MacGyver felt some of his exhaustion lift as the elevator door opened, revealing the familiar logo of the Phoenix Foundation frosted onto the glass doors of his office. "Home Sweet Home," he grinned.
"It's good to have you home, Dad," Sam said again as he helped carry the suitcases into the Director's office.
Mac looked around the familiar space, seeing the collection of 'souvenirs' from various missions on the shelves that reminded him of so many different friends he'd met over the years. There was a new one amidst the bizarre bits and bobs; a blackened bullet in a glass evidence jar. He leaned in for a closer look. "I'm glad to be home, Sam. Thank you for keeping this place going while I was gone."
His son was chuckling as he jockeyed the brand new suitcases into a line by the side of the desk. "I have to admit, it's strange having you come home with luggage. You usually stick to a duffel bag, if you bother packing at all."
"I'd have forgotten about these on the carousel, if you hadn't been there to meet me," Mac admitted, still distracted by the little glass jar and its contents. He tapped it with a long finger, hearing the jingle of the metal against the glass...and not the memory of the crack and whine he'd expected to. He prayed that meant his nightmares were over.
Sam gave his father a searching look. "Don't worry about unpacking tonight. Oh, and I'll save the briefings on what happened outside of this Op for later. You look a little worn out." He shook his head as Mac crossed the room to collapse into his chair with a sigh.
"I don't want to leave without putting that file in the safe," Mac admitted, rolling his chair closer to the suitcases and reaching for the zipper. "Call me paranoid…" He drew back with a wince as his healing injury reminded him not to bend that way.
Knowing it was useless to argue, Sam unzipped the first case. "Paranoid?" he repeated with gentle teasing. "The bags will be locked in this office, which happens to be retina-scanner-accessible only."
"I know," Mac sighed, allowing the younger man to pull out the contents of the case and hand them up. He accepted the tin of Apricot tea that Ducky had sent home with him with a fond smile.
Sam continued digging, passing up a paperback book entitled 'Amazing Paper Airplanes' that had been a gift from McGee. "In addition to the locks and scanners, your office happens to be on a floor that can only be reached by an elevator requiring a Phoenix-issued security card."
"Yeah," Mac agreed, grinning at Sam's confusion at the next item; it was the PVC cast he'd made for Bishop in the woods. Bishop had gotten everyone on the team sign it before she'd used a squirrel sticker to affix a gift certificate to a greasy burger joint to it.
"Your friends have a bizarre sense of humor," Sam had to admit, looking from the sticker on the cast to the next item out of the case, which was a 1:64 scale die cast model of a rescue helicopter, a gift from Gibbs that he'd picked up in the hospital's gift shop.
"There always seems to be a chopper involved somehow when the two of us work together," Mac admitted.
"Okay, these are awesome," Sam admitted, tugging out the bouquet of faux roses, each fashioned from black, red and green duct tape, that Abby had brought to MacGyver's hospital room.
"She's one of a kind," Mac agreed as he laid them on his desk. His nose twitched at the air currents they stirred up. "I didn't notice before, but they smell like gunpowder!"
As he watched Sam rooting through the rest of the odds and ends accumulated on his DC trip, Mac had a sudden flash of memory. "Oh, you know what? It's in the carry-on, sorry!"
Sam opened the other case and pulled out what his father had really been looking for. "As worried as you were with someone coming across these, you had them in your carry-on?"
"I had to have something to do on the plane!" Mac protested with a chuckle. "I figured reading all my old mission briefs would help the time pass."
"Did it?" Sam had to ask.
Mac leaned back in his chair, letting his head rest against the leather as he closed his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. Just a lot of memories in those." Knowing without looking that Sam was watching him with growing concern, Mac didn't have it in him yet to meet his gaze. "Sam, I gotta beat the dead horse again. Why do you think your mother…"
Sam interrupted immediately. "Dad, you have to stop beating yourself up over that. She made her decision, and I'm sorry that it hurt you so badly."
"Okay, the logical part of me agrees that I shouldn't feel guilty for missing your first eighteen years," MacGyver continued, his voice growing a little sharp. "You have to know by now that…"
"That if you had known I existed, you would have dropped everything and come running to find me," Sam continued with the monotonous sing-song tone of someone exhausted by the same old argument. "Yes, Dad, I know! I also know that you made a solemn promise to keep someone's secret and you're not going to break that."
Mac's eyes slitted in anger. "But I've been on Tony's side of this situation, Sam, and I can tell you that it isn't a nice one! He's a good guy; it's not fair to him."
Although no less firm, Sam's voice was infinitely more gentle. "That's not your call," he reminded him. "You've tried talking to her, you've tried telling her our story, and you've kept your promise to her by keeping her secret. There's no amount of duct tape or chewing gum that'll fix this issue, and you have to accept that."
Exhaling a long sigh, Mac allowed his eyes to close again as he rested against the comfort of his chair. "I know, I know…you're right."
Several long moments passed in silence, and Mac could tell that his son was watching him with growing concern. "I'm fine, Sam," he tried to insist.
"Yeah, sure," Sam retorted. "Don't get started on anything here… Go home and get some sleep."
Mac appreciated the fussing, but he shook his head. "I've got something I need to take care of, but it shouldn't take me too long. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Sam was watching him carefully. "Okay. Don't stay too late. Oh, by the way; Lisa and I want to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. She says she needs help with a recipe and requires your expert advice."
Mac chuckled aloud. It still tickled him that a preteen that had saved his life in a boat house in Switzerland so many years ago, that had survived an ugly childhood by reaching out to him for help, had grown up and married his own son. "Who am I to say 'no' to a friend?" he asked, and Sam joined him in laughter.
"G'night, Dad," Sam said, slipping towards the office door. "Get some rest."
"G'night, Son. I will, I promise!"
When the door was closed and MacGyver was alone in his office, he picked up a picture frame on the corner of his desk. The faded snapshot, crumpled and stained from the adventure it had survived, showed MacGyver and Pete grinning like fools as they dragged each other out of a smoking building. Flipping the picture over, he pushed back the clasps that held the back on, and shook out a tiny silver key. Once the picture was returned to its place of honor, Mac slid the key into the lock on the file drawer under his desk and withdrew a manilla folder. There was a phone number written on a scrap of paper taped to the inside of the folder, and Mac stared at it for a while. "If you don't ask, the answer is automatically 'no'," he reminded himself as he picked up the handset of his desk phone, hit the 'secure scramble' button, then dialed the number.
"I am unable to answer at the moment. Please leave a message, and I will return your call…maybe," a pleasant, exotically accented recorded voice said before the beep.
Mac took a short breath. "Hey… It's me, Mac. Listen; I know you're busy, but would you have time to grab a cup of tea with me soon? I just got back from the Field, and I need to talk to you. I… I ran into some mutual friends recently, and just wanted to… Listen, I know what you told me, and I respect that, but… Give me a call when you can, okay, Zee?"
Hanging up the phone, MacGyver put the folder away, relocked the drawer, and replaced the key. Deciding which of his bags he wanted to carry back home with him, he arranged everything else against the wall where it was out of the way. He had just flipped off the lights and reached for the doorknob when the phone on his desk rang.