The Twist
Title: The Twist
Author: JerBearThompson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: CoE, I suppose.
Characters: Jack/OC, mentions of Jack/Ianto
Summary: You start to joke about Jack’s ghost, and you’re relieved when the rest of the team doesn’t think you’re crazy.
Disclaimer: BBC, RTD, you know the drill.
Notes: After months of trying to write something happy, I fell back into the cliché depressing trap. Written with lyrics from the song The Twist by Frightened Rabbit. I’ve always wanted to write something in second person.
haunt•ed [hawn-tid, hahn-]
-adjective
inhabited or frequented by ghosts: a haunted castle.
--
Lets pretend I'm attractive and then
You won't mind, you can twist for a while.
--
The first time you ask him to dance, you don't realise he's got his ghost with him. His amused sigh of, ‘I know,’ to the empty space to your left doesn't quite make sense but then, who are you to judge people.
You know he’s your boss and you’re nothing special so the first time he dances with you, you treasure every moment and you don’t dwell on him seemingly talking to himself. You hold him close and you revel in his heat.
The only time you look at him, craning your neck back - because it is him, isn’t it? And he’s dancing with you of all people - he’s got his eyes closed, so you study his face and you smile. You don’t mind that he’s not looking at you. Maybe it’s not because he's thinking of someone else. You’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
He’s not what all the rumours would have you believe, he can be quite the gentleman. When you’ve circulated the dance floor with a few good waltzes, he thanks you and turns to leave. You don’t know why you ask, but then again, maybe you do. It could be your only chance.
You tell him you know he gets lonely. He pauses. You ask if he’d like some company, and you hold your breath.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Or maybe it’s a short time, you can’t really hold your breath for all that long, anyway. He stares at something not quite in your direction. Then he nods, but he’s not nodding at you.
That’s the first time you notice. But then he tells you alright and you forget the awkward moment altogether.
He’s the infamous Captain Jack Harkness, and he’s taking you home.
--
It's the night, I can be who you like,
And I'll quietly leave before it gets light.
--
The first few nights you spend with him, you aren’t sure whether to leave afterwards or not. There really isn’t enough space for two men inside his bunker, and he often just turns on his side afterward, pressed against the wall with his back to you. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s trying to make space for you or not, but he doesn’t seem the snuggling type so you quietly gather up your clothes and you leave.
You don’t resent him as you slide into your cold sheets.
He sees you. Not all the time, you realise in retrospect, but for the most part he sees you. He thinks you’re beautiful, and when he looks into your eyes and he says that, you have no choice but to believe him. He’s the sort of person to see beauty in everything, and you can almost understand his need to get away to a solitary rooftop sometimes. You wouldn’t do it yourself, but you understand why he needs to.
The fourth time he takes your below his office - and you’re marvelling that there is a fourth time, marvelling even more so that it seems to be only you he brings down here - he again turns to the wall afterward but this time something has changed.
‘You don’t have to leave,’ he says quietly without looking at you, and you can’t tell if he’s just being polite or not. He’s never been rude to you, never taken you for granted, and to be fair he’s never actually implied that you're not welcome to stay the night. It’s just what you’re used to.
You tell him you don’t mind, a shrug in your voice, just to give him an out. The ball is in his court.
You can’t see his face but you can see his hand lift up slightly, palm pressed to the wall, and stroke it twice. You think it odd but then maybe that’s just you being paranoid. He turns onto his back and he smiles at you. It doesn’t look forced.
‘Stay,’ he says, and so you do. He puts his arm around you - to keep you from falling off the bed, you tell yourself - and you breathe out quietly.
--
You twist and whisper the wrong name.
I don't care, nor do my ears.
--
It doesn’t bother you, it really doesn’t. It’s not like he calls you the wrong name in bed - but then, you have a feeling you could even deal with that if you needed to. You’re lucky to have him, you’ll take what you can get.
But every now and then, ‘Ianto, have you finished that report?’
The first time, when you begged his pardon, he looked up, confused, and repeated, ‘The report, David?’
You'd breathed out carefully and told him it’d be on his desk by the afternoon. You didn’t store the name away for later reference, you were just happy for the part of him you had. The next time he mistook your name for Ianto’s, which happened more regularly than you cared to think about, you just went along with it. It wasn’t your place to say anything otherwise.
The one and only time he told you what a beautiful shade of blue your eyes were, you just thanked him and turned your head before he realised they were green. The night when he woke up thrashing and you stroked his face to soothe away the remnants of his nightmare, he asked why you never called him cariad anymore. You apologised and were sure that your Australian accent butchered the vowels horribly, but he seemed content and that was all that mattered. The next day you looked up the word's meaning on the internet.
It didn’t bother you that he sometimes mixed these things up, because he got it right when it mattered, that was what counted.
--
Twist yourself around me.
I need company, I need human heat.
--
You start to joke about Jack’s ghost, and you’re relieved when the rest of the team doesn’t think you’re crazy. When they tell you they’ve noticed it too.
You don't think Jack realises his slips most of the time, but he seems more content when the ghost is there than when it is not so you let it slide. He's not hurting anyone.
There are some days where you’ll say something and Jack will hang his head slightly and give a soft genuine chuckle, and you’ll smile but you know he’s not laughing at you. Sometimes he’ll wink, or send a sly compliment in your direction but it’s not for you. You know it’s not for you. It’s for him.
And then sometimes he’ll cup your cheek and look into your eyes and kiss you. Most of the time it’s fine, but sometimes... sometimes it’s not you he’s seeing, and that’s when it hurts.
Sometimes he’ll be walking and halfway from here to there he’ll just stop for a chat with no one. But it’s not no one, is it? It’s his ghost. It’s his Ianto, who has blue eyes ad calls Jack, ‘cariad,’ and knows where file 2BCCE4 is kept. You never look up the name, because it’s Jack’s business. It’s not that you’re scared at what you might find.
So when Jack asks you if you want to go to dinner at that Italian place you love - the one you don’t remember ever being inside of before - you say yes, and let that be that. It doesn’t bother you.
--
Twist and whisper the right name.
I'm David, please.
--
The only time you ever get angry at Jack, really mad at him, it’s not even his fault. Not really. You just crack.
‘You haven’t worn the red tie in a while.’
You put down your file and sigh.
‘Jack, I don’t own a tie.’
Jack smiles at you. ‘Now that’s a lie, Ianto. I know that you-’
‘David.’ You’re not hurt, you’re not even angry, you’re just... tired. ‘My name is David, Jack. It’s David, please.’
‘David,’ he repeats, confused. ‘I said that.’
‘No! No you didn’t! ’ You get up, and before you know it you’re two inches from Jack and you’ve got his hand grasped so tightly in yours that you just know it must be hurting him. To his credit, he says nothing on the matter. ‘Who is Ianto, Jack? Who is he? Are you fucking him, is that it? Because I don’t care, Jack, really. Just tell me.’
Jack’s staring at you, and your heart breaks as you watch him do the one thing you were definitely not expecting. Anger, hurt, you could have dealt with, but this... you’ve never seen this before.
You watch the single tear roll down Jack’s face and hang on the end of his chin.
‘I said David,’ he tells you, but he’s not sure. He's confused and he wants to be sure.
‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper. ‘You said David.’
He nods and takes his hand from yours. You're half way through debating whether to hug him or not when he leaves.
--
The twist is that you're just like me.
You need company, you need human heat.
--
‘I love you,’ Jack says one day, and you watch as he realises what he’s just said and panic blossoms in his eyes.
‘It’s okay,’ you smile and pat his arm softly. You can do this, you know how to be second best. ‘I know you loved him.’
You finally did it. You looked him up. You looked up Jack’s ghost, and now you understand. For the most part, Jack knows you're you. He tries not to slip up these days, but you forgive him when he does. Maybe one day he’ll tell you he loves you, because you’re starting to believe it’s not such an impossible thing. Even now part of you is holding out for him to say, ‘No, David, I love him but I love you too.’
But he doesn’t, and you’re okay with that. One day he will. But for now, you’ll be content with his company, with the fact that he spends most nights at your flat now, with the fact that sometimes it's him who's asking you to dance.
For now, you’re content to let this be your happily ever after.
Author: JerBearThompson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: CoE, I suppose.
Characters: Jack/OC, mentions of Jack/Ianto
Summary: You start to joke about Jack’s ghost, and you’re relieved when the rest of the team doesn’t think you’re crazy.
Disclaimer: BBC, RTD, you know the drill.
Notes: After months of trying to write something happy, I fell back into the cliché depressing trap. Written with lyrics from the song The Twist by Frightened Rabbit. I’ve always wanted to write something in second person.
haunt•ed [hawn-tid, hahn-]
-adjective
inhabited or frequented by ghosts: a haunted castle.
--
Lets pretend I'm attractive and then
You won't mind, you can twist for a while.
--
The first time you ask him to dance, you don't realise he's got his ghost with him. His amused sigh of, ‘I know,’ to the empty space to your left doesn't quite make sense but then, who are you to judge people.
You know he’s your boss and you’re nothing special so the first time he dances with you, you treasure every moment and you don’t dwell on him seemingly talking to himself. You hold him close and you revel in his heat.
The only time you look at him, craning your neck back - because it is him, isn’t it? And he’s dancing with you of all people - he’s got his eyes closed, so you study his face and you smile. You don’t mind that he’s not looking at you. Maybe it’s not because he's thinking of someone else. You’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
He’s not what all the rumours would have you believe, he can be quite the gentleman. When you’ve circulated the dance floor with a few good waltzes, he thanks you and turns to leave. You don’t know why you ask, but then again, maybe you do. It could be your only chance.
You tell him you know he gets lonely. He pauses. You ask if he’d like some company, and you hold your breath.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Or maybe it’s a short time, you can’t really hold your breath for all that long, anyway. He stares at something not quite in your direction. Then he nods, but he’s not nodding at you.
That’s the first time you notice. But then he tells you alright and you forget the awkward moment altogether.
He’s the infamous Captain Jack Harkness, and he’s taking you home.
--
It's the night, I can be who you like,
And I'll quietly leave before it gets light.
--
The first few nights you spend with him, you aren’t sure whether to leave afterwards or not. There really isn’t enough space for two men inside his bunker, and he often just turns on his side afterward, pressed against the wall with his back to you. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s trying to make space for you or not, but he doesn’t seem the snuggling type so you quietly gather up your clothes and you leave.
You don’t resent him as you slide into your cold sheets.
He sees you. Not all the time, you realise in retrospect, but for the most part he sees you. He thinks you’re beautiful, and when he looks into your eyes and he says that, you have no choice but to believe him. He’s the sort of person to see beauty in everything, and you can almost understand his need to get away to a solitary rooftop sometimes. You wouldn’t do it yourself, but you understand why he needs to.
The fourth time he takes your below his office - and you’re marvelling that there is a fourth time, marvelling even more so that it seems to be only you he brings down here - he again turns to the wall afterward but this time something has changed.
‘You don’t have to leave,’ he says quietly without looking at you, and you can’t tell if he’s just being polite or not. He’s never been rude to you, never taken you for granted, and to be fair he’s never actually implied that you're not welcome to stay the night. It’s just what you’re used to.
You tell him you don’t mind, a shrug in your voice, just to give him an out. The ball is in his court.
You can’t see his face but you can see his hand lift up slightly, palm pressed to the wall, and stroke it twice. You think it odd but then maybe that’s just you being paranoid. He turns onto his back and he smiles at you. It doesn’t look forced.
‘Stay,’ he says, and so you do. He puts his arm around you - to keep you from falling off the bed, you tell yourself - and you breathe out quietly.
--
You twist and whisper the wrong name.
I don't care, nor do my ears.
--
It doesn’t bother you, it really doesn’t. It’s not like he calls you the wrong name in bed - but then, you have a feeling you could even deal with that if you needed to. You’re lucky to have him, you’ll take what you can get.
But every now and then, ‘Ianto, have you finished that report?’
The first time, when you begged his pardon, he looked up, confused, and repeated, ‘The report, David?’
You'd breathed out carefully and told him it’d be on his desk by the afternoon. You didn’t store the name away for later reference, you were just happy for the part of him you had. The next time he mistook your name for Ianto’s, which happened more regularly than you cared to think about, you just went along with it. It wasn’t your place to say anything otherwise.
The one and only time he told you what a beautiful shade of blue your eyes were, you just thanked him and turned your head before he realised they were green. The night when he woke up thrashing and you stroked his face to soothe away the remnants of his nightmare, he asked why you never called him cariad anymore. You apologised and were sure that your Australian accent butchered the vowels horribly, but he seemed content and that was all that mattered. The next day you looked up the word's meaning on the internet.
It didn’t bother you that he sometimes mixed these things up, because he got it right when it mattered, that was what counted.
--
Twist yourself around me.
I need company, I need human heat.
--
You start to joke about Jack’s ghost, and you’re relieved when the rest of the team doesn’t think you’re crazy. When they tell you they’ve noticed it too.
You don't think Jack realises his slips most of the time, but he seems more content when the ghost is there than when it is not so you let it slide. He's not hurting anyone.
There are some days where you’ll say something and Jack will hang his head slightly and give a soft genuine chuckle, and you’ll smile but you know he’s not laughing at you. Sometimes he’ll wink, or send a sly compliment in your direction but it’s not for you. You know it’s not for you. It’s for him.
And then sometimes he’ll cup your cheek and look into your eyes and kiss you. Most of the time it’s fine, but sometimes... sometimes it’s not you he’s seeing, and that’s when it hurts.
Sometimes he’ll be walking and halfway from here to there he’ll just stop for a chat with no one. But it’s not no one, is it? It’s his ghost. It’s his Ianto, who has blue eyes ad calls Jack, ‘cariad,’ and knows where file 2BCCE4 is kept. You never look up the name, because it’s Jack’s business. It’s not that you’re scared at what you might find.
So when Jack asks you if you want to go to dinner at that Italian place you love - the one you don’t remember ever being inside of before - you say yes, and let that be that. It doesn’t bother you.
--
Twist and whisper the right name.
I'm David, please.
--
The only time you ever get angry at Jack, really mad at him, it’s not even his fault. Not really. You just crack.
‘You haven’t worn the red tie in a while.’
You put down your file and sigh.
‘Jack, I don’t own a tie.’
Jack smiles at you. ‘Now that’s a lie, Ianto. I know that you-’
‘David.’ You’re not hurt, you’re not even angry, you’re just... tired. ‘My name is David, Jack. It’s David, please.’
‘David,’ he repeats, confused. ‘I said that.’
‘No! No you didn’t! ’ You get up, and before you know it you’re two inches from Jack and you’ve got his hand grasped so tightly in yours that you just know it must be hurting him. To his credit, he says nothing on the matter. ‘Who is Ianto, Jack? Who is he? Are you fucking him, is that it? Because I don’t care, Jack, really. Just tell me.’
Jack’s staring at you, and your heart breaks as you watch him do the one thing you were definitely not expecting. Anger, hurt, you could have dealt with, but this... you’ve never seen this before.
You watch the single tear roll down Jack’s face and hang on the end of his chin.
‘I said David,’ he tells you, but he’s not sure. He's confused and he wants to be sure.
‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper. ‘You said David.’
He nods and takes his hand from yours. You're half way through debating whether to hug him or not when he leaves.
--
The twist is that you're just like me.
You need company, you need human heat.
--
‘I love you,’ Jack says one day, and you watch as he realises what he’s just said and panic blossoms in his eyes.
‘It’s okay,’ you smile and pat his arm softly. You can do this, you know how to be second best. ‘I know you loved him.’
You finally did it. You looked him up. You looked up Jack’s ghost, and now you understand. For the most part, Jack knows you're you. He tries not to slip up these days, but you forgive him when he does. Maybe one day he’ll tell you he loves you, because you’re starting to believe it’s not such an impossible thing. Even now part of you is holding out for him to say, ‘No, David, I love him but I love you too.’
But he doesn’t, and you’re okay with that. One day he will. But for now, you’ll be content with his company, with the fact that he spends most nights at your flat now, with the fact that sometimes it's him who's asking you to dance.
For now, you’re content to let this be your happily ever after.