on_thecouch Session 04
"Hell is empty and the devils are here" - Shakespeare 'The Temptest'
A/N: This makes a reference to something that happened a few weeks back is RS, in which Jack looses his hand because of Ainley!Master. It's only a little reference text-wise, and it's easy to miss unless you know what to look for. It is, however, what I kept in mind while writting this, mainly because I'd been tempted to do a sort of After follow-up piece for a while.
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Everything was tilting, back and forth and back, and he was convince that of one more step was taken, he might just tumble down into the darkness littering the edges of his vision. Objects swam and shifted in front of his eyes, and it took Jack a few moments to realize he was standing in his office. Unlike the rest of his senses, his hearing felt as if it’d been magnified rather than dulled. The sound of droplets hitting the wooden floor made an odd sort of rhythm when accompanied by his own unsteady rhythm. He stood still, and for a single moment the world twisted itself into something resembling normality.
A beat, and everything was back to being jumbled and mashed, colors and shapes seeping into one another to form a distorted picture for his mind. He stumbled a few steps, only to collapses against the front of his desk and slide down, simply laying there. He allowed his eyelids to fall close for just a moment, intent on giving his mind a rest. But all it did was take away the one distraction from the pain, and suddenly that’s all that’s left of his world.
Pain. This pulsing, shifting thing that seemed to spread throughout his whole body, as if every last nerve was on fire. He could feel it in every fiber and atom of his being, but at the same time it was too much for his mind to register, too much for him to sense anything more than a numbing feeling.
He tried to open his eyes, but the blood loss had finally taken its toll. Already it was beginning to take too much to even shift, much less force his longs to expand and contract with every breath of air. With an inward sigh and only the slightest reluctance, he allowed his body to give in to unconsciousness and death.
Jack had no idea how long it was until he awoke, but his body was still reclined against the desk, sitting in a pool of crimson liquid that was no longer warm. There was now a hand where only a bloody stump had been what felt like moments before.
“I’m going to have to go to the dry cleaners again, aren’t I?” His tone was dry and humorless, and it sounded empty to his own ears. “It’s always a pain to explain the blood stains.” The silence in the room was his only response.
Muse: Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word Count: 410
A/N: This makes a reference to something that happened a few weeks back is RS, in which Jack looses his hand because of Ainley!Master. It's only a little reference text-wise, and it's easy to miss unless you know what to look for. It is, however, what I kept in mind while writting this, mainly because I'd been tempted to do a sort of After follow-up piece for a while.
-------
Everything was tilting, back and forth and back, and he was convince that of one more step was taken, he might just tumble down into the darkness littering the edges of his vision. Objects swam and shifted in front of his eyes, and it took Jack a few moments to realize he was standing in his office. Unlike the rest of his senses, his hearing felt as if it’d been magnified rather than dulled. The sound of droplets hitting the wooden floor made an odd sort of rhythm when accompanied by his own unsteady rhythm. He stood still, and for a single moment the world twisted itself into something resembling normality.
A beat, and everything was back to being jumbled and mashed, colors and shapes seeping into one another to form a distorted picture for his mind. He stumbled a few steps, only to collapses against the front of his desk and slide down, simply laying there. He allowed his eyelids to fall close for just a moment, intent on giving his mind a rest. But all it did was take away the one distraction from the pain, and suddenly that’s all that’s left of his world.
Pain. This pulsing, shifting thing that seemed to spread throughout his whole body, as if every last nerve was on fire. He could feel it in every fiber and atom of his being, but at the same time it was too much for his mind to register, too much for him to sense anything more than a numbing feeling.
He tried to open his eyes, but the blood loss had finally taken its toll. Already it was beginning to take too much to even shift, much less force his longs to expand and contract with every breath of air. With an inward sigh and only the slightest reluctance, he allowed his body to give in to unconsciousness and death.
Jack had no idea how long it was until he awoke, but his body was still reclined against the desk, sitting in a pool of crimson liquid that was no longer warm. There was now a hand where only a bloody stump had been what felt like moments before.
“I’m going to have to go to the dry cleaners again, aren’t I?” His tone was dry and humorless, and it sounded empty to his own ears. “It’s always a pain to explain the blood stains.” The silence in the room was his only response.
Muse: Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word Count: 410