Conversations With Dead People

[trigger_man]

 When Jack closes his eyes, he’s surrounded by the familiar environs of his room in Milliways, curled in his bed as a few rays of moonlight slant through chinks in the blinds.

When he opens them, it’s to a room which is nearly as dim, just as familiar, but nowhere near as comfortable. Concrete walls, blue lighting embedded in the walls, a one-way mirror dominating one wall.

It’s a room he’s seen so many times in his dreams--his nightmares--but this feels so much more real than it ever has before. The walls close in, the air feels oppressive, like a weight on his chest.

The dreams never go anywhere good from here.

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[beltwayheroine.livejournal.com]

The tip of her nose nudges his, and the familiar gesture has never been as intimate as it is now.

When she pulls back just enough to look at him, the weight of everything said and unspoken fills her red-rimmed eyes.

"You, too."

[trigger_man]

Jack kisses her cheek, taking a deep breath and swallowing to try and get rid of the lump lodged in his throat.

Pushing back, he lets go of her quickly and blinks to try and clear the tears in his eyes.. This isn’t going to be any easier by drawing it out; it’ll just prolong the pain for both of them.

“You go first. I’ll be right behind you.”

The words ‘I love you’ are on the tip of his tongue, but he holds them back. They aren’t words that need to be spoken; they both know. This goodbye is difficult enough. If he’s going to do what she asks, he has to put her and how much he cares about her behind him.

[beltwayheroine.livejournal.com]

She hates seeing him in such obvious pain, and hates knowing that she won't (can't) be the person to help him through this — or anything else, for that matter.

With a small nod, she forces herself not to reach for him again.

Turning, she takes one step.

Another.

And another, toward the light.

[trigger_man]

He waits, watching her, saving the one last glimpse of her in his memory--

this is the Audrey you need to remember, not the one that wouldn’t look you in the eye and that shrank from your touch, not the one unconscious and hooked up to an IV, remember the one she could be again

--before she disappears.

Without a single glance around him, he grabs the doorknob and steps through the doorway into the light, closing his eyes against the brightness as he pulls the door firmly shut behind him.

When he opens his eyes again; darkness surrounds him, and it takes him a moment to realize where he is: his room, his bed, in Milliways. His surroundings now feel as real as the ones he’d just left, but somehow he knows this isn’t some extension of the dream. There’s no one around, no sound other than the distant low hum of life somewhere nearby, and his cheeks are wet with tears.

He has to get out.

He’s not sure just what prompts the sudden urge to leave. Not wanting to stay in a place that can do those kinds of things to his dreams. A need for space that goes on forever and that he knows doesn’t loop back on itself. Maybe he just wants to get away from the people that know him well enough to ask what’s wrong because he’s certain he won’t be able to hide the deep, hollow pain in his chest and he doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Whatever it is, he needs out, this minute, and he’s spent so long listening to his instincts that he’s out of bed and getting dressed in an instant, without really even thinking about it.

He’d walked in with the clothes on his back and his wallet in his pocket; that’s all he needs to take with him. In less than five minutes, he’s on his way downstairs, where he slips out the door and back to his world, unnoticed.