John J. Rambo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theydrewfirstblood) wrote2023-05-04 01:19 pm
theydrewfirstblood) wrote2023-05-04 01:19 pm
Entry tags:
[PERCHANCE TO DREAM] the end is where we start from
“...that's definitely your signature.”
“I know, Ianto.”
“...but I thought you said Torchwood Four disappeared.”
“It did.”
“Well...if it disappeared, how did it transfer our own people back to us, and why did you authorize it?”
“I don't know, Gwen. Because I didn't.”
Jack continued to stare at the digitized copy of the file Owen had given him that was up on the monitor in the conference room. Beside it, on the screen, was Toshiko's—provided from her desk once Owen allowed her to start moving around.
Both of them, with fully authentic transfer orders. Both of them, with his signature. Easy enough to forge, but...
The dull bite of steel stung his chest.
Jack blinked, looking down to find himself rubbing the front of his oxford shirt, pressing the tags that sat against his skin into his chest to feel the smooth metal, the dig of the rolled edge. What was missing was the pressure of the name, a name that he couldn't chase down no matter how hard he tried...
“But I did say we'd find it one day.” Jack mused aloud, looking back up at the screen.
“That you did.” Gwen pointed out. He didn't need to look at her to know she was smiling.
“Let's just hope they're not as bloody strange as Archie.” Ianto murmured, making Jack laugh softly with a shake of his head.
All the while, his hand never left the lump of the tags under his shirt.
* * * * *
“Easy...easy, love...there you are...”
Jack watched in complete shock as Owen guided the Weevil back into the cell, the creature trilling softly as Owen offered it the plate in his hand. It curled its hands around it, then darted to the corner of the cell with a roar, without attacking.
Owen calmly walked out of the cell, adjusted his glasses—and only slumped against the plexiglass door, shaking and gasping for breath when it was shut.
“Owen, that was amazing!” Toshiko breathed, moving swiftly to his side. “I've never seen anyone subdue a Weevil without force before, how?...”
“Low level telepathy.” Owen gasped, leaning into Toshiko as she set her hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his arm to help support him. “Weevils share it to communicate with each other, but it also means they've got access to primitive psychic fields. Instinctive empathy, if you can approach 'em completely calm, you can manipulate 'em with the right impetus—like raw hamburger.”
Jack watched the Weevil in question continue to attack its plate, greedily devouring the treat it had been given. In truth, it was impressive as hell, and before he was fully aware, Jack was watching Owen again.
Owen, who was trading shy, triumphant, wary little smiles with Toshiko. Tosh, who visibly gathered up her courage and reached for Owen's hand, meshing their fingers together. Owen, who looked fit to burst with nerves and sheer joy.
“That something you learned at Torchwood Four, Harper?” Jack asked.
Turning towards Jack sharply, Owen shook himself—but didn't let Toshiko's hand go, even while he tried to do his best impression of standing at attention.
“Yes, sir. Been studying Weevils for quite a while, and working a bit with the man I knew as Captain Harkness. None of us have even low level psychic ability, but we've all had a bit of instruction anyway. Since, eh...since I formed m-my hypothesis about the Weevils.”
Jack strode forward a couple steps, feeling a burst of pride. This version of Owen was twitchy, nervous as Toshiko, maybe moreso...but God, was he brave. Absolute grace under pressure, and while he missed Owen—his sharp humor, his bitter but refreshing cynical brand of pragmatism—this Owen from a world that ran in mirror opposite to his own was as strong and capable in his own right.
Yet still, Jack just wanted to save him. Protect him.
I'm here.
“Good job, Harper.”
Owen blinked, then beamed. Toshiko shared his smile, gathering his captive hand between both of hers.
“Tosh? If you're here longer than another hour I'm suspending you.” Jack continued. “It's only been two weeks since you got shot, I'm pretty sure I told you to stay home.”
“There's plenty to do here without field work or overextending myself!” she started to protest as he led the pair to head back up to the main Hub—
A deep, mournful lowing filled the room just then. Stopping dead, Jack backed up and turned to the Weevil, watched it...watch him.
Like it knew. He could almost...feel...
The Weevil abandoned its food and shuffled towards the door. It was...
A hand went into the pocket of its jumpsuit. A small, glistening object was pulled out.
Hesitantly, Jack used his vortex manipulator to unlatch the door. He pulled it carefully open, extending his hand to the Weevil. Feeling strangely disconnected, he watched from a disjointed third person perspective, somewhere over his own shoulder, as the Weevil placed the object in his hand.
“That's nothing even I've seen before.” Owen admitted as Jack shut the cell hastily and returned to them. “What is it? What'd it give you?”
Jack held up his hand, staring at the object with his heart beating in the middle of his head. Smeared with streaks of greasy fat from the raw meat on the Weevil's hands, it was a polished brass Christmas ornament, a flat sheet punched out into shape, gleaming in the low light of the holding cells.
“It's an angel.” Toshiko observed. “What's it mean?”
“Haven't the foggiest.” Owen replied, nearly in a whisper.
Angel.
I'm here.
“It's from Torchwood Four, isn't it?” Jack asked, looking over at Owen as his fingers wrapped around the ornament. “The Weevil.”
Owen's eyes widened behind his glasses, but after a moment he nodded hesitantly.
“I...suspected.” he confessed. “Thought it might be Brad. Think I was right.”
“Ours was Janet.” Toshiko replied softly, a laugh in her voice. “How funny.”
Jack was only barely listening. He was gripping the tags through his shirt again, but he wasn't sure why. Something about them...something about Torchwood Four...
“...Jack?”
Jack blinked, realizing he was being spoken to. By Toshiko. “What?”
“You all right?”
“Yeah—sorry, was thinking about something. A lead.” He replied, realizing at the last moment that he wasn't lying.
“I asked if you thought we should scan the Weevil for a tracker. If it escaped from Torchwood Four, maybe it was deliberate? It was carrying...some sort of message for you.”
Jack's grip on the ornament tightened a little. So did the grip on the blank tags.
...I'll know you need me...
With shaking fingers, Jack reached up, found the chain of the tags, and tugged them out into the open, letting them rest against his shirt. He felt exposed, strangely naked for it, but the feeling soon melted into one of...calm was the only way he could describe it.
“Tosh, can you see if our CCTV feeds have been tapped?” he asked.
“You think we're being spied on?”
“I do—but if you find anything, don't tell me, and don't terminate the connection. Not unless you find any matching breaches in Mainframe. If all they're doing is watching, let them.”
Jack stole another look at Owen. He tried to guard his features, but he didn't have their Owen's poker face.
His eyes shone with pure relief.
“If it's Torchwood Four, I think they'll be in touch. Soon.”
“I know, Ianto.”
“...but I thought you said Torchwood Four disappeared.”
“It did.”
“Well...if it disappeared, how did it transfer our own people back to us, and why did you authorize it?”
“I don't know, Gwen. Because I didn't.”
Jack continued to stare at the digitized copy of the file Owen had given him that was up on the monitor in the conference room. Beside it, on the screen, was Toshiko's—provided from her desk once Owen allowed her to start moving around.
Both of them, with fully authentic transfer orders. Both of them, with his signature. Easy enough to forge, but...
The dull bite of steel stung his chest.
Jack blinked, looking down to find himself rubbing the front of his oxford shirt, pressing the tags that sat against his skin into his chest to feel the smooth metal, the dig of the rolled edge. What was missing was the pressure of the name, a name that he couldn't chase down no matter how hard he tried...
“But I did say we'd find it one day.” Jack mused aloud, looking back up at the screen.
“That you did.” Gwen pointed out. He didn't need to look at her to know she was smiling.
“Let's just hope they're not as bloody strange as Archie.” Ianto murmured, making Jack laugh softly with a shake of his head.
All the while, his hand never left the lump of the tags under his shirt.
“Easy...easy, love...there you are...”
Jack watched in complete shock as Owen guided the Weevil back into the cell, the creature trilling softly as Owen offered it the plate in his hand. It curled its hands around it, then darted to the corner of the cell with a roar, without attacking.
Owen calmly walked out of the cell, adjusted his glasses—and only slumped against the plexiglass door, shaking and gasping for breath when it was shut.
“Owen, that was amazing!” Toshiko breathed, moving swiftly to his side. “I've never seen anyone subdue a Weevil without force before, how?...”
“Low level telepathy.” Owen gasped, leaning into Toshiko as she set her hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his arm to help support him. “Weevils share it to communicate with each other, but it also means they've got access to primitive psychic fields. Instinctive empathy, if you can approach 'em completely calm, you can manipulate 'em with the right impetus—like raw hamburger.”
Jack watched the Weevil in question continue to attack its plate, greedily devouring the treat it had been given. In truth, it was impressive as hell, and before he was fully aware, Jack was watching Owen again.
Owen, who was trading shy, triumphant, wary little smiles with Toshiko. Tosh, who visibly gathered up her courage and reached for Owen's hand, meshing their fingers together. Owen, who looked fit to burst with nerves and sheer joy.
“That something you learned at Torchwood Four, Harper?” Jack asked.
Turning towards Jack sharply, Owen shook himself—but didn't let Toshiko's hand go, even while he tried to do his best impression of standing at attention.
“Yes, sir. Been studying Weevils for quite a while, and working a bit with the man I knew as Captain Harkness. None of us have even low level psychic ability, but we've all had a bit of instruction anyway. Since, eh...since I formed m-my hypothesis about the Weevils.”
Jack strode forward a couple steps, feeling a burst of pride. This version of Owen was twitchy, nervous as Toshiko, maybe moreso...but God, was he brave. Absolute grace under pressure, and while he missed Owen—his sharp humor, his bitter but refreshing cynical brand of pragmatism—this Owen from a world that ran in mirror opposite to his own was as strong and capable in his own right.
Yet still, Jack just wanted to save him. Protect him.
I'm here.
“Good job, Harper.”
Owen blinked, then beamed. Toshiko shared his smile, gathering his captive hand between both of hers.
“Tosh? If you're here longer than another hour I'm suspending you.” Jack continued. “It's only been two weeks since you got shot, I'm pretty sure I told you to stay home.”
“There's plenty to do here without field work or overextending myself!” she started to protest as he led the pair to head back up to the main Hub—
A deep, mournful lowing filled the room just then. Stopping dead, Jack backed up and turned to the Weevil, watched it...watch him.
Like it knew. He could almost...feel...
The Weevil abandoned its food and shuffled towards the door. It was...
A hand went into the pocket of its jumpsuit. A small, glistening object was pulled out.
Hesitantly, Jack used his vortex manipulator to unlatch the door. He pulled it carefully open, extending his hand to the Weevil. Feeling strangely disconnected, he watched from a disjointed third person perspective, somewhere over his own shoulder, as the Weevil placed the object in his hand.
“That's nothing even I've seen before.” Owen admitted as Jack shut the cell hastily and returned to them. “What is it? What'd it give you?”
Jack held up his hand, staring at the object with his heart beating in the middle of his head. Smeared with streaks of greasy fat from the raw meat on the Weevil's hands, it was a polished brass Christmas ornament, a flat sheet punched out into shape, gleaming in the low light of the holding cells.
“It's an angel.” Toshiko observed. “What's it mean?”
“Haven't the foggiest.” Owen replied, nearly in a whisper.
Angel.
I'm here.
“It's from Torchwood Four, isn't it?” Jack asked, looking over at Owen as his fingers wrapped around the ornament. “The Weevil.”
Owen's eyes widened behind his glasses, but after a moment he nodded hesitantly.
“I...suspected.” he confessed. “Thought it might be Brad. Think I was right.”
“Ours was Janet.” Toshiko replied softly, a laugh in her voice. “How funny.”
Jack was only barely listening. He was gripping the tags through his shirt again, but he wasn't sure why. Something about them...something about Torchwood Four...
“...Jack?”
Jack blinked, realizing he was being spoken to. By Toshiko. “What?”
“You all right?”
“Yeah—sorry, was thinking about something. A lead.” He replied, realizing at the last moment that he wasn't lying.
“I asked if you thought we should scan the Weevil for a tracker. If it escaped from Torchwood Four, maybe it was deliberate? It was carrying...some sort of message for you.”
Jack's grip on the ornament tightened a little. So did the grip on the blank tags.
...I'll know you need me...
With shaking fingers, Jack reached up, found the chain of the tags, and tugged them out into the open, letting them rest against his shirt. He felt exposed, strangely naked for it, but the feeling soon melted into one of...calm was the only way he could describe it.
“Tosh, can you see if our CCTV feeds have been tapped?” he asked.
“You think we're being spied on?”
“I do—but if you find anything, don't tell me, and don't terminate the connection. Not unless you find any matching breaches in Mainframe. If all they're doing is watching, let them.”
Jack stole another look at Owen. He tried to guard his features, but he didn't have their Owen's poker face.
His eyes shone with pure relief.
“If it's Torchwood Four, I think they'll be in touch. Soon.”