Linger - Part IV
Title: Linger, Part IV/X
Author: sariagray
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1220
Spoilers: I spoil EVERYTHING. Which isn't much, actually.
Warnings: A leeeeetle bit of angst. A lot of hinting at back story. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.
Author’s Note: The plot thickens. Also, I really really really hate formating. Comments = happy. Or, more appropriately, Contentment. :) Thank you to everyone who has already said such lovely (and probably untrue!) things! I hope this doesn't disappoint.
Previous Chapters: Part I, Part II, Part III
Linger
Part IV
He took a sip of water. It was cold and wet and soothing. He wanted to gulp it down, but he didn’t; he had to maintain some dignity.
“Dignity? You’re drinking water.”
Curiosity.
Disdain.
“Yes, I can hear your voice, remember?”
“Sorry…I…I’m not used to this.”
Jack sighed and nodded.
“It upsets you, doesn’t it?”
“Upset me?” Confusion etched his face. “Why would it upset me?”
“You’re agitated.”
“No, I’m confused. I’m rattled. I’m…aren’t you the one that can get in my head and tell me what I’m feeling?”
“Yes. Exactly. You’re agitated.”
He pondered that for a moment. The statement wasn’t accusatory. In fact, it was encouraging. It was light and hopeful and useful. He really didn’t think that he was agitated at all, though. Except...maybe he was, a little. Not at Ianto. Not directly. He was agitated, upset, frustrated that his lover was a voice in his head with probing emotions and a shimmery form. He had been with all sorts of humans and aliens and occasionally things in between….But a disembodied voice that only he could hear? Well, that was a bit…much. Even for him.
Sure, there was some physicality. And there was love. And acceptance. It was true, too, that at first hearing his voice, the way his accent drawled and feigned and swept over consonants and vowels, Jack's heart had fluttered and rejoiced. But the experience had grown disconcerting over the past few days. And it wasn’t like he could get away from a ghost. Could he get away from a ghost?
“Oh.”
Sorrow.
Woe.
Despair.
Anguish.
Remorse.
“We need to find a way to get you out of my head.” He sighed, recovering from the onslaught of grief that was bombarding him. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t even know half of what I was thinking.” He tried to look at Ianto pointedly, which was difficult as Jack had no idea where the man was.
“Don’t. I understand. It’s difficult.”
Some of the tension in his body eased and he followed the trail left by the lingering voice with his eyes. He focused, catching sight of the glimmer that was his lover. His. He approached and wrapped his arms around the form, letting the essence solidify in his embrace.
“No. Losing you was difficult,” he whispered. “This? This is just damn frustrating.”
Comprehension.
Peace.
Uncertainty.
“Is there any way you can block my thoughts?”
“I can with most people. You, though? You broadcast like you’re anchoring the news.”
“That’s strange….”
Curiosity.
“When Tosh could hear people’s thoughts, she said she couldn’t hear mine. I thought….”
He could almost feel shoulders shrugging against him.
“I’m special?”
Sarcasm.
Delight.
Hope.
Jack laughed and kissed what he thought was Ianto’s forehead (although it might have been his eye). He pulled him close and nuzzled against his neck.
“Forgive me?” he murmured. “Don’t go.”
“You’re clinging to me. I’m not quite so disembodied that I can disappear at will.”
“You can’t?” Jack pulled away slowly to almost-but-not-really look at him.
“Well, okay, maybe I could. But I don’t want to.”
“Good.”
Jack wondered how long he could last like this. A part of him, a very large part of him, echoed “forever” throughout ever chamber of his body. But a small, nagging (and admittedly annoying) voice hinted that maybe it would be best to let the whole thing drop. Then he recalled the pain of having lost the man now resting in his arms, how he had begged for anything to take the place of that loss. This, he growled to that doubting voice in his head, is better than anything you could have hoped for so SHUT UP.
Indulgence.
Understanding.
Tolerance.
Affection.
“You’re giving me a bloody headache.”
----------
Ianto had known that this was going to be trying.
Of course, he could ruin it all by giving Jack what he wanted. Reality. Form. Solidity. He wanted to. He knew how to do it, just like he had known how to speak through Jack’s mind. Hell, he knew how to really speak to Jack. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. It couldn’t happen like that.
The emotions he projected were required of his position. The glimmer? That was done in the name of practicality. He was supposed to be a bystander, a support, a Guardian. Not an Angel, no, never. But a Guardian to the man around which time centered itself. He was supposed to guide. He was certainly not supposed to participate.
Solidifying permanently would be detrimental to the cause. Gwen and Rhys and Rhiannon knowing he was somehow around was an excusable offense. Offering acquaintances unbidden feelings of Joy or Peace or even giddy Excitement was acceptable (if a bit disconcerting to the party on the receiving end). However, If he dared to take his form again, there would be Hell to pay.
He hadn’t counted on being so…human. He still was to some extent, of course, but it wasn’t supposed to affect him. Ianto Jones was a man of duty and purpose and obeisance above all else. He had been trusted with this and had every intention of following through with his sworn obligation.
Unfortunately, he was also a man in love.
It had left him completely barren to see Jack so without Life, without Hope. He seemed lost and tired. Ianto had to admit that he had fallen a little more in love for all of that.
And so here he was, not lingering in the background like a ghost, but curled up in his lover’s bed, trying to maintain a level of tactile solidity without actually Appearing. And he didn’t think he cared much for duty or purpose or obeisance at all.
“Now who’s broadcasting?” the sleep-muffled voice carried over to him.
“Was I? What did you hear?” He tried to keep his tone modulated, but it was rather difficult to diffuse Nervousness from a mental conversation.
“I didn’t hear a thing. I felt.” He paused. “You okay?”
“Fine. What did you feel?”
He focused on the emotions Jack was emitting and wanted to gasp.
Fear.
Loyalty.
Love.
Disappointment.
Loneliness.
Pride.
Sorrow.
Relief.
Defeat.
Anguish.
Worry.
“Oh? Is that all?” He tried to make his vocal projection smile, and tossed in a bit of Calm for good measure. “I’m fine, really. Just thinking things through.”
He relaxed and cuddled against Jack, who tightened his embrace. Ianto lifted his head off of his lover’s chest, leaned over, and kissed him.
Really, he poured everything into it, even if he did think it a little cliché. The weight he had been carrying, the love that bound them, the honor he felt he needed to uphold, the loyalty to Jack that was seriously mucking with that honor, and the burgeoning desire to stay no matter the cost. He kept his eyes open, as he often had the luxury to do now (thank God for small kindnesses), and watched. He saw Jack peek through one eye (again) and wanted to laugh.
It took him a moment to register the look that erupted over Jack’s face. He gazed down into wide, hopeful eyes that drank in sight as though they had been deprived for weeks. The kiss had stopped, too. He glanced down and saw…his own hand on Jack’s cheek.
“Oh,” was all he could muster as he continued to stare into Jack’s eyes. He was really doing a terrible job at keeping his distance.
Part V
Author: sariagray
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1220
Spoilers: I spoil EVERYTHING. Which isn't much, actually.
Warnings: A leeeeetle bit of angst. A lot of hinting at back story. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.
Author’s Note: The plot thickens. Also, I really really really hate formating. Comments = happy. Or, more appropriately, Contentment. :) Thank you to everyone who has already said such lovely (and probably untrue!) things! I hope this doesn't disappoint.
Previous Chapters: Part I, Part II, Part III
Linger
Part IV
He took a sip of water. It was cold and wet and soothing. He wanted to gulp it down, but he didn’t; he had to maintain some dignity.
“Dignity? You’re drinking water.”
Curiosity.
Disdain.
“Yes, I can hear your voice, remember?”
“Sorry…I…I’m not used to this.”
Jack sighed and nodded.
“It upsets you, doesn’t it?”
“Upset me?” Confusion etched his face. “Why would it upset me?”
“You’re agitated.”
“No, I’m confused. I’m rattled. I’m…aren’t you the one that can get in my head and tell me what I’m feeling?”
“Yes. Exactly. You’re agitated.”
He pondered that for a moment. The statement wasn’t accusatory. In fact, it was encouraging. It was light and hopeful and useful. He really didn’t think that he was agitated at all, though. Except...maybe he was, a little. Not at Ianto. Not directly. He was agitated, upset, frustrated that his lover was a voice in his head with probing emotions and a shimmery form. He had been with all sorts of humans and aliens and occasionally things in between….But a disembodied voice that only he could hear? Well, that was a bit…much. Even for him.
Sure, there was some physicality. And there was love. And acceptance. It was true, too, that at first hearing his voice, the way his accent drawled and feigned and swept over consonants and vowels, Jack's heart had fluttered and rejoiced. But the experience had grown disconcerting over the past few days. And it wasn’t like he could get away from a ghost. Could he get away from a ghost?
“Oh.”
Sorrow.
Woe.
Despair.
Anguish.
Remorse.
“We need to find a way to get you out of my head.” He sighed, recovering from the onslaught of grief that was bombarding him. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t even know half of what I was thinking.” He tried to look at Ianto pointedly, which was difficult as Jack had no idea where the man was.
“Don’t. I understand. It’s difficult.”
Some of the tension in his body eased and he followed the trail left by the lingering voice with his eyes. He focused, catching sight of the glimmer that was his lover. His. He approached and wrapped his arms around the form, letting the essence solidify in his embrace.
“No. Losing you was difficult,” he whispered. “This? This is just damn frustrating.”
Comprehension.
Peace.
Uncertainty.
“Is there any way you can block my thoughts?”
“I can with most people. You, though? You broadcast like you’re anchoring the news.”
“That’s strange….”
Curiosity.
“When Tosh could hear people’s thoughts, she said she couldn’t hear mine. I thought….”
He could almost feel shoulders shrugging against him.
“I’m special?”
Sarcasm.
Delight.
Hope.
Jack laughed and kissed what he thought was Ianto’s forehead (although it might have been his eye). He pulled him close and nuzzled against his neck.
“Forgive me?” he murmured. “Don’t go.”
“You’re clinging to me. I’m not quite so disembodied that I can disappear at will.”
“You can’t?” Jack pulled away slowly to almost-but-not-really look at him.
“Well, okay, maybe I could. But I don’t want to.”
“Good.”
Jack wondered how long he could last like this. A part of him, a very large part of him, echoed “forever” throughout ever chamber of his body. But a small, nagging (and admittedly annoying) voice hinted that maybe it would be best to let the whole thing drop. Then he recalled the pain of having lost the man now resting in his arms, how he had begged for anything to take the place of that loss. This, he growled to that doubting voice in his head, is better than anything you could have hoped for so SHUT UP.
Indulgence.
Understanding.
Tolerance.
Affection.
“You’re giving me a bloody headache.”
----------
Ianto had known that this was going to be trying.
Of course, he could ruin it all by giving Jack what he wanted. Reality. Form. Solidity. He wanted to. He knew how to do it, just like he had known how to speak through Jack’s mind. Hell, he knew how to really speak to Jack. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. It couldn’t happen like that.
The emotions he projected were required of his position. The glimmer? That was done in the name of practicality. He was supposed to be a bystander, a support, a Guardian. Not an Angel, no, never. But a Guardian to the man around which time centered itself. He was supposed to guide. He was certainly not supposed to participate.
Solidifying permanently would be detrimental to the cause. Gwen and Rhys and Rhiannon knowing he was somehow around was an excusable offense. Offering acquaintances unbidden feelings of Joy or Peace or even giddy Excitement was acceptable (if a bit disconcerting to the party on the receiving end). However, If he dared to take his form again, there would be Hell to pay.
He hadn’t counted on being so…human. He still was to some extent, of course, but it wasn’t supposed to affect him. Ianto Jones was a man of duty and purpose and obeisance above all else. He had been trusted with this and had every intention of following through with his sworn obligation.
Unfortunately, he was also a man in love.
It had left him completely barren to see Jack so without Life, without Hope. He seemed lost and tired. Ianto had to admit that he had fallen a little more in love for all of that.
And so here he was, not lingering in the background like a ghost, but curled up in his lover’s bed, trying to maintain a level of tactile solidity without actually Appearing. And he didn’t think he cared much for duty or purpose or obeisance at all.
“Now who’s broadcasting?” the sleep-muffled voice carried over to him.
“Was I? What did you hear?” He tried to keep his tone modulated, but it was rather difficult to diffuse Nervousness from a mental conversation.
“I didn’t hear a thing. I felt.” He paused. “You okay?”
“Fine. What did you feel?”
He focused on the emotions Jack was emitting and wanted to gasp.
Fear.
Loyalty.
Love.
Disappointment.
Loneliness.
Pride.
Sorrow.
Relief.
Defeat.
Anguish.
Worry.
“Oh? Is that all?” He tried to make his vocal projection smile, and tossed in a bit of Calm for good measure. “I’m fine, really. Just thinking things through.”
He relaxed and cuddled against Jack, who tightened his embrace. Ianto lifted his head off of his lover’s chest, leaned over, and kissed him.
Really, he poured everything into it, even if he did think it a little cliché. The weight he had been carrying, the love that bound them, the honor he felt he needed to uphold, the loyalty to Jack that was seriously mucking with that honor, and the burgeoning desire to stay no matter the cost. He kept his eyes open, as he often had the luxury to do now (thank God for small kindnesses), and watched. He saw Jack peek through one eye (again) and wanted to laugh.
It took him a moment to register the look that erupted over Jack’s face. He gazed down into wide, hopeful eyes that drank in sight as though they had been deprived for weeks. The kiss had stopped, too. He glanced down and saw…his own hand on Jack’s cheek.
“Oh,” was all he could muster as he continued to stare into Jack’s eyes. He was really doing a terrible job at keeping his distance.
Part V