Based Around the poem 'Vita Excessum and there's
nothing Latin about it' by Luna Tiger.
All her muse, and thanks to her.
I Don't think I did it justice, but I had a go.
Constructive crit welcome.
Please R&R
Enjoy
Life and death.
Through one, the other is eternal. Through the other, one will thrive.
Tug and pull, pull and tug.
Both are appreciated. Both are honoured.
Respect for the dead. Ianto had got that clear. That is left for him. Jack smiled and laughed it off; he got respect for his life, for his heroics and shit. Owen got it for being dead. Okay, a dead guy who does most his talking himself, but still dead. Dumb maternally aggressive shape-shifting bitch wouldn't even finish the job. Jack however, sacrifice after sacrifice. Owen, just the selfish bastard who got shot doing the only nice thing anyone would remember, and then only because he made a problem with it.
One is feared. One is for granted.
One is strength. One is fragile.
Jack watched from his office. His broken employee, friend and foe; life had taken him for all it could, and death wasn't being much kinder to him. Owen would snap and break, crack and crumble. He hurt people; he healed. Jack he was strong, and constant. Never a waver, no emotion, anger and grief hidden behind a dashing smile, and wink. They balanced the whole proceeding out, Owen grounded him, and Jack lifted Owen, protecting him from life. Not death though.
Both are hated.
Jack. He lived too long, too much life, too much pain, to much joy. The gift of eternity and he couldn't share. Owen. His life cut short, too little life, no pain, no joy. Eternally dead and he could share, but only for a moment before the void. Hate. Glares, stares, fearful eyes, and whispered words. The echoes of eternities of hate pushed into the vessels of mankind's twin hates. Life and Death.
But mostly, they just snipe at each other.
Like the other day, death threw rubber bits at life. Life was not amused and poured cold coffee down death's top. It was amusing. Until a mortal Frowned. Life apologized for days with good fortune. Or attempted good fortune.
Owen filled the hours of his life doing what he did best. Being a pain in the ass. Gwen lent his a pink rubber, he subsequently pulled it apart and threw bits of it in Jack's hair every time he walked past. Every time he sat in the same room. Went to the bathroom. In the SUV. In front of the Army. Unit. The Police. When he kissed Ianto in front of Owen. Then Jack fought back. A three hour trip in the SUV on a false alarm from the army. Gwen had to stop, even though Owen was driving. So while the rest of them did their business Owen brought a rubber multi-pack. He enjoyed the look on Jack's face. Stupid amateurs mistook simple murder for alien invasion, Owen had to proudly inspect the body looking like he'd dribble coffee down him. He wasn't happy. Neither was Ianto. Said it ruined the image. The doctor looking senile, and the leader looking like he was a four year old girl playing princesses. Jack had said sorry but while the rest had a nap in the back on the way home, Owen driving, because Owen was always alert. Would have been sincere if Jack hadn't giggled at Owen half way through.
Life yearns for death. Death yearns for life.
...Not in that way. You must enjoy life too much to think that.
Sometimes he lies in the morgue and pretends he's dead. It's all dark and quiet, he can't feel the pain, he can't feel the burning sensation of life running thought him. Then, "Jack, there's something I need you to look at…" Thanks Gwen.
He watches them all closely. The way they chew, the way they swallow, how the sweat, and gasp for breath, how the bleed and cry, how they live. He watches and wishes it was him, every second he has he watches and imagines it's him.
Death brings life in cold fingers.
Life brings death in heated fingers.
A stitch in time. Cold sterile fingers, unfeeling, pulling the skin closed, false smile as he injects the morphine, cleans, removes, sews and dresses. Cold, unfeeling hands make a heart beat, even if his isn't. A life saved.
He regrets it. He truly does. But he keeps his eyes open, shows no pain, no regret. It begs, and pleads; he tightens his grip. His body warming the cold metal, he lines up the sights. He takes a deep breath, lets out half a breath, checks his aim, and squeezes the trigger. The bullet speeds faster then eye can see, spinning in the air, blood spurts, a scream is made, too late the damage done. A life lost.
Death brought death.
Life brought life.
Both brought enough sexuality to fill a quota three times over.
But not death anymore. Death might be lacking for a while.
Life has yet to lack; a mortal occasionally wishes life would.
Gwen has Rhys. Tosh, is well Tosh, she says she loves him, but he knows it will pass, like Mary, like Tommy. Jack has Ianto, and countless others in the past and in the future. Diane, Katie make him ache, loves lost, never forgotten, and he will never stop loving them. Ever. The countless girls, even guys, including the one he wasn't sure about and was too drunk to care. Every night his bed is cold and empty. They all smile and gossip about their love lives and sex lives, smiling and laughing. He walks in with a grin closer to a grimace, silence. A mumbled excuse; a cough; a quick exit and a change of subject, good one Gwen.
Ianto is tired. Jack may not need so much of it, and the replacement good, but he needs to sleep now, he's worn out. "Not tonight Jack." Jack grumbles, silence, warmth, and Jack's wandering hands. "Goodnight Jack." He rolls over, gives him a quick kiss, and snuggles into his chest. Hands again. "Don't make me get the handcuffs out." Ianto mumbles it as a threat. "Would you?" Jack sounds excited by it. Ianto sighs. It's going to be a long night.
Life should kiss death alive again.
...Not in that way. A mortal or two might not like it.
Or maybe they would?
But death completes life.
...Not in that way!
Death alive means no more death, leaving life alone to forever.
Owen is scared. Scared to shut his eyes, to move, to break, scared in life and scared in death. He can't run from this. He wants to live, but is scared to die.
Jack could. He should. But he won't. He is scared to live forever. He's scared to be alone. He does run from this, two hundred years of one nights stands helped him. Ianto helps him. And Owen will help him. He will be there.
Except death is only temporary, if television taught us anything.
Death will expire too soon. Life will expire too late.
They have each other's miserable company for now.
As well as the miserable company of mortals they're attached to.
"Leave those to alone in a room together and I swear it's like a funeral! SO miserable, it's either that or they go nuts, all hyper. They're grown men for gods sake. I don't know what is worse. The depressed versions or the happy ones." Gwen moaned, not noticing the two who stand behind her. "Bad choice of words." One smiles and sits, eyes constantly looking at what his body is doing, scared to miss the chair, not even sure he's sitting on it. He can't feel it…
"At least your not stuck with us forever. We are, think of how depressing that would be…" The other charms, perfect white teeth, he sweeps around without a care. She sighs. "Don't get me started on this…" And so they go on.
Love in hate.
Ah, love. It's love. And hate.
They love to hate and hate to love.
But they do.
Why do you think death exists, anyway?
Jack needed him, needs them all. He can deny it all he wants. He can't lie to himself though. He sits in his high up office and watches them all, noting how Owen watches them all closely, and how they change when Owen is around. But it's better then being dead. And no one gets to die on his watch.
He's not sure if it's because he hates him or loves him why he brought him back. Because he decided he didn't deserve the luxury he couldn't have, or because he knows the horrors of the void.
Does he love or does he hate?
Please Review. Reviews are love.
Love gets you potatoes or cookies.
Flames used to bake cookies.
Constructive crit welcomed, and given cake.
xSuzannex