert on ancient cultures, an archeologist / linguist / anthropologist in combat?"

Carter answered him. "You've got it all wrong. We work in Deep Space Radar Telemetry in conjunction with NORAD. General O'Neill commands the project."

"You keep trying to sell that story, Colonel. I'm not buying it." Mac hastily reassured them, "But I know when not to make waves. O'Neill had us checked out, no big deal."

For the next half hour, the only sound in the car was the quiet murmur of the two men in the back seat discussing Egyptology.

"Looking for Alexander the Great's tomb and the Eye of Osiris."

The car swerved when Carter inadvertently jerked the steering wheel as she looked over her shoulder. "What?"

"Who, when?"

"Where is it located?"

Mac was startled by the flurry of questions from his companions. "Sheesh, it was almost fourteen years ago. Professor Axford tried to excavate the passage again, but it kept collapsing. Alexander the Great was determined to take the Eye with him to the afterlife, I guess."

"Excavate again?" Daniel questioned cautiously, trying to cover up for the other's outbursts.

"Long story short; the Professor, his daughter and I found the tomb of Alexander the Great. Legend had it that he was buried with the Eye of Osiris. Turns out, it's the biggest darn chunk of corundum you ever saw."

"Corundum?"

"Sapphire, Doctor. A football sized bright blue sapphire. When a thief tried to steal it, the whole tomb collapsed. We barely got out alive." Mac continued, regretfully, "Man, that was a beautiful place. Perfectly preserved for three thousand years."

Carter and Teal'c relaxed. The description didn't fit any of the "Eyes" that Anubis had needed for his weapon. Hopefully those had all been destroyed along with his ship.

The conversation drifted onto tomb paintings and statuary.

When they reached Colorado Springs, Daniel began giving Malloy directions to Jack's house. After picking up his cameras, they got back on the road. Being in a car, they couldn't stake out the rest area where he had to meet the kidnappers.

Major Colton and his men, in a canvas covered lumber hauler, waited in the huge parking lot as the two cars went past on the northbound side of the highway. It was 9:46 when Malloy made a u-turn across the median and pulled into the rest area.

Carter and Colton were conferenced onto Sam's cell phone. They could hear through the open line when the call from the kidnappers came in.

"OK, kid. Here's what you gotta do. At the end of the lot there's a table, put the cameras in the cooler and drive away. After we see the pictures, we'll give you a call and let you know where to find your old man."

"Right. I'm supposed to trust you," sarcasm dripped from every word. "I don't think so. We meet face to face. You give me my Dad and I give you the cameras."

"Ah, Crap!" Jack's yell could be heard in the background.

"All right, all right." Sam hastily agreed. "Let me talk to him again. Please."

"Sam? Don't play games with them, son," Jack growled.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm doing the best that I can here, Dad. I just want to get you back." Malloy's voice shook with emotion.

"I know you are. Just do what they tell you and trust that the gods above are watching out." Jack sounded drained.

Before Sam could say anymore, the kidnapper came back on the line, "Your old man's pretty smart, kid. You be smart, too. Now put the cameras in the cooler and get lost. We'll call you in a hour or so."

As Sam went to make the drop, he spoke into thin air, "How was that? Do you think that they think I'm scared enough to be doing this alone? I hated to provoke them into hurting Jack again."

"Trust me, Sam. Jack yelled long before it really hurt," Daniel reassured him. "Drive back to Colorado Springs, wait for us behind Speedy's."

"Major Colton, they're all yours. Good hunting," Carter added.

Carter pulled off at the first exit and turned into a shopping center parking lot. As they all got out of the car, she signaled Daniel and Teal'c to stay with their 'guest' while she made a call from a pay phone.

Major Davis' sleepy voice rumbled from the receiver, "It's one o'clock in the morning, this better be life and death."

"General O'Neill was kidnapped this afternoon. I'm hoping he talked to you either Wednesday night or Thursday morning." The handset at the other end bounced once on a table and twice on the floor.

The now wide awake Major sputtered a couple of unprintable words before he asked, "How? Who? What do they want?"

"Its mistaken identity. They think they've got someone else. We're letting them believe that." She answered before continuing, "What I need to know is; did the General contact you to get a couple of background checks run?"

"Yes, ma'am." Papers rustled as he looked through his desk. "MacGyver and Malloy. I e-mailed preliminary results to him Thursday morning and in depth reports Friday morning. The preliminaries were clean, I didn't read the others."

"Do you know what their clearances are? If they have them." She grinned as she heard the five tones from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" sound off in the Major's apartment. The startup sound on his computer.

"I'm getting the info right now, Colonel Carter." The keyboard clicked as he located the files. "I can e-mail you the reports as well."

He sounded surprised when he read the results, "Mr. MacGyver has an active, long-standing 'Top Secret' clearance with several SCI access endorsements. Mr. Malloy has an active 'Secret' clearance." He was able to give her a brief history of their involvement with the government.

"Very good, thank you, Major. We'll keep you informed. We may have a line on the General's location." She disconnected that call and made another to the CID office. An airman was dispatched to meet Malloy at Speedy's; they had another errand to run.

"Daniel. Teal'c. Do you remember exactly what Jack said during that last call?" Carter asked after a couple of minutes cruising down the road. "Something about the gods."

Teal'c answered, "I believe it was 'Just do what they tell you and trust that the gods above are watching out.'"

"That's what I thought. Who does that remind you of?"

"Sam?" Daniel asked, uneasy. "Is this a good time?"

"It'll be fine," the woman reassured him. "Mr. MacGyver. Anything that you see or hear from now on is very, very Top Secret. If you divulge any information to anyone, you can and will be prosecuted for Treason. Do you understand? If you have a problem with this in any way, let me know now. I'll have an airman escort you back to your apartment."

"I understand perfectly, Colonel Carter," he replied solemnly, "I'll stay, thank you. You have my full compliance."

Mac leaned back in the seat, grinning. "I was right. Covert operations."

"Of a sort. Daniel? 'The gods above are watching'?"

"Uhmmm," he hesitated. "Thor? You think the Asgard have … tagged … Jack?" The disbelief was obvious in his tone.

"It has it's own logic, DanielJackson. They do always seem to know where he can be found," Teal'c said, "Though it does seem to be quite … presumptuous of them."

"For some reason, he thinks they have," Carter broke in. "One of the devices they left with us may be a tracker. Heimdall didn't have time to explain them all. I still have them in my lab. That's where we're headed now."

"Thor? The Asgard?" Mac muttered quietly to Daniel, "As in the gods of Norse mythology?"

"They're not really 'gods'. They're…" He trailed off, waving a hand at the sky.

Mac choked for a second and stared incredulously at his seatmate. "Aliens? Little green men from Alpha Centauri?"

"No." Sam commented over her shoulder, "Little gray people from Othalla. In the Ida galaxy."

"Rrrright." MacGyver leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "You should have stayed in the hospital, Bud. That was a harder whack on the head than you thought," he murmured to himself.

They drove on in silence, except for Mac's barely heard mumbles, for a while. Finally, he looked sideways at Daniel. "You're pulling my leg, right?" he asked, almost hopeful.

The response was pursed lips and a slow shake of the head. "No."

"Oh, maaaaannnnn," he sighed, then leaned forward to look over Teal'c shoulder at the occupants of the front seat. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because General O'Neill has your file."

"So. He ran a background check. I'm sure he does that a lot."

"No, he has your whole file," Carter emphasized. "Back to before your bomb squad days in Vietnam."

"I'm retired." Mac said, sliding back into his corner of the seat. "I don't do that any more."

She continued as if he hadn't said a word, "What I found fascinating was that your last SCI access endorsement is dated ten months ago. Not very retired, I'd say. Photojournalism, nice cover story."

He silently stared out the car window at the flickering glare of the highway lights on the wet pavement. Let her think whatever she wants. I'm not getting involved this time. Catching sight of his own reflection in the glass, he watched his insatiable curiosity taking over.

"At least it's more believable than an archeologist doing Deep Space Radar Telemetry," he finally commented. "You've hooked me. What's this about?"

Carter hesitated, second guessing O'Neill's intentions. "I think General O'Neill was going to try to recruit you for the Program."

"For Deep Space Radar Telemetry? C'mon. I know I lived in an observatory, but I did optical astronomy, not radar. Or is this "Program" more Deep Space? The Ida galaxy?"

"We met other races, aliens, over ten years ago. Some are friends; some are not. And at least one wants us destroyed." Her matter of fact delivery made these preposterous statements believable. "The Asgard are our allies. They may have … tagged … the General for his own safety."

Puzzled, but intrigued, Mac asked, "So, what does that have to do with me?"

They began to climb the winding road up Cheyenne Mountain. "I gather from the highlights I was read out of your file that you have very, shall we say innovative and ingenious, methods of practical problem solving which could be a great asset to us."

Mac wondered if he'd already been told too much to back out. They left him alone to digest the information in relative peace. When they got to the base, he said, "I'm guessing I don't get any more details until after I sign up?"

"You know the drill, sir." Carter led them over to the guard desk and signed in their visitor. He clipped on a badge and followed them into the heart of the mountain. A tiny sign at the mouth of a corridor directed them to 'DSRT'. They passed a few labs, then through three sets of locked doors before arriving in an area with an airman at a desk and a guard at the elevator.

They all signed the log sheet and took the elevator to level 3, where MacGyver and Teal'c got off. Carter and Daniel continued down to her lab on level 19.

"Sam, are you sure about this? What makes this guy so special?" Daniel was still skeptical.

"From the highlights Major Davis read to me, he's a technological genius. He does tech studies like you do coffee. Insatiably. He got his first degree at twenty-one, a double major. Physics and Chemistry. Then Metallurgy, Mechanical Engineering, Anthropology, Astronomy, to name a few. He can fly almost anything, except helicopters. He's a Scuba instructor. He was a number one rated bomb disposal technician in Viet Nam. There's three years of still sealed records from working for the government twenty years ago." Sam ran out of breath.

"Okay, so he's good. You know it's a whole different ballgame on the other side of the Gate. What's to say he'll make it there?

They arrived at Sam's lab and she stopped at the door. "Even if he never goes off world, imagine what one person with all those disciplines could do with an unknown piece of alien technology. Or how he could wrap together different technologies."

Inside, they gathered the Asgard equipment that Heimdall had left. On their way back to the surface, Daniel mused aloud, "I wonder what a DNA scan would show?"

At Carter's surprised look, he continued, "Appearance wise, Jack and he could be almost twins. It would be … interesting to see how deep the resemblance goes, wouldn't it?"

"The Ancient gene?"

He shrugged, "Genetics is a funny thing."

On level 3, they found the subject of their discussion and Teal'c in a conference room with a plate of sandwiches and bottles of juice. Sam laid the three artifacts on the end of the table before she took her own food. One was the milky oval stone of an Asgard communication device, another was a matte black rectangle the size of a human palm, and the last was a … wand. It looked like hematite, dark gray, shiny, metallic, and the diameter of a finger but with a flat along the length.

MacGyver leaned over to examine the objects but didn't touch anything. He peered at them from all angles before finally remarking, "Aliens, eh? What do these things do?"

He tapped a nail lightly on the oval stone before picking it up.

Teal'c was the only one without a mouthful of food. "That is a communication device. With it, we are able to contact the Asgard in their home galaxy."

Hastily putting it back down, Mac wiggled his fingers and said, "I'd hate to make a prank call by accident."

Carter spoke up, "We not sure about the others. Heimdall and Thor had to leave in a hurry. We're hoping they have something to do with tracking General O'Neill."

Taking the wand, he ran his fingers over it, searching for imperfections. "Is this supposed to be humming? And it's getting warm."

He laid it on the table where they could all hear it gently purr. He examined the black rectangle, holding it up to the light to see the surface reflections. Frustrated, the man resignedly pulled out a pair of half glasses and slipped them on. Getting even closer, he began scratching the material; tracing a shape on the flat face with his nail.

"Is it … doing … anything?" Daniel asked.

Sitting it back down, Mac shook his head, "You say they gave you these things at the same time?"

"Yes. Even though we already have a comm unit."

He flipped the stone over and began scratching lightly at the flat bottom. "Maybe it's more than a comm unit. Self-contained power source, right?"

"Yes, but we don't know what." Carter answered, trying to follow his reasoning.

They watched as Mac took the wand and tried to mate the flat side to the barely seen depression in the stone. No matter which end he tried, it pushed away like magnetic repulsion. The black rectangle repulsed one end of the wand, but attached to the other end with a metallic clink.

"Okay. That makes sense. Plug the connector into the un-powered component before you plug it into the power."

Now the stone and the wand snapped together immediately. As the little rectangle began extruding segments, MacGyver put it down and jerked his hand back. "Whoa!"

The combined artifact stopped at nine sections that resembled a tic-tac-toe board, then melted together to create a seamless surface. Almost instantly, a white grid was displayed. The size of the squares began shrinking until a bright blue dot was showing in one corner.

"Coooll," Mac whispered under his breath.

"Way cool," Daniel agreed as he rotated the screen. The blue dot stayed in the same place, the grid changed scale to accommodate the movement. "We've got a direction at least."

Going up in the elevator, Carter asked, "How did you know it would do that? That it was powered up that way?"

MacGyver held his hands up and shrugged, "I don't know. Machines like me?"

"I checked them out. The only thing with any kind of power signature was the stone. How did you get the connector to activate?"

"Beats me." He thought for a second, "I got a tingle, like a small shock, from the stone as I was putting it down. Maybe the charge on my fingers was enough to trigger something in the connector. You're the experts on alien technology, you tell me."

Carter dangled the bait in front of him. "If you sign on with us, you'll have a chance to work with more alien tech."

"Let solve the current problem first. Then Jack can worry about recruitment, if he wants to."

They started off in the car, keeping the blue dot in front of them as much as possible. Every couple of miles the grid pattern on the tracker would expand, always with Jack's signal at the outside edge. Suddenly the display went black. When it came back on, in a few seconds, the grid was replaced with concentric circles and lines radiating out from the center. The blue dot was locked in the middle and a red one was moving in from the edge.

"I think we're getting close, Sam." Daniel and Mac tried to guess at the distance. "Maybe a couple of miles."

Carter pulled off the road near Larkspur and called the CID office. Major Colton left orders that men were to be available. He would maintain the tail on the kidnappers. Capturing them was almost as important as recovering General O'Neill.

It was after midnight, the kidnappers should have called Malloy with his "father's" location but they were still on the move. They'd driven from the pick-up point to an area south of Colorado Springs, then north to Denver. Now they were on their way back again and would pass by Larkspur shortly. If Carter and her detachment were successful in their mission, Major Colton was prepared to spring a rolling trap on his quarry.

A squad of people in night operations black reported to Colonel Carter on the outskirts of a construction site. Somewhere among the piles of earth, stacks of supplies and water logged pits Jack waited. The men fanned out, checking for any activity.

"Colonel Carter, Harlan here." The voice whispered from her radio, "No sign of hostiles in the area. Also no sign of the General."

"Very good, Captain. Two of us are moving in with a locator beacon." She turned to her companions. "Teal'c, you're with me. Daniel, stay here with Mr. MacGyver. The fewer people roaming around in there the better."

"We got friendlies on site, people. Try not to shoot them." Harlan's warning got a chorus of radio clicks in response.

Carter and Teal'c walked a spiral pattern through the site until they thought they pinpointed Jack's location. The problem was; the only thing in that area was a pit half full of sloppy, wet mud.

MacGyver, Daniel and the whole squad converged on the area. One of the men hot-wired the generator and lit up the scene with construction lights.

Daniel asked the question no one wanted to hear, "You don't think they threw Jack in there and buried him?"

"No," Sam answered with more confidence than she felt, "We wouldn't be getting a reading if he was dead."

Mac wandered around the hole, surveying the new construction. "What's this going to be?" he asked as he rejoined the group.

One of Harlan's men answered, "A housing development for seniors. They're supposed to have apartments, shopping, entertainment, everything in one place."

"A bank?"

"I guess."

"Captain, can any of your people run that?" He pointed to a backhoe sitting next to the excavation.

"Jenkins. Go to it," Harlan ordered. "Tell her what you want to do, sir."

Jenkins' teeth flashed briefly against her blacked-out skin as she climbed in and started the beast. "Piece of cake, sir. I did this for three years before I joined up."

Mac gave the woman some instructions then stood by the others. Jenkins began scooping mud off the pile a couple inches at a time, gently digging in before dragging it away. Then she began sweeping the bucket from side to side, pushing the debris away.

"I give up." Daniel broke first. "What is she doing?"

Mac smiled with relief as a sharp concrete corner appeared amidst the goop. "Banks sometimes build their vaults in the basement. Heavy duty, steel and concrete boxes. I was betting that this one was finished."

A piercing whistle caught everyone's attention. Jenkins was pointing to where the bucket was scraping against a thick steel plate pressed to the concrete side of the vault. The machine began digging in and dumping as fast as she could make it work.

Finally, there was only about a foot of mud that kept persistently sliding down to rest at the bottom of the plate. A cable was threaded through holes in the plate and, with one smooth pull, Jenkins swept it away to reveal the vault's open doorway.

Three of Harlan's men scrambled down into the pit. Jack staggered out of the dark to lean on the wall and squint up at his friends staring down.

"Well, its about time," he yelled, grinning and giving them a thumbs up to show he was all right.

Stubborn as usual, O'Neill insisted that he could climb out on his own. Luckily, the ladder had enough tilt that ascending one handed wasn't a problem. Once at the top, Captain Harlan's medic gave him a quick once over. No additional damage had been done to his shoulder and arm. Jack was only suffering from cold, hunger and thirst. All these problems could be solved from Daniel's car.

Not caring that someone drank before him, he chugged an almost full bottle of lemonade and ate the snack bars from Daniel's winter travel kit. The kit also supplied a rather ratty looking quilted plaid jacket and a hideous orange and green fleece scarf that was gleefully sacrificed to make a replacement sling.

Jack was sitting on a stack of lumber while an airman used an ice scraper to try and remove some of the inches thick coat of mud that caked his boots and jeans before he got in the car, when MacGyver suddenly jumped and slapped his own chest.

"Sam," he exclaimed, "I forgot to call him." His attempt to answer his own phone seemed to be futile, "MacGy … Sam … Sam … Sam. Aagh, you tell him."

Jack took the phone from the other man. Everyone could hear the raised voice from the other end. "…said they didn't like the pictures. They just laughed at me when I told them we had a deal."

"Sam. Sam." He rolled his eyes, exasperated; he sounded too much like MacGyver. Everybody jumped when the General's command tones boomed out, "SEAN!"

"Thank you," Jack continued, quieter. "It's over. I'm found. I'm fine. Good job, Sean. We'll be there in a bit," he paused, "Nope, ask your Dad."

Elaborating as he passed the phone back, he said, "I don't know where we are, so I can't tell him how long it will take to get to Peterson."

Mac and Carter went over to Captain Harlan to get their ETA.

The airman working on Jack's boots stepped back. "That's the best I can do, General. At least you should be able to walk in them now."

He looked down, surprised to be able to see some bits of black nylon peeking through the muck. "Thank you, airman."

After gingerly wiggling his way off the lumber so as not to get a splinter in his butt, he approached the conference. Harlan snapped off a textbook salute. "General O'Neill. Captain Harlan, sir."

Returning the salute he said, "Captain. Well done. Your whole squad did an exemplary job. You deserve to be commended."

Carter tried not to smile. O'Neill didn't put on the formal role of "General" very often but, when he did, he could play it to perfection. Not even the mud, the blue-plaid jacket or the god-awful looking sling could obscure the impression of stars on his shoulders. She knew that, sometime in the next week, Harlan's unit would be getting a letter of commendation with copies for everyone's official file.

The arrival of the CID technicians and their evidence van was the impetus needed to clear the site of unnecessary people.

A reunited SG-1 plus one, MacGyver, crowded into Daniel's car for the thirty-something mile trip to Peterson AFB. Jack got stuck in the middle of the back seat between Daniel and Mac. It was a tight fit but better than trying to squeeze Teal'c back there. At least it was warm and, once he stopped shivering, he zoned out to the hum of the tires on pavement.

"General O'Neill, this is Major Colton. Do you copy, sir?" The almost forgotten radio laying on the front seat crackled to life.

"Phfffff," O'Neill sighed, leaning forward to claim the small device from Teal'c. "O'Neill here. What is it, Major?"

"Sir, your assailants have finally landed. A warehouse complex on Vollmer Rd. east of Black Forest Rd."

"Thank you, Major. We'll be joining you in…" He let go of the mic to ask, "Carter, where are we, anyway?"

"I-25 south, just passing exit 161."

"Major, we'll be there in twenty minutes."

---

It was closer to thirty minutes before they arrived at a roadblock half a mile from the warehouse. Malloy and his escort were there to greet them. The airman saluted his superior officers then went to join the others, leaving Sam in their care.

"General. Am I ever glad to see you," he said, fervently shaking Jack's hand. "When they wouldn't give me a location, I thought you were a goner."

Jack nodded agreement. "Since the idiots let me see their faces, I'm sure that's what they were planning. I'd have run out of air by the time the construction crew got me dug out on Monday."

"So. Now what do we do?"

"We wait. When Major Colton gets the location secure and the prisoners rounded up, he'll call us in to confirm their ID's." Jack sat on the fender of Daniel's car and started discussing the interrupted plans for the rest of the weekend. The repairs to the jeep couldn't be put off but, at least the Newberrys were getting a night's sleep and should be able to function normally.

Colton finally sent word to allow the General and his party to approach. The six of them joined the Major at the entrance to the warehouse. They could hear the raised voices of the kidnappers still trying to bluster.

"You flyboys got nothing on us. We wasn't doin' nothing. This is a civilian operation; the Air Force has got no business being here."

It was almost comical to see their expressions when they saw O'Neill and MacGyver side-by-side. It was even better when the airmen surrounding the prisoners saluted their former victim. The General returned the salute before he addressed the kidnappers.

"My name is Brigadier General Jack O'Neill. And you boys are in DEEP SHIT." He shook his head, disgusted. "It's bad enough that you tried kidnapping and attempted murder, but you couldn't even snatch the right guy, for cryin' out loud."

MacGyver raised his hand to interject, "I'm Sam Malloy's father."

Jack reached out to accept a digital memory card from Malloy. "By the way, you may have destroyed the camera but we've got the pictures. It won't take long before we find out what was so important about them."

He handed the card to Colton and started pointing at the prisoners. "Those three were in the van, that one did the shooting. Four other ones buried me in the vault. You've got three. Where's the fourth?"

"This is all we found in the building, Sir. Nobody slipped past my men."

Jack tilted his head toward the door. "Take 'em away. Peterson. Isolation until I contact you tomorrow."

The kidnappers were herded out, still in shock at the turn of events. Carter, Malloy, Daniel and Teal'c slowly left while two of Colton's SF's finished gathering equipment.

Jack turned to follow but MacGyver caught his sleeve. "So," he said with a grin, "Is this an average day for Deep Space Radar Telemetry?"

The other man laughed. "Uh, yeah. Sometimes they actually get exciting. Interested?"

Mac yawned and stretched, glancing around the rafters of the building. "Maybe. Let me get back to you … GET DOWN!"

Jack heard the whip-crack of a rifle shot and the zing of a ricochet as he was shoved to the floor behind a crate. A fusillade of shots by the two SF's was followed by the crash of a body to concrete and the pounding footsteps of reinforcements arriving. The weight on his back wasn't moving and he could smell the sharp tang of fresh blood.

Wiggling free, he checked on his friend. There was a spreading stain on the upper left side of MacGyver's back. Remembering the ricochet, Jack found what he expected when he rolled the other man over. The palm-sized exit wound just below his ribs bubbled a pool of blood.

"Medic," he bellowed. Tearing off his sling, he folded it into a pad and tried to stem the bleeding.

"Dad." Sam scrambled to his father's side. He took over for Jack's awkward one-handed pressure, all the while talking. "Oh God, Dad. You can't die on me. Hang on, please hang on."

Jack propped the injured man's shoulders against his own knees and cradled his head. His fingers pressed lightly on the pulse point in the neck feeling it beat too fast and too weak.

"Carter," he shouted again.

Mac's eyelids wavered open partway then drifted shut again. He was panting; struggling for air as his lung collapsed and filled with fluid.

"Dad. Look at me, Dad." Sam pleaded then demanded, "Open your eyes and look at me dammit."

They could see the effort it took for Mac to force his lids up; his gaze floated to his son. "Sam," he gasped, "Hurts."

"I know, Dad." Sam shuddered along with the man on the floor as a wave of pain hit. "Look at me, Dad, look at me," he continued when the wandering eyes focused on his face, "The paramedics are on the way. Stay with me here."

Carter arrived with a first aid kit. "Medics are a couple minutes out." She shook out a field dressing and deftly swapped the blood soaked scarf for the clean pad.

The injured man started shivering with shock. "S, s, sam," he stuttered, "Sorry … Sam." The last word was a no more than a sigh.

"NO!!!" Sam screamed as the body beneath his hands went limp.

"God dammit, you are not going to die on us," Jack snarled, feeling the faint beat under his fingers falter and stop.

Within seconds, Daniel had the breathing mask out of the first aid kit and was nudging Jack away. Laying the still form flat, he sealed the mask over MacGyver's nose and mouth. At Carter's signal, they began the rhythm of CPR. Trembling with shock himself, Malloy began backing up from the scene.

"Sean, keep pressure on the wound," Carter ordered.

Shaking his head in denial, he kept edging away, muttering, "No, no. Not again. Not you, too."

Teal'c took over, keeping up the steady pressure required.

Jack stopped the younger man's backward scramble. Helping him to his feet, they moved around the corner of the crate, out of sight of the grim action.

Two paramedics, laden with equipment, came pelting up. After a quick glance, one of them tore back out, his shoes squeaking on the concrete at his high-speed turn. Carter, doing chest compressions, hesitated as the medic knelt down next to her.

"Keep going," he ordered, doing a quick assessment on his wounded patient. "How long?"

"Three or four minutes, maybe," she answered, knowing he was trying to judge the extent of possible brain damage.

"Evac chopper is on the way. ETA, two minutes." The second medic announced as he started taking supplies from the cases. Working around the three civilians, the paramedics quickly had their patient prepped. The defibrillator whined as the charge built up.

"Clear." The man holding the paddles checked his assistants. "Clear," he yelled at Daniel, still pressing the breathing mask to Mac's face. Daniel snatched his hand back.

The first shock brought no results; the monitor still showed a flat line. The second shock was the same. The third time they were rewarded with a welcome, if slightly unsteady, heart rhythm.

"All right. He's back."

Around the corner, Malloy sagged against Jack with relief at the reprieve. As they joined the others watching the medics work, the roar of the Med-evac helicopter drowned out any thought of speech. They could, however, all see as the young man brought himself under control. Only his slightly shaking hands and ragged breathing gave away how tenuous that control was.

The doctor and nurse from the helicopter arrived and quickly prepared MacGyver for transport. Within five minutes, the only evidence of his presence was a distressingly large pool of blood and scattered packaging from medical supplies. The aircraft, which had never shut off its engines, swooped away with its fragile cargo.

"Where are they taking him?" Malloy watched the running lights fade into the distance.

"Academy," Daniel answered, heading for his car. "I'll drive."

"Carter. Go with them. Be official. Pull rank if you have to." O'Neill ordered, gesturing to the jogging men. "Teal'c and I will get a ride."

"Sean? Sean?"

The quiet female voice brought him out of the nightmare fog that enshrouded him. He looked up into concerned blue eyes. "We'll be with you, Sean. Whatever happens, we're here."

"Mom…" he choked and looked at his clenched fists, "My mother was … shot to death. In front of me. I was nine. I couldn't … do … anything … to help her. I swore I would never be that powerless again." He gasped in a breath, "And now … my father." Spreading his bloodstained fingers wide, he stammered, "H-he d-died. Right under my h-hands. I couldn't h-help him."

Carter squeezed his hands between her own gory palms. "Sean. You did everything you could do with what you had," she said, reassuringly, "He's alive now. The doctors at Academy Hospital are the best. They train combat surgeons there. They're experts with this kind of injury."

Hope started to melt the icy despair that ensnared his heart and mind. "Are you sure? They can save him?"

She glanced at his watch. 3:25am. "They've landed by now. Your father is in the very best hands. If anyone can save him, they will."

Malloy pushed his childhood vision of hell into the dark recess of his memories from which it had burst. Ragged deep breaths slowly gave way to smooth; the tremors that shook him subsided and he released Carter's hands from his crushing grip.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," he apologized as he massaged some circulation back into her fingers.

"Sam," she said, wiggling her fingers to show they still worked.

He looked at her quizzically, "What?"

She grinned at his confusion. "My name. Not 'Colonel', 'Sam'."

"Oh, right." A quick smile quirked his lips. "Hence the reason I'm being called 'Sean'."

The car rocked gently to a stop. "We're here," Daniel announced.

Walking across the dark parking lot, they could see the chopper on the pad. Maintenance people worked around it, cleaning it and re-stocking supplies for the next flight.

Malloy stopped abruptly outside the entrance. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep shuddering breath: on the exhale he whispered, "You're not nine years old." He repeated this twice more before blowing out a final sigh. "I can do this. I think."

The emergency waiting room was empty of patients when they arrived. The nurse behind the desk looked up as they approached. "Can I help you?"

Carter stepped forward and presented her Air Force ID. "You just had a patient brought in here by chopper. A Mr. MacGyver. We're his family." She thought broadening the pool of relatives might help if Sean had to cope with a tragedy.

"Are you the closest blood relation, Colonel?" the nurse asked as she gathered forms to be filled out.

"No, I am. His son. Sam … Sean Malloy." He leaned sideways to look down the hall where they could hear activity. "How is he? What's happening?"

"One of the Emergency room doctors will be out to talk to you shortly." She laid a clipboard with a sheaf of papers attached down on the counter. "In the meantime, do you think you can give us some more information about Mr. MacGyver? You can have a seat over there."

Malloy made an attempt at filling out some of the information, but soon dropped the pen. He sat, staring along the corridor that led to the operating rooms; praying that the doctors were working a miracle. Twenty minutes later, Jack and Teal'c rushed through the door and over to them.

"So? So? What?" Jack asked, anxiously.

"Nothing yet, sir," Carter answered. "They said a doctor would be out to see us."

No sooner did she say that than a woman in surgical scrubs came along the hall toward them. Sean slowly stood. "What? How is he? Is he going to be OK?"

"Are you all family?" She glanced around the varied group and grimaced. "Federal law says I can only give information to the family."

"Yes. We're family. Now, get on with it," the General ordered impatiently.

Calm, or numb, Sean rested his hand on Jack's shoulder, "I'm MacGyver's son, doctor."

She sat next to Malloy on the couch. "Your father's going into surgery right now. He's lost a lot of blood and it appears there may have been some damage to his heart as well as his lung. They won't know for sure until they can get in and look. We had some trouble getting him stabilized; that's why you had to wait so long. Doctor Merrin is ranked second in the country when it comes to treating these kinds of injuries. First ranked, Doctor Arielain, works for the President."

"How long before you know … one way or the other?"

The doctor shrugged, "It could be hours." She surveyed the group again. All five of them were smeared or spattered to some extent with dried blood. Not to mention the fact that Jack was shedding little flakes of dirt everywhere. "If you come with me, I can show you where you can wash up. We can even supply you with some clean clothes."

O'Neill hung back as the others entered the locker room. He followed the doctor for a few steps. "Doc, I've seen wounds like this before. How is he? Really."

"Mister…?" The doctor was uncomfortable.

"General O'Neill. I'm his … cousin." Third cousin, maybe, or fourth.

She couldn't meet his eyes. "Not good. He arrested again as they came in the door. I honestly can't tell you if he'll survive surgery." A brief chuckle escaped, "But, Dr. Merrin is like a pit bull. Once he gets a grip on a patient, he won't let go. Your … cousin … is in the very best hands." She saluted and gave Jack a half smile, accepting the fiction that they all were related.

---

The day shift reported for duty and the night shift left. The emergency room doctor, who spoke with them before, stopped to wish them good luck but didn't have any news, good or bad.

The administrative staff also came in to work. A young lieutenant, who seemed barely old enough to be out of high school, showed up to collect the stack of forms given to Malloy when he arrived. He didn't seem to care in the slightest that the medical information questions were mostly complete; he began badgering Sean to fill out the financial responsibility sections. It wasn't long before the distraught man had enough.

Surging to his feet, he yelled, "Leave me the hell alone. I don't have the damn numbers." He gestured toward the operating rooms, "My father is back there, dying. And you're worried about who's going to pay for bandages. I don't give a rat's ass." Malloy flung the clipboard across the room and collapsed back onto the couch.

O'Neill heard a quiet mumble of "Calling the MP's." as the lieutenant stalked past to pick up the papers. Without saying a word, Jack applied a painful come-along to the youngster's elbow and led him to the desk where he gestured for the forms to be placed. A glare and a raised finger stopped whatever protest was about to be made. He snagged the pen from the other's pocket, flipped to one particular page and scribbled rapidly. Still silent, O'Neill spun the board around and pointed to the words.

The lieutenant, somehow under the impression that he was dealing with civilians, gulped and blanched at the signature written under the expense account code. Jack had even spelled out every word, "Brigadier General Jack O'Neill, Commanding."

"Yes," the boy squeaked, cleared his throat and continued, "Yes, Sir. General. If there's anything you need, Sir." He snapped a salute that was pointedly ignored; leaving him standing there embarrassed.

"Thanks," Malloy said quietly as Jack re-joined the group, "I just couldn't … thanks."

Jack waved his fingers for Daniel to get up, then took the seat next to him. He leaned over; elbows on his knees just like the younger man. "You're welcome, Sean. But that's the very least that I can do for the man who saved my life. Three times, now."

"Three times?" He was puzzled by the reference.

"Twice today alone." Not looking up, Jack started talking. "The first time was almost twenty years ago. I was a young Captain, full of piss and vinegar, an arrogant SOB who thought he could out-fly anything in the air. I was over Afghanistan, I think, when two Russian MIG's jumped me. Sweetest double-team you ever saw," there was a sneaking bit of admiration in his tone, "They managed to swat me right out of the sky. I crashed on the top of this big ass plateau. It was bad enough that I was captured, but they got a Top Secret missile I was carrying, too."

He snickered at the memory. "The government goes and finds a lunatic who's willing to climb straight up the side of this mountain so he can sneak in to the enemy camp and retrieve the on-board computer from the missile. I'm hanging there in a wooden cage and he tosses me a Swiss Army Knife, tells me to cut myself some room and heads out to steal the computer from under their noses. Now, there's at least twenty guys shooting at us and the only place to go is down. He pulls a parachute from his backpack, turns a flare gun into a rocket thruster and launches us off the top of this damn mountain."

They were all looking at Jack, fascinated by this odd twisting of fate. "What?"

"What happened?" Carter broke down and asked. "Why didn't you keep in touch?"

"When we landed, I broke my ankle and he got a concussion. The recovery team split up to take us out separate ways. We were in hostile territory, after all. We never exchanged names. The whole thing fell under "need to know" and the brass determined that I didn't have a "need to know."

"How can you be sure it was my Dad?" Sean was intrigued by the story.

"Something we were talking about this afternoon struck a chord. Then all this crap started." He shrugged. "I owe MacGyver the last twenty years of my life, Sean. If I could switch places with him in there, I would. Anything you need, you've got. Understand?"

Malloy nodded, "Yeah. Thanks, Jack. And thanks for the memory. It means a lot to me."

Jack nodded and patted his long ago rescuer's son on the back before walking over to stand staring out the window.

Teal'c was the first to notice the portly, little man at the end of the hall. He pulled off his scrub cap to run his fingers through his faded red hair, leaving it sticking up in tufts all over his head. Blindly he came toward them, rubbing his eyes and scrubbing his hands over his face. By the time he reached them, everyone was standing, anxiously waiting for news.

"I'm Doctor Merrin. Which one of you is a MacGyver?" He was so tired that even Teal'c claiming that status wouldn't have fazed him.

"I am, Doctor. His son. How is he?" Malloy began to tremble a bit, worried by the doctor's demeanor. If he had good news, he wouldn't seem so depressed.

Merrin folded into a chair, Malloy onto the couch next to him. "Your father made it through surgery. He almost got away a couple of times, but we hung on to him. We patched up all the holes. He lost a bit of the bottom of his left lung, and the rib on that side. When the bullet entered his back, it clipped a rib there and deflected down, which is a good thing. Otherwise the bullet, not a bone chip, would have hit his heart," he paused for breath.

"So, that means he going to be alright, right?"

"Now, son. I didn't say that," the doctor corrected, "He's got a long row to hoe, yet. Right now, he's working on getting through the next twenty-four hours. After that, we can start talking about the next few days. And so on. Just so you know, because of the amount of blood loss and lack of oxygen, we have to be concerned with possible brain damage, too. But, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

Malloy let out a long, ragged sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Doctor. Can … when can I see him?"

The doctor stood and stretched, "They'll be taking him up to Intensive Care in the next few minutes. When he's all settled, somebody will come down for you." He shook the younger man's hand. "Don't give up hope, son. I never do."

After he left, Sean sat and buried his face in his hands, muttering, "Please, God. He's the only family I have."

Jack contemplated the tableau before him. Daniel sat on one side, his arm around Malloy's shoulders. Carter was on the other side, holding his hand. Even Teal'c hovered protectively at his back. Resting his hand on Malloy's head, he told him, "Not any more, Sean. Not any more."

Later, sitting by MacGyver's bed, watching the dot on the monitor doing its precarious dance, praying it wouldn't stumble and fall, Sean looked up to catch Jack's gaze. The brown eyes, so like Mac's, reflected a warm concern that told him, whatever happened, he wouldn't be alone. They may not be family-by-blood, but something even better. Family-by-choice.

~ Finis? ~

© 2004 Jynjyr (Kay E. Kucharik)