Fic: The Oncoming Storm (Slash, AU, Janto 33/40 Act 1/5)
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: period racial prejudice, strong language, dark themes
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are mentions to DW's "Empty Child", and parallels TW's "Captain Jack Harkness"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18. Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 33 "Captain Jack Harkness 2.0"
Act I: "You're not in full uniform, Captain."
Cardiff
Present day…
"Owen, look," Ianto said, staring at the photo on the screen. The remote dropped from his numb hand and he sat back on the table. Collapsed on top of it, really. He could hear Owen behind him. It wasn't possible, but there they were.
"There," he breathed.
A moment in time was caught in sepia-tone shadows and light; photos upon photos collected by a nostalgic survivor of the Second World War. Jack was captured on film, shaking hands with another soldier. He looked stunned, his mouth partially opened, his eyes riveted to the other's face, as if not realizing his picture had been taken. Toshiko stood behind him in a grayscale version of the dress she had worn for her grandfather's birthday; she looked just as shocked.
Right there were their lost comrades, nearly half of Torchwood, trapped on that antiquated newspaper clipping like flies in amber.
Another click and bile rose in Ianto's mouth. Jack stared back towards the camera this time with the other man as well, looking nothing like the first photo Ianto had found of him. Lehore 1909, recovered after Canary Wharf, was now tucked inside his journal along with Lisa's Christmas lists. Jack had looked alive in it, his eyes invited mystery and, despite his plight, he still had a secretive smile on his lips. He looked like there was something he wanted to say.
Flat, dull, and empty, this Jack stared back in this photo with none of the spark Ianto had seen before, as if he'd forgotten how to smile. Displaced, Jack appeared like he was caught with some terrible news and, in a sense, maybe he had. This Jack Harkness, surely like the other people in the photo, was dead, if not in life, but in spirit.
Toshiko, by this time, would be dead, too. Dead in the irretrievable sense that she couldn't come back.
"The Rift activity they were investigating," Owen breathed, staring around Ianto right at the image on the screen. It was like staring at a train wreck; it was so horrible, it was riveting.
"It…" Ianto ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. "The Rift must be floating around in that building like microscopic icebergs and they slipped in without realizing it."
"The music," Owen recalled.
Ianto nodded. His head felt two sizes too big. "People reported Forties music."
"1941," Owen checked the date.
"Back in time," Ianto whispered needlessly. "They were sent back in time." Jack never felt so far away.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Owen thumped the meeting table. He stared hard at the flat screen. "Fucking Rift again," Owen snarled with a venom Ianto had never heard from him before. "Not again. Not this time!" He stormed out without another word.
Ianto touched the screen, touched Jack's face. What was the last thing they had said to each other? Ianto panicked when he couldn't remember.
"Jack," Ianto whispered brokenly. What is-was he thinking? He blinked, inhaling deeply to calm himself. He would be fine, Ianto told himself. Gwen was going out there right now. They're close to breaking into Tosh's files. Jack would be okay. Regardless of whatever happens. It was the one constant Ianto could count on right now. Jack was immortal; a steady point while everything else rushes past.
Christ, but trapped in 1941? Ianto's mind reeled. When everything began just like Jack said. When he met them the first time. When-
He came back for Jack.
The air fled the room and Ianto gasped for air. He blanched. His finger pressed hard when he jerked, smudging the monitor, right over Jack's face.
The distortion over Jack's expression felt too much like foreboding. Ianto swallowed, pushed off from the table, and twisted around after Owen.
Ritz Dance Hall
January 20, 1941
"If I stay stuck here, what will happen to me?"
Tosh looked wide-eyed, her face pale and Jack was reminded of the faces he had come across the first time he had arrived. He thought about the bombing that had been around him, how Estelle had pressed her body to him when one landed far too close to the Astoria ballroom. Everyone had been scared then.
A well of protectiveness swept over him, more intensely than when he sees any of the team off on a mission. God, sometimes he forgets how young they all were, not just Ianto.
Jack turned to her, his smile gentle, his voice softer. "I'll take care of you." And he will, because he would always be okay. What was another sixty, seventy years for something like him? But for Toshiko, that was everything.
The look on her face eased a fraction and as if embarrassed by her outburst, Tosh lowered her gaze, the grip of her knuckles easing around the handles of her case. Jack spared her by looking away and unbidden, found the real Jack Harkness standing below, laughing with his charges. Jack memorized the dark features and thought idly it was strange there was never a picture included with his records. His physical description had been the closest to Jack's. Back then, it was all Jack had cared about.
Jack swallowed hard and tore his gaze away.
"This period, you look like you fit in."
It wasn't an accusation, but it stung like one all the same.
Tosh made her way up the stairs, two steps higher than him, as if the distance would sort her out. Her voice was steadier, her eyes not as stark. Her hands still gripped her briefcase like she wouldn't ever let go. It didn't matter to her that the laptop no longer had the battery power to work. It was the only talisman she has left to remind her of when she had come from.
"Have you been here before?"
Twice, Jack wanted to say, but he just turned to Toshiko. He was momentarily taken aback by the simple curiosity on her face, nothing more.
"Yeah," Jack managed get out.
There was no horror, no disgust on her face. Something in his gut uncoiled.
"I can't explain but I served in the war in 1941." Jack saw Toshiko's eyes widen just a little, but instead of moving away, she shuffled a little closer, her eyes glued to him.
It was unexpected and it looked like Tosh didn't know she was doing it. Jack blinked rapidly and turned back towards the bar below.
"I was undercover," Jack remembered. He flinched to himself. It was never as noble as it sounded. Shame wormed into him as Harkness below tipped his head back and laughed at what someone was saying. Harkness slapped someone on his back and moved away, the cigarette clenched tight between his teeth. "I needed a false identity so I took his name."
"Who were you before you took his name?" Tosh asked.
Jack didn't know anymore.
Tosh stirred uneasily when he didn't answer. She never pushed like they all usually would when they came across a puzzle. Instead, she turned back towards the bar as well, zeroing in on Harkness.
"Why him?"
Harkness waved to the barkeep. He gestured with the drink in his hand and the barkeep chuckled.
"It was convenient." Jack's left eye twitched and he swallowed. He couldn't look at Tosh.
Tosh digested all this. She fidgeted, her mind already adding up what Jack was willing to tell her so far.
"…but if you chose his identity to steal, then he-"
"Dies in battle," Jack finished for her.
Tosh turned sharply towards him. "When?"
Jack pulled his eyes away and met Tosh's. "Tomorrow," he said sadly.
They both turned back towards Harkness.
"So tonight…" Tosh's voice was thick. Her eyes were bright. She dipped her head, her shoulders slumping a little.
"I liked him."
So did I. Harkness was surprisingly charming. Perhaps it was because he wasn't aware of his own morality or because he looked at Jack like Ianto does, Jack wasn't sure. Jack shrugged. "He died in 1941."
"Jack, we're in 1941 right now." Tosh hesitated. "Do you…do you know about the others?"
Jack sighed, not surprised by the question. "Toshiko…"
"Never mind," Tosh made a little shaky laugh. "This has all happened already. I know. It's just…we're here, right now. It feels like it's happening now." Tosh visibly gulped.
"God, Jack, anything we say or do could change the future." Tosh stared at him, her delicate brow knitted. "We could inadvertently make it that we're never born. Or never meet."
Jack stared back, his mouth dry. He turned back towards the bar. His hands gripped the polished wooden railing until his knuckles went bloodless. "We can't stay here," Jack rasped.
Tosh gave him a little nod, shifted closer and watched blankly the people below. Jack wondered if she was doing what he was-studying each face and wondering who lived or died.
"James Harper?"
Jack glanced up to Toshiko. She looked small standing next to him in her modern dress, her arms wrapped around her laptop.
"You didn't stop to think about it," Toshiko said in a low voice, her eyes darting left and right to check no one was listening.
It was the name Jack had chosen before coming across Harkness' posthumous medal in London's RAF headquarters. On a whim-he'd fancied the idea of walking around with a medal even if it wasn't his-Jack discarded Harper and took up Jack Harkness instead.
"Didn't think I would need to use it again so soon," Jack joked weakly. He grimaced.
"What do you mean?"
Jack forced a smile on his face. Tosh considered him before looking back at the people below. She was learning fast what questions he would answer. Her gaze took a melancholy turn as she studied each face, as if saying goodbye.
Staring at the real Harkness was painful. Records at this time were archaic and rudimentary at best, but Jack remembered the grieving recounts of the survivors. The captain was a true hero in every sense. Jack felt almost a little awed standing right next to him, a little cowed. This Harkness gave his short life away. This Harkness knew he wouldn't come back. Harkness appeared both fragile and beguilingly strong. There was nothing in the records that did him justice and Jack found himself floundering as he tried to figure out how he should react.
"He has no idea," Tosh murmured, not realizing Jack could hear her.
When Jack looked at the very mortal captain again, Jack could almost hear the Messerschmitts scream.
Cardiff
Present day…
"Gwen, he's in the photo with Jack and Tosh."
"He's the answer. He's come through the rift. Find out what he's doing."
"No, get out, Gwen. Wait for backup."
It was like listening to two hens cackling over her earpiece. It was a bit distracting. Gwen frowned mildly and wondered if the two even remembered she was there listening.
"We can’t lose him-"
"We can't lose Gwen!"
Gwen took a wary step back. She studied the cluttered room with the practiced eye of a copper. Nothing out of sorts but Bilis was taking an unusually long time with his kettle. Alarms began ringing in her head.
Ianto sounded terse, crisp, almost like Jack. There was a pang in her chest. Jack was the only one who could handle those two. She was glad she was here, alone, with a possible psychopath.
"Maybe it is a trap. He could be sucking us back through time one by one."
Well, almost glad.
"Get out of there, Gwen. That's an order."
"I'm sorry, but who exactly put you in charge?"
Gwen rolled her eyes. This gets better and better, she thought as she turned on her heel and slipped out the door. She kept looking over her shoulder as she went down the hall. Owen and Ianto were still squabbling in her ear.
"Enough," she stressed and her earpiece went silent. "I'm out."
"What?" Owen exploded. "What are you doing? That Bilis fellow may be our only-"
"It won't do either of us any good if I get sucked into the rift as well," Gwen hissed sharply. She didn't dare raise her voice.
Owen said something rude that wasn't worth repeating and the line went dead.
"Ianto?" Gwen whispered urgently as she stepped onto the rundown dance floor and veered for the main archway. She looked behind her again and suddenly heard footsteps behind her.
"Jack?" Gwen spun around.
"Do you see him?" Ianto came back on, his voice a bit higher and thin. "Is he back?"
"No. I thought…" Gwen shook her head. She trotted faster towards the main staircase, taking the right side, just over the shattered and poster-riddled bar. "They're really back there then? In the past?" Shit. Gwen's mind raced.
"Yes."
Gwen winced at the slight tremor Ianto couldn't hide in his voice.
"We're getting them back, Ianto," Gwen promised. She hoped she wasn't lying. "Owen is right. Bilis must know something." She frowned, checking back behind her. "The whole time you and Owen were talking, Bilis never came out."
"You think he left?"
Gwen hoped not. "Check the CCTV," she advised. "I'm going to take a look around."
"Be careful."
Gwen winced. Bilis gave her the creeps. She really wished she had her gun. Or a much bigger one. Maybe two. "You be careful, too," Gwen returned.
Neither one of them needed to say Owen's name out loud.
Cardiff
January 20, 1941
"He hadn't lived."
The eyes on a young face looked centuries old. They darkened with war-bred bitterness.
"Have any of us?" the real Harkness told him coldly before he escaped down the stairs and left Jack standing there.
Jack stood by the railing. He clutched the banister, suddenly not trusting himself to move, to stay upright. The band music swam around his senses. It was all too surreal.
January 20, 1941. 1941. No, no, no. This can't be happening again. Three days before he arrives to steal a man's life, a hero's life. Seventeen days before he meets Rose and the Doctor, an event that will change his life. Eighteen days and nine hours before he reunites with the Doctor to try and get it back.
Jack forced himself to make his way down the stairs. He forced himself to smile politely as people pushed past him to fit in more dancing before they go off to war. He forced himself to keep his head up and not vomit.
This damn year was a curse for him. He can't do this. He can't stay here. He had returned time and time again to this year and each time, it had cursed him. Jack met and fell in love with the Doctor and Rose in this year. He met, fell in love with and left Estelle Cole in this year. Everything changed for him the moment he stepped into this year. And now he was meeting and getting to know the one man Jack hadn't thought about in over seventy years; a man whose name he had stolen and bastardized.
God, he needed a drink.
Somehow, despite the fact he could barely see where he was going, could barely feel his legs obeying his command, Jack found a table, tucked under the stairs, facing the bar. He should keep an eye out for Tosh who was going to plant the equations somewhere. Thank God someone was thinking. Jack felt like it was Christmas Eve again, his mind fuzzy from a noxious mix of pills and brandy.
"You don't belong here."
The thin, almost singsong voice came out of nowhere. Jack jerked. He looked up at the slim old man. Jack suppressed a shiver. Bilis' eyes were too big for his narrow face, his pupils looked overblown and cold. Nice cravat though.
"You don't belong here. Not like this," Bilis announced, a little more loudly to be heard above the music. "This is all wrong, captain."
The civil smile Jack had pasted on wavered. "Excuse me?" Jack said evenly. He tensed and looked around. No one seemed to notice.
The manager leaned in, his coal dark eyes glued to Jack’s face.
"You do not belong here, captain." Bilis cocked his head. "This is wrong."
Cold crept up his body, the room darkened, pitched into a black he'd only seen once before when he had tried on the glove.
…thrum…
It was dark, but the dead lurked behind shadows he couldn't sort out. He could see night in Bilis' unblinking stare and thought he heard something roar. He couldn't breathe.
"Of course he belongs here," a voice interrupted and light returned. Jack broke off eye contact with Bilis just as his mortal counterpart, Harkness, veered around him. He smiled tightly to Jack. "Was hoping you hadn't left yet." He lifted his hands, revealing the scotch and a glass of water. He frowned mildly at Bilis and stepped in front of the manager.
The elderly manager didn't blink at the intense glare. He offered a thin curve of his mouth that stretched completely across his face.
"I was just telling Captain Harper that he doesn't belong down here." His skeletal thin arm made a grand sweep towards the stairs above him. "He should be up there, dancing!"
Jack laughed shakily, the iron band around his chest loosened. "Couldn't find a dance partner, but thanks."
The grin Bilis gave him made his guts churn. Yikes. A Cyberman would have been warmer and more cuddly. "Stay a little while longer, Captain. I'm sure you'll find someone." Then, he gave a slight bow and began circulating around the other guests.
Jack shot the other man a grimace. Harkness chuckled and tipped his head in a "What's wrong with him?" gesture. He pushed the glass towards Jack.
"Water," he said needlessly before sipping his scotch.
Jack wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure why Harkness had come back. He nodded curtly at the glass and took a drink. He glanced around the room. Where was Toshiko?
"I didn't mean to snap at you up on the stairs."
Jack spared him a glance. His mouth twitched. Harkness' dark hair and too young face reminded him of Ianto.
At the thought of Ianto, Jack's mouth flattened. Ianto wouldn't be born yet for another forty years. His parents weren't even born yet. Jack recovered quickly and shrugged.
"You're their captain." Jack finished his water. "It's a lot of responsibility."
Harkness sighed and looked about him. He seemed to be counting heads, mildly frowning until he sighted another. "They're all so young."
So are you, Jack thought.
Lowering his eyes, Jack watched the water under his glass create a discolored ring on the wood.
Jack Harkness dies tomorrow.
This Jack Harkness doesn’t get to live forever. This Jack Harkness never lied, conned, or fucked to make life go by quickly. This Jack Harkness never would have gotten left behind in 200,100.
"Before," Harkness began and stopped. He took a deep breath, tipped the snifter back, and emptied his drink. The crystal landed with a thump and Harkness bowed his head slightly over his glass before he continued.
"What you said before…" Harkness tried again, his tone low as if he feared of being overheard. "I would appreciate it if you keep that to yourself. It wouldn't do my boys any good to know-"
"The truth?" Jack said evenly. "Instead of this romanticized idea about war?"
"It'll scare them," Harkness shot back.
"I think they're already scared, but they need to see that it's okay to be scared, that they're not alone." Jack could see it in their dancing-colorful death throes camouflaged as desperate bravado. They danced as if to announce to the world they would be back here tomorrow. "They need to know what to expect." Alex Hopkins' letter rang in his head. "They need to be ready."
Harkness' eyes blazed. "Maybe, but you won't be doing them any favors, Captain Harper, by telling them any of this." He got up abruptly. His chair skidded back loudly; loud enough that some people stopped mid-sentence.
Jack got to his feet as well, about to argue when the air raid sirens began to wail.
Act II
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: period racial prejudice, strong language, dark themes
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are mentions to DW's "Empty Child", and parallels TW's "Captain Jack Harkness"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18. Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 33 "Captain Jack Harkness 2.0"
Act I: "You're not in full uniform, Captain."
Cardiff
Present day…
"Owen, look," Ianto said, staring at the photo on the screen. The remote dropped from his numb hand and he sat back on the table. Collapsed on top of it, really. He could hear Owen behind him. It wasn't possible, but there they were.
"There," he breathed.
A moment in time was caught in sepia-tone shadows and light; photos upon photos collected by a nostalgic survivor of the Second World War. Jack was captured on film, shaking hands with another soldier. He looked stunned, his mouth partially opened, his eyes riveted to the other's face, as if not realizing his picture had been taken. Toshiko stood behind him in a grayscale version of the dress she had worn for her grandfather's birthday; she looked just as shocked.
Right there were their lost comrades, nearly half of Torchwood, trapped on that antiquated newspaper clipping like flies in amber.
Another click and bile rose in Ianto's mouth. Jack stared back towards the camera this time with the other man as well, looking nothing like the first photo Ianto had found of him. Lehore 1909, recovered after Canary Wharf, was now tucked inside his journal along with Lisa's Christmas lists. Jack had looked alive in it, his eyes invited mystery and, despite his plight, he still had a secretive smile on his lips. He looked like there was something he wanted to say.
Flat, dull, and empty, this Jack stared back in this photo with none of the spark Ianto had seen before, as if he'd forgotten how to smile. Displaced, Jack appeared like he was caught with some terrible news and, in a sense, maybe he had. This Jack Harkness, surely like the other people in the photo, was dead, if not in life, but in spirit.
Toshiko, by this time, would be dead, too. Dead in the irretrievable sense that she couldn't come back.
"The Rift activity they were investigating," Owen breathed, staring around Ianto right at the image on the screen. It was like staring at a train wreck; it was so horrible, it was riveting.
"It…" Ianto ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. "The Rift must be floating around in that building like microscopic icebergs and they slipped in without realizing it."
"The music," Owen recalled.
Ianto nodded. His head felt two sizes too big. "People reported Forties music."
"1941," Owen checked the date.
"Back in time," Ianto whispered needlessly. "They were sent back in time." Jack never felt so far away.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Owen thumped the meeting table. He stared hard at the flat screen. "Fucking Rift again," Owen snarled with a venom Ianto had never heard from him before. "Not again. Not this time!" He stormed out without another word.
Ianto touched the screen, touched Jack's face. What was the last thing they had said to each other? Ianto panicked when he couldn't remember.
"Jack," Ianto whispered brokenly. What is-was he thinking? He blinked, inhaling deeply to calm himself. He would be fine, Ianto told himself. Gwen was going out there right now. They're close to breaking into Tosh's files. Jack would be okay. Regardless of whatever happens. It was the one constant Ianto could count on right now. Jack was immortal; a steady point while everything else rushes past.
Christ, but trapped in 1941? Ianto's mind reeled. When everything began just like Jack said. When he met them the first time. When-
He came back for Jack.
The air fled the room and Ianto gasped for air. He blanched. His finger pressed hard when he jerked, smudging the monitor, right over Jack's face.
The distortion over Jack's expression felt too much like foreboding. Ianto swallowed, pushed off from the table, and twisted around after Owen.
Ritz Dance Hall
January 20, 1941
"If I stay stuck here, what will happen to me?"
Tosh looked wide-eyed, her face pale and Jack was reminded of the faces he had come across the first time he had arrived. He thought about the bombing that had been around him, how Estelle had pressed her body to him when one landed far too close to the Astoria ballroom. Everyone had been scared then.
A well of protectiveness swept over him, more intensely than when he sees any of the team off on a mission. God, sometimes he forgets how young they all were, not just Ianto.
Jack turned to her, his smile gentle, his voice softer. "I'll take care of you." And he will, because he would always be okay. What was another sixty, seventy years for something like him? But for Toshiko, that was everything.
The look on her face eased a fraction and as if embarrassed by her outburst, Tosh lowered her gaze, the grip of her knuckles easing around the handles of her case. Jack spared her by looking away and unbidden, found the real Jack Harkness standing below, laughing with his charges. Jack memorized the dark features and thought idly it was strange there was never a picture included with his records. His physical description had been the closest to Jack's. Back then, it was all Jack had cared about.
Jack swallowed hard and tore his gaze away.
"This period, you look like you fit in."
It wasn't an accusation, but it stung like one all the same.
Tosh made her way up the stairs, two steps higher than him, as if the distance would sort her out. Her voice was steadier, her eyes not as stark. Her hands still gripped her briefcase like she wouldn't ever let go. It didn't matter to her that the laptop no longer had the battery power to work. It was the only talisman she has left to remind her of when she had come from.
"Have you been here before?"
Twice, Jack wanted to say, but he just turned to Toshiko. He was momentarily taken aback by the simple curiosity on her face, nothing more.
"Yeah," Jack managed get out.
There was no horror, no disgust on her face. Something in his gut uncoiled.
"I can't explain but I served in the war in 1941." Jack saw Toshiko's eyes widen just a little, but instead of moving away, she shuffled a little closer, her eyes glued to him.
It was unexpected and it looked like Tosh didn't know she was doing it. Jack blinked rapidly and turned back towards the bar below.
"I was undercover," Jack remembered. He flinched to himself. It was never as noble as it sounded. Shame wormed into him as Harkness below tipped his head back and laughed at what someone was saying. Harkness slapped someone on his back and moved away, the cigarette clenched tight between his teeth. "I needed a false identity so I took his name."
"Who were you before you took his name?" Tosh asked.
Jack didn't know anymore.
Tosh stirred uneasily when he didn't answer. She never pushed like they all usually would when they came across a puzzle. Instead, she turned back towards the bar as well, zeroing in on Harkness.
"Why him?"
Harkness waved to the barkeep. He gestured with the drink in his hand and the barkeep chuckled.
"It was convenient." Jack's left eye twitched and he swallowed. He couldn't look at Tosh.
Tosh digested all this. She fidgeted, her mind already adding up what Jack was willing to tell her so far.
"…but if you chose his identity to steal, then he-"
"Dies in battle," Jack finished for her.
Tosh turned sharply towards him. "When?"
Jack pulled his eyes away and met Tosh's. "Tomorrow," he said sadly.
They both turned back towards Harkness.
"So tonight…" Tosh's voice was thick. Her eyes were bright. She dipped her head, her shoulders slumping a little.
"I liked him."
So did I. Harkness was surprisingly charming. Perhaps it was because he wasn't aware of his own morality or because he looked at Jack like Ianto does, Jack wasn't sure. Jack shrugged. "He died in 1941."
"Jack, we're in 1941 right now." Tosh hesitated. "Do you…do you know about the others?"
Jack sighed, not surprised by the question. "Toshiko…"
"Never mind," Tosh made a little shaky laugh. "This has all happened already. I know. It's just…we're here, right now. It feels like it's happening now." Tosh visibly gulped.
"God, Jack, anything we say or do could change the future." Tosh stared at him, her delicate brow knitted. "We could inadvertently make it that we're never born. Or never meet."
Jack stared back, his mouth dry. He turned back towards the bar. His hands gripped the polished wooden railing until his knuckles went bloodless. "We can't stay here," Jack rasped.
Tosh gave him a little nod, shifted closer and watched blankly the people below. Jack wondered if she was doing what he was-studying each face and wondering who lived or died.
"James Harper?"
Jack glanced up to Toshiko. She looked small standing next to him in her modern dress, her arms wrapped around her laptop.
"You didn't stop to think about it," Toshiko said in a low voice, her eyes darting left and right to check no one was listening.
It was the name Jack had chosen before coming across Harkness' posthumous medal in London's RAF headquarters. On a whim-he'd fancied the idea of walking around with a medal even if it wasn't his-Jack discarded Harper and took up Jack Harkness instead.
"Didn't think I would need to use it again so soon," Jack joked weakly. He grimaced.
"What do you mean?"
Jack forced a smile on his face. Tosh considered him before looking back at the people below. She was learning fast what questions he would answer. Her gaze took a melancholy turn as she studied each face, as if saying goodbye.
Staring at the real Harkness was painful. Records at this time were archaic and rudimentary at best, but Jack remembered the grieving recounts of the survivors. The captain was a true hero in every sense. Jack felt almost a little awed standing right next to him, a little cowed. This Harkness gave his short life away. This Harkness knew he wouldn't come back. Harkness appeared both fragile and beguilingly strong. There was nothing in the records that did him justice and Jack found himself floundering as he tried to figure out how he should react.
"He has no idea," Tosh murmured, not realizing Jack could hear her.
When Jack looked at the very mortal captain again, Jack could almost hear the Messerschmitts scream.
Cardiff
Present day…
"Gwen, he's in the photo with Jack and Tosh."
"He's the answer. He's come through the rift. Find out what he's doing."
"No, get out, Gwen. Wait for backup."
It was like listening to two hens cackling over her earpiece. It was a bit distracting. Gwen frowned mildly and wondered if the two even remembered she was there listening.
"We can’t lose him-"
"We can't lose Gwen!"
Gwen took a wary step back. She studied the cluttered room with the practiced eye of a copper. Nothing out of sorts but Bilis was taking an unusually long time with his kettle. Alarms began ringing in her head.
Ianto sounded terse, crisp, almost like Jack. There was a pang in her chest. Jack was the only one who could handle those two. She was glad she was here, alone, with a possible psychopath.
"Maybe it is a trap. He could be sucking us back through time one by one."
Well, almost glad.
"Get out of there, Gwen. That's an order."
"I'm sorry, but who exactly put you in charge?"
Gwen rolled her eyes. This gets better and better, she thought as she turned on her heel and slipped out the door. She kept looking over her shoulder as she went down the hall. Owen and Ianto were still squabbling in her ear.
"Enough," she stressed and her earpiece went silent. "I'm out."
"What?" Owen exploded. "What are you doing? That Bilis fellow may be our only-"
"It won't do either of us any good if I get sucked into the rift as well," Gwen hissed sharply. She didn't dare raise her voice.
Owen said something rude that wasn't worth repeating and the line went dead.
"Ianto?" Gwen whispered urgently as she stepped onto the rundown dance floor and veered for the main archway. She looked behind her again and suddenly heard footsteps behind her.
"Jack?" Gwen spun around.
"Do you see him?" Ianto came back on, his voice a bit higher and thin. "Is he back?"
"No. I thought…" Gwen shook her head. She trotted faster towards the main staircase, taking the right side, just over the shattered and poster-riddled bar. "They're really back there then? In the past?" Shit. Gwen's mind raced.
"Yes."
Gwen winced at the slight tremor Ianto couldn't hide in his voice.
"We're getting them back, Ianto," Gwen promised. She hoped she wasn't lying. "Owen is right. Bilis must know something." She frowned, checking back behind her. "The whole time you and Owen were talking, Bilis never came out."
"You think he left?"
Gwen hoped not. "Check the CCTV," she advised. "I'm going to take a look around."
"Be careful."
Gwen winced. Bilis gave her the creeps. She really wished she had her gun. Or a much bigger one. Maybe two. "You be careful, too," Gwen returned.
Neither one of them needed to say Owen's name out loud.
Cardiff
January 20, 1941
"He hadn't lived."
The eyes on a young face looked centuries old. They darkened with war-bred bitterness.
"Have any of us?" the real Harkness told him coldly before he escaped down the stairs and left Jack standing there.
Jack stood by the railing. He clutched the banister, suddenly not trusting himself to move, to stay upright. The band music swam around his senses. It was all too surreal.
January 20, 1941. 1941. No, no, no. This can't be happening again. Three days before he arrives to steal a man's life, a hero's life. Seventeen days before he meets Rose and the Doctor, an event that will change his life. Eighteen days and nine hours before he reunites with the Doctor to try and get it back.
Jack forced himself to make his way down the stairs. He forced himself to smile politely as people pushed past him to fit in more dancing before they go off to war. He forced himself to keep his head up and not vomit.
This damn year was a curse for him. He can't do this. He can't stay here. He had returned time and time again to this year and each time, it had cursed him. Jack met and fell in love with the Doctor and Rose in this year. He met, fell in love with and left Estelle Cole in this year. Everything changed for him the moment he stepped into this year. And now he was meeting and getting to know the one man Jack hadn't thought about in over seventy years; a man whose name he had stolen and bastardized.
God, he needed a drink.
Somehow, despite the fact he could barely see where he was going, could barely feel his legs obeying his command, Jack found a table, tucked under the stairs, facing the bar. He should keep an eye out for Tosh who was going to plant the equations somewhere. Thank God someone was thinking. Jack felt like it was Christmas Eve again, his mind fuzzy from a noxious mix of pills and brandy.
"You don't belong here."
The thin, almost singsong voice came out of nowhere. Jack jerked. He looked up at the slim old man. Jack suppressed a shiver. Bilis' eyes were too big for his narrow face, his pupils looked overblown and cold. Nice cravat though.
"You don't belong here. Not like this," Bilis announced, a little more loudly to be heard above the music. "This is all wrong, captain."
The civil smile Jack had pasted on wavered. "Excuse me?" Jack said evenly. He tensed and looked around. No one seemed to notice.
The manager leaned in, his coal dark eyes glued to Jack’s face.
"You do not belong here, captain." Bilis cocked his head. "This is wrong."
Cold crept up his body, the room darkened, pitched into a black he'd only seen once before when he had tried on the glove.
…thrum…
It was dark, but the dead lurked behind shadows he couldn't sort out. He could see night in Bilis' unblinking stare and thought he heard something roar. He couldn't breathe.
"Of course he belongs here," a voice interrupted and light returned. Jack broke off eye contact with Bilis just as his mortal counterpart, Harkness, veered around him. He smiled tightly to Jack. "Was hoping you hadn't left yet." He lifted his hands, revealing the scotch and a glass of water. He frowned mildly at Bilis and stepped in front of the manager.
The elderly manager didn't blink at the intense glare. He offered a thin curve of his mouth that stretched completely across his face.
"I was just telling Captain Harper that he doesn't belong down here." His skeletal thin arm made a grand sweep towards the stairs above him. "He should be up there, dancing!"
Jack laughed shakily, the iron band around his chest loosened. "Couldn't find a dance partner, but thanks."
The grin Bilis gave him made his guts churn. Yikes. A Cyberman would have been warmer and more cuddly. "Stay a little while longer, Captain. I'm sure you'll find someone." Then, he gave a slight bow and began circulating around the other guests.
Jack shot the other man a grimace. Harkness chuckled and tipped his head in a "What's wrong with him?" gesture. He pushed the glass towards Jack.
"Water," he said needlessly before sipping his scotch.
Jack wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure why Harkness had come back. He nodded curtly at the glass and took a drink. He glanced around the room. Where was Toshiko?
"I didn't mean to snap at you up on the stairs."
Jack spared him a glance. His mouth twitched. Harkness' dark hair and too young face reminded him of Ianto.
At the thought of Ianto, Jack's mouth flattened. Ianto wouldn't be born yet for another forty years. His parents weren't even born yet. Jack recovered quickly and shrugged.
"You're their captain." Jack finished his water. "It's a lot of responsibility."
Harkness sighed and looked about him. He seemed to be counting heads, mildly frowning until he sighted another. "They're all so young."
So are you, Jack thought.
Lowering his eyes, Jack watched the water under his glass create a discolored ring on the wood.
Jack Harkness dies tomorrow.
This Jack Harkness doesn’t get to live forever. This Jack Harkness never lied, conned, or fucked to make life go by quickly. This Jack Harkness never would have gotten left behind in 200,100.
"Before," Harkness began and stopped. He took a deep breath, tipped the snifter back, and emptied his drink. The crystal landed with a thump and Harkness bowed his head slightly over his glass before he continued.
"What you said before…" Harkness tried again, his tone low as if he feared of being overheard. "I would appreciate it if you keep that to yourself. It wouldn't do my boys any good to know-"
"The truth?" Jack said evenly. "Instead of this romanticized idea about war?"
"It'll scare them," Harkness shot back.
"I think they're already scared, but they need to see that it's okay to be scared, that they're not alone." Jack could see it in their dancing-colorful death throes camouflaged as desperate bravado. They danced as if to announce to the world they would be back here tomorrow. "They need to know what to expect." Alex Hopkins' letter rang in his head. "They need to be ready."
Harkness' eyes blazed. "Maybe, but you won't be doing them any favors, Captain Harper, by telling them any of this." He got up abruptly. His chair skidded back loudly; loud enough that some people stopped mid-sentence.
Jack got to his feet as well, about to argue when the air raid sirens began to wail.
Act II
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.