The Glass Scientists micro-fanfictions

Accidents

What?

Something felt so dreadfully wrong. He couldn't quite put a finger on precisely what it was that was wrong, but there was definitely something that was going balled up.

With a sigh, he brushed his fingers though his hair. Oddly enough, it hurt to do so. Specifically, he stabbed himself in the forehead with nails that he did not realise were suddenly so much longer than they should be. Untangling his fingers from his hair seemed significantly longer than it had been moments ago.

Crap.

He looked down at his hands, his unpleasant situation proven to be true.

Henry Jekyll made an effort to keep his nails neat, short, and well-polished, but these were not the nails he was looking at. In fact, he'd hardly call these nails, more akin to talons than anything, long, black talons that seemed far more too sharp. The hands they belonged to did not belong to him either. He could recognise the back of his hands like, well, the back of his hand and so he knew that the pale, small hands that were twitching just a little did not belong to him, but instead to Edward Hyde.

But when did he transform?

There had been none of the pain, the discomfort that came of his body being distorted, twisted into a different form, but here he was. Edward Hyde was sitting on the couch without any warning.

To make matters worse, it was the middle of the day, and to get to his clothes he would have to navigate around the insistent swarm of people who seemed far too determined to get in his way, making the trip to Jekyll's office – specifically Jekyll's, since that's where he stored a spare change of close if they were to transform, the joint office nor Lanyon's being of any help to him whatsoever - practically impossible.

Goddamn it, Jekyll, why'd he have to made everything so bloody difficult?

The tantalising scent of a good wine – a good wine! Not any of that cheap shit they serve up under the guise of quality down in the nearby pubs, not that it stopped him from ordering it – was certainly getting to him. He could easily down a glass or few before he could slip away, work out why in the left hell he was in existence, then have time to actually have some bloody fun before Jekyll forces himself back into dominance.

The moment of considering doing this was not even completed before he was pouring himself a glass. Red wine, a pleasant fruity aroma, certainly the kind that would leave a perfectly pleasant burning in the back of one's throat.

"Jekyll!"

With all the artfulness in the world, he managed to jump out of his skin and spill the wine he was pouring. Splashing it onto the carpet in a way that would certainly leave an unpleasant stain.

"I'm sorry I took so long!"

Fucking hell, Jekyll. Why must he have been waiting in Lanyon's office?