Work Text:
How did it go again, "live fast, die young, leave a pretty corpse?"
At Torchwood, it was pretty much a given you'd die young. Unless you were Jack. Of course, technically he'd "died young" many times. Just didn't stay that way.
Pins and needles.
As for living fast, well, he hadn't been out every night like Owen, but he'd lived more than he had ever really counted on, growing up. He'd figured on an office job. A suit. A marriage. A kid eventually. He'd never thought he'd have Lisa. He'd never have dreamed he'd aim a gun at anyone as he tried to save his half-Cyber girlfriend. And he'd never, ever, not in a million years, have ever thought he'd fall for Jack Harkness.
Nerves on fire. Burning.
At least this way he'd get to do something few at Torchwood could as they left for good. He'd leave a pretty corpse. Yes. That's right. It's OK then because he'll leave a pretty corpse.
Hurts to breathe.
"I-"
Of office supplies, and suits, a shaking voice, and unshaking determination, and campfires and shared blankets, and listening, and lies.
"love -"
With faith in you and fear for you even though you say you can't be hurt, knowing how you like your coffee, touching you and holding you because you need it even though you'd never ask (and because you offer me the same without a word).
you."
In your jacket and out of it, for reasons and in ways I still don't understand. I only know it's true, and I want you to know too.
I'm sure with all eternity before you, you'll forget me some day.
But I love you anyway.