donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2007-08-01 11:41 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2007-08-01 11:41 pm
Seeing Behind the Mask
Title: Seeing Behind the Mask
Pairing: Jack/Ianto implied
Rating/Warning: PG
Word Count: 507
Summary: Ianto tries to see behind Jack's Mask
Author's Notes: Major Ianto angst
Pairing: Jack/Ianto implied
Rating/Warning: PG
Word Count: 507
Summary: Ianto tries to see behind Jack's Mask
Author's Notes: Major Ianto angst
You died again.
None of the other seemed aware of it, but I could tell. I can always tell. I can see past your mask to notice that slight blue tint to your lips and that paleness in your face. And there was no way I could miss seeing how your eyelashes fluttered tiredly as you give the team their orders.
The others never listen hard enough to notice when your breathing seems more shallow and forced. Or look carefully enough to see the specks of crimson by the tear on your coat. Or care enough to question slightly heavier step in your walk.
But I always do.
And I see you joking with the others, laughing at the “near miss” while hiding the weariness. Why do you do this Jack? Why do you place yourself in danger so readily? And why are you are so willing to protect others even when it means sacrificing yourself?
These are the times that I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you. To do something, anything, to make you aware of the unnecessary risks you take. Is it really possible to shake sense into someone? I doubt it. I know I’ll never try though. I just stare at you, wondering how you can keep throwing yourself into danger time after time without ever thinking about the consequences.
You died again. And tried to hide it, again. Why do you put yourself through that? Why do we let you?
I watch you filling out reports with the others, playing the persona of the competent carefree captain that you have mastered so well. Is it anything more than a mask? Or a role to play? Do I know the real you Jack? Do you? Will I ever know the person you really are, deep down?
How can they not see the pain in your eyes? It’s always there, hidden behind that twinkle, that steel, that determination. I wonder what put it there. Was it something you saw? Did? Had done to you? And why won’t you tell me? Don’t you know you can tell me anything?
But there is nothing I can say, is there? Nothing I can do except comfort you the best I can in whatever way you’ll let me, even if it is only a cup of coffee to chase away the chill while you finish the paperwork. It’s such a small thing, but I see the flicker of gratitude in your face as I hand you the cup and the slight smile as you wrap your hands around it. But it’s the tone of your voice when you thank me that breaks my heart.
When did a mere cup of coffee become such a welcomed pleasure for you? Why is it so surprising that someone might want to be kind to you? To help you? To reciprocate for the thousands of times you helped us? Why don’t you believe you are worthy of that?
Jack, how can I love you if you can’t even love yourself?
None of the other seemed aware of it, but I could tell. I can always tell. I can see past your mask to notice that slight blue tint to your lips and that paleness in your face. And there was no way I could miss seeing how your eyelashes fluttered tiredly as you give the team their orders.
The others never listen hard enough to notice when your breathing seems more shallow and forced. Or look carefully enough to see the specks of crimson by the tear on your coat. Or care enough to question slightly heavier step in your walk.
But I always do.
And I see you joking with the others, laughing at the “near miss” while hiding the weariness. Why do you do this Jack? Why do you place yourself in danger so readily? And why are you are so willing to protect others even when it means sacrificing yourself?
These are the times that I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you. To do something, anything, to make you aware of the unnecessary risks you take. Is it really possible to shake sense into someone? I doubt it. I know I’ll never try though. I just stare at you, wondering how you can keep throwing yourself into danger time after time without ever thinking about the consequences.
You died again. And tried to hide it, again. Why do you put yourself through that? Why do we let you?
I watch you filling out reports with the others, playing the persona of the competent carefree captain that you have mastered so well. Is it anything more than a mask? Or a role to play? Do I know the real you Jack? Do you? Will I ever know the person you really are, deep down?
How can they not see the pain in your eyes? It’s always there, hidden behind that twinkle, that steel, that determination. I wonder what put it there. Was it something you saw? Did? Had done to you? And why won’t you tell me? Don’t you know you can tell me anything?
But there is nothing I can say, is there? Nothing I can do except comfort you the best I can in whatever way you’ll let me, even if it is only a cup of coffee to chase away the chill while you finish the paperwork. It’s such a small thing, but I see the flicker of gratitude in your face as I hand you the cup and the slight smile as you wrap your hands around it. But it’s the tone of your voice when you thank me that breaks my heart.
When did a mere cup of coffee become such a welcomed pleasure for you? Why is it so surprising that someone might want to be kind to you? To help you? To reciprocate for the thousands of times you helped us? Why don’t you believe you are worthy of that?
Jack, how can I love you if you can’t even love yourself?
no subject
no subject