Chapter 3:

Notes:

I know, it's been an eternity since my last update for this fic and I feel very bad for it. I'm soooo sorry! Silly excuse, but I just haven't been in the right mindset to write.

However, I finally managed to finish it, so here it is. It's short, but it's the first coherent piece of fic I've managed to write in ages. I hope you'll enjoy it despite the long wait.

Remark: 'My' Ellen MacGyver has always been blond, and no canon has ever been able to change that, sorry ;)

I'm incredibly happy and grateful to have my amazing beta-reader back on board: Nativestar
All remaining mistakes are James MacGyver's fault.

Mission City, 1994

"Mommy?" Angus's small voice reached James's ears through the ajar door of his study, "Mommy, please wake up!"

James sighed heavily and got up from his desk to fetch his son from the living room, where Ellen was resting in her favorite armchair after one of her first sessions of chemotherapy. "Angus," he scolded, "didn't I tell you to stay in your room until dinner?" The kid dropped his gaze and nodded sadly. "So, what are you doing here again? Mom needs rest!"

"What's wrong with her?" the four-year-old whined.

James squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a sigh. He had to bite his lower lip really hard to keep himself from snapping at his son. He felt his patience waning on days like this. "She's not feeling well, please leave her in peace. She's had a rough day," he said evasively and intended to leave it at that, but Angus was having none of that, of course.

"Daddy? Is Mommy sick?"

James gritted his teeth. "Yes, she is sick. Let her sleep. Go off to your room now. Mom has to rest and I have to work." The look that James threw at Angus said unambiguously that this wasn't up for debate. Just as Angus sadly turned around to shuffle back to his room, Ellen stirred.

"Angus? Come here, Honey. Have you missed me?" she called out weakly. The boy froze, then turned on his heels and dashed over to his mom. James intervened.

"Ellen, don't overexert yourself. Just rest, I'll take care of everything."

"It's okay, Jim. I can use some company." She smiled at Angus, who immediately climbed the armchair and cuddled up to her. Ellen winced, but pulled her son into a tight hug.

James felt conflicted. He knew that Angus could be extremely tiring with his insatiable curiosity and his inability to sit still for more than a minute. He was easily bored and always fidgeting around with something. On the other hand, he was a small child who missed his mom and didn't really understand what was going on. And he wasn't supposed to at this point. James had yet to break it to the child that Mommy was in for many more treatments that were going to leave her in an even worse state, before she could hope to recover. Because she would recover. James couldn't allow himself to consider anything else.

When he looked at his wife and son again, Ellen had closed her eyes once more and Angus had crawled under the blanket with her. His small head was resting on her chest, gently moving up and down with her even breaths. James swallowed hard and then sighed. This way, Ellen got her much needed rest and Angus was out of his hair for a while. He made sure that a glass of water, some salty crackers and, just in case, a bucket were within Ellen's reach, threw another look at his peacefully slumbering family and got back to his study. He had work to do.

James had, upon his own request, been taken off active field duty to take care of his wife, but not working at all had been out of the question. The bad guys didn't take a break either and besides, he had fallen very behind on his paperwork and research projects lately.

He found it particularly hard to concentrate on his work that day, which he wasn't used to at all. His usually laser-focused mind kept straying away from his laptop screen and towards his family. With Ellen so sick, taking care of Angus would temporarily become his responsibility and, he hated to admit it to himself, it scared him. He'd never, ever, admit it to anybody else, least of all to his wife, but he simply didn't feel up to the task.

Sure, he could teach Angus plenty of useful stuff and the boy hung onto his every word, no matter what he happened to be explaining; be it science or engineering or whatever else kept the world turning, the kid soaked it all in. It made James so incredibly proud and he just knew, if he only tweaked the circumstances right, his son would have a great career ahead of him. Greater than his own, that much was for sure. And hopefully less dangerous.

With a sigh, James forced his worries back into the well-hidden compartment in the back of his mind, where they belonged. Wallowing in them wasn't doing anyone any good. He turned back to his work; more successfully this time. There were some things in his life that he couldn't control, but forcing his brain to focus on the essentials and tuning out distractions was one of the many things he excelled at. It had saved plenty of lives, including his own, countless times already.

Roughly an hour later, he was interrupted by retching noises and Angus's terrified shrieks of "Mommy! Mommy!" and he jumped up from his desk. He found Ellen hunched over in her armchair, the bucket in her lap, heaving. Angus had probably never before seen either of his parents being sick and was beside himself. James understood that, but he had to take care of his wife first. Crouching down beside her, he combed her long honey-blond hair out of the way with his fingers and started rubbing his other hand up and down her back. Ellen was pale and shaky.

Angus watched in horror. He sniffled and tears were running down his cheeks. James instantly felt overwhelmed by the distressed child. "Go to your room, Angus. I'll take care of your mom." The kid protested and cried harder, but when his mother squeezed his shoulder and told him that she'd be okay, he hung his head and shuffled off.

"Thanks, hun," James said, relieved.

"This is gonna be hard on him, Jim. We'll have to explain to him what's going on and what to expect. I've just started treatment. If a little vomiting is upsetting him like that, what's gonna happen when I start losing my hair?"

Her voice was shaky and a little scratchy, but determined. James handed her the water to rinse her mouth.

"We will, in due time," he replied reluctantly. Ellen wasn't convinced.

"Due time is now," she insisted. "He needs to be prepared. The sooner we face this, the better it will be for him."

"I told you, we will," he retorted a little harsher than he'd meant to. "Sorry. I know you're right. I'll talk to him. When- when he has calmed down. Don't you worry." He kissed his wife gently on the forehead, grabbed the bucket and left for the bathroom to clean it.

Back in the cell

"But you didn't," a much older Angus stated weakly, the back of his head leaning heavily against James's shoulder.

"I tried. But how was I supposed to explain cancer to you? It scared me to death and you were only four years old."

"So you thought that not talking about it was better?"

James shifted uncomfortably, but stilled immediately when Mac let out a pained moan. "Yeah, kinda. Harry offered to take care of you for a couple of weeks and I gratefully accepted. You didn't have to see your mom suffering. It was better that way. When you returned home, her first round of chemo was finished."

"My memory of that time is a bit hazy, but all I remember hearing was that Mommy was sick, but getting better soon. Only she wasn't. Before I knew it, she was more in the hospital than at h- Hhhhnnnng!"

He was assaulted by a fresh wave of pain. His body tensed up and he made a strangled sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a howl. It cut deep into James's heart. When his son sagged against him and went limp, he couldn't suppress his tears any longer. What for, anyway? He felt Angus's pulse. It was okay - a little weak and way too fast, but regular and his panting breaths had evened out when he had fainted.

A miracle, really.

One half of James was relieved that Angus was getting a reprieve from the excruciating pain. The other half was scared out of his wits that this had been the last time he'd ever be awake. He leant his head against the concrete wall with a painful thud and didn't fight the tears that were leaking from his closed eyes.

He left his index and middle finger pressed against his kid's pulse point and waited for either his son to stir and wake up, or for the soft throbbing to stutter and stop.

Notes:

I dearly hope that the next chapter won't take as long as this one, but, sadly, I can't guarantee anything.

Let me know what you think. Feel free to yell at me all you like! ;)