Fic- Jack's Reflection
Title: Jack’s Reflection
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Jack/Gwen (explicit)
Ratings: Adult -sex, mild violence, severe angst, dark!Jack
Spoilers: General Series 1 and 2
Summary: Jack gives in to his darker impulses when Gwen pushes him too far, only to find out where the light has been all along. Thrace warning: She probably shouldn't read it
Disclaimers: I own nothing!
Notes: A follow on from Meat. Comments please!
She maddens me. Her valiant, self serving heart. How she fights for Rhys in the same breath as making eyes at me. How she pleads integrity and righteousness whilst fucking Owen. She doesn't fight for Rhys. She fights for herself only. She wants it all. The risque fucking. The flirtation. Acting the hero by day. Then wine and lasagne with back up boy to curl up with.
She risks the safety of everyone around her so she can get her way. And what do I tell them? The rules don't apply to her? That you only have to look at me with big puppy-dog eyes and I cave. Breaking protocol. All so she can be home in time for dinner.
I have no doubt that this woman would bulldoze the earth under the pretence of being a reluctant hero. But she loves it all. She loves playing the General. Flaunting the power. The lust for violence and danger barely concealed by false bravado. How she tears in. How she demands everything. How she gets off on it. How she manipulates with her 'poor lost girl' routine.
And how I want her because of it. How she drives me crazy. How I want to slam her down and make her know who's boss. Then I remember... she's so young. Just a fucking brat. And it's my job to keep her safe. But how can I? She's brilliant like fire. I want to watch her burn. I want to watch her finally cower in the face of the darkness I've seen. I want to see that arrogance stripped from her. But then she wouldn't be my Gwen. My infuriating fighter. Her faults are what I love the most about her. The part of me I can no longer be. The worst of me.
Untameable and impulsive, as I have been called. I think of Ianto and I shrink in shame. Not because he would disapprove. But because he would tolerate it. He would accept it. And he shouldn't have to.
So she disarms me in front of my team. I buckle. She threatens me with leaving and I can't have that. I won't. Not her. I need her to be what I can't. She can have Rhys. But I need her here.
I skulk away, away from the reproach I know will surely come. How dare Gwen have something none of us can have? Daddy's special girl. Toshiko won't forgive that, not after everything I've forbidden her. And Ianto. I'm gonna get it from him later.
Later, I am alone. I call her. Tell her to come back to the Hub. Too much to be said away from the rest of them. She comes in ready for a fight, no doubt expecting me to backtrack. And there she is, that blazing angel who I made a killer. My killer.
I try to keep my distance.
“I won't do it, Jack! I told you.” She starts again. On the offence.
“I know that!” I holler. She shuts up. It feels good. I step towards her. Now I can say my piece. No one to hold me back. “You don't get to undermine me like that. Not ever!”
I tower over her. She squares up to me and my fist clenches. Could I hit her? Of course I could. I shudder at the thought.
“We have these rules for a reason. I give you a reprieve, and you don't even say thanks.”
Now I feel like the parent. Using my authority as boss. I have every right to chide her; to reign her in.
“What do you want, Jack?” she yells at me. “Thanks for not making me drug my fiancee?”
My hand twitches. I think about slapping her face. I swallow that impulse down and grit my teeth.
“Yes, Gwen,” I speak dangerously. “What about Ianto's fiancee? What about Owen's fiancee? What about mine?”
“It's not my problem,” she retorts. “I have a normal, good man who hasn't fallen victim to the Hell of Torchwood!”
“Not yet,” I point out. “Then what? You'll be compromised because you love him, like what happened today. How many times did I have to stop you from putting yourself and the rest of us in danger?”
She glowers at me. She knows I'm right even if she'll never admit it.
I smirk. “So now what, Gwen? Do I buy you his-and-her body bags?”
She slaps me. It's a shock, but not very hard. My cheek tingles and resentment fills me up. I move toward her with my hand raised and she backs off, startled.
“If you ever do that again...” I start to warn her. But we both know it's an empty threat. I already showed her I need her. I hate her for it. Exasperated, I put my hands on my hips and settle for glaring at her.
She meets me with steely eyes. “I will protect him,” she says arrogantly.
I'm done with this. “Fine,” I say. “His life is in your hands. You take responsibility. You charge about like you own the place. Help yourself. If he dies, he dies. ”
I stride away but she stops me, shouting my name.
“He won't die!” she screeches. “I'll make sure of it. He's everything to me!”
I spin around. “When it's convenient!” I yell as heat floods through me. “Unless you're fucking Owen or playing up to me!”
This time, she slaps me harder, with a stinging thwack across my face. That's all I need. I seize her, this wild cat, as she thrashes against me, and I trap her against the wall with my whole body. I pin both her wrists in one hand, raising my free hand again.
“Go on then!” she provokes. But I see it in her eyes. She's afraid. Instead, I slap my hand into the wall next to her face, causing her to flinch. I close the distance between us and our faces are almost touching. Our breath mingles. She isn't struggling now. She waits to see what I will do, her lips swollen, her eyelids heavy. My anger going nowhere but my groin, I push my hips into hers.
She mewls. She likes it. Our mouths are now touching. I have to taste her. I take her lower lip between my teeth and she whimpers, rubbing against me. I knew it. She wants more.
I give that lip a nip before plunging my tongue inside her mouth and stealing a kiss from her. I shouldn't do it. The most illicit kiss. Showing her what I can do. What I'm willing to do. And that's just my tongue. Her body starts to melt into mine.
I open my eyes.
“You love him,” I growl. “Prove it. Stop me.” With that I bury my mouth in her neck, tasting her skin and perfume, roughly sucking and licking. She writhes.
I return to study her face. She is lost in sensation. I have her.
“Stop me,” I rasp. I press harder against her. I know she can feel my arousal.
She moans. I hear her pleading, but for me, not against me. I thrust hard into her crotch and she cries out.
Approaching the point of no return. I fix her with a stare so she understands.
“You need to stop me,” I whisper. “You can do it...if he means that much to you.” I say the last part with a sneer. She's getting my message.
A sudden sharp pain in my gut and I fall back on the ground. She's kicked me. I recover fast - faster than I should, and with a tug on her arm, I pull her down to the floor. She crumbles under the strength of my grip and for the third time, I curb my impulse to strike her. Instead, I am on top of her instantly, pinning her arms to the ground. I am harder than ever.
“Don't you dare!” I hiss into her face. We glare into each other's eyes as our bodies mash into each other. Before I can think, she's kissing me hard, her tongue intruding. I battle her back, covering her with all of myself, my tongue stronger than hers. Her legs hook around me and she grinds against me. I am finished.
I groan into her mouth as my body meets hers in a desperate rhythm. I crush her into the floor, my sex finding her heat through our clothes as I rut against her. I don't know how to stall the inevitable. I only know now I must have her, teach her, take her. We somehow know what to do. She tears at my clothes and I rip hers away, scratching and bruising each other in our need. The more the better. The minimum clothing necessary removed, she screams with pleasure and despair as I sink into her with a rough grunt.
Heat. So much beautiful, wet heat. I spread my fingers over her soft flesh and press my face against her breasts. Woman. This terrible woman. Our eyes meet. Hate and desire for both of us. This is it. Her hands grip my back, her thighs squeeze me in, and I rock against her, wanting to relish what we have. I feel her tighten around me and I whimper.
I cannot last. I fling myself into her and she cries out. I do it again. Her head falls back, she arches up. I am fucking her, damn hard, into the floor. Just as she needs me to. She is crying in ecstasy. For a moment I feel light - bringing my girl so much pleasure as she scrabbles for more of me. But then her eyes snap open and I know what she is and what she will be. Because she is the worst of me.
I kiss her. It's not her fault. I kiss her hard, tongue unforgiving as I pound and pound and pound into her. I feel her pulsating around me. We're creating a storm. I can hear myself wailing and I know I will scream. She calls my name. She wants me. She needs me. She has me. Because I say so. Because she can't resist. My mind melts away and all I am is beast as she quivers and flails to have me. She rocks around me with a roar.
I am screaming. I slam into her. I pour into her. Everything of me goes into her. I am still screaming. And then nothing but panting, and sweat, and trembling. My pulse throbs through my head; thudding in my throat and ears and shooting down my legs. I am nothing but my heart. Just like her.
I regain some focus. I take her in. I am still inside of her as she lies beneath me. She doesn't take her eyes off me. But they are blank. Something cold rushes into me. Something I don't want to hear. What have I done. What have I done. What have I done.
I remove myself from her.
“Jack,” she breathes, her eyes still penetrate me. Still blank.
“We shouldn't have done that,” I croak. Distracted, I pull on my clothes. I ignore my shaking hands as I zip my fly. I have to be stronger than this. Another cold rush. I turn away with a gasp, but with huge effort and a deep breath I turn back to her. She is silently dressing herself.
There is nothing else. I kneel down and help her dress. I stroke the slick hair from her damp forehead. I open my mouth to speak, but then I see them. Her eyes. Full once more. As they were the first day we met. My hand caresses her cheek.
I stand. “Be right back,” I breathe. And that's when I do it. When I return, she is sitting at a work station, swivelling on the seat. I can see the weight on her shoulders. I hand her a glass of water.
“I'm sorry,” I say. And I am. I am sorry.
“I'm not,” she says firmly. That damned indignation. That infuriating nerve. Just like that, I'm glad I did it.
She drinks the water down. “So now what?”
Always straight to the point. I smile. That's my girl.
“Marry Rhys,” I tell her. My stomach throbs. I put my hands in my pockets to ground myself. I feel myself gazing at her. “This is all I could offer you. This or worse.” I sound bitter. I look away. Knowing this will soon be over. I taste bile in the back of my throat.
“You offer me a lot more than that,” she says steadily. I meet her eyes. I feel the tears in mine.
“I can't. I won't.” I will her to understand. But she doesn't. Her expression hardens as she studies me. We have only minutes, but still they are unendurable. With the last of me, I approach her once more. I cup her chin and place a tender kiss on her lips. “Gwen,” I breathe against her. “Let this go.”
I feel her hurt. I feel her fury. I feel her satisfaction and her victory. She smiles as her eyes threaten me. And then her shoulders slump. She is tired.
I take the glass from her. She frowns, dazed. I watch her as she works it out. She gives a half laugh, and refuses to look at me. She shakes her head. She understands. She gets it. So much so, for the first time there is no fight. She allows herself to crumple into me and I gather her up into my arms, carrying her across the Hub. Her eyes still find mine, as she gazes softly at me. I lay her down on the sofa.
I hastily ensure she is dressed properly, then comfortable, before returning to her side as her eyes start to drift closed.
“Forgive me.” I'm not sure she hears me. But this time, a kind smile graces her face. I glimpse peace in her eyes before their light is finally gone and she surrenders to her slumber.
I climb the steps to my office, laden with emptiness. I feel the rest of the Hub around me but I'm ashamed to look at it. The walls around me know what I've done. How I took her. And put her back again. I walk to my drawer and remove another pill, the same short term dose. I hold it between my thumb and forefinger. I feel the chalk of it. I think of her, sleeping close beneath me. I think of how we'll never know. Perhaps we've done this before.
I stop. That last thought chills me to the bone. Only one way to ensure it doesn't happen again. I hear my own ragged breathing as I realise I will live with it. I must live with it. I deserve to live with it.
I put the pill back in the drawer and slam it shut. Alone with just my thoughts, I sit in my chair, the chair of a hero, and turn away from my desk. I lean forward, my elbows onto my thighs, my head hanging low, hiding my face from the world.
An age passes. I feel old. Old and wrong.
Just when I think my heart will give out, I hear Ianto. The cog door. I feel him scale the steps. I cannot move. I cannot lift my head.
“I got Indian, though mild for your delicate stomach,” he announces cheerfully. My face burns and hot tears roll down my cheeks. I cannot move nor speak.
I hear him place the food down and tread towards me. His leather shoes. I want to smile at the familiar sound, but I am stuck like stone in my treachery. He pulls a chair over, keeping the perfect distance. How does he know to do that? Unwillingly, I emit a gasping sob. I bow my head as low as I can as he silently sits in front of me. I quietly shudder into tears. So wretched, I can't tell him not to care about me. I sense his compassion, but cannot warn him it is misplaced. He only comes closer.
Tears splash on the floor between my feet. My breath hitches. I feel him place a warm and gentle hand on my knee. I won't shut him out this time. I cover his hand with mine and our fingers lock tightly. My head remains hung, my face still hidden, begging for something that could never be put into words. I cannot see for the tears. He brushes his thumb back and forth over my hand. I know he knows. In some impossible way, he knows what I've done.
Yet he stays with me; wordlessly, softly, firmly. For one long moment after another.
He is the best of me.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Jack/Gwen (explicit)
Ratings: Adult -sex, mild violence, severe angst, dark!Jack
Spoilers: General Series 1 and 2
Summary: Jack gives in to his darker impulses when Gwen pushes him too far, only to find out where the light has been all along. Thrace warning: She probably shouldn't read it
Disclaimers: I own nothing!
Notes: A follow on from Meat. Comments please!
She maddens me. Her valiant, self serving heart. How she fights for Rhys in the same breath as making eyes at me. How she pleads integrity and righteousness whilst fucking Owen. She doesn't fight for Rhys. She fights for herself only. She wants it all. The risque fucking. The flirtation. Acting the hero by day. Then wine and lasagne with back up boy to curl up with.
She risks the safety of everyone around her so she can get her way. And what do I tell them? The rules don't apply to her? That you only have to look at me with big puppy-dog eyes and I cave. Breaking protocol. All so she can be home in time for dinner.
I have no doubt that this woman would bulldoze the earth under the pretence of being a reluctant hero. But she loves it all. She loves playing the General. Flaunting the power. The lust for violence and danger barely concealed by false bravado. How she tears in. How she demands everything. How she gets off on it. How she manipulates with her 'poor lost girl' routine.
And how I want her because of it. How she drives me crazy. How I want to slam her down and make her know who's boss. Then I remember... she's so young. Just a fucking brat. And it's my job to keep her safe. But how can I? She's brilliant like fire. I want to watch her burn. I want to watch her finally cower in the face of the darkness I've seen. I want to see that arrogance stripped from her. But then she wouldn't be my Gwen. My infuriating fighter. Her faults are what I love the most about her. The part of me I can no longer be. The worst of me.
Untameable and impulsive, as I have been called. I think of Ianto and I shrink in shame. Not because he would disapprove. But because he would tolerate it. He would accept it. And he shouldn't have to.
So she disarms me in front of my team. I buckle. She threatens me with leaving and I can't have that. I won't. Not her. I need her to be what I can't. She can have Rhys. But I need her here.
I skulk away, away from the reproach I know will surely come. How dare Gwen have something none of us can have? Daddy's special girl. Toshiko won't forgive that, not after everything I've forbidden her. And Ianto. I'm gonna get it from him later.
Later, I am alone. I call her. Tell her to come back to the Hub. Too much to be said away from the rest of them. She comes in ready for a fight, no doubt expecting me to backtrack. And there she is, that blazing angel who I made a killer. My killer.
I try to keep my distance.
“I won't do it, Jack! I told you.” She starts again. On the offence.
“I know that!” I holler. She shuts up. It feels good. I step towards her. Now I can say my piece. No one to hold me back. “You don't get to undermine me like that. Not ever!”
I tower over her. She squares up to me and my fist clenches. Could I hit her? Of course I could. I shudder at the thought.
“We have these rules for a reason. I give you a reprieve, and you don't even say thanks.”
Now I feel like the parent. Using my authority as boss. I have every right to chide her; to reign her in.
“What do you want, Jack?” she yells at me. “Thanks for not making me drug my fiancee?”
My hand twitches. I think about slapping her face. I swallow that impulse down and grit my teeth.
“Yes, Gwen,” I speak dangerously. “What about Ianto's fiancee? What about Owen's fiancee? What about mine?”
“It's not my problem,” she retorts. “I have a normal, good man who hasn't fallen victim to the Hell of Torchwood!”
“Not yet,” I point out. “Then what? You'll be compromised because you love him, like what happened today. How many times did I have to stop you from putting yourself and the rest of us in danger?”
She glowers at me. She knows I'm right even if she'll never admit it.
I smirk. “So now what, Gwen? Do I buy you his-and-her body bags?”
She slaps me. It's a shock, but not very hard. My cheek tingles and resentment fills me up. I move toward her with my hand raised and she backs off, startled.
“If you ever do that again...” I start to warn her. But we both know it's an empty threat. I already showed her I need her. I hate her for it. Exasperated, I put my hands on my hips and settle for glaring at her.
She meets me with steely eyes. “I will protect him,” she says arrogantly.
I'm done with this. “Fine,” I say. “His life is in your hands. You take responsibility. You charge about like you own the place. Help yourself. If he dies, he dies. ”
I stride away but she stops me, shouting my name.
“He won't die!” she screeches. “I'll make sure of it. He's everything to me!”
I spin around. “When it's convenient!” I yell as heat floods through me. “Unless you're fucking Owen or playing up to me!”
This time, she slaps me harder, with a stinging thwack across my face. That's all I need. I seize her, this wild cat, as she thrashes against me, and I trap her against the wall with my whole body. I pin both her wrists in one hand, raising my free hand again.
“Go on then!” she provokes. But I see it in her eyes. She's afraid. Instead, I slap my hand into the wall next to her face, causing her to flinch. I close the distance between us and our faces are almost touching. Our breath mingles. She isn't struggling now. She waits to see what I will do, her lips swollen, her eyelids heavy. My anger going nowhere but my groin, I push my hips into hers.
She mewls. She likes it. Our mouths are now touching. I have to taste her. I take her lower lip between my teeth and she whimpers, rubbing against me. I knew it. She wants more.
I give that lip a nip before plunging my tongue inside her mouth and stealing a kiss from her. I shouldn't do it. The most illicit kiss. Showing her what I can do. What I'm willing to do. And that's just my tongue. Her body starts to melt into mine.
I open my eyes.
“You love him,” I growl. “Prove it. Stop me.” With that I bury my mouth in her neck, tasting her skin and perfume, roughly sucking and licking. She writhes.
I return to study her face. She is lost in sensation. I have her.
“Stop me,” I rasp. I press harder against her. I know she can feel my arousal.
She moans. I hear her pleading, but for me, not against me. I thrust hard into her crotch and she cries out.
Approaching the point of no return. I fix her with a stare so she understands.
“You need to stop me,” I whisper. “You can do it...if he means that much to you.” I say the last part with a sneer. She's getting my message.
A sudden sharp pain in my gut and I fall back on the ground. She's kicked me. I recover fast - faster than I should, and with a tug on her arm, I pull her down to the floor. She crumbles under the strength of my grip and for the third time, I curb my impulse to strike her. Instead, I am on top of her instantly, pinning her arms to the ground. I am harder than ever.
“Don't you dare!” I hiss into her face. We glare into each other's eyes as our bodies mash into each other. Before I can think, she's kissing me hard, her tongue intruding. I battle her back, covering her with all of myself, my tongue stronger than hers. Her legs hook around me and she grinds against me. I am finished.
I groan into her mouth as my body meets hers in a desperate rhythm. I crush her into the floor, my sex finding her heat through our clothes as I rut against her. I don't know how to stall the inevitable. I only know now I must have her, teach her, take her. We somehow know what to do. She tears at my clothes and I rip hers away, scratching and bruising each other in our need. The more the better. The minimum clothing necessary removed, she screams with pleasure and despair as I sink into her with a rough grunt.
Heat. So much beautiful, wet heat. I spread my fingers over her soft flesh and press my face against her breasts. Woman. This terrible woman. Our eyes meet. Hate and desire for both of us. This is it. Her hands grip my back, her thighs squeeze me in, and I rock against her, wanting to relish what we have. I feel her tighten around me and I whimper.
I cannot last. I fling myself into her and she cries out. I do it again. Her head falls back, she arches up. I am fucking her, damn hard, into the floor. Just as she needs me to. She is crying in ecstasy. For a moment I feel light - bringing my girl so much pleasure as she scrabbles for more of me. But then her eyes snap open and I know what she is and what she will be. Because she is the worst of me.
I kiss her. It's not her fault. I kiss her hard, tongue unforgiving as I pound and pound and pound into her. I feel her pulsating around me. We're creating a storm. I can hear myself wailing and I know I will scream. She calls my name. She wants me. She needs me. She has me. Because I say so. Because she can't resist. My mind melts away and all I am is beast as she quivers and flails to have me. She rocks around me with a roar.
I am screaming. I slam into her. I pour into her. Everything of me goes into her. I am still screaming. And then nothing but panting, and sweat, and trembling. My pulse throbs through my head; thudding in my throat and ears and shooting down my legs. I am nothing but my heart. Just like her.
I regain some focus. I take her in. I am still inside of her as she lies beneath me. She doesn't take her eyes off me. But they are blank. Something cold rushes into me. Something I don't want to hear. What have I done. What have I done. What have I done.
I remove myself from her.
“Jack,” she breathes, her eyes still penetrate me. Still blank.
“We shouldn't have done that,” I croak. Distracted, I pull on my clothes. I ignore my shaking hands as I zip my fly. I have to be stronger than this. Another cold rush. I turn away with a gasp, but with huge effort and a deep breath I turn back to her. She is silently dressing herself.
There is nothing else. I kneel down and help her dress. I stroke the slick hair from her damp forehead. I open my mouth to speak, but then I see them. Her eyes. Full once more. As they were the first day we met. My hand caresses her cheek.
I stand. “Be right back,” I breathe. And that's when I do it. When I return, she is sitting at a work station, swivelling on the seat. I can see the weight on her shoulders. I hand her a glass of water.
“I'm sorry,” I say. And I am. I am sorry.
“I'm not,” she says firmly. That damned indignation. That infuriating nerve. Just like that, I'm glad I did it.
She drinks the water down. “So now what?”
Always straight to the point. I smile. That's my girl.
“Marry Rhys,” I tell her. My stomach throbs. I put my hands in my pockets to ground myself. I feel myself gazing at her. “This is all I could offer you. This or worse.” I sound bitter. I look away. Knowing this will soon be over. I taste bile in the back of my throat.
“You offer me a lot more than that,” she says steadily. I meet her eyes. I feel the tears in mine.
“I can't. I won't.” I will her to understand. But she doesn't. Her expression hardens as she studies me. We have only minutes, but still they are unendurable. With the last of me, I approach her once more. I cup her chin and place a tender kiss on her lips. “Gwen,” I breathe against her. “Let this go.”
I feel her hurt. I feel her fury. I feel her satisfaction and her victory. She smiles as her eyes threaten me. And then her shoulders slump. She is tired.
I take the glass from her. She frowns, dazed. I watch her as she works it out. She gives a half laugh, and refuses to look at me. She shakes her head. She understands. She gets it. So much so, for the first time there is no fight. She allows herself to crumple into me and I gather her up into my arms, carrying her across the Hub. Her eyes still find mine, as she gazes softly at me. I lay her down on the sofa.
I hastily ensure she is dressed properly, then comfortable, before returning to her side as her eyes start to drift closed.
“Forgive me.” I'm not sure she hears me. But this time, a kind smile graces her face. I glimpse peace in her eyes before their light is finally gone and she surrenders to her slumber.
I climb the steps to my office, laden with emptiness. I feel the rest of the Hub around me but I'm ashamed to look at it. The walls around me know what I've done. How I took her. And put her back again. I walk to my drawer and remove another pill, the same short term dose. I hold it between my thumb and forefinger. I feel the chalk of it. I think of her, sleeping close beneath me. I think of how we'll never know. Perhaps we've done this before.
I stop. That last thought chills me to the bone. Only one way to ensure it doesn't happen again. I hear my own ragged breathing as I realise I will live with it. I must live with it. I deserve to live with it.
I put the pill back in the drawer and slam it shut. Alone with just my thoughts, I sit in my chair, the chair of a hero, and turn away from my desk. I lean forward, my elbows onto my thighs, my head hanging low, hiding my face from the world.
An age passes. I feel old. Old and wrong.
Just when I think my heart will give out, I hear Ianto. The cog door. I feel him scale the steps. I cannot move. I cannot lift my head.
“I got Indian, though mild for your delicate stomach,” he announces cheerfully. My face burns and hot tears roll down my cheeks. I cannot move nor speak.
I hear him place the food down and tread towards me. His leather shoes. I want to smile at the familiar sound, but I am stuck like stone in my treachery. He pulls a chair over, keeping the perfect distance. How does he know to do that? Unwillingly, I emit a gasping sob. I bow my head as low as I can as he silently sits in front of me. I quietly shudder into tears. So wretched, I can't tell him not to care about me. I sense his compassion, but cannot warn him it is misplaced. He only comes closer.
Tears splash on the floor between my feet. My breath hitches. I feel him place a warm and gentle hand on my knee. I won't shut him out this time. I cover his hand with mine and our fingers lock tightly. My head remains hung, my face still hidden, begging for something that could never be put into words. I cannot see for the tears. He brushes his thumb back and forth over my hand. I know he knows. In some impossible way, he knows what I've done.
Yet he stays with me; wordlessly, softly, firmly. For one long moment after another.
He is the best of me.