Title: Let It Breathe

Author: dragonfly

Categories: Gen, angst, drama, h/c, emotional h/c, family feels, insecurity, Papa Jack

Warnings: Lots of feels and co-dependency

Summary: MacGyver finds himself lost in more ways than one. (Post MacGyver+MacGyver)

A/N: My version of what happened after the ep. I was going to start posting this last night, but I got rather depressed. *sigh*

*MACGYVER*

MacGyver stumbled and fell hard to his knees for the third time in the past twenty minutes. He was slowing them down. He was going to get them both killed.

"You need to rest."

Slumping against a rather prickly tree, hand curled protectively around his side, MacGyver looked up at the semi-blurry figure. He was only six years old, but the past day had shown and proven that he was much older and wiser than his years. "We need to keep moving."

Always had to keep moving.

"We will." But instead of trying to help him up like he had been, Elian sat down crossed-legged in front of him. "I won't let them get you again."

MacGyver's smile was weak, but his words were confident. "I know."

*MACGYVER*

/ "No, I don't think you do, man. You're gonna make yourself sick."

MacGyver barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Mac," Jack stressed for the nth time, "you need to rest. And eat something, will ya?"

"Jack." MacGyver was running low on patience. "I'm fine and I'm not hungry. I'll eat later."

"You've been saying that for two days, and you barely ate anything for days before that," Jack argued. "You can't keep going on like this, man."

MacGyver sighed and tossed a wrench into the toolbox. Since leaving the Phoenix a week ago, he'd finally been able to work on some projects around the house that he'd been meaning to get to.

"You're running."

"I'm right here, Jack."

"No, you're running from that big brain of yours, and from whatever you're trying not to feel in that even bigger heart. You're afraid, man and that's al—"

"Listen, I'm fine," MacGyver cut him off, meeting him in the eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Until I believe it, Mac. Until I believe it." /

*MACGYVER*

MacGyver startled awake at a light touch on his shoulder.

"I found some." Elian stood over him holding out a palm full of berries.

Carefully straightening from his slouched position, he ignored the ever present flare of pain and looked around them for signs of trouble.

"It's only us."

Shoulders dropping, he released a heavy breath and rubbed a hand down his face. "Sorry, I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

"Papa says when your body needs rest, it'll rest—even if you don't want it to because you're playing games on your ipad."

"Or running from very determined bad guys?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm assuming the same reasoning applies."

Snorting, MacGyver shook his head.

"Are they right?" Elian held out the palm full of berries again.

"Yes." He slumped back against the tree. "Good job." Taking the berries they had been looking for, he smashed them up with a few other "ingredients" he had acquired. He was hoping they would help him stay on his feet longer. But when he pressed the paste over the wound in his side, he was immediately hit with a wave of pain so intense it swallowed him whole and left him in darkness.

*MACGYVER*

"Did you die?"

Groaning, MacGyver rocked his head against the tree and towards the voice. Blinking open his eyes, it took a moment for his vision to focus, but when it did—sorta, he found Elian bent over, hands on his knees, staring intently at him.

"You looked like you died."

"Hmm…felt like it, too," he croaked weakly. Shifting just slightly, a cry escaped his lips and he had to swallow down the bile that had risen to the back of his throat. The paste was making the pain worse, but it would help with the bleeding and infection…for now. "How long was I out?" he asked as soon as breath would allow.

"Not long."

Steeling himself, MacGyver fixed the saturated makeshift bandage back over his side with increasingly unsteady hands. Then sagging a little more against the tree that was holding him upright, he blinked back the tears burning his eyes and threatening to spill. Pain consumed his body, as did exhaustion—but it was the doubt and regrets that were filling his heart that he struggled with even more.

They had escaped after a relatively short time in captivity, but they were still deep in militia occupied territory and his injuries were slowing down their progress of getting out. And he might…he might never get the chance to tell Jack that it wasn't his fault.

*MACGYVER*

/ "I'm right here, bud."

MacGyver startled and turned around to find Jack on the other side of the kitchen island. He blinked and stumbled back against the sink.

"Woah, hey," Jack held up a hand like he was trying to calm a cornered and hurt animal, "it's okay, you're safe. It's just us here, brother."

MacGyver could feel his heartbeat pick up as his mind raced. "I was—I was in the jungle."

"Yeah," Jack nodded patiently and cautiously moved closer, "you were. I found you and brought you home."

MacGyver furrowed his brow while hope and doubt clawed at his heart. "I-I don't remember. I don't remember getting out."

"Hey, now look at me." Jack stepped closer, tears and concern bright in his eyes. "I came for you, Mac, alright? I came for you just like you knew I would."

But when he reached out and squeezed MacGyver's shoulder…. /

*MACGYVER*

Jerking awake, MacGyver blinked owlishly at his surroundings. Disappointment filled him. He could still feel the reassuring pressure of Jack's hand, but it wasn't real. They weren't safe. He closed his eyes with a weighted sigh. They were still in the jungle. And he had passed out. Again.

Something cool suddenly pressed against his temple, but he was too tired to even be startled. "Elian?"

"This is how papa checks for fevers," he said, pulling his cheek away and stepping back. "Not the scientific method, but the papa method. At least that's what papa says. It's supposed to be more effective."

Despite the level of miserable MacGyver was feeling, the kid could always get a smile out of him. He was incredible. He'd been abducted, shot at and chased through the jungle for nearly twenty hours now by very big, very angry men with guns. Yet, fear had rarely shown in his eyes and he never complained. The kid was three and a half feet of solid courage; clutching the unwavering belief that his father would come for him. He'd been reassuring him of such since the moment MacGyver had gotten himself abducted with him. On purpose. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

"I think you have a fever."

"Yeah." MacGyver exhaled. "I'll be alright. 's not much further." That's what he kept telling himself; his internal mantra while he prayed that the militia had grown tired of chasing them and falling victim to his traps. Because in truth, he was nearing the end of his rope—mentally, physically and emotionally thanks to his injuries and fever. Elian was right, he needed the rest, but every moment he did put them in more danger.

"Elian…if ever you can't wake me—"

"I'm not leaving you, Agnes."

MacGyver grinned despite himself again. He'd stopped correcting the kid on his name hours ago. And for some reason, he insisted on calling him by his 'first' name. "You might have to, bud."

"You're my friend. Friends don't leave friends behind."

The weight on MacGyver's heart grew impossibly heavier. "No, no they do not." What he wouldn't give to take the past five weeks back. But for right now…right now he had to focus on moving forward. He had to get Elian home.

Using the tree behind him, he pulled himself to his feet. The pain in his head was only rivaled by the pain in his side, and he momentarily swayed before he regained his balance. He was tired of his world spinning; something that had started weeks before he had gotten injured.

He felt like Bozer's first Frankenstein creation that he sewed in the fifth grade. He hadn't mastered the art yet and the poor thing had literally started coming apart at the seams.

"Agnes?"

Coughing into the crook of his arm, he noticed a heaviness to his chest that wasn't there before. "Yeah?" he croaked.

"Don't worry, papa will come soon."

MacGyver wanted to believe him—but his father was a high ranking diplomat, which was why Elian was taken in the first place. His bodyguards probably had him tucked safely away somewhere.

"Maybe your papa will come, too."

There must have been something in MacGyver eyes for the perceptive kid to pick up on.

"You don't have a papa?"

Not one that would trek through the jungle for him, or do anything Elian had boasted about his own father. He didn't even know where he was. Nobody did. MacGyver had done what he was trained to do if necessary: he disappeared. He had needed some time, some space to be certain that no one was pulling his strings…but ultimately, he realized too late; he had panicked. Jack had been right when he said he was running. He just didn't realize it until he landed himself in another country.

It had taken five weeks for him to find the words to start the conversation, but the letter he had written to Jack was still in his pocket. He had been on his way to send it out when he got a little…abducted.

"What about your mama?"

He shook his head, swallowing hard and suddenly feeling rather sorry for himself.

"You have no one that would come for you? Not a mama or a papa?" The kid actually looked truly troubled for the first time since MacGyver had met him.

"I have a Jack." It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, but just as Elian had been picturing his father coming to their rescue, MacGyver had been picturing Jack; had even dreamed it.

"He'll come for you then?"

He considered the chances of that happening; of Jack actually finding him at a time when he needed him most—in the middle of a hostile land, a world away from home.

They haven't even spoken in over a month—and the way MacGyver had left, just left…it still weighed heavily on his heart. He hadn't been able to forgive himself. He didn't know if Jack ever could.

"Will he?"

MacGyver looked down at the boy. Statistically speaking, the odds alone of Jack finding them in there weren't in their favor. But also statistically speaking…Jack's spidey senses have never let him down. "Yeah." His voice was thick with the truth he had known in his heart all along. "He'll come."

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TBC