A/N: I have a direction! YAYYYY!!! And I am actually enjoying writing this story! Like, loving it! Hear that? SCREW YOU WRITER'S BLOCK!! YOU KEPT ME IMPRISONED FOR TWO YEARS, BUT NO LONGER!!!! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!
*ahem* excuse my excitement... hope you enjoy ;]
A/N 2: this is an edit: I didn't want to forget to thank Kathy for leaving such an encouraging comment. This chapter is hereby dedicated to you. And don't worry, I will give you Sam and Mac ASASP (as soon as is smoothly possible)
It took him a whole twenty-four hours before he realized that he was missing a familiar weight in the back of his pocket.
It was the perfect form of embarrassment, reaching back to pay for a six pack—of root beer—and realizing his wallet was gone. Then there was the whole awkward process of holding up one finger, the inevitible sigh from the cashier, the smacking of their bubblegum a little more just to get across their annoyance.
He left without the six pack. But at least he gained a new direction: that kid.
It took him longer than he would have liked to track him down. But he figured he was due some leniency—by the time he was brought in on most situations, the problem was already located.
Ten hours. Ten hours of asking at the schools, asking around at the best hangouts for teenagers— "Get outta here, old man!" —and finally, at five o'clock in the friggin' morning, getting some answers when he went to the street dwellers.
But what did he expect? The kid picked his pocket, after all. How he did it, that was another matter. He didn't think he got within three feet of the kid the whole time he interacted with him. Most people would dismiss him as a suspect, but Mac had never had the misfortune of being grouped in with 'most people.' He didn't have any proof, but he knew no one else had the opportunity. And there was something about that kid he couldn't shake.
What he did not expect was to find the kid while he was strolling down a road so skeevy that the hairs on the nape of his neck wouldn't stop tingling.
Morning was just creeping up, but the thick cloudcover dimished lighting to the streetlamps' dim circles of security. His eyes were scanning ahead of him as he walked, trying to stay in the light.
It shouldn't have suprised him to spot the kid skulking in the dark.
Mac pulled up short when he spotted them stepping out of a shoddy warehouse, his hands curling into fists in his pockets. Two figures, their sillhouettes highlighted by harsh orange light. The shorter one with distinctive spiked hair. The taller shoving something into the shorter's hands.
Mac's lips peeled apart in surprise. He knew there was no way he would find a kid like that at a picnic with his family—not with how many street dwellers knew him. Not with how they talked about him. Not with the mystery of MacGyver's vanishing wallet. But it still churned his gut. What the hell was the kid doing? And where the hell were his parents?
The figures broke apart—not before the taller gave the kid a none-too-friendly shove—the mystery man stepping back into the warehouse, and the kid just stepping. Away from Mac. Staying in the shadows.
His mouth thinned into a firm line. Two could play at that game. Hell, once Mac had snuck up on an enemy sentry in broad daylight in a bright red beanie with a large pom-pom on top. Not his brightest move, but still…
When the kid stepped around the corner, Mac slipped across the street, hopping up on the curb at a jog to close the distance between them while the kid was out of sight. He slipped around the corner, his back still illuminated by harsh artificial light. Ahead, nothing but shadows. Damn, this kid was asking to get mugged.
His eyes were still adjusting when he stepped into the wide alley, but he could see well enough to avoid stepping on the trash strewn across it—well enough to spot the kid's back twenty paces in front of him.
Mac didn't know what he was waiting for when he started tailing the kid. Maybe for him to get to a more secure location so they could talk. Maybe to see where the kid lived. Maybe to find out what the kid was doing. His body always worked faster than his brain in these situations—it was the art of improvisation.
He was still trying to work out what to do, as he moved in and out of alleys, onto a main road to cars whipping past, back into sidestreets. All the while following the strolling bow-legged frame. He thought it was going beautifully—other than him wondering if he was going to have to walk across the whole damn city—the kid's cockiness finally working to his advantage.
That was, until, he turned into a dead-end alley. To nothing. No doors, no dumpsters, and no kid.
What the hell?
Mac's shoulders stiffened, until he could feel the tautness of his jacket across his shoulders. He slipped his fists from his pockets, ears straining but picking up no more than the distant sound of passing cars.
Until the faint crunch of gravel being twisted under a boot—behind him.
Mac reeled around, already trying to come up with an escape plan to avoid being mugged. But his mind shuddered to a stop when his eyes locked on the highlighted sillhouette of the figure blocking his way out of the alley. It no longer mattered that Mac had several inches on the kid—his glare wasn't detracted from. Not by the height difference, and not by the bruises mottling up his neck, spreading out across his temple.
It took him less than a second to take in the kid's stance—feet apart, drawing a charge of balance from the ground beneath him. Shoulders relaxed, but ready to spring into action. A look, a poise he hadn't seen since the soldiers in Afghanistan.
By the time the kid spoke, Mac had long forgotten about his stolen wallet.
A/N: Yes--MacGyver did actually sneak up on an enemy sentry in broad daylight wearing a bright red beanie with a big Pom-Pom. Pilot episode, original series