After Mac hung up the phone, he stayed in the booth for a few minutes, thinking. Normally, he'd formulate a plan himself, keep it to himself and just get the job done. He'd find the trains connecting to the North Sea ferries, get as quickly as possible across Ireland, and there you go. Done.

Now, though, he had a lot more barriers to overcome. He couldn't read the train schedules or maps himself. At the moment that seemed like the biggest hurdle. His cohort could be recognized at any moment as a worldwide celebrity. They had (apparently) well-connected enemies following them, and someone on the inside he couldn't trust.

With his usual pragmatism, Mac examined each of these problems in turn and then put each aside to solve as needed. There was always a solution and he would find it.

The first was solving the problem of getting to the ferry from London. He had to make sure Natalia wasn't recognized. For that reason they needed to go as quickly as possible. Mac couldn't drive, obviously, but maybe Natalia could? A car rental perhaps? That might blow her cover as a twelve year old kid. Plus showing her ID to rent the car could be dangerous.

No, trains would be safer.

This decision made, he left the booth and made his way back to the upstairs flat. His headache was in full bloom now, and the still-crusty healing burns on his back and hands twinged. He'd like nothing more than to lie on his stomach and sleep for a week.

Instead, he informed Natalia about Pete's plan. He expected resistance, but she didn't seem to mind. She possessed a surprising level of pragmatism herself that Mac found attractive.

He sat on the front edge of a sagging sofa and massaged his temples with his fingers. "Train tickets to the ferry, food, a map, schedules," he muttered.

"We go tonight," offered Natalia, more as a statement than a question.

"Absolutely," agreed Mac, giving her a reassuring smile.

As twilight fell, they made their way cautiously down the narrow, dim stairway of the building onto the street. Natalia wore the dingy military surplus coat and baggy blue jeans, with a cap over her shaggy boy's haircut. She'd informed Mac that her hair was light brown, and he had a better picture of her in his head now: sparkling blue eyes, delicate pixie features, a roguish smile when she wasn't worried.

Mac had the jacket he'd gotten from the dance shop, but he'd long ago lost the hat, which meant that his hair was messy from the rain.

Once in the street, he kept his cane out, but also kept a hand on Natalia, since he could see little in the dim light but the occasional glow of a street lamp. They found a row of shops where tired but friendly shopkeepers directed them toward a knapsack, snacks, duct tape and even a new Swiss Army knife, which Mac happily put into his sock instead of his pocket, much to Natalia's amusement.

"You might be glad later," he told her wryly, and she didn't disagree. They also bought a Walkman to contribute to Natalia's disguise, but the two cassette tapes she purchased were classical piano concertos and Broadway musical hits, which made him grin in turn.

Arriving at last at the train station, they discovered they actually wanted the ferry directly from Liverpool to Belfast, but found they had just missed the train through Birmingham, so had to wait for the next one. Still posing at "Nate's" father, Mac bought tickets, and they found a bench to wait.

Mac could sense Natalia's nervousness, feeling so exposed. In a way, he worried that she would inadvertently draw more attention to herself and he set a hand on her arm, trying to get her to relax.

Mac tried to find something to think about while they waited. His usual pastime of people-watching wasn't an option, and he found himself instead tuning in on conversations around himself that floated in and out as people walked by, or longer ones from people sitting nearby.

"...so I called her last night and do you know what she said? I couldn't believe it! She called me a…"

"...the vet said to give her chicken livers. No, just livers…"

"...all over the place. So bloody awful! So he said…"

"Hey! What are you looking at?" This last comment was loud, and close, and made MacGyver jump. "Yes, you! Are you staring at me, sir?"

"No, no," said Mac, holding up his folded cane in explanation. "I wasn't staring at you."

"Oh, blind. You looked like… oh, I guess your eyes do look a bit funny. I'm sorry." The man's tone changed from outraged to contrite.

"No problem," said Mac. "Name's MacGyver." He held out a hand for a shake. As the man shook it, Mac gestured to Natalia. "My boy."

"Americans?" asked the man, sitting down on the bench next to MacGyver.

"Yep," said Mac with a friendly smile.

"I'm Reginald Owens," the man said, and Mac had a mental image of a balding middle aged man in a tweed raincoat, glasses and wingtips.

Natalia was slumped against the tile wall buried in her Walkman, so Mac turned toward the man, glad for some conversation.

"You live in London?" He asked.

"I work here, yes," answered Owens. "I live in Reading."

Mac didn't have any idea where that was, and it occurred to him that asking questions might lead to reciprocal questioning about what they were doing in the UK. He needn't have worried.

"You been… errr… blind… long?" asked Owens with the too-hearty conversational tone that indicated someone wanted you to think they felt comfortable talking about a subject they didn't feel at all comfortable talking about.

Mac made a noncommittal shrug.

"How did it happen?" asked Owens.

Mac still couldn't get used to people asking this. It just seemed so invasive and weird.

"Accident," he replied laconically.

"Too bad," said Mr. Owens sympathetically, and Mac suddenly decided he would have preferred boredom to this conversation.

At that moment, the loudspeaker announced their train to Birmingham and Mac stood.

"Well, it was so nice to meet you, Mr. Owens," he said, hoping his relief didn't show in his voice. "That's our train, so…" he let his words trail off and turned toward Natalia, who had also stood and was fiddling with her Walkman.

"But it's my train too!" exclaimed Owens, his voice overly bright. He was obviously beaming at MacGyver's good luck.

Why was it this guy I picked to accidentally stare at? Wondered Mac to himself. He's like a clone of Theresa at the airport.

He gave a tight-lipped smile toward Owens and unfolded his cane.

"Would you like a hand, Mr. MacGyver?" asked Owens. Much as Mac did not want a hand from Owens, he decided that accepting help from Owens and letting Natalia trail along behind looked the most convincing, so he turned with something of a forced smile.

"Sure," he said. "If you'll let me take your elbow."

Owens seemed flustered by that, but accepted. Mac slung his knapsack casually onto one shoulder, and they headed toward the tracks.

Once aboard, Mac felt he could relax a bit. This train had compartments, and though Owens had of course assumed they would share, he wasn't as inclined to chat as Mac had feared. He now even seemed slightly nervous. He certainly was moody, thought MacGyver.

"You're headed to Birmingham?" asked Mac after a long silence.

"Whittington, near Lichfield," said Owens. "My sister's there. Nephew died. His funeral is tomorrow."

"So sorry," muttered MacGyver, stunned. He'd completely misread the guy. What he'd taken for fakeness was covering grief. Was it because he couldn't see his face? Body language? Mac felt rattled for having missed so much information. He leaned his head back in his seat with a frown.

The train sped through the night. It was only a little over an hour when the Birmingham stop was announced. Because of construction, they would have to switch trains here in order to continue to Liverpool, the ticket agent had said. As the train slowed, however, Mac noticed an increased feeling of tension in the air. He put a hand on Natalia's arm but she was relaxed and asleep, her head back on the seat cushion.

At that moment, he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked. He froze. Owens?

Suddenly, he knew. He was right the first time. Dammit, he should have trusted his gut and not assumed he was wrong because he couldn't see.

Too late now.

"We're getting off here," said Owens, in a completely different voice.

"Whaaa?" asked MacGyver, deciding initially to play dumb. "What is going on here?"

But he'd given himself away already. Knowing the click. Reacting. Dammit. The guy had taken him off guard.

"How much can you really see?" asked Owens.

"Hey, can we just talk about this?" asked Mac, putting his hands up in a "do we really have to do this?" gesture.

The train had slowed now and jerked to a stop. Natalia woke with a gasp, comprehending their situation at a glance.

"Not talking. Go," said Owens, and shoved the pistol at Natalia. Mac had been planning to find it, take it and knock the guy out with it, but this move kept him just far enough away so that Mac had to wait, which infuriated him. Clenching his teeth, he followed Owens into the train corridor, and as the corridor began to fill with people, grabbed a handful of his coat so he didn't lose him.

Owens moved like he was about to shove an elbow into Mac's face, but apparently thought better of it considering the crowd.

In an awkward clump, they descended the train steps onto the platform where several other pairs of hands pulled them aside, along the train cars in the dark.

Mac felt a sting in his upper arm. Terrific. Drugs, injected with a needle. Fast-acting ones too because it wasn't long before the train platform began to rock under his feet and his knees buckled. Hands caught at him as he slid into unconsciousness.

XxXxXx

When he awoke, slowly, the first thing he noticed was far too much light all around him. Even through closed eyelids. Last night's headache now pounded, ringing in his ears and causing his stomach to shake with nausea.

He lay on something wooden and hard that vibrated. A plane. Cargo plane. His shoulder and hip pressed numbly into it where he'd been deposited like a sack of potatoes. Without moving or giving away the fact that he'd awakened, he listened for more information.

His hands were tied with twine behind his back, but his mouth wasn't gagged. That must mean there was no one within earshot to call for help. His feet were tied together as well. Because his face was pressed into the boards of the floor of the plane, he could smell oil, wood, dirt and too many other smells to name. Nothing there.

He listened to the drone of the engines over the ringing in his own ears. Jet engines. A long flight.

At that moment a sound a few feet away caught his attention. A clank, then a soft snore. He was being guarded, but his guard had fallen asleep, letting his gun drop to the floor with a clunk.

Mac opened his eyes in a squint to find out if the guard would react to his movement. There was no reaction from the guard, but a wave of pain roared through MacGyver's head and he closed them again, taking a long, slow, steadying breath against the nausea.

He began silently moving his feet back and forth to find out what was around him. His tennis shoes found the curving metal wall of the fuselage directly behind him. And in front of his knees, something soft and heavy. Natalia. She was here, thank goodness. She lay still and silent, obviously also drugged and tied up.

A slightly louder snore came from across the plane where the guard sat.

First order of business was to get untied obviously. Slowly, silently, Mac bent his knees trying to reach his sock with his bound hands. He had to stop and take a few more deep breaths as wave after wave of nausea rolled over him. Once blackness descended and he wondered if he lost consciousness again.

After what seemed like hours of struggling and contorting, he managed to get his two fingers into his left sock where the knife still hid. He snapped the blade open and began working on his ropes, wishing Natalia was awake so she could do his and he could do hers.

Slowly, quietly, carefully, he sliced the ropes on his wrists, then the ones on his ankles. By this time it was obvious that the rest of the crew was at the front of the plane near the cockpit and only the guard was back with them. For that, Mac felt grateful.

Gently, he worked his way down between Natalia and the wall of the plane. Slide, wait, slide, wait. He wriggled along until he was literally spooning her and could reach her bound hands. She was beginning to stir slightly so he whispered "don't move." He felt her head nod against his chest and then she retched.

They both froze, as the guard's snore's ceased.

For a long, sickening moment, they waited, and then he started storing again. Both of them relaxed, and both took a long, slow, silent breath.

Mac reached for Natalia's slim wrists and slipped the blade of his knife under the taut cords. The sharp blade popped through them, and he handed her the knife to do the ropes on her ankles. When she handed it back, he folded it and slipped it back into his sock.