Out of Reach
…are we fools to think that time means less then love?...
XXX
They came back.
They came back and Jack has kissed a man, which is nothing new.
They came back, both Jack and Tosh and neither of them are hurt and nobody died and this should one of the easy memories to look back on. This should be a told with laughter, a fond tipsy reminiscence as the countdown starts.
(Three… two… one…)
The New Year breaks in vivid color over them, so loud that when they kiss they feel the vibrations through each other's teeth.
Laughing, tipsy, and teetering in black stilettos, Tosh realizes Jack isn't there.
"Jack," she calls, and Iago looks at her with red eyes and a glass in each hand.
"He's in his office," he says.
"But," she says, tipsy and teetering, no longer laughing, "With who?"
Iago turns his back on her.
"Nobody."
He leaves, steps quick and angry. Tosh watched him go and attempts to crush the growing knot of understanding in the pit of her stomach; instead, she doubles over and almost vomits all over the balcony.
The New Year breaks, little fragments of color exploding in the empty sky like bombs and it feels a lot like then, except for the obvious fact that it is now and her head hurts more.
Tosh knocks on the door with trembling hands.
"Captain," she whispers through the keyhole, "Please let me in."
Without warning, the cold metal door that her forehead is pressed against opens. Tosh is falling forward, weightless, and for a moment she is too drunk to realize that she is going to crash. Except that Jack is there and she doesn't.
Tosh looks up at him and the thank you on the tip of her tongue becomes—
"Is there an antidote?"
It startles a laugh out of him and Jack guides her to a seat. She collapses gratefully and kicks her shoes off in a graceless manner that makes her realize just how intoxicated she really is.
"Scotch?" Jack offers her, pushing an empty glass toward her.
Tosh blinks and the table comes into alarming focus. There are at least six bottles of varying alcohol and his own glass is filled with a suspicious blue liquid that she's not sure is human, let alone legal.
"What are—," she demands imperiously and hiccups, "You planning to do with all that?"
He has the gall to look amused.
"Drink myself into a stupor," he answers and pauses thoughtfully, "Possible a coma but with ER the way it is on New Year's, I'm not sure the traffic is worth the effort."
She stares at him.
He looks terrible, circles so deep under his eyes that she wonders if he's slept at all since they've returned. How have they missed this? Jack always looks devilishly handsome and mysterious. Tonight though, he looks ten years older and tragically—something.
Lost, maybe.
We came back, she wants to tell him.
Except the words are heavy on her twisted tongue and she tastes the lie like battery acid.
"Oh," she says instead.
Jack turns away and the mask cracks open further; he's crying. She wipes a tear away and doesn't know to make it better. Because of course, he had to go and fall in love with himself.
Somewhere, out of reach, the year breaks and breaks (and breaks).