Work Text:
His hand was shaking. His hand was usually steady. It never shook.
Why was his hand shaking?
Dell Conagher closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath before opening them again. His vision refused to completely come into focus, although whether that was from the adrenaline coursing through his system or the whiskey he’d recently consumed for a bit of extra courage, he wasn’t sure. Dell’s right hand was outstretched on the worktable, black dotted marker lines circumnavigating the desired section of arm. Pinned up on the wall was one of Dell’s grandfather’s blueprints, this one for a robotic prosthetic hand. And in Dell’s usually-steady left hand was a freshly-sharpened handsaw.
Good god, was he really about to do this?
Dell took another deep breath and brought the blade to his arm, the sharp end lightly touching his skin. He knew that if he hesitated and chickened out again, he’d never actually follow through. He could do this. He just had to start.
The Engineer clenched his jaw a little harder in anticipation and started sawing.