Title: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Memories
Hey guys, here's a oneshot I typed up since the idea wouldn't leave my head :)
Anyway, enjoy!!
Title: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Memories
Paring: Jack/Jack
Rating: K+ (maybe T)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the sketch, and "A Nightingale Sang in Barkley Square" belongs to Nat King Cole
Summary: Jack has a sketch of Captain James Harper, and with it carries a moment worth a thousand memories.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Captain Jack Harkness walked along the streets of London in very early morning, all the while fingering a folded piece of yellow paper in his coat pocket.
A wind gently rustled his hair as he walked back to the airbase that he was stationed at, his eyes slightly glazed with the memories of the night before. Of a man who captured his attention and who showed him how to let go.
As he walked Jack hummed a tune that was played as he and the other man danced. The melody also brought forth the memory of the other captain kissing him and looking at him before he left with the Japanese woman.
It was still early enough out so that not a lot of people were out on the streets and those that were hardly spared a glance at the military man. The sun was just starting to peek over the tops of houses and buildings all over London, its’ rays also reaching the rubble that was left after the blitz last night.
He stopped as he spotted the building he was passing, his green-gold gaze holding a wistful look in them. Jack closed his eyes as though he were trying to recapture the events of the night before. The feeling of strong arms holding him, of slightly chapped lips moving against his, and the feelings of security and happiness.
The sound of a car startles him out of his reverie and he continues on his way with one last look over his shoulder at the Ritz dance hall. He reaches the barracks where he and his men are staying and changes out of his uniform and into his flight suit. He can hear the rest of his men getting up and getting ready for the day’s practice flight as well.
He removes the folded paper from his coat pocket and puts it into a pocket on his suit; he grabs the rest of his gear and heads out to the hanger to prepare his plane. As he walks a few of the men who were also at the dance glance his way but they quickly redirect their looks elsewhere.
He arrives at the hanger and prepares what he needs for the day's flight and takes his plane out to the runway. The men that are going up with him for this practice session are also bringing their planes out to the runway, ready to take off after him.
As Jack sits in his plane waiting for his cue to take off, he brushes his fingers over the pocket in which the sketch is incased, deriving some comfort from its presence. As he waits a song goes through his head and he sings parts of the lyrics, letting the emotion it brings forth wash over him.
“…there were angels dancing, at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Barkley Square…” The pilot sang softly, barely louder than a whisper.
After another minute he was given the all clear to take off. He starts his plane and takes off from the runway. As he goes up in to the air he gives instructions to the pilots who are also following him.
The practice session was going well, the formations were tight and everyone knew what they were supposed to do. They were surprised by three formations of Messerschmitz suddenly coming at them from around cloud cover. He ordered his men to get away while he shoots down three of them.
He whoops for joy as he turns his plane around to see where the other enemy planes were. He had a small grin on his face, but what he didn’t notice was that one of the other formations of Messerschmitz was coming up behind him.
He felt his plane jerk when the first round of bullets hit it. “Shit…” Jack hissed under his breath, he could tell that the bullets had hit the tail of his plane and had barely missed his fuel tank.
He maneuvered his Spitfire to try to get away from the German planes while at the same to try to get a visual on them as well. Another round of bullets hit his plane and a few of them managed to hit his fuel tank, not enough to make it explode, but it damaged the tank enough that fuel was leaking out and if another one hit it, it would explode. Since the fuel was leaking out of the tank, Jack's plane was losing altitude rapidly, and he knew he wouldn't have enought fuel left to pull out of the dive his plane had started.
Jack knew he wouldn’t survive this, and his one consolation was that at least his men got away safely. His hand went down to the pocket which held the yellow paper, and he took it out.
He started to softly sing the song that was playing that night at the Ritz as he reverently held the paper. He gently unfolded it and looked at the picture that had been drawn in charcoal, the lines forming a handsome face that was grinning and a greatcoat that swirled around the body it was covering. The only color in the whole picture was the blue that had been used for the eyes in the grinning face.
Jack lightly traced the picture with a gloved fingertip, losing himself in the memories, sensations and emotions. He looked up from the drawing to see that the ground was closing in and that he had maybe a minute before he crashed.
He looked back at the picture, and closed his eyes, imagining that he was back at the Ritz dance hall, dancing in the arms of the one man who showed him he could be himself and to follow his emotions. He imagined the other captain holding him, kissing him, caressing his face and neck.
Captain Jack Harkness, pilot and American volunteer, smiled and kept a hold of the sketch even as his plane hit the ground and the Spitfire exploded in a shower of fire and plane parts, with the smoke rising up from the crash site.
Present day:
Jack Harkness, known to one man as James Harper, stood at the grave of the man whose name he had taken. He just stood there reflecting on the people he has lost: Toshiko, Owen, the real Jack, and most recently Ianto. He loved the first two as though they were his own sister and brother, and he loved the last two more than anything else in the universe.
The wind picked up and tumbled by Jack, ruffling his hair and his greatcoat, and if he listened he could almost hear their voices laughing and smiling, but underneath it all, was a song, one that he hadn’t heard since that night in 1941 at the Ritz dance hall.
“That certain night, the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air. There were angels dancing at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Barkley Square…”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hope you all enjoyed it!! Criticism is always appreciated!