Fic: Constants (1/1)
Title: Constants
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jack, Team Torchwood, Implied Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 1,160
Spoilers: Series 2, brief references to Children of Earth.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood.
Prompt: Lay
Summary: “There are very few constants in life. He is one of the few.”
Authors Notes: This story assumes that Jack eventually returns to Cardiff after Children of Earth.
Constants
There are very few constants in life. He is one of the few.
He is lying on the small camp bed underneath his office. Though the Hub has been relocated and redeveloped a number of times, he always replicates this room as near to the original as possible- he can’t stop time from moving but in here he can always pretend.
They visit him in his dreams. Occasionally other colleagues, friends and loves appear but they are always there in the background- just a shadow, a presence lingering unseen but always felt.
Whenever he is doubting himself it is Ianto he sees, holding a cup of coffee and reassuring him that he has done the right thing, that his team- old and new- trust their Captain and would follow him to the end of the universe if he asked them to.
Gwen is the one who appears when he thinks that all hope is lost. He watches her watching her young daughter run around a park, playing a game with another child. Her eternal hope shines like a beacon in the dark, no matter how grim things become and when she tells him that he will find a way to save the world he believes her.
The vision of Tosh smiling that small, sweet smile of hers never fails to make him smile in return. She reminds him not to be too tied up in his own world of despair to forget that life is to be lived, that they want him to live and not just exist.
Owen was always the best at giving Jack a kick up the arse every time he started becoming careless with his immortality. His scathing comments, informing Jack that just because he is immortal does not mean he should throw his life away so cheaply- it creates more work for the team medic if nothing else- live on with Jack long after Owen is gone. Owen never tells Jack, in his dreams or actual reality, that he breaks all of their hearts every time he dies saving the world but Jack gets the message anyway.
Other times real memories mix in with the fabricated illusions. After a while, Jack cannot tell what is fact and what is fiction.
He doesn’t care- the visions are such a true indication of their personalities that he clings onto all the images, as would a drowning man thrown a life jacket. In a way they are his life jacket- keeping him afloat and tethered to real-life long after they are gone.
Sometimes they appear separately or in twos, but it is when they arrive as a team, his team, that he enjoys the dreams the most. Most of these occasions are not work related but are snapshots of what Gwen had fondly dubbed ‘Jack’s notorious team bonding sessions.’
Things like outings at the local bowling alley, the people on the neighbouring lanes glaring at the girls’ loud shouts of delight and Owen’s strike dance. Or afternoons spent at a Laser-Quest. They would go when the kids were still at school so they had the arcade to themselves. One evening, Ianto had treated everybody to a meal after Owen, Gwen and Tosh finally ended his and Jack’s winning streak, albeit at the fifteenth time of asking.
If he closes his eyes and concentrates, Jack can still feel the warm, August breeze on his face as he sits with his arms wrapped around Ianto as they all gather around a campfire, during a summer camping trip. He can hear Rhys and Owen competing to see who knows the rudest sport chant, egged on by Gwen and Tosh’s more and more lavish promises to the winner.
Once a week, The Kelly held a quiz night which they would attend as often as the Rift and the weevils would allow. Ianto had named them ‘The Evil Weevils’ and, despite drawing some weird looks from the locals, the name had stuck. Ianto framed all of their winning answer sheets and hung them in the medical rooms next to the autopsy bay as a tribute to Tosh and Owen after they died.
Other times, they would be back at the original Hub. Back home.
Tosh might be fiddling with a new bit of alien tech or adjusting the Hub’s security system with a look of complete concentration on her face. Gwen would be laughing with Owen or gossiping with Ianto before launching head first into the next case, her heart open and daring anybody, friend or foe, to defy her. Owen would usually be dissecting an alien, his attention so focussed he barely registers Ianto enter the autopsy bay and placing a cup of coffee and a plate of chocolate biscuits next to him.
Ianto had been another constant while he was there. Always ready with a cup of coffee, a sarcastic retort and his suits. Jack could count on one hand the number of times the rest of the team had seen Ianto out of a suit- not one of which would make the top ten in the list of ‘Day’s Torchwood Three Personnel Loved Their Jobs.’
Sometimes- even years later- he half expects to see them wandering around the Hub. The pain and disappointment when he realises they aren’t there never gets any easier to bear.
Once again, the rift alarm sounding dislodges his train of thoughts. Some things never change.
He grabs his RAF coat from his office- he long ago lost count of how many of these he has owned- before heading out to face the latest challenge.
***
He is standing on a roof. Once, a long time ago, it used to be a car park. It has long since been deserted. He does not know how or why he knows this.
There is no sound except the soft crunch of his feet making contact with the crumbling floor. There is nothing above him- no sun, no moon, no clouds.
Just never-ending darkness.
He walks to the edge of the roof and looks down. There is nothing there. Just the same never-ending darkness, stretching and enveloping everything except this small landing where he stands.
He can hear something in the darkness. It is coming for him.
Except this time it is different.
This is warm and familiar- and home.
He knows it is them. He does not care how he knows or why he can hear whispers, each voice undistinguishable from the other and calling out the exact same word.
Jack.
He smiles- thinking of the last people who knew him by that name. He turns and takes a few steps back before turning to face the edge once more. He runs and jumps, arms wide open and feeling content for the first time in much too long.
The warm wind blowing his coat open feels like an embrace.
The last thing he knows is four pairs of hands grabbing him and holding him close.
He is home.
Like it? Love it? Loathe it? Let me know :c)
My Torchwood master-list can be found here.
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Jack, Team Torchwood, Implied Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 1,160
Spoilers: Series 2, brief references to Children of Earth.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood.
Prompt: Lay
Summary: “There are very few constants in life. He is one of the few.”
Authors Notes: This story assumes that Jack eventually returns to Cardiff after Children of Earth.
Constants
There are very few constants in life. He is one of the few.
He is lying on the small camp bed underneath his office. Though the Hub has been relocated and redeveloped a number of times, he always replicates this room as near to the original as possible- he can’t stop time from moving but in here he can always pretend.
They visit him in his dreams. Occasionally other colleagues, friends and loves appear but they are always there in the background- just a shadow, a presence lingering unseen but always felt.
Whenever he is doubting himself it is Ianto he sees, holding a cup of coffee and reassuring him that he has done the right thing, that his team- old and new- trust their Captain and would follow him to the end of the universe if he asked them to.
Gwen is the one who appears when he thinks that all hope is lost. He watches her watching her young daughter run around a park, playing a game with another child. Her eternal hope shines like a beacon in the dark, no matter how grim things become and when she tells him that he will find a way to save the world he believes her.
The vision of Tosh smiling that small, sweet smile of hers never fails to make him smile in return. She reminds him not to be too tied up in his own world of despair to forget that life is to be lived, that they want him to live and not just exist.
Owen was always the best at giving Jack a kick up the arse every time he started becoming careless with his immortality. His scathing comments, informing Jack that just because he is immortal does not mean he should throw his life away so cheaply- it creates more work for the team medic if nothing else- live on with Jack long after Owen is gone. Owen never tells Jack, in his dreams or actual reality, that he breaks all of their hearts every time he dies saving the world but Jack gets the message anyway.
Other times real memories mix in with the fabricated illusions. After a while, Jack cannot tell what is fact and what is fiction.
He doesn’t care- the visions are such a true indication of their personalities that he clings onto all the images, as would a drowning man thrown a life jacket. In a way they are his life jacket- keeping him afloat and tethered to real-life long after they are gone.
Sometimes they appear separately or in twos, but it is when they arrive as a team, his team, that he enjoys the dreams the most. Most of these occasions are not work related but are snapshots of what Gwen had fondly dubbed ‘Jack’s notorious team bonding sessions.’
Things like outings at the local bowling alley, the people on the neighbouring lanes glaring at the girls’ loud shouts of delight and Owen’s strike dance. Or afternoons spent at a Laser-Quest. They would go when the kids were still at school so they had the arcade to themselves. One evening, Ianto had treated everybody to a meal after Owen, Gwen and Tosh finally ended his and Jack’s winning streak, albeit at the fifteenth time of asking.
If he closes his eyes and concentrates, Jack can still feel the warm, August breeze on his face as he sits with his arms wrapped around Ianto as they all gather around a campfire, during a summer camping trip. He can hear Rhys and Owen competing to see who knows the rudest sport chant, egged on by Gwen and Tosh’s more and more lavish promises to the winner.
Once a week, The Kelly held a quiz night which they would attend as often as the Rift and the weevils would allow. Ianto had named them ‘The Evil Weevils’ and, despite drawing some weird looks from the locals, the name had stuck. Ianto framed all of their winning answer sheets and hung them in the medical rooms next to the autopsy bay as a tribute to Tosh and Owen after they died.
Other times, they would be back at the original Hub. Back home.
Tosh might be fiddling with a new bit of alien tech or adjusting the Hub’s security system with a look of complete concentration on her face. Gwen would be laughing with Owen or gossiping with Ianto before launching head first into the next case, her heart open and daring anybody, friend or foe, to defy her. Owen would usually be dissecting an alien, his attention so focussed he barely registers Ianto enter the autopsy bay and placing a cup of coffee and a plate of chocolate biscuits next to him.
Ianto had been another constant while he was there. Always ready with a cup of coffee, a sarcastic retort and his suits. Jack could count on one hand the number of times the rest of the team had seen Ianto out of a suit- not one of which would make the top ten in the list of ‘Day’s Torchwood Three Personnel Loved Their Jobs.’
Sometimes- even years later- he half expects to see them wandering around the Hub. The pain and disappointment when he realises they aren’t there never gets any easier to bear.
Once again, the rift alarm sounding dislodges his train of thoughts. Some things never change.
He grabs his RAF coat from his office- he long ago lost count of how many of these he has owned- before heading out to face the latest challenge.
***
He is standing on a roof. Once, a long time ago, it used to be a car park. It has long since been deserted. He does not know how or why he knows this.
There is no sound except the soft crunch of his feet making contact with the crumbling floor. There is nothing above him- no sun, no moon, no clouds.
Just never-ending darkness.
He walks to the edge of the roof and looks down. There is nothing there. Just the same never-ending darkness, stretching and enveloping everything except this small landing where he stands.
He can hear something in the darkness. It is coming for him.
Except this time it is different.
This is warm and familiar- and home.
He knows it is them. He does not care how he knows or why he can hear whispers, each voice undistinguishable from the other and calling out the exact same word.
Jack.
He smiles- thinking of the last people who knew him by that name. He turns and takes a few steps back before turning to face the edge once more. He runs and jumps, arms wide open and feeling content for the first time in much too long.
The warm wind blowing his coat open feels like an embrace.
The last thing he knows is four pairs of hands grabbing him and holding him close.
He is home.
Like it? Love it? Loathe it? Let me know :c)
My Torchwood master-list can be found here.