FIC: Cosmopolitan Sympathies (Regeneration trilogy/Torchwood)
In which I combine my Jack-must-shag-everybody fetish with my obscure-fandoms-yay! fetish...
Title: Cosmopolitan Sympathies
Fandom: Regeneration trilogy/Torchwood
Notes: Thanks to apiphile for beta; any remaining faults are my own. Title comes, of course, from Isaac Rosenberg's Break of Day in the Trenches. This is set in some amorphous time in the first half of The Eye in the Door.
Prior was restless, shifting from one topic to another with scattering speed, and finally Rivers said, "What do you want to tell me?"
Prior looked up, still frowning even as he let out a breath of humourless laughter. "Perhaps I don't want to tell you anything."
"Perhaps. But you're too skilled a dissembler to be this obvious if you didn't."
"A compliment!" Prior said.
"If you want to read it as one."
A long pause and then Prior said, "Very well." He leaned back in his chair and obviously forced himself to stillness. "I have met a person who encourages me to indulge all my sadistic instincts."
"I see," Rivers said. "Does this person encourage you to indulge them on others or on their own person?"
"Oh, on 'their own person'," Prior said, slipping into his strangled public school accent to mock Rivers' attempts to avoid assigning a gender to this person. "I have my own rules as well, you know."
Rivers did, which was why he was certain this mysterious person was male. Saying anything, though, would simply provide Prior with an escape. "So what's the problem?"
"I thought I had natural limits."
Rivers remained silent.
"I thought - hoped - that, if I went far enough down, I'd find a point that sickened me enough I had to stop. It's… disturbing to discover that isn't the case."
Still, Rivers said nothing.
"Come on, say something."
"Perhaps you simply haven't reached that point yet."
"I'd rather believe I didn't have limits. For them to be set lower than..." A sharp movement of denial. "No."
"Tell me about this person."
"Prurience?" Prior leaned forward, something of his early aggressive flirtatiousness slipping back into his manner.
"No." Rivers rested his chin on his fingers as he collected his thoughts. "It may be you want to hurt this specific person. That there's something making them a particularly attractive subject."
Prior stood with jerky haste and strode to the window. "Oh, there is." He stared with fierce concentration at the lazy raindrops meandering down the glass. "He's been in the trenches for three years."
"Wh-"
"And he doesn't have a single fucking scar." Prior whipped round at that. "Can you believe it?"
"No," Rivers said, startled into frankness.
"But it's true. I've seen every inch of his body and he's-" A rough bark of laughter. "He's perfect."
"C-"
"And he's not lying about his war record. Oh, I checked up on him. I can, you know. I could check up on you, find out all about your dirty little secrets."
"I'm sure you could." There was something unnerving about this whip-sharp version of Prior, all his anger out in the open rather than hidden under layers of mannerisms and bitterness.
"And I hate him for it." The final outburst seemed to have run down his clockwork and he lifted a hand to rest it on the glass. "Oh, god, I hate him," he said quietly.
"Yet you keep seeing him."
"I never said I was sensible."
"Does he know how you feel?" Rivers said finally.
"Oh, he knows. I tell him every time. When I have my hands round his throat or-" A faint pause and amusement in Prior's voice when he said, "Or when I'm doing any one of a thousand things that you'd rather not hear about."
"Yet he keeps seeing you."
"I'm not stupid," Prior said. "I know he wants to be punished for surviving unscathed."
It wasn't a healthy situation for either man. The trouble was that this man already knew it. "Is he going back to France?"
"No. Syria. He leaves in a few weeks."
And would probably leave Prior in a worse state than when he'd arrived. Rivers felt a surge of dislike for this unknown man and the selfishness of his actions. "And what will you do then?"
"Oh, go back to locking everything down. 'Repressing'. The usual." Prior meandered back to his chair, pausing to pick at a piece of peeling wallpaper. "Everything you hate." Eventually, he looked at Rivers. "Aren't you going to suggest anything?"
"No."
"Not much you can suggest, I suppose."
Rivers sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You know the situation. You know what it's doing to you. I can't add any particularly valuable insight."
***
Jack Harkness was waiting outside, leaning against the damp brickwork. "Your place or mine?" he asked.
For a moment, Prior thought of Rivers and considered declining. But, as always, he said, "Yours."
Title: Cosmopolitan Sympathies
Fandom: Regeneration trilogy/Torchwood
Notes: Thanks to apiphile for beta; any remaining faults are my own. Title comes, of course, from Isaac Rosenberg's Break of Day in the Trenches. This is set in some amorphous time in the first half of The Eye in the Door.
Prior was restless, shifting from one topic to another with scattering speed, and finally Rivers said, "What do you want to tell me?"
Prior looked up, still frowning even as he let out a breath of humourless laughter. "Perhaps I don't want to tell you anything."
"Perhaps. But you're too skilled a dissembler to be this obvious if you didn't."
"A compliment!" Prior said.
"If you want to read it as one."
A long pause and then Prior said, "Very well." He leaned back in his chair and obviously forced himself to stillness. "I have met a person who encourages me to indulge all my sadistic instincts."
"I see," Rivers said. "Does this person encourage you to indulge them on others or on their own person?"
"Oh, on 'their own person'," Prior said, slipping into his strangled public school accent to mock Rivers' attempts to avoid assigning a gender to this person. "I have my own rules as well, you know."
Rivers did, which was why he was certain this mysterious person was male. Saying anything, though, would simply provide Prior with an escape. "So what's the problem?"
"I thought I had natural limits."
Rivers remained silent.
"I thought - hoped - that, if I went far enough down, I'd find a point that sickened me enough I had to stop. It's… disturbing to discover that isn't the case."
Still, Rivers said nothing.
"Come on, say something."
"Perhaps you simply haven't reached that point yet."
"I'd rather believe I didn't have limits. For them to be set lower than..." A sharp movement of denial. "No."
"Tell me about this person."
"Prurience?" Prior leaned forward, something of his early aggressive flirtatiousness slipping back into his manner.
"No." Rivers rested his chin on his fingers as he collected his thoughts. "It may be you want to hurt this specific person. That there's something making them a particularly attractive subject."
Prior stood with jerky haste and strode to the window. "Oh, there is." He stared with fierce concentration at the lazy raindrops meandering down the glass. "He's been in the trenches for three years."
"Wh-"
"And he doesn't have a single fucking scar." Prior whipped round at that. "Can you believe it?"
"No," Rivers said, startled into frankness.
"But it's true. I've seen every inch of his body and he's-" A rough bark of laughter. "He's perfect."
"C-"
"And he's not lying about his war record. Oh, I checked up on him. I can, you know. I could check up on you, find out all about your dirty little secrets."
"I'm sure you could." There was something unnerving about this whip-sharp version of Prior, all his anger out in the open rather than hidden under layers of mannerisms and bitterness.
"And I hate him for it." The final outburst seemed to have run down his clockwork and he lifted a hand to rest it on the glass. "Oh, god, I hate him," he said quietly.
"Yet you keep seeing him."
"I never said I was sensible."
"Does he know how you feel?" Rivers said finally.
"Oh, he knows. I tell him every time. When I have my hands round his throat or-" A faint pause and amusement in Prior's voice when he said, "Or when I'm doing any one of a thousand things that you'd rather not hear about."
"Yet he keeps seeing you."
"I'm not stupid," Prior said. "I know he wants to be punished for surviving unscathed."
It wasn't a healthy situation for either man. The trouble was that this man already knew it. "Is he going back to France?"
"No. Syria. He leaves in a few weeks."
And would probably leave Prior in a worse state than when he'd arrived. Rivers felt a surge of dislike for this unknown man and the selfishness of his actions. "And what will you do then?"
"Oh, go back to locking everything down. 'Repressing'. The usual." Prior meandered back to his chair, pausing to pick at a piece of peeling wallpaper. "Everything you hate." Eventually, he looked at Rivers. "Aren't you going to suggest anything?"
"No."
"Not much you can suggest, I suppose."
Rivers sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You know the situation. You know what it's doing to you. I can't add any particularly valuable insight."
***
Jack Harkness was waiting outside, leaning against the damp brickwork. "Your place or mine?" he asked.
For a moment, Prior thought of Rivers and considered declining. But, as always, he said, "Yours."