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#Saying fuckit and just posting what i have bc yall waited so patiently
Kismet
Fandom: The Glass Scientists
Current rating: T
Chapter: 1
Title: Fugue
A/N: This fic is sort of a canon-divergent, wish-fulfillment drabble piece that started as a lot of different fics i wrote that i discovered had scenes that would fit better together as a single fic, and so i took snippets from those and stuck them together and whittled the whole mess down into something more manageable. Lots of late night editing sessions for something I'm doing for free, but I was motivated to finish this by someone being so very enthusiastic in the tags on the WIP excerpts I posted, which was honestly such a delight to wake up to. Thank you so much btw @greedycanine I really appreciate that boost and I hope I meet your expectations in the full chapters :)
The comic has updated several times since I began writing this, and I did add some non-canon elements (for instance, that Lanyon Knows, which is a common enough trope in this fandom and one that I enjoy immensely.)
The flaws in this one might not be as glaring as my over-anxious mind anticipates, but if you notice them, I probably have too. It is likely best read as a self-contained hypothetical with hints of canon plot woven in. It's a bit messy, but I think it may be enjoyable nonetheless.
Here is the first part of this great beast. It consists mostly of a conversation, beginning with some emblematic Jekyll and Hyde mirror-bickering. I thought it would be interesting to explore one of those moments where Hyde has something insightful to say, even if it's something of a means to an end for him.
The font changes are something of a fanfic guilty pleasure for me, but they're also a tool I love to use to show who's speaking and how, without necessarily using a dialogue tag every other line, especially when we have two characters who have the ability to communicate both in ways only they can hear and in ways others can.
Hope all of that works for y'all. Happy reading :)
Chapter 1: Fugue
“Are you ready to let me back out yet? Believe it or not, hanging over your shoulder all day does get old.”
"Not now."
“Why not?”
"I don’t want you getting involved in this. We've just made it through into the thickest of this whole ordeal. There’s still too much at stake."
“Ugh. That’s how you see every situation you can’t directly micromanage. It’s like the whole of your world is always resting oh-so-precariously on the head of a pin, ready to be upset by the slightest deviation from your expectations. Lighten up just this once, won't you?"
Henry sighed heavily at that and slid his finished page to the far side of the desk, thinking better of his initial impulse to reply. Pulling a fresh sheet of paper into view and dipping his pen into the inkwell again, he continued to write, attempting to ignore the familiar but currently disembodied speaker.
“Don’t act like you can’t hear me all of a sudden," the voice grumbled impatiently.  "You know, I’ve noticed something lately, Henry. You always insist on framing our situation as though you’re the most responsible party between the two of us, but you never seem to have any really substantial backup plans on hand, in case those delicate matters you like fussing over so much go awry. You never give yourself a real margin of error, despite the fact you're always angsting over what could go wrong.”
Ink pooled slightly on the page under Henry’s pen as he paused, scoffing at the insinuation that he’d been anything but diligent. “And you do?” he prodded back sarcastically, speaking aloud this time, his voice firm but quiet. He was rather aware of precisely how audible he was behind his office door. It was more risky to communicate this way, but he seemed to have an easier time filtering himself when he wasn’t trying to speak internally, and that was important when he was dealing with his incorporeal counterpart.
The lengthy mirror standing off to one side drew his eye when he heard the reply.
“Oh, I always figure something out, one way or another. Surely you know that better than anyone.” 
Henry rolled his eyes at the hazy silhouette that suddenly could be glimpsed in the mirror’s reflection of the opposite wall. “Abandoning every situation that doesn’t go your way and playing hopscotch all over the city’s rooftops is not a backup plan,” he muttered bitterly, composing the end of a follow-up letter for a prospective sponsor before setting the page aside to let the ink dry.
“It can be, if you’re clever enough," the shadow replied. "Also, you're one to talk about giving up easy. Just a few weeks ago I watched you nearly forfeit your whole operation just because Lanyon told you he didn't think things looked sound after you passed out mid-speech. Face it, you’re all or nothing when it comes to solving problems. What is that about?”
Another exasperated sigh as Henry spared another glance at the shadow in the mirror. "Can we not do this right now? You only ask these questions because you already know what gets under my skin. You don't really care about the answers, do you?"
When the shadow spoke next, it was with a mockery of a hurt tone, the dark shape leaning back slightly. A silhouetted hand rested against an approximation of the chest, in a gesture best described as theatrically wounded.
"Why, you insult me, dear doctor. I'm only curious, for both of our sakes, being as close as we are," came the snidely-sweet reply.
Henry narrowed his eyes. “Do you honestly expect I could believe you truly care about what happens to me? After all you've put me through? You take such joy in my misfortune. Really, you can drop the saccharine nonsense, Hyde."
Letting the name slip from his mouth was a mistake, but wouldn’t be costly this time since they were alone- and he only uttered it the one time, Henry reasoned quickly. It was mostly to try to quell the dread in his stomach at the prospect of someone in the hall happening by as he said it out loud, in an otherwise perceptibly empty room.
Hyde vanished from the glass, only to reappear, more thoroughly illuminated, in the empty air near the desk, looking slightly more like a person than an apparition now, as well as irritated.
“I’m trying to tell you that you might actually benefit from trying things my way. Be a little more spontaneous. Roll over the bumps in the road, instead of just counting on things going the right way the first time, every time. It was funny to watch you flounder at first, I must admit, but honestly it's just getting old. I wonder what would happen if you switched things up and proved me right," he paused briefly, noting Henry's contemplative expression.
"And another thing!" Hyde exclaimed, pointing at the ceiling for emphasis. "You told me you'd let me out after the exhibition, then not at all, and now here you are again running yourself uselessly into the ground. The bourgeois types you find yourself groveling to yet again are notoriously hard to satisfy. Why should you have to rush if they already know what you and the others are capable of?"
Stretching a little as Hyde went on, Henry stopped a moment and glanced out the window with a pensive look in his eye.
“That's one of the few times you’ve been right about something, amongst all those snide remarks.”
“Hey!” Hyde sounded affronted at first, then did an almost comical double-take. "Wait, you agree with me?"
“I can certainly see what you mean, even if I can't abide by that advice in the same way you might,” Henry began. “We need everyone's projects to come together smoothly if we're to maintain what good standing we've managed to acquire with our sponsors. They have high hopes and even higher expectations after the splash everyone made at the exhibition. We would need to plan for every eventuality within reach of what we set out to do, but… I do miss things while trying to account for the unexpected, don’t I? Always, something unforeseen gets in my way.” Henry turned in his seat and reached into the cabinet above, pulling out a leather-bound notebook tucked behind a row of vials. Flipping to the first clean page, he dipped his pen into the inkwell once more. "Somehow the fact you managed to worm your way back to the front of our mind to pester me once again is not one such surprise.."
Hyde furrowed his brow in displeasure, rolling his eyes at Henry's little jab. “Of course it isn't. Did you really think I could be held down so easily? You made it harder for me to take over the body on my own, but I'm still here." he paused for a moment. "How long is this going to take?" 
“Not quite as long as you seem to be concerned about. I just have to jot down some…alternatives so I remember them while the subject is fresh,” Henry spoke mildly, but his expression was disgruntled and contemplative.
Hyde rolled his eyes, and did not look at Henry's page, whose looping, slanted script looked far too dull for him to devote attention to at this hour, restless and bitter as he was.
Henry went on, "I'm still upset about that stunt you pulled on the stage, but I'm certain you figured that out already. It was cruel even by your usual standards."
“Cruelty is the very thing I'm made for, but now that you mention it, I actually did you a favor by dragging you down into the dark and the quiet," Hyde spat."You're just addicted to working until you pass out. It's a real fuckin' problem."
As he grew more impatient, the East-London drawl that Hyde had picked up since his creation was seeping further into his inflections. Beneath that, there was a slight but distinct lilt which gestured toward shared memories of Glasgow, making an uncommon cocktail of tones that were unmistakably signature to him. Like so many things about Hyde, Henry noticed, it produced a quality both familiar and foreign. It was, fittingly enough, a faintly haunting thing to witness, a reminder of just how right Hyde always was about the extent of their connection.
Henry squinted his eyes shut as if to abandon that train of thought, trying to remain bearably numb to the reality of being forever stuck arguing with a living distillate of the most confusing parts of himself. “If I'm doomed to be addicted to anything at all, as you say I am, I'd much rather it be something useful,” Henry replied coldly after a moment, the page under his pen nearly full.
Hyde paused, nose wrinkled in defensive chagrin. "I don't concern myself with counting the ways I can be used by others. At least my addictions don't rely on people telling me what to do," he muttered. "Are you done yet?"
Henry shook his head in stiff silence, much to Hyde’s dismay. He gave a frustrated groan. “You can pick this up tomorrow! It’s getting close to evening by now, and you always take so much longer with these things than you say you will."
Once the page was dry and flipped over, there was no reply but the continued, now noticeably forceful scratching of Henry’s pen. His brow was creased with irritation, a deepening frown on his face. 
Hyde growled in frustration. “Jekyll!”
Henry grit his teeth, snapping a look over at Hyde that was a mixture of anger and anxiety. "Must you be so childish?! Don't think I don't know what you're doing by now, I am not as much of a fool as you seem to think. Why should I go out of my way to let you out again, when you have proven time and time again that you don't know how to keep your excursions from ruining everything I strive for?"
He could not stop the impatient edge from entering his voice, as much as he'd wanted to avoid raising it tonight. As he spoke, Hyde's features twisted into a mask of indignation and rage.
"You don't know the first thing about ruin! Try being in my position for a change- less than nothing, a ghost of a ghost! And for what? You have no idea how lucky you really are. My entire existence is eaten up by watching another man live a life I could do so much more with if I was given the chance!"
Jekyll shut the notebook with a forceful swipe of his hand down against the desk, eyes downcast. "I would love to see you try living my life for once," he replied flatly, "If perhaps you weren't so preoccupied with immediate gratification, maybe I'd even trust you with making an attempt."
"Perhaps if we had any more of that potion of ours made, I would be able to seriously debate if I wanted to take you up on that. But I am mostly stranded now, and it isn't my fault I wound up that way. You're the one who made that call." Hyde shot back, moving phantom-like toward the doorway that led to the other portion of the office, where many of their experiments had taken place. 
Jekyll tucked the notebook into a drawer under his desk, slamming it closed in irritation. "Not your fault? I had to destroy it. You would have found some way to get your hands on it when I was needed most, because that is what you always do! You didn't give me another choice!"
Hyde's image distorted slightly for a moment, like smeared paint on canvas, before resolving itself, as if reacting physically to emotion. "There is always another choice! This is what I'm talking about. All or nothing. We are two parts of a whole, you know that. Or, at least you ought to by now."
His voice, as well, seemed faintly doubled, the translation of a will to be heard. "You need me around, you know you do, even if you can't admit it. How many times have you watched me indulge in what you couldn't? How many times have you deliberately sent me into the world to voice the thoughts you must otherwise claim to revile? How much benefit have you reaped from our cooperation? You can't keep me locked away forever. You will always need the outlet I provide."
Jekyll's head began to ache a bit the longer he considered Hyde's point. It was true, he knew, that he found a secret kind of fulfillment in watching things he could never partake in play out vicariously from behind Hyde's eyes. This was a fault, really, or at least he thought so. However, a fault that he had not managed to shake off, for the better part of fifteen years. It would take a lot of willpower to break a habit like that after so long. That was partly why he had destroyed the potion to begin with. He knew Hyde was probably right, that he was not really strong enough to resist the temptation of such freedom.
Technically, the potion could be recreated if it was necessary, though it was always an arduous process. They had needed to do that many times over a decade and a half. But Jekyll had cut himself off from that last ready-made batch as a last desperate bid for control, and had thought never to make it again.
Thinking about how much work still needed to be done before the lodgers' new project deadlines was a miserable uphill battle. Even now, deep down, he wanted to be somewhere else tonight, doing anything besides wearing himself out, cooped up in the office for the umpteenth time. Acknowledging that, even privately, felt like a betrayal of a higher caliber than even Hyde's, but the thought persisted even still.
He sighed. "Well...be that as it may, you are still an enormous liability. And, besides which- what do you even want me to do? What remained of that batch of the potion is gone now."
Hyde paused, and his expression shifted, from anger to mild disbelief, and finally into a smug, cheshire smile. "Well, I have been thinking about that, and I realized- it's not all gone," he moved toward the tall, solid wooden cabinet against the far wall of the office. It was the one Jekyll kept things that were risky to have visible behind glass (copies of the will written in his name, for instance.) It was also, Jekyll realized with dawning horror, where Hyde kept his physical set of clothing tucked away when Jekyll was in control. 
Among them was a tattered overcoat, with two stolen vials of HJ-7 tucked into the inside pocket.
Enough for exactly one last night on the town before the potion would have to be remade entirely. A final obstacle in the way of true control. A pacifying bargaining chip to buy himself more time before the pair of them would argue like this again.
Hyde seemed to recognize the way Jekyll's eyes shifted in thinly-concealed conflict, bordering on panic, and if it was possible, his grin widened.
"You remember the night I went to Blackfog, don't you, Jekyll?"
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