The Glass Scientists micro-fanfictions

To the future

Henry Jekyll could feel his eyelids stubbornly dragging themselves downwards with the unspoken promises of a nap that seemed all the more tempting with every beat of his heart. His heart did still beat, despite every winding path his life took putting that into doubt, each disregard for his well-being all for the sake of some grand goal that was always laying just that little bit out of his reach, no matter how much he stretched, always reaching for the impossible. But perhaps he ought to breathe for just a moment, just long enough to let himself see the steps that he seemed so determined to ignore. Burning the candle at both ends just leaves nothing but a wasted mess of unfulfilled promised that would do nothing for himself or those around him. 

The chatter around him felt surprisingly comfortable. It was, as it seemed it always would be, just a little frantic, and yet it was not quite as sharp as it once had been. It was odd, really, that the razor-edge of the concerns of those around him did not feel quite so sharp against his skin. Less like one poorly timed breath would lead the blade to slip through his ribs and into his heart. Perhaps it was merely the clinging sense of security that even a partial success could hold that was dulling the edge to a manageable degree. That even just some of the weight that had been crushing him had been willingly distributed among those who understood.
Did they truly understand? He could suppose they did. More than he had given them credit for, if nothing else, and that would have had to count for enough to get by. It was, after all, enough to get by and at that moment it did not seem to need to be anything more grand than simply that. Getting by. 

From his position curled up in the little armchair, which he was the first to admit was not the most dignified way to sit in the world, the doctor peeked out through his eyelashes, one last attempt to combat the allure of slumber, a slumber that ordinarily felt strange to lean into when he was not alone, and yet the room was teeming with life and he was seconds from nodding off. 
Jasper was rather enthusiastically explaining something to Rachel and Miss Flowers, and while the exact nature of what he was saying was lost to the general rumble of life in the room, it seemed the others were more than a captive audience to the werewolf. It was nice to see, considering how nervous the young man had been when he first arrived, and now he was comfortable enough to engage in conversations with his fellows.
Whatever it was that Mr. Griffin and Dr. Maijabi were discussing must have been particularly stimulating, for the former was speaking most animatedly, his heavily gloved hands waving in a way that it was a marvel the latter had no inclination to take a step back to avoid a straying limb. He would have to keep his ears sharper in the future, it would not do him any favours to be tripping over things he couldn't see.
From where he sat, he could not quite tell who Lanyon was talking to, but it seemed to be a suitably decent conversation if the subtle loosening of his posture was anything to go by. Good, he mused to himself, Robert deserved the chance to simply talk amongst his fellows rather than having to always present himself as something above it all, there was no way that wasn't exhausting. 

He did not let it show whether he noticed the shadow of a figure looking down at them from the mezzanine. Out of Jekyll and Frankenstein of them was bitter and alone and tragic, and it was certainly not Jekyll. It was not that he was being smug about being happier than a sickly older woman, but he was sure he was allowed to be a little smug about the fact he was doing better than a fellow scientist that had sought to belittle his work at every chance she had. It was only fair, really, to make it even.
And if she was going to be petty about it, then that was rather her problem, wasn't it?

Henry noticed in that sort of passing way that one might notice a lack of anything at all to actually notice, that his mind was oddly still. It had been so long since he had the chance to experience a genuinely still mind, none of the horrible static of discomfort, none of the chattering mania of Edward Hyde, none of the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him at a moment's notice. Perhaps it was simply the exhaustion offering a fog of nothingness, but it offered a relief that he did not expect he would ever have the privilege of feeling again, and so he was hardly going to question it. There was enough advice around gift horses and their mouths for him to not feel inclined to question it any more than he necessarily had to. 

A sleepy smile, the sort that held no ties of obligation or performative shapes, graced his features as he regarded the comfortable chaos that was buzzing about him. It felt right, in a way that nothing had felt in so long, like a breath held for long enough to burn his lungs being finally let out. He drew himself up into a comfortable little ball, the idea that those around him were quite alright playing heavily in his mind. They were okay, they were capable and they knew what they were doing, and maybe, just maybe he did not need to have to worry about them as much as he did. He knew that he would always worry, it was just in his nature, but all the same he knew that no matter what they might have to face, they're going to come out okay in the end. Not always in the way they planned, but always okay.
They were going to be okay and he was proud of them. Prouder than was seen as appropriate, but at that moment he did not care about what was proper. 
He was okay, and they were okay and he was going to have a nap and everything would be okay.