Chapter 62: Opportunity Knocks

Sam Malloy paced the narrow hallway in front of the door to the office of the editor-in-chief of the Chicago Tribune, periodically jamming his splayed fingers through his dark brown hair. Earlier that morning, Becca had received an email requesting her presence in said office. She had been nervous and worried, but Sam tried to convince her there was nothing to be upset about. That the meeting might bring good news. Now he was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong. He stopped pacing to glance at his watch...again, when the door opened and Rebecca Williams emerged, cheeks flushed and a wide smile on her face. Sam felt instantaneous relief.

"Well, what happened?" he asked.

"You'll never guess!" Becca exclaimed.

"That's why I asked," Sam laughed.

"I just signed a contract to become the Tribune's newest staff reporter! I'm not a stringer anymore! I have a real, actual job!" She launched herself at Sam, throwing her arms around his neck and almost squeezing off his oxygen supply.

"That's great!" Sam congratulated her, hugging her back. "We need to go out and celebrate!"

"Malloy, get in here," a gruff voice, belonging to their boss, commanded.

After extricating himself from Becca, Sam followed the man into the office. A bubble of hope swelled. Maybe this was his break, too.

The short, rotund man turned to face him, pointing a finger at Sam's chest. "I know somethin's goin' on between you two, but now that Ms. Williams is a member of the staff I need you to stay out of her way, got it?! She's a promising, talented writer who could really make a name for herself in this business and I don't want her getting distracted by a pretty-boy and his camera."

Sam's heart fell to his shoes. Not only was he not getting hired, he was being warned away from his girlfriend. Unnerved by the declaration, yet admitting to himself the man only had Becca's best interests at heart, he nodded. "I got it, sir."

"Good! Now get back to work, or whatever it is you do around here."

Quelling his quickly rising anger, Sam pasted on a smile and rejoined Becca in the hallway.

"What did he want?" she asked.

"Just gave me some advice, is all," Sam replied. This was Becca's special day. One she had been waiting for longer than he had. He would not ruin it for her. "So, how do you want to celebrate?"

That evening found Sam and Becca sitting on the floor of her apartment, a square pizza box in front of them on the coffee table and a classic episode of Star Trek playing on the television. Rebecca had just finished the last bite of her Hawaiin pizza and was washing it down with the remains of her pineapple Slurpee when Sam asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't have rather gone out?"

Rebecca turned to him, clearly surprised. "No way! What better way to celebrate than with my two favorite guys?" she asked, reaching out to gently stroke her odd-looking but ever-faithful dog, Cip.

"I hope I'm one of those guys, or did Spock beat me out?" Sam laughed.

"Hmmm...it's close, but you made the cut," Becca teased.

"Good to know," Sam replied, oddly chagrined that he was almost jealous of a fictional character. "So, when do you think you'll get your first official assignment?"

"Oh, I already got it," she replied nonchalantly as she collected their used plates and headed to the kitchen, Cip on her heels.

"That was fast," Sam replied, following her and the dog. "Guess you're lucky you live in a city with a lot of crime that needs investigating," he tried to tease, but it came out sounding lame, even to him.

"It's not a crime story," she said, turning to face him but avoiding his eyes. "It's for the lifestyle section. The wives of the Chicago Cubs are holding their annual fashion show for charity tomorrow and I was assigned to cover it."

"But I thought you didn't write 'fluff' pieces," Sam challenged.

Becca's gaze now collided with his. "Things are different now, Sam. I'm an honest-to-goodness employee of the paper. If I want to stay that way, I need to cover whatever assignments they give me."

"So you're selling out! Giving up on your dream!" Sam spat.

"No! I'm paying my dues. Once I prove myself I'll start getting the stories I really do want to write."

Sam threw up his hands and turned away. "You're right. I'm sorry," he muttered. "I guess I'm just...tired."

"I know something that will cheer you up," Becca said brightly. "I'm sure the paper is going to want pictures. I'll ask if you can be my photographer!"

Sam grinned shamelessly. "You mean you wouldn't get jealous of me photographing all those beautiful women in sexy clothes?"

"Of course not! Like I said, they're all married anyway!" Becca smiled triumphantly before playfully sticking out her tongue at him.

The following day, Sam and Becca stood in the editor's office.

"You don't understand, Williams. You don't have to rely on a stringer anymore. A staff photographer has already been notified and will accompany you to the event this afternoon. Malloy will just have to sniff out his own stories."

Rebecca looked up at Sam apologetically, but he shrugged her off. "It's no big deal," he replied casually. "I can find plenty of stuff to keep me busy."

XXXXX

Sam slumped in the threadbare armchair across from the TV, absently petting Cip who lay at his side, both of them completely ignoring the sitcom playing out in front of them. It had been three weeks since Rebecca had been officially hired by the Tribune. She had just landed her first investigative story and was working late...again. She asked him to take care of Cip until she got home...again. Sam glanced over his shoulder and eyed his kitchen ruefully. He had spent hours putting together a romantic dinner to surprise her with. Now it sat drying out in the oven. Cip lifted his head, sniffed the air, and whined.

"I hear ya, buddy," Sam sighed. "We might as well go ahead and eat it ourselves."

He knew he should be excited for Becca, and he was. But he couldn't help the jealousy that snuck in every now and again when he took second place to her job. And every now and again he was reminded that he didn't have a job...at least not a steady one with a consistent income. Unless he counted babysitting Cip, but he was doing that for free. His girlfriend was suddenly on the fast track to success in a career she loved and he, after more than a year of working as a stringer, was sharing an overdone meal with a dog that wasn't even his.

After dinner had been eaten and the dishes done, Sam stretched out on the couch to brood. The TV was still on and his attention was drawn to images of buildings exploding and general chaos in a faraway country. Not that long ago, he would have eagerly been in the middle of all the commotion, documenting the event with his camera, assisting where needed, and doing everything he could to bring down the bad guys. Something unexpected stirred in his soul and he couldn't help but wonder if it was time for him to move on.

The next thing Sam knew, sunlight was streaming through the slats in his blinds and he felt someone watching him. He turned his head to find Cip impatiently waiting, ready to take care of his morning business. Sam rose quickly, knowing all too well the consequences of keeping his canine pal waiting. As he fastened the purple nylon leash to Cip's collar, he noticed a piece of paper had been slipped under the front door. He picked it up and immediately recognized Becca's handwriting. Got home late. Didn't want to wake you. See you tonight. B.

"Guess it's you and me again," he said to Cip as he led the dog out of the apartment.

Not inclined to return home to the lonely space, and definitely not inclined to spend the day hanging out at the Tribune, Sam took Cip on a longer-than-usual leisurely walk through a nearby park. An old man sat hunched over on a bench tossing breadcrumbs to a flock of pigeons. Would that be him someday? Sour mood still intact, he and the dog eventually returned home. They stepped off the elevator to find two men in dark suits loitering in the hallway just outside the door to his apartment.

Sam came to an immediate halt. He recognized feds when he saw them. The question was which agency did they work for. FBI? CIA? More importantly, what did they want with him. Aware that the men had yet to notice them...what kind of agents were they, anyway?...Sam took a moment to gather himself before loudly clearing his throat to get their attention. "Something I can do for you fellas?" he asked, casually approaching them but mentally on high alert.

"Sean Angus Malloy?" the taller one asked.

"Name's Sam."

The two men glanced at each other, the one who had spoken raising his eyebrow before saying, "Can we talk inside?"

"I need to see some ID first," Sam demanded.

Clearly displeased with the younger man's defiant attitude, the men slowly reached into their pockets and withdrew their identification cards and badges. Sam studied them carefully. "Department of External Services?"

"That's correct," the shorter man spoke this time. "I'm Agent Sanders and this is Agent Turner."

Sam knew that his dad and Pete had worked for the DXS before joining the Phoenix Foundation, though neither one spoke extensively of their time there. Regardless, this couldn't be a coincidence. "Whatta you want?"

"We'd like to speak with you. Privately," Sanders said.

Sam nodded once to show he understood before taking his sweet time unlocking his door and gesturing for the two gentlemen to enter. He bent down and unclipped Cip's leash, watching as the dog darted into the bedroom. Wimp. Looking up, he found the men had already seated themselves on his couch.

"Okay, talk," he said without preamble or any of the other niceties normally bestowed on guests.

"Wouldn't you like to sit down?" Turner asked him.

"I'll stand for now."

Once again the two agents glanced at each other in silent communication.

"We'll get right to the point," Sanders said. "We'd like you to come work for the DXS."

"Why?" Sam asked bluntly.

"Your father was the best operative the department ever had. We have every reason to believe you could be just as good."

"How's that?" Sam wasn't sure why he felt like he had to give these guys a hard time, but following his gut had kept him out of trouble in the past.

"When you and MacGyver brought down Colonel Chung and his syndicate, a lot of people took notice."

"That was six years ago. What took ya so long to find me?"

Sam swore the agents nearly smirked before Sanders cleared his throat to reply. "We've been keeping an eye on you for quite awhile now...Sam."

Sam's breath hitched, but he worked hard to maintain a cool facade. "So what, you've been tailing me? Bugging my apartment?"

"Nothing so 'cloak-and-dagger' I'm afraid," the other agent, Turner, replied. "Let's just say we have ways of keeping track of people who interest us. And we are very interested in you."

"If I'm so interesting, then you know I already have a job."

"A job you're considering leaving, perhaps?" Sanders countered.

Surprised at how much the DXS really did know about him and wondering exactly how they had gotten this information, Sam took his time before replying. "Perhaps," he agreed. Perhaps this is the change I didn't know I needed, he thought to himself. "You'll give me some time to think about this?" he asked.

"Of course," Sanders quickly agreed as Turner nodded. "But we'll need an answer soon. Opportunities like this rarely knock twice."

Sam took a step towards the door, indicating it was time for the men to leave. On their part, the agents stood and adjusted their suits before following. "We'll be in touch," Turner informed him.

As soon as the men had crossed the threshold, Sam closed and locked the door behind them before turning to lean his back against it. Cip scurried out of the bedroom and stopped in front of Sam, big brown eyes begging for attention. "Some help you were," Sam grumbled as he gave the dog a hearty ear rub. "But I can't blame you for hiding. I didn't much care for them either." But they'd be back, and before they returned, Sam needed to do a lot of thinking...and a little recon as well.

XXXXX

Hours later, Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his front door. Concerned it might be the DXS agents again, he quietly made his way over and looked out the peephole. It was Becca.

"Cip! Your mom's here!" Sam announced as he opened the door. Rebecca eagerly entered his apartment, a smile on her face as she bent down to cuddle her dog.

"Thank you SO much for keeping an eye on him, Sam!"

"No problem. I enjoyed the company," he replied, hating the sarcasm that couldn't help but drip from his voice.

Becca looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow before straightening to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry I've been so busy, but this was my first investigative story. I had to do my best. But I submitted it today and thought we could go out for dinner to celebrate. For real. No pizza and Star Trek this time." The look on her face was a mix of hope and anxiety. Sam truly didn't want to hurt her but…

"I've got plans," he said flatly, handing her Cip's lead which she clipped onto the pooch's collar, her eyes sad.

"Well, maybe some other time?" she asked, trying to rally her flagging spirits.

"Yeah, sure," Sam agreed.

"Okay then, I guess I'll see you around."

Sam gave Becca a curt nod. His heart hurt as he watched her turn away, but he had other things to take care of at the moment. He would find a way to make this up to her. He hoped.

Once Rebecca had collected Cip, Sam headed out and drove directly to the Thornton's. After ringing the doorbell, he glanced at his watch. It was early evening already so he shouldn't be interrupting their supper.

"Peter, answered the door!" he heard Connie instruct.

"But I'm listening to the game," Pete mumbled.

"You've been snoozing is what you've been doing," Connie accused. "Not thirty seconds ago you were snoring!"

Sam bit his lip and tried not to smile as he heard Pete groan and approach the door. He knew Pete couldn't see him, but the man had an uncanny sense of knowing others' reactions. The front door opened a crack.

"Who's there?" Pete asked and Sam was glad to see he was taking precautions, even if he should have asked that question before opening the door at all.

"Hi Pete, it's Sam. I'm sorry to barge in like this, but I really need to talk to you."

Pete's initial welcoming grin quickly disappeared as his lips turned into a serious flat line. "No problem. C'mon in." The older man held the door wide as Sam entered.

"Sam! What a pleasant surprise!" Connie greeted him. "Have you eaten yet?"

Sam was about to dismiss the question when his stomach growled as if on cue.

Connie smirked. "Come into the kitchen. I have some leftover pot roast."

Knowing resistance was futile, he followed her to the table and took a seat with Pete following suit. Once a plate of tender meat, and roasted root vegetables was in front of him, Connie silently left the room.

"Now what is it that's got you all hot and bothered?" Pete asked.

Sam hesitated, even though he had come here specifically to discuss the day's events. "A couple of DXS agents came to my apartment today," he said after swallowing a bite of food. "They want me to come work for them."

"I see," Pete responded. His voice was calm and neutral, no doubt the result of years of interrogating criminals...and listening to MacGyver's crazy schemes.

"I got a really bad vibe from 'em, but I don't know why. It could be a great opportunity. I know you and my dad worked for the DXS before joining Phoenix. What can you tell me about them?"

Pete sat back in his chair. His sightless eyes staring across the room. "The DXS is a high level security government agency that performs special activities outside of the United States." When Sam remained silent, he continued, "This could be in the form of surveillance, intelligence gathering, or any type of covert operation they're assigned."

"That stuff sounds like it's right up my dad's alley. Why did he leave?"

Pete sighed. "Don't you think you outta talk to Mac about this?"

"No! At least, not yet. I need to make this decision on my own, but I need some unbiased information."

Pete chuckled. "I'm not sure how 'unbiased' I can be! I'd like to think your dad followed me to the Phoenix Foundation because he liked working with me."

"I'm sure that was part of it," Sam agreed. "If you won't speak for my dad, can you at least tell me why you left? I mean, weren't you getting promotions and stuff?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I was," the older man sighed. "But as the years went by, the very things that had made the job appealing began to make it, well, not what I wanted to do anymore."

"But didn't you still do that kinda stuff for the Phoenix Foundation?"

Pete nodded. "I did. But working for Phoenix provided me with other opportunities outside of the government as well like environmental initiatives and public education and assistance programs. I guess you could say it gave me a new sense of purpose."

Sam slouched in his chair and expelled an exasperated breath. "I'm still not sure what I should do."

"Let me ask you this. Why did you become a photojournalist?"

Sam shrugged. "As a kid, it was the only thing I knew. When I got older I realized it was the perfect cover for me to track down my mom's murderer."

"And you did that. But when you and your dad came back from your excursions, you chose to stay one. Why?"

"I enjoy the freedom and the thrill of the chase," Sam replied without hesitation. "And sometimes I get to help people along the way."

"Then why are you letting this business with the DXS bother you? Sounds to me like you're already doing what you love."

"It just hasn't been the same over the past few months," Sam confessed.

"How so?"

"I'm bored," Sam moaned, feeling more defeated than ever. "Every journalist in this city gets to a story before I do. The most excitement I've had was working with Willis to help Dad figure out why that Blue Angels jet crashed on the Fourth of July." He hung his head, glad for once that Pete was blind.

"You're more like your father than you realize," Pete muttered, massaging his forehead with one hand.

"I don't wanna let him down, Pete. When he was my age he was-"

"Stop right there!" Pete commanded. "You and Mac may be father and son, but you're also two individual people. No one, including MacGyver, expects you to do exactly what he did. And as a father myself, I can tell you that you could never let him down. He loves you and that's never gonna change...no matter what!"

"I know," Sam conceded, "but I'm just so confused right now. I don't know what I should be doing or where I belong."

Silence reigned for so long that Sam thought his friend had dozed off, but when he finally spoke, Sam's heart skipped a beat.

"Have you ever thought about working at Phoenix?"

"Are you kidding?!" Sam exclaimed. "After hearing about all the stuff you and my dad have done I've always thought it would be totally awesome!"

"Why didn't you ever say anything?! I could've pulled some strings and-"

"That's why," Sam said, his excitement gone. "If I got a job there I'd always be seen as 'MacGyver's son'. You just said we're two individuals. I need to make my own way in life."

"Son, from what I hear, you've been making your own way since you were nine years old. Isn't it about time you accept some help?"

"I just don't want everybody thinking I got the job because of who my father is," Sam explained.

Pete chuckled. "Hey, I don't carry as much weight around there as I used to, but I can make a phone call, and I'm sure Willis and your dad, if you want him to, would be more than happy to vouch for you, but once you get your foot in the door, it's gonna be all up to you. You'll have to prove yourself just like everyone else. In fact, expectations may be higher for you because you are Mac's son. Why don't you take some time to think this over?"

Sam felt a cloak of peacefulness settle around him. For the first time since taking down Chung he knew without a doubt what he had to do...what he wanted to do. "Make the call, Pete."

XXXXX

Sam glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he stood in front of his bedroom mirror tightening his tie. He was finally taking Becca out to dinner and he didn't want to be late. The traffic between his apartment and the Phoenix field office had been unusually horrible. He had just spent the last two hours in the human resources department signing what felt like a hundred documents, but he was now an official employee of the Phoenix Foundation.

At seven o'clock sharp, Sam knocked on Becca's door. She opened it and smiled wide before inviting him in. Cip hurried to greet him as well and Sam bent down and affectionately ruffled his ears. "I've missed you, buddy!"

"What about me?" Becca asked, her arms crossed over her chest in mock indignation.

Sam stepped back to drink her in. She was beautiful this evening in a simple red dress and just a hint of make-up. "I've missed you more," he said, drawing close to place a tender kiss on her forehead.

A short while later the couple was seated at an intimate table for two in one of the city's most prestigious restaurants. Sam couldn't help but grin as Becca surreptitiously took in their surroundings. "You didn't need to bring me to an expensive place like this to celebrate my first story," she half-heartedly objected.

"Yes I did," Sam assured her. "We waited too long for a proper celebration and I wanted to do it in style. Besides, we actually have two things to celebrate tonight."

"Oh, Sam! You finally broke a big story! I knew it was just a matter of time before things turned around for you!"

"No, it has nothing to do with a story. In fact, I won't be around the Tribune anymore."

"What's going on, Sam?" she asked cautiously as if fearing his response.

"I didn't want to say anything to you in case something fell through, but Pete and Willis helped me get in at the Phoenix Foundation and as of a few hours ago I'm an official employee."

Becca sat so still Sam was unable to tell if she was even breathing. He had wanted his announcement to be a happy surprise but now he was having second thoughts. Perhaps he should have let her in on his career change from the beginning.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shoulda told you about it right away."

"I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?" she replied in a clipped tone that made him wince. "What will you be doing there?"

"That's yet to be determined," Sam told her, relaxing a bit. If she was asking questions perhaps her temper was cooling. "They did say they'd like to take advantage of my photography skills. Maybe have me do surveillance or something. The plan is to have me intern in a bunch of different positions and then see where I fit best." Sam got excited just talking about all the possibilities opening up for him and he wished Becca felt the same.

"Will it be dangerous?" she asked softly, bowing her head just enough to break eye contact.

With those four words, Sam instantly understood her initial reaction.

"It might be. Sometimes," he answered. "It'll depend on the type of assignments they send me on, I guess."

"I'm going to miss you," she whispered huskily as a lone tear slid down her blushed cheek and just about killed Sam. Nothing was more dangerous than a woman's tears. Reaching across the table he gently used the back of his index finger to impede its escape.

"I'm not leaving you," he whispered back. "I'll still be in the apartment below you."

"But you won't be at the Tribune. You won't leave pineapple Slurpees on my desk when you know I'm having a bad day and you won't be there-"

"Becca, stop," he cut her off, his finger moving under her chin to tilt it up until they were eye-to-eye. "You're gonna be okay. You're awesome at what you do and you know you love it. You don't need me hangin' around."

"But what if we start to drift apart?" she said with a hiccup. "I'll be at the Tribune and investigating stories and you'll be at Phoenix or wherever they decide to send you."

Sam was pretty sure his heart had just broken in half and he had to swallow back tears of his own. He hadn't meant to cause her this much pain. "So, maybe we'll have to work a little harder at our relationship," he suggested. "It might be harder for us to spend a lot of time together, especially at first, but we'll just have to make time. We'll be okay, Becca."

He watched helplessly as she dabbed at her eyes with the linen napkin. "I guess I kinda overreacted," she said with a watery smile. "Does your dad know about your new job?"

Sam took a sip of water and cleared the emotion from his throat. "Yeah. And he took it better than I expected."

"What do you mean? I thought he'd be proud that you're following in his footsteps."

Sam then realized there was still a lot about him and his dad Becca didn't know. "The thing is, when my dad left Phoenix it wasn't exactly on good terms. Things had changed a lot while he was gone. But he's really happy for me. Joanna, too. And even though he's my dad, it's not like I'm gonna be running off to foriegn lands to diffuse bombs with chewing gum and paperclips. I'm gonna get to figure out what's best for me. Who knows, maybe I'll end up locked away in some windowless room crunching numbers all day!"

Becca chuckled and it warmed his heart. "I doubt that's your true calling, but I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"No," Sam countered, taking her hand in his. "We'll figure it out...together.