The next morning, after a shower, a shave, and a hot breakfast, MacGyver felt much more like himself again. He sat down on the couch to wait for Craig to finish his shower.

While he sat, he began to think about the facts of the case. A few details had begun to bother him, but he hadn't had time until now to examine them.

First of all, Pete had mentioned the assignment two weeks ago before he'd started the rehab course. But Nadia had only asked for help six days ago. How had Pete known about the mission? And why hadn't he called Harris?

Then, there was another detail. Harris has said both men abducted from the theatre were American. But Pete had identified one as MI6, and Craig was obviously not an American. Why had Harris misled him on that detail? Or was Craig not who he seemed to be?

a

At this moment, Craig himself emerged from the shower rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

"Feels bloody good," he said to no one in particular.

"How well can you see this morning?" asked MacGyver.

"A bit blurred here and there but mostly back to normal," answered Craig, and Mac again felt the sharp twinge of jealousy. "My head still aches but it's nothing that a bit of Paracetamol can't cure."

Mac flashed what he hoped was a genuine smile. Craig flipped the switch on the television as he passed it, and a morning news program came on. Craig continued into the kitchen.

"I'll ring up Freed and find out when they open," said Craig from around the doorway. Mac had the same idea but not being able to read the telephone directory had frustrated the plan.

Instead, he listened to the newscaster on the television.

"...found last week with a gunshot wound to the chest outside the Royal Opera House. He is believed to be an American staying in London on holiday. Investigators believe he met with foul play, but evidence exists that there may have been terrorist activity and citizens are advised to use caution in the area..."

"Craig!" called Mac. "Is this your partner or someone else?"

Craig hurried back into the room to look at the screen. "My partner, poor bastard," he said grimly.

"Did you get a look at the men that did it?" queried MacGyver.

"No," admitted Craig. "But they spoke a language I didn't recognize."

"My kidnappers spoke English," mused MacGyver. "British accents."

Craig laughed. "There is no such thing as a British accent. Even the different boroughs of London have distinct accents."

"Well, they weren't American," said Mac peevishly.

"Possibly not the same guys then," said Craig. "By the way, Freed opens at ten."

The newscaster broke into the conversation. "...in other news, the ballet world was stunned this morning to learn that the world-famous Russian ballerina, Nadia Pletskya, has been taken ill and will be unable to continue her European tour. Her tour manager gave a statement informing the BBC that she will be resting in her Moscow home.

"Resting," snorted MacGyver. "We have to find her. She must be in danger."

Craig agreed. "The slippers are a slim clue," he said.

"Better than nothing," said MacGyver. "Ready to go?"

On their way to the shop, Mac stopped at a bank where Pete had promised to wire him some money and a new passports . This accomplished, they continued to the Tube, and then on to the shop, Craig acting as guide. Mac, who still didn't have a cane, held lightly to Craig's elbow.

"Weren't you worried about going blind yesterday?" asked Mac as they walked.

"Of course," answered Craig, "but we train for such possibilities."

"Still, it's frightening," persisted Mac.

"Yes," agreed Craig.

They arrived at the shop, and Craig pushed open the corner door. Inside, Mac had a vague impression of racks and tables, presumably holding shoes and leotards and whatever else the shop sold. He put out one hand, and it brushed across stiff satin.

"May I help you?" asked a man with a somewhat affectedly posh accent as he came toward them. "You would be better off with an appointment so we can fit your shoes properly," he continued, somewhat distastefully, as if he was aware the two men did not move like dancers.

"We need to speak with you privately," said Craig.

"This way," said the man. "I have a fitting in thirty minutes, however," he said.

He led the way past a tall counter, which clipped Mac's elbow as he passed. He winced, but said nothing. They entered a back room, which Mac at first took to be an office, but soon decided was a fitting room. They found chairs and sat down, Craig expelling a breath as he did so. Mac wondered how much pain the man was still having.

"I'm MacGyver, and this is Craig," Mac began.

"Thomas," said the shopkeeper.

"Mr. Thomas," said MacGyver, "Last week you sold Nadia Pletskya a new pair of ballet shoes. We need to know…"

He was cut off. "Mr. MacGyver," Thomas interrupted. "What do you want with Miss Pleaskya?"

"We're trying to help her," said MacGyver.

"How do you know she needs help?" asked Thomas distrustfully.

Mac told the man about the roses.

Thomas seemed to be making up his mind about something. "Come with me," he said.

He led the way through another door in the back of the room. Craig took Mac's arm, pushing him quickly along. Mac clenched his teeth but said nothing.

Because he was in front of Craig, he stumbled when they came unexpectedly to a narrow stair, and he slammed his hands against the walls to keep from falling.

"Sorry," Craig muttered, but Mac was already most of the way down the stairs. The room at the bottom was dimmer than the upstairs had been, and he found himself listening closely to the footsteps hurrying in front of him. They stopped across the room, and a doorknob turned.

"Natya," said Thomas quietly, and opened the door wider. Craig came up beside Mac and gasped.

"This is Natalia Petrov, better known as Nadia Pletskya," said Thomas.

From a tiny room, a small, slight woman emerged and grasped Mac's outstretched hand. "So pleased to meet you," she said in careful English.

"Natalia," said MacGyver in amazement. "You're here in London? The news said you were ill and on your way to Moscow."

"Dimitry must have told that story to cover up for my disappearance," she said thoughtfully.

"Why did you ask for help?" Asked Mac.

"Is a long story. How do I know I can trust you?" She asked pragmatically.

MacGyver realized that with his bag he'd lost his credentials and had little to show her to prove himself to her.

At this moment the shop bell tinkled upstairs and Thomas excused himself. Natalia ushered the two men into the closet-like room where she had been hiding and closed the door. Mac tried again to explain to her who he was.

"My name is MacGyver," he began, pulling out his replaced passport.

At this moment, Craig began to sway, and then toppled over in a heap.

"Oh! Your friend!" cried Natalia, sitting by him. "He fainted!"

Mac also knelt by Craig and found his pulse in his neck. It felt weak but it was there. "Is he pale?" asked Mac.

"Why do you ask me?" asked Natalie, startled. "Cannot you see him?"

"No, I can't," said Mac. "He was hit on the head yesterday hard enough to temporarily lose his sight. This may be related. Check his pupils."

"Pupils?" she asked in confusion.

"His eyes," said Mac shortly.

"Why are you not look at his eyes?" asked Natalia, her English slipping in her excitement.

"I can't see," answered Mac again. "I was blinded in an explosion."

"But you said he was blind," said Natalia.

"No time now to explain. We need to get him to a hospital right away," said Mac.

"I cannot be found here," cried Natalia in terror.

"No, no. We won't let anyone find you," said Mac. "Stay here and I'll come back as soon as I can."

Craig was not a tall man, but he was heavy, and Mac grunted as he pulled the man upward into a fireman's carry. He realized that he needed to get away from Natalia before he called for help or she might be placed in even greater danger. He felt torn between helping her get to a safer place and hearing her story, and getting medical care for Craig. Frustrated, he decided on the second and opened the door to carry Craig out of the basement room.

"Is there a back door?" He whispered to Natalia.

"I do not know," she whispered back, and closed her door fearfully.

Steadying Craig with one hand, he used the other to trail the wall, trying desperately to remember where the stairs were. At last he found them and ascended into the fitting room where he located a chair on which to deposit Craig's limp form. Luckily the fitting room was still empty.

Mac felt his way to the door of the shop and called Thomas's name softly.

"Mr. MacGyver!" said Thomas a bit too cheerily. "How is the fit on those new jazz shoes?"

"I need you to come take a look," said Mac, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

Thomas came in promptly but stopped short when he saw Craig.

"Oh dear!" he cried in dismay.

"I need to get him help, but quietly, you understand?" said MacGyver tersely.