Title: Panic + Partner

Fandom: MacGyver (2016)

Author: Pandi19

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Angus MacGyver and Jack Dalton

Summary: During a sideways mission, Mac doubts himself, but Jack doesn't. Whumptober 2019 submission for prompt 1 – shaky hands.

Disclaimer/Warning: Anything you recognize is not mine. I was only a fly on the wall for this

Author's Note: Seeing the Whumptober prompt list lit my brain on fire and a good friend told me to go for it even though I thought to start another WIP (or series of them) was foolish. Just consider this one of those random teasers we get at the start of an episode.

And a special thank you to gaelicspirit for the beta. Sideways missions are better with you.

"Hey—look at me, hoss," Jack pleaded.

There wasn't time, though. Mac couldn't stop to look at Jack. He knew what to do. He could fix this—no, he had to fix this. There just wasn't time.

"Mac. I need you to look at me." Jack's voice was firm yet gentle and full of depth.

It cut through the panic Mac felt filling his body. His partner begged his attention in a way the problem did not. Jack was seeking to ground Mac, which he appreciated—hell, he relied on it.

But there. wasn't. time.

If he were truthful, Mac's head was swirling with everything…with too much…but more specifically, two lines of thought were fighting for dominance: the task in front of him followed closely by…Jack.

In point of fact, Mac could argue that they were the same thing.

"Angus," Jack's hand laid over Mac's shaking hands, stilling his work. "Look at me, please."

Mac swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, buying himself a fraction of a second—time he didn't really have, but desperately needed.

He took in a gulp of air and slowly exhaled. His nerves coiled neatly in his belly, unaffected.

Mac brought his head up, eyes finding Jack's brown ones immediately. His partner was laser-focused on him, as usual.

"I don't—"

"This isn't—"

The urgency of the situation was clear to both men as they talked over one another.

Jack's hand that covered his raised up, gesturing for Mac to slow his roll. Let his partner speak – what Jack had been trying to do for minutes that probably seemed like a lifetime to him.

"I need you to listen to me for a minute, kid, then I'll let you work. I'm sorry for putting you in this situation, sorry that I was cocky…that didn't work out like I planned with those bastards. I mean, obviously," Jack paused, gesturing to himself.

Mac's eyes followed his partner's hand up and down. Strapped to Jack's chest was a wired explosive ordinance, fitted with a cellphone detonator. Jack's left hand was handcuffed to the metal chair where he sat, a dead man's switch clutched in his hand. His right hand was free, which honestly did them no good—at least, not to Mac's advantage.

Jack wasn't wrong: these guys were bastards.

"But I need you to know two things: this isn't your fault," his words sped up, his voice becoming firm as Mac instinctively shook his head. "Mac, you need to hear me. It's not your fault. And I know you can do it. You can fix this, man."

"I can't. I-I can't, Jack. There isn't time." The words tumbled out.

Saying them out loud made it real.

"You got this and I got you," Jack said in the same level tone. "That's how this works."

Mac shook his head again. Jack's blind faith constantly floored him, but he worried this time it was plain stupidity.

"You're really going to argue with me now, man. Like this? That's messed up," Jack said, feigning offense Mac knew he didn't feel.

It was messed up, though. Mac's mind latched on to the statement, letting it resonate with everything he'd thought since finding Jack in his current state.

Jack gently tapped his cheek to refocus him or knock some sense into him, he wasn't sure which. Mac blinked, vision clearing to focus on Jack's steady gaze. Mac didn't think it had wavered since the situation began; as if his Overwatch were sizing up a target a hundred yards away.

For a moment, the two maintained eye contact, not speaking.

The silence went deep inside Mac, stoking the panic that hovered at the edge of his perception. It broke the dam he'd built to compartmentalize this shitstorm of a situation. A wave of heat swept over his body, leaving cold sweat in its wake. The air in the room all but evaporated, Mac could hear his breath begin to wheeze.

But his eyes stayed on Jack.

"Hey, now. C'mon, kiddo. I need you to take one easy breath with me," Jack instructed.

Mac battled with his body's ingrained fight or flight instinct to obey his partner and breathe. Jack's free hand grabbed his shaking one placing it against his chest, just above the vest, just below the hollow of his throat, and inhaled deeply. He felt Jack's lungs expand, oxygen filling them, then a pause, followed by a slow exhale.

Mac's breaths sawed in and out in comparison as he fought to match Jack breath for breath.

How was Jack so calm?

"'m f-fine," he replied brokenly around a harsh inhale.

"Seems like it," Jack scoffed, not releasing his hand and continuing to exaggerate his own inhalations.

"We're l-losing time; I n-need to get back to…." His voice died. It wasn't like they needed to say anything more, at least Mac didn't think so.

But Jack had other plans.

"Huh-uh, you need another minute. Keep breathing."

So, Mac did. Each minute stretched and he was sure, they would run out of time before the next minute began. He let his trust in Jack ground him where the panic couldn't touch.

And breathing became easier.

When Jack released his hand, Mac's arm muscles cramped at the loss of tension. It was as though the action had scooped Mac out, taking everything except the panic with it. He tried to right himself inside.

"Mac. Take another breath. You got this, you got this," Jack intoned, so sure of himself.

With that, Mac drew in two deep breaths like a swimmer about to dive deep, shoved the panic into a crevice deep within himself, and got back to his task.

He tracked the various wires from beginning to end, seeing the connections; his brain calculating with lightning speed which wire did what.

The double detonator was the kicker he needed to figure out. Clip them out of order, Jack died. Clip the wrong wire, Jack died. Mac could think of thirty different maneuvers and every outcome was the same. Jack died.

Was this bastard The Ghost's apprentice or something?

He pulled his Swiss army knife from his pocket, letting the familiar weight steady him.

He was running out of time.

"Jack," he said looking up, finding Jack's attention immediately.

"Whatcha need, hoss? I see them gears going."

From the way Jack was looking at him, Mac wondered if he had x-ray vision and could see robotic-like gears turning or grinding to halt within his mind.

"Can you just…uh…talk? I need–" Mac didn't even finish before Jack answered.

"You got it. What about?"

"Anything."

Mac might regret not being more specific, but he needed a distraction to keep the silence and panic at bay.

"Have I ever told you about the summer my pops and I started the GTO?" Jack began, his tone unsure.

Mac hummed a negative to spur his partner on and not throw off the concentration his mind was finally grasping onto.

"It was the summer after my mom passed," Jack said softly.

Mac's fingers stilled on the device. Jack's mother, much like his own, was a topic that was out-of-bounds. They never talked about the women of their youth.

If Jack sensed his shock, he didn't let on as the story continued.

"The two of us had butted heads somethin' fierce for a while afterwards. I see it now that it was grief, I mean, he lost her too, right? But, back then, I was angry and scared…."

Death did that to people. Those whose death was imminent gave way to reflective conversations like Jack was having. The ones left behind to a world without clarity. Mac remember how his father had distanced himself after his mother died. He'd been too young to acquaint that action with grief; he just remembered being alone.

Jack's voice provided a steady cadence to work to and soon Mac had figured a solution he was mostly sure wouldn't kill his best friend.

He took a deep breath and slowly released it. He looked up from his crouch in front of Jack, memorizing everything…in case this was the last moment they had. If he was wrong, they'd both be gone.

Jack stopped his story. "You ready for me to do something?"

"Um, no," Mac replied quickly, "but I think we're ready."

Mac explained his plan of clipping specific wires in a certain sequence. Jack's eyebrows furrowed, causing a crease between his eyes, but Mac saw the trust in his partner's brown eyes.

"Okay, let's do this." If Jack'd had both hands free, there would've been a clap at the end of his declaration. The way he squeezed Mac's shoulder meant just as much.

Five minutes later, as Mac shakily clipped the last of his wires, the panic dissipated. A huge surge of relief washed over him and Jack whooped.

"See, I told you!" Jack nearly shouted as he ruffled Mac's damp hair.

As he quickly picked the handcuff at Jack's wrist, Mac dropped his head and smiled. With Jack in his corner, he'd make it.