So I promised Amy a fanfiction and here it is... it did get a bit off the whole 'fluff' topic, but there should be some to come. Short and sweet because then maybe I'll upload faster, although I am notoriously bad at updating. Anyway, enjoy? :P
Dusk drew in, beguiled the light away. A rich coral smudge settled across the sky, the warm orange beneath leaking seamlessly through the office window.
Jac faced her reflection until it seemed to root itself inside the glass, age-old. Perhaps the way the drizzle softened her features, dribbling deftly down her cheekbones, made her feel more like a human being. Indeed, if that was so, she was being selfish. Again.
She sighed. The outside sounded lively. Her crossed arms were numb. She couldn't take it any longer.
Smoothly, Jac moved into the scanner room to escape the hustle of the ward, her rampant headache aggravated by the constant nattering, screeching, blubbering.
They had been frequent, the headaches, too frequent. Part of her knew the cause, and she supposed her subconscious had tempted her here, either to mock or help. After all, she was the only one willing to help herself. If what she suspected was true, she would have no one to care for her.
It was colder now. It took her a minute to realise how unnaturally cold.
There was a slow symphony of machines humming in the quiet. The scanner droned ominously. Her neck snapped towards it, and so her feet followed. She found herself climbing into the tunnel, punching at the button, sliding the slab, and herself, inside.
The machine growled. Stuffed in her pocket, the Fentanyl box dug into her skin, the rattle of a full pill set barely surfacing amongst the rumble of mechanics. She squeezed together her eye lids, which creased at the edges, wishing more than anything to get away from there.
A few moments and the concluding clank thundered. She clambered out, stumbled down, raced to the computed results-
Nothing. Only a blank screen blinked back at her. There must have been a damn fault of some kind! She smacked the monitor in frustration, ignored the pain shooting up her arm. Her hand stretched to her head, and then stroked her hair, twisting wildly in confusion. It was then her eyes fell on a sign, the letters struck on in red:
OUT OF ORDER.
Funny. She could have sworn that wasn't there earlier.
At once, a whirr of excited voices soared through the door. Jac jumped back. Frantic sirens were thrust into the air, wailing like war shells. Her head craned up to locate the source of the noise. A call for silence followed, unmet, and then a sprightly rush of wind.
Something had happened. She had left the ward for five minutes and Maconie had somehow managed to blow the whole bloody hospital up-
Someone gave the door a hard clout. With a clenched jaw, she yanked at the handle, charged forward in a blind rage, and collided straight into a body. She bounced back off him, the Fentanyl thrown out of her pocket. The kneeling man scrambled to recover the box, mumbling an apology, which promptly became jargon in the loud bustle of people.
Jac was dazed by the light streaming through the open blinds. It wasn't the height of the day, it was after dusk! She managed some form of softly uttered gratitude, scarcely listening to an incompetent's garbled talk, until, that is, he stood back up into her eye line.
Her mouth gaped, startled.
"Ms Naylor, I'm sorry, I was just- well, certainly the door had it coming." Joseph Byrne did his weird, little, embarrassed smile thing.
"Joseph." All other words left her as she stared, somewhat incredulous.
"Don't look so surprised, I work here just as much as you do." His eyes darted, his finger tapped the box lightly, he looked about twelve. "A patient's I presume?" Jac could only nod - her career would be dead in the water if they were hers. "Why don't I take these for you? Lighten the load." He slipped them away before her head even tilted.
And with that she strained to look around her. Everything was the same, but still so different. Posters sprouting 'Major Incident Exercise' plastered the walls, bodies skidded back and forth, there was a buzz of energy in the air. Clipboards. Beds. Shouts. She remembered this, back when- no, but that was impossible-
In the centre of it all, was an old man. He observed the chaos calmly. It was a while before she recognised him and he acknowledged her.
"Ms Naylor," he purred, "I thought you were on Keller today?"
"What year is it?" This seemed to stop him in his tracks.
"Ms Naylor, if you are intox-"
"Humour me."
Lord Byrne could never deny such a beautiful young lady of a- what, a practical joke? "This, Ms Naylor, is the year of our lord 2006."
TO BE CONTINUED