A/N: Okay, I know I said I'd be writing a Rundown fic next, but this one wouldn't get out of my head, and in the words of Charlie Eppes from Numb3rs, "I have to work on what's in my head." I hope no one's disappointed, but I doubt anyone is.

Disclaimer: I own nothing as seen on TV. Grant is mine, though, and I'm keeping him.

Chapter 1

"I'm telling you, this guy's toast," Grant said excitedly to Mac as he walked backwards up the dock toward the houseboat he and MacGyver had been sharing for the past two months. "No doubt about it. I'm talking break-out-the-butter-and-jam, part-of-this-balanced-breakfast toast. It's in the bag."

MacGyver shot him an amused look. "That so?" The seventeen-year-old former thief had moved in as a witness MacGyver had been charged with protecting for a case that was still pending. Since then, Mac had grown rather attached to the quick-witted teen…and his rapidly expanding sarcastic mouth.

"Come on, you and me working together? Scumbag won't know what hit him. What kind of a moron goes around importing stolen artifacts on our watch, anyway? You'd think he'd never heard of us. Of course," he added thoughtfully, "seeing as I'm still technically in protective custody and you've got that whole Lone Ranger defender of justice thing going, that's probably a good thing."

Mac grinned. "Probably. Hey, if I'm the Lone Ranger, does that make you Tonto?"

"Of course not," Grant said matter-of-factly. "Tonto never beat the Lone Ranger at pool."

MacGyver rolled his eyes. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you? It was one game. That shot was so lucky."

"All in the angles, Professor," Grant said smugly, shaking his head.

"It was an unfair bet," MacGyver said, adopting a stern look even though his eyes were glinting with humor. "You never said you already knew how to play."

Grant laughed. "Never said I didn't." He gave a mischievous smile. "Besides, you were a great loser. I figured you wouldn't do it, but man…Those pool hall guys will be talking about it for years to come. I never knew you had such a horrible singing voice. How'd that one go again?" He grinned through Mac's warning glare and sing-songed, "If you wanted the sky, I'd write across the sky in letters that would soar a thousand feet high…"

MacGyver lunged for him in time to grab a fistful of air as the boy darted away, bolting for the door, giggling. As he reached it, he turned around and swept his arms out, his voice ridiculously high. "To Sir, With Love."

That was the last he got out as MacGyver reached him, grabbing him around the waist and have dragging, half carrying the good-naturedly resisting teen into the houseboat where he deposited him on the sofa. "You want to try that again?"

"I would," Grant giggled. "But I just can't sing as pretty as you, Mac." He let out a holler of protest as MacGyver sent his fingers dancing across the kid's ribcage, tickling the heck out of his squirming victim.

"You think so, do you?" MacGyver said with a grin. "I don't know. Come on, Grant. Let's hear you sing." He went for that particularly vulnerable spot on the neck right under the jaw line. Made Grant howl.

"Mac, stop it!" he shouted.

"Tell me how great I was up on that stage," MacGyver demanded.

"Like an angel!" Grant fairly squealed. "Heavens were opening! I heard the harps, man! Now, quit it!"

"Okay." MacGyver finally released him, watching with satisfaction as the boy collapsed into the couch cushions.

Grant looked up at him. "You are evil," he panted. It earned him a light smack upside the head and a wry look as MacGyver straightened up and headed toward the kitchen. "What's for dinner?" Grant asked.

"Food," MacGyver called back without hesitation.

Grant grinned at the exasperated response. He could practically hear Mac's eyes roll. "Sometimes a loose concept where you're concerned."

"You wanna cook?"

Grant made a face. "Um, can't. I have to go…" he thought for a moment. "Aw, just choose a random excuse. I'm taking a walk. I'll be back in a few."

"You've got to be back in time to set the table," MacGyver reminded. "Don't slam the…" He was answered as the door banged shut hard enough to rattle the dishes behind the rapidly retreating teen. "Door," he finished lamely. He couldn't help the affectionate smile spreading its way across his face. That confident young man who'd just banged through his front door was so much happier than the scared, lonely kid who'd quite literally stolen his heart a couple of months earlier. Now the boy had a place in his life and in his home—on his couch, actually—and MacGyver could hardly remember what it was like to not have him around to nag and tease and brag on and—when Grant would let him—take care of.

Pete had started referring to Grant as "Mac's boy." It made MacGyver's heart swell every time he heard it. There was no doubt about that. The two were a weird little family. Mac wasn't Grant's father. Both the boy's father and mother had been murdered when Grant was only twelve. Mac knew he had no place trying to act like Grant's father. But there was this crazy protectiveness that flared up nearly from the get go. Neither he nor Grant had quite gotten used to it, yet, but so far they'd been doing alright.

There was something, though. Something indefinable. Grant was infinitely more relaxed than he had been on day one, but there seemed to be something else, some small part of him that still made sure he stayed at arms length. Like no matter how safe he felt, he could not allow himself to completely lower the shields he'd spent five tragic years of his life building up around the broken heart of a twelve year old who'd been told he'd lost everything and couldn't bear losing everything again. MacGyver wasn't sure how to get past it or if he should even try. After all, the kid was staying. Didn't that mean he had all the time in the world? Maybe it was one of those things that would resolve itself over time as Grant became more and more comfortable.

With that thought on his mind, MacGyver went back to making dinner with a renewed sense of I'm-going-to-make-things-better-for-this-kid. In his mind, he still hesitated on referring to Grant as "my kid." Because truthfully, he knew Grant still didn't see himself that way.

Grant had made it clear they were roomies, insisting on paying rent. But there were a few unspoken rules MacGyver had quickly learned. All that family stuff was fine as long as they didn't have to talk about it. Grant had gotten pretty good at accepting the occasional hair-ruffle or arm around the shoulders, but hugs were for nightmares only, and if Mac wanted to kiss the top of his head, Grant had better be out cold or severely shell-shocked. And Grant never asked. If MacGyver offered, it was okay to accept, but Grant never ever asked or even initiated the contact himself. Late-night movies were often employed to get the kid's mind to slow down and ward off nightmares. During these times it was acceptable for shoulders to be touching and, depending on Grant's level of drowsiness, Mac was allowed to pull him close so that his head rested on the front of Mac's shoulder. And those "moments of weakness" were never to be discussed.

MacGyver sighed. It was a little like walking through a minefield with that kid. But, he knew, it was worth it. Every time he saw the shadows in those green eyes disappear as the boy smiled or heard the pleasant, infectious laugh, he knew it was worth it. He loved that kid. And that made it worth it.



That evening as the two were scraping the last of the chicken and rice—which Grant had to admit was pretty good—from their plates, MacGyver suddenly said, "Oh, yeah. I almost forgot." He reached into his pocket and drew out a key, passing it across the table to Grant. "I had this made for you. Here."

Grant stared at the key, sharp eyes taking in the familiar shape and grooves. "This is to the houseboat," he said bluntly.

MacGyver gave a small smile. "Nothing gets past you."

Grant suddenly looked embarrassed. "Is this because of the whole locking-your-keys-in-the-truck thing? 'Cause that was an accident…"

"No," MacGyver laughed. "This is because of the whole you-live-here-now-and-you-need-a-house-key thing. And I never would've found out about you locking my keys in the truck if Pete hadn't come in raving about how you managed to break into it with a safety pin and his money clip."

"I did get him a new money clip," Grant offered sheepishly.

"I know," MacGyver smiled. "Now, I have paperwork Pete won't let me get out of. So, if you'll excuse me…" He stood up and took his plate to the sink before sitting on the couch and spreading the paperwork on the coffee table in front of him.

Grant looked at the key, ran his fingers over the smooth metal. He'd never had a house key before. Really, since his parents died, he'd never had a house. Not a house of his own, anyway. He was surprised at how much the small gesture meant to him. In his hand, he held the freedom to come and go as he pleased in a boathouse that was becoming more and more his home. Not a Home he had to share with fifty other kids or a house where bad people hurt him and made him steal. His home.

He grinned. I'm really staying. And that meant…He stood and took his plate to the sink, washing his and MacGyver's dishes and sticking them on the rack to dry. Then he entered the family room and sat next to his friend. MacGyver shot him a grin.

"Hey. You're not bored already, are you?"

"No," Grant shook his head.

"Good." A bored Grant Colbey was a force to be reckoned with. "I just have to finish this. Then we can go do something fun."

Grant shrugged. "Take your time."

MacGyver gave him a funny look. The kind that said he was trying to decide if he should be happy the kid was content to let him work or worried the teen was up to something. He shrugged and went back to work.

"Hey, Mac?" came a small voice after awhile.

MacGyver looked over to see Grant staring at the blank TV screen, seeming to be going for nonchalance. That look was always so much more convincing when the TV was actually on. "Yeah?"

"On our way home from work tomorrow, is it okay if we stop by the Home?"

Of all the things he'd expected from the young man beside him, it definitely was not that. "What? Why?"

Grant gave a one-shouldered shrug, still pretending it didn't really matter to him one way or the other. "I have some stuff still there that I need to pick up. It shouldn't take long."

MacGyver was confused. "I thought we got all your stuff."

"Yeah, well…" Grant hid a wince—unsuccessfully. "Not quite all of it."

"What didn't we get?"

"I…uh…" Grant was clearly struggling with whether or not to tell him. Come on, kid, Mac thought. Trust me. "I sort of have these pictures there."

"Pictures?"

"Yeah. There's this place under my old bed where the boards are loose in the floor, and…that's where I kept some pictures of…you know…before."

MacGyver nodded. Before. He knew exactly what that meant. "Why did you hide them there?" he asked.

Another wince and a stiff shrug that made the act of indifference he was going for start to unravel. "Well, you know. I'm used to being places that aren't exactly great for keeping things safe. So…I always keep the important stuff at the Home for when I get sent back."

When, Mac noted. Not if. "But you're not getting sent back this time," he stated with patient reassurance.

Grant shot him a quick smile. "I know. I was going to pick them up last month when I was planning to skip town, but…"

"You didn't skip town," Mac finished for him.

Grant paused a moment to acknowledge that before plunging ahead. "Right. So they're still there. And I kind of need them. I mean, I don't need them, but they're really all I have from before, and it'd be nice to have them, I guess. And hey, you don't even really have to come. I can borrow the Jeep after we get home tomorrow. I'll pay for gas…"

"Grant," MacGyver interrupted, reaching out to grasp the rambling teenager's jaw and turn his face so he could look him in the eye. "This is important to you." He'd made it a statement instead of a question, for which Grant was thankful because it meant he didn't have to offer a response. "That makes it important to me. That's how this family thing works. So we go tomorrow and get your stuff. Right?"

Grant hesitated for a moment and then suddenly flashed a brilliant, relieved smile before pulling away from Mac's hand and slouching back against the couch, his "Hey man, it never mattered to me in the first place" look back in place. "Sure Mac. Whatever."

This song is "To Sir, With Love" by LuLu. It's not mine, either.