(no subject)
Who: Handy and Rose
When: Sometime after Ianto and Owen's discovery of Rose's letter to Jack.
Where: Jack's room, then the second floor hallway
What: Handy goes to check on Jack's empty room and finds a letter on the floor.
Handy had taken to checking Jack's empty room more or less regularly since his friend had gone missing. He told himself that it was because of everything that had happened with Rose, as Jack was the only person in the hotel who knew what things had been like between them.
Rassilon, Rose. Handy didn't even know whether she was still alive. He was fairly sure that there had still been some time left, but there was no way for him to know anything for sure when he was kept away from her by his promise. That was another reason he wished Jack hadn't disappeared. If Jack had been there, he at least might have been able to stay with Rose and be there for her at the end. As it was, Handy was torturing himself with the image of her spending her last days alone in her room, none of her friends or family by her side.
So, as usual, he stopped by Jack's room on the way to the cafe, hoping despite knowing better that the other man might have reappeared overnight. It was like any other day, really--hobble out of the elevator and down the hall, knock on the door, try the doorknob when there was no answer, find it locked--
The door opened this time, filling Handy with an unexpected surge of hope. After the first time he'd found the room empty it had always been locked. It would have been a simple matter to open it with Rose's screwdriver, of course, but what would be the point?
Today, though, the door swung open when he tried it. Any happiness or relief that came from this, however, was quickly extinguished when Handy saw inside the room. It was still empty, not a single possession of Jack's in evidence, and he felt his heart sag with disappointment. Why was it open if Jack was still gone? He'd been feeling for some time that the hotel was intent on tormenting him with little things, and this seemed to clinch it. He was about to turn around and leave in disgust when he spotted something on the floor near the doorway.
After a few long, tedious minutes of devoting himself to the task of picking up what turned out to be a letter, Handy straightened up and leaned against the doorway. He opened the letter almost (almost) without compunction.
He was confused for the first few lines, unsure who had written the letter or why, but by the end of the first paragraph he had an inkling of who the writer might be. By the end of the second it was all but confirmed, and he became intent on his reading, despite the little voice in the back of his mind that told him to put the letter down and go back to what he'd been doing before.
He frowned over her glowing descriptions of Jack, and her confession about having come back not just for the Doctor, but also for Jack. Handy tried to remind himself that Rose and Jack were friends, and it was perfectly reasonable for her to miss him, but he couldn't keep his mind from straying to what Jack had revealed to him about the relationship between the two humans when they'd all traveled together in the TARDIS. He'd been blind to it then--who was to say that he wasn't missing some big, obvious clue now? He scowled at that thought, only vaguely aware that he was being unreasonable.
He pulled the door shut as he left for his own room, the upcoming meal forgotten as he read and reread the letter while he waited for the lift to take him back up to the floor where both he and Rose lived. It didn't please him anymore the second time he read it, nor the third, nor the fifteenth (though that wasn't until a while later, when he was firmly ensconced back in his own living space). He was just letting--no, making--the hurt build up, and he knew it, but the knowledge didn't make him stop. Bitterness built up in him, directed at both Jack and Rose. What was worst, though, was the end of the letter, when she made it clear that she didn't want even Jack around, despite her praise of him. The thought of Rose insisting on dying alone made him angry, however irrational that was.
By the time the letter had been in his possession for an hour, he was at the boiling point, having read it so many times that he had portions of it committed to memory. Finally coming to a decision, he climbed out of the chair he'd been inhabiting since he got back from Jack's room and clumped down the hall. Had he really thought about it, he would have known he was making a mistake, but jealousy and anger won out over common sense, and he was soon standing in front of Rose's door. He thumped on it with one crutch before he could think better of it.
When: Sometime after Ianto and Owen's discovery of Rose's letter to Jack.
Where: Jack's room, then the second floor hallway
What: Handy goes to check on Jack's empty room and finds a letter on the floor.
Handy had taken to checking Jack's empty room more or less regularly since his friend had gone missing. He told himself that it was because of everything that had happened with Rose, as Jack was the only person in the hotel who knew what things had been like between them.
Rassilon, Rose. Handy didn't even know whether she was still alive. He was fairly sure that there had still been some time left, but there was no way for him to know anything for sure when he was kept away from her by his promise. That was another reason he wished Jack hadn't disappeared. If Jack had been there, he at least might have been able to stay with Rose and be there for her at the end. As it was, Handy was torturing himself with the image of her spending her last days alone in her room, none of her friends or family by her side.
So, as usual, he stopped by Jack's room on the way to the cafe, hoping despite knowing better that the other man might have reappeared overnight. It was like any other day, really--hobble out of the elevator and down the hall, knock on the door, try the doorknob when there was no answer, find it locked--
The door opened this time, filling Handy with an unexpected surge of hope. After the first time he'd found the room empty it had always been locked. It would have been a simple matter to open it with Rose's screwdriver, of course, but what would be the point?
Today, though, the door swung open when he tried it. Any happiness or relief that came from this, however, was quickly extinguished when Handy saw inside the room. It was still empty, not a single possession of Jack's in evidence, and he felt his heart sag with disappointment. Why was it open if Jack was still gone? He'd been feeling for some time that the hotel was intent on tormenting him with little things, and this seemed to clinch it. He was about to turn around and leave in disgust when he spotted something on the floor near the doorway.
After a few long, tedious minutes of devoting himself to the task of picking up what turned out to be a letter, Handy straightened up and leaned against the doorway. He opened the letter almost (almost) without compunction.
He was confused for the first few lines, unsure who had written the letter or why, but by the end of the first paragraph he had an inkling of who the writer might be. By the end of the second it was all but confirmed, and he became intent on his reading, despite the little voice in the back of his mind that told him to put the letter down and go back to what he'd been doing before.
He frowned over her glowing descriptions of Jack, and her confession about having come back not just for the Doctor, but also for Jack. Handy tried to remind himself that Rose and Jack were friends, and it was perfectly reasonable for her to miss him, but he couldn't keep his mind from straying to what Jack had revealed to him about the relationship between the two humans when they'd all traveled together in the TARDIS. He'd been blind to it then--who was to say that he wasn't missing some big, obvious clue now? He scowled at that thought, only vaguely aware that he was being unreasonable.
He pulled the door shut as he left for his own room, the upcoming meal forgotten as he read and reread the letter while he waited for the lift to take him back up to the floor where both he and Rose lived. It didn't please him anymore the second time he read it, nor the third, nor the fifteenth (though that wasn't until a while later, when he was firmly ensconced back in his own living space). He was just letting--no, making--the hurt build up, and he knew it, but the knowledge didn't make him stop. Bitterness built up in him, directed at both Jack and Rose. What was worst, though, was the end of the letter, when she made it clear that she didn't want even Jack around, despite her praise of him. The thought of Rose insisting on dying alone made him angry, however irrational that was.
By the time the letter had been in his possession for an hour, he was at the boiling point, having read it so many times that he had portions of it committed to memory. Finally coming to a decision, he climbed out of the chair he'd been inhabiting since he got back from Jack's room and clumped down the hall. Had he really thought about it, he would have known he was making a mistake, but jealousy and anger won out over common sense, and he was soon standing in front of Rose's door. He thumped on it with one crutch before he could think better of it.