If this is Hell
By: Missfortune
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Warnings: PG
Pairing: Jack/Will
Notes: A small drabble of many.
Summary: No matter what, there's no place else that Jack would rather be.

After nearly an hour of being harassed by Annamaria, Jack got fed up and tossed the woman out. He knew he'd get an earful later, but he really didn't care. All he wanted to do was watch over Will. He knew he was responsible for his injuries, both of the body and of heart. He settled himself in the chair beside the bed once more. Was it just his imagination or did Will look paler? Was his breathing more labored? Jack reached out and touched Will's face, quickly recoiling. Will felt like ice. That wasn't good. No good at all. Will needed to be warm. Jack was used to Will's skin feeling like it contained the heat of a forge just underneath the surface. This icy cold was wrong.

He looked down at the lad and decided how best to go about warming him up. It would take too long to have someone dig out a coal brazier and it would be slow warming. Body heat was always good. He'd heard it said it was the fastest way to warm a body that'd been stuck in the water too long. He had to try it. Will didnt look very good. He stood and looked down at the bed. Carefully, he moved Will so that he could slip in beside him. Jack hesitated before removing his clothes, deciding that skin to skin would be best. He slid into the bed and curled himself protectively around Will's left side. He pulled the blankets up around their bodies and was careful in arranging his arms around Will so as not to touch the bandages or jar the wound in his back.

The warmth seemed to seep out of Jack, flowing into Will's cold body. He felt like he was hugging a marble statue. The only contradiction to that notion was the slow rise and fall of Will's breath, for even his heartbeat seemed to have stilled to a near non-existent rhythm. Jack rested his head on Will's shoulder. He pressed his mouth to the smooth curve, his lips tracing the familiar route. So cold. So wrong. He closed his eyes, feeling an annoying prickle in the corners of his eyes. He couldn't bite back the sob that welled up in his throat. The sob was harsh in the still silence of the room. A low moan followed it as Jack tightened his hold on Will.

"You have to wake up." He whispered as hot salty tears ran freely down his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. Not when he'd been betrayed or stranded. Not when he'd been shot or injured. So many times that he hadn't cried, but he couldn't remember the last time he had. But Will, Will brought the tears out of him. Each one dropping down to christen Will's skin with Jack's sorrow and regret. I am so sorry. Please dont leave again. II need you.

After the tears had finally dried out, Jack lay exhausted. The waves of emotions crashing over him were nearly overwhelming. He laid in the darkness, his eyes staring blindly at Will as he listened to each rise and fall of Will's breathe. He held his own breath with every exhale, waiting for the next intake of air, his heart faltering if they took too long. It was agony. Surely hell was like this, Jack thought. And if it was, so be it, for he would brave even that if it meant getting Will back.

To Be Continued...