MIB Cartoon Fanfiction. Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor do I make a profit from this work.
AN:After watching the episode for the hundredth time, I just really felt the need to write something on it. Takes place just before Elle’s diagnosis of Kay’s eyes.
Summery:~“Does it hurt?” Jay sounded tentative, meek and it was so unlike him. Kay grit his teeth and fought the urge to scream at him, instead he shook his head, lowering his hand, “No.”. ~ Based on: The Lights Out-S03.Ep8. Complete.
N o t-Q u i t e- F e a r
He felt vulnerable. It was a feeling that he wasn’t quite used to and he realized that he wasn’t quite comfortable with it.
When he acknowledged it, he could feel his unease too, as it clawed its way out of his stomach, tearing through the thin, fragile lining. It was saturating him, making his fingers tingle. He flexed them.
Beneath the tips he could feel the counter, smooth and cold, marred with scratches and chips. He wonders how many people died here, on this very examination table. He wondered how many knew it was coming. He wondered how many screamed and clawed and fought but at the very last moment, when it actually happened, they were caught unawares. They couldn’t see the death coming.
It was a strange feeling, not being able to see. Or more, he could see nothing but complete blackness.
He could feel something that was not-quite fear and not-quite grief as it clawed it’s way out of his stomach, scratching and tearing at his throat until it starts to hurt too much and he opens his mouth. But he’s silent, only taking in air. Huge gulps of air as he clutches at the counter until he can feel his knuckles drain of blood. They must be white. He notes. But he cannot be sure.
Beads of perspiration had begun to break out across his forehead and in hot patches across his body. His suit had grown uncomfortably tight and he could feel the slick, wet trail of sweat against the skin on his neck. It soaked the back of his shirt and all at once Kay was glad for the dark, heavy over-suit.
There it was. Kay had to fight to remain impassive at the sound of his partner’s voice. He had to fight far too damn hard and it wasn’t like him. It wasn’t like him but he hadn’t sensed him coming.
Again, he wondered, how many hadn’t even seen death, even as it walked up, announcing its presence with loud footsteps?
“What is it?” He could hear his own voice with a strange clarity, with more clarity than he had in a very long time. He thought it was like listening to a recording of himself. He could hear his own accent; hear the heaviness to his voice. He could hear the pitch at which he spoke, Low, rough. His words sounded colorless, toneless and he had to wonder if that was how he sounded all the time. Did he always sound so unreal? So dead? He didn’t feel real, so maybe he wasn’t.
Still, he could hear the faintest trace of fear in his words. He could taste it as they rolled off his tongue. He wondered if Jay could hear it too.
“Elle is on her way.”
He could smell mint now and a strange, spicy smell. It seemed to fill the room.
Funny, how he’d never noticed it before but had immediately picked up on it now.
Jay said nothing, but Kay could feel that he hadn’t left. Strange, saying that. He could feel that his partner was standing just next to him, a few steps away. From the tense, uncomfortable atmosphere, Kay could tell that the kid was struggling for words.
He let him struggle, saying nothing.
Kay could feel the crease in his own brow, the slight dampness on his skin, the shaking in his limbs. He clenched his hands into tight, thick fists. The shaking slowed, but didn’t stop. It was as if the shock, the shock and complete and utter realization was finally, finally catching up.
And all of a sudden Kay felt sick with his not-quite-fear
And somehow, he dreaded Elle’s words, and he lifted a hand, rubbing his eyes. His useless eyes.