Shining Nowhere But in the Dark
Shining Nowhere But in the Dark
Fandom: Torchwood / Sandman
Rating: PG
Ships: Jack/Death, allusions to a couple of canon ships
Summary: "Hello again."
Warnings: I apologize for the vague summary. This fic is about 950 words in length and full of spoilers for "Exit Wounds."
"Am I really dead now?" Owen asked the girl.
"You were really dead before," she replied.
She had a nice voice, Owen thought. He couldn't place her accent. Actually, the rest of her was pretty nice, too. The black hair, black dress, and the kohl around her eyes were a bit severe for her pale skin - which looked soft as lilies and colder than the ankh that rested just below the hollow of her throat. She wasn't smiling now, but he had the feeling that if she did, he'd be lost and happily so.
"I know," he said, after looking at her for what seemed like a long time. "But it was different before. You - if it was you before, I mean - were a lot skinnier. And you had a lot less hair."
"You can't expect me to wear the same thing every time I go out," said the girl, and Owen felt his own lips quirk in a smile.
Or thought he did, for a moment, anyway. But he couldn't have, he decided.
"So, this is it, then," he said (would have said? imagined he'd said?) "For real, this time. Even if he could get hold of whatever's left of my body, Jack's not going to use the glove on me again. I know he won't. It's funny. When Tosh told me it was too late to get out, I thought - I can't even remember what I thought. I just started shouting. Now that it's all over, I feel-" He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "But I don't really feel, do I? Where the hell am I? Am I a memory? If I'm a memory - whose? Am I really saying all this, or is someone - back there - picturing me - and you? You know," he went on hurriedly because she'd opened her mouth and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know, "this isn't fair. Things are supposed to become simple when you die. Everything's supposed to be explained. But this is even more fucked up than-" He sucked air into his lungs out of habit. "Sorry," he muttered, "sorry."
"It's okay," said the girl warmly. "Really, I get that sort of thing a lot."
"Yeah," said Owen. "Yeah, I imagine you do."
*
Toshiko watched as Jack laid her body down gently. His groping hand found Ianto's, and then they were standing together, leaning against each other. Gwen still knelt, clutching Toshiko's hand to her cheek. Her shoulders shook; her lipstick and mascara smeared on Toshiko's limp fingers.
"Stop it," Toshiko implored, but of course none of them heard her. "Stop it!
"I'm sorry," she said to the black-haired girl who stood behind her, waiting. "I shouldn't shout. It's not like they can hear me, anyway. I'm not actually angry. I'm not actually anything anymore. I just wanted to be loved. I think they loved me. But I don't want to see them like this. I don't suppose that makes any sense."
"It doesn't have to," said the girl.
"No, I suppose it doesn't." Tosh turned away from her body and her friends. "You don't look at all like the thing Owen fought. Maybe if you'd looked this way then, he wouldn't have fought as hard as he did. I probably shouldn't be thinking about Owen at a time like this. I should be thinking about my mother. But I can't."
The girl watched her patiently.
"This isn't so bad," Tosh went on. "After Owen died and came back, I'd been picturing death a lot worse than-" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm thinking about him again. I do not want my last self-conscious moments devoted to Owen bloody Harper."
The girl, sounding genuinely curious, said, "What makes you think this is your last self-conscious moment?"
"I don't know," said Tosh. "I just- I feel - and I don't even know if that's the right word now - like a candle flame. All you have to do is breathe and I'll - poof - go out and be gone. And really," she went on vehemently, "I almost wish you would. I'm standing here full of regrets, and I don't want that. I'd rather just be gone. So, please-"
The girl touched Tosh's hand; her skin was cold and fresh as morning air. "I'm going to tell you a secret, and then I promise we'll get out of here. Just one secret, about love. It's pretty neat."
*
"Hello again," Death said to Jack. "I bet I know why you're here."
"I bet you do."
"You can't see them. I think we had this talk before."
"We might have."
She grinned; her lips were the deep purple of amaranth petals, of wine and hurricane skies. "No matter how extravagant the exit, no matter how many bodies are piled on the stage, every living thing comes to me alone. It's always been that way. You're the exception to a lot of rules, but not that one."
She said his name then - his real one - and it fluttered like dark wings through every one of his atoms.
"I want to stay," Jack said plaintively. "I'm tired."
"You've been tired before."
"And I'll be tired again."
"Yes," said Death.
"I still want to stay. Let someone else do the job." Any second, he knew, he'd feel his heart lurch, and blood start moving again in his veins. Still, he clung to death - literally, because she had him in her arms, her long, white, soothingly cool arms. "Please."
"No. Not yet. Not your time."
"So, there will come a time when-"
Her lips stopped his words. Slowly, tenderly, Death kissed him back to life.
4/6/2008
Fandom: Torchwood / Sandman
Rating: PG
Ships: Jack/Death, allusions to a couple of canon ships
Summary: "Hello again."
Warnings: I apologize for the vague summary. This fic is about 950 words in length and full of spoilers for "Exit Wounds."
"Am I really dead now?" Owen asked the girl.
"You were really dead before," she replied.
She had a nice voice, Owen thought. He couldn't place her accent. Actually, the rest of her was pretty nice, too. The black hair, black dress, and the kohl around her eyes were a bit severe for her pale skin - which looked soft as lilies and colder than the ankh that rested just below the hollow of her throat. She wasn't smiling now, but he had the feeling that if she did, he'd be lost and happily so.
"I know," he said, after looking at her for what seemed like a long time. "But it was different before. You - if it was you before, I mean - were a lot skinnier. And you had a lot less hair."
"You can't expect me to wear the same thing every time I go out," said the girl, and Owen felt his own lips quirk in a smile.
Or thought he did, for a moment, anyway. But he couldn't have, he decided.
"So, this is it, then," he said (would have said? imagined he'd said?) "For real, this time. Even if he could get hold of whatever's left of my body, Jack's not going to use the glove on me again. I know he won't. It's funny. When Tosh told me it was too late to get out, I thought - I can't even remember what I thought. I just started shouting. Now that it's all over, I feel-" He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "But I don't really feel, do I? Where the hell am I? Am I a memory? If I'm a memory - whose? Am I really saying all this, or is someone - back there - picturing me - and you? You know," he went on hurriedly because she'd opened her mouth and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know, "this isn't fair. Things are supposed to become simple when you die. Everything's supposed to be explained. But this is even more fucked up than-" He sucked air into his lungs out of habit. "Sorry," he muttered, "sorry."
"It's okay," said the girl warmly. "Really, I get that sort of thing a lot."
"Yeah," said Owen. "Yeah, I imagine you do."
*
Toshiko watched as Jack laid her body down gently. His groping hand found Ianto's, and then they were standing together, leaning against each other. Gwen still knelt, clutching Toshiko's hand to her cheek. Her shoulders shook; her lipstick and mascara smeared on Toshiko's limp fingers.
"Stop it," Toshiko implored, but of course none of them heard her. "Stop it!
"I'm sorry," she said to the black-haired girl who stood behind her, waiting. "I shouldn't shout. It's not like they can hear me, anyway. I'm not actually angry. I'm not actually anything anymore. I just wanted to be loved. I think they loved me. But I don't want to see them like this. I don't suppose that makes any sense."
"It doesn't have to," said the girl.
"No, I suppose it doesn't." Tosh turned away from her body and her friends. "You don't look at all like the thing Owen fought. Maybe if you'd looked this way then, he wouldn't have fought as hard as he did. I probably shouldn't be thinking about Owen at a time like this. I should be thinking about my mother. But I can't."
The girl watched her patiently.
"This isn't so bad," Tosh went on. "After Owen died and came back, I'd been picturing death a lot worse than-" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm thinking about him again. I do not want my last self-conscious moments devoted to Owen bloody Harper."
The girl, sounding genuinely curious, said, "What makes you think this is your last self-conscious moment?"
"I don't know," said Tosh. "I just- I feel - and I don't even know if that's the right word now - like a candle flame. All you have to do is breathe and I'll - poof - go out and be gone. And really," she went on vehemently, "I almost wish you would. I'm standing here full of regrets, and I don't want that. I'd rather just be gone. So, please-"
The girl touched Tosh's hand; her skin was cold and fresh as morning air. "I'm going to tell you a secret, and then I promise we'll get out of here. Just one secret, about love. It's pretty neat."
*
"Hello again," Death said to Jack. "I bet I know why you're here."
"I bet you do."
"You can't see them. I think we had this talk before."
"We might have."
She grinned; her lips were the deep purple of amaranth petals, of wine and hurricane skies. "No matter how extravagant the exit, no matter how many bodies are piled on the stage, every living thing comes to me alone. It's always been that way. You're the exception to a lot of rules, but not that one."
She said his name then - his real one - and it fluttered like dark wings through every one of his atoms.
"I want to stay," Jack said plaintively. "I'm tired."
"You've been tired before."
"And I'll be tired again."
"Yes," said Death.
"I still want to stay. Let someone else do the job." Any second, he knew, he'd feel his heart lurch, and blood start moving again in his veins. Still, he clung to death - literally, because she had him in her arms, her long, white, soothingly cool arms. "Please."
"No. Not yet. Not your time."
"So, there will come a time when-"
Her lips stopped his words. Slowly, tenderly, Death kissed him back to life.
4/6/2008