A/N: This was originally for Skins, but Orphan Black has taken over my life and I cannot get this idea out of my head, so I did some switching around and here this is, whatever it is.

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, own nothing even related to Orphan Black.

All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Trigger warning for blood/injury

Chapter 1: Glass

November 2009

"Look, mate, I'm not going through this again."

"I was just fuckin' asking! No need to get so pissy!"

"No, no. Every time you're 'just fucking asking' you end up getting your way."

"Goddamn. Fine! I'll go. No need to get your knickers in a twist."

With one last glare my way, Jack O'Malley shoves open the front door of the dingy pub we've been sitting in for the last few hours. The wind pushes back against it hard enough to knock Jack backwards and send the door slamming shut. He curses under his breath and braces his shoulder against the door before barreling through it. He stumbles, but actually makes it out this time. The door crashes violently into its frame the second he let's go of it.

Through the door's streaked windows I watch as he pulls his head back and lifts the collar of his deep green windbreaker as high as it will go to try to block out some of the rain pounding down on him.

When I turn back toward the bar, most of the patrons and Jack's Uncle, a plump old Irish man by the name of Alastair who happens to be the owner of the pub in which we spend most of our time, are all staring at me.

I cross my arms and petulantly say, "What? It was his turn to get a cab."

The customers, all three of them, grumble and turn back to their half-empty drinks. Alastair laughs, his rotund belly bouncing with the noise, and shakes his head at me, "One of these days some'uns gunna knock some sense into ya', girlie."

I roll my eyes and turn back toward the rain. It slaps against the roof and the ground mercilessly, the sound of it a dull roar that muffles most everything else, everything except the wind which sails into the building hard enough to shake its very roots. Jack must be struggling to stay on his feet.

I'm glad, for once, to actually be in that shitty little pub, and to think, all it took was a fucking monsoon. It's so much nicer inside that I almost forget about the sticky bar, spotted floors, and permanent fog of smoke. Almost. But they could never really be hidden, though the horribly dim lighting is making a valiant effort.

A few minutes later, the door is ripped open and Jack fights his way inside. The sounds of the storm roar inside now that the seal's been broken. Jack grabs the door frame and heaves himself inside, the door slamming behind him, rattling the frame and knocking him to the floor. He bounces back up though and promptly shakes like a dog.

He walks to the bar and calls over his shoulder, "It's no fuckin' use. No one's out driving in this shit." Then he plumps himself on an unstable stool and holds up two fingers toward Alastair.

"So we're just going to sit here until the fucking rain stops?"

"Listen Cos, I've fuckin' 'ad the worst day. I just wanna get pissed and talk shit with my best mate. So if you're gonna act like you've got a stick up your arse, then fuckin' move and I'll talk shit with Ali."

I hold up my hands in defense, "Alright, alright. Fine." I drop into the chair next to him and yell at Alistair, "How 'bout those pints then?"

"Make it a couple of shots of tequila there Ali!"

Alistair nods and goes about filling two shot glasses to the brim. As soon as the glasses hit the table, Jack snags one in each hand, and a moment later they're both slammed back on the table. A second after that, the taste hits him and Jack's face twists together in disgust.

"That'll do then." He shrugs and holds up two fingers once more at Alistair, who, without a second thought, immediately fills the glasses until there's barely a millimeter 'til the clear liquid reached the top.

Alistair is called to other side of the bar by the three bar flies and when he leaves, I turn to Jack and ask "So what happened then?"

Jack just gestures to the shot glass in front of me - oh he was actually going to let me drink it this time - and waits until I pick it up before he starts his countdown, "One, two, three, bottom's up ya' pussy!"

I scrunch my nose and lips together as Jack howls like a feral dog.

"That's the stuff, babe!"

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off!" I smile at him, "Now, tell Auntie Cosima what happened that's got you all would up."

"Right." He shakes out his shoulders like he was warming up for a big game, "So I was at the fucking site" - Jack works construction - "just fucking doing my job, hammering the shit out of some sidewalk and this little brunette in her fucking ' little Ms. Important,' outfit" he actually uses air quotes, "walks right up to me, hips shaking, eyes staring right at me, the whole deal. So obviously, I'm thinkin' she's lookin' for a goer, you know. So I said to her, 'babes you lookin' to jack off my hammer or sumfin' which is some of the most classic shit I've got, and this bitch, she fuckin' slaps me, straight up, no warning, in front of the boys. Which like whatever I've been slapped before, but then this skinny little thing gets right in my face, screamin' about sexual harassment an' shit an' I'm like, 'babes stop yellin', my dick can't get any harder,' an' this bitch just yells 'you're fired!'" Jack's voice knocks up a few octaves and takes on a rather nasal quality for the impersonation, "And I'm like you've got to be shitting me. No tiny arsehole is gonna slap me an' then fire me, fuck that. So I told her that she best fuck off. At this point we're both fuckin' screamin' an' my pussy twat of a boss comes running out of his cosy little office all 'I'm sorry, Ms. Richardson this an' this'll never happen again, Ms. Richardson that' and then the fuckin' dick actually fuckin' fires me. An' now I've got no goddamn job and a sore as shit face to match." Cook sits back in his chair with a noticeable sigh and downs the shot that Alistair had placed in front of him during his rant.

"You can always work for me, Jackie." Alistair grumbles from the other side of the bar.

Jack nods thankfully and blows air out of his mouth heavily. "It's just, I actually liked that fuckin' job, apart from my fuckin' boss. I mean it was shit and paid shit, but the lads were funny and new a fit bird when they saw one."

I chuckle lightly and wrap my right arm around his shoulders. "If you want you can stay at mine for a few weeks, spare bedroom's still open."

He nods, then shakes his head. "Nah, I'll just bounce around for a while." As he speaks, his bravado comes back, his chest puffs out, his voice gets louder, he's back to being 'Jack the lad', "I was gettin' bored of that gig anyway."

"Well the offer's always there."

He nods a bit more thoughtfully this time, then turns his head to the right to look away from me for a second, but grabs the hand I still have around his shoulder. "Cos, your watch is stopped."

"Fuck, really?" I pull my arm back toward me and check the screen. Dammit. The digital numbers display an unchanging '11 March 2007. 9:53 PM.'

"When are you going?"

"Only a couple years back."

"You leavin' now?" His voice is a harsh whisper.

"Got to." I shrug.

He shakes his head and raises his voice to a loud whisper, "You can't fuckin' do it here!"

"I've got no choice, Jack." I stand up. "I'll be back soon enough." I pat his shoulder and head toward Alistair, Jack grumbles behind me.

"Oi, Ali! Can I get a bottle of beer?"

"Poundin' them down today, are we?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I take the bottle and walk to the back of the pub where the bathrooms are. Luckily, the ladies' room is hardly used so it's relatively clean. I mean, it smells like bleach and vomit and the sink's an odd greyish color, but it has to be nicer than the guys' room.

I lock the door behind me and sit on the toilet with the lid down.

Fuck it. I down the beer in 3 solid gulps. Could always use some liquid courage. I take a few deep breaths before standing back up to face the dirt-coated mirror over the sink. I set the beer bottle in the sink, hold on to either side of it with both hands, and stare at the girl looking back at me - mildly intoxicated, mildly wild eyes stare back at me. With a smirk for the girl in the mirror and one solid swing against the side of the faucet, the beer bottle crashes into the sink and shatters on impact. Shards of glass fly all over the small room.

I pick up one of the larger pieces resting in the sink and bring it up to my eyes. The low light reflects off the brown glass, separating into several beams that dance around the room as I twist the shard around in my hand. A small sliver nicks my hand, cutting open a scratch just deep enough to draw blood. Sharp. I turn on the cold water until it cascades down and slowly begins to fill the sink; once it's half full, I shut off the faucet.

With one more breath in, I bring the fragment to my wrist and press heavily down until blood pools to the surface. I lean desperately into the sink as I drag the glass through my skin, a clean red line forming in its wake. It takes a moment for the pain to register, but when it does, a rush of expletives flow from my mouth.

"Shit, shit, shit!" It fucking hurts, but I keep pulling the glass until the cut is more than halfway to my elbow. Blood pours from the wound, but I do my best to contain it to the sink.

I'm barely able to grab the glass with my injured arm, but I still manage the switch. I push the point into the smooth skin on my other arm and yank it, hard. This time the cut isn't as long, but it's jagged and much, much deeper. I drop the now blood-red glass into the basin and hold my arms over the sink, trying to keep the blood from dripping all over the floor.

I watch my blood gush from the openings into the water, turning it orange, for what seems like hours, but can't have been more than a few seconds, until I start to feel dizzy.

The world is coming in and out of focus, I can feel my self teetering against the sink.

Then, ever so slowly, the edges of my vision begin to turn black. This is it. My arms are heavy. My head aches. The great unending blackness swarms in around me.

I feel myself falling to the floor.

Good? Bad? Let me know if you're feelin' up to it.

Thanks for reading!