3pipeproblem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
3pipeproblem) wrote2003-11-28 05:14 pm
3pipeproblem) wrote2003-11-28 05:14 pm
Birthday fic!
And it's only 3 days late...I bet you're impressed I wrote it at all.
There's kind of a lot going on, so I hope it isn't confusing/doesn't suck. Post-season 1 Jack/Tony kinda thing. Inspired by fox.com's official character profiles, my new plotbunny source.
Again, for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beechball. Jack/Tony all the way!
Tony awoke when Jack's footsteps drummed their way into his dreams, opened his eyes to see the other man pacing the room, drawing in agitated breaths no doubt quickened by the lingering memory of whatever he'd had to witness in his sleep. A glance, and Tony took it all in. He was good at that, especially where Jack was concerned.
Then he shut his eyes and thought about morning light streaming in and exorcising all of this. Because...well, because he and Jack each had their way of dealing with these things. Because in their job sharing never made anything better, or easier, or clearer. Like trying to wipe the blood off your hands and onto someone else's shirt.
Tony lay in Jack's bed, could smell the faintest scent of Jack on the sheets--some combination of gunpowder and sweat and too-strong coffee that Tony found soothing in spite of himself. All this and he couldn't look at the guy. Not in the middle of the night. Not like this.
Tony didn't know how much later the pacing stopped, much less why, but he broke his careful imitation of sleep long enough to breathe a sigh of relief, relaxed with the comforting rustle of sheets as Jack returned to bed. He kept his eyes clenched shut while Jack shifted to find a comfortable position, until he could feel Jack’s breath on the back of his neck, faint like the brush of his fingertips. It was a way of knowing Jack was still there and sometimes he wondered how he’d ever gotten to sleep before, without it.
Just as he began to drift, though, the breathing broke off suddenly, and he could feel Jack moving again. Tony thought of the gun on Jack’s bedside table. He always did at moments like this, a reflex he despised.
But instead of the finality of Jack’s hand meeting the weapon, this time there was a word rasped out in the dark, too quick or quiet or muffled for Tony to grasp. It sounded like Jack swallowed, then, swallowed and continued in his low half-growl, a voice so distinctive Tony’d never succeeded in separating it from the man, because ever word he said seemed to have been wrenched from him.
Jack didn’t speak clearly or deliberately. He mumbled the words and Tony could picture him glaring at the sheets, trying to resurrect something buried in memory amidst corpse after corpse. He began again and it was a triumphant rasp, as though just saying the words was some sort of victory.
“And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
While ignorant armies clash by night.”
Tony shivered, at the words but more than that at the way Jack stammered them out, staggering from one to another like a drunk. For some reason it reminded him that Teri had occupied this bed before him, that there had been a Jack he hadn’t known, the one this Jack was trying desperately to recall.
Tony didn’t open his eyes, but it was a long while before sleep came.
Epilogue
“Hey,” Michelle says, looks up from the screen and laughs. “You’ll never guess what Jack got his undergrad degree in.” She pauses, building the suspense, and Tony lets her think she’s got him. “English lit.”
He doesn’t take it as a punchline, even though she expects him to. Can’t. “Yeah. I know.”
She stares, confused, as he walks away.
There's kind of a lot going on, so I hope it isn't confusing/doesn't suck. Post-season 1 Jack/Tony kinda thing. Inspired by fox.com's official character profiles, my new plotbunny source.
Again, for
beechball. Jack/Tony all the way!Tony awoke when Jack's footsteps drummed their way into his dreams, opened his eyes to see the other man pacing the room, drawing in agitated breaths no doubt quickened by the lingering memory of whatever he'd had to witness in his sleep. A glance, and Tony took it all in. He was good at that, especially where Jack was concerned.
Then he shut his eyes and thought about morning light streaming in and exorcising all of this. Because...well, because he and Jack each had their way of dealing with these things. Because in their job sharing never made anything better, or easier, or clearer. Like trying to wipe the blood off your hands and onto someone else's shirt.
Tony lay in Jack's bed, could smell the faintest scent of Jack on the sheets--some combination of gunpowder and sweat and too-strong coffee that Tony found soothing in spite of himself. All this and he couldn't look at the guy. Not in the middle of the night. Not like this.
Tony didn't know how much later the pacing stopped, much less why, but he broke his careful imitation of sleep long enough to breathe a sigh of relief, relaxed with the comforting rustle of sheets as Jack returned to bed. He kept his eyes clenched shut while Jack shifted to find a comfortable position, until he could feel Jack’s breath on the back of his neck, faint like the brush of his fingertips. It was a way of knowing Jack was still there and sometimes he wondered how he’d ever gotten to sleep before, without it.
Just as he began to drift, though, the breathing broke off suddenly, and he could feel Jack moving again. Tony thought of the gun on Jack’s bedside table. He always did at moments like this, a reflex he despised.
But instead of the finality of Jack’s hand meeting the weapon, this time there was a word rasped out in the dark, too quick or quiet or muffled for Tony to grasp. It sounded like Jack swallowed, then, swallowed and continued in his low half-growl, a voice so distinctive Tony’d never succeeded in separating it from the man, because ever word he said seemed to have been wrenched from him.
Jack didn’t speak clearly or deliberately. He mumbled the words and Tony could picture him glaring at the sheets, trying to resurrect something buried in memory amidst corpse after corpse. He began again and it was a triumphant rasp, as though just saying the words was some sort of victory.
“And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
While ignorant armies clash by night.”
Tony shivered, at the words but more than that at the way Jack stammered them out, staggering from one to another like a drunk. For some reason it reminded him that Teri had occupied this bed before him, that there had been a Jack he hadn’t known, the one this Jack was trying desperately to recall.
Tony didn’t open his eyes, but it was a long while before sleep came.
Epilogue
“Hey,” Michelle says, looks up from the screen and laughs. “You’ll never guess what Jack got his undergrad degree in.” She pauses, building the suspense, and Tony lets her think she’s got him. “English lit.”
He doesn’t take it as a punchline, even though she expects him to. Can’t. “Yeah. I know.”
She stares, confused, as he walks away.
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Thanks so much!
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