There's a new world shattering the silence. A new world I'm afraid to see.

[sendmyscourge]

One more midnight passes.

The firstborns are ripped out of their dreamworlds and dropped back into Chicago, disoriented and confused, but otherwise okay. With them, comes the return of all the tech and vehicles that were down while the plagues were going on.

As the sun rises, all that is left of the plagues are the corpses of monster and humanoid,

Comments

[sarkraticmethod]

It's an hour after midnight when Sark finds himself standing outside the Kashtta. The doors are unlocked and on closer examination of the lobby, it looks like something tore the floor a new one

[hey_capn_jack]

So far as J knows, everyone in Torchwood is comparing notes on what exactly happened to him. Which makes this a rare opportunity to move freely in the tower, surveying the damage.

He wasn't expecting the damage to come walking in the front door and up the main stairs.

He's just leaving the second-floor hallways and stepping onto the balcony when he sees Sark, looking like he was the other half of the split order of fifty different kinds of Hell this week has been. Or another third, or fourth, or fifth, or (number of people in Chicago)th. He pauses, then steps up to the balcony railing to rest his hands.

"She's probably debriefing," he says. Yeah, he can put things together. He always was good, when he paid attention.

[sarkraticmethod]

There are so many ways in which Sark DOES NOT WANT this. He stops as soon as his feet hit the landing, not quite looking at J, but there's no tension, no genuine fear response that one would expect from someone who, a month ago, considered one of J's identities to be his own personal Boogeyman.

So Suzie must have told him or he figured it out on his own, somehow. Far be it for Sark to suggest he understands what goes on in that head. He doesn't really care right now.

"I'll wait for her in the lounge," he says curtly. "I assume it hasn't been flooded."

He has nothing he particularly wants to say to the man right now... If ever.

[hey_capn_jack]

Surprisingly, J actually does possess the ability to put two and two together to get you and Suzie. You heard it here first, Sark.

"That'd be quite a feat," J says, tilting his head. In any case, the water would probably not stay in the lounge. It'd probably spill out into the hall and slowly make its way downward.

There's a lot that J could say. You look like seventeen kinds of hell, or You know, I could tell you your forture from the measure of your stride, or just Who was it? Who, not what, because Sark doesn't have the air of one roughed up by circumstance. Someone's gone and rewritten the way he interacts with the people he's already indicated both fear and submission to, and that doesn't tend to just happen.

What comes out is a surprisingly gentle "It's none of my business."

They've been through enough for the moment. There's no need to start this dance up again now.

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark's halfway past J when he freezes.

Surprisingly gentle or not, not interested would be complete silence. None of my business means something entirely different and he considers how tired he is right now and how badly he wants to try to pick a fight and winds up biting his tongue on the worst of his retorts, and asking a question he already knows the answer to.

"What is none of your business?"

That, J, is not how one doesn't start up a dance. That is how one starts an emotional Paso Doble.

[hey_capn_jack]

...right. Some read nonagression, some read implication. Now, the question is, does J want to engage or disengage?

All his training says engage.

One! J's natural inclination to torture and violence!

Without turning his body away from Sark, J turns his cheek, focusing on nothing in particular. I'm not backing down, he's saying; I'm not signalling submission, but I'm removing myself from any challenge. Two dogs meet, and manage neutral territory. He shows both palms, fingers up. I mean nothing. I'll step away.

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark turns to look over his shoulder, his eyes exhausted and heavy-lidded. Once upon a time, this would have sent him running- proximity and no bars. Now he knows the truth. Thane was only terrifying because he judged him worthless when they met and that was a scary concept for someone who had fought tooth and nail to be worth something

[hey_capn_jack]

For a moment, as he looks back, J's eyes narrow as if he's not sure whether or not that should sting. He's not sure. Investing himself in anything...

Two! The sustained distrust and judgement of the people he's already betrayed!

After a moment, he lets out a series of exhalations that sound almost nothing like a laugh. "' There are people here who love him. People who've been missing him. People who are going to go on like something's been ripped out of them because...'" He pulls the corners of his lips up. The expression - not a smile, just a shift - dissolves with the rest of his words. "The accusation's been levied. Few times, in fact. Different degrees. For all I'm trained in nuances, I do seem to operate in zeroes and ones. You want to see what happens when I am invested? Even I can't tell how that would end

[sarkraticmethod]

Someone already beat you to the punch.

Sark turns around and takes a few steps closer, more to prove a point than for any desire to get closer. Look. I'm not afraid. You hold no sway here. I'm not anymore interested in you, than you are I.

Except this conversation is still going on, so someone's lying to themself and Sark's too arrogant to think that it's him.

"I'm not asking you to become invested. Don't mistake me. A lot has changed since the trial." And now he's got a scar to prove it. "We're neither of us in any position to deal with the other."

So why are we still dancing like this?

Answer that. You'd be better off seeking the meaning of existence than trying.

[hey_capn_jack]

"' It'd be nice if we could manage it,'" he says, like he's going through his memories, looking for a key. No, they're not in any position to deal with each other. They're both trained to grab the upper hand. And yet the high ground is waiting while they're facing each other across the low, two pack dogs neither vying for alpha nor pushing for omega, at something that's not quite neutrality or stalemate or detente. It's an appraisal, readying itself for a cold war.

And neither one of those sets of memories and patterns is going to go away, is it? There's a quandary. He's spent so long with the cacophony of Jack Harkness and John Thane in his head, arguing on every point and protocol, and it's not as if the tumult of the last few days has quieted that. The cacopony is still going on in his head, where the urges and inclinations of John Thane say Step forward, take control of this and the iron-banded moral judgement of Jack Harkness says... Step forward. Take control of this.

What are you afraid of, Mr. Sark? And haven't you

[sarkraticmethod]

And, in that moment, Sark actually looks like he's been slapped.

Chosen. Like he asked for Suzie. Like he asked for April. Like he asked for any of them. He could have existed in some perfect state of oblivion, fallen off a grid, or gotten picked up by the next superpower and been made useful, but people happened to him and he made the mistake of letting him instead of kicking them to the curb where they belonged. Where everything in his training said they belonged.

He clenches his fists and tucks his chin against his chest, baring his teeth in an approximation of a snarl and looking up into J's eyes in a gesture of aggressive submission. How dare you...

"Of course not. I think we all know you've cornered the monopoly on that. You can tell Ms. Costello to contact me when she's through, and I'll be glad to meet with her

[hey_capn_jack]

Not.

Quite.

Right.

J steps forward as soon as he catches the hint that Sark's going to disengage, one hand snapping out and catching the back of Sark's neck. It's not a hard grip, not yet, not if he's not struggling, and had they been two other people with another history and different expressions on each of their faces, it could almost be companionable.

It's really, really not.

"Because for some damn reason," he says, continuing on as though Sark hadn't spoken at all; It becomes my problem, because... " there seems to be some thought left that I'm one of them. There are people who still look for someone I stopped being a long time ago whenever I'm in the same room with them, and I'm not dense, Sark. You think I don't notice what it means to them? When the people who used to love me look over and see this broken thing that I've become

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark jerks at the hand on the back of his neck, his heart speeding up, so he gives the impression of a scared, captured rabbit when J doesn't let him go. He grits his teeth and urges himself to calm down, because losing it right here, right now is not going to do much of anything.

Every now and then during J's speech, he'll give an unceremonious jerk, like maybe J will accidentally loosen his grip enough for him to run, but there's never any give and he's an idiot to think otherwise. He's always been better.

"I am damned no matter what I do," he hisses, his voice taking on a panicked, angry edge. "And my fight isn't theirs. I am not bowing down and letting other people fight my battles just for the sake of their comfort and if that offends you, then I'm sure you'll have no problem putting an end to this before I destroy anything else." He laughs in a way that isn't quite a laugh, more like a half-strangled cry. "And you know better than anyone that I'm more than willing to sacrifice a few pawns in any pathetic attempt at a chess

[hey_capn_jack]

"Their comfort. Your pride. You're projecting, and we're both fucking damned. We've done this dance already. So what'll we do, Sark? Resign ourselves to inevitability? You walked in. You always walk in."

There are so many ways he could press this advantage. His hindbrain is already numbering them off. He could, here on the balcony, in full view of anyone who came by, absolutely shatter this man if he put his mind to it. He's sure of it. It's not elegant, trampling all over someone else's work, but it is on occasion surprisingly easy.

"...and I always walk away," he says.

He closes his eyes.

After a moment, he lets his hand slip down to Sark's shoulder. He's still not letting him go, but he's not got his hands all over the trigger any more.

"Fucking... idiot," he says, and it's not entirely clear which one of them he's talking to.

[sarkraticmethod]

You walked in.

Calisto. Thane. J. Clark. Every one of them, he ran to for one reason or another. Calisto, because he needed a surrogate to keep from falling apart in a bad situation. Thane, because he thought he was better than he was. J, because he thought he owed him something. Clark, because he thought he had nothing to lose and everything to win back.

It's hard to be a come-home dog when you've got nothing to come home to, so you stand at every door that looks promising and whine for scraps and then bay in agony when they tighten the chain with the intent to break your neck at the most convenient opportunity.

Sark makes a noise in the back of his throat and still wriggles in J's grasp, even as his hand is off the trigger. It's the touch that's bothering him. It's the feeling like he can't get away.

"I'm tired," he finally says quietly, giving up on the struggle and allowing himself to go limp on his feet. Maybe he is an idiot. Maybe he's just getting himself in over his head, because the sensation of drowning is too good to

[hey_capn_jack]

"I know," J says. I'm- "...I'm tired too."

He doesn't let Sark go. Not yet.

"Call it strategy, Sark. Strength in numbers. Call it outflanking. Call it tactical support. No one sends agents out to fight wars; that's a job for armies. And no one sends a one-man team on a three-man job. If you're going to fight, fight smart. And if not..." He shrugs. "A bullet's a lot quicker."

He lets go. Takes a step back. This... he's not entirely sure what just happened here.

"There is a way out," he says, eyes locked on Sark's as he retreats a step at a time. "I've known people who've made it. Just... keep it in mind."

As he turns and walks back into the hall that he came from, he lets the mask drop. It worked, he thinks - he hopes. Just for that parting line. Maybe he was able to hide the fact that he didn't know if it was a lie.