#i'm still convinced he was a spirit of wisdom or something very similar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emachinescat · 4 years ago

Text

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.

21 notes · View notes

besidemethewholedamntime · 6 years ago

Note

Hello again! :D I'm here because of our conversation earlier... where I asked you if I could request a fic where Jemma wakes up after some surgery and asks hilarious questions to Fitz while still not fully recovered from anesthesia.. may be an au, may be canon! It's totally up to you ♥

hello! Here’s your finished piece and I hope it’s kind of what you were looking for! Thank you so much for prompting me it - it was such a joy to write

bumblebees and wisdom teeth

{Read on Ao3}

or read below!

“No. Absolutely not. You must be out of your mind toeven suggest it.”

Fitz rolls his eyes as she turns her back for a moment– knowing better than to do it so she can see. His tone is calm, without a hintof frustration. “It was your dentist, Jemma, not me. And it wasn’t so much as asuggestion as she effectively told you that you needed your wisdom toothremoved.”

Jemma makes a harrumphsound, before throwing herself forcefully into the kitchen chair. “My teethare perfect.”

“I know,” hetells her, for the fifth time. “And so does she. But it’s hurting you. And youeither leave it or it gets infected and this becomes a much bigger deal.” Helooks at her imploringly. “You know this.”

A small smile appears, and he watches as she givesway. “That did sound like something I would say.”

For the first time since they’ve arrived home fromJemma’s dentist appointment this afternoon, Fitz allows himself a smile, too.As big and as brave as his wife is, he knows she has great reservations aboutthe dentist. It’s taken two weeks to try and convince the normally completelylogical Jemma Simmons to get over herself and make an appointment about thebothersome tooth.

“It won’t be so bad,” he tells her gently, able tocomfort now the stubbornness has subsided. “A quick operation.”

“But it’s only partially erupted,” Jemma moans. “Whichmeans they’ll have to dig around in there.”

“After everything you have faced, you can definitelyovercome this.” He watches her smile again, though it’s small. “And if you’revery good, then I’ll even get you some ice cream after it’s all over.”

She laughs at him, reaching over to kiss him gently.“That approach may work on our daughter,” she says silkily, “but I’m afraid Imight require something more than ice-cream.”

“Whatever you want,” he promises, kissing her again.

-x-

“Can I come, too?”

Sarah looks at him beseechingly, holding her miniatureladybird suitcase in her hands. Fitz stops folding the washing to ruffle herhair.

“We’ll all be going, kiddo. Mummy’s going to need uswhen the dentist is done with her mouth. But it’s only for a few hours so wewon’t need the suitcase.”

“Oh.” Sarah looks disappointed. “Okay.” She sets itdown on the floor. “When are we going?”

“As soon as mummy is done worrying about all of thethings she won’t be able to do for a couple of days,” he says, watching asSarah’s ‘thinking crease’ appears between her eyebrows. “Hey, why don’t you goget some things to do and put them in your amazing bumblebee bag, yeah?”

She runs off, clearly excited about the prospect ofgetting to use some animal themed luggage today. Fitz drops the t-shirt he’sfolding and pokes his head around the kitchen door.

“You ready to go soon?”

Jemma sits at the kitchen table, a pen gripped so hardin her hand that her knuckles have gone white. There are sheets of paper allover the table, all of the lists she has made to comfort herself. “It says twodays is enough time for recovery.”

“That’s what the dentist said.”

“The NHS website, too,” she hums. “But what do youthink?”

“I think we’ll see how you feel afterwards, okay?” Hereaches out his hand and, though with a bit of reluctance, she takes it.

“You’ll be fine, Jemma,” he says softly. “We’ll bothbe there the whole time.”

“Okay,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay.Let’s go get this bloody tooth removed.”

He grins in spite of himself. “That’s the spirit!”

-x-

“Oh wow! This is amazing!”

Fitz really only thought that the utter personality changesand complete silliness associated with wisdom tooth removal existed in thefilms, or was one of those things that was exclusively American.

“You are very handsome!”

But no.

“Are you single?”

It appears that it’s not. The proof of which iscurrently sitting on a chair in front of him, mouth puffed up with gauze, wheezingwith laughter at unknown jokes.

Jemma grabs his chin with her cool hands, and wiggles itabout. He tries not to laugh at the bewildered expression on her face. No doubtshe’ll remember it once the anaesthesia wears off.

“I think you’re incrediblyattractive.” She tries to roll her r’s, but it gets lose in the gauze. “Yourface is so symmetrical. I’ll bet if I checked, then you’d have the GoldenRatio.”

Knowing for a fact he doesn’t (because she’s checked,of course) he simply smiles and wishes it wouldn’t be frowned upon to record avideo in a hospital. “That’s a lovely compliment, Jemma, but I think it’s timewe get you home, now. Get you some sleep.”

Her elbow that he’d been about to take to help her upsuddenly retracts as if he’s shocked yet. Her eyes narrow, the crease betweenher eyebrows prominent. For a moment he’s overcome by the similarities between hiswife and daughter.

“How do you know my name?”

“You’re my best-friend and we’re married,” heexplains, patiently, opting for the short version. “If you let me help you up,we can get going and you’ll feel much better. I promise.”

“We’re married?!”She shouts, then winces, but doesn’t let the pain deter her. “Oh, I am verylucky indeed. A very lucky woman.”

“You know, I’m going to remember you said this.”

“Okayyy.” Jemma smiles up at him, glassy eyed, and offersher elbow up to him.

“Excellent, well done.” He helps her stand up, theturns his head this way and that. “Now we just have to locate Sarah and we canbe on our way.”

“Who’s Sarah?” Jemma asks sleepily, trying to lean herhead on his shoulder, and moaning a bit when his head swivelling doesn’t allowfor a comfortable stay.

“What kind of drugs did they give you?” He mutters, beforethe person he desires comes careening into the discharge room, brandishing asweetie from the vending machine.

“I got one for mummy and one for you!” Sarah exclaims,before noticing her mother and looking up at her, blinking owlishly.

“I’ll save hers for later,” she decides, stuffing thebumper pack of Starburst into her backpack.

“Good idea, kiddo.” He grins at her, then turns backto Jemma. “Right, let’s get going.”

“You are so pretty,” Jemma gushes, words slightly moreslurred than they were earlier. “Like a princess.”

Usually, Sarah becomes indignant at being likened to aprincess. Her face becomes all pinchy, and she tosses her toffee coloured curlsover her shoulder before walking away. If she’s in a particularly feisty mood,there can sometimes be shouting involved. He hopes that today isn’t one ofthose days.

Luckily, Sarah is a feisty but perceptive little beanand she simply loops her arm around her mother’s free one and leans her head inand says, “thank you.”

“And such lovely manners, too. You’ve been taught sowell.”

“By the best,” Fitz assures her. “Let’s go home.”

-x-

“Daddy,” Sarah whispers in the car on the way home. “Mummyisn’t going to be like this forever, is she?”

Fitz looks over to where Jemma has her head leaningagainst the passenger window, laughing uproariously at a dog, or perhaps theTesco delivery van, or the post box. He smiles a reassuring smile in the rear -viewmirror.

“Not for very long, kiddo. Don’t worry. Let’s justenjoy it while it lasts.”

-x-

“Knock knock,” he says, gently, pushing open the doorto the darkened bedroom.

“Ungggg,” Jemma groans into the pillow. “My head issplitting.”

He holds up a glass. “I brought you some water.”

She sits up, softly swiping hair away from herslightly swollen jaw. “My hero. Thank you, Fitz.”

“No bother.” He comes to sit next to her, handing herthe water with a paper straw in it.

She takes a sip, wincing a little bit, before lookingpast him, bleary eyes trying to focus in the dimness of the room. “Where’sSarah?”

“Downstairs making you a ‘get well soon’ card with hertoy dog. Expect a lot of paw prints next to her name.”

She chuckles, moaning and gingerly pressing her handto her jaw after she does so. He holds up a box of ibuprofen. “I brought these,too.”

“You deserve an award, Fitz.” She takes them with agrateful look. “I can’t believe what the anaesthesia did to me, earlier. I feelso embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t,” he laughs. “It was cute.”

“Did I absolutely terrify our daughter?”

He can’t imagine Sarah being absolutely terrified ofanything. The child practically asks the world to come and take her on.

“No, not even a little bit.” He takes her hand in his.“She found it funny.”

“Oh dear. Never again, Fitz. I mean it.”

“I think you’ve done your fair share.” He takes in herpuffy jaw and bleary eyes and still thinks she’s the best thing, apart fromSarah, that he’s ever laid eyes on. “And it’s done now.”

“Mhmm.” She leans against him, head fitting on hisshoulder. “Thank you for everything.”

“Always, Jemma. What else was I going to do?”

He feels her try to smile into his shoulder, before shelooks up, gently taking his chin in her hand.

“What a handsome face,” she giggles. “I can’t believe I’mmarried to it.”

“Yeah, I know.” He presses his hand over hers. “I can’tbelieve it either.”

14 notes · View notes