by Cindy Combs
Mac's hand slowly rose to rub his eyes. "Blair, I mean it. I don't want to lose you, too."
Blair leaned forward to encircle Mac's other wrist with his hand. "You're not going to lose me, and you haven't lost Sam yet. Now, take these so that we won't lose you." Blair pulled the hand open to drop the pills into the palm.
Mac paused a moment before finally slipping the pills into his mouth. Blair handed him the glass of juice to ease the medication on its way. After he was sure the pills were swallowed, he stood up. "Okay, that airline food was horrible, so why don't I fix us something to eat?"
"I'm not hungry."
Blair rolled his eyes, recognizing the next battle he had to fight. "Yes, you are." He walked to the kitchen, determined to win not only the battle, but the war.
Two hours later, Ellison's loft, Cascade, WA
~bring~
Jim instantly turned from the TV to pick up the phone. "Ellison."
"Hi, Jim."
A mixture of relief and concern flowed through the tall detective as he heard his friend's tired voice. "Hi, Chief. You make it to Mac's okay?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Have you heard from Sam yet?" Jim asked, worried at the depressed tone.
"No, nothing yet. Pete has heard that no American bodies were found at the village, though. I'm taking that as a good sign."
"Yeah, that's good." Jim turned his mind away from all the other gruesome scenarios. "How's Mac?"
"Not good." The exhaustion, frustration and worry vibrated across the line. "God, Jim, I've never seen him like this. He's sick, grouchy, and keeps telling me to leave. It's like aliens have sucked out all the life and left just a shell of Mac behind. I finally managed to get some soup down him after a LONG argument, which must have worn him out because he's asleep on the couch. I couldn't make him move to his bed."
Jim closed his eyes, feeling his friend's frustration. "Do you need help?"
"I'd love some, but I'm afraid it would be counterproductive. Mac would probably feel ganged up on and become even more stubborn. Right now, if I keep up the steady pressure, he eventually gives in just to get me off his back."
Jim smiled briefly, knowing how well that particular technique of Blair's had worked on him in the past. But that didn't mean it was easy on his friend. "How are you holding up?"
"I don't know. I guess I'm just really scared, you know? I'm scared that Sam is out there hurt or worse, and I can't help him. I'm scared that if I do lose Sam, Mac'll sink so deep into depression, I'll lose him as well. I feel so close to them, yet I've only known them for a couple of years. I'm not ready to lose them yet."
Jim took a deep breath. "Sam's a survivor, Blair. Just like his brother. Just like his father. You have to believe in that and hang on."
"I know, and I am. It doesn't make waiting for news any easier, though."
"I know it doesn't. Are you sure you don't need some company?"
"No, with all the vacations due to Christmas, Simon's going to need you. Hell, I'm still surprised he let me go."
"He understands, Chief. Just remember that if you need me, I'm only a phone call away."
"Thanks, Jim."
Early morning, December 23rd, MacGyver's Apartment, Los Angeles, CA
Rubbing his wet curls with a towel, Blair walked into the living area to see MacGyver, sitting back up on the couch and staring at the phone again. An occasional cough or sniffle were the only sounds to assure the younger man that his father was still breathing. Taking a moment to center himself, Blair decided to start fresh. Gently, he called out, "Hey Mac, why don't I make us some breakfast?"
"Not hungry."
Blair rolled his eyes from behind Mac's back. "How about a fruit smoothie? Even Jim likes my orange peach concoction."
"Leave me alone."
"Back to that," Blair muttered, glad he was dealing for once with a man whose hearing was normal. Forcing any trace of frustration out of his voice, Blair continued lightly, "And the vitamin C will do you good. Just give me a few minutes and it'll be ready."
Ignoring the growl from the couch, Blair walked to the kitchen and searched for the ingredients. In fifteen minutes, he was back, placing the cool glass on the coffee table. "How do you feel this morning?" Mac ignored both him and the glass as he blew his nose. "Do I need to force some more ibuprofen on you?" Silence. "Okay, at least try the smoothie. I guarantee you'll like it."
"Leave me alone."
The frustration rose to color Blair's voice. "Mac, you are worse than a child. Hell, you're even worse than Jim and I didn't think that was possible. But if you drink it, I'll quit bugging you about breakfast."
Lifeless brown eyes lifted to stare at the blue ones above him. Blair just stared back, allowing every bit of his determination to drill into the other's eyes. Finally, MacGyver picked up the glass and took a sip.
Blair turned back to the kitchen to hide his smile. Guess that's another thing I've learned from Jim.
The apartment grew ominously quiet as Blair cleaned the kitchen. The younger man even found himself banging cupboard doors and slamming drawers, trying to lift the gloom. Suddenly, it was broken by the shrill of the phone.
Blair dashed into the living room in time to hear Mac snap, "I'M NOT INTERESTED!" and slam the phone back down on the coffee table.
Wincing from the unexpected violence, Blair took a deep breath. "Someone wanting to discuss your phone bill?" he asked lightly, referring to the typical ploy of long distance phone companies fishing for business.
"No, subscription to the Times," Mac growled.
The older man sat back down and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked so tired and dejected, Blair couldn't help but insert, "Sooner or later it will be someone who'll tell us Sam is all right and coming home."
"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT!?!?!" MacGyver shouted as he jumped up. He stormed away, then started to pace, his cough practically ignored. "We have no idea what has happened. Sam could be dead now!"
Blair's own anger was rising. He stepped in front of his father, grabbing his arms. "We don't know that, either. What we DO know is Sam himself." Mac made an attempt to jerk away, but Blair held on fast. "Even Jim said that Sam is a survivor, just like I am. I KNOW that Sam is doing everything he can to get to safety, just like I would be in the same situation. In fact, Sam and I both get that trait from you."
Mac stilled, not looking at his son but listening. Encouraged, Blair continued, "Just as I know I would be doing everything I could to survive and get home, I'm not going to give up on Sam until I have proof saying otherwise." Blair gently released one of Mac's arms to comfortingly rest a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, how many times have you been in a tough situation where others thought YOU were dead? How many times has Pete Thornton stood by, having faith that you'd make it even when everyone around him thought otherwise?" Seeing the memories drift across Mac's face, Blair pressed, "Doesn't Sam deserve the same faith?"
Tears began to fall from Mac's eyes. "But everyone else died," he whispered brokenly.
Blair drew him into his arms, his own voice becoming rough. "Sam isn't your mother, Mac. He isn't your father or grandmother, either. Sam is tough, and smart, and he's a MacGyver. Just like us, he will find a way home, no matter what time of the year it is."
Mac finally broke down with a harsh sob. Blair tightened his hold, supporting his father as he prayed that his brother really was okay.
An hour later
Blair pulled a blanket over MacGyver and paused a moment to watch him. After convincing Mac to try one of the herbal cold remedies Blair had packed, he had drifted off to sleep. At least it should speed up the wait, and perhaps help his immune system, too.
A vibration of the pager Blair had clipped to his belt that morning drew him to the balcony with his cell phone.
"Ellison."
"Got your page. What's up?"
"Hi Chief. Where's the Kolowasky file?"
"It should be in the pile of folders between my computer and the phone."<
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In the background, the faint sounds of Jim searching the pile drifted over the line. "How's Mac holding up?" Jim asked absently.
"Better. He's asleep right now, but this is really hard on him." Blair took a deep breath as his own seed of doubt grew. "I'm not sure how he'll handle it if Sam..."
The folder search was abandoned as Jim turned his full attention to his partner. "Don't you lose faith, too, Blair. Sam will fight tooth and nail to get out of this. You know that."
Blair chuckled. "That's what I just got done telling Mac. And nine tenths of me believes that. It's that other tenth that's worried."
"Tell that tenth that Sam has too many MacGyver genes to give up," Jim ordered.
"I know. I told Mac that, too." Then, sentinel soft, "Thanks."
Blair could almost hear his friend's soft, encouraging smile. "Any time, Chief. And if you forget again, call me."
"Will do."
"Okay, I've found the file. Hang in there."
"I will, and you be careful!"
"Aren't I always?"
Blair rolled his eyes as he shut off the phone.
That afternoon, MacGyver's apartment
Blair glanced over the top of his laptop when he heard Mac stir, coughing. Seeing his father sit up, he immediately shut down the web site on Chechnya and closed the device. "Hey Mac. How you feeling?"
Mac just shrugged as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then grabbed some more Kleenex. After blowing his nose, he met his son's gaze. "Sorry about earlier."
"Hey man, nothing to be sorry about. That's what I'm here for." Blair stood up and stretched, carefully gauging the other's condition. Deciding Mac looked mostly scruffy and sick with the depression more on the edges, Blair carefully asked, "Feel like something to eat?"
"Not really," Mac admitted, his voice still hoarse from the cold. "But you're going to make me eat anyway, aren't you?"
Blair laughed softly. "Yep, I'm going to make you." Taking another look at Mac's messy hair, he suggested, "Why don't you take a shower while I make it? The steam will help open your nasal passages." Noting Mac's immediate glance at the phone, Blair quickly reassured, "If there's a call, I'll get you. I promise."
Mac rubbed his face again, then quietly agreed.
A half hour later, a freshly scrubbed MacGyver sat back down on the couch as Blair placed a bowl of soup in front of him. "I'm afraid I used chicken stock," Blair admitted as he seated himself at the other end of the coffee table with his own bowl, "But chicken soup is supposed to be good for colds. However, I didn't put any meat in, only vegetables."
"Thanks, Blair, that'll be fine." Mac breathed in the rising steam before dipping in his spoon. The pair ate in silence for the first few minutes. Then Mac spoke to his bowl, "I am sorry, Blair. I didn't mean to treat you that way."
"I understand, Dad," Blair assured him. "That's why I'm here. You've been strong for me in the past. Now it's my time to be strong for you."
Mac looked up, a hint of his normal twinkle struggling to light his eyes. "Yeah, but who's going to be strong for you now?"
"Jim," Blair immediately answered. He chuckled. "He's already given me a few pep talks."
A faint smile curled a corner of Mac's mouth. "I should have known." He poked at his soup for a moment. "You know, I've wished Sam had one."
"One what?" Blair asked, confused.
"A sentinel. I don't worry about you as much as I would if Jim wasn't protecting your back."
"I protect his, too."
"That's why it works."
After another pause, Blair asked hesitantly, "Do you worry more about me now, since I joined the Cascade PD?"
Mac met Blair's eyes. "I've always worried about you. Just because the University was paying you didn't mean you weren't facing the same dangers as most police officers, perhaps even more. Though I'll admit I'm not thrilled with the idea of you using a gun, I respect what you do, and I admire your courage and ingenuity. I'm even more impressed with how you carry out your guide duties, especially since you're writing the rule book as you go." Blair felt a warm glow deep in his soul at the praise. "But most importantly, I know Jim is there to back you up in whatever dangerous situation you two get into. But Sam... Sam usually works alone."
"Didn't you usually work alone when you were an agent?"
Mac nodded, a self-deprecating smile trying to work its way onto his face. "Yeah, and I remember the dangerous situations I used to get into. It scares me to think of Sam in them, too."
"He's going to be okay," Blair quietly, yet forcefully, inserted.
"I hope so," Mac replied softly, his nasally voice full of worry.
Racking his brains for a good change of subject, Blair rejected several before his mouth suddenly asked, "What was Grandpa Harry like?" Quickly shoving aside his surprise at the question, he continued, "You always quote him, and I know the cabin in Colorado was his, but what was he like?"
Mac swirled his soup, his spoon clicking against the bowl as he thought about his grandfather. "Harry wasn't always an easy man. In fact, he was often rude, caustic and opinionated. Yet he could always cut right through the bull to get to the heart of a situation, then give you a straight answer on the right thing to do, whether you wanted to hear it or not. He taught me a lot. For instance, there was this one time when I was a kid playing hockey in the championship game "
That evening
"...Naomi and Aunt Esther started arguing over the proper way to make Mexican mole. Aunt Esther likes hers spicy, while Mom prefers hers sweet." Blair's eyes were distant, remembering the Sandburg family gatherings. "Of course, mole has over 25 ingredients, so there was plenty of room for discussion. They'd fight for hours, during which the cousins and I would hide out in Tommy's fort."
Blair then returned his attention to MacGyver. Mac's eyes were also distant, while his hands tightened their grip on his mug. Blair was certain he was back to his battle with worry and grief. Taking a drink from his cup, Blair continued, "Of course, that's when the Indians invaded with their laser guns and tanks." He paused, waiting for a reaction that didn't come. "Mac?"
With a blink of his eyes, Mac returned to the present. "What?"
Before Blair could reply, the phone rang. Mac instantly picked up the receiver. "Hello?... Was Sam with them?... WHAT?" Mac jumped from the couch and began to pace. "Come on, he couldn't just disappear, Pete... Could the Russian government be holding him somewhere?... Does anyone know if he was hurt? Can't those journalist tell us ANYTHING?... Okay, Pete... Yeah, he's right here... No, I haven't killed him yet." Mac flashed Blair a faint smile. "Okay, call us the MINUTE you hear anything, no matter what."
"What?" Blair asked anxiously as Mac clicked off the phone and placed it back on the coffee table. Mac dropped to the couch and rubbed his face. "Mac?"
"They found the CNN crew," Mac quietly explained. "They managed to get back into Dagestan with a group of refugees. A couple of them were injured in the shelling, so they are in a Russian hospital. Some officials are accusing them of being spies, but that's being worked out."
"What about Sam?"
"They don't know. He became separated from them in the crowds of refugees trying to leave Chechnya."
"Wait a minute. They LOST him?" Blair asked in disbelief.
"Yep," Mac replied. "They know he got out of the village okay, but after that is anyone's guess."
"Damn," Blair muttered grimly.
"Ditto," Mac added just as grimly.
For several moments, they both stared at the phone, each thinking worried thoughts for Sam. Then Blair lifted his head. "Is there any way WE could get into Chechnya?"
Mac thought a moment. "Maybe. I have some friends in Russia. Unfortunately, I also have just as many enemies."
"I could go," Blair pointed out. "They don't know me."
Mac shook his head. "You have a Jewish last name, going into a former communism country fighting with Muslim rebels. I'd have an easier time sneaking Taggart in."
Blair rolled his eyes. "Damn it, Sam, you sure know how to pick them."
"I think it's another family trait."
Blair studied his father a moment. At least he was sounding more like the father he knew. "So we wait?"
Mac rubbed his face again. "I hate waiting."
"So I've noticed."
Meeting his son's eyes, Mac quietly explained, "Sitting here, all I can think of is how my mother died alone. I'm scared of Sam dying alone, too."
Blair bit his lip, forcing back the bleak image rising from those words. "Sam is going to be all right. We now know he's out of the village. He's mixed in with the other refugees." New images, TV interviews of refugees hurt in their exodus, flashed across Blair's mind and threatened to break his control over his emotions. His voice rough, he continued, "Sam's tough, smart, and quick. He'll stay safe until he can get out."
"Yeah, but what if he runs into one of my old enemies over there?" Mac asked, bringing up one of his private worries. "Just the association could target him as a spy instead of a journalist."
"But Sam is traveling under Malloy. It wouldn't be that obvious that he's your son." Blair shot his father an inquiring look. "Is that why you wouldn't let Sam take MacGyver for a last name? So that some of those old enemies wouldn't connect you?"
Mac nodded, staring at the phone again. "Since he grew up as Malloy, it would be hard for someone to just happen across the fact he's my son."
"So there's no reason to think someone has," Blair pointed out. "We have to keep the faith, Mac."
Mac simply nodded, back to staring at the phone.
1 am, December 24th
Blair, laying his head against the glass patio door, stared out over the ocean. Even the moon was absent, making the night even darker, as dark as Blair's own thoughts. He thought about his father, finally sleeping in his bed, worn out from his fears for his son's safety. He thought about his brother, alone in a foreign country. With the early hour, Blair couldn't hold back all the fearsome images that he had managed to keep at bay during the day. The dead bodies he had seen suddenly appeared before his eyes, all wearing his brother's pain-twisted face, with echoes of Mac's fear of Sam dying alone.
