"Anagnorisis"
Title: "Anagnorisis"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Rating: Open
Notes/Summary: Takes place post S3 and is thus spoilery for same, written for WiaD 3.02 (favors, foreign places). In which someone comes to collect on a previous agreement. References to TW 2x07 - "Dead Man Walking"
He’s been in New Shadwell for all of fifteen minutes when he sits down and orders a drink. It’s a new city - hell, it’s a whole new planet - and he wants to get a sense of the place before he tries to mingle with the populace. Ordinarily ‘fresh off the shuttle pod’ isn’t a great look for him, but this place has a good reputation, great for a little bit of R&R before he starts shopping around for a new ship, preferably one with a good-looking, gullible owner. He smiles into his drink. Maybe this time he’ll go for something zippy. Upscale is riskier, but -
“Hello, Captain.”
“Sorry, wrong guy.” He doesn’t look up. He hasn’t been a captain for a long time, and won’t be again anytime soon if he has anything to say about it, but something about that voice makes the hairs at the back of his neck prickle. Before he can put a finger on it, though, The Girl sits down across from him.
Unfazed, she shuffles her cards.
His mouth goes dry. She’s changed less over the years than he has, and if the Doctor had called him wrong, what the hell did that make her? “You shouldn’t be here,” he says. “You belong on Earth. In Cardiff.”
“You owe me a favor, Captain. I know you haven’t forgotten.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lies. He’s run so far and kept his mind so stubbornly on the present that he can almost pretend there wasn’t a time when beautiful fools threw their lives away for him because they thought it meant something. “So, are you going to tell me what you want, or are we going to sit around making small talk until this planet’s sun explodes?”
She doesn’t rise to the bait, but lays each card out in front of him.
He stares at the last one before he picks it up. It’s only a picture, but if he had to name it he’d call it Sacrifice. “You can’t make me do this.”
“I don’t have to. It’s inevitable.”
He scowls, drops the card onto the table, and pushes his chair back. “We’ll see about that.”
He boards the next shuttle out. He can run forever if he has to.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Rating: Open
Notes/Summary: Takes place post S3 and is thus spoilery for same, written for WiaD 3.02 (favors, foreign places). In which someone comes to collect on a previous agreement. References to TW 2x07 - "Dead Man Walking"
He’s been in New Shadwell for all of fifteen minutes when he sits down and orders a drink. It’s a new city - hell, it’s a whole new planet - and he wants to get a sense of the place before he tries to mingle with the populace. Ordinarily ‘fresh off the shuttle pod’ isn’t a great look for him, but this place has a good reputation, great for a little bit of R&R before he starts shopping around for a new ship, preferably one with a good-looking, gullible owner. He smiles into his drink. Maybe this time he’ll go for something zippy. Upscale is riskier, but -
“Hello, Captain.”
“Sorry, wrong guy.” He doesn’t look up. He hasn’t been a captain for a long time, and won’t be again anytime soon if he has anything to say about it, but something about that voice makes the hairs at the back of his neck prickle. Before he can put a finger on it, though, The Girl sits down across from him.
Unfazed, she shuffles her cards.
His mouth goes dry. She’s changed less over the years than he has, and if the Doctor had called him wrong, what the hell did that make her? “You shouldn’t be here,” he says. “You belong on Earth. In Cardiff.”
“You owe me a favor, Captain. I know you haven’t forgotten.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lies. He’s run so far and kept his mind so stubbornly on the present that he can almost pretend there wasn’t a time when beautiful fools threw their lives away for him because they thought it meant something. “So, are you going to tell me what you want, or are we going to sit around making small talk until this planet’s sun explodes?”
She doesn’t rise to the bait, but lays each card out in front of him.
He stares at the last one before he picks it up. It’s only a picture, but if he had to name it he’d call it Sacrifice. “You can’t make me do this.”
“I don’t have to. It’s inevitable.”
He scowls, drops the card onto the table, and pushes his chair back. “We’ll see about that.”
He boards the next shuttle out. He can run forever if he has to.