A/N Okay, I couldn't resist! I'm on my way to bed, but the awesome reviews made me want to share some more of the story! :-) I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as the last two! Again, extra special thanks to Gib and Ridley C. James for their amazing input and suggestions! :-D ~Kelcor

CHAPTER THREE

One Week Earlier

MacGyver opened the door to his house and stepped inside, turning slightly to see Jack studying the front door from the car. Mac opened his mouth to call out to him, and ask if he was coming inside. But before he could, Jack put the car in reverse and made his way back down the driveway. Mac tried to tell himself that his partner being angry didn't bother him. But he couldn't completely ignore the knot that had been forming in his gut ever since revealing the bruises across his stomach, chest, and back.

He closed the front door behind him and slipped off his shoes. He called Riley to find out how Bozer was doing, and was disheartened to discover that he had still not woken up. Deciding to go to the hospital to hold silent vigil with Riley, he headed down the hall to take a shower.

As he stripped out of his clothes, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and fully understood Jack's shock during his examination – even though not much time had passed since the altercation with the mercs, the bruises were already vibrant against his pale skin.

Still, he couldn't understand why Jack was so mad at him. It wasn't like it was the first time Mac had downplayed an injury. In fact, he'd pretty much turned that skill into an art. But the fire in Jack's eyes, the silence for the entire car ride home, the even quieter departure; what else could that possibly be but a slowly brewing anger?

With a sigh, Mac turned the shower on and stepped under the hot spray, hoping to relieve at least some of the aches and pains of the previous 12 hours before making the trek to the hospital. Part of him regretted not filling the prescription Hawkenbury had given him, but the pills would knock him out – and he just couldn't handle being stuck in the nightmare that had recently returned to haunt him.

Seeing Jack and Frankie die over and over again was bad enough, but to have Murdoc making a cameo appearance all of a sudden just elevated the nightmare to a whole new level of weird and creepy. He knew the sociopath's appearance in his dreams had something to do with his visits to the prison, visits no one else knew about—not even Jack.

Sometimes, Mac felt like the male version of Clarice Starling, with Murdoc being his own personal Hannibal Lecter. He just couldn't stop himself from digging deeper and deeper into the sociopath's psyche. Their latest private conversations, however, had been even more disturbing than usual, and Mac couldn't quite figure out why.

It'd all started with the mission in Amsterdam when he and the team had been disavowed by Phoenix and left to their own devices—along with a slick move by Matty—to prove themselves innocent of terrorism. Both Mac and Jack had felt like they'd been kicked in the teeth all over again as evidence seemed to prove Patricia Thornton had been behind the whole debacle, arranging for their demise long before her arrest.

That mission had reignited Mac's need to know more! How could he trust his instincts, knowing that he'd been so wrong about his boss? The only true kind of closure he could ever hope to get was to know why Thornton had turned in the first place. Maybe then he could put the whole thing to rest and not feel like he's been sucker punched every time some new duplicity of Thornton's is brought to light. Which was why he'd started meeting with Murdoc outside of the purview of the Phoenix Foundation. Because he needed to know!

He considered talking to Jack about it; Jack's perspective always shed new light on the issues that truly stumped Mac. Because as much as Mac surpassed his partner in traditional education, Jack Dalton knew more about the 'human condition' than Mac could ever hope to learn. Jack was right—Mac was a cerebral guy.

Still, he just couldn't bring himself to have that conversation. The last time he'd discussed Murdoc with his partner, Mac had nearly fallen apart at the seams; not to mention, waking up in his bed with no memory of making the trip from living room to bedroom.

The implications of that had left MacGyver feeling humiliated. Because not only had Jack clearly carried him to bed—which held its own ingredients for mortification—but Mac had brought the situation on himself. For the first time in years, he had turned to the bottle in a desperate need to forget. Only this time what he wanted to forget had been his foray into the psychosis of a serial killer.

Jack had shown up just in time to talk Mac off that proverbial ledge that night. And, ever since, he'd been watching Mac even more closely than usual. Mac appreciated the concern, he really did, but he didn't want Jack to worry about him. He was fine.

Hence, Mac's decision that it would be best to keep the nightmare to himself. And much better to deal with the pain of a few bruises than to get stuck in said nightmare with no way to pull himself out.

Not really wanting to turn off the water just yet, but concerned that he may be turning into a prune, MacGyver ended his shower and stepped out into the comparatively cool bathroom. Wincing with every movement, he pulled on a pair of boxers, blue jeans and a tee shirt, then headed out to the kitchen for a glass of orange juice.

On his way, he detoured into his bedroom and swiped his head phones off the dresser so he could plug them into his phone and drown out all thoughts of Jack, and Frankie, and Murdoc, with some of his favourite music.

Opening the fridge, he was dismayed to discover the orange juice wasn't on the top shelf where he and Bozer usually kept it. Apparently, his roommate had needed to make room for some leftovers and the OJ was moved to the bottom. Not to be outdone by the innerworkings and design of his own refrigerator, Mac grit his teeth against the pain and bent down to retrieve the OJ.

Smiling with a sense of accomplishment, he closed the refrigerator, then turned to get a glass from the cupboard—another seemingly insurmountable task when one has bruised ribs but he did it, anyway. He filled the glass with orange juice but as he lifted it to his mouth, he felt a hand on his shoulder!

Mac spun around and pulled his fist back, ready to defend himself. The orange juice fell out of his hand, spilling all over the floor; the glass rolled unbroken to the other side of the kitchen. Then Mac saw Jack staring at him in surprise. He breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his fist, taking his headphones out of his ears in the same movement.

"Jack! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he exclaimed, moving to lean against the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, his bare feet chose that moment to land in the puddle of OJ. He pinwheeled his arms, trying to catch himself, but knew that the law of physics would have him slamming into the counter in a matter of seconds.

However, he failed to figure Jack Dalton's quick reflexes into his equation. His partner tossed whatever he had in his hand onto the table behind him, even as his arm whipped out around Mac's waist and hauled him forward, changing his momentum so that he crashed into Jack's chest instead of the kitchen counter.

Even with the softer landing, though, Mac still had the wind knocked out of him. And the need to struggle to catch his breath only added to the pain in his ribs. His vision blurred the longer he was unable to pull oxygen into his lungs.

As he clung to consciousness, he also clung desperately to the words being repeated into his ear—"Breathe, kiddo. C'mon, breathe with me."

He tried to do as he was told. He registered the chest expanding in front of him and did his best to mimic the speed at which Jack's lungs expanded and contracted.

Breathe in… breathe out… It seemed weird being taught how to breathe but seemed to be working and, after a few tries, Mac was finally able to pull in enough oxygen that the black edges around his vision started to recede.

As all his senses returned, he found himself held snugly against his partner. One large hand was pressed against the back of his head, stroking his hair soothingly, rhythmically; while his other arm was wrapped around Mac's back—strategically placed directly between the two largest bruises, as if Jack had somehow memorized the exact position of each bruise in the short time he'd had to study them.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," MacGyver replied, pulling away gingerly.

Jack kept a good hold of him until he was sitting at the kitchen table, then disappeared down the hall for something. Mac took the moment of privacy to wipe away the involuntary tears that had seeped out. By the time Jack returned and handed him a towel, he was fully in control again.

"I'm sorry, man," Jack said, his tone as sincere as MacGyver had ever heard it. "I thought you heard me come in and were just pretending to ignore me."

Unable to bend forward to dry his feet, Mac tossed the towel to the floor and simply placed his feet on top of it, allowing the cloth to soak up the OJ on its own. He absently heard the refrigerator door open, and Jack puttering around in the kitchen. "What are you even doing here?" he asked, unable to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

Jack cleaned up the mess on the kitchen floor, then placed a fresh glass of orange juice on the table in front of Mac, earning a small smile of gratitude in return. A smile that disappeared as soon as he placed the prescription bottle next to the glass.

"I thought you were mad at me," Mac said accusingly, exhaustion replaced with a much safer irritation. He blatantly ignored the pills and OJ, locking eyes with his friend.

"Mad at you?" Jack repeated, crouching down in front of him. "Dude, I wasn't mad. In all honesty, I was hurt."

"Hurt?" MacGyver was so surprised by Jack's admission, he didn't even notice as his friend used the towel to finish drying off his feet for him.

"Yeah, man. I mean, every time I think I've earned your trust, you go an' prove me wrong."

"Jack, I do trust you. More than I trust anyone. I trust you with my life. Isn't that enough?"

The responding smile was sincere but it also held within it a sadness that Mac couldn't quite identify. What had he said that could have hurt his friend so badly?

"I guess it's gonna have to be," Jack said softly.

He waited for Mac to take his medication, then got up to leave. "Wait," Mac said, surprising even himself when he realized he didn't want Jack to go. "Don't you want to watch some Netflix with me? I'll even agree to a Die Hard marathon," he added with a grin.

Jack smiled again but the grief was still lurking in the shadows. "Nah, man, you need your sleep."

"Please?" Mac asked, realizing that he didn't want him to leave until he could figure out how to get the happy-go-lucky Jack back again.

A moment passed as Jack considered the plea, and Mac found himself standing and taking a step towards his friend, fearing that whatever he'd done was irreparable. Then Jack looked up. His grin was closer to his trademark but Mac was fairly certain that was solely for his benefit.

"Okay," Jack said. "But only if we start at the beginning."

Mac breathed a sigh of relief. "Is there anywhere else to start?"

PRESENT DAY

Jack was right about the desert. For two hours straight, all Mac had seen was cacti, rocks, and lizards. The roof was up now to prevent sun stroke and, as Jack had put it, to keep Mac's sensitive skin from getting burnt—to which Mac had responded by lobbing a potato chip at Jack's head. Jack, of course, ate the chip and the two shared a good laugh.

Mac didn't know what he'd been thinking, intending to head out on this road trip on his own.

"So, where do you wanna start, brother?"

MacGyver turned away from the scenery to study Jack. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we're lookin' for your dad. Any ideas where to begin the search?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought I told you. I actually asked Riley to do some digging."

Jack did a double take, flicking his eyes from the road to Mac and back again. "Really? When?"

"This morning before we left."

"After what happened during the assault on Phoenix, I figured Riley of all people could use a good distraction."

Jack nodded silently in agreement, his mind travelling back to a week previous when he'd delivered his Dallas Cowboys snuggie to her at the hospital. "Good idea. I'm proud of you, bud."

Mac appeared honestly perplexed. "For what?"

"Well, I just know how concerned you were about letting anyone else know about what happened in that interrogation room with Murdoc, and you put all that aside just to make Riley feel better."

"She's more than proven herself as trustworthy," Mac shrugged. "And she's a good friend."

"That she is," Jack agreed whole heartedly. "Any word yet?"

MacGyver started to say 'no' when his phone suddenly rang. He looked at the Caller ID – Riley. He held up the phone for Jack to see the screen.

"I swear, sometimes I think that kid is psychic."

"Scientifically speaking—" Mac began.

"There's no such thing, yeah, I know, I know."

Mac chuckled softly, loving the fact that his banter with Jack always got his mind off the serious stuff—like finding his dad—or, at the very least, made it easier to deal with. He tapped his screen to answer the call. "Hey, Riley, did you find anything?"

"Yeah, I did, actually. Apparently, you and Jack are going in the right direction after all."

"See, I told ya' Vegas was on the way!" Jack said, slapping MacGyver playfully on the arm.

Mac rolled his eyes but returned his focus to the phone. "What do you mean, Riley?"

"Your dad lives in Vegas."

"Since when?" Mac asked, more disappointed than surprised.

"Just moved there a week before Christmas. It seems he won a house in some kind of lottery. He was living in a rundown one-bedroom apartment in Eugene, Oregon before that."

After getting the street address, MacGyver thanked Riley and disconnected the call.

He'd last seen his dad about three years earlier, shortly after he and Jack had first returned from their tours in Afghanistan. MacGyver senior had apparently been a little down on his luck, so to speak, and had lost all his money placing bets with a less than reputable bookie in Miami. He asked to 'borrow' ten-grand from Mac to keep said bookie from breaking his kneecaps.

It hadn't been the first time this had happened so, having a bit of money tucked away, MacGyver had agreed to bail his dad out one final time. But there was one condition. His dad had to accept a bus ticket to Serenity, Montana—a town with little temptation for gambling, prostitutes, or any other bad habit he'd developed since the passing of Mac's mom—along with five thousand dollars worth of start-up cash.

The day he'd returned stateside, Mac had purchased a tiny cabin in the small town of Serenity with the intention of moving there to get away from, well, people, and closer to nature. But Jack had put a crimp in that plan when he convinced Mac to accept a job with DXS, instead. So, Mac signed the deed over to his father—figuratively signing away and washing his hands of any sort of relationship with his dad at the same time. Which was probably why the man hadn't left any kind of forwarding address before leaving Serenity.

His father's second disappearance from his life and the events over the past year had started him reconsidering that decision, thinking that maybe he'd acted hastily. Now, with his dad living in Vegas of all places, in a house he'd 'won', brought all those nagging doubts back to the forefront of Mac's mind.

By all intents and purposes, Mac was essentially an orphan. What if this trip was all just a farce? An attempt to prove to himself that he wasn't completely alone in the world? Maybe he should have trusted his instincts after all and just accepted the situation for what it was—a loss.

Jack studied him for a few long moments as they continued along the final stretch of highway towards the City of Lights. "You ready for this, brother?"

It was as if his friend had figured out how to read his mind; or, more specifically, maybe he'd just learned how to read him. It took another minute for Mac to answer as he was reminded that family isn't just blood. Over the past six years, Jack had somehow managed to take on the role of best friend, big brother, and—although Mac would never admit it aloud—father. All rolled into one former Delta Commando.

"I pretty much have to be, don't I?" he finally asked, trying not to sound as scared as he felt. "I mean, finding my dad is the whole reason for this trip."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you didn't expect to find him this quick, or to be so close when you did. I'm just sayin', we can put it off for a bit. If you want to."

Again, Mac hesitated, so Jack saved him from having to answer. "You know what? I'd really like to find us a hotel room, maybe grab some supper, put in a bit of Karaoke."

"Jack—" MacGyver started, knowing full-well that Jack was trying to protect him… but not entirely sure that he didn't want him to this time.

"No, really, I hear Las Vegas is the 'Karaoke Capital of the World'!"

"I think that's the 'Entertainment Capital of the World'," Mac advised as he returned his gaze to the desert beyond.

"Same thing," Jack returned loftily, trying to lighten a suddenly heavy mood even while casting a worried glance at his partner. "Would you mind terribly if we held off until morning for the reunion with your dad?"

"Uh, no," Mac agreed, once again happy for the sunglasses so he could avoid eye contact. "If that's what you want to do." How Jack was able to read him so well, MacGyver had no idea – but, wow, was he ever thankful for it!

"Sparky," Jack tossed over his shoulder, "what's the most popular Karaoke bar in Vegas?"

Then again…

TBC