Title: Letter From Nowhere
By: sqyd
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG 13 - light reference to sex
Pairing: Jack/Ianto - sort of
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just borrowing them.
Spoilers: CoE
Word count: 460
Summary: I'm having a hard time getting over CoE (Day 4). If you saw it, you know what I'm talking about. If you didn't, don't read this. It's a letter Jack never wrote. Shortfic.
Oh yeah, first paragraph is Jack Kerouac, only slightly altered - the intent wasn't to steal, but use it as a prompt.
Mood: Sad. I hate writing sad, but I couldn't help it.

I woke up as the sky was reddening; and it was the strangest moment of my life, when I didn't know who I was - I was far away from any place I ever called home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and I really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds.

It was strangely peaceful, and I felt lightheaded. I kept still and wished to stay like that a little longer, maybe forever, but at the sixteenth tick all that was gone flooded back. Still, I lay there motionless and let it all wash over me.

I remembered you standing in the doorway, lips curled in that smile that always made my heart skip. I remembered you as you lay in my arms naked for the last time; our bodies tangled, sweat glistening on your pale skin, your smell, your taste, the warmth of your body, the desperate soft noises you made. I didn't want to remember you laying ashen-faced on the cold concrete floor, lifeless, but I don't have a choice in these matters.

I remembered the aching emptiness of not having you, the moments when I forgot, and turned to ask you, to tell you, and looked where you always were, used to be, when I called out your name before I could remember; the cold shock of it hitting me every time.

Humans have a saying that time heals all wounds. It's a lie. I know time intimately - it heals nothing, just numbs the pain, and does even that excruciatingly slow. Back then I kept picking at the scabs, trying to stop the itching, but only managed to dig up the pain. I had to run, Earth was a graveyard full of memories. I have been running since.

It was dark by the time I could move. Then, as now, I liked the darkness - the distraction of too many details falls away, and you can think more clearly. I couldn't forget then, I don't want now. I like to run my fingers over my scars, caress them like old lovers; in the end they are the only things that are really mine.

I like this, being lost in this alien landscape, standing in the dark, watching the twin moons rise, looking at the shimmering lights; as the warm breeze envelops me I know it doesn't matter how far I run, or where I am, because it's all the same, you are always there, and I don't mind missing you. You would understand.

Jack