(no subject)
Title: His voice
Author:Becky_H
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 200, exactly.
Summary: Sometimes, he still tries to remember.
Author's Notes: This meme got me thinking. Thinking's dangerous. Unbeta'd short-fic.
The Time Agency stole two years of his memories. Getting them back used to be all he cared out.
These days he doesn't think about it much - he's got other questions he wants answered - but every once in a while, when the hub's too quiet and the dawn's too far away, he still tries to remember. Sometimes, just before he falls into something that's not sleep, he thinks he almost does.
A hand in his hair that's warm but not soft. The sting when it fists and the wrenching ache when his head's forced back. The burn of alcohol he has to swallow or choke on - and choking, anyway. The dizzying disorientation when the world and his mind both lurch sideways. The overwhelming sense of betrayal and the bitter taste of bile at the back of his throat. Cold metal under his hand when he catches himself against some unseen wall and the question - "What have you done?" - hanging in the air and echoing in his mind.
The answer is the last thing he ever remembers - "What I had to."
It's not the lack of apology that shakes Jack.
It's that he knows that voice. Because it's his.
Author:Becky_H
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 200, exactly.
Summary: Sometimes, he still tries to remember.
Author's Notes: This meme got me thinking. Thinking's dangerous. Unbeta'd short-fic.
The Time Agency stole two years of his memories. Getting them back used to be all he cared out.
These days he doesn't think about it much - he's got other questions he wants answered - but every once in a while, when the hub's too quiet and the dawn's too far away, he still tries to remember. Sometimes, just before he falls into something that's not sleep, he thinks he almost does.
A hand in his hair that's warm but not soft. The sting when it fists and the wrenching ache when his head's forced back. The burn of alcohol he has to swallow or choke on - and choking, anyway. The dizzying disorientation when the world and his mind both lurch sideways. The overwhelming sense of betrayal and the bitter taste of bile at the back of his throat. Cold metal under his hand when he catches himself against some unseen wall and the question - "What have you done?" - hanging in the air and echoing in his mind.
The answer is the last thing he ever remembers - "What I had to."
It's not the lack of apology that shakes Jack.
It's that he knows that voice. Because it's his.