Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood
Only Watch
How many times have you died? How many times have you come back to life? How many years have you wandered from past into present, wishing you could find a way out? You're trapped forever in life and the luxury of death does not wait for you.
What happened to you?
What haunts your dreams?
I lie awake at night and watch you toss and turn, the sheets tangling around your body, your breath coming in short, gasping bursts. I want to reach out and hold you, to wrap my arms around you and chase the torment from your soul, but I won't.
I've done it, once before, and all I had to show for my effort was a fine bruise gracing my chest. Because, for whatever reason, when my skin touched yours you fought even harder.
What, Jack, have you seen? Where have you been? What's happened to you that you can only bear human touch in your waking hours, when you can see all that's happening?
I won't ask you. I know I'd only receive a roundabout, avoidant answer for my trouble. I let it be. Just like I didn't correct you when you assumed my bruise was from what had happened before sleep. I simply smiled and nodded.
I do that a lot around you. Smile, I mean.
I'm used to seriousness, I'm used to things never going right, but with you it feels all right to laugh.
Most of the time.
There are still serious moments. Moments like those sleepless nights. Moments like watching you deal with your nightmares by yourself.
One of these days, I'll stop you falling asleep. I'll find a way to listen to your story, and then I'll hold you as you dream, and I'll no longer fear being bruised.
One of these days…till then, I can only watch.