Pete blinked and tried to clear his vision. Where am I? He put a hand to his temple and groaned as it all came back to him. "Murdoc," he whispered under his breath. He scanned the room and almost sighed in relief when he saw MacGyver alive and breathing just across the room. "MacGyver!"

Pete hurried to MacGyver's side and knelt, shaking his shoulders gently. "Mac, are you okay?"

MacGyver roused from sleep with a low moan. "Pete, I'm fine. I was sleeping," he replied, crabbily.

"How can you be fine? Murdoc kidnapped you right from the hospital—gunshot wound and all, and now he has both of us."

"Pete, it's not what you think—" MacGyver started. He pushed himself to an upright position and clutched his head in his hands.

"MacGyver, what's wrong? Talk to me!" Pete exclaimed, with a frown creasing his face.

Murdoc appeared from the other room, and Pete stood in front of MacGyver with his hands out in a defensive position. "Murdoc, I don't know what you want, but you're going to deal with me. Keep MacGyver out of it," Pete said, standing his ground.

"Get out of the way, Pete." Murdoc said, showing him the glass of water. "I'm not going to hurt him."

MacGyver still held his head in his hands. He peeked out and added softly, "It's okay, Pete."

"No, it's not okay." His face was getting red, and he stared at Murdoc without budging.

"He's on our side, Pete."

"What?!" Pete exclaimed, turning to face his hurting friend.

Murdoc took the opportunity to give the glass to MacGyver who received it gratefully with a half-smile. He tilted back his head and let the cool water cascade down his dry throat. After drinking his fill, he pressed the glass to his forehead and enjoyed the coolness of the condensation. "Thanks." He returned the glass to Murdoc. "Can you give me a hand, Pete? I need to lie down."

"Yeah, sure," Pete answered, hesitantly. He guided MacGyver down to the cot and fluffed the pillow under his head. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah, Pete." He closed his eyes.

"Mac, what are we doing here?"

Before MacGyver could respond, Murdoc returned with his backpack in tow. "Do you mind, Pete?" Pete stood aside without a word. He watched as Murdoc unbuttoned MacGyver's shirt and undid the bandage. "Your stitches look fine. They're all still intact. How's your head?"

"It hurts," MacGyver replied, closing his eyes again.

"It's probably the concussion acting up. I read something in the pamphlet about that." He checked his forehead. "The fever hasn't returned either. I'll check your vitals then let you get some rest. You'll need it. It won't take Dmitry much longer to figure everything out and locate us." Murdoc went through the motions with the tools he had come to know so well in just a few days' time. He checked blood pressure, pulse, and respirations.

"How am I?" MacGyver asked, following Murdoc across the room with his eyes.

"Not bad." He picked up a shirt and ripped a shred of it off. He tossed it to MacGyver. "Here. Maybe this will help with your sensitivity." As MacGyver placed the material over top of his eyes, Murdoc added, "If you'll keep an eye out, Pete. I'd like to regain some much-needed sleep for myself."

Pete watched as Murdoc disappeared and then whispered, "What's going on, MacGyver?"

"You don't have to whisper, Pete."

"But Murdoc will hear us."

"He saved my life, Pete."

"He did what?!"