Fic: Doppelganger - Chapter 1, "Three Soldiers" [WIP 2/?]
Title: Doppelganger: Chapter 1, "Three Soldiers"
Author: heddychaa
Pairings: John/Ianto, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Alonso, Mickey/Martha, other canon relationships
Rating: R
Genre: Angsty eventual fix-it
Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" and "Torchwood", including characters, concepts, and events, belong to their respective owners, including but not limited to Russel T Davies and the BBC. This is a work of fan-appreciation and no profit is being made.
Summary: Twenty-six planets have appeared in the sky, and Mickey Smith has returned to the original Earth to help Rose Tyler and the Doctor stop the stars from going out. Little does he know, but one of his most loyal soldiers against the Cybermen has stolen Torchwood technology for personal gain. Broken and desperate, the doppelganger soldier doesn't care what damage he might do to the fabric of space and time as long as it brings him that little bit closer to the one person he's lost. Some people are worth risking everything, and allying with anyone, for.
A/N: Thanks to the brilliant _lullabelle_, who goes above and beyond "beta" to be a full-time cheerleader/idea-bouncer/brain-picker/bodice-ripper-checker. Any and all remaining errors are my own.
Chapter 1: Three Soldiers
Much more of this and John Hart is going to have to come up with a super hero name for himself. Well, “Captain John” is probably getting pretty close already, but he’s thinking of something a little more grandiose and flashy, something that necessitates a costume, maybe a mask. When he’d told “Jack” (how boring!) that he intended on sticking around on Earth for awhile, he’d meant it worst case as a chance to “expand the horizons” of a few 21st century humans and maybe poodles (well maybe not poodles, since he found out early on that sort of thing was frowned upon), and best case as a pilgrimage of the planet Jack had dumped him for. He hadn’t at all intended to run about saving lives, as though he’d actually had a change of heart. That just isn’t John’s style. However! It isn’t every day that a man comes upon a full-fledged army of Daleks, who, depending on whom you ask in the 51st century, are either extinct or never existed in the first place. The fact that he’s saving human lives by dispatching with a few is just incidental, he tells himself.
“No need to thank me, citizen,” he tells a sobbing woman clutching a child to her chest, trying out his best Christopher Reeve impression. As he passes the smoking, headless husk of the Dalek he’s just dispatched with, he gives it an experimental kick, sending it spinning across the pavement. “See, they’re not so bad, really. Just big trashcans.”
His wrist strap is bleeping madly, and he looks up at the sky to the planets looming overhead, not sure what to make of this one. He supposes the best solution would be to head in Torchwood’s direction. They probably need his help, what with being two members down and all. But no, if he tries stepping foot in there again, there’s no accounting for what could happen to him. Gwen Cooper he could probably sweet talk; she’s one of those delightful fools who gives “the benefit of the doubt” and thus John’s favourite kind of person. Ianto Jones though . . .
More bleeping! “Yes, yes, yes! Planets! In the sky! What do you want me to do about it?” he snaps at the device, exasperated. He flips the face of the strap open, hoping beyond hope that maybe if he just looks at, acknowledges the readings in some way, the noise will stop.
“Well that’s not right,” he mutters. Twenty-some planets hanging around in the sky where they shouldn’t be and his wrist strap is warning him about Non-Analogous Technology? That’s the Time Agency for you, though. Always with the priorities. But why is it going off now? He’d been in Torchwood just a couple months back, surrounded by their scavenged alien tech, and had no warnings like this one. Must be the Daleks, he supposes. Speaking of which.
“Hostility against your Dalek masters is forbidden! You will be exterminated!” John rounds on the Dalek, wondering to himself why they always waste time with announcing their intent to kill you before they get around to it. For some of the universe’s supposedly most evil bogeymen, they’re not exactly efficient. He levels his gun in both hands, cocking it as his vortex manipulator continues to beep-beep-beep-beep away incessantly.
“I don’t think so,” he drawls, firing. There’s the high pitched sound of the charge, a white light, and the Dalek’s armour shatters. He sees a glimpse of the disgusting, shrivelled little thing inside, which curls up in on itself like a spider as it dies. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” he asks it.
He hangs the gun over his shoulder again, rechecking the readings on the vortex manipulator and in the process managing to stop it beeping. But that’s strange, isn’t it? It’s only counting four instances of non-analogous tech. Hardly enough to account for all these Daleks. His mouth twists up in contemplation. Well, all of the instances are right here in London, so he might as well investigate. He can keep killing Daleks on the way. Plan of attack: the largest cluster of them is in Ealing. There’s a fourth in Chiswick, but who wants to go there? He starts to walk down the street, leaving the dead Daleks behind.
“Wait! You’re not going to just leave me, are you?” It’s the woman with her child, shrieking hysterically at him. John looks over his shoulder at her, quirking an eyebrow, a little surprised to see her there.
“You’re still here?” he replies. “Come on now, I already saved your life. Do I look like a body guard?” He keys the coordinates into the vortex manipulator, blinking out of existence.
Control is humming with nervous energy, and nervous glances out the corners of eyes abound. Pete Tyler is standing, arms crossed, lips drawn into a thin line. He stares hard into Mickey Smith’s eyes when Jackie hugs him goodbye. “Bring her back,” he demands, and as Jackie pulls away Mickey can see they are both having a hard time letting go of one another’s hands.
He wonders what that must be like for them. For Jackie, to have lost her bumbling husband all those years ago only to find this suitable facsimile who dresses sharp and commands attention, who has been changed by the hard life he has lived. And Pete himself. . . who had lost his own Jackie when she’d been converted, but whose marriage to her had fallen apart years before. And now a second chance with a Jackie who had never lived neglected by a man who worked too much, who thought nice clothes and expensive gadgetry were a substitute for love. He wonders how they navigate it. Is it enough? Is it the same? Is it an acceptable trade? Is it something new? He thinks of Simmonds, of their awkward conversation when he’d first arrived on Pete’s world, where he’d explained that he wasn’t Ricky and he never would be. He thinks of last night’s argument with another of his soldiers.
Jackie comes to stand beside him, nods a stoic goodbye to Pete, who blows her a tearful kiss. Control counts down, calling out calibrations. Even though Rose has already gone through successfully, Ricky’s heart starts to pound erratically. They hit the dimension jumps. Mickey closes his eyes.
That argument is still at the back of his mind as he materializes on the proper Earth just in time to blast two Daleks into oblivion and save Sarah Jane’s life. He’s of two minds on the decision even now, even after it’s done. On the one hand, he knows he’s done the right thing as a leader and as a soldier: this isn’t a holiday, it’s a mission with a very specific objective. Anyone outside of him, Rose, and Jackie is frankly going to be dead weight. Even if he did take someone else along, he can think of others who are more suited, who’ve been to this world, faced these dangers, dealt with the Doctor, all of it, before.
On the other hand, he can understand the soldier’s position, too. He’d been nothing but loyal, an excellent asset in the protracted battle against the Cybermen on Pete’s world, fighting with the kind of ferocity one can only get out of someone who has a personal stake in a battle. And Mickey himself was being more than a little hypocritical about the whole thing, having jumped worlds himself for the sake of a loved one, and, if he’s honest, other purely selfish reasons. Although, thank god, there was no way for the soldier to know that.
But he and Mickey are different people when push comes to shove. Mickey can keep the objective in mind, can be trusted to do what has to be done, keep things in perspective, even make the sacrifices necessary to live by the Doctor’s exacting moral code, to trust in the Doctor’s ability to make things right, even when things are bleak, even when they are desperate. That’s why Mickey will lay down his gun and surrender to the Daleks, even though it seems like suicide.
John blips into existence just under a block away from where the non-analogous technology (NAT for short, he decides) is supposed to be. What he sees is a seafoam green car (so obviously a lady’s it’s kind of sad); two middle-aged women, an attractive brunette and a blonde, heavily armed; a surly looking young man, also armed; and two very dead Daleks. He stays out of sight, watching the three greet each other. “Us Smiths have got to stick together,” he hears the young man say, his gruff voice undercut with emotion. Twenty-first century humans. So sentimental! No wonder Jack’s gone so soft living here.
He creeps after them as they leave the green car behind and take shelter behind a van.
“It’s not just a teleport, it’s a Dimension Jump. Man, this thing rips a hole in the fabric of space.”
Dimension Cannons in the twenty-first century? In the hands of a scruffy Londoner with big nostrils and a couple of middle-aged birds? Well, what with the Daleks trying to take over and the sky full of planets, it’s hardly the strangest thing he’s seen all day. John glances down at his vortex manipulator, feeling suddenly inadequately equipped. That must be what’s setting it off, anyway. He scrutinizes the NAT signals blipping on the screen, trying to orient them with the 3D landscape he’s standing in. A cluster of two just ahead, right where the three people he’s trailing are standing huddled behind the van, a third a bit farther ahead, and the fourth-oh, shit.
Go back to the Prologue: "His Name is Alonso"
Go to Chapter 2: Something Else Entirely.
View the Masterlist for full chapter list and complete header info.
Author: heddychaa
Pairings: John/Ianto, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Alonso, Mickey/Martha, other canon relationships
Rating: R
Genre: Angsty eventual fix-it
Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" and "Torchwood", including characters, concepts, and events, belong to their respective owners, including but not limited to Russel T Davies and the BBC. This is a work of fan-appreciation and no profit is being made.
Summary: Twenty-six planets have appeared in the sky, and Mickey Smith has returned to the original Earth to help Rose Tyler and the Doctor stop the stars from going out. Little does he know, but one of his most loyal soldiers against the Cybermen has stolen Torchwood technology for personal gain. Broken and desperate, the doppelganger soldier doesn't care what damage he might do to the fabric of space and time as long as it brings him that little bit closer to the one person he's lost. Some people are worth risking everything, and allying with anyone, for.
A/N: Thanks to the brilliant _lullabelle_, who goes above and beyond "beta" to be a full-time cheerleader/idea-bouncer/brain-picker/bodice-ripper-checker. Any and all remaining errors are my own.
Chapter 1: Three Soldiers
Much more of this and John Hart is going to have to come up with a super hero name for himself. Well, “Captain John” is probably getting pretty close already, but he’s thinking of something a little more grandiose and flashy, something that necessitates a costume, maybe a mask. When he’d told “Jack” (how boring!) that he intended on sticking around on Earth for awhile, he’d meant it worst case as a chance to “expand the horizons” of a few 21st century humans and maybe poodles (well maybe not poodles, since he found out early on that sort of thing was frowned upon), and best case as a pilgrimage of the planet Jack had dumped him for. He hadn’t at all intended to run about saving lives, as though he’d actually had a change of heart. That just isn’t John’s style. However! It isn’t every day that a man comes upon a full-fledged army of Daleks, who, depending on whom you ask in the 51st century, are either extinct or never existed in the first place. The fact that he’s saving human lives by dispatching with a few is just incidental, he tells himself.
“No need to thank me, citizen,” he tells a sobbing woman clutching a child to her chest, trying out his best Christopher Reeve impression. As he passes the smoking, headless husk of the Dalek he’s just dispatched with, he gives it an experimental kick, sending it spinning across the pavement. “See, they’re not so bad, really. Just big trashcans.”
His wrist strap is bleeping madly, and he looks up at the sky to the planets looming overhead, not sure what to make of this one. He supposes the best solution would be to head in Torchwood’s direction. They probably need his help, what with being two members down and all. But no, if he tries stepping foot in there again, there’s no accounting for what could happen to him. Gwen Cooper he could probably sweet talk; she’s one of those delightful fools who gives “the benefit of the doubt” and thus John’s favourite kind of person. Ianto Jones though . . .
More bleeping! “Yes, yes, yes! Planets! In the sky! What do you want me to do about it?” he snaps at the device, exasperated. He flips the face of the strap open, hoping beyond hope that maybe if he just looks at, acknowledges the readings in some way, the noise will stop.
“Well that’s not right,” he mutters. Twenty-some planets hanging around in the sky where they shouldn’t be and his wrist strap is warning him about Non-Analogous Technology? That’s the Time Agency for you, though. Always with the priorities. But why is it going off now? He’d been in Torchwood just a couple months back, surrounded by their scavenged alien tech, and had no warnings like this one. Must be the Daleks, he supposes. Speaking of which.
“Hostility against your Dalek masters is forbidden! You will be exterminated!” John rounds on the Dalek, wondering to himself why they always waste time with announcing their intent to kill you before they get around to it. For some of the universe’s supposedly most evil bogeymen, they’re not exactly efficient. He levels his gun in both hands, cocking it as his vortex manipulator continues to beep-beep-beep-beep away incessantly.
“I don’t think so,” he drawls, firing. There’s the high pitched sound of the charge, a white light, and the Dalek’s armour shatters. He sees a glimpse of the disgusting, shrivelled little thing inside, which curls up in on itself like a spider as it dies. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” he asks it.
He hangs the gun over his shoulder again, rechecking the readings on the vortex manipulator and in the process managing to stop it beeping. But that’s strange, isn’t it? It’s only counting four instances of non-analogous tech. Hardly enough to account for all these Daleks. His mouth twists up in contemplation. Well, all of the instances are right here in London, so he might as well investigate. He can keep killing Daleks on the way. Plan of attack: the largest cluster of them is in Ealing. There’s a fourth in Chiswick, but who wants to go there? He starts to walk down the street, leaving the dead Daleks behind.
“Wait! You’re not going to just leave me, are you?” It’s the woman with her child, shrieking hysterically at him. John looks over his shoulder at her, quirking an eyebrow, a little surprised to see her there.
“You’re still here?” he replies. “Come on now, I already saved your life. Do I look like a body guard?” He keys the coordinates into the vortex manipulator, blinking out of existence.
Control is humming with nervous energy, and nervous glances out the corners of eyes abound. Pete Tyler is standing, arms crossed, lips drawn into a thin line. He stares hard into Mickey Smith’s eyes when Jackie hugs him goodbye. “Bring her back,” he demands, and as Jackie pulls away Mickey can see they are both having a hard time letting go of one another’s hands.
He wonders what that must be like for them. For Jackie, to have lost her bumbling husband all those years ago only to find this suitable facsimile who dresses sharp and commands attention, who has been changed by the hard life he has lived. And Pete himself. . . who had lost his own Jackie when she’d been converted, but whose marriage to her had fallen apart years before. And now a second chance with a Jackie who had never lived neglected by a man who worked too much, who thought nice clothes and expensive gadgetry were a substitute for love. He wonders how they navigate it. Is it enough? Is it the same? Is it an acceptable trade? Is it something new? He thinks of Simmonds, of their awkward conversation when he’d first arrived on Pete’s world, where he’d explained that he wasn’t Ricky and he never would be. He thinks of last night’s argument with another of his soldiers.
Jackie comes to stand beside him, nods a stoic goodbye to Pete, who blows her a tearful kiss. Control counts down, calling out calibrations. Even though Rose has already gone through successfully, Ricky’s heart starts to pound erratically. They hit the dimension jumps. Mickey closes his eyes.
That argument is still at the back of his mind as he materializes on the proper Earth just in time to blast two Daleks into oblivion and save Sarah Jane’s life. He’s of two minds on the decision even now, even after it’s done. On the one hand, he knows he’s done the right thing as a leader and as a soldier: this isn’t a holiday, it’s a mission with a very specific objective. Anyone outside of him, Rose, and Jackie is frankly going to be dead weight. Even if he did take someone else along, he can think of others who are more suited, who’ve been to this world, faced these dangers, dealt with the Doctor, all of it, before.
On the other hand, he can understand the soldier’s position, too. He’d been nothing but loyal, an excellent asset in the protracted battle against the Cybermen on Pete’s world, fighting with the kind of ferocity one can only get out of someone who has a personal stake in a battle. And Mickey himself was being more than a little hypocritical about the whole thing, having jumped worlds himself for the sake of a loved one, and, if he’s honest, other purely selfish reasons. Although, thank god, there was no way for the soldier to know that.
But he and Mickey are different people when push comes to shove. Mickey can keep the objective in mind, can be trusted to do what has to be done, keep things in perspective, even make the sacrifices necessary to live by the Doctor’s exacting moral code, to trust in the Doctor’s ability to make things right, even when things are bleak, even when they are desperate. That’s why Mickey will lay down his gun and surrender to the Daleks, even though it seems like suicide.
John blips into existence just under a block away from where the non-analogous technology (NAT for short, he decides) is supposed to be. What he sees is a seafoam green car (so obviously a lady’s it’s kind of sad); two middle-aged women, an attractive brunette and a blonde, heavily armed; a surly looking young man, also armed; and two very dead Daleks. He stays out of sight, watching the three greet each other. “Us Smiths have got to stick together,” he hears the young man say, his gruff voice undercut with emotion. Twenty-first century humans. So sentimental! No wonder Jack’s gone so soft living here.
He creeps after them as they leave the green car behind and take shelter behind a van.
“It’s not just a teleport, it’s a Dimension Jump. Man, this thing rips a hole in the fabric of space.”
Dimension Cannons in the twenty-first century? In the hands of a scruffy Londoner with big nostrils and a couple of middle-aged birds? Well, what with the Daleks trying to take over and the sky full of planets, it’s hardly the strangest thing he’s seen all day. John glances down at his vortex manipulator, feeling suddenly inadequately equipped. That must be what’s setting it off, anyway. He scrutinizes the NAT signals blipping on the screen, trying to orient them with the 3D landscape he’s standing in. A cluster of two just ahead, right where the three people he’s trailing are standing huddled behind the van, a third a bit farther ahead, and the fourth-oh, shit.
Go back to the Prologue: "His Name is Alonso"
Go to Chapter 2: Something Else Entirely.
View the Masterlist for full chapter list and complete header info.