Those we don't remember
Title: Those we don't remember.
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: None
Characters: Jack Harkness, Rory
Word Count: 770
A/N: Written for ljgeoff who wanted some Jack/Rory PWP, well this doesn't have any porn to speak of, but I hope you like it anyway.
Summary: You know, it's not the remembering that is hard. It's not having lifetime, upon lifetime of memories filling your every breathing moment. That's not what's hard.
.......................
Jack's fingers lingered over the Roman Galea, feeling the worn surface, wondering at all the things the helmet had seen, if only the cool metal could speak to him.
He doubted he would get any more out of the man who had worn it for all those years.
He watched as Rory's hands fidgeted, as if not quite sure what to do with them, the way his eyes flicked to Jack's face, but wouldn't quite meet Jack's eye.
He had no doubt whatsoever that far too many memories lingered there, of a life not lived, but lived all the same, one of those vagaries of shifting timelines.
He suspected Rory hid himself behind the convenient lie of not remembering any of it. Jack wondered if at night, when Rory woke drenched in sweat, breath coming in quiet gasps so as not to wake his wife, if that lie was as easy to hang on to.
Actually, he didn't have to wonder. He could see it, written plainly in the hold of Rory's shoulders, the bruised skin beneath his eyes from too many nights spent tossing and turning from dreams woven of memories.
Circling Rory as he looked at the other odd bits around the room, collected from time spent travelling with the Doctor, he took note of the way Rory's eyes followed him without thought.
"You know, it's not the remembering that is hard. It's not having lifetime, upon lifetime of memories filling your every breathing moment. That's not what's hard."
Rory didn't respond, but Jack could see the way his body tensed.
"What's hard, is not that you remember, it's that you forget."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rory finally interrupted. The words uttered so quietly as to be barely audible.
"I didn't say you did. Do you know how old I am?"
"No."
"Neither do I. Not exactly anyway," Jack continued with a shrug. "Time travel will do that, but it's not just that. After you reach you're fifth millennium, it's just too hard to keep count of the years."
Rory finally held Jack's gaze as he looked up, clearly surprised.
"Did you ever wonder why the Doctor never speaks of me?" Jack asked, a little more bitterly then he intended. "No, I suppose you didn't. He probably never speaks much about the others either, all his past companions."
Jack stopped, his back to Rory as he looked at the Galea again.
"I just keep going on, so many lifetimes, more than I care to count. It's not the memories that get to me. It the people I can barely remember," Jack continued quietly.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Who else am I going to tell it to?"
"You mean, who else would understand."
Jack chuckled. "Or maybe I just like the sound of my own voice."
Rory moved to stand beside him, reaching a hand out to adjust the position of the Galea. "I remember so much. I don't even know how. Did it any of it even really happen?"
"Does it matter if it did or didn't?"
"No, I suppose not."
Jack reached out to brush a finger along Rory's jaw line. He didn't pull away, didn't lean into either. He just let Jack's fingers rest there, as his thumb lazily traced circles against Rory's skin. Jack moved closer, leaning in, pausing as he looked into Rory's eyes, giving him time to move away if he chose to. When he didn't, Jack moved the rest of the way in, brushing Rory's lips with his own.
It was gentle, almost chaste, but Rory tilted his head slightly, parting his lips just enough to encourage Jack to deepen the kiss.
It was strangely one of the less sexual things Jack had ever done. The kiss full of companionship, kinship, a mutual understanding of things beyond their control that had shaped the men they had become.
Jack pulled back, letting their lips part, but remaining close enough to feel Rory's warm breath.
"You could talk to him. He would understand, could..." Rory whispered, the breath of the words caressing, and warm against Jack's skin.
"He can barely stand to be in the same room as me," Jack cut in before he could finish.
"That's not..."
Jack moved his thumb to brush over Rory's lips, stalling the words that would only be a lie. A lie meant to comfort, but a lie none the less.
"He was born to this. We weren't."
Jack dropped his hand and walked out of the room without a backward glance, grateful Rory would never have to live with it all, for as long as he was cursed to.
.......................
Author: fate_incomplete
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Spoilers: None
Characters: Jack Harkness, Rory
Word Count: 770
A/N: Written for ljgeoff who wanted some Jack/Rory PWP, well this doesn't have any porn to speak of, but I hope you like it anyway.
Summary: You know, it's not the remembering that is hard. It's not having lifetime, upon lifetime of memories filling your every breathing moment. That's not what's hard.
.......................
Jack's fingers lingered over the Roman Galea, feeling the worn surface, wondering at all the things the helmet had seen, if only the cool metal could speak to him.
He doubted he would get any more out of the man who had worn it for all those years.
He watched as Rory's hands fidgeted, as if not quite sure what to do with them, the way his eyes flicked to Jack's face, but wouldn't quite meet Jack's eye.
He had no doubt whatsoever that far too many memories lingered there, of a life not lived, but lived all the same, one of those vagaries of shifting timelines.
He suspected Rory hid himself behind the convenient lie of not remembering any of it. Jack wondered if at night, when Rory woke drenched in sweat, breath coming in quiet gasps so as not to wake his wife, if that lie was as easy to hang on to.
Actually, he didn't have to wonder. He could see it, written plainly in the hold of Rory's shoulders, the bruised skin beneath his eyes from too many nights spent tossing and turning from dreams woven of memories.
Circling Rory as he looked at the other odd bits around the room, collected from time spent travelling with the Doctor, he took note of the way Rory's eyes followed him without thought.
"You know, it's not the remembering that is hard. It's not having lifetime, upon lifetime of memories filling your every breathing moment. That's not what's hard."
Rory didn't respond, but Jack could see the way his body tensed.
"What's hard, is not that you remember, it's that you forget."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rory finally interrupted. The words uttered so quietly as to be barely audible.
"I didn't say you did. Do you know how old I am?"
"No."
"Neither do I. Not exactly anyway," Jack continued with a shrug. "Time travel will do that, but it's not just that. After you reach you're fifth millennium, it's just too hard to keep count of the years."
Rory finally held Jack's gaze as he looked up, clearly surprised.
"Did you ever wonder why the Doctor never speaks of me?" Jack asked, a little more bitterly then he intended. "No, I suppose you didn't. He probably never speaks much about the others either, all his past companions."
Jack stopped, his back to Rory as he looked at the Galea again.
"I just keep going on, so many lifetimes, more than I care to count. It's not the memories that get to me. It the people I can barely remember," Jack continued quietly.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Who else am I going to tell it to?"
"You mean, who else would understand."
Jack chuckled. "Or maybe I just like the sound of my own voice."
Rory moved to stand beside him, reaching a hand out to adjust the position of the Galea. "I remember so much. I don't even know how. Did it any of it even really happen?"
"Does it matter if it did or didn't?"
"No, I suppose not."
Jack reached out to brush a finger along Rory's jaw line. He didn't pull away, didn't lean into either. He just let Jack's fingers rest there, as his thumb lazily traced circles against Rory's skin. Jack moved closer, leaning in, pausing as he looked into Rory's eyes, giving him time to move away if he chose to. When he didn't, Jack moved the rest of the way in, brushing Rory's lips with his own.
It was gentle, almost chaste, but Rory tilted his head slightly, parting his lips just enough to encourage Jack to deepen the kiss.
It was strangely one of the less sexual things Jack had ever done. The kiss full of companionship, kinship, a mutual understanding of things beyond their control that had shaped the men they had become.
Jack pulled back, letting their lips part, but remaining close enough to feel Rory's warm breath.
"You could talk to him. He would understand, could..." Rory whispered, the breath of the words caressing, and warm against Jack's skin.
"He can barely stand to be in the same room as me," Jack cut in before he could finish.
"That's not..."
Jack moved his thumb to brush over Rory's lips, stalling the words that would only be a lie. A lie meant to comfort, but a lie none the less.
"He was born to this. We weren't."
Jack dropped his hand and walked out of the room without a backward glance, grateful Rory would never have to live with it all, for as long as he was cursed to.
.......................