Ghosts (Tony ficlet)

[fightingthecage]

Got bitten by a Tony bug this morning, had to write this to stop the itch. It's very short, wont take but a minute to read. :)

Title: Ghosts
Author: fightingthecage
Rating: G
Warnings: None needed, perfectly harmless
Summary: Tony is reminded of things from his life
Disclaimer: Tony owned by FOX (although Jack would beg to differ sometimes), no money made.

Ghosts

It was grey here. Everything was grey, from the clothes, to the beds, to the walls that he stared at for hours. There were small pictures, and graffiti, and the occasional blank spot where the paint had been scraped away by another prisoner trapped in this space.

The Chicago winter, where it went for days without sun, where clouds hung low and heavy and you felt like you were walking through a cloud that you might never break free from. But there was always Christmas, where artificial light blazed and family brought happiness and love.

There were rules. Too many to count. If you broke them, you were in trouble and people locked you away still further, in places where there was no light at all. It stifled and hung heavy around your neck but in the end, you got used to them and they became a comfort. You felt strange when they weren’t there anymore.

Ryan. A ball and chain. But you got used to having him there, knowing that he would stop the madness when it threatened to get out of control. Knowing he would give you perspective when you were caught up in a crazy scheme that should fail, but somehow never did. And then he was gone, and the scheme failed and you were here...

Breakfast. Easiest part of the day. No one wound up enough to cause trouble, guards alert because they’d just come on shift. People behaved and kept their heads down. No one wanted to be the target that day, so it was subdued and quiet. If something started though, you had to be ready to stand up.

George. Never wanted to get out from behind his desk. Didn’t want to be involved in fights and run and shoot. Didn’t really want to be there at all. Always with a quip or a snap, laid back yet had teeth, ready for trouble but not inviting it. Stood up when he had to.

The library. Hours spent here, nothing much else to do. Every book dog-eared from overuse, every page well-thumbed and battered. Quiet, with men huddled in corners, trying to escape or trying to hide. There was a low hum, the same hum you get in these places everywhere as people try and keep their voice down. But there were always fights. Someone always wanted the only copy of Playboy or the last Tom Clancy. Things flared from time and time and the outcome was usually ugly.

CTU. Where people worked all the time, a non-stop hive of quiet efficiency. Words flew in hushed voices, paper passed around endlessly until it became wrinkled and was filed away for someone to find and check in a future too distant to fathom. Computers buzzed quietly and fingers tapped on keyboards – but every now and again, the place exploded and it was frantic. The outcome was usually ugly.

Exercise. A ray of sunshine sometimes, and sometimes a source of pain and danger. Something to look forward to and something to dread. It depended whether one of the muscle guys thought you were using their bench or if someone in the yard thought you looked at them the wrong way. And there was always someone smaller than you, or a friend of a friend that had to be looked out for and protected, even if it meant you got hurt.

Kim. The one he looked out for quietly because that was what she needed. There were more obvious protectors, but he was the one who stood in the background and caught her when no one else was around. The smile that could brighten the office, the fear that strained him, the voice that tried his patience. The one he stood up for in the yard when he had to.

Lights out. When the fear started and the atmosphere got tense, when you held onto yourself and prayed that it would be calm, that things would not spiral out of control when you turned to the wall. When you hoped that there would be some release from the pain, when you fought, when you cried, when you hated and screamed and scratched and bit and tore and gave everything you had because it was the only thing left you could do. When you lived, and died, with every breath that you took.

Jack. That energy that swirled and picked you up and took you with him, with the voice that softly commanded and roughly pleaded, that demanded and gave respect. The one you stood up for because you knew he would stand up for you. The eyes that burned with anger and rage and pride. The eyes that burned with fear. The eyes that burned with pain.

Night. When the boredom had been overcome, the duels fought, the rules followed, the people protected, the battles won or lost, when the ghosts of the day had been laid to rest...then it was quiet. Then there was darkness. Then he was free.

Michelle.