MacGyver Imagines

"If the World Was Ending"

A/N: Hi all! I've been working on this one for a while, and I'm so happy to finally get it out to you guys! I hope you like it! ❤️😊
Song: "If the World Was Ending" by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels
Rating: Everyone

***

Twenty-six.

That's the number of empty chairs in the hospital's family waiting room as you sit there, watching the seconds tick by on the old analog clock on the wall.

You can practically hear the ticking as the second hand moves steadily forward and yet never really goes anywhere.

It's only you and two other people in the room. One has been asleep in the chair across the way, head bobbing as he fights the urge. The other stares at the TV playing silently in the background, eyes never waivering.

*

Green.

That's the color of the walls surrounding you - a sickening, putrid green. Studies have shown that colors evoke certain emotions. So, you find yourself perplexed, wondering why the designers would choose such a disgusting color for a hospital waiting room. Why green? Why not blue or yellow? Heck, even salmon would've been a better alternative.

*

Fifty-seven.

That is the number of slots in the vending machine that sits idly in the corner. To pass the time, you find yourself guessing how many items must be in there. How many people sit here and wonder the same thing? How many people actually stop to eat while they're waiting for their loved ones to come out of surgery? Who could be hungry at a time like this?

You feel empty, completely devoid of all thoughts, but your mind races at the same time. Your knee hasn't stopped bouncing since the moment you sat down here — a never-ending nervous habit. But, who could blame you?

Finally, after what feels like ages, the door to the room opens, and you watch as the woman across the way finally adverts her eyes from the tv screen, and the snoozing man lightly stirs.

But, they both just as quickly resume their previous positions when they don't recognize the man who enters. You turn, standing from your chair, heart quickening when you notice his OR attire - blue scrubs, surgical cap, white coat.

You learned from a young age that you can easily tell a lot from a person's facial expression. You're sure doctors must be taught not to let their emotions show, but no one can hide it that well — the way he refuses to look you directly in the eyes, the way he hangs his head slightly, the barely stoic expression on his face — that tells the story before his words even come out.

But, the funny thing about the human mind is that it doesn't believe what it doesn't want to. So, even the story the surgeon's expression gives you isn't enough to convince you that something went wrong. It couldn't have. That wouldn't happen to you. Everything is fine... it has to be.

Right?

"Ms. Y/L/N?"

"Yes."

"Can we talk somewhere private?"

You swallow hard as the surgeon leads you to a private consultation room and he beckons you to sit down. The room is quaint but empty. It's just a small table with chairs. The light reflecting off the walls fills the room with a blue hue.

Better than green, you think.

"How is he?" you question, palms sweaty and shaking. "When can I see him?"

"Ms. Y/L/N, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but the blockage was so extensive that there was too much damage already done to the heart. There was nothing we could do. Your father... he didn't make it out of the surgery."