Fic: The Oncoming Storm (Slash, AU, Janto 33/40 Act 2/5)
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, Ch 33 Act 1/5
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 33 "Captain Jack Harkness 2.0"
Act II: "It's just not knowing when it's all gonna end."
Cardiff
January 20, 1941
It never ceased to amaze Jack how quickly humans in this century forget. As soon as the air raid was over, everyone was back upstairs, dancing, laughing, as if they'd never spent an hour huddled in the damp, dark cellar below. Life was so brief and fragile for them yet they danced blindly as if they were timeless.
Tosh gave Jack a worried look over her shoulder before she was led away by the young navigator, Tommy. Jack followed Harkness up to the balcony and they watched everyone dance like the bombing outside didn't exist.
Another water for him, another scotch for Harkness, and they sat there, quiet. Harkness, perhaps embarrassed by his confession earlier that he was scared, just kept looking away.
Dark thoughts swirled in Jack's mind. They had since they had arrived. So close, an acidic voice whispered. Less than three days before his past self walks into the RAF headquarters in London and brazenly steals Harkness' identity.
Ill, Jack took a long sip of cool water, but his stomach wouldn't still. When he looked up, Harkness was watching him in the way he had before down in the cellar. He lowered his gaze. He wondered what this Harkness saw. Was it what Ianto saw? No, what Ianto thought he saw was the Jack Harkness he was sitting across from.
"Do you regret signing up?" Harkness asked softly.
Jack paused. The tail end of Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade amidst bombing tickled his memory. He could still feel Rose's small hand in his as they had danced in front of Big Ben.
Jack shook his head. "No." It would have been easier if he had.
"It's just not knowing when it's all gonna end," Jack murmured, his throat suddenly tight.
Harkness grinned crookedly. He raised his glass in a toast. "As long as it ends in victory."
It was easy to get caught up in Harkness' self-assurance, the pretense that he lives forever.
"Hey." Jack clinked his glass with his. The sound rang clean and clear. Jack took a drink and watched Harkness take a tentative sip of his. As the glass lowered, his dark eyes again swept across the dance floor, taking tally.
A captain always watches out for his men, Jack thought. He wondered about Ianto and the others, his moment of levity dying. Have they realized by now where they are? Did they find Tosh's half of the equations? Are they even trying to get them back?
It made him queasy to think about it. Jack gestured with his glass towards Harkness. "Do you have any regrets?"
"Hell, no." Jack's heart ached. Harkness didn't even hesitate. The captain chuckled wryly and shrugged, diffident. "Okay, I could croak up there," Harkness admitted with a crooked smile, "but without death in the balance, there'd be no valor, no honor."
Jack's gut twisted. He could only nod in agreement.
The wistfulness in the captain's voice made Jack's eyes burn. "All I pray is I make it through this and die an old war hero."
Jack had essentially killed him before the Messerschmitts did.
Jack met his gaze. "You are a hero." He stole this man's honor by living, erased his death and sacrifice. "To me."
Harkness' self-deprecating smile faded somewhat and he acknowledged the compliment by ducking his head modestly, mirroring Ianto to the point that Jack felt Ianto's absence acutely. A lump sat in his chest. Jack sucked in his breath and looked away to stare at the band playing below. The charm and sparkling allure of the past coming alive now made his chest ache.
A stray thought snuck in pointing out that even with the equation, they might not be able to open up the Rift. Jack could be stuck here before his timeline can coincide with his Torchwood again. The Rift manipulator had been cold and silent for so long, for decades. Even if they could narrow down the patterns, would it even be enough? Should they even try?
Alex Hopkins' letter spoke of a rip in the sky. 'A thousand dark pearls of death,' the deceased Torchwood leader had predicted. Was this it? Maybe they shouldn't open the Rift.
Jack took another drink from his glass, deep in thought.
It didn't matter. Jack had forever. He could wait.
But Tosh can't.
The thought was razor-thin and darkly sharp. As soon as the snide voice intruded, Jack shoved it back.
"Why did you make me kiss her goodbye?"
The inquiry was soft. Harkness sounded confused, his eyes staring at Jack with a hurt Jack was afraid to understand.
"I just think you should live every night like it's your last," Jack fumbled. Christ, what was the matter with him? Jack leaned in and tried to put everything into his words, his eyes. "Make tonight the best night of your life."
Jack wanted to give something back to Harkness; anything to make facing impeding death easier. Jack had faced the Daleks with insolence and the fervent hope it would do some good for the Doctor. He carried their memories, their friendship, and he had thought at the time, that this was his redemption, like armor. Harkness knew he could die tomorrow-an irony that didn't escape Jack-but he lived each day like he had forever and let everything pass him by.
Harkness' hesitation was clear; he kept looking at Jack as if the answer was there. Possibly there was fear of trying to pursue the Welsh girl. Jack refused to acknowledge what else it might be. There was hope glinting in Harkness' gaze when he stared at Jack.
"You're alive, right here, right now."
All there was left was now.
When Harkness' brow knitted together, Jack pressed. "Your men are fine."
"What are you trying to say?" Harkness whispered. The fear that flickered in Harkness' eyes reminded Jack just how young everyone was. Jack hated putting that fear in there, the reminder that there was no true eternity for them. It didn't matter which Great War. They'd all died far too young. Except for himself.
Stay here. Don't go up there tomorrow. Live your life! Jack wanted to tell him about tomorrow. But, he couldn't. He can't. "Go to her," Jack fought to keep his voice steady. "Go to your woman and lose yourself in her."
For some reason, rebellion momentarily flared up in Harkness' eyes. "Maybe I should," he said, as if daring Jack to contradict him.
Jack would only nod in agreement. It was all he could really dare give him. "Yeah."
The nod deflated Harkness. His eyes were hooded as he peered up at Jack. "Is Toshiko your woman?"
"No." Another face flashed behind his eyes, but was it fair to think of him? "There's no one." There can't be anyone else. Jack wished he could say there was, but like that box, what would he find inside?
Jack took a deep breath and stared hard at Harkness. "Go to her." Have one more day of life, Jack silently pleaded.
Harkness left.
Cardiff
Present day…
By the time Owen breezed back in, Ianto had already been through every computer and every book in the archives he could think of. There were vague references to the Rift and the manipulator that was built over eighty years ago, brief accounts but no instructions. Someone had stripped all information out of the records. The message was clear; the Rift was never to be used this way. There was only a vague reference in the Torchwood manuals about Protocol One, but again, no instruction. Nothing.
Jack. Jack would know, but he wasn't here.
His fingers ached from the relentless pounding on the keyboards. His eyes burned from squinting at too many barely legible books. He paced, talking to Gwen, trying to get Owen to talk to him.
Owen didn't greet him when he scrambled in, didn't explain why he never went home, where he'd been, why he was ignoring all their calls. As soon as he flung his backpack down to the floor by the Manipulator, Ianto's stomach knotted and twisted at the wild-eyed look on the medic's face.
"It still won't work," Ianto called out as Owen shoved aside panels and cables with the haste of a man obsessed. "There's a piece missing."
"Bilis had it all along." Owen brandished the round coppery-gold disc like a sword.
A bolt of fear, cold and knife-sharp stabbed through Ianto. Why did Bilis have this? Alarms rang in his head. This man was with Jack and Tosh, yet he was here with them as well.
The same feeling that wiggled in his gut when he first met the formidable Doctor returned, screaming as loud as the alarms had in Canary Wharf. They were tampering once more with forces beyond their comprehension.
Ianto rocked from foot to foot, half wanting to stop Owen, half wanting to help. Deep down, he knew Jack would be fine. Jack's probably out there right now, a hundred and seventy years old and could waltz back in at any moment. Tosh, Ianto thought desperately as he watched Owen slap the disc over the depression. They needed to get Tosh.
Duty and loyalty shouldn't clash but it did as Ianto took a step towards Owen, then back. They should get them back before time changed or was it supposed to happen like this? Ianto's head pounded. He tensed when Owen, after a second of trying to fit in the notches, hovered the disc over its place.
"We still don't have all the equation," Ianto pointed out, desperation in his voice. He ran an agitated hand through his hair. The rapid fire images of men in metal putting screaming people into murdering converter units flashed behind his eyes.
Owen was beyond caring as he wiggled closer. "Maybe the machine can work it out." He haphazardly slapped the key into the slot.
"Owen!" Ianto surged forward.
Nothing happened.
Ianto saw Owen's defeated slump, but then it was clear he could see the next step, straightening, yanking off his jacket and flung it to the couch. Ianto was too late as Owen bolted and he could only stumble after him as Owen ducked into Jack's office.
Cardiff
January 20, 1941
Toshiko spied Jack staring at the band, sitting alone at a round table. She approached, displaying her bandaged hand.
"Okay?" Jack asked studying her up and down. There was nothing lecherous in the gaze, more appraising before Jack nodded to himself.
"Wasn't deep," Toshiko told him as she slipped into the seat across from him. She noted the empty snifter.
"Gone to his woman," Jack offered.
Toshiko could see it made Jack sad. His woman? Toshiko frowned to herself. The way glances were being passed earlier, she could have sworn…
"He dies tomorrow," Toshiko remembered suddenly. Her mouth crinkled. "He's entitled." They all were.
Jack winced. "He doesn't know about that." He paused, a speculative look flitted across his face.
Toshiko grabbed the hand holding the water glass. "You're not going to tell him, are you?" she asked anxiously. "Jack, you can't! There's no telling what it might do to the future! To everyone there!"
"I know, I know." Jack raised his free hand to calm her. He didn't look insulted that she had just reminded her employer about the most basic of directives for Torchwood. Rather, he appeared grateful.
Toshiko sat back in a slump. She looked around at the flags decorating the richly painted walls. Red velvet with gold bunting effectively blocked out the bright flashes of bombs outside. The dancers camouflaged the shaking of the dance hall with their fox trots.
Everyone looked beautiful, young, and happy. The band played music she hadn't heard since her grandfather's turntable had broken. The women wore bright red lipstick in a shade Toshiko had never seen before. She'd never seen hairstyles like theirs outside of the movies. They wore shoes she'd only seen vintage shops offered for outrageous prices and their dresses with their pretty patterned prints looked new and freshly ironed. It was a picture from the history books, only brighter, louder, and more real than she could ever have imagined.
"Jack, I'm scared." Toshiko flinched. She hadn't meant for it to come out, but it had. Admitting her fear made her vision blur.
Jack's warm hand slipped over hers. Absently, Toshiko thought she couldn't feel any calluses yet Jack's grip was sure and strong.
"I know," Jack murmured. He squeezed her hand.
"What if they don't find both halves of the equations? What if I miscalculated? What if-"
"Shh." A pocket-handkerchief was pressed into her hands. It was then that Toshiko realized she was sniffling. God, Sato, get a grip. She dabbed her eyes and ducked her head low. When she looked up again, Jack was giving her a reassuring smile.
"I know everyone's doing all they can to get you back, Tosh." Jack reached over again, patted her hand and sat back in his chair.
"Of course," Toshiko murmured. She fiddled with the square of linen. "I've tracked down aliens, seen a spaceship crash, I just…" She made an embarrassed little sound. She dotted the handkerchief to her eyes again. God, everyone would laugh if they could see her.
"I'm a little out of my element here," Toshiko sighed. "Computers were just invented and they are no more than big calculators. I mean, the Pentium chip hasn't been invented yet!" How was she supposed to get anything done?
Jack stared at her for a beat. He chuckled. Jack shook his head, bemused, and folded his arms across his chest. He cocked his head.
"Well, if that's all you're worried about, I think you'll be fine, Toshiko Sato."
Toshiko blushed.
"You've done everything possible, Tosh," Jack said, sobering. "It's up to them now." He looked around, his stare wistful and melancholy. It reminded her of her grandfather's, whenever he spoke of the grandmother she had never known.
Jack turned back to her and the look was gone. "In the meantime, just enjoy." Jack waggled his eyebrows. "The forties were a beautiful time, Tosh. How often do you truly get to live it?"
Toshiko sniffed again and nodded. She smiled tentatively and Jack looked at her kindly. The cold sensation inside her thawed. He said he would watch out for her. Toshiko believed him. She twisted the white handkerchief round and round in her hands. She tried to imagine herself wearing those clothes, that hair, and found it wasn't too paralyzingly terrifying now and even a little fascinating. Jack was right. Their friends will find them. It was only a matter of when. There was so much more she can do on their end before Jack and her grow old together in a time not their own.
Her shoulders lifted a little and she laughed awkwardly as she tried to dry the remaining tears. Toshiko flattened out the handkerchief on the table to fold into quarters when she saw the initials.
"Wait, why do you have Ianto's handkerchief?"
"Uh…"
Act III
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, Ch 33 Act 1/5
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 33 "Captain Jack Harkness 2.0"
Act II: "It's just not knowing when it's all gonna end."
Cardiff
January 20, 1941
It never ceased to amaze Jack how quickly humans in this century forget. As soon as the air raid was over, everyone was back upstairs, dancing, laughing, as if they'd never spent an hour huddled in the damp, dark cellar below. Life was so brief and fragile for them yet they danced blindly as if they were timeless.
Tosh gave Jack a worried look over her shoulder before she was led away by the young navigator, Tommy. Jack followed Harkness up to the balcony and they watched everyone dance like the bombing outside didn't exist.
Another water for him, another scotch for Harkness, and they sat there, quiet. Harkness, perhaps embarrassed by his confession earlier that he was scared, just kept looking away.
Dark thoughts swirled in Jack's mind. They had since they had arrived. So close, an acidic voice whispered. Less than three days before his past self walks into the RAF headquarters in London and brazenly steals Harkness' identity.
Ill, Jack took a long sip of cool water, but his stomach wouldn't still. When he looked up, Harkness was watching him in the way he had before down in the cellar. He lowered his gaze. He wondered what this Harkness saw. Was it what Ianto saw? No, what Ianto thought he saw was the Jack Harkness he was sitting across from.
"Do you regret signing up?" Harkness asked softly.
Jack paused. The tail end of Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade amidst bombing tickled his memory. He could still feel Rose's small hand in his as they had danced in front of Big Ben.
Jack shook his head. "No." It would have been easier if he had.
"It's just not knowing when it's all gonna end," Jack murmured, his throat suddenly tight.
Harkness grinned crookedly. He raised his glass in a toast. "As long as it ends in victory."
It was easy to get caught up in Harkness' self-assurance, the pretense that he lives forever.
"Hey." Jack clinked his glass with his. The sound rang clean and clear. Jack took a drink and watched Harkness take a tentative sip of his. As the glass lowered, his dark eyes again swept across the dance floor, taking tally.
A captain always watches out for his men, Jack thought. He wondered about Ianto and the others, his moment of levity dying. Have they realized by now where they are? Did they find Tosh's half of the equations? Are they even trying to get them back?
It made him queasy to think about it. Jack gestured with his glass towards Harkness. "Do you have any regrets?"
"Hell, no." Jack's heart ached. Harkness didn't even hesitate. The captain chuckled wryly and shrugged, diffident. "Okay, I could croak up there," Harkness admitted with a crooked smile, "but without death in the balance, there'd be no valor, no honor."
Jack's gut twisted. He could only nod in agreement.
The wistfulness in the captain's voice made Jack's eyes burn. "All I pray is I make it through this and die an old war hero."
Jack had essentially killed him before the Messerschmitts did.
Jack met his gaze. "You are a hero." He stole this man's honor by living, erased his death and sacrifice. "To me."
Harkness' self-deprecating smile faded somewhat and he acknowledged the compliment by ducking his head modestly, mirroring Ianto to the point that Jack felt Ianto's absence acutely. A lump sat in his chest. Jack sucked in his breath and looked away to stare at the band playing below. The charm and sparkling allure of the past coming alive now made his chest ache.
A stray thought snuck in pointing out that even with the equation, they might not be able to open up the Rift. Jack could be stuck here before his timeline can coincide with his Torchwood again. The Rift manipulator had been cold and silent for so long, for decades. Even if they could narrow down the patterns, would it even be enough? Should they even try?
Alex Hopkins' letter spoke of a rip in the sky. 'A thousand dark pearls of death,' the deceased Torchwood leader had predicted. Was this it? Maybe they shouldn't open the Rift.
Jack took another drink from his glass, deep in thought.
It didn't matter. Jack had forever. He could wait.
But Tosh can't.
The thought was razor-thin and darkly sharp. As soon as the snide voice intruded, Jack shoved it back.
"Why did you make me kiss her goodbye?"
The inquiry was soft. Harkness sounded confused, his eyes staring at Jack with a hurt Jack was afraid to understand.
"I just think you should live every night like it's your last," Jack fumbled. Christ, what was the matter with him? Jack leaned in and tried to put everything into his words, his eyes. "Make tonight the best night of your life."
Jack wanted to give something back to Harkness; anything to make facing impeding death easier. Jack had faced the Daleks with insolence and the fervent hope it would do some good for the Doctor. He carried their memories, their friendship, and he had thought at the time, that this was his redemption, like armor. Harkness knew he could die tomorrow-an irony that didn't escape Jack-but he lived each day like he had forever and let everything pass him by.
Harkness' hesitation was clear; he kept looking at Jack as if the answer was there. Possibly there was fear of trying to pursue the Welsh girl. Jack refused to acknowledge what else it might be. There was hope glinting in Harkness' gaze when he stared at Jack.
"You're alive, right here, right now."
All there was left was now.
When Harkness' brow knitted together, Jack pressed. "Your men are fine."
"What are you trying to say?" Harkness whispered. The fear that flickered in Harkness' eyes reminded Jack just how young everyone was. Jack hated putting that fear in there, the reminder that there was no true eternity for them. It didn't matter which Great War. They'd all died far too young. Except for himself.
Stay here. Don't go up there tomorrow. Live your life! Jack wanted to tell him about tomorrow. But, he couldn't. He can't. "Go to her," Jack fought to keep his voice steady. "Go to your woman and lose yourself in her."
For some reason, rebellion momentarily flared up in Harkness' eyes. "Maybe I should," he said, as if daring Jack to contradict him.
Jack would only nod in agreement. It was all he could really dare give him. "Yeah."
The nod deflated Harkness. His eyes were hooded as he peered up at Jack. "Is Toshiko your woman?"
"No." Another face flashed behind his eyes, but was it fair to think of him? "There's no one." There can't be anyone else. Jack wished he could say there was, but like that box, what would he find inside?
Jack took a deep breath and stared hard at Harkness. "Go to her." Have one more day of life, Jack silently pleaded.
Harkness left.
Cardiff
Present day…
By the time Owen breezed back in, Ianto had already been through every computer and every book in the archives he could think of. There were vague references to the Rift and the manipulator that was built over eighty years ago, brief accounts but no instructions. Someone had stripped all information out of the records. The message was clear; the Rift was never to be used this way. There was only a vague reference in the Torchwood manuals about Protocol One, but again, no instruction. Nothing.
Jack. Jack would know, but he wasn't here.
His fingers ached from the relentless pounding on the keyboards. His eyes burned from squinting at too many barely legible books. He paced, talking to Gwen, trying to get Owen to talk to him.
Owen didn't greet him when he scrambled in, didn't explain why he never went home, where he'd been, why he was ignoring all their calls. As soon as he flung his backpack down to the floor by the Manipulator, Ianto's stomach knotted and twisted at the wild-eyed look on the medic's face.
"It still won't work," Ianto called out as Owen shoved aside panels and cables with the haste of a man obsessed. "There's a piece missing."
"Bilis had it all along." Owen brandished the round coppery-gold disc like a sword.
A bolt of fear, cold and knife-sharp stabbed through Ianto. Why did Bilis have this? Alarms rang in his head. This man was with Jack and Tosh, yet he was here with them as well.
The same feeling that wiggled in his gut when he first met the formidable Doctor returned, screaming as loud as the alarms had in Canary Wharf. They were tampering once more with forces beyond their comprehension.
Ianto rocked from foot to foot, half wanting to stop Owen, half wanting to help. Deep down, he knew Jack would be fine. Jack's probably out there right now, a hundred and seventy years old and could waltz back in at any moment. Tosh, Ianto thought desperately as he watched Owen slap the disc over the depression. They needed to get Tosh.
Duty and loyalty shouldn't clash but it did as Ianto took a step towards Owen, then back. They should get them back before time changed or was it supposed to happen like this? Ianto's head pounded. He tensed when Owen, after a second of trying to fit in the notches, hovered the disc over its place.
"We still don't have all the equation," Ianto pointed out, desperation in his voice. He ran an agitated hand through his hair. The rapid fire images of men in metal putting screaming people into murdering converter units flashed behind his eyes.
Owen was beyond caring as he wiggled closer. "Maybe the machine can work it out." He haphazardly slapped the key into the slot.
"Owen!" Ianto surged forward.
Nothing happened.
Ianto saw Owen's defeated slump, but then it was clear he could see the next step, straightening, yanking off his jacket and flung it to the couch. Ianto was too late as Owen bolted and he could only stumble after him as Owen ducked into Jack's office.
Cardiff
January 20, 1941
Toshiko spied Jack staring at the band, sitting alone at a round table. She approached, displaying her bandaged hand.
"Okay?" Jack asked studying her up and down. There was nothing lecherous in the gaze, more appraising before Jack nodded to himself.
"Wasn't deep," Toshiko told him as she slipped into the seat across from him. She noted the empty snifter.
"Gone to his woman," Jack offered.
Toshiko could see it made Jack sad. His woman? Toshiko frowned to herself. The way glances were being passed earlier, she could have sworn…
"He dies tomorrow," Toshiko remembered suddenly. Her mouth crinkled. "He's entitled." They all were.
Jack winced. "He doesn't know about that." He paused, a speculative look flitted across his face.
Toshiko grabbed the hand holding the water glass. "You're not going to tell him, are you?" she asked anxiously. "Jack, you can't! There's no telling what it might do to the future! To everyone there!"
"I know, I know." Jack raised his free hand to calm her. He didn't look insulted that she had just reminded her employer about the most basic of directives for Torchwood. Rather, he appeared grateful.
Toshiko sat back in a slump. She looked around at the flags decorating the richly painted walls. Red velvet with gold bunting effectively blocked out the bright flashes of bombs outside. The dancers camouflaged the shaking of the dance hall with their fox trots.
Everyone looked beautiful, young, and happy. The band played music she hadn't heard since her grandfather's turntable had broken. The women wore bright red lipstick in a shade Toshiko had never seen before. She'd never seen hairstyles like theirs outside of the movies. They wore shoes she'd only seen vintage shops offered for outrageous prices and their dresses with their pretty patterned prints looked new and freshly ironed. It was a picture from the history books, only brighter, louder, and more real than she could ever have imagined.
"Jack, I'm scared." Toshiko flinched. She hadn't meant for it to come out, but it had. Admitting her fear made her vision blur.
Jack's warm hand slipped over hers. Absently, Toshiko thought she couldn't feel any calluses yet Jack's grip was sure and strong.
"I know," Jack murmured. He squeezed her hand.
"What if they don't find both halves of the equations? What if I miscalculated? What if-"
"Shh." A pocket-handkerchief was pressed into her hands. It was then that Toshiko realized she was sniffling. God, Sato, get a grip. She dabbed her eyes and ducked her head low. When she looked up again, Jack was giving her a reassuring smile.
"I know everyone's doing all they can to get you back, Tosh." Jack reached over again, patted her hand and sat back in his chair.
"Of course," Toshiko murmured. She fiddled with the square of linen. "I've tracked down aliens, seen a spaceship crash, I just…" She made an embarrassed little sound. She dotted the handkerchief to her eyes again. God, everyone would laugh if they could see her.
"I'm a little out of my element here," Toshiko sighed. "Computers were just invented and they are no more than big calculators. I mean, the Pentium chip hasn't been invented yet!" How was she supposed to get anything done?
Jack stared at her for a beat. He chuckled. Jack shook his head, bemused, and folded his arms across his chest. He cocked his head.
"Well, if that's all you're worried about, I think you'll be fine, Toshiko Sato."
Toshiko blushed.
"You've done everything possible, Tosh," Jack said, sobering. "It's up to them now." He looked around, his stare wistful and melancholy. It reminded her of her grandfather's, whenever he spoke of the grandmother she had never known.
Jack turned back to her and the look was gone. "In the meantime, just enjoy." Jack waggled his eyebrows. "The forties were a beautiful time, Tosh. How often do you truly get to live it?"
Toshiko sniffed again and nodded. She smiled tentatively and Jack looked at her kindly. The cold sensation inside her thawed. He said he would watch out for her. Toshiko believed him. She twisted the white handkerchief round and round in her hands. She tried to imagine herself wearing those clothes, that hair, and found it wasn't too paralyzingly terrifying now and even a little fascinating. Jack was right. Their friends will find them. It was only a matter of when. There was so much more she can do on their end before Jack and her grow old together in a time not their own.
Her shoulders lifted a little and she laughed awkwardly as she tried to dry the remaining tears. Toshiko flattened out the handkerchief on the table to fold into quarters when she saw the initials.
"Wait, why do you have Ianto's handkerchief?"
"Uh…"
Act III
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.