for theatrical_muse Write about something old, something new, or something borrowed.
It's 5092 and you're twenty two years old when you pass out from the agency.
Passing out is very important. There are many agents that will never get that far. Many that won't even make it past the first few weeks of medicals and tests. That's all before the months of training and rigorous trials. And even that won't guarantee a place.
Passing out is a sign of achievement. It's a culmination of acquired knowledge and ability. It's when you become somebody. When you become a free spirit and when you cease to be free at all.
The first thing you get is the mark. A tattoo on your chest that brands you as one of 'them'. A code embedded into the skin forever that tells a story of who you are. That no matter what name you will wear (as you will wear many), that they can recognise you.
Next is what you wait for most. What you've seen and coveted as long as you can remember. As long as you've known of the agency; of what they plan to do and what they are capable of. You were the first to sign up and you're the first to be issued with yours. It's tastefully done, encased in a leather strap that buckles at the wrist (so it blends in across time, they say). You've had to study the manual for weeks and by the time you're given it you know its workings inside out. You know which buttons will send you where, and how to skip across a century in a heartbeat.
You vow to never take it off, as long as you live.
"What is it?"
"It's nothing."
"Uncle Jaaaack what is it?"
It's October 2005 and it's four days after Steven Carter's seventh birthday. On the walls there are balloons and streamers and on the floor remnants of the children's party that took place earlier in the day. You sit on the couch with Steven perched on your lap, and muffled through the door in the next room you can hear Alice and Joe arguing about your being there.
"It's my watch."
"It doesn't look much like a watch."
"That's because it's a very special watch."
You haven't been invited, and you shouldn't have turned up at all. It isn't that Alice doesn't want to see you, or at least that's what you tell yourself, but you're complicated. You understand that.
"Can I get a very special watch?"
"Not like this, no. This, Soldier, is one of a kind. It's a very old watch."
"How old?"
"Very old."
"Older than me?"
"Yep."
"Older than mum?"
"Yep"
"Older than grandma?"
"Yep."
"Wow that is old."
You laugh and you're glad that Steven doesn't ask if it's older than you. You're glad there's at least one lie you don't have to tell.
He pauses and you can tell that he's thinking. You know he's going to ask a question.
"Uncle Jack?"
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"If that's your watch, why are you wearing another watch on your other wrist?"
This time, the pause is yours. Steven is a sharp kid. He has that from his mother. From his grandmother. Not from you. He barely knows you.
"Well that's my other watch." As if that's a perfectly reasonable explanation.
At the back of the house you hear the sound of a door slam. Outside, Steven's father is pacing around the side of the house to his car. The engine starts to hum and the headlights brightly illuminate the room through the lounge window and it makes you squint. The light fades as the car drives away.
"Can I wear it?"
"It'd be too big for you."
"Well can I look at it?"
Your hesitation is brief before you nod and unclip the flap. You extend your arm out towards the boy.
"Sure you can. Just don't press the buttons."
Steven's small fingers hover over the three silver buttons and almost brush over the little pad next to them, but he does as he's told. His face though starts to again crease in confusion.
"Where's the time?"
Ironic considering what the device once did. A long time ago.
"Here."
You press a sequence of buttons that makes the opposite wall light up with a holographic projection. A blue hued digital display of the time.
"Cool. Where did you get it?"
"Somewhere I used to work."
The door to the kitchen opens and in a flurry Alice walks in, a basket of laundry braced under her arm. She stares at you as though she accuses you for something. You don't need to ask what.
"Where did you work? Can I work there?"
"Time for bed, Steven."
"Oh but Muuuuum."
Steven's fingers press one of the buttons before you can stop him and the TV in the corner of the room bursts into life. The young boy's eyes widen with excitement.
"But uncle Jack is just showing me his watch!"
"Uncle Jack is just going home, aren't you, Jack?"
Alice shoots you another pointed look and you know you shouldn't turn this into an argument. You know you've got not a leg to stand on. You know you wanting to see your grandson shouldn't make a difference.
"Off you go, Soldier, up to bed, just like your mum says."
He doesn't want to go, but he will because you told him. Because he looks up to you. He loves you, though you've done nothing to earn it.
"Night Uncle Jack!"
"Night kiddo."
He jumps from your lap and runs past his mum and up the stairs. Alice stands there and stares at you and you think just how tired she looks. How much older. You wonder when that happened. You wonder if it's your fault. You stand and walk to the door and she follows you as though she's herding you out.
"You and Joe-"
"We'll be fine."
"If it's me, tell him-"
"It's not. Leave it."
"No but you should-"
"Dad, I said leave it."
She pauses and you can tell she's thinking. You know she's going to say something that hurts.
"Why did you come? We asked you not to. You know how hard it makes things."
"I just wanted to see-"
"Yeah. I know you did. And what Jack Harkness wants he gets, right? Just go. And next time, Dad, at least call."
You realise she sounds just as tired as she looks and so for now you'll do as she asks. You turn and you leave the house, exiting into the cold Bristol evening. You don't look back to the warmth of the building behind you because you don't want to admit there's something there you want. You don't want to admit it, not even to yourself.
As you walk back to the SUV parked a few feet away and your feet pace over the empty space where Steven's father's car ought to be, you reach your hand down and stroke the leather of the strap of your 'watch'. The one thing you've always had. The one thing almost as old as you, from another time and another place, as much you as you are. The one thing that after everyone is gone, will still be there.
You remember the day you got it. The day you were so proud to strap it to your wrist. The effort you went through to get it.
And as you settle back into your car, cold and full of nothing but devices and machinery, ready to drive back to a dark and empty Hub, you wonder if all you'll have left at the end of it all will be a broken vortex manipulator and a worn piece of leather.
You wonder if it was worth it at all.
Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word count: 1303