A/N: Special thanks again to Niente Zero who's been my most faithful reviewer. Love the feedback! Thanks much and enjoy!
The van ride back to the Foundation was dead silent. MacGyver felt like ten kinds of an idiot. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about the stupid mic. But that wasn't even the worst part, and he was aware of it. He couldn't believe he'd lost it like that with Grant. The kid had basically just pulled MacGyver's butt out of the fire, and all Mac could do was yell at him for playing by ear, something MacGyver was known for doing himself. An idiot and a hypocrite.
It had just freaked him out. Grant had already had such a hard life. The thought of something happening to him through a Foundation assignment was unbearable. Something just did happen to him, genius, Mac told himself. The only guy he's really started to trust just tore a strip off him in public. An idiot and a hypocrite and a jerk. Great.
Pete kept shooting him these awful, sympathetic, omniscient Pete-type glances, too, which always made him feel horrible until he had a chance to talk to his old friend and mentor. But still, that was better than Grant. Grant still wouldn't look at him at all.
As soon as they got back to the Foundation, Grant called Aden. MacGyver couldn't even pretend he didn't hate that idea.
"You coming back tonight?" MacGyver asked as Grant prepared to leave. Aden had agreed to pick him up.
The boy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." His voice wasn't hostile. It was flat and emotionless. Non-confrontational was the word.
"You sure you don't want to just come home? We could…"
"No, that's okay. I don't know how long Uncle Aden's going to be in town."
"Grant," MacGyver said. "I'm sorry."
The teen only nodded at first, an action that seemed more like something Grant figured was required than actual forgiveness. But something must've shown in MacGyver's eyes, because Grant softened somewhat. "I know. It's o…"
"It's not okay," MacGyver said firmly. "It's not. I was wrong. I'm sorry."
Grant looked at him for a long moment before a half-smile graced his features. "Yeah? Well, maybe you're right. You acted like a jerk. Don't do that anymore."
MacGyver smiled back. "I'll try. You scared me, though, kid."
If anything, that had the opposite effect of the one he was going for. Grant's expression immediately shuttered. "Glad we talked. See you later, MacGyver." With that he walked away.
MacGyver could only watch. He'd called him "MacGyver." If that wasn't a step in the wrong direction…He sighed. Where was Pete? He needed to talk to Pete.
"Come in," Pete called without looking up.
MacGyver stared at him from the doorway where his hand was poised ready to knock. He looked at his hand and shrugged, sauntering in. "I hate it when you do that, Pete."
"Get a haircut and we'll talk about things that annoy each other," Pete smirked.
MacGyver gave him a look and rolled his eyes. He leaned against the wall, fiddling with something on Pete's bookshelf.
"Yes. No. No. Yes. Yes," Pete said.
MacGyver looked up. "What?"
"Yes, you overreacted. No, I don't think it's unforgivable, and neither will Grant. No, you're not a hypocrite or a liar or even a bad parent. And yes, you do need to talk to him about it."
MacGyver went over the answers in his head. "You didn't tell me what the last 'yes' was for."
"Yes, you do need a haircut."
MacGyver smiled, sighing as he sank into a chair. "Thanks, Pete."
"No problem." He let his friend think quietly for awhile before going on. "He thinks you don't trust him, you know," he said seriously.
"I trust him," MacGyver protested.
"No, you don't. Think about it. Do you really think that I enjoy watching you skip off to do dangerous things, usually with no backup, knowing that this time might be the last time? I know you know better than that. But I recommend you and I give you assignments because I trust your instincts and I trust you abilities, and I trust you."
"Pete, that's not the same thing. This is my job. He's seventeen, for crying out loud."
"It is the same thing. Could you really believe, even for a moment, that the second Grant turns eighteen he's not going to be in this office begging me for field work? He's practically started begging me already. You're going to have to accept the fact that this is what he wants to do. And be proud of him for that. He's so much like you. But you'd better realize real quick that things are going to be so much harder for him if he doesn't know for sure that he has your blessing. He loves you, MacGyver. Whether he'll admit it or not, he loves you. He needs your support. He'll do what he has to do without it, but you know inside that'll tear him apart."
Pete was staring at him with that gaze that wouldn't let him look away. "You're right," he admitted. "You're right. I'll straighten it out. But man, Pete, I hate that."
Pete gave him a fond look. "Believe me. I know how you feel."
"Why can't he go into something safe like…medicine or something?"
A longsuffering sigh preceded a knowing look. "Because he's too much like you."
A half smile brightened Mac's face as he thought it over. Then he suddenly darkened. "But that's not the only problem."
"His uncle," Pete said knowingly.
"I don't like him, Pete. I don't know how I feel about Grant spending all this time with him. Well, yeah, I do know. I don't like it."
"You're jealous," Pete stated.
"I'm not jealous," MacGyver said firmly. Something in the way he said it made Pete realize something else.
"No. Not jealous," he said. "Scared. You're afraid he's going to take Grant away from you."
MacGyver stayed quiet for a long time. "I'm afraid Grant's going to want to go," he finally said. "I don't trust that guy, Pete."
Grant and Aden got back to the man's apartment late. Aden hung his jacket on the rack as Grant flopped down on the sofa. "You mind sleeping on the couch again?" the man asked.
"No," Grant answered agreeably. "I sleep on Mac's couch all the time. It's kind of my bed there."
"That so? You know you've been talking about this guy all day?"
"Have I?"
"Yeah. Everywhere we go it's 'Mac this' and 'Mac that.'" There was the tiniest hint of distaste in the voice.
"He's a really good guy," Grant defended. "At least he lets me stay…" He cut himself off abruptly and an awkward silence enveloped the room. At least he lets me stay with him.
Aden grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Want one?" he asked. It was clearly supposed to be something of a peace offering. Grant shook his head. He didn't touch the stuff. In his experience, it made people lose control, and he always ended up the target. He didn't ever want to lose control like that. Aden shrugged and sat down next to him on the couch, nursing his own drink. "You been having fun these last couple days?" he asked.
"Yeah. It's been awesome. Thanks."
"Good. I've had fun, too." They sat in a companionable silence for a long moment before Aden spoke again. "Grant. I need to talk to you about something."
Warning bells. "What's that?"
"I need some help."
Grant hesitated. Not again.
"I'm in a little over my head with some guys who…well I owe them a lot of money. It's a little more than I asked for last time, but nothing you can't handle, right? Not with your kind of skills." He tried to smile. It somehow came off wrong.
"Uncle Aden…"
"It'll be just like last time, and no one'll have to know, right? Just one more job, Grant. Last one. I promise. One little job."
"I can't," Grant suddenly blurted. His uncle looked downright offended. "I mean, I can't, Uncle Aden. I'm not a thief anymore."
"What do you mean you're not a thief anymore?" the man demanded. "You're kidding, right?"
Helpless, Grant tried to answer reasonably, "Well, no. I…"
His uncle wouldn't hear it. "Come on, we've done this before. Look, whatever this is, you need to get over it. Me and you are family, kid. We're supposed to help each other out."
"Look, how much do you need? Maybe I can just give you the money."
"Yeah, well, not unless you've got an extra sixty-five grand laying around your bank account."
"Sixty-five thousand dollars? That's not one little job. Come on. I work for an agency that stops stuff like that from happening. They already know what I can do. They know my style. Heck, the only reason I'm not in juvie right now is I've got Mac and Pete to vouch for me."
"Grant, you don't understand," the man said desperately. "If I don't get these guys their money, they're going to kill me!"
"Then we need to figure out a way to get you somewhere safe until we can get these guys behind bars where they belong."
"You know that's not how this works!" Aden stood and began pacing up and down the room. "What is wrong with you? You spend a couple months with some fed and suddenly you're too good for your own family?"
"He's not a fed," Grant replied automatically. He quickly shook his head and stood, trying to calm the man. "I mean, no. Uncle Aden. I'm not..." Slap! Grant shook his head, bringing his hand up to his stinging cheek. The slap hadn't been particularly hard, but he always hated it when his uncle did that. It was one thing when it was coming from a stranger, but when it came from family, it somehow…hurt more. Deeper. He was quiet as his uncle stared down at him with angry eyes.
"This is it, then, huh? You're walking out on me now?"
"No, sir," Grant whispered.
"Then you'll to do it for me? You're going to steal it for me?"
Grant raised his eyes, eyes full of a desperate hope for the one man on earth who by rights should have some kind of love for him to tell him it was okay not to steal, eyes that begged the man to step up and be the hero Grant had always longed for. "No, sir."
The only thing in Aden's eyes was an anger fueled by fear and cowardice. He slapped Grant one more time. "Then what good are you!"
MacGyver weaved in and out of traffic at speeds Pete would kill him for, the phone call the foremost thing on his mind.
Um, Mac? Can you come pick me up? Please? I'll be outside Aden's place.
MacGyver had immediately asked why. Grant's answer amazed him.
I just want to go home.
As he pulled up to the old apartment building, he caught sight of a lone figure sitting on the ground with arms wrapped around drawn-up knees. The figure immediately stood and began walking towards the Jeep. Grant. MacGyver was out of the vehicle in an instant. He caught Grant around the shoulders, guiding him toward the headlights so he could see him clearly. Nothing seemed out of place. There was a slight fading red mark on his cheek, though. "What happened? What's wrong?" MacGyver questioned worriedly.
Grant shook his head, the light reflecting off a little too much moisture in the big green eyes. "Just take me home, Mac. Please?"
"Okay," MacGyver nodded, steering the boy toward the Jeep, looking over his shoulder at the dark, silent building.
When they were driving, MacGyver looked over to see Grant staring out the window. "Grant, I need to know what's wrong," he said gently. "Did Aden do something?"
"I'm going to tell you tomorrow," came the soft reply.
MacGyver looked at the digital clock. 12:06. "It is tomorrow."
"More tomorrow."
MacGyver nodded. If Grant needed him to wait until it was "more tomorrow," then he could wait till more tomorrow. He hoped Grant wasn't paying attention to the way he was driving. He really wasn't setting a good example.
When they arrived at the houseboat, Grant insisted on using his own key to unlock the door for reasons MacGyver could only imagine. When they were inside, Grant went wordlessly to the VCR and popped in the closest video, not even bothering to look at the title. He didn't care. He stood there as the previews played, staring at Mac with such a look of wistfulness the man felt it deep inside his soul. MacGyver, playing by the "rules," went and sat on the end of the sofa. The moment Grant sat down next to him he was pulled tightly against the man's chest.
Grant was shaking. Not crying. Shaking. That's what happened when he was working so very hard at keeping his emotions inside. A soul-deep quaking that spoke of pain big enough shake him to the core. He buried his face in MacGyver's chest, and for a long time, the deep tremors ran through every inch of the too-thin frame. MacGyver held him tightly, trying to physically absorb some of the pain.
"It's more tomorrow," MacGyver said, desperately needing a clue, needing to know how to make this, whatever it was, better.
Grant took a deep, shuddering breath. "He—he doesn't want me, Mac," he said softly. A sob broke loose so suddenly, it scared him. "I tried, Mac. I tried so hard. Why..." The tears also came without warning. Grant hated this, hated crying, hated feeling helpless. "Why can't I just be good enough?"
MacGyver sat there, holding him, his own eyes moist as the movie Short Circuit of all things played on the TV screen. He wasn't sure what to say, what could make the pain go away. Convincing a teenager who'd been made to feel like he was worthless for much of his life that being abandoned by his uncle wasn't his fault was no easy thing. No simple "You are good enough" would cut it. Instead he said the first thing that came to his mind. "I love you, Grant."
The fingers that grasped tightly at the fabric of his shirt didn't come as a surprise.
"I love you," he repeated. He kissed the top of the boy's head, figuring this could fall under the "severely shell-shocked" category. He didn't really care if it didn't. Grant needed it, and that was what mattered. MacGyver wanted nothing more right then than to drive back to that apartment and beat the fool out of Aden Bruce. The guy had no idea what he was giving up. But that would mean letting go of the precious kid clinging to him like a life-preserver. No way in heck that was going to happen.