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Okay, where this came from I do not know, but here it is. It's set late eighties, don't have a clue if the ages are right, but close enough, I guess, and there may be more, there may not. Just an idle whim of a fic, tongue in cheek like the source material. Around 1500 words. UST so far, nothing more.
ETA A single file version of it is on my website here:
Buried Dreams
Buried Dreams
"Okay, kid --"
"Daniel. Daniel Jackson."
"Name's MacGyver." Mac held out his hand and shook Daniel's. "Now, see, you've got sand in, well, just about everywhere sand can get. Which wouldn't usually be a problem; these Jeeps are tough." He gave the hood an affectionate pat and regretted it. Hot enough to fry an egg on. Which took care of lunch, but wasn't helping fix the Jeep.
"But it's a problem now, because?"
Nice kid. Blue eyes. Really blue, even behind his specs. MacGyver smiled at him. "Because if you don't get back to that dig you were telling me about, you'll miss them opening up the burial chamber, right?"
"Right, but I don't see…"
"So we fix it."
"But --"
"You talk a lot, you know that?" Mac leaned over and reached inside the engine, wincing as the skin on his forearm brushed against hot metal. He could swear he felt the hairs on it sizzle to a crisp. "This time, the sand's gone in the one place it shouldn't, and it's shorting out the starter motor."
The blue eyes got a lot closer as the kid -- how old? Twenty, maybe? Okay, not a kid, not really -- leaned in from the opposite side of the engine, his messy brown hair tickling Mac's arm.
"I see."
"No, you don't." MacGyver reached out and put the tip of his finger against Daniel's jaw, pushing it sideways an inch or two and leaving a grubby fingerprint. "There."
"Oh…" Thick eyebrows drew together and the tanned forehead wrinkled in a frown. "So what do we do?"
"Blow on it." Mac pursed his lips and directed a puff of breath in the direction of the clogged valve. Sand, oil-clogged and dirty, failed to move. "And maybe a little bit of scraping…" He got his Swiss Army knife out and began to unfold a blade. "Keep blowing," he said absently, watching full lips pout and form a circle. A chunk of sand fell away. "Nice!"
After a few gentle, careful scrapes with the blade, he decided it was worth trying the engine again.
"Okay, Daniel. Crank her up."
Daniel pushed his glasses higher on his nose, something he did every few moments, as he was sweating and they kept sliding back down. "You think that's fixed it? Because if it overheats..."
"Yep. And if I'm wrong, and she blows, I'll take you to the dig myself."
"It's out of your way."
"Fifty miles isn't out of my way."
"Yes, it is."
"Could be I've always wanted to visit a dig."
Something like suspicion flared in Daniel's eyes. "Professor Blake isn't keen on sightseers. They tend to leave with more than photographs and memories."
"Do they?" MacGyver smiled at him. "Well, look at me; do I look like a thief?"
Daniel took a bit too long answering, and his eyes lingered in some places Mac would rather he'd moved over quickly. What a man had in his pockets was his business. "No. But you don't look like someone who belongs out here, either, so I don't think you were telling the truth when you said you were from Cairo."
"No? Why is that?"
Daniel stepped around to his side and got closer. "Your nose is a little red." A tap on it from Daniel's finger stung a little, so Mac guessed he was right. "So you've just got here from somewhere cooler."
Finland. Tracking down a microfilm before it fell into the hands of the Russians and gave them the blueprint for the latest nuclear submarine.
"Maybe."
"And your hat's okay…" Daniel lifted it off the wing mirror, "but there's a feather caught in the lining and it looks like a hummingbird's. We don't get many of them in Egypt."
The hat, turned upside down, had transported a nest and three eggs, and he still had a scar on his hand from the mama bird who hadn't appreciated his efforts to save her babies from an approaching forest fire courtesy of a flame thrower wielding Murdoc.
"Don't suppose you do."
"And I looked at your passport when you were under the Jeep and saw that it was stamped yesterday."
"Okay, now that was just plain rude."
Daniel licked his lips, looking determined and not half as nervous as he should be considering he was a skinny half pint of skim milk Mac could drink down in three gulps and a burp. "You didn't stop to help me out of the goodness of your heart, did you?"
"What? Yes, I did!"
"No." Daniel backed away. "You're hoping I'll invite you to the dig, and you'll steal the treasure!"
"That's ridiculous!" Find out who'd been stealing it, bit by bit as it was dug up, maybe, but as Daniel's name was on the suspect list Pete had given him, that was one bit of information he wasn't going to pass on. And he had stopped out of concern for someone who'd broken down in the middle of nowhere, darn it. He'd seen long legs, in grubby cotton pants stretched tight over a curve of ass, and steam rising.
Anyone would've pulled over.
Daniel jumped into the Jeep, pulled out a gun, small and battered-looking, and held it on him. "If this doesn't start, I'm taking yours."
"What?" Mac said indignantly. "You can't do that!"
"Can."
"Can't."
The Jeep spluttered, choked, and died.
"Can."
Daniel got out of the Jeep, the gun still trained on Mac. "Transfer the supplies from the Jeep to your truck."
"Or?"
"I'll shoot you."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I --" Daniel ran his fingers through sweat-dark hair. "Okay, maybe I'll just wound you."
"And leave me to die? Oh, yeah; that's far more humanitarian of you."
Daniel's face screwed up in anguish. "Look, I don't have a choice!"
"Sure you do." MacGyver kept his voice gentle and moved a shuffling step closer. "I'm not a thief, I stopped to help you because you needed help, no more than that, and if you're worried, you can drive my truck and, I don't know, tie me up in the back, or something."
"You want me to tie you up?"
"Well, it's not high on my list of favourite things you could do to me --"
"What?"
"Huh?"
"How can you have a list? We only just met!"
"I was speaking rhetorically! Hypothetically!" MacGyver was sweating himself now. Daniel was kind of hard to handle.
"So you don't want me to get some rope and tie your wrists together?"
Again with the tricky -- uh, trick questions!
"If it would make you feel safer, you can." And I can get out in about thirty seconds anyway, kid.
"There's something you're not telling me."
"There's a lot I'm not telling you." MacGyver glared at him. "And I don't plan to. Now, will you stop waving that thing in my face and help move those supplies?"
Daniel's hand wavered and MacGyver stepped forward, knocked the gun out of his hand, and grabbed Daniel by the shoulders, shaking him. "You don't ever do that, do you hear me? You don't point guns at people, you don't threaten them, and you don't… don't…" Daniel was staring at him, all wide eyes and parted lips, a pulse thudding in his neck. Mac caved. "Oh, hell, kid. Just don't, okay?"
Daniel nodded, slowly, creakily, looking shell-shocked still, and Mac smiled, slipping his hand around the back of Daniel's neck and squeezing it. "Good boy."
"I'm twenty-two." The frown was back.
"Yeah?"
"Not a boy."
"Seems young to me." Mac began the transfer of crates to his truck.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-five."
That shut him up until the loading was complete. Mac took out his keys and tossed them in his hand. "So. Who drives?"
"You don't know the way."
"This is the only road."
"Yes, it is. So where were you going?"
Taken him long enough to ask.
"To the dig."
"No, before that."
"Same answer." MacGyver threw the keys up high, caught them, and turned to get in on the driver's side. "Didn't I tell you? I'm the new cook. My curried goat?" He kissed his fingers. "To die for."
"You're still not telling me the truth." Daniel climbed in, looking resigned and mutinous at one and the same time.
"Sometimes you can't." He patted Daniel's knee, feeling the body heat strike up through the thin, worn cotton. "You'll find that out for yourself one of these days."
They drove away, leaving the sand to sift over the gun and the Jeep to settle into the tracks it had made.
Part Two
ETA A single file version of it is on my website here:
Buried Dreams
Buried Dreams
"Okay, kid --"
"Daniel. Daniel Jackson."
"Name's MacGyver." Mac held out his hand and shook Daniel's. "Now, see, you've got sand in, well, just about everywhere sand can get. Which wouldn't usually be a problem; these Jeeps are tough." He gave the hood an affectionate pat and regretted it. Hot enough to fry an egg on. Which took care of lunch, but wasn't helping fix the Jeep.
"But it's a problem now, because?"
Nice kid. Blue eyes. Really blue, even behind his specs. MacGyver smiled at him. "Because if you don't get back to that dig you were telling me about, you'll miss them opening up the burial chamber, right?"
"Right, but I don't see…"
"So we fix it."
"But --"
"You talk a lot, you know that?" Mac leaned over and reached inside the engine, wincing as the skin on his forearm brushed against hot metal. He could swear he felt the hairs on it sizzle to a crisp. "This time, the sand's gone in the one place it shouldn't, and it's shorting out the starter motor."
The blue eyes got a lot closer as the kid -- how old? Twenty, maybe? Okay, not a kid, not really -- leaned in from the opposite side of the engine, his messy brown hair tickling Mac's arm.
"I see."
"No, you don't." MacGyver reached out and put the tip of his finger against Daniel's jaw, pushing it sideways an inch or two and leaving a grubby fingerprint. "There."
"Oh…" Thick eyebrows drew together and the tanned forehead wrinkled in a frown. "So what do we do?"
"Blow on it." Mac pursed his lips and directed a puff of breath in the direction of the clogged valve. Sand, oil-clogged and dirty, failed to move. "And maybe a little bit of scraping…" He got his Swiss Army knife out and began to unfold a blade. "Keep blowing," he said absently, watching full lips pout and form a circle. A chunk of sand fell away. "Nice!"
After a few gentle, careful scrapes with the blade, he decided it was worth trying the engine again.
"Okay, Daniel. Crank her up."
Daniel pushed his glasses higher on his nose, something he did every few moments, as he was sweating and they kept sliding back down. "You think that's fixed it? Because if it overheats..."
"Yep. And if I'm wrong, and she blows, I'll take you to the dig myself."
"It's out of your way."
"Fifty miles isn't out of my way."
"Yes, it is."
"Could be I've always wanted to visit a dig."
Something like suspicion flared in Daniel's eyes. "Professor Blake isn't keen on sightseers. They tend to leave with more than photographs and memories."
"Do they?" MacGyver smiled at him. "Well, look at me; do I look like a thief?"
Daniel took a bit too long answering, and his eyes lingered in some places Mac would rather he'd moved over quickly. What a man had in his pockets was his business. "No. But you don't look like someone who belongs out here, either, so I don't think you were telling the truth when you said you were from Cairo."
"No? Why is that?"
Daniel stepped around to his side and got closer. "Your nose is a little red." A tap on it from Daniel's finger stung a little, so Mac guessed he was right. "So you've just got here from somewhere cooler."
Finland. Tracking down a microfilm before it fell into the hands of the Russians and gave them the blueprint for the latest nuclear submarine.
"Maybe."
"And your hat's okay…" Daniel lifted it off the wing mirror, "but there's a feather caught in the lining and it looks like a hummingbird's. We don't get many of them in Egypt."
The hat, turned upside down, had transported a nest and three eggs, and he still had a scar on his hand from the mama bird who hadn't appreciated his efforts to save her babies from an approaching forest fire courtesy of a flame thrower wielding Murdoc.
"Don't suppose you do."
"And I looked at your passport when you were under the Jeep and saw that it was stamped yesterday."
"Okay, now that was just plain rude."
Daniel licked his lips, looking determined and not half as nervous as he should be considering he was a skinny half pint of skim milk Mac could drink down in three gulps and a burp. "You didn't stop to help me out of the goodness of your heart, did you?"
"What? Yes, I did!"
"No." Daniel backed away. "You're hoping I'll invite you to the dig, and you'll steal the treasure!"
"That's ridiculous!" Find out who'd been stealing it, bit by bit as it was dug up, maybe, but as Daniel's name was on the suspect list Pete had given him, that was one bit of information he wasn't going to pass on. And he had stopped out of concern for someone who'd broken down in the middle of nowhere, darn it. He'd seen long legs, in grubby cotton pants stretched tight over a curve of ass, and steam rising.
Anyone would've pulled over.
Daniel jumped into the Jeep, pulled out a gun, small and battered-looking, and held it on him. "If this doesn't start, I'm taking yours."
"What?" Mac said indignantly. "You can't do that!"
"Can."
"Can't."
The Jeep spluttered, choked, and died.
"Can."
Daniel got out of the Jeep, the gun still trained on Mac. "Transfer the supplies from the Jeep to your truck."
"Or?"
"I'll shoot you."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I --" Daniel ran his fingers through sweat-dark hair. "Okay, maybe I'll just wound you."
"And leave me to die? Oh, yeah; that's far more humanitarian of you."
Daniel's face screwed up in anguish. "Look, I don't have a choice!"
"Sure you do." MacGyver kept his voice gentle and moved a shuffling step closer. "I'm not a thief, I stopped to help you because you needed help, no more than that, and if you're worried, you can drive my truck and, I don't know, tie me up in the back, or something."
"You want me to tie you up?"
"Well, it's not high on my list of favourite things you could do to me --"
"What?"
"Huh?"
"How can you have a list? We only just met!"
"I was speaking rhetorically! Hypothetically!" MacGyver was sweating himself now. Daniel was kind of hard to handle.
"So you don't want me to get some rope and tie your wrists together?"
Again with the tricky -- uh, trick questions!
"If it would make you feel safer, you can." And I can get out in about thirty seconds anyway, kid.
"There's something you're not telling me."
"There's a lot I'm not telling you." MacGyver glared at him. "And I don't plan to. Now, will you stop waving that thing in my face and help move those supplies?"
Daniel's hand wavered and MacGyver stepped forward, knocked the gun out of his hand, and grabbed Daniel by the shoulders, shaking him. "You don't ever do that, do you hear me? You don't point guns at people, you don't threaten them, and you don't… don't…" Daniel was staring at him, all wide eyes and parted lips, a pulse thudding in his neck. Mac caved. "Oh, hell, kid. Just don't, okay?"
Daniel nodded, slowly, creakily, looking shell-shocked still, and Mac smiled, slipping his hand around the back of Daniel's neck and squeezing it. "Good boy."
"I'm twenty-two." The frown was back.
"Yeah?"
"Not a boy."
"Seems young to me." Mac began the transfer of crates to his truck.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-five."
That shut him up until the loading was complete. Mac took out his keys and tossed them in his hand. "So. Who drives?"
"You don't know the way."
"This is the only road."
"Yes, it is. So where were you going?"
Taken him long enough to ask.
"To the dig."
"No, before that."
"Same answer." MacGyver threw the keys up high, caught them, and turned to get in on the driver's side. "Didn't I tell you? I'm the new cook. My curried goat?" He kissed his fingers. "To die for."
"You're still not telling me the truth." Daniel climbed in, looking resigned and mutinous at one and the same time.
"Sometimes you can't." He patted Daniel's knee, feeling the body heat strike up through the thin, worn cotton. "You'll find that out for yourself one of these days."
They drove away, leaving the sand to sift over the gun and the Jeep to settle into the tracks it had made.
Part Two