Fanfic: Goodnight, wherever you are
Title: Goodnight, wherever you are
Rating: PG (Het kissing and some language)
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Captain Jack Harkness/OFC
A/N: This fic is a little unusual for me - not least cos it's het :P - but cos it's the first time I have worked in a group challenge. This fic tells the story of Captain Jack Harkness and a woman, Catherine Andrews, he meets when he is in London during the World War 2 blitz.
It's unusual for me in that it is acually partof a backstory to a WIP currently beign written and posted on torch_wood by dr_is_in In her wisdom she challenged myslef and mrs-cj-harkness to write two fics setting out the back story to her series. And boys and girls - it was a lot of fun :D
So I recommend you first read the dr_is_in's fic Here (It's fab!) (This is a link to chapter 5 and the earlier chapters are linked from there.)
Then you can read my fic below and the chapter by mrs-cj-harkness Here (Another fab fic!)
Hope it all makes sense :)
Oh and thanks to the girls for thier wonderful beta skills. Any mistakes etc left in the fic are my fault!
Goodnight, wherever you are...
It was funny the way war- the blitz- affected people, knowing your life was in danger every minute of the day, Catherine mused, not for the first time as she stood back and watched her friends dancing and laughing. She was standing just inside the heavy blackout curtains, close enough that the evening breeze that was squeezing around its edges could drift across her arms. It was refreshing in the muggy room. Just one more affect of this bloody blitz, she thought, not being able to throw the widows open to the summer night. And this room had such beautiful windows, she remembered from dances before the war. Long french windows that opened like doors out onto the balcony. Posh for London, she had always thought, but beautiful.
A burst of laughter close to her brought her out of her reverie. She was tired, not in the mood for putting on her happy face just for the sake of a few servicemen, but her friends had insisted. It wasn’t like any of them really wanted to be alone these nights anyway. Grasping her drink Catherine slipped around the edge of the curtain, moving it as little as possible.
Standing on the balcony, looking out at a dark London, made her sad. She was a city girl. Born and bred here. Born and bred with the lights, the hundreds of twinkling lights that made up the night skyline. She took it as a personal insult that the Germans were making the people of her city hide what made it beautiful. Her sigh was one of fatigue, sadness, helplessness.
“Now why is a pretty girl like you out here alone and not breaking hearts in there?” the rich American voice made her jump and she felt her drink splash onto her dress. Catherine was ready to make a smart remark back, American servicemen… overpaid, oversexed and over here… but when she turned to face the voice somehow her own words were lost before they were uttered. She thought herself long-ago immune to the sight of a handsome man in uniform, but Catherine instantly knew that she was blushing like a schoolgirl before this man. Her eyes instantly took in broad shoulders, tall, dark and … she stopped herself right there.
“Are all your lines as original?” she quickly regained her composure, cocking an eyebrow but not quite smiling. His dazzling grin in return ignored her cool body language. “Well now, it’s not every night I have to come all the way outside here to talk to a pretty girl, after that effort I think you can forgive the old line,” he was teasing and she wasn’t annoyed. Suppressing a smile and using her most perfectly lady-like voice she called him on it. “So you talk to a lot of pretty girls then? I supposed I should be flattered you took the time to talk to me.” “Ouch,” the soldier motioned being wounded in the heart, but was still smiling. “Here,” he offered one of the two glasses she now noticed he was holding.
“Are you trying to get me tipsy…,” she checked his insignia, “Captain…?” “Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness,” he beamed even wider than before. It was infectious. Who was Catherine to refuse a drink from a captain. After all, that would just have been rude and unladylike.
An hour later the waltzes and American jazz numbers had given way to the rousing, and slightly rude, soldier songs, and Catherine was allowing Captain Harkness to hold her coat as she slipped her arms into it. “Are you sure you won’t let me walk you home?” he asked for the third time, his voice uncharacteristically low and close to her ear, making her shiver. “No thank you, Captain Harkness,” she was not letting him know the affect he was already having on her after their dancing and laughing. “The girls and I know our way,” she motioned towards her friends who were putting on coats, some letting the soldiers they had met that night perform the same service as her captain. (‘Her captain’… that was a thought she was going to have to examine, Catherine immediately thought.) “Can I see you again?” he shouted after her as she went down the front steps of the building. Still walking away, Catherine turned her head back just for a moment and flashed him her most genuine, if teasing, smile. “Maybe captain.”
He watched as she walked down the street, arm in arm with her friend - Maggie, Mary, Molly? Truth be told he hadn’t been paying attention. “Definitely maybe,” he grinned to himself before rejoining his buddies inside.
“You want to watch yourself with that one mate,” one of his fellow officers slapped him on the back as he pulled a chair up to what looked to be a promising poker game. “I can handle the crackerjacks, Bill, don’t you worry about me,” Jack winked at his fellow officer. “Not her Jack. Ask anyone here,” he motioned as he dealt the cards. “Those girls over at the war office, tighter than a virgin’s daughter.” Ignoring the soldiering banter Jack’s curiosity was piqued. “War office?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but all instincts now honed. “Those girls know things; secret things, things us mortals will never know, things that will kick Jerry’s arse all the way back to Berlin,” another of the card players slurred slightly. “Spies!” a thoroughly drunken voice on Jack’s other side cried, accompanied by another hearty slap to his back. Now Jack was really interested.
“I figured pretty girls had to take lunch break sooner or later.” Dazzling grin - check.
“Captain Harkness!” Catherine spun around at the park gate, trying to hide her pleased surprise. Her friends giggled and kept walking, casting the odd glance back. “Can I offer to buy you a ‘cup of tea’” he tried to say it in an English accent, and took Catherine’s hearty laugh as a sign he wasn’t very good. Offering his arm to her he went back to hit normal accent. “Chilly day, wouldn’t want you to get cold now.” Catherine was surprised at just how quickly and easily she seemed to trust this man… this American. But she slipped her arm into his, glad of the warmth of his greatcoat on her bare hands. It was a chilly day; first of the autumn. “I have to be back at my desk by two o’clock,” she warned as he led her down the street. “No problem ma’am,” he smiled.
She made it, out of breath, with seconds to spare.
Some days Catherine couldn’t leave the building at lunchtime, but she couldn’t tell him why. Other days when he didn’t turn up and she laughed and joked with her friends that she preferred being with them than any loud American. But she always went with him, to their corner café, when he did show up.
They never talked about where he was the days she didn’t see him, even though sometimes he asked what had kept her so busy that she could resist him. He tried to make it sound like he was flirting, he was, but he also figured it was worth his while asking. You never knew when a sliver of information would benefit his … job.
But as the weeks passed Jack felt his focus on the ulterior motives of his courtship slipping until one night, in the dancehall, Catherine’s head on his chest as they swayed to the slow music, he realised what this feeling was that had been tormenting him. He felt content. He knew he had gone from enjoying the company of a pretty girl, to looking forward to spending lunchtimes, or dinnertimes as she called it in her very English way, with her, and then he’d realised he was rearranging his schedule so he would be there, so he could make the dances he knew Catherine and her friends were going to, so he could see her.
He invited her to the movies. They avoided the newsreels. Their happy bubble was untouched by the daily death and destruction around them, coming back from overseas to them. They saw Rebecca (Catherine liked Laurence Olivier), The Wizard of Oz (Jack liked Judy Garland), and Wuthering Heights twice, because new movies didn’t always arrive with the blockades, and Catherine really liked Laurence Olivier. She invited him to the Sunday picnics she and her friends kept up, even as the winter drew in. They would sit huddled together on a park bench, with a thermos of strong tea and the sandwiches she made with the tins of ham he was always able to find for her. She never asked and he never offered. They were one of a thousand couples thrown together by the war and starting to cling to the comfort of each other.
Another night in the dancehall. Jack felt content. Warm, comfortable, happy. He let his eyes fall closed as he held Catherine tight against him. He knew the atmosphere in the room tonight was different. He tried to tell himself that was because a lot of the men were shipping out tomorrow, that it was nothing to do with him, with the young woman in his arms. But he knew that wasn’t the full truth. He was starting to care about Catherine and that was not a good thing.
“Jack?” he opened his eyes at Catherine’s soft query. There was concern written in her expression as well as something softer. “It’s sad in here tonight,” she voiced a thought he was sure he could see in many faces around them, and he nodded in response. Then he felt Catherine grip his hand tightly. “Jack…” she faltered for a moment, “Let’s get out of here.” He was taken aback. Somewhere in his sojourn in the 1940s he’d gotten used to the categories and the ‘morals’ of the time. The same way, he realised, he had come to enjoy Catherine’s company for just that. The company. But now she was looking at him with a soft kind of desperation, and nervousness. So nervous. With a jolt he realised he was causing that, and smiled as he gripped her hand back in answer.
They didn’t speak as they walked towards the door, or as he helped her into her coat, as he had so many other nights. He let her take his hand again and lead him down dark streets, not knowing where they were going, not caring as long as Catherine was leading him.
She stopped a few streets away. In the dark he almost missed the door in the boarded up building, but he followed as Catherine confidently stepped inside and held the door open for him.
He looked at her, his face a question, but not speaking, until she stepped towards him and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to.” “I want to,” she cut him off. With a moan of desire he hadn’t realised he felt Jack wrapped Catherine in his arms and kissed her passionately. Then the air raid sirens went off.
“Damn,” he muttered, taking in Catherine’s panicked look. It would be too dangerous to try to reach the dance hall and its shelter, not now he could hear the first explosion. “Come on,” this tine it was him leading, dragging her towards the back of the house. “Jack, where are we going?” “Aha!” he was triumphant as he pointed out the ruined back door to a small home shelter.
“We’ll be safe in here,” He was confident, as he secured it from inside. It smelt damp and abandoned, but it was structurally sound and seemed to have been well constructed. Then he took in Catherine’s terror stricken face and wrapped her in his arms again to soothe her. It wasn’t her first air raid, but it was the first time she wasn’t in a shelter she trusted.
Years later Catherine would say it was the fear, the need to feel safe, to be comforted, that led to what happened next. But she knew she had led Jack there and she had wanted him to make love to her.
He laid his greatcoat on the damp earth before carefully laying her down. He moved slowly, carefully, gently caressing and kissing before their passion took over.
Three weeks later the mood in the dance hall was much happier. A new influx of G.I.s had arrived. The girls were giggling, the drink was flowing, and the music was loud. But on a dark balcony one couple weren’t celebrating.
“When are you leaving?” Catherine whispered, her head lying on his chest as they swayed every so slowly to a music of their own. “I shouldn’t tell you.” In his head Jack said ‘I shouldn’t lie to you.’ He had left lovers many, many times but it was never any easier when he cared, even loved them. “Tomorrow.”
“Will… will you come back?”
He should have had a better answer ready. “I want to.” But he knew he wouldn’t.
They made no promises. It was wartime.
“Stay safe Captain Jack Harkness,” Catherine smiled warmly, this was no time for silly tears. She kissed him softly and laid her head back on his chest.
He walked her back to her house that night. It was a silent walk but with their hands clasped together tightly.
“This is it,” Catherine whispered, coming to a stop outside her home. Jack looked at it briefly, then back to the woman in his arms. “I’ve got you something,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, white box. “I wanted you to have something beautiful - just like you.” Catherine opened the proffered gift with a gasp, then let Jack lift the pendant out and fasten it around her neck. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his as her hand went to her neck and felt the flower shaped pendant, knowing it was sparkling between them even thought the night was pitch-black.
“Go on inside,” he murmured against her ear, eyes closed. “You don’t want to catch a chill.”
They didn’t say goodbye. “Good night Jack,” Catherine whispered, turning once at the door to give a little wave.
Jack watched as she walked to the door and let herself in, but by the time she had reached her bedroom and looked out the street was deserted.
It was another night like the night they met when Catherine felt the pain rip through her abdomen and she knew it was time. She had never gotten used to the dark London nights - still remembering the way her city used to be, shiny, glittering, bright and fun. Her parents had wanted her to leave the city, when she told them she was pregnant. It would be so much safer; her mother had tried to convince her. Her mother had cried, said she was worried her daughter and grandchild would be hurt, but Catherine knew, even though they never said, that her parents were crying too because of what she had done. But it was wartime. Her parents had lived through this before and they knew a thing or two about living. Surviving.
Her mother’s warm arms around her as a car sped her to the hospital were comforting, but didn’t stop Catherine longing for someone else’s arms. She knew she was lucky. She had the use of a car, only because of where she had worked for the past two years. She had very understanding parents who had immediately understood when she said ‘of course we were planning to get married before he... before he…’ She wouldn’t say disappeared. It was wartime. He was a casualty of war and she … she would be just another war widow.
The physical pain made a valiant effort but couldn’t stop the pain that gushed through her heart. All those months since Jack had gone away Catherine had put on her best brave face. She was lucky. She knew that. So many others had lost so much more. But now, now that there was no holding back her emotions, she cried for the man that would never see his child.
Air raid sirens echoed down the tiled halls of the hospital as baby Jack was born. He had his father’s eyes. Life went on. Life would always go on.
“Father’s name?” the voice was bored, disinterested, a typical clerk who had seen too many births and deaths registered to be interested anymore.
Catherine swallowed and looked at her mother before answering. “Captain Jack Harkness…” she paused, blinking hard, determined to do this without a single tear. “Deceased.”
The face of the bored clerk registered sympathy for a moment, then it was all signed and filed away.
As she walked out of the building, detouring through some back streets because the main entrance was now blocked with rubble from an explosion the week before, Catherine felt her hand go to the pendant around her neck. She said a silent prayer to herself and secretly asked Jack, wherever he was, to forgive her. Then she forced herself to smile brightly at her wonderful mother, linking their arms like girlfriends. “Let’s go home to my baby,” she said.
The End
Catherine's pendant
The title of this fic comes from the Vera Lynn song
GOODNIGHT WHEREVER YOU ARE
Goodnight wherever you are
May your dreams be pleasant dreams wherever you are
If only one little wish that I wish comes true
I know that the angels will watch over you
Goodnight wherever you are
I'll be with you dear no matter how near or far
With all my heart I pray everything is all right
Wherever you are goodnight
Rating: PG (Het kissing and some language)
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Captain Jack Harkness/OFC
A/N: This fic is a little unusual for me - not least cos it's het :P - but cos it's the first time I have worked in a group challenge. This fic tells the story of Captain Jack Harkness and a woman, Catherine Andrews, he meets when he is in London during the World War 2 blitz.
It's unusual for me in that it is acually partof a backstory to a WIP currently beign written and posted on torch_wood by dr_is_in In her wisdom she challenged myslef and mrs-cj-harkness to write two fics setting out the back story to her series. And boys and girls - it was a lot of fun :D
So I recommend you first read the dr_is_in's fic Here (It's fab!) (This is a link to chapter 5 and the earlier chapters are linked from there.)
Then you can read my fic below and the chapter by mrs-cj-harkness Here (Another fab fic!)
Hope it all makes sense :)
Oh and thanks to the girls for thier wonderful beta skills. Any mistakes etc left in the fic are my fault!
Goodnight, wherever you are...
It was funny the way war- the blitz- affected people, knowing your life was in danger every minute of the day, Catherine mused, not for the first time as she stood back and watched her friends dancing and laughing. She was standing just inside the heavy blackout curtains, close enough that the evening breeze that was squeezing around its edges could drift across her arms. It was refreshing in the muggy room. Just one more affect of this bloody blitz, she thought, not being able to throw the widows open to the summer night. And this room had such beautiful windows, she remembered from dances before the war. Long french windows that opened like doors out onto the balcony. Posh for London, she had always thought, but beautiful.
A burst of laughter close to her brought her out of her reverie. She was tired, not in the mood for putting on her happy face just for the sake of a few servicemen, but her friends had insisted. It wasn’t like any of them really wanted to be alone these nights anyway. Grasping her drink Catherine slipped around the edge of the curtain, moving it as little as possible.
Standing on the balcony, looking out at a dark London, made her sad. She was a city girl. Born and bred here. Born and bred with the lights, the hundreds of twinkling lights that made up the night skyline. She took it as a personal insult that the Germans were making the people of her city hide what made it beautiful. Her sigh was one of fatigue, sadness, helplessness.
“Now why is a pretty girl like you out here alone and not breaking hearts in there?” the rich American voice made her jump and she felt her drink splash onto her dress. Catherine was ready to make a smart remark back, American servicemen… overpaid, oversexed and over here… but when she turned to face the voice somehow her own words were lost before they were uttered. She thought herself long-ago immune to the sight of a handsome man in uniform, but Catherine instantly knew that she was blushing like a schoolgirl before this man. Her eyes instantly took in broad shoulders, tall, dark and … she stopped herself right there.
“Are all your lines as original?” she quickly regained her composure, cocking an eyebrow but not quite smiling. His dazzling grin in return ignored her cool body language. “Well now, it’s not every night I have to come all the way outside here to talk to a pretty girl, after that effort I think you can forgive the old line,” he was teasing and she wasn’t annoyed. Suppressing a smile and using her most perfectly lady-like voice she called him on it. “So you talk to a lot of pretty girls then? I supposed I should be flattered you took the time to talk to me.” “Ouch,” the soldier motioned being wounded in the heart, but was still smiling. “Here,” he offered one of the two glasses she now noticed he was holding.
“Are you trying to get me tipsy…,” she checked his insignia, “Captain…?” “Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness,” he beamed even wider than before. It was infectious. Who was Catherine to refuse a drink from a captain. After all, that would just have been rude and unladylike.
An hour later the waltzes and American jazz numbers had given way to the rousing, and slightly rude, soldier songs, and Catherine was allowing Captain Harkness to hold her coat as she slipped her arms into it. “Are you sure you won’t let me walk you home?” he asked for the third time, his voice uncharacteristically low and close to her ear, making her shiver. “No thank you, Captain Harkness,” she was not letting him know the affect he was already having on her after their dancing and laughing. “The girls and I know our way,” she motioned towards her friends who were putting on coats, some letting the soldiers they had met that night perform the same service as her captain. (‘Her captain’… that was a thought she was going to have to examine, Catherine immediately thought.) “Can I see you again?” he shouted after her as she went down the front steps of the building. Still walking away, Catherine turned her head back just for a moment and flashed him her most genuine, if teasing, smile. “Maybe captain.”
He watched as she walked down the street, arm in arm with her friend - Maggie, Mary, Molly? Truth be told he hadn’t been paying attention. “Definitely maybe,” he grinned to himself before rejoining his buddies inside.
“You want to watch yourself with that one mate,” one of his fellow officers slapped him on the back as he pulled a chair up to what looked to be a promising poker game. “I can handle the crackerjacks, Bill, don’t you worry about me,” Jack winked at his fellow officer. “Not her Jack. Ask anyone here,” he motioned as he dealt the cards. “Those girls over at the war office, tighter than a virgin’s daughter.” Ignoring the soldiering banter Jack’s curiosity was piqued. “War office?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but all instincts now honed. “Those girls know things; secret things, things us mortals will never know, things that will kick Jerry’s arse all the way back to Berlin,” another of the card players slurred slightly. “Spies!” a thoroughly drunken voice on Jack’s other side cried, accompanied by another hearty slap to his back. Now Jack was really interested.
“I figured pretty girls had to take lunch break sooner or later.” Dazzling grin - check.
“Captain Harkness!” Catherine spun around at the park gate, trying to hide her pleased surprise. Her friends giggled and kept walking, casting the odd glance back. “Can I offer to buy you a ‘cup of tea’” he tried to say it in an English accent, and took Catherine’s hearty laugh as a sign he wasn’t very good. Offering his arm to her he went back to hit normal accent. “Chilly day, wouldn’t want you to get cold now.” Catherine was surprised at just how quickly and easily she seemed to trust this man… this American. But she slipped her arm into his, glad of the warmth of his greatcoat on her bare hands. It was a chilly day; first of the autumn. “I have to be back at my desk by two o’clock,” she warned as he led her down the street. “No problem ma’am,” he smiled.
She made it, out of breath, with seconds to spare.
Some days Catherine couldn’t leave the building at lunchtime, but she couldn’t tell him why. Other days when he didn’t turn up and she laughed and joked with her friends that she preferred being with them than any loud American. But she always went with him, to their corner café, when he did show up.
They never talked about where he was the days she didn’t see him, even though sometimes he asked what had kept her so busy that she could resist him. He tried to make it sound like he was flirting, he was, but he also figured it was worth his while asking. You never knew when a sliver of information would benefit his … job.
But as the weeks passed Jack felt his focus on the ulterior motives of his courtship slipping until one night, in the dancehall, Catherine’s head on his chest as they swayed to the slow music, he realised what this feeling was that had been tormenting him. He felt content. He knew he had gone from enjoying the company of a pretty girl, to looking forward to spending lunchtimes, or dinnertimes as she called it in her very English way, with her, and then he’d realised he was rearranging his schedule so he would be there, so he could make the dances he knew Catherine and her friends were going to, so he could see her.
He invited her to the movies. They avoided the newsreels. Their happy bubble was untouched by the daily death and destruction around them, coming back from overseas to them. They saw Rebecca (Catherine liked Laurence Olivier), The Wizard of Oz (Jack liked Judy Garland), and Wuthering Heights twice, because new movies didn’t always arrive with the blockades, and Catherine really liked Laurence Olivier. She invited him to the Sunday picnics she and her friends kept up, even as the winter drew in. They would sit huddled together on a park bench, with a thermos of strong tea and the sandwiches she made with the tins of ham he was always able to find for her. She never asked and he never offered. They were one of a thousand couples thrown together by the war and starting to cling to the comfort of each other.
Another night in the dancehall. Jack felt content. Warm, comfortable, happy. He let his eyes fall closed as he held Catherine tight against him. He knew the atmosphere in the room tonight was different. He tried to tell himself that was because a lot of the men were shipping out tomorrow, that it was nothing to do with him, with the young woman in his arms. But he knew that wasn’t the full truth. He was starting to care about Catherine and that was not a good thing.
“Jack?” he opened his eyes at Catherine’s soft query. There was concern written in her expression as well as something softer. “It’s sad in here tonight,” she voiced a thought he was sure he could see in many faces around them, and he nodded in response. Then he felt Catherine grip his hand tightly. “Jack…” she faltered for a moment, “Let’s get out of here.” He was taken aback. Somewhere in his sojourn in the 1940s he’d gotten used to the categories and the ‘morals’ of the time. The same way, he realised, he had come to enjoy Catherine’s company for just that. The company. But now she was looking at him with a soft kind of desperation, and nervousness. So nervous. With a jolt he realised he was causing that, and smiled as he gripped her hand back in answer.
They didn’t speak as they walked towards the door, or as he helped her into her coat, as he had so many other nights. He let her take his hand again and lead him down dark streets, not knowing where they were going, not caring as long as Catherine was leading him.
She stopped a few streets away. In the dark he almost missed the door in the boarded up building, but he followed as Catherine confidently stepped inside and held the door open for him.
He looked at her, his face a question, but not speaking, until she stepped towards him and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to.” “I want to,” she cut him off. With a moan of desire he hadn’t realised he felt Jack wrapped Catherine in his arms and kissed her passionately. Then the air raid sirens went off.
“Damn,” he muttered, taking in Catherine’s panicked look. It would be too dangerous to try to reach the dance hall and its shelter, not now he could hear the first explosion. “Come on,” this tine it was him leading, dragging her towards the back of the house. “Jack, where are we going?” “Aha!” he was triumphant as he pointed out the ruined back door to a small home shelter.
“We’ll be safe in here,” He was confident, as he secured it from inside. It smelt damp and abandoned, but it was structurally sound and seemed to have been well constructed. Then he took in Catherine’s terror stricken face and wrapped her in his arms again to soothe her. It wasn’t her first air raid, but it was the first time she wasn’t in a shelter she trusted.
Years later Catherine would say it was the fear, the need to feel safe, to be comforted, that led to what happened next. But she knew she had led Jack there and she had wanted him to make love to her.
He laid his greatcoat on the damp earth before carefully laying her down. He moved slowly, carefully, gently caressing and kissing before their passion took over.
Three weeks later the mood in the dance hall was much happier. A new influx of G.I.s had arrived. The girls were giggling, the drink was flowing, and the music was loud. But on a dark balcony one couple weren’t celebrating.
“When are you leaving?” Catherine whispered, her head lying on his chest as they swayed every so slowly to a music of their own. “I shouldn’t tell you.” In his head Jack said ‘I shouldn’t lie to you.’ He had left lovers many, many times but it was never any easier when he cared, even loved them. “Tomorrow.”
“Will… will you come back?”
He should have had a better answer ready. “I want to.” But he knew he wouldn’t.
They made no promises. It was wartime.
“Stay safe Captain Jack Harkness,” Catherine smiled warmly, this was no time for silly tears. She kissed him softly and laid her head back on his chest.
He walked her back to her house that night. It was a silent walk but with their hands clasped together tightly.
“This is it,” Catherine whispered, coming to a stop outside her home. Jack looked at it briefly, then back to the woman in his arms. “I’ve got you something,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, white box. “I wanted you to have something beautiful - just like you.” Catherine opened the proffered gift with a gasp, then let Jack lift the pendant out and fasten it around her neck. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his as her hand went to her neck and felt the flower shaped pendant, knowing it was sparkling between them even thought the night was pitch-black.
“Go on inside,” he murmured against her ear, eyes closed. “You don’t want to catch a chill.”
They didn’t say goodbye. “Good night Jack,” Catherine whispered, turning once at the door to give a little wave.
Jack watched as she walked to the door and let herself in, but by the time she had reached her bedroom and looked out the street was deserted.
It was another night like the night they met when Catherine felt the pain rip through her abdomen and she knew it was time. She had never gotten used to the dark London nights - still remembering the way her city used to be, shiny, glittering, bright and fun. Her parents had wanted her to leave the city, when she told them she was pregnant. It would be so much safer; her mother had tried to convince her. Her mother had cried, said she was worried her daughter and grandchild would be hurt, but Catherine knew, even though they never said, that her parents were crying too because of what she had done. But it was wartime. Her parents had lived through this before and they knew a thing or two about living. Surviving.
Her mother’s warm arms around her as a car sped her to the hospital were comforting, but didn’t stop Catherine longing for someone else’s arms. She knew she was lucky. She had the use of a car, only because of where she had worked for the past two years. She had very understanding parents who had immediately understood when she said ‘of course we were planning to get married before he... before he…’ She wouldn’t say disappeared. It was wartime. He was a casualty of war and she … she would be just another war widow.
The physical pain made a valiant effort but couldn’t stop the pain that gushed through her heart. All those months since Jack had gone away Catherine had put on her best brave face. She was lucky. She knew that. So many others had lost so much more. But now, now that there was no holding back her emotions, she cried for the man that would never see his child.
Air raid sirens echoed down the tiled halls of the hospital as baby Jack was born. He had his father’s eyes. Life went on. Life would always go on.
“Father’s name?” the voice was bored, disinterested, a typical clerk who had seen too many births and deaths registered to be interested anymore.
Catherine swallowed and looked at her mother before answering. “Captain Jack Harkness…” she paused, blinking hard, determined to do this without a single tear. “Deceased.”
The face of the bored clerk registered sympathy for a moment, then it was all signed and filed away.
As she walked out of the building, detouring through some back streets because the main entrance was now blocked with rubble from an explosion the week before, Catherine felt her hand go to the pendant around her neck. She said a silent prayer to herself and secretly asked Jack, wherever he was, to forgive her. Then she forced herself to smile brightly at her wonderful mother, linking their arms like girlfriends. “Let’s go home to my baby,” she said.
The End
Catherine's pendant
The title of this fic comes from the Vera Lynn song
GOODNIGHT WHEREVER YOU ARE
Goodnight wherever you are
May your dreams be pleasant dreams wherever you are
If only one little wish that I wish comes true
I know that the angels will watch over you
Goodnight wherever you are
I'll be with you dear no matter how near or far
With all my heart I pray everything is all right
Wherever you are goodnight