Between the Sky and Heaven, 2/3
Part 1
Everyone in bold in the table beneath has been seen in Torchwood and hence does not belong to me. Everyone in normal text was dreamed up by me.
Pilot
Call sign
WSO
Call sign
Wing Commander Toshiko Sato
Sonic
Squadron Leader Suzie Costello
Gauntlet
Squadron Leader Rhys Williams
Rant
Jack Harkness
Wildcard
John Hart
Breaker
Ianto Jones
T-Man
Owen Harper
Scalpel
Jessica Glover
ASBO
Steven Cash
Johnny
Michael Warnes
Banshee
Emma Peterson
M
Darren Alexander
Gladys
Jem Swift Junior
JJ
Rachael Sherwood
Hood
Kevin Rondon
Cupcake
Others mentioned:
Pilot
Call sign
WSO/CSO
Call sign
John Smith
Doc
Rose Tyler
Briar
Christopher Gray
Steel
Roger Wolfram
Wolfie
"Break left!"
Wildcard pulled the plane into a tight left turn as a flash of blue-purple shot past him. "Thanks, Breaker."
"Thunderbird 2's coming up on your ten," his WSO added.
Wildcard changed course to intercept Rant's heavy weapons platform. Before he could make it to lock-on range, however, the saucer-shaped vessel shimmered and vanished.
"Damn it! How am I supposed to get a lock on that thing if it won't stay still?" Breaker complained.
Wildcard didn't bother answering, counting under his breath. "Three, two, one . . . there!"
On his count, Thunderbird 2 blinked back into existence. Wildcard grinned to himself. The timing was the same with every jump it made, right down to the second, and he bet that meant a limited range. It seemed that it could jump in any direction, though, which made things a little more difficult.
He checked the clock and aimed for Rant's aircraft again. This time, he got to within firing range. Breaker whooped and lined up the targeting systems just as Rant vanished again.
Breaker swore, but Wildcard wasn't listening. He checked the clock again as he circled the area. So, it took Thunderbird 2 a minute or more to recharge. He could use that.
When the weapons platform deigned to appear again, Wildcard poured on the power and headed straight for it. He was dimly aware of Breaker trying to tell him something, but the enemy was right there . . .
A flash of blue-purple distracted him as he flew past, a flicker of grey coming up on the other side. And then he was between them, a shrill noise blaring in his ears. It took him a moment to recognise the lock-on warning. Had Sonic tagged him as she'd flown past?
"Wildcard, you idiot!" ASBO said over the radio. "I was about to win one there, before you got in the way!"
Wildcard realised, disbelievingly, that he'd just been tagged by his own teammate.
"Wildcard, get back to base. Now." There was no mistaking the suppressed anger in Sonic's voice.
* * *
Sonic was waiting for them when they landed. They were barely out of the plane when she came striding across the hangar floor, anger radiating off her slim body. Wildcard felt himself come to attention automatically, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Breaker doing the same. "Harkness. Hart. I really hope you have a good explanation for what you were doing up there," she snapped.
Wildcard stared straight ahead. "We were attempting to lock on to Thunderbird 2, ma'am. I calculated that we only had a short time before he jumped again, and I tried to take a short cut."
"Your short cut took you in between two planes involved in a tail-chase. That wasn't just dangerous, that was stupid. Even if you hadn't been caught by the lock-on signal, you could have collided with one or both of the planes, or been seriously affected by the turbulence. Flying the way you did forced the other aircraft into making evasive manoeuvres, which lost your teammate the opportunity to make a kill." She glared at them both. "There is no place in Torch Gun for that kind of flying. If this kind of thing happens again, I'll be asking you to consider whether or not you should be here."
Sonic spun on her heel and stalked away. Wildcard didn't relax from his at-attention posture until she vanished out of the door. He saw Breaker open his mouth to say something, and he held up a warning hand. "Don't. C'mon, I need a shower."
* * *
In the end, Wildcard had to wait for his shower. He sat in the men's locker room with his eyes closed, not wanting to endure the imagined accusing or pitying looks that his classmates might give him. Yes, he'd been stupid, not checking the sky before pulling that stunt, but how was he supposed to know about them coming out of nowhere?
Congratulations and triumphant voices momentarily intruded on him. T-Man and Scalpel had managed to tag Gauntlet out there, it seemed.
Eventually, the murmur of voices faded. One of the showers was still running, but he could ignore whoever it was. The door to the cubicle in use was closed, which was fine with him. With any luck, the other man would be gone before too long.
As it happened, however, they both stepped out of their alcoves at the same time. Wildcard tensed as he saw who it was. Why, of all people, did it have to be T-Man? He braced himself for whatever acid taunts the other pilot might care to dole out, determined to get a few good digs of his own if necessary.
The minutes stretched, and still T-Man said nothing. Instead, he simply went to his locker and began to pull out his clothes, his towel wrapped loosely around his waist. With the exception of a single sidelong glance, it was as if he was simply ignoring Wildcard's existence.
Wildcard felt the tension of expectation grow, and as T-Man closed the door to his locker, he felt it snap. Before he knew he'd moved, he had T-Man pinned with his back to the bank of lockers. "Well, go on, then! Say it! Everybody else has told me that I screwed up, that I was stupid. You might as well get your dollar's worth in."
T-Man shoved forward and spun Wildcard around, restraining him against the lockers. The metal was cold and slightly damp against his back. "I'm not going to bother, Scarlet. All you're doing is feeling sorry for yourself. You're not learning from your mistakes."
Wildcard flexed his shoulders to see if T-Man's grip would loosen. If anything, his hands tightened on Wildcard's upper arms. "And you never make a mistake, do you, T-Boy?" he snarled in reply. T-Man's face was bare inches from his, and he could see the fine drops of water caught in his dark hair.
Unexpectedly, T-Man hesitated, his grip slackening. Wildcard would normally have used the chance to pull away, but somehow he didn't. It suddenly occurred to him that T-Man was warm, and close, and that they'd both lost their towels when he'd tried to unite his teammate's back with the wall. T-Man's breath was hot on his face. Their eyes met.
Wildcard wasn't sure what T-Man saw in his eyes, but whatever it was, it was enough to make the other pilot release him and turn away. Silently, T-Man picked up his towel and left the changing room.
Wildcard stayed leaning against the lockers for a good few minutes more, halfway to arousal and trying to catch his breath. Somehow, he didn't believe it when he told himself that his libido had lousy taste.
* * *
Over the next couple of weeks, Wildcard got to know his teammates. ASBO and Johnny, the pilot-and-WSO pair that they'd met that first night, were an unlikely duo. ASBO had a tendency to go wild when off duty, especially when she was drunk, but Johnny didn't see the point in drinking to excess and often volunteered to be the designated driver. Wildcard had never seen Johnny lose his cool.
Banshee, despite the name, was the least ethereal person Wildcard had ever met. Also, he soon discovered that the man couldn't sing to save his life. M was ridiculously good at pool, and everyone refused to play her after the first week. Gladys and JJ, both redheads, were referred to as the twins. Despite being as dissimilar as chalk and cheese on the outside, they were virtually identical in the way they thought. Wildcard frequently suspected that if it wasn't for JJ's Irish accent, it would be very difficult to tell the two men apart over the radio.
Hood's call sign came from her surname of Sherwood, and she accepted the 'Robin' jokes that came her way with the air of one who'd heard it all before. Cupcake, her WSO, tended to tease her about being Robin to his Batman.
Scalpel, whose sarcastic nature masked a genuine desire to protect people, was getting along with Breaker as if they were two of a kind. Sometimes they'd pull Wildcard or T-Man into their discussions, and occasionally both. Wildcard still called the younger pilot 'T-Boy' in order to wind him up, but found that the venom in it was fading without him noticing. As the weeks passed, he found that he even enjoyed the teasing tone of T-Man's voice when he called him 'Scarlet'.
* * *
The iron-grey clouds threatened rain, stretching from horizon to horizon as Wildcard flew beneath them. The unsettled weather conditions were making for some interesting air currents and crosswinds that Wildcard had to stay alert for, trusting in Breaker's guidance even more than usual. They had no idea which of the instructors were flying today, but Wildcard had laid a private bet with Breaker that the Chameleon would be up. Its colour-changing skin made it almost impossible to see even on a clear day; it'd be invisible in weather like this.
"Hey, Breaker. Do you see anything over there?" Wildcard asked, squinting through the murky air.
"HEMI's not reading anything," Breaker reported after a pause.
"Let's go check it out anyway," Wildcard said, restraining himself from drumming his fingers impatiently on the control panel. "I'm getting tired of waiting for something to happen."
Breaker laughed. "Oh, me too. C'mon, what are you waiting for?"
Wildcard grinned, turning his Pterodactyl and heading for the hint of movement. He hit the clouds after a moment, his field of vision shortening to a bare few metres, air pockets tugging fretfully at his wings.
"I'm starting to get something here," Breaker said from behind him. "What the - pull up!"
Wildcard obeyed automatically, turning the nose of his plane up into a sharp climb as they broke out of the cloud. He only had a second to notice the large, feathery shapes flapping away from him in all directions before a strange double thunk resonated though the cockpit. The engines coughed.
Rattled.
Stopped.
"Flame-out on both engines!" Breaker hollered.
Training took over as Wildcard pulled every trick he knew to get the engines started again. He knew it was pointless even as he did so. With birds that big going down the air intake, it was likely that they'd shattered or bent the fans. Maybe even damaged the compressors.
The plane fell away beneath him, pulling him down with it. Behind him, he could hear Breaker frantically calling for help. "Mayday, mayday! This is Wildcard and Breaker. The engines have failed, repeat, we have no engines. Mayday!"
"Breaker, it's not working! I can't recover!" Wildcard yelled, hands and feet still trying to pull them out of the dive. His heart was hammering, not again, not again . . .
Faintly, over the radio, he could hear T-Man reiterating Breaker's mayday. "We've lost Wildcard, repeat, we've lost Wildcard! Wildcard, where are you?"
"I'm getting us out of here!" Breaker yelled back, and Wildcard let go of the controls. Nothing he could do now but sit back and wait for the upward punch that was the ejector seat going off.
Above him, the canopy shattered, fragments of glass whirling away like glittering snowflakes. Now for the muffled explosion that would separate him from his plane. Now. Now.
Now.
The charge hadn't gone off, and he was still strapped into seven tonnes of useless metal that was falling at several hundred feet per second. "Breaker, what are you waiting for? Eject, damn it!"
"I'm trying!" Irritation was almost drowned out by terror in Breaker's voice. "It's jammed!"
Wildcard snatched for the ejection handle in his half of the plane, and tugged. It refused to move. The ground was spiralling in front of his face, and he was getting colder by the moment as the wind blew through the open cockpit. "Try it again!"
The ground was getting too close. Much longer, and there wouldn't be enough air left for the parachutes to open . . .
The handle suddenly moved, and Wildcard had time for a moment of relief before the ejector seat snatched him away. The main chute deployed automatically, hanging him in the air as the plane fell to earth beneath him. He'd been right, there was only just enough air left to get him and Breaker down safely. Looking around, he spotted his WSO descending not far away and waved to him. Breaker waved back, and though Wildcard couldn't see his face very clearly, he knew that the other man would be grinning.
Crump.
The Pterodactyl hit the ground, and Wildcard looked down. It seemed to ripple and buck as it transferred its energy to the earth beneath them. A burst of orange fire sparked by grating metal and fuelled by avgas fumes covered it for a second, and then the ground hit back. Bits of metal pinwheeled into the air, the shrapnel barely missing Wildcard and his parachute.
Breaker was not so lucky.
Wildcard looked up in horror when a curse echoed through the empty air. Breaker wasn't descending gently any more, he was plummeting, his 'chute torn and useless. Panicked swearwords were blurred but audible as he fell, and for a lunatic moment, Wildcard contemplated ditching his own parachute in order to be able to dive down and grab his WSO.
In a nauseating echo of the plane's last moments, the crunch as Breaker hit the ground was all too clear.
* * *
"Flight Lieutenant Harkness? You have to let him go," said a female voice that would have been soothing if it hadn't been stridently projecting over the sound of the helicopter's rotors. Wildcard ignored it, still methodically wiping away the blood from Breaker's face. Breaker hated getting anything on his face, the vain bastard. He'd be demanding a towel as soon as he woke.
"Harkness," the voice repeated, and now there was more of a tinge of obey orders added to it. "You need to get in the helicopter. We'll take care of Hart."
Numbly, Wildcard rose to his feet. His knees hurt, which he hadn't noticed before. How long had he been kneeling on the ground?
"Get in the helicopter, Harkness," the woman repeated patiently.
Wildcard nodded and turned to face her, bringing one hand halfway up to salute her before being distracted by the blood smeared on his hands. "You . . . you'll tell me when he wakes up?"
"Get in the helicopter," was all she said, but the look she gave Wildcard surprised him. Why was she looking at him with pity in her eyes?
* * *
It was two days since the crash, and T-Man hadn't heard a word out of Wildcard since it had happened. The other pilot had turned up to classes and meals when scheduled, but he'd been skipping the simulator flights. Nothing had been said about it, but T-Man was getting worried. Wildcard was usually the first person to comment with an inappropriate joke, and T-Man found that he missed the older man's quips.
Before he could talk himself out of it, T-Man rapped sharply on Wildcard's door. "Wildcard? You there?" he called.
There was no response. T-Man knew that the other man was in there, he'd seen him go in. He tried again. Still no reply.
Without any real hope that it would work, T-Man pushed down on the door handle. To his surprise, the door opened easily. Wildcard was lying fully dressed on his bunk, staring up at the bland white ceiling.
"Wildcard?" he asked again. The lack of response was beginning to irritate T-Man. He walked across to the bed and deliberately loomed over the horizontal form, pushing into Wildcard's personal space. Finally, Wildcard's eyes locked onto T-Man's, rage simmering behind the other man's closed expression.
"Get out," he said, the implied threat vanishing somewhere in the air between them.
"No," T-Man said. "Wildcard, this isn't healthy. I know Breaker was your WSO. I know that crash was hell." He snatched a breath. "You can't just hide in here and pretend we don't exist."
Wildcard went back to staring at the ceiling. "I know Breaker's dead. Leave me alone."
"No. Get up, Scarlet."
"I can quit. You'd have to leave me alone then."
That simple sentence shook T-Man. He hadn't realised that Wildcard was so close to quitting. The other man hadn't even bothered retaliating with T-Boy. He changed his tactics, stepping back a pace. "What, and leave me without any decent competition? You don't want to make it too easy on me, do you?"
Finally, Wildcard laughed. It was more of a hiccupping sob, but he was smiling. "Arrogant bastard," he accused him.
"Yup, that's me." T-Man turned to leave. "If you want to join us, Gladys, Cupcake and JJ have started a game of blackjack. I think they're using Cadburys Buttons as currency."
"Wait."
That one word stopped T-Man as if he'd run into a wall. He turned back to see Wildcard sitting on the edge of his bed, the harsh electric light shining off two tears that were trickling down his face. Knowing instinctively what the other man needed, he sat down next to Wildcard and put his arm around his shoulders.
Wildcard turned his face into T-Man's t-shirt, holding on as if T-Man was the only thing stopping him from drowning. T-Man said nothing, simply wrapping his other arm around the sobbing pilot.
"I should have told him to switch to radar and check again," Wildcard whispered, so quiet as to be almost inaudible. "I should have known."
It felt almost familiar to T-Man, although the last time he'd done something like this, he'd been in Wildcard's position. He's just heard about Lisa's death, and Scalpel had let him cry into his shoulder. Later, Scalpel had explained about losing his fiancée Katie to a brain tumour. It had made for an odd sort of bond between them.
Eventually, Wildcard stopped weeping. "Thanks," he said, his voice rough, lifting his head to look into T-Man's eyes. Something electric jolted down T-Man's spine as he did so, and he was suddenly very aware of how intimately they were positioned. His breath came short in his chest.
This had never happened with Scalpel.
No. This was a bad time, Wildcard was vulnerable and he didn't want it to happen this way. He was almost surprised to realise that yes, he had wanted this to happen. But not now.
"I should go," T-Man said abruptly, untangling himself from Wildcard. "Don't want to miss those chocolate buttons." He was gone before Wildcard could say anything.
* * *
"It is the conclusion of this board of inquiry that Flight Lieutenant Jack Harkness is not at fault in this incident. He could not have avoided the birds, and examination of the wreckage has proved conclusively that the two geese that impacted the engines had damaged them beyond recovery. His record will be cleared of the incident, and he is to be returned to flight status without further delay."
Wildcard stood numbly as the smooth legalese absolved him of any blame. But all the pretty words in the world couldn't salve his guilt, the guilt of leading his friend into danger and death because he was bored. Breaker was dead. Just like his first gunner back in the States.
Everyone I fly with dies.
* * *
Wildcard waited outside Sonic's office, incurious as to why he was there. Right now, it was easier to obey orders than it was to think. If he started thinking again, then he'd start remembering. Start feeling.
"Come in, Flight Lieutenant," Sonic called. He pushed the door open and walked in, his eyes fixing on the unfamiliar man in front of Sonic's desk.
"Harkness," the man said, nodding coolly. He was young, dark-haired and slightly shorter than Wildcard, with burn scars running down his throat from under his right ear.
"This is Flight Lieutenant Christopher Gray, call sign Steel," Sonic told him. "He's your new WSO."
Wildcard stared for a moment at the interloper. "Gray," he managed. Inside, the slow burn of anger began to smoulder again. Breaker was dead, and they replaced him just like this?
Perhaps Sonic sensed the atmosphere between them, or perhaps she was just in a hurry. "Gray has had full training on the HEMI detection systems, so you'll be flying together from this point on."
"HEMI didn't save Breaker," Wildcard said bitterly.
Sonic's expression was unreadable. "I'll see you in the air. Dismissed."
* * *
"No, Wildcard, stay on her!" Steel's clear voice was nothing like Breaker's lazy drawl. It still gave Wildcard a jolt every time he heard it. "Just give me a few second to get a lock!"
Wildcard shook his head, pulling away from the Chameleon. There were too many planes in the air, too much chance of hitting someone. He had to get to clear air.
"Wildcard, engage, damn it!" Steel sounded frustrated. Steel was a WSO - couldn't he see that it was dangerous? He was only trying to protect the younger man. "Wildcard, give me a chance! Half a chance! I'm a better shot than anyone else here!"
They still hadn't been hit when Gauntlet called time, but neither had they locked on to any of the instructors.
* * *
This time, T-Man didn't bother knocking. He shoved open Wildcard's door as if it had personally offended him and let it slam shut behind him. Wildcard was shirtless, in the process of changing out of his uniform into civilian wear, and he didn't resist as T-Man slammed him into the wall.
"You," T-Man said, biting off the words as if it cost him to speak, "are not the only one who's lost someone." T-Man moved forward, pinning Wildcard between his body and the wall. Their noses were almost touching. "Grieve all you need to, Scarlet. But up there, you have to get it right."
Wildcard was panting, his pupils blown wide, and unlikely to object to the rough handling if the pressure against T-Man's leg was anything to go by. "Two things," he half-growled, his voice deeper than usual. "One. Call me Jack."
Wildcard angled his head slightly, and then his lips were against T-Man's, his mouth hungry. T-Man matched him desire for desire, finally acknowledging the spark that had been there since the moment they'd met.
When Wildcard pulled back, T-Man felt momentarily lightheaded. "Two," Wildcard continued. "Lock the door."
* * *
The narrow single beds supplied by UNIT weren't really meant to accommodate two fully grown men, but they'd managed to compromise by sprawling partway over each other. T-Man was feeling more relaxed than he had in months, and ready to fall asleep.
"First time was back in Afghanistan, two years ago," Wildcard said quietly in his ear. "My CSO was a guy called Wolfie." He paused, and T-Man let him gather his thoughts. "I was flying recon with my lead, Doc. We'd just passed over the border when I was hit with a ground-to-air missile."
Wildcard shuddered, and T-Man pulled him closer. "They shot you down?"
"Yeah. It ripped the plane in half. There was a burst of heat; I looked behind me and most of the plane was gone, Wolfie was gone, this huge explosion in the sky where I'd just been. I was stuck, my ejector seat wasn't working. I managed to unstrap and jumped for it. Got back across the border on foot before they caught up with me."
"What about Doc? Did he get them?"
"No." The bitterness in Wildcard's tone surprised T-Man. "No. The minute he saw the danger, he ran. He abandoned me out there. Briar - she was his CSO - told me later that she'd yelled at Doc to go back. He told her that Wolfie and I were already dead. Hah. Proved him wrong." Wildcard shook his head slightly. "I asked to be transferred to UNIT after that. So. Who'd you lose, Ianto?"
"Lisa. My girlfriend," T-Man said starkly. "Car crash. About a year ago." He could still see her smile from that last evening together. "We were supposed to get a lift with her friend to this party, but I'd lost my cufflinks. I told her to go, I'd catch up in our car. She went."
Wildcard rested his hand on T-Man's shoulder, saying nothing.
"Last flight tomorrow, Jack," T-Man mentioned.
"I know."
Part 3