Fic: The Coat

Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I sure don’t own Torchwood, all I’m doing is having some fun. The usual suspects own it, including RTD and the mighty *snort* BBC.

Thank you to zazajb and cookielaura for beta-ing this and finding my many MANY errors and fixing them all. :) You ladies are awesome!

 

The Coat

 

Then: Blue.

Wool.

Stripes. “Note the stripes,” he mutters. It wasn’t that long ago that he spoke those words, but time is relative in his life.

Polished buttons do well with keeping out the cold, and keeping him dry from the rain. Really though, these buttons help keep people out, because his letting people in is when life seems to get messy. And he has had just about all the mess he can handle for a while. Some hero he is.

The belt is cinched tight, tight enough to help him hold himself together. He never used to do it up, but then again, this life had never broken him so badly before.

Now: Blue.

          Wool.

          Stripes. Note the stripes, he thinks, but that life is long gone; now it’s nothing more than an echo in his memory.

          The polished buttons on his coat are still good at keeping out the cold, and the rain. Those same buttons reflect her surprise at seeing him again, reflect the anger that is quickly replacing her surprise, but do nothing to deflect her impressive right hook as it cracks his jaw.

The belt, now loosened, does not mean he can keep himself together without help yet, but rather that he is a man defeated. His wish now is to do penance. He does not want absolution, but simply a chance to put things right.

His coat used to mark him as the big, bold, dashing hero who would swoop in to save the day. It marked him as the leader whom they’d all looked to because he’d been there the longest, because surely, Jack would have a plan to fix everything as the world collapsed around them. Now though, his coat is nothing more than dented armour, and the hero beneath it does not deserve praise; not yet, and in his own mind, he won’t deserve it for a long time.

I can’t do this, he thinks.

“Jack? Meet Rex. He needs our help.”

 

 

 

Fic: Voice mail

Disclaimer: Please, if I owned them, I’d let them out to play and have much MUCH more fun than they are allowed to right now. Standard people own the standard things, RTD, Moffat, and the mighty *snort* BBC.

Author’s Note: Spoilers for “Waters of Mars” and “Children of Earth.”

Thanks to cookielaura for beta-ing this little story really well, right after beta-ing another story really well too. You're fab! :)

 

Voice mail

“Doctor? Doctor, are you there? It’s Martha, where are you? I saw something weird while I was on holiday and I called UNIT, they said it’s these aliens, they’re called the 456; they’ve come to take the children. They made them stop moving, speak in unison, and now they want to take them. The government, Doctor, the government and UNIT aren’t fighting, they’re negotiating! Doctor where are you? We need you!” Her voice, edged with panic, floats out of the mobile’s tiny speaker. He sighs and shakes his head, only able to listen as the message grows more intense, finally ending with a resounding click as she hangs up.

 “Is this the Doctor? I’m Ianto Jones, I work with Jack. Doctor, we need your help. The government has destroyed Torchwood, they planted a bomb in Jack and blew up him and the Hub. I think they did it because of what’s happening with the children, children everywhere are stopping, and talking in unison. I think this has happened before and I think it involved Jack, that’s why they tried to kill him. Doctor, we have no idea how to fight this.”

          So calm, he thinks as he listens to the message. He sounds so calm, even though the world is crashing down around him. This one, oh this one, he really broke Jack.

“I’m so sorry, old friend,” he sighs and rubs his jaw, listening to the message end.
 
The Next Day:   

 “Doctor, are you there? Doctor, you need to come back. The 456, I know you’ve heard of them, they’re back on Earth. They’ve come before, last time they wanted children or they would release a virus, so the government gave them children. Now they want more, MORE children Doctor. Whitehall tried to silence me because they knew I wouldn’t let them do it this time; they knew I wouldn’t help them again. Doctor, where are you? We need you.” Jack sounds tired as he pauses to breathe, “Please help us.”

 Ironic really, two fixed points in time and space, one talking about the other. No Jack, I can’t help you, and I’m so sorry for that. I tried the “just this once, everyone is going to live” routine, and it didn’t work. She saw to that, Adelaide understood what I couldn’t: time doesn’t like to be controlled, especially if you’re a Time Lord. Look at what good my interfering did: Brooke dead, and for me, “Your song is ending,” stated ever so plainly by Ood Sigma. No, I can’t help you, and for that I am truly sorry. 

          “Doctor, why aren’t you answering?” Martha’s voice is little more than a whisper, full of pain and disappointment. 

The Doctor shakes his head, hearing the message end with a faint sob before it switches to the last one on the phone. I know what this one is going to say. I know who it is, and I can’t hear it yet. I’m not ready.  With a click he snaps the mobile shut and turns to open the door of the TARDIS.

 Two Days Later:

        His hands shake as he opens the phone again, presses the buttons, and accesses the voice mail.

          “Doctor, it’s over. I ended it. Where were you? Why didn’t you help us? Why? I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t have had to lose him. I shouldn’t have had to lose Alice or my grandson. Why did I have to lose everything?” he says. The Doctor hears a brief pause as Jack’s voice breaks and he says quietly, “You abandoned me.” 

          Again, the Doctor thinks sadly.