Kaeru (1/1)
Title: Kaeru
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of prostitution and some language.
Disclaimer: Oh, BBC. How I wish I owned you. But I don't.
Summary: Kaeru: verb, Japanese, meaning "to return." Jack after World War II.
His men were all half-drunk and he had a headache, so Jack Harkness decided to take a walk. The streets were filled with people this time of night, so he took a detour down an alleyway. Westerners didn't go here unless they were looking for something in specific, but Jack really wasn't in the mood for this particular something. He just needed to walk.
He'd been to Japan a long time ago. Lifetimes ago, he thought wryly, literally, and absently touched his chest where he'd been shot a few weeks ago. It was getting harder and harder to think up plausible excuses for his lack of mortality.
Kyoto, 1339, in his memories, contrasting now with Kyoto, 1946. The city had changed, but the odd feeling of perpetual deja vu made it evident that it hadn't really changed all that much. His heart felt heavy as he brushed away the memories. World War II had brought back so many goddamned memories. He'd been sure to stay clear of London.
A voice beckoned him from one of the many back doors lining the alleyway, and he glanced in the direction. The girl wasn't much older than most of the boys in his command, and the makeup on her face did a pretty good job of hiding the numbness in her expession. He stopped, turning towards her, his expression hardening and his eyes softening. "How old are you?" he murmured, pained.
The girl stared blankly at him and he realized he'd said it in English. He hadn't really meant it to be a question; it had sort of slipped out. But he repeated it in Japanese, morbidly curious.
"Juu-go sai," the girl murmured, confused, and Jack closed his eyes. Fifteen was way, way too fucking young for this. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money--more money than this poor girl would make in a week of streetwalking--and pressed it into her outstretched hands.
"Go home," Jack muttered in Japanese, and turned away.
- - -
"Captain's in one of his moods again," the men had muttered to each other as they took their drinks from the bar. "Just leave him alone."
Jack sat staring out at the street and the people, slouched in his chair, untouched glass of sake within reach of a hand that wasn't seeking it. He gazed out at the street, and for a moment he saw a pair of tall men (one in a leather jacket and the other in jeans and a t-shirt) run past him, each holding the hand of a young woman who ran with blonde hair streaming behind her. Their ghost-like laughter echoed in his ears.
Bitterly, Jack downed his sake in one shot.
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of prostitution and some language.
Disclaimer: Oh, BBC. How I wish I owned you. But I don't.
Summary: Kaeru: verb, Japanese, meaning "to return." Jack after World War II.
His men were all half-drunk and he had a headache, so Jack Harkness decided to take a walk. The streets were filled with people this time of night, so he took a detour down an alleyway. Westerners didn't go here unless they were looking for something in specific, but Jack really wasn't in the mood for this particular something. He just needed to walk.
He'd been to Japan a long time ago. Lifetimes ago, he thought wryly, literally, and absently touched his chest where he'd been shot a few weeks ago. It was getting harder and harder to think up plausible excuses for his lack of mortality.
Kyoto, 1339, in his memories, contrasting now with Kyoto, 1946. The city had changed, but the odd feeling of perpetual deja vu made it evident that it hadn't really changed all that much. His heart felt heavy as he brushed away the memories. World War II had brought back so many goddamned memories. He'd been sure to stay clear of London.
A voice beckoned him from one of the many back doors lining the alleyway, and he glanced in the direction. The girl wasn't much older than most of the boys in his command, and the makeup on her face did a pretty good job of hiding the numbness in her expession. He stopped, turning towards her, his expression hardening and his eyes softening. "How old are you?" he murmured, pained.
The girl stared blankly at him and he realized he'd said it in English. He hadn't really meant it to be a question; it had sort of slipped out. But he repeated it in Japanese, morbidly curious.
"Juu-go sai," the girl murmured, confused, and Jack closed his eyes. Fifteen was way, way too fucking young for this. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money--more money than this poor girl would make in a week of streetwalking--and pressed it into her outstretched hands.
"Go home," Jack muttered in Japanese, and turned away.
- - -
"Captain's in one of his moods again," the men had muttered to each other as they took their drinks from the bar. "Just leave him alone."
Jack sat staring out at the street and the people, slouched in his chair, untouched glass of sake within reach of a hand that wasn't seeking it. He gazed out at the street, and for a moment he saw a pair of tall men (one in a leather jacket and the other in jeans and a t-shirt) run past him, each holding the hand of a young woman who ran with blonde hair streaming behind her. Their ghost-like laughter echoed in his ears.
Bitterly, Jack downed his sake in one shot.