Torchwood - fic - For The Fallen, Jack/Ianto, Gwen, PG
This is another 2008 postscript to The Torchwood Girls. The latest part of that, Part 15, is here.
Yes, you have seen Jack’s box of poppies before, I gave it to him in a Jack/Jack story, We That Are Left Grow Old.
Edit 9/9/08: minor additions/alterations made, to fix a few things and enhance some others.
Title - For The Fallen
Author - laurab1
Pairing/characters - Jack/Ianto, Gwen
Rating - PG
Length - 1171 words
Spoilers - TW: general series, 1.5 Small Worlds, 2.3 To The Last Man, 2.13 Exit Wounds, DW: to 3.11-13
Summary - At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.
Disclaimer: alas, none of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
For The Fallen
by Laura
The letter arrives on Saturday November the 1st:
On the Remembrance Sunday prior to the ninetieth anniversary of the Armistice, the ninetieth anniversary of the end of the Great War, Torchwood’s presence at the London Cenotaph is requested.
Placing the portcullis-headed document on his desk, Jack looks down at the poppy rather precariously attached to his waistcoat, thanks to a pin. Taking up his fountain pen, he replies to the letter, saying that Torchwood will be there, on this important occasion. Then he goes to the tourist information office, to see Ianto.
***
The Royal British Legion’s Poppy Appeal box and collecting tin are next to the till. Stood behind the desk, Jack fingers the poppies; red and green paper, green plastic. Then there are the pins, to hold them to your clothes, if you don’t have a convenient buttonhole. Ianto, a poppy attached to the lapel of his gorgeous charcoal suit, watches him, waits.
“You know what, Ianto,” Jack eventually says, looking at him, “I sorta liked stabbing myself with the pin, on the old-fashioned ones. They were far easier to reposition, too. Especially on my greatcoat.”
“I liked those, too, Jack,” Ianto replies, with a little smile. “But these are considerably less vicious. Did you want to tell me something?”
“The Cenotaph, London. November the 9th, Remembrance Sunday. We’re going. Can you organise a government parking space for the SUV?”
“Shall I organise a poppy wreath as well?” Ianto asks.
“I knew there was something I’d forgotten,” Jack replies, annoyed at himself, and feeling guilty.
“I’ll get onto it immediately, Jack.”
“Thank you, Ianto,” Jack says, and kisses him, closed-mouth, gentle. “Can’t believe this is only the first time we’ve been asked, though. I’ve never been invited to the Legion’s Festival of Remembrance, either.”
And that’s a white lie, which Ianto chooses not to call him on, it seems. Jack’s been a member of the Legion since 1921, and he did attend the event, until about 1950. In more recent years, much to his sorrow, he hasn’t been able to risk going to the Albert Hall, and having someone who served in the First, and now, only the Second World War recognise him.
“Your reputation precedes you, sir,” Ianto reminds him, instead, an eyebrow slightly raised. Something else is there, too, in his eyes.
“Oh, that’s what the problem is? Wish someone had told me,” Jack replies, somehow managing to look a little wicked.
“I suspect they have, on numerous occasions, Jack. Have you done anything to improve your reputation?”
“Hell, no, Ianto. My reputation’s who I am.”
“Well, then.”
Smiling, and with the thought that Ianto’s planning more than he’s been asked to, Jack goes back down to the Hub.
***
In London, it’s cold, but not wet, for the ceremony and service.
Jack lays a wreath; for every Torchwood officer he’s lost, for everyone he lost in both the Great War, and the Second World War. Saluting the Cenotaph, and those who’ve given their lives in the service of their country, or planet, he goes back to Gwen, Ianto and Torchwood’s two new recruits.
Wordlessly, his Welsh people slide their hands into his. So incredibly grateful for the human contact, Jack just holds on tight.
***
At 8am on November the 11th, 2008, Jack arrives at his desk to find it covered in red. At first, he thinks the “fairies” have got into the Hub again. Then he looks at the petals properly, picks one up.
They’re not roses, they’re poppies.
Poppies.
“Thank you, Ianto,” Jack whispers, using his left hand to sweep some of the blood-red petals into his right. He drops them over his head, reciting, “At the going down of the sun --”
“-- and in the morning, we will remember them,” Ianto finishes, bringing him coffee. “I have another wreath to collect from the florist’s, Jack.”
“Thought you might,” he says, taking his mug. “You can lay it, today, Ianto.”
“I’d be honoured to do that, Jack,” Ianto replies. “Shall we leave at 10am?”
“Yeah.”
***
Later, after the service and ceremony at the Cardiff war memorial, after the two minutes’ silence, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, Torchwood are back at the Hub. The petals are still on Jack’s desk, still blood-red.
Unlike many of the pieces of paper in the box he’s just pulled out of a cabinet in his office. Sitting at his desk, he’s about to take off the lid, when Gwen comes in.
“What have you got there, Jack?” she asks, sitting down opposite him.
He removes the lid, and shows her.
“Poppies?” she says, looking inside the box. “How many are in there?” She turns her eyes to him.
“How many do you think, Gwen?”
She doesn’t get a chance to answer, as Ianto then appears, with more coffee. “Eighty six, by my reckoning,” he says, handing the mugs to Jack and Gwen. “One for every year since 1922. Correct, Captain?”
“Correct,” Jack replies. “You actually do know everything, don’t you?”
“I try,” Ianto says, smiling.
Jack puts down his mug and reaches into the box. He pulls out a very faded poppy, probably the oldest one in there. “I remember the first year I wore one of these. Stabbed myself God knows how many times, getting the damn thing into my greatcoat.”
“But the blood on your fingers reminded you that you were alive, Jack,” Ianto says.
He knows his captain far too well.
“Yeah,” Jack replies, placing the poppy back in the box. “I also remember when For The Fallen was published.”
“That’s the one they recite at the Festival of Remembrance, isn’t it?” Gwen asks.
“That’s right. September 1914, when the war was less than two months old. Everyone was so enthusiastic, and they all thought it would be over by Christmas. I knew different, though, and couldn’t say a damn word.” Jack unpins his latest poppy from his shirt. “Eighty seven, now,” he says, putting it in the box.
Gwen and Ianto do the same, and Gwen then says, “Eight nine, now.”
“For Tosh and Owen?” Jack asks, just to be sure.
“For Tosh and Owen,” Ianto confirms. “At the going down of the sun --“ he begins, this time.
“-- and in the morning, we will remember them,” Jack finishes, and replaces the lid on his box.
“Let’s get back to saving the world from aliens, then, kids,” he says, carefully pushing the memories to one side, watching Ianto leave.
“Yes, Jack,” Gwen replies, and shows him what she’d originally brought in with her.
***
Later, when he’s sent everyone home, Jack goes up to Ianto’s domain. He places a pound coin in the collecting tin, and takes another poppy. The current total needs to be a round ninety, to commemorate the anniversaries of both the end of the war, and the founding of the Royal Air Force, back in April.
With that poppy added to the other eighty nine, Jack puts the box away again, for another year.
When you go home, tell them of us and say: 'For your tomorrow we gave our today.'
-end-
http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm
Yes, you have seen Jack’s box of poppies before, I gave it to him in a Jack/Jack story, We That Are Left Grow Old.
Edit 9/9/08: minor additions/alterations made, to fix a few things and enhance some others.
Title - For The Fallen
Author - laurab1
Pairing/characters - Jack/Ianto, Gwen
Rating - PG
Length - 1171 words
Spoilers - TW: general series, 1.5 Small Worlds, 2.3 To The Last Man, 2.13 Exit Wounds, DW: to 3.11-13
Summary - At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.
Disclaimer: alas, none of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
For The Fallen
by Laura
The letter arrives on Saturday November the 1st:
On the Remembrance Sunday prior to the ninetieth anniversary of the Armistice, the ninetieth anniversary of the end of the Great War, Torchwood’s presence at the London Cenotaph is requested.
Placing the portcullis-headed document on his desk, Jack looks down at the poppy rather precariously attached to his waistcoat, thanks to a pin. Taking up his fountain pen, he replies to the letter, saying that Torchwood will be there, on this important occasion. Then he goes to the tourist information office, to see Ianto.
***
The Royal British Legion’s Poppy Appeal box and collecting tin are next to the till. Stood behind the desk, Jack fingers the poppies; red and green paper, green plastic. Then there are the pins, to hold them to your clothes, if you don’t have a convenient buttonhole. Ianto, a poppy attached to the lapel of his gorgeous charcoal suit, watches him, waits.
“You know what, Ianto,” Jack eventually says, looking at him, “I sorta liked stabbing myself with the pin, on the old-fashioned ones. They were far easier to reposition, too. Especially on my greatcoat.”
“I liked those, too, Jack,” Ianto replies, with a little smile. “But these are considerably less vicious. Did you want to tell me something?”
“The Cenotaph, London. November the 9th, Remembrance Sunday. We’re going. Can you organise a government parking space for the SUV?”
“Shall I organise a poppy wreath as well?” Ianto asks.
“I knew there was something I’d forgotten,” Jack replies, annoyed at himself, and feeling guilty.
“I’ll get onto it immediately, Jack.”
“Thank you, Ianto,” Jack says, and kisses him, closed-mouth, gentle. “Can’t believe this is only the first time we’ve been asked, though. I’ve never been invited to the Legion’s Festival of Remembrance, either.”
And that’s a white lie, which Ianto chooses not to call him on, it seems. Jack’s been a member of the Legion since 1921, and he did attend the event, until about 1950. In more recent years, much to his sorrow, he hasn’t been able to risk going to the Albert Hall, and having someone who served in the First, and now, only the Second World War recognise him.
“Your reputation precedes you, sir,” Ianto reminds him, instead, an eyebrow slightly raised. Something else is there, too, in his eyes.
“Oh, that’s what the problem is? Wish someone had told me,” Jack replies, somehow managing to look a little wicked.
“I suspect they have, on numerous occasions, Jack. Have you done anything to improve your reputation?”
“Hell, no, Ianto. My reputation’s who I am.”
“Well, then.”
Smiling, and with the thought that Ianto’s planning more than he’s been asked to, Jack goes back down to the Hub.
***
In London, it’s cold, but not wet, for the ceremony and service.
Jack lays a wreath; for every Torchwood officer he’s lost, for everyone he lost in both the Great War, and the Second World War. Saluting the Cenotaph, and those who’ve given their lives in the service of their country, or planet, he goes back to Gwen, Ianto and Torchwood’s two new recruits.
Wordlessly, his Welsh people slide their hands into his. So incredibly grateful for the human contact, Jack just holds on tight.
***
At 8am on November the 11th, 2008, Jack arrives at his desk to find it covered in red. At first, he thinks the “fairies” have got into the Hub again. Then he looks at the petals properly, picks one up.
They’re not roses, they’re poppies.
Poppies.
“Thank you, Ianto,” Jack whispers, using his left hand to sweep some of the blood-red petals into his right. He drops them over his head, reciting, “At the going down of the sun --”
“-- and in the morning, we will remember them,” Ianto finishes, bringing him coffee. “I have another wreath to collect from the florist’s, Jack.”
“Thought you might,” he says, taking his mug. “You can lay it, today, Ianto.”
“I’d be honoured to do that, Jack,” Ianto replies. “Shall we leave at 10am?”
“Yeah.”
***
Later, after the service and ceremony at the Cardiff war memorial, after the two minutes’ silence, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, Torchwood are back at the Hub. The petals are still on Jack’s desk, still blood-red.
Unlike many of the pieces of paper in the box he’s just pulled out of a cabinet in his office. Sitting at his desk, he’s about to take off the lid, when Gwen comes in.
“What have you got there, Jack?” she asks, sitting down opposite him.
He removes the lid, and shows her.
“Poppies?” she says, looking inside the box. “How many are in there?” She turns her eyes to him.
“How many do you think, Gwen?”
She doesn’t get a chance to answer, as Ianto then appears, with more coffee. “Eighty six, by my reckoning,” he says, handing the mugs to Jack and Gwen. “One for every year since 1922. Correct, Captain?”
“Correct,” Jack replies. “You actually do know everything, don’t you?”
“I try,” Ianto says, smiling.
Jack puts down his mug and reaches into the box. He pulls out a very faded poppy, probably the oldest one in there. “I remember the first year I wore one of these. Stabbed myself God knows how many times, getting the damn thing into my greatcoat.”
“But the blood on your fingers reminded you that you were alive, Jack,” Ianto says.
He knows his captain far too well.
“Yeah,” Jack replies, placing the poppy back in the box. “I also remember when For The Fallen was published.”
“That’s the one they recite at the Festival of Remembrance, isn’t it?” Gwen asks.
“That’s right. September 1914, when the war was less than two months old. Everyone was so enthusiastic, and they all thought it would be over by Christmas. I knew different, though, and couldn’t say a damn word.” Jack unpins his latest poppy from his shirt. “Eighty seven, now,” he says, putting it in the box.
Gwen and Ianto do the same, and Gwen then says, “Eight nine, now.”
“For Tosh and Owen?” Jack asks, just to be sure.
“For Tosh and Owen,” Ianto confirms. “At the going down of the sun --“ he begins, this time.
“-- and in the morning, we will remember them,” Jack finishes, and replaces the lid on his box.
“Let’s get back to saving the world from aliens, then, kids,” he says, carefully pushing the memories to one side, watching Ianto leave.
“Yes, Jack,” Gwen replies, and shows him what she’d originally brought in with her.
***
Later, when he’s sent everyone home, Jack goes up to Ianto’s domain. He places a pound coin in the collecting tin, and takes another poppy. The current total needs to be a round ninety, to commemorate the anniversaries of both the end of the war, and the founding of the Royal Air Force, back in April.
With that poppy added to the other eighty nine, Jack puts the box away again, for another year.
When you go home, tell them of us and say: 'For your tomorrow we gave our today.'
-end-
http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm