Authors Note: Here's the 5th chapter. I apoligize for taking so long. Only one more chapter after this. I already have it written up so I shall be posting it soon. Thanks to Nedy Rahn and Cort 85 for their reviews.

Disclaimer: I do not own and am not making money off this, unless you count pleasure as money.

Jack breathed out deeply. The Sheriff had finally left, and taken Jacobs with him. Jacobs. That was the only other bit of information they had managed to get out of the man. He and Jack had told the Sheriff about the fire incident and he had decided to send a man to keep watch over the house, at least for tonight. Jack looked around him. The house was quiet now. His mother had gone to bed and Dalton, who had decided to spend the night, was in the kitchen fixing himself a snack. Jack walked into the kitchen.

His friend turned to look at him and for a second something, not quite fear, more like caution, flickered in his eyes.

"Jack, what's wrong?" Jack asked. He took a step forward.

Dalton took a step back. His face had grown serious, an emotion that was not often seen on his face. "Who are you and where's my friend?" He demanded.

"O for crying out loud!" Jack thought. Out loud he asked, "What do you mean?" He tried to play innocent.

"First you pick that lock, then your hand heals, then you start talking to yourself. And since when did you learn how to make traps like that? And the whole time you were making the trap you weren't acting like yourself."

Jack sighed. There was no way he was going to get away with this. "You're right. That wasn't me. It was MacGyver."

"Are you saying you're schizo?"

"No. I… I got shot today," Jack blurted.

"You got what?" Dalton cried, surprised at the sudden change of conversation and what Jack had just said.

"I was shot. I didn't get knocked in the head this morning. They shot me. I thought I was going to die. I fainted and woke up perfectly fine." Jack paused to see how his friend took this.

"So you suddenly can't stay hurt; that doesn't mean you have to start acting strange. And who's MacGyver?"

Jack closed his eyes and made a face. There was no way Dalton was going to believe him. "He's an alien."

Dalton just stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and wonder on his face.

"He, uh, shares my body. His old host was the man that was murdered today."

Dalton still didn't reply. Jack was beginning to think he should have made something up.

"I could talk to him."

Jack agreed, and for once, actually felt relieved when MacGyver took control.

Jack Dalton watched as his friend's head bowed. A light flashed from his eyes. Jack jumped back fearfully crying out. "Jack?" he questioned.

"What was that?" Jack asked.

"I thought it might drive the point in more."

MacGyver shook his head. "The name's MacGyver. What Jack was telling you was true."

If possible Dalton's eyes grew even wider and he took another step back. "You're an alien?" It looked like Jack. It sounded like Jack, and yet its eyes flashed and it claimed it wasn't Jack.

"Yeah, though I've lived on earth longer than most anybody living," MacGyver answered.

Jack Dalton tilted his head sideways. "So you're not the destroy-the-world-type alien?"

MacGyver smiled, "Not really."

"Is there any more of you?"

"Yes, but they don't live on earth."

"Then what are you doing here?"

MacGyver shrugged, "Earth's a pretty planet."

The caution by this time had disappeared from Jack's eyes and was replaced by the usual spark of mischief. "So, any other cool things you can do, MacGyver?"

MacGyver shook his head and grinned, "Nah, that's about it. By the way, my friends call me Mac."

"Hey, Mac Jack. They rhyme!"

Jack groaned. "You wouldn't be that happy if it was you he was burrowed into." MacGyver could tell his annoyance, however, was more playful than anything else.

"He's taking this well."

"Jack takes most things better than most people."

If Jack had been in control of his body he would have begun fidgeting. As he wasn't, he called out MacGyver's name. MacGyver instantly realized what Jack wanted and released his hold.

Dalton started slightly as another change took place, more subtle then the first. "Jack?" he asked again.

"Yep its me. Boy that feels better."

"What's it like?"

"Weird." Jack closed his eyes, suddenly feeling tired.

Jack Dalton noticed his friend's fatigue. "Hey, you just go on and get some sleep. You've had a more exciting day than I have."

Jack nodded, then gave Dalton a hard stare, "Do me a big favor. Don't tell anyone about this."

"Sure thing, Jack. What are friends for?"

Jack crawled into bed, tired and exhausted. Still he didn't want to go to sleep. He wanted to be awake, so that he would hear the slightest noise that would signify Ryan's return. He knew the Sheriff had sent a man to keep watch, but Jack wasn't all that confident Ryan couldn't slip by him. He didn't want to leave himself, Jack, or his mother vulnerable.

"Go ahead and sleep. I'll keep watch. I don't really need that much sleep anyway."

Jack felt a soothing touch, urging him to sleep. Earlier that day he would have fought against it, not trusting enough to put his life or his mother's in somebody else's hands, but now he just closed his eyes and gave in to the need to sleep.

Jack had dreams that night. They were happy, at first. Him as a child playing with friends, friends he had never seen before, and yet knew. The dream changed and he was holding a wriggling puppy in his arms, looking up at a dark-haired woman. "Mom, can I keep him please?" he begged.

She smiled down at him, "Do you promise to take care of it?"

"Yes."

"Then you may have it."

"Thanks, Mom!" He hugged her as well as he could while holding the puppy.

Then the dream darkened. He was sobbing, holding the lifeless form of the dog by the side of a road. Again the scene changed. He was running for his life. They were closing in on him. He darted into a small store and began grabbing things off the shelf in a desperate attempt to save himself. A shot sounded.

Jack sat up in bed breathing hard. The dreams still clung to him and he knew without asking that they were MacGyver's memories of Frank. "Mac, are you okay?"

"Fine, its just…" MacGyver sighed. "He was too young. That shouldn't have happened."

Jack again could feel MacGyver's sorrow. He tried to be comforting, to bring up a happy memory of his own, but his mind turned to the stormy night his father and grandmother had died. He had never really gotten over it. He had allowed himself to grieve once. His grandfather Harry had encouraged it, saying it would help. It had helped. It had given him just enough strength to keep his sorrow bottled in, and to be strong for his mother. But now the memory was resurfacing, mingled with the memories of Frank. Together, MacGyver and Jack grieved.

Jack opened his eyes, "MacGyver?" he called out tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Shoot! Your real." He had thought it might have been just a dream.

"Sorry." Jack had the feeling MacGyver was smiling.

"No you're not," he grumbled, before getting out of bed. Quickly he threw on some clothes, then clattered down the stairs.

When Jack walked into the kitchen, his mother was already there fixing breakfast, and much to his surprise, Jack Dalton was sitting at the kitchen table. "You're up early," Jack pointed out, sitting down across from him. Dalton rarely got up early, and never before Jack.

Dalton just shrugged, "Couldn't sleep."

"Ah," Jack looked over at his mother, then back to Dalton. Dalton put a finger to his lips with one hand and crossed his heart with the other, signifying that he hadn't told. Jack nodded.

Breakfast was eaten in relative silence. Jack carried his plate to the sink. "Is there a man still watching the house?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe so," Ellen answered.

"Then I'm going to drop by the Sheriff's office." Since Ryan was after him, it should be safe to leave his mother in the house.

"We need to get the evidence."

"Yeah that part's going to be tricky."

Then suddenly a brilliant idea came to him. "Can I take the car?"

"Why do you want to?" His mom asked. Usually Jack preferred to walk.

"I just thought it'd be safer." Jack inwardly cringed. He hated to play off his mother's worry, but if he was going to get the evidence he would need the car.

"Of course," Ellen agreed immediately. "You know where the keys are." She paused before giving him a warning glance, "And don't wreck."

"Yes Ma'am." He gave her a mock salute.

Jack Dalton stood up. "I'll go with you."

"Okay," Jack nodded. He was sure his friend was bursting with curiosity, and that there was no way he would be able to leave him behind.

He was right. As soon as they got in the car Jack Dalton started, "Is it still there?"

"He, not it," Jack corrected. "And yes, the worm is still there."

As soon as he spoke the word worm he felt a slight pain at the back of his neck, as if someone had pinched him. "Tok'ra. I am not a worm."

"Tok'ra, right," Jack muttered.

"What?" Dalton asked.

"His race is called Tok'ra," Jack smirked. "Apparently, he doesn't like being called a worm."

Jack reached to turn the key and start the car.

"Do you want me to drive?" The image of him backing into the fire hydrant popped up.

"No," Jack snorted.

"So when do I get to speak to him again?" Dalton asked.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You don't like talking to me anymore?"

Dalton grinned, "Yep, you're boring."

Jack reached over to smack him.

When they reached the police station they found Sheriff Roberts standing grimly by the door.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, sensing something was amiss.

"Did that Jacobs fellow escape?" Dalton jumped to the conclusion.

Roberts slowly shook his head, "No, he didn't escape. He was killed."