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Mac knew it was going to rain soon. He could smell it in the air already, meaning somewhere nearby was already pouring.
He stopped running and, panting, looked back at Kabul, barely visible in the distance.
Hands on his hips, he took a few deep breaths, watching dark clouds moving over his head. He needed to reach camp as soon as possible, but the sky was faster than he ever could.
"Problems, MacGyver?" a male voice coming from the radio on his belt made him jump.
Mac frowned and grabbed it, thinking for a second before responding, "Captain Lawrence?"
"No, just someone watching you stalling in the middle of the desert."
"This is a private frequency—"
"Come on, I'm sitting at camp. I've been told to check if you were still alive, soldier." The annoyance was clear in the voice.
Mac couldn't pinpoint who that could be. "I am." He decided to keep the talk to a minimum.
"I can see that. Then move."
"You can see it?"
"Yes. You know about those magic tools called binoculars?"
Mac sighed.
"The army likes to throw them around like it's Christmas day."
Mac felt a raindrop hit his head. Turning around, he could see the wall of rain approaching fast. Too fast for him to avoid it.
"Gotta move or what?" the man asked.
"I can't…" Mac felt lightheaded for a moment, and, as he turned to look in the direction of the camp, his vision made a 360° spin, and he fell down on his back.
"You still there?"
Mac kept his eyes closed, feeling low thunder echo from all around.
"MacGyver? Hey? Damn it—"
"Here…" He managed to answer, waiting for the world to stop spinning. "I'm fine. Just— need a moment."
"You don't have a moment. That storm—"
Mac watched the sky, and followed the sound of the rain as it got closer and closer, and then water started pouring all over his body, soaking his military-green t-shirt and his trousers. At least he had nothing valuable that could be ruined by the water.
"Dude, are you serious?" the man called, and this time the voice sounded almost amused.
"Why are you—" Mac sighed and moved the radio closer to push the button, "I need a second. Just made a report."
"A report about what?"
"Me stalling. Me wasting my time. Me— taking too much to breathe." Mac nervously shook his head. "Pick one and just give me a damn minute." He dropped his arm and radio to the side, letting the rain clean his face.
A thunder struck, and the memory of the house exploding made Mac jump up— the same house where Pena died, just because he was doing his job.
Sitting on the wet sand, Mac started gasping again. He kept his eyes closed, fighting the urge to start crying. At least no one could see him there…
"Breathe, soldier." The voice reminded him he was not alone. "Just listen to me and breathe, alright?"
It had been only two weeks since the accident, and Mac still couldn't sleep well at night. Which caused him to miss writing a report. Which caused him to headbutt with a Lieutenant— which earned him a two-hour run to clear his head.
"Breathe."
Mac's erratic breathing started to slow down until he could take a few deep, long breaths without coughing. Looking down, he watched the rain dripping from his hair and onto the radio in his hand.
"You need a minute? I'll give you five, but I want to see you back on your feet and moving towards camp by then, alright?" the man told him.
Mac sighed, enjoying the rain on his shoulders and back. "Do you have a name?" he asked, but there was no answer.
"I have something better. Some advice," the man said, "If you have any problems, now's the time to leave them behind and move on."
Mac watched the rain hitting the ground and wondered if he'd ever be ready to leave Pena behind. Maybe not forever— just, for now. Maybe he could do that.
"Thanks." He said on the radio, but there was no answer. Mac took a deep breath and shut his eyes, sitting there in silence, waiting for those five minutes to pass.
At camp, Jack Dalton put the radio and the binoculars down, taking a long breath. "You'll be fine," he murmured. "We have to."