Wounded - Jack/Samantha Fanfiction
Title: Wounded
Author: M. Elizabeth Ravensblood
Rating: PG-13 Very Minor Sexuality at the End
Pairing: Implied Skew
Summary: When Samantha shoots him, Jack is left marked and has a revelation. Season 2.
Author's Notes: This is for velvetwhip on her writing annversary. She is holding a drabble fest to celebrate and gave prompts, this one is from the prompt Wounded. Have a great anniversary and thanks for such a fun challenge!
And special thanks to my beta, jackssilverwolf :o)
When the bullet hit, the pain was exquisite. Liquid fire burning deep within his flesh that seemed to radiate throughout his entire leg. It had come as a shock but he hadn't been able to reflect much on it much though, as escape was foremost in his mind. The abundance of blood evidence was of little concern to Jack. The bone marrow transplants he'd had throughout the years altered his DNA and any further transplants would alter his DNA once more. The disease which nearly destroyed his life in his youth had inadvertently become a means of deception and protection in his adulthood.
Escaping the alley and making his way to his lair had taken a bit of effort given his wounded state, but Jack always welcomed a challenge. Staggering into his lair, he struggled out of the jacket he'd "borrowed" from the dead police officer and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He took several gulps and collapsed onto the bed. Every movement set the enraged nerves in his leg over the edge. They sang agonizingly as he poured the alcohol over his wound in an effort to control the infection that would likely accompany his injury. The intense rush of pain finally elicited a muffled scream from Jack.
Tonight his heart had nearly stopped as he raced to Samantha's rescue. Visions of her bloodied body had raced through his mind as he drove after Sharon. His wayward accomplice would need to be dealt with as she'd elevated herself from a mild irritation to a cancerous tumor to be cut out of his life. Laying in agony, the irony of saving his golden goddess only to end up with her bullet in him struck him as ironic. All the times she tried in vain to wound him with words when all it took was a single bullet.
"Sam, you really hurt me this time," Jack laughed in a strained voice.
Even in his tormented state, he could appreciate the perfection of her temper and the pain she'd wrought. Occasionally he'd wondered over the years what it felt like for his victims as he tore apart their flesh. He hadn't pitied them, compassion was beyond his scope, but he had been curious. Mentally detaching from the pain for a moment, Jack took note of the sensation for later reference before finally fighting to attempt to bind his wound with towels and duct tape.
Medical school had failed to hold his interest but Jack had devoured the thick volumes it had provided him and now he considered his next move. It was unlikely he would escape infection without antibiotics and while the alcohol was helping to take the edge off his pain, he needed something stronger and soon. Law enforcement would be hitting every hospital, doctor's office and animal clinic for miles. His best bet, would be to try a nursing home, he decided. Eventually the VCTF would expand the search to include them but Samantha was too distracted to suggest adding it to the search and Malone wasn't bright enough to think of it for at least another twelve hours or so.
The time between collapsing on his bed and making his way to the nursing home was something of a blur for Jack. As infection took root and fever began to wrack his body, Jack faded in and out of awareness. In moments of lucidity he forced himself to continue and to fight. And in moments where reality bled into a dream like fugue, he saw his golden goddess at his side. At the nursing home, he found morphine and got a few moments of relief from the pain, but even that was short lived as the gravity of the situation struck him. Although he'd resisted the idea and it was a last resort, his options were dwindling as Jack felt the infection spreading. Dehydration from the fever was setting in and he felt weak. He would have to go to the last place he wanted to, home.
The VCTF converging on the nursing home had been a bit nerve wracking in his impaired state, but as always they'd underestimated him. When the clown checked the body bag, Jack was convinced he would be discovered. But John had either lacked the courage or the insight to look under the body. Lying under a corpse wasn't pleasant but the nursing home had cleaned the body before it was placed in the bag. After the viscera and fluids he'd seen as he fashioned offerings for Samantha, keeping company with a cleaned corpse had scarcely given him pause. The only hesitation Jack felt in his plan for escape was whether he had enough strength left to kill the hearse driver and to make the two hour drive to his mother's. Pushing himself on pure adrenaline, he made his escape and after changing transportation made his way to his mother's house.
When he finally staggered into the foyer, Jack could hear Samantha whispering in his mind and knew he would make it as his mother spotted him just as he collapsed. Mercifully unconscious, Jack was oblivious to the chaos that ensued after his arrival. Orders were issued, large sums of money were exchanged and a medical team that didn't speak English and had a vested interest in his survival was assembled. As he lay unconscious, the team struggled to save him. Desperately they pumped in blood and fluids and tried to repair the damage from the bullet.
Two days, four pints of blood, and one resuscitation from heart failure later, Jack awoke in a daze. Seeing the nurse who was adjusting his IV had sent a wave of panic through him, until his mother appeared at his side and assured him that she'd been discreet. Even in his injured state, there was an awkwardness about being in her presence. Old emotional wounds were quickly cast aside as the pain from years ago inflicted by one blonde gave way to the freshly wrought pain created by another. Gingerly, Jack touched the bandage which even through his morphine induced haze set off waves of pain. Smiling he closed his eyes and welcomed the sensation.
The touch set off the fire anew within his leg. It was excruciating. It was exquisite. And it was all his Samantha's doing. She was, he suspected, privately going mad as she kept up the charade of joy that Malone would demand as she wrestled with her inner turmoil at having shot him. Was she worried that he was dead? No. Samantha knew he was alive. She appreciated the scope of his genius, she would not doubt his survival. But the guilt? Ah, that would be a sight to behold, Jack thought with relish. Pressing his finger against the wound once more, he shivered as pain shot outwards and a sense of euphoria filled him as he felt the wrath of his goddess anew.
When he was able to get up and move about once more, the sense of pleasure had faded as the pain became a dull ache that wouldn't leave and Jack was forced to deal with the unpleasant changes Sharon had made to his loft. Finding his errant assistant had attempted to delete Samantha from his life had infuriated him. Still weak, he settled for voicing his displeasure and retrieving the wealth of photos he had in his safety deposit box. Among some mementos and pictures, Jack had discs backing up the tens of thousands of photos. Before the night was out, he would right things, he decided angrily. Samantha would be returned to her rightful place. Later when he was recovered enough, he would put Sharon in her rightful place.
Several weeks later, Jack stood alone in his loft. Sharon was out flirting with Newstand Louie, unaware that he knew of her wavering affection. Soon she would be punished, a special Valentine's token from him. But for now, he was enjoying the solitude. Since his injury, Sharon had been less compliant about Samantha and when she wasn't sneaking off to talk to her new playmate, she would never give him a moment of peace or privacy. Casting a longing gaze to Samantha's photo, he thought about how long it had been since he'd been able to lose himself in the wonder of his goddess. He'd been without release since she's shot him.
Casting a glance at his watch, Jack decided he had enough time to indulge himself without interruption. Stripping his clothes off, Jack was about to move to the bed when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Pausing to look at himself, it was the familiar sight of smooth white flesh wrapped tautly over sinew, except for the two inch red line on the side of his right thigh where he'd been shot. Jack turned slightly to better take in the sight and after casting a glance at his injured flesh looked back at the mirror and studied the mark. Angry and red, it stood out starkly against the unblemished skin that surrounded it. Almost tenuously, Jack traced his fingertip along the newly forming scar.
Samantha was a trained agent who could have shot the van's tires out with ease, but instead she'd trained the gun on him. With no definitive proof that he was Jack, she'd gone with her gut and shot him. Until the day he died, his flesh would bear testimony to her first act of pure violence. It was remarkable that she'd turned her weapon on him rather than the van and more remarkable still that she hadn't killed him. It was as if maiming him had been her sole intention in shooting him, Jack reflected and then smiled. His goddess had shot him and perhaps nearly killed him, but his death was never her intention. She'd marked him. Marked him as hers as surely as if she'd branded him. Never again would he take his clothes off without thinking of her. Every sexual encounter he ever engaged in, he would see the mark of Samantha's possession and remember who he belonged to.
Moving to the bed, Jack brought his hand to his cock and closed his eyes at the sensation of pain and pleasure that the rush of blood brought. His arousal throbbed in his hand as his thigh pulsed anew with pain, but Jack didn't stop. The pain was a welcome reminder. He hadn't been wounded, he'd been claimed by his golden goddess and it would only be a matter of time before she would join him...
Author: M. Elizabeth Ravensblood
Rating: PG-13 Very Minor Sexuality at the End
Pairing: Implied Skew
Summary: When Samantha shoots him, Jack is left marked and has a revelation. Season 2.
Author's Notes: This is for velvetwhip on her writing annversary. She is holding a drabble fest to celebrate and gave prompts, this one is from the prompt Wounded. Have a great anniversary and thanks for such a fun challenge!
And special thanks to my beta, jackssilverwolf :o)
When the bullet hit, the pain was exquisite. Liquid fire burning deep within his flesh that seemed to radiate throughout his entire leg. It had come as a shock but he hadn't been able to reflect much on it much though, as escape was foremost in his mind. The abundance of blood evidence was of little concern to Jack. The bone marrow transplants he'd had throughout the years altered his DNA and any further transplants would alter his DNA once more. The disease which nearly destroyed his life in his youth had inadvertently become a means of deception and protection in his adulthood.
Escaping the alley and making his way to his lair had taken a bit of effort given his wounded state, but Jack always welcomed a challenge. Staggering into his lair, he struggled out of the jacket he'd "borrowed" from the dead police officer and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He took several gulps and collapsed onto the bed. Every movement set the enraged nerves in his leg over the edge. They sang agonizingly as he poured the alcohol over his wound in an effort to control the infection that would likely accompany his injury. The intense rush of pain finally elicited a muffled scream from Jack.
Tonight his heart had nearly stopped as he raced to Samantha's rescue. Visions of her bloodied body had raced through his mind as he drove after Sharon. His wayward accomplice would need to be dealt with as she'd elevated herself from a mild irritation to a cancerous tumor to be cut out of his life. Laying in agony, the irony of saving his golden goddess only to end up with her bullet in him struck him as ironic. All the times she tried in vain to wound him with words when all it took was a single bullet.
"Sam, you really hurt me this time," Jack laughed in a strained voice.
Even in his tormented state, he could appreciate the perfection of her temper and the pain she'd wrought. Occasionally he'd wondered over the years what it felt like for his victims as he tore apart their flesh. He hadn't pitied them, compassion was beyond his scope, but he had been curious. Mentally detaching from the pain for a moment, Jack took note of the sensation for later reference before finally fighting to attempt to bind his wound with towels and duct tape.
Medical school had failed to hold his interest but Jack had devoured the thick volumes it had provided him and now he considered his next move. It was unlikely he would escape infection without antibiotics and while the alcohol was helping to take the edge off his pain, he needed something stronger and soon. Law enforcement would be hitting every hospital, doctor's office and animal clinic for miles. His best bet, would be to try a nursing home, he decided. Eventually the VCTF would expand the search to include them but Samantha was too distracted to suggest adding it to the search and Malone wasn't bright enough to think of it for at least another twelve hours or so.
The time between collapsing on his bed and making his way to the nursing home was something of a blur for Jack. As infection took root and fever began to wrack his body, Jack faded in and out of awareness. In moments of lucidity he forced himself to continue and to fight. And in moments where reality bled into a dream like fugue, he saw his golden goddess at his side. At the nursing home, he found morphine and got a few moments of relief from the pain, but even that was short lived as the gravity of the situation struck him. Although he'd resisted the idea and it was a last resort, his options were dwindling as Jack felt the infection spreading. Dehydration from the fever was setting in and he felt weak. He would have to go to the last place he wanted to, home.
The VCTF converging on the nursing home had been a bit nerve wracking in his impaired state, but as always they'd underestimated him. When the clown checked the body bag, Jack was convinced he would be discovered. But John had either lacked the courage or the insight to look under the body. Lying under a corpse wasn't pleasant but the nursing home had cleaned the body before it was placed in the bag. After the viscera and fluids he'd seen as he fashioned offerings for Samantha, keeping company with a cleaned corpse had scarcely given him pause. The only hesitation Jack felt in his plan for escape was whether he had enough strength left to kill the hearse driver and to make the two hour drive to his mother's. Pushing himself on pure adrenaline, he made his escape and after changing transportation made his way to his mother's house.
When he finally staggered into the foyer, Jack could hear Samantha whispering in his mind and knew he would make it as his mother spotted him just as he collapsed. Mercifully unconscious, Jack was oblivious to the chaos that ensued after his arrival. Orders were issued, large sums of money were exchanged and a medical team that didn't speak English and had a vested interest in his survival was assembled. As he lay unconscious, the team struggled to save him. Desperately they pumped in blood and fluids and tried to repair the damage from the bullet.
Two days, four pints of blood, and one resuscitation from heart failure later, Jack awoke in a daze. Seeing the nurse who was adjusting his IV had sent a wave of panic through him, until his mother appeared at his side and assured him that she'd been discreet. Even in his injured state, there was an awkwardness about being in her presence. Old emotional wounds were quickly cast aside as the pain from years ago inflicted by one blonde gave way to the freshly wrought pain created by another. Gingerly, Jack touched the bandage which even through his morphine induced haze set off waves of pain. Smiling he closed his eyes and welcomed the sensation.
The touch set off the fire anew within his leg. It was excruciating. It was exquisite. And it was all his Samantha's doing. She was, he suspected, privately going mad as she kept up the charade of joy that Malone would demand as she wrestled with her inner turmoil at having shot him. Was she worried that he was dead? No. Samantha knew he was alive. She appreciated the scope of his genius, she would not doubt his survival. But the guilt? Ah, that would be a sight to behold, Jack thought with relish. Pressing his finger against the wound once more, he shivered as pain shot outwards and a sense of euphoria filled him as he felt the wrath of his goddess anew.
When he was able to get up and move about once more, the sense of pleasure had faded as the pain became a dull ache that wouldn't leave and Jack was forced to deal with the unpleasant changes Sharon had made to his loft. Finding his errant assistant had attempted to delete Samantha from his life had infuriated him. Still weak, he settled for voicing his displeasure and retrieving the wealth of photos he had in his safety deposit box. Among some mementos and pictures, Jack had discs backing up the tens of thousands of photos. Before the night was out, he would right things, he decided angrily. Samantha would be returned to her rightful place. Later when he was recovered enough, he would put Sharon in her rightful place.
Several weeks later, Jack stood alone in his loft. Sharon was out flirting with Newstand Louie, unaware that he knew of her wavering affection. Soon she would be punished, a special Valentine's token from him. But for now, he was enjoying the solitude. Since his injury, Sharon had been less compliant about Samantha and when she wasn't sneaking off to talk to her new playmate, she would never give him a moment of peace or privacy. Casting a longing gaze to Samantha's photo, he thought about how long it had been since he'd been able to lose himself in the wonder of his goddess. He'd been without release since she's shot him.
Casting a glance at his watch, Jack decided he had enough time to indulge himself without interruption. Stripping his clothes off, Jack was about to move to the bed when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Pausing to look at himself, it was the familiar sight of smooth white flesh wrapped tautly over sinew, except for the two inch red line on the side of his right thigh where he'd been shot. Jack turned slightly to better take in the sight and after casting a glance at his injured flesh looked back at the mirror and studied the mark. Angry and red, it stood out starkly against the unblemished skin that surrounded it. Almost tenuously, Jack traced his fingertip along the newly forming scar.
Samantha was a trained agent who could have shot the van's tires out with ease, but instead she'd trained the gun on him. With no definitive proof that he was Jack, she'd gone with her gut and shot him. Until the day he died, his flesh would bear testimony to her first act of pure violence. It was remarkable that she'd turned her weapon on him rather than the van and more remarkable still that she hadn't killed him. It was as if maiming him had been her sole intention in shooting him, Jack reflected and then smiled. His goddess had shot him and perhaps nearly killed him, but his death was never her intention. She'd marked him. Marked him as hers as surely as if she'd branded him. Never again would he take his clothes off without thinking of her. Every sexual encounter he ever engaged in, he would see the mark of Samantha's possession and remember who he belonged to.
Moving to the bed, Jack brought his hand to his cock and closed his eyes at the sensation of pain and pleasure that the rush of blood brought. His arousal throbbed in his hand as his thigh pulsed anew with pain, but Jack didn't stop. The pain was a welcome reminder. He hadn't been wounded, he'd been claimed by his golden goddess and it would only be a matter of time before she would join him...