(no subject)
Title: Into the Darkness.
Series: Into the Darkness, Forward to Daylight.
Rating: PG-13
Warning/s: spoilers for Torchwood Season three.
Summary: Ianto is Dead, Jack is traveling through time, alone......So why is there a perfectly made cup of coffee on his control panel everytime he wakes up.
Jack thought the Universe was just punishing him, a cruel, twisted joke, justified in his mind.
He had killed an innocent child, his own flesh and blood, to save the world, even as he found himself loathing that wretched planet more and more, hating how one person could decide who lived and who died, even if it was himself occasionally, or a Prime Minister, or an alien race.
So he had left, gone to wallow in his own self-hatred, and every morning, he'd see that steaming hot cup, perfectly brewed, liquid ambrosia, Cruel reminder of the loved one, gone forever, always gone forever.
He had hoped for at least a few more years, a trickle of love in his raging river of eternity, but he had barely taken a sip, before it was stolen from him.
And still that cup stood, seeming to glare at him with a black fury, always in the same place, ready for him in the morning.
And always he drank it, sat back and drank the darkness, like a dying man, because the darkness was his only friend now, a bittersweet reminder of Ianto.
Besides, if he was still alive, Ianto would have shot him for wasting good coffee.
Series: Into the Darkness, Forward to Daylight.
Rating: PG-13
Warning/s: spoilers for Torchwood Season three.
Summary: Ianto is Dead, Jack is traveling through time, alone......So why is there a perfectly made cup of coffee on his control panel everytime he wakes up.
Jack thought the Universe was just punishing him, a cruel, twisted joke, justified in his mind.
He had killed an innocent child, his own flesh and blood, to save the world, even as he found himself loathing that wretched planet more and more, hating how one person could decide who lived and who died, even if it was himself occasionally, or a Prime Minister, or an alien race.
So he had left, gone to wallow in his own self-hatred, and every morning, he'd see that steaming hot cup, perfectly brewed, liquid ambrosia, Cruel reminder of the loved one, gone forever, always gone forever.
He had hoped for at least a few more years, a trickle of love in his raging river of eternity, but he had barely taken a sip, before it was stolen from him.
And still that cup stood, seeming to glare at him with a black fury, always in the same place, ready for him in the morning.
And always he drank it, sat back and drank the darkness, like a dying man, because the darkness was his only friend now, a bittersweet reminder of Ianto.
Besides, if he was still alive, Ianto would have shot him for wasting good coffee.