Child's Play.
AN: Well. I have no idea where this came from. I was listening to a song called "Child's Play," which is from a musical called "The Fix," by John Dempsey and Dana P. Rowe, and it inspired the tiniest of plot bunnies. Said bunny proceeded to grow and mutate as I wrote, and I'm not quite sure what to make of the result. So, warning, this fic is dripping with angst and contains references to self harm.
The quotes are from this song.
In the looking glass, I can see me going mad, and I'm powerless to stop it or counter this attack...
How did it happen, and why can't I go back?
He stares into the mirror, eyes stinging with unshed tears, ignored. Knuckles white as they grip the edge of the chest of drawers before him, he is weighed down, crushed by the impossible weight of memories and long forgotten feelings that now surge in on him, trying to break him. He closes his eyes for a moment and feels the detached warmth of the tear that slides irrelevantly down his cheek.
His face is bruised and cut with the traces of his past, all caught up with him over these past few days of excruciating discovery. He's supposed to be safe now, back in the TARDIS, but he is utterly weak, guilt and fear crashing into him more violently than any blows he has received. The image before him becomes suddenly distorted, ugly and unfamiliar, and he wonders when this change occurred, when he ceased to be the carefree performer and became a man that he doesn't dare know.
But he knows the answer to his unasked question. Five years ago, when he woke up with a dim cloud in his mind where there should have been memories, nothing there but darkness. Avague feeling of dismay and something sickeningly like shame.
And now it's like he's seeing everything through a veil that obscures everything just slightly, just so that nothing is real enough and he can't hold on to anything, though he tries so desperately. There's so much distance between what he feels now and what he believed a week ago. And has it always been like this? He shivers, a sick feeling creeping through him, crawling along his skin as he realises that this is who he's always been. The past four years, especially the two onboard the TARDIS, are now lost in the shadow of knowing that they were not real. The pain he feels at this, twisting and piercing in his chest, is almost unbearable. Knowing that the places he's been, the love he's felt for his companions, the incredible things he's seen, even the lives he's saved have all been hopelessly undermined by the twisted version of himself that has always been creeping under the surface of all that he has done.
He can hear the echoes of their voices even now, distant, like someone is playing them on a tinny radio in the next room. Her; it wasn't your fault…the past…had no choice, and him; we all make mistakes…she's right…think I don't get it?…did your best… But they don't get it. They love him too much to ever get it, and now he's betrayed them, because this means he's been lying to them all along. That's what it comes down to, whether he meant it or not; they fell for someone who was nothing more than a glittering personality he created. They fell for someone that he wants so badly to be. But he can't go back.
Jack Harkness. Captain Jack at your service, always ready with a wink or a smile, just enough to keep himself believing that his life is worth anything. He chokes back a bitter laugh, before slamming his fist into the mirror before him, feeling the ache inside him ease slightly as the sharp pain of the impact takes over for just a few sweet moments. The blood, like his tears, feels distant and surreal in its warmth and he can't quite believe that it's a part of him. He rips the cracked mirror from the wall and hurls it to the floor, watching as a shower of glass spreads, glittering dangerously and mixed here and there with drops of his blood. Mocking him. If only he could let this out, somehow, feel something beyond this heavy, crawling dismay. He takes the nearest shard of glass and scrapes it hard down his arm, watching as blood seeps out angrily. His conscience embodied. The pain relieves him just a little, but he needs more, a release from the grip of this cruel knowledge. He needs to run until his body gives up, or scream until there's no air left in his lungs. He needs to destroy everything in his sight and hurt everybody in his heart.
But with his last fragment of strength, he denies himself these things that he's aching for. He stands up straight, he grits his teeth, and he shuts it all off. The bag is easy to find; the TARDIS usually supplies what is needed, and he pulls it out of the cupboard, mechanically stuffing as many clothes as he can into it. He picks up a photo of his companions, taken one day on 23rd century Earth, knowing he needs this reminder, this punishment. He leaves his room in darkness.
They are both sleeping, peaceful and oblivious, and neither wakes as he lands the ship smoothly on Earth. It doesn't matter when.
He stands at the door, takes a final look around the place that can no longer be home, with pain and love and fear and guilt all screaming inside him, and then he slips out of the door, and disappears.
My life was child's play…but the child who rules his world, finds in truth the world rules him.
Child's play once seemed clear as day, but colours fade to shades of gray, and child's play begins to slip away.
Thank you for reading. I'm slightly nervous about what the reaction to this will be, but all the same I'd love to know, so reviews would be great :)