Spoilers: through s3
A/N: This is dark, with few redeeming qualities as of now. There may be more later, but for now it's just dark.
Chapter title is from My Skin by Natalie Merchant. Story title from Dark Doo Wop by MS MR.
(The world is ending again, just more slowly this time.)
xxx
The first thing she's aware of is pain, so intense she doesn't think her touch could possibly be worse.
The second thing she's aware of is she's alive. Somehow, miraculously, against all odds – she's still alive.
The third thing she's aware of is she doesn't want to be.
xxx
Sitting in the bathtub, half-full of pink water and suds, empty soap bottle floating beside her. Scrubbing until her skin is raw, until the blood could come from a thousand places instead of just one.
xxx
Everything is hazy, gleaming white and metal and pain, so much pain. Voices float in and out of her awareness, clipped and angry, scared and confused and it's all so tiring. Everything is so tiring, and why won't they just let her sleep?
Hands grip hers and she waits for the screaming. When it doesn't come she thinks maybe, maybe – maybe it had worked. Maybe Nathan hadn't destroyed everything. Maybe it had all been a dream, the white and the flash and the metal in her chest.
Maybe it had all been worth it.
But the callouses on the hand holding hers – she knows them all too well. Knows she should pull away, should hate him for what he's done, but the world is spinning and she's still not sure any of it is real and his touch, his touch is all that's keeping her grounded.
She drifts.
A steady BEEEEEEEEEEEEP penetrates the haze, cold metal on her chest and his voice chanting her name, desperate and raw.
"Come on, Jordan," Nathan pleads, fingers crushing hers. "Just hold on. You made it this far, just hold on."
Part of her wants to give in, to let herself fade, but his entire being screams to her, calling her back, refusing to let her go. And as much as she hates him, as much as she wants him to hurt the way she has, the way he'd made her, she knows he's lost everything. Everyone. She knows his pain probably equals hers, and finds she can't take this from him too.
She fades to a rhythmic beep beep beep, his breath harsh and erratic around her own.
xxx
When she finally wakes with some sort of lucidity, he's gone.
She wishes she'd gone as well.
xxx
Everything is aseptic and white and pure, and her broken body has no place here. A pristine sheet covers her, a blanket to hide the violence, the blood and bruises. She clutches it around her like a shroud and almost wishes it were one.
No one speaks of her Trouble, but they know. They wear gloves and move with squeamish uncertainty that makes her stomach twist with rage – she's the one who should fear their touch, not the other way around. She's the one who aches in places she'd forgotten existed, who feels bile rise in her throat every time someone comes too close.
She's the one who'd been made to fear, and she's the one they're terrified of.
xxx
"Get out." Her growl is low and kind of pathetic, but she manages as best she can with a tube down her throat.
Dwight just raises an eyebrow.
"Hi," he says. His eyes look red, massive circles around them, his face hollower than she remembers. "Glad you're awake. You were pretty touch-and-go for awhile." Jordan winces, tries to swallow but can't. Can't raise her arms either, as weak as she is, and Dwight's hand prevents even her small movements.
"Don't," he admonishes gently. "Just… don't, Jordan."
She closes her eyes and fades to the sound of his hitched breathing.
xxx
Dwight is the one who finds her, after. After.
His voice calling her name, the door somehow unlocked and his face fading in and out of focus, features strewn with concern. She thinks he's speaking to her but there's a dull roar in her ears, a deafening silence and the steady drip-drip where the faucet dumps single, clean little droplets into the now-pink water.
He reaches out carefully to touch her arms, curled around her knees where they're tucked beneath her chin, and she wants to scream NO but her voice won't work. And then he's screaming, jerking away to slam back into the wall and his eyes are dark with pain and Jordan's covering her head with her arms because she can't she can't she can't.
But there's a towel wrapped around her, and Dwight's voice murmuring words she still can't make out, and his arms around her should feel threatening but they only feel safe, safe, safe.
xxx
She wakes alone.
This may be continued. I have quite a lot more written, I'm just not sure how much of it I want to share.