![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sariagrayTitle: Shards
Author:![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1)
sariagray
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, mentions of the team
Rating: PG13 for concepts and language.
Word Count: 846
Spoilers: Occurs after Exit Wounds, so everything up to that point.
Warnings: Language, canon character deaths, angst, grief, sadness, mentions of suicide and drug use. A big ball of fun, this is.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. No monetary compensation has been or will be garnered from this endeavor. This is purely for entertainment purposes and is no way intended to disrespect anyone or anything.
Author's Note: I askedthebuttonontop to give me a prompt. She gave me "glass, star, cruise." I meant to write fluff. This came out instead. She assures me that I should post, despite my misgivings. I'm going to take a leap of faith and listen to her. Also, I have this thing with ceramic mugs meaning more than they should, I think.
There are shards everywhere. Ceramic, glass, bits of pottery and bone china. He is grateful for his thick-soled shoes as he crunches them hesitantly underfoot in an attempt to get to the rubbish bin. He doesn’t know how it happened and that alone disturbs him. There are flecks of drying blood amongst the sharp bits, as if someone had tried to clutch at the pieces, and that disturbs him more. He does the only thing he can and finds a broom to sweep them up.
The pile is massive and so new that he knows there must be tiny glass fragments in the air, entering his lungs and eyes, making tiny incisions in the soft tissues of his organs. They float around him like glitter as he cleans with conviction.
Suzie’s mug is in there, the only reminder he’s allowed himself to keep of her. She wasn’t a friend, not really. She’s just a person who needs to be remembered by someone. Owen’s and Tosh’s mugs are there, too; this breaks him more than the loss of Suzie’s, even though he’s kept so many of their things in a last-ditch effort to hold, to cling.
His own mugs and dishes, Gwen’s and Jack’s, those can all be replaced. Those memories didn’t seep out when the glassware was shattered, but the others….
A throat clears and he looks up, startled.
“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers, and Ianto knows he is.
He leans the broom against a counter and turns to face him with a carefully constructed smile. “Hmm, a bit angry at something? I always knew you were a bull in a china shop. You didn’t need to prove it.”
He covers his emotions with a quip. He’s good at that. He forgets that Jack is just as good at seeing through the complete and utter shit he tries to pull. Jack simply crosses his arms and looks at him expectantly. Ianto’s shoulders sag.
“It’s…it’s nothing. It’s just Suzie. And Owen and Tosh. And the mug we chipped when you knocked it off your desk. And Gwen’s with that damn smiley face on it. And it’s all gone now. Where were you this morning?”
The quick change in subject throws Jack off-balance for a moment and he blinks.
“Rift alert. Didn’t I leave you a note?”
“Nope. I didn’t see one, anyway.”
“Sorry,” Jack whispers again and crosses over into the galaxy of swirling glass dust to enfold Ianto in his arms. “I meant to.”
Ianto sinks into the embrace, his eyes shining and blurred like he’s swiftly coming down off a particularly intense high. Jack kisses him, Ianto’s perfectly suited body slack against his own and his vision focused on stars a million light-years away. The kiss does nothing to ground Ianto. He is not being pulled back from whatever this is that makes him feel like an opium addict chasing the tendrils of a dream on a cruise through time and space.
Still, he automatically kisses back with a time delay, responding to Jack’s nibbling on his lower lip after Jack has already moved on to run his tongue along the abused bit of flesh. He feels too warm and too cold and too much and too little and he desperately wants everyone and everything to come back.
“Just please come back.”
He doesn’t realize that he’s breathed the plea against Jack’s mouth until the man pulls away, fixing Ianto with a curious, concerned look.
“What did you take?”
“Take?” Ianto’s brow bunches up and he sighs when he comprehends the question. “Painkillers. The one’s Owen prescribed before…before.”
With that, he snaps back into focus, the blurred edges sharpening as he gathers what Jack’s implying. He shakes his head and offers his usual wry smile.
“Not like that,” he assures. “Just the one. The same dose he told me to take. I just….”
“Grief,” Jack supplies and Ianto nods, grateful to have been spared the burden of speaking the word aloud.
They stand in silence for a moment, arms still wrapped around each other. They are lost in separate thoughts that soon converge and entangle themselves, dragging them out of the indefinable haze.
“Did it help?” Ianto asks, putting a rent in the heavy cloth of stillness that surrounds them.
“I didn’t do it. Not like that, anyway. I came to the Hub after the alert. John was here. We fought. Things crashed. He left.”
Ianto pulls back and looks at him as though he can see him for the first time. “You didn’t kill him?”
“Too much death already.”
Ianto doesn’t want to, but he understands. Ianto doesn’t want to, but he slips his mask back on and steps away from Jack. Ianto doesn’t want to, but he grasps the broom again with a determined grip.
Jack tenderly places his hand on Ianto’s shoulder to stop him, but he shrugs it off. With resolute and defiant concentration, he grinds a small mound of the shattered remnants beneath his heel.
“When I’m done here,” he says hollowly, “we’re going shopping. We need new mugs and plates.”
Author:
sariagray Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, mentions of the team
Rating: PG13 for concepts and language.
Word Count: 846
Spoilers: Occurs after Exit Wounds, so everything up to that point.
Warnings: Language, canon character deaths, angst, grief, sadness, mentions of suicide and drug use. A big ball of fun, this is.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. No monetary compensation has been or will be garnered from this endeavor. This is purely for entertainment purposes and is no way intended to disrespect anyone or anything.
Author's Note: I asked
thebuttonontop to give me a prompt. She gave me "glass, star, cruise." I meant to write fluff. This came out instead. She assures me that I should post, despite my misgivings. I'm going to take a leap of faith and listen to her. Also, I have this thing with ceramic mugs meaning more than they should, I think. Shards
There are shards everywhere. Ceramic, glass, bits of pottery and bone china. He is grateful for his thick-soled shoes as he crunches them hesitantly underfoot in an attempt to get to the rubbish bin. He doesn’t know how it happened and that alone disturbs him. There are flecks of drying blood amongst the sharp bits, as if someone had tried to clutch at the pieces, and that disturbs him more. He does the only thing he can and finds a broom to sweep them up.
The pile is massive and so new that he knows there must be tiny glass fragments in the air, entering his lungs and eyes, making tiny incisions in the soft tissues of his organs. They float around him like glitter as he cleans with conviction.
Suzie’s mug is in there, the only reminder he’s allowed himself to keep of her. She wasn’t a friend, not really. She’s just a person who needs to be remembered by someone. Owen’s and Tosh’s mugs are there, too; this breaks him more than the loss of Suzie’s, even though he’s kept so many of their things in a last-ditch effort to hold, to cling.
His own mugs and dishes, Gwen’s and Jack’s, those can all be replaced. Those memories didn’t seep out when the glassware was shattered, but the others….
A throat clears and he looks up, startled.
“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers, and Ianto knows he is.
He leans the broom against a counter and turns to face him with a carefully constructed smile. “Hmm, a bit angry at something? I always knew you were a bull in a china shop. You didn’t need to prove it.”
He covers his emotions with a quip. He’s good at that. He forgets that Jack is just as good at seeing through the complete and utter shit he tries to pull. Jack simply crosses his arms and looks at him expectantly. Ianto’s shoulders sag.
“It’s…it’s nothing. It’s just Suzie. And Owen and Tosh. And the mug we chipped when you knocked it off your desk. And Gwen’s with that damn smiley face on it. And it’s all gone now. Where were you this morning?”
The quick change in subject throws Jack off-balance for a moment and he blinks.
“Rift alert. Didn’t I leave you a note?”
“Nope. I didn’t see one, anyway.”
“Sorry,” Jack whispers again and crosses over into the galaxy of swirling glass dust to enfold Ianto in his arms. “I meant to.”
Ianto sinks into the embrace, his eyes shining and blurred like he’s swiftly coming down off a particularly intense high. Jack kisses him, Ianto’s perfectly suited body slack against his own and his vision focused on stars a million light-years away. The kiss does nothing to ground Ianto. He is not being pulled back from whatever this is that makes him feel like an opium addict chasing the tendrils of a dream on a cruise through time and space.
Still, he automatically kisses back with a time delay, responding to Jack’s nibbling on his lower lip after Jack has already moved on to run his tongue along the abused bit of flesh. He feels too warm and too cold and too much and too little and he desperately wants everyone and everything to come back.
“Just please come back.”
He doesn’t realize that he’s breathed the plea against Jack’s mouth until the man pulls away, fixing Ianto with a curious, concerned look.
“What did you take?”
“Take?” Ianto’s brow bunches up and he sighs when he comprehends the question. “Painkillers. The one’s Owen prescribed before…before.”
With that, he snaps back into focus, the blurred edges sharpening as he gathers what Jack’s implying. He shakes his head and offers his usual wry smile.
“Not like that,” he assures. “Just the one. The same dose he told me to take. I just….”
“Grief,” Jack supplies and Ianto nods, grateful to have been spared the burden of speaking the word aloud.
They stand in silence for a moment, arms still wrapped around each other. They are lost in separate thoughts that soon converge and entangle themselves, dragging them out of the indefinable haze.
“Did it help?” Ianto asks, putting a rent in the heavy cloth of stillness that surrounds them.
“I didn’t do it. Not like that, anyway. I came to the Hub after the alert. John was here. We fought. Things crashed. He left.”
Ianto pulls back and looks at him as though he can see him for the first time. “You didn’t kill him?”
“Too much death already.”
Ianto doesn’t want to, but he understands. Ianto doesn’t want to, but he slips his mask back on and steps away from Jack. Ianto doesn’t want to, but he grasps the broom again with a determined grip.
Jack tenderly places his hand on Ianto’s shoulder to stop him, but he shrugs it off. With resolute and defiant concentration, he grinds a small mound of the shattered remnants beneath his heel.
“When I’m done here,” he says hollowly, “we’re going shopping. We need new mugs and plates.”
End
