Author's Note:

I, unfortunately, do not own any of the aforementioned shows or characters from them, but oh how I wish I did...

"Dr. Mark Sloan to ER! Dr. Mark Sloan!"

Mark groaned into his coffee. The tinny sound of his name coming out of the speakers put a quick end to the relaxing coffee break he had planned. He hurried out of the doctors' lounge, his coat flapping behind him, to find the reason for the page waiting for him in trauma 1 of Community General Hospital. Dr. Alex Martin met Mark at the elevator and gave him a short explanation of why he had been called. Mark took a quick look at the patient's chart, chuckling slightly as he moved the curtain, which acted as a door, aside.

"Hey, Doc." MacGyver sat shirtless on the exam table, looking a bit sheepish as he held the compress he had been handed over the bleeding bullet wound.

"MacGyver, I told you that all of your traipsing around would get you in trouble some day!" Mark kidded as he removed his patient's hand from his shoulder. "And how did this happen?"

"Well, it's kind of a long story," Mac started, knowing the older doctor would understand.

"With you it's always a long story. I would assume this has something to do with work." Mark began cleaning the wound as MacGyver explained how it got there.

"Sort of. Pete sent me to go pick up a package for Phoenix at the post office, only it turns out that when I got there someone decided to hold up the place….." Mac's voice trailed off, somehow aware that he didn't need to finish the sentence. Mark, knowing his friend, figured out the rest in his mind: MacGyver tried to stop the crook before he could hurt anyone, so he came up with a plan that worked to take down the gunman but got himself injured in the process. Mark's suspicions of MacGyver's success were confirmed when his son, Lt. Steve Sloan, arrived at the door. He knocked slightly on the cart near the curtain, waiting for permission to enter before he came in. He was certainly a commanding presence in the room; at over six feet and well built, he had a tough time finding anywhere to stand in the tiny space without being in the way of his father.

"How's the shoulder?"

"It'll be fine. You got the mug shot?" MacGyver reached over with his free left arm, careful to keep the rest of his body still so Mark could finish stitching his shoulder. "That's the guy."

"I can't believe you stopped him with a stapler. You have to teach me that trick of yours one of these days; it could come in very handy." Steve grinned and looked over at his father, who was now wrapping the other man's shoulder with gauze, grateful that his was not the body being repaired this time.

"I think Steve's right. You owe him a lesson. After all, didn't Community General's favorite patient teach you this trick?" he joked, nodding towards the now-invisible hole in MacGyver's right shoulder. It was an unfortunate but well-known fact that Steve's zeal for his job as a homicide detective for the LAPD often provided him with gunshot wounds and other traumas that landed him in a hospital bed.

"Well, I did get a few pointers from him on how to annoy the nurses," MacGyver responded, carefully easing himself off the examining table. This was a reference to another well-known fact: while Steve was in the hospital, the staff would always have a lousy day!

"Well, this time you won't be needing to annoy any nurses," Mark commented as he scribbled, "but you will need to go to a pharmacy and have this prescription filled today."

"You got it, Doc," Mac said, picking up his t-shirt and jacket. He looked at them for a second, puzzled, then slung the shirt over his damaged right shoulder and across his back, slipping his left arm into the sleeve. He repeated the process with his jacket, ignoring the mild unpleasant sensation of the leather hitting his still-numbed shoulder.

"Come on, Mac. I'll give you a ride to the pharmacy. My day's done anyway; just let me call Cheryl and tell her to book this guy." Steve left the hospital and waited just outside the main doors to make his call.

"Listen, MacGyver, I really don't want you overdoing it with that shoulder. Try to take it easy for the next few days, OK?" Mark looked at his young friend. He knew that, unlike Steve, MacGyver was likely to take care of his injuries.

"I'll see you later, Mark." MacGyver headed for the main entrance of the hospital, where he knew Steve would be waiting. "By the way, what time was that fund raiser at BBQ Bob's?"

Mark was glad for the reminder. He had nearly forgotten that there was a dinner scheduled for that night at the restaurant he co-owned with Steve and another doctor from the hospital, Dr. Jesse Travis. He had only mentioned it in passing a few weeks ago to MacGyver, but when he heard that the funds were to be used to help the pediatric wing of the hospital he bought a ticket on the spot. "It's at 8, but you might want to get there at 7:30. Parking around there can be murder!"

MacGyver opened the door to his apartment with some effort; it was hard doing everything with his left hand. He looked around the apartment and saw the message light blinking on his answering machine. So he pushed the button. "Hey, Mac, it's Pete." MacGyver groaned; it was his boss, Pete Thorton, whom he had forgotten to call. "When I sent you to pick up that package, I kind of expected you to bring it back to my office. Oh, well, give me a call when you get in. I'll stop over and pick it up." MacGyver groaned as he realized he had lost the package. At least it was only Pete's mail-order sweater in there, he thought thankfully. It can be replaced. He lifted the phone and pushed the "talk" button, but that was as far as he got; the next few seconds found him face-down in his couch, someone knocking on the door, and his attacker a mere grinning shadow as he fled the scene.