#I can't remember the last time I wrote this feverishly

[vamp-ress]

Writer Questionnaire 12/30

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Let's say first that I always struggle with dialogue - I find it sooo hard to write. I'd love to be one of those writers who can just churn out natural sounding dialogue that's also profound. But you can't have everything and I am not that writer.

That said, here is one bit of dialogue between Aragorn and Legolas I particularly like:

“And did you hope to keep secret from me what happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Aragorn repeated, feverishly thinking what could have happened yesterday that Legolas meant to discuss with him.

“Yes, yesterday. In the council meeting,” Legolas prompted.

Aragorn could not remember a thing except for the fact that one of Faramir’s men from Emyn Arnen had bored them all to death with his monotonous voice.

“Your eyes strayed, Aragorn,” Legolas tried to help Aragorn’s memory along, but the man’s confusion only grew with the minute.

“They did?”

“They did,” confirmed the elf with a decisive nod.

“Wherever to?”

“You are asking me?” Legolas feigned surprise, but answered nonetheless. “To Faramir, of course. Did you believe I would not notice the way you look at him?”

Of course he had looked at Faramir, but he had not looked at him. There was a definite difference between the two and he was certain Legolas was well aware of that fact. Legolas was not prone to jealousy. Or, if Aragorn looked at it from his point of view, he had never given his lover any reason to be so. He had known the elf for nigh one hundred years, had loved him nearly just as long. There was no other in his heart or mind, never had been. There simply was no room for his eyes to stray.

Either Legolas had misunderstood or the elf was pursuing quite a different agenda. And Aragorn was determined to find out.

“I would never...” he humoured Legolas’ accusations to see where this discussion would take them.

“Be careful, Aragorn,” Legolas advised. “Never can be a long time, even for a human.”

From “Delicatessen”, because not everything has to be about angst. Sometimes they’re allowed to have some lighthearted fun. For some reason Delicatessen is my story with the most hits on AO3, even though it’s nothing more than a bit of plotless fun I wrote for a fic exchange many years ago. I’m not sure why it’s my most popular story.

I also love this one from “The Road Taken”, because what can be more beautiful than Legolas declaring his love.

“I would follow you anywhere, into the pits of Mordor if need be. How can you expect me not to follow you in this also?”

Estel fell silent, needing time to process what I had told him. In a quiet voice, he answered, “because this is not what we meant when we said we would stand by each other. You meant coming to Gondor with me if I ever took up the crown.”

“Estel, such promises are made exactly because we do not know where life will lead us. I did not make that promise because it would be such a hardship to come to Gondor with you. I made that promise for a situation like this, for a situation neither of us could have forseen. I made that promise, because I knew that if such a day ever came, you would need me.”

He looked at me, truly looked at me, and I could see naked longing in his eyes. “I need you, there will never be a day when I will not need you like air, like water, like sustenance. More, even.”

“Then have me.” I embraced him and felt goosebumps on his spine where my hand touched.

“Can it really be so easy?” Estel asked, obviously needing to give me one last chance out.

“It is. Now, shush. And kiss me to seal our pact.”

[darlink-xoxo]

OUR FAVORITE SONG!* ੈ♡‧₊˚

in which, you can't help glancing at your crush while listening to your favorite song

and i guess he cant either..

GIF isnt mine

─ͥ─ͦ─ͮ─ͤ➼♥

new post lets gooooo <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

pt 2 is right here

this the song 👇 enjoy 🫶

Warnings: Fluff, Possible ooc bakugou, Little Swearing, Puppy love 🫶.... and also spelling mistakes

❥ · ﾟ₊ You were choosing to spend the free time you were given in class to study for the upcoming test, yes you were that bored. So with nothing else to do you succumb to the soft melody playing in your headphones, lightly bopping your head to the beat of the music.

'𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘶𝘶𝘮 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵.. 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘢, 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵,'

you oh so desperately didnt want to fail, this was ua of course, and with a teacher like Aizawa.. well you didnt want to take any chances. you had both your textbook and notebook opened on your desk, as you read whatever in the next book, anything you found remotely useful you wrote down, and if nothing appealed to your studies, you simply distracted yourself by doodling little things on the sides of your paper.

so deep into your studying, you barely noticed the man on the other side of the room. Bakugou was slouched over his desk, his head laid over his folded arms as he appeared to be sleeping to pass the time.

'𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵.. 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦, 𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 <3'

y/n mindlessly scribbled down their notes and/or doodles, time seemed to tick away slower than normal. lazily glancing back and forth between their notebook and textbook, y/n recited the lyrics in their head, now's not the time for karaoke..

'𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵..'

'maybe i just wanna be yours<3'

y/n took a double take once they realized they had written that last lyric instead of their textbook notes.

'𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,

𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,

𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,'

grumbling, they erased the lyrics from their paper, deciding to give both themselves and their hand a break from writing. choosing to read over their notes to make sure they didnt miswrite anything else.

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴..'

pausing, y/n finds their gaze leaving their notes. and instead, focusing on the blonde tuff of hair hidden behind a certain boy's arms

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴..<3'

y/n stared for a moment, taking the time to appreciate the scene in front of them. until ultimately regaining control of themselves. startled by their actions, y/n feverishly returns to their notes, hoping the subtle shake in their hand isnt as violent as their heartbeat.

'𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 '𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘤𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵.. 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵,'

bakugou shifted, the feeling of being watched settled through his skin. he slightly stretched for a moment, before slowly opening his eyes.

'𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯..(𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦)'

his gaze eventually landed on y/n, who finally got their heart to calm down. his half lidded narrow eyes hid the way he watched fondly as y/n glanced back and forth between their textbook and notebook.

he found it funny that y/n never really studied their notes until right before a test, 'last minute preparation' he recalls y/n calling it. he remembers how y/n fumbled to explain to him that glancing at their notes right before a test helps bring their notes to the front of their memory, therefore making it easier to remember.

'𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨..'

bakugou continued to watch them, his steel gaze never wavering even when y/n glanced at him.

y/n was taken aback for a moment, the feelings they barely had under control moments prior, were beginning to make their forceful return to the surface.

'𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵..'

bakugou stared in mild amusement as y/n awkwardly smiled at him, his gaze held strong and unnerving as his eyes trailed up and down on y/n's form.

'𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵..'

y/n felt their body unconsciously tuck in on itself when they noticed bakugou's eyes trailing down their form, watching their every move with a fire burning red beneath those eyes.

'𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~'

bakugou almost found himself chuckling as he watched y/n practically crumble under his gaze, it's as if y/n didnt know their gaze held a similar effect on him as well. although with him, it's more internalized.

'𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,

𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,

𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~'

y/n could feel their heart explode in their chest, did bakugou know the effect he had on them?? it doesnt help the fact that this could very much all be one sided, y/n felt even more embarrassed remembering that the music was playing in 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 ears.. not his

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴..'

bakugou watched in mild confusion as y/n suddenly buried their face in their hands, slowly peaking at him through their fingers before quickly going back into hiding.. did y/n really think covering their face would stop him from admiring them?

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴...'

y/n could only pray that bakugou would stop staring at them with that look any time soon.. how could they even try to calm their rapidly beating heart?? was he trying to give them a heart attack??!??

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴..'

bakugou continued to watch in slight amusement, silently laughing at how he probably would've had a similar reaction if roles were reversed. where he was the one who caught y/n staring, but then again.. he and y/n are very different.

for one, you'd never catch him hiding his face behind his hands.

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,'

y/n sucked up their nerves and took one final peak at bakugou from behind their hands, silently awing at the way the ends of his lips quirked up into a ghost of a smirk, a smile even.

quietly removing their hands from their face, y/n maintained eye contact to the best of their ability. even with the growing temperature change running up their neck.

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴.'

bakugou simply watched y/n's reactions to his gaze, posing as indifferent as he soaked up their attention for the short while. fuck.. why did they have to sit so far away from him??

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴<3'

y/n recalled accidentally writing out the last lyrics from before, internally burning at the fact they immediately thought of 𝗵𝗶𝗺 once they read the miswritten lyrics.

'𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴!'

bakugou saw how y/n quickly glanced at their notebook with thoughtful eyes, before looking back at him and seemingly melting in their seat.. oh how he wished he knew what they were thinking..

'𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘶𝘶𝘮 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘳..

(𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~)'

y/n closed their eyes, trying with every fiber in their body to relax their racing heartbeat and thoughts. only to open them and need to start the process all over again as they realize bakugou has yet to look away from them

'𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵..

(𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~)'

a sudden clap at the front of the classroom broke the two out of their trance. y/n slid off their headphones, letting them rest along their shoulders. all attention went to the front of the class where Aizawa stood, as soon as all eyes were on him he began what he had to say,

"the test has been postponed, something came up all of a sudden as principal nezu.."

y/n straight up put their headphones back on, not even bothering to listen to the rest. they stared down at their nearly completed notes, guess they'll just have to finish them when the test is a week away again.. casting a glance at the poorly erased lyrics from before, y/n felt their heart hammer in their chest once more.

'𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘢,

(𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~)'

bakugou silently rolled his eyes with a 'tch', not even bothering to listen to the explanation. he lazily gazed at nothing in particular, yet he couldn't help in the sudden shift of his attention.

'𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵,

(𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~)'

y/n was irked at the fact they could no longer listen to their favorite song without thinking about that hothead and the staring contest they shared just now. although, that's probably half their fault.. sighing, y/n dug into their pocket and pulled out their phone.

'𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴,

(𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~)

bakugou grumbled as he removed the single earbud he wore in his left ear, feeling around in his pocket as he pulled out the case and his phone

'𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴..

(𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~...)'

both students simultaneously turned on their phones. both proceeded to check their notifications, clicking on something before turning off their respective devices and kept their attention in front of them.

although the two different students sat on different sides of the classroom, they still thought about each other without the other's knowledge. they both found themselves glancing at the other, and both had unknowingly felt the other's gaze.

both students were listening to music, somehow having the same song playing in their ears. they'd never tell a soul about how the song they were listening to was from a playlist they individually created.

y/n's was 'thinking about him<3'

bakugou's was 'only them'

hm..

maybe the two aren't so different after all..

[aijee]

Fandom: SEVENTEEN (Band) Words: ~25k Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
 Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu Additional Tags: Alternative Universe - Host Club, Military-Grade Tension, Ambiguous Professionalism, Emotional Vulnerability Porn, wonsoon platonic soulmates because they deserve that

Summary:

Wonwoo takes the offered hand. Mingyu’s grip is firm but escapable, and he looks at Wonwoo like he’s the first and only other person in the world.

How irritating.

As a semi-famous and starving journalist with too much pride to write about the same mediocre shit amateurs do, Wonwoo was desperate for his next big scoop—which he finds, of all places, at a host club.

[emachinescat]

Explosion + Hands + Jack

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 22 - burned

Summary: A bomb Mac is disposing of goes off prematurely – and Mac’s hands pay the price. Or, the time when Jack has to be Mac's hands. 

Characters: Mac, Jack

Words: 2,945

TW: Relatively graphic description of burns

Note: This story is based loosely off a scene from classic MacGyver. Also, please take the vague MacGyverism with a grain of salt. I did some research (and also wrote this before Mac made the same thing a different way on the newest episode), but I also took some creative liberties.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

"These have to be the stupidest bad guys I've ever met," Jack griped. He sat in an old dining chair, ankles lashed together with rope and hands tied behind his back. MacGyver was his mirror image, tied similarly, in another chair, back to back with his partner. Their bound hands had been connected to each other, so every time Mac moved, working the ropes, Jack's arms jerked with him.

Even though he couldn't see Mac's face, he could clearly picture the raised eyebrow in his mind's eye as Mac responded dryly, "And you're… complaining about it?"

A cramp ran through Jack's upper back, and he instinctively rolled his shoulders. Mac squawked indignantly as Jack's movement impeded his progress. "Hey, watch it! You almost made me stab myself!"

"Sorry." Jack paused for a brief moment, trying not to think about why Mac was working so feverishly to cut through the thick ropes with his knife – seriously, they hadn't taken his knife before they'd tied them up! – without cutting himself or Jack. "You about got it, hoss?"

Mac's voice was strained with concentration when he responded. "Just … about," he grunted. "Keep talking."

Jack smirked. "Can't get enough of hearing ol' Jack's wisdom, huh?"

"It's more like white noise, but if it makes you feel better…"

"It does." Jack continued on his earlier line of conversation. "I'm just sayin', man, these lunatics didn't leave nobody here to keep an eye on us, and they left Angus MacGyver tied with regular ol' rope with his SAK in his pocket and a room stock fulla toys he can use to escape." When he spoke, Jack's Texas drawl was thicker than usual. He'd noticed that his accent got more pronounced when he was nervous or in a rough situation. He'd mentioned it to Mac once, and his partner had quickly informed him that it was more than likely a coping mechanism, Jack's way of unconsciously trying to keep himself calm. Jack disagreed. He was convinced that his cowboy twang got heavier in nerve wracking situations because he was actively channeling the spirit of Clint Eastwood and his mind and body were preparing him to do some insanely awesome hero stuff to fix the situation.

"Yeah, well… they also left a bomb in the room," Mac reasoned. Jack could feel the sawing motion as Mac carefully made his way through the rope. Any other time, Jack knew that he would have cut through it in half the time, but with all four of their collective hands gathered together in one bundle of scratchy rope, Mac had to move slowly, methodically, so he didn't cut either one of them. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem for him to take his time, but as Mac had so helpfully pointed out, there was the matter of a ticking bomb just out of arm's reach. And they had no idea how much time was left.

Jack tried to paint their situation in a better light. "It's just a little one. The explosion won't even be all that big."

"No," Mac agreed, "but with all the gasoline they scattered around us, I think it's a safe bet that the size of the explosion won't matter, since we'll burn with the warehouse."

A snap, a sigh of relief, and then Jack felt Mac move in the chair, and knew he was bending forward to untie his feet. As soon as he was free, Mac pelted forward so quickly that he pushed the chairs back a couple of inches, Jack and all. He didn't stop to untie Jack – no time – but he did leave the SAK in his palm. Jack immediately started sawing at his own ropes.

He was still working when he heard Mac swear loudly from somewhere behind him. A queasy dread settled in Jack's gut.

"Talk to me, Mac!"

"No time!" Mac spat, and Jack knew, heart stuttering, that his partner wasn't just saying that he had no time to talk – there was no time on the bomb.

"I can't disarm it!" Mac yelled, his voice growing farther away as he ran, presumably with the bomb in tow, away from Jack. "I'm going to try to contain it!"

Jack continued to cut at the ropes – almost there! He heard the sound of something metal being pried open, and he remembered that there was a large dumpster near the door of the warehouse, one of those industrial ones. Hope rose cautiously within him. Mac had done similar things before; there was no reason why it shouldn't work this time!

The one thing that he didn't factor in, however, was the bomb's timer running out before Mac could close the dumpster.

He heard the explosion, a terrible, anguished scream, and then, the worst sound of all – low, uncontrollable, rocking sobs of pain.

Jack cut himself three times in his haste to get free, but he made it to Mac's side in less than a minute. What he saw made his stomach curdle and his hands shake as he pulled Mac back, further from the smoking dumpster.

Mac had curled into himself on the floor, his hands gnarled before him in pain. Once they'd moved a safe distance from the mostly contained bomb, Jack took a closer look at them and nearly vomited – not from the blood or the burns themselves, but from the knowledge that these were Mac's hands that had been caught in the explosion, burned, blistered, and bloody almost beyond recognition. Jack knew he should be grateful that all of Mac's fingers were intact, but it was hard to feel thankful for anything when Mac's hands could serve as a suitable stand-in for ground beef.

Mac's head was low, chin flush against his chest, his shoulders trembling in pain. Jack remembered when Mac had sustained first and second degree burns pulling his dumb ass out of a crematorium. Jack too had been burned on the bottoms of his feet, and the healing process for both Mac and himself had been one of the most painful experiences either of them could recall in recent memory. There had been debriding, cleaning, bandages, antibiotics, and, in Mac's case, a few sessions of physical therapy.

This was so much worse.

"Mac, buddy," Jack entreated, trying to keep his voice steady for his partner's sake. His accent was slathered liberally on every syllable, his voice gentle and quiet, like he was approaching a startled horse. "I need you to look at me. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Mac didn't respond, just heaved in a great gulp of air, and the breath rattled in his lungs like the last throes of a dying man. The sound clenched its icy fist around Jack's heart. He reached out, placing his index and middle fingers carefully beneath Mac's chin and lifting his kid's head to look him in the eyes. What he saw there nearly killed him.

Jack had been Mac's overwatch for a long time, and he'd seen the kid in a lot of less than ideal situations – roughed up, sick, shot, you name it. But never had Jack seen the level of fear and pain blazing in Mac's eyes as he did now. Tear streaks ran down his face, which was sooty and a bit red, especially around his forehead, but the burns on his face were superficial. Definitely first-degree. He'd managed to shield his face and eyes from the blast.

But his hands… Mac had to have just let go of the bomb to drop it in the dumpster for his hands to look like that but still be basically intact. Jack moved his hand from Mac's chin and cupped his partner's face in his hand, gently brushing a tear away, trying to get Mac's attention on him, to calm him down. "Mac, talk to me." He had no idea how he was keeping himself from crying right alongside his friend. "I need to know you're with me."

Mac hiccuped, took a deep breath through his nose and made a visible effort to calm himself down. When he spoke, every bit of the agony Jack saw in his face translated to his voice. "I–I'm okay."

Jack chuckled, but there was no humor to it. "I don't believe that for a second. But you will be, ya hear me?"

Mac nodded shakily, a low, keening whine building at the base of his throat like a wounded hound dog. He choked out, "It h-hurts."

"I know, bud. Can I see your hands?"

Mac shook his head, pulling his hands closer to his body. "Not yet. We n-need to find a way out of here f-f-first." Mac's teeth had started chattering, which sent a whole new wave of fear tearing through Jack's body. If Mac was going into shock, they were really out of time. And as much as Jack wanted to get a better idea of the damage, figure out what they were working with, he knew Mac was right. In all the chaos and worry, he'd almost forgotten that they were still locked in the warehouse with a smoking dumpster slowly turning the air against them. From where they sat on the floor, the air wasn't bad yet, but they needed to kick it into third gear – it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Okay," Jack agreed. "How do we get out? As I recall, they've padlocked all the doors from the outside, and this whole place is made of steel. Can you figure out how to make something to bust those doors down?"

Mac's eyes, glazed with pain, darted around the warehouse, which had until very recently been one of the stashes of the cartel that had captured them. "Uhhh…" His voice broke, and Jack saw Mac's hands twitch in a painful spasm out of the corner of his eye. Fresh tears welled up, and Mac blew out a shaky breath. "Okay. Yeah. We should b-be able to make a blowtorch to c-cut us out of here."

Jack shot Mac a dubious look. "You're not makin' anything hoss, and I sure as hell don't know how to make a blowtorch. Think you got it in you to walk me through it?"

Mac didn't look so sure, and Jack's stomach flipped as he saw how much the trembling had increased. Still, MacGyver was never one to admit defeat, and he nodded. His voice was thick with pain, dry and raspy, but he managed to walk Jack through a collection of basic supplies, all of which were readily available in their current space – an empty syringe, a thumbtack, pliers, lighter fluid, and Jack's own lighter, which the bad guys had left on him. Seems the only things they'd actually taken were their prisoner's phones.

By the time Mac had coached Jack through the process of actually building the DIY blowtorch, an incredibly precise and delicate venture that Jack barely managed with his sausage-like fingers, smoke was beginning to gather in earnest, and Mac was shaking so badly that he sounded like he was working a jackhammer when he talked. But Jack had finished it, and to his shock and utter relief, it worked – he'd not doubted Mac, of course, but his own ability to bring Mac's idea to fruition – and Mac had offered a pained, crooked smile at him, and said, "S-s-see, we m-make a p-p-pretty good t-team." Then, whether from pain or shock or hyperventilation, he passed out, and Jack only spared enough time to check his vitals before he used his lighter-turned-blowtorch to cut his way through the steel wall of the warehouse.

It was a slow process, and Jack burned himself no less four times, but at last he'd carved their escape route. The men who'd left them here to burn had gone. Jack hoisted Mac onto his shoulder, taking extra care not to jostle his mangled hands, and set out in search of a phone – he knew there was a gas station a few miles away.

Mac just had to hold on until then.

***

24 Hours Later

Jack was there when Mac woke up from his first surgery.

Jack was always there when Mac woke up in medical.

Mac peered at him through groggy, drug-hazy eyes and gave his partner a weak smile. "Hey, Jack."

Jack fought the urge to pull the kid into the tightest bear hug he'd ever experienced. Only a glance down at Mac's heavily bandaged hands lying delicately on his chest kept him where he was, in the cushioned hospital chair that played at being comfortable but really wasn't after ten minutes. Jack had been sitting in it for nearly sixteen hours, give or take, not counting bathroom breaks and coffee runs. Others had stopped by at various times, too – Matty, Bozer, and Riley chief among them – but right now it was just Jack and Mac. The way it had always been.

The way it would always be.

"Hey, kiddo. How're ya feelin'?"

Mac thought about this for a long moment, his brow furrowed in concentration like he was trying to figure out some complicated equation. Finally, he answered, "Weird."

Jack threw his head back and laughed, though what Mac had said in no way warranted the kind of reaction he was getting. It was like all of the stress and fear and uncertainty and trauma of the last day were riding the shockwave of that almost manic laugh.

Mac's eyebrows creased further in concern. "What's so funny?"

Jack scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, not sure if his eyes were watering from laughing, or if he had started crying somewhere along the way. "Nothing, hoss. What feels weird?"

"Floaty?" Mac answered uncertainty. From where Jack was sitting, Mac looked all of seven years old, tucked into the hospital bed in the Phoenix recovery ward, hair messy, eyes tired and confused.

Jack patted Mac on the shoulder, and Mac stared at the hand like it was the most surprising thing he'd ever encountered. Damn, they had him on the good stuff. He told Mac as much.

Mac's eyes were already drifting shut, the pull of the drugs too strong. "You go to sleep," Jack said softly, unable to keep himself from brushing a stray lock of hair from Mac's reddened forehead. "We can talk more when you wake up."

Mac, for once, did as he was told.

***

Jack spent the night at Mac's side, of course, despite Matty's urging that he go home and get some sleep. He wouldn't have been able to sleep, anyway, even if he had been in his own bed. He couldn't stop thinking, stop remembering. When he looked at Mac now, he saw pristine white bandages and the kind of tentative peace that could only come from whatever drugs they had him on – probably morphine and a cocktail of antibiotics, if he had his guess.

The problem was, Jack knew what lay beneath the bandages. He had seen, once he had finally found a phone and called for help, the extent of damage that had been done to Mac's hands up close. And it terrified him.

Even now every time he closed his eyes, even to blink, he could see his kid's hands, covered in burns, some so deep that Jack swore he could see tendons. They were bloody and blistered and the angriest shade of red Jack had ever seen.

He also saw, whenever his body betrayed him and he started to doze off, the way that MacGyver had writhed and twitched and moaned even while unconscious as Jack tried to examine them. His mind dragged him back to the Phoenix chopper, where a medical team immediately gave Mac painkillers and started debriding the burns. Mac had woken up then, thrashing and screaming the most terrible, guttural, animal screams, and Jack had been forced to hold him down while the medics worked, and he'd cried alongside Mac, and after they'd landed and Mac had been rushed in, Jack had found the nearest trash can and puked his guts out.

Even now, one surgery down, it was far from over. The doctor's prognosis had been hopeful, but cautious. Mac should be able to gain control of his hands again, should be able to build things and destroy Jack's phones and return fist bumps and high fives, and open doors and climb and pick things up and shoot hoops and anything else he wanted to do… but it would take time.

Six surgeries, minimum, to repair damage to tendons, do skin grafts. Mac's hands would always bear some scars, even though Phoenix had flown in the best surgeons in the country to rebuild the hands that usually did the rebuilding. And the few sessions of physical therapy he'd been through the last time he'd burned his hands were child's play to the PT he had in store in the coming months.

Jack sure as hell hoped the world would hold it together until MacGyver healed. He knew that it might as well have ended if Mac hadn't made it out of that explosion alive. Jack's world would have, at any rate.

But, Jack reminded himself as he watched the steady rise and fall of Mac's chest, despite all of the pain and physical therapy and surgeries in his future, Mac was by far the strongest person he knew. He had no doubt that the cautionary "should" the doctor placed on Mac's recovery was more of a "will definitely," because Mac didn't let anything slow him down for long.

So Jack had to be strong, too.

"I'll do it for you, Mac," he said aloud. He carded his fingers gently through mussed blonde hair.

It was a promise he intended to keep.