The darkness began to open up and the room appeared to be spinning – or rather the ceiling he was staring at was spinning.

MacGyver blinked and things seemed to focus a little.

He was still on the lab floor, but somehow he’d moved onto his back and his legs were propped up slightly.

Not the greatest position to land in the afterlife…

And he was dead, of that he was sure, because Sharon Millward was standing over him.

It hadn’t been like this back at the hospital when Harry had paid him a visit, but heck, what did he know about heaven and hell?

And how come I have a headache the size of Everest if I’m on the other side?

Mac moved to get up, but Millward finally stirred and dropped to his side. She pushed him back down, and given how he felt, he didn’t resist.

His body hadn’t ached so much since he’d taken a dive off a multi-storey.

“Getting up might not be such a great idea yet,” Millward warned. “When I found you an hour or so ago, you were close to arresting. I had to pump you full of enough epinephrine and antihistamines to drop a horse just to get your heart back in a sinus rhythm.”

Mac ran a hand through the front of his hair and took a moment to try and figure out just what was happening. “Okay…so I’m not actually dead and in heaven…”

Sharon smiled and shook her head. “No, you just look like you’ve spent a while in hell.”

“But…you’re here, and you definitely..?” MacGyver couldn’t actually bring himself to say “died.” It somehow seemed rude when she’d just saved his life.

“I forgot one thing when I shot myself, we both did in fact. The nanites won’t allow me to die anymore than they will Mitrovich. They repair any injury. That’s what they do. I’m not as far gone as Gregor, so I suppose it just took awhile.” Millward sighed and let a hand slide to Mac’s wrist to check his pulse.

When she didn’t offer any reason not to, MacGyver pushed up onto his elbows. For a second, his vision blurred and then came back into focus. He ignored it. “So my dumb idea to get rid of the nanites didn’t work, huh?”

“On the contrary,” Sharon stood back up; reached to the nearest bench and retrieved a test tube filled with blood Mac guessed was his. “I took a sample a few minutes ago and all the “Mitrovich” nanites are gone. The ones you programmed to attack them are dormant now and will eventually pass out of your system…”

Mac frowned. “Why am I sensing a “but” in your next sentence?” He rolled over, climbing to his feet only to quickly drop onto a chair before his legs gave way under him.

Millward stuck her hands in her pockets, her eyes carefully watching him. “The whole process almost killed you,” she explained with a sigh. “The original design of the nanites was to be undetectable by the human immune system, but once they started attacking one another your body perceived them as a threat and your antibodies kicked in big time.”

“Yeah, I kinda get that impression.” He rubbed at his head wondering if the lab had anything to quell the constant drum banging inside his skull.

“The closest thing I can compare the reaction to is anaphylactic shock, and if I hadn’t found you when I did…” Sharon’s expression said it had been a close call, and one that had obviously frightened her.

If I’d died, she’d have been stuck here, changing, with no hope…

But he hadn’t died, and now they had options.

“Hey, it worked, that means as long as we have the drugs handy to counteract the immune system response, we can fix you!” Mac was looking around and hoping Millward hadn’t used everything on him. “Maybe we can even do something for Mitrovich?”

Sharon considered it. “We have enough of the drugs, but it would only stop Gregor changing further. It won’t put him back.”

“But it will you. You should take a shot of them right now.” MacGyver moved to get another syringe and fill it, but Millward caught his arm, stopping him.

“If we try to get out of here, Mitrovich will be waiting again. We have to deal with him first – every time we’re in contact with him he can re-infect us. He can’t if I still have them anyway.” Sharon didn’t look convinced at her own words.

“You’re saying wait? Are you crazy?” Mac wafted his hands in the air not believing what he was hearing. “Just take the cure and I’ll deal with Mitrovich.”

Millward turned away angrily. “No you won’t. If you get re-infected, trying to cure you again would probably kill you! Don’t you get it, you just almost died!”

There was a long pause.

MacGyver understood the odds perfectly. “You died once already today,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “I don’t want to see it become a more permanent option.”

Sharon spun back around. “All we need is a little more time. You can prepare the solution and we’ll take it with us. I have to deal with Gregor or we’ll never get out, then I can take a dose of the nanites. And before you say I can’t fight him, I don’t intend to.” She pointed to the automatic still tucked in Mac’s belt. “I’m going to shoot him…”

“You’re gonna do what?” The fact that he didn’t like guns aside, MacGyver couldn’t believe she was suggesting shooting Mitrovich when taking a bullet obviously hadn’t worked on her. “Didn’t we already prove we can’t kill him that way? And not that I’d approve anyway…”

Millward smirked at the latter comment. “I don’t want to hurt Gregor,” she confirmed. “But the impact would probably drop him for awhile, like it did me. While he’s down we give him the nanites.” She shrugged. “I don’t think it will cure him but…”

“You’re hoping there’s enough of the man left inside to make him see sense?” Mac saw the logic in the idea, and Mitrovich had shown signs he could still reason when they’d fought earlier.

But that had been hours ago now.

Heck, he might not even look like a human anymore, let alone think like one.

“I don’t like it.”

Sharon huffed. “I’m not exactly thrilled, either. I wasn’t born to be an all American hero like you.” She smiled again.

“Well, that’s probably because you weren’t born an American at all,” Mac teased, feeling the mood lighten just a little. “C’mon, let’s do this before I change my mind.” He grabbed his satchel and began loading it with two syringes of the programmed nanites, and anything else Sharon pointed out they might need.

But deep down, Mac couldn’t shake that niggling feeling that things weren’t about to go their way.

* * * *

Getting back to the vent shaft was easier than MacGyver had expected. Mitrovich might be watching them, but so far he hadn’t made an appearance, and that was a good thing.

If Millward’s plan was going to work, they needed to drop him as near to the shaft as possible, and then use the “cure.” There was no way any of them could go topside still infected and not get shot.

Now that they were at the access panel, it also gave Mac the chance to work out the two remaining codes he needed to open the vent enough to get out.

While he worked on the console, restoring the power cable he’d been forced to pull earlier, Sharon was the lookout for any sign of Mitrovich.

This time, she held the Beretta with much more confidence, and that scared Mac just a little. She’d been infected hours now. Were the nanites giving her the same thirst for blood and death that Mitrovich had, or was she simply so desperate to survive it was swelling her self-belief?

Wishing she'd already taken the antidote, he continued to work on their escape, every now and then looking up to check out the brooding tunnels around them.

He’d slipped up here last time, after all, and it had almost cost him his life.

The computer beeped in front of him and the screen finally flashed the last code Mac had entered was the correct one. Once he hit the enter button, the vent could be opened.

If Mitrovich was going to try anything, it would probably be now.

MacGyver felt his heart rate increase a notch as he tapped the keyboard and the metal blast door protecting the shaft slid open behind him. He held his breath and waited.

A few seconds passed, and Sharon dared to take her eyes off the darkness and look at Mac. “He’s not coming, is he?”

A scratching sound erupted from the nearest corridor as she asked the question, and after a moment’s pause, what was left of Mitrovich sauntered into view. He was scraping long, sharpened fingernails down the passageway walls, and his eyes flashed with madness.

“Oh, I think he wouldn’t miss this party for the world…” Mac watched the scientist, still wishing there was another way than a gun to down him.

Sharon held no such convictions anymore, and as he drew closer, she pulled back on the Beretta’s trigger repeatedly until Mitrovich was thrown backwards and down with the force of the impacts.

Why didn’t he run, or try and avoid the bullets? Maybe deep down Mitrovich had thought there could be an end to his suffering, or maybe he had become too deranged to know what was happening?

As the elder man’s body hit the ground, Millward moved forwards, keeping the gun aimed at him. MacGyver joined her, having the sense to wear surgical gloves before touching Mitrovich.

“Hurry.” Sharon was shaking again, but from fear, or the uncontrollable urges her boss had suffered from? “I don’t know how long that will keep him down for…”

Mac retrieved one of the syringes from his bag and injected Mitrovich. The scientist didn’t move – he didn’t do anything. Would the nanites even be strong enough to overpower the ones already in his system?

Sharon stared at Mitrovich and then swallowed hard. “I guess it’s my turn?” She looked terrified, and who wouldn’t be in her situation?

MacGyver pulled out the last needle and she took it from him. The expression on her face suggested this was something she needed to do herself. Maybe she thought it would take away any guilt he might feel if this went wrong.

“Here goes nothing…” Millward rolled up the sleeve of her lab coat and took the last dose. She rubbed absently were it had pierced her flesh. “Just be ready with that second needle if I go into shock like you did.”

Mac patted his satchel. “Can’t you just take it now?”

Sharon shook her head. “We have to let your creations do their work first.” She glanced at Mitrovich. He still hadn’t moved, but he was breathing normally. “I suppose we’ll never know how this happened now,” she said vaguely.

“Then perhaps I should tell you?”

The voice was a new one, with a slight accent that suggested he was a fellow countryman of Mitrovich. He stepped into the soft red light, a pistol in his left hand.

“You caused all this?” MacGyver moved between the Russian and Millward, his eyes darting to the computer console to his right. Was he close enough to hit the escape key and lock the shaft back down?

“In my homeland, I was charged with watching over Gregor. He was considered a high risk for defection. When he escaped, I was…punished for my negligence. This is my way of returning that punishment and taking on, shall we say new employment?” He rolled one of the nanite canisters around in his hand, smiling at it like it was going to bring him a fortune.

But then, maybe it was.

“You changed the programming on purpose, to both punish Gregor, and test what the nanites were capable of? So you could sell them as a weapon?” Millward wheezed out the accusation – her immune system was obviously reacting to the nanites the same as MacGyver’s had.

Their time had just run out.

If the ex-Russian agent realized what was happening, he didn’t show it.

“What Mitrovich has become would be a perfect weapon with a few modifications. I’m sure there will be plenty of global interest. All I have to do is escape this mountain and make a few calls.”

MacGyver took the last comment as a cue for action. He couldn’t let anyone take something so deadly out into the world anymore than he could have allowed Mitrovich to escape.

Making a lunge for the console, he managed to hit the escape button before the Russian got off a shot.

The blast door slammed back into position as Mac rolled across the stone floor and came to rest by the wall, amazingly with no extra bullet holes in him. He took a gamble and clambered back up, hands raised in the air.

It was a calculated risk, but if the Russian wanted the access codes, he couldn’t kill Mac outright. That only gave them a short window of opportunity to come up with a plan, but any time was better than none.

The Russian shrugged as if the move had been pointless. “You’ll give me the codes, and then you’ll die here. Your deaths will go down as casualties of your own government when they blow the mountain. No one will ever know you were already dead.”

MacGyver looked over at Sharon. She was slumped against the wall, pale as a ghost. “If we’re gonna die anyway, why should I give you anything?”

The Russian moved across to stand beside Millward. He seemed amused at her labored breaths, as if perhaps fate would take her before his bullet did. Then he placed the muzzle of his gun to her forehead, and she didn’t even have the energy to pull away from it.

“If you don’t give me the codes, I’ll kill your lady friend first. And I can see from the look in your eyes that’s not an option.”

Mac licked his lips. Sharon was going to be dead in minutes if she didn’t get the epinephrine in his satchel, or she might be dead in seconds if the ex-agent decided to pull the trigger.

He was too far away to try and disarm the man, and there was nothing to use as a weapon, or a distraction. This wasn’t just stalemate, this was checkmate, and his opponent was the winner.

Except, MacGyver had forgotten one pawn in the game – Mitrovich.

For some reason the scientist hadn’t gone into shock like Mac and Millward had. Possibly because of how much his body had already been changed.

And from the angry expression on his face, Mitrovich remembered the man now threatening them.

Pouncing from the floor like a leopard, Mitrovich knocked the gun from the Russian’s hand and grabbed him by the throat like he had Mac earlier.

MacGyver didn’t know whether Mitrovich understood what had been said, or that they’d tried to save him, but he did know he needed to act fast to save Millward.

He tried to slide past the two fighting Russians, but they were thrashing around so much he was knocked backwards.

The blow wasn’t a heavy one, but Mac landed on the satchel he’d tried to be so careful with. The bag popped with a sickening crunch as the contents smashed under his weight.

He recovered quickly, and as Mitrovich tossed his foe to the left, Mac dived through the gap on the right.

Trying hard not to think about what might have happened to the radio, and the vial that was needed to save Millward, he re-keyed the access codes to get the blast door up.

As the hydraulics kicked in with a hiss, Mac moved back to focus on the satchel. Flipping it open, it soon became apparent that everything inside had been destroyed, and that included anyway to tell the authorities outside they were clean from the nanites, and coming out.

There was no time to worry about that now, though.

Because Sharon was dying, and he had nothing left to save her.

MacGyver wanted to be angry, to blame himself for not making her use the antidote sooner, but sentiment wasn’t going to save the day.

He grabbed Millward and threw her over his shoulder, noting she was already unconscious and barely drawing breath.

Mac tried to ignore the obvious that it was over and climbed into the vent shaft. Holding onto his load with one arm, he reached out and relocked the door via the console with the other.

Mitrovich, and the man who had ultimately killed him were now locked in battle, and trapped forever in the bowels of the labs – at least until the F14’s came to destroy it.

MacGyver should have felt guilty for sealing them to their fates, but there was no other option, and right now all he could think about was the deaths that they had both caused.

It wasn’t Mitrovich’ fault…

But Mitrovich had ultimately infected Sharon, and now she was going to die too.

Mac clambered onto the rungs of an access ladder and almost stumbled. Carrying a dead weight up a shaft was almost insane, and yet he wouldn’t, couldn’t let go, because deep down he blamed himself.

I should have made her take the cure.

He knew Millward would never have accepted that, she was as stubborn as he was, but he chided himself up the next two ladders anyway, the anger, the pure adrenalin pushing him on when he should already have been too exhausted to climb anymore.

Mac reached a ledge and paused just a moment to catch his breath. He couldn’t feel the rise and fall of Sharon’s chest anymore against his shoulder, and he couldn’t check for a pulse without putting her down – which given his precarious position wasn’t even possible.

The agonizing thought that he might already be too late spurred him on, and he climbed again, his boots slipping on the rungs as he tried to move too quickly.

Eventually, after fifteen excruciating minutes, he reached the main fans that sucked air into the vents. Somehow, luck here at least was on his side. The fans weren’t moving.

Feeling bad about how he had to handle her, Mac slid Millward’s prone form through one of the blades and crudely pushed.

Her body sagged limply the other side, but she was through.

Grabbing the edges, he yanked his own body up and between the fins and then balanced on them to try and get the grille to the outside open.

Working with his penknife, it took another ten minutes to unscrew the metal lattice, and a whole lot more energy than he had with his back against it to pop it open.

MacGyver was soaked with sweat, covered in grease and bruises, but he didn’t feel a thing. He grabbed Millward carrying her a safe distance from the shaft before laying her on the snow-capped ground.

He quickly felt for a pulse at her neck, but there was nothing.

Too long, it took me too long to get up the shaft…

In the distance, he heard the sound of rotors and new Eastman’s people were coming, maybe Pete too. But that would be too late.

Mac refused to accept that it was over. It wasn’t fair, it couldn’t end this way. He began CPR, even though common sense was already screaming in his head that without the epinephrine it wouldn’t work.

He carried on for minutes, until the helicopter was landing behind him, the noise of the engines drowning out his thoughts, his prayers.

And eventually, he stopped.

Sharon’s eyes stared blankly back at him, and he knew deep down that she was dead, and there was nothing he, or any army medic could do for her now.

He rocked back on his knees and closed his eyes.

This wasn’t fair, and he should have prevented it.

A hand fell gently on his shoulder and Mac opened his eyes to see Pete standing over him. There was compassion there, but concern too.

Eastman was less sympathetic as he jogged over with four soldiers in tow. “Is she clean of the nanites?”

MacGyver wanted to punch him, to grab him by the collar and shake him. “She’s dead, and that’s all you can say?”

“We have to know if the area has been compromised.” The general’s tone was demanding.

“No, it hasn’t, the nanites were contained in the labs.” Mac watched as the soldiers placed Millward in a body bag and loaded her onto the till running chopper. He wouldn’t look at Eastman.

“C’mon.” Pete tugged at MacGyver’s torn shirt. “We have to go. The F14’s will be here soon.”

MacGyver nodded, but he really didn’t care. He felt numb.

He could build things out of nothing, he could put his own life at risk all day long, but the one thing he had no skills with at all, was dealing with losing someone.

It had been like this with Mike Forrester and Lisa Kohler, and although he hadn’t known Sharon as long, he still felt the same uncontrollable guilt over her death.

Mac pulled himself into the rear of the UH-60 and sat silently as it veered away from the mountain. Eastman was yelling orders, but the troubleshooter didn’t know, or care who they were aimed at.

And all he could think as explosions behind them filled the evening sky, was that maybe he should have stayed at the cabin after all.

In fact, maybe it would be whole lot better if he just stayed there period, where he couldn’t hurt anyone.

* * * *

MacGyver’s Cabin
Minnesota
Two Days Later

Sam watched as the Phoenix helicopter circled and then slowly came in to land. He hadn’t been allowed to know the full circumstances of what had happened on his dad’s assignment, but Pete had already explained that MacGyver wasn’t coming home his usual jovial self.

Mac had spent the previous two days at a military hospital containment area until the authorities had been convinced he wasn’t “carrying anything extra” in his blood.

Pete had warned Sam the only thing extra his dad was carrying was a whole bunch of guilt over someone’s death.

In a way, Sam could relate to that. He’d felt the same way when Kate, his mom had been killed, even though he’d been just a kid at the time.

The chopper’s skids bounced down in front of the cabin and Sam put away sad memories in favor of focusing on his father.

Mac jumped from the helicopter first and then turned to give Pete a hand. Once his old friend was on safe ground, he grabbed his bag from the rear of the JetRanger and ambled towards the cabin.

There was no happy smile, no greeting for his son. He nodded to Sam, and then carried on inside, his dark, troubled eyes showing the burden his soul was carrying.

Sam didn’t try to follow, instead waiting for Pete to make it up the path. If anyone could help, it was Pete Thornton.

“You weren’t kidding when you said he was in a bad place!” Sam stopped Pete at the door, not wanting his dad to hear the conversation.

Pete sighed. “Your dad’s good at everything he tries – except coping with death. It’s his Achilles heel. Ever since I’ve known him, if someone dies he’s around, he feels responsible.”

“He can’t save everyone. Surely he knows that?” Sam stuck his hands in his pockets and stared as the morning sun broke over the horizon.

“It’s his way.” Pete shook his head sadly. “I was in Romania with him once when he was taken hostage by one of Ceausescu’s followers. The man had been brainwashed since he was a kid, he thought everyone was his enemy – until your dad got through to him.”

Sam turned away from the sunrise. “So what happened?”

“He ended up giving his life to save us, and your dad felt to blame for his death. It was stupid to feel that way, but that’s how Mac is. Passionate about what he does is an understatement.”

“So what do I do?”

Pete smiled and reached out, patting Sam’s arm. “You just give him time. It’s all we can ever do.” He turned then and headed off back towards the chopper. When he grew close, Nikki Carpenter emerged and helped him back onboard.

And then, the Bell was soaring off into the bright blue sky and vanishing over the nearest ridge.

Sam licked his lips, took a breath, and headed inside to face the great Angus MacGyver, in all his melancholic glory.

Mac was sitting at the table, his head in his hands, apparently thinking – and from his expression Sam guessed they weren’t exactly pleasant thoughts.

“You want to talk about it?” He offered, not really knowing where to begin.

“Not really,” Mac’s voice was low as if he had a heavier burden than Atlas on his shoulders. “But I’m guessing from previous experience with Pete and Nikki that you’re not going to take that for an answer?”

Sam shrugged. Maybe people had pushed to hard in the past and sometimes that wasn’t the way to get through to someone hurting.

He moved over to the stove where he’d started to cook the morning “catch”. “If you don’t want to talk, I’m fine with that.” He flipped the fish, grimacing at the sight of it – not that Sam couldn’t cook fish just fine, but it was the perfect tool to maybe cut through the doldrums his dad was stuck in. “Seeing as you left me out here, I am going to expect you to eat what I’ve caught and cooked though…”

MacGyver looked up, glancing at what was in the pan. He had left Sam up here with virtually nothing, and no survival skills to speak of either.

The idea seemed to actually bring on a new pang of guilt – a different one that took his mind from the Peckwash fiasco and Millward for awhile.

“You actually caught that? On your own?” He asked with a tinge of suspicion.

Sam nodded and grinned. “Sure did, it took me two hours this morning, so you better try it!” He slapped the slightly blackened and charred fish onto a plate and stuck it under MacGyver’s nose.

Mac smiled thinly and took up a fork, but hesitated before tucking in.

Sam ambled closer, making sure his dad knew he was scrutinizing his every mouthful.

With obvious reluctance, MacGyver broke off a piece of the fish and popped it in his mouth. He chewed, grimaced and swallowed hard. “Jeez, you did bone this, right?”

Sam tried to look innocent. “Well, you never actually got around to showing me how to do that.”

There was a pause, Mac set down his fork, and then made a dive for the small waste bucket in the corner.

It was brimming over with empty Macdonald’s wrappers. “Eating “survival style” while I was gone, huh?”

Sam grinned. His plan to distract his dad was working. “Hey, you left the keys to the Jeep, and I was hungry! It was a bit of a drive out to town, but…”

The tiniest of smile’s crept onto MacGyver’s face. “Just wait until tomorrow. I’m taking you out camping, and you’re on berry rations for the rest of the week!”

Sam didn’t care. He’d eat berries, caterpillars, lizards, whatever it took, as long as his dad was the happy go lucky guy he’d come to know again.

“Ten bucks says I can eat whatever you throw at me,” he challenged, wanting Mac to be busy thinking about testing his willingness to eat woodsman style, rather than the Peckwash assignment.

MacGyver raised a brow. “Ah, c’mon, you know I don’t gamble!”

What if we make it I clean your place for a week if I lose?” Sam was teasing now, knowing this was one bet his dad wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Really?” Mac’s tone was filled with incredulity.

“Really.” Sam bobbed his head and then chuckled.

It was good to see his dad smile again, whatever he had to give up to make it happen.

Over the next few days, he was going to make sure Mac stopped beating himself up – even if that meant admitting he did actually have a few survival skills of his own.

MacGyver had already proven he was a worthy father, now it was Sam’s turn to prove his worth as a son.

And he didn’t intend to let Mac down.

The End