Wunderkind

1.07-Can Opener

*This one is very dark. This chapter is what the mature warning for this fic is for. There are two scenes that I will mark at the beginning and end with ###, they're the more involved parts so if you want to skip them while reading there will be a clear note of it. This chapter was very hard to write, so I don't expect it will be easy to read either. (You're also very very welcome to come yell at me for this one on Tumblr @thethistlegirl...)*

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BOSNIAN STORAGE YARD

EVEN INTERNATIONAL TERRORISTS HAVE FRIENDS

Mac's trying to stay low, avoid the people shooting at them and get as far away from this disaster as possible. We followed our target straight into a trap. Unfortunately, crouching while running makes his already somewhat sketchy coordination worse.

Before he really realizes what happened, he's rolling on the ground, legs in the air, flailing like a turtle that's been flipped upside down. He can feel grit under his cheek and palms, and he can taste dust, and all of a sudden it's his first week in CCI and someone shoved him in the yard and he tripped and before he knew it he was on the ground.

I have to get up. Now. If I'm on the ground I'm easy prey.

He remembers yelling and shoes in his face, his ribs, his back. Being forced down until he was inhaling bone-dry dust and could taste it on his tongue when he opened his mouth to scream.

He scrambles to his feet, shaking and gasping, and then someone shoves him back down, pinning him to the dirt. No, no, no. I have to get away. I can't let them hold me down. No, no, no. He punches and kicks and yells until someone slaps a hand over his mouth, and then he bites and someone shouts and pulls their hand away.

"Damn it, kid, hold still! I'm trying to keep you alive! Mac! Stop!" Jack's voice breaks through the haze, and he shudders and glances around. Shipping crates. Gunshots. Not prison. The mission.

Riley is holding her ribs, and Jack has what's going to be a pretty impressive black eye. Mac huddles against the side of one of the crates, still shaking. They weren't going to hurt me. They knew if I stood up I'd get shot. But he can't forget the feeling of hands on his arms, hands on his body...he shudders.

"Mac, you okay?" Riley's kneeling in front of him, when did she get there? He doesn't remember seeing her move.

"I...I'm fine." He can't afford not to be. More bullets ping off the crates, and he winces.

"You've got some idea for getting us outta here, right?" Jack asks. "Cause I just used up my last clip."

Mac glances at a forklift sitting behind them. Fuel tank, moveable... He just needs a spark. "Jack I need the sat phone!"

"Oh not again!" Jack groans, but he tosses the phone to Mac. "This better be good."

"Oh, it will be." Mac's got something else to think about now. He's fine. He has to be fine. He pulls the battery out of the phone and some foil candy wrappers, courtesy of Riley and their five hour stakeout, make a decent small flame. He tears a strip of cloth off his shirt, lights the end of the rag, and quickly hotwires the engine, opening the fuel tank and jamming the end of the smoldering cloth inside. The machine lumbers off, controls tied down with more scraps of his shirt, and he and Jack and Riley take cover as a massive explosion rains chunks of metal and debris all around them.

When they stand up, two of the terrorists are either unconscious or dead, and the rest are fazed enough that Jack's able to steal one of the incapacitated men's guns and force the others to lay thiers down. It doesn't take long for the rest of the Phoenix tac team to arrive to finish cleaning up the operation.