Drabble Tag Challenge revisited
All’s well that ends well.
The Daleks are dead, Rose is alive and doesn’t remember what she did, and you’re a new man: rude, sexy, brilliant with a sword. You’re being served Christmas dinner instead of the sharp edge of Jackie’s tongue, and Mickey’s laughing with you instead of at you.
And Rose is smiling at you like you’re still her ( Read more... )
The Daleks are dead, Rose is alive and doesn’t remember what she did, and you’re a new man: rude, sexy, brilliant with a sword. You’re being served Christmas dinner instead of the sharp edge of Jackie’s tongue, and Mickey’s laughing with you instead of at you.
And Rose is smiling at you like you’re still her ( Read more... )
Comments 109
Coward, murderer, father, uncle, lover, friend.
Those're his labels. His curse. He can't separate one from the other, no matter how hard he tries. All he has to do is close his eyes and the faces of those who knew him as one or all of those words swarm to the surface of his mind.
That's why he can't stay.
It's not just that he caused his lover to die, or made the choice to kill his grandson. It's because the label he's had the longest has become too much to bear.
Jack Harkness is dead.
Long live Steven Jones.
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“Jones!”
Jerked out of his daydream, Ianto stumbles as he stands at attention. The class bursts into laughter.
“Sir!”
The professor turns away. “Stay awake next time, Jones.”
Ianto sits, shaking, and leans down to pick up the books which have tumbled to the floor. The class is still mirthful at his misfortune, and his pencil has rolled away, just out of reach.
“Sorry, could you-?” he starts, and his classmate wriggles her toe and kicks the pencil across the tile to his fingers.
“Thanks,” he mouths at her, and Lisa Hallett, prettiest girl in the eleventh form, smiles.
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He had left him here, telling Rose that he needed to be helped. He doesn't need help. He just needs her; her hand to hold to ground him, her smile as bright as a sun to warm him, her lips as hot as a furnace to kiss him, her body as soft as silk to love him. She turns and as she does, she smiles, so he smiles back in return. A reflex action that only she makes possible. The equation of loving and being loved in return.
Simple.
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Experience
Simple explanations aren't always more likely to be right than complicated ones. If it's too good, it probably isn't true. Experience tells him this.
Experience also tells him that exploding is bad. When the impossible man and his impossible girlfriend offer to whisk him away in their impossible ship, they don't have to ask twice.
But why keep him around? He's a smalltime crook who made a bigtime mistake. They seem friendly, but they're way out of his league.
Experience tells him not to trust. But he so desperately wants to, and that's so much more frightening than nearly exploding.
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Escape
Exploding into gory confetti is more painful than any words can describe. Even if he could find the words, he wouldn't tell Ianto. He's not sure if it's the worst way to die, but it's certainly in the top ten. He was once trapped in a burning house. The fire was a hungry beast with acid breath and razor claws. Thank God the bastards who locked him in there had overlooked the pocket knife carefully hidden in his boot heel. It didn't do a damn thing against the bolted steel door, but it provided him with another sort of escape.
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