Out of Time (part 8 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 :)
Nice long add for you here!
here for previous chapters
Jack stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, catching sight of a particular face. He could have sworn he had seen that same face earlier, somewhere else. He had disappeared now, in the crowds and there Jack was stood in the middle of a busy street, surrounded by gentlemen in top hats and street sellers and anyone who you would expect to find there - he was gone in the masses. There was no one following him - that was an irrational fear. He couldn’t really believe that could he? Or Torchwood had got to him more than he thought, already.
He was growing more unsettled.
It had been once, and now he found himself in this Victorian London, with strange sights and smells, and summons from an organisation he didn’t really want to reply to. Yet it was closest he had to his reality and his future life - his life on another planet. And never had he thought that he would end up here, on earth, in the 1800s, facing a long search that he knew would be full of uncertainties. It was strange but exciting. A life he could get used to, if he wanted to - especially if he knew it would all end in finding him again. And it wasn’t just that. There was Ianto Jones too. Why did this man stick in his mind, day after day?
This was just the beginning of this new life, and he was a new man.
He scanned the crowd again and hesitantly turned away and continued walking, aware of the people who were grumbling as they moved around him. He upped his pace, yet every now and again he would look over his shoulder or take odd turnings, as if he was a marked man. In many ways he was - marked that was, but time and travel, and the knowledge that he didn’t belong there.
He had found some rooms to take, where at least he could attempt to establish himself more permanently.
There was a slight nagging in his mind, a worry that he wasn’t in Cardiff. But that could wait; he couldn’t restrict himself to Cardiff. He needed to do this first. And then maybe he would find himself a life in Cardiff, but ultimately that would no doubt result in a clash with Torchwood.
He had burnt the paper, the summons, by his fire the night before as if attempting to eradicate it from his life.
He had watched the paper disintegrate in front of him and it was gone. There was nothing left to show of it.
Yet he still felt uneasy.
He stopped again quite abruptly.
He was getting paranoid in his old age, and he did suddenly feel weary. Weary with what he had been landed with. Dying several times over didn’t exactly help. And he found himself wondering yet again what had happened to them, where they were now; whether they were still flying about through time and space, having forgotten that they’d abandon him.
He needed a drink. Knowing that he had some time to kill he was glad to find himself near a bar and casting one more anxious look around slipped in. It was miraculously quiet. He sat at the bar turning his drink in his hands his head spinning. He downed it quickly, willing the feeling to go away and promptly ordered another one.
His head was spinning in a different way when he stood up and found that the bar was now crowded and growing more rowdy and noisy. He tried to find his way through the crowds but found it was difficult.
He pushed his way through to the door and took in a breath of fresh air as he stepped out the door. Yet he wasn’t out there long when he was confronted by a group of men. His head was so clouded he had lost track of what happened in the bar and then outside. So much for not making any enemies.
‘Excuse me gentlemen.’ He said, trying to find his way away from the group. But they boxed him in and wouldn’t let him move. ‘I don’t want to cause a fuss here, really gentlemen; I just want to go home for the night.’
Their silence was unnerving and Jack felt extremely out of his depth. Yet Jack Harkness always knew how to get out of situations. He had been doing it for years, hadn’t he? So why couldn’t he just get out this, and avoid a fight, because a fight was the last thing that he wanted right now.
Of course, also being Jack, he was always the one who ended up in fights.
‘Alright then.’ He said circling to face them all and take in the faces of his attackers. ‘What do you want?’ He was readying himself.
And there was a face. A face in the crowd who was pushing through, one who could be his saviour through all of this. His eyes glazed over as he fought, no idea who he was fighting and he hoped, as he always did as he wasn’t used to it yet, that he wouldn’t be dying that night.
‘Come on then. Good night gentlemen, yep that’s all of you, off you go, that’s it, get a drink.’ A voice commanding them over powered them all and Jack tried to see through to his saviour.
‘I think it’s coming.’ Jack mumbled as his head dropped onto his chest.
And sure enough when he was conscious again, his body heaving itself back into life yet again, he found himself leaning against a wall. He took in his surroundings and acknowledged that he was still outside in a street somewhere. At least no one had dragged his body away. He glanced around, wondering if there was anyone watching him. There no doubt would be, it seemed that he was trailed by all sorts of people. He wouldn’t be surprised at all. He had come to learn that anything could happen.
He was tired, unexplainably so. Surely his body should be used to this by now? The truth was though, he didn’t know if he would ever be used to this.
He shut his weary eyes again, letting his body relax against the wall, not caring for a moment where he was.
He thought he heard movement nearby and forced his eyes open again, staring into the darkness around him.
‘Jack? Captain?’
He started, trying to place the voice which seemed to be coming to him through the dark.
‘Are you alright?’
Jack mumbled something back, still as yet unsure of the identity of his mysterious companion. And then as if it was clear as day he saw Ianto’s face and felt the man sit next to him, leaning against the wall.
‘Nearly got yourself into a bad one there. Well... I guess with you it doesn’t matter either
way does it? Saved your back though. You’ll have to thank me one day. Oh I’m sure you will. I won’t worry about that. Still, I suppose... dying like that, can’t be fun. Not all the time. I guess you’ve seen some bad things though. Maybe you do this all the time. You probably didn’t need me. I never expected to find myself here though, sitting against some wall with you of all people. I couldn’t drag you far; there were too many people around. And I can’t really take you far, not home anyway. This will have to do. But you’ll be alright, I suppose you always are. That’s what’s different about you. You are different... you just are. You’re a mystery to me.’
Ianto seemed content with his monologue and Jack let him keep talking. He seemed to need it. His voice fell into the silence and neither of them spoke.
Time seemed to slip away and Jack’s eyes must have closed in that silent interval because he was suddenly waking up again, alone. There was no one sat by his side.
As he woke he yawned, and then realised that the cause of his waking was the rising sun and the unfamiliar surroundings that he found himself in.
He had a vague memory of someone whispering something into his ear, and pulling his body up so he was leaning against the wall. Yet he couldn’t quite place in his mind whether that had been reality or not.
Forcing himself to his feet, he stretched and brushed his coat off, realising that sometime in the evening he’d managed to misplace his stick, he tried to work out which way he wanted to go. It was still quiet, though the city was waking up, with a few tradesmen about already. It wouldn’t be long until the city sprang into life. He walked quickly away from the shabby corner he had found himself in. Although he had been certain just before he died that he had heard Ianto. But why would he abandon him like this? He shook the thoughts from his mind and tried to keep himself from being noticed as he walked back to his lodgings, for the last time. He was glad that he would be able to finally move.
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 :)
Nice long add for you here!
here for previous chapters
Jack stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, catching sight of a particular face. He could have sworn he had seen that same face earlier, somewhere else. He had disappeared now, in the crowds and there Jack was stood in the middle of a busy street, surrounded by gentlemen in top hats and street sellers and anyone who you would expect to find there - he was gone in the masses. There was no one following him - that was an irrational fear. He couldn’t really believe that could he? Or Torchwood had got to him more than he thought, already.
He was growing more unsettled.
It had been once, and now he found himself in this Victorian London, with strange sights and smells, and summons from an organisation he didn’t really want to reply to. Yet it was closest he had to his reality and his future life - his life on another planet. And never had he thought that he would end up here, on earth, in the 1800s, facing a long search that he knew would be full of uncertainties. It was strange but exciting. A life he could get used to, if he wanted to - especially if he knew it would all end in finding him again. And it wasn’t just that. There was Ianto Jones too. Why did this man stick in his mind, day after day?
This was just the beginning of this new life, and he was a new man.
He scanned the crowd again and hesitantly turned away and continued walking, aware of the people who were grumbling as they moved around him. He upped his pace, yet every now and again he would look over his shoulder or take odd turnings, as if he was a marked man. In many ways he was - marked that was, but time and travel, and the knowledge that he didn’t belong there.
He had found some rooms to take, where at least he could attempt to establish himself more permanently.
There was a slight nagging in his mind, a worry that he wasn’t in Cardiff. But that could wait; he couldn’t restrict himself to Cardiff. He needed to do this first. And then maybe he would find himself a life in Cardiff, but ultimately that would no doubt result in a clash with Torchwood.
He had burnt the paper, the summons, by his fire the night before as if attempting to eradicate it from his life.
He had watched the paper disintegrate in front of him and it was gone. There was nothing left to show of it.
Yet he still felt uneasy.
He stopped again quite abruptly.
He was getting paranoid in his old age, and he did suddenly feel weary. Weary with what he had been landed with. Dying several times over didn’t exactly help. And he found himself wondering yet again what had happened to them, where they were now; whether they were still flying about through time and space, having forgotten that they’d abandon him.
He needed a drink. Knowing that he had some time to kill he was glad to find himself near a bar and casting one more anxious look around slipped in. It was miraculously quiet. He sat at the bar turning his drink in his hands his head spinning. He downed it quickly, willing the feeling to go away and promptly ordered another one.
His head was spinning in a different way when he stood up and found that the bar was now crowded and growing more rowdy and noisy. He tried to find his way through the crowds but found it was difficult.
He pushed his way through to the door and took in a breath of fresh air as he stepped out the door. Yet he wasn’t out there long when he was confronted by a group of men. His head was so clouded he had lost track of what happened in the bar and then outside. So much for not making any enemies.
‘Excuse me gentlemen.’ He said, trying to find his way away from the group. But they boxed him in and wouldn’t let him move. ‘I don’t want to cause a fuss here, really gentlemen; I just want to go home for the night.’
Their silence was unnerving and Jack felt extremely out of his depth. Yet Jack Harkness always knew how to get out of situations. He had been doing it for years, hadn’t he? So why couldn’t he just get out this, and avoid a fight, because a fight was the last thing that he wanted right now.
Of course, also being Jack, he was always the one who ended up in fights.
‘Alright then.’ He said circling to face them all and take in the faces of his attackers. ‘What do you want?’ He was readying himself.
And there was a face. A face in the crowd who was pushing through, one who could be his saviour through all of this. His eyes glazed over as he fought, no idea who he was fighting and he hoped, as he always did as he wasn’t used to it yet, that he wouldn’t be dying that night.
‘Come on then. Good night gentlemen, yep that’s all of you, off you go, that’s it, get a drink.’ A voice commanding them over powered them all and Jack tried to see through to his saviour.
‘I think it’s coming.’ Jack mumbled as his head dropped onto his chest.
And sure enough when he was conscious again, his body heaving itself back into life yet again, he found himself leaning against a wall. He took in his surroundings and acknowledged that he was still outside in a street somewhere. At least no one had dragged his body away. He glanced around, wondering if there was anyone watching him. There no doubt would be, it seemed that he was trailed by all sorts of people. He wouldn’t be surprised at all. He had come to learn that anything could happen.
He was tired, unexplainably so. Surely his body should be used to this by now? The truth was though, he didn’t know if he would ever be used to this.
He shut his weary eyes again, letting his body relax against the wall, not caring for a moment where he was.
He thought he heard movement nearby and forced his eyes open again, staring into the darkness around him.
‘Jack? Captain?’
He started, trying to place the voice which seemed to be coming to him through the dark.
‘Are you alright?’
Jack mumbled something back, still as yet unsure of the identity of his mysterious companion. And then as if it was clear as day he saw Ianto’s face and felt the man sit next to him, leaning against the wall.
‘Nearly got yourself into a bad one there. Well... I guess with you it doesn’t matter either
way does it? Saved your back though. You’ll have to thank me one day. Oh I’m sure you will. I won’t worry about that. Still, I suppose... dying like that, can’t be fun. Not all the time. I guess you’ve seen some bad things though. Maybe you do this all the time. You probably didn’t need me. I never expected to find myself here though, sitting against some wall with you of all people. I couldn’t drag you far; there were too many people around. And I can’t really take you far, not home anyway. This will have to do. But you’ll be alright, I suppose you always are. That’s what’s different about you. You are different... you just are. You’re a mystery to me.’
Ianto seemed content with his monologue and Jack let him keep talking. He seemed to need it. His voice fell into the silence and neither of them spoke.
Time seemed to slip away and Jack’s eyes must have closed in that silent interval because he was suddenly waking up again, alone. There was no one sat by his side.
As he woke he yawned, and then realised that the cause of his waking was the rising sun and the unfamiliar surroundings that he found himself in.
He had a vague memory of someone whispering something into his ear, and pulling his body up so he was leaning against the wall. Yet he couldn’t quite place in his mind whether that had been reality or not.
Forcing himself to his feet, he stretched and brushed his coat off, realising that sometime in the evening he’d managed to misplace his stick, he tried to work out which way he wanted to go. It was still quiet, though the city was waking up, with a few tradesmen about already. It wouldn’t be long until the city sprang into life. He walked quickly away from the shabby corner he had found himself in. Although he had been certain just before he died that he had heard Ianto. But why would he abandon him like this? He shook the thoughts from his mind and tried to keep himself from being noticed as he walked back to his lodgings, for the last time. He was glad that he would be able to finally move.