Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, yadda yadda yadda, everybody knows, now let's get to the story :)

Mac had lost count of how many people had been stunned by his abilities over the years. Teachers, government officials, more one-time acquaintances than he would care to count. He had gotten responses from spurned arrogance, to genuine awe.

Great fuel for a man's ego.

But being so… the way he was, he never got the chance to be surprised. Or awed. Or shocked. Everything had a pattern, everything was physics, every person had a tell.

Which, in his opinion, was a perfectly apt excuse for why meeting a punk kid managed to floor him.

It was a small town park, autumn leaves rustling along the ground with the slightest wind. Massive oaks were staggered throughout, their elegant arms wafting in a slow, almost senusal dance to a melody only they could hear.

Mac hadn't come out for any particular reason, other than out of pure unbridled necessity to clear his head. For someone so good with numbers, there was something about a rolling desk chair that was just so… toxic. Like it was leeching the life from his bones.

He pulled up short, his hands bulging in his leather jacket as if pushing against the material would make him break in time to avoid a collision. It did, the jogger sashaying by him without so much as a pause, her blond pony tail bobbing with each step.

Damn. If she wasn't so rude, he might have gotten sidetracked. Lucky him.

Sighing, Mac stepped over the sidewalk that was the near-missed sight of a t-bone collision, and started walking through the thick blanket of leaves on the other side. He would proudly admit to it later—the shuffling was intentional. No kid was too big to sidetrack for the sheer pleasure of hearing crunching leaves. There was something so inately satisfying about the sound…

He knew what it was of course—a mental association, the crunching leaves automatically turning the human mind to the crisp satisfaction of biting into crunchy food. Maybe that was why so many people liked chewing gum while they did it. Not that that made loads of sense, since gum wasn't crunchy. At least, it shouldn't be.

Wrinkling his nose, Mac popped the gum out of his mouth and let it drop into the fold of a leaf. He folded it over with his foot as he walked past, sticky pink showing only as a dark shadow under the near-translucent film of the leaf.

It was when he looked up that he saw it. If he was asked later, he wouldn't quite be able to remember the first thought that ran through his mind. Maybe how familiar the sight was. Because it was—damn familiar.

His eyebrows knit without his permission. But his feet carrying him in that direction? Oh, that was definately by his permission. He didn't even try to be quiet—he didn't want to spook the kid. And there was also the fact that trying to be quiet in autumn in the middle of North Carolina was damn near impossible.

He stopped a few yards away, leaning his shoulder against the worn bark of a thick oak as he observed the unusual sight.

The concrete picnic tables were spread out throughout the entire park—that wasn't unusual. Nor was the kid sitting at the bench. Well, he supposed he was a bit unusual, if only for what he was doing.

"Take a picture—I hear they last longer."

Mac smirked, taking that as an invitation to push himself off the tree and come closer. The boy didn't even look up.

Mac stopped when he reached the edge of the table, looking over the assortment of tech spread across the porous surface. He recognized all of the pieces—of course—but that wasn't what surprised him. What surprised him was that all of them looked homemade.

He looked down at the kid again, frowning. How old was he?

"Y'know, I figured to came over here to look at my junk—that you were some goodie-two-shoes busy body. Now you're starting to move into the catagory of grade-a perv."

The kid still didn't look up, his hands staying busy as he fiddled with a few of the pieces. Homemade tools, too.

Huh.

Mac shrugged. "And a perv wouldn't want to come over here to look at your junk?"

The kid looked up at that—ha! Victory!—and Mac caught his first good look at the boy. Damn, but the kid couldn't be older than fourteen. Bright green eyes that screamed intelligence, which was muffled down by the mischevious glint and cocky smirk. He had a feeling he just earned some points with the kid.

"Fair point."

"I could be a park ranger," Mac pointed out. Not that he was wearing the uniform, but after all, the kid hadn't looked up when he approached.

The kid's smirk grew. "Nah. Those guys always stomp over. They don't stop for a sneak peek."

A second invitation—or at least Mac took it as such. He slid in to sit across from the kid, the grace of the movement hindered by the coarseness of the seat. He felt the bite of the table top through his leather sleeves as he leaned on the surface.

"You sound like you got some experience in getting kicked out of walking parks."

"Hey, have you seen some of these joggers?" The kid let out a shrill whistle, face splitting in a smile that would no doubt become pantie-dropping in a few years.

Yes—this sight was very familiar.

Mac mimed a thoughtful expression, tapping his finger against his mouth. "Now, what I'm having difficulty figuring out…" he paused for effect, knowing it was little wonder people called him dramatic, "Is what a teenager could possibly need an infared scanner for."

Mac could see it—the instant the kid's face shuttered. It was a pretty seamless transition. Not flawless, but he doubted the kid had enough practice for that. Hell, he looked like he had had too much practice already.

But then the kid just shrugged. The only sign that Mac had stepped on a landmine was the added scrutiny in the boy's gaze.

"Who doesn't want an infared scanner? They're freakin' badass."

Mac spread his hands in surrender. He figured it was wise not to point out that it took most people several years in physics to build one as intricate as the pieces before him foreshadowed. Or to build one period.

"Most boys would say that about a flame thrower."

The kid paused, a wire poised between his fingertips as his eyes shuttered again; like he was thinking and didn't want Mac to be privy.

"Eh, been there, done that."

Mac couldn't help the smile that graced his features—not that he would ever try. He held out his hand across the table.

"I'm Macgyver. But my friends call me Mac."

Huh. If the kid's face was shuttered before, it was behind iron bars now. Sharp green eyed his face warily, never even glancing at his hand. Mac could see the tension running through his lean frame, reminding him of a cougar before it pounced. Or a rabbit before it fled.

The kid gave him a smile that was all teeth. Cougar it is. "S'not nice to be so forward, Mr. Macgyver."

Ouch. Any more pointed and Mac would have been impaled. He let his hand fall to the table, trying to ease the tension with a shrug.

"You got a name, kid?"

"Allegedly. Don't call me kid." Then, muttering under his breath, "old man."

Mac's head whiplashed like he'd been slapped. "I ain't old, kid."

"Yeah, well, equivalency in communication, man." If it weren't for his absent talking, the kid would be ignoring him completely now. Mac couldn't help but feel like a spurned prom date.

But, what the hell? The kid was more interesting than the circuit boards he had lying around in his temporary abode, and he was bored. He looked down at the table.

"Y'know, I got a few tricks that'll help you make the image clearer."

A/N: So, I'm debating whether or not to add more chapters to this fic and make it full-length. I'll probably dabble, but I won't post unless people are interested. (Not trying to fish! I promise, although feedback would be nice :)

BTW: one of the lines, "equivalency in communication" was taken out of maychorian 's fic "Corner of Your Eye" - a story I would definitely recommend if you love first impressions on Dean! You can tell the author really loves the characters.

PS: the infrared scanner was taken out of an episode in canon--and it looked very homemade.