Title: Through the Darkest Night
By: _usakeh_
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica/Torchwood
Pairing: Dark!Jack/Felix
Rating: R
Author's Note: This is the sequel to my first Dark!Jack/Felix story, As the Daylight Falls. I strongly suggest that you read that one if you've yet to do so. On another note, many thanks to millari for her great suggestions and encouragement while I was writing this story!

Jack Harkness snuck out of the shoddy hotel room before his client woke from the heavy sleep into which he had fallen following their night’s exertions. He walked confidently down the corridor, pausing to give a man in a suit leaving his room a good look. Not bad. Jack wondered what the man had done before the Attacks, and what he did now. It puzzled him, when he thought about it. What did all the people who had owned shops or worked as accountants or lawyers when the economy on which they’d depended had been swept away with the fall of the first Cylon bomb? He’d dealt with plenty of clients like that, of course; he’d just never actually spoken to any of them. And he didn’t plan on doing so any time soon. His clients shelled out their credits to fuck him, not to answer his questions about their lives.

Jack brushed his brown hair back and tucked in his shirt. He’d really lucked out this time; dealing with clients in the morning was never pleasant. It was best to get the money from them beforehand, but very few people were stupid enough to do that. Jack pulled the credits out of his pocket and counted them again. Excellent. That would be enough to tide him over for two more days, at the very least. He thought about how good it would feel to be able to slap the credits down in front of his dealer. No begging this time. Yes: today was going to be a very good day indeed.

“Hey, Jack.” Jack glanced around just in time to see a petite girl in a red dress emerge from another hotel room.

“Good morning, Jenny.” Jack waited for her to catch up; when she did, she slipped in beside him and placed an arm around his waist.

“You’re looking better,” she noted, nodding approvingly.

“You bet I am,” he replied.

“I heard that the Admiral put you through some real crazy shit the other night. That so?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Jack grinned. “What? A man must preserve some of his mystery.” Jenny glanced up at him, clearly perplexed. He didn’t blame her. He was usually all too eager to swap stories with her; this time, though, he was hesitating. He didn't want to talk about what had happened with Felix, even though he’d actually done something of which he was quite proud. Then again, Jack realized, maybe that was exactly why he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Holding out on me, huh, Harkness?” Jenny leaned up against him.

“No.” Jack shook his head. “As I–”

“Oh frak,” Jenny interrupted. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’ve got to go; I promised to meet someone and then I forgot about it and now I’m going to be late. Gods damn it.”

“Looks like you’ve been busy lately.”

“Tell me about it.” Jenny pulled up the thin strap on her dress and straightened her black hair. “Looks like I’m wearing this again,” she added. “No time to change.”

“I’m sure he’ll be pretty damn pleased with it.”

“Actually,” Jenny said, quickly reapplying her makeup, “it’s a she.”

“Branching out, are we now?” Jack tucked a stray strand of Jenny’s hair back behind her ear.

“Yep.” Jenny put away her makeup and zipped her handbag closed once more. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be seeing you.”

“You got it,” Jack said. He watched Jenny hurry away; as he did so, he asked himself, once again, why he hadn’t wanted to tell her about Felix. Oh well. He’d probably end up telling her the whole story soon enough. Note or no note, Felix wasn’t going to come searching for him. He’d probably be better off lumping it in with the rest of his adventures from the get-go, instead of waiting only to be disappointed. Disappointed? Jack frowned. Would it really disappoint him if Felix were never to follow up on his promise?

Jack reached down into his coat pocket for the now familiar piece of paper. He’d meant to throw it out dozens of times, but he’d always found reasons to hang on to the damn thing for just a little longer. Would it really disappoint him? Yes, Jack realized, sighing. Evidently, it would.


By the time Jack returned to Rory’s Bar, he was feeling even better. He’d managed to extract two days worth of the drug from his dealer, and he still had some credits left over, with which he planned to pay Rory back at least some of the money the man had lent him. As Jack approached the bar, he could tell immediately that it was going to be a busy night. It was a Thursday night, after all, and at Rory’s Bar, Thursday nights were dance nights. Last Thursday, Jack had fled the area entirely; he’d been crashing too hard to handle the loud music and raised voices. But tonight, he was ready.

“Good evening,” Jack called out as he swept into the room. He glanced over at the bar; Rory, alas, was nowhere to be found.

“He’ll be back soon, Jack,” Clara informed him as he took a seat. He happened to know, for a fact, that Clara was a natural blonde. But she dyed her hair religiously, resulting in an unnaturally bold red.

“Who says I was looking for him?” Jack grinned. “Why would I, when I could be speaking to a gorgeous girl like you?”

“You’re too much, Jack,” Clara said, shaking her head. But he could tell that she was pleased. “He’ll be back in five. He just went to get the music set up in the back.”

“Looks like it’s going to be a busy night,” Jack commented, looking around the room.

“Yeah.” Clara sighed. “Looks like it.” She brushed back her hair. “You’re certainly–” Clara began, and then stopped abruptly.

“What’s that?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“I was about to say that you’re certainly ready for the fun to begin this time, but then I realized that–”

“That I’m always ready,” Jack interrupted, completing her sentence for her. “So,” he continued, “how about a drink? On me this time.” Clara stared at him, surprised; in response, he pulled the remaining credits out of his pocket and slammed them down on the counter.

“Impressive,” she said.

“How about it, then?”

“I’m working, Jack.” Clara rolled her eyes.

“All the more reason to have a drink.” Jack sighed. “Get me one, then.”

“The usual?” Jack nodded. “Coming right up.” As Clara turned away, the dance music exploded out into the bar. Jack began tapping his foot to the rhythm. He could go for some dancing tonight. Maybe he’d even find somebody halfway decent willing to take him home for the night at the end of it. The dance parties were pretty promising, in that respect; they tended to bring in fewer desperate types, and more adventurers in search of a single night of good fun. And that, Jack knew, he could certainly provide.

“Hello, Jack.” Rory had returned, and Jack felt his pulse quicken. But he wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t ask; if Felix had come searching for him, Rory would tell him about it right away. Unless he’d forgotten. That was always possible, wasn’t it?

“You won’t believe this,” Jack began instead, “but I think I might actually be able to pay back most of the money I owe you.”

“Is that so?”

“Would I lie to you, Rory?” Jack lifted up his left hand, revealing a pile of credits. “It’s all yours.”

“Wonders never cease,” Rory said, taking them over to the register.

“Speaking of which,” Jack responded, trying to keep his tone casual as ever, “have you seen that handsome young lieutenant around since the other morning?”

“No.” Rory shook his head. “Sorry, Jack.”

“It’s his loss. He was gonna get for free what, to most, is quite the expensive treat.” Jack forced his mouth into his usual smirk.

“Oh, what’s this?” Clara was leaning against the counter now. “Jack’s fallen in love with some pretty young soldier boy? Or is he a pilot, from the Pegasus? How the mighty have–”

“Why don’t you go make me another drink,” Jack interrupted, picking up the first once she’d placed before him and downing it hurriedly. Clara glanced quickly at Rory.

“Give the customer what he wants, Clara.” Then Rory turned to him. “Jack,” he said, “if he does stop by, I’ll let you know.”

“No need.” Jack reached inside his pocket for the familiar scrap of paper and, after a moment’s hesitation, crumpled it. So much for that. It was for the best, most likely; he did, after all, have work to do.


It didn’t take Jack long to get into the middle of the dance floor. He’d always liked dancing, and the fact that he’d just taken a hit certainly didn’t hurt. Every song, no matter how repetitious, sounded glorious to him; he could mentally compose a symphony from a single note alone. The bodies dancing alongside his also seemed extraordinarily appealing, all of a sudden. He wanted to reach out and touch them, to run his hands along the soldier boys’ broad backs and press their lips against his. God, Jack thought, it’s beautiful. He could see cities of shining light in the shapes swirling together on the dance floor, and every passing second pushed him closer to perfect euphoria. The rush was overwhelming. So overwhelming he had to do something, anything–

And then he saw his chance. Military uniform. From Galactica, maybe, or Pegasus. Dark hair, dark eyes. Standing alone in the corner of the room. It wasn’t Felix, but what did that matter? He wasn’t in this game to win anybody’s affection; he was in it to give everybody a good time, and to earn himself some credits. Jack smiled. He had to have him, and he knew he would. He’d probably protest at first, cringe at the prospect of dancing with another man. But he’d come around quickly enough.

“Hey there.” Jack was right beside him now. “You’re not dancing.”

“I don’t like dancing,” the boy responded rather curtly. Jack frowned. He’d expected shy, not sullen.

“Then why are you here for dance night, gorgeous?” Jack didn’t even have to fake it this time; the smile came naturally. How could he not smile, really? Everything was full of fire. God! If only he could stop people from dancing, just for a second, and tell them about it. Your surroundings are shining, he’d say, shining with the power of a thousand blazing suns. But that wouldn’t do. So Jack refocused on the soldier standing before him and, with another smile, held out his hand. “How about it, then? I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

“Excuse me?” He crossed his arms defensively across his chest. “What was that?”

“I asked you to dance.” Jack couldn’t stay still; as he spoke, he kept on moving to the music. “And if you want more after that, I’m yours.” The soldier didn’t respond. “That still not clear enough for you? Then let me put it this way: I’m propositioning you. You’re stunning. You’re stunning and I want you, now.” Jack moved closer. “You up for it?”

“Frak you.” The violence in those two words slapped him in the face. “Get the frak away from me before I–”

“Before you what, exactly?” Jack’s energy was, in a flash, transformed into fury. “You trying to tell me that you like it rough?”

“You little whore.” The punch that accompanied the words knocked all the wind out of him. Jack staggered back onto the dance floor; with seconds, however, he’d spun around and shoved his assailant back against the wall. “You’re gonna regret that,” the soldier growled in response, making his way back towards Jack.

“That’s not terribly original as far as famous last words are concerned. Want another chance?” Jack grinned. He knew that the soldier would probably win in the end, but he didn’t care. He needed something, some place he could put the terrible anger that threatened to burst out from within him. “You know you do,” he taunted. “You know you want me.”

“The only thing I want to do to you,” the soldier responded, “is this.” And then, before he knew it, Jack found himself flat on his back, on the floor.

“Good start,” he gasped, “now keep going, gorgeous. Frak me.” Jack sat up and stared him right in the eye.

The kicks that followed hurt like hell. But they cleared his mind, too, so Jack let him continue. But it wasn’t long before two people rushed in and restrained the guy. Meanwhile, a third – a tall, black-haired woman in stilettos – quickly hauled him to his feet.

“Mr. Harkness,” his rescuer said with a sly smile. “It’s been far too long.” She paused, looking him over. “You’re a bit worse for wear. And yet you’re as handsome as ever.” Jack glanced around, searching for the soldier; he wanted to see what fate had befallen him. But the crowd gathered around him was too thick. He couldn’t see a thing. Then the woman slid her cold hands around his waist. “I have an invitation to a private party. Want to join me?”

“Private party?” Jack considered it. He was in a strange place, somewhere between the initial ecstasy and the flood of frustration and fury that had followed his exchange with the soldier. Good thing the pain had made him focus. Otherwise he’d have lost control altogether. As it was, Rory wasn’t going to be pleased.

“Private party,” the woman repeated. “So, what do you say?”

“That’s what I live for, sweetheart,” Jack replied with a wink. “Let’s go.”


Jack stirred, opened his eyes, and waited for his surroundings to come into focus. The room was littered with empty bottles; last night’s revelers clearly hadn’t bothered to clean up after themselves. No surprise there. Jack rubbed his eyes blearily, briefly considered getting to his feet, and then thought better of it. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to go, even if he was feeling up to a stroll. Jack shuddered. If he didn’t stop causing trouble, there wouldn’t be a bar in the entire fleet that would let him in, and then where would he be? Jack sighed. Good thing he didn’t have to work tonight, he thought, reaching into his jacket pocket. He could just stay right–

“No. No,” Jack repeated, pulling everything out of his pocket, “you’ve got to be kidding me.” He spread his possessions out on the floor, rifled through them, searching for that one essential item. But no. It wasn’t there. “I don’t believe this. I don’t fucking believe this,” Jack muttered, slamming his hand down, hard, on the tiled floor. He couldn’t possibly have taken it all last night; somebody must have stolen it while he was unconscious. Jack slid his knees up against his chest. This was the last thing he needed right now. By nightfall, he’d be crashing far too hard to work. He was stuck. God. How could he have been so stupid?

Jack closed his eyes. The familiar heaviness was overtaking him already. He wondered how it was going to be, this time. Would he begin by becoming maudlin, sentimental? Or would he go straight to the good part, alternating back and forth between complete detachment and sadness so sharp that he’d be ready to do anything – anything – just to make it stop? The memories were already beginning to drift through his mind. People he had known, places he’d left behind. The good moments seemed so very fleeting that it made him wonder what kept people going, kept them pushing through the small, mundane miseries of their everyday lives. What for? What the fuck for? Pure animal instinct. That had to be the only reason for it. We’re wired to want to survive and reproduce, and we find ways to rationalize that urge, to trick ourselves into believing, at least temporarily, that what we do has meaning.

The floating world. Jack gasped as the images returned to him. Tokyo, Japan. 1929. He could see the lanterns hanging in the streets, the small hideaways where the artists and the actors gathered; he could hear laughter rising up into the cool evening breeze, and smell the scent of the cherry blossoms drifting down from the trees. The floating world, they called it, because it was so delicate, so ephemeral, that it vanished when the sun rose. And then the war had started. The young man he’d met had ended up dead, shot down on the black beaches of Iwo Jima. Not for the first time, Jack wished that he could simply start sobbing. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t cried in years.

When that scene dissolved it was replaced by another, and then another. They ripped his heart out, each one of them. He was gathering up grief and taking it within him. He always did that during comedowns like this. He supposed it served him right. The rest of the time, nothing could touch him. But things always had to balance out in the end, didn’t they? Jack took a deep breath. He could see it now. He could see the blue skies and golden fields, the smoke rising slowly from the factories in the nearest city. He could see the birds gliding over the land, the wind rippling through the tall grass. Please, Jack thought. Please no. Not this, not now. But he knew well enough it wouldn’t do him any good; in the end, his memories always led him back here. To Arcadia.

Arcadia. The founders of the colony on which he’d been born had been guilty of hubris in naming their world that way, and they’d paid for it in spades. Three revolutions in ten years, each one bloodier than the one before. Jack and his best friend had listened to reports streaming in while their parents had watched the news. They weren’t allowed to watch, as boys; their parents had thought the images would scare them. If only, Jack thought. If only they had. If only they had, maybe he and Jeff wouldn’t have run to the front of the line and volunteered when a group of Rebel soldiers had stormed into their town, uniforms tattered and faces flat, weary. Guns clutched tightly in their thin, pale hands. They’d been boys, really, all of them. He and Jeff had been fourteen years old; the others had been fifteen, sixteen, at most. Their leader was just a few months shy of his twentieth birthday.

He’d been rescued by forces from his sector’s main world. Forces put together to stop the atrocities taking place on Arcadia. Jack had been one of the lucky ones. For most – for Jeff – it was too little, too late. Jack hadn’t known where his parents were, didn’t even know if they were still alive. Villages destroyed, farms burnt to the ground. A children’s aid agency had taken him in, had placed him with a host family. The city in which they’d lived had seemed like something out of a dream. It was a city of steel and glass skyscrapers and shining streets; even the subways gave off a faint glow. He’d been furious, at first – furious at everything, everyone – but he’d pushed past that, started to work. He wanted to be a Time Agent, because Time Agents weren’t like regular soldiers; they could do anything.

His life couldn’t have been better, for a few years after that. He’d thought he’d had enough of adventure when they pulled him out of the war. Apparently not. He thrived on the thrill of the chase, so they made him a field agent. He was a good one. Until, one day, he broke their rules. They took two years from him in retribution. After that…but Jack’s mind didn’t care what happened after that. It wanted him to remember Arcadia, Arcadia and nothing but Arcadia. It was like having to listen to the saddest song in the world, over and over and over again.


Jack couldn’t have said how long he spent sitting there. It could have been under an hour; either way, it felt like days had passed when he heard somebody open the door. He looked up, opened his eyes. The light-skinned, dark-haired woman who entered didn’t as much as nod to him. She just accepted that he was part of the room, left there like the litter on the floor. Jack watched as she picked up the bottles and tossed them into a large black bag. He’d never understood why people deemed his line of work particularly degrading. He felt that picking up after people – tossing out their emptied bottles, taking their used tissues to the trash – would be far worse.

Get up, Jack told himself. Get up and get back to Rory’s. Jack felt a glimmer of hope. It was entirely possible that something would be left there. He could check the usual places; perhaps he’d placed a stash in one of them and had then promptly forgotten about it. Not probable, but possible. And, for now, he’d take what he could get.

“Excuse me.” The woman stopped sweeping for a moment and stood above him. There it was: that familiar, disdainful look. In another mood, he might have responded to it; at present, he had no energy to spare. He had to focus on an image that could make Arcadia fade away, at least temporarily. It had to be powerful. And it had to be good. Jack searched his memories. He saw the cities of the future, with their shining signs and gleaming streets, but they left him cold. They were efficient – elegant, at their best – but he could not draw upon them.

That’s when it came to him, finally. New York, New York. Before the floods came – before the waters rose and sunk the skyscrapers into the sea – it had been beautiful, gorgeous even at its most gritty. Jack concentrated as best he could on it until he could feel the sweat on everybody’s skin in the summer. Until he could hear the clanging sounds of their old subways. And then there were the bridges. How he’d loved to look at the bridges at night. He’d been able to forget, when he looked at them, that the city was doomed. Seeing the lights in the city’s night sky – they stood out, even against the orange glow – had made him think that it was enough. That the fact that it had existed, existed in these fleeting moments, was enough.

“Excuse me.” The woman tapped him, twice, with her broom. “Look, I can’t wait any longer. I need to finish cleaning the room, so you’re gonna have to move.”

“I’ve got it, babe,” Jack rasped, “believe me.” Jack gathered his strength and got to his feet. “I’ll be seeing you, sweetheart.” Then – the bridges of the city of New York lifting him away from the grassy fields of Arcadia – he walked to the door and left without looking back.


“What are you doing here?” Rory’s voice had none of its usual warmth, and his welcoming smile was nowhere to be found.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” Jack pulled out a chair and sat down shakily. “I’ll give you three guesses, Rory.” Jack suddenly wanted to provoke Rory, to see if he could really get the only man he considered a friend to throw him out for good. He didn’t deserve Rory’s kindness, after all. Rory would forgive him for this soon enough. He knew that. And he’d repay him, as he always did, by causing more trouble.

“That’s not funny, Jack.” Rory took a seat across from him. “You scared my customers last night.” He paused. “You scared me.”

“I aim to amuse,” Jack replied sardonically. Then his eyes narrowed. “What? Don’t tell me that you don’t expect it by now.”

“You shouldn’t care what the frak I expect.” Rory slammed a hand down on the table. “I’ve told you again and again. I don’t care what you do when you’re not here. But if you start trouble here–”

“You’ll kick me out.” Jack felt his lips curve up into a twisted smile. “And yet you always end up letting me come back. Just can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“I try to ignore you when you’re like this, Jack,” Rory responded slowly. “I try very hard, because I know that this isn’t you. But let me tell you that you’re really frakking pushing it this time.”

“Yeah? You sure this isn’t me? How well do you know me, anyway? I’ve seen things that you couldn’t even–” Arcadia. Arcadia, he’d told his classmates when they asked where he came from on the first day of school. They’d looked at him with fear in their eyes, and he was reminded of the way the last man he’d killed had raised his arms in a desperate appeal just as he pulled the trigger. Just as he–

“That I couldn’t even what?” Rory was looking at him intently. “Finish your sentence, Jack.”

“That you couldn’t even imagine.” Not yet. Not yet, Jack told himself. Don’t start shaking like that in front of him. Don’t even think about trying to make him pity you. “That you couldn’t even imagine,” he repeated with the most confidence he could muster.

“That so?” Rory leaned back in his chair. “You know, I think that’s the most personal thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Want more?” They were safe. They were safe, those old, familiar phrases. “Give me a couple credits and I’ll tell you everything, sweetheart. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He was shaking now, couldn’t be helped. But maybe if he made Rory mad he wouldn’t notice. “You’d like that very much.”

“That’s enough.” Rory stood up, walked back over to the bar. “Go. Go and get what you need. And then get out.”


After World War II ended, Jack spent two years traveling through Europe. He saw cities shattered by bombs; he walked through buildings ripped open by fire. He watched the Iron Curtain descend, waited as the war changed from one fought by soldiers into one fought by spies. He did a stint as a spy himself. But now he could remember only one image: that of the faces of the poor standing before bread shops in Rome, Italy. The sheer desperation in their eyes – the hopelessness – had chilled him to the bone. They hadn’t even envied him; they hadn’t had the energy. As Jack watched the scene unfold now, he could only see it in black-and-white. They’d had all the color bleached out of their lives. He hadn’t known it then, but he knew it now. He knew it very well indeed.

There you go again. Jack slid down onto the bathroom floor and buried his head in his hands. He could hear Jeff’s voice so sharply, so clearly; it was almost as if his childhood friend were standing right beside him. Always so dramatic, you are. You’d think it was the end of the world, from the way you’ve been acting! Jack shuddered. It was the end of the world, Jeff. It was the end of our world. Only we didn’t know it at the time. Slowly, Jack forced himself to sit up straight again, to scan the floor for anything – anything – last night’s revelers could have left behind.

The lights flickered ominously as he began his search, and Jack frowned. He thought Rory had gotten somebody to fix them. Apparently not. If he felt better, he could manage it. The passenger ships weren’t exactly marvels of technological complexity, at least as far as he was concerned. So easy, you say? Why don’t you try and do it then? Jack could feel the wind against his face as he struggled up the ladder, could hear Jeff’s laugh – so open, so full of sheer joy – as he stumbled and fell back into the haystack. God. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right. For a long time, Jack would have done anything – sacrificed his people, his entire planet – to have him back. Then he’d managed to make himself forget, at least most of the time. But now? The world in which he’d been stranded had nothing to offer him but silence and solitude, once the music died down. Silence and solitude. Self-pitying, too! You’re too much, Jack.

Jack pressed his hands down against the cold floor and forced himself to his feet. He had to do something, had to find a way to make it stop. Nobody had left anything behind. Nobody had left anything behind, and he had absolutely nowhere to go. Nobody to whom to turn. Fingers shaking, Jack reached out towards the panel that controlled the lights. Fix the lights, Jack, he told himself. He pressed down on two of the buttons, hoping they’d allow him to remove the cover so that he could check the connections. Nothing happened. Then Jack made a fist and hit the thing twice, hard. You really think that’s gonna do it? You’re crazy, you know that? Crazy! It always came back to Jeff, didn’t it? First Arcadia, and then Jeff. Damn right it does. Who else? Seriously–

“Jack?” Rory’s voice shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but, somehow, it did. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jack kept his eyes on the wall. He couldn’t let Rory see this. Just couldn’t. “I’m trying to steal this so that I can sell it for my next fix.”

“The cover that protects the controls on the lights?” Rory stepped closer. “You know, I could almost believe that. Only you know as well as I do that–”

“Do you have a screwdriver?” Jack interrupted, turning around at last. “If not, how about you get me a knife. I know you have knives.”

“You’re going to try and fix it?” Rory looked skeptical.

“I’m a man of many talents.” Jack stepped back until he could lean on the sink to support himself. “So? You gonna trust me on this one, or not?”

“Give me a moment,” Rory said, and slipped back out into the bar. A few minutes later, he returned with two small, sharp knives, and a glass of lemonade.


“And there you are,” Jack said five minutes later. Smiling weakly, he then gestured up at the light, which was glowing steadily once more. “All set.”

“Nice work.” Rory nodded approvingly. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Anytime.” Jack rubbed his hands together. He’d already buttoned his jacket closed, but he still couldn’t stay warm. He took a deep breath. He knew this phase quite well indeed. He’d made it through the initial wave of sadness; now it was time for him to feel at once exhausted and filled with nervous energy, at once so depressed he’d want to disappear entirely and so restless that it was impossible to stay still. Fixing the light had helped, though. He’d managed to focus, at least for a few minutes, and he wasn’t about to lie: finishing up the task, however trivial it may have been, did leave him with a certain sense of satisfaction.

“Hello? Jack?” Rory tapped him, lightly, on the shoulder. “Are you going to stand there the rest of the day, or are you going to come and sit out at the bar with me?”

“Is anybody out there yet?”

“We’re closed right now, Jack,” Rory replied, “Nobody’s going to be out there.”

“Okay then,” Jack said, following Rory out into the main room and settling down at the bar. Jack took a deep breath. It was still, silent. Nobody was going to come in; at least for a while, Rory’s Bar would be safe. Safe? Since when have you worried about things being safe, Jack? What’s the matter with you? Jack placed his elbows on the counter and rested his head in his hands. Jeff would refuse to believe it if they met now, would refuse to believe that the man standing before him was–

“I’m going to put on some music. You mind?”

“Go ahead,” Jack mumbled. It didn’t take long for him to regret it. The soft, sad melody cut through him like a paddle parting a pool of still, stagnant water.

“Hey.” Rory’s voice pulled him back. “Instead of just sitting there, why don’t you try doing something useful for a change?”

“I just fixed your light. Now you want me to another useful thing?” Jack kept his tone light, but he didn’t dare attempt a smile.

“If you’re not careful, you might even get into the habit of doing honest work,” Rory said, tossing Jack a wet rag.

“Imagine that.” Jack pushed the wet cloth across the countertop. It occurred to him, for a moment, that Rory would probably give him a job if he asked for it. Rory wouldn’t bother asking him to stay clean; he’d simply demand that he show up on time. He could make drinks, crack jokes with customers. Except he couldn't do that, couldn’t ever, because on that salary he’d never be able to afford what he needed. Besides, mopping the countertop would get pretty old pretty fast. And yet there was something oddly appealing about the idea.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?” Jack dropped the rag. “What? My work not up to your satisfaction or something?”

“Never said that. In fact, you’re surprisingly thorough.” Rory grinned. “By which I mean to say that you’ve been scrubbing the same spot for the past five minutes.” Rory paused. Then, to Jack’s surprise, he reached out and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “But there’s something else. If I’m not mistaken, Jack, the young soldier you charmed the other night is standing outside the door.”

“Young soldier you charmed the other night, you say? You’re gonna need to be more specific, Rory; it’d take me all day and most of the night to name all the people who–”

“Skip it,” Rory interrupted. “Do you want me to let him in or not?”

“But the bar is…” Jack’s voice trailed off.

“Come on, Jack.” Rory patted him on the back. “You’re not facing him, so he doesn’t know that you’re here. I can go out and let him in, or I can ignore him. It’s your call. Yes or no?”

“You really think I’m going to let a handsome boy like that go off all disappointed?” A shiver wracked Jack’s frame. Maybe it was best this way. Felix would come in, see him like this, and understand. He’d understand, and then he’d leave. It would happen sooner or later no matter what he did; this, really, was a good a time as any for Felix to find out the truth.

“Is that a yes, then?” Rory looked concerned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jack said slowly. “I’m sure.”


Years ago – another time, another world altogether – Jack had waited for the train on a platform full of commuters. It had been a beautiful day; the world’s medium-sized, middle-aged sun had shone brightly, and there hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky. Some of the people waiting with him looked pleased; others were too busy to appreciate the pleasant weather. They spoke on small cellular phones; most had small headphones inserted in their ears. The sheer regularity of their world – the fact that they could go to work everyday unaware of the wars that were being fought around them – had stunned Jack so much he’d almost been unable to answer when a pink-haired college student had asked him for the time.

When Felix Gaeta stepped into Rory’s Bar, Jack felt like he was standing back on the platform on that perfect day, except for the fact that the feeling was a thousand times more intense. He would have done anything, in that moment, to be able to stand there beside Felix without hesitation, to look up into the sunlight without shame. But it was too late for that now. He didn’t belong in Felix’s world; he would never belong in Felix’s world. The sooner Felix learned that, the better. Yet Jack couldn’t help but hurriedly brush back his hair and tug at his wrinkled shirt as Felix approached, couldn’t help but try to meet the young man with his most captivating smile. And he couldn’t help but hope, desperately, that his performance was convincing.

“Hey there, Felix.” The boy really was gorgeous, Jack caught himself thinking. But that wasn’t all; there was also a sincerity to Felix’s manner, an awkwardness that made him endearing in a way few if any of his clients, however handsome, ever were. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Felix replied bashfully. “I have this shift off, so I thought I’d see if you were around.” Felix paused; Jack could see that he was preparing himself to ask him for a drink or a dance. Jack stuck his hands in his coat pockets. He could manage that.

“Well, here I am.” Jack took a step forward; then, with another smile, he added, “The answer to your question, by the way, is yes.”

“Y-yes?” Felix stuttered.

“Yes,” Jack pressed on, “I want to dance with you. You were going to ask me that just now, weren’t you?”

“I…I was, but I was…” Felix’s voice trailed off; when he began again, he spoke so quickly that his words all blurred together. “I was hoping that you’d like to go out to dinner with me first,” he finished, blushing bright red.

“Go out to dinner?” Jack had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh aloud. The boy couldn’t possibly be serious, could he? Or could he? As Jack’s shock subsided, his amusement gave way to anxiety. Where would Felix want to take him? How long would it last? Could he really fake it the whole time?

“If you don’t want to, of course, I, er–”

“That’s not it.” Jack said forcefully. “I would love to join you for dinner. I was just trying to…trying to pick a place for us to go,” he lied.

“Oh.” Felix smiled in relief. “Well,” he continued, “I know where we can eat. It’s not the most amazing restaurant, but the food is loads better than what we get on the Galactica. And they have a piano player and a singer there, and they are both really good. Does that…do you want to go there?”

“A piano player and a singer, huh?” Jack felt himself hesitating, stalling for time. Going to dinner with a client was easy. He knew exactly what was demanded of him then; he knew exactly what to do. He also knew that it wouldn’t matter if he started shaking uncontrollably halfway through, or if he didn’t eat a damn thing. His clients expected it; in fact, some even got a kick out of it, got off on having power over him. He hated those clients with a vengeance, but that, ironically, made it easier. But this–

“Do you…do you not like music? I assumed that you did because you’re such a good singer, but I guess one thing doesn’t necessarily follow from the other.”

“No,” Jack replied, “you were absolutely right. And I’d love to go with you to that place.”

“Oh, okay.” Felix’s eyes were shining. “That’s great! Do you want me to come back here at dinnertime and show you the way?”

“Sure thing. Or we could go now,” Jack offered. Please, he thought, please let him decide to go now. It was going to be hard enough to hide how he was feeling even so; in a few more hours, though, it would be pretty much impossible.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot, but…they don’t open for another two hours. They’re closed in between lunch and dinner,” Felix said apologetically. “So do you want me to come then? In two hours?”

“Absolutely,” Jack responded, all confidence. He held himself upright and kept the grin on his face until Felix stepped out the door; then he collapsed down into the nearest seat. He didn’t know why he’d said yes in the first place. He didn’t know what he was going to do now that he had. He only knew that, somehow or another, it was certain to end in disaster.


They’d had to sneak out, sneak out and run to the station to catch the second to last train into the city. It was during one of the brief breaks in the war – a temporary truce, or one of the months in between coups – and people were determined to enjoy themselves while it lasted. And since nobody was quite naïve enough to believe that it would last for long, the atmosphere was as frantic as it was festive. But Jack hadn’t minded. He was determined to find one of the places his parents and their neighbors all deplored, find it and see what it was really like. Jeff wasn’t nearly as excited about the prospect; still, he’d agreed to come along.

Three hours later, Jack was standing in front of the door to Arcadia’s most notorious bar. A man was blocking his path; he couldn’t let people in, he kept repeating, if they didn’t have the proper ID. He told him to go back home to the country where he belonged. But Jack wouldn’t budge. He was ready to stay there all night if it came to that. He just wanted – no, needed – to know whether what they said in his village was true about what men did in these places. What men did in these places, with each other.

Then, just as abruptly as Jack had been dropped into that memory – standing outside on the street, stepping in and seeing two men kiss for the first time – he was pulled out and hurled into another. Cold white corridors. Sharp corners and sterile rooms. The Time Agency’s circular logo stamped on every single one of the otherwise spotless glass doors. He’d felt like the walls were closing in on him in that place; he’d had to force himself to take deep breaths as they led him towards his supervisor’s office. Jack had a feeling that he wasn’t supposed to still have this memory. If they’d had their way, they’d have taken it along with the other two years they stole from him. But they’d missed it.

“Lucky for me,” Jack muttered. “Lucky for me…to get to go out to dinner with you, Lieutenant Gaeta,” he added as smoothly as he could, turning towards the young man walking by his side. God. They weren’t even there yet, and he was already losing control. He had to stay focused, stay together, at least until the dinner was over.

“Thanks,” Felix replied, smiling shyly.

“You must be one of the most sought-after men on the Galactica, with those gorgeous dark eyes of yours,” Jack continued. “And yet you’ve chosen to spend the evening with me. I’m honored.”

“Sought-after?” Felix blushed. “I haven’t…I haven’t dated anybody since I was assigned to the Galactica!”

“Then there is no justice in this world.” Jack considered reaching out and linking arms with the lieutenant, but then he dismissed the idea. If Felix hadn’t already noticed the way he was shaking, he’d definitely notice it then. And he didn’t want to come on too strong. With clients, he could never really come on too strong. But Felix wasn’t a client, he reminded himself. He wasn’t a client.

“Er, Jack?” Fuck. He’d drifted off, again. “We’re here. What do you think?”

“I think,” Jack replied, peering in at the small, elegantly decorated restaurant before them, “that it’s lovely.” He reached for the door and swung it open. “After you.”

Eyes shining, Felix Gaeta slipped through the door and led Jack to a table.


Think about something good. Think about something good, Jack told himself. But he knew that it wouldn’t work. Here he was in the midst of something very good – a dinner with a bright, beautiful young man who appeared to genuinely like him – and he couldn’t block the images out of his mind. If he could have explained it to Felix, he’d have said that when he crashed he became a magnet for everything melancholy, everything tragic. Even ordinarily joyous scenes became sad by virtue of how ephemeral they were. He couldn't explain it to Felix, though. That wasn’t possible in this world or any other. Instead, he had to fake it. And Felix would have to pretend that he couldn’t tell the difference, even after it became blatantly obvious that there was something wrong.

“So, what do you recommend?” Jack asked, staring down at the makeshift menu.

“What do you like?” Felix asked.

“Everything. I’m not picky.” Jack attempted a smile. “In fact,” he continued, “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Okay.” Felix beckoned over the waiter; Jack watched as he took their order. He’d told Jeff, on the way home from that bar, that he was going to run away, run away and find a job as a waiter in the city. He’d said that he was done with living in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. He’d asked Jeff to join him. Jeff had shaken his head. We’re country boys, Jack. We complain about our village all the time, but we’ll never leave. We belong there and nowhere else. Neither of them had mentioned the kiss they’d witnessed, the kiss between the two men. The question hung, unspoken, between them.

“…it’s amazing, what the cooks here are able to do. You know, considering the limited resources available to them.” Jack placed his hand on his water glass; the feel of the cool, smooth surface against his skin was soothing.

“Do you like to cook?” Jack asked in response.

“I do.” Felix paused. “I even…I considered going to culinary school after college, but in the end I decided that I liked computers even better than cooking.”

“You’re a man of many talents.”

“So are you,” Felix replied cheerfully. “Did you ever sing professionally?”

“Sing professionally?” Where in the world was he getting that?

“I mean…you sang a little, the other night. It was so good that I thought you might have had training or done it professionally at some point.”

“Nope,” Jack replied. “Never.”

“Wow.” The waiter arrived and placed a basket of bread on the table. “Maybe you should try it,” Felix continued. Then he picked up his knife, split the loaf into slices, and offered the first to Jack.

“Thank you,” Jack said. Carefully, he raised it up to his mouth and took a bite. Chewed, swallowed. Jack’s stomach churned, and he hurriedly dropped the bread back onto his plate. When he snuck a glance at Felix, he saw that the younger man looked perplexed. Had he been expecting Jack to wolf down the food as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks? Was that why he’d taken him to dinner instead of just asking him for a dance? Had Felix assumed that he was half-starved because he was so damn thin? Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead. How impossibly naïve was the young officer? How long would it take him to put two-and-two together and recoil in disgust?

Still, Jack told himself, he had to make an effort. So he pressed his hands together and began mentally reviewing a list of possible conversation topics. Asking him about his background would be awkward. Most people probably didn’t want to talk about their homes, given that they’d recently been destroyed. Or did they? It had been a while since he’d had a real conversation with anybody. Asking about his job was out, too, since Felix couldn’t exactly turn around and ask him what he did. Jack glanced at the door. He could always just go. Leave. Make a run for it. Never see Felix again. Only–

Computers. That was it. He could ask Felix about computers. Something specific. It might lead the young man to wonder how he, Jack, knew so much about computers, but it sure as hell beat the alternatives. If he could just concentrate – computers, not the skylines of cities long abandoned or the wind flowing through the fields on Arcadia – he might even manage to make sure Felix had a good time.


Ten rather awkward minutes later, the food arrived. Felix smiled; Jack managed to give him a weak smile in response. The smell was only making him feel sicker, and there was so much of it. There was no way he was going to be able to eat it all. He’d be lucky if he got a few bites in before his stomach rebelled.

“Do you like this?” Felix asked.

“Very much,” Jack replied. Did it show already, how nauseated he was? Once again, Jack had to fight back the impulse to make a run for it. “Good choice,” he added instead. Good choice. Good choice, Jeff had said, digging into his second syrup-soaked pancake, because damn, this is delicious. They’d finished their meal within five minutes and stepped outside just in time to see the sun rise up over the fields. If he could pick any moment in his life – out of all he’d seen, all he’d done – and live it again, he’d pick that one. What he wouldn’t do to stand there with Jeff once more and watch the sun shed its golden light over Arcadia’s hills and valleys.

“It’s always been one of my favorite dishes.” Felix picked up his fork and tried his food; after taking a deep breath, Jack followed suit. Just a bite. Just a few bites, and maybe – just maybe – he’d be home free. He chewed carefully, then made himself swallow. Jack shuddered. He could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead; as inconspicuously as he could, he wiped it away.

“Are you–”

“I’m fine,” Jack interrupted. So the young man was finally starting to notice. Fantastic. Just fantastic, he thought, undoing the top button on his shirt with shaking hands. Maybe if he had a little more air he wouldn’t feel quite so sick. Maybe. Just maybe. Jack reached for his fork once more, but seconds later he was forced to thrust it down again and make a frantic grab for his water glass. He gulped at the water, spilling some of it on his shirt in the process.

“Jack! Are you sure that you’re–”

“Yes,” Jack gasped. He couldn’t stop himself from trembling any more and if he didn’t make a run for it he was going to be sick in front of Felix and he was being terribly foolish – had been terribly foolish – in imagining, even for a moment, that it would work. “I’ll just…I’ll be…right back,” he added, staggering out of his seat.

He spent the next fifteen minutes locked in the bathroom.


“I have to go. I have to go,” a voice repeated, a voice Jack knew had to be his own. But it neither sounded nor felt like it. He knew, too, that he was stumbling towards the door. The glass felt cool to the touch; for a moment, it brought him back. The way out. The door, followed by a dimly lit corridor. Jack’s surroundings were blurring together. He was tired, and everything was all so far away. Even the anger – you had a chance, a real chance, and you fucked it up – wasn’t powerful enough to make him focus.

The gray wall upon which Jack was leaning shifted shape, changed color. The Time Agency’s sterile white emerged in its place. You can’t. You can’t, he’d said. I won’t do it. One of the two men walking a few feet ahead of him had turned around and given him one last, cold look. I won’t. The next thing he knew, he was locked inside a tiny cell. All was still, all was silent. The walls were soundproofed; somehow, they’d made it so that he couldn’t even hear himself scream. When he left, he rapidly realized that he couldn't remember anything about the two years that had let up to that moment, to that fateful walk down that never ending hallway. He was surprised they’d let him keep that; it was, he supposed, meant to be a warning of sorts. A warning that they were not to be disobeyed, not to be crossed. The warning hadn’t worked, because soon afterwards he’d broken the most important rule of all.

They’d expected him to go right back to work afterwards. To simply follow orders without asking why. No, he thought. Not again. Not ever. But he’d pretended to do it until he saw his chance. And once he did he took it. Jack shivered. He could feel it, feel it all coming back to him. He’d raced down the corridor. Through the revolving doors and out into the crowd. If they caught him they’d have no mercy. At worst, the enemy soldiers on Arcadia could have killed him; the Time Agency could do far more. The main boulevard, then into an alley. From there into the tunnels. His eyes had darted from one corner to the next, searching for the spot in which he’d hidden the device. Glancing back to see if they were coming for him, to see whether they were going to catch him and put him back there, in that tiny, terrible room.

“Jack!” Something cool splashed onto his face. Warm hands pulled him upright. “Jack, it’s–”

“They’re coming.” Jack reached out, grabbed onto his rescuer and held him. “It’s not safe.”

“Jack, it’s me. Felix.” Jack opened his eyes slowly. Blue fabric. A uniform. He’d been clinging to the other man, pressing his face against his chest. “And it’s…it’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

“Felix.” Jack pulled back abruptly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Drink this.” A glass of water was placed up against his lips, and he drank. By the time Felix took the glass back the world looked a little clearer.

“You’re…you’re a sweet kid, Felix.” Jack barely managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke. “And that’s exactly why you should…why you have to go. Now. You got that, Felix? Just get up, and go.”


They’d almost made it to the sea when they were caught. So close they could smell the salt in the air, so close they could hear the sound of the waves beating relentlessly down against the rocky shore. Their commander had told them that they’d be safe there, that the rebels controlled the coastline and the land that surrounded it. Jack hadn’t believed him for a second, but they’d gone forth anyway; they had nothing else for which to hope. Jack had only just begun to change his mind when the cracking sound of shots being fired burst through the air.

“But…why?” Once again, Felix’s voice pulled Jack into the present. His eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re not serious. You’re not seriously asking me that question,” Jack replied, slamming his hand down on the floor. “I know you’re not seriously asking me that question, Felix, because I know that you’re not that stupid. And nobody’s that naïve, not even you.”

“W-what do you mean?” Felix gasped out in surprise. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do, Felix.” Jack was shaking again; this time, it wasn’t just the withdrawal. “I think you know exactly what the matter is. You just can’t bring yourself to say it aloud.”

“I don’t–”

“Let me make it easy for you, babe,” Jack interrupted. “Remember that white powder? I’m addicted to it. I need it, all the time, and when I don’t get it, I get sick. Is that clear? You got that? Or are you gonna need to take notes?”

“I…I didn’t know.” Felix was staring down at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jack wanted to get up, get up and just walk away, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. “I don’t need your pity, Felix. This may have its bad moments, but it sure as hell beats the alternatives.” Jack’s chest felt oddly tight. “What do you think you’re gonna find out here? Earth? Really? Do you believe that? I don’t. And deep down I don’t think any of you do, either. It’s just something you hold on to because you can’t face the fact that there’s nothing out here for us but a lifetime of fear and false hope. Nothing I wouldn’t trade for a few seconds of euphoria, Felix. Nothing.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I can and I do,” Jack rasped. “Now go. Go back to your ship and don’t come looking for me again. You don’t want this. And I don’t want your pity.”

Felix stood up slowly; then, after one last glance at Jack, he walked away without saying another word.


The second time Jack went to the bar in the city, he went alone. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Jeff about it. The first time it had been all in good fun, out of curiosity; now, it was out of sheer need. He’d been miserable the entire way there; yet, somehow, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t turn away. It had started raining, hard, as soon as he set out on his way. He’d gotten lost twice. He couldn’t have been more different from the fast-talking, fast-walking young people pouring out into the city streets if he’d come from another star system. And yet he’d never for a moment considered turning back.

The guards must have understood this, as they let him slip through without comment. And that’s how Jack found himself in the middle of a dark room filled with writhing bodies moving to pulsing beats. He couldn’t look into the other men’s eyes, but he couldn’t look away from them when they kissed, when they kissed or when they danced together, touching each other in unspeakable places. Again and again, he’d moved forward and then drawn back, torn between disgust and desire. When, at last, one of them – a boy, really, with long blond hair and a delicate face and a silver ring on his left ear – had approached him, he’d spun out there, spun right out into the center of the dance floor and leaned into the boy until he could feel his every move.

After he left, he stood on the corner for an hour, stood there motionless in the pouring rain. The water was cold and the wind tore right through his thin coat, but he didn’t care. He half hoped he’d fall ill from it all; it would serve him right, wouldn’t it? It would serve me right, he’d mumbled to himself, unable to lift his eyes from the ground. How was he even going to be able to go back, now? They’d be able to tell – to see his shame the minute he stepped through the door – and they’d exile him to the city forever. It was then – then, just as he’d been about to settle down on the ground and give up – that another man approached him.

You’re ashamed, aren’t you? The man was so thin that Jack kept expecting the wind sweeping through the streets to carry him off along with the plastic bags it pulled up into the air. You’re angry. You’re so angry at yourself. Jack hadn’t responded. He would have liked to say something – to yell out, to protest, it hardly mattered what – but for the first time in his life, the words wouldn’t come. But in the end, the man’s first two comments didn’t end up plaguing Jack nearly as much as did his last one. I wish that I could remember what it was like to feel ashamed. I wish that I could remember what it was like to feel ashamed, the man had whispered. And then he’d drifted away, dissolved back into the grimy street so easily Jack would later doubt that he’d existed at all. I wish that I could remember what it was like…

“Hello.” Jack coughed. Somebody was standing over him. A woman. A woman wearing strong perfume. “Hello there, pretty.” Her fingers – cold and thin – were stroking his cheek. “Wake up,” she purred. “I want to see your eyes. Do you have beautiful eyes, too? I’ve always liked men with green eyes best, but I’ll settle for–”

“This?” Jack asked, opening his eyes and staring up at her. He couldn’t see clearly – not yet – but he spotted the tight red dress and pearl necklace right away. Once his vision cleared, the lines on her face came into focus. Perfect, he thought. An aging seductress. He wouldn’t have to come on to her. In fact, all he had to do was stay conscious; she’d do the rest.

“Oh yes.” She nodded approvingly. “Blue eyes. My second favorite.” She stepped back and looked him over. “I think I’ll take you. You’re not looking well, but we’ll fix that soon enough.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Can you walk?”

“For you,” Jack gasped, stumbling to his feet, “anything.”


He didn’t see Jeff all day. It wasn’t that difficult to do; he’d caught such a nasty cough from wandering outside in the rain the night before that his mother had ordered him to stay inside. She’d said it strictly, as if preparing for a fight; when he’d merely nodded in agreement she’d stared at him in shock. Jack had wondered, in that moment, how she’d react if she were to find out where he’d really been the night before. Then he’d decided that it was best to avoid thinking about such matters. And that’s precisely how he’d ended up lying on his small bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Just don’t think, he instructed himself. Don’t think about the boy’s blond hair, or the feel of his hands against your skin. Don’t think about how simple it is here at home, because for reasons you can’t explain, that makes you terribly sad. Don’t think about Jeff. Above all, don’t think about Jeff.

He’d even stayed hidden when his friend first showed up at the door. He came just close enough to overhear what was being said, to see Jeff’s reactions, but no closer. No closer. But after Jeff’s forehead had wrinkled up in concern he’d surged forward despite himself. There you are! His friend’s expression had brightened instantly. I was beginning to get worried about you. Jack had looked up at the other boy; then, without warning, images from the night before had burst through his mind. No. He couldn’t think that. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t. Are you okay, Jack? He’d nodded. After a pause, Jeff had continued. I’m walking to town. Want to come? Jack had stepped outside without another word.

He didn’t break the silence for ten full minutes. But once he did, he couldn’t stop talking. The words rushed out, one after the other; within five minutes, he’d told him all of it. The way he’d felt, standing there in the middle of it. The way he hadn’t been able to stop staring, hadn’t been able to simply walk away. The questions he’d asked himself on the way home. He’d kept at it until his voice weakened and he started coughing. His chest had hurt so he’d just sat down right there in the midst of the field and buried his head in his hands. He couldn’t look around. He couldn’t look at his friend, wouldn’t be able to look at him ever again. He didn’t deserve to do it; he didn’t deserve anything.

Only when Jeff succeeded in urging him back onto his feet did he feel the tears running down his cheeks.


"There you are," Rory said brightly, beckoning him into the room. "I was beginning to get…Jack?” There you are. Jeff standing by his side. The sun setting down over the fields. Seeing the lights shining out of his village from afar. It was as if he were being welcomed home after a thousand lifetimes in exile. “Jack?”

The next second he was sobbing. His arms were wrapped around Rory, and he was sobbing, shaking all over. God, how he’d wanted it. How he’d wanted to cry out this way so many, many times, and had always found that he couldn’t, that something was stopping him, keeping him frozen still with a terrible ache in his chest. He’d feared that he’d lost the ability permanently. The ability to cry, and the ability to feel. Now they were flooding back with every gasping breath.

“Don’t…don’t tell anyone,” Jack stammered when he finally pulled back, eyes red and face gleaming with tears, “about what just happened.” He didn’t mean it, not really; in truth he couldn't have cared less. But he had to say something to make it at least a little normal again, because if he didn’t Rory might very well burst into tears himself. You laugh and everybody laughs with you, Jack. You cry and we all cry, too. Jack rubbed his eyes. “Y-you won’t, will you?”

“Don’t worry,” Rory responded. “Your reputation is safe with me.”

“Good.” Jack brushed back his hair. He’d sobbed and he could keep sobbing and knowing that made him feel wonderful. He leaned in and pulled Rory into a second tight embrace; after he let go, he looked him right in the eye. Without flinching, he said, “Rory. Can I use your phone? I have to make a call.”