Heirs to a Nightmare

  Author's notes: 'Heirs to a Nightmare' is a sequel to 'The Maze', 'Control', 'Coatlicue', and 'Ares Bugle' which are Sentinel/MacGyver crossovers. Since this story makes references to the previous ones, especially 'Ares Bugle', you may wish to read the others first.

  I do want to apologize to all my readers for being late with this one. It is the longest of all my stories, and I went through a period of major writer's block. However, here it is and I hope it was worth the wait. I also wish to mention that I try to respond to everyone who emails, but juno burped on me last month and I lost some. If I haven't responded to you, please write again.

  Many thanks to: Zadra, for her support, comments, aiding in the development of the Mac/Naomi history, and for braving her mother's wrath to mail me a couple MacGyver tapes. (I would have never gotten out of my writer's block without them!); Sharon, for her continuing support and encouragement; Robyn, for answering my medical questions; Laura P., for great comments; Sealie, for her corrections and for providing a different perspective; and to superbeta and supporter Wolfpup, without whom none of this would see the light of internet.

  Please send any comments to spacecloud@juno.com

  Enjoy the ride.

  Disclaimer: Most of characters are not mine. I'm borrowing them out of deep reverence, affection and respect. I will accept only personal fulfillment, and no monetary gain. If you do sue, you will not get much and I will send over my Black Lab mix, who will stare at you pathetically for hours, and probably con you out of all your food.

  Rated PG-13, a little violence, but mostly for language.

  HEIRS TO A NIGHTMARE

  C. L. Combs

  Thursday morning, Ellison's loft

  From the kitchen, Detective James Ellison called out, "Did you pack the antibiotics?"

  A muffled voice from his roommate's bedroom answered, "Yes."

  "Did you pack extra gloves?"

  "Yes." ~cough~

  "Did you pack the cough drops?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you sure you packed enough sweatshirts and sweaters?"

  "Yes, mother," the voice from the bedroom grumbled.

  "I heard that!"

  Inside the room, Blair Sandburg rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He could not wait to get out of the loft. For nearly five weeks, he had been stuck here except for trips to the doctors or brief visits to his office. Even then, his friend had been keeping close tabs on him. Blair felt as if most of Jim's heightened senses had been focused on him every minute of nearly every hour when Jim was in the loft. It had only been three weeks ago that Blair finally persuaded Jim to return to work. Even then, if it wasn't Jim phoning him, Taggart or one of the Major Crimes detectives was calling. Serena Chang from forensics even called him once. Blair felt like an organism under a microscope.

  Blair twisted towards his dresser, then paused to rub his ribs. They still ached deeply, though not with the same intense pain as the first two weeks after he had hurt them.

  "Did you pack the liniment?"

  "Yes," Blair called back impatiently. He ran his hand through his hair, then paused as the shorter length registered. The memory of believing Kincaid was going to cut his throat, only to hack off his hair, flashed across his mind.

  Blair took a deep breath. Okay, maybe Jim had reason for his 'Mother Hen from Hell' act. Much of the time they'd spent in Idaho was fuzzy, but he remembered coughing, pain, and the worried faces of Jim and MacGyver. Nor did it end once they were home. It seemed like he'd never get rid of this cough. He had taken so many different antibiotics over the last few weeks, trying to find just one that would work. He still felt like he was running on half the energy he normally had.

  "You okay?" Jim had appeared in the doorway.

  "Yeah," Blair replied with a sigh. "Just tired."

  Jim studied his friend for a moment. The bruises had faded, but Blair still looked pale and too thin. "It will take a while for your lungs to get up to speed again after all they've been through. You're just going to have to take it easy."

  "I know. It's just frustrating, you know?"

  "I know." Jim continued to study him. "Are you sure you want to take this trip with Sam?"

  "Most definitely," Blair stated without hesitation. "I need new walls to stare at, man." Sam's call three days ago had been an answer to prayer. After listening to Blair's complaints of cabin fever and Jim's over-protectiveness, Sam had told him of his great-grandfather's cabin in the Colorado mountains. Sam had planned a trip to look through the papers and memories he had left behind, hoping to get a feel for the man who had raised his father. He then asked Blair if he would like to come along and help him sort it out. Blair had jumped at the chance. If nothing else, being able to see the Rockies through the window instead of Cascade would help.

  Jim smiled. He knew that Blair had been climbing the walls lately. Plus, there may be extra benefits to this trip that neither Blair nor Sam knew about. "Why don't you sit down on the couch for a few minutes? The fireplace is going and Sam won't be here for at least another hour."

  "Okay," Blair quietly agreed. He walked to the couch in the living area, pulling the afghan over him as he sat. Within minutes, he was asleep.

  After double-checking that his roommate was indeed asleep, Jim slipped another sweatshirt and a packet of cough drops into his backpack.

  Thursday morning, Cascade

  Sean A. Malloy, better known as Sam, leaned back into the seat of the cab. It felt good to be off assignment and taking a few days to relax. In addition, he was looking forward to seeing Sandburg and Ellison again. He had instantly liked the energetic anthropologist and the tough detective. The friendship had continued to grow as Blair and he corresponded through email. While Sam loved the traveling involved in his work, it was nice to read a friendly message from someone he knew at the end of a long day.

  When Dad had told him about Blair's abduction a few weeks ago, Sam had been both furious and deeply worried. He hated to think of his slim friend being brutalized by militia men. It had to have been a bad scene, since Dad was still uncharacteristically shaken by it. If he could help Blair get well without going stir-crazy, Sam was all for it.

  Thinking over his father's reactions and the phone call Sam had overheard, another thought reoccurred. Could it be? Sam shifted in his seat and pushed the thought right back out of his mind. If it was, Dad would tell him sooner or later. Right now, Sam wanted to concentrate on getting to know his friend Blair better by helping him over a rough time. Any other possibility would have to wait.

  The cab pulled up to the storefront, above which was Ellison's loft. Sam got out with his bags, paid the fare and tip, and entered the building.

  Sam had barely touched the door when Jim opened it. Holding a finger to his lips, Jim tilted his head towards the couch. Sam could see Blair curled up in an afghan, asleep. He followed Jim into the kitchen area. "How's he doing?" Sam whispered.

  "Much better," Jim replied, though Sam could see the trace of worry in his features. "The last antibiotic is finally doing the job. He's just worn down with all the coughing and the injured ribs." Jim lifted the half-full coffee pot as a question and Sam nodded. "How remote is this cabin?"

  Sam smiled as he watched Jim pour the coffee. This must be that 'Mother Hen' mode Blair was complaining about. "Not too bad. Dad says it's on a road that's kept open all year around. Back when Harry was alive, Dad helped him add a room and update the kitchen. It has indoor plumbing, a wood stove, stocked with food, and is well-insulated. Even if we do get snowed in, we should be fine for a couple of weeks."

  "Are there any medical facilities near by?"

  Sam's smile grew wider. "It's ski country. They know how to handle medical emergencies around t
here."

  "How are you .... What?"

  Sam chuckled. "Blair is going to be fine. I promise to keep a close eye on him."

  Jim smiled faintly as he rubbed his neck. "Yeah, I know. It has just been a rough month and a half."

  Sam's smile disappeared. "So I have heard. Honest, Jim, I'll take care of him."

  Jim gently squeezed Sam's shoulder as he walked by. "I know. I just get a little worried about him sometimes. I'm not sure how I'd handle it if I lost him, too."

  Sam quietly watched Jim retreat to the fireplace. After his father had mentioned Jim's time in Peru, he had looked up the articles. The empty, haunted gaze staring out of the cover of the news magazine was not the Jim Ellison Sam knew. It wasn't surprising that such an experience would leave the big guy protective of the friends he had. Loss was something Sam understood all too well. Apparently this last misadventure had been just as hard on Jim as it had been on Dad and Blair.

  A groggy voice rose from the couch, "Jim? What time is it?"

  "Nearly 8:30," Sam answered, walking over to where his sleepy friend was sitting up.

  "Oh, man, I didn't mean to sleep that long." Blair stood up from the couch. "How long have you been here?"

  "Not too long," Sam reassured him. Man, Blair did look rather pale, his eyes slightly sunken in. Was fragile the word Dad had used? No, not quite fragile. Yet Sam had never realized before just how fine-boned Blair was.

  Blair forced his eyes open wider. "I just have a few more things to do, then I'll be ready."

  "No rush, man. We've got plenty of time to catch the plane." Noting the lack of Blair's normal hyper-energy, Sam privately vowed that he would do most of the chores on this trip. They had no time schedule. Blair could sleep and relax as much as he needed. Turning back from following Blair's walk to the bedroom, he met Jim's worried eyes. "I will take care of him," Sam softly promised again.

  Jim gave him a weak smile in return. He knew from experience that taking care of Sandburg was not always so easy.

  Thursday afternoon, Telluride, CO

  "...The tribal chief wasn't too happy with us, since some loggers had been there before and tore up one of their sacred burial places. His men were all holding their war spears, looking VERY unfriendly."

  "Were they going to hurt you?"

  "Well, we weren't sure at first, then Dr. Hanson got this idea..."

  Walking back from the rental desk, Sam paused a couple of feet away. There was Blair sitting next to their baggage, entertaining three girls in their twenties. His blue eyes were alive, mouth smiling, hands waving in the air describing the meeting between his research group and a tribe of Central American natives. Sam couldn't help but chuckle. Fifteen minutes ago, Blair had been sound asleep in his seat on the plane. Sam had to shake him after they had landed to wake him up. Amazing how some pretty girls could bring him back to life.

  However, Blair was starting to cough. Walking over, Sam slapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Indy, we need to get going if we are going to be up to the cabin before dark." Blair glanced up, puzzled by the new nickname.

  "Where are you guys going?" the brunette with large brown eyes asked.

  "Up near Ouray," Sam replied, giving her a smile as he picked up a duffel bag.

  "How far away is that?" the other brunette asked. Sam guessed they were sisters.

  "Ouray is on the other side of those mountain peaks," the curly haired redhead explained, pointing out the large window.

  "Oh, that's too bad," the first brunette sighed. She handed Blair a card. "If you're back this way again, look us up."

  "We will," Blair replied, giving her his most charming smile.

  As Blair watched them walk away, Sam shoved his backpack into his arms. "Come on, Indy, I can't carry all of this by myself."

  "Indy? Why are you calling me Indy?"

  "Because you are telling tales like Indiana Jones. Come on, I'm not kidding about the mountain. The forecast is calling for snow, and I'd rather get to where we are going before the roads get slick."

  Blair picked up Sam's camera case. "The road that bad?"

  "No, just winding and steep, with the last ten miles being dirt. Plus I've never been up to the cabin before. It would probably be a whole lot easier to find in daylight."

  "That makes sense," Blair replied as he fell into step with his friend. "I hope you have directions."

  "Yeah, the map's in my camera case. You can navigate when we get up there."

  "Great!" Blair exclaimed. Jim almost never let him navigate anymore.

  Early Thursday evening, Uncompahgre National Forest near Ouray, CO

  Sam stopped the Jeep. "Ah, Blair, exactly where are we?"

  Blair, studying the map intently, tipped his head left, then right, then flipped the map over. Sam laid his head on the steering wheel. Now he understood why Jim wouldn't give Blair a map. "Blair...?"

  "I don't get it," Blair pondered. "The cabin should be right here."

  Sam lifted his head, viewing pines trees, snow, rocks, and a steep drop-off down to a presumably frozen mountain stream. The one thing he did not see was a cabin. He turned his head to stare at his co-pilot.

  "Okay, okay, so we are apparently on the scenic route," Blair weakly grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "Check out the mountain view, man."

  Sam glanced back at the beautiful snow-covered peaks behind them, then turned to Blair. "What I see is the sun going down, Indy." He reached over, plucking the map from Blair's hands. Giving Blair another playful glare, Sam quickly glanced at the map, then gave Blair another glare as he turned the map another quarter turn. After a minute of study, Sam looked up. "Okay, I think we're are on the wrong side of the creek. I bet we can see the cabin from here."

  "Really?" Blair exclaimed. Feeling very stiff and sore from riding in planes and jeeps all day, Blair popped the door open. "Let's check it out." Blair scooped up his backpack from behind the seat, zipped up his heavy leather coat, and clambered out of the jeep.

  Sam smiled. At least Blair was acting more like himself. This trip was a good idea. Sam also stepped out, grabbing his pack and camera case. Within a couple of minutes, he had joined Blair on a rock overlooking the steep ravine.

  "Hey, I don't even need my binoculars. That must be it just over there." Blair pointed. "But who is that guy walking around?" Blair squinted, thinking he looked familiar.

  Sam quickly spotted the man walking around the corner. While he couldn't see the man's face in the shadows, there was something about the build he couldn't quite place.

  "Ah, Sam, what is he carrying?" Blair asked, not liking the looks of the long tube. "Wait a minute, he's heading this way."

  At that moment, Sam's stomach curled in dread as he identified the object.

  "Hey Junior MacGyvers!" a crisp British voice called out. "You are suppose to be over here!"

  As the man stepped out of the shadows, Sam felt a rush of fear sweep over him. Oh, man, it CAN'T be him!

  "I'm sorry," Blair shouted back, feeling uneasy. "You got the wrong guys. My name is Sandburg." Junior MacGyvers? How the hell did he know Sam is Mac's son? A sudden memory of a utility door opening and a man placing a water bottle in his hands flashed across his mind. Oh, hell, this guy is connected to Kincaid!

  "Oh yes, I do. You see, young MacGyver, Kincaid yanked out a few hair follicles when he gave you the impromptu haircut. I was delighted when the DNA test indicated a son/father match with a blood sample I stole from MacGyver."

  Blair stood in shock, his mind trying to accept or deny what the guy had just said, but getting stuck in between. Sam spared a quick glance for his companion, then called back, "What do you want, Murdoc?"

  "Ah, my reputation precedes me. I want you two to climb over here, before I decide to inform your father of the location of your graves, instead of your live bodies."

  "No way!" Sam shouted. Instantly he grabbed Blair, dragging both of them down the incline. Sam raced back to the jeep, still hanging on to the dazed Blair. Suddenly, an ob
ject landed by the rear tire.

  "Wha..?" Blair started.

  "Grenade!" Sam yelled, yanking Blair down into a nearby ditch. An explosion lifted the back end of the Jeep into the air. "Run!" Sam commanded, moving as fast as he could up the ditch while still bent over. Blair scrabbled after him.

  Early Thursday evening, Ellison's loft

  "They are going to be fine, Jim," Simon Banks stated forcefully, carrying on the conversation they had started at the station. He walked through the door Jim had just unlocked. "Malloy has a good head on his shoulders."

  "Yeah, this trip is just what the kid needs," Joel Taggart added as he followed Simon into the loft. "You know how Sandburg hates being cooped up. It should be restful at the cabin once they get there."

  "I know," Jim stated again as he closed the door. Catching the looks of disbelief on his friends' faces, Jim restated, "I know. It's just that I'm still a little nervous after the Kincaid deal."

  Joel gave his friend a pat on the back. "I think we all are, Jim. Blair gave us a good scare this last time. But he needs to move on and so do we."

  Jim sighed, knowing it was true, but still on edge. He couldn't shake the feeling of a disaster waiting just around the corner. "Would you guys like some coffee?" At his friends' agreement, Jim started a pot. It had actually been quiet at the station for a change, so the three friends had decided to leave early to watch a basketball game at Jim's place.

  "Yeah, what I wouldn't give for a vacation in..." Simon paused as a knock on the door echoed in the loft.

  Puzzled, Jim focused his senses. That perfume was familiar. In fact, wasn't that...oh, oh. He sneezed, then walked over to the door to confirm his suspicions.

  "Hi Jim," Naomi greeted breezily. Looking around the loft, she called out, "Oh, hi Captain. And have I met you?"

  "Briefly, once, Ms. Sandburg. I'm Joel Taggart."

  "Oh, please, just call me Naomi. Blair has mentioned you often."

  Jim stood off to the side, attempting not to shake his head in amazement. After several weeks of MacGyver trying to track down the free spirit unsuccessfully, Naomi just sweeps in unannounced. Now, Jim just had to figure out how to keep Naomi in one spot long enough for Mac to catch her.