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silver_sunTitle: Things Lost and Found Along The Way (4/10)
Rating: pg13
Characters: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. Owen/Tosh, and eventually Jack/Ianto
Word Count: This part 3.8k (total 12k of 25k posted)
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. New part posted weekly, either Thursday or Friday.
Starts here
The showers on the Ariadne are basic, single cubicle affairs, designed with nothing but functionality in mind. The floors are wet and the smell of anti-bacterial soap hangs in the air, as Jack is the last to use them.
Going last make the most sense to Jack's way of thinking. If it had been a disease that had killed the people aboard the Meridian Star, he knows he's the least susceptible to infection, so volunteering to go last and giving everybody else the best chance to avoid getting sick is only fair.
Not that he's revealed that reasoning to Celesti or any of her crew; telling people about his immortality is something that's only ever reveal on a need to know basis, and right now there's no need for them to know.
Stripping off, Jack shakes his head as flower petals fall from the collar of his coat and shirt as he removes them. The blooms are mottled with spots of mould, and Jack finds that there is some sense of satisfaction in knowing that nobody is ever going to be able to make a profit off these asha flowers, and that maybe a few lives will be saved from the dependency, crime and violence that seems to follow their use.
Depositing his clothes in the pile to be laundered, Jack takes little time in washing the grime of the last couple of days off himself. Having a proper long, hot shower is something of a luxury on long distance ships, unless it's a passenger liner, as the storing and recycling enough water isn't efficient enough to allow day use; a quick was and a shower ever three days or so being the normal.
Jack frowns as he notices that there's still faint traces of bruising and swelling on his knee, although there hasn't been any pain in it for quite a while. It's a little disconcerting as he'd been sure that all traces of it should have disappeared by now.
By the time Jack has finished his shower and got dressed the evening meal is being served, and he makes his way to the breakroom.
Seeing Ianto, Owen and Tosh sitting together, Jack goes over to them and sits down.
“I asked Orvis about what the aliens who snuffed it were,” Owen says, once Jack has helped himself to some food from the serving pot in centre of the table. “He reckons they were something called Chelvos, he was bit vague on details so I looked it up. Turns out they're a calcium based species with gills that are equally happy breathing air or water, provided the air isn't too dry. Which honestly is a bit freaky.”
“Useful though,” Jack says suggestively. “Just think of all the things you could do if you didn't need to breathe through your nose or mouth?”
“You're a sick man.” Making a disgusted face, Owen gestures towards Jack with his fork. “Any way, disregarding things you could do if you breathe through your ears.”
“Play the bagpipes?" Ianto suggests dryly, although it looks like he's trying hard not to laugh.
“The point is,” Owen continues. “A disease that affects a species that's completely different from anybody on board is pretty unlikely to be contagious to us.” Owen sounds almost disappointed at having even less of a reason to ask Celesti for permission to check over the bodies. “So it looks like we're safe.”
"That's your professional opinion?"
"Based on what little information I've got, yeah. The way I see it is we've got as much chance of getting what they had a we've got of contracting Dutch Elm Disease or dry rot. Probably less chance actually."
“You still want to be able to look into it though, don't you?” Jack asks, realising that of the four of them Owen probably has the least to do on the journey back to Earth, and is probably getting bored. And if this Owen is even remotely similar to the one that he'd known, then Jack is certain him getting very bored it's not a great idea.
“I just think it's a wasted opportunity,” Owen says sounding like he's ot really willing to let the subject drop. “We're letting those bodies rot, and by the time they get them to that space port they'll be too decomposed to tell anybody anything.”
Ianto looks at the food and then at Owen. “Could we wait until after we've eaten to talk about decomposing bodies?”
“I agree with Ianto,” Tosh says, “No more talk of decomposition or bodies or diseases. There must be something else we can talk about.”
“Alright then, what about beer?” Owen looks at Jack. “It's not illegal or anything in Cardiff is it?”
“No.” Jack shakes his head. He knows they must have a lot of questions about what life is like on Earth, and especially in Cardiff, in this universe; it is going to be their new home after all. “So any more questions?”
"Ianto told me that you'd said petrol and petro-chemical related techology is much more common on your Earth, so what are the main forms of transport people use?" Tosh asks eagerly.
The evening wears on and the crew slowly leave the breakroom, going back to their cabins or to run a last check on something before going to bed. Jack can feel tiredness creeping up on him, but he doesn't want the evening to end, the conversation, which has mostly stuck to the differences between their worlds, has been good. It hadn't felt like old times with his team back in the Hub, but perhaps, Jack thinks, that's for the best. They are, after all, their own people with different memories, hopes and fears, and trying to fit them exactly in the holes left in his life by the loss of Owen, Tosh and Ianto is likely to cause nothing but misunderstandings and hurt feelings all round.
Eventually the conversation dwindles, and Owen gets up, saying, “I don't know about you lot, but I'm knackered, so I'm off to bed.”
Tosh shakes her head. “You have such as way with words, don't you?”
“Yeah, could have been a poet me,” Owen says cheekily. “So you coming to bed then?”
“Yes,” Tosh says with a laugh, as she gets up to follow Owen.
Stopping at the door, Tosh turns back to Jack and Ianto, saying, “Goodnight.” Before heading back to hers and Owen's cabin.
“You haven't told them yet, have you?” Jack asks once Owen and Tosh have gone.
Ianto sighs. “No. I just can't seem to find the right moment.”
“There never are any right moments,” Jack says sadly. “You wait and wait thinking you've got all the time in the world to tell them, and then they're gone.”
Leaning forward, Ianto reaches across the table to take Jack's hand in his. “I know what you mean.”
Jack looks down at their linked hands, the warmth of Ianto's against his own more comforting that he wants to admit. Turning his hand slightly, Jack rubs his thumb along the the edge of Ianto's palm.
As Jack does Ianto quickly moves his hand away, a surprised look on his face.
An awkward silence follows, one that is only broken when, despite his best attempts not to, Jack yawns, tiredness finally catching up with him.
“Tired?” Ianto asks, looking a little relieved that he might be getting a way to avoid an awkward conversation. “Or am I getting boring?”
“Never boring.” Jack smiles, before lying smoothly, “Just tired, must be time for my weekly nap.” There doesn't seem to be anything to be gained by telling Ianto that he's started sleeping most nights now.
Ianto frowns slightly, but doesn't press the issue. “I'd better let you get your beauty sleep then.” He gets up to leave. “I'll see you in the morning.”
“You too,” Jack says. He lets Ianto leave, before heading back to his own cabin.
It has been a good evening, even the slight awkwardness of the end of it not taking away from it. Happy and relaxed, it doesn't take long for Jack to fall asleep.
The scent of damp earth is all around him, and Jack can feel the wet, sloppy mud pouring in over the top of his boots as he sinks into the quicksand like ground at the bottom of the hole.
Several feet above his head shadowy figures, their voices muffled and indistinct, move in the mist about at the top of the pit, paying no attention to him.
His feet are stuck, and any attempt to move them pulls him deeper into the ground. Scared, Jack calls out, “Hey, give me a hand!”
One of the figures approaches, his face only becoming clear when he speaks. “Why should I? You let go of mine.” Gray looks down at him with nothing but contempt in his eyes.
“I never meant to let you go.” Jack reaches out a hand to him. “Gray, please.”
“You're dead to me, and dead things belong in the earth.” Gray turns and walks away.
As Gray leaves his place is taken by Suzie, her neck marred by the gunshot that took her life the first time around. “You never mean for anything to happen, Jack. All those big speeches about holding on to life, it’s just talk.”
“Suzie!” There’s fear in Jack’s voice now, the realisation that there’s no way out unless somebody helps him. He's being sucked down, deeper and deeper. The mud is chest deep now, the cold weight of it pressing against his ribs, making breathing hard and painful.
Suzie steps back to be replaced by Ianto, who looks down at him with sorrowful eyes. “She’s right, Jack, it’s all just words. Pretty, meaningless words, spoken because it’s what you think we need to hear. We’re all moths to your flame, and sooner or later we all crash and burn.”
“Don’t leave me!” Jack calls out desperately as Ianto turns to go.
“We all have to leave you, you know that.” Ianto smiles sadly. “We all have die, while you get to live.”
“That’s not my fault, Ianto, please, you know that’s not my fault,” Jack says, hurt and scared. “Why are you all doing this?”
“Yes, why, granddad?”
Jack tilts his head back, the mud rising up about his shoulders, to see Steven stood at the edge of the pit in front of Ianto and Suzie.
“Yes, why? Why do you still live?” There are more and more voices asking the same question over and over, as the figures step forward. Jack can see Owen, Tosh, Alex Hopkins, the real Captain Jack Harkness who he'd stolen the name of so very many years before, Greg who'd made the bleak post war years seen that bit brighter. Estelle young and beautiful as he’d been when he’d danced with her on the eve of the Second World War. Finally Clem joins them, accompanied by all the children he'd let go, a row of small sad faces looking out of the misty darkness.
“I'm sorry.” Tears run down into the mud, and Jack stops fighting to escape, the weight of guilt more crushing than the earth around him. “I'm so sorry.”
They all fall silent, watching impassively as the mud continues to rise, covering his mouth.
Finally as the mud covers all the top of his face Steven steps forwards. “Bye bye, granddad.”
The last thing Jack sees before the watery mud closes in over his face is Steven standing on the edge of the pit, slowly waving goodbye.
Gasping for air, tears running down his cheeks, Jack wakes to find himself in his bunk, the sheets tangled about him, covering his face.
Heart pounding, Jack frees himself. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, he tries to will his breathing back under control. His chest aches, the discomfort of the dream lingering into wakefulness.
It doesn't surprise him. Dreams of suffocation had been only too common an occurrence in the weeks after the devastation that Gray had wrought. He'd never had to wake from those nightmares alone though, Ianto having been his almost constant companion in the weeks and months that had followed.
Hunching forward, Jack covers his face with his hands, tears falling unchecked. His chest hurts as sobs start to shake him, breathing harsh and painful. It had been like that following Ianto and Steven's deaths, the grief had felt like a physical ache, and some days it had been all he could do to even get out of bed and eat. Without Gwen and Rhys support he's not entirely sure he'd have even bothered with the eating part.
Eventually the tears stop and Jack wipes his eyes. Going back to sleep doesn't seem like a viable option, and wandering the ship at night is just likely to raise questions about what he's doing awake so late, the fact that it's obvious that he has been crying isn't likely to make anyone less curious. So after a moments thought, Jack gets book out of his minimal luggage to try an distract himself, and waits for morning to come.
* * *
The morning passes slowly, the work of moving, sorting and repackaging cargo, seeming heavier, hotter and more tedious than ever, and by lunch time Jack is considering asking to be excused the afternoon shift.
Jack can feel the dull throb of a headache starting to build as he makes his way to the breakroom. Lunch, whatever it is, doesn't hold much appeal, but Jack knows he should at least get something to drink – allowing himself to get dehydrated definitely isn't going to help him feel any better.
Sitting down next to Owen and Tosh, who are already part way through their meal, Jack asks, “Where's Ianto?” It seems strange for him not to be there; Jack can't remember a break time on the Ariadne when Ianto wasn't sat with Owen and Tosh.
“Don't know,” Owen replies. “He turned up for breakfast, and went off to work with Pol on some inventory thing, haven't seen him since. Probably just lost track of time.”
Jack frowns. He hopes that Ianto hasn't started avoiding him again, the momentary awkwardness of the previous night hardly seem to be enough to warrant it. Frowning seems to make his headache worse, and Jack stops, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve some of the ache.
“Are you alright?” Tosh asks, looking at Jack with a concerned expression. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
“I'm fine,” Jack says a little offhandedly, the headache, tiredness and lack of appetite suddenly making a horrible kind of sense. He's sick. All of Owen's reassurances of the previous night about how cross species infection is rare enough to be negligible, especially with the very limited contact that they’d had with the Meridian Star, suddenly seems to count for nothing.
“I'm fine,” Jack repeats, getting up, jarring the table as he does so. “I just need to find Ianto.”
There are too many places on the ship that Ianto could be, but Jack decides to try the most obvious option, Ianto's cabin, first.
Although not far, Jack feels rather out of breath by the time he knocks on the door to Ianto's cabin. After a moment, and when there is no answer, he knocks again, louder and more insistent, deciding that if Ianto doesn't open the door soon he's just going to let himself in.
The door opens fractionally. Ianto looks through the gap at him, before asking somewhat irritably, “Is there something you want?”
“I wanted to see if you were okay.” Ianto doesn't look alright. He looks pale, a pinched look around his eyes suggesting pain. Jack takes a deep breath, the ache of last night seeming to become more pronounced again. “You're not though, are you?”
“It's a headache, that's all. Now if you don't mind I like to be left alone.” Ianto starts to close his door.
“This is important, so don't lie to me.” Jack pushes his way into Ianto's room. “Now what's wrong?”
"Alright, fine, I get migraines, a few a year," Ianto says irritably, trying to shove Jack back out of the door. "What I need is some industrial strength painkillers, a dark room, and for you to stop bothering me."
Jack catches hold of Ianto's arm. He's sure his own headache is starting to feel worse, the dull throb which has been building all morning now punctuated by sharp stabs of pain. It only serves to intensify the fear that they've both caught something on the crumbling liner. Something which, if it's able to affect him, could potentially kill Ianto. "You need to see Owen right now. I can't lose you."
Slapping Jack's hand, Ianto pushes him against the wall. "For the last time I'm not yours to lose. You're not my partner, and the way you're behaving right now I'm not even sure I want you as a friend. Now leave me alone."
Jack takes a step back, realising that he's gone too far. He wants to tell Ianto that he didn't mean it like that, that he's just worried, but no words come out, as a cough shakes him, and then another. Struggling to get a breath in, Jack braces a hand against the wall, the other pressed against his chest trying to relieve the growing ache.
The coughing slowly subsides leaving Jack feeling weak and drained. Jack wipes a hand across his mouth. He is aware that Ianto is looking at him with a concerned expression on his face.
"Jack?" Ianto's voice seems to be coming through a fog. "...blood."
Jack looks down to see a smear of red on his hand. "Oh." His hand seems to swim in and out of focus, the rushing noise in his ears getting worse as his vision starts to grey out. He has the brief impression of Ianto stepping forward to catch him as his legs give way before everything goes dark.
* * *
Jack slowly opens his eyes, the ache in his head intensifying as he tried to look around.
“Where's Ianto?” It comes out as a hoarse croak, his throat feeling sore.
“In his room, where he's hopefully managing to get some rest,” Owen says sounding somewhere between irritated and concerned. “I had to pretty much drag him back there you know, he didn't want to leave you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah well, he's soft like. He told me you'd been hassling him, wouldn't believe him about migraines.” Owen looks less than pleased. “Well I can tell you he's telling the truth, not that it's any of your business, so you can stop making his life harder than it already is.”
Jack closes his eyes again. His head hurts, while his chest feels like something heavy is sitting on it. It's unpleasant and more than a little disconcerting, as he doesn't know what could be causing it.
“I'm grateful for you coming to get me and Tosh, I really am, but that don't mean you get to take our Jack's place.”
“I don't want to.” Jack tries opening his eyes again, but the light hurts, and he closes them again.
Owen makes a concerned noise, and dims the lights. “Alright, lets find out what's wrong with you, so I can tell Ianto he's worrying about nothing.”
Jack nods slowly, everything aching.
“Okay, first things first, how long have you been sick?”
Thinking makes his head ache worse, and Jack says, “This morning, I think.”
“You think?” Owen grumbles. “Have you eaten, drunk, or breathed in anything you think could have done this?”
“I don't know. I don't think so.” Jack drags in another slow breath. He wonders if it could be poison. In a way he hopes that it is; being poisoned he understands. Only this doesn't feel like any poison he's come into contact with before, and he asks, “Do you think I've got what killed the crew of the Meridian Star?”
“Your immortal, we're not and you're the only one that's sick, so I wouldn't have thought so,” Owen says. “I've had to tell Celesti about this, you being sick that is, not the you can’t die part, just in case it is.” Owen gets out a data slate. “She wants a full report. Apparently if it's anything contagious we'll have to put the ship into quarantine until everybody been clear for a week before we're allowed to dock or teleport anywhere.”
“I don't want to feel like this any long than can be helped either, believe me.” Jack shivers, feeling achy and miserable.
“You're running a bit of a temperature.” Owen says putting his hand on Jack's forehead. “Can’t tell you how much of one as I can’t find a thermometer, but I’m going with a degree or two over.”
“Feels hard to breath.”
Owen frowns. “Could be a chest infection, I can't tell where the blood came from, there wasn't much of it any way. I might just have been from your throat from coughing too hard.”
“I don't get sick.” Jack says. The mechanics of how he's sick at all suddenly seeming much more of a problem than actually being ill. “I mean never. Either it's something minor and I never catch it, or it's something that's deadly straight away, and I die and come back healed. I really don't get sick.”
“Okay,” Owen says placatingly. “Look, being as I don't know what you've got until I run some tests, I'll take your word for it. You'll probably have healed up what ever this is by the time I get the results back. In the meantime I'm going to give you some painkillers, and you're going to take them and make sure you drink enough so you don't get dehydrated, and get some rest.”
Jack wants to argue, but there really isn't any point in doing so – it's not going make the test results appear any quicker, or make him feel any better.
The painkillers do help, the ache in his head and chest falling back to barely noticeable levels. With most of the discomfort gone the tiredness that he's been fighting all day wins out, and Jack falls into an exhausted sleep.
Part five.
Rating: pg13
Characters: Jack. AU Ianto, Owen and Tosh. Owen/Tosh, and eventually Jack/Ianto
Word Count: This part 3.8k (total 12k of 25k posted)
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. New part posted weekly, either Thursday or Friday.
Starts here
The showers on the Ariadne are basic, single cubicle affairs, designed with nothing but functionality in mind. The floors are wet and the smell of anti-bacterial soap hangs in the air, as Jack is the last to use them.
Going last make the most sense to Jack's way of thinking. If it had been a disease that had killed the people aboard the Meridian Star, he knows he's the least susceptible to infection, so volunteering to go last and giving everybody else the best chance to avoid getting sick is only fair.
Not that he's revealed that reasoning to Celesti or any of her crew; telling people about his immortality is something that's only ever reveal on a need to know basis, and right now there's no need for them to know.
Stripping off, Jack shakes his head as flower petals fall from the collar of his coat and shirt as he removes them. The blooms are mottled with spots of mould, and Jack finds that there is some sense of satisfaction in knowing that nobody is ever going to be able to make a profit off these asha flowers, and that maybe a few lives will be saved from the dependency, crime and violence that seems to follow their use.
Depositing his clothes in the pile to be laundered, Jack takes little time in washing the grime of the last couple of days off himself. Having a proper long, hot shower is something of a luxury on long distance ships, unless it's a passenger liner, as the storing and recycling enough water isn't efficient enough to allow day use; a quick was and a shower ever three days or so being the normal.
Jack frowns as he notices that there's still faint traces of bruising and swelling on his knee, although there hasn't been any pain in it for quite a while. It's a little disconcerting as he'd been sure that all traces of it should have disappeared by now.
By the time Jack has finished his shower and got dressed the evening meal is being served, and he makes his way to the breakroom.
Seeing Ianto, Owen and Tosh sitting together, Jack goes over to them and sits down.
“I asked Orvis about what the aliens who snuffed it were,” Owen says, once Jack has helped himself to some food from the serving pot in centre of the table. “He reckons they were something called Chelvos, he was bit vague on details so I looked it up. Turns out they're a calcium based species with gills that are equally happy breathing air or water, provided the air isn't too dry. Which honestly is a bit freaky.”
“Useful though,” Jack says suggestively. “Just think of all the things you could do if you didn't need to breathe through your nose or mouth?”
“You're a sick man.” Making a disgusted face, Owen gestures towards Jack with his fork. “Any way, disregarding things you could do if you breathe through your ears.”
“Play the bagpipes?" Ianto suggests dryly, although it looks like he's trying hard not to laugh.
“The point is,” Owen continues. “A disease that affects a species that's completely different from anybody on board is pretty unlikely to be contagious to us.” Owen sounds almost disappointed at having even less of a reason to ask Celesti for permission to check over the bodies. “So it looks like we're safe.”
"That's your professional opinion?"
"Based on what little information I've got, yeah. The way I see it is we've got as much chance of getting what they had a we've got of contracting Dutch Elm Disease or dry rot. Probably less chance actually."
“You still want to be able to look into it though, don't you?” Jack asks, realising that of the four of them Owen probably has the least to do on the journey back to Earth, and is probably getting bored. And if this Owen is even remotely similar to the one that he'd known, then Jack is certain him getting very bored it's not a great idea.
“I just think it's a wasted opportunity,” Owen says sounding like he's ot really willing to let the subject drop. “We're letting those bodies rot, and by the time they get them to that space port they'll be too decomposed to tell anybody anything.”
Ianto looks at the food and then at Owen. “Could we wait until after we've eaten to talk about decomposing bodies?”
“I agree with Ianto,” Tosh says, “No more talk of decomposition or bodies or diseases. There must be something else we can talk about.”
“Alright then, what about beer?” Owen looks at Jack. “It's not illegal or anything in Cardiff is it?”
“No.” Jack shakes his head. He knows they must have a lot of questions about what life is like on Earth, and especially in Cardiff, in this universe; it is going to be their new home after all. “So any more questions?”
"Ianto told me that you'd said petrol and petro-chemical related techology is much more common on your Earth, so what are the main forms of transport people use?" Tosh asks eagerly.
The evening wears on and the crew slowly leave the breakroom, going back to their cabins or to run a last check on something before going to bed. Jack can feel tiredness creeping up on him, but he doesn't want the evening to end, the conversation, which has mostly stuck to the differences between their worlds, has been good. It hadn't felt like old times with his team back in the Hub, but perhaps, Jack thinks, that's for the best. They are, after all, their own people with different memories, hopes and fears, and trying to fit them exactly in the holes left in his life by the loss of Owen, Tosh and Ianto is likely to cause nothing but misunderstandings and hurt feelings all round.
Eventually the conversation dwindles, and Owen gets up, saying, “I don't know about you lot, but I'm knackered, so I'm off to bed.”
Tosh shakes her head. “You have such as way with words, don't you?”
“Yeah, could have been a poet me,” Owen says cheekily. “So you coming to bed then?”
“Yes,” Tosh says with a laugh, as she gets up to follow Owen.
Stopping at the door, Tosh turns back to Jack and Ianto, saying, “Goodnight.” Before heading back to hers and Owen's cabin.
“You haven't told them yet, have you?” Jack asks once Owen and Tosh have gone.
Ianto sighs. “No. I just can't seem to find the right moment.”
“There never are any right moments,” Jack says sadly. “You wait and wait thinking you've got all the time in the world to tell them, and then they're gone.”
Leaning forward, Ianto reaches across the table to take Jack's hand in his. “I know what you mean.”
Jack looks down at their linked hands, the warmth of Ianto's against his own more comforting that he wants to admit. Turning his hand slightly, Jack rubs his thumb along the the edge of Ianto's palm.
As Jack does Ianto quickly moves his hand away, a surprised look on his face.
An awkward silence follows, one that is only broken when, despite his best attempts not to, Jack yawns, tiredness finally catching up with him.
“Tired?” Ianto asks, looking a little relieved that he might be getting a way to avoid an awkward conversation. “Or am I getting boring?”
“Never boring.” Jack smiles, before lying smoothly, “Just tired, must be time for my weekly nap.” There doesn't seem to be anything to be gained by telling Ianto that he's started sleeping most nights now.
Ianto frowns slightly, but doesn't press the issue. “I'd better let you get your beauty sleep then.” He gets up to leave. “I'll see you in the morning.”
“You too,” Jack says. He lets Ianto leave, before heading back to his own cabin.
It has been a good evening, even the slight awkwardness of the end of it not taking away from it. Happy and relaxed, it doesn't take long for Jack to fall asleep.
The scent of damp earth is all around him, and Jack can feel the wet, sloppy mud pouring in over the top of his boots as he sinks into the quicksand like ground at the bottom of the hole.
Several feet above his head shadowy figures, their voices muffled and indistinct, move in the mist about at the top of the pit, paying no attention to him.
His feet are stuck, and any attempt to move them pulls him deeper into the ground. Scared, Jack calls out, “Hey, give me a hand!”
One of the figures approaches, his face only becoming clear when he speaks. “Why should I? You let go of mine.” Gray looks down at him with nothing but contempt in his eyes.
“I never meant to let you go.” Jack reaches out a hand to him. “Gray, please.”
“You're dead to me, and dead things belong in the earth.” Gray turns and walks away.
As Gray leaves his place is taken by Suzie, her neck marred by the gunshot that took her life the first time around. “You never mean for anything to happen, Jack. All those big speeches about holding on to life, it’s just talk.”
“Suzie!” There’s fear in Jack’s voice now, the realisation that there’s no way out unless somebody helps him. He's being sucked down, deeper and deeper. The mud is chest deep now, the cold weight of it pressing against his ribs, making breathing hard and painful.
Suzie steps back to be replaced by Ianto, who looks down at him with sorrowful eyes. “She’s right, Jack, it’s all just words. Pretty, meaningless words, spoken because it’s what you think we need to hear. We’re all moths to your flame, and sooner or later we all crash and burn.”
“Don’t leave me!” Jack calls out desperately as Ianto turns to go.
“We all have to leave you, you know that.” Ianto smiles sadly. “We all have die, while you get to live.”
“That’s not my fault, Ianto, please, you know that’s not my fault,” Jack says, hurt and scared. “Why are you all doing this?”
“Yes, why, granddad?”
Jack tilts his head back, the mud rising up about his shoulders, to see Steven stood at the edge of the pit in front of Ianto and Suzie.
“Yes, why? Why do you still live?” There are more and more voices asking the same question over and over, as the figures step forward. Jack can see Owen, Tosh, Alex Hopkins, the real Captain Jack Harkness who he'd stolen the name of so very many years before, Greg who'd made the bleak post war years seen that bit brighter. Estelle young and beautiful as he’d been when he’d danced with her on the eve of the Second World War. Finally Clem joins them, accompanied by all the children he'd let go, a row of small sad faces looking out of the misty darkness.
“I'm sorry.” Tears run down into the mud, and Jack stops fighting to escape, the weight of guilt more crushing than the earth around him. “I'm so sorry.”
They all fall silent, watching impassively as the mud continues to rise, covering his mouth.
Finally as the mud covers all the top of his face Steven steps forwards. “Bye bye, granddad.”
The last thing Jack sees before the watery mud closes in over his face is Steven standing on the edge of the pit, slowly waving goodbye.
Gasping for air, tears running down his cheeks, Jack wakes to find himself in his bunk, the sheets tangled about him, covering his face.
Heart pounding, Jack frees himself. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, he tries to will his breathing back under control. His chest aches, the discomfort of the dream lingering into wakefulness.
It doesn't surprise him. Dreams of suffocation had been only too common an occurrence in the weeks after the devastation that Gray had wrought. He'd never had to wake from those nightmares alone though, Ianto having been his almost constant companion in the weeks and months that had followed.
Hunching forward, Jack covers his face with his hands, tears falling unchecked. His chest hurts as sobs start to shake him, breathing harsh and painful. It had been like that following Ianto and Steven's deaths, the grief had felt like a physical ache, and some days it had been all he could do to even get out of bed and eat. Without Gwen and Rhys support he's not entirely sure he'd have even bothered with the eating part.
Eventually the tears stop and Jack wipes his eyes. Going back to sleep doesn't seem like a viable option, and wandering the ship at night is just likely to raise questions about what he's doing awake so late, the fact that it's obvious that he has been crying isn't likely to make anyone less curious. So after a moments thought, Jack gets book out of his minimal luggage to try an distract himself, and waits for morning to come.
* * *
The morning passes slowly, the work of moving, sorting and repackaging cargo, seeming heavier, hotter and more tedious than ever, and by lunch time Jack is considering asking to be excused the afternoon shift.
Jack can feel the dull throb of a headache starting to build as he makes his way to the breakroom. Lunch, whatever it is, doesn't hold much appeal, but Jack knows he should at least get something to drink – allowing himself to get dehydrated definitely isn't going to help him feel any better.
Sitting down next to Owen and Tosh, who are already part way through their meal, Jack asks, “Where's Ianto?” It seems strange for him not to be there; Jack can't remember a break time on the Ariadne when Ianto wasn't sat with Owen and Tosh.
“Don't know,” Owen replies. “He turned up for breakfast, and went off to work with Pol on some inventory thing, haven't seen him since. Probably just lost track of time.”
Jack frowns. He hopes that Ianto hasn't started avoiding him again, the momentary awkwardness of the previous night hardly seem to be enough to warrant it. Frowning seems to make his headache worse, and Jack stops, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve some of the ache.
“Are you alright?” Tosh asks, looking at Jack with a concerned expression. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
“I'm fine,” Jack says a little offhandedly, the headache, tiredness and lack of appetite suddenly making a horrible kind of sense. He's sick. All of Owen's reassurances of the previous night about how cross species infection is rare enough to be negligible, especially with the very limited contact that they’d had with the Meridian Star, suddenly seems to count for nothing.
“I'm fine,” Jack repeats, getting up, jarring the table as he does so. “I just need to find Ianto.”
There are too many places on the ship that Ianto could be, but Jack decides to try the most obvious option, Ianto's cabin, first.
Although not far, Jack feels rather out of breath by the time he knocks on the door to Ianto's cabin. After a moment, and when there is no answer, he knocks again, louder and more insistent, deciding that if Ianto doesn't open the door soon he's just going to let himself in.
The door opens fractionally. Ianto looks through the gap at him, before asking somewhat irritably, “Is there something you want?”
“I wanted to see if you were okay.” Ianto doesn't look alright. He looks pale, a pinched look around his eyes suggesting pain. Jack takes a deep breath, the ache of last night seeming to become more pronounced again. “You're not though, are you?”
“It's a headache, that's all. Now if you don't mind I like to be left alone.” Ianto starts to close his door.
“This is important, so don't lie to me.” Jack pushes his way into Ianto's room. “Now what's wrong?”
"Alright, fine, I get migraines, a few a year," Ianto says irritably, trying to shove Jack back out of the door. "What I need is some industrial strength painkillers, a dark room, and for you to stop bothering me."
Jack catches hold of Ianto's arm. He's sure his own headache is starting to feel worse, the dull throb which has been building all morning now punctuated by sharp stabs of pain. It only serves to intensify the fear that they've both caught something on the crumbling liner. Something which, if it's able to affect him, could potentially kill Ianto. "You need to see Owen right now. I can't lose you."
Slapping Jack's hand, Ianto pushes him against the wall. "For the last time I'm not yours to lose. You're not my partner, and the way you're behaving right now I'm not even sure I want you as a friend. Now leave me alone."
Jack takes a step back, realising that he's gone too far. He wants to tell Ianto that he didn't mean it like that, that he's just worried, but no words come out, as a cough shakes him, and then another. Struggling to get a breath in, Jack braces a hand against the wall, the other pressed against his chest trying to relieve the growing ache.
The coughing slowly subsides leaving Jack feeling weak and drained. Jack wipes a hand across his mouth. He is aware that Ianto is looking at him with a concerned expression on his face.
"Jack?" Ianto's voice seems to be coming through a fog. "...blood."
Jack looks down to see a smear of red on his hand. "Oh." His hand seems to swim in and out of focus, the rushing noise in his ears getting worse as his vision starts to grey out. He has the brief impression of Ianto stepping forward to catch him as his legs give way before everything goes dark.
* * *
Jack slowly opens his eyes, the ache in his head intensifying as he tried to look around.
“Where's Ianto?” It comes out as a hoarse croak, his throat feeling sore.
“In his room, where he's hopefully managing to get some rest,” Owen says sounding somewhere between irritated and concerned. “I had to pretty much drag him back there you know, he didn't want to leave you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah well, he's soft like. He told me you'd been hassling him, wouldn't believe him about migraines.” Owen looks less than pleased. “Well I can tell you he's telling the truth, not that it's any of your business, so you can stop making his life harder than it already is.”
Jack closes his eyes again. His head hurts, while his chest feels like something heavy is sitting on it. It's unpleasant and more than a little disconcerting, as he doesn't know what could be causing it.
“I'm grateful for you coming to get me and Tosh, I really am, but that don't mean you get to take our Jack's place.”
“I don't want to.” Jack tries opening his eyes again, but the light hurts, and he closes them again.
Owen makes a concerned noise, and dims the lights. “Alright, lets find out what's wrong with you, so I can tell Ianto he's worrying about nothing.”
Jack nods slowly, everything aching.
“Okay, first things first, how long have you been sick?”
Thinking makes his head ache worse, and Jack says, “This morning, I think.”
“You think?” Owen grumbles. “Have you eaten, drunk, or breathed in anything you think could have done this?”
“I don't know. I don't think so.” Jack drags in another slow breath. He wonders if it could be poison. In a way he hopes that it is; being poisoned he understands. Only this doesn't feel like any poison he's come into contact with before, and he asks, “Do you think I've got what killed the crew of the Meridian Star?”
“Your immortal, we're not and you're the only one that's sick, so I wouldn't have thought so,” Owen says. “I've had to tell Celesti about this, you being sick that is, not the you can’t die part, just in case it is.” Owen gets out a data slate. “She wants a full report. Apparently if it's anything contagious we'll have to put the ship into quarantine until everybody been clear for a week before we're allowed to dock or teleport anywhere.”
“I don't want to feel like this any long than can be helped either, believe me.” Jack shivers, feeling achy and miserable.
“You're running a bit of a temperature.” Owen says putting his hand on Jack's forehead. “Can’t tell you how much of one as I can’t find a thermometer, but I’m going with a degree or two over.”
“Feels hard to breath.”
Owen frowns. “Could be a chest infection, I can't tell where the blood came from, there wasn't much of it any way. I might just have been from your throat from coughing too hard.”
“I don't get sick.” Jack says. The mechanics of how he's sick at all suddenly seeming much more of a problem than actually being ill. “I mean never. Either it's something minor and I never catch it, or it's something that's deadly straight away, and I die and come back healed. I really don't get sick.”
“Okay,” Owen says placatingly. “Look, being as I don't know what you've got until I run some tests, I'll take your word for it. You'll probably have healed up what ever this is by the time I get the results back. In the meantime I'm going to give you some painkillers, and you're going to take them and make sure you drink enough so you don't get dehydrated, and get some rest.”
Jack wants to argue, but there really isn't any point in doing so – it's not going make the test results appear any quicker, or make him feel any better.
The painkillers do help, the ache in his head and chest falling back to barely noticeable levels. With most of the discomfort gone the tiredness that he's been fighting all day wins out, and Jack falls into an exhausted sleep.
Part five.
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Date: 2011-07-07 11:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-08 08:25 am (UTC)