Torchwood/Dr Who - fic - The Torchwood Girls, Part 17/20?, PG-13/12
I have two stories for you, Part 17 of The Torchwood Girls and a Jack & Gwen story in the same 'verse, set in 2009.
Current length of the war-time and post-war narrative of The Torchwood Girls is approx 28,000 words. The end is in sight, I estimate that finished length will be approx 32,000 words.
Fandoms - Torchwood/Dr Who/Pat Barker’s Regeneration
Title - The Torchwood Girls, Part 17/20?
Author - laurab1
Characters/pairings - Jack, Dr W H R Rivers, OFCs, OMC
Rating - PG-13/12
Length - approx 1820 words
Spoilers - TW: general series, 1.6 Countrycide, DW: to 3.11-13
Story summary - While Jack Harkness serves in WWI, and suffers the consequences of doing so, Joan Redfern and some more very smart women save the world from aliens.
Chapter summary - "There is a downside to being a fifty-first century Earth colony human, and having genetic standard telepathy and empathy, y’know, Rivers," Jack whispers.
Disclaimer - alas, not all of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
Previous parts listed behind the cut.
Previous parts:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8
Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16
cast list and story bible, for my own peace of mind
end of Part 16
Finished, Jack looks over his words. Is he doing the same thing as the Doctor, fictionalising events which had happened? Maybe he is. It’s similar, at least. The slight difference is that, as far as the Doctor was concerned, at the time, John Smith was recording his strange dreams, of impossible things. But Jack, even though part of himself is also “missing”, knows for sure that the things he’ll describe in his journal did actually happen.
Possible Things, indeed.
The Torchwood Girls
by Laura
Part 17
Christmas 1917 comes and goes without much note; 1918 arrives. Eleven more months until the Armistice. Jack’s aware it’s goodness knows how many more until he can leave Craiglockhart. In the meantime, he continues to write. His “scientific romances” are published in The Hydra, to much appreciation.
golden_hydra
bigger_hydra
faith_hydra
***
“Your mind is so dissimilar to that of a twentieth century human’s,” Rivers says, immediately after reading Jack’s accounts of his first days in the TARDIS, and his telepathic interactions with the beautiful ship. “I wonder what Herbert would think of you, and all of this.” He hands Jack’s journal back to him.
“Be impressed enough to write me into a story, I’d hope!” Jack replies, with a little grin.
“Perhaps.”
It’s not all fun and games, though. Jack looks away, flips to a blank page, and starts doodling circular patterns with his pencil. “There is a downside to being a fifty-first century Earth colony human, and having genetic standard telepathy and empathy, y’know, Rivers,” he whispers.
“What would those be, Jack?” Rivers asks. “Come on, look at me.”
“Listening to the mind of a man who committed genocide to his own planet, wiping it out of existence,” Jack tells the doctor, still scribbling something that looks like Gallifreyan. He does then look at Rivers. “Listening to the minds of all the men in this place. D’you know, extreme mental trauma (the name the Time Agency had given to the condition), especially in nightmares, can become an almost physical thing, and seep into the walls of a building? It happened in the TARDIS, and it’s happening here.”
Oh, he’s thrown the doctor quite considerably, with all that, Jack can see. “Did you manage to not listen, on the TARDIS?” Rivers carefully asks, eventually.
“Yeah. Doc taught me better mental shielding skills.” After they’d repaired Jack’s battered mind, but he wasn’t gonna tell Rivers about that, unless it seemed necessary. “Taught me how to use my telepathy and empathy better, too. I used them, and my shields, to look after my teams, back in Cardiff, and my squad, in France. It’s obviously taken much more effort, here, but I have managed to create shields, so the racket from all the broken minds in this place is kinda easier to deal with.” He’s run out of words, and his throat’s dry, so Jack finishes off his glass of water, while he waits for Rivers’ next question.
“Jack, would you allow me to conduct some experiments with you, concerning these advanced mental senses of yours?”
Would he? Oh, why the hell not. Might even be kinda fun, you never know. “Sure, Dr Rivers,” Jack replies, with more than half a smile.
***
January’s visitor from Cardiff is Eleanor. Joan hugs her goodbye at the station, and Eleanor climbs onto the train, for the long journey, to London, and then onto Edinburgh. Like he’d done for Joan, James McDonald, a Torchwood agent who still works at the estate house, meets her at Waverley Station, and drives her to Craiglockhart, the next day.
Joan had told her how incredibly, eerily quiet the place was, but Eleanor is still shocked when she sees the men for herself. They’re officers, they’re of the same social standing as she is. They should be on each other’s estates, in black tie, having parties that go on all night, getting very drunk, shooting pheasants. They shouldn’t be in a psychiatric hospital, saying practically nothing. But they are, put here by the war. Eleanor takes a breath, and sees if she can spot Jack, in the lounge.
“Eleanor!” she then hears.
Seconds later, Jack’s swept her into a loose hug. She hugs him back, because Dear God, she’s missed him. He lets go after a good few minutes. Standing back from Eleanor, Jack runs his eyes over her, and her trench coat. She’s recognises the glint, even though it’s rather small; the man they all know and love is still in there, under all his mental anguish.
“Love the coat,” he eventually replies. “I bet it goes fabulously with my Webley.”
Well, yes, he would say that. “Thank you. It does, you know. Now, are you going to show me around, Captain?” she asks, grinning. And I can fill you in on all the aliens we’ve been dealing with, she silently adds, knowing Jack will hear and understand.
“Of course, Miss Smythe. Just need to fetch my own coat. We can walk in the gardens, but it’s bloody cold out there.”
“I did notice that, yes.”
***
Eleanor also tells Jack about the project she and Amy have been undertaking, trying to manipulate the Rift.
“She’s a smart kid, that Miss Rhodes.”
“Very. She took us all to a meeting of the Fabian Society, Jack.”
“Yeah? How was it?”
“Enlightening.”
“That’s great.”
***
It’s soon time for Eleanor to leave. She hugs Jack goodbye, saying, “Jennifer will be here, next month.”
“I look forward to seeing her.”
***
February, 1918, after three months in the hospital, Jack’s eligible for a medical board, to determine if he’s fit enough to back to the war, yet.
Back to the noise and the fighting and the guns.
He answers questions from Rivers, and two more of the doctors.
It’s the intensity and frequency of his nightmares which decides Jack’s not ready to go back.
Whether this is a victory or a disaster, he’s unsure.
***
Jennifer’s visit in February is followed by Penny visiting Jack in March. Then, at the end of March, a kid arrives at the hospital, courtesy of the First Battles of the Somme, 1918. The guy, Peter Henderson, twenty two, a 2nd lieutenant in the Guards, can’t speak. At all. In his mind, though, Jack can hear him yelling.
The silent racket is initially about the war. It’s the men whose voices have been frightened away by the guns, cannons and shells that he really can’t block out, whatever he tries. Their nightmares are louder than everyone-else’s, too.
Then the racket’s also about his treatment. Several weeks have passed, and Henderson’s voice still hasn’t come back, so he’s facing the prospect of Dr Yealland’s electric therapy, as a last resort.
And Jack’s conscience, which still has a Northern accent, says, “C’mon, Captain. There’re people in here in worse shape than you. Lend a hand.” Yeah. He’s better than he was, but he’s still not quite there. All these officers, these young men - Doomed Youth, the Lost Generation. He should try and help.
***
He goes to Dr Rivers. “Get Henderson put in with me,” Jack gently demands, “let me try my telepathic abilities, before he’s subjected to that.”
“Dr Yealland’s treatment is effective, Jack,” Rivers steadily replies. “I have seen it for myself. I have seen men regain their voices.”
“Dr Yealland’s a sadistic bastard, Rivers,” he almost growls. "Scaring the guy’s voice into coming back? Kind of a bad move. If I can’t help the kid, then he can go to Yealland."
“I’ll see what I can do, Harkness,” Rivers eventually agrees, with a sigh.
“Thank you,” Jack replies.
***
Amy visits Jack in April, and has more to tell him about her project. He’s impressed with what she’s calculated and achieved.
***
Rivers is successful, and in early May, Henderson joins Jack as his new room-mate. The change makes the boy’s silent voice even louder, though. He’s sat on his bed, looking so incredibly small and lost, and yelling away, in his mind.
Jack takes the chair from the desk, dragging it over to Peter’s bed. “Hey, hey, Peter. C’mon, hush,” he says gently, placing his hands on the kid’s shoulders and looking him right in the eye.
Peter pushes Jack’s hands away. He rises from his bed and goes over to the desk, where Jack’s journal is sitting, open at a blank page. Grabbing a pencil and the book, he takes both back to his bed and writes, in large, untidy capitals, “I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING.”
He’s seen Peter do this before. Taking a breath, Jack then says, “You did to me.”
“HOW?” Another written message, short and terse.
“I can hear you, in here.” Jack taps two fingers to his forehead, and watches the kid for a reaction. None is immediately forthcoming, other than slightly wide eyes. That’s probably all he’s gonna get, though. “I’ve kinda got a gift, or two. That’s why I asked Rivers if he could get you in here, Peter. You wanna work it out with me? Tell me what happened in Europe? I know you’ve already written some of it down, but I could try and get you speaking. I’ve done this kind of thing before, y’know; maybe then you won’t have to deal with that sadist Yealland.”
You’ve done worse than him, a little voice tells him. I know, he admits. I know. Then I met the Doctor.
“ALRIGHT,” Henderson finally allows, still written. There might even be a hint of a smile.
Jack replies with a small smile of his own. “Okay, Peter. You wanna give me the journal and the pencil?” He’s handed the items back. “Thank you,” he says, putting them back on the desk. Jack then climbs onto his own bed. “Come and join me, Peter?” he asks, sitting cross-legged.
After a few minutes, in which Jack can see the wheels turning in the boy’s head, Peter gets on Jack’s bed, and mirrors his position. Jack offers him another smile and places his fingertips on the guy’s temples, for focused contact. “Now, close your eyes, try to be calm, and think. Whatever you don’t want me to see, imagine a closed door. Okay?”
Peter nods in reply, and they both close their eyes.
Seconds later, Jack’s confronted with images and sounds of trench warfare. It all makes want to cry and gasp, but he forces himself to stay calm, and transmits that calm back to Peter. He’s supposed to be helping, after all. That’s what he promised. Plenty of time, later, for himself.
When they finish, about twenty minutes later, Peter manages to mouth, “Thank you,” to Jack.
“That’s a great start, Peter,” Jack replies. “Well done.”
***
Over the course of a week, with his fifty-first century senses, Jack helps Peter get his voice back.
Peter shows Jack what happened to him in France. Jack uses on the kid techniques the Doctor used on him, when they were repairing his broken mind. They go from mouthing to whispering, and from whispering to actually speaking. It’s an intense situation, very emotional. When Peter does manage to speak, they kiss. Jack only intended the kiss to be one of congratulation, but it turns deeper, taking both of them by surprise.
That night, they sleep in the same bed. But all they do, though, is hold each other close. Jack still can’t manage anything more intimate, and he doesn’t want to damage all the good work he’s just done, either.
A/N - Herbert is Herbert George, ie HG Wells
Continue to Part 18
crosspost:
torch_wood
torchwood_fic
galactic_conman
dwfiction
new_who
Teaspoon
Zero Room
Current length of the war-time and post-war narrative of The Torchwood Girls is approx 28,000 words. The end is in sight, I estimate that finished length will be approx 32,000 words.
Fandoms - Torchwood/Dr Who/Pat Barker’s Regeneration
Title - The Torchwood Girls, Part 17/20?
Author - laurab1
Characters/pairings - Jack, Dr W H R Rivers, OFCs, OMC
Rating - PG-13/12
Length - approx 1820 words
Spoilers - TW: general series, 1.6 Countrycide, DW: to 3.11-13
Story summary - While Jack Harkness serves in WWI, and suffers the consequences of doing so, Joan Redfern and some more very smart women save the world from aliens.
Chapter summary - "There is a downside to being a fifty-first century Earth colony human, and having genetic standard telepathy and empathy, y’know, Rivers," Jack whispers.
Disclaimer - alas, not all of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
Previous parts listed behind the cut.
Previous parts:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8
Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16
cast list and story bible, for my own peace of mind
end of Part 16
Finished, Jack looks over his words. Is he doing the same thing as the Doctor, fictionalising events which had happened? Maybe he is. It’s similar, at least. The slight difference is that, as far as the Doctor was concerned, at the time, John Smith was recording his strange dreams, of impossible things. But Jack, even though part of himself is also “missing”, knows for sure that the things he’ll describe in his journal did actually happen.
Possible Things, indeed.
The Torchwood Girls
by Laura
Part 17
Christmas 1917 comes and goes without much note; 1918 arrives. Eleven more months until the Armistice. Jack’s aware it’s goodness knows how many more until he can leave Craiglockhart. In the meantime, he continues to write. His “scientific romances” are published in The Hydra, to much appreciation.
golden_hydra
bigger_hydra
faith_hydra
***
“Your mind is so dissimilar to that of a twentieth century human’s,” Rivers says, immediately after reading Jack’s accounts of his first days in the TARDIS, and his telepathic interactions with the beautiful ship. “I wonder what Herbert would think of you, and all of this.” He hands Jack’s journal back to him.
“Be impressed enough to write me into a story, I’d hope!” Jack replies, with a little grin.
“Perhaps.”
It’s not all fun and games, though. Jack looks away, flips to a blank page, and starts doodling circular patterns with his pencil. “There is a downside to being a fifty-first century Earth colony human, and having genetic standard telepathy and empathy, y’know, Rivers,” he whispers.
“What would those be, Jack?” Rivers asks. “Come on, look at me.”
“Listening to the mind of a man who committed genocide to his own planet, wiping it out of existence,” Jack tells the doctor, still scribbling something that looks like Gallifreyan. He does then look at Rivers. “Listening to the minds of all the men in this place. D’you know, extreme mental trauma (the name the Time Agency had given to the condition), especially in nightmares, can become an almost physical thing, and seep into the walls of a building? It happened in the TARDIS, and it’s happening here.”
Oh, he’s thrown the doctor quite considerably, with all that, Jack can see. “Did you manage to not listen, on the TARDIS?” Rivers carefully asks, eventually.
“Yeah. Doc taught me better mental shielding skills.” After they’d repaired Jack’s battered mind, but he wasn’t gonna tell Rivers about that, unless it seemed necessary. “Taught me how to use my telepathy and empathy better, too. I used them, and my shields, to look after my teams, back in Cardiff, and my squad, in France. It’s obviously taken much more effort, here, but I have managed to create shields, so the racket from all the broken minds in this place is kinda easier to deal with.” He’s run out of words, and his throat’s dry, so Jack finishes off his glass of water, while he waits for Rivers’ next question.
“Jack, would you allow me to conduct some experiments with you, concerning these advanced mental senses of yours?”
Would he? Oh, why the hell not. Might even be kinda fun, you never know. “Sure, Dr Rivers,” Jack replies, with more than half a smile.
***
January’s visitor from Cardiff is Eleanor. Joan hugs her goodbye at the station, and Eleanor climbs onto the train, for the long journey, to London, and then onto Edinburgh. Like he’d done for Joan, James McDonald, a Torchwood agent who still works at the estate house, meets her at Waverley Station, and drives her to Craiglockhart, the next day.
Joan had told her how incredibly, eerily quiet the place was, but Eleanor is still shocked when she sees the men for herself. They’re officers, they’re of the same social standing as she is. They should be on each other’s estates, in black tie, having parties that go on all night, getting very drunk, shooting pheasants. They shouldn’t be in a psychiatric hospital, saying practically nothing. But they are, put here by the war. Eleanor takes a breath, and sees if she can spot Jack, in the lounge.
“Eleanor!” she then hears.
Seconds later, Jack’s swept her into a loose hug. She hugs him back, because Dear God, she’s missed him. He lets go after a good few minutes. Standing back from Eleanor, Jack runs his eyes over her, and her trench coat. She’s recognises the glint, even though it’s rather small; the man they all know and love is still in there, under all his mental anguish.
“Love the coat,” he eventually replies. “I bet it goes fabulously with my Webley.”
Well, yes, he would say that. “Thank you. It does, you know. Now, are you going to show me around, Captain?” she asks, grinning. And I can fill you in on all the aliens we’ve been dealing with, she silently adds, knowing Jack will hear and understand.
“Of course, Miss Smythe. Just need to fetch my own coat. We can walk in the gardens, but it’s bloody cold out there.”
“I did notice that, yes.”
***
Eleanor also tells Jack about the project she and Amy have been undertaking, trying to manipulate the Rift.
“She’s a smart kid, that Miss Rhodes.”
“Very. She took us all to a meeting of the Fabian Society, Jack.”
“Yeah? How was it?”
“Enlightening.”
“That’s great.”
***
It’s soon time for Eleanor to leave. She hugs Jack goodbye, saying, “Jennifer will be here, next month.”
“I look forward to seeing her.”
***
February, 1918, after three months in the hospital, Jack’s eligible for a medical board, to determine if he’s fit enough to back to the war, yet.
Back to the noise and the fighting and the guns.
He answers questions from Rivers, and two more of the doctors.
It’s the intensity and frequency of his nightmares which decides Jack’s not ready to go back.
Whether this is a victory or a disaster, he’s unsure.
***
Jennifer’s visit in February is followed by Penny visiting Jack in March. Then, at the end of March, a kid arrives at the hospital, courtesy of the First Battles of the Somme, 1918. The guy, Peter Henderson, twenty two, a 2nd lieutenant in the Guards, can’t speak. At all. In his mind, though, Jack can hear him yelling.
The silent racket is initially about the war. It’s the men whose voices have been frightened away by the guns, cannons and shells that he really can’t block out, whatever he tries. Their nightmares are louder than everyone-else’s, too.
Then the racket’s also about his treatment. Several weeks have passed, and Henderson’s voice still hasn’t come back, so he’s facing the prospect of Dr Yealland’s electric therapy, as a last resort.
And Jack’s conscience, which still has a Northern accent, says, “C’mon, Captain. There’re people in here in worse shape than you. Lend a hand.” Yeah. He’s better than he was, but he’s still not quite there. All these officers, these young men - Doomed Youth, the Lost Generation. He should try and help.
***
He goes to Dr Rivers. “Get Henderson put in with me,” Jack gently demands, “let me try my telepathic abilities, before he’s subjected to that.”
“Dr Yealland’s treatment is effective, Jack,” Rivers steadily replies. “I have seen it for myself. I have seen men regain their voices.”
“Dr Yealland’s a sadistic bastard, Rivers,” he almost growls. "Scaring the guy’s voice into coming back? Kind of a bad move. If I can’t help the kid, then he can go to Yealland."
“I’ll see what I can do, Harkness,” Rivers eventually agrees, with a sigh.
“Thank you,” Jack replies.
***
Amy visits Jack in April, and has more to tell him about her project. He’s impressed with what she’s calculated and achieved.
***
Rivers is successful, and in early May, Henderson joins Jack as his new room-mate. The change makes the boy’s silent voice even louder, though. He’s sat on his bed, looking so incredibly small and lost, and yelling away, in his mind.
Jack takes the chair from the desk, dragging it over to Peter’s bed. “Hey, hey, Peter. C’mon, hush,” he says gently, placing his hands on the kid’s shoulders and looking him right in the eye.
Peter pushes Jack’s hands away. He rises from his bed and goes over to the desk, where Jack’s journal is sitting, open at a blank page. Grabbing a pencil and the book, he takes both back to his bed and writes, in large, untidy capitals, “I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING.”
He’s seen Peter do this before. Taking a breath, Jack then says, “You did to me.”
“HOW?” Another written message, short and terse.
“I can hear you, in here.” Jack taps two fingers to his forehead, and watches the kid for a reaction. None is immediately forthcoming, other than slightly wide eyes. That’s probably all he’s gonna get, though. “I’ve kinda got a gift, or two. That’s why I asked Rivers if he could get you in here, Peter. You wanna work it out with me? Tell me what happened in Europe? I know you’ve already written some of it down, but I could try and get you speaking. I’ve done this kind of thing before, y’know; maybe then you won’t have to deal with that sadist Yealland.”
You’ve done worse than him, a little voice tells him. I know, he admits. I know. Then I met the Doctor.
“ALRIGHT,” Henderson finally allows, still written. There might even be a hint of a smile.
Jack replies with a small smile of his own. “Okay, Peter. You wanna give me the journal and the pencil?” He’s handed the items back. “Thank you,” he says, putting them back on the desk. Jack then climbs onto his own bed. “Come and join me, Peter?” he asks, sitting cross-legged.
After a few minutes, in which Jack can see the wheels turning in the boy’s head, Peter gets on Jack’s bed, and mirrors his position. Jack offers him another smile and places his fingertips on the guy’s temples, for focused contact. “Now, close your eyes, try to be calm, and think. Whatever you don’t want me to see, imagine a closed door. Okay?”
Peter nods in reply, and they both close their eyes.
Seconds later, Jack’s confronted with images and sounds of trench warfare. It all makes want to cry and gasp, but he forces himself to stay calm, and transmits that calm back to Peter. He’s supposed to be helping, after all. That’s what he promised. Plenty of time, later, for himself.
When they finish, about twenty minutes later, Peter manages to mouth, “Thank you,” to Jack.
“That’s a great start, Peter,” Jack replies. “Well done.”
***
Over the course of a week, with his fifty-first century senses, Jack helps Peter get his voice back.
Peter shows Jack what happened to him in France. Jack uses on the kid techniques the Doctor used on him, when they were repairing his broken mind. They go from mouthing to whispering, and from whispering to actually speaking. It’s an intense situation, very emotional. When Peter does manage to speak, they kiss. Jack only intended the kiss to be one of congratulation, but it turns deeper, taking both of them by surprise.
That night, they sleep in the same bed. But all they do, though, is hold each other close. Jack still can’t manage anything more intimate, and he doesn’t want to damage all the good work he’s just done, either.
A/N - Herbert is Herbert George, ie HG Wells
Continue to Part 18
crosspost:
torch_wood
torchwood_fic
galactic_conman
dwfiction
new_who
Teaspoon
Zero Room