(no subject)
You look up at him from beneath your lashes, for once tempted to hide in each arching, spangled veil that they provide. They feel heavy, even to you. The merest suggestion of something damp and wet and it is enough to push your gaze wide in defiance. If that was the truth that would be revealed to mask the lie? Well, it was far too much a dangerous one.
And you will not have it.
No. No, you will have his words instead.
Jack has asked you a question, after all. And it seems he will have an answer.
The inquiry sits between you, scattered on the floor and somewhat harmed by its fall. After all it is plain enough that neither or you are fully prepared to hold it. Not after so many years of studied, intentional ignorance. There are fractured corners and opened wounds to be dealt with now, as well as words. It is the natural consequence of falling, after all.
Or perhaps that is only you. Perhaps that is only tonight. Perhaps.
There is some shock in Jack's eyes. Perhaps it is not a question he intended to ask this particular evening. But it has been asked all the same, and he seems to have acquired a certain confidence with the saying of it. Or no, it might be defiance. It is all too hard to see, and to translate the planes of his face. You know each other better than this.
You knew him better the very first moment you caught sight of him than you do now. In some ways he has never felt more a stranger. Or is it that you have never felt less than yourself?
Only why? Why? That single thought is punctuated by a step forward. You realize too late it only serves to bring you not only closer to him? But into the fractured center of the question itself, still scattered between you.
But why must it be you? Why is this for you to say? And why did he chose this moment to demand it? It seemed to defy years of competition and companionship. This was more than compromise. And somehow? It cut. You do not even know why, only that it does. And that from the whole of the evening? It was this man and this moment that brought you there.
Oh Jack.
Why?
You think then, of what it has meant to you to love. Not just the word, or the feeling. But the actual living of it. It was one thing to love a king. It was yet another to love Louis, with all his complications mated with your own. The nights spent shattered and alone in your room as Louis passed the time on the setee outside, clearly displeased. The coolness and numbness that began in your fingers only to slowly work itself to your core as your body first failed him and then added the insult of failing you besides. Of very nearly compromising your very sense of self in older to keep him at your side, only to realize you both would have been keeping the company of a ghost.
It was why you sent him away.
And then of course the Doctor. Your fireplace man. If the love of a king had been your destiny? Then loving this man had surely been your choice. The thrill of his body pressed against your own and the exotic taste of the stars themselves in your mouth. He did not judge when he looked into your mind any more than you judged his. He was a dangerously addictive as the opium that was peddled and played with in the fringes of the Court. You loved him. Loved him enough to very nearly lose yourself as you stood there, stationary, and waited for him. Waited for him to return. Waited for him to think of you. Waited for him to just once -- once once -- be there when the monsters were not. Only for you. You wanted to wait for him very nearly more than you wanted to live. And that? Could not be.
It was no small part of why you sent him away.
A part of you would always be waiting for your lonely angel. But you could not allow it to consume you.
And now there was Jack. Waiting, as you did. Wondering. And you were left to wonder too. What would be compromised this time? If you allowed yourself to love him.
Only, no. What had been compromised? How were you altered this time?
Because, of course, you already did.
Love him.
But why had he shattered the unspoken agreement between you? Was it no longer enough for it simply to be known?
And it all was too much. This night? Was too much. This moment was too much.
You hide beneath your lashes once more.
"I was unaware I was allowed to."
And you will not have it.
No. No, you will have his words instead.
Jack has asked you a question, after all. And it seems he will have an answer.
The inquiry sits between you, scattered on the floor and somewhat harmed by its fall. After all it is plain enough that neither or you are fully prepared to hold it. Not after so many years of studied, intentional ignorance. There are fractured corners and opened wounds to be dealt with now, as well as words. It is the natural consequence of falling, after all.
Or perhaps that is only you. Perhaps that is only tonight. Perhaps.
There is some shock in Jack's eyes. Perhaps it is not a question he intended to ask this particular evening. But it has been asked all the same, and he seems to have acquired a certain confidence with the saying of it. Or no, it might be defiance. It is all too hard to see, and to translate the planes of his face. You know each other better than this.
You knew him better the very first moment you caught sight of him than you do now. In some ways he has never felt more a stranger. Or is it that you have never felt less than yourself?
Only why? Why? That single thought is punctuated by a step forward. You realize too late it only serves to bring you not only closer to him? But into the fractured center of the question itself, still scattered between you.
But why must it be you? Why is this for you to say? And why did he chose this moment to demand it? It seemed to defy years of competition and companionship. This was more than compromise. And somehow? It cut. You do not even know why, only that it does. And that from the whole of the evening? It was this man and this moment that brought you there.
Oh Jack.
Why?
You think then, of what it has meant to you to love. Not just the word, or the feeling. But the actual living of it. It was one thing to love a king. It was yet another to love Louis, with all his complications mated with your own. The nights spent shattered and alone in your room as Louis passed the time on the setee outside, clearly displeased. The coolness and numbness that began in your fingers only to slowly work itself to your core as your body first failed him and then added the insult of failing you besides. Of very nearly compromising your very sense of self in older to keep him at your side, only to realize you both would have been keeping the company of a ghost.
It was why you sent him away.
And then of course the Doctor. Your fireplace man. If the love of a king had been your destiny? Then loving this man had surely been your choice. The thrill of his body pressed against your own and the exotic taste of the stars themselves in your mouth. He did not judge when he looked into your mind any more than you judged his. He was a dangerously addictive as the opium that was peddled and played with in the fringes of the Court. You loved him. Loved him enough to very nearly lose yourself as you stood there, stationary, and waited for him. Waited for him to return. Waited for him to think of you. Waited for him to just once -- once once -- be there when the monsters were not. Only for you. You wanted to wait for him very nearly more than you wanted to live. And that? Could not be.
It was no small part of why you sent him away.
A part of you would always be waiting for your lonely angel. But you could not allow it to consume you.
And now there was Jack. Waiting, as you did. Wondering. And you were left to wonder too. What would be compromised this time? If you allowed yourself to love him.
Only, no. What had been compromised? How were you altered this time?
Because, of course, you already did.
Love him.
But why had he shattered the unspoken agreement between you? Was it no longer enough for it simply to be known?
And it all was too much. This night? Was too much. This moment was too much.
You hide beneath your lashes once more.
"I was unaware I was allowed to."