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[INBOX] TORCHWOOD FOUR
Jun. 30th, 2023 09:00 pm
[phone/text/email/smoke signals/action spam]
[phone/text/email/smoke signals/action spam]
- Cardiff, 27 AD -
“...we're safe. Now, before you do anything rash, you have to hear—”
Without a word, Jack wrapped both his hands around John's throat, squeezing.
“Jack--”
John clawed at his hands, searching for air...and as his sleeve slipped, Jack saw it. He saw it—and he knew.
Letting him go, Jack punched John instead.
“Take us back now.” he instructed quietly. “Or the next time I grab you, I won't let go until rigor mortis sets in.”
“I can't. No way. We have to be this far to escape the trigger signal.” John replied, holding up the wrist Jack had seen. “Bonded to my skin. I can't get it off.”
Jack said nothing, but took it in, now that it was on full display—angry and distended, a ninth generation detonator.
“Add to that a surveillance circuit, to monitor my every word and action, and he has me doing anything I'm told. Because if I don't, boom. I'm not my own man.” John insisted, dropping his hand. “I thought you'd see that. But oh no, you're so self-obsessed you thought I'd want to blow up the stupid city, when I could be experiencing seventeen simultaneous pleasures in the Lotus Nebula.”
John opened his mouth to continue bitching, but then his features went slack, paling visibly.
“...oh, no. Just run.”
Jack just turned around, bracing himself for what he knew he would see. He was prepared, he knew...
But the breath still left his lungs when he turned around.
He was so like what Jack had always envisioned, and nothing like the man he'd come to know. Shorter hair, leaner and more solid. He was dressed to kill in leather pants and vest, a t-shirt beneath making him look dangerous and enigmatic, but oh how those bright blue eyes shone with tears of joy...
“Jack?” he called out, striding briskly towards him.
For one split second, Jack let himself forget. He watched his brother race towards him, brisk strides turning into a run and he gave himself the fantasy. It brought tears to his eyes and a lightness to his being he hadn't felt in a hundred and fifty years...
“I never stopped believing—I knew I would find you again!”
Jack let himself have the fantasy until the moment his arms went around him.
“Javic.” he breathed, shutting his eyes. “I'm sorry.”
He shut his eyes, and let everything go.
“...sorry's not good enough.”
He was Gray again, and ready when he caught the wrist holding the knife, twisting it so the blade sank into Javic's body instead. His free arm went around Javic's neck to hold him there for a moment as he struggled.
“I know.” he replied softly, kissing Javic's temple. “I know.”
* * * * *
- Cardiff, Present Day -
When Javic comes to, he's in Cardiff—but not the right one.
“Easy--easy, you've been through it, haven't you?”
A hand stops him from sitting up. Blinking, the face of a pretty young woman fills his vision. She has dark hair, straight and thick, hanging around her face as she looks down at him.
“Where am I?” Javic asks, angry and uncertain.
“Torchwood—d'you remember?”
Javic tried to sit up again—then winced as pain flared through his belly. A hand covered in a latex glove touched his stomach, which Javic could see was heavily bandaged when he looked down.
Gray.
“My brother, he--”
“Stabbed you? Yeah, did more 'n that.”
Javic felt arms on either side of him, under his shoulders, helping him to a seated position. He was on a gurney, inside of Torchwood...
He turned to the voice—John, on his left. He held up his arm, heavily bandaged over the spot where his vortex manipulator had been.
“Cut the damn thing off of me, bein' his didn't work.” Hart explained. “Dunno what he plans to do with the bloody bomb, but good riddance.”
“He—he got away?” Javic breathed, grimacing as his abdomen throbbed. The gloved hand belonged to the mousy physician, who was dead silent with dark eyes filled to the brim with...just, endless pain. Just for a second, Javic almost wanted to reach out and touch him, console him because he looked so much like Javic felt every single day.
“He—he just left.” The dark haired woman bit off, blinking hard and fast. Still, tears managed to fall, and were angrily brushed away.
“It's true.” John replied quietly, hand on Javic's shoulder. “He stabbed you, grabbed the soddin' detonator, and forced me to bring you both back here. Then he cut the vortex manipulator off my wrist and left. Must've figured we'd both end up dead, God knows you burned all my bloody bridges here.”
“You proved yourself, mate.” The remark came from another dark haired young man, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket with flint and soul in his bright eyes. “We lost Tosh and Suzie, but we would've lost Owen, too, without your help.”
“I—I don't understand.” Javic stammered, looking around with confusion so intense it made him dizzy. “You...this was his life. He loves you, I--”
“Well, s'pose you were right about what you said, yeah?” Owen bit off quietly, more than a little bitterly. “All the little bastard knows how to do is take. No thought for who he hurts.”
“So that's it, then?” Leather Jacket asked harshly. “All done, that's it, he gets away with it?”
“That's enough, Ianto.” the woman snapped with a sneer, quiet but sharp.
“Piss off, Gwen! I know you love him, but Jack's gone. He's bloody abandoned us with how many secrets? How many unanswered questions? And it's not the first damn time! He's got no Doctor to blame on this go 'round--”
Leather Jacket—Ianto--cut himself off with a harsh, agonized sound tearing from his throat as he covered his mouth with one hand.
“...no.”
“What?”
Javic blinked, startled to realize he'd spoken.
“I said no. It's not over.”
“You can bloody well piss off, too.” Ianto snapped.
“Easy, there.” John admonished, laying a hand on Javic's shoulder. “What're you thinking?”
Javic opened his mouth—then closed it, absently rubbing his bandaged belly.
“I don't know.” he admitted. “But...we all have a score to settle with Gray—with Jack. So no. This isn't the end...the end? The end is where we start from.”
* * * * *
- Cardiff, 27 AD -
“Christ, Jack!”
Gray lowered his brother to the ground, gently after the left hook that rendered him unconscious. It felt wrong, with the screams in his head and the white noise in his ears. He didn't quite recognize the slack and sleeping features of his brother for a moment--
Brother.
The world went quiet again, and Jack slipped into his skin once more.
“We have to hurry.” he replied, yanking off his jacket and shucking his braces so he could tear off his oxford and use it as a pressure bandage. “I'm pretty sure I avoided the bowel, but he needs treatment pretty quick and we have to get him out of here before he wakes up.”
He paused, lifting his gaze to meet John's. He sniffed, wiping away moisture from his cheeks (blood? No, tears) as he nodded towards Javic.
“Get down here and help me—hold this, hard--”
“I know how to stop the bleeding, remember the bloody Borgias?” John groused, taking over the application of pressure as Jack started searching Javic's pockets. “Got it—what's the plan?”
“Get you loose, find out what he wants, give it to him.”
“Your mum and dad wailed and howled 'bout you a bit too much, he couldn't find you—got twisted and now he hates you, wants to take everything from you. How do you handle that bit?”
Jack looks back down into Javic's face. He's taking a big chance on a dream—a respite from the grave after letting Abbadon have him...
But he believes. He has to.
“He only got twisted because he was alone. If he's got someone, he'll get better.” Jack replies softly, smoothing a gentle hand over Javic's brow. “So I have to be their common enemy.”
“Their?”
“Javic and the others...I can't go back, John, and I can't leave them alone, so I have to leave them with each other. He wants to take everything from me, so I'll let him—I'll let him take Torchwood.”
“...we're safe. Now, before you do anything rash, you have to hear—”
Without a word, Jack wrapped both his hands around John's throat, squeezing.
“Jack--”
John clawed at his hands, searching for air...and as his sleeve slipped, Jack saw it. He saw it—and he knew.
Letting him go, Jack punched John instead.
“Take us back now.” he instructed quietly. “Or the next time I grab you, I won't let go until rigor mortis sets in.”
“I can't. No way. We have to be this far to escape the trigger signal.” John replied, holding up the wrist Jack had seen. “Bonded to my skin. I can't get it off.”
Jack said nothing, but took it in, now that it was on full display—angry and distended, a ninth generation detonator.
“Add to that a surveillance circuit, to monitor my every word and action, and he has me doing anything I'm told. Because if I don't, boom. I'm not my own man.” John insisted, dropping his hand. “I thought you'd see that. But oh no, you're so self-obsessed you thought I'd want to blow up the stupid city, when I could be experiencing seventeen simultaneous pleasures in the Lotus Nebula.”
John opened his mouth to continue bitching, but then his features went slack, paling visibly.
“...oh, no. Just run.”
Jack just turned around, bracing himself for what he knew he would see. He was prepared, he knew...
But the breath still left his lungs when he turned around.
He was so like what Jack had always envisioned, and nothing like the man he'd come to know. Shorter hair, leaner and more solid. He was dressed to kill in leather pants and vest, a t-shirt beneath making him look dangerous and enigmatic, but oh how those bright blue eyes shone with tears of joy...
“Jack?” he called out, striding briskly towards him.
For one split second, Jack let himself forget. He watched his brother race towards him, brisk strides turning into a run and he gave himself the fantasy. It brought tears to his eyes and a lightness to his being he hadn't felt in a hundred and fifty years...
“I never stopped believing—I knew I would find you again!”
Jack let himself have the fantasy until the moment his arms went around him.
“Javic.” he breathed, shutting his eyes. “I'm sorry.”
He shut his eyes, and let everything go.
“...sorry's not good enough.”
He was Gray again, and ready when he caught the wrist holding the knife, twisting it so the blade sank into Javic's body instead. His free arm went around Javic's neck to hold him there for a moment as he struggled.
“I know.” he replied softly, kissing Javic's temple. “I know.”
- Cardiff, Present Day -
When Javic comes to, he's in Cardiff—but not the right one.
“Easy--easy, you've been through it, haven't you?”
A hand stops him from sitting up. Blinking, the face of a pretty young woman fills his vision. She has dark hair, straight and thick, hanging around her face as she looks down at him.
“Where am I?” Javic asks, angry and uncertain.
“Torchwood—d'you remember?”
Javic tried to sit up again—then winced as pain flared through his belly. A hand covered in a latex glove touched his stomach, which Javic could see was heavily bandaged when he looked down.
Gray.
“My brother, he--”
“Stabbed you? Yeah, did more 'n that.”
Javic felt arms on either side of him, under his shoulders, helping him to a seated position. He was on a gurney, inside of Torchwood...
He turned to the voice—John, on his left. He held up his arm, heavily bandaged over the spot where his vortex manipulator had been.
“Cut the damn thing off of me, bein' his didn't work.” Hart explained. “Dunno what he plans to do with the bloody bomb, but good riddance.”
“He—he got away?” Javic breathed, grimacing as his abdomen throbbed. The gloved hand belonged to the mousy physician, who was dead silent with dark eyes filled to the brim with...just, endless pain. Just for a second, Javic almost wanted to reach out and touch him, console him because he looked so much like Javic felt every single day.
“He—he just left.” The dark haired woman bit off, blinking hard and fast. Still, tears managed to fall, and were angrily brushed away.
“It's true.” John replied quietly, hand on Javic's shoulder. “He stabbed you, grabbed the soddin' detonator, and forced me to bring you both back here. Then he cut the vortex manipulator off my wrist and left. Must've figured we'd both end up dead, God knows you burned all my bloody bridges here.”
“You proved yourself, mate.” The remark came from another dark haired young man, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket with flint and soul in his bright eyes. “We lost Tosh and Suzie, but we would've lost Owen, too, without your help.”
“I—I don't understand.” Javic stammered, looking around with confusion so intense it made him dizzy. “You...this was his life. He loves you, I--”
“Well, s'pose you were right about what you said, yeah?” Owen bit off quietly, more than a little bitterly. “All the little bastard knows how to do is take. No thought for who he hurts.”
“So that's it, then?” Leather Jacket asked harshly. “All done, that's it, he gets away with it?”
“That's enough, Ianto.” the woman snapped with a sneer, quiet but sharp.
“Piss off, Gwen! I know you love him, but Jack's gone. He's bloody abandoned us with how many secrets? How many unanswered questions? And it's not the first damn time! He's got no Doctor to blame on this go 'round--”
Leather Jacket—Ianto--cut himself off with a harsh, agonized sound tearing from his throat as he covered his mouth with one hand.
“...no.”
“What?”
Javic blinked, startled to realize he'd spoken.
“I said no. It's not over.”
“You can bloody well piss off, too.” Ianto snapped.
“Easy, there.” John admonished, laying a hand on Javic's shoulder. “What're you thinking?”
Javic opened his mouth—then closed it, absently rubbing his bandaged belly.
“I don't know.” he admitted. “But...we all have a score to settle with Gray—with Jack. So no. This isn't the end...the end? The end is where we start from.”
- Cardiff, 27 AD -
“Christ, Jack!”
Gray lowered his brother to the ground, gently after the left hook that rendered him unconscious. It felt wrong, with the screams in his head and the white noise in his ears. He didn't quite recognize the slack and sleeping features of his brother for a moment--
Brother.
The world went quiet again, and Jack slipped into his skin once more.
“We have to hurry.” he replied, yanking off his jacket and shucking his braces so he could tear off his oxford and use it as a pressure bandage. “I'm pretty sure I avoided the bowel, but he needs treatment pretty quick and we have to get him out of here before he wakes up.”
He paused, lifting his gaze to meet John's. He sniffed, wiping away moisture from his cheeks (blood? No, tears) as he nodded towards Javic.
“Get down here and help me—hold this, hard--”
“I know how to stop the bleeding, remember the bloody Borgias?” John groused, taking over the application of pressure as Jack started searching Javic's pockets. “Got it—what's the plan?”
“Get you loose, find out what he wants, give it to him.”
“Your mum and dad wailed and howled 'bout you a bit too much, he couldn't find you—got twisted and now he hates you, wants to take everything from you. How do you handle that bit?”
Jack looks back down into Javic's face. He's taking a big chance on a dream—a respite from the grave after letting Abbadon have him...
But he believes. He has to.
“He only got twisted because he was alone. If he's got someone, he'll get better.” Jack replies softly, smoothing a gentle hand over Javic's brow. “So I have to be their common enemy.”
“Their?”
“Javic and the others...I can't go back, John, and I can't leave them alone, so I have to leave them with each other. He wants to take everything from me, so I'll let him—I'll let him take Torchwood.”
- Thursday, 18 January 1941 -
“Hey, you doing okay, buddy?”
Gray looked up, startled by the appearance of the man in front of him. He'd been well briefed—time, place, best method—and that was in two days. He was goddamn lucky all he'd done was break a finger dodging that stupid jeep that tried to run him down...
He'd crossed paths with him early, and he was the most beautiful man Gray had ever seen.
“Yeah. Nothin' to worry about here.” he assured him with his best friendly smile, gesturing with his badly bruised hand. “Just waiting for the medic to splint this.”
“Hell's bells—how'd you do that?”
“Some cockamamie private tried to run me over, if you can believe that.”
“You're puttin' me on.”
“Took a nosedive to avoid death by stupidity, landed wrong on my meathook.”
“Well, then, I'll shake your good hand while you wait for the doc.”
“Oh, I'm--”
“Hey, if you glare any harder at the nurses, you're gonna scorch their hair.” the other man laughed. “I'm supposed to be sitting down anyway. Messed my back up a bit bailing over Kent.”
“...okay, then. Captain Peter Harper.”
“Captain Jack Harkness—always nice to meet another American.”
* * * * *
- Friday, 19 January 1941 -
“So you're heading back out?”
“Day after tomorrow—just a training exercise. Nothing to worry about.”
Gray nodded, the blaster in his holster burning through leather and skin. Even the poison capsule he'd changed it out for scalded him every time he put his hand in his pocket. A whole afternoon in the sick bay, getting his finger set and keeping Jack company while he was put through his paces for medical clearance...
They'd talked a lot. Too much—the hit had to happen tomorrow.
“I thought about what you said yesterday.” Jack interjected. The fear, the bleak resignation talk of battle brought was gone. There was something else in his eyes, just as fearful...but bright, gleaming like firelight on a pool of blood, warm and beautiful.
“Yeah? Which part, the hare brained mess they call football over here? Or the food poisoning waiting in the mess tonight?” Gray quipped.
Jack laughed at that, blue eyes sparkling. He couldn't let himself look too far, too deep. It made him feel like he was falling.
“What you said about that girl I've been spending time with, Nancy.” Jack finally explained.
“Yeah? Gonna see her at that dance tomorrow?”
“Well...you said it, right? Live every moment like your last? So...I figure...”
Gray's fingers burned. He looked down, and found Jack's hand in his.
“...make the most of now.”
His hand was warm with the blood in his veins that had to spill as their fingers slotted together. His pupils were dilating—the ones that would grow milky and opaque when the body turned cold. He was drawing close, and his breath was so warm and sweet, feathering across Gray's face...
Gray jerked his hand out of Jack's, grabbed his jaw with his good hand, and kissed him. Branded him with lips and tongue, branded himself with the way Jack trembled and sank into him, shaking like a leaf as they kissed behind a dirty pub in the middle of the night and Gray trembled with the enormity of touching something so good and honest and pure that he had no right to sully.
The light he was about to snuff out.
He kissed him, and kept kissing him until Jack all but jumped away, hearing the footfall of a corporal around the corner long before Gray did—before Gray should have.
* * * * *
- Saturday, 20 January 1941 -
“You can't save him, you know.”
“Save who?”
“The pretty captain with the blue eyes. You can't save him.”
“...I'm done helping you broads. Come near me again and I'll kill you both.”
That was two hours ago. Gray stood in front of a potted plant in one corner, the poison capsule in his hand. He stared at it, glittering golden amber—easy to dissolve in a snifter of brandy. It would be painless. He wouldn't suffer.
It didn't have to hurt.
The hand on his shoulder should have startled him. It didn't.
Turning, Gray found himself face to face with Jack, that bright and hopeful fear in his eyes again. The band was playing, those warm fingers were in his again...
It was like breathing. Like coming home.
The poison slid from his palm and into the planter. Their arms came around each other. The band played, and they drifted together.
Jack trembled. Gray squeezed his hand, curled an arm tight around his shoulder, and pressed his cheek to his.
By the time the song was over, and Gray's mouth was on his again, the two women from earlier in the night were watching them. The Japanese codebreaker who told him he couldn't save the captain was smirking knowingly.
And Jack was no longer trembling.
* * * * *
- Sunday, 21 January 1941 -
Gray couldn't breathe. Neither could the three Time Agents that had come to drug him, but that was only because they were dead.
Word had already reached him. Something went sideways during training exercises—the Agency's doing. Covering up Gray's mistake.
“You were given an assignment, Agent Thane.”
“And I didn't do it. Just—he's a good man. He didn't have to die.”
“He did, and he's going to. Just like all the others.”
“The others?...what others? What do you mean?”
“We do this every time—hold him down, girls.”
“It's those two years, isn't it? You do this when I won't kill someone?! How many people does two years consist of? Let go of me—no! NO!”
“I said hold him—damn it! Get the syringe, I'm not mixing another batch of the intravenous Retcon just for--”
He snapped their necks. All of them—they would have killed him or worse, wiped his memory. Of Jack, of those girls from the dance...they'd already taken so many from him.
He didn't want to kill Jack. He didn't want to kill the agents, especially not the women, but it was just like the invaders all over again. Death was the easy part, death was the mercy—it was living that was hell.
When the switch flipped, killing was like breathing.
Gray shut his eyes, then opened them and stumbled over to the mirror in his room. He stared at his reflection, hard as he could, stared into his own eyes.
They had the same eyes. They were the one thing he couldn't forget. The one thing he kept, the one thing no one could take away from him. Not torture, not death, and not the fucking Agency.
...Javic.
“Javic Piotr Thane.”
He wrapped his mouth around it carefully, let it cut his tongue and swallowed the blood.
The brother who cared. The brother who tried to save him, his hand pulled, wrenched from Gray's grasp.
Out there, somewhere. Looking for him, waiting to be found by him.
Jack. Javic.
Two men that looked out for him. Two people that cared...where no one else did.
Lifting his arm, Gray tugged back his sleeve and flipped open his vortex manipulator. Changing records wouldn't be hard in this archaic period, and he still had the Chula ship full of those stupid nanogenes...
Gray would vanish. Captain Jack Harkness would live.
And he would find a way to make sure that everyone, Time Agency or not, paid for the death of one good man.
“Hey, you doing okay, buddy?”
Gray looked up, startled by the appearance of the man in front of him. He'd been well briefed—time, place, best method—and that was in two days. He was goddamn lucky all he'd done was break a finger dodging that stupid jeep that tried to run him down...
He'd crossed paths with him early, and he was the most beautiful man Gray had ever seen.
“Yeah. Nothin' to worry about here.” he assured him with his best friendly smile, gesturing with his badly bruised hand. “Just waiting for the medic to splint this.”
“Hell's bells—how'd you do that?”
“Some cockamamie private tried to run me over, if you can believe that.”
“You're puttin' me on.”
“Took a nosedive to avoid death by stupidity, landed wrong on my meathook.”
“Well, then, I'll shake your good hand while you wait for the doc.”
“Oh, I'm--”
“Hey, if you glare any harder at the nurses, you're gonna scorch their hair.” the other man laughed. “I'm supposed to be sitting down anyway. Messed my back up a bit bailing over Kent.”
“...okay, then. Captain Peter Harper.”
“Captain Jack Harkness—always nice to meet another American.”
- Friday, 19 January 1941 -
“So you're heading back out?”
“Day after tomorrow—just a training exercise. Nothing to worry about.”
Gray nodded, the blaster in his holster burning through leather and skin. Even the poison capsule he'd changed it out for scalded him every time he put his hand in his pocket. A whole afternoon in the sick bay, getting his finger set and keeping Jack company while he was put through his paces for medical clearance...
They'd talked a lot. Too much—the hit had to happen tomorrow.
“I thought about what you said yesterday.” Jack interjected. The fear, the bleak resignation talk of battle brought was gone. There was something else in his eyes, just as fearful...but bright, gleaming like firelight on a pool of blood, warm and beautiful.
“Yeah? Which part, the hare brained mess they call football over here? Or the food poisoning waiting in the mess tonight?” Gray quipped.
Jack laughed at that, blue eyes sparkling. He couldn't let himself look too far, too deep. It made him feel like he was falling.
“What you said about that girl I've been spending time with, Nancy.” Jack finally explained.
“Yeah? Gonna see her at that dance tomorrow?”
“Well...you said it, right? Live every moment like your last? So...I figure...”
Gray's fingers burned. He looked down, and found Jack's hand in his.
“...make the most of now.”
His hand was warm with the blood in his veins that had to spill as their fingers slotted together. His pupils were dilating—the ones that would grow milky and opaque when the body turned cold. He was drawing close, and his breath was so warm and sweet, feathering across Gray's face...
Gray jerked his hand out of Jack's, grabbed his jaw with his good hand, and kissed him. Branded him with lips and tongue, branded himself with the way Jack trembled and sank into him, shaking like a leaf as they kissed behind a dirty pub in the middle of the night and Gray trembled with the enormity of touching something so good and honest and pure that he had no right to sully.
The light he was about to snuff out.
He kissed him, and kept kissing him until Jack all but jumped away, hearing the footfall of a corporal around the corner long before Gray did—before Gray should have.
- Saturday, 20 January 1941 -
“You can't save him, you know.”
“Save who?”
“The pretty captain with the blue eyes. You can't save him.”
“...I'm done helping you broads. Come near me again and I'll kill you both.”
That was two hours ago. Gray stood in front of a potted plant in one corner, the poison capsule in his hand. He stared at it, glittering golden amber—easy to dissolve in a snifter of brandy. It would be painless. He wouldn't suffer.
It didn't have to hurt.
The hand on his shoulder should have startled him. It didn't.
Turning, Gray found himself face to face with Jack, that bright and hopeful fear in his eyes again. The band was playing, those warm fingers were in his again...
It was like breathing. Like coming home.
The poison slid from his palm and into the planter. Their arms came around each other. The band played, and they drifted together.
Jack trembled. Gray squeezed his hand, curled an arm tight around his shoulder, and pressed his cheek to his.
By the time the song was over, and Gray's mouth was on his again, the two women from earlier in the night were watching them. The Japanese codebreaker who told him he couldn't save the captain was smirking knowingly.
And Jack was no longer trembling.
- Sunday, 21 January 1941 -
Gray couldn't breathe. Neither could the three Time Agents that had come to drug him, but that was only because they were dead.
Word had already reached him. Something went sideways during training exercises—the Agency's doing. Covering up Gray's mistake.
“You were given an assignment, Agent Thane.”
“And I didn't do it. Just—he's a good man. He didn't have to die.”
“He did, and he's going to. Just like all the others.”
“The others?...what others? What do you mean?”
“We do this every time—hold him down, girls.”
“It's those two years, isn't it? You do this when I won't kill someone?! How many people does two years consist of? Let go of me—no! NO!”
“I said hold him—damn it! Get the syringe, I'm not mixing another batch of the intravenous Retcon just for--”
He snapped their necks. All of them—they would have killed him or worse, wiped his memory. Of Jack, of those girls from the dance...they'd already taken so many from him.
He didn't want to kill Jack. He didn't want to kill the agents, especially not the women, but it was just like the invaders all over again. Death was the easy part, death was the mercy—it was living that was hell.
When the switch flipped, killing was like breathing.
Gray shut his eyes, then opened them and stumbled over to the mirror in his room. He stared at his reflection, hard as he could, stared into his own eyes.
They had the same eyes. They were the one thing he couldn't forget. The one thing he kept, the one thing no one could take away from him. Not torture, not death, and not the fucking Agency.
...Javic.
“Javic Piotr Thane.”
He wrapped his mouth around it carefully, let it cut his tongue and swallowed the blood.
The brother who cared. The brother who tried to save him, his hand pulled, wrenched from Gray's grasp.
Out there, somewhere. Looking for him, waiting to be found by him.
Jack. Javic.
Two men that looked out for him. Two people that cared...where no one else did.
Lifting his arm, Gray tugged back his sleeve and flipped open his vortex manipulator. Changing records wouldn't be hard in this archaic period, and he still had the Chula ship full of those stupid nanogenes...
Gray would vanish. Captain Jack Harkness would live.
And he would find a way to make sure that everyone, Time Agency or not, paid for the death of one good man.
[THE TORCHWOOD FILES] Gwen Cooper
May. 1st, 2023 11:15 am-Fall, 2005-
When the hand slammed against the glass of the SUV window, and Jack saw who was on the other side, he was fit to kill.
Literally today.
He didn't bother to wait for her to back away. He opened the door, stalked forward, and kept going until his stalker was pressed against a tree on the side of the road.
"I don't have time for this." Jack snapped, a hand wrapping around his stalker's throat. "Look, I don't care what your problem is, I want you out of this city by sunrise. There is no place for you here. Go back to London, find yourself another life. Keep stalking me?"
He gave a squeeze.
"I'll snap your neck."
"Funny, that--you threatening to snap my neck when you're not even choking me."
Jack narrowed his eyes, dropping his hand and stepping back before he did something stupid.
"I'm getting back behind the wheel of that car." he warned flatly. "If you're still standing in the road, I'll run you the hell over."
Turning on his heel, Jack stalked back to his parked SUV.
"...so you're not gonna help me catch this pterodactyl then?"
Jack stopped dead in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow at the cocksure brunette in the suit and blouse with low heeled boots, flashing a sly gap-toothed grin at him.
"...okay, Cooper, Gwen Cooper. You've got my attention."
* * * * *
"How the hell have you been tracking her?" Jack asked, opening the back hatch of the SUV.
"Rift activity locator--Torchwood London. Quality kit, unlike...what the bugger is that?"
"Tranquilizer. Why?"
"Have you not got something more humane?"
Jack scowled down at Gwen. "It's plenty humane. I don't exactly keep dinosaur nets in the back of the SUV."
"We did at Torchwood London."
"Yeah, well...that crowbar you used to club the Weevil three months ago didn't look very humane."
"I was out of the bloody spray, don't judge me, you prat."
"Who are you calling a prat?"
"Oh, come on! You look about twelve."
Jack spun around to face her, hypodermic in hand. They stood nose to nose, angry tension crackling between them that sent sparks rippling across Jack's skin.
"She's been holed up in that bloody warehouse a week." Gwen spat softly. "She won't leave, and I already had to pull out a bloody complicated cover story for the three workers she's sent to the bloody hospital--"
"She?"
"Yes, she. Hunting animals, only attacking those who invade her space? Behavior's clear as day, I'm fair certain she's nesting. Hence why I don't think the tranquilizer's a bright idea if she's a fledgling in there."
A baby pterodactyl. Just what he needed--and yet Jack felt a lance of something hot, angry, but not violent. It wasn't a feeling he was used to...wasn't even sure it was a feeling he could name.
"What makes you think I care?" he asked, just as quietly.
"You haven't killed me after three months of staking out your headquarters, yer starin' down my blouse, and you've dropped the syringe."
Jack blinked...then shook himself and lifted his gaze from the low neckline of her blouse to realize he had, in fact, tossed the tranquilizer aside.
"Okay, fine. What do yo suggest we do?" Jack snarled.
Smirking, Gwen reached into the pocket of her blazer and withdrew a candy bar.
"Chocolate. Preferably dark...follow me."
* * * * *
"I don't believe this."
"Neither do I. She's been fair excitable thus far!"
"I'm...petting a pterodactyl."
"She likes you."
"Predators usually do--recognize their own, I guess."
"Hmm...maybe yer aftershave?"
Jack glanced over at Gwen with a raised eyebrow, continuing to feed the massive creature bits of chocolate as Gwen prowled around the warehouse, looking for the nest.
"Never wear any." he replied.
She looked up from behind a stack of crates, wide-eyed. "You smell like that naturally?"
Jack snickered, shaking his head. "Fifty first century pheromones...you people have no idea."
Myfanwy (the name Gwen had given the damn thing, she named a goddamn pterodactyl) chose that moment to prod at Jack with her beak, looking for another piece of chocolate. Laughing, he broke off a piece, handed it to her--
--and was thrown back as she took it in her beak and took flight again.
"On the move!" he barked to Gwen, who was immediately at her side. "Keep your eyes peeled."
"On it--see? This is why you need me, I take orders well!"
"I told you, we're not hiring. Especially not anyone from Torchwood London!"
"What about dry cleaning? I could fetch your dry cleaning--tend that lovely vintage bomber jacket, don't think I haven't seen the stains on that leather, you monster."
"It's been a busy week--shut up, she's landed."
Spotting Myfanwy in the upper level of the warehouse, Gwen followed Jack as they headed for the stairs.
* * * * *
"Oh, my God! I...how?!"
Jack watched in morbid fascination as the pterodactyl tried to feed the piece of chocolate to the saber tooth tiger cub in the nest she'd crafted out of boxes, tree branches, and other detritus.
"Rift spike couple of days ago." Jack surmised. "My guess? She was nesting back home. Found this little critter and instinct took over. Said it yourself, she's been hunting?"
"Sheep disappearing all over."
"There you go. Been trying to share with the small fry." Jack replied, venturing closer to the pair. Myfanwy lifted her head sharply and squawked at him with a ferocious beat of her wings.
"Easy, easy...just wanna have a look at the little one." he soothed, holding up his hands and clearing his mind. Animals were a little easier to work with, sometimes, if he concentrated...
"Please tell me you're not going to kill them." Gwen hissed.
"That's you lot. Not me." Jack growled at Gwen over his shoulder, turning back to the little adopted family. He regarded them for a long moment, then sighed.
"There's plenty of room at the Hub for Myfanwy to nest." he assured her, reaching out to lay a hand on the cub's head while Myfanwy watched him closely.
"And Hywel?"
"Hywel?"
"Lookit the little lad curling up with her! He loves her, he does."
"How do you--oops, nope, definitely a boy." Jack chuckled. Carefully, he tipped the cub's head up to look at him. Eyes open, but those fangs were still tiny. Little fella didn't have enough teeth to properly handle the meat Myfanwy was providing. Still needed to be nursing...
Jack glanced back, narrowed his eyes at Gwen, then nodded before rising from the crouch he'd sunk into. "I'll have to tranq Myfanwy to get her to the Hub, but I think the cub can ride in the SUV awake. Go get the hypodermic."
Gwen stilled, raising an eyebrow. "Does that mean I'm in?"
"Speed it up before I change my mind."
Gwen grinned, all gap teeth and feral joy before she started marching towards the stairs.
"...love the suit, by the way."
Jack had to smile as she deliberately added a swing to her step as she started down, drawing his gaze to that perfect little ass...yeah, he was definitely aware of this one.
Whether he'd end up liking or hating her enough to fuck her? That remained to be seen...
When the hand slammed against the glass of the SUV window, and Jack saw who was on the other side, he was fit to kill.
Literally today.
He didn't bother to wait for her to back away. He opened the door, stalked forward, and kept going until his stalker was pressed against a tree on the side of the road.
"I don't have time for this." Jack snapped, a hand wrapping around his stalker's throat. "Look, I don't care what your problem is, I want you out of this city by sunrise. There is no place for you here. Go back to London, find yourself another life. Keep stalking me?"
He gave a squeeze.
"I'll snap your neck."
"Funny, that--you threatening to snap my neck when you're not even choking me."
Jack narrowed his eyes, dropping his hand and stepping back before he did something stupid.
"I'm getting back behind the wheel of that car." he warned flatly. "If you're still standing in the road, I'll run you the hell over."
Turning on his heel, Jack stalked back to his parked SUV.
"...so you're not gonna help me catch this pterodactyl then?"
Jack stopped dead in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow at the cocksure brunette in the suit and blouse with low heeled boots, flashing a sly gap-toothed grin at him.
"...okay, Cooper, Gwen Cooper. You've got my attention."
"How the hell have you been tracking her?" Jack asked, opening the back hatch of the SUV.
"Rift activity locator--Torchwood London. Quality kit, unlike...what the bugger is that?"
"Tranquilizer. Why?"
"Have you not got something more humane?"
Jack scowled down at Gwen. "It's plenty humane. I don't exactly keep dinosaur nets in the back of the SUV."
"We did at Torchwood London."
"Yeah, well...that crowbar you used to club the Weevil three months ago didn't look very humane."
"I was out of the bloody spray, don't judge me, you prat."
"Who are you calling a prat?"
"Oh, come on! You look about twelve."
Jack spun around to face her, hypodermic in hand. They stood nose to nose, angry tension crackling between them that sent sparks rippling across Jack's skin.
"She's been holed up in that bloody warehouse a week." Gwen spat softly. "She won't leave, and I already had to pull out a bloody complicated cover story for the three workers she's sent to the bloody hospital--"
"She?"
"Yes, she. Hunting animals, only attacking those who invade her space? Behavior's clear as day, I'm fair certain she's nesting. Hence why I don't think the tranquilizer's a bright idea if she's a fledgling in there."
A baby pterodactyl. Just what he needed--and yet Jack felt a lance of something hot, angry, but not violent. It wasn't a feeling he was used to...wasn't even sure it was a feeling he could name.
"What makes you think I care?" he asked, just as quietly.
"You haven't killed me after three months of staking out your headquarters, yer starin' down my blouse, and you've dropped the syringe."
Jack blinked...then shook himself and lifted his gaze from the low neckline of her blouse to realize he had, in fact, tossed the tranquilizer aside.
"Okay, fine. What do yo suggest we do?" Jack snarled.
Smirking, Gwen reached into the pocket of her blazer and withdrew a candy bar.
"Chocolate. Preferably dark...follow me."
"I don't believe this."
"Neither do I. She's been fair excitable thus far!"
"I'm...petting a pterodactyl."
"She likes you."
"Predators usually do--recognize their own, I guess."
"Hmm...maybe yer aftershave?"
Jack glanced over at Gwen with a raised eyebrow, continuing to feed the massive creature bits of chocolate as Gwen prowled around the warehouse, looking for the nest.
"Never wear any." he replied.
She looked up from behind a stack of crates, wide-eyed. "You smell like that naturally?"
Jack snickered, shaking his head. "Fifty first century pheromones...you people have no idea."
Myfanwy (the name Gwen had given the damn thing, she named a goddamn pterodactyl) chose that moment to prod at Jack with her beak, looking for another piece of chocolate. Laughing, he broke off a piece, handed it to her--
--and was thrown back as she took it in her beak and took flight again.
"On the move!" he barked to Gwen, who was immediately at her side. "Keep your eyes peeled."
"On it--see? This is why you need me, I take orders well!"
"I told you, we're not hiring. Especially not anyone from Torchwood London!"
"What about dry cleaning? I could fetch your dry cleaning--tend that lovely vintage bomber jacket, don't think I haven't seen the stains on that leather, you monster."
"It's been a busy week--shut up, she's landed."
Spotting Myfanwy in the upper level of the warehouse, Gwen followed Jack as they headed for the stairs.
"Oh, my God! I...how?!"
Jack watched in morbid fascination as the pterodactyl tried to feed the piece of chocolate to the saber tooth tiger cub in the nest she'd crafted out of boxes, tree branches, and other detritus.
"Rift spike couple of days ago." Jack surmised. "My guess? She was nesting back home. Found this little critter and instinct took over. Said it yourself, she's been hunting?"
"Sheep disappearing all over."
"There you go. Been trying to share with the small fry." Jack replied, venturing closer to the pair. Myfanwy lifted her head sharply and squawked at him with a ferocious beat of her wings.
"Easy, easy...just wanna have a look at the little one." he soothed, holding up his hands and clearing his mind. Animals were a little easier to work with, sometimes, if he concentrated...
"Please tell me you're not going to kill them." Gwen hissed.
"That's you lot. Not me." Jack growled at Gwen over his shoulder, turning back to the little adopted family. He regarded them for a long moment, then sighed.
"There's plenty of room at the Hub for Myfanwy to nest." he assured her, reaching out to lay a hand on the cub's head while Myfanwy watched him closely.
"And Hywel?"
"Hywel?"
"Lookit the little lad curling up with her! He loves her, he does."
"How do you--oops, nope, definitely a boy." Jack chuckled. Carefully, he tipped the cub's head up to look at him. Eyes open, but those fangs were still tiny. Little fella didn't have enough teeth to properly handle the meat Myfanwy was providing. Still needed to be nursing...
Jack glanced back, narrowed his eyes at Gwen, then nodded before rising from the crouch he'd sunk into. "I'll have to tranq Myfanwy to get her to the Hub, but I think the cub can ride in the SUV awake. Go get the hypodermic."
Gwen stilled, raising an eyebrow. "Does that mean I'm in?"
"Speed it up before I change my mind."
Gwen grinned, all gap teeth and feral joy before she started marching towards the stairs.
"...love the suit, by the way."
Jack had to smile as she deliberately added a swing to her step as she started down, drawing his gaze to that perfect little ass...yeah, he was definitely aware of this one.
Whether he'd end up liking or hating her enough to fuck her? That remained to be seen...
[THE TORCHWOOD FILES] Owen Harper
Apr. 17th, 2023 10:46 am- 2002-
"Open it."
"Sir, I don't--"
"I said open it."
The intercom system crackled, but a moment later the bolt on the cell door clanged open and the door swung free. The shadows were blinding for a moment, but as his eyes adjusted, Jack caught sight of the slender figure huddled inside, back to one corner and squinting into the light. He could make out the screaming orange-red of the jump suit, pale skin smudged with dirt...
And from inside the cell, one Owen Harper could only see the striking silhouette of what looked, to his sensory deprived mind, like a WWII fighter pilot in boots and bomber jacket...
* * * * *
-2000-
"Blimey, don't you sleep?"
"No rest for the wicked, yeah?"
"S'pose...good night, Dr. Lee!"
"'Night, Lindsey."
Owen stared at the tissue sample in front of him, not really seeing it even with his glasses on. He waited for the click of the lab door, then counted to one hundred to be sure.
"...ninety eight...ninety nine...one hundred."
Owen removed the tissue sample from his microscope and got to work.
* * * * *
"Name?"
"Harper Lee."
"...you're not on the list, I'm gonna--"
When the guard turned, Owen pulled out the syringe in his pocket and jammed it into the guard's neck, depressing the plunger.
The guard went down like a lead weight.
Owen moved quickly.
He'd memorized the layout carefully, taking pains to time his movements with security cameras. Truthfully, he didn't care if he was caught--not until he delivered the treatment. After that, he'd happily let them cart him away. His life, his career? He didn't give a damn anymore.
When he reached the wing where she was being held, Owen withdrew the second syringe in his pocket, staring at it for a moment as he considered what he was about to do.
...no. No, Owen Harper no longer gave a rat's arse.
He didn't give a damn about anyone but Katie.
* * * * *
-2002-
"Why Harper Lee?"
Owen reached out hesitantly for the pair of folded glasses on the table, neatly resting beside the gently steaming cup of tea set before him. He checked to make sure they were clean, then delicately rested them on his face to get a better look at the man across from him.
He was every bit the man out of time. With the leather jacket on the back of his chair, he was something out of the Forties with his waistcoat and watch chain, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a thick shock of wavy hair, frizzing into curls thanks to the damp of the massive penitentiary exercise pen, hawkish features, and bright blue eyes that looked right through him.
Something about those eyes...it was like something inside had disconnected, and Owen couldn't put his finger on what wire had come loose.
"Did it work?"
The American--the accent fit--smiled at that. It never came close to reaching his eyes.
"They say you haven't spoken a single other word since you got here. Impressive."
"Did it work?" Owen asked again, lowering his gaze to the steaming teacup again.
"...shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
He looked up, startled. The American shrugged.
"To Kill A Mockingbird, right?" he asked, shrugging as he sat there in his overly casual sprawl, one arm hooked over the back of his seat. "I've never forgotten that quote, can't quite say why...maybe it's because I never understood it."
"Did it work?"
"I mean, the book explains, but it never...resonated. Maybe it's just me, but I still don't really get it. Which is why I don't get the reason you used that alias to infiltrate a UNIT medical facility. Why Harper Lee?"
He said nothing for a long moment, then he reached out, hesitated, and finally pulled the cup towards him.
"...Katie."
"I'm sorry?"
"Katie." Owen repeated in barely a whisper, sipping the tea. It takes normal--good, strong black tea. "She was the mockingbird."
The American was watching him when Owen glanced up from his tea. It was strange, but as he sat there, ice chips in his face, a blank expression that was...a bit frightening--something flipped, and Owen saw the wires connect inside.
"The serum worked."
Owen couldn't breathe. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not. It worked--but I had to wipe her memory. Just a pill, she's fine. Doesn't remember you, though."
There was a flare of anger, but it died quickly. He had, after all, ended the engagement. It was the only way she'd go to Cambridge to participate in the clinical trial, the only way to save her life...
"You're mad, but you're not punching me. That's interesting."
Owen shook his head. "She's better off. She's alive--so you say--it's more important than--than me bein' with her."
"...so it wasn't about the serum. It was about her. That's interesting."
"Who are you?"
"Nobody. I don't exist. I'm Harvey the Rabbit, I'm Jack the Ripper--which is possibly quite literal."
"What?"
The American stood up, circling around the table to sit on the edge in front of Owen.
"The fact is, Dr. Harper, you infiltrated a top secret UNIT bioengineering lab, stole classified compounds, and then violated God knows how many ethical codes by unblinding a clinical trial for dementia treatment, then introducing an unknown, untested serum that could have killed your ex-fiancee, and has rendered the entire study completely useless. Frankly? You're lucky UNIT took your case and is only going to hold you here permanently, without trial."
It was one thing to know, another...to hear it, laid out so flatly, and with that look on the American's face. Everything together, connected, and downright gleeful.
It was bloody terrifying.
"...you're afraid, but you're okay with it. That's--"
"Interesting, I know." Owen huffed, rolling his eyes.
"...well, yeah, but that's also upsetting."
"I'm sorry?"
"See, here's the thing, Owen--that serum you used? It worked, but not for the reason you think...ever heard of 'molecular readjustment?'"
"No."
"Well, you grasp the concept pretty goddamn well--the formula you were working with is a dud."
Owen's breath caught. "What? But--but then--"
"Owen, listen. The formula didn't work, that's why it was locked up in a UNIT lab gathering dust. I don't know how you found out about it, but that took a lot of balls and a lot of persistence. What's more, the science behind it is light years ahead of anything this planet can handle yet. It's based on biological reactions in an alien race from another planet. The genetics are out there, but you? You took one look at it, understood what the formula was trying to do, and modified it to alter Katie's brain chemistry...Owen, it wasn't dementia. She had a parasite in her brain, and you not only evacuated it before it could kill her, you created a biological reaction that repaired the damaged neural pathways."
The American leaned in, smirking.
"What I'm trying to say is...awww, baby, you're good." he laughed. "Imagine what you'd be like if you actually understood a thing or two about alien physiology?..."
"There's no such thing as aliens." Owen gasped, his chest tightening. He felt breathless, out of control...
...pressure. His hands were bound--no, held. The American, gripping both his hands tight. Owen focused on the feeling, the almost painful grind of bone and skin until his racing heart calmed.
"Do you want to save other people like Katie?" The American asked. "Do you want to learn more about exactly what you can do? Owen...do you want to be free?"
Owen swallowed hard...but he finally nodded.
"Then listen to me--I didn't know what your answer would be, so I drugged that tea with the same pill I gave Katie. It's going to wipe your memory, but I'll come back for you. You've been here two years, never stopping, never giving up on hoping Katie would survive...give me one week more. I'll wipe your record, I'll get you out of here--I'll make you the same offer again, and I won't drug you this time."
"What if I say no?"
"I'll make sure you don't."
* * * * *
-One Week Later-
"Prisoner Harper--prepare for inspection."
"...what for?"
"Rise and prepare for inspection."
Owen rubbed his eyes, yawned, and sat up with a brisk shake of his head. As he did, an envelope slid off his chest and to the floor of his cell. Frowning, he picked it up, hesitant, and opened it.
A pair of glasses--Owen's glasses--slid out, along with two sheets of paper. One was a photo of Katie (Katie, alive and breathing and laughing), and the other was a very short, very simple note.
Taking the one man who's done you and this town a great service, an' draggin' him with his shy ways into the limelight--to me, that's a sin. It's a sin, and I'm not about to have it on my head.
Right at that moment, the bolt on his cell door slid open. Sliding on his glasses hastily, Owen's heart raced as he squinted against the sudden light filling the room through the doorway...but could only see the striking silhouette of what looked, to his sensory deprived mind, like a WWII fighter pilot in boots and bomber jacket...
"Open it."
"Sir, I don't--"
"I said open it."
The intercom system crackled, but a moment later the bolt on the cell door clanged open and the door swung free. The shadows were blinding for a moment, but as his eyes adjusted, Jack caught sight of the slender figure huddled inside, back to one corner and squinting into the light. He could make out the screaming orange-red of the jump suit, pale skin smudged with dirt...
And from inside the cell, one Owen Harper could only see the striking silhouette of what looked, to his sensory deprived mind, like a WWII fighter pilot in boots and bomber jacket...
-2000-
"Blimey, don't you sleep?"
"No rest for the wicked, yeah?"
"S'pose...good night, Dr. Lee!"
"'Night, Lindsey."
Owen stared at the tissue sample in front of him, not really seeing it even with his glasses on. He waited for the click of the lab door, then counted to one hundred to be sure.
"...ninety eight...ninety nine...one hundred."
Owen removed the tissue sample from his microscope and got to work.
"Name?"
"Harper Lee."
"...you're not on the list, I'm gonna--"
When the guard turned, Owen pulled out the syringe in his pocket and jammed it into the guard's neck, depressing the plunger.
The guard went down like a lead weight.
Owen moved quickly.
He'd memorized the layout carefully, taking pains to time his movements with security cameras. Truthfully, he didn't care if he was caught--not until he delivered the treatment. After that, he'd happily let them cart him away. His life, his career? He didn't give a damn anymore.
When he reached the wing where she was being held, Owen withdrew the second syringe in his pocket, staring at it for a moment as he considered what he was about to do.
...no. No, Owen Harper no longer gave a rat's arse.
He didn't give a damn about anyone but Katie.
-2002-
"Why Harper Lee?"
Owen reached out hesitantly for the pair of folded glasses on the table, neatly resting beside the gently steaming cup of tea set before him. He checked to make sure they were clean, then delicately rested them on his face to get a better look at the man across from him.
He was every bit the man out of time. With the leather jacket on the back of his chair, he was something out of the Forties with his waistcoat and watch chain, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a thick shock of wavy hair, frizzing into curls thanks to the damp of the massive penitentiary exercise pen, hawkish features, and bright blue eyes that looked right through him.
Something about those eyes...it was like something inside had disconnected, and Owen couldn't put his finger on what wire had come loose.
"Did it work?"
The American--the accent fit--smiled at that. It never came close to reaching his eyes.
"They say you haven't spoken a single other word since you got here. Impressive."
"Did it work?" Owen asked again, lowering his gaze to the steaming teacup again.
"...shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
He looked up, startled. The American shrugged.
"To Kill A Mockingbird, right?" he asked, shrugging as he sat there in his overly casual sprawl, one arm hooked over the back of his seat. "I've never forgotten that quote, can't quite say why...maybe it's because I never understood it."
"Did it work?"
"I mean, the book explains, but it never...resonated. Maybe it's just me, but I still don't really get it. Which is why I don't get the reason you used that alias to infiltrate a UNIT medical facility. Why Harper Lee?"
He said nothing for a long moment, then he reached out, hesitated, and finally pulled the cup towards him.
"...Katie."
"I'm sorry?"
"Katie." Owen repeated in barely a whisper, sipping the tea. It takes normal--good, strong black tea. "She was the mockingbird."
The American was watching him when Owen glanced up from his tea. It was strange, but as he sat there, ice chips in his face, a blank expression that was...a bit frightening--something flipped, and Owen saw the wires connect inside.
"The serum worked."
Owen couldn't breathe. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not. It worked--but I had to wipe her memory. Just a pill, she's fine. Doesn't remember you, though."
There was a flare of anger, but it died quickly. He had, after all, ended the engagement. It was the only way she'd go to Cambridge to participate in the clinical trial, the only way to save her life...
"You're mad, but you're not punching me. That's interesting."
Owen shook his head. "She's better off. She's alive--so you say--it's more important than--than me bein' with her."
"...so it wasn't about the serum. It was about her. That's interesting."
"Who are you?"
"Nobody. I don't exist. I'm Harvey the Rabbit, I'm Jack the Ripper--which is possibly quite literal."
"What?"
The American stood up, circling around the table to sit on the edge in front of Owen.
"The fact is, Dr. Harper, you infiltrated a top secret UNIT bioengineering lab, stole classified compounds, and then violated God knows how many ethical codes by unblinding a clinical trial for dementia treatment, then introducing an unknown, untested serum that could have killed your ex-fiancee, and has rendered the entire study completely useless. Frankly? You're lucky UNIT took your case and is only going to hold you here permanently, without trial."
It was one thing to know, another...to hear it, laid out so flatly, and with that look on the American's face. Everything together, connected, and downright gleeful.
It was bloody terrifying.
"...you're afraid, but you're okay with it. That's--"
"Interesting, I know." Owen huffed, rolling his eyes.
"...well, yeah, but that's also upsetting."
"I'm sorry?"
"See, here's the thing, Owen--that serum you used? It worked, but not for the reason you think...ever heard of 'molecular readjustment?'"
"No."
"Well, you grasp the concept pretty goddamn well--the formula you were working with is a dud."
Owen's breath caught. "What? But--but then--"
"Owen, listen. The formula didn't work, that's why it was locked up in a UNIT lab gathering dust. I don't know how you found out about it, but that took a lot of balls and a lot of persistence. What's more, the science behind it is light years ahead of anything this planet can handle yet. It's based on biological reactions in an alien race from another planet. The genetics are out there, but you? You took one look at it, understood what the formula was trying to do, and modified it to alter Katie's brain chemistry...Owen, it wasn't dementia. She had a parasite in her brain, and you not only evacuated it before it could kill her, you created a biological reaction that repaired the damaged neural pathways."
The American leaned in, smirking.
"What I'm trying to say is...awww, baby, you're good." he laughed. "Imagine what you'd be like if you actually understood a thing or two about alien physiology?..."
"There's no such thing as aliens." Owen gasped, his chest tightening. He felt breathless, out of control...
...pressure. His hands were bound--no, held. The American, gripping both his hands tight. Owen focused on the feeling, the almost painful grind of bone and skin until his racing heart calmed.
"Do you want to save other people like Katie?" The American asked. "Do you want to learn more about exactly what you can do? Owen...do you want to be free?"
Owen swallowed hard...but he finally nodded.
"Then listen to me--I didn't know what your answer would be, so I drugged that tea with the same pill I gave Katie. It's going to wipe your memory, but I'll come back for you. You've been here two years, never stopping, never giving up on hoping Katie would survive...give me one week more. I'll wipe your record, I'll get you out of here--I'll make you the same offer again, and I won't drug you this time."
"What if I say no?"
"I'll make sure you don't."
-One Week Later-
"Prisoner Harper--prepare for inspection."
"...what for?"
"Rise and prepare for inspection."
Owen rubbed his eyes, yawned, and sat up with a brisk shake of his head. As he did, an envelope slid off his chest and to the floor of his cell. Frowning, he picked it up, hesitant, and opened it.
A pair of glasses--Owen's glasses--slid out, along with two sheets of paper. One was a photo of Katie (Katie, alive and breathing and laughing), and the other was a very short, very simple note.
Taking the one man who's done you and this town a great service, an' draggin' him with his shy ways into the limelight--to me, that's a sin. It's a sin, and I'm not about to have it on my head.
Right at that moment, the bolt on his cell door slid open. Sliding on his glasses hastily, Owen's heart raced as he squinted against the sudden light filling the room through the doorway...but could only see the striking silhouette of what looked, to his sensory deprived mind, like a WWII fighter pilot in boots and bomber jacket...
Victorian Era
...dragged back into the dark across broken glass, pulled forced no please--
With a ragged breath, Jack came to, staring up at two women who regarded him with--anger? Confusion? What had he done, who had he hurt?
Weight on his chest, hard to breathe, crushed under the bodies notagainnoplease...
"Why did you do that?"
Jack blinked, shaking his head to clear it. Pressure--no, not pressure. A hand on his chest, firm but not crushing. Too much, too soon, head spinning death, death--died. He died again.
...the women. That blowfish, he had a pistol leveled at the pair of them.
Why did you do that?
"He was--he was gonna kill you both." Jack rasped, shifting to sit up and wincing. Bullet wounds...eh, could be worse.
The blonde helped him until he was upright, watching him warily. "You didn't strike us as the...sympathetic type."
"I'm not." Jack replied, getting to his knees and ignoring the help the blonde woman tried to offer him. "I could give a rat's ass about you or anyone else in this era. I'm only here because my vortex manipulator got fried."
"Vortex manip--how--"
"Oh, don't play dumb, Torchwood." Jack replied flatly, narrowing his eyes. "I was a Time Agent, you think I don't know about your organization and all that 'phantasmagoria' garbage? Trust me, I've killed more of you than I can count, and probably a few I don't remember."
The blonde shared a look with her scowling brunette friend...girlfriend, maybe?...God, coming back from the dead fucking sucked...
"Perhaps, Mr. Harkness--"
"Captain."
"--Captain Harkness...perhaps we should talk."
"If you have a fresh shirt I can borrow, then fine. Uh...the blowfish--here, I got it..."
* * * * *
Everything was fuzzy around the edges. Not soft and hazy, but blurry and painful. He couldn't focus on anything, and he couldn't stop trying to focus. There was something important, something he'd forgotten, something...if he could just relax he could get it back, but he couldn't make himself stop...
"Captain Harkness? Can you hear me?"
...everything hurt. Why did everything hurt? Why couldn't he focus?
"Easy, pet--easy, we're not going to harm you. Come on, then, that's the way..."
Things got dark. When they brightened again, things were a little less blurry. Something cool touched his lips, his hands, his neck and his chest--he had a body. He could feel it again, and hells was he sore.
"--just have to nod if you can hear me. Can you do that?"
Shapes, gold and shadow. He managed to move his head.
"Excellent, just lie back now."
Something else came into focus--something he couldn't see, something that hurt. That little girl and her fucking cards...
"He's not coming."
"So you said, love. Rest now."
He shut his eyes, and he finally managed to let his mind go dark.
* * * * *
"How long?"
"...four days."
Jack stared at the photos, something cold and hollow and...alien sitting in his chest.
"And you really don't know which of these was me?" he asked, glancing up at the blonde he now knew was Emily Holroyd.
"No--we lost track of you after you left that tavern. I'm sorry, Jack."
He stared at the four photos--brutal murders, all of them. Two men, one woman, and an alien Jack had never seen before--no mouth. Interesting, how did such a species ingest nutritional compounds? How did they communicate?...
How did they scream as they died?
He picked up the photo of the woman--Mary Jane Kelly. He knew the name, now that he was coming down from the blackout. Murdered so brutally they thought the Ripper did it...
All because the Doctor wasn't coming. Not for a hundred bloody years...
"The last time I blacked out like that, they wiped my memory." he admitted, tossing the gruesome photo down. "The Agency, they...they covered it up and they wiped it out so I'd be okay to keep killing. Seven weeks, just...gone."
"Given the presence of the alien death, we can't turn you over to the authorities...but we can't let this stand." Emily pointed out.
"No--listen, don't worry about it." he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "You--you didn't have to help me. You cleaned me up, you helped me...come down--I'll help you with the alien. Trust me, I'm good at covering my tracks."
"Well, then--if you're willing to render aid with the cover up, perhaps you could take it one step further. After all, you're going to need currency if you're to remain in Cardiff for the duration..."
* * * * *
New Year's Eve, 1999
"Jesus Christ!..."
Jack lowered his gun, a cold ball of ice in his gut as he stalked towards where Alex's corpse lay. His ears were buzzing, making Suzie's voice barely audible. The feeling in his head was familiar, the sense of drifting away as the rage began to simmer, to come to a rolling boil...
"...you hear me? Jack--Jack, can you hear me?"
Jack blinked, his vision blurry. He breathed through the scalding vapor of anger, forced his eyes to focus on Suzie in front of him.
"Jack, be truthful: did you do this?"
Jack focused on checking his Webley, holstering it. The motions helped keep him calm, cooled the fire in his blood. The ball of ice in his gut, however, only got larger, the buzzing got louder.
"Alex, yes. The others, no." he replied quietly. "Alex killed them. I killed Alex."
"Why did you do that?"
"He--he...he opened that fucking amulet, said it showed him the future, said...said they were mercy killings. He was gonna shoot himself, but the door alarm...and when he--when he saw you..."
He trailed off, looking down at Alex's body again. The neat little bullet hole he left in the middle of Alex's forehead was seeping onto the floor, that ball of ice was starting to hurt.
"...I think I feel bad for killing him." he realized aloud. The ice, the buzzing in his ears...was this guilt? Was this horror? He didn't like it, he didn't like it at-fucking-all.
"No one does."
Jack blinked, unaware he'd spoken aloud. Suzie was--oh. Hugging. Hugging was...good. Better than the ice and the noise. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, still staring at Alex's corpse over her shoulder.
"He said Torchwood was mine now." he murmured. "Guess that means you, too."
"You saved my life. I don't mind." Her voice sounded wet and thick. Maybe she was crying.
Things were getting blurry again.
"Suze?"
"Yes?"
"...let's deal with the bodies. Quick. Then--then I think you should put me in the vaults for a little while. Just in case."
Suzie drew back, her eyes and cheeks shining with tears. Definitely crying.
Beat the hell out of bleeding. Beat the hell out of decomposing.
...and just like that, the ice melted, and the world was quiet again.
Time to get to work.
...dragged back into the dark across broken glass, pulled forced no please--
With a ragged breath, Jack came to, staring up at two women who regarded him with--anger? Confusion? What had he done, who had he hurt?
Weight on his chest, hard to breathe, crushed under the bodies notagainnoplease...
"Why did you do that?"
Jack blinked, shaking his head to clear it. Pressure--no, not pressure. A hand on his chest, firm but not crushing. Too much, too soon, head spinning death, death--died. He died again.
...the women. That blowfish, he had a pistol leveled at the pair of them.
Why did you do that?
"He was--he was gonna kill you both." Jack rasped, shifting to sit up and wincing. Bullet wounds...eh, could be worse.
The blonde helped him until he was upright, watching him warily. "You didn't strike us as the...sympathetic type."
"I'm not." Jack replied, getting to his knees and ignoring the help the blonde woman tried to offer him. "I could give a rat's ass about you or anyone else in this era. I'm only here because my vortex manipulator got fried."
"Vortex manip--how--"
"Oh, don't play dumb, Torchwood." Jack replied flatly, narrowing his eyes. "I was a Time Agent, you think I don't know about your organization and all that 'phantasmagoria' garbage? Trust me, I've killed more of you than I can count, and probably a few I don't remember."
The blonde shared a look with her scowling brunette friend...girlfriend, maybe?...God, coming back from the dead fucking sucked...
"Perhaps, Mr. Harkness--"
"Captain."
"--Captain Harkness...perhaps we should talk."
"If you have a fresh shirt I can borrow, then fine. Uh...the blowfish--here, I got it..."
Everything was fuzzy around the edges. Not soft and hazy, but blurry and painful. He couldn't focus on anything, and he couldn't stop trying to focus. There was something important, something he'd forgotten, something...if he could just relax he could get it back, but he couldn't make himself stop...
"Captain Harkness? Can you hear me?"
...everything hurt. Why did everything hurt? Why couldn't he focus?
"Easy, pet--easy, we're not going to harm you. Come on, then, that's the way..."
Things got dark. When they brightened again, things were a little less blurry. Something cool touched his lips, his hands, his neck and his chest--he had a body. He could feel it again, and hells was he sore.
"--just have to nod if you can hear me. Can you do that?"
Shapes, gold and shadow. He managed to move his head.
"Excellent, just lie back now."
Something else came into focus--something he couldn't see, something that hurt. That little girl and her fucking cards...
"He's not coming."
"So you said, love. Rest now."
He shut his eyes, and he finally managed to let his mind go dark.
"How long?"
"...four days."
Jack stared at the photos, something cold and hollow and...alien sitting in his chest.
"And you really don't know which of these was me?" he asked, glancing up at the blonde he now knew was Emily Holroyd.
"No--we lost track of you after you left that tavern. I'm sorry, Jack."
He stared at the four photos--brutal murders, all of them. Two men, one woman, and an alien Jack had never seen before--no mouth. Interesting, how did such a species ingest nutritional compounds? How did they communicate?...
How did they scream as they died?
He picked up the photo of the woman--Mary Jane Kelly. He knew the name, now that he was coming down from the blackout. Murdered so brutally they thought the Ripper did it...
All because the Doctor wasn't coming. Not for a hundred bloody years...
"The last time I blacked out like that, they wiped my memory." he admitted, tossing the gruesome photo down. "The Agency, they...they covered it up and they wiped it out so I'd be okay to keep killing. Seven weeks, just...gone."
"Given the presence of the alien death, we can't turn you over to the authorities...but we can't let this stand." Emily pointed out.
"No--listen, don't worry about it." he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "You--you didn't have to help me. You cleaned me up, you helped me...come down--I'll help you with the alien. Trust me, I'm good at covering my tracks."
"Well, then--if you're willing to render aid with the cover up, perhaps you could take it one step further. After all, you're going to need currency if you're to remain in Cardiff for the duration..."
New Year's Eve, 1999
"Jesus Christ!..."
Jack lowered his gun, a cold ball of ice in his gut as he stalked towards where Alex's corpse lay. His ears were buzzing, making Suzie's voice barely audible. The feeling in his head was familiar, the sense of drifting away as the rage began to simmer, to come to a rolling boil...
"...you hear me? Jack--Jack, can you hear me?"
Jack blinked, his vision blurry. He breathed through the scalding vapor of anger, forced his eyes to focus on Suzie in front of him.
"Jack, be truthful: did you do this?"
Jack focused on checking his Webley, holstering it. The motions helped keep him calm, cooled the fire in his blood. The ball of ice in his gut, however, only got larger, the buzzing got louder.
"Alex, yes. The others, no." he replied quietly. "Alex killed them. I killed Alex."
"Why did you do that?"
"He--he...he opened that fucking amulet, said it showed him the future, said...said they were mercy killings. He was gonna shoot himself, but the door alarm...and when he--when he saw you..."
He trailed off, looking down at Alex's body again. The neat little bullet hole he left in the middle of Alex's forehead was seeping onto the floor, that ball of ice was starting to hurt.
"...I think I feel bad for killing him." he realized aloud. The ice, the buzzing in his ears...was this guilt? Was this horror? He didn't like it, he didn't like it at-fucking-all.
"No one does."
Jack blinked, unaware he'd spoken aloud. Suzie was--oh. Hugging. Hugging was...good. Better than the ice and the noise. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, still staring at Alex's corpse over her shoulder.
"He said Torchwood was mine now." he murmured. "Guess that means you, too."
"You saved my life. I don't mind." Her voice sounded wet and thick. Maybe she was crying.
Things were getting blurry again.
"Suze?"
"Yes?"
"...let's deal with the bodies. Quick. Then--then I think you should put me in the vaults for a little while. Just in case."
Suzie drew back, her eyes and cheeks shining with tears. Definitely crying.
Beat the hell out of bleeding. Beat the hell out of decomposing.
...and just like that, the ice melted, and the world was quiet again.
Time to get to work.
[INBOX] Perchance To Dream
Apr. 9th, 2023 12:39 pm
Captain Jack Harkness
Torchwood 3
[text, phone, email, vortex manipulator, etc.]
In the reality we know, a Time Agent and con man named Javic Piotr Thane took the name of Captain Jack Harkness from a dead man.
In another, a reflection of this one…that name was claimed by his brother.
Gray Thane was a small child when a vicious and sadistic alien race assaulted his tiny home of the Boeshane Peninsula in the 51st Century. Running for safety, his big brother lost grip of his hand…
…and Gray, under the name of Captain Jack Harkness, spent a lifetime in Hell, desperate to find his hand again...
Rescued by the Time Agency during his late teenage years, by the time he was found Gray had gone mad. Tortured until he learned to love pain, isolated until life became cheap, he clung to reason alone by clinging to hope. Hope for an end to his suffering, hope to be free…hope to see his home and his family again.
Hoping against hope that he and his brother would be reunited.
Growing into adulthood under the care of the Time Agency, Gray became one of their best agents—a hit man of the highest caliber, conducting kill after kill under the Agency’s orders. Though a skilled assassin, Gray proved to be difficult to control given his unbalanced mental state, and since the Agency was, first and foremost, a business dedicated to profiting off the manipulation of timelines, he walked a knife's edge between being an asset and a liability.
Everything came to a head just prior to Gray's deployment to World War II. Having discovered two years of his life missing, in bits and pieces, Gray was searching for answers when he was sent to kill a man by the name of Captain Jack Harkness.
Instead of completing his mission, Gray became attached...and when he refused to complete the job, discovered this wasn't the first time he'd become emotionally involved with a particular assignment. Hence the loss of two years of his life and dozens of others--friends, lovers, found family he could not bring himself to hurt. Innocents who, when he gazed into their eyes, saw just enough of the precious few peaceful and happy memories he had that harming them became unthinkable.
The Agency had a contingency plan, of course, seeing to it that Harkness died, but Gray escaped before he could have his memories stolen again. To remind himself of what he lost, and to evade the Time Agency, Gray took the identity of the man he'd loved for barely a day and swore revenge. He was ready to burn the world down around him, just to get back at the Agency...
...until Gray, now Jack Harkness, met a young man by the name of Mickey Smith in the middle of the Blitz, and a man calling himself the Doctor.
The story isn't so different from the one we know, save that Harkness wasn't looking to sell a harmless empty ambulance, but rather change the programming of the nanogenes that had escaped so they would kill. Bearing witness to the Doctor's miracle and moved by both his and Mickey's pleas for mercy, rather than try to seize on the bomb that would hit the area and divert it to cause more casualties, he did as his counterpart had and removed it to safety. Rescued by the Doctor, he went on to join the Time Lord and Mickey as his companion.
From there, give or take, little else changes. Mickey inevitably takes into himself the heart of the TARDIS, restores Jack to life, and life becomes his permanent condition until he one day finds himself leading a small group to protect Cardiff from the alien threats of its local rift in time and space. Though he struggles to control his emotions and curb his violent impulses, he has learned he can channel his darkness into something positive: protecting what is his. Charismatic and brilliant Toshiko Sato, mild mannered physician Owen Harper, mother hen Suzie Costello, resourceful aide and lover Gwen Harper, and the compassionate former police officer Ianto Jones—while Gray still searches, still hopes, still clings to what little good and reason remains in him after all he has endured and longs to find his brother again, this is the family he holds close. These are the ones who stand by him as he struggles with the rage that has poisoned him and the desire to expel it in blood.
It’s a relentless battle, but he doesn't fight that battle alone. He has his team, he has his work...and somewhere, out there in the universe, he knows he has the Doctor.
In another, a reflection of this one…that name was claimed by his brother.
Gray Thane was a small child when a vicious and sadistic alien race assaulted his tiny home of the Boeshane Peninsula in the 51st Century. Running for safety, his big brother lost grip of his hand…
…and Gray, under the name of Captain Jack Harkness, spent a lifetime in Hell, desperate to find his hand again...
Rescued by the Time Agency during his late teenage years, by the time he was found Gray had gone mad. Tortured until he learned to love pain, isolated until life became cheap, he clung to reason alone by clinging to hope. Hope for an end to his suffering, hope to be free…hope to see his home and his family again.
Hoping against hope that he and his brother would be reunited.
Growing into adulthood under the care of the Time Agency, Gray became one of their best agents—a hit man of the highest caliber, conducting kill after kill under the Agency’s orders. Though a skilled assassin, Gray proved to be difficult to control given his unbalanced mental state, and since the Agency was, first and foremost, a business dedicated to profiting off the manipulation of timelines, he walked a knife's edge between being an asset and a liability.
Everything came to a head just prior to Gray's deployment to World War II. Having discovered two years of his life missing, in bits and pieces, Gray was searching for answers when he was sent to kill a man by the name of Captain Jack Harkness.
Instead of completing his mission, Gray became attached...and when he refused to complete the job, discovered this wasn't the first time he'd become emotionally involved with a particular assignment. Hence the loss of two years of his life and dozens of others--friends, lovers, found family he could not bring himself to hurt. Innocents who, when he gazed into their eyes, saw just enough of the precious few peaceful and happy memories he had that harming them became unthinkable.
The Agency had a contingency plan, of course, seeing to it that Harkness died, but Gray escaped before he could have his memories stolen again. To remind himself of what he lost, and to evade the Time Agency, Gray took the identity of the man he'd loved for barely a day and swore revenge. He was ready to burn the world down around him, just to get back at the Agency...
...until Gray, now Jack Harkness, met a young man by the name of Mickey Smith in the middle of the Blitz, and a man calling himself the Doctor.
The story isn't so different from the one we know, save that Harkness wasn't looking to sell a harmless empty ambulance, but rather change the programming of the nanogenes that had escaped so they would kill. Bearing witness to the Doctor's miracle and moved by both his and Mickey's pleas for mercy, rather than try to seize on the bomb that would hit the area and divert it to cause more casualties, he did as his counterpart had and removed it to safety. Rescued by the Doctor, he went on to join the Time Lord and Mickey as his companion.
From there, give or take, little else changes. Mickey inevitably takes into himself the heart of the TARDIS, restores Jack to life, and life becomes his permanent condition until he one day finds himself leading a small group to protect Cardiff from the alien threats of its local rift in time and space. Though he struggles to control his emotions and curb his violent impulses, he has learned he can channel his darkness into something positive: protecting what is his. Charismatic and brilliant Toshiko Sato, mild mannered physician Owen Harper, mother hen Suzie Costello, resourceful aide and lover Gwen Harper, and the compassionate former police officer Ianto Jones—while Gray still searches, still hopes, still clings to what little good and reason remains in him after all he has endured and longs to find his brother again, this is the family he holds close. These are the ones who stand by him as he struggles with the rage that has poisoned him and the desire to expel it in blood.
It’s a relentless battle, but he doesn't fight that battle alone. He has his team, he has his work...and somewhere, out there in the universe, he knows he has the Doctor.
