Doctor Who/Torchwood: "Postcards from the Other Side" (1/1)
Title: Postcards from the Other Side
Author: Poetry
Rating: PG
Characters: Tosh, Martha, Mickey, Jack, Ianto (and the Pete's World versions thereof)
Summary: Sometimes, they dream of their other selves.
"Why, Tosh? Why him?" says Gwen.
"I don't know," Tosh says, flushing a little.
She isn't lying. She hasn't the foggiest idea why she loves Owen. All she knows is a warm tingle that crawls deliciously up her spine when he looks at her, snarls at her, brushes her off, cares for her wounds. There's also the dreams.
Tosh comes into work in the morning, the Hub's sterile, metallic smell lightly infused with the scent of fresh coffee. Ianto appears, balancing five mugs on a tray. His girlfriend Lisa takes the first, winking at him cheekily. Vitex heiress turned Torchwood agent Rose Tyler accepts her mug with a smile. Former criminal Ricky Smith asks Ianto whether he saw the rugby game last night. Ianto shakes his head, saying he recorded it to watch tomorrow night with Lisa. Owen comes up from behind Ianto, snatching both his mug and Tosh's. He pivots around Ianto, jostling his elbows more than strictly necessary. In a coordinated movement, he slips Tosh's coffee into her right hand and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.
"You two are so sweet," says Rose with a giggle. "It's like you were meant to be together."
"When did you decide you wanted to be a doctor?" asks Tish one night over cocktails.
"I've wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. Don't know why, not really." What Martha doesn't tell her sister is the dream she's had, year in, year out, since childhood.
She's looking for something, or someone, but she doesn't know what it is. Frantically, she wanders through the streets of London, knowing only that when she finds what she's looking for, she'll know, somehow. The sky is dark and empty of zeppelins. Everyone on the street is huddled in fear, crying out, "Where's the Doctor? We need the Doctor!" Martha doesn't know where the Doctor is. Who is the Doctor anyway? Why can't she save them?
Martha always wakes from that dream with the knowledge that even when she passes her exams, she'll never be the Doctor.
"I was thinking it'd be nice to visit. I never got to meet Tom," says Mickey.
He can almost hear Martha smile over the phone. "Any particular reason?"
Mickey's mobile rings. "Hello. Ricky Smith speaking." He says it almost automatically now.
"Hi, Ricky. It's Martha."
"Hey, Martha." Mickey pastes on a cheery voice of recognition. He's learned to play the game of reconstructing friendships he's never known, living a life that isn't his. "What's going on?"
"I found more Cybus Industries medical data. I think there's a lab hidden in the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro…"
"No reason. Just thought it might be fun."
"Why did you forgive me, Jack?" Ianto's voice is thin and taut as piano wire. "I risked our lives. Everyone's lives." Jack doesn't respond. The sea-soft blue of his eyes as he gazes levelly at Ianto makes the bile rise in his throat. He almost screams.
For Jack, sleep is rare and dreams rarer still, but a half-remembered vision trails along the back of his mind like the hem of a curtain.
"This is Time Agent three-apple-twelve-six-two-diamond-six, alias Kelson," he says into his wrist-comp. "Hailing Topsail. This is Kelson, hailing Topsail." No response. The comm has gone dead, and the navigation system on the vortex manipulator is down. He's stranded in 21st century London, for now.
He climbs out of the wreckage of his timeship, his muscles trembling with the effort. His joints are screaming. It had been a rough landing. He sees the silhouette of a hand extended toward him through the twisted, smoking metal. Weariness overcomes suspicion; he takes the hand and lets himself be dragged out of the ruins.
The hand belongs to a blue-eyed man in a suit, the trousers streaked with ash. "Hello. Can you understand me?" The shape of his vowels is smooth and round amongst the ragged edges of the broken ship.
"Who are you?" He tries to stand unsupported and wobbles dangerously.
"Easy there." He feels himself steadied by sure hands. "My name is Ianto Jones. This is Lisa Hallett." A lanky woman appears from behind the remains of the temporal engine. "We're Torchwood."
Lisa supports him by his other arm. "Come and stay at our flat, and we'll find out what happened to you in the morning. You'll feel much better after a nice bath."
After that, the dream goes fuzzy, but it leaves behind a lingering sensation of softness and warmth.
"I don't know," Jack says slowly. "I just had a feeling."
Author: Poetry
Rating: PG
Characters: Tosh, Martha, Mickey, Jack, Ianto (and the Pete's World versions thereof)
Summary: Sometimes, they dream of their other selves.
"Why, Tosh? Why him?" says Gwen.
"I don't know," Tosh says, flushing a little.
She isn't lying. She hasn't the foggiest idea why she loves Owen. All she knows is a warm tingle that crawls deliciously up her spine when he looks at her, snarls at her, brushes her off, cares for her wounds. There's also the dreams.
Tosh comes into work in the morning, the Hub's sterile, metallic smell lightly infused with the scent of fresh coffee. Ianto appears, balancing five mugs on a tray. His girlfriend Lisa takes the first, winking at him cheekily. Vitex heiress turned Torchwood agent Rose Tyler accepts her mug with a smile. Former criminal Ricky Smith asks Ianto whether he saw the rugby game last night. Ianto shakes his head, saying he recorded it to watch tomorrow night with Lisa. Owen comes up from behind Ianto, snatching both his mug and Tosh's. He pivots around Ianto, jostling his elbows more than strictly necessary. In a coordinated movement, he slips Tosh's coffee into her right hand and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.
"You two are so sweet," says Rose with a giggle. "It's like you were meant to be together."
"When did you decide you wanted to be a doctor?" asks Tish one night over cocktails.
"I've wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. Don't know why, not really." What Martha doesn't tell her sister is the dream she's had, year in, year out, since childhood.
She's looking for something, or someone, but she doesn't know what it is. Frantically, she wanders through the streets of London, knowing only that when she finds what she's looking for, she'll know, somehow. The sky is dark and empty of zeppelins. Everyone on the street is huddled in fear, crying out, "Where's the Doctor? We need the Doctor!" Martha doesn't know where the Doctor is. Who is the Doctor anyway? Why can't she save them?
Martha always wakes from that dream with the knowledge that even when she passes her exams, she'll never be the Doctor.
"I was thinking it'd be nice to visit. I never got to meet Tom," says Mickey.
He can almost hear Martha smile over the phone. "Any particular reason?"
Mickey's mobile rings. "Hello. Ricky Smith speaking." He says it almost automatically now.
"Hi, Ricky. It's Martha."
"Hey, Martha." Mickey pastes on a cheery voice of recognition. He's learned to play the game of reconstructing friendships he's never known, living a life that isn't his. "What's going on?"
"I found more Cybus Industries medical data. I think there's a lab hidden in the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro…"
"No reason. Just thought it might be fun."
"Why did you forgive me, Jack?" Ianto's voice is thin and taut as piano wire. "I risked our lives. Everyone's lives." Jack doesn't respond. The sea-soft blue of his eyes as he gazes levelly at Ianto makes the bile rise in his throat. He almost screams.
For Jack, sleep is rare and dreams rarer still, but a half-remembered vision trails along the back of his mind like the hem of a curtain.
"This is Time Agent three-apple-twelve-six-two-diamond-six, alias Kelson," he says into his wrist-comp. "Hailing Topsail. This is Kelson, hailing Topsail." No response. The comm has gone dead, and the navigation system on the vortex manipulator is down. He's stranded in 21st century London, for now.
He climbs out of the wreckage of his timeship, his muscles trembling with the effort. His joints are screaming. It had been a rough landing. He sees the silhouette of a hand extended toward him through the twisted, smoking metal. Weariness overcomes suspicion; he takes the hand and lets himself be dragged out of the ruins.
The hand belongs to a blue-eyed man in a suit, the trousers streaked with ash. "Hello. Can you understand me?" The shape of his vowels is smooth and round amongst the ragged edges of the broken ship.
"Who are you?" He tries to stand unsupported and wobbles dangerously.
"Easy there." He feels himself steadied by sure hands. "My name is Ianto Jones. This is Lisa Hallett." A lanky woman appears from behind the remains of the temporal engine. "We're Torchwood."
Lisa supports him by his other arm. "Come and stay at our flat, and we'll find out what happened to you in the morning. You'll feel much better after a nice bath."
After that, the dream goes fuzzy, but it leaves behind a lingering sensation of softness and warmth.
"I don't know," Jack says slowly. "I just had a feeling."