Torchwood - fic - Custodians, Jack & Gwen, PG-13/12
Series - Pro Terra et Tempus
Title - Custodians
Author - laurab1
Characters - Jack and Gwen
Rating - PG-13/12
Length - 877 words
Spoilers - general series, 2.5 Adam, 2.12 Fragments, 2.13 Exit Wounds
Summary - Torchwood needs a new motto
Disclaimer - alas, none of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
The title, which I've only just given to this series of stories, translates as, "For the Earth and Time."
Previous parts listed behind the cut.
Other stories in this series of postscripts to "The Torchwood Girls":
Pictures Tell Stories(to be expanded) (during 2.3 TTLM)
Anthem For Doomed Youth (after 2.3 TTLM)
Asylum (after 2.4 Meat)
For The Fallen (after 2.13 Exit Wounds)
Custodians
by Laura
One of their new recruits doesn’t even last a year. Six months after she started at Torchwood, Jack places Dr Stefana Kovac, an olive-skinned, dark-haired Croatian into a morgue drawer, and cryo-freezes her.
***
A week or so after that, on a Saturday afternoon, Gwen’s made a quick trip into the Hub, to fetch something she left on her desk, when she hears the gunshot. From Jack’s office. “Oh, Bloody Hell, Jack!” she shouts, and heads off to see how badly he’s managed to kill himself this time.
There, Gwen’s confronted by the now unfortunately familiar sight of Jack having shot himself in the head. Brain matter, she still can’t do, even after two years with Torchwood. Blood’s fine, she can cope with blood. But it’s only been a minute since the bullet, so Jack hasn’t come back, yet. Gwen kneels on the floor, beside Jack’s body and plucks the Webley from his hand. She takes his now empty hand, and waits. “You’re a bloody pain in the neck, Jack Harkness. Is this why you didn’t even come and say hello?”
Another minute, and there’s the gasp. “Hey, Gwen,” he says. When he can breathe properly, when his eyes are clear and aren’t darting all over the place. Then he squeezes her hand. “Help me up, please?”
“Yeah,” she says, and assists him into his chair. “Get that shirt off, Jack,” she adds.
She gets a raised eyebrow from Jack in reply, despite himself.
“Cold water, to rinse out the blood, before it sets, that’s all. And you knew that.”
“Pity,” he still manages to say, eyebrow still raised, but lowers his braces, strips off the shirt and hands it to her. But then he turns serious, saying, “Yeah. How to get blood out of clothes, when it was possible, was one of the first things I learned. We lived by the beach; everything we wore was the colour of sand.” Gwen gives Jack a moment; she can see he hasn’t finished. “When you’re a soldier, it doesn’t matter quite so much. Blood’s kinda a badge of honour,” he continues.
Sounds like they need to have a chat. Using the look and stance that usually gets him to listen to her, Gwen tells Jack, “Get a new shirt, then go and put the kettle on. Make us a pot of tea, find those chocolate Digestives Ianto bought the other day, and I’ll sort this. Alright?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, picking up his gun, putting the safety on and holstering it.
Gwen sees him open up his hatch, and goes off to deal with the shirt, before she starts to cry.
***
“Stefana wasn’t with us anywhere near long enough,” Jack says, clean and tidy, sipping his mug of tea. “None of you ever are. I’ve worked here for one hundred and ten years, Gwen, and losing one of you never gets any easier for me.”
She’s long known that one day, Jack may well be placing her body into morgue drawer, and having Rhys yell at him about burying an empty coffin, but Gwen doesn’t want to dwell on that fact. She takes one of the biscuits from the plate, dunks it in her tea and nibbles at it.
Jack’s been silent for a few moments, but he then says, “I ditched the ‘if it’s alien, it’s ours’ motto when I cut all ties to London and that bitch, Yvonne Hartman; we haven’t had one since. Maybe pro terra mori should be our new motto? What do you think, Gwen?”
To die for the Earth. Owen had taught her a bit of Latin, during a week in which the Rift was particularly quiet, and they had nothing better to do. “I think it’s a bloody stupid motto, Jack,” Gwen replies, glaring at him.
“Wouldn’t be lying, though, would I?” he says, fixing her with a similar look.
‘The old lie: dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,’ she remembers, from GCSE English. “You wouldn’t,” she allows. Just pro terra, maybe? No, that’s not enough. Thinking if there’s anything from Jack’s extensive collection of science fiction books that would work, Gwen remembers something she flicked through when Jack had left them for the first time - a smiley face, with a drop of blood on it. The story’s about to be released as a film. “How about: ipsos custodes pro terra et tempus, instead, Jack?”
From Jack’s bitter chuckle, she hears that he immediately understands. “Those who watch, for the Earth and Time. I like that. But who’s watching us, Gwen?”
“Cardiff?” she asks, almost grinning.
“Yeah,” Jack says, and his laugh’s more real, this time. “Kinda hard to miss us, in the SUV.”
“And the throwing our weight about, at crime scenes. Andy hates that, you know.”
“I think PC Davidson might be jealous of us, Gwen.”
“I don’t.” Jack’s far happier than he was, so Gwen brings out the big guns, the things he told them when they lost Tosh and Owen. “The end is where we start from, Jack. So you find someone new, and we carry on.”
He nods in reply, saying, “Yes, ma’am. Torchwood’s new motto: ipsos custodes pro terra et tempus.”
“Ipsos custodes pro terra et tempus,” Gwen repeats, and they chink their mugs together.
ETA Art over here - http://laurab1.livejournal.com/303893.html
-end-
A/N - Kovac occurs as various spellings, throughout Central and Eastern Europe, and means "blacksmith".
Title - Custodians
Author - laurab1
Characters - Jack and Gwen
Rating - PG-13/12
Length - 877 words
Spoilers - general series, 2.5 Adam, 2.12 Fragments, 2.13 Exit Wounds
Summary - Torchwood needs a new motto
Disclaimer - alas, none of these people are mine
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
The title, which I've only just given to this series of stories, translates as, "For the Earth and Time."
Previous parts listed behind the cut.
Other stories in this series of postscripts to "The Torchwood Girls":
Pictures Tell Stories(to be expanded) (during 2.3 TTLM)
Anthem For Doomed Youth (after 2.3 TTLM)
Asylum (after 2.4 Meat)
For The Fallen (after 2.13 Exit Wounds)
Custodians
by Laura
One of their new recruits doesn’t even last a year. Six months after she started at Torchwood, Jack places Dr Stefana Kovac, an olive-skinned, dark-haired Croatian into a morgue drawer, and cryo-freezes her.
***
A week or so after that, on a Saturday afternoon, Gwen’s made a quick trip into the Hub, to fetch something she left on her desk, when she hears the gunshot. From Jack’s office. “Oh, Bloody Hell, Jack!” she shouts, and heads off to see how badly he’s managed to kill himself this time.
There, Gwen’s confronted by the now unfortunately familiar sight of Jack having shot himself in the head. Brain matter, she still can’t do, even after two years with Torchwood. Blood’s fine, she can cope with blood. But it’s only been a minute since the bullet, so Jack hasn’t come back, yet. Gwen kneels on the floor, beside Jack’s body and plucks the Webley from his hand. She takes his now empty hand, and waits. “You’re a bloody pain in the neck, Jack Harkness. Is this why you didn’t even come and say hello?”
Another minute, and there’s the gasp. “Hey, Gwen,” he says. When he can breathe properly, when his eyes are clear and aren’t darting all over the place. Then he squeezes her hand. “Help me up, please?”
“Yeah,” she says, and assists him into his chair. “Get that shirt off, Jack,” she adds.
She gets a raised eyebrow from Jack in reply, despite himself.
“Cold water, to rinse out the blood, before it sets, that’s all. And you knew that.”
“Pity,” he still manages to say, eyebrow still raised, but lowers his braces, strips off the shirt and hands it to her. But then he turns serious, saying, “Yeah. How to get blood out of clothes, when it was possible, was one of the first things I learned. We lived by the beach; everything we wore was the colour of sand.” Gwen gives Jack a moment; she can see he hasn’t finished. “When you’re a soldier, it doesn’t matter quite so much. Blood’s kinda a badge of honour,” he continues.
Sounds like they need to have a chat. Using the look and stance that usually gets him to listen to her, Gwen tells Jack, “Get a new shirt, then go and put the kettle on. Make us a pot of tea, find those chocolate Digestives Ianto bought the other day, and I’ll sort this. Alright?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, picking up his gun, putting the safety on and holstering it.
Gwen sees him open up his hatch, and goes off to deal with the shirt, before she starts to cry.
***
“Stefana wasn’t with us anywhere near long enough,” Jack says, clean and tidy, sipping his mug of tea. “None of you ever are. I’ve worked here for one hundred and ten years, Gwen, and losing one of you never gets any easier for me.”
She’s long known that one day, Jack may well be placing her body into morgue drawer, and having Rhys yell at him about burying an empty coffin, but Gwen doesn’t want to dwell on that fact. She takes one of the biscuits from the plate, dunks it in her tea and nibbles at it.
Jack’s been silent for a few moments, but he then says, “I ditched the ‘if it’s alien, it’s ours’ motto when I cut all ties to London and that bitch, Yvonne Hartman; we haven’t had one since. Maybe pro terra mori should be our new motto? What do you think, Gwen?”
To die for the Earth. Owen had taught her a bit of Latin, during a week in which the Rift was particularly quiet, and they had nothing better to do. “I think it’s a bloody stupid motto, Jack,” Gwen replies, glaring at him.
“Wouldn’t be lying, though, would I?” he says, fixing her with a similar look.
‘The old lie: dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,’ she remembers, from GCSE English. “You wouldn’t,” she allows. Just pro terra, maybe? No, that’s not enough. Thinking if there’s anything from Jack’s extensive collection of science fiction books that would work, Gwen remembers something she flicked through when Jack had left them for the first time - a smiley face, with a drop of blood on it. The story’s about to be released as a film. “How about: ipsos custodes pro terra et tempus, instead, Jack?”
From Jack’s bitter chuckle, she hears that he immediately understands. “Those who watch, for the Earth and Time. I like that. But who’s watching us, Gwen?”
“Cardiff?” she asks, almost grinning.
“Yeah,” Jack says, and his laugh’s more real, this time. “Kinda hard to miss us, in the SUV.”
“And the throwing our weight about, at crime scenes. Andy hates that, you know.”
“I think PC Davidson might be jealous of us, Gwen.”
“I don’t.” Jack’s far happier than he was, so Gwen brings out the big guns, the things he told them when they lost Tosh and Owen. “The end is where we start from, Jack. So you find someone new, and we carry on.”
He nods in reply, saying, “Yes, ma’am. Torchwood’s new motto: ipsos custodes pro terra et tempus.”
“Ipsos custodes pro terra et tempus,” Gwen repeats, and they chink their mugs together.
ETA Art over here - http://laurab1.livejournal.com/303893.html
-end-
A/N - Kovac occurs as various spellings, throughout Central and Eastern Europe, and means "blacksmith".