Current mood:	tired
Entry tags:	fic, fic: tw

Fic: Random Gloves
Title: Random Gloves
Summary: What if Eugene hadn't owned an alien Eye, but an alien Glove?
Characters: Eugene, Jack Harkness
Spoilers: Random Shoes
Rating: None
Word count: 451
Notes: Written for tw_wotd_fic's prompt 'Vicissitude'. Unbetaed, so as always, please point out any mistakes you spot. This is actually my first intentional AU fic ever. I wonder if it works... it was only written so I could distract myself from the frelling 42 MILLION EUROS in the lottery jackpot. I WANT THEM NOW!
Fic Masterlist: Here.


Eugene flinches as the coldness of the glove creeps into his hand, but he doesn't let go. He flexes his fingers to get used to the feeling of metal, of power. As something primal and old grasps his heart, he knows it was his best idea ever to swap that fake alien eye against this glove. This thing is genuine, he can feel that.

The buzz of a fly disturbs his thoughts, and instinctively his gloved hand reaches out with otherworldly speed. The insect twitches as it brushes his fingertips, stops, then falls. Dead.

A smile tugs at Eugene's mouth. He just figured out what this glove is. It's Justice. He will never take it off again. He slips out into the night, leaving his tiny human life behind to merge with the darkness. He has a purpose now.

He roams the streets, stalks those who deserve to die, a brush of his metal fingers enough to stop the crimes too numerous to count. He hunts his convicts, knows them simply by looking at their hearts.

I am Death, Eugene thinks, the Destroyer of Worlds, and doesn't remember that it used to be one of his favourite quotes. Had his heart still been beating, it would've worried now.

Time becomes meaningless.

Weapons can't harm him and he delivers punishment without mercy, as Mercy doesn't adorn his second, still human hand. He longs for the second glove, as Death without the chance to repent is nothing. But Mercy was destroyed before his awakening. It hurts, this absence of a part of his new soul.

The shadows of Earth hold more secrets than simple crime, like the man in the greatcoat who steps out of the night to face him. The stranger seems familiar somehow, but Death remembers so little from his life before the Glove.

"I bring death," he states his purpose, showing his gloved hand, his authorization.

"Will you kill me too, Eugene?" the stranger asks, and Death's hand twitches. He remembers this name; it was his once. He can see darkness and crime in this captain, but Death doesn't lift a finger. The Immortal almost looks disappointed.

"We can help, Eugene," the stranger continues, and Death wavers, considering this offer. This human innocent he occupies lost so much because of the Glove. Justice without Mercy is nothing, Death knows, and decides what to do. It is time to stop.

He pulls the Glove off his hand in one swift movement, his authorization revoked until the next being slips it on again.
The digits beneath the metal are brittle, his body aching as he flexes them. He had forgotten what pain felt like, he realizes as the sensation engulfs him. He doesn't support justice any longer, so justice doesn't support him. He breaks down, the strain on his once again human body too severe to reverse.

He's held by the Immortal, who doesn't understand. Not yet, at least. "Everything ends," Death and Eugene whisper, before both follow their convicts into oblivion.