Fic: Echo (1/1)
Title: Echo (1/1)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Ianto (mild), Jack/John (unrequited)
Word Count: 649
Summary: I stayed that night. I think he knew, but quite simply didn’t care. Spoilers for Torchwood 2.13 - Exit Wounds.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: In the mass of finale follow-ups, I started something angsty and romantic and really quite depressing, but I eventually decided that the episode itself had quite enough of that, and tried for something a bit different. This little vignettey bit was what resulted. From Captain John’s point of view, following the majority of “Exit Wounds,” but set before the very last scene.
Echo
I stayed that night. I think he knew, but quite simply didn’t care. If I were honest, I’d say it was some twisted combination of obligation, of guilt, and an undeterred curiosity that drew me to that place in that time, so close to their pain and their grief and their touchy-feely loss; but I’m not honest, so I’m saved the trouble in the long run.
I watched him, like a sycophantic voyeur, pining wantonly for the both of them, unable as he was to make it down the ladder to his bat-cave of a bedchamber, the over-dramatic bastard; and I realized that it wasn’t just the mood, or the timing that was to blame for him giving me his cheek when I made to capture his lips before. The way he clung to that boy when those soft, pale hands wrapped around him first, the way he cried… he never cried for me like that. Never loved me enough to lean on me and just let go. I tried not to begrudge him the comfort, but I couldn’t help myself - couldn’t help the fact that even with that fucking bomb wired into my skin, it was better than this, because at least it meant I wasn’t alone, wasn’t entirely forgotten.
I hate being unwanted. It does terrible things to one’s ego.
I cleaned up the blood; the body had been moved, lovingly, gingerly - with every hint of care, and I won’t deny that I watched the way Eye Candy’s ass rounded out his trousers just so when he bent to lift her head, cradling the dead weight and stroking her cool brow - but the blood remained, trailing up the stairs, thin streaks and pooled little caps that had dried into spongy dots of rust, some with bits of hair, her hair, swirled around from the struggle. Somehow I know they’re going to be pissed about it, violated and that sort of thing… like it was their right, their responsibility, the fucking martyrs. Figured I owed them as much, though, for everything. And he was right, too; in the end, it just felt like penance.
I wasn’t sure if it was morbid when I ate the rest of the crisps in the half-empty bag left open on Toshiko’s desk, but I was starving, as it happened, and really - they’d have just tossed them anyway.
It didn’t amaze me that he couldn’t hear when I crept through the manhole and sauntered towards his bedside, long after the hum of half-broken machinery had stopped echoing off my eardrums, if not the walls; I’d always been better at my job than he gave me credit for, the cunt. What did amaze me, however, was the way he was wrapped around the body next to him, head on the chest of the other man, pressed hard against his heart, eyes squinted shut against some unknown devil, some obvious fear as he clung to the life that thrummed beneath him, the way in which he breathed betraying him, as he relaxed with every rise of the younger man’s chest, every skip of his heart, and tensed anew with every beat of silence in between.
It was too much, after a time, and I wondered idly as I retrieved the ring from the small desk next to the bed if there’d ever been a time, in the future or the past, where Jack Harkness would have worn it proudly had I given it to him.
If I weren’t such a bloody liar, I’d admit defeat and answer no. Instead, I shook my head to the sunrise as I slid out, bereft of acknowledgement or applause, unlauded and unnoticed, wondering where in the hell I was going to go now, and suspecting that the Earth certainly couldn’t be large enough, or interesting enough, to make the decision too dire of a strain.
I’m thinking… Bora Bora.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Ianto (mild), Jack/John (unrequited)
Word Count: 649
Summary: I stayed that night. I think he knew, but quite simply didn’t care. Spoilers for Torchwood 2.13 - Exit Wounds.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: In the mass of finale follow-ups, I started something angsty and romantic and really quite depressing, but I eventually decided that the episode itself had quite enough of that, and tried for something a bit different. This little vignettey bit was what resulted. From Captain John’s point of view, following the majority of “Exit Wounds,” but set before the very last scene.
Echo
I stayed that night. I think he knew, but quite simply didn’t care. If I were honest, I’d say it was some twisted combination of obligation, of guilt, and an undeterred curiosity that drew me to that place in that time, so close to their pain and their grief and their touchy-feely loss; but I’m not honest, so I’m saved the trouble in the long run.
I watched him, like a sycophantic voyeur, pining wantonly for the both of them, unable as he was to make it down the ladder to his bat-cave of a bedchamber, the over-dramatic bastard; and I realized that it wasn’t just the mood, or the timing that was to blame for him giving me his cheek when I made to capture his lips before. The way he clung to that boy when those soft, pale hands wrapped around him first, the way he cried… he never cried for me like that. Never loved me enough to lean on me and just let go. I tried not to begrudge him the comfort, but I couldn’t help myself - couldn’t help the fact that even with that fucking bomb wired into my skin, it was better than this, because at least it meant I wasn’t alone, wasn’t entirely forgotten.
I hate being unwanted. It does terrible things to one’s ego.
I cleaned up the blood; the body had been moved, lovingly, gingerly - with every hint of care, and I won’t deny that I watched the way Eye Candy’s ass rounded out his trousers just so when he bent to lift her head, cradling the dead weight and stroking her cool brow - but the blood remained, trailing up the stairs, thin streaks and pooled little caps that had dried into spongy dots of rust, some with bits of hair, her hair, swirled around from the struggle. Somehow I know they’re going to be pissed about it, violated and that sort of thing… like it was their right, their responsibility, the fucking martyrs. Figured I owed them as much, though, for everything. And he was right, too; in the end, it just felt like penance.
I wasn’t sure if it was morbid when I ate the rest of the crisps in the half-empty bag left open on Toshiko’s desk, but I was starving, as it happened, and really - they’d have just tossed them anyway.
It didn’t amaze me that he couldn’t hear when I crept through the manhole and sauntered towards his bedside, long after the hum of half-broken machinery had stopped echoing off my eardrums, if not the walls; I’d always been better at my job than he gave me credit for, the cunt. What did amaze me, however, was the way he was wrapped around the body next to him, head on the chest of the other man, pressed hard against his heart, eyes squinted shut against some unknown devil, some obvious fear as he clung to the life that thrummed beneath him, the way in which he breathed betraying him, as he relaxed with every rise of the younger man’s chest, every skip of his heart, and tensed anew with every beat of silence in between.
It was too much, after a time, and I wondered idly as I retrieved the ring from the small desk next to the bed if there’d ever been a time, in the future or the past, where Jack Harkness would have worn it proudly had I given it to him.
If I weren’t such a bloody liar, I’d admit defeat and answer no. Instead, I shook my head to the sunrise as I slid out, bereft of acknowledgement or applause, unlauded and unnoticed, wondering where in the hell I was going to go now, and suspecting that the Earth certainly couldn’t be large enough, or interesting enough, to make the decision too dire of a strain.
I’m thinking… Bora Bora.