Torchwood - fic - Men, Medals and Memories, Jack, Ianto, Gwen, PG, gen
Title - Men, Medals and Memories
Author - laurab1
Characters - Jack, Ianto, Gwen
Rating - PG, gen
Length - 1024 words
Spoilers - to 2.13 Exit Wounds
Summary - deliberately belated remembrance, and the importance of archives
Disclaimer - alas, none of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - this is The Torchwood Girls ‘verse
Today is Armistice Day, the 90th anniversary of the end of the First World War.
We will remember them.
Men, Medals and Memories
by Laura
“Jack?”
At the voice, and his office door being closed, Jack looks up from his paperwork. “Ianto,” he greets, putting his pen down. Then he notices the pile of folders Ianto’s holding. “Did I ask for something?”
“Not in so many words. But I thought you might like this lot today.”
“Why today, Ianto?” he asks, although he can probably figure.
“Neutral territory, Jack. It’s 17th November, far enough from the 11th and the 23rd. Less risk of possible mental trauma. And you still haven’t told me why the 23rd hurts you so much.” Ianto fixes him with a look, places his stack of files on the desk, and takes a seat opposite Jack.
Damn the kid for being so perceptive, noticing too much. “Have I not? Sorry, Ianto. Tell you and Gwen one day, promise.” Over a whole bottle of whisky, most probably, like it had been with Toshiko and Owen. Who’d both been expert at keeping secrets, it appeared. Jack then reaches out, and pulls the pile of folders toward him.
And he notices the label on the first one: Ioan Jones. Flicking through, taking each folder from the stack, the names of the rest of the group of men who went off to war with him in 1914 appear. Michael Davies, Simon Reynolds, Dr Andrew Smith. Tim Latimer is there, too. And even Alistair Roberts, and Peter Henderson.
Torchwood men, all of them, actual and adopted. Jack looks back up at Ianto. “What…?” he starts, trailing off when he realises he doesn’t know exactly what he wants to ask.
There’s a little smile on Ianto’s lips. “Identity cards for Ioan, Michael, Simon and Andrew. Service records for all of them, and medals awarded. God bless the National Archives and battalion HQs, that’s what I say.”
“Yeah,” Jack says, nodding. Moving the files again, he finds Ioan’s, his second-in-command from 1903 to 1914. Taking a deep breath, he opens the folder. There, sure enough is the ID card. Well, a version of one, at least, made from the copies their Rank Xerox machine produced in the summer of 1914. Once all the toner had run out, in who-knows-when, it had ended up being 1980 before they’d been able to use the copier again. At the memory, Jack laughs a little.
He places the ID card on the other side of the folder. An envelope is next, also bearing Ioan’s name. Picking it up, Jack runs his fingers over the contents: there’s something rectangular inside.
“Open it,” Ianto says.
Jack glances at him, pulls out a desk drawer and retrieves his old brass paper knife. Slicing open the envelope, he carefully takes the rectangular object from it, discovering, like he thought, a medal ribbons bar. “Same as me, from that war,” he says, “a 1914/15 Star, and a British War Medal. Got a Distinguished Flying Cross in the Second World War. Twice around.” He looks up at Ianto again. “Is this what they all received?”
“Yes. Didn’t you ask, yourself, at the time, Jack?”
Jack can hear from Ianto’s tone that he wants him to admit something. He sighs, saying, “I was more concerned with the fact that the war was over and none of my team who’d seen active combat were ever coming back to me, Ianto.” His voice is gonna crack, so he pauses, before adding, “What a damn waste, all those millions of lives.”
“Yes,” Ianto agrees, softly.
Jack opens and examines the rest of the folders, finally reaching Alistair’s and Peter’s. He doesn’t open those two.
“Who were they, Jack?”
“Just more dead soldiers, Ianto.” It’s all getting far too close, he doesn’t want to explain, just yet. Not today, anyway. He’s not ready.
“Why do we have a telegram to the Guards asking about them in the archives, then?”
Or maybe he is. Jack sighs, nods, makes a decision. “All right. Go and get Gwen. We don’t need coffee, though.” He remembers Toshiko’s choice of words. “This is a whisky conversation.”
Ianto nods, and leaves the office. Jack brings the decanter and three glasses to his desk, and thinks about what he’s going to tell the two of them. He gets all of a minute to do that, though, as Gwen then walks into his office, shortly followed by Ianto.
“Jack? Are you okay?” she asks, eyes wide. “Ianto just said you wanted to speak to us right now, over whisky…”
“Got a few war stories for the pair of you, Gwen,” he says, “from just over ninety years ago. C’mon, sit down.”
Once they’re all seated, Jack pours the scotch. Then he takes Alistair’s folder. “Captain Alistair Roberts, 1st Battalion of the Grenadier Guards,” he reads, and sips his whisky. “He helped me after I’d burnt to death, and resurrected, following a plane crash that shouldn’t have happened, at Cambrai, in November 1917.”
Gwen looks worried, Ianto looks like he’d suspected it was going to be something along those lines.
Jack ploughs on, while he has momentum. “2nd Lieutenant Peter Henderson, 2nd Battalion of the Coldstream Guards was someone I helped, in spring and summer of 1918.” Then he pauses, takes a breath. “At Craiglockhart.”
This time, they both look like they’d suspected it was going to be something along those lines, and Jack once again notes that he’s never really been able to fool either of them. “That’s why November 23rd gives me the creeps, Ianto. It’s when I was admitted.” He’ll let them react to that, later, and continues, “But we need to start in 1914, so I can tell you about the Torchwood men who went to war with me. Some came back, but most of them were among the millions who died in battle, or were listed as missing.”
“Jack?” Gwen whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Get your poppies. Okay, so it’s past the date, but we’re still remembering.”
“Yeah,” Jack agrees, and smiles at her. “We are.” He goes to one of his cabinets and pulls out the box. Sitting back down, he places it on the desk and takes off the lid. “Right, now we’re set. Let me tell about some of my men…”
-end-
crosspost:
torch_wood
torchwood_fic
torchwoodgenfic
galactic_conman
dwfiction
Rest of the 'verse:
The Torchwood Girls starts here, in 1913
Sidelined (Jack and Tommy, 1940 & 1945)
Series - Pro Terra et Tempus
Last Man Standing (Jack, during 2.3 TTLM)
Anthem For Doomed Youth (Jack/Tosh, after 2.3 TTLM)
Asylum (Jack, Owen and Tosh, after 2.4 Meat)
For The Fallen (Jack, Gwen and Ianto, after 2.13 Exit Wounds)
Custodians (Jack and Gwen, follows For The Fallen)
Author - laurab1
Characters - Jack, Ianto, Gwen
Rating - PG, gen
Length - 1024 words
Spoilers - to 2.13 Exit Wounds
Summary - deliberately belated remembrance, and the importance of archives
Disclaimer - alas, none of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - this is The Torchwood Girls ‘verse
Today is Armistice Day, the 90th anniversary of the end of the First World War.
We will remember them.
Men, Medals and Memories
by Laura
“Jack?”
At the voice, and his office door being closed, Jack looks up from his paperwork. “Ianto,” he greets, putting his pen down. Then he notices the pile of folders Ianto’s holding. “Did I ask for something?”
“Not in so many words. But I thought you might like this lot today.”
“Why today, Ianto?” he asks, although he can probably figure.
“Neutral territory, Jack. It’s 17th November, far enough from the 11th and the 23rd. Less risk of possible mental trauma. And you still haven’t told me why the 23rd hurts you so much.” Ianto fixes him with a look, places his stack of files on the desk, and takes a seat opposite Jack.
Damn the kid for being so perceptive, noticing too much. “Have I not? Sorry, Ianto. Tell you and Gwen one day, promise.” Over a whole bottle of whisky, most probably, like it had been with Toshiko and Owen. Who’d both been expert at keeping secrets, it appeared. Jack then reaches out, and pulls the pile of folders toward him.
And he notices the label on the first one: Ioan Jones. Flicking through, taking each folder from the stack, the names of the rest of the group of men who went off to war with him in 1914 appear. Michael Davies, Simon Reynolds, Dr Andrew Smith. Tim Latimer is there, too. And even Alistair Roberts, and Peter Henderson.
Torchwood men, all of them, actual and adopted. Jack looks back up at Ianto. “What…?” he starts, trailing off when he realises he doesn’t know exactly what he wants to ask.
There’s a little smile on Ianto’s lips. “Identity cards for Ioan, Michael, Simon and Andrew. Service records for all of them, and medals awarded. God bless the National Archives and battalion HQs, that’s what I say.”
“Yeah,” Jack says, nodding. Moving the files again, he finds Ioan’s, his second-in-command from 1903 to 1914. Taking a deep breath, he opens the folder. There, sure enough is the ID card. Well, a version of one, at least, made from the copies their Rank Xerox machine produced in the summer of 1914. Once all the toner had run out, in who-knows-when, it had ended up being 1980 before they’d been able to use the copier again. At the memory, Jack laughs a little.
He places the ID card on the other side of the folder. An envelope is next, also bearing Ioan’s name. Picking it up, Jack runs his fingers over the contents: there’s something rectangular inside.
“Open it,” Ianto says.
Jack glances at him, pulls out a desk drawer and retrieves his old brass paper knife. Slicing open the envelope, he carefully takes the rectangular object from it, discovering, like he thought, a medal ribbons bar. “Same as me, from that war,” he says, “a 1914/15 Star, and a British War Medal. Got a Distinguished Flying Cross in the Second World War. Twice around.” He looks up at Ianto again. “Is this what they all received?”
“Yes. Didn’t you ask, yourself, at the time, Jack?”
Jack can hear from Ianto’s tone that he wants him to admit something. He sighs, saying, “I was more concerned with the fact that the war was over and none of my team who’d seen active combat were ever coming back to me, Ianto.” His voice is gonna crack, so he pauses, before adding, “What a damn waste, all those millions of lives.”
“Yes,” Ianto agrees, softly.
Jack opens and examines the rest of the folders, finally reaching Alistair’s and Peter’s. He doesn’t open those two.
“Who were they, Jack?”
“Just more dead soldiers, Ianto.” It’s all getting far too close, he doesn’t want to explain, just yet. Not today, anyway. He’s not ready.
“Why do we have a telegram to the Guards asking about them in the archives, then?”
Or maybe he is. Jack sighs, nods, makes a decision. “All right. Go and get Gwen. We don’t need coffee, though.” He remembers Toshiko’s choice of words. “This is a whisky conversation.”
Ianto nods, and leaves the office. Jack brings the decanter and three glasses to his desk, and thinks about what he’s going to tell the two of them. He gets all of a minute to do that, though, as Gwen then walks into his office, shortly followed by Ianto.
“Jack? Are you okay?” she asks, eyes wide. “Ianto just said you wanted to speak to us right now, over whisky…”
“Got a few war stories for the pair of you, Gwen,” he says, “from just over ninety years ago. C’mon, sit down.”
Once they’re all seated, Jack pours the scotch. Then he takes Alistair’s folder. “Captain Alistair Roberts, 1st Battalion of the Grenadier Guards,” he reads, and sips his whisky. “He helped me after I’d burnt to death, and resurrected, following a plane crash that shouldn’t have happened, at Cambrai, in November 1917.”
Gwen looks worried, Ianto looks like he’d suspected it was going to be something along those lines.
Jack ploughs on, while he has momentum. “2nd Lieutenant Peter Henderson, 2nd Battalion of the Coldstream Guards was someone I helped, in spring and summer of 1918.” Then he pauses, takes a breath. “At Craiglockhart.”
This time, they both look like they’d suspected it was going to be something along those lines, and Jack once again notes that he’s never really been able to fool either of them. “That’s why November 23rd gives me the creeps, Ianto. It’s when I was admitted.” He’ll let them react to that, later, and continues, “But we need to start in 1914, so I can tell you about the Torchwood men who went to war with me. Some came back, but most of them were among the millions who died in battle, or were listed as missing.”
“Jack?” Gwen whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Get your poppies. Okay, so it’s past the date, but we’re still remembering.”
“Yeah,” Jack agrees, and smiles at her. “We are.” He goes to one of his cabinets and pulls out the box. Sitting back down, he places it on the desk and takes off the lid. “Right, now we’re set. Let me tell about some of my men…”
-end-
crosspost:
torch_wood
torchwood_fic
torchwoodgenfic
galactic_conman
dwfiction
Rest of the 'verse:
The Torchwood Girls starts here, in 1913
Sidelined (Jack and Tommy, 1940 & 1945)
Series - Pro Terra et Tempus
Last Man Standing (Jack, during 2.3 TTLM)
Anthem For Doomed Youth (Jack/Tosh, after 2.3 TTLM)
Asylum (Jack, Owen and Tosh, after 2.4 Meat)
For The Fallen (Jack, Gwen and Ianto, after 2.13 Exit Wounds)
Custodians (Jack and Gwen, follows For The Fallen)