Pete groaned as he rolled over on the couch, the TV blaring obnoxiously in the background.

His stomach hurt and he had a headache, chills, plus a racking cough that stirred up from time to time. He was unable to focus on the image projected by the TV and the noise hurt his head, but the remote was on the coffee table on the other side of the room, and he just didn't have the energy to get up and turn it off.

The pain in his stomach increased and an adrenaline rush drew him to his feet as he rushed to the kitchen and emptied his stomach into the sink.

Pete groaned again, returning to the couch and snaring the remote as he did so, pressing the mute button. He had just closed his eyes, hoping sleep would bring relief from his discomfort, when the phone rang.

'I just got settled in, and getting up takes too much energy.' He debated against the phone's ring and won, ignoring it until the answering machine kicked in.

"Hey, Dad, this is Michael, I was just calling to see if you were doing anything this weekend-" Pete stood and ambled clumsily over to the phone.

"Hey, Michael."

"Hi, Dad, how has your week been so far?"

Pete coughed spasmodically into his sleeve, angling the phone away from his face. "Good. How have you been?"

"Doing alright. Are you sure you're okay? You sound a little funny."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Pete wiped his watering eyes.

"Alright, well, I was wondering if you want to do something this weekend. Maybe go bowling?"

Pete glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was Friday. "Um... Maybe not this week. I have..." He couldn't say work, that lie would do more harm than good. "I've been sick, I wouldn't want you to catch what I had." He used past tense in an attempt to distract from the fact that he was still sick. 'Stubbornness can do funny things to a man.' Pete gave a false cough into the phone for effect.

"Wow. You? Actually sick? What killer germs got past your force field?" Pete smiled. Past his son's joking words he could hear the slight concern in his tone.

"Oh, it's nothing, just a bit of a flu bug. I should be back to one hundred percent in no time. Although you'll wish I'd still be sick because I'm going to cream you in bowling."

"Yeah, right, old man." Michael laughed. "Next Friday?"

"I'll be there."

Pete hung up the phone and collapsed back onto the couch. Trying to sound energetic took too much energy. He closed his eyes, feeling like someone was already bowling a strike inside his head.

Suddenly, the phone rang for a second time. Pete was prepared to just tune it out when the fax machine began humming.

Pete fought with himself for a moment, comparing sleep to work, before sitting up and stumbling over to the fax. He snatched the paper before it fell to the floor, but as he started to read it, he started to sink slowly to the ground. He caught himself and stepped backwards onto the couch, taking a deep breath before finishing the message.

G'day Peter. I would say I wish you were here, but that wouldn't be very honest, would it? Though, I do know a mutual friend of ours that wouldn't mind your company. I believe you know that MacGyver is currently enjoying a trip to Australia.

I've been with H.I.T. for such a long time, and as you know, they seem to want more... closure in MacGyver's case. It has been a mystery how he has managed to escape me time and time again.

But I have come to a conclusion. The reason for MacGyver's victories- and my defeats: A variable. Something that gives him a helping hand; a ledge to stand on. No longer. By removing you, Peter Thornton from the picture, I have removed the variable.

I do hate to sound so immodest, but sometimes I surprise even myself with my ingenious plans. I realize that once I am rid of MacGyver, I would only have you to deal with afterwards. So, I have decided to kill two birds with one stone, as some may say. I realize that MacGyver is your variable, just as you are MacGyver's. It's hard to protect each other when you have the entire world in between you. Say your prayers, Pete. For you and MacGyver.

Pete stared blankly at the page. The numbness that spread through him made him forget his pounding head and turning stomach. He lowered the letter as another fax came.

Unable to move, Pete let the second fax fall, watching it float to the floor where it landed at his feet. A picture of MacGyver, flinching back with a pained expression caused by a thick, blue spark striking the tip of his finger.

Pete balled up his fists, crumbling the page in his hand. Murdoc. Heat rushed through him as he jerked up into a standing position, but the anger couldn't hide the dizziness that came over him.

He fell back onto the couch. The pain in his stomach was too much to bear and a buzzing sound in his ears drowned out any other noise. Spots filled his vision, merging together to make the room fade to black.

The phone rang for a third time, the sound echoing through the quiet room. "Hi, Pete, it's Helen. Just called to check up on you and see how you're doing...I know you don't feel like talking right now, but it would soothe my mind since you're there by yourself. Will you get up off that couch and pick up? Pete? ...Pete, are you there? ...Are you alright? Pete?"

Helen turned flustered. "Peter, if you do not answer this phone right now, I am coming over!..." Her voice faded out as she turned away from the phone. "Margaret! Margaret, Pete's not answering his phone. Run the desk while I'm gone, I'm going over there." She talked back into the phone, concern taking over. "Hang in there, Pete, I'll be there in ten minutes!"

As Helen walked quickly-at least as quickly as she could walk in her high heels-to her car, her imagination actively drew worst-case scenarios of Pete almost visibly in her mind.

Pete would have at least picked up the phone if he was well enough, and the fact that he hadn't worried her.

"Oh, I knew I should have watched him more carefully," she scolded herself as she turned the wheel of her car. "I should have driven him home at the very least."

Helen pushed the speed limit as much as she dared, pulling into Pete's driveway in less than ten minutes. She didn't bother to knock as she opened the door, walking straight into Pete's living room where he lay on the floor, unconscious.

"Pete!"