Title: Cold Silk
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1, letter100
Prompt: 94, Silk Sheets
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own Ianto Jones, the Tenth Doctor, or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

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Dear Jack,

I really don't know why I'm writing you this letter when I know that I'll never leave it at the Hub for you to read. It will just go into the top drawer of the desk I'm sitting at now, along with the other letters I've written to you that I never had the courage to let you read.

If you did read them, you'd probably only laugh and shake your head, and toss the letter in the trash basket. You'd sit back in your chair, smiling that wry, know-it-all smile, and probably think about what the two of us shared for, oh, maybe all of five minutes.

Then you would be off to other things, and I'd be put into the back of your mind -- which is where I think you're most comfortable with me being. You don't like to think about the fact that we were once much closer than we are now.

Did I really mean so little to you, Jack? Even when we were together, I knew that you and I weren't going to last forever. After all, you went out of your way often enough to explain to me that you're not the kind of man to make any relationship permanent.

I accepted that. It wasn't easy for me to do, but I knew that I had no other choice -- not if I wanted to keep you by my side for at least a while.

Every day that we were together, I prayed to any deity I could think of that you would change your mind, and decide that I was something you couldn't do without having in your life. I kept hoping that I might be the man to make you realise relationships aren't toxic.

But I couldn't do that. When you were ready to walk away from me, that's exactly what you did. The day that you said goodbye was the day that everything in my life changed. I know that sounds terribly melodramatic, but it's true.

I even changed a great deal about the Tardis. There were rooms that I couldn't bear to be in any more, because you and I had spent so much time in them -- either just talking, or making love. Usually the latter, given that you have an insatiable appetite for sex.

The bedroom that you and I shared has changed so much that it almost doesn't seem like the same room. I moved the bed; I even took away the silk sheets that you always insisted we had to sleep on. I couldn't bear the feel of silk against my skin any more.

Every time I would slide between those sheets after you left, the mere touch of that silk against my flesh reminded me of you. I kept imagining that your hands were still on my body, that you would take me into your arms and make love to me.

Of course, that didn't happen. But it took me quite a while to finally realize that I was hoping in vain for you to come back to me. I know now that you never will.

I suppose that I should consider myself lucky to still be your friend. Is that all I am to you now, Jack? Only a friend, a former lover who it's easier for you to keep at arm's length? Sometimes, I think that's all I ever was to you, even when we were lovers -- only a friend.

It's hard for me to believe that you ever loved me in the same way that I loved you. That deep emotional commitment is something that you're not capable of -- and don't tell me that it's because of the curse of your immortality, that you've seen too many people close to you die.

That's an excuse, and you know it. You've always been like that -- even before you had the gift of life that you have now. You could never give your heart and soul completely to anyone; relationships to you were all about physical pleasure, never the emotions.

I don't believe you've changed at all. I kept hoping that you would; that something about the relationship we shared would make you realise that there's more to being lovers than merely two bodies joining and getting pleasure from each other. But you never could understand that.

You never will. Yes, I'm being harsh by saying those words. But you know they're the truth, Jack. You can't understand what it's like to truly love someone -- or to accept their love for you. You're too afraid to let that kind of love into your life.

You're so afraid of one day losing that love that you won't allow yourself to have it -- or to give it to anyone else. That's what makes you such a sad and lonely man.

Oh, you can argue all you want that you aren't lonely, that you have plenty of people in your life. Plenty of lovers who will give you want you want any time that you want it. And maybe, on the surface, that's enough for you.

But deep down, there's a part of you that knows what you're missing. It's very sad that you won't ever be able to accept that part of yourself, or let anyone else see it. You're going to be living inside yourself for the rest of your life, Jack. That isn't a life. It's only an existence.

I may not have found anyone else to be what you were to me. I may never find that person. But that doesn't mean that I'll stop looking -- and it doesn't mean that I will ever do what you've done and close off my hearts to falling in love.

Not the physical kind of love that you embrace. I mean real love, something that lasts forever and comes from the heart and soul, not just from the body. I wish that you and I could have had that kind of love, Jack. But with you, it's not possible.

I wouldn't be saying these things if I didn't still love you, in a deeply buried part of my soul. There's a small part of me that will always love you, a part of me that will always wish for you to come back to me, even though I know realistically that it's a pipe dream.

And just to let you know -- the sheets on my bed are velvet now. Much warmer and more welcoming than the silk sheets; I've given up the icy caress of silk for something warmer and more comforting, in the same way that I turned away from the ultimate coldness of what we had.

I can't help but wonder if you still prefer that coldness. I'm quite sure that you do.

Sincerely,

The Doctor

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