Chapter 7

John woke up with a start, disoriented. He jumped up and took a fighting stance, ready for action. But there were no enemies about, only a long well-lit corridor with closed doors. Right. He was at the teaboy's flat, waiting for Jack to finish whatever the hell it was that he was doing in there. He stretched his numb limbs, scratched his crotch and gave a big yawn. He gave a quick glance to the doorknob: the key was still in. What time was it anyway? He took a look at his bracelet but the damn thing was still on the fritz. Angered, he banged the device against the frame of the door, hitting the bones of his wrist in the process. The man cursed and made to punch the wall when a muffled sound made him stop mid-swing. He furrowed his brow, listening closely. Nothing. He shrugged and was about to sit down anew when he heard it again. With an inappropriately gleeful expression, he stuck his ear to the door. His suspicions confirmed, he smiled and unlocked the door.

Shagtime at last.

Quiet as a wolf, he took off his shoes and tiptoed in the room. It was dark, the only light coming from behind a huge piece of furniture. He stayed in the shadow, listening to the sounds he knew too well. Sniffling. Muffled sobs. The concert had started and it was his turn to stand in the limelight. Relishing the passionate embrace, he started to move towards the source of all that noise. A loud wail stopped him dead in his tracks. Now that was a first. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the strange feeling that was creeping inside his mind. Three steps later a painful sob stopped his progression again. He shivered. Yet his prize awaited and he wanted it, so he jumped into the light, in full view of Jack.

"Who needs a big…?"

The words died in his throat. Small dark notebooks were open at different pages all around his once lover, covering the bed and the floor with their interrupted stories. In the middle of this strange flower of words sat a broken Jack. His hands were clasped together between his thighs in an unorthodox prayer. He was rocking back and forth, his face contorted in a painful grimace, mouth open. Streams of tears had washed his face so many times already that his cheek offered wet reflections of the night stand's light.

John was petrified. He didn't know this man. He didn't know such pain. He didn't know what to do. What did people usually do in such a case? Well he had never really paid attention to other people so, there, that wouldn't be much help, would it? How about in movies? Any reference? Well he didn't really enjoy chickflicks…

While the man's mind was racing, Jack let out another loud sob, almost scaring the life out of him. Clearly unable to assess the situation and decide what to do, he went for the obvious: attack headfirst.

"Jack?"

His hopes that the man would meet him halfway remained unfulfilled. Either his ex-lover couldn't hear him or was pretending not to. He decided to close the distance between them and knelt in front of Jack. Slowly, after much hesitation and jumping at each sob and wail, he slowly put his hands on each side of the crying man's head. To his relief, Jack opened his red eyes and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. The unfathomable sadness of his gaze crushed John's heart right down to his soul. Such pain.

He had half expected Jack to push him away but he desperately gripped his shoulders and tried to say something that was lost in a torrent of sadness.

"Shhh, it's ok. Don't talk."

The words and the voice were his, yet they were so foreign to him in this moment that he could have sworn somebody else had said them. He tried to get Jack to lean onto him but the captain rebelled and stood up. He paced a moment, trying to talk but only sobbing every time he opened his mouth. John looked at him, unsure of what to do. Then, Jack stopped, grabbed one of the small notebooks and, kneeling in front of him, tried to show him something. By then he was sobbing so much that his face was a deep scarlet and no tears were coming out anymore. John's eyes, to his surprise, had taken the relay.

Ignoring what Jack wanted so pressingly to show him, he gently took the book out of the immortal's hand to put it on the floor next to him. Then, he stretched out his arms and embraced Jack. He didn't resist. And so, for the first time, John put all his heart in doing something that, up until now, had always been an excuse for comfort shag. For the first time, John consoled Jack.

"I've never…"

John was sitting on the bed, pillows propping him up against the wall. Jack was snuggled against him, a child in a man's body. Distractedly, John was caressing Jack's head. He stifled a yawn.

"All these things he wrote about me… "

His voice was hoarse and cracked on the last words. John tensed, fearing that the whole ordeal was about to start anew. Momentarily, he stopped petting Jack. The latter sighed deeply, swiftly wiped away a runaway tear and snorted. John exhaled and his hand resumed its task.

"I said things to him… I hurt him so much."

John was looking at their reflection in the windows. He sighed; this wasn't what he had planned. To tell the truth, he was bored and he had a head-splitting headache. Each of Jack's words was painfully hammering his brain. His mind started to wander on other topics in the hopes of ignoring the constant buzzing.

After a moment, he realized that the room was quiet. He closed his eyes, mouthing the words "thank you." He could have fallen asleep if a nudge hadn't made him look down and see the inquisitive look in the immortal's eyes.

Shit. He asked me a question, didn't he?

He cleared his throat.

"Ahmm… Yes?"

Jack frowned, looking a tad annoyed.

"You're not listening."

John puck his lips, weighing his options and their consequences.

"No. No I wasn't."

As soon as Jack made to get up John realized his mistake. He grabbed his arm.

"I mean yes. I mean… no. Jack it's bloody three am, I haven't eaten in I don't know how many hours and you…"

He made a significant gesture with his hands. Jack freed himself and got up to confront his ex-lover.

"You came to shag, I know that! This is unbelievable, I thought even you would have some respect!"

John's ears rang. How could he be such a drama queen when he probably had a headache as bad, if not worse than his? Tired, he decided to play the honesty card.

"Well yes. I came here for a shag and ended up with the equivalent of a crying maiden. What did you expect?"

Jack started to pace like a big cat in a cage, which, even under these circumstances, was quite sexy.

"I expect you to… I don't know! Be a friend!"

John sighed deeply, annoyed.

"We're no friends you and I, remember? You made that clear last time Grey tried to kill us all. I came here for sex and I doesn't seem like I'll be getting any."

John got off the bed and made for the door. Jack stopped him.

"You would like us to have sex on his bed!"

Jack's tone of voice was patronizing. John pursed his lips, looked at the bed, then back at Jack.

"It's not like he will be needing it anymore."

He didn't see it coming. Yet he had asked for it. Jack's punch sent him flying on his back. He hit the floor with a loud thud that did nothing to improve his headache. He started to laugh.

"The old Jack is finally coming back, it seems."

His comment went unanswered. Clicking his tongue and shaking his head he propped himself up on his elbows to look at Jack. The latter was standing at an angle to him but appeared to be looking at empty space in front of him.

"He's finally lost it." John muttered.

He was about to get up when her heard Jack speak clearly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken him with me. Forgive me, Ianto."