Fic: The Stranger
Title: The Stranger
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, OCs.
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-CoE, & House of the Dead. Fix-it.
Summary: He doesn’t remember who he is or where he came from; he’s a stranger even to himself.
Word Count: 1093
Written For: Prompt 172 - Lost Memories at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
When he awoke, he didn’t know where he was; nothing and no one looked familiar. That would’ve been bad enough, but then he’d realised he had no idea WHO he was either, which was considerably more worrying.
‘Okay,’ he thought. ‘There are a few gaps in my knowledge.’
Whatever had happened to him, whatever life he’d led before now, was a blank. He was only sure of one thing: that he didn’t belong in this place.
The people were good to him, but they weren’t like him, or more accurately, he wasn’t like them. Their skin was bluish black and lightly furred, while his was pale and mostly hairless. Their ears were set atop their heads, and pointed while his were fleshy and stuck on the sides or his head like a pair of oddly convoluted fungi. They had six fingers and two opposable thumbs on each hand, while he had only four fingers and one thumb. They had prehensile tails and grasping toes, while he didn’t.
He knew they pitied him, although they would have never been so rude as to say so. They were kind, gentle, caring people, and they readily accepted him among them, gave him a home, even though he looked so peculiar.
They told him he’d been found, unconscious, on the top of a nearby hill, where a doorway sometimes opened onto alien worlds. Other creatures occasionally stumbled through, although many didn’t survive. Of those that did, most were vicious, and not intelligent enough to be reasoned with. Some were on display in the town’s menagerie, cared for as best as the people could manage. Two or three had been docile enough to become pets. He was the first to arrive clothed, albeit strangely, and to be close to their level of intelligence. He learned their language with a speed that surprised them, although he had difficulty with some of the pronunciations because his mouth was the wrong shape.e
Once they had him settled as comfortably as they could, in a room of his own at the local medical facility, where he could recover from his ordeal, they brought him a mirror, so he could see his own face. It was as unlike his carers as the rest of him was. He had dark, slightly curly hair on top of his head, and more had grown to shadow his jaw. He didn’t like that, and they gave him a cream that would remove it. His eyes were blue surrounded with white, while theirs were uniformly golden with dark pupils, his face was flat except for a nose that jutted out in the centre, and his teeth were blunt where theirs were more pointed. It wasn’t the face he expected to see, however. His face, yes, but not one he recognised.
After his injuries healed, he moved in with the family who had found him. They gave him a name, Erriian, which in their language meant ‘Traveller’, because he had come from some other place. They taught him about their world, helped him to learn the skills he needed, and to get a job. He worked hard, and he was happy, or as happy as he could be, considering he was the only one of his kind.
He made many friends, thanks to his willingness to help others as they had helped him. They made him feel that, even though he was not like them, still he belonged among them, not an outsider, but a valued member of their community. He sometimes wondered, if their roles had been reversed, whether one of their kind would have been made as welcome by his own people.
Still, life was good on Atriiadore, which was the name of the world he now called home. The township he lived in, Liirreale, was average sized, but sometimes he would accompany the family that had adopted him, or his friends, or even his employers, to Antiivar, the largest city in the region. It was also the location of one of the planet’s two spaceports.
Walking the streets, and visiting the entertainment centres, it was possible to encounter people from at least half a hundred worlds, some of them so strange they made the Atriiadorans seem like his close kin by comparison. Most of the visitors, however, no matter how alien they appeared, spoke a language he was astonished to realise he was familiar with. His friends called the manner of speech Trader Talk, but Erriian thought it had another name, he just couldn’t remember what it might be.
He had lived in Liirreale for three years when there was a bad accident, an explosion at one of the manufacturing plants near where Erriian worked. Like many others, he left his work and ran into the building, helping to rescue the injured. He was inside when the roof collapsed, and when they eventually pulled him out, they found he was dead. His friends and colleagues were clustered around him, mourning the loss of someone they’d come to care about, when he woke up, his injuries healing as though they’d never existed.
After the initial shock wore off, everyone took the miracle in their stride, assuming it was merely some peculiarity common to his species. He was honoured for his bravery in saving many lives, and by the time three moons had passed, everything was back to normal again.
Until the stranger came.
Erriian was walking with his friends near the spaceport, on their way to the Festival of Stars, when they almost bumped into him.
He was as tall as Erriian, and his features were similar. Pale skin, hair on the top of his head, blue eyes, a nose, and blunt teeth. He had ears on the sides of his head, four fingers and a thumb on each hand, and no tail, as far as could be seen, unless it was inside his clothes. And his face…
His face was the one Erriian had expected to see the first time he’d looked into a mirror. He was stunned, and the stranger seemed just as shocked.
“I must be dreaming…” he whispered.
Even the language he spoke sounded familiar to Erriian’s ears.
“I know you, don’t I? You’re Jack.” Erriian was certain. “Do you know me? The people here call me Erriian, but I think that perhaps I had a different name before. I just don’t remember what it was.”
“I know you,” Jack replied, eyes brimming with tears. “I’d know you anywhere. Your name is Ianto Jones.”
With those words, Ianto at last began to remember.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, OCs.
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-CoE, & House of the Dead. Fix-it.
Summary: He doesn’t remember who he is or where he came from; he’s a stranger even to himself.
Word Count: 1093
Written For: Prompt 172 - Lost Memories at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
When he awoke, he didn’t know where he was; nothing and no one looked familiar. That would’ve been bad enough, but then he’d realised he had no idea WHO he was either, which was considerably more worrying.
‘Okay,’ he thought. ‘There are a few gaps in my knowledge.’
Whatever had happened to him, whatever life he’d led before now, was a blank. He was only sure of one thing: that he didn’t belong in this place.
The people were good to him, but they weren’t like him, or more accurately, he wasn’t like them. Their skin was bluish black and lightly furred, while his was pale and mostly hairless. Their ears were set atop their heads, and pointed while his were fleshy and stuck on the sides or his head like a pair of oddly convoluted fungi. They had six fingers and two opposable thumbs on each hand, while he had only four fingers and one thumb. They had prehensile tails and grasping toes, while he didn’t.
He knew they pitied him, although they would have never been so rude as to say so. They were kind, gentle, caring people, and they readily accepted him among them, gave him a home, even though he looked so peculiar.
They told him he’d been found, unconscious, on the top of a nearby hill, where a doorway sometimes opened onto alien worlds. Other creatures occasionally stumbled through, although many didn’t survive. Of those that did, most were vicious, and not intelligent enough to be reasoned with. Some were on display in the town’s menagerie, cared for as best as the people could manage. Two or three had been docile enough to become pets. He was the first to arrive clothed, albeit strangely, and to be close to their level of intelligence. He learned their language with a speed that surprised them, although he had difficulty with some of the pronunciations because his mouth was the wrong shape.e
Once they had him settled as comfortably as they could, in a room of his own at the local medical facility, where he could recover from his ordeal, they brought him a mirror, so he could see his own face. It was as unlike his carers as the rest of him was. He had dark, slightly curly hair on top of his head, and more had grown to shadow his jaw. He didn’t like that, and they gave him a cream that would remove it. His eyes were blue surrounded with white, while theirs were uniformly golden with dark pupils, his face was flat except for a nose that jutted out in the centre, and his teeth were blunt where theirs were more pointed. It wasn’t the face he expected to see, however. His face, yes, but not one he recognised.
After his injuries healed, he moved in with the family who had found him. They gave him a name, Erriian, which in their language meant ‘Traveller’, because he had come from some other place. They taught him about their world, helped him to learn the skills he needed, and to get a job. He worked hard, and he was happy, or as happy as he could be, considering he was the only one of his kind.
He made many friends, thanks to his willingness to help others as they had helped him. They made him feel that, even though he was not like them, still he belonged among them, not an outsider, but a valued member of their community. He sometimes wondered, if their roles had been reversed, whether one of their kind would have been made as welcome by his own people.
Still, life was good on Atriiadore, which was the name of the world he now called home. The township he lived in, Liirreale, was average sized, but sometimes he would accompany the family that had adopted him, or his friends, or even his employers, to Antiivar, the largest city in the region. It was also the location of one of the planet’s two spaceports.
Walking the streets, and visiting the entertainment centres, it was possible to encounter people from at least half a hundred worlds, some of them so strange they made the Atriiadorans seem like his close kin by comparison. Most of the visitors, however, no matter how alien they appeared, spoke a language he was astonished to realise he was familiar with. His friends called the manner of speech Trader Talk, but Erriian thought it had another name, he just couldn’t remember what it might be.
He had lived in Liirreale for three years when there was a bad accident, an explosion at one of the manufacturing plants near where Erriian worked. Like many others, he left his work and ran into the building, helping to rescue the injured. He was inside when the roof collapsed, and when they eventually pulled him out, they found he was dead. His friends and colleagues were clustered around him, mourning the loss of someone they’d come to care about, when he woke up, his injuries healing as though they’d never existed.
After the initial shock wore off, everyone took the miracle in their stride, assuming it was merely some peculiarity common to his species. He was honoured for his bravery in saving many lives, and by the time three moons had passed, everything was back to normal again.
Until the stranger came.
Erriian was walking with his friends near the spaceport, on their way to the Festival of Stars, when they almost bumped into him.
He was as tall as Erriian, and his features were similar. Pale skin, hair on the top of his head, blue eyes, a nose, and blunt teeth. He had ears on the sides of his head, four fingers and a thumb on each hand, and no tail, as far as could be seen, unless it was inside his clothes. And his face…
His face was the one Erriian had expected to see the first time he’d looked into a mirror. He was stunned, and the stranger seemed just as shocked.
“I must be dreaming…” he whispered.
Even the language he spoke sounded familiar to Erriian’s ears.
“I know you, don’t I? You’re Jack.” Erriian was certain. “Do you know me? The people here call me Erriian, but I think that perhaps I had a different name before. I just don’t remember what it was.”
“I know you,” Jack replied, eyes brimming with tears. “I’d know you anywhere. Your name is Ianto Jones.”
With those words, Ianto at last began to remember.
The End