author's note: This is part of my Second Chances series, and is set in 1962.

I was trying to reconcile the different versions of Jack's childhood, and came out with this...

"Mac, are you paying any attention?"

"No," he says, not bothering to look up from his book (he's convinced their Sunday school teacher that "A Canticle for Leibowitz" is a book about religion. Probably because it was easier than answering his questions.) "Should I have?"

Mike rolls her eyes at him, gestures at the empty classroom. "Mrs Dahlman is home with the flu and Miss Eudora says that the first sunny day of spring is too nice an occasion to keep us in, so everybody's going home early. Except you and Jack, apparently."

"Oh. Uh, well, I'm pretty comfortable here, and I can't exactly move." He gestures at the chunky youngster, fast asleep on his shoulder. "Jack's always so sleepy- you know how early they have to get up, to come here all the way from Wisconsin? In time for the first service, too."

"So, that's a no on helping me with my new orange crate car?"

"I'll get to it, I'll get to it! But not right now. You were going to have to wait an hour anyway."

"I know. I'm just impatient. Then if you're not going to get up, how about telling me about Jack? You know I'm always curious."

"Is 'read my book while you go be curious somewhere else' maybe an option?"

"Nah. If I annoy you enough, maybe you'll come fix up my crate just to get rid of me quicker."

MacGyver sighs, shoves a bookmark in the text. It'll keep for next Sunday.

"Well, if you want one story the way he told me…"

The wild Texas plains. Herds of cattle, thundering over grass.

And a keen-eyed, hard-riding, rambunctious figure roping a steer from horseback-

"Mac, I don't believe a word of this! C'mon, he's ten!"

"Look, you only went and asked. And even if it isn't, he sure tells a great story," MacGyver says. "Besides, you know what really makes me believe it? That he said he was wearing that peaked cap while doing it- I mean, anybody making this up would have given himself a cowboy hat. But he told me all this stuff about how it kept slipping down, and how worried he was it would blow away on the wind."

"Yes and no," Jack says sleepily. "I made it up about the cap, it's still too big for me to wear while riding. But I did lasso that cow, honest."

"...uh," MacGyver says. "I thought you were asleep."

"Was, for a bit." He straightens up, stretches. "Did you tell her about my Uncle Charlie yet? Bet you'd have loved my Uncle Charlie, Mike. He's great. Too bad about his getting nabbed for card-counting, I always said Vegas was gonna be his downfall."

(MacGyver notes the quiet unhappiness under Jack's cheerful demeanour, and decides that prudence is the better part of kindliness.)

"Let me see if I have this genealogy straight," Mike says, pulling out her ever-ready notebook. "You've got your dad, Jack Senior, the one who served in Korea as an airforce pilot."

"Right. With the greatest flight jacket ever, I wear it all the time. Have to, you guys keep it so cold up here."

"Uh huh. And your mom, Francine, who disappeared never to be seen again- which side was Uncle Charlie on?"

"Dad's side. Mom could have been anything, Charlie said, the marriage was sort of a fling that went wrong."

"So- where does your Uncle Nelson fit it? The one who's raising you in Wisconsin?"

"Oh, he's not really a relation at all. Just Charlie's husband from years back. Bad luck for me that somebody looked it up and found that out."

"But- now I'm confused. Is she a girl who likes using a boy's name, like I do?"

"Uncle Charlie was a girl," Jack explains, patiently. "But he's not now. I mean, if you can't call yourself a guy after two decades of being a drunk, cigar-smoking, black-hat cowboy, when can you?"

"You can do all those things without being a guy, as well," Mike puts in.

"Yeah, but he isn't," Jack says with a shrug. "Anyway, for a while he didn't even know I existed, and then when he did find out, it took ages for him to clean up his act long enough for the authorities to let him adopt me. So we had the best two years ever, rollicking around Texas and scamming people, and then Charlie got himself thrown in the slammer and I got sent to live with Uncle Nelson. Which, believe me, I was not happy about. So I'm running away next week."

He's extremely casual about it. The other two are almost as taken aback by that as the statement itself.

"But- who's going to take care of you?" (MacGyver's question. What if's and if only's have been on his mind a lot, since last December.)

"Nobody. I will. I mean, I've spent my whole childhood getting kicked around between foster families and having to live out of a suitcase anyway, it can't be much worse making it on my own. Uncle Charlie taught me a couple tricks."

"That's brave of you," Mike says, with a distinct note of respect in her voice.

"I don't think I could do that, ever," MacGyver says. (Not with his mom and a sister to look after.)

"Well, I bet your mom doesn't spend all day telling you how fat you are and making you memorise Bible passages, does she? Last week I got fed up with it and started giving him the Song of Solomon from memory," Jack says smugly. "Got through the whole first chapter before he took me out for a whuppin', he was that stunned. Say- could I ask one of you for help?" He kicks his rucksack with his foot. "I've got all my stuff in here under the books, always do just on the off-chance. Can you stash me somewhere for a day or two, until I can get a bus south?"

"Oooh. Real-life ethics problem here," Mike says with fascination. "Sure we will. Mac, what about your basement workshop? Nobody would look for him there."

It's on the tip of Mac's tongue to point out that actively helping a runaway is probably all kinds of illegal- but if he says no, then Mike will probably put him somewhere less safe. Or somewhere harder to find.

"Yeah. That'd work."

"I owe you one," Jack says gratefully. "Let's make tracks, I wanna be long gone by the time Uncle Nelson shows up."

There's so much trust in his eyes.

Mac's honestly not sure what he ought to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ooh!"

Nobody has ever sounded that excited about his workshop. It's almost embarassing.

"It's just somewhere I can build stuff and mess around with my chemistry set. Mom won't let me do it upstairs, in case I put off the customers."

"But this is awesome!" Jack says, poking at the buzz saw. "Bubbling test tubes, crystal sets- man, I've got no idea what any of this is but it looks fab. You're gonna be some scientist."

"Or forest ranger, maybe. Or a racecar driver- there's all kinds of stuff I want to be, I don't know how I'll ever pick." Mac rummages through a drawer, pulls out a couple of padlocks. "Nobody can get in or out of here when I don't want them to, I was hanging out with Mr Stuart one day and he helped me make these. You can't open them with just a hairpin, Allison's tried."

"Great. Only could you get me some lunch first, before locking us in?"

"Not sure I can without somebody noticing. Mike?"

"No problem," Mike says. "I can go home and fix up some pastrami sandwiches. Don't do anything exciting while I'm gone, huh?"

She charges out the door. Mac skips up the stairs two at a time, to lock the door leading to the coffee shop. Pauses.

"Actually, I'd probably better go have a word with my sis, before somebody comes to ask what I'm up to. I'll come around the back way, okay? Maybe in an hour or so."

"Sounds good," Jack says, catching the offered lock. "I'll probably have a nap. Be nice to have one without getting told off for it."

How, Mac wonders, can he make even the most normal things sound crazy?

He doesn't go find Allison, but sits down in one of the coffee shop booths. Nobody will be hanging around here today, since they're closed Sundays. Good place to have a quiet think.

Asking anybody for advice would be tantamount to giving Jack away; he's no good at lying, and would be bound to let something obvious slip. So that's out.

And he likes Jack, he really does. The two of them have been swapping notes in Sunday school for three months now, hilarious little observances that have turned into a highlight of his week. He knows the whole story about Jack's beloved peaked cap, and the time his Uncle Charlie nearly killed the two of them ramming down a highway in a station wagon full of howler monkeys. Jack knows about his sorta-crush on Ellen Stuart, and his plans to get a double major in chemistry and physics, when he goes to college. He's just really easy to talk to, somehow.

(Jack says that's because he's been practicing his fast talking. That doesn't really make sense, when most of their conversations have been on paper.)

If only he'd gone home and left Mike, instead. Then it would have been somebody else's problem- aw, but that would have been worse, he really doesn't want Jack to go back to Texas. There hasn't been a lot else to make him laugh lately. And Jack's probably exaggerating the whole thing, anyway. Like he does.

What to do, what to do…

which is when an idea pops into his head, so nice and clear that he wonders why it didn't occur to him before. If Jack wants to leave because he's having problems with his uncle, then obviously the solution is to go have a word with Uncle Nelson. He's gotta be a good guy at heart. After all, he took Jack in.

MacGyver swings back to the church, where the special extended prayer service is still going (Mission City has an epically long one, which is why it's worth anybody driving in from Wisconsin in the first place.) It seems like forever before the thing wraps up, but the minute it does, he chases down Nelson Davies.

Mr Davies doesn't look a bit like Jack, naturally. Tall and thin as a lathe, very dignified with his white suit and red carnation. What people would call a fine upstanding citizen.

"Sir? Could I have a word? About Jack."

"If you don't mind, I'll have to go fetch him first." Briefly, but politely. "My ward has a remarkable tendency for getting into mischief when not under proper supervision."

"That's just what I meant, he's not there. He's- somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I-" ulp! "I can't tell you that, I really can't."

"Are you always this impertinent? Where is he?"

This is not going well. "He's running away to Texas," MacGyver says, trying to bite back his exasperation. That won't help Jack any. "He's homesick, and I think a little lonely, and scared. If you could just have a word with him, tell him that you...that of course you love him, I think it'd make so much difference."

"Officer!"

Officer Olson, so fresh to the force that his badge is still shiny new. He tips his cap at Mac. "Anything I can do for you gentlemen?"

"This young man," Mr Davies says, gesturing with his thumb, "has just told me that my ward Dalton is attempting to run away. I've been expecting that for some time now. Kindly inform him that I have the right to charge him with harbouring a runaway, if he carries on deliberately concealing the whereabouts of the child."

"Now, hang on a second," Olson says. "Aren't we moving a little fast here?"

"With a habitual juvenile delinquent? I've deemed it wiser to take precautions. Except, apparently, for trusting too generously to the church's oversight."

"You'd better read your law a little more closely, then," Olson says, very dry. "Within Minnesota jurisdiction, you can file all the charges you like, but we automatically dismiss them if the child's found within forty-eight hours…so for practical purposes, young MacGyver here has that long to make sure Dalton reappears. It's your responsibility to come back and pick him up, mind."

"Then I'll file that charge right now," Mr Davies says, not batting an eyelid. "No point wasting time."

This'll be all over Mission City in hours. Upset his mom, maybe hurt the shop- "I can't tell you, because I don't know where he is! I just know where he's going to be later on!"

"Go on," Olson encourages him, gently.

At least the police officer's on his side. "He said he was gonna take the ten o'clock bus to Duluth, because he thought it'd throw you off the trail if he went north instead of south. I was supposed to see him off with some sandwiches."

"Of course you were. Gluttonous, slothful child- I do believe he's attempting to personify every deadly sin before he even turns of age."

"There we are, then," Olson says in relief. "Look, MacGyver's mother is quite a personage in this town, and it's not worth your while antagonising her. Why don't we put off the felony charges for now, and see if Dalton's at the bus stop tonight? If he is, I'll be there and take him in custody, and no hard feelings."

"Sir. You are a frivolous discredit to your profession."

"But an officer nevertheless," Olson says, with a hint of umbrage for the first time. "As you'd do well to remember. But since MacGyver seems to irk you so...why don't I take him for a little chat and put the fear of god into him, as it were? I trust you'll count that a reasonable use of a Sunday afternoon."

"It seems," Mr Davies says, through set teeth, "that I haven't very much choice."

Stalks back to his car, takes out a copy of the Bible and pointedly begins reading it. Mac has a feeling he'll be there, frozen in that exact same pose, until ten to ten.

Officer Olson winks at him. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Can he really file charges?" MacGyver asks, anxiously, as they head down the street.

"Oh, he can try. But you've come clean with a police officer about what you know, and there's no evidence you're concealing him. So the charge would have to be aiding a runaway, and there's an interesting little wrinkle in the law about that. Technically speaking, you can only be charged with that one if you're over eighteen- so even if Dalton never shows up tonight, there'll be nothing to put on my sheet. And so much for our Mr Davies."

"Phew. Glad you know your stuff."

"It's my job," Olson says, affably. "That being said- I certainly hope that Dalton is there. Kids shouldn't be on the streets."

"Oh, yeah. I just wish that he liked it better at home...though I guess I can see why he doesn't. I mean, being brought up by that guy must be pretty tough on him, right?"

"Agreed. Of course, if there was some evidence of abuse, things would be different. Would you know if there's been any?"

Mac frets. He's pretty sure the answer's no, at least nothing chargeable. Boring a kid to death and stopping him going anywhere but church and not letting him have desserts isn't illegal, even if it all adds up to a life that'll make Jack miserable for years. "Maybe you'd better ask him that, I wouldn't know."

"All right." They're passing the coffee shop now. "No need for you to worry about this any more, all right? Go and enjoy the rest of your Sunday, I'll make sure everything works out for your friend."

"I will! Thanks."

MacGyver goes inside, and spends a few minutes stunned with himself. He's never done so much lying in his life. To a police officer, no less!

And he's not nearly as bad at it as he thought he'd be. Apparently, Mr Davies is only too right; Jack Dalton really is an awful influence. He thinks about all that time he's spent in Sunday school, scribbling replies to jokes instead of paying attention, and feels decidedly guilty.

Not least because a real friend would be telling Jack to get out of town, now. He's not going to do that, when it'll mean never seeing him again.

No: his plan's gonna be a whole lot stupider, painful and more reckless, but if it works, Jack'll be sticking around for quite a while yet...

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Mmm. This really is the life.

Mac's blue corduroy sofa is just about the nicest thing he's ever slept on, wide and spacious and faintly smelling of liquorice. More than enough room for him to curl up with the old rucksack, holding everything that he holds dear- a cap, and the manual for a Douglas DC-3, and three of his Uncle Charlie's best red bandanas. A couple of emergency candy bars, and a spare hundred dollars sewn into the lining. Enough to get him across the country, easy.

Mike's idea of pastrami sandwiches runs very purist- pastrami piled on rye bread- but she's brought a whole cooler's worth, with coke and half of a thickly-frosted chocolate cake. It's weird leaving off eating when there's still food around, but he can't manage another bite and there's still plenty left. (One of the wax-paper parcels goes into his rucksack.)

She's been busily interrogating him about Texas. Hard to keep up with her relentless curiosity, but he does his best.

"And so just where are you going first, when you get there?"

"Hey, maybe that's a little personal. I wouldn't want anybody coming after me, you know."

"I wouldn't tell anyone. Reporters musn't ever reveal their sources," Mike says. "And I'm going to be a journalist, so you can trust me on that."

"Sometimes journalists have a hard time getting people to trust them," he points out.

"I never have."

"But you live in this cute small town where everybody loves talking about themselves, of course that was easy. Not everybody's like that," Jack retorts, licking one last dollop of fudge off his spoon. "I'll tell you this much, though, it'll be the Gulf Coast. Down by the water-"

There's an inquisitive knock on the door, and a sort of hiccup jolts through his nervous system, before he realises that Uncle Nelson would be pretty unlikely to be that polite about it.

Still. Just to be on the safe side, he locks himself in the bathroom while Mike answers the door.

"Oh, hey. Jack, it's okay! It's just Mac!"

"You sure?"

"Unless he's brought along the invisible man, yeah, I'm pretty sure. Gee, but you are paranoid," Mike says, laughing a little as he slips out.

"Apparently with good reason," Mac says, not a little anxious. "Uh- he got hold of me outside the church, and I had to tell one lie after another, and basically- he's really crazy, isn't he? Tried to get Officer Olson to arrest me!"

"Caught you, huh? I just bet you went straight to him and spilled your guts, didn't you?"

"...yeah," Mac says, very quiet. "But I did a better job lying to him, honest. Long and short of it is, I'm convinced."

He so, so, shouldn't be forgiving MacGyver this easily, but he is. "How soon can I get out of here?"

"Well, I was thinking- I've got a better idea. Why don't I blow up my mom's basement?"

"...what?" Mike says, just in time to beat Jack to the punch.

"If I whipped up some kinda nasty chemical spill, or pretended I did anyway, and I told her we'd have to seal the whole place off- then you could just stay down here. I mean, I'd get the dressing-down of my life, but we can't exactly move away or anything, so she'd sort of have to go along with it. And I could sneak down furniture and stuff from my room so it'd be more homely. And-"

"Mac, that's really sweet," Jack interrupts. "That is probably the sweetest thing anybody's ever offered to do for me, but no, this is an awful idea. I mean, how would you like being locked in a basement for eight years?"

"I dunno, I might have a lot of fun. Especially if I had somebody to smuggle me books."

Mike rolls her eyes. "Tonight at eleven. In which Angus MacGyver gets to show off how he's even more insane than a juvvie delinquent."

"I never said that!" Even if it's true.

"Call it a reporter's gut instinct. The same one that's telling me that you don't actually want to go out on your own just yet," she adds. "That you'd really like the chance to just be a kid for a few years, and be able to have a chocolate cake without wondering if this is the last one you'll see for six months."

"Well, sure I would. But how's that gonna happen?"

"I'll get my parents to adopt you," Mike offers, with downright brazen enthusiasm. "They're nice people, and they're bored enough to be talking about having another kid- and I'd way rather have you around than some dope baby I'd have to help change the diapers. And they've got a bit more cash than Mac's mom- I mean, she's got him and Allison and the shop, she's got more than enough to worry about."

"You don't even know me that well…"

"Nah, but Mac seems to think you're top banana, and I always trusted his judgement. And seriously, you're the most interesting person ever to wander into Mission City. If you're living in my house, I'll have lots of fun practicing my interview technique."

"You gonna bring along cake like that every time?"

"Done."

His day is rapidly slipping into a madness that makes Uncle Charlie look sane. "I was kidding! We're talking law here, nobody can take me away from Uncle Nelson."

"I've got an idea about that," Mike says with gusto. "We make it really violent! Beat you up, drag you to the police station, and tell Officer Olson about your awful, awful Uncle Nelson and what he did to you. I make sure my parents are around and you give 'em a sob story, and we're home free. I bet you're great at sob stories, aren't you?"

"And you said I'm supposed to be the crazy one?" Mac ventures, into the dead silence.

That's what he says; but there's a very hopeful look in his eyes. An expression that's practically yelling, oh, please, say that you'll be sticking around?

A little like love, maybe; and Jack hasn't had nearly enough of that in his life. That's worth a lot. That's worth anything.

"Uh...you're not planning to break any bones, are you?"