A sort of homecoming

[silver_sun]

Title: A sort of homecoming.
Rating: pg13 
Warnings: Vague nongraphic mentions of past abuse.
Spoilers: Last few minutes of Last of the Timelords and first few minutes of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.
Summary: The year that never was is over, but the memories still remain.

Sequel to Mind Games.  

Saluting, Jack turns and walks away.

Behind him he can hear them talking, their tone amused and disbelieving. He has no idea what the Doctor and Martha think is so absurd, nor can he find it within himself to care. The fact that they are laughing at him rather than with him is all he needs to know, to confirm to him that his decision to walk away had been the right one.

Stepping onto the invisible lift and out of sight he allows the pretence to drop and the fake smile fade. It sickens him to think that after all they have been through, after all they have suffered, after what he has suffered, that they can laugh about him behind his back, and that they don’t even bother to wait for him to leave before they do so.

He closes his eyes as the lift descends, and wonders how their laugher can cut so deeply into the numbness he’s worn like armour for so much of this past year.

What has he ever done to the Doctor to deserve such treatment? He’s died for him, he gave his life for him back when he had only had the one life to give, and he’d done it willingly and out of love.

So why is he still treated as less than the man, the monster, who'd ordered the death of millions, and who danced and laughed while the Earth burnt? Why he is still less in the Doctor’s eyes than a man who kept him chained like an animal, and who’d tortured and abused him for his own sick amusement?

He has no answers, or at least none that provide any comfort.

The Doctor had praise for Martha, and Jack doesn't, and never will, begrudge her a second of it. She came back for them, for both of them, and she had made sure that he had not been left behind, not this time, and for that he will always be grateful.

But it hurt that still there had been nothing for him. Not a sorry, not a thank you, not a hug or even a handshake. Nothing to say that the Doctor even remotely cared what he'd suffered, not an ounce of gratitude shown for all that Jack had done for him, nor any comfort given.

It had been the Doctor’s tears and grief both when Saxon died, and later when he’d burnt the monster’s body, that had been more than Jack could bear, and the reason that he could no longer travel with the man who had once meant so very much to him.

Stepping from the lift and into a deserted and silent Hub, Jack looks frantically around, panic building as he looks for some sign that his team, his stupid, wonderful and so very human team, who, even in the face of death, had never given up on him, and who never will, have survived.

He can’t tell. Some things are out of place, but there is nothing to say that they had survived Saxon or their trip to the Himalayas, nothing to say that he’ll ever see them alive again.

The hope of seeing them again, knowing that they wouldn’t ever willingly abandon him, that they cared, had been a lifeline that he’d clung to during those dark days that had followed Saxon’s attack on his mind and the horrific things that he’d been shown.

The thought he may never see them again is almost too awful to comprehend. He knows that one day he will lose them, all of them falling pray to the unstoppable passage of time and that’s terrifying enough. But to never have the chance to say goodbye, to know that their last memories of him will that of him abandoning them, is more than he can bear.

It feels like a lump lead in his chest, pressing down on his heart, cold and burning it threatens to crush the life from him. His hands clutch to his throat, he can't breathe or rather there doesn't seem to be any air in the room no matter how hard he tries to fill his lungs, it feels like his heart is trying to beat it's way out of his chest.

Light headed and fearful at what is happening to him he manages to stumble the few steps to his office, nearly falling down the ladder into his room.

Lying curled on his bed Jack’s not sure how much time passes until he feels able to breathe easier, for the feeling of complete and utter dread to ebb to a general state of uneasiness.

Still a little unsteady on his feet, Jack makes his way to his small bathroom and runs a sink of cold water. Splashing it over his face, he tries to compose himself, to calm himself.

It’s with wet and trembling fingers that he opens his vortex manipulator and checks its connection with the Hub’s computer, checks the details for the last login. The last as it turns out is a scant three hours ago, when Ianto Jones accessed the central database and printed off information about six different species of semi aquatic aliens.

Jack sags against the sink, head resting on the cold glass of the mirror above it. He’s trembling again, this time though it’s with relief. They are alive, and he finds himself smiling the first genuine smile he had since before this whole nightmare started.

His relief is short lived though as he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror.

The face that looks back at him is the same face that he’s worn for over a hundred and forty years, and it shows nothing of what he’s been through. Only his eyes are older, haunted now by more suffering than any one person should ever have to bear, they stare back at him blank and broken.

He punches the mirror before he even realises what he’s doing, the glass shattering, leaving his reflection as broken and fragmented as he feels. But it’s not enough, it never going to be enough and he hits the mirror again, striking it indiscriminately until it’s surface is a crazed mess that shows nothing and his hand is streaming with blood, knuckles torn and broken.

Holding his injured hand to his chest Jack sinks to the floor, angry and scared both by his own memories and this sudden outburst of rage. He watches dumbly as his hand repairs itself, the skin knitting back together, bones realigning, until there is no damage left, the pain not quite real.

It’s only the knowledge, fear, that his team could come back at any moment and find him that eventually stirs Jack to move. He can’t let his team see him like this, he can’t face their questions, their disappointment in him or worse yet their pity. He can barely face what has happened to him, never mind having to explain it to them.

Disposing of his blood stained shirt and trousers he selects a set of clothes that’s the best match he can find for the ones he was wearing on the day he left.

Pulling on his coat he smiles grimly, it’s either that or breakdown again. He’ll meet them on his own terms, make big entrance, smile, dredge up a few racy stories and improbable situations, tell a joke or two and he’s sure that they’ll take him back with open arms and as few questions asked as possible.

He doesn’t want to lie to them, but he knows that there’s no way can’t talk about it, not yet, he’s just not ready. Anyway they need him to lead them, to tell than what to do, he’s sure of that, and he can’t do that if he allows himself to be a nervous weeping wreck in front of them.

It’s better this way, he tells himself as he exits the Hub, heading for the location of the team’s SUV. After all he’s only lying to protect them, and it’s not like it’s a real lie, it’s just being economical with the truth, he’s certain he can live with that.

Reaching his destination, Jack stands outside a house in a quiet suburban neighbourhood listening to the raised voices of his team and the alien they are trying to capture, within. Then, smiling what he hopes is his most convincing smile he steps inside, ready to face his team and save the day, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if he can convince them that nothing’s wrong and he’s fine, that one day he might just be able to convince himself.

---

Authors note:

I know the Doctor is portrayed in a pretty bad light in this, but this fic is from Jack’s point of view and he’s really not in the best frame of mind about anything that's going on. So in short I’m not bashing the Doctor, as I do get why he acted the way he did, it just that I’m not sure that Jack would have seen it like that at the time.

Also a random observation, what Jack is wearing at the End of End of Days is what he is wearing when he catches a lift on the TARDIS in Utopia, however what he is wearing at the end of Last of the Timelords is not what he is wearing when he turns up in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.

So is this just one of the many continuity errors or was it deliberate and is meant to imply that there was a gap between Jack leaving the Doctor and rejoining his team.

 

Comments

[kahtyasofia.livejournal.com]

What you can do is go to this journal called Ianto's Desktop. http://community.livejournal.com/iantos_desktop/

It was someone's labor of love to pull ALL of the extra material for the first two seasons and put them in one place. You can read the logs and see everything else that was viewable for each episode.

This is the master list for the fic written for the blog for S1
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And this is for S2
http://kahtyasofia.livejournal.com/36778.html

However, both sets of stories are up at AO3 and the coding is much cleaner there and it's easier to link to each story if you want to see it there.
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