FIC: I Already Have a War, Thanks for Asking
Title: I Already Have a War, Thanks for Asking (Red Is My Colour Prompt for Day Twenty-nine)
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, cameos by Tosh, Owen, Gwen
Setting: season two, post-To the Last Man
Words: 1,150
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Jack tangles with the Rift before coming back home.
Prompt:
Hazy Shades of Winter
Simon and Garfunkel
Time, time, time, see whats become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
But look around, leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Hear the salvation army band
Down by the riverside, its bound to be a better ride
Than what youve got planned
Carry your cup in your hand
And look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Hang on to your hopes, my friend
Thats an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around, the grass is high
The fields are ripe, its the springtime of my life
Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Wont you stop and remember me
At any convenient time
Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme
Drinking my vodka and lime
But look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Look around, leaves are brown
Theres a patch of snow on the ground...
Jack climbed, stumbling, to the top of the ridge and looked around. Gunsmoke had left a haze in the air, and it was difficult to see, but the sounds . . . the sounds he remembered. The gun fire was an early version of a machine gun, particular to his memories of fighting in World War I. The Great War, they had called it, but Jack had already been a veteran of much larger conflagrations. His heart had already been broken by countless brothers- and sisters-in-arms who fell with guts spewing and blood soaking the ground, or dissolving like mist in the air.
Jack ducked at the top of the ridge as bullets sped towards him, and, spotting an empty foxhole, he dived into it. It smelled like death, rotting leaves and dried blood and stale sweat. It smelled familiar. Jack took a shaky breath, and tried to figure out how the hell he got there. And if he was really here (or there - or something).
He had been walking across the Plass, and had deliberately stopped to tie his boot (which had not been untied) so that he could check out Ianto’s ass when he crossed in front of him. He was just getting used to being able to look at him whenever he wanted, being allowed into his flat and his bed, and slowly, slowly approaching an intimacy he hadn’t had in . . . well, he’d lost count. So what was he doing on the Western Front circa - he cocked his ear at the sound of the gun fire - 1918 was his best guess.
He closed his eyes and pictured the last moment he recalled from 2008. Gwen was telling them a story about something Rhys had done the night before. It involved an entire jar of pickles, a bet, and a trip to the A&E, that much he was fairly certain. Owen had laughed, Jack had bent to enact his ass-watching scheme, and Tosh’s voice had sounded in all of their comms. She had said something about a strange Rift spike. The spike had turned in on itself, that’s what she had said, and it was very close.
Jack opened his eyes and looked around his foxhole. Well, it would appear that he was caught in a temporal and spatial shift. That could be a Rift spike that turned in on itself. If he wanted to get back without waiting the long way, he should get back to that spot and look for a signal of sorts from Tosh.
Decision made, Jack took one last look around (no weapons of any kind - this was one deserted foxhole) and cautiously poked his head out.
His mouth gaped open. This was most certainly not Europe, 1918. Or even Earth. Over to his left, a stand of trees was incinerated by a bomb. A bomb that was definitely from after the 40th Century. The air was hazy still, but with tiny particles of tree, and other forms of plant life. Sweeping searchlights from cruisers flying low to the ground created strange patterns in the heavy motes of dust in the air. Jack knew this war, too.
He struggled up the slope, resolutely not looking at what he was climbing through. This was the Field of Aershin’s Despair. Thousands of men and women from Aershin had lost their lives here, ended in a pulse-like blast. It was a new technology then, and as far as Jack knew, had never been used since. All of the bodies he struggled against now were missing heads. Or rather, their heads had exploded, so bits of them were still in the field, just impossible to tell what belonged to whom. The technology had been totally indiscriminate, and all of Aershin’s enemies that were there on that day had also lost their heads. Hence the reason no one had been eager to use it again.
Jack slipped, and went stumbling down the other side of the slope. He could see a wink in the air that he felt was the Rift. Right under his nose, however, was a woman’s body that looked so much like Gwen’s that his throat involuntarily closed. He grabbed at her left hand, and let it fall bonelessly back down. Empty. Thank everything.
Jack looked back up at the cruisers, fruitlessly searching for signs of life. He flipped them the bird and took another step forward.
This time the air shimmied. The haze was caused by a heat so intense he felt his sweat immediately evaporate. He looked down at his feet and cursed, then immediately regretted opening his mouth as it dried in the heat. His feet were literally on fire. Jack hopped forward, attempting to put out the flames without touching his skin to the hot sand. This was a planet called Gnasher’s Hole, and Jack had never had any intention of returning here. The entire place went up in literal flames during a civil war that lasted for two millennia. It finally ended when there was no one left alive to fight for anything.
He couldn’t see the Rift spike anymore through the haze, but he knew it was just a little further to his right. Gritting his teeth, he struggled forward, attempting to ignore the waves of pain from his burning feet. He thought he could hear - yes!
He came to much later, unburned (he must have died) and naked in Ianto’s bed. Ianto himself was sitting against the headboard, legs under the covers with him, reading a report. He looked over when he felt Jack stir next to him.
He gazed at him solemnly for a moment. “Happy to be back?”
Jack nodded. “That’s a bit of an understatement.”
Ianto returned his nod. “I’m happy to have you back, as well.”
Jack smiled, and curled into Ianto’s hip. “I could hear you all, you know. When I finally made it back. Tosh is really brilliant to get that thing closed.”
Ianto dimmed his bedside lamp and stretched out beside Jack, pulling the covers up around their shoulders. “You should get her to tell you how she did it tomorrow. She’d like that.”
Ianto yawned then, and Jack pulled him into an embrace. Ianto looked him in the eye, waiting.
Jack swallowed. “Death. Destruction. War. I just - I don’t -”
“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to.”
Jack gave him a half smile in return. Tomorrow he would go back to being the Captain, Fearless Leader, Commander of Torchwood, Defender of Earth, Heartthrob Extraordinaire. Tonight, however, he could just be and let someone else chase away the demons. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. He could feel Ianto’s fingers hesitatingly brush through his hair, another intimacy that was new and strangely familial. He purred deep in his throat so Ianto wouldn’t stop, and when he didn’t, Jack nuzzled at his neck like a cat, found his pulse point and kissed it fiercely, feeling the pumping of his blood against his tongue and lips. So gloriously alive and present. Thank everything.
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, cameos by Tosh, Owen, Gwen
Setting: season two, post-To the Last Man
Words: 1,150
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Jack tangles with the Rift before coming back home.
Prompt:
Hazy Shades of Winter
Simon and Garfunkel
Time, time, time, see whats become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
But look around, leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Hear the salvation army band
Down by the riverside, its bound to be a better ride
Than what youve got planned
Carry your cup in your hand
And look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Hang on to your hopes, my friend
Thats an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around, the grass is high
The fields are ripe, its the springtime of my life
Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Wont you stop and remember me
At any convenient time
Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme
Drinking my vodka and lime
But look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Look around, leaves are brown
Theres a patch of snow on the ground...
Jack climbed, stumbling, to the top of the ridge and looked around. Gunsmoke had left a haze in the air, and it was difficult to see, but the sounds . . . the sounds he remembered. The gun fire was an early version of a machine gun, particular to his memories of fighting in World War I. The Great War, they had called it, but Jack had already been a veteran of much larger conflagrations. His heart had already been broken by countless brothers- and sisters-in-arms who fell with guts spewing and blood soaking the ground, or dissolving like mist in the air.
Jack ducked at the top of the ridge as bullets sped towards him, and, spotting an empty foxhole, he dived into it. It smelled like death, rotting leaves and dried blood and stale sweat. It smelled familiar. Jack took a shaky breath, and tried to figure out how the hell he got there. And if he was really here (or there - or something).
He had been walking across the Plass, and had deliberately stopped to tie his boot (which had not been untied) so that he could check out Ianto’s ass when he crossed in front of him. He was just getting used to being able to look at him whenever he wanted, being allowed into his flat and his bed, and slowly, slowly approaching an intimacy he hadn’t had in . . . well, he’d lost count. So what was he doing on the Western Front circa - he cocked his ear at the sound of the gun fire - 1918 was his best guess.
He closed his eyes and pictured the last moment he recalled from 2008. Gwen was telling them a story about something Rhys had done the night before. It involved an entire jar of pickles, a bet, and a trip to the A&E, that much he was fairly certain. Owen had laughed, Jack had bent to enact his ass-watching scheme, and Tosh’s voice had sounded in all of their comms. She had said something about a strange Rift spike. The spike had turned in on itself, that’s what she had said, and it was very close.
Jack opened his eyes and looked around his foxhole. Well, it would appear that he was caught in a temporal and spatial shift. That could be a Rift spike that turned in on itself. If he wanted to get back without waiting the long way, he should get back to that spot and look for a signal of sorts from Tosh.
Decision made, Jack took one last look around (no weapons of any kind - this was one deserted foxhole) and cautiously poked his head out.
His mouth gaped open. This was most certainly not Europe, 1918. Or even Earth. Over to his left, a stand of trees was incinerated by a bomb. A bomb that was definitely from after the 40th Century. The air was hazy still, but with tiny particles of tree, and other forms of plant life. Sweeping searchlights from cruisers flying low to the ground created strange patterns in the heavy motes of dust in the air. Jack knew this war, too.
He struggled up the slope, resolutely not looking at what he was climbing through. This was the Field of Aershin’s Despair. Thousands of men and women from Aershin had lost their lives here, ended in a pulse-like blast. It was a new technology then, and as far as Jack knew, had never been used since. All of the bodies he struggled against now were missing heads. Or rather, their heads had exploded, so bits of them were still in the field, just impossible to tell what belonged to whom. The technology had been totally indiscriminate, and all of Aershin’s enemies that were there on that day had also lost their heads. Hence the reason no one had been eager to use it again.
Jack slipped, and went stumbling down the other side of the slope. He could see a wink in the air that he felt was the Rift. Right under his nose, however, was a woman’s body that looked so much like Gwen’s that his throat involuntarily closed. He grabbed at her left hand, and let it fall bonelessly back down. Empty. Thank everything.
Jack looked back up at the cruisers, fruitlessly searching for signs of life. He flipped them the bird and took another step forward.
This time the air shimmied. The haze was caused by a heat so intense he felt his sweat immediately evaporate. He looked down at his feet and cursed, then immediately regretted opening his mouth as it dried in the heat. His feet were literally on fire. Jack hopped forward, attempting to put out the flames without touching his skin to the hot sand. This was a planet called Gnasher’s Hole, and Jack had never had any intention of returning here. The entire place went up in literal flames during a civil war that lasted for two millennia. It finally ended when there was no one left alive to fight for anything.
He couldn’t see the Rift spike anymore through the haze, but he knew it was just a little further to his right. Gritting his teeth, he struggled forward, attempting to ignore the waves of pain from his burning feet. He thought he could hear - yes!
He came to much later, unburned (he must have died) and naked in Ianto’s bed. Ianto himself was sitting against the headboard, legs under the covers with him, reading a report. He looked over when he felt Jack stir next to him.
He gazed at him solemnly for a moment. “Happy to be back?”
Jack nodded. “That’s a bit of an understatement.”
Ianto returned his nod. “I’m happy to have you back, as well.”
Jack smiled, and curled into Ianto’s hip. “I could hear you all, you know. When I finally made it back. Tosh is really brilliant to get that thing closed.”
Ianto dimmed his bedside lamp and stretched out beside Jack, pulling the covers up around their shoulders. “You should get her to tell you how she did it tomorrow. She’d like that.”
Ianto yawned then, and Jack pulled him into an embrace. Ianto looked him in the eye, waiting.
Jack swallowed. “Death. Destruction. War. I just - I don’t -”
“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to.”
Jack gave him a half smile in return. Tomorrow he would go back to being the Captain, Fearless Leader, Commander of Torchwood, Defender of Earth, Heartthrob Extraordinaire. Tonight, however, he could just be and let someone else chase away the demons. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. He could feel Ianto’s fingers hesitatingly brush through his hair, another intimacy that was new and strangely familial. He purred deep in his throat so Ianto wouldn’t stop, and when he didn’t, Jack nuzzled at his neck like a cat, found his pulse point and kissed it fiercely, feeling the pumping of his blood against his tongue and lips. So gloriously alive and present. Thank everything.