FIC - The Eleventh Hour - 1/1
Title: The Eleventh Hour
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13 (if that!)
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, OMC, Rhys, Tom, Martha, Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Tom/Martha
Spoilers: Anything before TW S3 or DW S4 is fair game
Warnings: M/M slash, Character Death
Length: Chapter 1 of 1, 2300 words (roughly)
Disclaimer: Torchwood and Doctor Who belong to RTD and the BBC, unfortunately. This is a work of fiction and lest we forget Fiction = False, Fake, Not Real (and any of those other handy dandy synonyms found in Webster’s big book.)
Beta: Thanks to shayasar and luvinthe88and20 for all of their guidance!
A/N: This one has been bugging me since last November and finally got in the queue to be written.
The story begins in Jack's POV.
“Red or blue?” He asked me, holding up the two different ties for my view.
“Definitely red. It’s your color. Always has been.”
He smiled at me before draping the blue one back over the rack and tying the red in a perfect knot around his neck. A slip on of a flawlessly tailored suit coat, to go with the exquisitely cut trousers, crisp shirt, and waistcoat already in place, made the outfit complete.
“So, how do I look?”
“Perfect. That suit would have made your Tad very proud.”
I was rewarded with a warm smile and then a questioning glance. “Are you going to wear that?”
What? Carefully looking over my attire, thinking maybe I did a button up incorrectly or got something on me from lunch, showed nothing out of the ordinary though. Light blue shirt, dark trousers, waistcoat, Webley, boots…all my usual accoutrements minus my greatcoat which was slung over the bed. The coat will of course be on. Never leave home without it. Kind of like that credit card they advertise on the telly.
“It’s, well it’s a special day. I thought maybe you might want to change things up a little?”
“In all the years that you have known me, have I ever really ‘changed things up’?”
Silence. Exactly. If you find something that works for you, go with it. Clothes are meant to be comforting…when they are worn that is.
“Tosh, Owen, Miranda, Geoffrey, and Colin…” And many others, I silently added, not wanting to list the full barrage of people I had lost, not trusting myself to go through with all of the names from the recent years. “…They aren’t going to care what I am wearing. Plus, I think they actually might get offended if I didn’t show up in my usual.”
“You’re right.”
“It’s only taken you twenty years to realize that.”
He glared at me with a raised eyebrow. “Could be that I am just humoring you.”
“Cheeky brat,” I said, swiping at him as he ducked out of the room.
The sound coming from his lips stopped us both in our tracks. His face had been lit up, something I hadn’t seen in close to a year, but as soon as he realized he had laughed, his expression once again clouded over.
“It’s okay to laugh you know, they’d want us to laugh.”
“I know. It’s just hard still.” The steely composure was crumbling. Fast.
Opening my arms, he sank into my embrace, chin resting on my shoulder. My hands ran soothing circles over his back as I just held him while he let forth emotions that had been so rigidly held in place.
This wasn’t the first time and I doubted it would be the last. Truth be told, he was holding me as much as I was holding him. I just didn’t have any tears left at the moment.
A knock at the door separated us, and after a quick brush of my thumbs over his cheeks, he went to answer it.
“Hey Gwen, Rhys,” he said, opening the door and welcoming two of my past teammates into the house.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she greeted him, kissing his cheek and hugging him tight.
The Cooper-Williams clan had left Torchwood ten years ago, to go raise their family. From time to time they still consulted on cases, mostly the ones where I needed a huge favor from the local constabulary which Gwen was still on good terms with even though she had never gone back to being a PC. Rhys had taken over complete management of Harwood’s not long before their first child was born and that allowed Gwen to be a stay at home mother.
It had been a hard choice to let her go, her and Ianto both meant so much to me and the three of us went through a lot together. But, Ianto had agreed with me, it was the right thing to do. Three kids later and she and Rhys were never happier.
“Hi Jack,” Rhys said, grabbing my hand and then pulling me in for a hug.
Gwen followed suit a few moments later, holding on an additional second and giving me that extra squeeze before asking, “Martha and Tom meeting us at the park?”
“Yeah, they were going to drop off the twins to Tom’s aunt and uncle for a visit and then head down there. Said they’d be there around 10:30.”
“Which means we should be going,” a voice popped up behind me, linked to hands that were holding my greatcoat. His face had lost a little of the puffiness from earlier, the icy façade formally back in place.
“You boys are forgetting something,” Gwen stated as two red poppies appeared in her hand before one attached itself to the lapel of my greatcoat, courtesy of my former second-in-command.
The other one I took from her hand and fastened to his overcoat, which was now covering the beautiful suit he wore.
“Ready?” I asked, squeezing his shoulders beneath my hands.
A small, curt nod was my only reply as I followed him to the door.
********************************
11:00a.m. on the 11th day of the 11th month.
Remembrance Day.
Or as the Captain sometimes refers to it: Veteran’s Day. I still don’t get why he insists on being all American on me, its not like I don’t know when and where he is from.
This day is not about Captain Jack Harkness though. Well, maybe in a way it is.
And it’s about me as well.
A day to honor the men and women, living or dead, who have defended the Earth from tyranny within and without- to remember all of the sacrifices that have been made.
More so this year, as it is the first Remembrance Day service since last Christmas, when the world damn near came to an end. That wasn’t the first Christmas that the Earth had been in trouble, but it was the first one that the Doctor had shown up rather late too.
The Doctor said everything was supposed to happen like it did. Gave us his usual mumbo-jumbo about timey-wimey stuff. I have a hard time believing him though.
But, the Captain does and because I believe in my leader, I try and give the Doctor the benefit of the doubt.
A hushed stillness fell over Cathays Park, and my thoughts, as the corps of rifleman made their way out to the side of the memorial.
After a few words from the Mayor of Cardiff, the guns were raised and a single shot rang out. 11:00a.m. exactly. I knew without even having to check my pocket watch.
Two minutes of silence followed as was tradition, before people were allowed to approach the memorial and give their own personal thanks by laying flowers or other memorabilia.
I watched as Martha and Tom approached together, a small wreath in their joined hands for two of their fallen comrades in the medical profession, both victims of Christmas day.
The Captain followed next, he’d asked me earlier if I wanted to go with him but I knew as much as he did that we both needed our time alone. Watching his face as that single shot had rung out, was like witnessing him take a bullet to the heart. The pain radiated out like a tidal wave.
Before I expected, it was my turn.
Stepping forward and kneeling down, I placed the wreath of poppies that I brought with me, on the wooden steps leading to the monument.
Dros for fe droes I farw.
He went overseas to die.
Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it overseas.
Remembering that there were other people waiting on me, I bowed my head to say a silent prayer.
Before I could begin, which was probably a blessing because I really wasn’t sure what I wanted to say in the first place, I was jostled by a lady to my right who was placing her flowers next to mine.
“I’m sorry dear; these bones just don’t work too well anymore.”
“It’s okay ma’am. A distraction was warranted,” I said, smiling up at her, making note of her American accent.
“Here to give thanks and remembrances to one of your friends who died in the battle last Christmas?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head, trying to stave off the pinpricks of tears that I could feel building in the corners of my eyes. “My Tad.”
She looked at me a little embarrassed that she had asked; when she saw how much I was struggling with my emotions, but in what I knew was nothing but a true-hearted kindness, patted my shoulder and continued, “I lost my father Charlie to a war as well, damned old Vietnam. But, as much as I hated him for having to go, he did it for the freedom of others and I can’t fault him for that. And look at me, rambling on in my old age. Get up here sonny, and tell me your father’s name. Let us remember our Dad’s together and thank them for letting us continue on breathing free air.”
As I stood to my full height, I swallowed down the lump in my throat. It had been almost a year since he passed, a full year of dealing with the grief and loss. Having only the one parent left to raise me.
“Jones,” I choked out and then cleared my throat. My Tad deserved to have the full use of the welsh vowels he gave me. “His name was Ianto Jones.”
**************************
He is all I have left of Ianto. Other than the memories of course.
Our son, Riley Harkness Jones. Who looks, and acts, more like his Tad every day. Except for the hair. He totally has my hair.
I’m just so thankful that Ianto and I had as many years together as we did. There were so many close calls along the way, more than the occasional night when I held his hand while he lay bleeding in a dark alley, thinking that was going to be the end.
Finally, it was. Not a dark alley, but an alien spaceship hanging over London. A last ditch effort.
I knew he wouldn’t go easily. Ianto Jones was a fighter- proven in the fires of Canary Wharf, solidified in the Welsh countryside, verified time and again in service to Torchwood.
We’d fought that day over who would do the duty. It should have been me, the man who can never die. But, Ianto said that was one of the reasons it shouldn’t.
I was still needed.
Our son needed me. His children and their children, and so forth would need me.
The Universe needed me.
I told him he was full of bullshit. At least that is what I thought until a letter arrived for me a month after my partner had been lost.
Jack,
If you are reading this, I have done my duty: protect you and our family.
I know you still are questioning why it had to be me, why it wasn’t you that sacrificed yourself. You need answers. I have them.
Remember that time, shortly after Riley was born, when the Doctor came by to see our son for the first time? Well, he made an off-handed comment that he thought no one else heard. I heard it, Jack. He said “everything was going accordingly.” Now you know that the Doctor and I never saw eye to eye on a lot of things, but you also know I was never one to back down from him. I asked him what he meant. I persuaded him using all my means- and no, it wasn’t with what you are thinking; get your mind out of the gutter, Harkness- to tell me. Finally he did even though I think it went against some secret Timelord code he has as he kept muttering about “changing timelines” and such.
He told me about your future. Not the future story about how you are born in the 51st century, but your future, millennia from now. I can’t go into details because I promised him that I wouldn’t, but you need to go on Jack.
You will let me go. You will go on. Our son by your side, and our generations to come.
Now, before I start sounding any more like a cheesy movie from the 1990’s, let me wrap this up.
Thank you for being my friend, my mentor, my Captain. But most importantly, thank you for being my partner and the father to our son. Raise him well, Jack. I’ll be with you forever, watching from a distance, standing in the background with Tosh and Owen by my side. What? Someone needs to control Owen until you get there.
In closing, I will just say- It’s been a pleasure (take that in the way I know you will because that is how I mean it.)
Yours,
Ianto
A/N2: I totally blame Carrie Underwood's song/video 'Just A Dream' for this fic. The line about "then the guns rang one last shot, and it felt like a bullet in her heart" did me in. Thank you for taking the time to read. FB of any kind is always welcome. :)
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13 (if that!)
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, OMC, Rhys, Tom, Martha, Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Tom/Martha
Spoilers: Anything before TW S3 or DW S4 is fair game
Warnings: M/M slash, Character Death
Length: Chapter 1 of 1, 2300 words (roughly)
Disclaimer: Torchwood and Doctor Who belong to RTD and the BBC, unfortunately. This is a work of fiction and lest we forget Fiction = False, Fake, Not Real (and any of those other handy dandy synonyms found in Webster’s big book.)
Beta: Thanks to shayasar and luvinthe88and20 for all of their guidance!
A/N: This one has been bugging me since last November and finally got in the queue to be written.
The story begins in Jack's POV.
“Red or blue?” He asked me, holding up the two different ties for my view.
“Definitely red. It’s your color. Always has been.”
He smiled at me before draping the blue one back over the rack and tying the red in a perfect knot around his neck. A slip on of a flawlessly tailored suit coat, to go with the exquisitely cut trousers, crisp shirt, and waistcoat already in place, made the outfit complete.
“So, how do I look?”
“Perfect. That suit would have made your Tad very proud.”
I was rewarded with a warm smile and then a questioning glance. “Are you going to wear that?”
What? Carefully looking over my attire, thinking maybe I did a button up incorrectly or got something on me from lunch, showed nothing out of the ordinary though. Light blue shirt, dark trousers, waistcoat, Webley, boots…all my usual accoutrements minus my greatcoat which was slung over the bed. The coat will of course be on. Never leave home without it. Kind of like that credit card they advertise on the telly.
“It’s, well it’s a special day. I thought maybe you might want to change things up a little?”
“In all the years that you have known me, have I ever really ‘changed things up’?”
Silence. Exactly. If you find something that works for you, go with it. Clothes are meant to be comforting…when they are worn that is.
“Tosh, Owen, Miranda, Geoffrey, and Colin…” And many others, I silently added, not wanting to list the full barrage of people I had lost, not trusting myself to go through with all of the names from the recent years. “…They aren’t going to care what I am wearing. Plus, I think they actually might get offended if I didn’t show up in my usual.”
“You’re right.”
“It’s only taken you twenty years to realize that.”
He glared at me with a raised eyebrow. “Could be that I am just humoring you.”
“Cheeky brat,” I said, swiping at him as he ducked out of the room.
The sound coming from his lips stopped us both in our tracks. His face had been lit up, something I hadn’t seen in close to a year, but as soon as he realized he had laughed, his expression once again clouded over.
“It’s okay to laugh you know, they’d want us to laugh.”
“I know. It’s just hard still.” The steely composure was crumbling. Fast.
Opening my arms, he sank into my embrace, chin resting on my shoulder. My hands ran soothing circles over his back as I just held him while he let forth emotions that had been so rigidly held in place.
This wasn’t the first time and I doubted it would be the last. Truth be told, he was holding me as much as I was holding him. I just didn’t have any tears left at the moment.
A knock at the door separated us, and after a quick brush of my thumbs over his cheeks, he went to answer it.
“Hey Gwen, Rhys,” he said, opening the door and welcoming two of my past teammates into the house.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she greeted him, kissing his cheek and hugging him tight.
The Cooper-Williams clan had left Torchwood ten years ago, to go raise their family. From time to time they still consulted on cases, mostly the ones where I needed a huge favor from the local constabulary which Gwen was still on good terms with even though she had never gone back to being a PC. Rhys had taken over complete management of Harwood’s not long before their first child was born and that allowed Gwen to be a stay at home mother.
It had been a hard choice to let her go, her and Ianto both meant so much to me and the three of us went through a lot together. But, Ianto had agreed with me, it was the right thing to do. Three kids later and she and Rhys were never happier.
“Hi Jack,” Rhys said, grabbing my hand and then pulling me in for a hug.
Gwen followed suit a few moments later, holding on an additional second and giving me that extra squeeze before asking, “Martha and Tom meeting us at the park?”
“Yeah, they were going to drop off the twins to Tom’s aunt and uncle for a visit and then head down there. Said they’d be there around 10:30.”
“Which means we should be going,” a voice popped up behind me, linked to hands that were holding my greatcoat. His face had lost a little of the puffiness from earlier, the icy façade formally back in place.
“You boys are forgetting something,” Gwen stated as two red poppies appeared in her hand before one attached itself to the lapel of my greatcoat, courtesy of my former second-in-command.
The other one I took from her hand and fastened to his overcoat, which was now covering the beautiful suit he wore.
“Ready?” I asked, squeezing his shoulders beneath my hands.
A small, curt nod was my only reply as I followed him to the door.
********************************
11:00a.m. on the 11th day of the 11th month.
Remembrance Day.
Or as the Captain sometimes refers to it: Veteran’s Day. I still don’t get why he insists on being all American on me, its not like I don’t know when and where he is from.
This day is not about Captain Jack Harkness though. Well, maybe in a way it is.
And it’s about me as well.
A day to honor the men and women, living or dead, who have defended the Earth from tyranny within and without- to remember all of the sacrifices that have been made.
More so this year, as it is the first Remembrance Day service since last Christmas, when the world damn near came to an end. That wasn’t the first Christmas that the Earth had been in trouble, but it was the first one that the Doctor had shown up rather late too.
The Doctor said everything was supposed to happen like it did. Gave us his usual mumbo-jumbo about timey-wimey stuff. I have a hard time believing him though.
But, the Captain does and because I believe in my leader, I try and give the Doctor the benefit of the doubt.
A hushed stillness fell over Cathays Park, and my thoughts, as the corps of rifleman made their way out to the side of the memorial.
After a few words from the Mayor of Cardiff, the guns were raised and a single shot rang out. 11:00a.m. exactly. I knew without even having to check my pocket watch.
Two minutes of silence followed as was tradition, before people were allowed to approach the memorial and give their own personal thanks by laying flowers or other memorabilia.
I watched as Martha and Tom approached together, a small wreath in their joined hands for two of their fallen comrades in the medical profession, both victims of Christmas day.
The Captain followed next, he’d asked me earlier if I wanted to go with him but I knew as much as he did that we both needed our time alone. Watching his face as that single shot had rung out, was like witnessing him take a bullet to the heart. The pain radiated out like a tidal wave.
Before I expected, it was my turn.
Stepping forward and kneeling down, I placed the wreath of poppies that I brought with me, on the wooden steps leading to the monument.
Dros for fe droes I farw.
He went overseas to die.
Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it overseas.
Remembering that there were other people waiting on me, I bowed my head to say a silent prayer.
Before I could begin, which was probably a blessing because I really wasn’t sure what I wanted to say in the first place, I was jostled by a lady to my right who was placing her flowers next to mine.
“I’m sorry dear; these bones just don’t work too well anymore.”
“It’s okay ma’am. A distraction was warranted,” I said, smiling up at her, making note of her American accent.
“Here to give thanks and remembrances to one of your friends who died in the battle last Christmas?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head, trying to stave off the pinpricks of tears that I could feel building in the corners of my eyes. “My Tad.”
She looked at me a little embarrassed that she had asked; when she saw how much I was struggling with my emotions, but in what I knew was nothing but a true-hearted kindness, patted my shoulder and continued, “I lost my father Charlie to a war as well, damned old Vietnam. But, as much as I hated him for having to go, he did it for the freedom of others and I can’t fault him for that. And look at me, rambling on in my old age. Get up here sonny, and tell me your father’s name. Let us remember our Dad’s together and thank them for letting us continue on breathing free air.”
As I stood to my full height, I swallowed down the lump in my throat. It had been almost a year since he passed, a full year of dealing with the grief and loss. Having only the one parent left to raise me.
“Jones,” I choked out and then cleared my throat. My Tad deserved to have the full use of the welsh vowels he gave me. “His name was Ianto Jones.”
**************************
He is all I have left of Ianto. Other than the memories of course.
Our son, Riley Harkness Jones. Who looks, and acts, more like his Tad every day. Except for the hair. He totally has my hair.
I’m just so thankful that Ianto and I had as many years together as we did. There were so many close calls along the way, more than the occasional night when I held his hand while he lay bleeding in a dark alley, thinking that was going to be the end.
Finally, it was. Not a dark alley, but an alien spaceship hanging over London. A last ditch effort.
I knew he wouldn’t go easily. Ianto Jones was a fighter- proven in the fires of Canary Wharf, solidified in the Welsh countryside, verified time and again in service to Torchwood.
We’d fought that day over who would do the duty. It should have been me, the man who can never die. But, Ianto said that was one of the reasons it shouldn’t.
I was still needed.
Our son needed me. His children and their children, and so forth would need me.
The Universe needed me.
I told him he was full of bullshit. At least that is what I thought until a letter arrived for me a month after my partner had been lost.
Jack,
If you are reading this, I have done my duty: protect you and our family.
I know you still are questioning why it had to be me, why it wasn’t you that sacrificed yourself. You need answers. I have them.
Remember that time, shortly after Riley was born, when the Doctor came by to see our son for the first time? Well, he made an off-handed comment that he thought no one else heard. I heard it, Jack. He said “everything was going accordingly.” Now you know that the Doctor and I never saw eye to eye on a lot of things, but you also know I was never one to back down from him. I asked him what he meant. I persuaded him using all my means- and no, it wasn’t with what you are thinking; get your mind out of the gutter, Harkness- to tell me. Finally he did even though I think it went against some secret Timelord code he has as he kept muttering about “changing timelines” and such.
He told me about your future. Not the future story about how you are born in the 51st century, but your future, millennia from now. I can’t go into details because I promised him that I wouldn’t, but you need to go on Jack.
You will let me go. You will go on. Our son by your side, and our generations to come.
Now, before I start sounding any more like a cheesy movie from the 1990’s, let me wrap this up.
Thank you for being my friend, my mentor, my Captain. But most importantly, thank you for being my partner and the father to our son. Raise him well, Jack. I’ll be with you forever, watching from a distance, standing in the background with Tosh and Owen by my side. What? Someone needs to control Owen until you get there.
In closing, I will just say- It’s been a pleasure (take that in the way I know you will because that is how I mean it.)
Yours,
Ianto
A/N2: I totally blame Carrie Underwood's song/video 'Just A Dream' for this fic. The line about "then the guns rang one last shot, and it felt like a bullet in her heart" did me in. Thank you for taking the time to read. FB of any kind is always welcome. :)