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d8rkmessngrAuthor: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: The events talked here are controversial. I do not condone them, support them. Writing this does not say I do. Note that "the Year That Never Was" was suggested that it wasn't fun. I took it as a challenge to somehow still find a way to instill comfort in it. If it didn't work, I'm sorry. I suck. LOL.
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: strong language, dark, angsty, VIOLENCE, torture (mostly implied, all a matter of reader interpretation), euthanasia
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are events here that was referenced in DW's "The Sound of Drums", TW's "Greeks Bearing Gifts" and "End of Days"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32, Ch 33, Ch 34, Ch 35, Ch 36 Ch 37, Ch 38, Ch 39 1/7, Ch 39 2/7,
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 39 "The Year That Never Was 2.0"
Act III
Valiant
Month Five Ver. 1
As Francine walked, she watched. Carefully, so no one knew she was watching. Down the halls, around the turns and past the stony faces guarding the doors, Francine observed what she could, even if she didn't understand it most of the time.
The scent of tea, red blushing apples and roast chicken on her rolling cart wafted past her and Francine felt a twinge when she saw some of the looks as she walked by. Not on her, though. On her cart. While everyone on the Valiant ate reasonably better than poor Jack's cold swede or the rest of the world below, none of them had seen a fresh apple in a very long time.
When she entered the bridge, she caught sight of Tish and like before, Francine wanted to call out to her daughter but she didn't dare.
"Ooh, ooh, Master, she brings eats. She brings eats!"
God, it was those bloody Toclafane again. Three of them hovered high on the bridge like floating chandeliers.
"One comes, the other goes," one of them giggled as Francine walked past her daughter on her right.
Tish shot Francine a look, relief blooming in her eyes when she sighted her mother. Francine drank in every detail of Tish's face and took comfort in the fact that there didn't seem to be a mark on her. It was the same everyday, because this was all they'd seen of one another. Besides the scraps of torn fabric with notes scribbled with a stolen pen tucked in a hole Clive dug out under their bunk, there was no other contact. Saxon made very sure their shifts never overlapped.
Francine wanted to take her daughter into her arms because she couldn't with Martha or Leo but all she could do was nod a little to tell her that the pieces of metal Tish had hidden had been passed along. Like before, the scraps had been smuggled behind a water closet, in the compartment loosely concealed by a piece of tile Tosh pried out from the grout. Francine took them, dropped the pieces in Clive's mop bucket and hurried quickly to the kitchen without looking like she was hurrying.
There was a responding tip of Tish's chin and an innocuous dip of her eyes that looked like defeat—Saxon loved that—and she walked by Francine with a hard glint in her eyes. Francine hadn't seen such a light since Martha had escaped from this bridge months ago with Tosh's friends.
"Bye-bye! Bye-bye!" One of the globes squealed before all three lowered to hover by the large table. "Much to do! Blood to clean!"
Not for the first time, Francine cursed the Doctor for putting that light in her girls, yet she admitted if it weren't for that determined gleam burning inside, Martha surely would have perished by now.
Saxon waved a hand, shooing the Toclafane away from his head. He looked annoyed at the interruption. "…or maybe Canada?" the Master finished. "Where could she be heading?"
Saxon was seated once again in front of the tent, ignoring the Toclafane, swinging left and right in a fashion that reminded her of how Leo used to spin in Clive's chair when he was four. He sighted Francine and snapped his fingers towards the large table.
The tent was made of burlap now because in a fit of rage, Saxon had accidentally burnt down the previous tent with the Doctor still inside. There had been an odd look of panic streaked across the Master's face when he saw the Doctor was too weak to crawl out on his own. Saxon had practically dove in, dragging the Doctor out, getting his own hair singed and his sleeves scorched, in the process.
"…narrowly escaped Japan. Oh, you taught your Companion well, Doctor. Slippery creature."
Another Toclafane bounced madly in the air. "Hide and seek!"
Francine hesitated at the mention of the Doctor's Companion as she set the lunch down on the table. Martha's name was tossed around like the devil's name and even though it brought shivers down her back at the thought of Saxon hunting her, a part inside her cheered at the news Martha had slipped away again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Doctor sitting inside his hovel, legs crossed. His brown eyes were fixed, unflinching, on the Master's face.
"Still trying?" Saxon chuckled. He stooped his head to peer into the tent but he didn't try to approach. "It won't work, you know. The satellites transmit, but they don't receive. The network is closed to you. It's been encrypted."
The Doctor remained silent, but his eyes tracked Saxon like jewels glittering out of the dark.
"Oh, fruitless plan, Doctor," the Master hummed. "What would break your hearts first? Will it be the Toclafane or the faith fading from your Companions' eyes?"
The Toclafane giggled madly and zipped up the bridge.
The Master tilted his head. "All your plans…"
"Clever, clever Time Lord," the obsidian orbs chorused. "Not clever enough!"
Saxon tugged at his suit sleeves. The oily smile he wore, slipped and his eyes glazed over.
"We were a bright race, weren't we? Clever, but arrogant. We burned in the pyres of our own making. We vowed not to interfere yet we embraced the Daleks and burned with them all in the name of futile sacrifice. And the universe never knew. We became myth. Legend!"
The Master stared past the tent. "And now we're the only two left." His smile returned. "And yet we fight. Does that ever make sense?" He leaned forward and rolled his chair closer.
"You train your Children of Time for war, for death. Hadn't you seen enough death when you witnessed two great civilizations go down in flames? And now you'll doom all those who would ally with you the same horrible fate? For shame, Doctor."
"For shame," the Toclafane echoed.
God, Francine wanted to crash her cart into the little monsters.
Francine swallowed as she folded the napkin into triangles. The last maid, poor girl of twenty, was killed when she neglected that detail. Francine set two plates down for husband and wife.
"She's still alive, you know. Your last warrior," Saxon breathed. He leapt off his chair. It spun wildly until one of the maids grabbed it. The Toclafane trailed behind him like tin cans tied to a car.
Saxon pranced up the steps to the upper level of the bridge and the navigation controls. His voice boomed like a carnival emcee.
"Out of the destruction of the Fuji Mountains to a fisherman’s boat." Saxon slapped his hands on the banister. "Very resourceful this one." The Master drummed loudly on the bridge consoles as he rocked on his heels. The young man on the monitor kept his head down.
"All those little ships floating away from destruction. Still sailing even weeks out in the ocean. Poor souls." The Master tsked. He tapped at the monitor as he loomed over the youth, who jumped.
"Fish, fish, we go fish! We will—"
"Enough," Saxon warned and the globes silenced, their erratic movements subdued. They cowered into a cluster behind the main console.
"I want to see that part of the sea," Saxon ordered breathlessly. "Grid Fourteen." He snorted in annoyance. "No, no, no. Point it this way."
Francine bit her lower lip as the young man, a boy of Leo's age, stammered as he programmed the satellites to maneuver towards where Saxon wanted. She stole a glance towards the tent and saw the calm face the Doctor wore. The Doctor raised his eyes towards her and winked several times.
Francine took a deep breath and slowly released it. She muttered the sets of winks to herself so she wouldn't forget.
"Hm, which one?" the Master mused out loud. "So many little boats. Oh, I'll just pick one. B five."
"S-sir?"
Saxon leaned in and rapped on the glass. "There, there. That one!"
She'll be all right, Francine told herself. Her eyes burned as she arranged the dishes and utensils at the head of the table. She'll be fine. Martha constantly slipped under Saxon's radar with an ease that unnerved her. Toshiko confided in her that Torchwood wasn't with Martha as everyone had originally thought. So Martha, her little girl, was out there alone like her son and his family.
"No, no, no. Where are you pointing that satellite?"
"S-sorry, sir. They won't lock on properly."
Francine checked left and right before she slipped the tiny salad fork into her sleeve.
"Bah, stellar drift as usual. Just degrees, small but a nuisance! There are some things in the universe you can't control, I suppose."
"Mr. Master will control all," one Toclafane cooed and the others merely bounced in place in agreement around the navigation controls.
Francine eyed the knife she'd just set on the table. Its sharp edge glinted in the light. Her fingers reached for it, tips brushing the cool silver, but then she caught movement in the tent.
The Doctor gazed at her steadily. His eyes drifted to her hand. He shook his head slowly.
Anger flared and she glowered at him at first, her fingers still on the knife. But the Doctor just kept staring at her, his eyes unblinking and Francine found her hand retracting despite herself.
Brown eyes softened. There was a small nod and the Doctor retreated back deeper into the tent.
There was a screech from the upper levels. Francine started. She clasped her hands together so the fork wouldn't slide out of her sleeve.
"Oh! B5! I sank her battleship!" The Master laughed. He clapped once then bounded down the stairs. He dropped into his seat and rolled it back in front of the tent.
"Bits and pieces!" the Toclafane cheered as they spun madly around the young man on the bridge. Francine could see the youth trembling even from where she was. The Toclafane zipped away when Saxon waved them off, blinking out of existence with a suddenness that made Francine shake.
"Do you think I got her this time, Doctor?" Saxon rapped his fingers on his armrest. "No, maybe not." His fingers pause. "But no matter." Saxon's smile stretched like a Cheshire cat. “I’d much rather watch her face when she realizes it was all for nothing before I spill her blood."
Francine stared at the Doctor hidden in the shadows. There was a small smile on his lips as if he knew a secret no one else knew. Francine swallowed and turned away. The smile bothered her; she thought it skirted too close to the edge of Saxon's madness. She clutched both sides of her apron so her hands wouldn't shake. Francine stood back as Saxon swiveled his seat to face his lunch.
The fingers prancing on the table were slow and non-stop. Saxon drank his tea as the fingers on his other hand danced in place.
"When will it stop, Doctor?" the Master murmured, his eyes not really seeing the food set before him. He spun back sharply in his seat to face the Doctor.
"When will it stop, Doctor?" Saxon demanded, louder. His teacup sloshed in his fist. "Can you tell me?"
Francine shuffled away to wipe the rest of the table as she tried for another glimpse of the Doctor.
"You have nothing to say, Doctor?" Saxon sneered. "No words—Ah, except for…those words."
Silence.
Francine could see the other maids fidget nervously.
"You'll talk to me sooner or later," the Master scolded as he picked up an apple. It crunched with one bite. Saxon dabbed his napkin at the corner of his mouth, took another bite then tossed the remains into a bin with a lazy arc across the air.
"Maybe you would like to visit your old friend, perhaps?" Saxon whispered. He licked his lips.
A shadow inside the tent stirred.
"It's been a few weeks, hasn't it?"
Francine averted her eyes. She scrubbed hard at a crack on the table. Blood had embedded itself into the exposed wood months ago. Francine concentrated on it as Saxon sank into his seat.
"All you have to do is talk to me, answer my question," Saxon coaxed. "And I'll grant you five minutes." His voice twisted and Francine squeezed her eyes shut. "Longer if you wish." The Master snickered. "I'll even throw in some Viagra, old man, if you want to do more than visit."
There was a brief shuffle of sound and the dirty trainers that peeked out into the light disappeared.
"Ten minutes," Saxon bargained. His chair rotated him back around towards the Doctor. Some of the maids shrank back against the walls. His chair coasted all the way to the tent until his shoes were within the opening of the ragged shelter.
"Ten minutes and I promise you don't have to watch this time." Saxon leaned in, his voice dropping to a thin whisper. Whatever was said, however, sounded more like a threat.
Saxon scoffed and faced the table again.
"When will it stop?" the Master repeated. "The drumming?"
Harsh from disuse, the answer came out as a disembodied voice from the tent.
"It won't. Not on the path you're taking."
The answer hung between them.
Saxon studied his lunch then the other place setting. He sat there, his face giving away nothing. He pursed his lips and picked up his napkin. He unfolded it and draped it across his lap.
Then, without warning, Saxon swept his arm across the table. Plates, cups shattered with the single strike. Everything flew to the left of him, scarcely missing the maid shaking by the wall.
Francine tensed when Saxon leapt to his feet with a roar and stalked over to the tent. A maid sobbed. A guard flinched. She stared at the knife on the floor, by her feet, sharp and as shiny as salvation. Right there. All she needed to do was take it.
"Master?"
The door opening and the voice bordering on urgency and fear pivoted Saxon around just before he could pull his foot back.
"What?" the Master snarled.
"It-it is Lady Saxon, sir."
Clive winced when he got too close to an abrupt burst of steam. His only reaction, however, was just a flinch and a louder slopping of his mop.
"Miss Tosh," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes darted to the gate. The guards, bored, were talking and banging their rifles at the fences, as their conversation grew more animated. "They will be checking on both of us again soon."
A pert round rear in a black maid's outfit wiggled in response.
Jones, stop looking you old fart, Clive thought as he mopped furiously until his elbows ached.
Tosh, crouched down by the main steam pipe that carried all the water, was steady as she held the orange tipped metal shard to the small sheets of metal and wiring everyone had collected. One half was wrapped with a rag to protect her fingers from the heat, but Clive caught a hiss or two.
There was a spark every so often. The Asian woman made a face as she shied away from the metal she had superheated on the exposed wiring. It sizzled on contact when it touched the smuggled scraps, curving the patchwork of metal into a long cylinder.
"What I wouldn't give for a blowtorch right now," she muttered, "or a number three wire cutter."
Clive snorted quietly. "What I wouldn't give to wrap my hands around the Master's scrawny neck."
There was a quiet chuckle by his feet. "I think there's quite a queue for that."
"Yeah, well, let's see who gets to him first," Clive muttered. He craned his head carefully over the large pipe where Tosh was crouched behind.
"What are you making?"
There was a pause before Miss Tosh replied.
"Not quite sure." She tilted her head as she considered the rod in her hand. "There's only so much he could tell me, and the plans were crude, but whatever it'll be…" Her smile was dazzling.
"I'm sure it'll be fantastic."
Clive stared at her hunched back for a moment. He smiled as well although it felt like it didn't fit his face. There hadn't been many reasons to these days.
"Good old Doctor, eh?" Clive muttered.
Miss Tosh nodded. She flashed him a smirk before she went back to her work. After a moment, she lifted her head and added.
"Still, a blowtorch would have been nice, though."
When Lucy came to in her chambers, her first thought was perhaps she had opened too many canisters, absorbed too much of the time vortex leeched out of that filthy creature, but then she felt an ache that shouldn't exist in her belly.
"No," Lucy whispered. Her hand flew to her stomach. Her eyes burned. It wasn't fair.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Harry's calm voice drew her eyes to her right. Her Harry sat on a chair pulled up close to their bed in their private chambers. Harry's face revealed nothing.
Lucy stared at her husband and swallowed.
"Was it a boy or girl?"
There was a flare of something in his eyes.
"Boy or girl?" Lucy pressed.
"Why should it matter?" Harry returned. He sat down on the edge of their bed. "The child's dead."
His flat voice sent goose bumps running down her back. Lucy averted her eyes.
"I wanted to give you a child," Lucy whispered.
The sigh hurt more than the callous words. “Our DNA sequences are not compatible. There's not even enough—"
"I am your wife!" Lucy twisted around. She gripped Harry's hand. "I'm not…I'm not just a companion. I'm the only one who can do this for you! Harry, you said I came back for you!"
Harry stopped trying to pull away. He looked at her with eyes older than the Doctor's. He captured both her hands and pulled them to his mouth.
"Ah, Lucy." His lips lingered on her ring finger. "I am sorry, dear. I have forgotten. Forgive me."
"I came back for you," Lucy whimpered as she watched Harry kiss each knuckle with a gentleness he hadn't shown her since he had regained his Companion. Lucy shuffled over and rested her head on his thigh. She felt his fingers gingerly touching her hair.
"When will the rockets be finished?" Lucy asked. She felt his fingers pausing just over her ear.
"Half a year more." Harry scoffed. "No matter how I try to speed things along, it will still take a year. Some things are beyond even me."
"Seven more months," Lucy said. Her eyelids were growing heavy. "Plenty of time to try again."
Harry bent and kissed her temple. "Human biology can not sustain such stress." A finger twirled a strand of her hair and gave it a painful tug that brought tears to her eyes. "The damage the fetus could inflict on its mother is fatal. The healing a human body must constantly yield to compensate—"
"Perhaps a son beside you to rule your Empire," Lucy continued. She pressed her cheek into his thigh. The fine wool, ironed to a crisp, almost sharp line, scraped against her face.
"Or a daughter?" Lucy murmured. "She would be a princess of the universe." Her fingers dug into his leg until she realized she could feel muscle twitching beneath her, but Harry never complained.
"Don't go back to him," Lucy whispered after a moment. She felt Harry's hands loosely grasp a fist of her hair. She kept it long because her Master said it complimented her. "Harry, he's poison."
"He is power," Harry murmured. "You tasted it. Did you not see all of time and space in that one shiny moment?" His hands went slack and Lucy almost wished he would snatch her hair. Anything was better than the dead weight settled on her head, forgotten as if she was furniture.
"There are other ways. The canisters—"
"Are not the same." Harry petted her hair absently. "I told you. It's the difference between drinking wine from a paper cup or a glass, my sweet Lucy. The vortex in its purest form."
Lucy closed her eyes. "He has corrupted you," Lucy whispered. "You said once he was wrong. Now he has changed you, infected me, killed our ba—Harry!"
Lucy cried out when Harry's fist curled and yanked hard enough that she felt blood trickle down her cheek like tears. Harry leapt to his feet and paced before he stopped at the foot of the bed to study her with cool eyes, a stranger's eyes.
"Don't," Lucy said as she sat up, heedless of the burning on her scalp, the blood trailing a line to her cheek. "Please…promise me you won't go to him." She crawled shakily to the foot of the bed and grabbed the corner of his suit. "You said I came back for you."
Harry gave her a look of pity. "That wasn't you. You're not her." Harry bent over and freed his jacket from her weak grasp. "I will have them send your meals up to this room." He cupped her face and kissed both her cheeks. "Rest, child."
"Harry," Lucy whimpered. "I'm sorry."
A knuckle brushed under her right eye. It wiped the blood away, smearing it across her cheek.
"Alas, sweet Lucy," Harry sighed. "You are but only human."
And Harry left, the door shutting with a quiet click, the promise Lucy asked him unanswered.
If he breathed slowly, Jack discovered, it didn't hurt as much. He was not as aware of the bruised, heated pains throbbing deep in his body. Breathing slowly meant his arms didn't ache as much. Saxon had loosened the chains for some reason. So breathe slowly, gotcha. The slower, the better.
"Did I ever tell you about the time I dated a mermaid? Had to learn to kiss underwater. Great practice for lung capacity," Jack rasped. He struggled to smile. His tongue flicked across his teeth and tasted blood. "Well, not really a mermaid, but she had gills and the sexiest pair of fins this side of the Andros Galaxy. S-she was a resident of post ice age Teracer, an aquatic, amph—Amph…"
Tiny pricks of pain bolted down his lower back, down the back of his thighs, his calves, and distracted him. Jack gritted his teeth. He thought he could feel his skin, torn from barbed whips, slowly stitching back together. Jack exhaled sharply through his teeth.
"Amphibian?" Someone suggested in a smooth, calming almost lyrical voice. The syllables rolled over his skin like a caress. "You're telling me you dated a non-existent, aquatic creature?"
It was a relief to hear a response even if it meant Jack was just going insane. He closed his eyes.
"Not non-existent," Jack protested half-heartedly. "Teracer was mostly water after their ice caps completely melted. Took them nine generations, but the people of Teracer…evolved."
"Hm…explains why you were so adverse to sushi when Owen suggested it on Guy Fawkes Day."
The chuckle came out wet, garbled.
"More adverse to food poisoning," Jack groaned. "Owen has a bad record of choosing a place for lunch." Jack barked out an airless laugh before reopening his eyes again. Jack blinked.
"Well," Jack breathed. He tried to talk with a swollen mouth. "Insanity does have its advantages."
Ianto stood in the same UNIT uniform as before with only one difference: a red beret, tilted rakishly to the right.
There was a sigh with no air and Ianto jumped up to sit on the horizontal rows of pipe again. When one joint burst into steam, Ianto didn't even grimace.
"I suppose," Ianto declared in a dry voice, "I should be grateful this is the limit to your imagination." Ianto readjusted his cap. "Thought I'd be here with just the cap and my favorite tie."
Jack frowned. "I don't know what your favorite tie is," Jack coughed. There were a lot of things he didn't really know, Jack realized. At the time, Jack thought it was all for noble reasons.
"Sorry, I meant your favorite tie."
"The last thing I want to do is get…enthusiastic with my delusions." Jack grimaced as he rounded back his shoulders. "Don't want to give the Master the wrong impression."
"I suspect it wouldn't matter if you even spit in his eye, he would still get the wrong impression."
The laugh coming out was cut short into a gasp of pain. Jack lifted his gaze up high above the door on the concrete. Jack took a steadying breath and returned his attention back to the apparition.
"I'm not a ghost," Ianto chided. He folded his arms across his chest. He pursed his lips.
"No," Jack agreed. "You're not. You're alive out there. This…this is just a projection s-stymied from psychological mental exhaustion."
Ianto rolled his eyes and briefly disappeared behind a veil of steam that whistled out of a pipe.
"Show off."
Jack tried to chuckle, but spat out blood instead. He was careful not to get any on the tarp. Saxon's men were taking it to Tosh soon to be cleaned. It hadn't been washed since the Doctor was last here in…in…how long ago was it?
"A little…techno-babble doesn't h-hurt anyone," Jack managed out before his body jerked in a coughing fit. Jack gritted his teeth until the need to vomit subsided.
Ianto's eyes crinkled and they almost looked like they glistened.
"Come on, don't look like that," Jack groaned. "If I'm hallucinating you, shouldn't you be doing something more…uplifting?"
"And if I'm not a hallucination?"
"All hallucinations say that," Jack scoffed breathlessly.
"Point." Ianto stood up. "So my purpose here is entertainment, then?"
Jack wasn't positive. His eyes cleared a little and he studied Ianto.
"I'm not sure what you're here for," Jack murmured as he watched Ianto walk over to Jack, his boots silent on the splattered tarp.
"Perhaps I should do a song and dance?" Ianto suggested lightly.
Oh God, it hurt to laugh, but it burst out unbidden and for a second, the room went completely dark and he couldn't breathe. When it was light again, Jack looked blearily at Ianto.
"Don't 'ake me l-laugh," Jack wheezed. "I h-heard a'out you with Tosh on k-karaoke night."
How was it possible, Jack wondered, that a hallucination could blush? But there was Ianto, his ears red, a flush creeping up his translucent cheeks. But there was no protest. Ianto just stared at Jack, wide-eyed, with his mouth clammed shut.
"What?" Jack managed.
"I-I'm afraid to say anything now," Ianto whispered. "I thought you said I couldn't do stand-up."
"You're 'ull of surprises," Jack struggled to say, wondering that it felt necessary to school a reassuring smile on his face. "Or may'e I just s-still have my 'ense of humor."
"Ah yes, because I'm your hallucination and all."
Jack nodded. It was too hard to speak all the time—Wait, if Ianto was a hallucination, why did Jack need to speak at all?
Ianto scoffed as if in agreement. He stood in front of Jack, arms across this chest. He looked like he was hovering over the tarp and it felt too much like foreshadowing that Jack needed to look away.
"I'm not dead," Ianto scolded.
"I know," Jack whispered. He stared at a pipe that snaked upstairs. Blood stained one rusty pipe elbow. Huh. Nearly two meters.
"Must be a new record," Jack murmured and tore his gaze away, his throat working.
"I thought you weren't going to speak?"
Jack thought so, too, but the hisses and sighs of smoke all around him was drowning Ianto out. Talking filled his ears with something else.
Ianto exhaled quietly and edged closer to Jack.
"I wish I could touch you," Ianto whispered. His hand hovered by Jack's cheek.
Me too, Jack mourned. Jack closed his eyes and remembered how warm Ianto was against him before, how the scratchy texture of his stubble felt, how smooth and unlined his forehead felt when Jack kissed him there, the way Ianto's face would tilt up trustingly to let him. Jack's mouth parted and he imagined a warm forehead against his lips, unflawed and yet Jack could feel Ianto's brow furrowing under his touch because his beautiful Ianto was constantly feeling, constantly thinking.
"You should have let me stay, you bastard," Ianto said, his voice trembling. "I didn't want to go."
Jack's eyes flew open. He stared hard at Ianto's face and tried to ignore the fact that he could see the door through him.
"No," Jack rasped. "I don't want him near you."
"He doesn't scare me," Ianto declared in that young, unsteady bravado that reminded Jack of a boy announcing that he was no longer scared of the dark.
"He scares me," Jack whispered because even he had to admit to himself that he was alone with no one really here to hear his confession.
"The thought of you being even in the same universe with him scares me," Jack forced out to a face that even in his delirium, was too young, too mortal and vulnerable in flesh if not soul.
"Jack," Ianto's voice cracked. "I'm coming back for you."
Jack's cracked lips twisted into a humorless smile. Why was he telling himself this, Jack wondered.
"No, you won't," Jack told Ianto. "You can't."
"Don't tell me what I can or can not do, Jack Harkness," Ianto seethed.
"You can't be here." The conversation was getting ridiculous. "I…I need to know you're out there," Jack whispered. Ianto blurred and the hazy image unnerved him.
"Please," Jack pleaded, his voice cracking. "I need to know there's something good still out there." He took as deep a breath as his body would allow.
Ianto stared at him. His eyes lowered. He sniffed.
"I want to be here."
"I know. It's enough," Jack said, suddenly not feeling strange at all talking to shapes of air and light molded into torment. "This," Jack whispered, "is enough."
Ianto's smile was small and fragile. His eyes told a different story. "Mm…so you say."
"As my hallucination," Jack asked with a weary smirk, "shouldn't you be agreeing with me?"
"Delusion's prerogative."
Torchwood Three, Cardiff
Ianto jerked awake at the sense of Jack's lips brushing across his forehead. So real, it was like he could feel Jack's body pressed hot against his skin.
There was a moment when all he could do was blink in the darkest of darkness. There wasn't a single light to remind him of his whereabouts, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder, a slender one over his mouth, the sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his back and the god-awful hum beyond the darkness he knew all too well.
Toclafane.
Gwen's hand curled over his mouth warned him to keep silent; Owen's cool hand gripping his right shoulder bade him to stay still.
It was dark, Ianto realized, because they powered everything down. It was hot because they were hiding in Jack's quarters now doubling as their quarters, down the hatchway, under his desk that was moved over to cover the manhole.
It rarely happened that a Toclafane accidentally floated into the tunnels, but it happened enough times for them to watch out for it every time something echoed in the archives larger than a rodent.
Torchwood was left relatively intact. Those under Saxon's command had ransacked Torchwood, stripped them of weapons and any metal that wasn't bolted down. But the seal over the rift was unmolested. There were some things even an insane, dictatorial Time Lord wouldn't tamper with.
They weren't left with much, but they were all determined to make it enough.
Ianto could feel Gwen and Owen hunch over the bunk he'd laid down for a moment. The humming signature of the Toclafane sounded closer. Their exhales were muted and slow as they paced their breathing with the mechanical whine above them.
There was a moment when Gwen's hand curled too painfully around his mouth and they could hear the Toclafane directly above them. Her fingers dug into the fleshy part of his jaw but thankfully didn't draw blood. Ianto laid stock-still on the camp bed. Why, why, why did he agree to take a shift of sleep? Ianto felt exposed despite the two bodies bent over him and the key still cool against his throat. His weapons were tucked under a pillow, but felt so out of reach.
When he felt Gwen's hair brush against his cheek like a stroking finger, there was a mad fear that the Toclafane would hear, but their senses, despite what looked like more advanced technology, seemed limited like a human. They didn't like the cold and didn't see well in the dark, either.
It reminded him of a sniffing dog when Ianto caught the reflection of blinking lights passing the small spot Jack's table couldn't cover. The tiny light zipped in and out.
Circling, Ianto realized. Judging how everyone was so tensed, he wasn't alone in his assessment.
After a few more moments of humming, long enough that Ianto was about to scream just because his muscles were starting to shake, there was a whistle from afar and the Toclafane left the office.
They all waited until the humming was gone and even then, they still waited.
When Gwen finally pulled her hand away from his mouth, Ianto worked his jaw, shaping his mouth into a wide gaping airless yawn to work the soreness out.
Owen tapped both their noses with a finger before he climbed up the ladder, wiggled out from the tight space the desk allowed and crept out into the main area of the Hub.
Ianto felt Gwen hold his hand. He merely squeezed the cold fingers and exhaled slowly.
The darkness receded to a murky dimness of kerosene lamps, signaling the all clear.
Regardless, Owen was careful to pull Jack's desk away from the manhole with little noise. Ianto felt Gwen twitch next to him when wood scraped across the floor.
"They're gone," Owen reported tersely as he popped his head through the hatchway upside down.
"That was certainly an effective wake up call," Ianto said shakily as he sat up.
"It's only been forty minutes," Gwen offered as apology. "Do you want to get some more rest?"
"Honestly?" Ianto swung his feet around to the floor. "I'm wide awake now." Plus, Jack clung to his skin from sleeping on his narrow bed and from his dreams. Ianto couldn't bear the thought of seeing Jack again, not when it hurt so much waking up afterwards.
"A better start than coffee," Gwen agreed breathlessly. Her hands shook as she ascended the ladder behind Ianto.
Ianto scoffed carefully as he emerged from the hatchway, nearly bumping his head under the desk in the process.
"Nothing is better than coffee," Ianto pointed out. He reached down and pulled Gwen up.
"Oi," Owen hissed. He watched them climb up. "I thought you buried all possible ways in here."
It was directed at him. Ianto knew that, but he was too tired to care.
"There's still the route through the archives out to the sewers," Ianto reminded him. "I can't block that up. It's the only way for us to slip out unnoticed."
"I don't like jumping into bed with you every time we have a visitor," Owen muttered, but the rigid line across his shoulders eased a fraction.
If Jack was here, Ianto thought, there was something he would say about that, but he wasn't here and saying it would only remind Ianto of the acute loss. So Ianto just smiled weakly, knowing full well the gesture was lost in the murky light, and said nothing.
"Shoulder bothering you?" Owen gestured towards Ianto.
It was then that Ianto realized he was rubbing his thumb over the scar one rib down his right shoulder.
"Stiff," Ianto explained. He dropped his hand immediately.
"I would say put a warm compress over it," Owen grunted, "but I wouldn't dare boil the water with those bloody Toclafane buzzing about."
Ianto snorted then made his way to the couch in Jack's office. It didn't matter that they all virtually lived in here. It still felt like Jack's office. He was careful not to trip over the patchwork network of cables thick as his arm. They were welded into the rift manipulator like an extension cord.
Tosh's laptop along with Jack's computer survived Saxon's original attack. They sat on the floor, under cushions and mounds of paper to look like debris. God, this place needed a furious and thorough vacuuming, Ianto bemoaned as he pulled up on the screen the last thing he had been working on. He had detected a rudimentary signal, so archaic, it looked like Saxon had ignored it.
"Well?"
It was unnerving how everyone could walk so silently in the dark now. Ianto still jumped.
"No reports coming in about capturing Martha Jones," Ianto reported as he scanned what little documentation they could coax out of an overtaxed computer network on the Valiant.
"Tosh is better at this," Ianto sighed, his fingers curled over his shoulder again.
'"No shit, Jonesy," Owen quipped as he made his way to peer over Ianto's shoulder. "I would have gotten Saxon's blog by now."
Ianto glowered. "End of the world, hiding in the dark, you could at least stop slaughtering my name, Owen."
"Sorry, mate," Owen said, not sounding sorry at all. He straightened and clapped Ianto on his shoulder. The bad one. Bastard. If there was still coffee, he would salt it. "I'm off."
"I can go with you," Gwen offered.
"Medical personnel are only allowed to travel alone," Owen said. He could be heard flicking the hard, laminated id Gwen had made. "Only Dr. Frederick Gorman can do, love."
"I'll wear my key," Gwen pointed out.
Ianto kept his eyes on the dim screen. He swallowed at the plea barely hidden in Gwen's voice.
The click of a magazine locking into a gun was loud. Owen could be heard pulling his pant leg up to slip the gun into his boot.
"You need backup meeting these people," Gwen reasoned. "The plans for the rockets, we're the only ones with copies, if Saxon's people hear about them or catch anyone with the blueprints…you need backup."
"No offense, Cooper," Owen said, his words clipped, "you're not much backup if you're not there."
"Owen," Ianto finally spoke up when he heard Gwen take a step back.
"That's not fair," Gwen whispered. "It was one time. I needed to—"
"You needed to stay where you were and watch our backs," Owen snapped. It was still a sore subject. "Not swan off to go on a solo scavenger hunt."
"They said they had heard of someone with Rhys' description in the slave quarters by Roath—"
"You're not the only one looking for people, Cooper," Owen hissed.
Ianto fidgeted because he could feel both pairs of eyes on him.
"Oh, Ianto," Gwen whispered, her hand slipping over his shoulder. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I—"
"There have been reports of communications activity," Ianto interrupted. He was so sick of apologies. "The Toclafane haven't been able to breach the location." He tilted his head up. "It looks like it's coming from Colorado. NORAD to be more specific."
"In America?" Owen bent over Ianto again to squint at the screen. "Another band of resistance, you think?"
"There's no way to send the plans to them," Gwen fretted.
"No," Ianto agreed, "but I think they can help us in another way…"
Las Vegas, Nevada
Four days later…
The statue had confused her. The once serene face peered out of a mound of sand in a skeletal frame of green and white metal bleached from too many days out in the sun. Her torch clawed the sky from a few meters back, detached from her outstretched arm and also stripped of her metal.
Lady Liberty.
Or at least a facsimile of it.
Martha Jones remembered dimly the Doctor once telling her when they were in New New New—oh, she never could get it right—York, that in her century, a hotel was made with brilliant reconstructions of New York's landmarks. In smaller scale, of course, but no less 'fantastic and architecturally amusing' the Doctor once enthused.
Staring at the only thing marking where there ever was a hotel, Martha thought it only looked sad.
Damn Saxon.
Martha rounded back her shoulders. There was a huge slave quarters complex three miles east of the massive field of rockets. They reminded her of the pictures she once saw in school of the America's famed Redwood forests. Now, the area was a desert, like here. Building rockets required a lot of firewood as well as slaves apparently.
One hand rubbed the key inside her shirt. It itched unbearably under the layers of clothing she wore but she didn't dare take it off. She kept it close to her heart. It was the only thing she had left from the Doctor and the only thing keeping her safe.
"Martha Jones?"
Apparently not safe enough.
Martha spun around and blinked at a man who stood as tall as the Doctor but as broad as Jack Harkness. The man could have been a fine rugby player in his day and his smile put her at ease almost immediately. Almost. Martha took a step back.
"Damn, they were right," the man murmured as he squinted at her. He wore the dusty remains of what appeared to be a uniform. "I paid close attention and still missed you."
"They?" Martha echoed. "Who are you and how can you see me?"
"Sorry. Colonel O'Neill, Air Force—Well, when there was an Air Force." O'Neill gave her a sloppy salute. "Some friends from afar asked me to send you a message and any assistance you need."
Martha opened and shut her mouth. "Sorry," she managed. "Been a while since I had to carry on a conversation." Her eyes narrowed. "What friends?"
O'Neill wordlessly handed her a piece of paper. Martha unfolded the note, her fingers trembling as she scanned it.
KEEPING A KETTLE WARM 4 U STOP
LET US KNOW IF U FANCY A CUP STOP
Martha stared at the note, reread it twice. Her mouth curved into a smile.
"Brilliant."
Act IV
Additional Notes: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: The events talked here are controversial. I do not condone them, support them. Writing this does not say I do. Note that "the Year That Never Was" was suggested that it wasn't fun. I took it as a challenge to somehow still find a way to instill comfort in it. If it didn't work, I'm sorry. I suck. LOL.
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: strong language, dark, angsty, VIOLENCE, torture (mostly implied, all a matter of reader interpretation), euthanasia
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are events here that was referenced in DW's "The Sound of Drums", TW's "Greeks Bearing Gifts" and "End of Days"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32, Ch 33, Ch 34, Ch 35, Ch 36 Ch 37, Ch 38, Ch 39 1/7, Ch 39 2/7,
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 39 "The Year That Never Was 2.0"
Act III
Valiant
Month Five Ver. 1
As Francine walked, she watched. Carefully, so no one knew she was watching. Down the halls, around the turns and past the stony faces guarding the doors, Francine observed what she could, even if she didn't understand it most of the time.
The scent of tea, red blushing apples and roast chicken on her rolling cart wafted past her and Francine felt a twinge when she saw some of the looks as she walked by. Not on her, though. On her cart. While everyone on the Valiant ate reasonably better than poor Jack's cold swede or the rest of the world below, none of them had seen a fresh apple in a very long time.
When she entered the bridge, she caught sight of Tish and like before, Francine wanted to call out to her daughter but she didn't dare.
"Ooh, ooh, Master, she brings eats. She brings eats!"
God, it was those bloody Toclafane again. Three of them hovered high on the bridge like floating chandeliers.
"One comes, the other goes," one of them giggled as Francine walked past her daughter on her right.
Tish shot Francine a look, relief blooming in her eyes when she sighted her mother. Francine drank in every detail of Tish's face and took comfort in the fact that there didn't seem to be a mark on her. It was the same everyday, because this was all they'd seen of one another. Besides the scraps of torn fabric with notes scribbled with a stolen pen tucked in a hole Clive dug out under their bunk, there was no other contact. Saxon made very sure their shifts never overlapped.
Francine wanted to take her daughter into her arms because she couldn't with Martha or Leo but all she could do was nod a little to tell her that the pieces of metal Tish had hidden had been passed along. Like before, the scraps had been smuggled behind a water closet, in the compartment loosely concealed by a piece of tile Tosh pried out from the grout. Francine took them, dropped the pieces in Clive's mop bucket and hurried quickly to the kitchen without looking like she was hurrying.
There was a responding tip of Tish's chin and an innocuous dip of her eyes that looked like defeat—Saxon loved that—and she walked by Francine with a hard glint in her eyes. Francine hadn't seen such a light since Martha had escaped from this bridge months ago with Tosh's friends.
"Bye-bye! Bye-bye!" One of the globes squealed before all three lowered to hover by the large table. "Much to do! Blood to clean!"
Not for the first time, Francine cursed the Doctor for putting that light in her girls, yet she admitted if it weren't for that determined gleam burning inside, Martha surely would have perished by now.
Saxon waved a hand, shooing the Toclafane away from his head. He looked annoyed at the interruption. "…or maybe Canada?" the Master finished. "Where could she be heading?"
Saxon was seated once again in front of the tent, ignoring the Toclafane, swinging left and right in a fashion that reminded her of how Leo used to spin in Clive's chair when he was four. He sighted Francine and snapped his fingers towards the large table.
The tent was made of burlap now because in a fit of rage, Saxon had accidentally burnt down the previous tent with the Doctor still inside. There had been an odd look of panic streaked across the Master's face when he saw the Doctor was too weak to crawl out on his own. Saxon had practically dove in, dragging the Doctor out, getting his own hair singed and his sleeves scorched, in the process.
"…narrowly escaped Japan. Oh, you taught your Companion well, Doctor. Slippery creature."
Another Toclafane bounced madly in the air. "Hide and seek!"
Francine hesitated at the mention of the Doctor's Companion as she set the lunch down on the table. Martha's name was tossed around like the devil's name and even though it brought shivers down her back at the thought of Saxon hunting her, a part inside her cheered at the news Martha had slipped away again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Doctor sitting inside his hovel, legs crossed. His brown eyes were fixed, unflinching, on the Master's face.
"Still trying?" Saxon chuckled. He stooped his head to peer into the tent but he didn't try to approach. "It won't work, you know. The satellites transmit, but they don't receive. The network is closed to you. It's been encrypted."
The Doctor remained silent, but his eyes tracked Saxon like jewels glittering out of the dark.
"Oh, fruitless plan, Doctor," the Master hummed. "What would break your hearts first? Will it be the Toclafane or the faith fading from your Companions' eyes?"
The Toclafane giggled madly and zipped up the bridge.
The Master tilted his head. "All your plans…"
"Clever, clever Time Lord," the obsidian orbs chorused. "Not clever enough!"
Saxon tugged at his suit sleeves. The oily smile he wore, slipped and his eyes glazed over.
"We were a bright race, weren't we? Clever, but arrogant. We burned in the pyres of our own making. We vowed not to interfere yet we embraced the Daleks and burned with them all in the name of futile sacrifice. And the universe never knew. We became myth. Legend!"
The Master stared past the tent. "And now we're the only two left." His smile returned. "And yet we fight. Does that ever make sense?" He leaned forward and rolled his chair closer.
"You train your Children of Time for war, for death. Hadn't you seen enough death when you witnessed two great civilizations go down in flames? And now you'll doom all those who would ally with you the same horrible fate? For shame, Doctor."
"For shame," the Toclafane echoed.
God, Francine wanted to crash her cart into the little monsters.
Francine swallowed as she folded the napkin into triangles. The last maid, poor girl of twenty, was killed when she neglected that detail. Francine set two plates down for husband and wife.
"She's still alive, you know. Your last warrior," Saxon breathed. He leapt off his chair. It spun wildly until one of the maids grabbed it. The Toclafane trailed behind him like tin cans tied to a car.
Saxon pranced up the steps to the upper level of the bridge and the navigation controls. His voice boomed like a carnival emcee.
"Out of the destruction of the Fuji Mountains to a fisherman’s boat." Saxon slapped his hands on the banister. "Very resourceful this one." The Master drummed loudly on the bridge consoles as he rocked on his heels. The young man on the monitor kept his head down.
"All those little ships floating away from destruction. Still sailing even weeks out in the ocean. Poor souls." The Master tsked. He tapped at the monitor as he loomed over the youth, who jumped.
"Fish, fish, we go fish! We will—"
"Enough," Saxon warned and the globes silenced, their erratic movements subdued. They cowered into a cluster behind the main console.
"I want to see that part of the sea," Saxon ordered breathlessly. "Grid Fourteen." He snorted in annoyance. "No, no, no. Point it this way."
Francine bit her lower lip as the young man, a boy of Leo's age, stammered as he programmed the satellites to maneuver towards where Saxon wanted. She stole a glance towards the tent and saw the calm face the Doctor wore. The Doctor raised his eyes towards her and winked several times.
Francine took a deep breath and slowly released it. She muttered the sets of winks to herself so she wouldn't forget.
"Hm, which one?" the Master mused out loud. "So many little boats. Oh, I'll just pick one. B five."
"S-sir?"
Saxon leaned in and rapped on the glass. "There, there. That one!"
She'll be all right, Francine told herself. Her eyes burned as she arranged the dishes and utensils at the head of the table. She'll be fine. Martha constantly slipped under Saxon's radar with an ease that unnerved her. Toshiko confided in her that Torchwood wasn't with Martha as everyone had originally thought. So Martha, her little girl, was out there alone like her son and his family.
"No, no, no. Where are you pointing that satellite?"
"S-sorry, sir. They won't lock on properly."
Francine checked left and right before she slipped the tiny salad fork into her sleeve.
"Bah, stellar drift as usual. Just degrees, small but a nuisance! There are some things in the universe you can't control, I suppose."
"Mr. Master will control all," one Toclafane cooed and the others merely bounced in place in agreement around the navigation controls.
Francine eyed the knife she'd just set on the table. Its sharp edge glinted in the light. Her fingers reached for it, tips brushing the cool silver, but then she caught movement in the tent.
The Doctor gazed at her steadily. His eyes drifted to her hand. He shook his head slowly.
Anger flared and she glowered at him at first, her fingers still on the knife. But the Doctor just kept staring at her, his eyes unblinking and Francine found her hand retracting despite herself.
Brown eyes softened. There was a small nod and the Doctor retreated back deeper into the tent.
There was a screech from the upper levels. Francine started. She clasped her hands together so the fork wouldn't slide out of her sleeve.
"Oh! B5! I sank her battleship!" The Master laughed. He clapped once then bounded down the stairs. He dropped into his seat and rolled it back in front of the tent.
"Bits and pieces!" the Toclafane cheered as they spun madly around the young man on the bridge. Francine could see the youth trembling even from where she was. The Toclafane zipped away when Saxon waved them off, blinking out of existence with a suddenness that made Francine shake.
"Do you think I got her this time, Doctor?" Saxon rapped his fingers on his armrest. "No, maybe not." His fingers pause. "But no matter." Saxon's smile stretched like a Cheshire cat. “I’d much rather watch her face when she realizes it was all for nothing before I spill her blood."
Francine stared at the Doctor hidden in the shadows. There was a small smile on his lips as if he knew a secret no one else knew. Francine swallowed and turned away. The smile bothered her; she thought it skirted too close to the edge of Saxon's madness. She clutched both sides of her apron so her hands wouldn't shake. Francine stood back as Saxon swiveled his seat to face his lunch.
The fingers prancing on the table were slow and non-stop. Saxon drank his tea as the fingers on his other hand danced in place.
"When will it stop, Doctor?" the Master murmured, his eyes not really seeing the food set before him. He spun back sharply in his seat to face the Doctor.
"When will it stop, Doctor?" Saxon demanded, louder. His teacup sloshed in his fist. "Can you tell me?"
Francine shuffled away to wipe the rest of the table as she tried for another glimpse of the Doctor.
"You have nothing to say, Doctor?" Saxon sneered. "No words—Ah, except for…those words."
Silence.
Francine could see the other maids fidget nervously.
"You'll talk to me sooner or later," the Master scolded as he picked up an apple. It crunched with one bite. Saxon dabbed his napkin at the corner of his mouth, took another bite then tossed the remains into a bin with a lazy arc across the air.
"Maybe you would like to visit your old friend, perhaps?" Saxon whispered. He licked his lips.
A shadow inside the tent stirred.
"It's been a few weeks, hasn't it?"
Francine averted her eyes. She scrubbed hard at a crack on the table. Blood had embedded itself into the exposed wood months ago. Francine concentrated on it as Saxon sank into his seat.
"All you have to do is talk to me, answer my question," Saxon coaxed. "And I'll grant you five minutes." His voice twisted and Francine squeezed her eyes shut. "Longer if you wish." The Master snickered. "I'll even throw in some Viagra, old man, if you want to do more than visit."
There was a brief shuffle of sound and the dirty trainers that peeked out into the light disappeared.
"Ten minutes," Saxon bargained. His chair rotated him back around towards the Doctor. Some of the maids shrank back against the walls. His chair coasted all the way to the tent until his shoes were within the opening of the ragged shelter.
"Ten minutes and I promise you don't have to watch this time." Saxon leaned in, his voice dropping to a thin whisper. Whatever was said, however, sounded more like a threat.
Saxon scoffed and faced the table again.
"When will it stop?" the Master repeated. "The drumming?"
Harsh from disuse, the answer came out as a disembodied voice from the tent.
"It won't. Not on the path you're taking."
The answer hung between them.
Saxon studied his lunch then the other place setting. He sat there, his face giving away nothing. He pursed his lips and picked up his napkin. He unfolded it and draped it across his lap.
Then, without warning, Saxon swept his arm across the table. Plates, cups shattered with the single strike. Everything flew to the left of him, scarcely missing the maid shaking by the wall.
Francine tensed when Saxon leapt to his feet with a roar and stalked over to the tent. A maid sobbed. A guard flinched. She stared at the knife on the floor, by her feet, sharp and as shiny as salvation. Right there. All she needed to do was take it.
"Master?"
The door opening and the voice bordering on urgency and fear pivoted Saxon around just before he could pull his foot back.
"What?" the Master snarled.
"It-it is Lady Saxon, sir."
Clive winced when he got too close to an abrupt burst of steam. His only reaction, however, was just a flinch and a louder slopping of his mop.
"Miss Tosh," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes darted to the gate. The guards, bored, were talking and banging their rifles at the fences, as their conversation grew more animated. "They will be checking on both of us again soon."
A pert round rear in a black maid's outfit wiggled in response.
Jones, stop looking you old fart, Clive thought as he mopped furiously until his elbows ached.
Tosh, crouched down by the main steam pipe that carried all the water, was steady as she held the orange tipped metal shard to the small sheets of metal and wiring everyone had collected. One half was wrapped with a rag to protect her fingers from the heat, but Clive caught a hiss or two.
There was a spark every so often. The Asian woman made a face as she shied away from the metal she had superheated on the exposed wiring. It sizzled on contact when it touched the smuggled scraps, curving the patchwork of metal into a long cylinder.
"What I wouldn't give for a blowtorch right now," she muttered, "or a number three wire cutter."
Clive snorted quietly. "What I wouldn't give to wrap my hands around the Master's scrawny neck."
There was a quiet chuckle by his feet. "I think there's quite a queue for that."
"Yeah, well, let's see who gets to him first," Clive muttered. He craned his head carefully over the large pipe where Tosh was crouched behind.
"What are you making?"
There was a pause before Miss Tosh replied.
"Not quite sure." She tilted her head as she considered the rod in her hand. "There's only so much he could tell me, and the plans were crude, but whatever it'll be…" Her smile was dazzling.
"I'm sure it'll be fantastic."
Clive stared at her hunched back for a moment. He smiled as well although it felt like it didn't fit his face. There hadn't been many reasons to these days.
"Good old Doctor, eh?" Clive muttered.
Miss Tosh nodded. She flashed him a smirk before she went back to her work. After a moment, she lifted her head and added.
"Still, a blowtorch would have been nice, though."
When Lucy came to in her chambers, her first thought was perhaps she had opened too many canisters, absorbed too much of the time vortex leeched out of that filthy creature, but then she felt an ache that shouldn't exist in her belly.
"No," Lucy whispered. Her hand flew to her stomach. Her eyes burned. It wasn't fair.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Harry's calm voice drew her eyes to her right. Her Harry sat on a chair pulled up close to their bed in their private chambers. Harry's face revealed nothing.
Lucy stared at her husband and swallowed.
"Was it a boy or girl?"
There was a flare of something in his eyes.
"Boy or girl?" Lucy pressed.
"Why should it matter?" Harry returned. He sat down on the edge of their bed. "The child's dead."
His flat voice sent goose bumps running down her back. Lucy averted her eyes.
"I wanted to give you a child," Lucy whispered.
The sigh hurt more than the callous words. “Our DNA sequences are not compatible. There's not even enough—"
"I am your wife!" Lucy twisted around. She gripped Harry's hand. "I'm not…I'm not just a companion. I'm the only one who can do this for you! Harry, you said I came back for you!"
Harry stopped trying to pull away. He looked at her with eyes older than the Doctor's. He captured both her hands and pulled them to his mouth.
"Ah, Lucy." His lips lingered on her ring finger. "I am sorry, dear. I have forgotten. Forgive me."
"I came back for you," Lucy whimpered as she watched Harry kiss each knuckle with a gentleness he hadn't shown her since he had regained his Companion. Lucy shuffled over and rested her head on his thigh. She felt his fingers gingerly touching her hair.
"When will the rockets be finished?" Lucy asked. She felt his fingers pausing just over her ear.
"Half a year more." Harry scoffed. "No matter how I try to speed things along, it will still take a year. Some things are beyond even me."
"Seven more months," Lucy said. Her eyelids were growing heavy. "Plenty of time to try again."
Harry bent and kissed her temple. "Human biology can not sustain such stress." A finger twirled a strand of her hair and gave it a painful tug that brought tears to her eyes. "The damage the fetus could inflict on its mother is fatal. The healing a human body must constantly yield to compensate—"
"Perhaps a son beside you to rule your Empire," Lucy continued. She pressed her cheek into his thigh. The fine wool, ironed to a crisp, almost sharp line, scraped against her face.
"Or a daughter?" Lucy murmured. "She would be a princess of the universe." Her fingers dug into his leg until she realized she could feel muscle twitching beneath her, but Harry never complained.
"Don't go back to him," Lucy whispered after a moment. She felt Harry's hands loosely grasp a fist of her hair. She kept it long because her Master said it complimented her. "Harry, he's poison."
"He is power," Harry murmured. "You tasted it. Did you not see all of time and space in that one shiny moment?" His hands went slack and Lucy almost wished he would snatch her hair. Anything was better than the dead weight settled on her head, forgotten as if she was furniture.
"There are other ways. The canisters—"
"Are not the same." Harry petted her hair absently. "I told you. It's the difference between drinking wine from a paper cup or a glass, my sweet Lucy. The vortex in its purest form."
Lucy closed her eyes. "He has corrupted you," Lucy whispered. "You said once he was wrong. Now he has changed you, infected me, killed our ba—Harry!"
Lucy cried out when Harry's fist curled and yanked hard enough that she felt blood trickle down her cheek like tears. Harry leapt to his feet and paced before he stopped at the foot of the bed to study her with cool eyes, a stranger's eyes.
"Don't," Lucy said as she sat up, heedless of the burning on her scalp, the blood trailing a line to her cheek. "Please…promise me you won't go to him." She crawled shakily to the foot of the bed and grabbed the corner of his suit. "You said I came back for you."
Harry gave her a look of pity. "That wasn't you. You're not her." Harry bent over and freed his jacket from her weak grasp. "I will have them send your meals up to this room." He cupped her face and kissed both her cheeks. "Rest, child."
"Harry," Lucy whimpered. "I'm sorry."
A knuckle brushed under her right eye. It wiped the blood away, smearing it across her cheek.
"Alas, sweet Lucy," Harry sighed. "You are but only human."
And Harry left, the door shutting with a quiet click, the promise Lucy asked him unanswered.
If he breathed slowly, Jack discovered, it didn't hurt as much. He was not as aware of the bruised, heated pains throbbing deep in his body. Breathing slowly meant his arms didn't ache as much. Saxon had loosened the chains for some reason. So breathe slowly, gotcha. The slower, the better.
"Did I ever tell you about the time I dated a mermaid? Had to learn to kiss underwater. Great practice for lung capacity," Jack rasped. He struggled to smile. His tongue flicked across his teeth and tasted blood. "Well, not really a mermaid, but she had gills and the sexiest pair of fins this side of the Andros Galaxy. S-she was a resident of post ice age Teracer, an aquatic, amph—Amph…"
Tiny pricks of pain bolted down his lower back, down the back of his thighs, his calves, and distracted him. Jack gritted his teeth. He thought he could feel his skin, torn from barbed whips, slowly stitching back together. Jack exhaled sharply through his teeth.
"Amphibian?" Someone suggested in a smooth, calming almost lyrical voice. The syllables rolled over his skin like a caress. "You're telling me you dated a non-existent, aquatic creature?"
It was a relief to hear a response even if it meant Jack was just going insane. He closed his eyes.
"Not non-existent," Jack protested half-heartedly. "Teracer was mostly water after their ice caps completely melted. Took them nine generations, but the people of Teracer…evolved."
"Hm…explains why you were so adverse to sushi when Owen suggested it on Guy Fawkes Day."
The chuckle came out wet, garbled.
"More adverse to food poisoning," Jack groaned. "Owen has a bad record of choosing a place for lunch." Jack barked out an airless laugh before reopening his eyes again. Jack blinked.
"Well," Jack breathed. He tried to talk with a swollen mouth. "Insanity does have its advantages."
Ianto stood in the same UNIT uniform as before with only one difference: a red beret, tilted rakishly to the right.
There was a sigh with no air and Ianto jumped up to sit on the horizontal rows of pipe again. When one joint burst into steam, Ianto didn't even grimace.
"I suppose," Ianto declared in a dry voice, "I should be grateful this is the limit to your imagination." Ianto readjusted his cap. "Thought I'd be here with just the cap and my favorite tie."
Jack frowned. "I don't know what your favorite tie is," Jack coughed. There were a lot of things he didn't really know, Jack realized. At the time, Jack thought it was all for noble reasons.
"Sorry, I meant your favorite tie."
"The last thing I want to do is get…enthusiastic with my delusions." Jack grimaced as he rounded back his shoulders. "Don't want to give the Master the wrong impression."
"I suspect it wouldn't matter if you even spit in his eye, he would still get the wrong impression."
The laugh coming out was cut short into a gasp of pain. Jack lifted his gaze up high above the door on the concrete. Jack took a steadying breath and returned his attention back to the apparition.
"I'm not a ghost," Ianto chided. He folded his arms across his chest. He pursed his lips.
"No," Jack agreed. "You're not. You're alive out there. This…this is just a projection s-stymied from psychological mental exhaustion."
Ianto rolled his eyes and briefly disappeared behind a veil of steam that whistled out of a pipe.
"Show off."
Jack tried to chuckle, but spat out blood instead. He was careful not to get any on the tarp. Saxon's men were taking it to Tosh soon to be cleaned. It hadn't been washed since the Doctor was last here in…in…how long ago was it?
"A little…techno-babble doesn't h-hurt anyone," Jack managed out before his body jerked in a coughing fit. Jack gritted his teeth until the need to vomit subsided.
Ianto's eyes crinkled and they almost looked like they glistened.
"Come on, don't look like that," Jack groaned. "If I'm hallucinating you, shouldn't you be doing something more…uplifting?"
"And if I'm not a hallucination?"
"All hallucinations say that," Jack scoffed breathlessly.
"Point." Ianto stood up. "So my purpose here is entertainment, then?"
Jack wasn't positive. His eyes cleared a little and he studied Ianto.
"I'm not sure what you're here for," Jack murmured as he watched Ianto walk over to Jack, his boots silent on the splattered tarp.
"Perhaps I should do a song and dance?" Ianto suggested lightly.
Oh God, it hurt to laugh, but it burst out unbidden and for a second, the room went completely dark and he couldn't breathe. When it was light again, Jack looked blearily at Ianto.
"Don't 'ake me l-laugh," Jack wheezed. "I h-heard a'out you with Tosh on k-karaoke night."
How was it possible, Jack wondered, that a hallucination could blush? But there was Ianto, his ears red, a flush creeping up his translucent cheeks. But there was no protest. Ianto just stared at Jack, wide-eyed, with his mouth clammed shut.
"What?" Jack managed.
"I-I'm afraid to say anything now," Ianto whispered. "I thought you said I couldn't do stand-up."
"You're 'ull of surprises," Jack struggled to say, wondering that it felt necessary to school a reassuring smile on his face. "Or may'e I just s-still have my 'ense of humor."
"Ah yes, because I'm your hallucination and all."
Jack nodded. It was too hard to speak all the time—Wait, if Ianto was a hallucination, why did Jack need to speak at all?
Ianto scoffed as if in agreement. He stood in front of Jack, arms across this chest. He looked like he was hovering over the tarp and it felt too much like foreshadowing that Jack needed to look away.
"I'm not dead," Ianto scolded.
"I know," Jack whispered. He stared at a pipe that snaked upstairs. Blood stained one rusty pipe elbow. Huh. Nearly two meters.
"Must be a new record," Jack murmured and tore his gaze away, his throat working.
"I thought you weren't going to speak?"
Jack thought so, too, but the hisses and sighs of smoke all around him was drowning Ianto out. Talking filled his ears with something else.
Ianto exhaled quietly and edged closer to Jack.
"I wish I could touch you," Ianto whispered. His hand hovered by Jack's cheek.
Me too, Jack mourned. Jack closed his eyes and remembered how warm Ianto was against him before, how the scratchy texture of his stubble felt, how smooth and unlined his forehead felt when Jack kissed him there, the way Ianto's face would tilt up trustingly to let him. Jack's mouth parted and he imagined a warm forehead against his lips, unflawed and yet Jack could feel Ianto's brow furrowing under his touch because his beautiful Ianto was constantly feeling, constantly thinking.
"You should have let me stay, you bastard," Ianto said, his voice trembling. "I didn't want to go."
Jack's eyes flew open. He stared hard at Ianto's face and tried to ignore the fact that he could see the door through him.
"No," Jack rasped. "I don't want him near you."
"He doesn't scare me," Ianto declared in that young, unsteady bravado that reminded Jack of a boy announcing that he was no longer scared of the dark.
"He scares me," Jack whispered because even he had to admit to himself that he was alone with no one really here to hear his confession.
"The thought of you being even in the same universe with him scares me," Jack forced out to a face that even in his delirium, was too young, too mortal and vulnerable in flesh if not soul.
"Jack," Ianto's voice cracked. "I'm coming back for you."
Jack's cracked lips twisted into a humorless smile. Why was he telling himself this, Jack wondered.
"No, you won't," Jack told Ianto. "You can't."
"Don't tell me what I can or can not do, Jack Harkness," Ianto seethed.
"You can't be here." The conversation was getting ridiculous. "I…I need to know you're out there," Jack whispered. Ianto blurred and the hazy image unnerved him.
"Please," Jack pleaded, his voice cracking. "I need to know there's something good still out there." He took as deep a breath as his body would allow.
Ianto stared at him. His eyes lowered. He sniffed.
"I want to be here."
"I know. It's enough," Jack said, suddenly not feeling strange at all talking to shapes of air and light molded into torment. "This," Jack whispered, "is enough."
Ianto's smile was small and fragile. His eyes told a different story. "Mm…so you say."
"As my hallucination," Jack asked with a weary smirk, "shouldn't you be agreeing with me?"
"Delusion's prerogative."
Torchwood Three, Cardiff
Ianto jerked awake at the sense of Jack's lips brushing across his forehead. So real, it was like he could feel Jack's body pressed hot against his skin.
There was a moment when all he could do was blink in the darkest of darkness. There wasn't a single light to remind him of his whereabouts, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder, a slender one over his mouth, the sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his back and the god-awful hum beyond the darkness he knew all too well.
Toclafane.
Gwen's hand curled over his mouth warned him to keep silent; Owen's cool hand gripping his right shoulder bade him to stay still.
It was dark, Ianto realized, because they powered everything down. It was hot because they were hiding in Jack's quarters now doubling as their quarters, down the hatchway, under his desk that was moved over to cover the manhole.
It rarely happened that a Toclafane accidentally floated into the tunnels, but it happened enough times for them to watch out for it every time something echoed in the archives larger than a rodent.
Torchwood was left relatively intact. Those under Saxon's command had ransacked Torchwood, stripped them of weapons and any metal that wasn't bolted down. But the seal over the rift was unmolested. There were some things even an insane, dictatorial Time Lord wouldn't tamper with.
They weren't left with much, but they were all determined to make it enough.
Ianto could feel Gwen and Owen hunch over the bunk he'd laid down for a moment. The humming signature of the Toclafane sounded closer. Their exhales were muted and slow as they paced their breathing with the mechanical whine above them.
There was a moment when Gwen's hand curled too painfully around his mouth and they could hear the Toclafane directly above them. Her fingers dug into the fleshy part of his jaw but thankfully didn't draw blood. Ianto laid stock-still on the camp bed. Why, why, why did he agree to take a shift of sleep? Ianto felt exposed despite the two bodies bent over him and the key still cool against his throat. His weapons were tucked under a pillow, but felt so out of reach.
When he felt Gwen's hair brush against his cheek like a stroking finger, there was a mad fear that the Toclafane would hear, but their senses, despite what looked like more advanced technology, seemed limited like a human. They didn't like the cold and didn't see well in the dark, either.
It reminded him of a sniffing dog when Ianto caught the reflection of blinking lights passing the small spot Jack's table couldn't cover. The tiny light zipped in and out.
Circling, Ianto realized. Judging how everyone was so tensed, he wasn't alone in his assessment.
After a few more moments of humming, long enough that Ianto was about to scream just because his muscles were starting to shake, there was a whistle from afar and the Toclafane left the office.
They all waited until the humming was gone and even then, they still waited.
When Gwen finally pulled her hand away from his mouth, Ianto worked his jaw, shaping his mouth into a wide gaping airless yawn to work the soreness out.
Owen tapped both their noses with a finger before he climbed up the ladder, wiggled out from the tight space the desk allowed and crept out into the main area of the Hub.
Ianto felt Gwen hold his hand. He merely squeezed the cold fingers and exhaled slowly.
The darkness receded to a murky dimness of kerosene lamps, signaling the all clear.
Regardless, Owen was careful to pull Jack's desk away from the manhole with little noise. Ianto felt Gwen twitch next to him when wood scraped across the floor.
"They're gone," Owen reported tersely as he popped his head through the hatchway upside down.
"That was certainly an effective wake up call," Ianto said shakily as he sat up.
"It's only been forty minutes," Gwen offered as apology. "Do you want to get some more rest?"
"Honestly?" Ianto swung his feet around to the floor. "I'm wide awake now." Plus, Jack clung to his skin from sleeping on his narrow bed and from his dreams. Ianto couldn't bear the thought of seeing Jack again, not when it hurt so much waking up afterwards.
"A better start than coffee," Gwen agreed breathlessly. Her hands shook as she ascended the ladder behind Ianto.
Ianto scoffed carefully as he emerged from the hatchway, nearly bumping his head under the desk in the process.
"Nothing is better than coffee," Ianto pointed out. He reached down and pulled Gwen up.
"Oi," Owen hissed. He watched them climb up. "I thought you buried all possible ways in here."
It was directed at him. Ianto knew that, but he was too tired to care.
"There's still the route through the archives out to the sewers," Ianto reminded him. "I can't block that up. It's the only way for us to slip out unnoticed."
"I don't like jumping into bed with you every time we have a visitor," Owen muttered, but the rigid line across his shoulders eased a fraction.
If Jack was here, Ianto thought, there was something he would say about that, but he wasn't here and saying it would only remind Ianto of the acute loss. So Ianto just smiled weakly, knowing full well the gesture was lost in the murky light, and said nothing.
"Shoulder bothering you?" Owen gestured towards Ianto.
It was then that Ianto realized he was rubbing his thumb over the scar one rib down his right shoulder.
"Stiff," Ianto explained. He dropped his hand immediately.
"I would say put a warm compress over it," Owen grunted, "but I wouldn't dare boil the water with those bloody Toclafane buzzing about."
Ianto snorted then made his way to the couch in Jack's office. It didn't matter that they all virtually lived in here. It still felt like Jack's office. He was careful not to trip over the patchwork network of cables thick as his arm. They were welded into the rift manipulator like an extension cord.
Tosh's laptop along with Jack's computer survived Saxon's original attack. They sat on the floor, under cushions and mounds of paper to look like debris. God, this place needed a furious and thorough vacuuming, Ianto bemoaned as he pulled up on the screen the last thing he had been working on. He had detected a rudimentary signal, so archaic, it looked like Saxon had ignored it.
"Well?"
It was unnerving how everyone could walk so silently in the dark now. Ianto still jumped.
"No reports coming in about capturing Martha Jones," Ianto reported as he scanned what little documentation they could coax out of an overtaxed computer network on the Valiant.
"Tosh is better at this," Ianto sighed, his fingers curled over his shoulder again.
'"No shit, Jonesy," Owen quipped as he made his way to peer over Ianto's shoulder. "I would have gotten Saxon's blog by now."
Ianto glowered. "End of the world, hiding in the dark, you could at least stop slaughtering my name, Owen."
"Sorry, mate," Owen said, not sounding sorry at all. He straightened and clapped Ianto on his shoulder. The bad one. Bastard. If there was still coffee, he would salt it. "I'm off."
"I can go with you," Gwen offered.
"Medical personnel are only allowed to travel alone," Owen said. He could be heard flicking the hard, laminated id Gwen had made. "Only Dr. Frederick Gorman can do, love."
"I'll wear my key," Gwen pointed out.
Ianto kept his eyes on the dim screen. He swallowed at the plea barely hidden in Gwen's voice.
The click of a magazine locking into a gun was loud. Owen could be heard pulling his pant leg up to slip the gun into his boot.
"You need backup meeting these people," Gwen reasoned. "The plans for the rockets, we're the only ones with copies, if Saxon's people hear about them or catch anyone with the blueprints…you need backup."
"No offense, Cooper," Owen said, his words clipped, "you're not much backup if you're not there."
"Owen," Ianto finally spoke up when he heard Gwen take a step back.
"That's not fair," Gwen whispered. "It was one time. I needed to—"
"You needed to stay where you were and watch our backs," Owen snapped. It was still a sore subject. "Not swan off to go on a solo scavenger hunt."
"They said they had heard of someone with Rhys' description in the slave quarters by Roath—"
"You're not the only one looking for people, Cooper," Owen hissed.
Ianto fidgeted because he could feel both pairs of eyes on him.
"Oh, Ianto," Gwen whispered, her hand slipping over his shoulder. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I—"
"There have been reports of communications activity," Ianto interrupted. He was so sick of apologies. "The Toclafane haven't been able to breach the location." He tilted his head up. "It looks like it's coming from Colorado. NORAD to be more specific."
"In America?" Owen bent over Ianto again to squint at the screen. "Another band of resistance, you think?"
"There's no way to send the plans to them," Gwen fretted.
"No," Ianto agreed, "but I think they can help us in another way…"
Las Vegas, Nevada
Four days later…
The statue had confused her. The once serene face peered out of a mound of sand in a skeletal frame of green and white metal bleached from too many days out in the sun. Her torch clawed the sky from a few meters back, detached from her outstretched arm and also stripped of her metal.
Lady Liberty.
Or at least a facsimile of it.
Martha Jones remembered dimly the Doctor once telling her when they were in New New New—oh, she never could get it right—York, that in her century, a hotel was made with brilliant reconstructions of New York's landmarks. In smaller scale, of course, but no less 'fantastic and architecturally amusing' the Doctor once enthused.
Staring at the only thing marking where there ever was a hotel, Martha thought it only looked sad.
Damn Saxon.
Martha rounded back her shoulders. There was a huge slave quarters complex three miles east of the massive field of rockets. They reminded her of the pictures she once saw in school of the America's famed Redwood forests. Now, the area was a desert, like here. Building rockets required a lot of firewood as well as slaves apparently.
One hand rubbed the key inside her shirt. It itched unbearably under the layers of clothing she wore but she didn't dare take it off. She kept it close to her heart. It was the only thing she had left from the Doctor and the only thing keeping her safe.
"Martha Jones?"
Apparently not safe enough.
Martha spun around and blinked at a man who stood as tall as the Doctor but as broad as Jack Harkness. The man could have been a fine rugby player in his day and his smile put her at ease almost immediately. Almost. Martha took a step back.
"Damn, they were right," the man murmured as he squinted at her. He wore the dusty remains of what appeared to be a uniform. "I paid close attention and still missed you."
"They?" Martha echoed. "Who are you and how can you see me?"
"Sorry. Colonel O'Neill, Air Force—Well, when there was an Air Force." O'Neill gave her a sloppy salute. "Some friends from afar asked me to send you a message and any assistance you need."
Martha opened and shut her mouth. "Sorry," she managed. "Been a while since I had to carry on a conversation." Her eyes narrowed. "What friends?"
O'Neill wordlessly handed her a piece of paper. Martha unfolded the note, her fingers trembling as she scanned it.
KEEPING A KETTLE WARM 4 U STOP
LET US KNOW IF U FANCY A CUP STOP
Martha stared at the note, reread it twice. Her mouth curved into a smile.
"Brilliant."
Act IV
Additional Notes: Many thanks to
soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2008-11-11 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 01:55 am (UTC):) It was a cameo, was curious who would catch that.
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Date: 2008-11-11 01:49 am (UTC)And the Jack/Ianto interaction...
Also, what happened about lost kitty?
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Date: 2008-11-11 01:55 am (UTC)Sightings, couple of teenagers prank called number to either meow or ask if the reward will get any higher soon. -sigh-
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:01 am (UTC)I like all the little interactions you put into this between the different characters. The Master's obsession with the Doctor and how Lucy, no matter how much she loves the Master, will never be enough for him, b/c she is not a Time Lord or the one who went forward in time to bring him back. Francine and the Doctor's relationship is also nicely fraught. It's nice to see that even she is not handling all this well.
Ianto and Jack are, of course, fantastic and I'm intrigued by the hallucination thing they have going on. And wow. The fragility of the Three, especially Gwen. Owen's slapdown of her is so in character.
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:09 am (UTC)Don't get 'overly excited'. LOL. It was just a nod, a wink. It was an old fandom favorite of mine after Star Trek so it was nice to revisit. I was tempted to put Teal'c in there but thought, "Nah...too complicated." ;)
The fragility of the Three, especially Gwen. Owen's slapdown of her is so in character.
Thanks. While they are back in TW, things weren't easy and I needed to show while Gwen takes over in season 2 as team leader during Jack's absense, she needed to learn some hard truth first...
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:01 am (UTC)Oh my god that scared the shit out of me. XD *tugs Lucy away from Jack* No. You may not put a baby in him.
The Doctor's letting them talk isn't he? I'm trying very hard to be clever.
So sorry to hear about the kitty, I've been thinking about him all weekend.
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:11 am (UTC)Hmmmm....you know, I hadn't consider that option...:D
So sorry to hear about the kitty, I've been thinking about him all weekend.
Thanks. -sigh- I wallowed long enough though. Back to posting and praying for the best...
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:29 am (UTC)It lovely, all of it, the reference to Gwen looking for Rhys and Ianto's shoulder hurting, and Jack hallucinating Ianto in a UNIT cap.
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Date: 2008-11-11 03:24 am (UTC)Just a cameo. I needed a name. ;)
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:37 am (UTC)I love it all. I can't wait for the next part.
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Date: 2008-11-11 03:26 am (UTC)Hee.
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 03:00 am (UTC)I love Jack (Harkness)'s hallucination of Ianto taking place at roughly the same time Ianto's dreaming of Jack. I love snarky bastard Owen and the thought of the three of them huddling in Jacks bed waiting for the Toclafane to go away is kind of lolacious, even if that scene is absolutely terrifying in context. The thought of Gwen going looking for Rhys is a bit heartbreaking. Lucy really is growing a character with complex motivations, isn't she? Her obsession with the Master very perfectly mirrors the cravings the Master has for Jack. The 'battleship' scene was beyond creepy. And what the hell is Tosh building?
I can't wait for more! Sorry to heaar about kitty, I hope he comes back soon.
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Date: 2008-11-11 03:28 am (UTC)Lucy has evolved far beyond my own expectations, too. :)
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Date: 2008-11-11 03:04 am (UTC)Oh gods *feels sick* Lucy really has lost the plot hasn't she. Well if she ever actually had it in the first place but I can't help but feel sorry for her loosing the baby :(
Hehehe O'Neill. Daniel Jackson would be good in this Gawd could you imagine O'Neill and Owen together. Snark central. Even Teal'c would have his patience tested *giggles*
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Date: 2008-11-11 03:29 am (UTC)Loosing the baby was the final straw I think. Lucy thought a baby would have been her last chance to regain her footing with Saxon.
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Date: 2008-11-11 04:42 am (UTC)'God, I miss the telly. Still it's nice having a radio and soon things will be back to normal.' Owen leaned back in his chair, happy that that the long battle was over.
*vrrroooommm*
'Excuse me Owen, but can you pick up your feet please?'
'Ianto, what the hell are you doing? It's a time to celebrate.'
'I'm cleaning. God, this place needs a furious and thorough vacuuming so move your feet.'
*vrrroooommm*
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Date: 2008-11-11 04:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 05:38 am (UTC)Hmm...
The Ianto/Jack connection... I'll take "Arcateen crystal" for 500, please!
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:52 pm (UTC)But Owen's wearing the crystal/now perception filter.
-pinky to mouth in a very Austin Powers smirk-
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Date: 2008-11-11 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 02:53 pm (UTC)Me too!
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Date: 2008-11-11 10:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 02:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 01:13 pm (UTC)Love the SG1 reference hehe, and sorry to hear about your cat, he'll come back eventually though. We had a cat flap so our cats could go out whenever they pleased but I still worried whenever they didn't come back, though they always eventually returned.
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Date: 2008-11-11 02:54 pm (UTC)-fingers crossed- Thanks.
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Date: 2008-11-11 05:29 pm (UTC)I can't wait for more of this!
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Date: 2008-11-11 06:30 pm (UTC)Those two will always find a way to find each other. :)
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Date: 2008-11-11 07:06 pm (UTC)Long, but good! :) I love this story. And I love how Jack's hallucinations are a sort of comforting insanity. *pets*
And yay for ArmyRank!Jack of any fandom.
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Date: 2008-11-11 07:41 pm (UTC)Yup! :)
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Date: 2008-11-11 10:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-11 10:38 pm (UTC)Thank you. He's not a kitten tho, he's an overgrown furball who SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER!
-whew- Well, that helped. :)
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Date: 2008-11-12 10:27 am (UTC)I've just returned from 2 months wandering in the wilderness (read: overseas with no internet) and it is just indescribably comforting to have it back. Your website was my first port of call (after mailbox) - I've missed Stormverse terribly. And so much has happened! I must tell you that the hours I spent catching up, were some of the happiest hours I've ever spent on the internet. God, I love this story. In his suffering and his endurance, Jack is truly heroic. Ianto breaks my heart. Alone, and together - they are just so damn beautiful. Your Owen and Tosh are brilliant and remind me off what we've lost. I've never seen DW, but your description of the Master, his wife and their Toclafane infested distopia is crazy creepy. I'm especially fascinated by Lucy's desperate devotion to the Master, and the tragic madness of it all - an grotesque mirror to Ianto perhaps?
P/S: I can't believe I came back on the second to last chapter - that's just *grr*!
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Date: 2008-11-12 03:57 pm (UTC)Two months no internet? -shudder- I can barely tolerate three HOURS! LOL.
Welcome back. So glad you're enjoying the fic. Yes, it's hard to believe we're almost done. :)
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Date: 2008-11-13 08:02 pm (UTC)I got to this chapter and I was like... but where the next one..? Then I realized I finished. Which was a weird feeling considering how much I was reading it.
Uhg.
I can't wait for the next part.
^^
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Date: 2008-11-13 10:03 pm (UTC)Wow! Do you feel dizzy yet from the small print? I was from writing it! LOL
I can't wait for the next part.
well, one more act was place up after this part, another on Saturday, then just 2 more acts before the showdown episode and epilogue. I'm expecting/hopiing to get this all posted before Thanksgiving! :)
Thank you for giving this story a chance!
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Date: 2008-11-20 06:00 pm (UTC)Loved the SG reference!
I can see the Toclofane haveing trouble getting in to NORAD. That place is a fortress.
They are using morse code! it's a telegram!
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Date: 2008-11-20 07:15 pm (UTC)There wwas a documentary somewhere that mentioned morse code lines and cb radio towers still exist out there, never tsken down because it cost too much money. I went "hmmm"., LOL. So the idea wasn't original, I'm afraid. They're out there. :)
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Date: 2008-11-26 09:54 pm (UTC)I haven't reviewed before, but I've been spending the past few days (read: week) reading TOS, and it's absolutely amazing. You've done a great job with characterization, and I'm very impressed by the complexity of this AU. I think plotting it out would have broken my brain, but you seem to be handling it very deftly. Great job!
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Date: 2008-11-27 12:52 am (UTC)Thank you! I did take copious amount of notes, and outline like crazy. Still get confused though. LOL
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Date: 2008-12-04 06:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-04 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-01 10:20 pm (UTC)