[TWFanFic] time gave both darkness and dreams to you (Jack/John, (Ianto))
time gave both darkness and dreams to you;
Jack/John, (Ianto);
U-Rated, 345words, set post TW:COE;
No matter how far he runs, no matter how long he runs for, he'll never be able to run from the memories.
Jack sits awake, his eyes a burning itch that won’t go away as he stares bleary-eyed at the far wall, a forgotten cigarette sitting droopily between his index and middle fingers, the building head of ash hanging precariously as it’s allowed to burn away, smoke curling up in a lazy stream to tickle at his nostrils- inhale, exhale, inhale- he barely notices it as he stares unseeingly ahead at nothing and everything, his eyes seeing what his mind remembers and nothing more… nothing more…
Fingers pressing to the flesh of his side has him blinking slowly back to the here and now and he turns a slanted gaze to the man lying beside him on a bed sex-rumpled and smelling of stale sweat and cigarettes.
“You going to finish that?” John asks softly, watching carefully.
Jack looks down at the half-smoked cigarette he holds before passing it over wordlessly, his gaze returning to the far wall as he both tries to and tries not to remember.
“Jack,” John calls to him, huffing a sigh of mild frustration as he pushes himself upwards, pressing a kiss to Jack’s bare shoulder.
“You’re thinking of him.” It’s not a question. Jack closes his eyes and breathes deeply.
“You loved him?” John asks, unusually serious.
“Yes,” Jack breathes, the word an unhesitant whisper. He does not even have to think it to know the truth of it. He loved him. He loved him with everything and still he gave him nothing; nothing but doubts and insecurities and questions Jack would never let himself answer.
If he could go back…
If he could do it all again…
If he could just turn back time…
“Do you think he’d want to see you like this?” John’s voice pulls his attention back to the present and Jack looks at him with uncharacteristically moist eyes.
“It hardly matters now,” Jack says, shucking the sheets which have tangled around his legs, and leaving the room.
“It matters,” John says, slumping back down onto the bed and lifting Jack’s cigarette to his lips. “It matters.”
[ end. ]
[ Written for Caspe-Wri-Mo '09 ]