fallout

Jan. 12th, 2009 01:23 pm
more_flexible: (Angst: Giving In)
The wily hunter trotted through Bohemia with a small velvet corpse in her mouth. Her person hadn't been feeding her as much and she'd taken to hunting for herself now that she had sharp teeth and claws. She had taken to hunting for him as well when he was home. He had been home for a long time (for him) and there was a growing pile of gifts on the floor next to the hammock. He was a big man and two voles, three mice, a large beetle, a small snake and this new bit of vermin would make a nice meal for him.

Jack didn't notice Dulcita or her efforts to feed him. He'd been laying in the hammock since he had gotten done with the ITF. He'd been fine the day before, all strength and calm in the wake of Tosh and Jackson vanishing. He'd been a rock for Ianto as he'd been for the Doctor when Gwen vanished and for Logan when Cutter was gone. He'd been fine all night and all morning as he pushed himself hard, past the point of thought. But then he came home and he knew he wasn't fine. People came back, it was a fact of this place. Sarah Jane had gone and returned. Wilson had come and gone a few times. There was always a chance, he knew, that people could come back. Yeah, sure, they'd be different and not recall what had happened before, but they'd be here. Gwen might come back. Owen could return. Tosh might show up again.

But Jackson wouldn't. Jackson had been born here to two people from specific points when they broke from their timelines. Even if Tosh and Owen returned, the boy would always be gone. He was a victim of time and place. Jack wondered if, perhaps, he had remained with Tosh, if she was maybe in some alternate plane from what the reels showed. It was a nice thought, but he didn't think it was the way things went. Not here.

That was when he stopped being fine and started being stoned. He lay in his hammock with the shell on his chest, joints tucked into his breast pocket, and a lighter laying on his stomach. The air was hot and Jack was disappointed that he'd fallen back into this. It had been months. Months with some very hard losses, yet he'd soldiered on. He had been better. He had been fine. It wasn't until the little boy with his name who had only learned to walk and talk was gone that the fractures broke apart. He had until Wednesday to pull himself back together. By the next session of drills, he'd be fine again. All he needed was a little time, a lot of pot...and apparently a pile of carcasses from the cat that had climbed the steps and added another to the pile.
more_flexible: (Come Undone)
It was one thing to find someone gone after the fact. It was another thing to witness it happen, like Aziraphale and Crowley. And then there was this morning.

He'd been in bed, sore and tired and used in the best ways. They had been sleeping close, but only because the bed was small. Certainly not because there was trust being rebuilt one punch at a time. Not because something deeper was growing with every brutal kiss. Jack had woken with the first gray light and looked at John sleeping for a while, then curled his arm to bring him closer. He'd closed his eyes and leaned down to kiss him, to get him to wake up, to catch him in that brief moment before he was a Time Agent and was only a man. A wife.

But his lips met nothing but air. The weight of the man was gone from his body. Jack's eyes flew open and he looked around, hoping it had just been a trick. Hoping John had bolted from the bed. His heart all but stopped when he realized the coat was gone, that badge he wore proudly to denote he was a god among Agents. His guns were gone, the cold intimacy of death in a holster. His things, his body, and then Jack laid back down. His scent was gone from the pillow and the blood that had dotted the sheets and the floor were gone, too.

Jack realized suddenly just what a mercy it had been for the Agency to wipe those last memories...and laid still next to the vacant reminder of just how cruel the island was.

He had no clue how long he'd laid next to a body that no longer filled the space before he got up and dressed and started to run. There was nowhere to run to, as the Doctor was fond of pointing out, but he had to go. He had to get away.

He wasn't even entirely sure he could go back to his hut. Not to have it be empty and quiet once again.
more_flexible: (Jack/Ianto Profile)
It was dark and he could still tell that he was still feeling awfully truthful. If he dawdled long enough, Greg would be asleep and that would be one conversation he didn't want to have avoided. Instead, he followed the lights and the boardwalk to Ianto's. He'd had a thought while he was biding his time and it kept building until he had to say it. And he had to say it to the man. He'd already tried just telling a tree.

He knocked lightly and then turned to sit on the top step. He was nothing but patient...he'd be fine waiting all night, actually. It'd mean he wasn't at home.

[for Ianto]

Mar. 8th, 2008 08:06 pm
more_flexible: (Come Undone)
In the end, it had been quiet. It had just ended. After days of being unable to do a damn thing but be there, smile, hold her, be strong for them all, after days of that, Mimi was gone.

Jack had yet to move. He sat in the corner of the clinic, his eyes fixed on some middle point. His fingers moved against his lips slowly.

It's over.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now.
more_flexible: (Home is Dead)
Jack had left House back in the hut and taken his sweaty, sandy self to the shower. He stood under the water so long he lost track of time, thinking of the memories that had broadsided him, as well as what House had said. Archaic, quaint categories...the man? What did that mean? He'd long ago accepted the fact that House was who he followed, but that didn't make him...

Jack stood beneath the spray, lost in thought until the water went cool against his skin. Only then did he shut it off and dry and dress. He wasn't going to figure anything out in the bathroom.

Jeans and a t-shirt and no shoes were quick to put on, then Jack went to the kitchen for some coffee. By the time he got there he was lost in thought once again, this time of the memory of Gray, of his parents...of home. He took a seat in the far corner and closed his eyes, and his coffee remained untouched.

He had had a home and a family...once.
more_flexible: (Default)
He'd eaten and showered, changed his clothes and spent some time with Lisa. And then fatigue hit him like a truck. It was late, but Daniel had told him whenever. He listened at the door for a minute to make sure he wasn't interrupting anything, then he knocked softly.

Funny, it seemed like Daniel was just doing this at his door.
more_flexible: (Jack/Ianto Profile)
Friday. It was good to have a routine, even here. Fridays meant diving, they meant bringing the haul back to the Compound. Cleaning, gutting, shucking...whatever he'd caught, he prepped for Bill. Once the catch was in the cooler, Jack took a shower and changed his clothes, then came back to the kitchen for coffee and anything to eat that wasn't seafood.

He was on edge, still not sleeping well, but faking it well. He knew if he could do anything well, it was lying. He lied to House, lied to himself, lied to everyone who asked. He was fine.

He was fine when he dreamed. He was fine when he watched a father he didn't know die in his arms. He was fine when he sat in the Academy, lesson drills uneneding. He was fine when he watched his friend die at the hands of...

He was fine. He had his coffee and a book about a rabbit by someone named Updike. It was so much easier to be 'fine'. It meant he didn't have to question anything. It meant he didn't have to feel.

[for many]

Nov. 9th, 2007 09:51 pm
more_flexible: (Ponder)
This is not an EP, I just don't have the energy. However, threads need to happen between Harkness and The Doctor (with a bit of Chase to solve that puzzle), Cuddy, Daniel and Ianto (together or seperate), Ace, and always House. So...top level and we'll thread and that way they'll all be in a tidy bundle for me to NOT DROP!


Jack was there, at the door. Waiting. He wasn't quite what to sure, or how long it had been, but ever since Halloween he had either been smoking pot ot House had been shooting him up with something to keep the dreams under control. He didn't know where to turn, so he played an insane game of ring-around-the-rosies and it had lead him to this door.

Now all he needed was an idea of what to say.
more_flexible: (Default)
Jack took the bucket and left House and Wilson together in the rec room. He made good on his suggestion, finding his way to Ianto's hut easily in the twilight. It really was magic because by the time he got there, not only had none of the ice melted, there were a few more beers than there had been before.

He knocked on the door and waited, hoping it was still early enough he wasn't interrupting anything. And hey, if he was, he had a peace offering.
more_flexible: (In The Sun)
When things went badly and when Jack couldn't cope, he fell back on old habits. He'd been smoking pot since he'd left Dale's and taken his shower. He was clean and shaven, but he hadn't been anything but completely baked for hours now. For a long time he'd just laid stil in the field, smoking and watching the clouds drift by. As the sky began to darken, it took on the color he'd only seen in those Technicolor films and one thing broke through the haze of his brain and latched on firmly. West Side Story. Right, as if a boy yelled Maria in Spanish Harlem and only one girl came out. Ha! It'd be like yelling for Ianto in Cardiff. There had to be hundreds of Iantos in just the downtown area.

Ianto. West Side Story. Somehow they melted together into one stunningly brilliant idea and Jack hefted himself up, looked around, and started off in the direction of Ianto's hut...since he knew where it was and wasn't entirely sure how to get to Greg from here. Right. He'd go see Ianto. Ianto would know where he lived. Maybe he'd even sing...see how many Ianto's appeared.


"Ianto! I've just kissed a boy named Ianto, and suddenly I've found how wonderful a sound can be! Ianto! Say it loud and there's music playing say it soft and it's almost like praying. Ianto...Ianto, Ianto, Ianto..."
more_flexible: (Jack/Ianto Profile)
It was Friday and Jack, like always, was up with the sun to go diving. He'd let Owen off this time. Instead he took the dog and stayed to the shallows, catching a few crabs and prying free some mussels. He took the catch to the kitchen after playing fetch in the water with the dog for a while and the first thing he noticed was the coffee. It wasn't Ianto's coffee. In fact, it hadn't been Ianto's coffee for days. Jack scowled as the nugget of a thought took hold, then he finished his work and took his shower, the dog a constant companion, even in the men's room.

Washed and dressed, Jack left the Compound on a mission. With the big, black dog close at his heels, he went straight for Ianto's hut. If he wasn't there, he'd back track to where Daniel lived. He'd find him, if he had to search the whole island.

"Ianto?" he called out, knocking on the frame. "Are you in there?"
more_flexible: (Big F-ing Gun)
Once they'd all gotten themselves ready, Jack lead them off past the Compound, and through the jungle. He moved at a brisk pace, never having been a fan of the old addage 'the army moves as fast as its slowest member' because this wasn't a troop. This was a squadron and he knew how to keep that sort of thing going.

He had his doubts about Peter and Claude, but knew Sarah Jane, Gwen and Ianto wouldn't hesitate in a fight. It was always good to have a medic on the team and since Owen was likely needed more in the clinic, Peter was the next best option.

"Half a mile, maybe less," he called back as he came to a stop and drank a little. "Last chance to pee, drink, or run away." It was as they rested that he heard something move in the underbrush, just before a black dog emerged. "Or show up late to the party. If you're here, Fucker, you're working."


[Gathering style til they hit Dino territory. Talk to Jack, or amongst yourselves!]
more_flexible: (Big F-ing Gun)
The island was shaking. The rumble and tremor woke Jack and he sat bolt upright, gasping for air. Volcano Day, and he'd forgotten to set his alarm.

He reached for House, but the man wasn't there. A cold sensation sat like a rock in his gut, and grew even harder when he noticed the cane beside the bed. House wouldn't get far without it. He climbed out of bed and took it with him out the door, looking around for the man. It was preternaturally quiet, all the birds and bugs and jungle creatures having gone silent. Foreboding was in the air and Jack trusted his instincts enough to know that something was wrong.

A cursory check of the hut lead him to believe House hadn't simply disappeared. When people did that, their things disappeared, too. He'd been here long enough to know that.

What day was it? What month was it? This had to be an island thing...last year around this time there had been a tsunami and...

"Oh, fuck me," he exhaled, returning to the interior of the hut. Tossing the cane onto the bed, he opened a trunk and pulled out clothes he rarely wore. The clothes he'd arrived in. Leather trousers, a shirt and a leather vest with useful pockets. He had the holster strapped on with the 9mm at his side and was in the process of cleaning Betsy and making her ready. He needed more people. People with guns.

Jack loaded the clips and made sure the rifle was in perfect working order while he formulated a plan. He was closing down. Growing cold and hard and ready.

And the entire time, he couldn't help but think of Dale, still running the border, looking for Sookie.

Jack found resolve. He'd find House and anyone else and bring them back.
more_flexible: (Default)
[Dated Friday, August 24th]

He'd gone diving and cleaned the catch for Bill, and then went to clean up. When Jack stepped out of the shower and spotted it immediately. A natty attache sitting on top of his clothes for the day. It was embossed with JH and seemed packed full. He wrapped the towel around his waist and approached it slowly, like it might explode at any second.

He wasn't so lucky.

He could see books and a file folder with papers crammed inside. He took a deep breath and set it aside so he could dress, then he carried it out to the rec room and sat at a table before he began to empty it slowly. It was his, but it wasn't. It belonged to a Jack who he simply wasn't. Yet.

There was a scrapbook and Jack turned the pages, reading. A letter in his handwriting from Lahore about a diamond mine scam. Something from World War I. And then... A letter from Estelle, along with two pictures. He'd seen her in the films, and that was certainly him. Clippings about the Blitz from several Cardiff papers were pasted on the next pages, along with some other pages about supporting the troop. There was a picture of Jack and Bilis, Jack and Tosh. He turned the page. There was a newspaper clipping about a man struck twice by lightning who had walked away. Another one dated 1971 had a bit of his image in the picture. Mystery blaze kills four. Clippings about Jack...the real Jack. Laying loose between the next pages was a telegram that he didn't have to read. He'd seen ones like it. Another article, Eaten By Neighborhood Watch. Jack didn't see anything amusing or particularly informative there. Another article, some dead woman Owen worked on. There were 'official' Torchwood documents. About weevils" and Dealing with alien artifacts. It was all overwhelming.

There was a leather-bound journal he opened it, reading his own handwriting about a boyfriend without a name. Details of what a fantastic lover he was. Jack's eyebrow arched at the facts that the man was an acrobat and a twin. There were entries about Estelle. At the end it simply said Ianto. Short phrases. Keeps things clean. Punctual. Efficient. Hides things from me. Watch him. Stopwatch. Less than ten minutes. Every time. What was that about? Were they...involved? Other names, other thoughts. Naomi? Jessica? Hannah? Rolf? David? Michael? Sanjay? Muriel? All these people he'd...he'd loved them. For weeks or months at a time. He loved them. Would love them. There were even pictures of some of them...faces he didn't know. Tucked inside was a letter from a librarian named Samuel. It was clearly a mass letter, but it was addressed to him personally. He sat it aside as well and pulled out something...pink. Another book. A journal belongng to Amanda Davies. Had he...had he taken her baby from her? Another book...Estelle's book. And a small paperback of Emily Dickinson's poetry with a note inside the cover. And photographs. Old ones. All of Jack- soldier, a wedding picture, an amusement park, a sideshow. Weird.

There was an old accordian folder, tied closed with black string. Inside were papers, printouts, notes. Blog entries. Blogs and instant message transcripts. Jack couldn't read them fast enough. Gwen, Owen and Tosh discussing Jack. He knew these things? A transcript between he and Ianto about Suzie. And then anotherabout her. Something from a guy named Peter. A hostile note from Owen. More pages on Owen, about his time in med school, in A&E, in Torchwood. Investigate Gwen Cooper with a task for each of the team. A report from himself on the device called the Ghost Machine. Two transcripts with Ianto. One about John, and another about his death. Suicide. In Ianto's car. Jack noted he said nothing about sitting with the man so he wouldn't die alone. Another, as well...about Rhys. Jack closed his eyes and tucked the pages away.

There was too much. He needed time to piece it together. It was in the barest semblance of order, but the dates were mixed up, there was too much handwritting that he needed to go over slowly.

He pulled all of it out of the bag and heard a sound that prompted him to look inside. In the very bottom was a small plastic pill bottle. He lifted it out as well and held it up. White pills. Seven of them.

Somehow, he didn't think they were Vicodin.
more_flexible: (Jack/Ianto Hope)
If he could just forget Friday, it would be for the best. He was losing his mind, he was sure of it. His boyfriend was in pain, there wasn't anything he could do for it. House was adamant about refusing the Vicodin, and after they'd been in New Jersey it was obvious how much better the man functioned on it.

And then there was Rose. Why had he kissed her? How did she have such an effect on him? It hadn't had anything to do with sex, he simply couldn't be close enough...he couldn't let her go.

When the world fell apart, Jack hated admitting to his weakness, but sometimes, just soetimes, it was good to be taken care of.

Which is why he found himself at Ianto's door, knocking softly.
more_flexible: (Crying)
After the fight, Jack left the treehouse and walked. He didn't know where he was going, or what he would do. Had that really been it? After all this time?

He wandered aimlessly in the darkness, too numb with shock to think or feel much. Greg. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He'd been dumped. Nothing he'd done was good enough. Nothing made any difference in the long run. For a few months, a few really good months, he had mattered. Not in the future. Now.

Then.

Now he wasn't worth it. Now it was too hard to accept him as he was, and wrong to ask him to change. He'd tried to change. Really tried. But it didn't matter. He wasn't who he was when he came here, he wasn't who he'd seen on film.

And he sure as hell wasn't anybody's baby anymore.

Eventually, he found his way to Ianto and Tosh's hut and he knocked softly. He didn't know where else to go except for Dale's, and that was so far away and all he wanted was to sleep. Really sleep.
more_flexible: (Jack/Ianto Hope)
Jack had been at Stu's for days, working on so many parts and pieces that sometimes he thought he'd go blind. Finally, one evening it got too dark and he laid the pieces in the little box so none would get lost and rather than trouble Jane, he made his way down the path to Tosh and Ianto's hut, wondering how they were recovering from the past week. He was finally to a place where he could think about Gwen and that day and the TARDIS and the drill without getting ill. Mostly.

"Ianto?" he called, knocking lightly. "...Tosh? Are you inside?"
more_flexible: (Jack/Ianto Profile)
[dated to the 24th also]

The sun was fully up before he came to the realization that it was the fourth day. Yeah, he knew that, but what it meant was that he needed to find Ianto and let him know he was back before the man went looking for a body that wasn't out there.

He kissed Greg once more and hurried up the stairs, two at a time, hoping Ianto hadn't moved into the hut and had instead taken advantage of the offer of his bed...

[for ianto]

Jan. 1st, 2007 05:12 pm
more_flexible: (Jack/Ianto)
[continued from here]

Just a jump to the left, and a step to the right, and Jack had navigated them out of the crowd and into the stairwell for a little privacy. He checked to make sure Ianto still had the whiskey and ran his hand down his arm to take the fifth. "Thirsty," he said quietly. You?"

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