A/N: This takes place between seasons one and two, when Jack's off with the Doctor and Martha. It's my first Janto ficlet! I wasn't sure whether this was rated a hard-T or a soft-M, so I decided to be safe and rate it M. No hardcore smut here, sorry! And on a completely unrelated note, sorry to those of you waiting for Truth or Dare. I mean to update it but I'm just so busy. Also, I'm having a bit of writer's block recently. I started working on it about a week ago, though. Sorry!
I wish I had gone with everyone else. They are all off at some restaurant, taking a well-needed break. Recently, we've had more trouble with the Weevils. I stare down at the paper Tosh wanted me to read. It's only when I finally focus on it that I realize that I'm somehow on the third page. I don't have a clue what the paper's even about. Various lines are underlined, none of them familiar. My eyes clench shut, and I shove the papers away, burying my head instead on the desk.
I haven't been able to focus since Jack left. And going back here every day is torture. It's inescapable; everything reminds me of him. How can't it? He is the soul and heart of Torchwood. Or was. I keep on seeing his coat flare up in the corners of my eye. But every time I turn around, the doorway is as empty as has been since he's left.
My fists clench, and my nails dig into my skin, dotting my palms with painful, moon-like crescents. In the silence, all of a sudden I notice the drip, drip, drip of the coffee machine. The sound irritates me, and anger bubbles within me until my muscles twitch. I want it to stop, but the sound seems to amplify. Drip, drip, drip. It's persistent. And I can't stand it.
When I can't bare to hear a second more, I stand up, striding toward it, knocking it down. I hoarse yell escapes me. I loathe it more than I can describe. Every bit of me trembles as my muscles tense. I always stay calm, I never make a fuss of things, but I want to see it shatter, fly into a thousand directions, fall useless and silent. I don't care if there's glass all over the floor; I crumple to the ground with the machine, sobbing.
Jack, I need you. I love you. Come back. Why did you leave me, without a goodbye? Did I mean that little to you? Was every kiss we shared nothing to you?
My sleeves are rolled up, but I don't care that the glass cuts my arms. I place my head down on them, and a shard slices my cheek open. But that pain is nothing compared to the separation. I can feel phantom hands cradling me, a hand drifting down my back.
"Jack," I choke, as if saying his name will make it real. But of course it doesn't. The hands that caress my cheek are only a part of my imagination. There are no lips pressing frantic kisses down my chest, and no fingers fiddling with at my zipper. I can hear him moaning, somewhere off in my mind. And I can see his face, flushed, eyes fluttering shut. He always looks beautiful when he comes. Looked.
Did it all mean nothing to him if he could just run away like that? Every time we fucked - had Owen been right all that time ago - was I nothing more than a part-time shag? Will he come back - does he care enough to?
I don't know how long I lay there before my sobs subside. The smell of coffee is overwhelming, but that might have to do with the fact that my face is covered in it. With shaking arms and legs, I pull myself up. Somehow I end up in the bathroom, splashing water over my face until my eyes are no longer red, and I look normal. I iron my face of any grief or pain and walk back over to the mess with something to clean it all up.
As I sweep a few shards of glass into the container, Owen, Tosh, and Gwen walk in.
"Jesus, what happened here?" Gwen exclaims. Looking up at them, I give a reassuring smile.
"An accident." They take it in their stride, never questioning.
"Oh, dear, you have cuts all over you. Here, let me help." Tosh smiles back at me and leans down to held sweep away the shards of broken glass. But I just want to be left alone. We're all hiding behind smiles right now.
"I can get it. It's alright, Tosh."
"I should probably clean up those cuts," Owen says. He sounds tired.
"No, no, it's fine, really. They're just a few minor ones." I flash another smile again. It feels unnatural for my lips to twitch that way. Still, they're fooled by it, and after a pause, agree to leave.
The murmur of their voices fades away with their footsteps until I am left in silence again. There's no dripping, but now something else occupies that vacancy.
Tick, tick, tick.
I pull out my stopwatch and my eyes start to burn again. I clicked it the moment I had found out Jack was gone. And each tick meant another second with Jack gone who knows where.
Tick, tick., tick.
Each second is filled with disappointment and torn hope. I keep on seeing him, wishing he was there. At night he fills my dreams, and when I wake up, the stopwatch reminds me of the cruel reality.
Tick, tick, tick.
Jack, come back to me.
A/N: Reviews - good or bad? *hopeful smile*