This IS Getting Posted Tomorrow Rest Assured - Tumblr Posts

i really wanted to have my macgyver fic posted tonight but it's currently midnight and im traveling tomorrow so it's definitely not happening which MEANS. i get to share a snippet of it here for you guys :]

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Mac purposefully avoids looking at his reflection, quickly turning his back to the small mirror hanging over the sink as he changes into the new clothes. He stumbles and almost falls over several times, unsteady on his feet and still working through the dizziness. He’s out of breath by the time he’s done, leaning heavily against the bathroom wall.

He stares at his hands again, covered in small cuts and dried mud. Mud from the grave he just crawled out of.

His breathing stutters in his chest. Mac pushes off the wall.

Still ignoring his reflection, he turns on the tap. He winces when he shoves his hands under the icy spray, uncaring about the temperature.

He doesn’t care. He just needs to get it off. He grabs a towel and starts scrubbing harshly. The water slowly becomes lukewarm, more bearable for his reddened fingers.

Mac pays it no mind. He stares at the brown water swirling in the drain.

He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until his skin is pink, until the cuts caked in mud and grime are clean and bleeding again. The water turns from brown to pinkish. Mac’s hands are shaking again. The tremors run up his arms and he blinks through the tears blurring his vision.

It’s not enough.

Mac scrubs trying to get rid of the damned mud.

A sob catches in his throat when it just won’t come free.

It’s under his shredded fingernails. It hurts to scrub at them, but Mac doesn’t care about that.

The mud clings to him. To his clothes, to his skin, to his hair. Everywhere. It won’t come out. Mac can’t get it out.

His chest hitches. The tears burn hot in his eyes and a few escape when he blinks.

The skin of his hands is irritated and raw from so long under the water. The waterlogged towel is stained with blood and mud. Mac drops it like it burned him.

He finally looks up and meets his eyes in his reflection. He barely recognizes the face in front of him.

His face is pale and streaked with flaking dirt. His hair is tangled and nearly black with dried mud, the bright bathroom light glinting off the few blond strands that peek through. The eyes that stare back are blown wide, pupils dilated. They’re rimmed with red and shadowed purple, making them look slightly sunken and giving Mac a haunted appearance.