through nights that never end (1/1)
title: through nights that never end
rating: pg-13
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: 'exit wounds', 'the stolen earth,' 'journey's end.'
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day thirteen challenge. feedback welcome.
summary: jack lives in a pattern, and ianto has discovered it.
Summer Wind
Frank Sinatra
The summer wind, came blowin' in from across the sea
It lingered there to touch your hair and walk with me
All summer long we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts and the summer wind
Like painted kites, those days and nights, they went flyin' by
The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than a piper man one day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind
The autumn wind and the winter winds, they have come and gone
And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
The summer wind
Warm summer wind
Mmm, the summer wind
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things, like the endless cycle of seasons.
They’ll dance, they’ll kiss, they’ll spend evenings lying on the roof of his building with Jack pointing out stars and telling outrageous stories, not a whit of them true, until he hits on one story that actually is true and then Jack won’t say anything about it. As close as they get, as much time as they spend together, the truth is that Ianto can’t keep hold of Jack because he only knows what he can feel about Jack, not what Jack will actually tell him. And for a while it will be good, great even, and Ianto will let himself slip into something akin to happiness, an oblivion that dances around his consciousness until he finally lets it win. But tragedy will hit as tragedy always does, whether it’s an enormous hell-beast and a batty old clockmaker or a psychopathic nut job from Jack’s past or another rotting invasion of the godforsaken Daleks and everything will fall to pieces again.
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things.
Jack will hop off towards the Doctor, once without saying a word and twice with a promise to return, and every moment he’s gone Ianto will worry that this is the time he won’t come back. Because someday, even if it’s when Ianto is old and forgetful (Jack does have some standards, after all), Jack will spend a day with the Doctor and decide not to come home, no matter how much Ianto may need him there. It’s a truth Jack doesn’t know Ianto knows, but he does, and so every time Jack disappears with one of his magic devices - the wrist-strap that can do everything, a hand fished from the bottom of the Thames that the Doctor grew back within seconds, even the telephone number of the TARDIS - Ianto worries, and wonders, and tries not to blame Jack for needing adventure over the relatively static life of Torchwood, at least by the Doctor’s example. After all, if the Doctor ever asked him, Ianto would go, if only to understand Jack better.
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things.
Jack is beautiful, and Jack is forever, and Jack will leave, and every kiss, every caress is an apology for that, an apology for it all. Ianto will grow old and wither, die still longing for Jack’s maddening touch, and Jack will not.
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things. After him, Jack will start again.
rating: pg-13
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: 'exit wounds', 'the stolen earth,' 'journey's end.'
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day thirteen challenge. feedback welcome.
summary: jack lives in a pattern, and ianto has discovered it.
Summer Wind
Frank Sinatra
The summer wind, came blowin' in from across the sea
It lingered there to touch your hair and walk with me
All summer long we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts and the summer wind
Like painted kites, those days and nights, they went flyin' by
The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than a piper man one day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind
The autumn wind and the winter winds, they have come and gone
And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
The summer wind
Warm summer wind
Mmm, the summer wind
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things, like the endless cycle of seasons.
They’ll dance, they’ll kiss, they’ll spend evenings lying on the roof of his building with Jack pointing out stars and telling outrageous stories, not a whit of them true, until he hits on one story that actually is true and then Jack won’t say anything about it. As close as they get, as much time as they spend together, the truth is that Ianto can’t keep hold of Jack because he only knows what he can feel about Jack, not what Jack will actually tell him. And for a while it will be good, great even, and Ianto will let himself slip into something akin to happiness, an oblivion that dances around his consciousness until he finally lets it win. But tragedy will hit as tragedy always does, whether it’s an enormous hell-beast and a batty old clockmaker or a psychopathic nut job from Jack’s past or another rotting invasion of the godforsaken Daleks and everything will fall to pieces again.
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things.
Jack will hop off towards the Doctor, once without saying a word and twice with a promise to return, and every moment he’s gone Ianto will worry that this is the time he won’t come back. Because someday, even if it’s when Ianto is old and forgetful (Jack does have some standards, after all), Jack will spend a day with the Doctor and decide not to come home, no matter how much Ianto may need him there. It’s a truth Jack doesn’t know Ianto knows, but he does, and so every time Jack disappears with one of his magic devices - the wrist-strap that can do everything, a hand fished from the bottom of the Thames that the Doctor grew back within seconds, even the telephone number of the TARDIS - Ianto worries, and wonders, and tries not to blame Jack for needing adventure over the relatively static life of Torchwood, at least by the Doctor’s example. After all, if the Doctor ever asked him, Ianto would go, if only to understand Jack better.
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things.
Jack is beautiful, and Jack is forever, and Jack will leave, and every kiss, every caress is an apology for that, an apology for it all. Ianto will grow old and wither, die still longing for Jack’s maddening touch, and Jack will not.
Ianto knows, by now, the pattern of things. After him, Jack will start again.