Fic: Things Lost and Found Along the Way.
Jun. 14th, 2011 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunTitle: Things Lost and Found Along The Way (1/10)
Rating: pg13
Characters/Pairings: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. AU Owen/Tosh. Past Jack/Ianto, very slowly developing Jack/AU Ianto.
Word Count: 2000 (This part)
Contains: Serious illness of an alien variety.
Summary: Travelling back to Earth with Ianto, Owen and Toshiko on board the freighter Ariadne, Jack has growing concerns that the glove he'd used to bring them into this universe has somehow affected him. He's still trying to deal with these worries on his own when they receive a distress call from another ship. A call which is about to change everything.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Spaces in Between. Which was a CoE sort of fix it, and as such won't fit with Miracle Day canon in any way. I hope to update this weekly.
The faint rumbles and vibrations of the ship's engines are a familiar and comforting presence that remind Jack of carefree days long past. So it has been easy to settle into the life on board the stellar freighter Ariadne for the two week journey that will put them within easy teleportation range of Earth.
The Ariadne is a large ship with a crew almost too small to operate her. The captain, Celesti Bodona, making up for the short fall in labour by offering cheap travel in return for people willing to work their passage.
Four days into the journey, and three into helping move and package the bulk cargo into smaller, deliverable quantities, Jack is starting to wonder if he should have just paid the extra.
Heaving another crate on to the grav pallet, Jack can feel his shirt clinging damply to him, and sweat trickling down the back of his neck.
Ever since waking up in the hospital following using the glove to bring Owen and Tosh through into this universe Jack knows that he's been tiring more easily. Where once he knows that he would have been able to go for days without sleep now after as little as one day awake he's needing to rest. It's not just for a few minutes either, it's a solid seven or eight hours of sleep.
It had been a novelty for the first couple of nights, and it had been easy to write it off as an after effect of the energy drain. Now, the best part of a week later, it has lost its appeal and has become an unspoken source of worry.
The only conclusion that he's so far come to is that the glove has done something to him. He's run what scans he can with his vortex manipulator to try and find out if it's still drawing energy from him as the one that had connected Gwen to Suzie had done. All the readings have so far come back negative, leaving Jack increasingly frustrated by it all.
He wishes that Gwen were around, or at least easily contactable, so that he could ask her how she'd felt after her connection to Suzie was broken, if she'd felt more tired than usual afterwards, or that he'd at least thought to ask her about it at the time. But he'd been so caught up in Suzie's betrayal and his emerging relationship with Ianto that he'd been content that, with both Rhys and Owen to look after her, Gwen would be alright.
It all seems to heartless now. He can't even remember if he'd asked her if she was okay.
You never asked any of them, not when it really mattered, not when it still could have made a difference. Accusatory thoughts run through Jack's mind, grief and guilt piling up in their wake.
Consumed by these thoughts, Jack works without paying attentions to what he's doing, piling crates on top of each other, the ache in his muscles feeling like a just penance for his repeated lack of care.
This continues until he picks up a crate that is heavier than the rest, and his grip on it slips. The crate hits his knee hard as it falls, before landing on the floor and bursting open, scattering machine parts across the deck.
Stumbling, Jack sits down on the edge of the grav pallet, clutching his knee.
“You okay?” Pol, the ship's storeman shouts over from where he is supervising the work.
“Yeah,” Jack replies through gritted teeth. His knee is throbbing unmercifully, but he's relieved that there is no sign of blood on his clothes to suggest that skin is broken. Having to explain rapidly healing injuries is something he can do without.
“You look done in,” Pol says walking over to him. “Take a break, there'll still be plenty of work here tomorrow.”
Jack nods. Sore and exhausted he's tempted to go and find Owen and ask him to run a full check on him in case there's something that he's missed in his own scans. But this Owen doesn't know him, doesn't know what's normal for him, so Jack quickly dismisses it as pointless.
Pol frowns, his grey-blue skin wrinkling, making it look more creased than usual. “You're a good worker, don't get me wrong, but your mind is all over the place.”
“You're psychic?” Jack asks, concerned at what Pol might have seen or heard.
“Nah.” Pol wipes his oily fingers on his boiler suit. “Well not enough for it to count any way. I just get a few feelings sometimes. It's why Celesti keeps me around; we haven't been tricked into a truly crap cargo in years.”
Jack manages a small smile. He knows that it's not the only reason; it's no secret aboard the Ariadne that Celesti and Pol are married.
“My advice, lad?” Pol says, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. “Go to the breakroom, get yourself and drink, then you get some rest.”
Jack nods, his throat feeling tight. The gesture, being called lad, reminds him of the Doctor, his Doctor, the one with a battered leather jacket, the one who'd understood only too well what happens in war and the choices and sacrifices that have to be made, the one who'd understood his nightmares and who'd turned his life around.
“Come on.” Pol gives Jack a hand up from where he's sitting on the crates.
“Yeah,” Jack says, limping away, needing to be somewhere else before his already ragged emotions get the better of him.
Pol watches him goes, then shaking his head, mutters, “Poor bastard.” Before going back to work.
* * *
Ianto is sitting at one of the tables in the breakroom, a stack of shipping receipts and a data slate in front of him, as Jack limps in. He looks, his expression becoming one of concern as he sees Jack. “What happened?”
“Argument with a box.” Jack sits down with a relieved sigh. The walk across a couple of decks to the breakroom has been uncomfortable to say the least. “I won.”
There's a faint smile on Ianto's face that is as much amused as it is wistful. “A great victory, I'm sure,” he says dryly, as he starts to gather up everything that he's been working on, getting ready to leave.
Jack frowns. It's a repeat of what has happened just about every time that he's been alone with Ianto since the Ariadne broke orbit. “You're avoiding me.”
“Yes.” Ianto looks down, not bothering to try and deny it.
“Why?” Jack leans forward, trying to get a better look at Ianto's expression. “If I've done something to upset you, you tell me.”
“You haven't,” Ianto says wearily, putting everything he's picked up back down in a heap on the table. “This isn't about you, well not completely about you. It's Cardiff, the family that your Ianto has there, had there.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, before adding miserably, “It's everything really.”
“What are you saying?” Jack asks, a sense of foreboding setting in.
“I don't think I can go to Cardiff or work with you.” Ianto gets up, looking like he's come to a decision. “I've thought about it. Actually I don't think I've thought about anything else, and I just can't see a way that it's going to work.” He sighs again. “I look at you and sometimes all I can see is him, and then you say or do something and then he's gone, and it feels like losing I'm him all over again.”
“Ianto, please.”
“I'm tired, Jack. I can't deal with any of this, not yet, not if I want to stay sane.” There's a haunted look in Ianto's eyes. “Don't push me into this.”
“I can see if London needs more staff, or Glasgow, if you still want to work for Torchwood,” Jack says, fighting to keep his voice neutral. It feels like it's taking everything he's got not to tell Ianto that he has to stay, that he can't lose him, but he knows that if he does that all he'll succeed in doing will be to drive Ianto away. At least this way, he hopes, they'll still be friends.
“Thank you. It's better for both us like this.” Ianto's voice wavers and he turns away, getting ready to leave.
“Stay.” Jack gets up unsteadily, his knee throbbing. “We should talk about this.”
“I can't, I'm sorry.” Ianto's voice cracks, and he quickly walks away, leaving Jack leaning against the door looking down the corridor after him long after he's gone.
* * *
Sat on the edge of his narrow bunk, Jack removes his braces, before pushing down his trousers to get a better look at his knee.
It's swollen, the bruise a vivid purple where the crate had hit it, fading to a sickly yellow-green at the edges. Jack frowns, prodding the edge of the discoloured skin. It's healing, and it's definitely healing faster than a normal human would, however it's still nowhere near as fast as he's come to expect for himself.
Jack knows that the speed at which he heals minor, non life threatening injures has always varied, although that's usually in connection with how recently and frequently he's died. With lots of recent deaths meaning slower healing. He's not died for weeks though, so he knows he can't put it down to that.
He wonders if it had been a more serious injury whether it would have healed faster like it always used to do. What if he'd died, how long it would take him to come back? What if it was days like it had been after Abbadon? Would anybody believe he'd come back? Would they freeze him and take him back to Earth to bury, or would they just jettison his body into space? What if they cremated him?
Jack shivers, feeling sick at the thought of just how much it would hurt to regrow his body from that, and whether it would even be possible. Feeling every excruciating moment of his nerves, skin and bones reforming after the explosion of the Hub had been the single most painful revival he's lived through, and it's something that he never wants to have to experience again.
Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Jack tries to blot out the unpleasant memories that are crowding in.
Normally, he knows, this is when he'd be looking company, somebody warm and willing to help chase the darkness away. Only there's not really anybody on board the Ariadne who'd be interested, and he doesn't feel inclined to flirt even if there were.
Exhausted, and feeling very alone, Jack strips of the rest of his clothes and lays down on his bunk. Closing his eyes, he listens to the faint hum of the ship, the mindless drone of it helping drown out his own thoughts until he eventually falls asleep.
: "Part Two.">
Rating: pg13
Characters/Pairings: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. AU Owen/Tosh. Past Jack/Ianto, very slowly developing Jack/AU Ianto.
Word Count: 2000 (This part)
Contains: Serious illness of an alien variety.
Summary: Travelling back to Earth with Ianto, Owen and Toshiko on board the freighter Ariadne, Jack has growing concerns that the glove he'd used to bring them into this universe has somehow affected him. He's still trying to deal with these worries on his own when they receive a distress call from another ship. A call which is about to change everything.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Spaces in Between. Which was a CoE sort of fix it, and as such won't fit with Miracle Day canon in any way. I hope to update this weekly.
The faint rumbles and vibrations of the ship's engines are a familiar and comforting presence that remind Jack of carefree days long past. So it has been easy to settle into the life on board the stellar freighter Ariadne for the two week journey that will put them within easy teleportation range of Earth.
The Ariadne is a large ship with a crew almost too small to operate her. The captain, Celesti Bodona, making up for the short fall in labour by offering cheap travel in return for people willing to work their passage.
Four days into the journey, and three into helping move and package the bulk cargo into smaller, deliverable quantities, Jack is starting to wonder if he should have just paid the extra.
Heaving another crate on to the grav pallet, Jack can feel his shirt clinging damply to him, and sweat trickling down the back of his neck.
Ever since waking up in the hospital following using the glove to bring Owen and Tosh through into this universe Jack knows that he's been tiring more easily. Where once he knows that he would have been able to go for days without sleep now after as little as one day awake he's needing to rest. It's not just for a few minutes either, it's a solid seven or eight hours of sleep.
It had been a novelty for the first couple of nights, and it had been easy to write it off as an after effect of the energy drain. Now, the best part of a week later, it has lost its appeal and has become an unspoken source of worry.
The only conclusion that he's so far come to is that the glove has done something to him. He's run what scans he can with his vortex manipulator to try and find out if it's still drawing energy from him as the one that had connected Gwen to Suzie had done. All the readings have so far come back negative, leaving Jack increasingly frustrated by it all.
He wishes that Gwen were around, or at least easily contactable, so that he could ask her how she'd felt after her connection to Suzie was broken, if she'd felt more tired than usual afterwards, or that he'd at least thought to ask her about it at the time. But he'd been so caught up in Suzie's betrayal and his emerging relationship with Ianto that he'd been content that, with both Rhys and Owen to look after her, Gwen would be alright.
It all seems to heartless now. He can't even remember if he'd asked her if she was okay.
You never asked any of them, not when it really mattered, not when it still could have made a difference. Accusatory thoughts run through Jack's mind, grief and guilt piling up in their wake.
Consumed by these thoughts, Jack works without paying attentions to what he's doing, piling crates on top of each other, the ache in his muscles feeling like a just penance for his repeated lack of care.
This continues until he picks up a crate that is heavier than the rest, and his grip on it slips. The crate hits his knee hard as it falls, before landing on the floor and bursting open, scattering machine parts across the deck.
Stumbling, Jack sits down on the edge of the grav pallet, clutching his knee.
“You okay?” Pol, the ship's storeman shouts over from where he is supervising the work.
“Yeah,” Jack replies through gritted teeth. His knee is throbbing unmercifully, but he's relieved that there is no sign of blood on his clothes to suggest that skin is broken. Having to explain rapidly healing injuries is something he can do without.
“You look done in,” Pol says walking over to him. “Take a break, there'll still be plenty of work here tomorrow.”
Jack nods. Sore and exhausted he's tempted to go and find Owen and ask him to run a full check on him in case there's something that he's missed in his own scans. But this Owen doesn't know him, doesn't know what's normal for him, so Jack quickly dismisses it as pointless.
Pol frowns, his grey-blue skin wrinkling, making it look more creased than usual. “You're a good worker, don't get me wrong, but your mind is all over the place.”
“You're psychic?” Jack asks, concerned at what Pol might have seen or heard.
“Nah.” Pol wipes his oily fingers on his boiler suit. “Well not enough for it to count any way. I just get a few feelings sometimes. It's why Celesti keeps me around; we haven't been tricked into a truly crap cargo in years.”
Jack manages a small smile. He knows that it's not the only reason; it's no secret aboard the Ariadne that Celesti and Pol are married.
“My advice, lad?” Pol says, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. “Go to the breakroom, get yourself and drink, then you get some rest.”
Jack nods, his throat feeling tight. The gesture, being called lad, reminds him of the Doctor, his Doctor, the one with a battered leather jacket, the one who'd understood only too well what happens in war and the choices and sacrifices that have to be made, the one who'd understood his nightmares and who'd turned his life around.
“Come on.” Pol gives Jack a hand up from where he's sitting on the crates.
“Yeah,” Jack says, limping away, needing to be somewhere else before his already ragged emotions get the better of him.
Pol watches him goes, then shaking his head, mutters, “Poor bastard.” Before going back to work.
* * *
Ianto is sitting at one of the tables in the breakroom, a stack of shipping receipts and a data slate in front of him, as Jack limps in. He looks, his expression becoming one of concern as he sees Jack. “What happened?”
“Argument with a box.” Jack sits down with a relieved sigh. The walk across a couple of decks to the breakroom has been uncomfortable to say the least. “I won.”
There's a faint smile on Ianto's face that is as much amused as it is wistful. “A great victory, I'm sure,” he says dryly, as he starts to gather up everything that he's been working on, getting ready to leave.
Jack frowns. It's a repeat of what has happened just about every time that he's been alone with Ianto since the Ariadne broke orbit. “You're avoiding me.”
“Yes.” Ianto looks down, not bothering to try and deny it.
“Why?” Jack leans forward, trying to get a better look at Ianto's expression. “If I've done something to upset you, you tell me.”
“You haven't,” Ianto says wearily, putting everything he's picked up back down in a heap on the table. “This isn't about you, well not completely about you. It's Cardiff, the family that your Ianto has there, had there.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, before adding miserably, “It's everything really.”
“What are you saying?” Jack asks, a sense of foreboding setting in.
“I don't think I can go to Cardiff or work with you.” Ianto gets up, looking like he's come to a decision. “I've thought about it. Actually I don't think I've thought about anything else, and I just can't see a way that it's going to work.” He sighs again. “I look at you and sometimes all I can see is him, and then you say or do something and then he's gone, and it feels like losing I'm him all over again.”
“Ianto, please.”
“I'm tired, Jack. I can't deal with any of this, not yet, not if I want to stay sane.” There's a haunted look in Ianto's eyes. “Don't push me into this.”
“I can see if London needs more staff, or Glasgow, if you still want to work for Torchwood,” Jack says, fighting to keep his voice neutral. It feels like it's taking everything he's got not to tell Ianto that he has to stay, that he can't lose him, but he knows that if he does that all he'll succeed in doing will be to drive Ianto away. At least this way, he hopes, they'll still be friends.
“Thank you. It's better for both us like this.” Ianto's voice wavers and he turns away, getting ready to leave.
“Stay.” Jack gets up unsteadily, his knee throbbing. “We should talk about this.”
“I can't, I'm sorry.” Ianto's voice cracks, and he quickly walks away, leaving Jack leaning against the door looking down the corridor after him long after he's gone.
* * *
Sat on the edge of his narrow bunk, Jack removes his braces, before pushing down his trousers to get a better look at his knee.
It's swollen, the bruise a vivid purple where the crate had hit it, fading to a sickly yellow-green at the edges. Jack frowns, prodding the edge of the discoloured skin. It's healing, and it's definitely healing faster than a normal human would, however it's still nowhere near as fast as he's come to expect for himself.
Jack knows that the speed at which he heals minor, non life threatening injures has always varied, although that's usually in connection with how recently and frequently he's died. With lots of recent deaths meaning slower healing. He's not died for weeks though, so he knows he can't put it down to that.
He wonders if it had been a more serious injury whether it would have healed faster like it always used to do. What if he'd died, how long it would take him to come back? What if it was days like it had been after Abbadon? Would anybody believe he'd come back? Would they freeze him and take him back to Earth to bury, or would they just jettison his body into space? What if they cremated him?
Jack shivers, feeling sick at the thought of just how much it would hurt to regrow his body from that, and whether it would even be possible. Feeling every excruciating moment of his nerves, skin and bones reforming after the explosion of the Hub had been the single most painful revival he's lived through, and it's something that he never wants to have to experience again.
Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Jack tries to blot out the unpleasant memories that are crowding in.
Normally, he knows, this is when he'd be looking company, somebody warm and willing to help chase the darkness away. Only there's not really anybody on board the Ariadne who'd be interested, and he doesn't feel inclined to flirt even if there were.
Exhausted, and feeling very alone, Jack strips of the rest of his clothes and lays down on his bunk. Closing his eyes, he listens to the faint hum of the ship, the mindless drone of it helping drown out his own thoughts until he eventually falls asleep.
: "Part Two.">