Isolation
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/20594822.
Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: MacGyver (TV 2016) Character: Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Additional Tags: Whump, Isolation, Hospital, Sickfic, Virus, Illness, Fever, Hurt Angus Macgyver, Ambiguous/Open Ending, BUT HE LIVES, you know he lives, because i'm physically incapable of killing anyone, usually Stats: Published: 2019-09-10 Words: 1013
Not really sure where this one came from :) Unbeta'd with my apologies.
Isolation
The hazmat suit is awkward. It's too big for him. People have to help him into it and once he's in he can't even get his thickly gloved hand around the pull bar for the sliding door to Mac's isolation room. Someone does that for him, too, though none of these so called helpers enter the room along with him. He's on his own and the door rolls shut behind him with a snap. Well, he guesses it must be a snap. He can't hear much over the hiss of fresh oxygen being pumped into the plastic helmet covering his head.
Jack takes one more step into the isolation room and then stops. Mac is lying unconscious in a hospital bed a few yards away, but Jack can't bring himself to make his feet move. It's funny because he argued with about ten different physicians and then ten different nurses to be allowed in here, and now he can't even talk himself into approaching Mac's bed. He considers abandoning this foolhardy mission altogether. What good will him being here do? It won't rid Mac's body of the dangerous virus that's slowly killing him. It won't diminish his fever or help him to breathe easier. Jack was simply under the delusion that his presence alone might help his best friend, his partner… dare he say it, his pseudo-son, to pull through this. But now that he's here, now that he's getting an up close and personal look at the incredible amount of machinery and medicine keeping his boy alive, he knows he's been a fool. A stupid, selfish, and stubborn fool.
Jack lets his shoulders drop, releasing the tension from them as he shuffles forward and towards the side of Mac's bed. Visitors aren't really expected in this type of room, but he finds a chair nonetheless, tucked away in one forgotten corner, and clumsily drags it towards Mac's bed. It scrapes loudly across the floor and Jack grimaces at the noise. But Mac doesn't stir. Well, he does stir. The moments Mac actually finds restful sleep are few and far between these days, but the noise doesn't wake him. His eyes remain closed, thick eyelashes barely visible against the dark bruising beneath his eyes. Jack plops down into his chair and stares.
Mac's skin is damp with sweat and his eyes move restlessly beneath their lids. Every inch of him is pale except for twin bright patches of red on either cheek. His lips are parted as he gasps for breath and the air being fed to him through the oxygen mask has robbed them of any moisture they might have had. They're chapped and one of them has split. Jack adds this little detail to his growing list of things he's going to have a chat with the nurses about when Mac moves his head on the pillow and lets out a low moan that fogs up the mask. They've finally found a cocktail of drugs that seems to manage the pain, but Jack can still see the telltale signs of discomfort in his friend. Mac moans again and Jack does the one thing he's been wanting to do since this whole thing started. Since the moment Mac was exposed to whatever virus their latest bad guy of the week concocted to try and destroy the world. Since the moment they rolled Mac into isolation and told Jack he couldn't go in, that this was serious and he had to stay behind the glass. He leans forward, hazmat suit and all, takes his friend's hand with one gloved hand, and smooths back Mac's sweaty hair with the other.
"Mac?" There's movement beneath his lids again but Mac does not open his eyes. "Kid, I know you're hurtin' right now, but you just gotta hold on ok? I know I sound like some worried parent over here, and that you hate it when I try to mother-hen you, but you gotta listen to me. We aren't done yet. This isn't the end. We've got a hell of a lot more bad guys out there to take down and I can't do it all by myself."
But it's not enough. At least it doesn't feel like enough through the thick material of his hazmat suit. He wants nothing more than to shed the damn thing right then and there and touch Mac for real. Hold him like he used to when they were overseas and the stress of war and disarming bombs finally got to his partner and they clung to each other like lifelines. But he knows he can't. The CDC is still trying to wrap their heads around what it is Mac has been exposed to and Jack can't risk it. Can't risk dying himself in case all of this ends badly and he has revenge to enact. The asshole who put Mac in here is still in Phoenix custody. And Jack Dalton has made people disappear before.
Mac's arm jumps under Jack's hand, startling him out of his dark thoughts. For one brief moment a crack of color can be seen under his eyelids. It's so brief Jack has half a mind to call it a hallucination, but wins have been hard to come by lately, so he holds tight to it.
"That's it," he chokes out, stupid, unwanted tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He has no way to wipe them away while in the suit. "Jack's here. I've got you."
He soothes a hand over the kid's hair again as Mac stills and apparently drops back into unconsciousness. Angus MacGyver is the strongest person Jack knows. Certainly stronger than himself. If anyone can survive this, it's this stick thin, smart as a whip kid Jack has come to know and love like family. Still, he increases his grip on Mac's hand and bows his head. Outside his suit time passes, machines beep and people watch him. But he doesn't move. He made a promise. Jack is here.
And he will be. Until the very end.