"Angus," filtered through haze, like it was coming through liquid. Like it did when he rinsed his hair in the tub by ducking under so he could ignore Mom or Dad prompting him to get out. "Angus, honey, open your eyes."
He wanted to. She'd smile when he did, like she did every morning when she got him up for school. But his lids felt so heavy, his head so hot. The rest of him was freezing though. Or at least he figured he must be. He was shivering like mad.
This was the kind of cold he'd been when they went to New York for the Thanksgiving parade. He'd made it about twenty minutes before he'd asked to go back to the hotel. It was crowded, and loud, and he'd wanted to go to the planetarium instead and couldn't figure out why anything so cool would be closed. His mom hadn't seemed to mind. His dad had definitely been irritated, but once they'd gotten him warmed back up, they watched the parade on TV and got room service and his dad was saying the first time he'd gone to the parade as a kid, he hadn't even made it to the start. Then they made plans to go to the planetarium before the flight home.
"Angus, come on pal, listen to your mom." Often when Angus didn't just do as he was told (which he had to admit happened a fair amount of time) his dad would get mad at him. But he didn't sound mad now. He sounded … scared. Dad isn't ever scared.
"Mmmm." He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't talk. That's when Angus started to be scared, too. If Dad was scared it had to be something really bad. Thinking about what it would take to scare his dad set his very active imagination into overdrive. The house is on fire! The city is on fire! It's an alien invasion! It's zombies like in that movie you weren't supposed to watch. Oh no! he thought, horrified. You're turning into a zombie!
Then his parents whispering back and forth filtered down through whatever was blocking up his ears.
"What's it say now?"
"Same as it did an hour ago when we gave him the Tylenol unfortunately. 102.5."
"Maybe the thermometer isn't calibrated properly. I'll go get the infrared from the shop and we can—"
"Now isn't the time to check the absolute accuracy of a drug store thermometer. Although it's an adorable attempt at finding something to distract yourself from feeling worried."
"Ellie," his dad began.
"Do something just as distracting, but more useful. Call Dr. Beckett."
"Do you think—"
"Tell the answering service exactly what's going on. He'll call us back."
There was a long pause in which something cool rested against his head. It was nice even though he was still shivering. He finally managed to pull his eyes open. "Mom?" his tiny voice barely made any sound.
"There's my boy!" His mother beamed down at him just like he knew she would, but there was something not quite right about her smile. "Let me help you sit up so you can drink some Pedialyte, baby."
Angus protested that he hated that stuff, but it came out as a few raspy croaks instead of words. He pressed his lips shut for a minute, then thought better of it, because even though his ears still felt plugged, he could hear his father's heavy footsteps returning to his room. He dutifully took a sip and immediately let out a surprised yelp, that squeaked like an unoiled hinge.
"Hey, pal," his dad greeted gently, bushy eyebrows drawn together. "How you doing?"
Angus just shook his head, hot tears filling his eyes. His throat really hurt, and his mom was smiling too much, and his dad looked about like he wanted to cry, too. He sobbed softly, "Bad!" which was the most he could get out.
His dad scooped him up like he didn't weigh anything and Angus buried his head. "I gotcha buddy, okay?"
Angus nodded into his shoulder. Then, his dad started whispering to his mom. He hated when they did that. And he'd gotten good at listening without seeming like he was listening. After a minute, he'd heard enough. He lifted his tear stained face. "Uhhuh. No Emergency Room," he croaked.
His mom tried rubbing his back. "That's we're the doctor is this late, sweetie."
"I'm not an emergency," he insisted, forcefully to give his voice some volume. "Ow," he whispered, closing his eyes. But another tear squeezed out of each one anyway and he tried to wriggle out of the firm hold around him.
His dad adjusted him in his arms to look at him. "Come on, kiddo. Open up those baby blues so we can talk to each other."
His dad's voice was so gentle, it caught Angus by surprise. He figured he was kind of being a brat, so he expected his dad's patience to run out, but it hadn't. He stopped squirming and hitched in a ragged breath before opening his eyes. "Yeah?"
"I don't want to scare you, but a fever as high as yours is a little bit of an emergency, pal."
"Why?"
"Well, when someone as little as you gets a high fever, and they are sweaty and teary and can't drink it can k—"
"Jim," came with a warning tone from his mother.
"It can keep them from feeling good," his father said without missing a beat. "And it can mean you need medicine, but not like we have at home."
"Okay," he sighed. It was nice having his dad just talk to him, and even nicer that he was carrying him. He never did that anymore.
Angus let himself be dressed in less sweaty pajamas. He usually dressed himself. He was almost five, after all. But tonight his arms and legs didn't want to cooperate with him.
The night air was cold on his hot face, but it felt good as his dad carried him to the car and placed him gently in his car seat where his eyes started to slide closed again.
His mom leaned in to buckle him in. She never let Dad do that. "Sweetie, I need you to look at me."
He got his eyes to slit open.
His mom looked … different. Not like she usually did. She looked almost like she was glowing. Which was impossible.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, but you have to wake up or he's going to hurt you."
"Who?" asked little Angus.
"He's going to hurt you," she said again with urgent fearfulness. "Wake up! Now!"
Mac bolted upright in his seat with a gasp, locking his seatbelt. The shout, "No!" was out of his mouth before he'd even processed he was awake.
"Bad dreams, huh, kid?" Jack asked sympathetically.
Mac rubbed his hand over his eyes to make sure his dream tears hadn't found their way into reality. Once he was sure they were dry, he puffed out a long breath. "Weird. Just really weird."
He adjusted his seatbelt to release the locking so he could move and glanced around the car, assuring himself that his memory was accurate and Riley had gotten called in to assist an emergency mission as they were headed out the door earlier.
Traffic had already slowed to a pre-rush hour crawl and Mac scanned all visible cars for any sign of the black van that had fueled his paranoia about Murdoc late last week. Nothing. Just a dream, no matter how real or how scared her voice sounded.
"Sounded like it," Jack observed.
Mac felt his face warm, wondering what kind of little-kid-whimpering his psyche had let out of his mouth after he dozed off on the ride across the city.
Jack glanced his way and gave a sympathetic shake of his head. "You were mumbling. Nothing I could make out. Sounded kind of flashback-y."
"Flashback-y isn't a word, Jack," Mac said with his own headshake, but it came with a slight grin, too.
Undeterred, Jack asked, "Do you remember what it was?"
Mac shrugged. "I dreamed one of those fuzzy childhood illness dreams. I've told you about those already. They're all the same." He sounded defensive even to him.
"No pressure, kid," Jack said amiably enough. Then he deftly changed the subject. "Wonder if we should call ahead and let 'em know traffic has us running late."
"We're not late, Jack. This isn't like air travel. As long as we make the check in for 10, it shouldn't be a problem. And if it is, I'll reschedule."
"Elliot would have to arrange security all over again and clear your cover ID if you have to do that."
Mac shrugged. "I don't see why security is such a big yank anyway. Elliot's assisting, and you'll be in the waiting room. What more could we need, really?"
"Considering that Murdoc has, one way or another, just showed up at your house twice, not to mention everyone and their brother seems to know you're Oversight's kid and could potentially be used as leverage against him, we can't have enough Phoenix folks and anybody else Mathers has drummed up around as far as I'm concerned."
Jack mother-henning actually helped Mac relax a little. No doubt this was going to suck, but he had better than average odds of being home by dinner, which Jack, Bose, and Riley all promised he would want to eat, no matter how he felt otherwise, though they wouldn't tell him what they had planned.
He'd almost talked himself into feeling like he was making the right decision by the time they got to the hospital. He had momentary second thoughts when the unmistakable tall, lanky Elliot, dressed in surgical scrubs turned from the admissions desk to flash him a grin. "It was getting so late, I thought you might've changed your mind."
Mac rolled his eyes. "I'm not even approaching late."
"Late enough that I've already moved things along and gotten your transportation to the pre-op holding area all sorted out."
Mac, with a sudden sinking sense that he was very much being ganged up on for no reason, followed Elliot's gaze and landed on Nurse Sullivan from Phoenix, joined by Steve, both outfitted in the grey scrubs favored here, with Sully cheerfully pushing a wheelchair.
She dipped into a mock curtesy. "Your chariot awaits, Mr. Green."
"You know, Sully," Mac's hands found his pockets, "I can walk back there. My tonsils aren't connected to my legs. I might have sucked at biology, but even I know that."
She nudged the chair a little closer. "And if we were at Phoenix and I were dealing with Angus MacGyver, I wouldn't even bother arguing. But we're not and Alan Green's chart doesn't say anything about him being an overly independent pain in anyone's ass. This is policy here, and I can't imagine you want to draw attention to yourself."
Mac huffed an irritated sigh, but sat awkwardly in the proffered chair. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
She laughed. "Maybe a little. But Riley threatened to erase all of our identities if you report so much as feeling slightly disrespected, so I'll try to contain myself."
Mac snorted. "She's a good friend. And since we all know she can make good on that threat, I'm suddenly a lot more comfortable with your presence."
Sully kicked off the break on the wheelchair and warned, "Moving," so as not to startle him with the sudden tug backward toward the numerous curtained off cubicles that functioned as rooms here. "Besides, who else would you trust to start your IV on the first try?"
"Good point. And with Riley holding your professionalism hostage I figure you will contain your glee for the sake of decorum."
"I'll give everyone here a shout when he's ready for you. Want to leave your valuables with Jack now, or when he comes to keep you company in a few?"
"He has all my stuff already."
"'Cept his Swiss Army knife," Jack grinned.
"Of course not that," Sully agreed with mock horror. "It would be irresponsible to leave what is definitely not a good luck charm with his best friend."
Mac shifted awkwardly in the chair. "It's not a good luck charm."
"Why keep it with you then?" Elliot asked, with a knowing smile, since they'd been down this road before.
"Because if I'm going to get in a knife fight, it's only fair that I'm armed, too. Even if I am out cold."
Everyone chuckled appropriately and Mac told himself that the sudden sinking in his stomach was simply that he'd kind of reached the point of no return and not that someone was watching him.