Out of Time (part 5 of?)
Title: Out of Time
Rating: pg?
Summary: Jack has landed back in the wrong century, and he’s quite alone there. That is until he meets a young butler in one of the households. Who is he? And is he all he seems?
Characters/Pairing: Jack and Ianto
Disclaimer: the characters all belong to RTD and the BBC, etc, I don’t own them
Author’s Notes: AU (ish, with Torchwood references). Originally this begun as a simple Jack and Ianto love story set in another, past time. Instead, it developed into something very different. C.1894, prior to Jack’s official/freelance employment with Torchwood. My first long Torchwood fic so be nice! Never intended to write TW fanfic, but here I am. First long fic in a while too. Con crit welcome :)
sorry for the delay on the add, had a lot on!
He pulled his coat collar up, keeping his neck warm as he walked and his senses awake. He was well aware of everyone around him, yet he knew where he was going now, and at least he knew the way to his lodgings. They were modest lodgings, out of the way of the main hustle of the city and he hoped somewhere where Torchwood wouldn’t track him down. Yet Torchwood could do anything and if they wanted to find him they could. He wasn’t meant to be in the country yet, so maybe they wouldn’t find him for a while.
The house was silent. He found his room and his still unpacked case sitting on his bed. He hung his coat and hat on the door and loosened the tie that he had been wearing that day. He lay on his bed taking in his new surroundings. He closed his eyes wearily and saw the smirking face of Ianto Jones. He let out an intake of breath slowly and opened his eyes again. He couldn’t let himself become sucked in. He had to focus. Yet he could see it was going to be one of those restless nights. Not that he really needed much sleep to get by on.
Jack tried to forget about his strange experiences on that first day and instead get on with his daily routine. This involved making more calls, in the guise of social ones, and getting to know his surroundings. At one point in the tedious day he thought that he saw a particular young butler striding towards him but he was mistaken. It was as if he told himself that was just a figment of his imagination. He didn’t really exist. This was Victorian England after all. Torchwood was only just beginning. Surely there couldn’t be this sort of.... resistance if you liked, already. And surely not by a group of young and restless domestic servants. No doubt they were just looking for trouble. They couldn’t help him at all and he wouldn’t help them. He would go back to Torchwood, after this was done, and then he would just be waiting. Because really that’s what all this was - a stupid waiting game, so maybe if he just spent the time waiting with an organisation who sometime in the future had to come across him again, then it would all be worthwhile - wouldn’t it? And those thoughts distracted him from everything else.
And so he forgot about Ianto Jones and his movement.
Or at least he thought he had.
And so the next morning he resumed his mission as he had been the previous morning.
He stepped out the carriage, nodding at the footman and putting his hat on. He was getting used to this Victorian gentleman idea. It could stick. Today he had managed to procure a walking stick, which he thought rather completed his look and made him feel the part even more. The suit was definitely very becoming, and he liked the smarter look, one that in the past - or the future he supposed, his own timeline confused him, not a problem many had - he had scorned often. And it definitely fitted in here. It was the only way to dress, and he supposed if he was to have years of this he might as well do it properly. It wasn’t like he was wasting his life. He had liked that RAF outfit though. Yet that had been all that time ago, all that time in the future. He had been a different man then.
He shook the thoughts from his head and as the carriage pulled away behind him, the sound of hoofs trotting away down the cobbled street, he approached the house he was now stood outside. It was another Victorian town house; one that he knew belonged to another wealthy family. It was a piece of a world he had never known, a completely different world where everything was proper and polite - they had masses of servants for crying out loud. He knocked on the door and waited for the butler to answer, swirling the cane in his hand. It entertained him that you could carry this sort of thing and look normal. It was all in fact becoming normal to him, though he didn’t know how he would ever find himself normal anymore. He didn’t think he would ever get used to who he was, and he rather thought that that time would only come when he found him again. He was the one who could fix him.
The door opened and a rather grave looking man opened the door. Another of those butlers.
He made it known who he was and that he had an appointment, and he found himself being propelled forward through the house and into yet another study. He reintroduced himself again and sat in the chair offered to him.
The meeting was brief, and like many before the man was reluctant to talk or tell Jack what he needed. So Jack left the house, utterly unsatisfied. It was going to be a long day. He returned slowly to his lodgings, taking a long detour through the city, trying his best to think of what next to do. That lead had failed him. He had to go back to the start, and try again. He could see this was going to take a long time. At this rate he would be going in constant circles for weeks.
Rating: pg?
Summary: Jack has landed back in the wrong century, and he’s quite alone there. That is until he meets a young butler in one of the households. Who is he? And is he all he seems?
Characters/Pairing: Jack and Ianto
Disclaimer: the characters all belong to RTD and the BBC, etc, I don’t own them
Author’s Notes: AU (ish, with Torchwood references). Originally this begun as a simple Jack and Ianto love story set in another, past time. Instead, it developed into something very different. C.1894, prior to Jack’s official/freelance employment with Torchwood. My first long Torchwood fic so be nice! Never intended to write TW fanfic, but here I am. First long fic in a while too. Con crit welcome :)
sorry for the delay on the add, had a lot on!
He pulled his coat collar up, keeping his neck warm as he walked and his senses awake. He was well aware of everyone around him, yet he knew where he was going now, and at least he knew the way to his lodgings. They were modest lodgings, out of the way of the main hustle of the city and he hoped somewhere where Torchwood wouldn’t track him down. Yet Torchwood could do anything and if they wanted to find him they could. He wasn’t meant to be in the country yet, so maybe they wouldn’t find him for a while.
The house was silent. He found his room and his still unpacked case sitting on his bed. He hung his coat and hat on the door and loosened the tie that he had been wearing that day. He lay on his bed taking in his new surroundings. He closed his eyes wearily and saw the smirking face of Ianto Jones. He let out an intake of breath slowly and opened his eyes again. He couldn’t let himself become sucked in. He had to focus. Yet he could see it was going to be one of those restless nights. Not that he really needed much sleep to get by on.
Jack tried to forget about his strange experiences on that first day and instead get on with his daily routine. This involved making more calls, in the guise of social ones, and getting to know his surroundings. At one point in the tedious day he thought that he saw a particular young butler striding towards him but he was mistaken. It was as if he told himself that was just a figment of his imagination. He didn’t really exist. This was Victorian England after all. Torchwood was only just beginning. Surely there couldn’t be this sort of.... resistance if you liked, already. And surely not by a group of young and restless domestic servants. No doubt they were just looking for trouble. They couldn’t help him at all and he wouldn’t help them. He would go back to Torchwood, after this was done, and then he would just be waiting. Because really that’s what all this was - a stupid waiting game, so maybe if he just spent the time waiting with an organisation who sometime in the future had to come across him again, then it would all be worthwhile - wouldn’t it? And those thoughts distracted him from everything else.
And so he forgot about Ianto Jones and his movement.
Or at least he thought he had.
And so the next morning he resumed his mission as he had been the previous morning.
He stepped out the carriage, nodding at the footman and putting his hat on. He was getting used to this Victorian gentleman idea. It could stick. Today he had managed to procure a walking stick, which he thought rather completed his look and made him feel the part even more. The suit was definitely very becoming, and he liked the smarter look, one that in the past - or the future he supposed, his own timeline confused him, not a problem many had - he had scorned often. And it definitely fitted in here. It was the only way to dress, and he supposed if he was to have years of this he might as well do it properly. It wasn’t like he was wasting his life. He had liked that RAF outfit though. Yet that had been all that time ago, all that time in the future. He had been a different man then.
He shook the thoughts from his head and as the carriage pulled away behind him, the sound of hoofs trotting away down the cobbled street, he approached the house he was now stood outside. It was another Victorian town house; one that he knew belonged to another wealthy family. It was a piece of a world he had never known, a completely different world where everything was proper and polite - they had masses of servants for crying out loud. He knocked on the door and waited for the butler to answer, swirling the cane in his hand. It entertained him that you could carry this sort of thing and look normal. It was all in fact becoming normal to him, though he didn’t know how he would ever find himself normal anymore. He didn’t think he would ever get used to who he was, and he rather thought that that time would only come when he found him again. He was the one who could fix him.
The door opened and a rather grave looking man opened the door. Another of those butlers.
He made it known who he was and that he had an appointment, and he found himself being propelled forward through the house and into yet another study. He reintroduced himself again and sat in the chair offered to him.
The meeting was brief, and like many before the man was reluctant to talk or tell Jack what he needed. So Jack left the house, utterly unsatisfied. It was going to be a long day. He returned slowly to his lodgings, taking a long detour through the city, trying his best to think of what next to do. That lead had failed him. He had to go back to the start, and try again. He could see this was going to take a long time. At this rate he would be going in constant circles for weeks.