Fic: Kindred Spirits
Title: Kindred Spirits
Summary: It was the coat that gave him away instantly
Fandom(s): Torchwood/New Amsterdam
Characters: Jack, John
Spoilers: First episodes of both shows, but nothing major.
Rating/Warnings: None
Word count: 4 drabbles with 100 words each
Notes: The crossovers, they eat my brain!! It wanted out after I finally finished watching New Amsterdam and realized how marvellous Jack/John would be. If you don't know that show, it's not that complicated and the rough outline should be enough to understand my ramblings, I hope. Unbetaed, just written. Concrit and comments are love!
Fic Masterlist: Here.
It was the coat that gave him away instantly, swishing through the usual New York bustle like a personified anachronism.
John could almost smell the gunpowder and the blood as he spotted the impossible man. "Jack?" he whispered, "Jack Harkness?" Memories of the Normandy clouded his mind, of Jack being hit, finding death on French soil like so many others.
John's feet finally remembered how to run when the familiar shape in the military coat rounded the nearest corner and was out of sight.
John ran, ran like he hadn't done since '44 in a hail of bullets and bombs.
---
He stumbled into a dead end, but found no sign of the mirage he'd hunted. John was pondering about senile dementia when someone grabbed the lapels of his jacket, driving him brutally into the nearest wall. His fists rose instinctively, but halted when he saw his dumbfounded attacker.
"John?" his mirage asked, "John York?"
"It's Amsterdam now," John smiled weakly, taking a step forwards to look into the familiar eyes.
"You haven't aged a single day," Jack voiced his exact thoughts. "Pretty spry for someone of your age," he grinned finally.
John couldn't help but laugh. "You have no idea."
---
"So you can't die."
Jack nodded in reply, his eyes alertly travelling through John's flat, focussing on the yearly photographs of the Times Square. "Like you," he mumbled, obviously fascinated by a sequence of pictures from the turn of the last century. "Know what caused yours?" Jack asked, with just a hint desperation in his tone.
John smiled. He knew that man too well, even after almost 60 years. "Indian shaman," he answered, cringing at how insane that sounded every time. "And now I'm waiting for someone able to end this."
"Yeah," Jack sighed, his eyes suddenly distant. "Someone special."
---
Like all things, their encounter ended too soon, duty calling them both back to the present. Jack left him an address in Cardiff, of all places. John laughed. Cardiff.
They hugged fiercely, the familiarity of Jack's scent nearly too much to bear. "What do we do, Jack?" he asked his old friend, tired of finding all the answers for himself, not getting any wiser.
"We do what we do best," Jack smiled gently. "Protecting what we love."
John watched as Jack's cab disappeared in the bustle of traffic. It was good to know there was an undying friend out there.
Summary: It was the coat that gave him away instantly
Fandom(s): Torchwood/New Amsterdam
Characters: Jack, John
Spoilers: First episodes of both shows, but nothing major.
Rating/Warnings: None
Word count: 4 drabbles with 100 words each
Notes: The crossovers, they eat my brain!! It wanted out after I finally finished watching New Amsterdam and realized how marvellous Jack/John would be. If you don't know that show, it's not that complicated and the rough outline should be enough to understand my ramblings, I hope. Unbetaed, just written. Concrit and comments are love!
Fic Masterlist: Here.
It was the coat that gave him away instantly, swishing through the usual New York bustle like a personified anachronism.
John could almost smell the gunpowder and the blood as he spotted the impossible man. "Jack?" he whispered, "Jack Harkness?" Memories of the Normandy clouded his mind, of Jack being hit, finding death on French soil like so many others.
John's feet finally remembered how to run when the familiar shape in the military coat rounded the nearest corner and was out of sight.
John ran, ran like he hadn't done since '44 in a hail of bullets and bombs.
---
He stumbled into a dead end, but found no sign of the mirage he'd hunted. John was pondering about senile dementia when someone grabbed the lapels of his jacket, driving him brutally into the nearest wall. His fists rose instinctively, but halted when he saw his dumbfounded attacker.
"John?" his mirage asked, "John York?"
"It's Amsterdam now," John smiled weakly, taking a step forwards to look into the familiar eyes.
"You haven't aged a single day," Jack voiced his exact thoughts. "Pretty spry for someone of your age," he grinned finally.
John couldn't help but laugh. "You have no idea."
---
"So you can't die."
Jack nodded in reply, his eyes alertly travelling through John's flat, focussing on the yearly photographs of the Times Square. "Like you," he mumbled, obviously fascinated by a sequence of pictures from the turn of the last century. "Know what caused yours?" Jack asked, with just a hint desperation in his tone.
John smiled. He knew that man too well, even after almost 60 years. "Indian shaman," he answered, cringing at how insane that sounded every time. "And now I'm waiting for someone able to end this."
"Yeah," Jack sighed, his eyes suddenly distant. "Someone special."
---
Like all things, their encounter ended too soon, duty calling them both back to the present. Jack left him an address in Cardiff, of all places. John laughed. Cardiff.
They hugged fiercely, the familiarity of Jack's scent nearly too much to bear. "What do we do, Jack?" he asked his old friend, tired of finding all the answers for himself, not getting any wiser.
"We do what we do best," Jack smiled gently. "Protecting what we love."
John watched as Jack's cab disappeared in the bustle of traffic. It was good to know there was an undying friend out there.