I punched in the familiar number and held the phone to my ear. "Come on, Pete. Pick up, pick up, pick up." I tapped the top of the payphone anxiously as the slow rings continued to buzz. I glanced behind through the busy airport until I found the clock, estimating the time until my plane back home was due.

The answering machine kicked in. I slammed the phone back on the hook as the first class for my plane was being called.

I joined the group, receiving looks from business men in clean, pressed suits for my dusty and ripped shirt, since I had used my time getting the quickest flight instead of cleaning up. I managed to snag the last seat available.

I located that seat by the window, immediately closing it to block the view, not wanting to add the troubles of heights into my situation. I shut my eyes, mentally urging the other passengers to board quickly.

I heard someone plop into the seat next to me. "Open that window."

Oh no. The voice belonged to someone I really didn't want to deal with again...well, one of the someones. I opened my eyes and turned my head to see that the man sitting next to me was the same person who made the flight to Australia such an unpleasant ride.

When I made no move to abide his wish, he looked back at me and did a double take. "You again?" he took in my tattered appearance. "What are you doing up here in first class?"

I really didn't have the patience to deal with him. In response to his question I closed my eyes again and answered simply, "Flying."

The man scoffed. "I don't have time to deal with this again. Just open the window."

I ignored him, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Honestly, the people I have to deal with these days. Nothing but smart alecs who have no respect. You live your easy lives and just ride through, but some of us have to work!" His face twisted with disgust.

My eyes snapped open as I turned to face him. "Easy life? Do you have any idea what I have been through in the last twenty-four hours?"

The man opened his mouth to reply, but in my state of anger, I cut him off before he could speak a word. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you, because according to you, I'm just someone who goofs off and has never had a rough time. Well, let me tell you, it's a plane ride late but I frankly don't care. I'm sick of your complaining that nothing goes your way. I just went into the middle of the desert and almost got killed multiple times because nothing went how I had planned it, but you don't hear me complain, because I did it for a friend; for someone besides myself! You may want to try it some time."

The man stared at me, surprised at my outburst. He blinked a few times and swallowed. "Uh...You...you can keep the window closed."

"Thank you for your consideration," I said briskly and with a tint of sarcasm. I knew in a while I'd feel bad about venting all that I'd been through on this guy, but right now, it just felt good. I leaned back and closed my eyes again, letting myself cool off.

I could feel the man beside me staring at me and I halfway wished there was a curtain I could pull down between the two of us.

I felt a considerable urge to hit something. I guess being sleep deprived, hungry, cold, afraid for your friend's life, and all around grumpy will do that to you.

I opened my eyes and glanced at the man sitting next to me. His round, shocked eyes were still glued on me, pulling a heavy sigh from my lungs.

"My name's MacGyver. Sorry for snapping at you, but I've had a tough couple of days."

"Williams." He held out his hand and when he turned back to look ahead, I heard him whisper quietly, but audibly, "And I noticed..."

I felt a smile slip up despite my mood, but I quickly schooled it and tried to make conversation. "Strange that we ended up on the same flights twice."

"Yeah, well, I fly a lot between Los Angeles and Perth. Normally first class." I heard a hint of bitterness in his tone.

I grasped at the conversation, attempting to distract myself. Worrying about Pete wasn't making the flight go any faster. "What do you have against coach?"

"It's... well..." He looked to be doing some fast thinking. "It's stuffy. I don't like it."

"Oh." I nodded before turning to the window and letting a grin take over. This man had the funniest notions when he wasn't being rude and frustrating.

I could feel Williams glaring at the back of my head. "Look, Mr. MacGyver, I have money and I like to use it. I own a business that spans both Australia and the U.S.A., and I think people ought to know it."

"Mr. Williams, I work for the government. I don't have family and I don't use a lot of money. But I have friends, good friends that I'd risk my own skin for, and I'm sure they'd do the same for me." I paused and carefully drained every drop of strong emotion I could from my voice. I wanted to help him, not make him angry. "Which would you rather have?"

Before he could respond, I stood and walked to the back of the plane to use the restroom, leaving him time to digest my words without feeling a need to react quickly. When I returned to my seat, he didn't say anything or even look at me. Oh well. At least he had heard it now.

I closed my eyes and found, to my surprise-at least, it would have been surprise if I was awake enough to feel it-that I drifted off easily.

When the wheels touched down on the runway, I jerked back awake, instantly ready to get off of the plane. As soon as the Fasten Seat Belts sign flashed off, I unbuckled my seat and stood, waiting for Williams to get up and race down the aisle in a repeat performance. To my surprise, however, he got up slowly and turned to me, holding out his hand in an invitation for a handshake.

I grinned and took his hand in response. Apparently what I had said did make him think.

He stepped back and motioned for me to go out in the aisle in front of him. I smiled and nodded my head gratefully as I grabbed my pack, which I had decided to bring with me on the plane so I could leave quickly, and headed out. When I reached the security guards on the outside of the plane, I pulled out my Phoenix Foundation card to show for quick identification and jogged over to a pay phone to try Pete's house one last time. It was four in the morning, but I disregarded the fact and punched in the numbers.

Still no answer. I bit my lip and thought for a moment. No one would be at the Phoenix Foundation and I had no way to contact Pete's only family, his son. The next best step would be to head to Pete's house and see what I could find.

I walked out to the parking garage where I had left my jeep, climbed in, and deftly drove myself to Pete's. When I reached his house, his car was parked in the driveway. A part of me wanted to take this as good news: I'd walk in and find Pete sitting on his couch, reading the paper with nothing but a few sniffles and an out of order phone.

I approached his door and turned the handle. To my surprise, it opened easily, as if someone was at home... or had left in a hurry.

When I stepped inside, a light was flashing on the message machine. I absentmindedly pressed the button as I glanced around the front room, the avalanche of tissues by the couch telling me exactly where Pete had spent his time. I moved closer as Michael's voice started speaking and was cut off abruptly. Directly after that, Helen's message started playing. "Hi, Pete, it's Helen..." Her voice grew panicked, and as her concern escalated, so did mine.

As Helen's flustered voice played in the background, I focused on the coffee table. Instead of the parallel line from the couch it usually was positioned at, it had been bumped to angle away from the sofa, as if it had been hit...hard. As if someone had collapsed against it.

"Pete." I whispered to myself as I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. The message ended with no indication that Pete had answered. Helen must have come and found him on the floor.

My fingers twitched to do something helpful, but I couldn't do anything until I figured out where Pete was.

Logically, Helen would take him to a hospital. But which one? I opened my eyes and took two long steps to the phone. After scanning a list of numbers, I found a few reasonably close hospitals and called the first one, asking for a patient named Peter Thornton.

I located him at the third hospital I called and thankfully I already knew where to find it. Dashing out of the house, I leaped back into my Jeep, and because of the early hour, I was able to arrive at the hospital quickly.

I parked in the lot and dug through my pack, which had been deposited in the passenger seat. Wrapped up and protected in a shirt was the antidote...that was if Murdoc had been telling the truth. I bit my lip and rubbed my forehead with my knuckles. If this didn't work…

No. I shook my head firmly. I didn't have time for this. Pete needed me. Now.

I grabbed the vial and marched through the doors. The lady at the desk looked up from a crossword puzzle and gave me a quick scan, searching for the reason I would be at the hospital at this hour. "May I help you?"

"Um, yeah, can I have Pete Thornton's room number?"

"Are you family?" She questioned.

"No, but I'm a close friend and-"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that's a breach of patient security. If you come back later in the morning, maybe-"

"No, this is not just a visit! He's been poisoned and I have the cure!"

"I assure you, sir, we are very up-to-date here with our medicines. The doctors know what he needs. Now, I can give you his room phone number and you can call him later..." She typed on the computer.

"Listen, the only number I need is his room number." She continued to peck at the keyboard. I placed my elbows on the counter and put my head in my hands, raking my fingers through my hair. I looked back up. "I don't have time for this. I know what he needs." Shoving off the counter, I stepped back.

I glanced toward the door. Rubbing my jaw, I turned back to face the desk, pausing when I saw the mirror behind the counter.

My eyes flickered to the girl who had assumed I had given up and had gone back to her puzzle. I took a few steps to the side. In the reflection of the glass I could see the computer screen. Scanning the list, I deciphered the backwards spelling of Thornton, Peter and my target: Room 23.

Without hesitation I took off down the hall, ignoring the surprised call of the woman at the desk. Room 9. Room 11. Room 13. As the numbers grew, so did my stride until I was jogging down the corridor. Room 19. Room 21. I turned the corner. Room 23.

My heart thudded as I pushed down the handle and swung open the door, half afraid of what I might find.

The florescent light in the room hummed softly, the sound quiet in comparison to the flurry of present activity. The doctor and a few nurses stood around a bed covered with white linens, hiding the person I had been wanting to see. On my entry, the doctor looked up from his intense conversation with the nurses.

"Excuse me, sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. My patient here is very ill and-"

"I'm a friend. He's been poisoned, hasn't he." I didn't ask it, I said it, as much to see if they had been able to discern what was wrong with Pete as hoping he wasn't very sick after all.

"I'm sorry, I can't give you that-"

"For crying out loud! I have the antidote here, and if you'll just drop your obsession with procedure for one minute, Pete will be alright!"

All the nurses and the doctor stared at me in shock, and with none of them any longer bending over Pete, I caught my first glimpse of my long-time friend.

His face was a pasty white and moisture coated his forehead in a dull sheen, the ghostly light from the fixture overhead making him look even paler. Ragged breathing cut through the silence, sometimes synchronized, sometimes not, with the heart monitor that beeped spasmodically and without rhythm.

"You have the cure?" the doctor asked, looking at me with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. That was one way of getting an answer, I suppose.

"Yes, right here." I carefully held out the small tube, handing it to him.

"Miss Stevens, please take this to the lab and have it analyzed." The doctor handed it to a woman wearing a blue surgical mask that covered her features.

"But doctor, if he doesn't-"

He threw her a look and a movement behind the mask indicated that her mouth had closed.

She moved to the door that had closed automatically behind me, but I grabbed her arm before she could take hold of the knob. "You know there's not enough time for that! Just look at him!"

"Please, let go of me."

"Let her go!" the doctor barked, grabbing my arm and jerking my hand off of her. The sudden movement jarred the young woman's arm, causing her to drop the small glass vial. Before I could think, I was reaching down and grabbing desperately for it, hoping it wouldn't shatter on the ground. My hand met with the glass, but instead of catching it, the movement threw it to the side and toward the door. At that moment, the door opened and in stepped Michael. The vial bounced harmlessly against the cloth of his pants and rolled softly to the floor. Before anyone could make another move, I scooped it up.

"Look, this is his only hope! You know it and I know it!"

"It's a danger to the patient! When someone is poisoned, antidotes can also be suspect, especially when presented by a frantic stranger!" The doctor glared at me.

"Doctor, that's my dad, and MacGyver would never do anything to harm him!"

The doctor was silent for a moment as he thought and I saw him glance between Michael and Pete. My own eyes flickered back and forth from the doctor and my friend lying on the bed, breathing raggedly. I fought the urge to just shove the doctor out of the way and give Pete the antidote myself.

Suddenly the machines went wild, the sporadic beep coming much faster, matching the pace of Pete's racing heart. The nurses immediately snapped into action, calling out several different readings while they tested him, attempting to find what was wrong and to reverse it.

I felt my own heart race as I glanced over at Michael. His face held nothing but fear for Pete, his eyes wide as he watched the nurses bustle around his father. I clenched my jaw. Michael would not lose him just because of some rule abiding doctor.

I roughly grabbed the doctor's shoulder and turned him toward me. My abrupt approach made him retreat a step and his back hit the wall. "Listen!" My hand was still gripping the man's coat and my voice was just under a yell. "You're a doctor; it's your job to help people! Now, this boy's father, and my best friend, is lying there dying because you aren't doing your job! I have gone through too much to get this medicine for him for you to just stand there and refuse to use it! Now, are you going to save him or not?"

The doctor blinked bewilderedly at me. He nodded and I released my grip, though I still stood in front of him. I held up the vial in my fingertips and held it up between us. I stepped back as he took it, straightening his coat collar and calling the nurse.

"Put this in his IV." The nurse nodded slowly, pulling out a syringe to withdraw the contents of the vial and gently injected the liquid into the bag.

Michael and I stood watching, hoping that there would be some positive effect. 10 seconds... 20 seconds... 30 seconds... I was growing worried now. What if Murdoc hadn't even had the antidote? If he didn't, what was this?

I bit my lip. A minute passed. Then gradually, so gradually, in fact, that I wasn't sure the difference was really there, the beeping slowed, evening out as it did so.

The breath I hadn't realized I was holding came out in a rush, and I turned to Michael and hugged him tightly. "He's going to be okay, Michael... He'll be alright."