"There's two kinds of people in life, Bud," his Grandpa Harry had said once, on a fishing trip. "Leaders and followers."
"What if you don't want to be either?" MacGyver had asked, hands busy retying a favourite trout fly. "What if you'd rather just be a loner, by yourself?"
Harry had shaken his head. "Can't get away from people altogether, 'less you want to go be a hermit. I'm not saying one's better or worse than the other, now. But they are different. And to my way of thinking, you're cut out to be a follower. You'll be smart enough to do anything you want, but you're going to want someone else to tell you what it oughta be."
(He remembers being unconvinced of this at the time, having a few chemistry projects in mind that his mother had banned him from even attempting.)
"And since you're going to be that sort, and liable to give in just to be nice...a word of advice. Mind you get a few opinions first, before you do anything drastic in life. And I don't mean in your workshop."
"I guess so," he'd said, far more interested in fish movements. "Okay, I'll try and remember that."
(A few weeks later, Harry had packed up and left Minnesota for good. Everybody had been so surprised.)
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Eight years later, MacGyver finds himself trying it out.
"What do you think about Ellen?" he asks his mother, watching her momentary confusion (it is a little peculiar, having a girlfriend with the same name).
"Oh, she seems nice enough. Like most of your friends."
Most of, meaning to exclude Jack Dalton. Though he's settled down a lot lately, if only because he's afraid of getting left behind while everybody else graduates.
"Yeah, but...I mean, for real. I think she's kind of serious."
"And do you think you might be serious too?"
"Uh. Maybe?"
His mother smiles, and says the usual things about calf love; but what sticks with him is that first thoughtless, honest flash of joy in her eyes. Pride and pleasure, that her son's found himself a sweetheart.
(Ellen MacGyver had always been a romantic. Even more so, after she'd lost hers.)
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"What's love like?" he asks Allison, on their weekly telephone call. "I mean, the kind of love you and Michael have."
There's a wail in the background. "Sorry! Your nephew needs feeding- what is it you're asking, love? Love is when you know all the other person's flaws, and you can still live with them at the end of the day. Or not, if you're Michael and keep getting yourself arrested at nonviolence marches- love is when you're willing to put up with all that, however exasperating your husband's getting!"
"Uh, why do you?"
"Because it's love. And because next time, he's promised to look after the baby while I go out and get arrested. Look, will you get mom on the phone? I can't remember her recipe for zwieback."
MacGyver does so, while considering. He knows Ellen's flaws pretty well, he thinks; she swears a lot because her dad does (that's kinda cool), has tried liquor a couple of times (well, he has too). And as she's said herself, she's kinda bothersome about wanting constant reassurance. Steady love, because with the number of girlfriends her dad brings home and then discards, she's always been afraid of being left alone.
But then, she knows perfectly well that he's never dumped a girl in his life. They always dump him first.
So that part's probably all right.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"You'll regret this for the rest of your life," Mike says promptly.
Mac's regretting something more immediate at the moment; the height of the tree they're climbing. Why does he let her talk him into these things?
"C'mon. Even if you don't want to go traveling like me, at least get yourself out of this poky town! I mean, every teacher in school says you should go to college."
"I know, I know…but there wasn't enough money to send both of us. And Allison's getting more out of it than I would have."
"So join the army. Go to college on the GI Bill."
"You know how I feel about guns. That's something me and Ellen agree about, anyway…and someone has to help out with the coffee shop. And if I'm going to be staying here, why shouldn't I get married?" He shudders. "Isn't this high enough?"
"Oh, well, if you insist." Mike settles in the fork and wraps an affectionate arm around him.
Maybe he'd take her more seriously, if she didn't nurse such a crush on him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Hypothetically, but…would you want to take my name?" he asks.
Asking, because he's more than usually attached to it- the Scottish rhythm sticks out, among all the Scandinavian ones- and he treasures the uniqueness. Maybe more than he should.
"Of course I will," Ellen says, with her softly imploring look. The one that made him notice her in the first place, looking like she needed help. And him coming to the rescue, her brave white knight.
Of course, he can't deny her after that.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Fishing, again. One sport he and Jack can agree about whole-heartedly.
"She'll kiss me at the homecoming," Mac says. "The favourite couple always does, under the spotlight…what if I get it wrong?"
"You'll be fine," Jack tells him, leaning comfortably against the stern. "It'll be just like kissing her the rest of the time, only…well, with an audience."
"But I haven't kissed her yet! I don't want to be- you know. Presumptuous."
"Then you have a lot of catching up to do," Jack says, mischief in his eyes. "You're gonna need to practice."
"Practice how?"
"Doesn't count if it's a guy," Jack says, and kisses him.
Too much. Way too much- he'd always thought that kissing would be romantic, not soggy, with too many teeth and Jack's tongue licking his, eww-
Mac breaks off, spluttering. "That was awful! I didn't think it'd be- all wet! And sticky!"
"Aren't you glad you didn't try it for the first time in front of the whole school? Mac, lemme tell you, you got no natural technique whatsoever. You need some remedial, and fast."
Their fishing spot's very secluded, which is why it's their favourite. Nobody's gonna catch them here.
"I guess. But only for Ellen's sake. She'd be so miserable if I mess it up."
"For Ellen's sake," Jack agrees. And leans in for another kiss, before Mac can notice his eye's twitching.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
So his kiss with Ellen at the homecoming dance, as all their schoolmates cheer them on, isn't MacGyver's first. Or second. Or maybe even the twentieth.
But it's perfect.
Mission City's perfect couple.
