#macgyver wump

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Chapter Five

"Everything seems to be heading in the right direction but he’s going to have to stay here for another four or five hours.”

“He’s gonna love that.” Jack rolls his eyes

“We’ll keep him under observation and watch for a bi-phasic reaction. Then we’ll make some plans to figure out why it happened.”

“Thanks doc.” Jack shakes his hand again and Dr. Byrne strides away towards the nurse’s station.

--

With a little something special for @impossiblepluto and thanks always to @rosieblogstuff for proof reading skills!

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Wait for it, wait for it...

And yep, there's the dimple of discontent

“It’s constructive criticism.”

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It's Wednesday y'all

Mac is out in the hallway, sitting on a chair that's somewhere between livingroom-comfortable and principal's-office miserable. His elbows are digging into his knees and his head is hanging low, eyes closed but directed somewhere in the area of his belt buckle. He's pressing the tips of all his fingers into the base of his skull. The moderate gash back there has closed, not even a trace of dried blood remains. The area might still be tender but he's having a hard time separating that from the headache that's been creeping around his occiput for about a week now.

There's a small whoosh of air as the door beside him swings open.

"Hello Mac," Wesley greets him softly. Just the voice is enough to dial back the ache a notch and he looks up, smiles at them. "Come on in. I'm ready for you."

In the room the lights are low and maybe Mac is imagining it but the music sounds a little softer than usual. More instrumental. Wes gestures to the usual patient chair and seats themselves on the rolling stool that's been pulled up against the desk. Mac lowers himself carefully, steadying his descent with palms placed firmly on the soft arms of the upholstered chair. He sighs once he's still again.

"How are you doing, Mac?" Wes asks, tablet reflecting light onto their face but generously out of Mac's eyeline.

Mac looks with his eyes, keeping his head steady. "Well, with the welcome you and this room have given me I'm going to assume you'd know I was lying if I said I was fine?"

Wes just smiles, tips their head to the side in the form of a question.

Mac opts for succinct, "I've had a headache for like a week."

"That sounds unpleasant," Wesley sympathizes.

Mac forces some air out of his lungs. "Yeah. Yeah, it kinda is."

"I can see you made a trip to medical last week. I have access to the basic notes the doctor made but obviously the details are redacted. You came in with a scalp laceration. No stitches required. You passed concussion protocol and were discharged within the hour."

"Yep. And based on those notes I'm sure you can figure out who was responsible for that unnecessary trip to medical." Mac is looking down at his shoes. He really wants to roll his eyes but isn't going to risk the pain spike.

"Jack worries," Wes supplies, like that's the only explanation needed. "So, what happened? Tell me as much as you can tell me."

"I got hit in the head with the hood of a car." There's that brevity again.

"So it just walked out in front of you and hit you?" Wes questions cheekily. "How do these things just happen to you?"

The detail oriented, organizational part of Mac's brain wars with the side that doesn't want to say outloud what really happened. He knows it doesn't really matter, the outcome is the same. No matter how it happened the headache will still be end result.

Mac breathes in slowly through his nose. "Jack dropped the hood of a car on the back of my head."

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Happy Wednesday, all y'all!

“Sucks don’t it?” Wes first hears the familiar drawl and then the small scrape of a chair leg on tile when the weight of a body drops into it. Wesley turns their head and meets Jack’s gaze. His eyes are oddly quiet for being in a wing of the building he hates. “It sucks sittin’ out here feeling like you're the reason he’s flat out on the bed behind that curtain.”

“Jack, I - “ Wesley starts but stalls. What do they want to say? I didn’t mean it? I didn’t know? I’m sorry. But before they can decide, Jack has a hand on their knee, gives it a squeeze.

“It feels like your fault, but it ain’t your fault. Doesn’t mean it sucks any less, but it’s the truth.”

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Last Sentence Tag Game

Here's the last sentence I wrote on my current wip

“No, what I heard was ‘someone dropped an egg and while it didn’t break, it still might be scrambled inside the shell.’” Mac heard what Jack didn’t say, I dropped the egg, Mac. Me. I dropped the egg.

I don't have enough friends to tag people that haven't already been tagged. So, if you see this, have at it!

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Hello Wednesday...

The office door bangs open without the courtesy of a knock and Mac lifts his head again at the intrusion. There is hardly enough space in the room for the two nurses and the gurney they’ve rolled over beside the table. One nurse is wrestling a blood pressure cuff onto his bicep and as that uncomfortably inflates he feels the teeth of a pulse oximeter bite his index finger. The blood pressure cuff deflates and the nurse quickly moves the stethoscope over Mac’s chest. The speed with which this room went from sanctuary to jeopardy is dizzying. Mac’s blurry vision is searching for something to grasp when Mac reaches out in the direction of the blob he thinks is Wes.

“Hey Mac, it’s OK. You’re OK. They’re fixing this,” Wes assures but does not offer their grasp even as Mac’s hand hovers in space. “I’m sorry, Mac. I haven’t washed my hands. I need to wash my hands, I think.”

“How are you feeling Agent MacGyver?” the first nurse asks.

“Scared. I’m scared…my heart…” Mac puts his hand over his chest.

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Yesterday was Wednesday! And today is Wednesday too!

Wes continues, working along the right and left side of Mac’s neck for another two or three minutes before Mac snakes a hand out from under the linens to scratch his shoulder. As he runs his nails over his skin he clears his throat. Trying to push the unease away feels a bit like chasing the waves. As you run towards the ebbing water it feels like you’re the cause of the retreat, but the waves eventually just crash back up around your ankles.

“Still doing OK?” Wes asks, pausing their hands.

“Yeah, my skin is just a little bit itchy.” Mac clears his throat again and coughs.

“A little bit itchy?”

“OK, maybe moderately itchy?” Mac swallows and then clears his throat again. It’s high tide now and maybe he chased the water just a little too far out. Something doesn't feel right, like he’s knee deep and scrambling for the breakwater.

“Mac, are you having trouble breathing?” Wes’s voice has shifted from their usual soft lilt to the firm, intentionally calm tone of a medic or an EMT. Mac doesn’t like it.

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How's this for a WIP Wednesday...?? I'm gonna write something right here, right now. Something that doesn't exist anywhere else except this Tumblr post......

Mac is out in the hallway, sitting on a chair that's somewhere between livingroom-comfortable and principal's-office miserable. His elbows are digging into his knees and his head is hanging low, eyes closed but directed somewhere in the area of his belt buckle. He's pressing the tips of all his fingers into the base of his skull. The moderate gash back there has closed, not even a trace of dried blood remains. The area might still be tender but he's having a hard time separating that from the headache that's been creeping around his occiput for about a week now.

There's a small whoosh of air as the door beside him swings open.

"Hello Mac," Wesley greets him softly. Just the voice is enough to dial back the ache a notch and he looks up, smiles at them. "Come on in. I'm ready for you."

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It's Wednesday y'all

...and I have no idea who really cares about my sad writing progress any more. For once in my life I've written this one out of chronological order. So, this bit is from later in the story.

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“Sucks don’t it?” Wes hears the familiar drawl and then the small scrape of a chair leg on tile when the weight of a body drops into it. They turn their head and meet Jack’s gaze. His eyes are oddly quiet for being in a wing of the building they know he hates. “It sucks sittin’ out here feelin' like you're the reason he’s flat out on the bed behind that curtain.” Jack tips his head towards the cubicle.

“Jack, I - “ Wesley starts but stalls. What do they want to say? I didn’t mean it? I didn’t know? I’m sorry. But before they can decide, Jack has a hand on their knee, gives it a squeeze.

“It feels like your fault, but it ain’t your fault. Doesn’t mean it sucks any less, but it’s the truth.”

Wesley blows out a slow breath, nods, sinks back into the chair and stares straight ahead at the curtain.

“They let you back to see him yet? Heard anything?” Jack asks, working to keep his voice casual. Wes shakes their head. “Alright then. We wait.”

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It's Thursday, but whatever......

Has anyone ever written a story just on Tumblr? Cuz I think that might be just what I do :)

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Mac is out in the hallway, sitting on a chair that's somewhere between livingroom-comfortable and principal's-office miserable. His elbows are digging into his knees and his head is hanging low, eyes closed but directed somewhere in the area of his belt buckle. He's pressing the tips of all his fingers into the base of his skull. The moderate gash back there has closed, not even a trace of dried blood remains. The area might still be tender but he's having a hard time separating that from the headache that's been creeping around his occiput for about a week now.

There's a small whoosh of air as the door beside him swings open.

"Hello Mac," Wesley greets him softly. Just the voice is enough to dial back the ache a notch and he looks up, smiles at them. "Come on in. I'm ready for you."

In the room the lights are low and maybe Mac is imagining it but the music sounds a little softer than usual. More instrumental. Wes gestures to the usual patient chair and seats themselves on the rolling stool that's been pulled up against the desk. Mac lowers himself carefully, steadying his descent with palms placed firmly on the soft arms of the upholstered chair. He sighs once he's still again.

"How are you doing, Mac?" Wes asks, tablet reflecting light onto their face but generously out of Mac's eyeline.

Mac looks with his eyes, keeping his head steady. "Well, with the welcome you and this room have given me I'm going to assume you'd know I was lying if I said I was fine?"

Wes just smiles, tips their head to the side in the form of a question.

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Wow, thanks for all the WIP Wednesday love this week. Y’all managed to buffer my confidence enough to finish the chapter.

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Chapter 2: Hungry, Hungry Neurons.

Still not sure about this one...

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Hey MacGyver friends!

I'm still alive.

I have 50+ unread fics in my inbox. So, I'm sorry.

On a related note, I'm thinking about bringing my OC, Wesley, back. Anyone interested in that?

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Current status: trolling a text spammer with MacGyver photos.