A/N Again, special thanks to fanotheboyz for her willingness to read this over for me! WARNING: There be ants in this here chapter. About halfway down the page. Only lasts a couple paragraphs but if you're afraid of insects, you may want to skip that part... I certainly got the heeby-jeebies writing it, that's for sure!

CHAPTER TWELVE

MacGyver sat in the hospital room, his own posture more rigid than the hard-backed chair he was currently occupying. His blue gaze was locked onto his partner, afraid that, should he waver from his steadfast guard duty, Jack would disappear again.

Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop his mind from rewinding back to the moment he killed the once love of his life, Nikki Carpenter. He didn't regret it. How could he? If he hadn't fired first, Jack would be the one who was dead. And that would have been far worse.

When had Mac become such a danger to be around, anyway?

He called Bozer to let him know what was happening, in broad strokes, of course; and to ask him about Riley—not to mention, to tell him not to go home until Phoenix could have an EOD team do a thorough examination of the house, and Bozer's car, just to be safe. Mac wouldn't put it past Nikki to have mentioned the house as a misdirect, only to have rigged his roommate's car to explode instead.

On the upside, Riley was out of surgery but she hadn't regained consciousness yet. According to Bozer, the doctors were 'carefully optimistic'. Which, to Mac's current state of mind, meant 'it could go either way'.

Once Bozer started homing in on Mac's emotional well-being, however, Mac had promptly ended the call, simply requesting his friend let him know when there was any news on Riley.

Nick was in his own hospital room, recovering from the concussion Nikki had been kind enough to give him.

Which left MacGyver there. In that room. Alone. Staring at his too-still best friend in the hospital bed a few feet away. All because of him.

Mac didn't want company right now, that was for certain. But he wouldn't mind a bit of a distraction from the documentaries currently on replay in his mind. Sometimes perfect recall sucked big time.

Sudden movement from the bed proved to be a distraction, but not the kind he'd been hoping for.

Jack had stopped twitching once they'd gotten him to the ER and the doctors had given him the necessary medications to fight the poison in his system, then the sedatives to give his mind a chance to recover.

But now he was twitching again, scratching at his arms in his sleep. Mac got up to press the call-button to get a nurse to give his friend some additional sedatives. But just as he reached for the button, he saw the tear streaming down Jack's cheek and onto the pillow.

Mac knew from personal experience how sedatives didn't erase the dreams; they only made it near impossible to wake yourself up from them. He tried to think what Jack would do in this instance. It didn't take long to figure it out, but Mac wasn't sure it would help.

The time on the plane after the Cordoba incident, when Mac had woken up to find himself snuggled up into Jack's side, crying in his sleep, well, he'd never admit it aloud, but he knew that the reason he had gravitated to Jack was because even his subconscious knew—Jack equalled safety.

Mac couldn't mean the same thing to Jack. Not after the past 12 hours. But, still, he couldn't just stand by while his best friend was trapped in his own nightmare. Another tear created a trail down Jack's face and that made Mac's decision for him.

He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed… then hesitated again, this time for selfish reasons.

It was true that another rejection from Jack scared him. But, what scared him almost as much was his friend welcoming him, drawing him in, possibly slipping past Mac's defenses without even realizing it.

Then Jack said his name, tone pleading. Mac whipped around to face him, certain that his partner had finally regained consciousness and would be gazing up at him. But, no. The brown eyes were still closed, denying any entrance from the waking world… any visual entrance, anyway.

Shoving his own discomfort aside, Mac slid his butt up along the edge of the bed, until his back was pressed up against the pillow. Since the head of the bed was at a 45-degree angle, it was fairly simple for Mac to slip his arm beneath the broad shoulders and ease his friend over until the close-cropped hair was brushing against the underside of Mac's jaw, cheek pressed against his chest.

For the first minute or so, Jack struggled against the hold, which was what Mac had feared. But then he nestled into MacGyver's side and the strong arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him even closer. But the most important thing was the fact that Jack's nightmare seemed to have stopped. So, Mac grit his teeth against the torrent of emotions threatening to overflow, and stayed exactly where he was. If Jack needed him, if just being there helped, then that was what Mac was going to do.

It was the very least he could do after everything that had happened.

Mac woke with a gasp! He looked around the room, confused. Where was he? Then he felt movement beside him, and looked down to see Jack Dalton staring up at him in wonder.

In light of the nightmare he'd been having just seconds before, Mac had to force a smile as he said, "Hey, stranger. How are you feeling?"

The brown eyes blinked sluggishly. "This a dream?"

MacGyver's smile became more real then. "No, man. It's not a dream. We got you out."

Jack's relief was palpable, tears even forming in his eyes, accepting Mac's word for the truth, no questions asked. And that knowledge tore at the blond genius' heart.

"We?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," Mac began, trying to gently extricate himself from Jack's hold and failing. "I met up with your cousin. Nick Stokes?"

"Poncho?"

That confused MacGyver but he went with it. "Uh, yeah, I guess so. He's got a room just down the hall." Seeing the alarm register on his friend's face, Mac quickly added, "Concussion. Doctors say he'll be fine, though." He wanted to tell Jack about Riley, too, but couldn't bring himself to brave that storm just yet. He wasn't sure Jack would ever be able to forgive him for that one. He didn't know if he was going to be able to forgive himself.

"What about you?" Jack asked, words becoming more clear. "You okay?"

"Don't I look okay?"

Jack peered up at him then, studying him. Mac had to fight not to squirm under the scrutiny and forced himself to maintain eye contact.

"Man," Jack finally said, "they must be givin' me the good stuff cuz I can barely see straight."

MacGyver sighed with relief, because he didn't really know what he looked like in that moment. What he did know was that he had to get free, the last thing he needed was to be hugged just then. It was okay while Jack needed it, but he seemed to be okay now, so—he motioned to Jack's arms around his torso. "Uh, could you…?"

Following Mac's line of sight, Jack appeared to not even realize he was still holding onto him. "Oh, uh, sorry, bud," he said, instantly releasing him. "Seriously, though, are you okay?"

"Of course," Mac lied, counting on the drugs in his partner's system to block the Mac-radar the man seemed to have. He offered up a shaky smile as if to prove his words, then quickly moved from the bed and back to the chair. "So, Poncho? Is that a nickname or something?"

Jack smirked. "Yeah, his dad used to call him that, and it just kinda stuck."

"His dad nicknamed him 'Poncho'," Mac deadpanned. "What kind of nickname is that?"

"Hey," Jack said, suddenly remembering as the drugs continued to dissipate from his system. "How did it go with your dad? I mean, I know the visit kinda got interrupted, but before that, did you guys get reacquainted and stuff?"

"Must've been some dream," Mac said, blatantly changing the subject because that was another conversation he was so not ready for. "Do you, uh, want to talk about it?" he winced at the realization that he was avoiding a personal conversation by asking Jack if he wanted to talk about something that was probably equally personal to him.

"Nah," Jack said, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I'm good."

Mac hesitated, staring down at his hands, wishing desperately that he had a paperclip. This wasn't fair; Jack deserved to know the truth about what happened. He deserved to know why it happened. "Jack, I'm—"

Whatever Mac was about to say got cut off by a nurse suddenly coming into the room. Mac stood to greet her and Jack watched as she handed the kid two plastic bags full of various items. The first was about the size of a grocery bag, containing a pair of neatly folded jeans, and a sweater and jacket that Jack found vaguely familiar. The second was the size of a large Ziplock baggy, and from what Jack could see, there was a wallet, a lady's watch, a small black address book.

The nurse's smile was kind as she explained to Mac, "You asked for us to give you Miss Carpenter's personal effects, remember, sweetie?"

Jack's jaw dropped as he stared at his young partner's back. Carpenter? Nikki Carpenter? What the heck happened while he was in that coffin?

Concerned by the kid's silence, probably seeing something in his eyes, the nurse reached for the bag again. "I'm sorry, hun. I thought—"

Mac pulled the bag out of her reach. "No, uh, no, it's okay. Thank—" his voice broke. After clearing his throat, he tried again. "Thank you," he said on a whisper.

The nurse reached up and placed a comforting hand on his arm, then turned on her heel and left the room.

"Mac, man, what happened? Our Nikki? Your Nikki?"

The blond head nodded yes but no sound came with the motion, and when the kid turned around, his mask was firmly in place.

"What happened?" Jack watched as Mac started pulling items out of the bag; a folded up photo fell out of the address book. Mac squatted down to pick it up and just sort of froze. The continuing silence was disturbing. "Mac? Hey, kiddo, you're scarin' me here."

Jack threw back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, frustrated with having to be careful not to dislodge the IV currently sticking out of the back of his hand. Man, he hated hospitals. His legs were a little shaky, but he managed to get close enough to touch Mac's shoulder.

It was like touching a live wire! Mac jumped out from under his hand, standing suddenly and darting a few feet away. "D-Don't," he stammered. "Jus-just… don't."

"Don't, what?"

"Don't touch me," Mac told him. "Please, just… not right now."

Jack's gaze found the photo clutched tightly in the kid's hand and slowly reached for it, only to have Mac step even farther away, backing towards the door.

"I'm sorry, Jack," the kid said, a brokenness in his eyes that Jack had never seen before. Not in those blue orbs, anyway. "I need to, uh…" he cleared his throat again. "I need to go."

"No, Mac, wait! Whatever it is, we can—" and just like that, the kid was out the door and gone. "Deal with it together," Jack finished to the now empty room.

Mac pulled up in front of the decrepit warehouse, and stared up at the broken windows and discoloured wood. He turned off the engine but didn't get out of the GTO right away. He needed to pull himself together if this plan was going to work.

He laughed bitterly at himself. Who was he kidding? What he had in mind wasn't a plan so much as a last-ditch effort to save someone he loved.

His phone rang. Again. He glanced down at the caller ID. Blocked. Taking a deep breath, he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you, it's not polite to stare?"

"Where is she, Murdoc?"

"Oh, MacGyver, you're no fun at all." There was a long pause. Apparently, realizing that Mac wasn't going to play this particular game, Murdoc breathed out a huff. "Fine. She's on the second floor. Third door on the right. Oh, and MacGyver? Leave the phone in the car." Then he disconnected the call.

Mac set his phone down on the passenger seat, eyeing the photo laying next to it. "Second floor, third door on the right," he said softly.

"Got it," Warrick said through the comm.

Leaving the phone behind as ordered, Mac opened the driver's side door and stepped out into the desert heat. He knew not to glance down the street at the vehicle parked five car lengths away from the GTO. He just had to trust that Warrick was sticking to the plan.

Part of MacGyver had wanted to tackle this on his own but he couldn't do that when another life was on the line. The life of someone he loved. So, he'd called the only other people he knew in town. Nick's team.

"Just remember," Mac said quietly, being sure to keep his lips from moving too much, because Murdoc loved to watch. "No one makes a move until I know she's safe."

"We hear you," Warrick said.

"You've got the lead on this," Catherine added. "Just know that we've got your back."

"Yeah," Mac said, appreciating the sentiment but knowing full-well that he'd feel much safer if it was Jack who was watching his back. The way it should be.

Jack was sitting on his bed, worrying about Mac and the look he'd seen in the kid's eyes. What had been in that photo? Only a few minutes had passed since MacGyver had raced out of there, but it felt like so much longer.

Then Jack's gaze took in the walls on either side of him, the ceiling above him. He startled when it seemed like the walls shifted, moving closer to him. A moment later, the ceiling did the same. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sensation to go away.

A mild itch drew his attention to the back of his left hand, where the IV needle was attached. He opened his eyes and peered down at the tape helping to hold the needle in place, his head cocked to the side. The tape appeared to be moving.

Feeling much like the poor girl at the top of the basement stairs reaching out to open the door, ignoring the pleas and warnings of the audience on the other side of the movie screen, telling her "don't open the door!", Jack eased the tape back from his hand, watching with a peculiar fascination as his skin pulled with the adhesive, stretching and contorting…

He bit back a cry of alarm as a fire ant crawled out from beneath the IV needle. It had to wiggle to get free when its hind quarters got stuck between Jack's flesh and certain freedom. As soon as it freed itself, it was like the dam opened! Hundreds of its kin followed the ant through the tiny opening in Jack's skin, flowing across his flesh like a single entity—up his arms, down his legs, across his torso. He slapped at them, tried to kill them, to swipe them off and onto the floor, to get them OFF! But nothing seemed to work!

The IV needle was pushed out by the sheer force of the swarm. Sounds were amplified, actions in slow motion, as the needle fell to the floor with an echoing clank.

The ants were on his face now, stinging him ferociously. He cried out in pain and fear, shaking uncontrollably.

"Jack! Wake up!"

His eyes snapped open and he woke with a shout! He started scratching at his flesh, dismayed to hear the whimper escape as he searched for the small, yet violent creatures on his arms, on the nightgown covering his chest and stomach. His hands went to his face, scratching at his eyes now.

He could still feel them crawling all over him!

"Jack!"

He recognized the voice but couldn't quite place it, besides he had more important things to worry about! Ants. Ants. ANTS!

Someone grabbed him by the wrists, criss-crossing his arms over his chest, then pressing down, immobilizing him! He struggled with all his might, bucking and arching off the bed, growling curse words his mother would have been mortified to hear coming out of his mouth!

"JACK!"

A face swam into his line of sight, moving down until they were practically nose to nose. And it was suddenly as if he was looking into a time portal, seeing the face of Jack Dalton from yester-year! He forced himself to take several long, deep breaths. Then looked up into the warm, concerned brown eyes staring down at him. "P-Poncho?"

The half grin and chuckle he got in return told him he wasn't imagining things. "Yeah, Cuz, it's me."

Nick still had a hold of his cousin's wrists, and he was stretched out on top of him from hip to shoulder, trying to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself any further. Blood continued to seep from the torn flesh where the IV needle had been secure up until a few moments earlier.

He watched as his usually unflappable cousin seemed to calm, the panic slowly dissipating from his eyes. "You good?" he asked, just to be safe.

The fact that Jack took a moment to assess himself, made his nod of confirmation that much more believable. Nick gave the wrists a brief, reassuring squeeze before releasing his cousin and removing his weight from the somewhat broader chest.

As he slowly came back to himself, Jack's eyes darted about the room in apprehension, before settling back on Nick. "Where's Mac?"

"I don't know, to be honest. I expected to find him here but instead found you in the middle of tearing your IV out and tossing it to the floor," Nick admonished, taking some gauze from a nearby supply cart in the hall and returning to place it on the bleeding wound. "Hold that there," he ordered gently, waiting until Jack's hand replaced his to hold the gauze in place.

"You didn't call the nurse?" Jack asked sheepishly.

The CSI shrugged with one shoulder. "Figured you wouldn't want an audience," he smirked. "Besides, all they'd likely do is give you more sedatives, which would just trap you even more securely in the nightmare." Nick paused to study his cousin thoughtfully. "It looked pretty bad. You wanna talk about it?"

Jack cleared his throat. Subject closed. Nick wasn't surprised. He also wasn't surprised when all focus was turned onto him as Jack's now fully aware gaze began studying him. "What?"

"Mac told me you got a concussion?"

"Yeah, courtesy of some lady by the name of Nikki Carpenter." He saw Jack tense, jaw muscle pulsing rapidly.

"Used to be Mac's girl," Jack told him.

Nick felt a little weak all of a sudden. He reached behind him for the hard-backed chair he had pushed aside in his haste to get to Jack just moments earlier. "That explains a lot," he said, scrubbing his hand down his face.

"Like what?" Jack asked him. "I know, Nikki died but that's all I know. Mac took off outta here like a skittish horse who just saw a rattler before I could get any more details out of him."

The CSI's gaze softened even further, and Jack got the distinct feeling he was not going to like what his cousin had to say.

"Maybe I should start at the beginning," Nick said haltingly.

As Mac made his way up the stairs, he eyed the inside of the warehouse with practiced skill. He could see two, no, three cameras not quite hidden in the rafters. Also interspersed throughout, were small block boxes, about two feet in diameter. Knowing Murdoc, those were speakers.

A voyeur who loved the sound of his own voice. Not a pleasant combination.

Ignoring the electronics for the time being, Mac's gaze returned to his feet—or more specifically, to the things his feet could encounter… like trip wire, pressure plates, the usual fare for an EOD specialist to be on the lookout for.

Nothing on the stairs. At the top, the corridor stretched only to the left, venturing further into the warehouse. He stopped at the third door on the right. In his mind's eye, he could see the photo of Frankie, bound to a chair, fearful gaze locked on the camera, split lip and black eye.

Still, despite the fear in her eyes, there was a strong undercurrent of defiance and strength. A determination much like the one Mac remembered seeing so often during their experiments at MIT when the evidence didn't seem to support the hypothesis. Except this determination was to stay alive at all costs.

He reached out for the doorknob but stopped suddenly. In his haste to get to his friend, he almost forgot about Pena's number one rule—see the bigger picture. Mac knew, in that moment, he was getting emotional about the situation, which could very well be blinding him to Murdoc's true motivation.

Frankie was inside this room. She'd been alive yesterday; the newspaper she was holding in the picture was proof of that. But Mac had no idea what kind of condition she was in today, in this very moment. She could be hurt, or worse, she could be dying.

He didn't even want to entertain the idea of what could be even worse than all that… the possibility that she was already dead giving Mac no chance at all of saving her.

"Wait a minute," Jack said, feeling like his blood was boiling in his veins. "Murdoc made Mac watch him kill his dad, while he listened to the kid's agony."

Nick nodded sadly. "I tried to be there for him, Cuz, but Mac just…"

"Shoved it down deep where no one could see or hear his pain," Jack finished for him. "Yeah, that kid can compartmentalize like nobody's business."

"You sure he isn't your kid?" Nick drawled, offering up a lazy, half smile.

"Shut up," Jack said lightly. Then his gaze turned serious. "But, if I were to be honest? I would be honoured, honoured, to call that kid my son."

"I know you would," Nick said.

"What else happened while I was… indisposed?"

"Shortly after he got the live video feed of you in that coffin, he got a phone call from some guy named… Bozer?"

"Yeah, that's his best friend and roommate," Jack supplied.

Nick arched a brow. "Best friend? I beg to differ," he argued. "Then again, I guess you can't bear the title of father-figure, big brother, and best friend. Besides, I know from personal experience that when you employ the first two roles, the third is automatically included in the job description." At Jack's look of confusion, Nick explained, "Just because you don't hold the specific title of 'best friend', doesn't mean you don't execute the duties like no one else possibly could."

"Dude, sometimes you an' Mac are a lot alike. Usin' a whole lotta words to explain somethin' that your tone indicates is one simple concept."

"All I'm sayin' is, I know my dad loves me, but he was always at work while I was growin' up. He and mom never had any more kids after me — "

"Can you blame 'em?" Jack teased.

Nick rolled his eyes, knowing that Jack was feeling uncomfortable with all the talk about their past, likely instinctually knowing where Nick was headed with that particular topic. "And, I was bullied so much as a kid for my love of science, I never really had a best friend. You somehow managed to fill all three roles with what seemed like very little effort."

"Whatever," Jack said dismissively.

"I'm tellin' ya, man, whenever Mac talks about you, I see myself fifteen years ago, when the one constant in my life was suddenly shipped overseas to fight the war on terrorism."

Jack saw the sincerity in his cousin's gaze, and blushed despite himself. "What did Bozer say when he called?" he asked, wanting to take the focus off himself but also sensing this information was somehow vitally important. His cousin's hesitation told him that his assumptions were correct.

"One of your team, Riley Davis…"

Jack sat up straighter in the bed, hackles rising. "What happened to Riley?"

"She was in a car accident," Nick told him gently, stepping back from the bed in surprise when his cousin threw the covers off and swung his legs over the edge. "It was a hit and run," he went on, grabbing a hold of Jack's arm to steady him when he started to sway on his feet. Understandable, really, considering everything he'd been through. "Last I heard, she got out of surgery but she hasn't regained consciousness yet."

"Where's my phone?" Jack asked anxiously, needing desperately to make a call back to L.A.

Nick took him by the shoulders and maneuvered his cousin back onto the edge of the mattress before moving over to the clothes closet at the opposite side of the room. "I know she's a team member, and clearly a friend, but I'm getting a deeper vibe from you."

"Mac is like a son to me; Riley is like a daughter—truth be told, she almost was my daughter 12 years ago. Probably woulda been if I hadn't been so stupid."

"Wait a minute. She's that Riley. Diane's daughter?"

"One and the same. Any luck findin' my phone?" he asked, starting to stand up again.

"Just relax for a minute, will you, please? I don't wanna have to lift your sorry behind up off the floor!" Realizing that Mac had been the last one to have Jack's cell phone, Nick changed direction and headed for the bedside table, figuring the kid would've left the device there so Jack would be able to reach it easily. Sure enough, he found it in the drawer and handed it to his cousin. Watching with concern, as Jack hurriedly turned it on, entered his passcode, and tapped a name in his contacts on the screen.

"Talk to me, Boze," Jack said into the phone a moment later.

After confirming there were no explosives blocking his entrance, Mac finally opened the door. Sitting at the other side of the room, with her back to MacGyver, was a dark-haired woman. At least, Mac assumed it was a woman. It could even be Frankie, but he couldn't be sure until he saw her face.

Intending to do just that, he stepped further into the room, wincing when the floorboard creaked beneath his weight.

The dark-haired woman lifted her head at the sound. "Mac? Is that you?"

He'd recognize that voice anywhere. Frankie! "Yeah, Frankie, it's me. Don't worry, I'm gonna get you out of here. Just sit tight, okay?"

Taking another step forward, he heard a CLICK.

"Mac?—"

BOOM!

TBC

A/N No cliffie this time! Posting the next chapter momentarily, this just seemed like a natural ending for this one. :-)