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wintercompanion2009-07-11 07:35 pm
trobadora) wrote in wintercompanion2009-07-11 07:35 pm
talkingtothesky: Loneliness Be Over (Jack/Ten) [PG] (SUMMER HOLIDAYS, PROMPT 6)
Title: Loneliness Be Over
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
talkingtothesky
Pairing: Jack/Ten; Jack/John Smith
Rating: PG
Spoilers/warnings: Torchwood 2x11 Fragments; Doctor Who 3x08 Human Nature/Family of Blood, tiny one for The Runaway Bride.
Challenge: Summer Holidays
Prompt group: 6: education - school - literature - poetry
Summary: AU Human Nature/Family of Blood. Jack’s working as a Torchwood field agent when they receive word that the Doctor may be on Earth and in hiding. What will Jack do?
**
A/N: Concrit welcomed and appreciated. Title and cut text from Muse’s Map Of The Problematique
Cardiff, 1st November 1913
“Your next assignment, Captain.” As usual, Alice made the title sound like an insult.
Jack flipped open the file with aggressive indifference. He quickly took in the contents and glanced up again, eyebrow raised. “What happened to ‘we’ll be keeping you in Cardiff so we can keep an eye on you’?”
Alice ignored the question. “It seems our little Doctor friend has got himself into trouble. He’s gone into hiding. You are going to find him and bring him back to us, understood?”
Jack stood up and leaned over her threateningly. “What makes you think that? If I find the Doctor, I’ll get what I need from him and help him to escape whoever’s after him. I won’t be manipulated by the likes of you.”
“Too late,” said a voice in his ear, as warm breath skittered down his neck. Long fingernails scraped down over his shirt buttons as Emily stood close behind him. “We already have you –“she paused to linger over the gun in its holster, Jack made a sudden move as if to stop her, “-wrapped round our little fingers.”
She and Alice both laughed at the same time and Jack shuddered despite himself. Annoyed, he snatched up the file, disentangled himself from Emily and strode towards the door, checking that his gun was still with him as he went.
“Remember, Harkness, you’re either with us or against us.” She gave a little wave. “And if you run, we will find you.”
***
Jack was unsurprised to find that their sense of humour was just as twisted in finding him a cover for this assignment as it was in everything else.
Now he was stuck playing the kindly new manager of a sweetshop.
How exactly was he supposed to reach the Doctor up at the school while running Turner’s Confectionery in a quaint little village? And then there was the small problem of not knowing what the Doctor even looked like anymore: Jack had heard of Time Lord Regeneration from his Time Agency training, and Torchwood’s file said the Doctor had changed, but not what his new form looked like. (Jack hoped he was still hot. Not that that really mattered. He was pretty sure he’d still follow him to end of the Universe and back even if the Doctor looked and smelt like a Weevil.)
All Jack had was the name John Smith and the rumour that a man by that name had appeared out of nowhere to secure himself a teaching post along with his maid, Miss Martha Jones.
If this John Smith – and it was a long shot, even by Torchwood’s standards – really was the Doctor, Jack was torn between wondering why the Doctor had found himself a new companion so quickly and hoping that this was Rose hiding too.
Every morning Jack woke and asked himself why he hadn’t run. Even though his Vortex Manipulator was broken, there were other ways of getting free. And every day he told himself the same thing: this was the only lead in finding the Doctor that he had. Where else could he go, except back to the old conman ways that seemed so alien to him now?
***
A week into his new job, Jack was feeling more settled. He still felt humiliated. He couldn’t help but think what John Hart would say if he could see Jack now.
After the 5th November rush, the shop was fairly quiet again, and Jack closed half an hour early one night, fancying a walk. As he locked up, a woman wearing a pink hat and long grey coat cycled past in the dark, followed soon after by a young boy running in his uniform, who called “Martha!” after her and eventually caught up with her at the end of the street.
“Tim!” Jack heard her say in surprise.
Jack, his interest peaked, pretended to be fiddling with his keys and then skulked along the darkened shop fronts, trying to get a better look at the two figures. He wasn’t sure how to feel when he saw that Martha Jones definitely wasn’t a cover for Rose Tyler. The kid was handing something to her; it glinted in the moonlight for a second before it was hidden away again, tucked inside the inner pocket of Martha’s big grey coat. She kissed Tim on the cheek and then rode off again.
Tim doubled back along the street the way he came. As he passed, Jack had no choice but to smile and remark “Nice night.”
Tim looked suspiciously at Jack lurking in the shadows. The boy stared him down for a moment and then walked on. Jack waited until Tim rounded the corner and then hurried off in the direction Martha had gone, hoping he could still find her in the dark.
After a while he heard a gentle melodic humming and followed it. Jack could just about see her, cycling along and singing softly to herself. Her breath condensed into little wisps of smoke in the cold air and Jack winced every time leaves crunched under his feet. But she never sensed anyone following her, and eventually she led him to a small barn. She leant her bike against the wall and went inside. Then Jack could feel it. The comforting presence of something alien yet achingly familiar in his mind. It was the feeling of home.
He stood for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, then collected himself and crept inside the barn. And there it was, the TARDIS in all its (her, Jack corrected himself) – in all her glory. Jack breathed deep and drank in the sight of her, wishing he could go inside and never leave, but not wanting to scare the Doctor’s new companion.
So easily replaced, he thought, so easily forgotten.
He stroked the wooden panelling and felt the TARDIS murmur almost imperceptibly in response. Then he turned his back on it.
It was better this way. And if Torchwood could indeed track him, the last thing he wanted to do was lead them straight to the Doctor’s time machine. He needed to get out of here, fast.
At least there was to be no doubt, now, that this John Smith was who both Jack and Torchwood were so desperate to find.
***
The Doctor sat behind the desk at the front of the long room, his nose buried in a book. The class of students had long since been dismissed, and his feet were propped up on the desk in such a manner of innocent disrespect that Jack had to smile. It was a wonder no-one had found the Doctor out yet.
He asked as much, but again his question went unanswered. Either the book really was that absorbing or the Doctor was deliberately ignoring him.
“Look, I don’t see how you have much to be angry with me for. You were the one who abandoned me, remember?”
Losing patience now, Jack reached for the book and tried to move it out of the way so that the Doctor would at least look at him. But as soon as Jack’s hand closed over the Doctor’s wrist, the skin burnt hot and turned black at his touch. Jack let go and watched in horror as black spread up the Doctor’s arm and over his shoulder, devouring the cloth of his sleeve. The Doctor looked him right in the eyes, then, as the dark writhing mass reached his throat and he exploded into ash…
For the fourth time that night, Jack sat bolt upright in his bed, back in his rented room above the sweetshop, and scrubbed a hand over his tired face. This was getting ridiculous.
***
Jack hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, and he was feeling suitably grouchy next morning when he opened up shop. It was half past eight, and no-one would come in at this time of the morning, but he couldn’t lie upstairs staring at the ceiling for much longer without going mad.
One of the things that didn’t surprise Jack about this place was the boredom. Sometimes he was glad of it, it gave him time to think, but right now he didn’t feel much like thinking. Another thing was that he had to make sure he didn’t give in to the temptation of simply devouring all the food around him – he was trying to keep this place afloat after all, not sink it. He wondered what Alice and Emily would do if he broke his cover and just ran for the stars. He couldn’t underestimate Torchwood’s power, but at the same time he imagined that, perhaps, they had made a big mistake in sending him out here. They knew where his true loyalties lay and yet still let him go. Was it a test? A trap for both him and the Doctor?
Indecisive and unfocused, Jack’s mind wandered again to Tim the schoolboy and Martha Jones’ mysterious meeting the previous night. What was so important and so secretive that he had to sneak out of the school at night just to give it to her?
“Good morning, sir,” said a crisp voice, and Jack straightened behind the counter so fast he bashed his kneecaps on the wood.
Jack hadn’t even heard him come in. His smart grey suit was neatly pressed and expertly tailored, but his hair stuck up at odd angles and there was a fine smattering of freckles across his face. He was smiling politely, if somewhat awkwardly, at Jack.
Jack’s heart rate sped up, just a bit. “Um, hi.” He said dumbly.
The stranger was still looking at him oddly. “Yes, quite. Erm…I was wondering…this is going to sound rather silly, but do you by any chance sell ‘Jelly Babies’?”
“No, I don’t think we do.” Jack turned and began to rummage around on the shelves behind the counter anyway; anything to stop him visibly drooling over the delectable stranger stood the other side of it.
“Hmm, I didn’t think I’d ever heard of them either. Only, you see, I had this rather strange dream…and then I got a bit of a craving for them. Sorry to bother you.”
Jack heard the man take a step back and ever so slightly panicked. He had to make a grab for a jar of fudge cubes as they nearly toppled off the shelf. “Is there anything else I can get you?” He asked at once, then without waiting for an answer, “How long have you been living here? I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
The footsteps paused. Jack didn’t dare turn round. He nudged the Mint Humbugs back into place and willed himself to calm the hell down.
“Of course, very rude of me. I’m Mr. John Smith, and you are?”
Jack was very proud of himself for not sending the whole shelf flying as he whirled on the spot, unable to believe his luck. “Doctor?!”
The man had been politely holding out a hand for Jack to shake, but at Jack’s exclamation his whole demeanour changed and the hand fell back to his side.
“Excuse me?”
But then Smith/Doctor seemed to shrug off his sudden discomfort and said “No, I’m a teacher. And, oh – look at the time! I had better be getting back! Most grateful for your assistance. What was your name, by the way?”
“Jack.” He felt numb and very, very confused.
“Well, nice to meet you, Jack! Best be off!” And he headed for the door again.
“Sir?” Jack called after him. “Does the word ‘Dalek’ mean anything to you?”
No darkness rose in the eyes of the stranger, and Jack thought not even the Doctor was that good an actor. Jack had his answer even before Smith shook his head. The door chimes tinkled as he shut the door behind him and hurried out into the November chill.
Jack leant heavily against the counter and put his face in his hands.
***
“Jack, I’m here.” The Doctor found him (and Jack knew it was him, because the sorrow was back in his eyes again), not at the shop this time, but at the village hall where Jack was helping to administer first aid to those wounded and traumatized in the bombing. (One year early. )
Jack took one look at him, nodded, and let the Doctor follow him outside.
The Doctor explained everything to him; about Rose, Martha and Tim, about the Chameleon Arch. And as he listened Jack felt despair more strongly than he ever had before, even as the thought of home on the TARDIS beckoned to him enticingly.
Jack told him of Torchwood, took the initial angry, judgmental reaction on the chin, and then listed just a handful of the horrors he had been subjected to since the Doctor had last seen him. The Doctor’s expression went from righteous anger to pity and Jack didn’t know which he hated most.
“I’ve missed you,” the Doctor told him suddenly, and Jack wanted to run, far away, back to carefree times swindling gormless people for useless space junk.
Better off as a coward.
Instead, he breathed deep. “You say that, and then I’m supposed to forgive you?”
The Doctor had nothing to say to that.
“Torchwood knows where I am. I’m surprised they haven’t come to get us by now.”
The Doctor shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“No. But it means I can’t come with you.”
“Oh!” The Doctor’s face suddenly split into a grin. He started rummaging in the pockets of his long brown coat until he found it. “Yes you can! Biodamper!” He held the ring out triumphantly in his open palm.
Jack took the Doctor’s fingers (relieved when they didn’t blister and turn black) and folded them over the ring. Then he twisted the hand over, brought it to his lips and kissed the knuckles before letting go.
“I’m going back to Torchwood.”
“What, after all they did to you?”
“I’m going back there, and I’m gonna fix that place. I’ll make it better. For you.”
Then Jack turned his back before his courage could fail him.
But the Doctor wasn’t letting him go. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so, so sorry.”
Jack didn’t turn around. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “But I just can’t.”
Author:
talkingtotheskyPairing: Jack/Ten; Jack/John Smith
Rating: PG
Spoilers/warnings: Torchwood 2x11 Fragments; Doctor Who 3x08 Human Nature/Family of Blood, tiny one for The Runaway Bride.
Challenge: Summer Holidays
Prompt group: 6: education - school - literature - poetry
Summary: AU Human Nature/Family of Blood. Jack’s working as a Torchwood field agent when they receive word that the Doctor may be on Earth and in hiding. What will Jack do?
**
A/N: Concrit welcomed and appreciated. Title and cut text from Muse’s Map Of The Problematique
Cardiff, 1st November 1913
“Your next assignment, Captain.” As usual, Alice made the title sound like an insult.
Jack flipped open the file with aggressive indifference. He quickly took in the contents and glanced up again, eyebrow raised. “What happened to ‘we’ll be keeping you in Cardiff so we can keep an eye on you’?”
Alice ignored the question. “It seems our little Doctor friend has got himself into trouble. He’s gone into hiding. You are going to find him and bring him back to us, understood?”
Jack stood up and leaned over her threateningly. “What makes you think that? If I find the Doctor, I’ll get what I need from him and help him to escape whoever’s after him. I won’t be manipulated by the likes of you.”
“Too late,” said a voice in his ear, as warm breath skittered down his neck. Long fingernails scraped down over his shirt buttons as Emily stood close behind him. “We already have you –“she paused to linger over the gun in its holster, Jack made a sudden move as if to stop her, “-wrapped round our little fingers.”
She and Alice both laughed at the same time and Jack shuddered despite himself. Annoyed, he snatched up the file, disentangled himself from Emily and strode towards the door, checking that his gun was still with him as he went.
“Remember, Harkness, you’re either with us or against us.” She gave a little wave. “And if you run, we will find you.”
***
Jack was unsurprised to find that their sense of humour was just as twisted in finding him a cover for this assignment as it was in everything else.
Now he was stuck playing the kindly new manager of a sweetshop.
How exactly was he supposed to reach the Doctor up at the school while running Turner’s Confectionery in a quaint little village? And then there was the small problem of not knowing what the Doctor even looked like anymore: Jack had heard of Time Lord Regeneration from his Time Agency training, and Torchwood’s file said the Doctor had changed, but not what his new form looked like. (Jack hoped he was still hot. Not that that really mattered. He was pretty sure he’d still follow him to end of the Universe and back even if the Doctor looked and smelt like a Weevil.)
All Jack had was the name John Smith and the rumour that a man by that name had appeared out of nowhere to secure himself a teaching post along with his maid, Miss Martha Jones.
If this John Smith – and it was a long shot, even by Torchwood’s standards – really was the Doctor, Jack was torn between wondering why the Doctor had found himself a new companion so quickly and hoping that this was Rose hiding too.
Every morning Jack woke and asked himself why he hadn’t run. Even though his Vortex Manipulator was broken, there were other ways of getting free. And every day he told himself the same thing: this was the only lead in finding the Doctor that he had. Where else could he go, except back to the old conman ways that seemed so alien to him now?
***
A week into his new job, Jack was feeling more settled. He still felt humiliated. He couldn’t help but think what John Hart would say if he could see Jack now.
After the 5th November rush, the shop was fairly quiet again, and Jack closed half an hour early one night, fancying a walk. As he locked up, a woman wearing a pink hat and long grey coat cycled past in the dark, followed soon after by a young boy running in his uniform, who called “Martha!” after her and eventually caught up with her at the end of the street.
“Tim!” Jack heard her say in surprise.
Jack, his interest peaked, pretended to be fiddling with his keys and then skulked along the darkened shop fronts, trying to get a better look at the two figures. He wasn’t sure how to feel when he saw that Martha Jones definitely wasn’t a cover for Rose Tyler. The kid was handing something to her; it glinted in the moonlight for a second before it was hidden away again, tucked inside the inner pocket of Martha’s big grey coat. She kissed Tim on the cheek and then rode off again.
Tim doubled back along the street the way he came. As he passed, Jack had no choice but to smile and remark “Nice night.”
Tim looked suspiciously at Jack lurking in the shadows. The boy stared him down for a moment and then walked on. Jack waited until Tim rounded the corner and then hurried off in the direction Martha had gone, hoping he could still find her in the dark.
After a while he heard a gentle melodic humming and followed it. Jack could just about see her, cycling along and singing softly to herself. Her breath condensed into little wisps of smoke in the cold air and Jack winced every time leaves crunched under his feet. But she never sensed anyone following her, and eventually she led him to a small barn. She leant her bike against the wall and went inside. Then Jack could feel it. The comforting presence of something alien yet achingly familiar in his mind. It was the feeling of home.
He stood for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, then collected himself and crept inside the barn. And there it was, the TARDIS in all its (her, Jack corrected himself) – in all her glory. Jack breathed deep and drank in the sight of her, wishing he could go inside and never leave, but not wanting to scare the Doctor’s new companion.
So easily replaced, he thought, so easily forgotten.
He stroked the wooden panelling and felt the TARDIS murmur almost imperceptibly in response. Then he turned his back on it.
It was better this way. And if Torchwood could indeed track him, the last thing he wanted to do was lead them straight to the Doctor’s time machine. He needed to get out of here, fast.
At least there was to be no doubt, now, that this John Smith was who both Jack and Torchwood were so desperate to find.
***
The Doctor sat behind the desk at the front of the long room, his nose buried in a book. The class of students had long since been dismissed, and his feet were propped up on the desk in such a manner of innocent disrespect that Jack had to smile. It was a wonder no-one had found the Doctor out yet.
He asked as much, but again his question went unanswered. Either the book really was that absorbing or the Doctor was deliberately ignoring him.
“Look, I don’t see how you have much to be angry with me for. You were the one who abandoned me, remember?”
Losing patience now, Jack reached for the book and tried to move it out of the way so that the Doctor would at least look at him. But as soon as Jack’s hand closed over the Doctor’s wrist, the skin burnt hot and turned black at his touch. Jack let go and watched in horror as black spread up the Doctor’s arm and over his shoulder, devouring the cloth of his sleeve. The Doctor looked him right in the eyes, then, as the dark writhing mass reached his throat and he exploded into ash…
For the fourth time that night, Jack sat bolt upright in his bed, back in his rented room above the sweetshop, and scrubbed a hand over his tired face. This was getting ridiculous.
***
Jack hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, and he was feeling suitably grouchy next morning when he opened up shop. It was half past eight, and no-one would come in at this time of the morning, but he couldn’t lie upstairs staring at the ceiling for much longer without going mad.
One of the things that didn’t surprise Jack about this place was the boredom. Sometimes he was glad of it, it gave him time to think, but right now he didn’t feel much like thinking. Another thing was that he had to make sure he didn’t give in to the temptation of simply devouring all the food around him – he was trying to keep this place afloat after all, not sink it. He wondered what Alice and Emily would do if he broke his cover and just ran for the stars. He couldn’t underestimate Torchwood’s power, but at the same time he imagined that, perhaps, they had made a big mistake in sending him out here. They knew where his true loyalties lay and yet still let him go. Was it a test? A trap for both him and the Doctor?
Indecisive and unfocused, Jack’s mind wandered again to Tim the schoolboy and Martha Jones’ mysterious meeting the previous night. What was so important and so secretive that he had to sneak out of the school at night just to give it to her?
“Good morning, sir,” said a crisp voice, and Jack straightened behind the counter so fast he bashed his kneecaps on the wood.
Jack hadn’t even heard him come in. His smart grey suit was neatly pressed and expertly tailored, but his hair stuck up at odd angles and there was a fine smattering of freckles across his face. He was smiling politely, if somewhat awkwardly, at Jack.
Jack’s heart rate sped up, just a bit. “Um, hi.” He said dumbly.
The stranger was still looking at him oddly. “Yes, quite. Erm…I was wondering…this is going to sound rather silly, but do you by any chance sell ‘Jelly Babies’?”
“No, I don’t think we do.” Jack turned and began to rummage around on the shelves behind the counter anyway; anything to stop him visibly drooling over the delectable stranger stood the other side of it.
“Hmm, I didn’t think I’d ever heard of them either. Only, you see, I had this rather strange dream…and then I got a bit of a craving for them. Sorry to bother you.”
Jack heard the man take a step back and ever so slightly panicked. He had to make a grab for a jar of fudge cubes as they nearly toppled off the shelf. “Is there anything else I can get you?” He asked at once, then without waiting for an answer, “How long have you been living here? I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
The footsteps paused. Jack didn’t dare turn round. He nudged the Mint Humbugs back into place and willed himself to calm the hell down.
“Of course, very rude of me. I’m Mr. John Smith, and you are?”
Jack was very proud of himself for not sending the whole shelf flying as he whirled on the spot, unable to believe his luck. “Doctor?!”
The man had been politely holding out a hand for Jack to shake, but at Jack’s exclamation his whole demeanour changed and the hand fell back to his side.
“Excuse me?”
But then Smith/Doctor seemed to shrug off his sudden discomfort and said “No, I’m a teacher. And, oh – look at the time! I had better be getting back! Most grateful for your assistance. What was your name, by the way?”
“Jack.” He felt numb and very, very confused.
“Well, nice to meet you, Jack! Best be off!” And he headed for the door again.
“Sir?” Jack called after him. “Does the word ‘Dalek’ mean anything to you?”
No darkness rose in the eyes of the stranger, and Jack thought not even the Doctor was that good an actor. Jack had his answer even before Smith shook his head. The door chimes tinkled as he shut the door behind him and hurried out into the November chill.
Jack leant heavily against the counter and put his face in his hands.
***
“Jack, I’m here.” The Doctor found him (and Jack knew it was him, because the sorrow was back in his eyes again), not at the shop this time, but at the village hall where Jack was helping to administer first aid to those wounded and traumatized in the bombing. (One year early. )
Jack took one look at him, nodded, and let the Doctor follow him outside.
The Doctor explained everything to him; about Rose, Martha and Tim, about the Chameleon Arch. And as he listened Jack felt despair more strongly than he ever had before, even as the thought of home on the TARDIS beckoned to him enticingly.
Jack told him of Torchwood, took the initial angry, judgmental reaction on the chin, and then listed just a handful of the horrors he had been subjected to since the Doctor had last seen him. The Doctor’s expression went from righteous anger to pity and Jack didn’t know which he hated most.
“I’ve missed you,” the Doctor told him suddenly, and Jack wanted to run, far away, back to carefree times swindling gormless people for useless space junk.
Better off as a coward.
Instead, he breathed deep. “You say that, and then I’m supposed to forgive you?”
The Doctor had nothing to say to that.
“Torchwood knows where I am. I’m surprised they haven’t come to get us by now.”
The Doctor shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“No. But it means I can’t come with you.”
“Oh!” The Doctor’s face suddenly split into a grin. He started rummaging in the pockets of his long brown coat until he found it. “Yes you can! Biodamper!” He held the ring out triumphantly in his open palm.
Jack took the Doctor’s fingers (relieved when they didn’t blister and turn black) and folded them over the ring. Then he twisted the hand over, brought it to his lips and kissed the knuckles before letting go.
“I’m going back to Torchwood.”
“What, after all they did to you?”
“I’m going back there, and I’m gonna fix that place. I’ll make it better. For you.”
Then Jack turned his back before his courage could fail him.
But the Doctor wasn’t letting him go. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so, so sorry.”
Jack didn’t turn around. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “But I just can’t.”