Fallout
"But, Mac... I thought that you hated guns. How
could you have joined the Armed Forces? Surely you would be expected to
handle them, and even use them against people!"
Mac's smile
contained no mirth, and his eyes downcast were full of shadows. "You're
right. I have always hated guns, ever since Jessie died. But it’s
important to understand the things that frighten you. It seemed the
best thing to do, at the time."
"Did Harry want you to join up?"
Mac
took a drink of water before answering. "You're great-grandfather
wasn't in my life at that time, Sam. I don't think he would have
disapproved. Mom said she was proud of me, but I could tell she was
worried, too. She had long since given up the idea of holding me back
from running."
Part Two
US Armed Forces Hospital, Paris, France 1977
"Is he awake?" A bold American voice; curt and direct.
"Monsieur, it is a miracle that this soldier is alive at all. He was seriously wounded and only recently has recovered his memory..."
That
was the doctor's voice, the one who had been treating him since he had
been brought here. The man's named floated just out of reach of
MacGyver's mind. For a moment he panicked, afraid that he had forgotten
everything again. He forced himself to take a deep breath and ran
through his facts: My name is MacGyver. I am twenty-seven years old. I am a Captain in the Air Force. Breathe. My name is MacGyver...
Mac
opened his eyes and tried to focus on the sources of the voices. The
nurses must have dosed him with morphine again. He wished that they
wouldn't; the pain from his healing wounds was not so bad, and he
didn't want to have to fight an opiate-addiction. He needed to tell the
doctor to have them lay off the medication, but he couldn't make his
tongue and jaw work at the moment. He blinked his eyes, then squinted
toward the blurry shapes at the foot of his bed.
"His eyes are
open." The whitish blob moved closer and reached out to touch Mac's
face, what small patch of skin was not swathed in bandages. Suddenly a
painfully bright light stabbed into his skull. He closed both eyes and
groaned.
"I am sorry, Monsieur MacGyver. I must test your
reflexes." Firm fingers peeled back his eyelids one at a time,
assaulting him again with the light. "Very good. I will send the nurse
in with some medication for you shortly. Right now, there is a man from
your government who would like to speak to you on an important matter.
Do you feel up to it?"
"Doc--," Mac started, then he coughed
lightly. The doctor quickly brought a cup of water and a straw to him.
After a sip of the cool liquid, Mac found he could speak easier.
"Doctor, I've asked before, I think... I don't need to be narcotisized
for pain. I'd rather just do without."
The doctor pursed his lips, disturbed. "Monsieur
MacGyver... you still require an anti-inflammatory and despite your
protests, you are still in a considerable amount of discomfort.
However, I will concede somewhat to your wishes. We shall try some
analgesics with codeine instead. Do you think you have the strength to
talk to this gentleman?"
Mac was about to answer, but the room
was swimming out of focus and his mind was drifting. His head fell back
gently against the pillows. Just before sleep took him, he heard the
other voice say, "This is getting us no closer to rescuing those
people. Just bring me the report of his debriefing after he was..." and
then the voice faded away-- or Mac did; he wasn't really sure.