Title: Safe
Author: Zath Chauvert
Summary: Hyde is awake again, and for the first few seconds it feels just like old times, only without Jackman's whiny messages on the dictaphone.
Rating: R/M. The content isn't really all that bad, but I do think that it's more than what should be considered PG-13/T.
Feedback: Yes, please! Any and all feedback, positive or negative, would be greatly appreciated. If you want to tell me that the story is horrible, go ahead and say so. All I ask is that you also tell me why you think it's horrible. Just hit the Review button at the bottom of the page.
Disclaimer: The characters and concepts found here belong to Moffat, the BBC, and some other people/companies whose names I cannot recall at the moment. They aren't mine. I intend no copyright infringement with this work. I'm just trying to share my love for the show and hopefully make a few people smile while I'm at it.
Author's Note: I wrote this for smallfandomfest: Fest05 over on LJ. This could be read as a companion piece to my story "Brand New" if you're in the mood for that sort of interpretation, but it wasn't really intended that way.

Safe
By Zath Chauvert

The explosion into consciousness was unexpected, to say the least. From nonexistence to full alertness in zero point zero three seconds flat, without any prior warning: it had to be some kind of new record for speed, but Hyde didn't care because he had other things on his mind at that moment. He had just gotten used to the idea of dying, and then this happened. It was like being shocked out of a sound sleep by someone throwing a bucket of water onto him, only instead of being asleep he had been dead, and instead of water he suddenly found himself covered with flesh and bone that he had never expected to feel again. All he knew was that he couldn't ask Jackman what the deal was, because his first conscious thought had been of realizing that his other half was doing the mental equivalent of heading for the hills. Now, Hyde had their body all to himself.

Daddy hadn't quite retreated far enough that Hyde would need to drain all of London again to get him back, but from the feel of things he wouldn't be of any use until after he had a while to calm down, which might take a few minutes or a few hours, and in the meantime he hadn't bothered to give Hyde access to his more recent memories to fill in all the blanks. Great. It was just like old times, only without any of Jackman's whiny "The man sitting across the desk from you is my accountant; please don't assault him before he's finished doing our taxes" messages on the dictaphone.

What the fuck was going on?

The last thing Hyde remembered was getting shot more times than he bothered to count and then lying sprawled on the floor, looking up at Colonel Hart while everything went black. Now, he was once again lying sprawled somewhere, though this time it was warmer and more yielding than concrete. Everything was still more or less black, too. However, he suspected that last part had more to do with the cloth bag that was currently covering his head than any physiological impairment. Just enough faint hints of light filtered through the fabric to let him know that he was really only in near, not total, darkness.

And also like last time, Hyde was in pain, though it wasn't anywhere near the same sort of pain as bullet wounds. This felt more like he, or at least Jackman, had just been beaten. Well, sort of beaten. Whoever was responsible had done a crap job of it, because a truly competent beating should have left him in a whole lot more pain than he was currently experiencing. Really, it only stung a little. Hyde, or Daddy if he had managed to pull himself together by then, might have a few small, faint bruises in the morning, but it would all be superficial. No one had even bothered to land a kidney punch or a kick to the ribs. They hadn't touched his head either, so not a trace of cranial trauma. It was this kind of incompetence that made Hyde wonder how the human race managed to keep itself going when no one ever seemed to put in any effort. It also made him wonder why Jackman would feel such a desperate need to escape from something as minor as this after having previously withstood so much worse dished out by Hyde himself. Sure, Jackman was claustrophobic and there was a bag over head, but even on his worst scaredy-Daddy days he wasn't that pathetic.

So what else was wrong?

Hyde could feel air moving on parts of his skin that didn't usually get exposed to much airflow. On the day that he first emerged into the world, he had sprung from Daddy's head both fully formed and fully clothed, so a phrase like "naked as the day he was born" didn't apply to him in the same way that it would to other people. However, if he had been anyone else, that phrase would have fit perfectly right now, aside from the bag over his head of course, unless he wanted to be that kid from The Shining.

Baroque harpsichord music drifted through the air. It wasn't a reason to flee in terror, but Hyde considered that sort of ambient noise to be irritating even at the best of times. Because, really, why would anyone willingly listen to a harpsichord? There was a reason that kind of shite had gone out of style way back before even Great-grandaddy Edward hit the scene. As far as Hyde was concerned, recording technology had been developed specifically so that people wouldn't have to listen to harpsichords anymore. Someone must not have gotten the memo.

At least it was giving him information about his surroundings while it got on his nerves. Some of the facts it revealed were more relevant than others. For instance, it probably didn't matter that the general sound quality and low amount of background hiss indicated that the speakers connected to the CD player were of good quality. However, the way that the sound bounced off of the walls, letting him know the dimensions of the room and his position within it, might come in quite handy indeed. Most important of all though was the fact that the music was playing quietly enough that it didn't even come close to obscuring the sounds of someone only a few feet away from him. Whoever they were, they were just standing there, not moving or saying anything, but their heart rate and breathing were both noticeably elevated. Maybe it was from exertion, maybe something else.

All of these thoughts flashed through Hyde's mind in the first brief second that he was awake, many of them occurring simultaneously rather than consecutively. Any further thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the person next to him shifting position. An instant later, something (long, thin and slightly flexible, judging by the sound of it) whistled through the air and landed a stinging blow across his bare thigh. It didn't hurt enough for him to even consider giving the perpetrator the satisfaction of a reaction, but it definitely got Hyde's attention.

Seriously, what the fuck was going on?

The person shifted once again, and there was a second whistle indicating the down-swing of another strike. Hyde instantly made up his mind. Just because the beating didn't really hurt all that much didn't mean that he was in the mood to play the meek little kitten and submit to it. That wasn't his style. He darted out a hand to grab the weapon as it sped towards him. What did it matter if he couldn't see it coming, when he could hear it just fine? The answer: it didn't matter at all.

What did matter was the fact that he was only able to move a few inches before meeting resistance. Metal already warmed to body temperature bit into Hyde's wrist, and chain rattled as it was pulled taut. The blow that he had intended to intercept connected with its target. Hyde barely noticed. He was too busy discovering that trying to move his other arm met with the same result as the first, as did trying to move either of his feet.

Okay, so maybe factors were beginning to add up to something slightly more severe than he had first thought. If nothing else, it looked as though Daddy like being chained up even less than Hyde did. Hyde was going to have to tease him mercilessly about that later.

However, first things first. Hyde pulled harder at his restraints and was rewarded with the groan of straining wood. He was also rewarded with a reaction from his captor.

"Stop! You're going to crack the bedpost!"

And Hyde did stop, because he knew that voice. He inhaled deeply, just for confirmation, and wasn't disappointed. Because of the bag over his head, mostly he only smelled his own breath, but under that he could also smell red wine, crushed rose petals, burning candle wax, extreme arousal that sure as hell wasn't his own, and most importantly of all--

"Mrs. Jackman!"

For several seconds, there was no response other than a sudden spike in the speed of the other person's heartbeat. Then the floor creaked yet again, and the fabric covering his face, a pillowcase by the look of it, was pulled away, revealing the aforementioned Mrs. Jackman, wearing an outfit that consisted of a few strategically placed bits of black leather and not much else. Actually, that wasn't quite true. She was also wearing a very irritated looking frown, which was echoed in her words once her jaw finally unclenched enough to allow her to speak.

"Damn it, Tom! You could have just used the safeword."

Maybe it wasn't exactly a perfect start to the evening, but as far as Billy Hyde was concerned, it was good enough.

Fade to black and roll the credits.

Author's Note: Don't ask me about the harpsichord music. Claire insisted on it but wouldn't say why. Really, we might be better off not knowing.