Currently

MacGyver opened his eyes. He almost moved, but the memory of the pain from earlier stopped him. He tried moving his right arm, but it hurt from fingers to shoulder. Convinced that not moving was less painful, he grew still, taking shallow breaths to keep his back from hurting too much.

"Hey. Hey," MacGyver heard Mathilda say, and he felt her body heat next to him.

"Hey," he whispered.

She appeared on his left with a piece of her dress in her hand. She gently wiped it across his brow. "This gash on your forehead keeps bleeding. It's the little wound that could, I guess."

That earned her a slight smile.

"How long have we been here?" he asked. He was still careful to keep his voice close to a whisper.

"An hour, maybe. There's no way to really tell."

"Have you heard anyone? Any sounds of rescuers?"

"Not yet. How are you feeling?"

"Like a bomb exploding threw me like a doll, I have something impaled in my back, and I think my right foot and right arm may be broken."

She looked down. "Your foot is under a piece of cement that's too heavy for me to move. It may be broken. And your right arm is bruised from fingers to just past your elbow. When I was feeling it easier, I didn't feel any bones, but I put a splint on it."

"You made a splint?"

"Some rolled file folders and piece of my dress. It was all I had. Guess your invention vibe rubbed off on me tonight."

He smiled a little.

"Before you passed out, you said list. So, I assumed you wanted me to get an inventory of what we have at your disposal."

"I don't remember saying that. But have you tried your cell phone? This office was close to an outer wall."

"I can't find my phone. It was in my hand, but…" She offered a slight shrug.

"What about mine?"

"Where is it?"

"Left jacket pocket."

She patted his left jack pocket and retrieved his phone, but her thread of hope quickly dissipated. She showed him the smashed phone, cracked screen, and back cover.

"Try turning it on," he said. "It may last for at least one 911 call."

She tried, but the phone didn't light up. She shook her head. "Your phone is too broken."

"List it is," MacGyver said. "What did you find?"

She picked up a notepad from nearby. MacGyver noticed that the notepad was shaking. He reached out, laying his hand on her wrist. She looked at him.

"We'll get through this, Matty."

"It's not that."

"No?"

She shook her head.

"What is it?"

Her hands and the notepad sank to her lap. He was surprised to see a couple tears slide down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Mac," Mathilda whispered.

"For what?"

"For… For not listening. For tripping the bomb. For… For fighting you about getting under the desk." She looked at the desk. She sighed, hunching over a moment. Then, she angrily wiped her tears away. "You punched me."

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"I kind of deserved it."

He smiled. "Maybe a little. What's on the list?"

She cleared her throat and began reading her inventory list. By the time she was done, his head was spinning. His headache had moved behind his eyes, stabbing him like a legion of Romans with spears.

"Not much to work with here," she said.

He tried to talk, but his words came out jumbled.

"Mac?" she said. He heard the worry in her voice.

He closed his eyes against the nauseating swirling world. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and it felt she'd lit his skin on fire. He muttered something he couldn't understand.

"What? What about your mom, Angus?"

He felt himself sinking and couldn't stop it. He heard her move away, and it sounded like stones were being tossed. Suddenly there was a loud groan, and he heard her let out a surprised scream. Silence followed as his conscience slipped away.