Addicted to the Game (Torchwood fanfic, for 30_wounds)
for 30_wounds
[Master Table]
Title: Addicted to the Game
Theme: 25 - Will to live
Fandom: Torchwood
Character: Jack (and in the end: Ianto)
Rating: R (for suicide and angsty dark stuff)
Wordcount: 1015
Setting: from early 20th century wherever to modern day Cardiff
A/N: Kind of a continuation of 'Never the end, always the end'
Summary: For Jack dying has become a game and an addiction.
What first had been a blessing, then a curse, had become a game.
Jack didn’t understand immortality, nor did he want it. It wasn’t something he had asked for. So he tested it. During the wars he let other men test it for him. He ran head first into ambushes, stood in the front line facing impossible odds. Caught bullets, mines and shrapnel. Tested if he could really survive bombs and missile attacks. He got used to pain, blood and torn body parts. He always survived.
When peace finally came Jack had gotten addicted to the adrenaline that always pumped through his body as he came back to life. Addicted to the first gulp of air and that first new heart beat. It was the only thing that actually made him feel alive. And with the sensation of immortality came the need to feel at least a brush of death. To feel life slipping away and darkness closing in. Without death Jack felt empty. And without the rush of coming back to life, Jack felt just as hollow. Sometimes he hoped he would really stay dead, that immortality was just a lie, but most of the times he just wanted the rush of life and the calming effect of death. They were his drugs.
While others used chemicals and herbs, Jack used bullets and blades. He searched for the ultimate rush. Sought to figure out what made him feel most alive, and what ways of dying were the ones he felt soothed him. But in his search he also tested what ways were the cleanest, the fastest and the least painful, as well as ways that were slowe and very painful. He thought that maybe knowledge like that would come to use one day.
In the beginning he hadn’t thought about someone finding him. Several attempts had worked without problem, but one particular messy day someone had indeed found his lifeless body. This particular day Jack had severed his carotid artery and bled out on the floor of his apartment. He had smiled as he felt red oxygenated blood create a wet carpet under his face as he slowly fell asleep. But Jack had nosy neighbours. Nosy neighbours that didn’t really care for the whole idea of privacy. So when Jack was out on the floor, sharp knife still in hand and with his face in a big pool of blood, one of the ladies next door walked right in, ready to ask for a cup of sugar. She never got that cup but Jack immediately had to leave town and really start to think about security measures for his often bloody games. He particularly liked bleeding out, he found it very soothing.
Years and years went by but Jack never got used to his immortality. He wanted answers, wanted to know why and how. And if it would ever stop. He felt it became harder and harder to fill the void inside. That dying a few times a year by his own hand just didn’t do it. Jack had always had dangerous jobs; military, volunteering on suicidal missions… starting up Torchwood. Throwing himself into the arms of danger. Hoping his adrenaline would start pumping from the chase and the possibility of actually getting killed in some surprising way. But it still wasn’t enough. The suicides became more frequent, could even be once a week sometimes. After the altercations with his neighbour back in the 40s Jack had become more careful about where and when he slit his throat or put a gun to his head. But with desperation he grew careless. He now slept at work since he owned the place and he didn’t really have any social life anymore, he felt it hurt too much in the end anyway.
Living at work also meant dying at work… off hours. Only a very small group of people knew about the Hub and only one person except Jack had a key. Everyone went home in the evenings and came back in the mornings, like any other job, except for the occasional emergency calls that could come at any time. But overall Jack thought he had them all under control, he was after all the one who made all the emergency calls. Ianto, who had the only other key, always arrived earlier than everyone else since he was the one supposed to be in the reception, opening up for the other Torchwood members as well as keeping their cover. But he tended to be very punctual.
Jack liked to do it in the autopsy room very early in the morning. He knew that no one would come for hours, and tiles and floor drains made such an easy cleanup. As usual he had ended the ‘life of the week’ down there but as he felt the familiar tingle of his mind coming up from the deep darkness and the muscles of his trachea and jaws start to tense for that glorious first breath he also felt something more… hands. A quivering hand on his forehead and another quivering hand on his chest where he had chosen to plunge a bladed alien weapon. With a gasp he felt the usual rush go through his body and he opened his eyes.
Ianto was looking down at him, eyes filled with tears and terror. Jack cursed himself in his thoughts and wondered if he had been out for hours this time, way longer than he had expected. But stammering in shock Ianto told him that he had come to work earlier that morning and seen Jack and the blood and the weapon through one of the security cameras.
It took some explaining but Ianto grasped the idea of his boss being immortal pretty quickly. It took much more explaining to make him accept why Jack did what he did and Jack still didn’t believe Ianto fully understood or approved even after he had nodded several times. Jack tried to ask him for forgiveness but all Ianto said before he headed back up was 'Why did you have to make such a mess?'
[Master Table]
Title: Addicted to the Game
Theme: 25 - Will to live
Fandom: Torchwood
Character: Jack (and in the end: Ianto)
Rating: R (for suicide and angsty dark stuff)
Wordcount: 1015
Setting: from early 20th century wherever to modern day Cardiff
A/N: Kind of a continuation of 'Never the end, always the end'
Summary: For Jack dying has become a game and an addiction.
What first had been a blessing, then a curse, had become a game.
Jack didn’t understand immortality, nor did he want it. It wasn’t something he had asked for. So he tested it. During the wars he let other men test it for him. He ran head first into ambushes, stood in the front line facing impossible odds. Caught bullets, mines and shrapnel. Tested if he could really survive bombs and missile attacks. He got used to pain, blood and torn body parts. He always survived.
When peace finally came Jack had gotten addicted to the adrenaline that always pumped through his body as he came back to life. Addicted to the first gulp of air and that first new heart beat. It was the only thing that actually made him feel alive. And with the sensation of immortality came the need to feel at least a brush of death. To feel life slipping away and darkness closing in. Without death Jack felt empty. And without the rush of coming back to life, Jack felt just as hollow. Sometimes he hoped he would really stay dead, that immortality was just a lie, but most of the times he just wanted the rush of life and the calming effect of death. They were his drugs.
While others used chemicals and herbs, Jack used bullets and blades. He searched for the ultimate rush. Sought to figure out what made him feel most alive, and what ways of dying were the ones he felt soothed him. But in his search he also tested what ways were the cleanest, the fastest and the least painful, as well as ways that were slowe and very painful. He thought that maybe knowledge like that would come to use one day.
In the beginning he hadn’t thought about someone finding him. Several attempts had worked without problem, but one particular messy day someone had indeed found his lifeless body. This particular day Jack had severed his carotid artery and bled out on the floor of his apartment. He had smiled as he felt red oxygenated blood create a wet carpet under his face as he slowly fell asleep. But Jack had nosy neighbours. Nosy neighbours that didn’t really care for the whole idea of privacy. So when Jack was out on the floor, sharp knife still in hand and with his face in a big pool of blood, one of the ladies next door walked right in, ready to ask for a cup of sugar. She never got that cup but Jack immediately had to leave town and really start to think about security measures for his often bloody games. He particularly liked bleeding out, he found it very soothing.
Years and years went by but Jack never got used to his immortality. He wanted answers, wanted to know why and how. And if it would ever stop. He felt it became harder and harder to fill the void inside. That dying a few times a year by his own hand just didn’t do it. Jack had always had dangerous jobs; military, volunteering on suicidal missions… starting up Torchwood. Throwing himself into the arms of danger. Hoping his adrenaline would start pumping from the chase and the possibility of actually getting killed in some surprising way. But it still wasn’t enough. The suicides became more frequent, could even be once a week sometimes. After the altercations with his neighbour back in the 40s Jack had become more careful about where and when he slit his throat or put a gun to his head. But with desperation he grew careless. He now slept at work since he owned the place and he didn’t really have any social life anymore, he felt it hurt too much in the end anyway.
Living at work also meant dying at work… off hours. Only a very small group of people knew about the Hub and only one person except Jack had a key. Everyone went home in the evenings and came back in the mornings, like any other job, except for the occasional emergency calls that could come at any time. But overall Jack thought he had them all under control, he was after all the one who made all the emergency calls. Ianto, who had the only other key, always arrived earlier than everyone else since he was the one supposed to be in the reception, opening up for the other Torchwood members as well as keeping their cover. But he tended to be very punctual.
Jack liked to do it in the autopsy room very early in the morning. He knew that no one would come for hours, and tiles and floor drains made such an easy cleanup. As usual he had ended the ‘life of the week’ down there but as he felt the familiar tingle of his mind coming up from the deep darkness and the muscles of his trachea and jaws start to tense for that glorious first breath he also felt something more… hands. A quivering hand on his forehead and another quivering hand on his chest where he had chosen to plunge a bladed alien weapon. With a gasp he felt the usual rush go through his body and he opened his eyes.
Ianto was looking down at him, eyes filled with tears and terror. Jack cursed himself in his thoughts and wondered if he had been out for hours this time, way longer than he had expected. But stammering in shock Ianto told him that he had come to work earlier that morning and seen Jack and the blood and the weapon through one of the security cameras.
It took some explaining but Ianto grasped the idea of his boss being immortal pretty quickly. It took much more explaining to make him accept why Jack did what he did and Jack still didn’t believe Ianto fully understood or approved even after he had nodded several times. Jack tried to ask him for forgiveness but all Ianto said before he headed back up was 'Why did you have to make such a mess?'