Fic: Death
It’s so clichéd. Picking up a ringing phone and hearing the inevitable words that make your stomach drop and your world splinter and fall apart. There are no words to describe the sensation of having your life ripped apart while you witness it’s demise that haven’t been used a thousand time. Yet nothing prepared Jack for that very moment. He felt the blood rush from his face, the cold that flooded his body only to be contrasted with prickles of heat like fire that scraped his skin. The inescapable feeling of falling that he knew from that moment onward he would never be able to shake.
The words that were spoken hung dryly in the air, teasing and taunting as he struggled to grip to something that wouldn't disintegrate from his very touch. The uncontrollable feelings of dread, fear, denial, angst. Guilt.
It was so clichéd. Too clichéd. Yet that’s how it played, a death not worthy enough of such a man. And that’s how it was, passé or not, he was dead.
Ianto Jones was dead.