MacGyver Imagines

"Somewhere Love Remains"

A/N: Welcome back! As I said in my last story, I decided to extend "Battleships" and "Every Other Weekend" into a third and final part. Part of this inspiration came from MidnightCheyenne who sent me this fantastic song request. I agreed that it fit this story perfectly. So, I hope you enjoy it! Happy imagining! 🖤💚💛
Song: "Somewhere Love Remains" by Lady A
Rating: Everyone

***Y/N's POV***

"Here we go again, sittin' on the edge of leavin'. You don't have to speak, I can see it in your eyes. I know you too well. You know I can tell you're hiding something inside."

For most of the evening, I sit around preoccupied, thinking only about my earlier conversation with Mac. If only there were some force or some being out there that could make decisions for me. That way, I'd always know I was doing the right thing. But, there isn't. Apparently, as humans we're destined to suffer, constantly uncertain whether our choices will make or break us and the people we love.

Even into the early night, I lay awake, tossing an turning as I watch the sixty minutes on the clock slowly count upward, one by one, until the top of the next hour when the counting begins all over once again.

Much later that night, it's nearly 1 AM when I've finally dozed off for the first time since my head hit the pillow. But, my slumber is short-lived when I'm awoken by the opening of my bedroom door. The sound startles me with a rush of adrenaline. Through my bleary eyes, I see little Ellen standing at the foot of my bed.

In a shaky voice, she cries, "Mommy, I don't feel good."

I pull the covers back and nearly jump up and out of bed, crouching to her level. Nothing awakens a mother like a call of help from her child in the middle of the night.

In the dim light from the outside moon through the windows, I notice her eyes are glossy, and she looks pale. Small tears fill the corners of her eyes. I touch her forehead with the back of my hand, and she's burning to the touch.

"What hurts, baby?"

"My tummy."

"Come here." I take her hand and help her up into my bed. I get her a cold washcloth for her head and the thermometer from the bathroom.

I climb back into bed with her, letting her rest her head in my lap. I tell her to put the thermometer under her tongue, and I gently stroke her hair.

"Does anything else hurt?"

She shakes her head 'no' before the thermometer finally beeps.

I look at the reading, and it says 103.2 degrees Fahrenheit.

"My tummy really, really hurts," she sobs.

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up?"

"Not really. It just hurts." She buries her head in my side, her skin clammy to the touch.

When Ellen gets sick, she's never usually one to complain too much. That's how I know something is definitely wrong.

My eyebrows crease in concern, and my stomach aches for her.

"I'll be right back, okay? Mommy's right here." I brush her flushed cheek with my hand as she leans her head against my pillow, guarding her abdomen.

I quickly check on Jack in the other room, and I find he's sleeping away. That's also strange. Usually, when either one of them gets sick with something contagious, they get sick together. Even more reason to know something is seriously wrong.