AN: This episode is dedicated to Gib and helloyesimhere, for reasons that will hopefully become clear to them!
SOMEWHERE NEAR-ISH TAHOE
(CALIFORNIA SIDE)
(JUST)
As James MacGyver drove his own Jeep up the winding road through the forest, Mac's eyes widened in realization as he finally worked out exactly where he and his dad were going on their fishing trip, and he turned to the older man, who spoke before he could.
'Took you long enough, Angus.'
He managed to make it sound more like teasing, rather than a condescending statement.
Mac shook his head and spoke using that same teasing tone.
'I was four last time we came here.'
It'd been just before his mom got sick. Just before Walsh poisoned her, doomed her.
That five-day long weekend was still one of Mac's very favourite memories. At four, the memories were patchy, a little blurry, but they were utterly, totally, cherished, as were the even blurrier memories from even earlier trips here.
They reached the end of the road. It didn't lead up to the cabin, and there was no driveway to speak of, so they had to hike the rest of the way. Father and son each grabbed their pack from the back of the car, as well as their fishing gear, and started walking in reasonably companionable silence.
About halfway up to the cabin, Mac paused, and following one of those old, old memories, started down a barely-there path, almost pushing through the undergrowth until he reached a clearing in the forest, right by the edge of the lake.
The view was just as breath-taking as he remembered.
He smiled, soft and reminiscent and a little sad and wistful, dropping his gear to the ground without even thinking about it, backing up a touch and sitting at the foot of a huge tree (it was so old and so large, it was exactly as he remembered it, even if it'd been nearly twenty-four years and he was much bigger now), staring out at the water.
SAME PLACE
DIFFERENT TIME
(A VERY DIFFERENT TIME)
'Wow…' Three-year-old Mac stared wide-eyed, letting go of his mom's hand as he stepped forward to take in the view better. 'You can see really, really, really far!'
Ellen MacGyver smiled, reaching out to ruffle her son's hair a little, before rearranging it carefully back to exactly how he liked it.
Only three years old and a little bit pedantic, in the way that his dad so often was.
(Other kids might say you could see forever. Gus wouldn't, because it, A, didn't refer to space, it referred to time, which was just plain wrong, and B, even if forever was taken to refer to space, it wasn't true.)
She sat down on a root under the big, old tree a few feet back, and after a couple of seconds of just staring across the water, eyes bright, Mac walked over and settled himself by her side.
'This is a very special place, Gus. And not just because it's so beautiful. Do you want to know why?' Her son nodded eagerly. Ellen smiled indulgently. He simply loved knowing things, had curiosity and a love of learning even more boundless than other children, something she hoped he never, ever lost. One could always learn, always should, even when one was old and grey, and it was so much better when you still loved it so. Ellen's soft smile changed a little, grew more reminiscent. 'This is where your daddy asked me to marry him.'
Mac made a face.
'There was kissing, wasn't there?'
His voice and the look on his face very concisely expressed how he felt about such an icky activity.
(He was pretty sure that cooties didn't actually exist…but still, icky.)
Ellen's smile grew mischievous, something bright and a little child-like appearing in her blue eyes, and she leaned over and started pressing little kisses all over her son's hair and forehead and cheeks. He squirmed half-heartedly, making a show of putting up a fight, but cuddled closer to her anyway.
It was this scene that James MacGyver, carrying a tackle box and three fishing rods (two adult-sized, the third a child-sized one that was a gift from his father-in-law for Gus), came upon, and he smiled, genuinely, unguardedly, soft and fond, making eye contact with his wife over their son's head (he was now giggling and squirming as his mom tickled him). They shared a tender, happy look for a moment, before James' smile widened and Ellen stilled her hands on their boy's stomach.
'Ready for your first fishing lesson, Gus?' The little blonde boy nodded eagerly, as his dad crouched down beside him. 'Remember what I told you, about how fishing lures attract a fish's attention?'
Mac nodded, just as eager.
(His daddy surely had to be the cleverest daddy in California, at least. He always had something new to teach him, and he wanted to be just like him when he grew up.)
'Movement, vibration, flash and colour!'
SAME PLACE
PRESENT DAY
Mac was pulled out of his memory by his father's footsteps. He looked up at him, and after a moment of hesitation, James MacGyver sat down under the tree too, a couple of feet away from Mac.
They sat there in silence, a somehow more companionable, comfortable silence than earlier.
Then, James spoke, somehow seemingly knowing which memory Mac's mind had gotten lost in, something wry and yet tender and a touch sad and wistful in his voice. More emotion, softer emotions, than Mac had thought his father capable of for many, many years.
'That was probably the most romantic I could ever manage.'
There was something in his voice, something that Mac swore sounded like he wished he'd done better by her.
(It was, simultaneously, somehow, both incredibly unlikely and so likely it was practically a certainty.)
(Mac had had, over the years, many, many doubts about his father. He still had plenty. But he had no doubt that James MacGyver had loved his mom with all his heart.)
(He was emotionally distant. Jack and Bozer would probably call him emotionally constipated. Everything about him screamed that he didn't do romantic, but Mac didn't doubt that he'd have done his best for his mom.)
Mac was well aware that doing better referred to far more than a marriage proposal.
(God knew his father had made many, many terrible decisions that'd hurt his mother.)
But his grandfather had always said that you had to start somewhere. Start from the beginning. Start small.
He turned to his father, looking him in the eye.
'She really appreciated it. And loved it.'
He'd been only three years old that day, in this spot. But he was as sure of that as he was of the Laws of Thermodynamics, quite suddenly.
He just knew. It was a little illogical, but he just did.
A little flicker of surprise crossed James's face for a moment, before he smiled, just as genuinely as Mac remembered him smiling that day, though smaller and sadder and older now.
'Your mother…she was very special.'
'Yeah.'
They returned to sitting in silence, now truly comfortable, companionable.
Mac smiled a little wider.
His mom would be happy. Proud.
As his dad let them into the simple little cabin, Mac looked around, taking in the familiar little pot-bellied stove, the hand-hewn rafters, even the ancient leather couch.
It looked far too clean, far too well-kept, to have been abandoned for nearly twenty-four years. It couldn't have been even recently cleaned up and restored.
There was a thoroughly modern security system.
No, even if the reasonably regular vacations here had stopped after his mom had passed away (it was their place, the three of them and sometimes his grandfather, and without her…it hurt too much – that was one of the very few things that Mac and his dad had agreed upon), someone had continued to pay regular visits.
He turned to his father, who swallowed and nodded.
'I've come up here from time to time…' He paused, and when he spoke, there was something confessional, honest in his voice. Even if there was still the vague sense of that honesty being like pulling teeth. 'This place was too special to her to let it fall into disrepair.'
Mac also got the sense that as much as it hurt, as much as those memories, that association, hurt, there'd been a sense of comfort in being here. A sense of being as close to Ellen MacGyver as they could be now.
He certainly felt it now.
They ate fresh-caught fish cooked on an open fire.
They went hiking through the woods.
They even made s'mores.
Mac's dad made a distinct and much-appreciated effort to not turn everything into a teaching opportunity. To recognize that he wasn't ten anymore.
He should have known it wouldn't last. That it wouldn't be so simple.
Nothing ever was with his dad, after all.
'Angus, wake up.' In the middle of the night, Mac was pulled from his sleep by his dad's voice, which was all business. James MacGyver was standing over him, far enough away that he wasn't looming (so there was no risk of Mac accidentally attacking him while still half-asleep), his pack slung over his shoulder. 'I have to go.'
Mac, legs still tangled in his blankets, hair messy with sleep, sat up quickly.
'Why? Where?' His dad just raised an eyebrow at him, and Mac rolled his eyes, not bothering to keep the hurt and annoyance out of his voice. 'It's need-to-know and I don't need to know. Of course.'
'Part of the job.' The and you should know that was left unsaid, but obvious in the older man's tone. 'I'm taking the Jeep, you'll need to find your own way home.' He started making his way towards the door, but paused and turned a couple of feet away from it. His voice was a tiny bit softer, a bit more like his dad and less like his boss. 'You've still got thirty-seven hours of leave.' He tossed a couple of keys to Mac, who caught them easily, even in the dark. 'Lock up when you leave.'
And then he was gone.
Mac stared at the door for a while, then at the silver keys in his hand, and then at the kitchenette counter, where the beer bottles and the half-eaten bag of marshmallows from the night before were still sitting.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
Then, he kicked off his blankets and sat up properly, heading over to the pot-bellied stove to start boiling some water for coffee.
There'd be no going back to sleep now.
RANDOM SPOT BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD
(NO, REALLY)
SOMEWHERE NEAR-ISH TAHOE
Mac was standing on the side of the road, a pack on his back and one of his lost-in-his-big-brain-and-not-in-a-good-way looks on his face.
Suppressing a worried sigh, Jack, driving his Shelby Cobra, pulled up beside his partner, forcing a complaining expression to his face.
'Brother, next time you text me for a lift, you gotta pick a better spot! None of this numbers-and-letters stuff, I want something like the Denny's on Main St in some small town, okay?'
Mac didn't return serve. Instead, he just dumped his pack in the back and got into the front passenger seat, buckling himself in.
'Thanks, Jack.'
Jack sighed internally again, not able to prevent his worry from flashing across his face for a moment as he started the engine again.
So it was that bad.
'You wanna talk about it, son?'
'No.'
Mac sounded a bit like a surly teenager again. Clearly, having to grow up too fast had lasting consequences on one's psyche.
Jack deliberately didn't look over at his partner as he looked for a good spot to do a U-turn. Or, more likely, a three-point turn, given how narrow the road was here.
(He was pretty sure that Mac – and his dad – had been further in the woods, up an even smaller road, or somewhere inaccessible by road. Mac looked sweaty and physically exhausted, like he'd hiked a long way, probably deliberately.)
(He was a guy who sometimes physically exhausted himself in an attempt to get around his overly-active brain so he could actually rest and be calm, after all.)
'Well, you always know where to find me, son, if you do.'
Mac managed a weak but completely heartfelt little smile at that, and glanced over at him.
'Thanks.'
He noticed the insulated Bob the Builder lunchbox in the footwell of the front passenger seat, and picked it up, raising an eyebrow at Jack, who just smiled.
'Boze sends his love.' Mac opened the lunchbox, finding that it contained a Reuben sandwich (homemade, with Bozer's incredible pastrami, of course), an orange, an apple and two of Bozer's amazing blondies. He suddenly found he had an appetite again (he'd skipped breakfast, not wanting any), and unwrapped the sandwich and took a large bite. Jack reached out and tapped a button on his phone (as instructed by Riley) to (apparently) push a playlist onto Mac's Spotify. The blonde smiled a little wider around his mouthful of sandwich as it arrived, and then, one-handed, pulled out his headphones to start listening to it.
(Riley probably understood his feelings towards and his relationship with his dad the most, given her own relationship with her father. Though, as much as he hated the fact he felt that way, sometimes, Mac was a little jealous; often, it really did look like Elwood and Riley were doing so much better than him and his dad).
(He pushed those thoughts aside, and focused on the feeling of the wind in his hair, the taste of the sandwich in his mouth, the music that Riley had thoughtfully prepared for him.)
At least his family was always there for him.
BAD GUYS' BASE
SOMEWHERE IN CANADA
(FAR NORTHERN CANADA)
(TEMPERATURE: HOTH-LEVEL)
'This whole ice-base thing was way cooler when the Rebel Alliance did it!'
Mac, Jack and Riley, wearing full snow-gear, pelted through the base of the large-scale weapons smugglers, pursued by a rather angry group of said weapons smugglers.
They'd been sent on an intel-gathering mission. They were not supposed to draw attention to themselves, just get into their servers and surveil.
Supposed to being the operative term.
Nothing ever went to plan.
Mac, who'd been fiddling with something (thank God that Phoenix techs – with a little help from him – had invented a material enabling the production of very warm gloves that didn't terribly hamper one's dexterity) that was partially based on Jack's phone, tossed the device over his shoulder and started running faster, encouraging Jack and Riley to do the same.
A few seconds later, there was a boom and a wave of heat behind them, melting part of the ice tunnel, causing it to collapse and trapping the smugglers.
Jack turned his head to have a quick look, and something impressed flickered across his face, before he returned to grousing.
'And not that that wasn't awesome, brother, but it was way better when it didn't involve blowing up my phone!'
Mac and Riley, on either side of Jack, exchanged a long-suffering glance.
Hey, in my defence, everything's cooler in Star Wars.
SIXTY MILES FROM BAD GUYS' BASE
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
SOMEWHERE IN FAR NORTHERN CANADA
'Uh, Mac, are they supposed to be leaking?'
Jack looked rather concerned as he glanced back at the trail of some kind of liquid over the pristine white snow that their snowmobiles were leaving. (Mac had attached a tarp to their vehicles, so that they'd sweep away most of the furrows that the snowmobiles left behind, but it wasn't doing anything for this oily stuff.) They'd put distance between themselves and the pursuing smugglers, but knew that they had to keep moving.
The leaking didn't bode well.
Shouting over the din of their snowmobiles, Mac replied.
'No!' He looked behind them, and swore internally, cursing himself for not properly and thoroughly checking over the snowmobiles before they'd left the base. They were leaving fuel behind. 'Someone cut the fuel lines!'
He signalled for them to stop, and Jack and Riley did so, gathering around him as he crouched down and examined his snowmobile.
Jack crouched down next to him, a furrow in his brow that wasn't really visible due to his hat and snow goggles.
'If they cut the fuel lines, how'd we get so far, brother?'
Mac, who was holding up said fuel line in his gloved hands, pointed to the jagged-edged split in the line.
'They cut them, then patched them, badly. As we drove, it increased the strain on the patch job, and then it failed.'
Riley crouched down beside the two men, glancing between Mac and the fuel line.
'Can you fix it?'
Mac sighed and shook his head.
'Properly? No. But I can get us another hundred miles or so.'
The three looked at one another, and Riley made an expression of distaste.
'I hate cold missions.'
Mac and Jack just glanced at each other, then back at the hacker, and spoke in unison.
'This hasn't got anything on the Bering Strait Incident.'
'And it's still much warmer here than it was in Siberia. Both times.'
Riley rolled her eyes, then looked very seriously at them. Far too seriously.
'I'm going to get the Bering Strait Incident story out of you two.'
Jack and Mac glanced at each other again, and then the older man spoke.
'Oh, there ain't enough tequila in the world to get that story out of us, Ri.' He paused for a moment, and Riley could hear the smirk-grin in his voice, though she couldn't see most of his face. 'Or maybe vodka would be a more appropriate drink of choice, eh, brother?'
Jack nudged Mac none-too-gently with his elbow.
The blonde just snorted and rolled his eyes (leading to Riley to conclude that vodka was most definitely somehow involved in the Bering Strait Incident), and handed Jack the sat-phone.
'For that, you're calling Matty.'
Jack made a face (at least, Mac was completely certain his partner was making a face at him from behind all the snow gear, anyway).
'Aww, man!'
Mac pointed a finger very firmly at him.
'We swore never, ever to mention the vodka-Bering Strait relationship ever again. You broke it, you have to pay a price.'
Jack huffed and shook his head, but started dialling anyway, as Riley started scheming as to how she (and Bozer) could get the Bering Strait Incident story out of the partners.
(Beth would probably help too, and she was really good at Mac-wrangling.)
They were going to find out one day.
It was just a matter of how long it took.
'…Mac can get us another hundred miles or so, we'll be further than they think…'
They were well aware that the smugglers' search radius would expand once they weren't found, but it'd at least buy them some time.
'And if we head north-west, towards the forest, we'll have more cover. And they won't expect us to head that way.'
Matty's voice was, to them, distinctly concerned when she replied over their sat-phone.
'That's because we can't land an ex-fil jet anywhere within thirty miles of those woods…'
'You can't land one anywhere within a 150 mile radius of here; heading for the woods gives us the best chance of evading our pursuers long enough to hike to ex-fil.'
There'd be no chance of finding another form of transportation here in the middle of nowhere.
Jack and Riley shared a glance, then glanced at the sat-phone, as if looking at their boss. Mac's logic, as always, was sound.
There was quiet for a moment, before Matty replied.
'You've got six hours of daylight left, and there's a minor blizzard forecast for tonight.' Matty's voice would probably sound worried to people who didn't know her as well as they did now, which wasn't surprising. They were in the middle of nowhere, in far northern Canada, in November, being chased by angry bad guys and with no prospect of ex-fil for at least, Mac estimated, eighteen hours. 'Keep me posted.'
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
Bozer hung up and pocketed his phone, having just been briefed by Matty. He turned to the prosthesis he was preparing for May (the Edwards team were wheels up in five hours for the Philippines) and addressed it, picking up his paintbrush to keep working, putting effort into grinning and keeping his tone light.
'Someone's gotta keep the home fires burning, right?'
The worst thing, he'd quickly realized, about not going into the field with his BFF and Jack and Riley was the worry.
That constant, low-level (most of the time) fear in the back of his mind that they might not come home in one piece (or close enough to one piece that the docs could put them back together again).
Right now, Mac and Jack and Riley were facing hypothermia, frostbite, falling down crevasses and potential bear attacks, plus vengeful and heavily armed baddies.
His worry level was higher than low.
Much higher.
Bozer sighed, shook his head a little and took a deep breath, trying to make himself focus. On the other side of the lab, Jill looked up from where she was prepping some field forensics kits for the Edwards team to take with them, and shot him an empathetic smile.
Bozer smiled back at her in thanks, took another deep breath, and returned to his painting.
A few minutes later, as Jill finished packing the last of her forensics kits, the lab doors opened, and in strode a very familiar blonde in his trademark tight (very tight, though she had absolutely no complaints there) white T-shirt and black leather jacket, hands idly solving his Rubik's cube.
(On the other side of the lab, Bozer wordlessly put his headphones on and turned up the volume, focusing on getting the nose of the mask he was working on just right.)
Alex smirked at her, but there was something very soft underneath it all, in his eyes.
(Something about that smirk and that look in his eyes made her insides want to melt to goo. She was completely sure he knew that, which was why he kept doing it.)
'Thought I'd pay my favourite forensic analyst a visit before wheels up.'
She put a hand on her hip and smirk-smiled back at him, tossing her hair a little.
'Well, I'd better check that I have time in my very busy schedule for you.'
He chuckled, stepping closer to her, idly putting down the now-solved Rubik's cube.
'Hopefully, we should be back within two weeks. I estimate that there's a 5% chance we'll take three weeks.' He paused, and seemed to try and smirk at her, but it came out as just a soft smile. 'A little incentive to come home sooner wouldn't hurt…'
Jill smiled back up at him.
'I'll block out some time for you in my schedule, two and a half weeks from now. Don't be late.'
She reached out and messed up his Rubik's cube for him, then handed it over, letting their hands brush together.
'Wouldn't dream of it.'
They were silent for a moment, her hand still resting on the puzzle in his, her looking up a little at him.
A silent conversation passing between them.
The moment broke with a couple of smiles, and not a second later, a loud voice floated through the lab doors.
'Oi, Flyboy, you done wooing Lil' Miss Morgan yet? We gotta head to Wardrobe and Armoury to get ready to bounce!'
Jill giggled. Alex rolled his eyes with very exasperated fondness and muttered something under his breath about Nick having terrible timing.
Then, he turned back to Jill.
'I'll see you…?'
'7 PM, that taco place you were telling me about, in two and a half weeks.'
Alex smiled and pocketed his Rubik's cube, then scooped up the forensics kits she'd prepped.
'With that incentive, I'll make sure I'm early.' He held up the kits as he walked backwards towards the door. 'Thanks, Jill.'
She smiled and waved sweetly at him, and he smiled back, a little wider, a little softer, and then he was gone.
Jill's shoulders slumped a tiny bit, burdened by just that tiny bit more worry, and it was Bozer's turn to look up at her, offer her an empathetic little smile.
'The worry sucks, but they're the best in the biz.' He shrugged. 'All we can do is help them as best as we can…' He gestured to the prosthesis in front of him, and the spot on the bench where Jill's forensics kits had been. '…and give them even more reasons to come home.'
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
(A DIFFERENT MIDDLE OF NOWHERE FROM LAST TIME)
SOMEWHERE IN FAR NORTHERN CANADA
Mac, Jack and Riley trudged through the snow, hauling one of the snowmobiles (now useless – at least, as a form of transportation; it was still useful in Mac's eyes, he'd salvaged some choice parts from the other two as well, and had loaded the one they were towing with the parts as well as filled a makeshift pack on his back before they'd buried the remains of the other two by tipping them into a handy crevasse and covering them with snow) behind them, as well as the tarp in an attempt to hide their tracks.
Jack shielded his goggle-covered eyes with a gloved hand as he turned his head to look behind them.
Hiding their tracks was not going well.
The snowmobile's tracks were being pretty well wiped-out, but their footprints were a whole other matter.
'Brother…'
Mac pursed his lips.
'I know.' He looked into the distance, squinting. Visibility wasn't great, with wind starting to whip up some of the finer, more powdery snow, but he could just see the forest they were heading towards in the distance. 'I have an idea.'
He started trudging faster.
Jack and Riley exchanged a glance (would it kill Mac to explain what was going on in his brain from time to time?), but trudged faster behind him anyway.
'Wait up, brother!'
'Seriously, we're not all, like, 65% legs!'
The three extremely tired Phoenix agents finally reached the relative shelter of the woods, and Mac immediately made his way to the nearest pine tree and started stripping thin, flexible branches off it. He removed the needles, as he gestured with his head towards tarp, pulling his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and tossing it at Jack, who caught it easily.
'Cut a few strips from the tarp, about a quarter of an inch wide and as long as you can make them.'
Jack nodded and got to work, Riley immediately moving to help him out. The older agent cut one strip and passed it to the blonde, who began tying the strip across the bent twigs in his hand in an intricate pattern.
'Not that I don't enjoy watching Wimbledon, man, but how are tennis racquets gonna help us out?'
Mac rolled his eyes, well aware that Jack knew he wasn't making tennis racquets (he was far from stupid) but was just being very Jack.
'These are snowshoes, Jack. Not tennis racquets.' He gave a little smirk. 'We're going to engage in a little flotation.' The smirk shifted a little, to something a bit sheepish, as Jack looked irrationally excited (if he couldn't have a hoverboard, hovershoes were the next best thing), which made Riley roll her eyes too. 'Sorry, not literally…' He held up the snowshoe he'd just finished making. 'These will increase the surface area that our weight is distributed over, which means that we won't sink as far into the snow. So, it'll be easier to walk and we'll leave shallower tracks.' He handed the snowshoe to Riley, and got to work on another one. 'Strap that on…'
The markings on the tree, scored into the bark, caught Mac's eye as they passed it. He studied it for a second, waiting for Jack and Riley to catch up, brow furrowing in thought.
As they kept moving, his senses were on even higher alert.
There was a small pile of smelly brown scat at the foot of another tree, marked similarly to the tree they'd passed ten minutes ago.
The paw prints leading towards and away from the tree were also a dead giveaway.
Jack, when he noticed them, actually grinned and rubbed his hands together.
Mac and Riley exchanged a very exasperated, long-suffering glance, which Jack noticed, making him throw his hands up.
'Come on, you two telling me you've never wanted to go toe-to-toe with a grizzly?'
Riley and Mac exchanged another glance, Mac sighing, Riley staring even more incredulously at the older man.
'Absolutely not.'
'Nope.'
'And fighting a grizzly bear is a terrible idea. First priority is to avoid them, make noise to scare them off, etc. If that's not possible and we do encounter one, back away slowly and talk calmly to help the bear recognize us as human. They tend to retreat from humans. If that doesn't work, don't try to outrun it, climb at least 10 metres up a tree. And if that doesn't work…play dead.'
From the tone of her voice when she spoke, Mac knew Riley was raising an eyebrow at him, even if he couldn't see her eyebrows under her hat.
'Play dead?'
He shrugged.
'Playing dead has been statistically shown to reduce the level of injury sustained by grizzly bear attack victims.'
Riley's eyebrow rose further, voice sarcastic.
'Really reassuring, Dr Google. Really reassuring.'
'We need to stop for the night.'
The sun was just about done setting, the wind definitely picking up and the first flakes of snow from the forecast blizzard beginning to fall when Mac stopped as they approached a small clearing in the forest and spoke.
Then, to Riley's surprise, he crouched down onto the ground and started digging a hole.
'Uh…Mac? What are you doing?'
She'd have thought that he'd be cutting out blocks of compacted snow and ice to make an igloo.
This was clearly not an igloo.
Jack answered with a roll of his eyes.
'He's building an igloo.'
'It's not an igloo; it's not made of blocks of compacted snow and ice. It's a snow cave, just like what we built in Siberia.'
Jack waved a hand.
'Eh, you say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to, brother.'
Mac actually did look up from his task at that, that look on his face that told Riley she was going to be in for a really long night.
She sighed and got to helping Mac dig. She was going to need to be warm ASAP, if she was going to deal with the Mac-and-Jack show all night.
(Sometimes, Mac could be infuriatingly pedantic.)
(And she was certain that Jack just loved to rile him up.)
'No, while they serve the same purpose, igloos and snow caves are extremely distinct. A, their mode of construction is extremely different, one being hollowed out…' Mac gestured pointedly for Jack to join him and Riley in digging, and he did, though not without some more grumbling under his breath. '…and the other built up off the ground, and B, igloos are exclusively constructed by humans, whereas snow caves are utilized by several other members of the animal kingdom…'
Jack looked balefully over at his partner as the three of them huddled in their small shelter.
'You're gonna tell me that we can't have a fire this time too, aren't you?'
Last time, there'd been nothing to burn, even if Mac could start a fire with just about anything.
This time, there was plenty of fuel around them, but Jack (and his buttocks) had a sneaking suspicion that the blonde was going to say no again.
Mac just nodded, looking, at least, a little sorry.
'We can't risk it.' He gestured around them. 'A, it'll melt the walls of our shelter, potentially burying us and destroying its insulative properties, B, we risk death by carbon monoxide poisoning or smoke inhalation; we can't have a chimney, it'll be far too obvious.'
They were all well aware that their pursuers could not be that far behind. Even with their covering of their tracks and Mac's hack to get them that extra 100 miles, plus their choice of an unexpected direction, any kind of systematic search was going to get them found eventually.
Jack sighed, then grinned and held up his arms in a very Jack way, putting one arm around Mac's shoulders and one around Riley's.
'Well, guess we gotta huddle up tight, eh?'
'…Your SOS sign looked like the chemical symbol for sulfur dioxide; I warned you to ration out those rocks better…'
Half an hour later, Riley shut her eyes, threw her head back, and groaned.
Mac and Jack had been going on for half an hour, and showed no sign of stopping.
Their banter was usually amusing, albeit annoying and a little weird, but in an affection-generating sort of way.
It gave them light in the darkness (the darkness that they so often faced), and for that, she was grateful.
But now, stuck in a six-by-six-by-four space with the two of them, there wasn't much that she wouldn't give for them to just shut up.
Unfortunately, given Mac, Jack and Mac-and-Jack, Hell would sooner freeze over.
'…I got frostbite on my butt, brother! Frostbite! On. My. Butt.'
'A, I know, and I did not have to see that! And B, I told you not to sit directly on the ground in one position for so long-'
'Well, I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't taken so long to make that radio, man! What were you doing, re-inventing the wheel?'
'You try making a radio out of a broken snowmobile!'
Riley rolled her eyes again, and made a note to ask Matty if she could get hazard pay for this. Then, she wrapped her scarf a little tighter around her head, hoping that the material would at least muffle the bickering a little more.
'…I had to scavenge not one, but two, transistors, and work around the fact that the resistors were not of the correct voltage…'
'English, brother, English.'
'That is English! Wäre Deutsch besser? Zhong wen? Española?'
PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS
SOMEWHERE IN LA
In the middle of the night, Bozer woke up suddenly for no discernible reason.
Rubbing his eyes, he sat up on the couch in the Phoenix breakroom that he'd crashed on, shivering a little.
(He might live in sunny LA, but it was November, after all, and the HVAC was turned off everywhere except the infirmary at around 6 pm to save energy.)
(He was accustomed to being home alone – after all, even when he'd thought that his BFF worked at an actual think-tank rather than a pretend one, Mac was frequently on business trips or at Nikki's apartment – but tonight, he'd wanted to stay at the Phoenix.)
(With modern technology, it wasn't if he'd really hear news of Mac, Jack and Riley any sooner being here instead of in his comfy, big bed at home…but still, he wanted to be here.)
He stared into the distance, sighing, rubbing his arms.
If he was a little cold, how were Mac and Jack and Riley doing?
They'd be (hopefully not literally) freezing their butts off.
His still-developing spy senses alerted him to someone approaching, and Bozer turned, to find Matty walking into the breakroom, her expression gentle in a way that'd once have surprised, even shocked him, but didn't anymore.
There was also understanding and empathy in her eyes, and that worry that was gnawing away at him.
Matty walked up to the sofa, sat down on the edge beside him, and there was a companionable silence for a while, before Bozer, being Bozer, broke it.
'Almost wish you sent me with them.'
'Your skill set wasn't required and for this mission, the smaller the team, the better.' It was said as gently as Matty ever said anything. 'But watching from a distance can be harder than being in the field.'
Bozer just nodded glumly.
Sure, the glitz and glam of the international super-spy life had been a powerful lure (though he now knew it to be false, except for the occasional mission like that time in Azerbaijan with the WMD in the casino), but the main driving force behind his desire to become a field agent was so that he could be out there with Mac, Jack and Riley, rather than left behind at the Phoenix.
(He totally got why Mac and Jack hated being stuck in the infirmary so much.)
He suspected that as at home as she was running the Phoenix like a boss (literally and figuratively), calling the shots and terrifying the CIA and other alphabet agencies, sometimes, Matty wanted to be out there with her agents.
It was true that they couldn't protect Mac, Jack and Riley from the brutal, bitter Canadian winter; their presence wouldn't really help…but at least they could be with them.
That was something.
And better than waiting at home, even if home was comparatively warm and much more comfortable.
Matty and Bozer glanced at one another, sharing a look of perfect understanding, just as they heard footsteps approach. A second later, Beth appeared in the doorway, her arms full of a couple of neatly-folded blankets. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Matty, and took a half-step back, expression very apologetic.
'I'm sorry for interrupting, I just…' She walked quickly into the room, depositing the blankets in her arms on the end of the couch, before fiddling with her hands for a second, looking at Matty, seemingly feeling the need to explain the fact that she wasn't at her post in the infirmary. '…We only have one patient in the infirmary tonight, Agent Barker, and I came up here to make him a cup of chamomile tea, since the microwave in the infirmary kitchenette is broken, and I saw Bozer, and I thought he might be cold, so…'
She trailed off a bit awkwardly, and Matty gave her a small smile, voice firm, but gentle.
'Doc, you don't need to apologize for going above and beyond to do your job.' Matty's smile widened and grew more knowing, which made Bozer give a little grin that was almost a smirk as he snagged one of Beth's blankets. 'In fact, I have a special assignment for you.'
SNOW CAVE
(NOT IGLOO)
MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
SOMEWHERE IN FAR NORTHERN CANADA
'…Tell me, or I'll tell Bozer about Albania.'
Riley, sitting sandwiched between Mac and Jack, nevertheless managed to cross her arms and look threateningly at the two of them.
Brave as they were, Jack noticeably gulped, and Mac was clearly taking her threat very seriously.
The older man held up his hands.
'Woah, Riles, thought we all had an understanding; what happens in Albania, stays in Albania!'
Mac gestured at Jack as if to say, he's right, this time.
The hacker just crossed her arms a little more tightly and raised an eyebrow a little higher.
Mac and Jack exchanged a look, before Mac sighed and Jack spoke.
'You got yourself a deal, Ri.'
'When it gets really, really weird…just remember you did ask for it.'
'…And he goes and whacks the guy with a giant fish.'
'A sturgeon. It was a sturgeon. A female sturgeon, probably about four years old…'
Riley just shot Mac an incredulous look. He simply shrugged, a little sheepishly.
(He really couldn't help the fact that he knew, noticed and retained these things. Even if it was really weird stuff 60% of the time.)
'…That's why you refuse to drink vodka?'
Mac nodded, even as Riley continued to gape at him. Jack, meanwhile, smirked mischievously and slung his arm around his partner.
'Well, that's not the only reason…when our boy here turned twenty-one, Penny roped Boze into planning this whole not-belated-birthday drinks for him, and-'
'We pinky-promised to never, ever tell that story, Jack.'
He shut up. Pinky-promises were sacred, everyone knew that.
However, Riley just smirked, just as mischievously as Jack had earlier.
'Oh, that look on your face just told me everything I wanted to know, Mac…'
The next morning, bright and early, just outside the snow cave (which, despite Jack's complaining, had served them well overnight), Jack stretched, cracking several joints loudly, and grinned, reaching out and putting an arm around Riley's shoulders, then the other one around Mac's.
'We should do that more often!' At their raised eyebrows, he continued. 'Without the whole being stranded in bear territory in Canada and being chased by bad guys, being at risk of hypothermia etc.'
The two younger agents nodded, satisfied, and smiled too.
'Yeah, sharing stories was nice.'
'But next time, we're doing it by Mac's fire-pit with s'mores and beer.'
Jack grinned a little wider and pointed at her.
'Amen to that, kiddo. Amen to that.'
THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
(A DIFFERENT ONE)
(YET AGAIN)
(EVEN IF IT ALL LOOKS THE SAME)
SOMEWHERE IN FAR NORTHERN CANADA
The three Phoenix agents stared at the large grizzly bear fifty feet in front of them.
The grizzly bear stared back.
Jack made to take a half-step forward, cracking his knuckles, only to be pulled back by his partner.
'No, absolutely not, Jack.' Mac yanked harder on the older man's jacket as the bear began to approach them. 'Run!'
'Err…brother, you sure we've gone far enough up?'
Perched on a tree branch about 45 feet in the air, Jack looked down at the growling bear at the foot of the tree, then back up at his partner, who was a couple of feet higher on another branch, making something out of tree branches and a rock that he'd found as they'd run towards the large tree, scooped up and brought up the tree with him. Riley, who was sitting on another branch level with Mac's, just shot Jack an incredulous look.
'And who was Mr-Let-Me-Fight-a-Grizzly ten minutes ago?'
Jack held up his hands defensively.
'Hey, Riles, they look an awful lot scarier in person than on Animal Planet!'
Mac, who was carving a rut into the tree branch he was straddling, rolled his eyes and passed Jack a length of tarp, wound into a makeshift rope, which was tied to the tarp-wrapped stone.
'On my signal, let that go…'
At the foot of the tree, Mac, Jack and Riley carefully backed away, keeping an eye on the bear slumped over, unconscious, with the tarp-covered rock beside it.
'He's just out cold, right, brother? Not dead? 'Cause we were the ones who invaded his home, so…'
Mac and Riley just exchanged an exasperated, long-suffering glance.
Jack is never going to change.
And we wouldn't have him any other way…but still.
'Oh, you have got to be kidding me!'
The three Phoenix agents stared at the sole smuggler perched on a snowmobile who had quite literally almost run them over.
Five miles from their ex-fil site, and this happened.
Clearly, this was not their mission.
The smuggler stared back, and then, quick as a flash, Mac, Jack and Riley moved.
Jack pulled out his gun and shot a bullet through the smuggler's sat-phone before he could do more than raise it halfway to his lips, while Mac reached down and made a snowball, tossing it into the man's face to buy Jack time to run forward and tackle him to the ground.
Meanwhile, Riley, who was holding the sat-phone on which they'd been conversing with Matty, spoke into it.
'Yeah…I think we're gonna have to call you back.' She crouched down and made a snowball with her free hand, just in case, as she explained to their boss, since Mac and Jack seemed to have the situation firmly in hand. 'One of the smugglers just almost ran us over…'
'…This will go off in thirty minutes to broadcast your position…' Mac held up something he'd rigged up from the sat-phone with a bullet through it and a part from one of their abandoned snowmobiles, showing it to the smuggler who had his hands secured behind his back, seated on the last remaining portion of their tarp. '…and your hands will be freed at the same time.'
He'd rigged up something else with snowmobile parts to free the man automatically, once they'd gotten far enough away, close enough to ex-fil, that the smugglers couldn't pose a threat to them anymore.
Mac also took the man's gun, checked the magazine, and then buried it in the snow, about two feet down, ten feet away, making sure that the smuggler could see him do so, and topping it off with a snowmobile part as a marker just to be sure.
This landscape was bleak and unforgiving. Deadly.
Bad guy or not, he couldn't leave this man in danger.
Then, he climbed onto the man's snowmobile, between Jack (who insisted on driving) and Riley, and they took off for their ex-fil site.
As they drove across the snow, Jack yelled back to his two companions.
'Don't get me wrong, I love you two, but I am so looking forward to getting my personal space back!'
'Hell yeah!'
'Agreed!'
EX-FIL SITE
NOT IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
(RELATIVELY SPEAKING)
(THERE'S NO DENNY'S FOR A THOUSAND MILES)
SOMEWHERE IN FAR NORTHERN CANADA
'Dry clothes, all of you, now.'
Mac, Jack and Riley were greeted by a surprise as they walked into the wonderfully warm Phoenix jet. Beth was waiting for them, and pointed at the rear of the plane, where the bathroom was, gesturing with her head towards Riley, then indicated Mac and Jack as she pointed to two areas that had been roughly curtained off using space blankets and medical tape.
Mac grinned as he headed into the curtained-off space she'd indicated to him.
Jack and Riley grinned too, exchanging a significant look as the hacker slipped past them towards the bathroom, very much keen to get into dry, warm, clean clothing.
Resting on the seat behind the curtain, Mac found the change of clothes he kept in his locker at the Phoenix (all Phoenix agents had a locker for storing their personal belongings when they were on missions; they were coded to their fingerprints and anyone they chose to authorise – Mac had authorized Jack, Bozer, Riley and Matty to open his; Beth must have raided their lockers, since as one of the medical staff, she could open them too). He picked up the chinos from the neatly-folded pile, and found that they were actually a little warm, kind of like they'd been in the dryer. He quickly found the reason; Beth had had the foresight and the care to place one of those instant heat-packs marketed as hand-warmers in each of the pockets.
He smiled, grateful and soft and fond.
She really was an excellent doctor.
Five minutes later, Mac and Jack, now in their clean, dry, warm clothing, tugged down the space blankets that had acted as curtains and sat down in their seats, both meekly wrapping themselves in the space blankets when Beth passed by and gave them both a firm look.
Jack rubbed one of the hand-warmers between his hands and made a noise of contentment, leaning back in his seat, before gesturing towards the other end of the jet, where Beth was making what seemed to be three steaming-hot cups of chamomile tea.
'This TLC almost makes you wish you need medical attention, eh, brother?'
Jack was waggling his eyebrows.
Mac shot him a baleful look, as Riley emerged from the bathroom, also wrapped in a space blanket, and smirked at him, her eyes full of teasing and mischief.
'I think Beth would be interested in the Bering Strait Incident, particularly that bit involving the sauna…'
The blonde groaned.
It was going to be a long flight home.
That's family.
Can't live with them, can't live without them.
As they began to taxi for take-off, Mac, Jack and Riley, now wrapped in the real, comfier blankets that Beth had brought with her, since the jet was so spacious, sipped at their chamomile tea as the doctor finished packing up the last of her supplies (of which there were a lot – Mac was quite sure that aside from the obvious, she'd have made a much better Boy Scout than him) and buckled herself into her seat, gripping the armrests tightly and closing her eyes, the tension in her body clear, as the plane accelerated.
Mac, who happened to be sitting nearest her, lowered his mug of tea and leaned over to talk to her, keeping his voice low as Jack and Riley chatted loudly with Diane on Jack's brand-new phone.
(Matty had sent it up with Beth and the jet.)
'Aviophobic?' She opened her eyes and nodded rather sheepishly. 'Statistically, it is the safest mode of transport…'
Beth narrowed her eyes at him at that, and let go of one of the armrests to jab at the air in front of his chest with a finger.
'I know that. That's why it's an irrational fear, Mac!'
It was his turn to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck.
'If it makes you feel any better, I'm acrophobic.'
She stared incredulously at him.
'You, terrified of heights?' She blinked twice. 'Today, you reportedly built an Ewok trap for a bear while more than forty-five feet off the ground.' She gestured at Jack, who was grinning softly and affectionately at his phone, lost to the world. 'Last month, you jumped from one building to another in Seattle, nine stories up. A couple of years ago, you apparently hung onto a plane's landing gear while it was taking off!'
He shrugged.
'Sometimes, the job needs you to step up.'
He had a feeling that she understood that very, very well.
Beth looked around at the jet, though she did avoid looking out of any of the windows, then down at her hands, which were still clutching the armrests, though not as tightly as they had been, and nodded with a smile, the two of them sharing a glance full of understanding. Then, she smiled a little wider at him.
'Thank you.'
He smiled back, holding up one of the hand-warmers.
'Pretty sure I should be thanking you, but…anytime.'
MACGYVER'S RESIDENCE
LA
The day after he'd returned from Canada, Mac leaned back on the couch in the living room, placing his phone down on the coffee table.
He'd sent three texts to his father in the five days since their fishing trip was prematurely ended.
Five days since his dad had left in the middle of the night with barely a word.
He hadn't received a single reply.
He knew his dad wasn't in trouble, wasn't completely uncontactable, because if he were, Matty would have found some way to tell him, even without breaking her oaths.
Mac sighed and grabbed the remote, pressing play to start Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. II as his automatic popcorn-making-and-delivering drone, slightly repurposed, brought over a plate of Penny's delicious home-made cinnamon rolls, freshly reheated.
(His ex-girlfriend, still-friend had baked them for him and delivered them to his door earlier in the day after hearing from Bozer all about the MacGyvers' fishing trip.)
(They'd become friends just before James MacGyver had left. She'd been there for the infamous birthday party, and she'd been there for Mac afterwards, just as she was now.)
The cinnamon rolls were all gone by the time Groot grabbed the bomb from Rocket's hands, heedless of the racoon's protests, and started running into Ego's core.
Mac cleaned his sticky fingers off with his handkerchief and sighed as he watched.
Sometimes, I think it'd be easier if my dad was an egotistical, narcissistic, probably psychopathic and genocidal living planet who'd murdered my mom.
I'm not saying I wish it was that way – far from it – but it'd be way less complicated.
Something to be said for simple.
Bozer padded out of his room and into the kitchen, intent on making a start on dinner, to find his roommate sitting on the couch, watching the latest Guardians of the Galaxy film like his mind was somewhere else, a plate with some remnants of cinnamon sugar beside him.
Bozer sighed.
He reckoned that James MacGyver, even if Mac's grandfather had apparently kept him updated, didn't understand how badly his departure had hurt Mac.
(The other alternative was that he didn't care, but Bozer was certain that wasn't the case.)
(Sure, he was terrible at expressing his feelings – see giving your eight-year-old son college-level textbooks about building your own computer when he asked for one – but he did care about Mac.)
His BFF had refused to celebrate his birthday for fifteen years because of it.
There was a lot of pain there, a very old wound that had never really healed properly, and, Bozer feared, at times like this, would never really close.
He sighed again and shelved his dinner plans, instead texting three numbers.
Forty minutes after receiving Bozer's text, Riley opened the door to Mac and Bozer's house, balancing three large pizza boxes against her hip.
She was greeted by the sight of Jack sprawled out on one end of the couch, feet up on the coffee table next to a six-pack of Mac's favourite beer, chattering incessantly to the blonde, who looked morose, but was at least managing to roll his eyes from time to time at Jack's words.
As she brought the pizza over to the partners, her thoughts took a more bitter turn.
Her own father was an alcoholic, a gambling addict and a thief (or had been, he really had turned over a new leaf this time, she was quite sure now) but even he kept coming back for second and third and fourth and so on chances.
Mac's dad was a hero, supposedly.
A good guy.
A really good guy.
But he didn't come back, and he never would have reached out if not for Matty.
She sighed internally and smiled as Bozer brought over plates and napkins, helping her dish out the pizza.
(Mac had apparently eaten an entire plate of cinnamon rolls, but with his metabolism, and habit of eating like a horse after returning from a mission – probably to make up for the fact that he usually ate only the minimum required to keep going when on a mission - he'd probably be hungry again by now, since Bozer reckoned that had been about an hour and a half ago.)
She'd just put one slice of meat lovers and one slice of vegetarian on a plate for Jack (he made a face at only getting one piece of his favourite, but Riley knew he accepted that too much bacon and sausage was not good for his cholesterol levels) when the door opened again and in stepped Matty, holding a vaguely DVD-player-looking object, which she tossed at Mac as she approached the living room and took the plate that Bozer had made up for her with a nod of thanks.
'DARPA made it. Make it better, Baby Einstein.'
The instant the unknown object landed in his lap, Mac brightened in a way that was almost childlike, and started examining it, before pulling out his Swiss Army knife to undo the screws, abandoning the plate of pizza he hadn't even touched.
Over their own plates of pizza, Matty, Jack, Bozer and Riley shared an affectionately exasperated smile.
Their boy was crazy.
But he was their boy.
AN: Whew! All done! This episode has taken me ages to write (something like two and a half weeks), because I've just been working to exhaustion in the lab – seriously, word from the weary: growing bacteria and hard thesis deadlines (I've only got about two months left!) do not mix! Hopefully that doesn't show too much in the writing, I think this is a touch choppy, but some of that is probably due to the kind of story I was trying to tell in this episode.
Anyway – as mentioned at the start of this episode, I need to give a very special shout-out to Gib and helloyesimhere! The former inspired many of the events that the team faced in Canada in a review on Every End is a Beginning last year, while the latter inspired Mac's movie choice at the end with a comment on Emergency Repairs!
I hope you guys liked the way I've portrayed the MacGyvers' relationship – they have their ups and their downs, definitely, and I think there's always going to be some tension there, but I also wanted them to have their poignant moments. One of my very favourite scenes in this entire work to date, and my favourite in this episode, is the flashback scene with Ellen – one day, I really, really want to write James and Ellen's story as alluded to in this universe…but I fear I'll never find the time!
There's no episode tag for Detours this time, but here's the press release for the next episode:
3.10, Minutes to Seconds. A senior Pentagon official's wife and children are kidnapped, and the team must rescue them before time runs out. Meanwhile, the MacGyvers mark the anniversary of Ellen MacGyver's death.