[fanfic] Life On Mars/Torchwood/Doctor Who: Spacial Genetic Multiplicity
TITLE: Spacial Genetic Multiplicity
AUTHOR: clockwork_sky
FANDOM: Life On Mars, Torchwood, Doctor Who
CHARACTERS: (who appear in any notable capacity at all) Sam Tyler, Jack Harkness, Gene Hunt, Annie Cartwright, Toshiko Sato, Gwen Cooper, Owen Harper, Ianto Jones, the Doctor (Eleven), Amy Pond
PAIRINGS: (mostly gen but the following could be read possibly, depending on your particular shipper goggles) Sam Tyler/Jack Harkness (UST/sympathy is more what came out, I think), Jack/Ianto, Sam/Annie, Sam/Gene, Tosh/Owen, Gwen/Owen
RATING: T (for some innuendo and language)
WORD COUNT: 13695
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic much overgrew my original plan. This was meant to be a crack-fic, and I suppose it still is by the definition given on TVTropes, but it suddenly decided to start taking itself a bit more seriously than I'd originally intended. This fic incorporates some canon involving S1 of Torchwood, up to mid-S2 LoM, and S5 of Doctor Who, but it also has general disregard for actually keeping it in tact. This fic was written for silvaa for the 2010 Life On Mars ficathon on lifein1973 and I really hope she still likes it in spite of my liberties. The prompt I chose was: Sam/Captain Jack "it's better than a space hopper" crack. Sorry about its belatedness--university had me with a lot of other big assignments due this week.
DISCLAIMER: Life On Mars belongs to the BBC and to Kudos. Torchwood and Doctor Who both belong to the BBC and their respective copyright holders. This is written for entertainment purposes only.
“Sorry, mate, this'll sting a bit,” Owen told Sam as he gripped his forearm with a gloved hand, inserting a needle without waiting for consent, taking a small blood sample.
Sam tried to push him off and nearly went after him when the needle was out of the way, but he kept himself seated, taking a deep, ragged breath to try and calm himself down.
“Who the hell are you people? I'm not some kind of criminal. I'm still a British citizen and I've got rights, regardless of who you happen to think I am. People do still have rights now? What year is this?”
“It's--” Gwen began, looking at him. He thought he could see compassion in her face, but Jack quickly cut her off.
“We'll be asking the questions,” he insisted as another man, whom the others called Ianto, brought him a stack of papers which he began to flip through.
“Harold Saxon, Minister of Defense. Not Sam Tyler.”
Sam blinked a few times. Apparently his surname bothered this Jack person quite a bit. He narrowed his eyes and decided to risk a cynical expression.
“Minister of Defense? I'm a police officer. DCI,” he explained, feigning patience.
Gwen glanced up at Jack from watching what Sam had to say, and for some reason he decided that his only hope of getting through to these people might be her. It felt like she might be the only one among them willing to challenge Jack on emotional grounds.
“He does sort of look like he's telling the truth. What if he doesn't know? He certainly doesn't... look like a minister of defense.”
“Yeah,” Ianto agreed, approaching and apparently deciding to chime in and help. “Look at his trousers... Think that went out with disco.”
“Before,” Sam corrected, trying to maintain some sense of control.
“What?” Jack asked, folding his arms and waiting for an answer expectantly. “What year do you say you're from?”
“1973,” Sam replied, blinking a few times and widening his eyes at himself that this was his first answer. “2006... via 1973.”
“Which is it?”
“Both. Look, I don't know how, but it's both.”
Jack went from looking angry and smug and suspicious to looking pale, concerned and a bit taken aback.
“You've traveled in time before?”
“I thought I was in a coma.”
Owen stifled a sharp chuckle, to which Jack cleared his throat, warning.
“Sorry. Just... a bit...”
“I need to talk to our guest alone,” Jack said, but it didn't sound threatening or malevolent, only insistent.
“More cloak and dagger bollocks,” Owen sighed as he moved to obey. Jack shot him a warning look, but the rest of them followed in kind, leaving Sam alone with him.
Deciding that he had little to lose, Sam stood up, squaring his shoulders and watching Jack.
“Fancy a walk?” Jack asked. Not the first thing Sam had expected to hear him say.
He watched as Jack approached the door and pulled a long-coat on-it looked both ancient and brand new and Sam vaguely remembered seeing it before. Nothing about this place added up well with anything he knew about the world, and he found himself almost wishing to go back to the things about the 70s he found strange and ill-fitting with reality.
He caught up and felt his own posture stiffen. He was more than a little taken aback by the shift from being treated like a prisoner of war to a potential guest on a moment's notice, apparently at the whim of this Jack character. This had to be all sorts of illegal, but this place was huge-where would they hide it?
He cleared his throat and decided he should say something to Jack, try to sound calm even though he was anything but. Maybe if he could get him talking too he wouldn't be at such a distinct disadvantage.
“What year are you from...?” he asked, trailing off as the large, thick, gear-shaped door rolled back to the sound of several discordant beeps and whirs.
“That's a long story,” Jack said decisively, though he sounded perhaps a bit amused.
“Apparently I've got time.”
“Time. Don't we all?”
“Who are you? What are you, exactly?”
“Captain Jack Harkness, captain of the Innuendo Squad,” he responded, looking a little distant for a moment before flashing a ridiculously Hollywood grin. “...otherwise known as Torchwood Three. For the moment. I'm also an alien.”
“...an alien as in...” Sam tried to follow, dubiously. This guy was completely unbelievable, taking a piss out on him even after he'd already, with his little gang, done enough to be charged with assault.
“Not from Earth,” he replied simply.
“So you're not human?”
“Didn't say that, did I?”
“There are humans on other planets?”
“There will be.”
“Right. Which leads me to my original question...”
“I'm from the 51st century.”
“And I'm Tony Blair.”
Jack's eyes focused a bit, stopping in their banter for a moment as he stepped up onto the platform and gestured for Sam to do the same, half-offering his hand to help him up.
Sam refused it and followed, keeping his distance as best he could and wondering why he'd been led up here. He narrowed his eyes and focused them on Jack, watching suspiciously.
“Do you know who the Prime Minister is now?” Jack asked, casually.
“Assuming this is 2006, Harriet Jones.”
“So you are a local boy. Least... a bit... local. Where did you get those clothes from?”
“Where'd you get yours?” Sam quipped back, nodding toward his coat.
Jack straightened his shoulders, his vanity practically glowing for a moment as he smoothed it down and smirked at Sam.
“Works for me.”
“Right, whatever. Now why are we up on this little platform? Going to teach me how to dance?”
Jack's eyes moved up and down Sam's frame in a way that made him feel like his skin was tingling, just on the surface. If anyone else had done it, he might have been a little uncomfortable, but he just stood there, breathing, waiting.
“...would that I could,” Jack mumbled playfully. “It's a lift,” he explained, absently.
“To what? You still haven't told me where we are. Judging by the way you threat your guests, I'd say Guantanamo Bay.”
The platform began to move up on its own, appearing to float off the ground of its own accord. As it did, Sam did something rather embarrassing. He heard the caw of what sounded like a crow the size of a lorry and stepped in toward Jack, being forced to reach out and grab onto his coat to keep from losing his balance.
“That's just the pterodactyl.”
“Pterodactyl?”
Jack grasped the collar of his shirt, taking the opportunity to square their bodies so that he was looking him directly in the eyes, searching, smirking a little and getting so close that Sam could feel their breath mingling.
“Close,” he said, hardly above a whisper and deep down in his throat.
“W-What?”
“Close,” he repeated more brightly as the lift ascended into darkness and reemerged into streetlight.
Sam blinked a few times and was grateful for the distraction as he looked away to find out where they were. When he did, he finally understood. He stepped off the platform, not understanding when a kid on a bike nearly toppled and sped away.
“Not... Guantanamo Bay,” he said slowly, blinking rapidly and furrowing his brow. “Cardiff Bay.”
“The one and only. Well, the one and only on Earth.”
“You're not still going on about that, are you?”
“How else are you going to explain what you just saw? How do you explain that with your current, quaint little insular knowledge about the world you live in?”
“Special Ops. Waste of billions in taxes. Big brother. I don't know.”
“Let's cut to the chase then, shall we?”
Sam rounded on Jack from where he had been walking forward, across the Plass, nearly bumping into him again. He didn't let it phase him and subtly gritted his teeth, hands resting over his belt.
“I wish you would.”
“Oh, I do love feisty ones,” Jack intoned, and it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or seductive. “Right, to the point then: are you from the Time Agency?”
“The what?!” Sam exclaimed, exasperatedly, having had quite enough of this by now.
“That'd be a no, then,” Jack replied miserably. “Unless you were a fantastic liar... in which case I'd probably remember you.”
“Please, can we just cut this bullshit and start from where you oh-so-very-nicely kidnapped me?! Can you tell me what the hell happened to me? Why am I here and not in 1973, and was I there in the first place?”
Jack smirked a little at first, but then his face became more solemn, something Sam said apparently striking a cord. He reached out and touched Sam's shoulder. Sam tried to jerk it away but Jack persisted.
“I don't know.”
“Then let go of me. I don't know about any of this stuff you're talking about.”
“You've got questions. I'll give you the one answer you need to know. I'm with Torchwood. We're outside the government, beyond the police or anything else you can imagine. And yes, there's a reason we came to find you.”
Sam looked a little stunned for a moment but then tried to calm himself, taking a step in toward Jack.
“Which is?”
Jack seemed to study his eyes for a moment, then his expression softened into a gentle smirk. He walked past Sam, brushing his shoulder against his, causing him to turn to follow him with his eyes, to watch.
“Come on,” Jack instructed casually, obviously a man used to giving orders.
“Where?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I'm going to buy you a drink.”
Sam supposed he wasn't exactly a prisoner anymore. He put his hands into his trouser pockets and realized that he could simply walk away. But what could he do? Here, in Cardiff...
When Sam followed him into the pub, he was surprised to find it so ordinary. He saw a television braced to the wall and smiled a little-oh, to reinvent the wheel. He looked down again and met Jack at the counter.
“What's gotten you so friendly?”
“Might be your good looks or your impeccable taste in trousers.”
“One minute you've got me down in a secret lab befitting Dr. Frankenstein and now you're buying me a drink.”
“I already gave you my answer,” Jack replied in a singsong. When the bartender approached he nodded to him and flashed her another of his almost absurdly winning smiles. “The usual.”
When she brought back two shot glasses, Sam raised his eyebrows a bit, focusing on Jack. He took the one that was offered to him, noting the way he held them-palm over the top. Nelson would be incensed.
Sam downed the alcohol without a second thought, managing to mostly stifle the wince at the sharp, bitter taste.
“So, Sam Tyler, tell me about yourself,” Jack carried on casually once he'd slid both shot glasses back up the bar.
“Why should I tell you?”
“Sam,” Jack said pointedly, leaning in and again getting very close. “I'm probably the only person on the planet that you're ever going to meet who isn't going to think you're crazy.”
“Why's that?”
“Time travel.”
“You're telling me it is possible?”
“You tell me.”
“...In 2006, I was....am... a DCI for the Manchester Police... One day, something happened. I'm not sure, but I think I was hit by a car. Then I woke up and it was 1973.”
“I've woken up to worse,” Jack replied with a smirk, taking another drink from another glass.
“What was it you said before? Who did you think I was?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“Who am I going to tell?”
Jack sighed, actually seeming moved.
“Harold Saxon. Minister of Defense-I've only seen him on television, but Tosh's had a hard time with the Ministry ever since he's been in office. Just doesn't feel right, but can't prove anything, so you can see why I'd think...”
“...you thought that if he'd learned to travel in time he might pose a problem?” Sam asked, dubiously.
“Yes.”
“So time travel is just a normal thing for you, is it?”
“Was once, yes... Not so much now as cleaning up the fall out. The world is more complicated than you ever see in ordinary life.”
Sam chose to let the veiled condescension pass, leaning in a bit further, interested.
“The 'fallout'?”
“Cardiff is built over a rift in time and space.”
“Explains a lot.”
“It does, yes,” Jack admitted with a smirk. “...but it means that this city is a hotbed of strange things happening. It's our job to keep track of them, to clean up the mess as best we can to prevent it from getting out.”
“So time travel exists and you cover it up?”
“Yes, among other things. Like I said, I'm not even from Earth. Just sort of adopted it. Or maybe it adopted me, I dunno.”
“Why do you do it? Isn't that a bit unfair? Wouldn't it make things simpler if the people who use this stuff were publicly accountable? I'd certainly like to know who did this to me.”
“It's not that simple, Sam. Believe me, I wish it were. The 21st century is when everything changes, but it happens gradually. It has to.”
“So who did this to me? And you haven't even told me what year it is now.”
“2007,” Jack replied, pausing to watch Sam's reaction.
“...a year off. A year in the future, now. Suppose I could just go back to Manchester-tell them I went to Tibet to find inner peace or something.”
“...the thing is, Sam, we don't know who did this to you or if anything did it to you at all. Sometimes these things just... happen. For all we know, you're right and you did get hit by a car-the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.”
“What else could it be?”
“I don't know.”
“Lot of help you are.”
Jack looked far away for a moment, lost in his thoughts, and then he simply chuckled, though it wasn't really a sound of amusement. He focused his eyes on Sam again and reached out, gripping his wrist softly through the leather jacket he wore-a jacket that reminded him of someone, someone lost so very long ago, so far in the future, so far away.
“What do you remember?”
“About what?”
“About 1973.”
“Everything,” Sam replied at length, looking down and sighing. “Everything there is a bit... more real, somehow.” Sam's voice caught and faltered as he too looked a bit distant, surprised at his own words.
“People, places?”
“Both. I'm with the police there, too... and it almost seems to make more sense. Ever since I got back here, things look so... polished and bright but they feel... wrong.”
Another chuckle from Jack, this time a bit more genuine and less forced.
“That tends to happen.”
“Mostly, I remember the people. Here-in 2006, I mean, my... colleagues-they're just that. I'm friendly with some of them, but... back there...”
“It's more organic. The longer time goes on the more people lose that-I think that's one of the reasons I can stand staying here.”
“Why are you here?”
“Waiting. ...waiting for a man called the Doctor.”
Sam blinked a few times but then decided, based upon the look on Jack's face that maybe he shouldn't pry.
“...mostly I remember Annie... and Gene.”
“Who are they?” Jack asked, setting another drink down in front of Sam.
“Gene is my DI and Annie's a DS. The first woman to hold that job in Manchester, actually.”
“You had something to do with that, I bet?”
“Yeah. She's a hell of a lot more competent than the rest of us are, most of the time.”
“You talk about it in the present tense,” Jack pointed out.
“Do I? ...yeah, I do. Still, suppose it doesn't matter. Oh, I do dread to think what Gene's gonna do without me around...”
Jack watched Sam's expression so intently that he could feel his eyes on his skin.
“What?” Sam asked, trying to shrug off the gaze.
“It's just that when you first mentioned Annie, I assumed... but the way your face looks when you talk about Gene-some story there?”
“A long one, but... not what you're thinking.”
“Isn't it? I usually have such a good sense about these things.”
“Well, it isn't,” Sam replied quickly.
“Oh, I've been there...”
“You've been everywhere.”
“More or less. Tell me, what did you mean 'it doesn't matter'?”
“Well whatever it is it's over now. I'm back here, all in one piece. I don't suppose you've got an actual time machine, the way you talked.”
“I don't have one, no. Been trying, but...”
“So I'm stuck here.”
“Do you want to be unstuck?”
“...I don't know. Maybe. Look, why are you telling me all of this? Why are we having this conversation? Why do you care?”
“Whoa, lots of questions.”
“Answer one of them.”
“...look, Sam... I... care because I believe you, and I do know that I have a good sense about that... And I care because even if I can't help myself, I think I might be able to help you. And I'm telling you because you won't remember.”
“What?” Sam demanded, then followed Jack's eyes to the first glass. He felt anger and betrayal well up inside him, but then something dispelled it-it was probably for the best. Though it might have just been whatever Jack had given him talking, already eating at the edges of his mind.
-
Torchwood Hub
“Hey, stranger,” Gwen said with a start when the door rolled open. She put down whatever she'd been handling and walked toward Jack, standing squarely in front of him and hooking her fingers in her belt loops. “Where's Sam?”
“Gone.”
“Down with the fishes?” Owen asked as he was washing some kind of purple blood from his wrists above where his gloves had covered with very hot water.
“Just gone. Back home.”
“Where's that then?”
“Manchester,” Jack said simply. It wasn't time for them to know yet, but he knew that if Toshiko were to look at the Rift readings with understanding that she'd see it. Home. Manchester. 1973.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
AUTHOR: clockwork_sky
FANDOM: Life On Mars, Torchwood, Doctor Who
CHARACTERS: (who appear in any notable capacity at all) Sam Tyler, Jack Harkness, Gene Hunt, Annie Cartwright, Toshiko Sato, Gwen Cooper, Owen Harper, Ianto Jones, the Doctor (Eleven), Amy Pond
PAIRINGS: (mostly gen but the following could be read possibly, depending on your particular shipper goggles) Sam Tyler/Jack Harkness (UST/sympathy is more what came out, I think), Jack/Ianto, Sam/Annie, Sam/Gene, Tosh/Owen, Gwen/Owen
RATING: T (for some innuendo and language)
WORD COUNT: 13695
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic much overgrew my original plan. This was meant to be a crack-fic, and I suppose it still is by the definition given on TVTropes, but it suddenly decided to start taking itself a bit more seriously than I'd originally intended. This fic incorporates some canon involving S1 of Torchwood, up to mid-S2 LoM, and S5 of Doctor Who, but it also has general disregard for actually keeping it in tact. This fic was written for silvaa for the 2010 Life On Mars ficathon on lifein1973 and I really hope she still likes it in spite of my liberties. The prompt I chose was: Sam/Captain Jack "it's better than a space hopper" crack. Sorry about its belatedness--university had me with a lot of other big assignments due this week.
DISCLAIMER: Life On Mars belongs to the BBC and to Kudos. Torchwood and Doctor Who both belong to the BBC and their respective copyright holders. This is written for entertainment purposes only.
“Sorry, mate, this'll sting a bit,” Owen told Sam as he gripped his forearm with a gloved hand, inserting a needle without waiting for consent, taking a small blood sample.
Sam tried to push him off and nearly went after him when the needle was out of the way, but he kept himself seated, taking a deep, ragged breath to try and calm himself down.
“Who the hell are you people? I'm not some kind of criminal. I'm still a British citizen and I've got rights, regardless of who you happen to think I am. People do still have rights now? What year is this?”
“It's--” Gwen began, looking at him. He thought he could see compassion in her face, but Jack quickly cut her off.
“We'll be asking the questions,” he insisted as another man, whom the others called Ianto, brought him a stack of papers which he began to flip through.
“Harold Saxon, Minister of Defense. Not Sam Tyler.”
Sam blinked a few times. Apparently his surname bothered this Jack person quite a bit. He narrowed his eyes and decided to risk a cynical expression.
“Minister of Defense? I'm a police officer. DCI,” he explained, feigning patience.
Gwen glanced up at Jack from watching what Sam had to say, and for some reason he decided that his only hope of getting through to these people might be her. It felt like she might be the only one among them willing to challenge Jack on emotional grounds.
“He does sort of look like he's telling the truth. What if he doesn't know? He certainly doesn't... look like a minister of defense.”
“Yeah,” Ianto agreed, approaching and apparently deciding to chime in and help. “Look at his trousers... Think that went out with disco.”
“Before,” Sam corrected, trying to maintain some sense of control.
“What?” Jack asked, folding his arms and waiting for an answer expectantly. “What year do you say you're from?”
“1973,” Sam replied, blinking a few times and widening his eyes at himself that this was his first answer. “2006... via 1973.”
“Which is it?”
“Both. Look, I don't know how, but it's both.”
Jack went from looking angry and smug and suspicious to looking pale, concerned and a bit taken aback.
“You've traveled in time before?”
“I thought I was in a coma.”
Owen stifled a sharp chuckle, to which Jack cleared his throat, warning.
“Sorry. Just... a bit...”
“I need to talk to our guest alone,” Jack said, but it didn't sound threatening or malevolent, only insistent.
“More cloak and dagger bollocks,” Owen sighed as he moved to obey. Jack shot him a warning look, but the rest of them followed in kind, leaving Sam alone with him.
Deciding that he had little to lose, Sam stood up, squaring his shoulders and watching Jack.
“Fancy a walk?” Jack asked. Not the first thing Sam had expected to hear him say.
He watched as Jack approached the door and pulled a long-coat on-it looked both ancient and brand new and Sam vaguely remembered seeing it before. Nothing about this place added up well with anything he knew about the world, and he found himself almost wishing to go back to the things about the 70s he found strange and ill-fitting with reality.
He caught up and felt his own posture stiffen. He was more than a little taken aback by the shift from being treated like a prisoner of war to a potential guest on a moment's notice, apparently at the whim of this Jack character. This had to be all sorts of illegal, but this place was huge-where would they hide it?
He cleared his throat and decided he should say something to Jack, try to sound calm even though he was anything but. Maybe if he could get him talking too he wouldn't be at such a distinct disadvantage.
“What year are you from...?” he asked, trailing off as the large, thick, gear-shaped door rolled back to the sound of several discordant beeps and whirs.
“That's a long story,” Jack said decisively, though he sounded perhaps a bit amused.
“Apparently I've got time.”
“Time. Don't we all?”
“Who are you? What are you, exactly?”
“Captain Jack Harkness, captain of the Innuendo Squad,” he responded, looking a little distant for a moment before flashing a ridiculously Hollywood grin. “...otherwise known as Torchwood Three. For the moment. I'm also an alien.”
“...an alien as in...” Sam tried to follow, dubiously. This guy was completely unbelievable, taking a piss out on him even after he'd already, with his little gang, done enough to be charged with assault.
“Not from Earth,” he replied simply.
“So you're not human?”
“Didn't say that, did I?”
“There are humans on other planets?”
“There will be.”
“Right. Which leads me to my original question...”
“I'm from the 51st century.”
“And I'm Tony Blair.”
Jack's eyes focused a bit, stopping in their banter for a moment as he stepped up onto the platform and gestured for Sam to do the same, half-offering his hand to help him up.
Sam refused it and followed, keeping his distance as best he could and wondering why he'd been led up here. He narrowed his eyes and focused them on Jack, watching suspiciously.
“Do you know who the Prime Minister is now?” Jack asked, casually.
“Assuming this is 2006, Harriet Jones.”
“So you are a local boy. Least... a bit... local. Where did you get those clothes from?”
“Where'd you get yours?” Sam quipped back, nodding toward his coat.
Jack straightened his shoulders, his vanity practically glowing for a moment as he smoothed it down and smirked at Sam.
“Works for me.”
“Right, whatever. Now why are we up on this little platform? Going to teach me how to dance?”
Jack's eyes moved up and down Sam's frame in a way that made him feel like his skin was tingling, just on the surface. If anyone else had done it, he might have been a little uncomfortable, but he just stood there, breathing, waiting.
“...would that I could,” Jack mumbled playfully. “It's a lift,” he explained, absently.
“To what? You still haven't told me where we are. Judging by the way you threat your guests, I'd say Guantanamo Bay.”
The platform began to move up on its own, appearing to float off the ground of its own accord. As it did, Sam did something rather embarrassing. He heard the caw of what sounded like a crow the size of a lorry and stepped in toward Jack, being forced to reach out and grab onto his coat to keep from losing his balance.
“That's just the pterodactyl.”
“Pterodactyl?”
Jack grasped the collar of his shirt, taking the opportunity to square their bodies so that he was looking him directly in the eyes, searching, smirking a little and getting so close that Sam could feel their breath mingling.
“Close,” he said, hardly above a whisper and deep down in his throat.
“W-What?”
“Close,” he repeated more brightly as the lift ascended into darkness and reemerged into streetlight.
Sam blinked a few times and was grateful for the distraction as he looked away to find out where they were. When he did, he finally understood. He stepped off the platform, not understanding when a kid on a bike nearly toppled and sped away.
“Not... Guantanamo Bay,” he said slowly, blinking rapidly and furrowing his brow. “Cardiff Bay.”
“The one and only. Well, the one and only on Earth.”
“You're not still going on about that, are you?”
“How else are you going to explain what you just saw? How do you explain that with your current, quaint little insular knowledge about the world you live in?”
“Special Ops. Waste of billions in taxes. Big brother. I don't know.”
“Let's cut to the chase then, shall we?”
Sam rounded on Jack from where he had been walking forward, across the Plass, nearly bumping into him again. He didn't let it phase him and subtly gritted his teeth, hands resting over his belt.
“I wish you would.”
“Oh, I do love feisty ones,” Jack intoned, and it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or seductive. “Right, to the point then: are you from the Time Agency?”
“The what?!” Sam exclaimed, exasperatedly, having had quite enough of this by now.
“That'd be a no, then,” Jack replied miserably. “Unless you were a fantastic liar... in which case I'd probably remember you.”
“Please, can we just cut this bullshit and start from where you oh-so-very-nicely kidnapped me?! Can you tell me what the hell happened to me? Why am I here and not in 1973, and was I there in the first place?”
Jack smirked a little at first, but then his face became more solemn, something Sam said apparently striking a cord. He reached out and touched Sam's shoulder. Sam tried to jerk it away but Jack persisted.
“I don't know.”
“Then let go of me. I don't know about any of this stuff you're talking about.”
“You've got questions. I'll give you the one answer you need to know. I'm with Torchwood. We're outside the government, beyond the police or anything else you can imagine. And yes, there's a reason we came to find you.”
Sam looked a little stunned for a moment but then tried to calm himself, taking a step in toward Jack.
“Which is?”
Jack seemed to study his eyes for a moment, then his expression softened into a gentle smirk. He walked past Sam, brushing his shoulder against his, causing him to turn to follow him with his eyes, to watch.
“Come on,” Jack instructed casually, obviously a man used to giving orders.
“Where?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I'm going to buy you a drink.”
Sam supposed he wasn't exactly a prisoner anymore. He put his hands into his trouser pockets and realized that he could simply walk away. But what could he do? Here, in Cardiff...
When Sam followed him into the pub, he was surprised to find it so ordinary. He saw a television braced to the wall and smiled a little-oh, to reinvent the wheel. He looked down again and met Jack at the counter.
“What's gotten you so friendly?”
“Might be your good looks or your impeccable taste in trousers.”
“One minute you've got me down in a secret lab befitting Dr. Frankenstein and now you're buying me a drink.”
“I already gave you my answer,” Jack replied in a singsong. When the bartender approached he nodded to him and flashed her another of his almost absurdly winning smiles. “The usual.”
When she brought back two shot glasses, Sam raised his eyebrows a bit, focusing on Jack. He took the one that was offered to him, noting the way he held them-palm over the top. Nelson would be incensed.
Sam downed the alcohol without a second thought, managing to mostly stifle the wince at the sharp, bitter taste.
“So, Sam Tyler, tell me about yourself,” Jack carried on casually once he'd slid both shot glasses back up the bar.
“Why should I tell you?”
“Sam,” Jack said pointedly, leaning in and again getting very close. “I'm probably the only person on the planet that you're ever going to meet who isn't going to think you're crazy.”
“Why's that?”
“Time travel.”
“You're telling me it is possible?”
“You tell me.”
“...In 2006, I was....am... a DCI for the Manchester Police... One day, something happened. I'm not sure, but I think I was hit by a car. Then I woke up and it was 1973.”
“I've woken up to worse,” Jack replied with a smirk, taking another drink from another glass.
“What was it you said before? Who did you think I was?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“Who am I going to tell?”
Jack sighed, actually seeming moved.
“Harold Saxon. Minister of Defense-I've only seen him on television, but Tosh's had a hard time with the Ministry ever since he's been in office. Just doesn't feel right, but can't prove anything, so you can see why I'd think...”
“...you thought that if he'd learned to travel in time he might pose a problem?” Sam asked, dubiously.
“Yes.”
“So time travel is just a normal thing for you, is it?”
“Was once, yes... Not so much now as cleaning up the fall out. The world is more complicated than you ever see in ordinary life.”
Sam chose to let the veiled condescension pass, leaning in a bit further, interested.
“The 'fallout'?”
“Cardiff is built over a rift in time and space.”
“Explains a lot.”
“It does, yes,” Jack admitted with a smirk. “...but it means that this city is a hotbed of strange things happening. It's our job to keep track of them, to clean up the mess as best we can to prevent it from getting out.”
“So time travel exists and you cover it up?”
“Yes, among other things. Like I said, I'm not even from Earth. Just sort of adopted it. Or maybe it adopted me, I dunno.”
“Why do you do it? Isn't that a bit unfair? Wouldn't it make things simpler if the people who use this stuff were publicly accountable? I'd certainly like to know who did this to me.”
“It's not that simple, Sam. Believe me, I wish it were. The 21st century is when everything changes, but it happens gradually. It has to.”
“So who did this to me? And you haven't even told me what year it is now.”
“2007,” Jack replied, pausing to watch Sam's reaction.
“...a year off. A year in the future, now. Suppose I could just go back to Manchester-tell them I went to Tibet to find inner peace or something.”
“...the thing is, Sam, we don't know who did this to you or if anything did it to you at all. Sometimes these things just... happen. For all we know, you're right and you did get hit by a car-the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.”
“What else could it be?”
“I don't know.”
“Lot of help you are.”
Jack looked far away for a moment, lost in his thoughts, and then he simply chuckled, though it wasn't really a sound of amusement. He focused his eyes on Sam again and reached out, gripping his wrist softly through the leather jacket he wore-a jacket that reminded him of someone, someone lost so very long ago, so far in the future, so far away.
“What do you remember?”
“About what?”
“About 1973.”
“Everything,” Sam replied at length, looking down and sighing. “Everything there is a bit... more real, somehow.” Sam's voice caught and faltered as he too looked a bit distant, surprised at his own words.
“People, places?”
“Both. I'm with the police there, too... and it almost seems to make more sense. Ever since I got back here, things look so... polished and bright but they feel... wrong.”
Another chuckle from Jack, this time a bit more genuine and less forced.
“That tends to happen.”
“Mostly, I remember the people. Here-in 2006, I mean, my... colleagues-they're just that. I'm friendly with some of them, but... back there...”
“It's more organic. The longer time goes on the more people lose that-I think that's one of the reasons I can stand staying here.”
“Why are you here?”
“Waiting. ...waiting for a man called the Doctor.”
Sam blinked a few times but then decided, based upon the look on Jack's face that maybe he shouldn't pry.
“...mostly I remember Annie... and Gene.”
“Who are they?” Jack asked, setting another drink down in front of Sam.
“Gene is my DI and Annie's a DS. The first woman to hold that job in Manchester, actually.”
“You had something to do with that, I bet?”
“Yeah. She's a hell of a lot more competent than the rest of us are, most of the time.”
“You talk about it in the present tense,” Jack pointed out.
“Do I? ...yeah, I do. Still, suppose it doesn't matter. Oh, I do dread to think what Gene's gonna do without me around...”
Jack watched Sam's expression so intently that he could feel his eyes on his skin.
“What?” Sam asked, trying to shrug off the gaze.
“It's just that when you first mentioned Annie, I assumed... but the way your face looks when you talk about Gene-some story there?”
“A long one, but... not what you're thinking.”
“Isn't it? I usually have such a good sense about these things.”
“Well, it isn't,” Sam replied quickly.
“Oh, I've been there...”
“You've been everywhere.”
“More or less. Tell me, what did you mean 'it doesn't matter'?”
“Well whatever it is it's over now. I'm back here, all in one piece. I don't suppose you've got an actual time machine, the way you talked.”
“I don't have one, no. Been trying, but...”
“So I'm stuck here.”
“Do you want to be unstuck?”
“...I don't know. Maybe. Look, why are you telling me all of this? Why are we having this conversation? Why do you care?”
“Whoa, lots of questions.”
“Answer one of them.”
“...look, Sam... I... care because I believe you, and I do know that I have a good sense about that... And I care because even if I can't help myself, I think I might be able to help you. And I'm telling you because you won't remember.”
“What?” Sam demanded, then followed Jack's eyes to the first glass. He felt anger and betrayal well up inside him, but then something dispelled it-it was probably for the best. Though it might have just been whatever Jack had given him talking, already eating at the edges of his mind.
-
Torchwood Hub
“Hey, stranger,” Gwen said with a start when the door rolled open. She put down whatever she'd been handling and walked toward Jack, standing squarely in front of him and hooking her fingers in her belt loops. “Where's Sam?”
“Gone.”
“Down with the fishes?” Owen asked as he was washing some kind of purple blood from his wrists above where his gloves had covered with very hot water.
“Just gone. Back home.”
“Where's that then?”
“Manchester,” Jack said simply. It wasn't time for them to know yet, but he knew that if Toshiko were to look at the Rift readings with understanding that she'd see it. Home. Manchester. 1973.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five