Captain Jack Harkness | Torchwood (thedashinghero) wrote in aternaville, @ 2009-04-14 00:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | jack harkness |
WHO: Jack Harkness
WHAT: Jack is, most decidedly, not himself.
WHEN: BACKDATED to 11 April
WHERE: Ianto's Jack's house, then the park.
RATING: M for mourning.
STATUS: Complete
For a man who didn't sleep, Jack was even more restless than usual. He knew Rose felt it, felt the utter despair rolling off him in waves. He'd seen death before. Living for well over two millennia (even if most of that time was buried deep underneath Cardiff), Jack had seen his fair share of death. He'd lost lovers, a wife, his family... not to mention teammates who were the closest thing he would ever have to family.
Jack knew the pain of losing people more than anyone, save the Doctor. Jack, in some waking moments, could still feel the heat of Alex's blood when the former Torchwood leader shot himself in the head, effectively removing himself from command. Names and faces should have blurred over the years but in Jack's head, he could remember every death he'd lived through -- his own and others. Greg's death had been difficult, watching him be sucked into nowhere, leaving behind the cryptic message revenge for the future. Following that, Jack could still feel the chill of the water when he and Michael broke through the surface of the water. Yes, he may have only known the man for a few days (boy, not man), but that hadn't mattered. There had still been that connection.
Laying in the bed he had shared with Ianto for the past month, it was already losing the scent of Ianto that had clung obstinately to the sheets. The bed had long since grown cold.
Toshiko's and Owen's deaths had hit him in away Jack was unaccustomed to. Perhaps it was because they were the first members of a team that he had specifically recruited for Torchwood. He had trained them, he had worked with them... he had loved with them and he had cried with them. And when their deaths came it had hit him in a way Jack had never expected. It felt like losing his brother all over again.
Nothing, however, could have compared him to what he felt now. The simple fact that even Rose couldn't pull him out of his funk should have spoken volumes for how deeply Ianto's death affected him. He felt it to the very core of his being. This was why Jack slept around as much as he did -- outside of the fact that he simply enjoyed sex. But it was because he had the knowledge that he would always outlive lovers and sleeping with others always kept one tiny part for himself -- never would he completely give himself. He had learned that lesson the hard way once before.
That situation, however, seemed dwarfed when compared to the grief he felt. Jack was a sensual being, when he threw himself into something, he threw a hundred and fifty percent of himself at the project. He loved as hard as he worked, having a seemingly boundless supply of energy for whatever the current situation was. Yet when it came to talking about how he felt, that was harder for him. He liked to think that actions spoke louder than words, that he didn't have to say what was on his mind. And even though Rose assured him that Ianto knew... it was hard for Jack to make peace with it.
Rolling out of bed, Jack retrieved the greatcoat (now cleaned thanks to Rose) from the stand in the corner of the room and left the house without a word to Rose. Yes, he had promised he'd stay in for a few days to make sure his body had dealt with the wolf venom, but Jack knew his body and knew whatever side effects should have occurred had already occurred. He was safe for human interaction -- in theory, anyway.
He knew where his feet would take him before he even took that first step out the front door. Through the winding streets and back to the park. Urchins had (Jack assumed) stolen what was left of their picnic for nothing was to be found. Still, he crossed the open field, coming upon the first traces of blood. His hand brushed over the blades of grass, knowing this was where he fell -- where the wolf had caught up to him and made it impossible to get to Ianto in time. This spot was what had sealed Ianto's fate.
Jack's pace slowed as he approached the second large patch of stained grass and wondered why no one had washed all remnants away. How morbid was this human society that thought it was 'okay' to leave the evidence of a murder. Sitting down in the grass, Jack's fingers combed through the red-tinged blades, imagining it was Ianto's hair he was threading through. Morbid, perhaps, but Jack was having a hard time accepting this. For some reason, he had never prepared himself for Ianto's death. Yes, he knew it would come one day, but Jack had been adamant that he would be the one to protect Ianto. And, really, his track record was good. He'd nearly severed his foot at the zoo, or any other time when Jack had selflessly thrown himself between death and Ianto, taking the hit so that his lover could live to fight another day.
But what had it all been for? For a few words said teasingly, but were far from the last words he would have liked to have spoken. He chided him about a fucking coat. And ten minutes later, Ianto had been taken from him. Bringing his knees up to his chest, Jack wrapped his arms around his legs and set his chin upon a knee. The sun beat down on him, though Jack couldn't feel its warmth.
All he felt was cold.
And, at last, he finally allowed himself to cry.