WIP Amnesty Day: Precious Poison
Feb. 12th, 2004 02:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nanceficsFandom: "Profiler"
Story Type: PWP/Drama, Sam/Jack
Rating: NC-17 (currently PG-13ish)
Spoilers: Through the end of Season One
Synopsis: What if Jack had taken Sam's hand in "Venom?" A Skewed take on a favorite episode....
****************
It shouldn't be this dark.
Her eyes were open, she was trying to look around and it shouldn't be this dark, even in whatever godforsaken place she'd been dumped. Samantha pulled herself up to a crouched position on the musty old mattress where she'd awakened minutes ago. The sudden movement intensified the dull diffuse ache at the back of her head, but she ignored it; at this point everything was taking a back seat to her vision. Or lack of it. Tentatively, she waved her hand in front of her face.
Nothing. Just more darkness.
"Oh my God..."
The combination of shock and terror buckled her knees, and she collapsed back onto the mattress with a whimper. She blinked rapidly and rubbed at her useless eyes, hoping vainly to wake up from this nightmare setting even as the memories washed over her with an unrelenting clarity. She'd been in the darkroom. She had been reaching for a print, not paying attention to what she touched until she'd felt the sudden sharp sting in the webbing of her thumb. As soon as she saw the spider, she'd known. She'd panicked, had reached for the phone and....
And here she was, in God knew what kind of place, blinded and vulnerable and trapped. Had Robin Poole grown so bored with the VCTF's incompetence that she'd decided to kidnap and torture one of their own as the ultimate insult? Panic and nausea combined and roiled in Sam's belly, but she tried her best to swallow it down and think clearly. Robin might have deprived her of one of her senses, but she wasn't about to let the little bitch steal the rest of them away without a fight. Gritting her teeth in anger and determination, Sam again pulled herself up. She reached out tentatively and her hands contacted the cool metal of a steel beam a few feet to the left of her; grasping it like a lifeline, she stepped off the mattress and began to take halting steps across the floor.
As her footsteps began to scrape against the concrete, a woman's frantic screams ripped through the stillness from somewhere in front of her. Samantha jumped and yelped in alarm at the unexpected noise, but the woman sounded as frightened as she was, and the muffled quality of her screams suggested she was gagged. Sam frowned; some stoic analytical part of her brain was still grinding along despite the fear and the sensory deprivation, and she was vexed by an inconsistency. It didn't fit. Robin only chose one victim at a time.
The woman screamed again.
"Hold on, keep talking to me," Sam urged. Her mouth was dry and she had to cough the roughness out of her voice. "I need you to keep talking to me. I'm trying to reach you but I -- I can't see!"
Slowly, she made her way toward the screams, patting various objects with open palms as she passed them. Her other senses had already kicked into higher gear; a continuous mechanical humming pulsed all around her, and she was becoming acutely aware of the damp chilly air pressing against her skin. Shivering, she paused for a moment and leaned against a large glass container. She heard a sharp hissing sound close to her right ear and she jumped, pressing closer against the glass. The movement caused her fingers to slip into the container; something sticky and gauzy clung to her nails, and she cried out in terror as she realized she was touching a spider's web.
A gloved hand quickly covered hers and yanked her clear of the container and out of harm's way. The motion threw her off balance, and Sam found herself stumbling against a man's chest. She steadied herself by grasping at his shirt, coming to rest momentarily with her forehead against his chin while her breath burst forth in short sobs. The man stood stiffly, supporting her weight as she leaned into him but not really touching her. Sam loosened her grip on his shirt and peered up at him, realizing as she did that although his profile was fuzzy, it was nonetheless faintly visible. Her first impression had been correct -- it was a man, it wasn't Robin. A ridiculous sense of relief coursed through her -- she was starting to see things again, Robin hadn't found her but someone else had. She was found, she was safe and everything would be all right.
She opened her mouth to speak to him but he spoke first, his breath warm against her cheek as he formed the words.
"Careful where you put your hands, Samantha. That little spider is a nasty one."
The familiar voice sliced into her, silky and sinister. Samantha screamed and pushed away from him, propelling herself into another glass container. She was greeted with a hiss and a skittering sound that made her skin crawl; yelping again, she spun around and stumbled in what she hoped was a safer direction. From somewhere behind her, the woman screamed again, and it finally dawned on her.
Robin.
Jack had outsmarted his competition, and now he had two captives.
She heard a chuckle, and realized that Jack was enjoying the twin expressions of terror and understanding that were flashing across her face.
"What have you done, Jack? What have you done to my eyes?!"
"Not to worry. Dr. Trades already gave you the anti-venin for that little spider bite. I won't let any harm come to you." She could hear his voice gaining volume as he stepped closer, and she jumped back, only to find herself flush against a wall. She fought down the panic as his voice and his footsteps got louder. "You're all blurry now from a little homemade brew of mine. But don't worry, I tested it myself and it's not forever. Those big, beautiful baby blues of yours will be good as new -- but not yet."
At the last three words, his breath was suddenly hot against her ear. Sam screamed and shrank back, wishing she could either melt into the wall or regain enough vision to try to strike at the taunting bastard.
Jack laughed. "Ah, Samantha, don't be angry. We so rarely have the opportunity to be together like this, I can't help but tease you a little."
The sudden affection in his voice made her shiver. "What do you want from me, Jack?"
He paused. "I want....” he mused, as if searching for the right words. "I want you to appreciate me, Samantha. I want your admiration. I think I deserve that much."
"You want my admiration." She tested the words as though they belonged to some foreign language. "Do you actually hear what you're saying to me, Jack? You want me to appreciate what you did? You want me to admire you for killing all those people?!" Her voice had risen to a shout; Jack moved closer and she could see the fuzzy outline of his gloved hands, raised in a placating gesture.
"Shh, my Samantha," he soothed. "It was necessary."
"Don't call me that!" Sam snapped, on the verge of tears and struggling to keep the quaver out of her voice. "I'm not yours. And you're not mine. Stop trying to make a connection where we have none, Jack. You were just another case. You were just my damned bad luck!"
She tensed, expecting him to be angry. Instead she heard him laugh again; his tone was gentle and patient, as if he were addressing a child.
"I was another case -- you used the past tense, Samantha. Did you realize that? Maybe you thought that once, for a moment. But is that the way you feel right now? Are you absolutely certain that we're not connected?"
****************
The Amnest-ee comments: First off, I'm still amazed that no one ever did this type of fic way back when, when there were a whole lot more of us SB'ers floating about. *G* There was a time when I was quite into the idea of this little scenario, and I could potentially see myself working on it again, but I think it'll morph into less NC-17 and more R, with a lot more conversation and fewer planned nekkid bits. Unless I get really evil with my next "Venom" re-watch and write a Jack/Sam/Robin three-way drabble. ;) Additionally, the name will have to be seriously re-vamped as it sounds way too romance novel-y for my tastes -- what was I thinking?
Story Type: PWP/Drama, Sam/Jack
Rating: NC-17 (currently PG-13ish)
Spoilers: Through the end of Season One
Synopsis: What if Jack had taken Sam's hand in "Venom?" A Skewed take on a favorite episode....
****************
It shouldn't be this dark.
Her eyes were open, she was trying to look around and it shouldn't be this dark, even in whatever godforsaken place she'd been dumped. Samantha pulled herself up to a crouched position on the musty old mattress where she'd awakened minutes ago. The sudden movement intensified the dull diffuse ache at the back of her head, but she ignored it; at this point everything was taking a back seat to her vision. Or lack of it. Tentatively, she waved her hand in front of her face.
Nothing. Just more darkness.
"Oh my God..."
The combination of shock and terror buckled her knees, and she collapsed back onto the mattress with a whimper. She blinked rapidly and rubbed at her useless eyes, hoping vainly to wake up from this nightmare setting even as the memories washed over her with an unrelenting clarity. She'd been in the darkroom. She had been reaching for a print, not paying attention to what she touched until she'd felt the sudden sharp sting in the webbing of her thumb. As soon as she saw the spider, she'd known. She'd panicked, had reached for the phone and....
And here she was, in God knew what kind of place, blinded and vulnerable and trapped. Had Robin Poole grown so bored with the VCTF's incompetence that she'd decided to kidnap and torture one of their own as the ultimate insult? Panic and nausea combined and roiled in Sam's belly, but she tried her best to swallow it down and think clearly. Robin might have deprived her of one of her senses, but she wasn't about to let the little bitch steal the rest of them away without a fight. Gritting her teeth in anger and determination, Sam again pulled herself up. She reached out tentatively and her hands contacted the cool metal of a steel beam a few feet to the left of her; grasping it like a lifeline, she stepped off the mattress and began to take halting steps across the floor.
As her footsteps began to scrape against the concrete, a woman's frantic screams ripped through the stillness from somewhere in front of her. Samantha jumped and yelped in alarm at the unexpected noise, but the woman sounded as frightened as she was, and the muffled quality of her screams suggested she was gagged. Sam frowned; some stoic analytical part of her brain was still grinding along despite the fear and the sensory deprivation, and she was vexed by an inconsistency. It didn't fit. Robin only chose one victim at a time.
The woman screamed again.
"Hold on, keep talking to me," Sam urged. Her mouth was dry and she had to cough the roughness out of her voice. "I need you to keep talking to me. I'm trying to reach you but I -- I can't see!"
Slowly, she made her way toward the screams, patting various objects with open palms as she passed them. Her other senses had already kicked into higher gear; a continuous mechanical humming pulsed all around her, and she was becoming acutely aware of the damp chilly air pressing against her skin. Shivering, she paused for a moment and leaned against a large glass container. She heard a sharp hissing sound close to her right ear and she jumped, pressing closer against the glass. The movement caused her fingers to slip into the container; something sticky and gauzy clung to her nails, and she cried out in terror as she realized she was touching a spider's web.
A gloved hand quickly covered hers and yanked her clear of the container and out of harm's way. The motion threw her off balance, and Sam found herself stumbling against a man's chest. She steadied herself by grasping at his shirt, coming to rest momentarily with her forehead against his chin while her breath burst forth in short sobs. The man stood stiffly, supporting her weight as she leaned into him but not really touching her. Sam loosened her grip on his shirt and peered up at him, realizing as she did that although his profile was fuzzy, it was nonetheless faintly visible. Her first impression had been correct -- it was a man, it wasn't Robin. A ridiculous sense of relief coursed through her -- she was starting to see things again, Robin hadn't found her but someone else had. She was found, she was safe and everything would be all right.
She opened her mouth to speak to him but he spoke first, his breath warm against her cheek as he formed the words.
"Careful where you put your hands, Samantha. That little spider is a nasty one."
The familiar voice sliced into her, silky and sinister. Samantha screamed and pushed away from him, propelling herself into another glass container. She was greeted with a hiss and a skittering sound that made her skin crawl; yelping again, she spun around and stumbled in what she hoped was a safer direction. From somewhere behind her, the woman screamed again, and it finally dawned on her.
Robin.
Jack had outsmarted his competition, and now he had two captives.
She heard a chuckle, and realized that Jack was enjoying the twin expressions of terror and understanding that were flashing across her face.
"What have you done, Jack? What have you done to my eyes?!"
"Not to worry. Dr. Trades already gave you the anti-venin for that little spider bite. I won't let any harm come to you." She could hear his voice gaining volume as he stepped closer, and she jumped back, only to find herself flush against a wall. She fought down the panic as his voice and his footsteps got louder. "You're all blurry now from a little homemade brew of mine. But don't worry, I tested it myself and it's not forever. Those big, beautiful baby blues of yours will be good as new -- but not yet."
At the last three words, his breath was suddenly hot against her ear. Sam screamed and shrank back, wishing she could either melt into the wall or regain enough vision to try to strike at the taunting bastard.
Jack laughed. "Ah, Samantha, don't be angry. We so rarely have the opportunity to be together like this, I can't help but tease you a little."
The sudden affection in his voice made her shiver. "What do you want from me, Jack?"
He paused. "I want....” he mused, as if searching for the right words. "I want you to appreciate me, Samantha. I want your admiration. I think I deserve that much."
"You want my admiration." She tested the words as though they belonged to some foreign language. "Do you actually hear what you're saying to me, Jack? You want me to appreciate what you did? You want me to admire you for killing all those people?!" Her voice had risen to a shout; Jack moved closer and she could see the fuzzy outline of his gloved hands, raised in a placating gesture.
"Shh, my Samantha," he soothed. "It was necessary."
"Don't call me that!" Sam snapped, on the verge of tears and struggling to keep the quaver out of her voice. "I'm not yours. And you're not mine. Stop trying to make a connection where we have none, Jack. You were just another case. You were just my damned bad luck!"
She tensed, expecting him to be angry. Instead she heard him laugh again; his tone was gentle and patient, as if he were addressing a child.
"I was another case -- you used the past tense, Samantha. Did you realize that? Maybe you thought that once, for a moment. But is that the way you feel right now? Are you absolutely certain that we're not connected?"
****************
The Amnest-ee comments: First off, I'm still amazed that no one ever did this type of fic way back when, when there were a whole lot more of us SB'ers floating about. *G* There was a time when I was quite into the idea of this little scenario, and I could potentially see myself working on it again, but I think it'll morph into less NC-17 and more R, with a lot more conversation and fewer planned nekkid bits. Unless I get really evil with my next "Venom" re-watch and write a Jack/Sam/Robin three-way drabble. ;) Additionally, the name will have to be seriously re-vamped as it sounds way too romance novel-y for my tastes -- what was I thinking?
