Work Text:
The room was dark, illuminated only by the streetlamp filtering in through the blinds. Jack lay alone, tangled in bedsheets already half-cold.
"What happened to us, Gabe?"
Reyes stiffened where he stood. He didn't look back as he slid his jacket on, pulling up the dark hood. His voice is low, deliberate.
"We died, Jack."
Jack looked up at the ceiling, at the marks and patterns in the wooden boards. His calloused fingers itched where hours before they had traced moles and scars on dark skin.
"Do you feel dead, Reyes?"
Jack could hear the clink of shotgun shells being picked up off the table. He closes his eyes, slowly. He doesn't know whether or not he's expecting an answer, but the silence is deafening all the same.
Jack felt the cold smoke seep over his skin, opening his eyes to see Reyes materialising in front of him. Red eyes bored down at him, chilling him in an entirely different way.
"Not always."
Jack lifted a pale hand, stroking Reyes face, rough fingertips against rough skin. Reyes is still, eyes never leaving Jacks. He sits up slowly, pressing a soft kiss onto scarred lips and pauses, still close enough to feel Reyes hot breath on his lips.
"Gabe... You don't have to leave."
Reyes pulls back, gaze dark.
"There's no life here for me. There's no life anywhere for a dead man."
No dead man can have felt so alive under his fingertips. No dead mans breath could be felt, warm and lingering.
When he speaks again, Jacks voice is low and breathy, almost a whisper.
"Then live. Be alive with me."
Jacks grip on him hardens, not forceful, but firm. Grounding himself in the texture of stubble on dark cheeks. But all he can do is look into those red eyes as Reyes disintegrates under his fingertips, cold smoke curling round his now-empty hand. For a split second, Jack caught a glimpse of a smirk, sharp as a wolfs.
"Don't fool yourself old man. Jack Morrison's just as much a dead man walking as Gabriel Reyes. We've both seen the gravestone."
There's a finality in his voice and Jack knows that the moment is over, offer rejected. But there will be another night, as there was before.
In seconds the smoke is gone, and the chill with it. But knowing he's now alone in the safehouse brings Jack no warmth. He collapses against the mattress again, his arm falling over his eyes. His fingertips itch.
"I don't feel dead. Not with you."
The words bounce uselessly off the white walls.