TORCHWOOD: The Naming of Things
Title: The Naming of Things
Characters/Pairing: Jack, various OCs
Word Count: 956
Rating: PG
Summary: Four people Time Agent 462O1 has been, and one he won't be again.
Notes: Written for
flashfic_hub's five things challenge. Spoilers for Children of Earth.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who, Torchwood, and all characters belong to the BBC. I am not affiliated with the BBC, and am not making any money from this.
i. "Captain― James Harper,"
he introduces himself after hitting the transport bay, only the slightest hesitation between the rank and the name. An old alias, but no one alive will recognize it, and that's the important thing.
He says the name, and a story slots into place. He can be an exile, from Alera or Sulloria, a long way from home - or maybe that falls too close to the truth. In the end, the backstory doesn't matter; the alien operating the transporter smiles wryly and says simply, "Welcome aboard."
James shrugs his shoulders, settling both his coat and his new identity around him, and smiles back. "So I never asked - what's your destination?"
ii. "Jason Holt."
There's something to be said for Agency naming codes - a new name, a new self, is always right there at your fingertips, right on the tip of your tongue. It's not such a difficult habit to fall back into. Keep the initials, don't mention ranks or affiliations unless absolutely necessary, change the rest to suit time and place and circumstance.
The man who asked his name eyes him, in the dim half-light of the bar. Funny, how bars in any time, anywhere in the universe are all basically the same, tending toward dim light and too much noise and one too many talkative drunks. Maybe that's only the bars Jason ends up in.
Jason's only watching out of the corner of his eye, but he notices the man's gaze flicker to the coat. "Just get back from the war?" he asks finally, and Jason nods wordlessly. He doesn't know what war. It doesn't matter. All wars - or maybe just the wars Jason ends up in - are basically the same.
iii. "Judas?"
He reacts to the name immediately, looking up before he remembers on a conscious level that that is what he's going by now. He stopped bothering with surnames about four planets back; no one on Correne is aware of the symbolism in the one left. Just a name, and it's his now.
"What?"
"C'n I ask you a question?"
He almost smiles. You just did. "Yeah."
He's been playing the mercenary for a while now, and this is the first job he wishes he hadn't taken. Taking out the kidnappers had been no problem, and he barely even minds the complications after, but this kid he's been hired to rescue... The kid doesn't even look human, thin and fragile, taller than a human child, with too many joints in his limbs, but he keeps watching Judas with wide eyes a too-familiar shade of blue. Like he's something special. Like he's something to admire.
Judas wishes he'd stop.
"'m I going home tomorrow?"
"I'll be taking you back to your family, yeah." He looks down again, across the small room he's holed up in, at anything but this kid.
"Will you stay with us?" This time, Judas laughs softly, and it feels rough in his throat. People never get tired of asking him that question.
iv. "Captain!"
A good title goes a long way; he learned that a long time ago. After a while, most people stop asking for a proper name, and for the few that do, it's easy to shake them off with a simple 'just the (doctor) Captain'.
Lissan still smirks when she says it, but she doesn't question it anymore. The Captain swings to face her, flashes a smile. The sterile corridors of the Shadow Proclamation make him feel a little claustrophobic, a little uneasy, but it's home base for now, and if there's one thing he's glad to come back to, it's Lissan, white hair and red eyes and a ready smile.
"When did you get back?"
He shrugs. "A few hours ago. It was a short trip." The Shadow Proclamation is not unfamiliar - like a younger, more hopeful Agency, and the Captain wonders if it's worth trying to steer them in a different direction, knowing the history. In the mean time, it's something to do with himself, and he's useful, and more tactful than the Judoon, when something more than brute force and less than diplomacy is called for.
Lissan doesn't hug him - her species tends toward a disappointing aversion towards physical affection - but she falls into step beside him in the corridor, and her hand brushes his. The Captain's smile grows a bit. One day, he'll have to walk (fly) away from here, before he gets too close, but he'll miss her when he does.
Maybe that's a sign he needs to be leaving sooner, rather than later.
v. "Captain Jack Harkness?"
He freezes. He barely breathes. He resists the urge to move for a weapon. No one should know that name, no one should be calling him that, but spilling a little blood isn't going to fix that.
He schools his expression to something calm and detached, and turns slowly. At a glance, he doesn't recognise the slender, silver-skinned woman in front of him, can't imagine why she thinks she knows him. Memory seeps back slowly, rising from parts of his past he has no interest in returning to. A long-ago interrogation for Torchwood One, a Silbek girl who'd crash-landed on Earth, all that old sympathy and pity and helplessness he'd felt when he looked at her then...
You got out, he thinks, and considers questioning how. Considers asking why she remembers that name, when he's been trying to forget for so long. Instead, he smiles, brittle and empty, and says, "Sorry, you've got the wrong guy."
He doesn't wait for her to speak again. Captain Jack Harkness turns, and walks away.
Characters/Pairing: Jack, various OCs
Word Count: 956
Rating: PG
Summary: Four people Time Agent 462O1 has been, and one he won't be again.
Notes: Written for
flashfic_hub's five things challenge. Spoilers for Children of Earth.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who, Torchwood, and all characters belong to the BBC. I am not affiliated with the BBC, and am not making any money from this.
i. "Captain― James Harper,"
he introduces himself after hitting the transport bay, only the slightest hesitation between the rank and the name. An old alias, but no one alive will recognize it, and that's the important thing.
He says the name, and a story slots into place. He can be an exile, from Alera or Sulloria, a long way from home - or maybe that falls too close to the truth. In the end, the backstory doesn't matter; the alien operating the transporter smiles wryly and says simply, "Welcome aboard."
James shrugs his shoulders, settling both his coat and his new identity around him, and smiles back. "So I never asked - what's your destination?"
ii. "Jason Holt."
There's something to be said for Agency naming codes - a new name, a new self, is always right there at your fingertips, right on the tip of your tongue. It's not such a difficult habit to fall back into. Keep the initials, don't mention ranks or affiliations unless absolutely necessary, change the rest to suit time and place and circumstance.
The man who asked his name eyes him, in the dim half-light of the bar. Funny, how bars in any time, anywhere in the universe are all basically the same, tending toward dim light and too much noise and one too many talkative drunks. Maybe that's only the bars Jason ends up in.
Jason's only watching out of the corner of his eye, but he notices the man's gaze flicker to the coat. "Just get back from the war?" he asks finally, and Jason nods wordlessly. He doesn't know what war. It doesn't matter. All wars - or maybe just the wars Jason ends up in - are basically the same.
iii. "Judas?"
He reacts to the name immediately, looking up before he remembers on a conscious level that that is what he's going by now. He stopped bothering with surnames about four planets back; no one on Correne is aware of the symbolism in the one left. Just a name, and it's his now.
"What?"
"C'n I ask you a question?"
He almost smiles. You just did. "Yeah."
He's been playing the mercenary for a while now, and this is the first job he wishes he hadn't taken. Taking out the kidnappers had been no problem, and he barely even minds the complications after, but this kid he's been hired to rescue... The kid doesn't even look human, thin and fragile, taller than a human child, with too many joints in his limbs, but he keeps watching Judas with wide eyes a too-familiar shade of blue. Like he's something special. Like he's something to admire.
Judas wishes he'd stop.
"'m I going home tomorrow?"
"I'll be taking you back to your family, yeah." He looks down again, across the small room he's holed up in, at anything but this kid.
"Will you stay with us?" This time, Judas laughs softly, and it feels rough in his throat. People never get tired of asking him that question.
iv. "Captain!"
A good title goes a long way; he learned that a long time ago. After a while, most people stop asking for a proper name, and for the few that do, it's easy to shake them off with a simple 'just the (doctor) Captain'.
Lissan still smirks when she says it, but she doesn't question it anymore. The Captain swings to face her, flashes a smile. The sterile corridors of the Shadow Proclamation make him feel a little claustrophobic, a little uneasy, but it's home base for now, and if there's one thing he's glad to come back to, it's Lissan, white hair and red eyes and a ready smile.
"When did you get back?"
He shrugs. "A few hours ago. It was a short trip." The Shadow Proclamation is not unfamiliar - like a younger, more hopeful Agency, and the Captain wonders if it's worth trying to steer them in a different direction, knowing the history. In the mean time, it's something to do with himself, and he's useful, and more tactful than the Judoon, when something more than brute force and less than diplomacy is called for.
Lissan doesn't hug him - her species tends toward a disappointing aversion towards physical affection - but she falls into step beside him in the corridor, and her hand brushes his. The Captain's smile grows a bit. One day, he'll have to walk (fly) away from here, before he gets too close, but he'll miss her when he does.
Maybe that's a sign he needs to be leaving sooner, rather than later.
v. "Captain Jack Harkness?"
He freezes. He barely breathes. He resists the urge to move for a weapon. No one should know that name, no one should be calling him that, but spilling a little blood isn't going to fix that.
He schools his expression to something calm and detached, and turns slowly. At a glance, he doesn't recognise the slender, silver-skinned woman in front of him, can't imagine why she thinks she knows him. Memory seeps back slowly, rising from parts of his past he has no interest in returning to. A long-ago interrogation for Torchwood One, a Silbek girl who'd crash-landed on Earth, all that old sympathy and pity and helplessness he'd felt when he looked at her then...
You got out, he thinks, and considers questioning how. Considers asking why she remembers that name, when he's been trying to forget for so long. Instead, he smiles, brittle and empty, and says, "Sorry, you've got the wrong guy."
He doesn't wait for her to speak again. Captain Jack Harkness turns, and walks away.