![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
- 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.”
