Fic: Nothing Is Forever [for my fantastic flist]
Title: Nothing Is Forever
Author:
remuslives23
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 529
Summary: Nothing is forever except Jack.
Notes: One line in the radio play made me remember another I'd read somewhere else: 'Nothing is forever - except me' - Jack Harkness. If you haven't listened to the radio play, this probably won't make sense. It might not even if you have. Thanks to my flist for all your support and encouragement. This is unbeta'd.
Episode References: Spoilers for the radio play 'House of the Dead'.
Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.
It felt like seconds.
It felt like centuries.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, or how long it had taken to forget what living had been like.
All he remembered was the dark.
He dreamed. At least, he thought he did. Flashes of half-remembered colours and scents and names that made the darkness pulse with a deep, yawning ache that felt familiar but that he couldn’t describe. Before they could form a cognizant picture, though, they were snatched away by ghostly hands and he was never really sure he hadn't been imagining it all.
He could feel the presence of others all around him, could hear the low murmur of their accusations - betrayaltraitorjailer - for a crime he couldn't recall, feel their bitter resentment because if it wasn't for him, they'd be free, but they couldn't touch him.
He wasn't like them.
He was alone.
He was aware of the static hum of energy surrounding him, could hear it crackle and buzz, but when he reached out, all he encountered was the thick, almost tangible black, like dragging his fingers through molasses.
He was an island in a dark, impassable sea.
He wasn’t afraid or confused or lonely. He wasn’t happy or sad or angry. He wasn't numb or hurting or curious.
He just was.
Then something began to glow.
The darkness was broken by a crack; a jagged fissure that leaked bright golden light and created a cocoon of shadows. Those he’d heard whispering in the dark took shape, their voices louder as the dense darkness that had been his cage melted around him, his forgotten flesh prickling with energy dancing with bright sparks of light as emotions he now knew to be confusion and fear crashed through him.
It was a cacophony of sensation and, as the crack widened, giving teasing glimpses of the colours and sounds of the forgotten world beyond, he cowered. Unable to stand the onslaught, his physical form - unwieldy and heavy after not existing for so long - crumpled to the suddenly solid ground beneath his feet, and flashes of memories and feelings rolled over him.
Blue. That was the name of the colour he kept seeing in the corner of his eye.
Can you hear me?
The scent - a combination of coffee and fresh sweat and musk and something spicy he'd never been able to label - came back to him in a rush, accompanied by a vivid vision of tangled limbs and bare flesh.
Open your eyes. Please, wake up.
The letters of that one name that had danced just beyond his grasp finally fell into place as oxygen inflated his lungs in a burning surge and the regular pounding rhythm of life thrummed through him. His eyes snapped open.
‘Ianto? God, Ianto, can you hear me? I came back for you, Ianto. I'll always come back for you.’
Face, name, scent coalesced in one dizzying moment then a voice he recognised as his own whispered, 'Jack.'
fin.
Author:
remuslives23
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 529
Summary: Nothing is forever except Jack.
Notes: One line in the radio play made me remember another I'd read somewhere else: 'Nothing is forever - except me' - Jack Harkness. If you haven't listened to the radio play, this probably won't make sense. It might not even if you have. Thanks to my flist for all your support and encouragement. This is unbeta'd.
Episode References: Spoilers for the radio play 'House of the Dead'.
Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.
It felt like seconds.
It felt like centuries.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, or how long it had taken to forget what living had been like.
All he remembered was the dark.
He dreamed. At least, he thought he did. Flashes of half-remembered colours and scents and names that made the darkness pulse with a deep, yawning ache that felt familiar but that he couldn’t describe. Before they could form a cognizant picture, though, they were snatched away by ghostly hands and he was never really sure he hadn't been imagining it all.
He could feel the presence of others all around him, could hear the low murmur of their accusations - betrayaltraitorjailer - for a crime he couldn't recall, feel their bitter resentment because if it wasn't for him, they'd be free, but they couldn't touch him.
He wasn't like them.
He was alone.
He was aware of the static hum of energy surrounding him, could hear it crackle and buzz, but when he reached out, all he encountered was the thick, almost tangible black, like dragging his fingers through molasses.
He was an island in a dark, impassable sea.
He wasn’t afraid or confused or lonely. He wasn’t happy or sad or angry. He wasn't numb or hurting or curious.
He just was.
Then something began to glow.
The darkness was broken by a crack; a jagged fissure that leaked bright golden light and created a cocoon of shadows. Those he’d heard whispering in the dark took shape, their voices louder as the dense darkness that had been his cage melted around him, his forgotten flesh prickling with energy dancing with bright sparks of light as emotions he now knew to be confusion and fear crashed through him.
It was a cacophony of sensation and, as the crack widened, giving teasing glimpses of the colours and sounds of the forgotten world beyond, he cowered. Unable to stand the onslaught, his physical form - unwieldy and heavy after not existing for so long - crumpled to the suddenly solid ground beneath his feet, and flashes of memories and feelings rolled over him.
Blue. That was the name of the colour he kept seeing in the corner of his eye.
Can you hear me?
The scent - a combination of coffee and fresh sweat and musk and something spicy he'd never been able to label - came back to him in a rush, accompanied by a vivid vision of tangled limbs and bare flesh.
Open your eyes. Please, wake up.
The letters of that one name that had danced just beyond his grasp finally fell into place as oxygen inflated his lungs in a burning surge and the regular pounding rhythm of life thrummed through him. His eyes snapped open.
‘Ianto? God, Ianto, can you hear me? I came back for you, Ianto. I'll always come back for you.’
Face, name, scent coalesced in one dizzying moment then a voice he recognised as his own whispered, 'Jack.'
fin.