Forever Autumn 1/21
Title: Forever Autumn 1/21
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, John/Nick,
Characters: Jack, Ianto, John Hart, Nick Jones, and a cast of (probably!) thousands.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds. Sequel to 'We Could Be Heroes'
Rating: Adult - it's going to get very dark in some places.
Warnings: Slash, language, angst, dark themes.
Summary: Things finally seemed to be going well for John and Nick...so why is John leaving away? And what's happened to make him so depressed?
Disclaimer: I'm a student. I don't own Torchwood.
The Master List is here: anduria-trianys.livejournal.com/27610.html#cutid1
Chapter 1
31st October 2014, 8:30pm...
“For three days, I fought my way along roads packed with refugees, the homeless, burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valuables...”
The words echoed through John's head as the church clock chimed. Eight-thirty. That gave him half an hour to get to where he needed to be. He wanted to curse himself for spending so long arguing with what was left of his friends and his family.
But he couldn't. He was just too numb. Even the pain from the grip his sister-in-law had inflicted on his wrist was fading away in the foggy recesses of his mind. Even his thoughts seemed to be slipping away from him - his thoughts and his memories.
But even then, he just couldn't muster the energy to try and bring them back, even though he knew that the last thing he wanted to do was to forget everything that had happened. He felt as if everything he had ever loved and fought for had suddenly been ripped out from underneath him on that night when Nick had -
He swayed violently and gripped at the railings as an unexpected pain ripped through his chest like black fire. Of all the memories to come back to him at this moment, why did it have to be the memory of the moment when he had lost the one thing that could have kept him here for as long as was possible?
He and Nick had both known for some time that, one day, he would have to leave and he had accepted that. It hadn't been easy to come to terms with, knowing that he was going to leave everyone behind, but he knew why it had to be that way and, for that reason, he was prepared to acknowledge that it was his fate.
But it shouldn't have come so soon. None of this should have happened so soon.
“Nick,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly, hoping that, if he tried hard enough, he would wake up and find that this had all been a horrible dream; that he could wake up in his own bed and turn to see that beautiful mess of dark auburn hair on the pillow next to him, the beautiful Chinese dragon tattoo visible through the vibrant strands floating over his shoulders. Then, just as he would do every morning, he could wake him up with a kiss and a smile before making them both breakfast in bed which they could then eat while sharing kisses and laughter. And then, finally, they could force their way out of bed and make their way to work, almost always later than everyone else, but, as usual, Jack would excuse them because they were, as he put it, still in the 'honeymoon period'.
Just then, however, someone brushed past him and abruptly jogged him back to the street where he was standing and had been for the past several seconds. He blinked slightly and looked around. For a moment, his mind returning to the words that had spoken out to him in his mind as he had heard the church clock chime, and he found himself transported back to nineteenth century London where thousands of people, the rich rubbing shoulders with beggars, were all packing their way along the streets, bundles and bags of all different shapes and sizes banging into everyone. Children were running around, laughing at the confusion, not understanding the great peril they found themselves in, even as they watched their parents and other adults around them watching with fear in their eyes and, in the case of the women, mascara-blacked tears on their cheeks.
In the distance, John could see the bay, shimmering with lights as ships passed through the water, sailing away from the docks. The engines sent ripples across the water, illuminated by flickering lights in a multitude of colours. Anyone else would not have been able to see them, but due to the advances in human physiology over the centuries, John's vision was heightened enough that he could make them out clearly, and he suddenly focused on what looked like a large steamer, the decks packed out with people watching as the bay disappeared from their view.
A moment later, the same voice sounded in his head again.
“Fire suddenly leapt from house to house. The population panicked and ran, and I was swept along with them, aimless and lost without Carrie. Finally, I headed eastwards for the ocean and my only hope of survival; a boat out of England.”
Throughout the screams, John could hear hisses and piercing whistles in the air surrounding him and when he looked up, he could see almost exactly what the words echoing through his mind said. Sparks of brightly coloured lights exploding around the houses and the bay, as the people screamed and fled towards the water. Almost without him noticing, a young man grabbed John's arm and pulled him along with them, dragging him on towards the boats, screaming words at him, words that were incoherent with sheer panic, but his eyes were wide and bright, staring around wildly, as if he was looking for something - anything that might buy them enough time to join their friends and family who were already lucky enough to be on board the ships.
The clock chimed once, twice and then three times and John felt his blood run cold as he realised that he was running out of time. Very soon, everything would be lost and he would be left alone with no way of getting away from the devastation.
It wasn't much of an aim, but it gave him enough focus to follow the man and to force his way along the pavements towards the bay where their hopes for survival lay.
But as he made his way down towards the dock, the voice in his head started up again, only this time, though he recognised the words, they seemed to be taunting him, telling him that he would not find what he was looking for.
“A vast crowd buffeted me to the already packed steamer. I looked up enviously at those safely on board, straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie. At the sight of me, she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gangplank. At that very moment, it was raised, and I caught a last glimpse of her despairing face, as the crowd swept me away from her.”
The clock chimed once more and John looked up towards the bay. At that very moment, it was as if a mist that had been hanging over his eyes was lifted and he saw the place for what it truly was. Instead of looking up at the steamer and seeing the beautiful brown eyes and thick red hair belonging to his beloved Nick, he instead looked up and recognised no one.
And no one recognised him.
At the same time, he realised that he hadn't actually seen flashes of alien lights or burning houses; instead, they had been bright fireworks and bonfires blazing in the sky as throngs of people took to the streets laughing - laughing, not crying - and with their faces camouflaged by make-up and wigs as they ran from house to house, their children's voices ringing cheerfully throughout the night, always with the same words.
“Trick or treat!”
With those words, any final illusions John might have had were shattered and he was forced almost violently back to the present day - and, at the same time, the memories assaulted him with such force that he almost collapsed on top of the pole beside him.
“No!” he screamed, gripping his stomach and screwing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the images that were exploding in his mind; images of that fateful day, the day that had begun with happiness and celebration, only to end in tears and heartbreak. He could still see Nick watching him, a small and sad smile on his pale face and a single tear dripping underneath his glasses as he spoke, his voice as calm as a summer's breeze, even though he knew what was coming, and had done for a long time.
“No...no, please!” he begged, his hands moving from his stomach to grip at his hair. He scrunched his eyes up tighter, but the images kept flowing through him, burning his brain like fire. Now, he could hear Nick's voice as he quietly spoke those last words to him before...
“No...Nick, please!” he screamed again, this time opening his eyes and trying to force himself to look around. To try and ease the ripping pain in his heart by focusing on his surroundings rather than on those terrible images. To see the buildings around him and the bay right in front of him.
Watch and listen, he forced himself to think. Look around...see, there's St. David's Hotel there and there's the water tower and the boardwalk and...oh, listen, there's a group of kids dressed up as vampires and werewolves...looks like they've been reading a bit too much Twilight...
But a shrill beeping suddenly cut through his thoughts and forced him to turn and look down at the digital watch that Ianto had strapped onto his wrist. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the time flashing in front of his eyes.
Eight fifty-three. There were only seven minutes left.
At the same time, a panicked voice echoed in his ear.
“John?” It was Ianto. “Where are you? You're running out of time. The flare's going to be gone in -”
Seven minutes. He had seven minutes. Then he would lose his chance and there was no knowing when the next one would be. There was no knowing how long he would be trapped here, with Torchwood, working every day, but each day, knowing that there was no meaning to it any more.
But he was completely on the wrong side of the city. Even if he ran as fast as he could - which, even for a former Time Agent and a Torchwood operative, was impressively fast - he knew that there was no way he could make it. But he also knew that he couldn't leave from where he was.
There was only one thing for it.
“I'm almost there, Ianto,” he said dully. “I'm almost there.”
Then, with a deep breath, he touched his hand to his vortex manipulator and pressed it, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he found himself standing outside the door to the roof of the tall office building. Trembling, he reached out a hand and turned the handle, opening the door with a creaking sound.
As he stepped out onto the roof, a cascade of memories swept over him - memories of his life and of his love. He could see Nick smiling at him, his bright brown eyes full of life as he laughed and smiled, before John gathered him close in a passionate kiss...
And for the first time in days, John smiled and just let the memories take over...
***
Next Time: We may not find out what drove John to leave, but instead it's time for a trip back into happier times and to a certain night in a bar. What did John ask that Nick agreed to?
***
Author's Note: Don't be too freaked out by the start (yet!) - I did promise a wedding in this one and I never go back on my word!
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, John/Nick,
Characters: Jack, Ianto, John Hart, Nick Jones, and a cast of (probably!) thousands.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds. Sequel to 'We Could Be Heroes'
Rating: Adult - it's going to get very dark in some places.
Warnings: Slash, language, angst, dark themes.
Summary: Things finally seemed to be going well for John and Nick...so why is John leaving away? And what's happened to make him so depressed?
Disclaimer: I'm a student. I don't own Torchwood.
The Master List is here: anduria-trianys.livejournal.com/27610.html#cutid1
Chapter 1
31st October 2014, 8:30pm...
“For three days, I fought my way along roads packed with refugees, the homeless, burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valuables...”
The words echoed through John's head as the church clock chimed. Eight-thirty. That gave him half an hour to get to where he needed to be. He wanted to curse himself for spending so long arguing with what was left of his friends and his family.
But he couldn't. He was just too numb. Even the pain from the grip his sister-in-law had inflicted on his wrist was fading away in the foggy recesses of his mind. Even his thoughts seemed to be slipping away from him - his thoughts and his memories.
But even then, he just couldn't muster the energy to try and bring them back, even though he knew that the last thing he wanted to do was to forget everything that had happened. He felt as if everything he had ever loved and fought for had suddenly been ripped out from underneath him on that night when Nick had -
He swayed violently and gripped at the railings as an unexpected pain ripped through his chest like black fire. Of all the memories to come back to him at this moment, why did it have to be the memory of the moment when he had lost the one thing that could have kept him here for as long as was possible?
He and Nick had both known for some time that, one day, he would have to leave and he had accepted that. It hadn't been easy to come to terms with, knowing that he was going to leave everyone behind, but he knew why it had to be that way and, for that reason, he was prepared to acknowledge that it was his fate.
But it shouldn't have come so soon. None of this should have happened so soon.
“Nick,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly, hoping that, if he tried hard enough, he would wake up and find that this had all been a horrible dream; that he could wake up in his own bed and turn to see that beautiful mess of dark auburn hair on the pillow next to him, the beautiful Chinese dragon tattoo visible through the vibrant strands floating over his shoulders. Then, just as he would do every morning, he could wake him up with a kiss and a smile before making them both breakfast in bed which they could then eat while sharing kisses and laughter. And then, finally, they could force their way out of bed and make their way to work, almost always later than everyone else, but, as usual, Jack would excuse them because they were, as he put it, still in the 'honeymoon period'.
Just then, however, someone brushed past him and abruptly jogged him back to the street where he was standing and had been for the past several seconds. He blinked slightly and looked around. For a moment, his mind returning to the words that had spoken out to him in his mind as he had heard the church clock chime, and he found himself transported back to nineteenth century London where thousands of people, the rich rubbing shoulders with beggars, were all packing their way along the streets, bundles and bags of all different shapes and sizes banging into everyone. Children were running around, laughing at the confusion, not understanding the great peril they found themselves in, even as they watched their parents and other adults around them watching with fear in their eyes and, in the case of the women, mascara-blacked tears on their cheeks.
In the distance, John could see the bay, shimmering with lights as ships passed through the water, sailing away from the docks. The engines sent ripples across the water, illuminated by flickering lights in a multitude of colours. Anyone else would not have been able to see them, but due to the advances in human physiology over the centuries, John's vision was heightened enough that he could make them out clearly, and he suddenly focused on what looked like a large steamer, the decks packed out with people watching as the bay disappeared from their view.
A moment later, the same voice sounded in his head again.
“Fire suddenly leapt from house to house. The population panicked and ran, and I was swept along with them, aimless and lost without Carrie. Finally, I headed eastwards for the ocean and my only hope of survival; a boat out of England.”
Throughout the screams, John could hear hisses and piercing whistles in the air surrounding him and when he looked up, he could see almost exactly what the words echoing through his mind said. Sparks of brightly coloured lights exploding around the houses and the bay, as the people screamed and fled towards the water. Almost without him noticing, a young man grabbed John's arm and pulled him along with them, dragging him on towards the boats, screaming words at him, words that were incoherent with sheer panic, but his eyes were wide and bright, staring around wildly, as if he was looking for something - anything that might buy them enough time to join their friends and family who were already lucky enough to be on board the ships.
The clock chimed once, twice and then three times and John felt his blood run cold as he realised that he was running out of time. Very soon, everything would be lost and he would be left alone with no way of getting away from the devastation.
It wasn't much of an aim, but it gave him enough focus to follow the man and to force his way along the pavements towards the bay where their hopes for survival lay.
But as he made his way down towards the dock, the voice in his head started up again, only this time, though he recognised the words, they seemed to be taunting him, telling him that he would not find what he was looking for.
“A vast crowd buffeted me to the already packed steamer. I looked up enviously at those safely on board, straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie. At the sight of me, she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gangplank. At that very moment, it was raised, and I caught a last glimpse of her despairing face, as the crowd swept me away from her.”
The clock chimed once more and John looked up towards the bay. At that very moment, it was as if a mist that had been hanging over his eyes was lifted and he saw the place for what it truly was. Instead of looking up at the steamer and seeing the beautiful brown eyes and thick red hair belonging to his beloved Nick, he instead looked up and recognised no one.
And no one recognised him.
At the same time, he realised that he hadn't actually seen flashes of alien lights or burning houses; instead, they had been bright fireworks and bonfires blazing in the sky as throngs of people took to the streets laughing - laughing, not crying - and with their faces camouflaged by make-up and wigs as they ran from house to house, their children's voices ringing cheerfully throughout the night, always with the same words.
“Trick or treat!”
With those words, any final illusions John might have had were shattered and he was forced almost violently back to the present day - and, at the same time, the memories assaulted him with such force that he almost collapsed on top of the pole beside him.
“No!” he screamed, gripping his stomach and screwing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the images that were exploding in his mind; images of that fateful day, the day that had begun with happiness and celebration, only to end in tears and heartbreak. He could still see Nick watching him, a small and sad smile on his pale face and a single tear dripping underneath his glasses as he spoke, his voice as calm as a summer's breeze, even though he knew what was coming, and had done for a long time.
“No...no, please!” he begged, his hands moving from his stomach to grip at his hair. He scrunched his eyes up tighter, but the images kept flowing through him, burning his brain like fire. Now, he could hear Nick's voice as he quietly spoke those last words to him before...
“No...Nick, please!” he screamed again, this time opening his eyes and trying to force himself to look around. To try and ease the ripping pain in his heart by focusing on his surroundings rather than on those terrible images. To see the buildings around him and the bay right in front of him.
Watch and listen, he forced himself to think. Look around...see, there's St. David's Hotel there and there's the water tower and the boardwalk and...oh, listen, there's a group of kids dressed up as vampires and werewolves...looks like they've been reading a bit too much Twilight...
But a shrill beeping suddenly cut through his thoughts and forced him to turn and look down at the digital watch that Ianto had strapped onto his wrist. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the time flashing in front of his eyes.
Eight fifty-three. There were only seven minutes left.
At the same time, a panicked voice echoed in his ear.
“John?” It was Ianto. “Where are you? You're running out of time. The flare's going to be gone in -”
Seven minutes. He had seven minutes. Then he would lose his chance and there was no knowing when the next one would be. There was no knowing how long he would be trapped here, with Torchwood, working every day, but each day, knowing that there was no meaning to it any more.
But he was completely on the wrong side of the city. Even if he ran as fast as he could - which, even for a former Time Agent and a Torchwood operative, was impressively fast - he knew that there was no way he could make it. But he also knew that he couldn't leave from where he was.
There was only one thing for it.
“I'm almost there, Ianto,” he said dully. “I'm almost there.”
Then, with a deep breath, he touched his hand to his vortex manipulator and pressed it, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he found himself standing outside the door to the roof of the tall office building. Trembling, he reached out a hand and turned the handle, opening the door with a creaking sound.
As he stepped out onto the roof, a cascade of memories swept over him - memories of his life and of his love. He could see Nick smiling at him, his bright brown eyes full of life as he laughed and smiled, before John gathered him close in a passionate kiss...
And for the first time in days, John smiled and just let the memories take over...
***
Next Time: We may not find out what drove John to leave, but instead it's time for a trip back into happier times and to a certain night in a bar. What did John ask that Nick agreed to?
***
Author's Note: Don't be too freaked out by the start (yet!) - I did promise a wedding in this one and I never go back on my word!