Disclaimer: I do not own the character MacGyver or anything related to the series.

Warning! Contains spoilers for Season 5's episode 'Cease Fire'.

Author's Note: So after being kidnapped by my alter ego and forced to write 9 stories for the awesome 'Stargate SG-1' fandom, I'm back! Nothing spectacular here, but I hope you'll enjoy. For anyone who hasn't seen the episode 'Cease Fire' in awhile here is a brief synopsis . . .

The Phoenix Foundation is in Geneva helping negotiate a peace treaty between two warring countries. When one country's leader is almost assassinated, MacGyver is falsely accused of the crime. Wounded and on the run, he soon learns of a second assassination plot. His efforts to thwart this attempt find him cutting a bomb loose from beneath a mountainside lift. He succeeds, with seconds to spare.

And here is where our missing scene begins . . .

MacGyver drew in a deep breath - the scent of fresh mountain breezes, recently detonated explosives, and grease mingling in his nostrils. Like retreating thunder, echoes from the bomb rippled through the air, but all Mac could hear was bells. Loud, buzzing, anvil-like bells pounding in his head. Of course, just to make things interesting and to truly make his day complete, there was also another sound registering in his brain. It came in between the clangs and seemed to coincide with . . . Aw, man.

Y'know, a lot of things come to mind when I hear the word 'pendulum'. Clocks, hypnotists . . . swings.

Shush. Psst. Shush. Psst. Shush.

But I'll tell ya' one thing that's never come to mind before - me!

Psst. Shush. Psst. Shush. Psst.

Oh well. Guess there's a first time for everything . . . like gettin' blown up or plummeting a couple thousand feet just for the heck of it.

Shush. Psst. Shush. Psst. Shush.

Aw, man.

Nervously, MacGyver listened to his life line scrape against the gondola. Its beat matched the steady rock and pitch of his body, helpfully reminding him that he was suspended in mid-air by a rope threaded through a backpack.

Y'know blind, fear-squashing adrenaline is a wonderful thing. I, for one, have gotten some of my handiest handiwork done thanks to a good ol' adrenaline rush. Only thing is . . . when it kinda wears off I find myself in the darnedest places!

As he dangled, Mac felt the easy right-left motion start to wane along with his momentum. Unfortunately, choppier, more dizzying movements rose to take their place, carrying him hither, thither and yon in a pattern all their own . . .

Swirl left. Back. Forward. Swing right. Forward. Half spin. Reverse. Repeat.

It was like going for a ride in a malfunctioning blender.

"MacGyver! Are you alright? Mac?! Mac answer me!"

A shaky grin darted across the troubleshooter's face. His mouth opened and what was supposed to be an intelligible sound escaped. "H-hmm."

"Mac! Mac!"

Clearing his throat MacGyver tried again. "Hey, Pete."

There - that was better.

"Mac are you alright?"

"Oh yeah. Sure. Just . . . hangin' around. How 'bout you?"

A relieved almost giddy laugh drifted down from the gondola. "Glad to hear it! You had me worried there for a second."

"Who me?"

Ignoring this attempt at innocence, Thornton leaned close to the edge. "Mac, brace yourself. We're about to pull you back in, okay?"

Mac took a moment to remind himself that breathing was a necessary activity regardless of his current state of suspension and nodded. Why he wasn't sure - there was no way Pete could see him - but it just seemed like a good thing to do. A few lungfuls of air later, he tightened his hold on the rescue cord and waited.

"Mac?"

"Still here, Pete."

"Good. Are you ready?"

"Aw, you know me, Pete - always prepared. Yank away."

"Right . . . oh, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let go."

Grinning crookedly, MacGyver leaned his forehead against white knuckles. The muscles were flexed taught and he could already feel sweat trickling between his fingers. "Okay, Pete. I won't let go."

Inch by painfully slow inch, the upward journey then began. With each pull, the troubleshooter was certain his rope had to be shrinking. Logically, of course, he knew it was just all the water swimming around between his palms and the nylon that was giving him that impression. But since when did logic have anything to do with his calm, totally rational objection to anything that had to do with heights?

Before MacGyver could continue along this acrophobic tail-spin, a pair of hands wrapped about his own. Instantly, the familiar touch calmed his fears, enveloping him like a much-loved security blanket. Even with eyes squeezed shut and fingers dulled by sweat, he knew exactly who had reached down to save him. It was Pete. The troubleshooter didn't need his sense of sight or a clear sense of touch to tell him that. He just knew.

"Hang on, MacGyver. I've got you." In almost the same breath, Thornton turned and yelled a directive over his shoulder. "Keep pulling!"

Another few upward tugs found more hands joining in with the first pair. They grabbed at Mac's wrists, forearms and biceps hoping for a secure hold. As for the rope, it held taught and managed to crawl another inch or so higher before coming to a complete stop. There was a blur of activity, an exchange of shouts, more hands, and then it was all over.

Safe and far from the doorway's edge, Mac lay sprawled in a gasping, sweating heap on the floor. A mile-wide grin decorated his face as he reveled in a fresh, new found appreciation for floors everywhere. Granted, the one he currently occupied was a bit unsteady for his tastes, but now was not the time to be picky. As he considered this point, an arm wove its way about his shoulders and pulled him close. Again, it was Pete. Just like always.

Something warm oozing along his side, drew MacGyver's attention. Blood. The bullet wound was open and bleeding again. As he watched the red seeping along his shirt, all of the day's events seemed to catch up with him in at once. His burst of adrenaline performed a perfect nosedive while the blood loss and physical trauma added their own two cents of exhaustion. But even as MacGyver felt himself becoming weaker, the arm supporting him grew stronger.

When I was a kid, I had this knack for taking care of myself. Not outta necessity, really, just sorta on instinct. Good instinct to have, too, when ya' grow up and find yourself livin' one roll of duct tape and three paperclips shy of disaster most 'a the time. But sometimes even good survivors need a helping hand.

A firm pressure came to rest on Mac's side and he bit back a painful yelp. Prying open his eyes, the troubleshooter saw a hand settled over his wound; a crisp, formerly white handkerchief pressed tight beneath the fingers.

Exhaling an unsteady breath, MacGyver offered a quick smile. "Thanks, Pete."

"Ha!" Thornton humphed, matching his friend's grin. "Thank you! You're the one who saved us, remember?"

"Yeah, well . . . I was in the neighborhood. Wouldn't 'a been able . . . to do it without you, Pete."

"Are you kidding? You did do it without me."

"N-no I didn't," Mac corrected, fighting against a sudden attack of shivers. "H-Habad would'a let his men sh-shoot me . . . again. He didn't know . . . I would'a n-n-never made it on board."

Creases spread in long, running lines across Thornton's brow. Drawing MacGyver close, he cradled the man against his chest, lending what comfort and warmth he could. Then, in a whisper: "I just wish I could have been there . . . when you really needed me."

The troubleshooter smiled into the fabric of Pete's suit, eyelids drooping heavily. Feeling about with an unsteady hand, he found his friend's arm and held on tight. "You were there, Pete . . . just when I needed you."

THE END

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