Fic: Time, Wait For Me
Title: Time, Wait For Me
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,073
Characters: Jack & Gwen, Tenth Doctor
Summary: Jack really, really doesn't like Christmas. Written and set after The Runaway Bride and before the Torchwood finale, but there are no spoilers. Go me!
Time, Wait For Me
"Christmas," repeated Gwen firmly, doing her best to get in the way of Jack's earnest escape. She managed to get ahead of him on the stairs, reached the bottom before he did, and finally stopped him at the rolling bulkhead. She planted a hand firmly in the middle of his chest. "A Christmas drink. That's all we ask."
He looked at her moodily. "I don't do Christmas," he told her, enunciating each syllable as if explaining a simple concept to a simple child. He shrugged her hand away and side-stepped around her, striding through the massive circular entrance and into the Hub. She turned to catch up with him, but he was determined to stay ahead this time.
"But it's just a drink!" Gwen protested. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing's wrong with a drink," Jack replied, changing course and heading towards his office. "You know me. I love a good drink. Or ten. It's the Christmas part I'm not happy about."
"Why not?" Gwen pressed. He didn't reply, only sat down resolutely in his chair. Gwen halted at the other side of his desk. "But we're a team, aren't we?"
"Don't even start on that one, honey," Jack warned, though he was clearly touched. "It's got nothing to do with it. I just don't do the C-word."
"Why not?" She was repeating herself, but couldn't really have cared less. "Christmas is all about friends and family..."
"Exactly," Jack interrupted, and though his voice was calm, his eyes were cold. "Not a time for loners like me."
He spoke this as a fact. There was no hint of self-pity on his face.
"Oh, come on, Jack," Gwen responded. "Of course you're going to feel like that if you stay here by yourself."
Jack just folded his arms.
"Alright." Gwen tossed out this last almost carelessly, sat down, and stared at him across the desk. "I'll stay here."
"No," said Jack, clearly irritated by now.
"I'm not going until you explain why you hate Christmas."
"I just have!"
"There's more to it. I know there is."
He glared at her. "Don't push me, Gwen."
She just raised her eyebrows - point proven, that look said.
They sat in stony quiet for a full six minutes until the silence itself was beginning to get on Jack's nerves. So he snapped: "It brings back memories. That's all." It wasn't quite true, and even as he said it he knew it would bring more questions. It was the reason he had made Gwen a member of the Torchwood team: she was never satisfied until the truth was out.
"What sort of memories?" she asked, predictably.
"Opening presents around a warm, glowing fire," he replied, sarcasm sharp and scathing. "Eating candy canes from a tree all decked out with pretty little baubles and oh, just tons of tinsel."
"Alright," she said. "So your Christmas memories aren't that great. Make some new memories, Jack."
He smiled mirthlessly. "I don't think so."
Silence again. And then he realised he did want to explain - not to Gwen necessarily, just to someone who would listen - every last detail of why he locked himself away down here. Every last detail of why he was stuck in 21st Century Cardiff.
"Don't tell me you're living in the past."
His gaze snapped to her violently, and for the first time Gwen looked truly unsure of herself. He forced his eyes to soften.
"I'm waiting for something," he said. There was a pause.
"Okay," Gwen nodded after a moment. "Feel like telling me about it?"
He did. "No. That's okay."
"Sure." Gwen had seen the look in his eyes and wasn't going to insist. She thought of offering to get a bottle of something from the off-licence - they could share something here, just a glass or two - but to her surprise Jack spoke again.
"This time last year - remember that big space ship?" She nodded and waited for him to continue, but all he said was, "Yeah. Me too."
*
The normal flow of time often evades Time Lords. The Doctor understands time perfectly - it's his life-blood - but he is rarely a part of it. When he is, for those brief bursts of adventure, it goes by so fast he barely realises he's caught up in its constraints. He is not on the slow path.
Yet occasionally - very occasionally - his hearts tell his mind to slow. They beg patience of him, and sometimes he adheres. Most of the time he tries to ignore the feeling, directs the energy elsewhere and hurtles off on another wacky adventure - but this time he has no-one to accompany him.
It is Christmas. He knows that. When he first arrived on Earth, in December 2006, he had been desperate to leave just as soon as he could. The cheery sparkle of festive lights had scorned his grief. They had been beautiful, but Rose wasn't there to see them.
Still, it is Christmas. He can't escape that. Even if he moved on to a different place and time - and oh, how easily he could do that - the Christmas air would linger in the TARDIS. So he might as well sit here, and give in to the pleading of his hearts. No... he won't do that. He'll stand up. He'll get on with it. He'll go. Because the Doctor waits for no-one, just as Time itself: always moving on.
And as he fires up the magnificent, glowing column in the centre of the control room, he thinks - for no reason at all - about his hand. The hand severed a year ago to the day in this time-frame, the hand that fell like a rock towards London, far below.
Briefly, he wonders what happened to it.
"New new new hand," he mutters, looking down at the one now attached firmly to his wrist. He wiggles his fingers and smiles despite himself. "Merry Christmas," he adds, "and a happy new New Year."
And then he's off. Because Time waits for no man, not even its voyagers or its ships; not even the man washed up on a lonely, foreign shore. Time is blind to him, because sometimes she simply forgets what desperate souls are dragged along in her wake.
But Jack Harkness will not forget. He only hopes that one day he will be remembered by Time, and her most passionate traveller.
End.
[mood|
mellow]
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,073
Characters: Jack & Gwen, Tenth Doctor
Summary: Jack really, really doesn't like Christmas. Written and set after The Runaway Bride and before the Torchwood finale, but there are no spoilers. Go me!
Time, Wait For Me
"Christmas," repeated Gwen firmly, doing her best to get in the way of Jack's earnest escape. She managed to get ahead of him on the stairs, reached the bottom before he did, and finally stopped him at the rolling bulkhead. She planted a hand firmly in the middle of his chest. "A Christmas drink. That's all we ask."
He looked at her moodily. "I don't do Christmas," he told her, enunciating each syllable as if explaining a simple concept to a simple child. He shrugged her hand away and side-stepped around her, striding through the massive circular entrance and into the Hub. She turned to catch up with him, but he was determined to stay ahead this time.
"But it's just a drink!" Gwen protested. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing's wrong with a drink," Jack replied, changing course and heading towards his office. "You know me. I love a good drink. Or ten. It's the Christmas part I'm not happy about."
"Why not?" Gwen pressed. He didn't reply, only sat down resolutely in his chair. Gwen halted at the other side of his desk. "But we're a team, aren't we?"
"Don't even start on that one, honey," Jack warned, though he was clearly touched. "It's got nothing to do with it. I just don't do the C-word."
"Why not?" She was repeating herself, but couldn't really have cared less. "Christmas is all about friends and family..."
"Exactly," Jack interrupted, and though his voice was calm, his eyes were cold. "Not a time for loners like me."
He spoke this as a fact. There was no hint of self-pity on his face.
"Oh, come on, Jack," Gwen responded. "Of course you're going to feel like that if you stay here by yourself."
Jack just folded his arms.
"Alright." Gwen tossed out this last almost carelessly, sat down, and stared at him across the desk. "I'll stay here."
"No," said Jack, clearly irritated by now.
"I'm not going until you explain why you hate Christmas."
"I just have!"
"There's more to it. I know there is."
He glared at her. "Don't push me, Gwen."
She just raised her eyebrows - point proven, that look said.
They sat in stony quiet for a full six minutes until the silence itself was beginning to get on Jack's nerves. So he snapped: "It brings back memories. That's all." It wasn't quite true, and even as he said it he knew it would bring more questions. It was the reason he had made Gwen a member of the Torchwood team: she was never satisfied until the truth was out.
"What sort of memories?" she asked, predictably.
"Opening presents around a warm, glowing fire," he replied, sarcasm sharp and scathing. "Eating candy canes from a tree all decked out with pretty little baubles and oh, just tons of tinsel."
"Alright," she said. "So your Christmas memories aren't that great. Make some new memories, Jack."
He smiled mirthlessly. "I don't think so."
Silence again. And then he realised he did want to explain - not to Gwen necessarily, just to someone who would listen - every last detail of why he locked himself away down here. Every last detail of why he was stuck in 21st Century Cardiff.
"Don't tell me you're living in the past."
His gaze snapped to her violently, and for the first time Gwen looked truly unsure of herself. He forced his eyes to soften.
"I'm waiting for something," he said. There was a pause.
"Okay," Gwen nodded after a moment. "Feel like telling me about it?"
He did. "No. That's okay."
"Sure." Gwen had seen the look in his eyes and wasn't going to insist. She thought of offering to get a bottle of something from the off-licence - they could share something here, just a glass or two - but to her surprise Jack spoke again.
"This time last year - remember that big space ship?" She nodded and waited for him to continue, but all he said was, "Yeah. Me too."
*
The normal flow of time often evades Time Lords. The Doctor understands time perfectly - it's his life-blood - but he is rarely a part of it. When he is, for those brief bursts of adventure, it goes by so fast he barely realises he's caught up in its constraints. He is not on the slow path.
Yet occasionally - very occasionally - his hearts tell his mind to slow. They beg patience of him, and sometimes he adheres. Most of the time he tries to ignore the feeling, directs the energy elsewhere and hurtles off on another wacky adventure - but this time he has no-one to accompany him.
It is Christmas. He knows that. When he first arrived on Earth, in December 2006, he had been desperate to leave just as soon as he could. The cheery sparkle of festive lights had scorned his grief. They had been beautiful, but Rose wasn't there to see them.
Still, it is Christmas. He can't escape that. Even if he moved on to a different place and time - and oh, how easily he could do that - the Christmas air would linger in the TARDIS. So he might as well sit here, and give in to the pleading of his hearts. No... he won't do that. He'll stand up. He'll get on with it. He'll go. Because the Doctor waits for no-one, just as Time itself: always moving on.
And as he fires up the magnificent, glowing column in the centre of the control room, he thinks - for no reason at all - about his hand. The hand severed a year ago to the day in this time-frame, the hand that fell like a rock towards London, far below.
Briefly, he wonders what happened to it.
"New new new hand," he mutters, looking down at the one now attached firmly to his wrist. He wiggles his fingers and smiles despite himself. "Merry Christmas," he adds, "and a happy new New Year."
And then he's off. Because Time waits for no man, not even its voyagers or its ships; not even the man washed up on a lonely, foreign shore. Time is blind to him, because sometimes she simply forgets what desperate souls are dragged along in her wake.
But Jack Harkness will not forget. He only hopes that one day he will be remembered by Time, and her most passionate traveller.
End.
[mood|
mellow]