A STARGATE/MACGYVER - Crossover Story .

It was quiet in the briefing room. Colonel Jack O'Neill sat casually relaxed in one of the chairs adjacent to the head of the conference table, idly turning a pen over and over in the fingers of his right hand. He had about him an aura of slightly smug confidence and, a little unusually for him perhaps, patience.

Teal'c sat in a chair a little further down the table. His features were as impassive as ever, but there was a faint aura of tense expectation about him, although he sat as motionless as a statue.

The door opened. O'Neill and Teal'c both looked up. A flash of disappointment crossed O'Neill's face for the barest second as Captain Samantha Carter and Doctor Daniel Jackson entered the room.

"Well, looks like our money's still safe," Carter beamed as a glance around the room informed her that only O'Neill and Teal'c were in residence. "Morning, Colonel ...Teal'c."

"Good morning, kids," O’Neill beamed back.

"I don't know about this," Daniel said dubiously to Carter as they advanced into the room to take their seats.

"Oh come on, Daniel. Not even an unauthorized fly could get in here undetected," Carter told him.

"Then why was Jack so keen to make that bet with us that that civilian security expert the Pentagon's sending will not only get in here undetected, but will do it well within the time they've allotted him?" Daniel pondered aloud, regarding O'Neill with a degree of suspicion as he settled into his seat beside Carter. "He knows something we don't."

O'Neill merely exuded innocence, which only served to heighten Daniel's growing suspicion that he and Carter had somehow been had.

"Time's nearly up, Colonel," Carter announced, checking her watch. "Washington gave this guy 36 hours; you said he'd make it in 20 or less."

O'Neill made a show of looking at his own watch. He then beamed confidently back at the young woman. "Oh, there's plenty of time yet, Captain."

"Twenty minutes and your 20 hours are up, Colonel," Carter pointed out.

O'Neill just smiled disarmingly and continued to toy with the ballpoint pen. "Patience, Captain...Patience," he murmured, totally unruffled.

"I'm telling you, he knows something we don't," Jackson hissed at Carter. "He's too confident."

"Good morning, SG-1," Major General George Hammond strode into the room. O'Neill and Carter automatically began to rise to their feet, but aborted their efforts as the General waved them back down, saying, "As you were, people."

The General took his seat at the head of the table, dumping a pile of files before him as he did so. He did not waste time getting down to business. "Initial reports from the probe sent to P6C-469 look promising," he stated, looking at Carter.

"Er, yes, sir," Carter responded. "The atmosphere reads as breathable, temperatures appear to be temperate, radiation levels are well within standard background parameters for a pre-industrial world."

"Ah, General, excuse me... " Daniel interjected. "Can I ask if there's been any sign of any ah, activity up top?" He gestured vaguely at the tons of mountain over their heads.

"If you mean have there been any sightings of our expected intruder, Doctor Jackson, then no, no activity whatsoever. And I don't seriously expect there will be," Hammond stated. "No unauthorized personnel get past the security in this facility." He aimed a look at O'Neill, who had inveigled him into betting a week's leave for the entire SG-1 team against a box of very expensive cigars that the Pentagon's 'civilian security expert' would indeed get past security undetected and that it would be done within 20 hours of the 36 hour period allotted to the mission. Some 19 hours and 45 minutes had already elapsed and so far base security - which was blissfully ignorant of the test that was underway - had detected nothing unusual anywhere in the vicinity of the entire mountain complex. Within the confines of the SGC only General Hammond and the four members of the SG-1 team were privy to the fact that an attempt to breach security was under way, and numerous levels above within the NORAD cover facilities, only one or two people were aware of the proposed security test.

Hammond studied the faces around the table. It suddenly occurred to him that he was not the only one there with whom O'Neill had arranged a bet. That thought nagged at him. He had absolutely no idea who the Pentagon was sending and he was damn sure O’Neill didn’t know, yet O’Neill had been quite determined to bet that security would be breached - undetected - and that was worrying. O'Neill, of all people, had to be well aware of how tight security at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex was. No-one so much as sneezed in that mountain without security having a report about it on their desks seconds later.

Hammond began to have the oddest feeling that somehow he had been conned. He regarded his second-in-command with a look that conveyed his thoughts. "Colonel... " he began.

"Sir?" O'Neill responded innocently, reading Hammond's expression. There was the barest flicker of triumph in the Colonel's dark eyes as the briefing room door opened and a tall figure in rather ill-fitting and crumpled fatigues entered almost soundlessly, despite a noticeable limp. "Er, that was a week's leave, wasn't it, sir?" he asked neutrally.

"What?" Hammond was a little confused.

O'Neill's eyebrows rose slightly as he inclined his head a fraction in the direction of the doorway behind Hammond. The General noted the slightly agog expressions that had suddenly appeared on the faces of both Carter and Jackson as they reacted to O'Neill's gesture and looked towards the door. Bewildered, Hammond looked round.

"What the...?" He began as he set eyes on the figure who stood in the doorway. The man was visibly favouring one leg and looked quite weary. The General's jaw dropped. If he didn't know better he could have sworn he was looking at Colonel Jack O'Neill, only a longer-haired, scruffier and perhaps slightly older version.

"General Hammond?" The newcomer inquired, standing quite still and keeping his empty hands clearly in view of the room's occupants. "Name's MacGyver," he announced. "Work for the Phoenix Foundation. Your people in Washington hired us to check out your security..." He paused, taking in the various expressions being levelled at him. "You were expecting me?" He asked dubiously. "Weren't you?"

Hammond spluttered as if he was in imminent danger of an attack of apoplexy.

"Well I was," O’Neill said helpfully. "Heard you were back at Phoenix, figured it'd be you they'd send."

Carter started spluttering as if she too was in imminent danger of apoplexy. Daniel Jackson looked as if he couldn't quite make up his mind how to react to the realisation that he and Carter had both been had by O'Neill's $25 bet. Teal'c just looked slightly bemused by the various reactions of his colleagues.

"Hi, Jack," MacGyver grinned. He had recognised O’Neill the moment he had set foot inside the room and it had been a very pleasant surprise. At least one person in the place wouldn’t try to shoot him on sight as a potentially hostile intruder to the complex. "Long time, no see," he added as O'Neill rose and advanced towards him. They shared a warm hug.

"Too long," O’Neill affirmed.

"You two know each other?" Carter was both indignant and bewildered, not to mention a little confused into the bargain.

"Oh yeah," O’Neill responded as he and MacGyver stepped back from one another. "Mac’s my cousin." O’Neill innocently dropped the bombshell. "How many times removed would that be again?" He inquired of the man at his side.

"Never did quite figure it out," MacGyver smiled a slightly weary smile.

"Ahem!" General Hammond interjected, trying to gain the attention of his second-in-command and the newcomer.

"Er, General Hammond, sir, this is MacGyver," O’Neill made the formal introductions, despite Mac having already introduced himself only moments earlier. "Mac...General Hammond. And that's Captain Samantha Carter, Doctor Daniel Jackson and that's Teal'c, he's ah, not from around here."

"Pleased to meet you, son," Hammond told MacGyver. "Come and sit down. You look beat."

"Thank you, General," MacGyver said. He did indeed look 'beat'.

"MacGyver?" Carter looked incredulous as Mac eased himself into the chair next to the one O'Neill settled back into. "The MacGyver? The MacGyver that does all that stuff with duct tape ...and...stuff ...?" Realisation spread across her face. She turned to Daniel Jackson. "We've been had. You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, I'd say it definitely looks like it, Sam," Jackson agreed, aiming an accusatory look across the table at O'Neill.

The Colonel chuckled. He was clearly enjoying the situation. Leaning slightly towards his cousin, he said. "You'll have to excuse the kids, they're a little ticked off 'cos you just cost 'em money."

"What?" MacGyver frowned. "I don't - " Light suddenly dawned. "Oh," he sighed. "You didn't, did you?" He asked a little exasperatedly.

"Who else were Phoenix going to send?" O'Neill shrugged unrepentantly.

"Ahem!" Hammond again cleared his throat loudly. The motley group before him came to some semblance of order and looked at him. "Tell me," the General addressed MacGyver, "just how in blue blazes did you get in here without tripping every alarm in this mountain?"

"He probably just walked in, General," Daniel Jackson said. "Well, look at them." He went on at the look Hammond shot him. "They’re as alike as two peas... "

"Thank you, Doctor Jackson," Hammond said frostily. "I had noticed." He turned his attention back to MacGyver. "Well?"

"Well, I did wonder why I kept getting salutes thrown at me in the corridor out there," MacGyver confessed with a slightly wry smile. "If I'd've known Jack was here I might have tried the front door. Sure would've been a lot easier than the back one." His expression became more serious. "General Hammond, security 'round here is tight, tight as I've ever seen it anywhere. Getting down here wasn't easy. I came in through the - "

MacGyver broke off as klaxons suddenly erupted in an almost ear-splitting cacophony of sound and red alert lights started flashing furiously.

"What the hell?" General Hammond demanded of no-one in particular. O'Neill and Carter both shot to their feet and automatically crossed to the big window overlooking the Gate room where they discovered, absolutely nothing was happening.

"Security breach! Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" An urgent voice announced a split second later over the underground complex's internal P.A. system. "Full security lock-down initiated!"

"Colonel O'Neill!" Hammond snapped. He was on his feet and heading for the door himself by that point.

"It's not the Gate, sir!" O'Neill shot back, starting after the General.

"Er... Guys...? Excuse me..." MacGyver began.

"Later!" Hammond snapped.

"General, I think maybe ‘Upstairs’ just discovered the ah, calling card I left in Major Wickman's office!" MacGyver called after the departing officers. The pronouncement nearly caused a nasty pile-up in the doorway as Hammond skidded to an abrupt halt and O'Neill almost careened into him. As it was, Carter collided with O'Neill. All three stared at the Phoenix operative.

"What?" Hammond demanded dangerously. To O'Neill he snapped, "Go, Colonel!"

"Sir!" O'Neill responded, exiting. "Carter, with me. Daniel...Teal'c, stay here!"

"Well?" Hammond demanded, advancing on MacGyver, who was looking a little guilty and faintly embarrassed. "You want to explain yourself, Mr. MacGyver?"

"I, ah, rigged a smoke bomb in Major Wickman's office," MacGyver said sheepishly, balancing his weight carefully on his good leg as he stood and faced the irate general.

"You did what?" Hammond's jaw dropped.

"And your main power vault," MacGyver said. He saw Hammond was on the verge of an explosion that would probably make Mount St. Helen look like a minor hiccup and hurriedly went on to explain. "Washington wanted to know if it was possible for terrorists to get inside the complex and sabotage - "

"Smoke bombs? You planted smoke bombs?" Hammond stared at him.

MacGyver shrugged. "Well, I don't think the Pentagon would've been too happy if I'd've used C4, General," he pointed out. "Er...you might want to send someone to dismantle the one in your office... " he added.

"Wha.- ?" Hammond's expression was becoming more incredulous by the second.

"You put a smoke bomb in General Hammond's office?" Daniel Jackson looked amazed but impressed and ever-so-faintly amused by the idea.

"But I was just in there not ten minutes ago!" Hammond protested indignantly. He glared at MacGyver, who just looked sheepishly apologetic.

"I’ll er... go disarm it, shall I?" The Phoenix man offered.

"You do that," Hammond growled, fuming. "Teal'c, go with Mr. MacGyver and see no-one lynches him before I get the chance."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow, uncertain as to just what the General meant by that particular remark, but he realised that now might not be the best time to enquire. He would ask O'Neill about it at a more appropriate juncture. He merely looked MacGyver over before saying to Hammond.

"Yes, General Hammond."

*************************

General Hammond had started to calm down a bit by the time O'Neill returned with Sam Carter on his heels and the SGC had stood down from red alert status.

"Upstairs is pissed, sir," O’Neill informed the General. 'Upstairs' being the top floor level where the NORAD facility, which was the base’s cover, was located.

"So am I, Colonel O'Neill, so am I," Hammond stated in no uncertain terms. "Mr. MacGyver has sauntered through their security and ours like it was non-existent. One man, Colonel. One man."

"One man is sometimes all it takes, General," O’Neill helpfully pointed out as Hammond waved him to a seat and he settled into it.

"By God heads are going to roll for this," the General growled, pacing.

"You know I always thought MacGyver’s reputation had to be a severe over-exaggeration..." Carter said as she resumed her seat opposite O’Neill.

"But now you're not so sure," Daniel finished for her.

"Well, yeah..." Carter agreed as the man in question limped into the room with Teal’c watchfully dogging his steps.

"Ah, Mr. MacGyver," Hammond sighed. "I trust I can now use my office in safety again?"

"It's just 'MacGyver', General," MacGyver responded. "And yes, I took care of it." So saying, he deposited an object on the conference table.

Hammond stared at the object as did the others seated at the table. It looked like a cigar box. In fact it looked like the General's own cigar box, plus a lot of duct tape and bits of string that definitely didn’t belong to the General.

"You used my cigar box?" The General was indignant and back on course towards outrage again. He looked accusingly at the tall Phoenix operative.

"It was the best thing to hand at the time," MacGyver shrugged. "I was in a hurry."

Carter smothered a sudden urge to giggle. Jackson studied the table and hid an amused smile behind his hand.

"It was secured beneath your desk, General Hammond," Teal’c reported matter-of-factly. "The opening of any one of the drawer units would have triggered the device." He regarded MacGyver as if undecided as to whether to admire the man's audacity and ingenuity or simply tear him limb from limb on the spot.

"You put this in General Hammond's office?" O'Neill questioned of his cousin as he cautiously examined 'the bomb' and gently eased it apart for closer inspection. "Sweet," he remarked, dead-pan. Ignoring the look Hammond shot him, O'Neill looked at Teal'c who was still hovering close to MacGyver. "Relax, Teal'c, he's on our side."

"That is fortunate," Teal’c stated, quite who it was fortunate for was not entirely clear from his tone. He moved away from MacGyver, totally oblivious to the looks the remark earned him from the rest of the SG-1 team and MacGyver himself.

"Son," Hammond’s attention was on the weary-looking MacGyver again. "Briefly. Just how in hell did you get in here and do...what you did?"

"Came in through some old disused ventilation shafts that aren't even on the specs any more," MacGyver answered.

Hammond snorted. "Helluva long way down."

"Yeah... " MacGyver shuddered at what were apparently some very unpleasant memories. This little job, he thought, had probably added a few more grey hairs to the ones already in residence at his temples. God, I’m getting too old for these damn escapades, he reflected.

"Mac? You okay?" O'Neill asked quietly. He knew his cousin had a thing about heights and to have made the descent into the bowels of the mountain by means of old, long-forgotten ventilation shafts that had to be in God only knew what sort of dilapidated condition; he shuddered inwardly at the thought himself.

"Yeah, Jack, I'll live," MacGyver sighed wearily.

"Go get some rest, son," Hammond said in a kindly manner. "We can do a proper debrief later." Hammond had picked up on O'Neill's unmistakable though well hidden concern for the Phoenix operative. He knew too that MacGyver had to have had one hell of a time doing the job he had done and within the time he'd been allotted for the mission into the bargain. A thought crossed his mind: Pity the man's a civilian, he'd make a damn fine addition to an SG team.

"Appreciate that, General," MacGyver nodded.

"Colonel O’Neill, if you would be good enough to see Mr. MacGyver gets properly settled..."

"Be a pleasure, sir," O’Neill was on his feet before the General had even finished issuing the instruction.

Hammond watched the two cousins head for the door. He noted that MacGyver's limp seemed to be getting more pronounced although the man was clearly trying to ignore it. It strongly reminded him of O'Neill's stubborn streak.

"Colonel O'Neill."

"Yes, General?" O'Neill halted in the doorway.

"You might want to swing by the infirmary. Mr. MacGyver ought to get that leg checked out."

"Sir," O’Neill nodded. He had intended on doing exactly that anyway.

*************************

As he closed the conference room door behind him, O'Neill saw that MacGyver had limped a few paces down the corridor but had halted and was leaning against the corridor wall, his head bowed. The Phoenix man was quite discernibly in more distress than he had previously been letting on. O'Neill hurried to his side.

"Think we better get you up to Doctor Fraiser pronto, Mac," the Colonel stated with brisk concern. "You really don't look so good."

"Tell ya' the truth, I don't feel so good," Mac admitted, allowing O'Neill to support him and take some of his weight. He had been running on pure adrenaline for considerably longer than he cared to think about and now that his assignment was successfully concluded - bar the proverbial shouting and the inevitable paperwork - he was coming down and coming down hard. Exhaustion was rapidly setting in and the physical damage he knew he had done himself could no longer be ignored and was making itself all too clearly felt.

"C'mon, Mac," O’Neill encouraged, helping his cousin along the corridor to the elevator. It was the longer route but he didn't think the other man could handle the stairs right then. He knew only too well himself how it felt to be hurt and coming down from the 'high' of a danger-ridden mission. "Whatcha' do to yourself anyway?" He asked.

"Slipped a-ways down one of those old shafts I used," Mac confessed, shuddering at the memory. "Old rungs were rotten...wouldn’t take my weight...Banged my leg up a bit trying to break my fall... "

"Ouch," O’Neill winced on his cousin's behalf as they neared the elevator.

"Yeah... " MacGyver agreed with feeling.

They made it to the elevator and as they waited for the doors to open, O'Neill noticed the intermittent dark-spotted trail they were leaving in their wake. "Shit," he swore. "You're bleeding, Mac."

"Yeah... I know," MacGyver confessed. "Thought I'd got it stopped. It musta' started up again."

O'Neill did a quick survey of the other man as best he could without letting go of him and soon found the ominous dark stain that was starting to soak through the material on the right thigh of the fatigues MacGyver was wearing. He swore again just as the elevator doors slid open. The airman who stepped out of the elevator nearly jumped out of his skin as O'Neill bawled at him.

"Call the infirmary an' tell 'em to get Doc Fraiser. I'm bringing an injured man up. MOVE IT, airman!"

"Sir!" The startled airman snapped smartly and shot off at a speed akin to Mach One to carry out the order.

"Stay with me, Mac," O’Neill’s tone was both an order and yet gentle encouragement as he helped MacGyver to hobble into the elevator.

"Tryin’, Jack... " MacGyver responded a little distantly. A sheen of sweat broke out across features that were slowly growing paler and paler despite his suntan.

The elevator trip took only a few moments, but to MacGyver it seemed a lot longer as he concentrated on staying alert. He was aware of O'Neill talking to him, offering encouragement, but it was steadily becoming just too much effort to actually listen to and comprehend the words.

They had almost made it to the infirmary when MacGyver spoke softly.

"Jack ..."

"Yeah?"

"Don’t think... I’m... gonna’ make it..." Mac warned softly before sagging against O’Neill as his good leg buckled under him and consciousness deserted him.

"Whoa! I gotcha', big guy," O’Neill clung resolutely onto the Phoenix man. He spotted one of the SG-4 men coming out of the infirmary and bawled. "Simpson! Gimme a hand here! Move it!"

Simpson, who had just been for a routine check-up, hastily obeyed. As they carted MacGyver into the infirmary between them, O'Neill bawled for medics at a volume that would have done a parade-ground sergeant-major proud.

"Bring him over here," Doctor Janet Fraiser instructed briskly, hurrying across the room and gesturing to one of the vacant beds as orderlies rushed to relieve O'Neill and Simpson of their burden. Simpson readily gave way to the orderlies. O'Neill did not.

"What happened?" Fraiser wanted to know as the orderlies and O'Neill got MacGyver onto the bed.

"Leg injury," O'Neill said as Fraiser unsubtly elbowed him out of her way. "He's losing blood," he added, the worry in his voice unmistakable.

Stepping back out of the way, O'Neill watched with ill-concealed concern as Fraiser and her team swung into action. The Doctor snapped orders, which were obeyed instantly and without question as she swiftly checked her patient's vital signs then turned her attention to the most visible sign of injury. Without ceremony she slit open the fatigues from ankle almost to hip. The crude, blood-soaked, makeshift dressing she found wrapped around the injured man's thigh and fastened with duct tape didn't faze her for an instant; working at the SGC she was used to strange things.

O'Neill grimaced in sympathy as he caught a glimpse of the long, vicious, oozing gash of a wound that was revealed when Fraiser peeled away the dressing, which seemed to comprise of the remnants of a shredded, once-blue shirt. He also noted the swelling and discolouration around Mac's knee and the white scars highlighted by the discolouration.

"Colonel, I'll call you when we're done here," Fraiser said. Although her attention didn’t waver for an instant from her patient, she was acutely aware of O'Neill hovering at her back.

"Take good care of him, Doc," O’Neill instructed grimly. "He's family."

Fraiser glanced over her shoulder, saw the look in O'Neill's dark eyes and nodded. "Don't worry, Colonel, I will," she assured him, meeting his gaze for a moment before returning her full attention to her patient and snapping more orders at the nurses and orderlies bustling about.

O'Neill hovered a moment or two longer, reluctant to leave, but finally gave way to the common sense that told him he'd only be underfoot if he stayed. He knew Fraiser was good at her job from more personal experience than he cared to think about. She needed to be left to get on with it.

He retreated to the corridor outside to wait.

*************************

As time passed, O'Neill's patience decreased almost exponentially. He finally gave up fidgeting in the less than comfortable chair and began to pace the corridor restlessly.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Janet Fraiser's voice got his instant attention. He spun on his heel to face her. "Well, Doc?" He demanded.

"I've cleaned him up and patched him up, Colonel, but he won't be going anywhere for a while. That leg wound is infected and he's running a temperature. I've pumped him full of antibiotics and - "

"He’ll be okay? Right?" O'Neill wanted to know.

"We'll know more in a few hours," Fraiser stated guardedly. "Colonel, did you know that that man has been shot recently?"

"What?" O'Neill stared.

"Right shoulder and right side just above the hip bone," Fraiser stated grimly. "Both wounds are just barely healed."

O'Neill's expression darkened ominously.

"Sir, might I ask if he ah, had something to do with that security alert a little while ago?" Fraiser ventured cautiously. She produced something from the pocket of her white coat. "Found this civilian I.D. on him instead of dog-tags." She held up MacGyver's Phoenix I.D. card clipped to a length of fine chain. "It's just that I've heard of the Phoenix Foundation and Mr. MacGyver..."

"Is he conscious yet? Can I see him?" O'Neill wanted to know as he took Mac's I.D. from the medic.

"He came round briefly while we were working on him," Fraiser replied. The expression in O’Neill’s dark eyes worried her. "He’s asleep at the moment, but you can look in on him, briefly, if you like."

"Thanks, Doc." O’Neill was past Fraiser and into the infirmary like a flash.

**************************

MacGyver had been moved to a different area of the infirmary, but O'Neill homed in on his location like an Exocet. Fraiser trailed worriedly in his wake.

O'Neill halted at the foot of Mac's bed and stood there for several moments, noting the various tubes and monitoring equipment his cousin had been hooked up to and also the stillness and pallor of the injured man.

Fraiser kept her distance, just watching O'Neill warily, knowing only too well just how volatile and unpredictable he could sometimes be and sensing the dangerous mood he was slipping into.

The Colonel moved around to the side of the bed, scooping up a convenient chair as he did so. Swinging it around to reverse it, he set it by the bedside and straddled it, resting his arms on the backrest, his fingers toying restlessly with the Phoenix I.D. card he was still holding.

Janet Fraiser was bursting with questions, but she held her peace. She had not failed to notice the remarkable physical resemblance between O'Neill and her patient - she would have had to have been blind to have missed it - and that combined with the Colonel's earlier remark about MacGyver being 'family' made her wonder. The two men were so alike they could almost pass as twins, certainly as brothers at the very least. Fraiser's curiosity was most definitely piqued, but the mood she sensed O'Neill to be in definitely indicated it was not a good time to indulge that curiosity.

MacGyver stirred. O'Neill reached out a hand to rest it lightly on the injured man's shoulder as he spoke in a quiet, gentle tone. "Mac?"

Dark eyes flickered open to meet a matching set of eyes. "Hey...Jack..." MacGyver murmured the words groggily.

"Easy there, big guy," O’Neill smiled as he gave Mac's shoulder a gentle squeeze before retrieving his hand. "Ya' know ya' got yourself banged up pretty good, but Doc Fraiser here says you're gonna' be just fine."

"Jack... Need... favour..." MacGyver spoke in barely more than an exhausted whisper.

"Sure, Mac. Name it," O’Neill answered, leaning closer in order to more easily hear his cousin's request.

"Call Pete... Thornton... at Phoenix... for me..." MacGyver’s words came out slowly. It was quite clearly an effort for him to get them out at all. "Tell him... ‘mm okay...He... worries... 'bout me... An' tell him... tell him..." Mac's dark eyes closed as he lost the struggle to stay awake.

For some moments O'Neill did not so much as twitch. He merely sat looking at his injured cousin in silence. Then he unhurriedly rose to his feet, toyed with Mac's I.D. card for a further moment or two before he set it down in a very deliberate and unhurried fashion on the small unit beside the bed. Then, abruptly, he returned his chair from whence he had taken it.

Janet Fraiser made to speak, but thought better of it when she saw the look simmering in O'Neill's dark eyes. It was a look that boded ill for somebody.

"I want a full report on Mac's condition on my desk yesterday, Doctor."

"Yes, sir," Fraiser knew that particular tone only too well and stiffened almost to attention.

"And a copy to the General," O’Neill went on, not pausing for breath. "I'll be back later, but if there's any change in Mac's condition meantime I want to be informed immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Fraiser responded crisply.

O'Neill made to leave only to halt and level a grim look at Fraiser.

"Doctor, if he was one of ours, would you have passed him fit for hazardous duty?"

Fraiser frowned at the question and tried not to blanch under the dangerous, dark-eyed gaze being levelled at her. She knew what he was referring to though; the barely healed gun-shot injuries.

"Hazardous duty, sir?" She shook her head. "Er, no, sir. Light duties, yes, but certainly not hazardous."

"That's what I figured," O’Neill muttered darkly. He cast a final look at his sleeping cousin before stepping around Fraiser and heading for the exit like a pissed-off predator on the prowl for trouble.

Fraiser watched him go and then dove for the nearest phone.

"This is Doctor Fraiser. Put me through to General Hammond. FAST!"

**************************

"Uh-oh. Jack looks kinda' cranky about something," Daniel Jackson observed under his breath as he turned a corner and saw O'Neill striding towards him like a man most definitely with a mission to tear something - or someone - apart with his bare hands. Daniel was in the midst of a rapid mental debate with himself about the wisdom, or otherwise, of making himself rapidly scarce when his options ran out. O'Neill spotted him.

"Daniel!"

"Uhh..."

"I need you to do something for me."

"Uhh...Sure, Jack," Daniel said congenially, but warily. He sensed O'Neill was in a very dangerous mood and wondered what sort of a request was about to be made of him.

"Get down to the infirmary and keep an eye on MacGyver."

"Oh-kaaay... I can do that..." Daniel nodded, but his mind was racing. "Is he, ah, alright?" He asked, both puzzled and concerned.

"No, he's not and I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on him. No-one goes near him who isn't medical personnel vouched for by Doctor Fraiser, Daniel. No-one." O'Neill instructed grimly. "If I'm not down there in a coupla' hours, get Teal'c to spell you."

"Okay," Daniel nodded again, but his growing bewilderment was written all over his face. "But...why, Jack? What's going on? I mean, MacGyver is one of the good guys? Right? Or am I missing something?" He looked both dubious and more than a tad worried. He was used to the sometimes quirky way Jack O'Neill's mind worked, but even for O'Neill this was, well, odd.

"Oh Mac's one of the good guys, alright, but I don't know about some other people. I got a bad feeling, Daniel. A real bad feeling. Something's hinky."

"Uh-huh..." Jackson studied the older man. He'd learned to respect O'Neill's 'bad feelings' about situations, they were usually right. "Me an' Teal'c'll keep him safe, Jack. Count on it. He's family after all. Right?"

"Yeah," O'Neill nodded. "Mac's family."

Daniel smiled in acknowledgement of the gratitude he saw register briefly in O'Neill's eyes before the Colonel stepped past him and continued on his purposeful way. For a moment or two, the young scientist stood chewing his lip. Whoever's blood O'Neill was after, Daniel was extremely glad it wasn't his. Shaking his head slightly, he hurried off up to the infirmary.

*************************

"Come!" Hammond responded to the sharp knock on his office door. As it opened, he went back to the telephone conversation he was engaged in.

O'Neill appeared in the doorway and hesitated there as he saw Hammond was occupied. The General waved him into the room. O'Neill advanced and endeavoured to look a little less out-for-blood than he felt and to be patient as he waited for Hammond to finish with the phone. From what he heard of the admittedly one-sided conversation, it seemed Hammond was in conference with 'The Brass'.

Not being in the mood to sit despite Hammond waving him to a chair, O'Neill draped himself against one of the filing cabinets and did his best to look absorbed in gazing at the sundry photos and career mementoes that adorned Hammond's office wall.

Finally Hammond was through and hung up his phone. He took a couple of slow, deep breaths before he enquired calmly of the simmering volcano that fidgeted restlessly over his filing cabinet, "And what can I do for you, Colonel?"

"Something's not right, sir," O’Neill stated with as much composure as he could muster. He wiped a hand over his face.

"Damn' right something's not right, Colonel," Hammond retorted with military briskness. "Base security got breached this morning and nobody knew a damn' thing about it until Mr. MacGyver calmly walked into my briefing room and announced himself! That is something that is just not supposed to be even possible at this installation!"

"Aw hell, General, Mac could get into Fort Knox undetected if he put his mind to it," O’Neill sighed, detaching himself from the filing cabinet and starting to pace. Hammond 'harrumphed'. "Sir, have you spoken with anyone at the Phoenix Foundation yet?" O'Neill asked as he halted in front of his superior's desk.

"No, not yet," Hammond admitted, sitting back in his chair and regarding his second-in-command calmly. "But I do have a call through to their Director of Field Operations who, it seems, is currently somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. His plane is due to touch down at LA-X in about another three hours. They'll have him return my call just as soon as he gets in." He paused for a moment, studying the man fidgeting before him then asked. "What's on your mind, Colonel?"

O'Neill shifted uneasily as if having a little trouble deciding on how exactly to give voice to what he wanted to say without being thrown in the brig for gross insubordination.

"Just spit it out, son," Hammond advised.

"The whole thing stinks, General," O’Neill took his advice. "What the hell are those brass-plated bureaucrats in Washington playing at sending an already injured man out on a mission like this one? And the Phoenix people? Letting one of their men - their best men - be sent out like that? What in hell were they thinking?"

"Colonel..." Hammond warned.

"Sorry, sir," O’Neill endeavoured to get his temper under control. He knew Hammond was inclined to give him more lee-way than most, but still it wasn't wise to abuse the privilege. He started pacing again.

Hammond calmly watched the younger man's efforts to contain his temper and gather himself together. From what Doctor Fraiser had briefly told him on the phone a short while earlier, the General knew there was an angry bee buzzing around in O'Neill's proverbial bonnet. He decided it was best to let the Colonel get it out of his system, although he already had an idea where O'Neill was heading with it. And he didn't like it. Not one damn' bit. What was worse, he found himself coming to a similar conclusion.

O'Neill came to a halt in front of the desk again. Hammond gave him a look that invited him to proceed with what he had to say.

"General Hammond...Sir... Maybe I've just spent too many years in black ops and been screwed too many times but it seems to me that you don't send an injured man out on a hazardous mission unless you want one of three things to happen."

"Go on, Colonel."

"Number one, you want to blow the mission. Number two, you don't want your man to come back still breathing. Number three, all of the above." The cold fury in O’Neill’s voice, which was mirrored in his dark eyes, was unmistakable.

"Which, in this instance, doesn't make for a whole heap of sense, now does it?" Hammond pointed out. "After all, we're all playing for the same team."

"With all due respect, General, someone somewhere has tried to screw the mission, or Mac, or both," O’Neill responded. "Doctor Fraiser said he's just barely recovered from two gunshot wounds." The cold fury remained in his voice and his eyes. "He should not have been have been sent on this type of mission at this time."

Major General George Hammond sighed deeply. "I know and I'm inclined to agree with you, Colonel. It doesn't make the slightest bit of sense to me either," he stated calmly. "That's why I have that call in to Peter Thornton at the Phoenix Foundation. Perhaps he can shed a little light on what the hell is going on. He's not the type of man to 'screw' one of his own people as you so succinctly put it."

That last statement grabbed O'Neill's attention. Hammond did not miss his subordinate's reaction either.

"You, ah, know this Thornton, sir? Personally, I mean?" O'Neill inquired.

"Peter Thornton and I go a long ways back, Colonel," Hammond stated. He was pleased to see O'Neill's fury start to flounder a little, side-tracked by this information. "He was a Captain in military intelligence and I was still just a Captain myself the first time our paths crossed. He was a field operative. Damn' good at it too. Made it to Colonel before he turned semi-civilian and transferred to the DXS. From there, he eventually moved to the Phoenix Foundation as their Director of Field Operations and that must have been, what, going on some eleven, twelve years ago now." He watched the changing expressions flickering through O'Neill's eyes. "He's a damn' good man to have at your back in a tight corner, Colonel, and most certainly not the type of man to expose his people to unnecessary risks."

Hammond sat and watched O'Neill absorb that information. He could almost see O'Neill's mind working on various extrapolations of the current situation with regard to this new - to him at least - information. The General found it fascinating to watch. "So, Colonel," Hammond said eventually. "Let's just get hold of a few more cold hard facts before we go off half-cocked and baying for blood, shall we?"

"Sir..." O’Neill said, looking almost affronted.

"After all, when the heads start to roll, it would be nice to be sure they're the right ones, wouldn't it, Colonel?" Hammond stated, aiming a level yet pointed stare at the younger man.

"Ah, yes, sir," O’Neill agreed.

"That will be all, Colonel."

"Sir," O’Neill nodded. He was halfway to the door, his mind still in overdrive as he pondered on what Hammond had told him, when he suddenly halted. "Er, General Hammond, sir..." he began, turning back.

"Was there something else, Colonel?" Hammond inquired, looking up from the folder he had just opened on his desk.

"Ah...well, sir...Mac asked me to see that Mr. Thornton got word that he's okay..."

"Consider it taken care of," Hammond said.

"Thank you, sir," O'Neill responded.

*************************

The infirmary was quiet when O'Neill finally made it back there to check on his cousin, having been effectively side-tracked several times by various SGC matters that had required his attention. He found Daniel sitting at MacGyver's bedside, his nose in a massive archaeology tome. The younger man was not so absorbed in the text however to miss O'Neill's quiet approach.

"Hey, Jack," he greeted him, keeping his voice down as he looked up from his reading and watched O'Neill come to a halt at the foot of MacGyver's bed.

"How's he doin'?" O'Neill asked quietly.

"Bit restless," Daniel answered as MacGyver shifted on the bed but did not awaken. Closing his book, Daniel rose to his feet and set it down on the vacated chair. He stepped over to where O'Neill was standing. "Doctor Fraiser says he's still running a temperature, but it seems to have levelled off," Daniel informed the grim-faced Colonel. He regarded the older man critically. "How are you doing, Jack?" He sensed the other man's mood was rather less volatile than the last time he'd seen him, but there was still something dangerous simmering under the surface.

"Take a break, Daniel." O’Neill ignored Jackson's concern. "I'll stay for a while."

Daniel hesitated, just eying O'Neill carefully then he nodded. "Oh-kaaay," He turned to retrieve his book. "I'll come back in little while then." Just as he was about to leave, a familiar klaxon sounded and a voice came over the SGC's P.A. system.

"Colonel O'Neill to the Control Room. Colonel O'Neill to the Control Room."

"On the other hand," Daniel said smoothly, "why don't I just stay here a bit longer?"

"Appreciate it."

Daniel watched O'Neill's hasty but reluctant departure then settled back into his chair and re-opened his book at the page he'd marked with a bit of folded paper.

On the bed MacGyver stirred and shifted restlessly for a moment or two before quieting again.

*************************

Peter Thornton was tired and just a little bit cranky as he made his way into his office. It had been a long, exhausting week at the international security symposium in Tokyo. Bad weather across the Pacific had made the trip home longer and rather more eventful into the bargain than he could have wished for.

Helen, his secretary of many years followed him into the office, reeling off the list of messages she had fielded in his absence. She knew which ones were priority and which ones could be put on the back-burner until her boss had recovered a bit more from his trip. Consequently the string of messages she was reeling off was considerably shorter than it might otherwise have been.

Despite the thumping headache he was rapidly developing, Pete issued pertinent instructions in response to each of the queries Helen had for him.

"...And finally there was a call from Major General Hammond," Helen said as she finished jotting down some shorthand notes in the pad she was carrying. "The General asked me to get you to call him back as soon as you came in. He said it was urgent."

"Hammond?" Pete frowned as he settled behind his desk. He had known Hammond for years and the man didn't say 'urgent' unless he meant 'urgent'. He also knew that the Phoenix Foundation was scheduled to run an independent assessment of the security status of the facility where the General was currently based. "I wonder what's up that could be urgent," he mused aloud. "Okay, see if you can raise him for me, Helen."

"Right away, sir."

"Oh and Helen, see if you can find me an aspirin, would you?"

"I have some in my desk," the ever-efficient Helen said as she bustled out of the office.

She was back a few minutes later.

"Is that coffee I smell?" Pete wanted to know.

"I thought you could use some to go with the aspirin," Helen responded, setting a cup and saucer down on Thornton's desk in the precise spot where she always put it since her boss's sight had deteriorated. "Aspirin’s in the saucer at three o'clock," she said matter-of-factly. "And I have Cheyenne Mountain for you on line two."

"Thank you, Helen."

Pete located the painkiller, swallowed it dry then took a sip of coffee. As usual Helen had made the drink hot, yet still cool enough that he didn't scald his mouth on it; it was a skill she had honed to a fine art. Pete took a couple of good swallows of the brew then reached for his phone. Once he had convinced the SGC of who he was, he was finally put through to the General’s office. "Hello, George, how's the golf handicap?"

"Still a sore point, I'm afraid."

Thornton chuckled and the two men exchanged a few more pleasantries before getting down to business. "So, George, what can I do for you? Helen said you were trying to get hold of me this morning about something kind of urgent..."

"I've got one of your people here, name of MacGyver."

"What?" Pete Thornton was thrown off-balance by that announcement. Whatever he had been expecting Hammond to say, it most certainly hadn't been that. "MacGyver? Are you sure?"

"It's what his Phoenix ID says and I have personnel here who vouch for its veracity."

"What in hell is Mac doing there? He's supposed to be at home on sick leave!" Pete was bewildered.

"At 08:00 yesterday morning I got a call from Washington. They told me your people had been hired to run an independent security check on this facility. I was not informed of who was being assigned, just that your agent would be given 36hrs from mid-day yesterday to infiltrate this facility if he could." There was a slightly uncomfortable pause. Then, "Your man MacGyver walked into my briefing room at 07:50 this morning, looking like hell."

"What? But that's...I put that assignment on hold with Washington. It was supposed to be rescheduled for the end of next month."

"Well your man's here. Now. And I have a Colonel on my staff with a nasty, suspicious mind, who has a notion that someone wanted the security check screwed up or your man MacGyver dead; or maybe both."

"What?" Pete spluttered, thoroughly confused and increasingly unsettled by what he was hearing. "But none of this makes any sense."

"To me neither. Especially since I know you would never send a man out on a job like this who wasn't one hundred percent fit to handle it."

"Damn' right," Thornton snorted. Before he could stop himself he asked. "But Mac made it anyway? Right?"

"As it happens, yes, he did," was the very miffed response.

Despite himself and the situation Pete couldn't help but chuckle. "Good old MacGyver. Always comes through, no matter what," he observed, more to himself than to Hammond. Then he sobered. "Let me talk to him, George, and I'm sure we can get this all straightened right out."

"That might be a little difficult, Peter. Your boy's in the infirmary and he's not in any condition to talk to anyone right now. That's why I called you in the hope of some answers."

"What happened to him?" Pete demanded, a sudden feeling of dread tying his gut in a knot. One of the major hazards involved in a mission to infiltrate a facility like the Cheyenne Mountain complex was that security was authorised to shoot first and ask questions later. Hammond had said MacGyver had 'walked in' to his briefing room 'looking like hell'. Had he been shot - again - yet still managed to finish his assignment? "How is he?" He asked tautly. Part of him dreaded the answer.

"Pretty banged up by all accounts, with a serious leg laceration that has become infected and a knee that looks like it went ten rounds with a tank." Thornton could hear the sound of paper being shuffled at the other end of the phone line. Hammond's voice continued. "Also numerous bruises and abrasions according to the report I have in front of me. The report also suggests that Mr. MacGyver's susceptibility to infection hasn't been helped by his being under par from some very recent gun-shot injuries."

"Damn!" Pete Thornton swore.

"He asked specifically that you be told he was alright."

"Yeah. That sounds like Mac. He thinks I worry too much." Pete rubbed a hand wearily over his face. He had not missed the implication in Hammond's tone. MacGyver wanted him contacted because he didn't trust someone else; the someone else who had sent him on a mission that had nearly cost him his life. A mission he hadn't physically been ready for. Thornton felt his blood begin to boil and his tone was as grim as his expression as he told the General. "I don't know who gave the authorization this end to bring MacGyver's assignment forward, George, but by God I'm going to find out."

"Well, don't worry about your boy meantime. He's in good hands."

"I'm sure he is."

"There's just one last thing. MacGyver's security clearance..."

"What about it?"

"What level is he cleared to? For government work I mean."

"Triple A-6."

There was a long silence from the other end of the telephone.

"George? George, are you still there?" Pete wondered for a moment if they'd been disconnected.

A throat-clearing noise came down the line. Then. "Yeah, I'm still here. Since your boy's likely to be laid up for a while and given his security clearance level, I'll keep him here in this facility instead of shipping him out to the Academy hospital up top. Might be ah, safer all round if you get my drift."

"Oh, I get your drift alright. Loud and clear." Thornton again did not miss Hammond's implication. If someone wanted to mess with MacGyver, where safer a place could he possibly be while incapacitated than in a top-security installation into which he was probably the only person alive who could gain unauthorized access. "And I appreciate it." He smiled despite the situation at the thought that crossed his mind. Guess your Colonel's not the only one in that facility with a nasty, suspicious mind. "I'll get back to you as soon as I have some answers, George. You'll keep me posted about MacGyver?"

"Of course, Peter."

Thornton put the phone down, his mind a-whirl. Something had most definitely been going on behind his back during his week in Tokyo and he was determined to get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing he did.

He reached for the intercom button. "Helen, I need you to find some people for me. Oh and Helen, you’d better bring me some more aspirin."

*************************

Samantha Carter had a cup of coffee in each hand as she entered the infirmary and made her way to the quiet side ward housing the injured MacGyver. As she expected, she found Daniel Jackson keeping watch. His archaeology book, however, was lying closed on a nearby trolley and his attention was on MacGyver, who was shifting restlessly as Doctor Fraiser checked him over.

"Here, Daniel..." Carter stuck one of the coffee cups under the Egyptologist's nose when it became apparent he had failed to register her arrival.

"Huh? Oh, thanks," he said absently as he took the cup.

"Careful. It's hot," Sam cautioned before he could burn his mouth on the brew. He sipped carefully at the drink instead of taking the big gulp Sam had anticipated he was about to. "I thought you must still be up here," she went on. "You missed SG-4's pre-mission briefing."

"I did?" Daniel looked surprised and automatically looked at his watch - which only served to confirm what Sam had just told him. He looked up at her. "Sorry..." he apologised.

"Not a problem. We managed." Standing beside Daniel's chair she watched as Doctor Fraiser finished her examination of her patient and tucked the sheets back into place. "So, how's he doing, Janet?"

"Not so good," Janet Fraiser had a sombre expression on her face. "His temperature's risen again and he doesn't seem to be responding to the antibiotics I've tried so far." She saw the looks on the faces of the SG-1 twosome. "But we're not beaten yet, there are still several others I can try," she assured them. "Don't worry. Okay?"

Daniel nodded. "Do our best," he said. Fraiser gave him and Sam a confident smile before turning away to speak with one of her staff.

"Any idea what's with the guard at the door out there?" Carter inquired, inclining her head briefly in the direction of the main infirmary entrance.

"Seems the word got out about our friend here," Daniel said mildly, indicating MacGyver with his free hand. "People kept turning up wanting to say 'hi', or donate blood..." He sipped at his coffee as Carter stared at him in astonishment. "Doctor Fraiser got fed-up of throwing them out..." Daniel shrugged expressively.

*************************

Even as Sam Carter was busily engaged in staring in silent astonishment at Daniel Jackson in the depths of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in Colorado, another Sam was engaged in a remarkably similar activity in a bright and airy, first-floor, semi-studio style apartment in a converted warehouse building in Los Angeles, California.

Sam Malloy was a good-looking young man in his mid-to-late twenties. He was around 5ft 10ins tall in his sneakers, with a leanly muscular build. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, and his mid-to-dark brown hair although neatly trimmed, appeared to be somewhat unruly. His normally sunny disposition was back-tracking rapidly out the door through which he had just stepped, and was being swiftly replaced by growing disconcertion as he surveyed the wreckage that was spread across the floor of the apartment.

"What the hell ...?" He muttered as he recovered from the initial shock of opening the door to be greeted by the devastation. Carefully he picked his way through the carnage as he advanced a little way into the bombsite. "This place is a mess, even for you, Dad..." he observed.

Something caught his eye. Halting, he bent to retrieve an old brown leather jacket from amongst the scattered remains of what had once been a cushion. "Shoot. Dad's gonna' be madder'n hell. That's his favourite jacket..." He observed to the world in general as he eyed the damaged garment. Sam discarded the unfortunate item with a grimace and surveyed the place again.

Whoever had wrought the destruction had been thorough. Frighteningly so.

Sam reached for his mobile phone. The number he dialled was not 911 however. It was a number at the Phoenix Foundation. A number which, it had been strenuously impressed upon him by his father, was only to be used in an emergency. Sam figured the situation could be classed under that heading.

"Hello, Mr. Thornton? It's Sam here...Sam Malloy...Yeah ...Oh, I got back a coupla' days ago... Yeah, it was kinda' hairy once or twice. Look, the reason I'm calling, Mr. Thornton, is that I'm at my Dad's new place and someone has trashed it. I mean really trashed it...No, no, I've not called the police yet. I figured I'd better call you...Well I got an odd note from Dad with a CD-ROM disc in my mail...No, I don't know what's on the disc, I haven't looked yet. The note said I should hold it for him and if anything odd happened while he was out of town I should make sure you got it. No-one else at Phoenix - just you. Mr. Thornton, what's going on? Is Dad in trouble again? Sure...Yeah... I'll be right there..."

Switching off the cell-phone Sam stuck it back in his pocket. He was in the midst of taking a final look at the mess when he heard a sound that made him freeze and caused the hairs at the back of his neck to prickle. It was a sound he'd been hearing altogether too much of lately. It was the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.

"Okay, kid, hand it over." A cold, hard voice instructed.

"Hand what over?" Sam asked innocently as he turned slightly to peer over his shoulder. Muscle in a dark suit and dark glasses stood in the doorway and was levelling a .38 revolver at a point roughly midway between his shoulder blades.

"Don't play the innocent, kid. I want that computer disc. Hand it over." The Muscle growled, taking a couple of threatening steps forward.

"Er... Which particular disc are we talking about?" Sam played for time as his mind searched frantically for a way out of the situation that wouldn't involve him getting enough lead in him to sink a battle-ship and yet still enable him to keep possession of the disc in question, which was nestling safely in the inside pocket of the black leather jacket he was wearing.

"Do I look stupid, kid?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

The Muscle was not amused by Sam's attempt at wit. "Don't crack wise with me kid. I may blow a hole in you just for the hell of it." The Muscle took a few more steps forward.

It was a mistake. Concentrating on Sam, he didn't pay enough attention to where he was putting his feet. He stumbled on a broken chair leg and that was all Sam needed. He made his move. He grabbed the ice-hockey stick that was protruding enticingly from the debris around him, spinning around as he did so in a blur of speed. The curved end whistled through the air to contact with The Muscle's gun arm at the elbow. There was a very satisfying snapping sound accompanied by a loud, almost animalistic yowl of pain. The .38 dropped into the debris on the floor while The Muscle clutched at his newly broken arm.

The force of the swing and the resultant impact with the Bad Guy threw Sam off-balance. As he struggled to stay upright, he heard the unmistakable sound of feet clattering up the metal stairway outside.

Sam dropped the hockey stick and did a fair impersonation of a mountain-goat as he bounded over the wreckage that was his father's furniture and personal possessions. He made for the wall opposite the doorway, which was glass from almost floor to ceiling. All the while his mind raced as he tried to remember which of the glass sections opened and which didn't.

He reached the wall. He could hear angry shouts behind him and The Muscle still bellowing in pain. Frantically he found one of the window catches. The whole section of window swung open on a horizontal swivel. Glass shattered as a bullet whizzed past him, only missing him by a whisper. Sam rolled out over the sill of the wrecked window as a second bullet plucked at the sleeve of his jacket.

Sam relaxed as he dropped to the ground and rolled as he hit the deck. Scrambling to his feet he ran like hell for the spot where he had left his motorbike parked. He fished his keys out of his jeans pocket as he ran. Leaping onto the bike and not bothering to waste time donning his helmet, he rammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The powerful engine roared to life.

He was about to ride off when a thought occurred to him. He gunned the bike forward the short distance to where an out-of-place dark sedan sat and halted beside the nearside rear tyre. Rapidly he fished out his Swiss Army Knife, pulled out the main blade and rammed it into the tyre. Air rushed out.

Advancing his bike to the front nearside tyre, Sam repeated the manoeuvre.

He quickly folded the blade and returned the knife to his pocket just as The Bad Guys hove into view. They were clearly pissed off at him and immediately opened fire.

Sam gunned the engine and roared off like a bat out of hell, a hail of bullets following him like a swarm of demented hornets.

*************************

Malloy parked his bike around the corner from the Phoenix Foundation and entered the building by the front door. The security guard on duty at the front desk eyed his slightly disreputable-looking appearance dubiously.

"Can I help you?" The guard asked with cool politeness.

"Sam Malloy to see Peter Thornton. He's expecting me," Sam explained congenially. An uneasy feeling washed over him as a couple of Suits wandered over to the desk in a casually purposeful manner whilst the security guard checked his clip-board.

"That's alright, Dave," one of the Suits said as they both flanked Sam. "Mr. Malloy is expected, we'll take care of him."

Before Sam could react, he felt something jab him in the ribs; something which felt uncomfortably like the business end of a gun.

"If you'd be so good as to come with us, Mr. Malloy," the taller of the two Suits invited cordially, but there was steel in his blue eyes. Sam felt the jab in his ribs again and glanced down to see the automatic weapon in the other Suit's hand. "We have instructions to look after you."

Behind the desk, his view effectively blocked by the height of the front ledge of the desk, Dave had no idea that anything was amiss and just nodded before being distracted by the ringing of his telephone.

"This way, Mr. Malloy." The Tall Suit indicated towards the bank of elevators just off from the lobby.

"Sure. No problem." Sam decided to play along - for the moment - and allowed himself to be herded into one of the cars, all the time wondering: What the hell is going on?

"Hey, guys, I thought Mr. Thornton's office was upstairs," he commented as the Tall Suit pressed a button that started the elevator heading in a downwards direction. This is not good.

"We just do what we're told and we were told to take you downstairs," the Suit with the automatic growled and jabbed Sam in the ribs with the weapon again.

"Uh-huh..." Sam responded. His mind was racing for the second time in less than an hour. He had to get away from these guys or he was dead; of that he had no doubt.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened onto one of the basement car-park levels. Possibilities here, Sam thought as he was pushed out and cast a glance about him.

"Move," ordered Tall Suit, gesturing to Sam to walk ahead of himself and his colleague.

Sam obliged, all the time scanning his surroundings for a means of escape. He had only been to the Phoenix Foundation building a handful of times and really wasn't all that familiar with its layout. He made a careful mental note of everything around him.

"Blue sedan over there," Tall Suit instructed.

An idea began to formulate in Sam's mind. It was risky, but it might just work...

Casually he reached to scratch at the back of his neck as they neared the blue sedan, which was parked adjacent to a pillar. The Suits separated with Tall Suit going around to the driver's side of the vehicle, leaving Sam and the other Suit to pass between the pillar and the car at the passenger side. The car's radio antenna was on the passenger side at the rear. It was also fully extended.

As he passed the antenna, Sam brought his hand down and out, grabbing the antenna and bending it. Before either Suit realised what Sam was doing, he let go the antenna and it whip-lashed back, catching the gun-carrier right across the face.

Even as the Suits started to react, Sam was moving, grabbing for the fire extinguisher he had spotted in a bracket clamped to the pillar. He rammed it forcefully into Gun-Carrier's stomach, knocking the wind out of the man. As the guy started to double up Sam hit the release mechanism of the extinguisher and aimed the nozzle over the car's trunk at Tall Suit who was in the process of drawing and trying to aim his gun. The jet of foam got the man square in the eyes.

Gun-Carrier tried to get a bead on Sam, but the younger man turned the extinguisher on him then swung it and dealt the Suit a beautiful upper-cut with it. The man dropped to the concrete, totally out of things. Sam gave Tall Suit another blast of foam then lobbed the extinguisher at him, turned and ran like hell, ducking and weaving for a door marked 'Fire Exit'.

He made it to the door and skidded to a halt halfway through it. He had spotted a fire axe in a casing beside the doorway. A glance back across the car park told him Tall Suit had recovered enough to start a pursuit. Sam broke open the case, grabbed the axe and dove out through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Bending, he rammed the axe-blade firmly under the door edge, effectively jamming it shut.

As he rocketed off up the concrete stairwell, he heard some irate yelling and angry pounding on the fire door and grinned to himself.

Moments later he hit street level and burst out into the sunlight, startling a few passers-by. He quickly attempted to assume a nonchalant air and sauntered casually off down the street as if nothing was at all amiss.

*************************

General Hammond wandered into the SGC infirmary just as Doctor Fraiser was on her way out and promptly intercepted her. He spent several minutes in conversation with her, during which time the expression on his face gradually became more sombre than it usually was.

Finally he let the Doctor go and then stood surveying the room for a moment before making his way further into the facility. He paused to spend a few moments with two members of SG-6 who had returned a couple of days before from a mission that hadn't gone quite as intended - one man had a broken leg and ribs, the other a nasty stab wound - and they had subsequently ended up in the infirmary.

It was Hammond's custom to check up on his injured personnel in person. Aside from boosting his troops' morale, he felt an obligation to them as the man who had sent them out into whatever situation had put them into the infirmary in the first place.

Leaving the two SG-6 men to the crossword puzzle and the sports magazine they had respectively been occupied with when he had arrived, Hammond headed purposefully towards the more secluded part of the infirmary where the facility's 'special guest' was housed.

Throughout the day he had been aware that there had always been one or other member of his premier SG team disappearing for lengthy periods of time - although mostly it had been Jackson and Teal'c since both Carter and O'Neill had had duties that had had to be attended to and couldn't legitimately be postponed or avoided. Hammond had had an inkling of what had been going on and Doctor Fraiser had confirmed his suspicions when he had just spoken to her. O'Neill had said MacGyver was 'family' and that had clearly been enough for the rest of the SG-1 team to consider the injured man to be as much their personal family as he was O'Neill's. They were, therefore, looking out for him. He was one of their own.

Hammond paused at the doorway into the side-ward and surveyed the room.

Jack O'Neill was perched on the edge of a chair drawn up close to the room's only occupied bed and was carefully patting down a clearly feverish MacGyver's face and neck with a cloth that he kept refreshing in a bowl of water on an adjacent trolley unit. A plate of barely touched sandwiches and a cup of cold-looking coffee rested beside the bowl. An assortment of several other discarded cups rested on another unit just inside the doorway, some empty and some still containing the abandoned remnants of partially consumed drinks. Hammond figured they'd probably been left there by the changing shifts of the SG-1 team members during the day. He looked back in O'Neill's direction.

The General shook his head slightly. O'Neill was supposed to be on a meal-break in the mess hall while they waited for SG-4 to report in from the mission they had departed on a few hours earlier.

"Don't we have any nurses around here any more?" Hammond finally announced his presence with the question.

"Several, so I understand, sir," O’Neill barely so much as paused in his ministrations.

Hammond 'harrumphed' as he advanced into the room.

"How's our boy doing, Colonel?" Hammond already knew the answer to that one from Doctor Fraiser - not good - but he asked anyhow.

"He's hanging in there, sir," O’Neill replied, refreshing the cloth again as MacGyver continued to shift restlessly and mumbled something incoherent. "Has there been anything from Thornton at the Phoenix Foundation?" The Colonel finally paused in what he was doing to look round at his superior officer.

"Not since he initially returned my call," Hammond said, standing by the foot of the bed.

"Pete...?" MacGyver uttered the name with clarity, but he sounded uncertain, confused.

O'Neill and Hammond both looked at the Phoenix trouble-shooter. MacGyver's eyes were open and he seemed to be trying to focus on Hammond. A look of acute anxiety was spreading across his face, which was again bathed in a sheen of sweat.

"Pete... Disc ...Sent it... Sam... Pete...Big trouble... Danger ..."

"Easy, Mac, easy..." O'Neill moved quickly to restrain MacGyver as the latter suddenly struggled to rise as if trying to reach Hammond.

"Pete..." The desperation in MacGyver's voice was unmistakable as he struggled against his cousin's restraining arm across his chest. "Danger...Pete... Gotta' listen...Pete... Danger..." He seemed to be fixated on Hammond.

Seeing this, Hammond moved around to the side of the bed opposite O'Neill, noting that MacGyver's fevered gaze followed him.

"It's alright, son," Hammond soothed in kindly tones. "There's no danger here."

"No...Don’t understand..." Mac shook his head insistently. "Still...man..." He rasped. "The disc...Found out... Star...Watch..."

"Mac, take it easy," O'Neill had no real difficulty holding onto his cousin, the man was too debilitated by his illness and sheer exhaustion to put up much of a struggle against him, but was still feebly, stubbornly, trying to anyway.

"Project ...Star-Watch..." MacGyver said agitatedly. "On the...disc...Found out...about it..."

"What about Project Star-Watch?" Hammond questioned in a tone that caused O'Neill to look across at him in surprise. The General's tone broadcast all too clearly that MacGyver had just said something very significant.

"Still...man..." MacGyver's agitation didn't lesson any. "Systems flaw...covered...Danger, Pete..."

"What systems flaw?" Hammond questioned; his tone was kindly, but encouragingly insistent as he bent nearer to MacGyver.

"Star-Watch... flawed... Stillman knows... Covering... plans... shift blame... " MacGyver answered with a determined effort before sagging against O'Neill as his cousin continued to hold onto him, although O'Neill was more cradling him protectively by then than actually restraining him. All the physical fight had drained out of the Phoenix man. He just didn't have the energy any more. He simply rested in O'Neill’s grip, his fevered gaze fixed on Hammond. "Watch ...your back...Pete..." MacGyver forced the words out, painfully, desperately, before his eyes closed and his rambling deteriorated into total, rasping, incoherence. The hand he had managed at some point to clamp onto O'Neill's arm didn't relax any though, it was almost as if that contact had somehow become a much-needed lifeline.

"It's alright, Mac. It's alright," O’Neill told him in a tone that was gentle, but the look he levelled across at Hammond spoke volumes. He saw the extremely grim-faced look the General was aiming at the sick Phoenix operative. "Project Star-Watch, General?" O'Neill asked, a distinct edge in his tone and saw the General's gaze switch to him. He could also see Hammond trying to reach a decision.

"It's a classified military project initiated personally by the President," Hammond stated grimly.

O'Neill waited, meeting the General's unwavering gaze with an equally unwavering one of his own. Classified projects usually meant Need To Know. And the answer 'It's Classified', usually meant 'You Don't Need To Know So Don't Ask'. O'Neill wasn't about to give up yet however, so he tried approaching the question from a different angle.

"So how does a civilian know about it, sir?"

"The Project is being worked on by a very small and select handful of 'think-tanks' personally approved by the President. The Phoenix Foundation is one of them," Hammond said. For a moment he looked like he was going to say more then abruptly his demeanour switched to military briskness. "I need to make some calls," he stated grimly.

"Sir." Was all O'Neill responded. He had heard the unspoken 'The Subject Is Not Open To Further Discussion’ in his superior's tone.

"Gotta... protect...Pete..." MacGyver's continuing ramblings became briefly intelligible again as Hammond moved off purposefully towards the door. "Danger..."

"Easy, big guy, easy," O’Neill told him, still cradling him. He felt MacGyver's grip on his arm tighten again as the Phoenix man subsided back into incomprehensibility.

Hammond halted at the door and looked around at the two cousins for a moment.

"Jack?"

"Sir?" O'Neill looked a little surprised at Hammond's use of his given name; it was not a particularly common occurrence.

"You're off-duty as of now, Colonel," Hammond’s tone was all-business. He and O'Neill both knew the latter was not due to go off-duty for another couple of hours and even then that was assuming that SG-4 checked-in on schedule and had no problems to report. Hammond's eyes flickered briefly to MacGyver then returned to the surprised O'Neill. "And that's an order, son."

Without waiting for his subordinate's reaction, the General turned and was gone.

*************************

Peter Thornton was not having a good day. He had, during the course of rattling several cages both at Phoenix and in Washington, discovered who had sent - or at least appeared to have sent - MacGyver on the Colorado mission which he himself had postponed. It had been Rollinson, the man who was the Deputy Director of Field Operations at Phoenix. Rollinson's function was basically to keep tabs on things out in the field, generally oversee situations which required a sharp pair of eyes - literally. And of course to mind the store when Thornton wasn't around.

Rollinson was a man Thornton had known for years and whose judgement and abilities he trusted; a man whom he could work with. Thornton was therefore at a complete loss to understand what had possessed Rollinson to send a still-healing MacGyver out on a mission that had been put on hold; a mission which was not immediately urgent, but was high-risk even for someone at full fitness. It just wasn't something Rollinson would normally do.

Thornton wanted an explanation. Trouble was, no-one seemed to be able to actually find Rollinson. All anyone seemed to be able to tell him was that MacGyver appeared to have been the last person to have seen the man. Rollinson had left the Phoenix Foundation building to meet with MacGyver and the trail stopped there. Stopped cold.

Calls to Washington seemed to indicate that it had been Rollinson who had informed them that the postponed Cheyenne Mountain Complex mission had been re-instated to its original schedule.

In short nobody seemed to have any idea what the hell was going on.

And then there was Sam Malloy.

The phone call the young man had made worried Thornton. Who had trashed MacGyver's warehouse apartment? And why? Had someone been looking for the computer disc Sam had said that MacGyver had mailed to him for 'safe-keeping'? And why had MacGyver needed to take that precaution? What was so important about that disc? What was on it? Obviously it had to be something important or MacGyver wouldn't have bothered taking precautions.

Where the hell was Sam anyway? Thornton checked his Braille watch and his worry-level leapt another notch. He should have been there nearly an hour ago. Had something happened to him? Had whoever trashed MacGyver's place caught up with Sam?

Thornton located the intercom on his desk.

"Helen..."

"I'm afraid I'll need to send out for more aspirin, sir," Helen’s voice responded.

"Any sign of Sam Malloy yet, Helen?"

"I'll check."

Pete Thornton tapped his fingers a little impatiently on his desk as he waited.

"Well?" He inquired upon hearing familiar footsteps accompanied by the rustling of skirts a few moments later.

"Something very odd, Mr. Thornton," Helen announced as she halted in front of the big desk. The puzzlement in her voice was unmistakable. "Mr. Malloy arrived in reception just over forty minutes ago."

"So where is he?" Pete was bewildered. The Phoenix Foundation building was big, but not so big that it took forty minutes to get from reception to his office - even by the most scenic of routes!

"Two of our people apparently met him in reception and accompanied him into one of the elevators."

"Two of our..." Thornton felt his headache returning. "Who?" He demanded.

"Mr. Weston and Mr. Morris."

"Weston and Morris? What the hell were they doing here?" Pete wanted to know. The two men in question were part of a security team assigned to one of the research and development units outside LA. "Find them, Helen, and tell them I want them both in this office - yesterday."

"Sir."

As Helen returned to her own desk, Pete heard his phone ring. It was the private line. He reached for it automatically.

"Thornton."

"It's me - Sam."

"Sam, where are you?"

"Call me paranoid, but I'd rather not say."

"Are you alright?" Thornton wanted to know.

"Fine, just fed-up of having guns stuck in my face."

"I just heard you ran into trouble in the lobby here. I'm sorry, Sam. I had no idea - "

"Can you come to me?"

"Sure. Where and when?" Thornton asked as relief flooded through him with the knowledge that Sam Malloy was apparently in one piece.

"Remember that little Thai place you, me and Dad went to last time I was in town?"

"Yeah... I remember it." It was unforgettable. The hot spicy food had nearly blown his head off - much to the great amusement of both MacGyver and Malloy.

"One hour."

Thornton heard the line go dead. He sighed and returned the handset to its cradle.

"Helen!" He bellowed as he rose and retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair.

"Yes, sir?"

"I want my car and driver waiting for me by the time I get downstairs."

"Yes, sir."

Pete pulled his folding white cane from his jacket pocket and extended it before making his way to the door.

"And Helen, when Weston and Morris show up, have security make sure they don't go anywhere until I've had a chance to speak to them," he instructed as he made his way past the woman's desk.

"I'll see to it, Mr. Thornton."

*************************

From a vantage point on the roof of a low-rise apartment block, Sam Malloy watched Pete Thornton climb out of the back of a dark coloured, Phoenix Foundation sedan and be escorted to the entrance of the Thai restaurant by his driver. As Thornton went inside, the driver returned to the sedan and drove it down the block to a vacant lot which was serving as a car park.

Staying where he was, Sam studied the street below.

A short while later his attention was drawn to a familiar blue sedan, which was turning into the street for the third time since Thornton had arrived. It pulled into a space a few doors down from the Thai restaurant and a man got out of the front passenger seat.

Sam Malloy recognised the man immediately. It was the gun-toting Suit he'd run into at the Phoenix building, the one he'd decked with the fire extinguisher.

"Now why does this not surprise me?" Sam muttered under his breath.

As he continued to watch, The Suit sauntered casually to the Thai establishment and lingered for some moments at the menu board that was on display to one side of the big frontage window. The man then turned and hurried back to report to his companion in the blue car. A debate seemed to ensue before The Suit stomped off down the street, clearly disgruntled about something and turned down an access alley.

Sam waited and watched for a little while longer before he made his way down to street level by means of the fire escape ladder that ran down the rear of the building.

**************************

Peter Thornton toyed with the cup of iced tea he had ordered to pass the time while he waited for Sam. He knew he was a little early for their rendezvous. He hoped the kid was okay. He knew Sam had inherited MacGyver's resourcefulness, but he was still worried about him. Sam unfortunately also seemed to have inherited Mac's ability to attract trouble without even trying. If anything happened to the kid..... Thornton didn't like to think what it would do to MacGyver and he knew that he would never forgive himself either.

Pete checked his Braille watch as he listened to the bustle of sounds around the restaurant. His bad eyesight picked up on a figure approaching, a figure that slid smoothly into the seat opposite him.

"Mr. Thornton."

"Sam!" Thornton sighed heavily in relief. "Right on time."

"I think we should get outta' here while the going's good," Sam said. "There's a goon out front so we better go out the back way."

"I had a tail? Damn!" Thornton was annoyed. "Damn these lousy eyes of mine."

"Hey, not a problem, don't worry," Sam responded as Pete fished some money out of a pocket to cover his tab. "But I think we should get a move on."

"Right."

They left the restaurant via the kitchens and the back exit just as fast as Pete could move with his stick and Sam's guidance.

"What was that?" Thornton asked upon hearing what sounded like a loud groan as he and Sam stepped out into the service alley. His poor eyesight did not register the vision of The Suit, bound and gagged with duct tape, lying amidst a pile of garbage.

"Just a big rat," Sam said. "C'mon. I got transport."

"Not the bike, Sam?" Thornton sounded horrified at the prospect.

"No, not the bike. I borrowed some wheels from a friend."

"Thank God for that," Thornton sighed as they proceeded down the alley, Sam carefully keeping him away from obstructions. "I've heard about the way you ride that thing."

"Dad worries too much," Sam chuckled. "C'mon, this way, to the left..."

*************************

"Do we have any idea where we're going?" Pete asked presently.

They had made it safely to Sam's 'transport', a dilapidated junker of an ancient VW, with an engine that sounded to be on its last legs.

"A friend's place," Sam answered. "I figure as soon as the bad guys realise they lost us, they'll check out both our places and maybe have another reception committee at Phoenix in case we go there."

"So we go where they won't think to look, for a while anyway," Thornton said approvingly. "You know, kid, you're pretty good at this. Any time you decide to quit photo-journalism there's always a job for you at Phoenix."

"Don't think I could hack the pace," Sam remarked, checking the mirrors for any signs of pursuit. There were none. "Too much excitement. I like a nice quiet life."

"A quiet life he says!" Pete despaired. "This from a man who has just spent the past two months in Bosnia getting shot at on almost a daily basis!" He shook his head. "You're your father's son alright."

Sam Malloy just smiled.

*************************

Sam Carter was not smiling. Her expression was both sombre and worried as Daniel Jackson told her, "It's not looking good."

"What's happening?" She asked, glancing towards the doorway of the side-ward where there seemed to be an awful lot of frantic activity going on. She noted that O'Neill had been thrown out and was leaning against the wall just beside the door. From his expression it was clear he was miles away in his own grim thoughts. Teal'c stood a short distance from the Colonel, as immobile and implacable as a statue, but he was clearly watching the other man even as he observed the bustling of the medical staff.

"MacGyver's temperature suddenly went through the roof," Daniel said quietly, drawing Sam to one side as a medic hurried past with a bucket of ice. "They're trying ice now to bring it down. If it doesn't work - and fast - he's not going to make it."

"Oh God," Carter muttered.

"Jack's ah, not taking it too well," Daniel warned, catching hold of Carter's arm as she made to go over to O'Neill. "I'd just let him be for now. Teal'c's with him."

Carter hesitated then decided to ignore Daniel's advice. Daniel sighed, shook his head and chewed worriedly at his lip as he watched Sam head over to O'Neill.

"Sir?" She enquired gently. O'Neill appeared not to be aware of her presence. Cautiously she put a hand on his arm. "Colonel?" She started slightly and took an involuntary step back as his dark eyes came up and fixed on her. There was something in them that she had never seen before; something a little scary; something almost fey...

"Go home, Captain."

The tone of O'Neill's voice sent a chill down Sam Carter's spine.

"But...Sir..."

"I can make it an order, Captain."

Sam stiffened slightly. "Sir," she said crisply and retreated, a little shaken, to where Jackson stood watching surreptitiously.

"Tried to warn you," Daniel told her quietly. "Just let him be."

"The look in his eyes," Carter shivered discernibly. "I've never seen - "

"I have," Daniel said quietly. He discreetly took Carter by the elbow and steered her to the infirmary exit. "Don't ask," Daniel told her in response to the surprised and questioning look she shot him. "Trust me on this, Sam, it's best just to give him plenty of space. We'll all be here when he does need us, however it goes."

"Okay, Daniel," she said, regarding the Egyptologist steadily. Sometimes she found it was so easy to forget that close-knit though the SG-1 team was, Daniel Jackson had a history with O'Neill that went back further. "Okay," she repeated. "I'll be in the lab if anything should...you know..."

Daniel Jackson nodded and watched Sam Carter depart down the corridor. Then, inwardly steeling himself, he slipped quietly back into the infirmary and settled himself unobtrusively into a quiet corner out of everyone's way but from which he could keep a wary eye on things.

*************************

"So, do you know where Dad is?" Sam asked as he guided the dilapidated car into a short driveway and up alongside a small two-storey house.

"Colorado," Pete answered. It was a question he knew Sam would ask him sooner or later but he had been hoping it would be later, a lot later, when he knew exactly what was going on himself.

"Doing what?" Sam prompted when no further information appeared to be forthcoming.

"Oh, just a routine assignment," Pete answered. Well it was true, as far as it went. Breaking into top-security military installations was pretty much a routine assignment for Phoenix's top field operative.

"So why did he leave a CD-ROM with me and why do so many people seem to want to get their hands on it?" Sam Malloy wasn't that easily flimflammed. "What's going on, Mr. Thornton?"

"I really don't know, Sam," Pete confessed with a deep sigh. He realised the car had come to a halt and Sam had cut the engine. "Where are we?" He asked. It had gotten dark while they had been on the move and Sam had taken some evasive precautions. Consequently Pete had lost all track of where they were. Wherever it was, it sounded like a quiet neighbourhood and there was a hint of salt in the air. They had to be near the ocean.

"Friend's place," Sam told him.

"Same friend loaned you this junker?"

"Yep," Sam admitted, opening his door. "C'mon, I'll introduce you."

*************************

"Suzy! It's me, Sam!" Sam called out as he let Pete and himself in the front door of the house with a key he had retrieved from amongst the blossoms tumbling from a hanging basket beside the door.

"Sam, kiddo! What kinda' trouble you got yo'self in now?"

Pete heard the slightly oriental-accented female voice as he tried to get his bearings in the unfamiliar surroundings.

"I'm not sure, Suzy," Sam admitted as a petite Eurasian woman bustled out of a doorway into the hall and descended on him to give him a big hug.

"You as bad as yo' father," the woman scolded. She looked past him. "Where is the big lug anyway?"

"Colorado," Sam answered, looking faintly embarrassed as the woman, who was in her mid-to-late forties, released her hold on him.

"What he doin' there? No, don't tell me. He probably up to his ass in trouble as usual." Suzy eyed Thornton. "So, who your friend here?" She asked of Sam.

"This is Peter Thornton from the Phoenix Foundation. Mr. Thornton, this is Suzy Lim." Sam made the introductions.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Lim," Pete extended his right hand towards the small, blurry figure beside Sam.

"Ah, Mr. Thornton, yes, of course. I should have known." Suzy shook Pete's hand vigorously then easily moved to his side, tucking his hand onto her arm and guiding him into her living room, barely pausing for breath as she did so. "Come in, come in. Mac has spoken of you many times. I should have recognised you. Any friend of MacGyver's is always welcome here."

"Thank you, Ms. Lim. I hope our being here isn't an inconvenience - "

"Don’t be silly. Of course not. And please...call me Suzy," the woman insisted firmly. "I don't suppose you two have had anything to eat yet, have you?"

"Well, no, but - "

"No buts," Suzy said firmly. "I fix you both something then you tell me what trouble you all in. There's a chair immediately to your left."

Pete reached out with his left hand and found the chair.

"You make yo'self at home, Mr. Thornton," Suzy instructed.

"Pete. Just call me Pete," Pete requested, settling himself into the chair he had been so expertly and unobtrusively guided to. He was a little overwhelmed by the sheer bustling energy of his new acquaintance.

"Okay, Pete it is," Suzy said happily. "I go fix us all dinner."

"Suzy, I need to borrow a cassette player and we're probably going to need to use a computer too," Sam called after the whirlwind as she shot off in the direction of her kitchen.

"Help yo'self, kiddo. You know where things are."

"Yeah..." Sam responded. He took a deep breath - Pete Thornton wasn't the only one a little overwhelmed by the woman's energy. He went to a cupboard and rummaged for a moment. Finding what he was looking for, he closed the cupboard up and crossed to where the slightly bemused Pete Thornton was sitting.

"Sam...Who is that woman?" Pete hissed the question at the younger man.

"Friend of Dad's," Sam answered.

"Figures..." Pete muttered, although he was still none the wiser. MacGyver had a very wide and eclectic circle of friends.

"Remember that year-long road-trip Dad an’ I took just after he an’ I first hooked up?" Sam asked. At Thornton’s affirmatory but slightly puzzled nod, the younger man went on. "Well that’s when we first met Suzy. We were in the Appalachans, in a real backwoods, red-neck, ‘good ole’ boy’ area, mindin’ our own business an’ takin’ in the sights when we ran into Suzy. Or rather she ran into us. She’s an Ornithologist. You know... Studies birds.

"Anyway, she was working in the area an’ ran into some seriously paranoid survivalist types who took great exception to her pokin’ around in ‘their’ backyard. Dad an’ I’d had a run-in with them ourselves the day before. Real nasty bunch. They trashed Suzy’s wheels, wrecked her campsite, shot at her an’ were chasin’ her through the woods when we happened by. She came hurtlin’ outta’ nowhere onto the forest track we were on, right in front of Dad’s bike." A grimace flitted across Sam’s face as he remembered the incident he was describing. "Still don’t know how he did it, but somehow Dad missed hitting her. He took one helluva fall though an’ he an’ his bike ended up in a drainage ditch." A wry expression crept onto Sam’s face as, with a quiet chuckle, he added. "Things got kinda’ interesting for a little while after that. Especially when the guys with the guns showed up." He chuckled again. "Turned out their ‘survival’ skills weren’t quite as good as they thought they were an’ Dad an’ I weren’t quite the helpless ‘city-folk’ they thought we were."

"I can imagine," Pete chuckled, easily visualizing the situation from the younger man’s description of it, compounded with his own knowledge of the two men concerned. "Your Dad doesn’t get mad as much as he gets even."

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a smile. "Even with several cracked ribs an’ a concussion. Anyhow," he went on. "What with Dad’s interest in wildlife conservation and various environmental issues, he an’ Suzy have kinda’ kept in touch on an’ off ever since an’ when her work brought her out this way last summer he helped her find this place an’ fix it up. Currently she’s workin’ on a book about coastal seabirds an’ doin’ a stint as a guest lecturer at U.C.L.A."

"Busy lady," Thornton observed.

"Yeah," Sam concurred. Then his tone became sombre as he toyed a little restlessly with the cassette-player he was holding. "Mr. Thornton..." He began.

"Sam, I've told you before..." Pete interrupted. "Please, just call me Pete." He had made the request of the young man on several occasions, but somehow Sam always seemed to keep reverting to addressing him as Mr. Thornton again. Pete wasn't entirely sure Sam didn't do it just to annoy him. A slightly offbeat sense of humour was another thing Sam seemed to have inherited from his father.

"I keep forgetting," Sam apologised. "Listen, ah...Pete..." he went on, settling his backside on the edge of the low wooden table that was a short distance in front of where the Phoenix man was seated. "The CD wasn't the only thing Dad sent me."

"Oh?" Thornton frowned.

Sam set the audio cassette player down on the table beside him and rummaged in his jacket pocket to pull out a small padded brown envelope. "There’s an audio tape too. His note said I was to give it to you along with the disc," Sam said, extracting a cassette from the envelope. "And failing that, I was to take both to the Federal Building and ask for a Craig Bannister at the DXS."

"You have the tape here?" Pete questioned, sitting forward in his chair, his manner becoming agitated. That MacGyver had issued Sam with instructions to go to Craig Bannister at the DXS if he failed to get the tape and disc to him had Thornton extremely worried. What the hell was going on at Phoenix if MacGyver thought he needed to give Sam an alternate contact? An alternate contact at the DXS no less!

"Yes," Sam said, putting the tape into the audio cassette player.

"So what are you waiting for? Let's hear it!" Thornton was impatient.

Sam Malloy depressed the 'PLAY' button.

*************************

Pete Thornton turned quite pale as he listened to MacGyver's so-familiar voice on the tape, outlining a problem with a government initiated project that he hadn't even known the trouble-shooter knew about. Basically it boiled down to there being a flaw in a component required for the project; a flaw that was being covered up at point of origin by someone high-up at the Phoenix Foundation.

MacGyver, it transpired, had been alerted to the situation by a man called John Mason; a long-standing friend of the trouble-shooter's who was also a design controller at the research and development plant. The data on the CD currently in Malloy's possession had been sent to Mac by Mason who, apparently, had been told by his superiors to keep his mouth shut when he had raised with them the matter of the fault he thought he had discovered - or else. Mason had opted to risk the 'or else' by contacting Mac and sending him all the relevant data.

The Phoenix trouble-shooter had checked out the information on the disc, done some digging of his own at Phoenix in Pete's absence, and reached much the same conclusion as Mason had done. He had further come up with bits and pieces that suggested that when the proverbial eventually hit the fan, the blame for the cover-up would land at Pete Thornton's door.

MacGyver had gone to Max Rollinson with all this information. Between them, the two men had decided to re-instate Mac's postponed Colorado mission, especially after they received word that John Mason had suddenly died tragically in a house-fire - apparently caused by a gas-leak - and MacGyver discovered that his own home phone-line had been bugged.

The R&D production site for the defective component was in Colorado. Rollinson had apparently figured that sending Mac to Colorado, but on the postponed military-related security assignment, would confuse The Bad Guys. And while they were trailing Mac and trying to figure out what he was doing there, it would leave Rollinson clear to carry on digging at Phoenix. Of course once Mac had completed his 'official' mission, a little 'unofficial' visit to the R&D site could be undertaken if Rollinson hadn't had any luck back at Phoenix by that time.

Sending a copy of all the relevant information MacGyver had gathered on the situation to Sam prior to his departure for Colorado was Mac's way of ensuring that, if anything prevented his return, or if Rollinson were to meet with any mishaps similar to Mason's, then somebody would know the truth about what was going on.

The instruction regarding taking the information to Bannister at the DXS if Sam should fail to get the disc safely to Pete, was just added insurance and a bid to keep Sam safe if anything 'unfortunate' was to befall Pete.

"Dad's in trouble, isn't he?" Sam questioned worriedly as he switched off the cassette player. He had not missed the underlying tone in his father's voice towards the end as Mac had warned Pete to watch his back and requested that he and Sam watch out for each other before the tape had gone silent. It was clear to Sam that MacGyver had been harbouring doubts about making it back from Colorado alive. "I'd better get out there."

"Whoa! Hold your horses, Sam!" Thornton cut in quickly, alarmed at the prospect of the kid taking off for Colorado on the spot.

"Dad's in trouble. I have to help him. I can't just - "

"MacGyver’s safe!" Pete cut in quickly again. He reached out and managed to grab hold of the much younger man's arm as Sam sprang to his feet.

"You don't know that!" Sam shot back, his temper flaring, trying to shake Pete's hand from his arm.

"I do know that!" Pete's own temper flared. He refused to let go his hold of Sam's arm. He was worried that Malloy would do something rash if he let him. Impetuosity was another of MacGyver's traits that Sam seemed to have inherited. "Sam, listen to me. Please..." He pleaded. He felt Sam's hesitation. "Sit down, Sam. Please?" He requested.

Malloy continued to hesitate for some moments more then slowly sat down on the edge of the low table again. A heavy sigh escaped him. "Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"Your Dad is in a top-security military installation right now," Thornton explained, loosening his hold on the younger man's arm.

"The 'routine assignment' you mentioned?" Sam questioned. "The 'postponed trip' he mentioned on the tape?"

"Yeah," Pete Thornton nodded. "I spoke with the base commander earlier today. He confirmed that Mac's there."

"Doesn't mean Dad's still there now," Sam said a little hotly. "Why hasn't he tried to contact either of us?"

"He's still there, Sam, believe me. And he'll be there for a while yet," Pete said determinedly. "The base commander's an old friend of mine."

"Dad's not...under arrest is he?" Sam asked with sudden suspicion. "That won't work you know. Not for long anyhow."

"No, he's not under arrest." Pete couldn't help a slightly amused smile at Sam's confidence that no top-security military establishment could keep MacGyver under wraps against his will for long. Of course it was a confidence that wasn't entirely misplaced, Pete had to admit to himself.

"Mr. Thornton, what aren't you telling me?" Sam questioned suspiciously. He had not missed the serious expression that had rapidly banished the momentary amusement from the Phoenix man's face.

God, the kid's perceptive. The thought flashed through Thornton's mind.

"Your Dad banged himself up a bit carrying out the assignment at the base," Pete said carefully. "Hurt his leg apparently. He's...ah, currently in the base infirmary."

"What?" Sam was on his feet in an instant again.

"Sam, calm down. He'll be fine. They're taking good care of him. And they're going to sit on him for a few days to make sure he stays there while we get the mess here sorted out." Thornton had grabbed Sam's arm again the moment the younger man had moved, having been ready for the youngster's predictable reaction. "If they have to, they'll keep him sedated, so don't worry. He's not going to be running off anywhere getting himself into trouble. He's in the safest place he could possibly be right now."

"Sedated’s 'bout the only way they will keep him there you know," Sam observed.

"Yeah," Pete chuckled. "Probably." He sensed Sam was calming down a bit again and released the younger man's arm. "Meantime, I need to know exactly what’s on that disc he gave you so I can figure out our next move here."

"We can use one of Suzy's computers," Sam said. "Dad set them up so we shouldn't have any problems."

"Great," Pete said, greatly relieved that Sam no longer appeared to be about to rush off into the wild blue yonder in a frantic search for MacGyver at any second.

Suzy Lim could hardly have picked a more opportune moment to come bustling out of her kitchen than that precise moment. "Okay, boys," she announced. "Dinner 'bout ready. You ready to eat, yes?"

"Well, we were about to use one of the computers..." Sam began, his stomach rumbling loudly as he got a whiff of the mouth-watering aromas that had wafted out of the kitchen in Suzy's wake. He heard Thornton's stomach emit a similar rumble. "But I guess it could wait 'til after we eat...Pete, whaddya' think?"

Pete was anxious to get on with things, but now that he'd gotten the mouth-watering smell in his nostrils, he realised just how hungry he was. And it had been a long day. The night ahead had the potential to be a long one too. It made sense to take a break and approach the information on the computer disc with re-charged batteries.

"I think whatever's cooking smells good," he said truthfully.

"Good, good." Suzy approved as she busied herself with place mats, cutlery and glasses at the dining table at the other end of the long, rectangular-shaped living room. "You two better go wash up. Sam, you want to show Pete where things are? You both got 'bout five minutes."

*************************

Daniel Jackson felt himself starting to doze off and mentally gave himself a shake. He took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes for a moment before settling the spectacles back in place. He looked towards the doorway of the side-ward. O'Neill was still propping up the wall and Teal'c was still discreetly lurking not far from the Colonel's side. Neither man looked as if they had moved so much as a muscle since the last time Daniel had checked - or the time before that...

Then the exodus of medical personnel from the side ward caught Daniel's attention. He noted it got O'Neill's immediate attention too. As the Egyptologist watched, he saw Doctor Fraiser emerge and stop to speak with O'Neill. The aura of relief that suddenly emanated from the Colonel before he disappeared into the side-ward was almost palpable.

Daniel slowly released the deep breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his face with both hands, suddenly glad he was already sitting down.

"Doctor Jackson, are you alright?"

Daniel looked up and found Fraiser eying him. She looked pretty much how Daniel felt; drained.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he told her. "What's happening? How is...?" He inclined his head towards the side-ward as he forced himself to his feet.

"Fever's broken and Mr. MacGyver's temperature is almost back to normal," Janet told him. She sighed and rubbed absently at tense neck muscles with her right hand. "For a while there though, I really didn't think he was going to make it."

"But he's going to be okay now, yes?"

"I think so," the Doctor nodded. She regarded Daniel critically. "You'd better go and get some sleep, Doctor Jackson. You look terrible."

"Yeah, well...I just needed to be here in case...well..." Daniel fidgeted a little awkwardly. "You know..."

"I know," Doctor Fraiser nodded. "But there's nothing more you can do here for now. Go get some sleep. That's what I plan on doing for the next few hours." With that, she yawned and made her way to the infirmary exit.

Daniel, on the other hand, made his way towards the side-ward.

"Doctor Fraiser said all should be well now," Teal'c announced as Daniel approached.

"Yeah, I know, Teal'c. Best news we've had all day, huh?" Daniel smiled wearily at the Jaffa and then stepped into the side-ward. "Jack?"

"Daniel?" O'Neill looked round from where he straddled a chair at MacGyver's bedside, his arms resting on the chair-back.

"Er...Doctor Fraiser said...ah, he's probably going to be okay now," Daniel said, halting at the foot of the bed. "You should probably try and get some rest."

"Probably," O’Neill agreed, seemingly switching his attention to the Phoenix ID that he was idly turning over and over in his fingers.

"Ah. Right..." Daniel knew when he was being dismissed. He began a backward retreat towards the door. "I'm glad he's going to be okay."

"Me too," O’Neill agreed. Then, as Daniel reached the door, O'Neill suddenly added, "Daniel?"

"Ah, yes, Jack?"

"You an' Teal'c go get some down-time yourselves," O’Neill said. "Carter too. You'll probably find her in the lab." As he finished speaking, he looked round at Jackson.

Daniel smiled and nodded as he met O'Neill's dark-eyed gaze and read the myriad things it silently conveyed. "C'mon, Teal'c, let's go grab some sleep," the Egyptologist told the waiting Jaffa as he exited the side-ward. "Colonel's orders," he added cheerfully.

Teal'c looked dubious and stuck his head around the door. It was only after receiving a dismissive wave from O'Neill that he allowed Jackson to propel him away from his self-appointed task of standing watch over the two men in the side-ward.

*************************

O'Neill was dozing, his head resting on his arms which were folded across the back of the chair he still straddled, when the sound of his name being quietly called roused him instantly. His head jerked up and his attention was immediately focused on the injured Phoenix trouble-shooter over whom he was still keeping watch. He discovered MacGyver regarding him tiredly, but critically.

"You look like hell, Jack," MacGyver observed.

"You should talk," O’Neill shot back instantly. "You taken a look at yourself lately?" Then, more seriously he questioned. "How're ya' feelin', Mac?"

"Leg hurts an' I could sleep for a week," MacGyver answered honestly.

"I'll get a medic to give ya' something for the leg," O’Neill began to rise, but stopped as MacGyver reached out a hand to try and prevent his departure.

"Jack, I need a favour first," MacGyver was quite visibly sleepy, but quite discernibly determined not to succumb to that need just yet.

"Sure. What?" O’Neill sank back onto the chair and Mac's hand fell back onto the bed as he did so.

"I need you to call Pete Thornton at - "

"General Hammond already called him and told him you made it in here in one piece," O’Neill interjected, then amended wryly, "Well mostly one piece anyhow."

"No...You don't understand. I need to get a message...to Pete. It's important, Jack... Could save his life... Maybe Sam's too if it's all gone pear-shaped."

"Sam?" O'Neill frowned. The only Sam who sprang immediately to his mind was Sam Carter and he couldn't think for the life of him what she could possibly have to do with anything concerning Peter Thornton or the Phoenix Foundation. It occurred to him that maybe MacGyver was still a little delirious.

"My son," MacGyver said sleepily. "He's a photo-journalist..."

"Your...son?" O'Neill's eyebrows rose. "Whoa! When did that happen? You never told me you had a son." He's definitely still delusional.

"Long story. Tell ya' later," MacGyver answered. "Call Pete. Tell him...Tell him I figured it out. Tell him, it's Henderson. He'll understand."

"Uh-huh..." O'Neill looked a little dubious.

"Henderson our end... Stillman at the other."

Something clicked in O'Neill's mind. He's not delusional. He's serious as hell.

"This wouldn't be concerning Project Star Watch, would it?" O'Neill began. He saw the expression that registered in MacGyver's eyes as well as on his face. "It's okay, I know it's classified. I won't spread it around." He checked his wristwatch then said. "It's just gone O-Four-Twenty. You really think anyone'll be around the Phoenix place at this hour?"

"Call Sam!" MacGyver urged. "On his mobile number." He saw the look O'Neill levelled at him. "Sam has some information Pete needs -"

"The computer disc?" O'Neill ventured and promptly received a how-in-the-heck-do-you-know-that? look. "You ah...tried to tell the General," O’Neill explained. "You were, well...way, waaay outta' things at the time... Probably the leg infection..." He gestured vaguely at the injured limb in question. "Either that or Doc Fraiser's been puttin' happy-juice in the saline again. We figured ya' were just ramblin' 'til ya' mentioned this 'Project Star Watch'. The General got kinda' antsy; nearly bust a coupla' arteries." He saw the puzzlement spreading across MacGyver's tired face as the man blinked sleepily at him. "What?" He asked.

"It's a deep-space probe project to detect asteroids on a potential collision course...with the Earth," MacGyver said. He sounded a little exasperated. "Why the heck should that upset the General? It's not exactly...public knowledge, but...classified?"

The proverbial light bulb suddenly clicked on in O'Neill's head. What if it's not asteroids the probes would be watching for? What if it were Goa'uld ships? It would make a great deal of sense in the wake of events of only a few months before. No wonder Hammond had nearly thrown a fit.

"Asteroids my ass," O'Neill muttered under his breath as all the various implications of the situation roared through his brain like a tidal wave and he switched automatically into military thinking mode.

"What?" MacGyver questioned, bewildered, as he watched the abrupt change in O'Neill. He yawned, struggling to stay awake, aided a little in his efforts by the nagging pain in his knee and leg.

"Sam is a journalist?"

"Photo-journalist," MacGyver corrected with a yawn. "Good one too."

"And he has the computer disc with all the information about the component flaw and the cover-up and ...everything?"

"Yeah. It was the safest way of getting it to Pete. Pete's been out the country; a security symposium ...in Tokyo." MacGyver yawned again.

Oh Christ, the General's gonna' go ballistic. A classified military project and a civilian - a journalist for cryin' out loud - has it all on computer disc. O'Neill closed his eyes and shook his head for a moment. It really didn't bear thinking about.

"Okay," O'Neill sighed, regarding his cousin again. "So to find the disc, we need to find Sam." He started to frisk himself for a pen or a pencil in any of the various pockets of his fatigues.

"Uh, yeah." MacGyver was at something of a loss to understand what had suddenly lit a fire under the other man.

O'Neill found a stubby bit of pencil, went to the end of the bed and ripped a bit of paper off the bottom of MacGyver's medical chart.

"What's Sam's number?"

*************************

Sam Malloy yawned and shifted in his chair to ease stiffening back muscles as he stared at the computer screen before him. He and Pete had set to work shortly after they had polished off the excellent dinner Suzy had made for them. It had taken them a while to initially access any of the data on the disc - MacGyver having locked it all down under codes and passwords - but once they'd figured out what the key was, they had started working their way through it, file by monotonous file, losing all track of time as they did so.

Pete's poor eyesight made it impossible for him to read the stuff that came up on the monitor. Suzy's computer system was not equipped with the special enhancements which his own system in his office at Phoenix had courtesy mainly of MacGyver. Sam, therefore, read everything out aloud and did his best to describe the intricacies of the various diagrams and schematics which some of the files held. Suzy Lim took over from Sam from time to time when he started getting hoarse. She also kept both men supplied with endless cups of coffee and plates of sandwiches to nibble on as the hours crept past.

"Okay, Pete," Sam sighed as he scrolled through the latest file he had managed to access. "We got more technical specs here." Page after page went by. "Seems to be all that's in this file. You want details or shall we move on and come back to it later?"

"We can come back to it," Pete sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Move on to the next one."

As Sam closed down the file and went through the rigmarole of trying to figure out the right password to open the next one, Suzy bustled into the study armed with two steaming mugs.

"How's it going, boys?" She asked as she made her way over to the desk where they were working. She set one of the mugs down on a coaster just to one side of the keyboard Sam was using.

"Thanks," Sam nodded at her then told her. "Slowly. Too damn slowly."

"Patience, Sam, patience," the woman chided gently. She turned to Thornton. "Coffee, Pete?" She carefully placed the second mug into the hand the Phoenix man automatically extended in the direction of her voice.

"Thanks, Suzy," Thornton said.

"You know, perhaps you two should consider taking a break. Get some sleep. There's a bed made up in the guest room and Sam can use the foldaway bed in the lounge," Suzy suggested. "You both look pretty bushed."

"I think maybe we'll stick with it a little bit longer, thanks," Pete replied. "But don't let us keep you up."

"Hey, don't you worry about me. I often work through the night. I find it a good time for clear thought and no interruptions."

"Ah, this looks a bit more interesting," Sam exclaimed, distracted, as he started a quick scroll through the latest file he had pulled up. "Memos...Reports... Hey, this looks like it's Phoenix stuff.. Must be the stuff Dad dug up."

"Okay," said Pete. "Let's hear it..."

Sam was about to start reading when he heard a familiar, although slightly muffled sound. "That sounds like my mobile phone..."

"I'll get it," Suzy volunteered. The phone was in Sam's jacket pocket and the jacket was hanging on the back of a chair in the adjacent living room.

"Thanks, Suzy," Sam called after her then returned his attention to the computer screen in front of him and started reading aloud.

"Sam!" Suzy's voice called a few moments later.

"Yeah?" Sam paused in his reading and looked round to see Suzy standing in the doorway, his mobile in her hand. She tilted her head slightly and asked.

"Do you know a Colonel Jack O'Neill?"

"Who?" Sam frowned at Suzy as he rose to his feet.

"Says he's Air Force," Suzy stated as Sam advanced on her. "At first I thought it was your Dad ; sounds very like him." She handed over the phone.

"Malloy," Sam announced into the phone.

"Sam Malloy?"

An odd shiver ran down Sam's spine as the voice spoke his name. It really did sound very much like his father. "Who is this?" He demanded.

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force," came the brisk, no-nonsense response.

"Do we know each other, Colonel?" Sam couldn't shake the eerie feeling the voice evoked.

"No, we've never met. I'm a friend of your father's. He gave me this number."

"Uh-huh..." Sam was dubious. "So, Colonel O'Neill, what can I do for you?" He glanced at his watch, "at this hour of the morning?"

"You could tell me you know where your father's boss is."

"And just why would I want to do that? Always supposing I knew," Sam wanted to know, still dubious.

"Because I'm trying to keep you alive, kid. Both of you," was the slightly cranky response. "Which ain't easy over this distance. I'm assuming you're still in LA."

"What's your interest in my Dad's boss?"

"Look, kid, this is important. Mac gave you something to keep safe for him. Something some other people want to get their hands on. Something he asked you to get to Peter Thornton at the Phoenix Foundation. Only Thornton seems to have disappeared. Do you know where he is?" The disembodied voice was getting crankier by the moment and still sounded eerily familiar.

"Sam, ask him who his superior officer is," Pete Thornton suddenly piped up. He had been unashamedly eavesdropping on Sam's end of the conversation and the name "O'Neill" was ringing bells in the back of his mind.

"What?" Sam looked at Pete in surprise.

"Ask who his superior is," Pete repeated.

"Okay," Sam sighed then spoke into his phone. "Colonel, who is your superior officer?"

"Look, kid, I don't have time to play games."

"Who is your superior officer?" Sam repeated the question.

"Oh fer cryin' out loud...What the hell has that got to do with - ?"

"Call me paranoid, but let's just say that I'd like to be sure you're who you claim to be," Sam answered.

A heavy sigh came down the phone, followed by. "General Hammond."

"He says a General Hammond," Sam relayed the answer to Pete, who asked.

"George Hammond?"

"Would that be ah, George Hammond?" Sam relayed the question.

"Yeah," came the cranky response. "Now are you gonna' stop givin' me the run-around, kid, or what?"

"Yeah, George Hammond," Sam relayed to Pete.

"Is he there?"

"Put him on," Sam instructed into the phone.

"What? Now wait just a damn' minute!" The irate response exploded out of the phone, which Sam moved hastily away from his ear.

"Put him on or this conversation is over," Sam threatened in a tone that he hoped indicated he meant what he said.

As he listened, he heard an uncomplimentary muttering about 'damn civilians' followed by - "General Hammond, sir, he wants to talk to you." There was distinct exasperation in the voice. Then a new voice sounded in Sam's ear and it sounded seriously pissed.

"This is Major General Hammond, Mister Malloy."

"I got someone says he's Hammond," Sam told Pete, who promptly gestured at him to hand over the phone. Sam obliged.

************************

MacGyver jerked awake, startled out of a long, deep, healing sleep by the sudden, but insistent blaring of a klaxon and somebody announcing something about "Off world activation" over a P.A. system. His startled cry transformed into a yelp of pain as his injured leg objected to his abruptly sitting bolt-upright.

"Whoa! You okay?" A concerned voice questioned.

MacGyver, his heart still pounding with fright, looked towards the source of the voice and saw a bespectacled young man seated in a nearby chair, a large and very thick book in his hands.

"Nice alarm clock you guys got around here," MacGyver sank back against his pillows, taking some deep breaths to steady his nerves.

"That's the military for you," Daniel Jackson smiled as he subconsciously listened to the P.A. announcement that SG-4 codes were recognised and the klaxon stopped its raucous racket. "They're awake, everyone's awake." He closed his book and set it down atop the unit next to MacGyver's bed.

"Doctor Jackson, isn't it?" MacGyver asked, thinking he recognised the other man from his encounter with General Hammond in the conference room.

"Uh-huh, but just call me Daniel," Daniel responded. There was concern in his eyes as he regarded the older man. "How are you ah, feeling now? You were pretty much right out of things for a while there. Had us all worried you know."

"I’m fine," MacGyver answered in a manner that suggested he had rather more pressing concerns on his mind right at that moment than the state of his own health. "My son, Sam. An’ my boss, Pete Thornton." There was urgency in his tone as he attempted to sit up again, rather more slowly this time. "Do you know if they’re okay? Did Jack manage to contact my son? Or Pete?"

"Um, yes," Daniel nodded. "He did, and as far as I know, everything is fine." He saw heartfelt relief sweep across the older man’s face as MacGyver sagged back against his pillows once again. "Listen," Daniel went on, rising to his feet. "I’m ah, just going to um, go let Doctor Fraiser know you’re awake." He began to edge towards the door. "I’ll ah, be right back." He told MacGyver as he disappeared out the door.

Left to himself, MacGyver took the opportunity to survey his surroundings properly for the first time. The decor was, he noted, typical of many of the various military establishments he'd been in at one time or another; assorted shades of matching drab. The medical equipment on the other hand was most definitely state-of-the-art and he noted that he was hooked up to some of it by assorted wires and cables taped to his torso. He further noted that there was a drip securely taped to his left arm.

He was just about to start exploring the damage he knew he'd done to his right leg and knee when a dark-haired young woman in a white coat bustled into the room, a stethoscope draped around her neck.

"Glad to see you're back with us at last, Mr. MacGyver," she smiled pleasantly. "I don't know if you remember me, I'm Doctor Fraiser."

"Vaguely..." MacGyver answered. "How long have I been here?"

"You've been here in the infirmary for just over some fifty hours now," Fraiser said as she checked his pulse. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," MacGyver answered. "A bit tired maybe."

"That's to be expected," Fraiser said. "Any pain anywhere?"

"Leg hurts a bit."

"Hmmmm... I'm not surprised," Fraiser said as she went to fetch the chart from the foot of the bed and made some notes. "You've had major surgery on that knee, haven't you?"

"Ah...Yeah. Coupla' years ago. Little ski-ing mishap." MacGyver answered. An unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Why? Haven't wrecked it again, have I?" He asked anxiously.

"No. At least no permanent damage. You'll have to stay off it for a while but it'll need gentle exercise or it'll stiffen up on you," Fraiser told him. "The laceration to your thigh was quite deep and full of all sorts of dirt and debris, but we cleaned it out. The antibiotics you're on seem to have finally kicked in and the infection should clear up fairly quickly now. No nerve, ligament, or tendon damage that I can find. So," she said with a reassuring smile, "you'll heal, though you'll have another scar to add to your collection." Her expression became more sombre. "You seem to be rather prone to mishaps, Mr. MacGyver."

"Well, well, Sleepin' Beauty's awake at last." Colonel Jack O'Neill announced cheerfully from the doorway. "About time too."

"Hey, Jack," MacGyver acknowledged as Fraiser checked a couple of the monitors and made some more notations on his chart.

"You civilians are all alike. Lie around sleepin' all day while the rest of us work our fingers to the bone." O'Neill ambled into the room, hands in pockets. To Fraiser he said. "How's he doin', Doc?"

"Mr. MacGyver is doing just fine, but he's not going to be going anywhere for a while yet, Colonel. I want to be sure we're on top of that infection," Fraiser answered. Turning back to her patient, she said. "But I think we can safely dispense with some of these monitors now. I'll have a nurse come in and take care of it. Are you hungry? Think you could eat something?"

"Hey, ya’ wanna' make him get sick again, Doc?" O'Neill mischievously wanted to know. To MacGyver he warned. "Food's lousy around here."

"I'll risk it," MacGyver said. He was beginning to feel a bit hungry and even military food was better than nothing. Well almost.

"Well, with all due respect, it hasn't killed you yet, Colonel," Fraiser reminded O'Neill. "Sir," she added, just to be on the safe side. To MacGyver she said. "I'll have an orderly bring you something." She hung MacGyver's chart back on the end of his bed as she exited. O'Neill just smiled with mischievous innocence as he watched her go.

"Jack, did you get hold of Sam?" MacGyver wanted to know. "Is he okay? And what about Pete? Doctor Jackson said - "

"Whoa, relax, Mac. Relax," O'Neill interrupted, hovering at his cousin's bedside, his hands still in his pockets. "I spoke with Sam. Do you know that kid's got a helluva' suspicious streak in him? Gave me the run-around then demanded to speak to the General."

MacGyver couldn't help it. He chuckled. "Sounds like Sam." MacGyver sobered and asked, "He is okay though?"

"Yeah, as far as I know. Thornton too," O'Neill answered. "Those other guys, Stillman an' whatsisname - "

"Henderson," MacGyver supplied impatiently.

"Yeah, Henderson," O'Neill nodded, "are in custody. The General could probably fill ya' in on the details. He an' Thornton have been on the phone several times over the past day or so while you've been lyin' around in here snorin' your head off."

Relief visibly flooded through MacGyver.

A discreet cough from the doorway caught O'Neill's attention. He looked round.

"Er, excuse me, sirs, but I have instructions from Doctor Fraiser to remove some of the monitoring equipment."

"Carry on, Corpsman," O'Neill instructed. "I was just leaving anyway." To MacGyver he said. "I'll be back later, Mac." He began to move away then paused. "Oh, an' the General will want a word about just how the hell you breached security just as soon as you feel up to it - no-one's managed to find your way in yet."

MacGyver nodded and O'Neill left him to the tender mercies of the corpsman.

*************************

MacGyver slept a great deal over the ensuing few days as his body recovered from the infection and fever that had left him feeling considerably more debilitated than he had in a long time. He knew it was probably due to a combination of having barely recovered from gun-shot injuries prior to being injured again and exhaustion from the lack of sleep and long hours he had put in on the 'Star Watch' matter prior to coming to Colorado. Plus of course there had been the exertions and stress of getting into the mountain complex undetected. He got no arguments from Doctor Fraiser when he broached the matter with her. He also knew from much previous experience that sleep was the best way to heal, so he didn't fight it - despite the various dry comments he received from O'Neill about his apparent inability to stay awake for more than ten consecutive minutes at a time.

O'Neill was a frequent visitor when Mac was awake. MacGyver began to suspect O'Neill had left instructions to be informed whenever he was awake, because whenever Mac did surface he frequently found that O'Neill would appear a short while later. The Colonel might not stay long - barely poking his head around the door on some occasions - but he would appear all the same, apparently out of the blue as if he 'just happened' to be in the vicinity of the infirmary.

Another visitor MacGyver found frequently turning up was Doctor Jackson. He wasn't quite sure how, but somehow Daniel had found out about his amateur interest in things archaeological, and the young man would turn up armed with assorted magazines and some of the latest journals and chat away happily on the subject for a while until sensing that Mac was tiring and would then tactfully take his leave. Mac wasn't sure, but he suspected that O'Neill had been the one who had tipped Jackson off. O'Neill denied it of course, but the air of innocence that accompanied the denials only served to convince Mac that the Colonel did indeed have something to do with it.

Then there was General Hammond. He allowed MacGyver enough time to gather his wits together - and be able to keep his eyes open for more than the ten consecutive minutes that O'Neill kept harping on about - and then descended on the side-ward with O'Neill and a stenographer in tow, to get a detailed report on how the Phoenix man had so successfully breached base security.

O'Neill was hard-pressed to keep his face straight as he watched Hammond's reactions to MacGyver's report; especially as Hammond slowly absorbed the fact that the supposedly impenetrable military security in and around the mountain, had been circumvented by a single man armed with little more than a Swiss Army Knife, a roll of duct tape, some paper-clips, a couple of sticks of chewing gum, a small ball of string and a helluva lot of nerve and ingenuity.

"Son," Hammond said in all seriousness as soon as he calmed down enough, "why aren't you in the military? Special Forces units always need people like you."

O'Neill nearly choked trying to keep a lid on the urge to explode with laughter when MacGyver, with totally straight-faced honesty, responded. "I was for a while, General, but I had this little problem with authority and the military way of doing things..."

"Are you serious?" Hammond stared at the Phoenix man. Then he looked at O'Neill and it was almost more than O'Neill could handle. "Is he serious?"

"Oh he's serious alright, General. Mac was with Special Forces Demolitions & Bomb Disposal for a while in 'Nam." O'Neill struggled to maintain some vague semblance of military decorum, but he was slowly losing it. "Brass hated him, but he was just too damn useful to throw in the brig."

"Apparently that would seem to run in the family," Hammond snorted pointedly.

"Yes, sir," O'Neill agreed, grinning and for once, observing the old military protocol of always agreeing with one's superior officer. It earned him a dirty look from the General. O'Neill was undeterred. He continued. "In fact they still drag him back every so often to run practical field courses on bomb disposal techniques." Exuding innocence, he decided to give in to temptation and added. "Causes a few interesting fireworks when he tears up the book and uses it to defuse something with."

Hammond stared at his subordinate then looked at MacGyver, who was suddenly looking a little embarrassed and who complained.

"Jack, don't exaggerate. It was only a coupla' pages outta' the manual. Besides, I don't read Polish!"

"Polish?" Hammond echoed. He looked back and forth between the two cousins like a man trying to follow the ball at a fast-paced tennis match. The poor stenographer was trying desperately to keep a straight face by that time and was failing pretty miserably.

"Neither did that Major," O’Neill snickered.

"What?" Hammond was beginning to look lost.

"Jack..." MacGyver pleaded, still looking embarrassed. O'Neill just looked innocently unrepentant and mischief glinted in his eyes. He clearly wasn't done yet.

Hammond decided he'd had enough of this horseplay. He 'harrumphed' and rose to his feet.

"Airman, get that report typed up and on my desk ASAP."

"Yes, sir," the unfortunate stenographer responded in a somewhat strangled tone before thankfully snatching up his steno machine and departing the room with a remarkable turn of speed.

"Every new recruit to Special Forces gets told about that novel technique now, ya' know," O'Neill happily informed MacGyver.

"Jack..." MacGyver was clearly beginning to grow a little exasperated as well as being somewhat embarrassed. "It worked, didn't it?" He protested defensively.

"It's a damn' double act!" Hammond shook his head, his gaze going from one cousin to the other.

"Sir?" O'Neill regarded his superior as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"You two," Hammond grumbled. "Damn' double act." He headed for the door, still grumbling. "And I thought one was bad enough. Now I’ve got two of them!" He was still muttering and shaking his head as he disappeared from view.

O'Neill looked at MacGyver. MacGyver looked at O'Neill. Then O'Neill exploded into a fit of helpless laughter. MacGyver managed to hold out for all of about five seconds before he gave in and dissolved into helpless laughter too.

*************************

O'Neill hated paperwork. Unfortunately there was no way of avoiding it. It went with the territory. Sighing, he initialled the report he had been reviewing, closed the folder and dumped said folder in his 'out' tray. Picking up another one from his 'in' tray, he opened it and started to wade through the contents.

Someone knocked on his office door.

"Come," he called automatically. Equally automatically he acknowledged the salute given him by the airman who entered the office and stood to attention before his desk. "What is it, Airman?" He asked.

"General Hammond's compliments, sir. He would like to see you in his office ASAP, Colonel."

"Thank you, Airman."

He again acknowledged his subordinate's salute and the other man left just as briskly as he had entered the office. Grateful for a legitimate excuse to escape the paperwork - however temporarily - O'Neill closed the file he'd just started to work on and left his office.

*************************

Arriving at the corridor access door to Hammond's office, O'Neill halted and knocked. At the almost immediate instruction of 'Enter', he opened the door and stepped inside. He was a little surprised to see that the General had a visitor. A civilian visitor at that. A civilian visitor with heavily tinted glasses and a white cane.

"You ah, wanted to see me, General?"

The almost immediate reaction of the General's visitor took O'Neill a little by surprise. At the sound of his voice, the man rose to his feet, a delighted expression spreading across his face. The enthusiasm in his voice matched his expression.

"MacGyver!" He exclaimed. "I thought you were still in the infirmary."

"Er, excuse me...?" O'Neill looked questioningly at Hammond. He didn't miss the hint of amusement that crossed his superior's face.

"Sorry, Peter, this one's mine I'm afraid. Colonel Jack O'Neill. Yours is still in the infirmary, although I gather Doctor Fraiser is about ready to throw him out any time now." Hammond said. The smile on his face betrayed he was enjoying watching O'Neill's reaction. "Colonel O'Neill, this is Peter Thornton of the Phoenix Foundation."

"Ah, the Colonel with the nasty suspicious mind you were telling me about..." Thornton said conspiratorially in Hammond's direction.

"This is the one," Hammond agreed. He was clearly enjoying himself.

"Pleased to meet you, Colonel O'Neill." Pete Thornton extended a hand towards the hovering shadow which was all he could make out of O'Neill. "And my apologies, you sound an awful lot like MacGyver and my eyesight isn't what it once was." As O'Neill accepted the proffered handshake, Thornton continued. "Though I'm told you look a lot like Mac as well."

"No need to apologise, sir. Happens all the time," O'Neill responded courteously, but he was clearly a little off-balance.

"Mr. Thornton has come to check up on how we're looking after his number one problem solver," Hammond said, rising from his chair and coming around to the front of his desk. "We were just about to go up to the infirmary to see him."

"Sir," O'Neill acknowledged, moving to open the door.

"You might want to go up top, Colonel," Hammond went on. "There's apparently a young journalist up there with no proper security clearance. Name of Malloy. Inventive sort by all accounts. Wouldn't want him getting himself into any sort of trouble, now would we? Bad PR and so forth."

"Sir?" O'Neill looked a little dubious and almost a little panicky.

"I need a senior officer to handle it and you're it, Colonel," Hammond stated. His tone indicated he wasn't about to accept any debate on the matter. To Pete Thornton, he said. "Shall we go, Peter?"

O'Neill opened the door and stood courteously to one side as Hammond guided Thornton from the office. The Colonel's face was a study as he overheard Thornton's comment to Hammond as the two old warhorses started off down the corridor.

"Least you can pull rank on yours, George. I gotta' be devious and inventive with mine."

"Oh, rank has its uses. It has its uses."

O'Neill caught the look Hammond shot over his shoulder at him and recognised 'payback' when he saw it. The General was quite visibly enjoying himself. If O'Neill and MacGyver could play 'double-act' then Hammond and Thornton could too.

Colonel Jack O'Neill sighed. All of a sudden paperwork held a certain appeal...

*************************

Stepping from the elevator O'Neill made his way to where the big black Phoenix limousine was parked. Several alert guards were in evidence in the vicinity, all of whom stiffened to attention and saluted at the Colonel's approach. He returned the salutes automatically instructing as he did so, "As you were."

O'Neill observed the dark-suited Phoenix driver who lounged against the front passenger wing of the limousine, reading a folded newspaper; the sports page. The Colonel further observed that the driver was armed; the weapon carried in a shoulder holster well-concealed by the cut of the man's jacket, but not so well concealed as to be invisible to an expert-eye. O'Neill made a mental note to deliver a rocket in the appropriate quarters about allowing armed civilians past the outer gate.

There was, however, no apparent sign of the 'unauthorized journalist' he had been despatched to keep an eye on.

"Sir."

O'Neill turned and a marine sergeant presented himself with a salute, which was automatically acknowledged.

"I have an unauthorized civilian in the guardroom, Colonel. He came in with the Phoenix vehicle."

O'Neill raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"He kept trying to stray, sir. I thought it best to put him where a watch could be more easily maintained," the sergeant explained.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I'll deal with it."

"Sir." The sergeant responded and fell into step at O'Neill's heels as the Colonel made his way to the guardroom.

"As you were, Airman," O'Neill said to the guard who came to attention outside the guard room door.

The guard relaxed and opened the door for the Colonel. A second guard just inside the doorway, looked round, saw O'Neill and snapped to attention. At a motion from O'Neill though, the guard stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

For some moments O'Neill stood, hands in pockets, studying the dark-haired young man who was seated at the room's single table and who seemed to be staring at the tabletop with frustrated intensity. Mixed emotions ran through him. Is this anything like how Charlie might have turned out had he lived?

The young man looked up and a myriad of expressions flashed across his face as he shot to his feet with a confused exclamation of, "Dad?"

"Whoa! Not guilty on that one, kid," O'Neill responded wryly, not entirely surprised by the reaction. He watched the young man's expression change and his jaw drop as he stared. "You must be Sam. Mac's told me quite a bit about you over the past few days."

"Who the hell - ?" Sam Malloy demanded, suspicion vying with bewilderment and curiosity in his expression. He continued to stare at O'Neill.

"O'Neill." The Colonel answered. "Jack O'Neill. We spoke on the phone; briefly."

"What's going on here?" Sam demanded to know. "Where's Dad?"

"Mac's still in the infirmary, but he'll be fine."

"I want to see him."

"Well now, that's where we run into this tiny little problem, kid. You don't have clearance to be here," O'Neill succinctly pointed out. "Never mind inside the mountain."

*************************

MacGyver grimaced expressively as, seated on the edge of his bed, his right knee was slowly and carefully manipulated by the on-staff physiotherapist. It was Doctor's orders to keep the joint from seizing up. A lot of the swelling had gone down, but heavy bruising was still working its way out in a quite spectacularly colourful fashion.

"That still hurt?" The physiotherapist asked, hearing Mac's sharp intake of breath.

"Yeah..." MacGyver admitted through gritted teeth. "A bit."

The physio grinned at him. "It'll hurt worse later gettin' the kinks out if you don't stick with it now."

"I know, believe me, I know," MacGyver grimaced some more as the physio continued with the manipulation. "It's just it feels like I'm gonna pop some of those nice neat stitches of the Doc's any second now."

"When Doctor Fraiser puts in stitches, it takes more than a bit of light physio to pop 'em," the physiotherapist grinned confidently.

"Why are all physios sadists?" MacGyver wanted to know, wincing again. The physio just chuckled wickedly.

There was a knock at the door, which Mac had his back to. "Whoever you are, come get this sadist off of me," he called out hopefully.

"It's General Hammond and I have a visitor for you." Hammond's voice responded. "But I can see you're busy. We'll come back when you're done."

"We're done! We're done!" Was MacGyver's instant response.

"No, we're not," said the physio. "But we can take a little break."

"Pete!" MacGyver exclaimed in delight as he looked over his shoulder to see Pete Thornton standing beside Hammond. "C'mon in!" He automatically slid off the bed to stand up.

"Watch that knee!" The physio promptly warned.

"I know, I know," MacGyver was a little impatient. He noticed Hammond say something quietly to Thornton, who nodded, before the General announced.

"I'll be back in a little while, gentlemen."

"Thanks, General," Mac said.

"So will I," the physio promised the Phoenix man as he gathered up some of his stuff and started for the door.

"Oh please don't hurry on my account," MacGyver told the medic. "Pete, there's a chair about four foot in front of you an' to your left."

"How're you doing, Mac?" Thornton asked, using his cane and MacGyver's instructions to navigate himself to a seat.

"Doin' fine, Pete," Mac responded, hopping around the end of the bed on his good leg. "How are you? What's happenin' at Phoenix? Jack told me Stillman and Henderson got picked up." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Er...Pete...Have you met Jack O'Neill yet?"

"Yeah," Thornton said with a smile as he settled into the chair. "Sounds a lot like you. I hear he has the same uncanny knack as you and Sam do for finding trouble and ruffling feathers too."

"Guess it kinda' runs in the family, Pete. Jack's...ah...my cousin...Somewhere from Harry's mom's side..." MacGyver said watching Thornton a little uncertainly. He frowned momentarily. "Or was it Harry's grandmom's? Never could keep it straight." He perched on the edge of the bed, near to where Pete was sitting.

"You've never mentioned any of this before," Pete said, regarding the shadowy figure of his long-time friend. "I thought Sam was all the family you had."

Pete was aware of MacGyver shifting with sudden unease and of the change in the man's mood. He didn't need his eyes to see it either, he had known the younger man too many years.

"Mac, I'm not trying to pry," Thornton said. "I guess I'm a little surprised is all. And curious."

"I know, Pete. It's just, well...given the nature of the kinda' lives we lead an' the kinda' things we do, it's been safer for both of us not to draw attention to the fact of the connection between us. Heck, Pete, you know how much classified stuff I've done for the government over the years."

"Yes, I do, Mac," Thornton agreed. "I also know Jack O'Neill was Special Forces before he was assigned here and a lot of the ops he's done over the years are every bit as classified as any of your assignments. And like you, he's pretty damn' good at what he does."

"Yeah..." MacGyver smiled slightly. Then he looked quizzically at Thornton, wondering how the man seemed to know so much about O'Neill, having only just met him. As if sensing MacGyver's unspoken question, Thornton said.

"General Hammond."

"Ahhh..." MacGyver said. "Explains it." He regarded Thornton silently for a few moments before sliding off the bed again and hopping the short distance to where Thornton sat. "Pete..." he began awkwardly.

"What is it, Mac?" Thornton asked, hearing the uncertainty in the younger man's voice. He looked up at the slightly hazy form that loomed over him and felt MacGyver place a hand on his shoulder.

"Pete, you know I trust you..."

"Yeah, Mac, I know it."

"And it's not that I've not wanted to tell you about Jack. It's just - "

"It’s okay, Mac," Thornton said with a smile of reassurance. "What I didn't know couldn't hurt me. Or Jack. You were just protecting both of us. Don't start feeling guilty about it." He reached up and briefly touched the hand that rested on his shoulder. Then he changed the subject. "Are you supposed to be running around on that leg yet? I'm told you made a major mess of it."

"Oh the leg'll be fine, Pete," MacGyver responded, hopping back to the sanctuary of the bed and perching on the edge of it again. "Doc says it'll need some physio and maybe a brace again for a bit, but I think they'll be throwin' me outta' here soon. Actually I'm kinda' surprised they haven't shipped me out already."

He saw the way Thornton shifted in his seat.

"Pete..." he said suspiciously. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Pete Thornton endeavoured to look as if he couldn't possibly imagine what sort of dark suspicions could have possibly just occurred to his top field operative.

"Aw, c'mon, Pete." MacGyver wasn't falling for it.

"Well I may have casually suggested it might be a good idea, under the circumstances at the time you understand, for you to stay here for a while instead of being shipped to the Academy facility up top," Pete confessed. "Your security rating's high enough for it not to be a major problem."

"Pete..." MacGyver began to complain with some exasperation.

"Mac, it was the only way I had of making sure you'd be safe in your banged up condition while I was house-cleaning at Phoenix," Thornton retorted vehemently. "You know you had a coupla' goons tail you here, don't you?"

"I figured I was tailed, yeah," Mac admitted, but he was still clearly not entirely happy. "That was the whole idea, Pete. Keep 'em chasin' after me and let Max - " Mac suddenly fell silent. It was a silence that lasted for some moments before he said evenly. "Pete. What about Max? Is he - ?"

"I’m sorry, Mac. Max didn't make it," Thornton said grimly. He didn't miss MacGyver's reaction, he could 'see' it without his eyes as he heard the younger man's choked gasp of anguish. "Not your fault, MacGyver," he firmly told his top operative. "You were already on your way here when they grabbed him."

"What happened?" MacGyver asked quietly, casting his mind back over the last time he had seen Max Rollinson, Thornton's deputy at Phoenix. The man had been so cheerfully confident that they'd have everything under control and cleared up before Pete's return from Tokyo.

"His body was found by some back-packers out in the middle of nowhere. He'd been beaten and shot; executed," Thornton said grimly.

"Damn!" MacGyver exploded angrily. He was back on his feet again. He wanted to pace, started to pace, but his bad leg wouldn't permit it. "I should never have let him talk me into it. I should have stayed in L.A.!"

"I doubt it would have done any good," Thornton said. He had expected the outburst of guilt. MacGyver was very predictable sometimes. "Probably just have gotten us all killed. Your being here kept Stillman and co off-balance, wondering when you were going to surface and make a move. That bought me and Sam some time to do what needed to be done once Sam got that computer disc to me. You know that base security picked up a coupla' Stillman's hired thugs hanging around the mountain and asking questions about you?"

"No, I didn't know that," MacGyver said, finally abandoning his abortive efforts at pacing and settling on the bed edge again, rubbing gingerly at his aching knee. "Remind me to talk to Jack about that, will ya'?"

There was a knock at the door. As MacGyver looked towards it an orderly entered the room without further preamble, a telephone unit and handset in hand trailing a long length of cable in his wake.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Sorry to interrupt, but there's a phone call for you, sir," he told MacGyver, who looked at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted two heads. The orderly grinned, clearly privy to some great secret he was enjoying keeping a secret as he set the phone unit down on the bedside unit, pressed a lighted button on it and handed the handset to the totally bewildered MacGyver.

Who the heck knows I'm here, never mind how to contact me here? floated through the trouble-shooter's mind.

He noticed Pete's expression. It was a sort of demented cross between a puzzled frown and a knowing smirk.

"This is MacGyver," Mac said into the phone.

"Hey, Mac, it's me." Jack O'Neill's voice sounded in the trouble-shooter's ear. "I got a stroppy kid in the guardroom up top with no clearance to get past the front gate never mind indoors. Real cranky he is about it too. Guess he gets it from you. You wanna' explain a few pertinent facts of life to him or shall I just toss him in the brig?"

*************************

Sam Carter was sitting quietly in the mess hall, drinking coffee and looking over some computer printouts when something of a commotion distracted her. Looking up she saw the facility's injured civilian guest entering the room aided by a stout stick and accompanied by Janet Fraiser.

MacGyver barely got more than a couple of paces into the room before he was descended upon by a couple of burly SG-3 marines, who promptly whisked him away from Doctor Fraiser.

Fraiser sighed, went and got herself some coffee and then approached the table where Carter was sitting. "Mind if I join you?" She asked.

"No, no not at all," Carter said.

"You busy?" Fraiser asked, indicating the computer printouts.

"Oh, just looking over the results that came back on some of the mineral samples SG-4 brought back from their last mission."

"Anything interesting show up?"

"Not really," Carter confessed with a certain degree of disappointment.

Across the room the two SG-3 marines who had 'abducted' MacGyver were joined by an ex-Navy Seal who was attached to SG-10, an ex-Special Forces Captain from SG-8 and a couple of airmen who were on general assignment within the SGC.

Fraiser kept a casual eye on her patient as she chatted with Carter and was aware that Carter's attention as they talked kept straying across the room. Eventually Fraiser observed.

"MacGyver really looks an awful lot like Colonel O'Neill, doesn't he?"

"Uh-huh...It's uncanny," Carter responded. "I mean I know there's nothing unusual in close family members bearing a strong resemblance to each other, but he and the Colonel, I mean, they aren't that closely related, are they? Not immediate family? Yet they could virtually pass as twins. It's... It's...well, it’s a little spooky..."

"I know," Fraiser agreed. "They both make extremely cranky patients too. Any longer in the infirmary and I think our Mr. MacGyver would have started climbing the walls with boredom; despite Doctor Jackson's best efforts. That's why I thought I'd bring him up here for a while since things are pretty quiet down there just now." She surveyed the group across the room again and noted it had been joined by a member of SG-6 and another from SG-11. "I think the word has spread," she observed.

"Yeah..." Carter agreed. She found it oddly fascinating that a civilian could be such a welcome focus of attention for such a diverse grouping of military personnel as served at the SGC. In the mess hall the various SG teams tended to keep to their own company - team rivalries being what they were - yet around MacGyver those rivalries seemed to have gone out the window. It was the same with the general support staff. They tended not to mix much socially with the SG team personnel, yet several of them were stopping by the table and were not being cold-shouldered.

Carter idly found herself wondering what a military psychiatrist would make of it.

"Now you know why I had that guard posted down at the infirmary," Fraiser said, watching the expression on Carter's face as she too watched the comings and goings across the room. "I'd never have got any work done and none of my patients would have got any rest with that lot trooping in and out all the time."

"Do they all actually know MacGyver, do you think? Or is it just curiosity?" Carter asked the other woman. "Given his reputation," she added.

"You need to get out of the astro-physics lab a bit more often, Captain," Janet Fraiser smiled with some amusement. At the look Carter gave her, Fraiser said. "If any of the various stories I've heard floating around this base the past few days bear any resemblance to the truth, our Mr. MacGyver over there has, at one time or another, saved the life of nearly every man currently sitting at that table." As Carter stared at her, she said. "Oh I daresay some of the wilder stories are an exaggeration, but I'd say the man's earned his reputation." Then, remembering the numerous scars she had found on her patient when she had given him a thorough examination, she added. "The hard way." She looked towards the group across the room again. To her doctor's eye it looked like MacGyver's energy was flagging a bit.

"I think maybe it's about time I rescued him from the admiration society before they wear him out."

"Think maybe you're about to be beaten to it," Carter said. Out of the corner of her eye she had noticed O'Neill enter the room, cast a quick glance around and then head in MacGyver's direction.

"Hmmm?" Fraiser said. She followed the nod Carter gave her and saw O'Neill en route for the gathering, which dispersed good-naturedly a few minutes later.

*************************

Much as he had been happy to escape from the infirmary for a little while and to renew old acquaintances, MacGyver was not entirely sorry to have O'Neill arrive when he did and shoo everyone away.

"Heard you were up here," O'Neill settled himself in a newly vacated seat beside his cousin. "Figured you might be ready for the cavalry about now."

"Yeah..." MacGyver smiled a little tiredly. That's the trouble with getting older, he found himself thinking, it takes longer than it used to, to bounce back from injuries that a few years back would have been shrugged off in no time. "Appreciate it," he said. He knew from the expression in his cousin's eyes that a similar thought had been running through O'Neill's mind as the man regarded him critically. "Though I think maybe you just beat the Doc to it."

O'Neill followed MacGyver's slight tilt of the head and saw Fraiser and Carter watching them and trying to be surreptitious about it. A faint smile crossed O'Neill's face then he turned his attention back to his cousin.

"We talk?" He asked.

"Sure," MacGyver nodded. He sensed there was something serious coming.

"I've...ah...got a little field trip scheduled tomorrow. Be gone probably a coupla' days," O'Neill said.

"Can I ask or would you have to shoot me?"

O'Neill just smiled wryly. MacGyver got the message.

"Okay," the Phoenix man nodded. "I won't ask."

"I know Doc Fraiser wants to keep an eye on you a bit longer so you'd probably better stay on-base while I'm gone." O'Neill fished in the breast pocket of his fatigues and pulled a couple of plastic-coated cards from it. "Figure you'd go nuts stuck in the infirmary though, so I had a word with the General and he's authorized clearance for you to move about the place a bit without an escort." He handed over the first of the two cards, which had a clip attached to it. "That one will keep anyone who doesn't know better from filling you full of holes nature didn't intend you to have. Wear it at all times." He handed over the second card. "This one will allow you to access some of the less restricted of the controlled-access areas. And if you want to go up-top for some fresh air, both passes together will get you outside and let you back in again. Just don't stray too far and don't try to go off base or you'll need to get Hammond to clear you back in. Okay?"

"Thanks, Jack," MacGyver said. "Appreciate it."

Although he had been in Doctor Fraiser's company when he had left the infirmary, MacGyver had taken the precaution of slipping his Phoenix ID on its chain around his neck and under the black T-shirt that had been loaned him by O'Neill. He now fished the I.D. out and clipped the new base I.D. card his cousin had supplied onto the chain too. The swipe card he slipped into a pocket of his stone-coloured chinos; also borrowed from O'Neill.

"You know Sam's staying at my place?" O'Neill's slightly sombre mood lightened up. MacGyver nodded.

"He cleared the fridge yet?" The Phoenix man wanted to know.

"Yeah..." O'Neill grinned. "Kid's a garbage can on legs. You know that of course."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyhow, I was thinking, I've got a week's leave owing. Figure on takin' it while you're both still in town. Thought we could all hang out at my place, maybe catch a hockey game at the weekend or something. Whaddya' say?"

"I'd like that, Jack. A lot." MacGyver smiled honestly. As far as he was concerned it was way, way too long since he and O'Neill had had a chance to spend some time together. And then there was Sam too. He deserved the chance to get to know the quirky cousin he hadn't known he had. It was too good an opportunity to miss for the three of them to get together.

"Good." O'Neill looked pleased. He cast a glance over at Fraiser and Carter, who were still pretending not to be watching the pair of them. There was mischief in the Colonel's eyes as he turned back to his cousin. "Now all we gotta' do is spring ya' from the infirmary and get ya' assigned some decent quarters while I'm gone."

*************************

MacGyver stood for some time in the shower, just luxuriating under the strong cascade of steaming hot water. Some hours earlier Jack O'Neill had arranged quarters for him in the visitors' section of the complex. Mac had protested that he would be quite happy in the more Spartan conditions offered by the quarters in officers' row, where O'Neill lived when on-base. The Colonel would have none of it however and MacGyver, knowing when to quit when in an argument with a seriously determined O'Neill, had finally given in gracefully.

MacGyver had then sat back and watched an artist at work as O'Neill had set to work on Janet Fraiser. It had been a delight to watch O'Neill persuade and cajole the good doctor into allowing her civilian patient to quit cluttering up her infirmary and move into guest quarters for the remainder of his time on-base.

Fraiser, after some spirited resistance, had capitulated on condition that MacGyver continued his scheduled sessions with the physiotherapist and that he report in the morning for some blood tests she wanted to run.

Hence, finally, in the peace and privacy of one of the guest facilities, MacGyver was making the most of the opportunity to take a long, hot shower. Gently he flexed his bad knee, which was aching in the wake of a visit to the Physio-From-Hell. The warmth of the water on the throbbing joint felt wonderful, easing the discomfort.

Eventually, MacGyver hauled himself out of the shower and dried off. Then, with a towel wrapped about his waist, he hopped out of the bathroom to sit down whilst he towel dried his dripping hair. He was thus occupied when he heard a distinctive knock at the door.

"C'mon in, Jack!" He called.

The door opened and O'Neill entered. "Hey, Mac," the Colonel said, closing the door firmly behind him as he registered Mac's state of undress. "I was just on my way to hit the sack. Thought I'd look in and check you were settled in okay."

"I'm fine," MacGyver answered. "Got all the comforts of home."

"Good," O'Neill nodded, glancing around the room as if checking that fact for himself, which indeed he was.

"So, you got an early start tomorrow then?" MacGyver asked, gesturing to the other man to take a seat.

"Ship out at 06:00," O'Neill answered. "So I probably won't see you again before I go." He frowned as he studied his cousin, noting the scars the man carried; the more recent ones in particular. There was a pained look in his dark eyes as, moving to settle in one of the more-comfortable-than-standard military-issue chairs, he observed seriously. "Good God, Mac, you get more like a road map every time I see you."

"As I recall, you're not exactly pristine yourself," MacGyver retorted, well aware that O'Neill sported a goodly number of scars himself and guessing that he had probably acquired a few new ones too since the last time their paths had crossed.

"Kinda' goes with the territory," O'Neill observed wryly with a slight shrug. "I get paid to get shot at, but you, you're supposed to be a civilian for heaven's sake!"

"The bad guys don't differentiate," MacGyver pointed out. "You know that."

"Yeah..." O'Neill acknowledged with a deep sigh and changed the subject. "So, what exactly went down at Phoenix? Why were those guys tryin' to dump on Thornton? You were gonna' tell me."

"Long story," MacGyver answered.

"Okay, so just give me the edited highlights," O'Neill said.

"Okay." MacGyver abandoned his hair drying. "Henderson's been itchin' to get Pete out of Phoenix since before Pete's eye troubles got so bad. When he found out about that component flaw with the Star Watch project, he figured it was his best opportunity yet."

"And the other guy; Stillman. What was his angle?"

"Money," MacGyver answered bluntly.

"Ahhh..." O'Neill's expression said it all.

"His company had already spent a small fortune on the project and he didn't want to have to go back to the drawing board and start again when the flaw turned up." Mac shifted in his seat, easing his sore knee slightly. "It was cheaper to pay Henderson off to cover up things at the Phoenix end."

"I'm sensing some potential double-crosses," O'Neill frowned pensively. "Too many loose ends."

"Yeah, well, Stillman figured the evidence would be lost out there," MacGyver gestured vaguely spacewards, "when the Star Watch probes fried their own circuits on the edge of the solar system."

"Where there wouldn't be anyone casually strolling past to check out what happened," O'Neill nodded. "Makes sense. But Henderson would still be a liability. Too much potential for future blackmail..."

"Uh-huh," MacGyver agreed. "My guess is he would probably have met with a 'little accident' at some point, unless he got Stillman first, which would have left the field clear for him to go ahead with his frame up of Pete."

O'Neill pondered on that for a moment. The wider implications of the whole business still sent chills up and down his spine. The potential risk to Earth's safety if the cover-up plot hadn't been uncovered especially if - as he suspected more strongly than ever - the probes were really meant to detect the approach of Goa'uld ships rather than asteroids. He shuddered at the thought.

"Something wrong?" MacGyver had been observing O'Neill's pensive manner and knew he was missing something. He just wasn't sure what.

"Huh? Oh, no, nothing. I was just thinking life in the military is simpler," O'Neill said, knowing full well that the other man knew he was covering but wouldn't inquire further. He glanced at his wristwatch and rose to his feet. "Well, I'd better be going if I'm going to get my eight hours in."

"Okay, Jack," MacGyver said, watching him. "I'll see ya' when ya' get back then."

"Count on it," O'Neill replied confidently before heading for the door. As he reached it, he heard Mac say.

"Jack..."

"Yeah?" O'Neill looked round quizzically.

"Stay low, stay careful and - "

"Make a moving target," O'Neill finished with a grin. "Yee-ah..."

"No target at all might be a better idea," MacGyver suggested. The look in his eyes said quite plainly: I don't know where you're going, or what you're going to be doing, but be careful doing it - whatever it is.

"Piece of cake," O'Neill exuded assurance. "Piece of cake," he repeated, before disappearing out the door.

As the door closed behind his cousin, an odd shiver ran up MacGyver's spine.

"Get a grip, MacGyver," he murmured to himself as he got to his feet and began to limp back towards the bathroom. "Probably just a draught is all nothing more... "

************************

TO BE CONTINUED

In The Next Instalment:

REVELATIONS.