Finally, our boys are sorting themselves out. They've worked through their issues post-Lisa, and look to be on track to getting back together. First, however, they have a few minor Rift issues to take care of, not to mention those last lingering angst problems that just keep creeping in. Warnings apply for foul language and thoughts of a sexual nature.
Things were looking up. Well, maybe not up, but better. Better than what, he wasn't sure. But better. It was odd, and strained for a while, but surprisingly, it was Jack who put his mind at ease. There wasn't any one thing he could point to, either, but instead it was a gradual build, leaving him feeling freer than he had in the last year. Ever since his world caved in the first time, in London. Since then, he'd been in a descending spiral of madness, the only bright spot in the entire journey being Jack. It was no wonder he thought he may just be falling in a direction probably not healthy. Didn't make him stick out his arms to break his speed of descent, however. If anything, now that Jack seemed to accept him again, he was embracing every second, and hoping like hell the landing was soft. Or soft-ish. Well, at the very least, not rocky.
The whole debacle with Lisa – or Not-Lisa, as he'd taken to calling her in his mind – was finally behind them. There were days when he never even thought about her. And not just the days where he didn't have time to remember his own name, let alone anybody else's. Some days when the Rift was quiet, and the Hub still, with the others clearing out while they had the chance, he still didn't think of her. He supposed he could put it down to time, and a little distance from all the pain. Truthfully, though, he knew it was all Jack.
The man honestly didn't seem to hold anything against him. Jack's capacity for forgiveness was unparalleled. He knew enough about his history, and his odd not-staying-dead-forever quirk, to be surprised that he could find even a small bit of love or forgiveness in his heart. The things he must have seen and done over the many years – the number of people he must have said goodbye to, or buried, or been left by. There were some, like Estelle Cole, that he knew Jack kept watch over. He saw, back when they were only just starting to talk again, how much her death hurt. And there had to be others; there was that woman, Alice Carter, who Jack funneled money to every paycheck. He didn't have a clue as to who she was to Jack – a former lover, maybe. And there was a child, too – Steven. Jack's son? He didn't know, and he wasn't about to ask. It was none of his business. Especially as they weren't anything to each other, despite how much closer they had become over the last eight weeks.
His injuries from the worst camping trip everwere all healed and no longer an issue. Owen's wonderful drugs helped him through the first week or so, and then it was back to the regularly prescribed meds until the pain became manageable. It hadn't been a fun journey. During Tosh's ill-fated love affair with Mary… well, not really 'Mary', was she? An escaped Arcateenian prisoner. Who'd have thought it possible? According to Jack's notes in the Archives – honestly, did he not realise that particular font went out of style in the 1960's? – Arcateenian's in general were fairly passive. Those from Mary's home planet were all artsy-fartsy types – usually. Loved Woodstock, according to Jack. Others could be complete bores, if they came from the governmental planet. It was their inability to stay alive on Earth without a decent energy source that was their main problem. Highly telepathic – according to Jack – Mary could have found her energy in any number of ways, but stuck on Earth for more than one hundred years, and having a homicidal bent anyway, she ate hearts. Pleasant. Bloody lucky all she gave Tosh was that damn pendant, and not a hole in her chest.
And that pendant. What a nightmare. Poor Tosh. Humans should never hear the thoughts of others. Far too volatile. God knows it was bad enough to read the occasional note left out that shouldn't be seen. Tosh confided in him, telling him about overhearing Owen and Gwen both, which she said hurt more than anything. They both knew exactly how she felt about Owen – and Gwen, on her moral high horse, carrying on with Owen when she had a perfectly healthy and decent bloke at home. Bit of a slap in the face, that one. To both Tosh and him, actually; Tosh because she was so obviously infatuated with Owen, and him, because he really wanted to be involved with somebody again. Well, with Jack, again. He missed the physical contact a relationship – of any sort – offered. It made his skin itch, he missed it so much.
And then she told him she heard him, too. That was a bit of a worry. Could have heard anything; from him planning to buy coffee and milk, to him daydreaming about pushing Jack against the first solid surface and fucking him senseless, which was an unrealistic fantasy. He'd not been that forward in the past, and wasn't likely to start now, what with there being little-to-nothing left between he and Jack that would indicate that action would be welcome. Of course, it was neither. She heard him complaining that he 'Can't imagine the time when this isn't everything. Pain so constant, like my stomach's full of rats. Feels like this is all I am now. There isn't an inch of me that doesn't hurt.'Quite uncanny, that was, that she was able to remember word-for-word what had rolled through his mind in that instant. He managed to put her off, with the explanation that it was all about the ribs; after all, it was only three weeks since he almost ended up on somebody's plate, and his bottom two ribs were nicely snapped into the bargain. Thankfully, she didn't press, as he wasn't about to tell her that it was also guilt over Not-Lisa, and his ever-burning desire for Jack.
Because that desire for Jack was actually causing him physical pain. He ached, from his heart to his… well, yeah, to his cock. It was weeks – months – since he'd had any relief. He'd not allowed it after Not-Lisa, believing himself unworthy, and since their return from the Brecon Beacon's it was actually physically painful. He did try, once, but the searing pain that shot through his chest wiped out any pleasure he felt from his orgasm. Pity – he had a feeling it would have been spectacular, had he actually felt it enough to enjoy it. It certainly left a hell of a mess, and he'd not had the energy to clean it up for almost a quarter hour, which turned it from mildly annoying to downright bloody aggravating.
And now that he knew – well, was pretty damn sure, or at least hoping, anyway – that Jack was interested in starting up with him again, he wasn't about to waste pleasure gained by himself. Everything was better with two. Or three or more, if your name was Jack Harkness and you could persuade the others to join in. Which he probably could, given the level of charm he possessed.
Only now wasn't going to be a good time to pursue anything further. Weeks of light duty now over for him, it seemed the Rift was no longer medically inactive, either. It had been nice for the team to have some reprieve, but things were picking up again. The number of Weevil sightings was increasing, and he knew for a fact that Jack was going out at night by himself to deal with the calls that came in during the wee smalls. He'd seen the blood-soaked evidence that the idiot tried to hide. Jack really didn't seem to put 'general support' and 'Hub cleaner' together, thinking that if he threw it out, it was gone for good. 'Out of sight, out of mind' seemed to be his modus operandi. And he wasn't about to tell him otherwise, as that would let Jack know that he knew. And he knew, somehow, that would be a bad idea at this point.
Because he had a solid feeling in his recently healed gut that the shit was about to hit the fan. Again.