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jadesfireTitle: Cardiff reprise (or: To Everything There Is A Season)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jadesfire2808
Rating: G
Word Count: ~3,200
Warnings/Spoilers: None.
Betas:crystalshard and miss_zedem who rightly agree that the present tense is not for me. ;) Much appreciated, thanks.
With extra thanks toxwingace for language help. Remaining mistakes are my own.
Summary: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1&4
The Wandering Years 1: New York (or: Wonderful Town)
The Wandering Years 2: San Francisco (or: Where I Left My Heart)
The Wandering Years 3: Las Vegas (or: Viva!) Part 1
The Wandering Years 3: Las Vegas (or: Viva!) Part 2
The Wandering Years 4: Cardiff (or: Going to the Chapel)
The Wandering Years 5: Vancouver (or: Old Friends)
Cardiff, January 12th 1986
Jack didn't cry. He hadn't cried at all; not on the endless plane journeys, nor on the long drive from the airport nor during the interminable wait at the house. Now, standing at the graveside, he still couldn't cry, the knot in his chest strangling all feelings.
Marion was crying, steadily and quietly, weeping into her handkerchief. She leaned against him although he didn't know whether it was for her support or his. When the minister finished and closed the service book, Jack found he couldn't move. His legs were stiff, the numbness spreading from his heart throughout his body, rooting him to the spot. Sensing his paralysis, Hywel stepped forwards, taking his mother's arm and leading her away, heading the line to drop a handful of damp mud onto the casket. Jack didn't join the others as they filed past, each clump of earth landing with a dull thud and echoing in his mind. All he could do was stand and stare down into the hole, dry-eyed and motionless.
His friend was not there. Literally. His body rested in a vault, deep in the depths of the Hub while the wooden box in front of Jack was weighted with sandbags. He wondered what future generations would make of it, the strange, unique practice of burying bags of sand or stones while the bodies were preserved in cold storage. He didn't know what to make of it himself.
Someone touched his arm, barely a brush through the layers of wool and cotton, the coat, jacket and shirt that insulated him from the world outside but did nothing to ease the chill in his soul.
"Jack?" Hywel stood next to him, running a hand down his arm, lacing their cold fingers together. "It's time to go."
Jack nodded, allowing himself to be led away, leaving half his heart behind.
People were milling around at the wake, some crying, some laughing, all waiting for their chance to pay their respects, forming an uncharacteristically disorganised queue to embrace Marion, speak to Hywel and share in their grief. Jack sat alone at a table in the corner, cradling his drink and not meeting anyone's eye. He didn't know most of the Torchwood staff anymore, the old faces long since gone. He did see Mike, lurking in another corner, nursing a drink that matched Jack's own. Just for a moment, their eyes met and Mike lifted his glass, a silent salute to their missing mutual friend.
After a while, Hywel tapped his glass, calling for silence. The dull ringing made Jack look up, his breath catching as, just for a moment, he saw the father in the son. The speech was short and gracious, no gushing tributes or overblown eulogies that would have induced red-faced cringing. At the toast, Jack raised his glass with the others, knocking it back in a single, burning gulp that made him gasp.
"To Hugh Jones."
When the grief-stricken atmosphere began to overwhelm him, Jack sought refuge outside, realising as he did so this was the same hall they'd used for Hywel's wedding reception. Mike joined him, along with the other smokers, but this time Jack turned down the offer of a cigarette.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "They don't seem to have done you any harm."
"You know me," Jack said, the trace of a smile curling his lips. "Clean living all the way."
"Or the devil looks after his own."
"Could be."
After a few more minutes of desultory conversation, Jack wandered away from the hall into the gardens. The bench that he'd shared with Hugh years ago was still there, mossy and darkened with age. He sat, brushing a hand over the damp wood and settling against the uncomfortable slats.
There were still no tears, nothing but the empty hole at the core of his being that felt like it could never be filled again. He could still hear Hugh's voice in his head, still remember his face so clearly and for a moment it seemed impossible that the image should remain just a memory. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last conversation they'd had, only to find that it was drowned out by the remembrance of another phone call, barely three days ago.
Jack looked up from his desk as Zoë called his name.
"It's Wales for you."
"Great, thanks." Grinning, Jack took the phone. "Hugh! I thought you weren't talking to me, it's been that long. Finally balance the budget so you can afford long distance?"
"Jack."
It wasn't Hugh. "Hywel?"
"Jack, I-"
The tone of voice was enough to make Jack's knees buckle and he sat hard on the edge of the desk. "Hywel, what's going on?"
"Jack, it's Dad."
Jack looked up, jerked out of the reminiscence by the sound of running footsteps coming down the path towards him. He stood in time to catch hold of the boy before he went flying over a tree root, so startled by Jack's presence in this deserted place that he forgot to look where he was going. Swinging the child round, Jack set him on his feet, checking he was alright. The boy was panting, coughing a little as he looked back at Jack without fear and with just a hint of curiosity. Releasing his grip, Jack shifted away, still crouched on his haunches so that their eyes were level.
"Hello."
"'lo." The boy coughed again, trying to catch his breath. He was apparently unworried by Jack's scrutiny, reaching up to loosen the smart tie that someone had made him wear. Already knowing the answer, Jack asked,
"What's your name, then?"
"Ianto."
"Nice to meet you, Ianto. I'm Jack." The offered hand was studied, then shaken and Jack stood, stretching his legs and gesturing to the bench. "Do you want to sit down for a while?"
The boy shrugged. "'kay."
His feet didn't reach the ground, and he swung them absently as they sat side by side. He looked sideways at Jack.
"Did you know my granddad?
"Yes. For a very long time."
Ianto considered this for a moment. "How long?"
"Years."
"How many years?"
"More than you've been alive."
This clearly wasn't satisfactory because the boy wasn't giving up. "For more than my Dad's been alive?"
"Almost."
"But," Ianto wrinkled his nose in thought, "you don't look old like Grandma does."
"Don't let her hear you say that."
Somewhere in the distance, Jack heard another voice, calling Ianto's name.
"That's Dad." Ianto jumped down from the bench. "He's looking for me."
"I'm sure he is." Jack raised his voice. "Over here, Hywel." He got to his feet as well, in time to see Hywel hurrying down the path towards them.
"There you are, Ianto. Your mother's getting worried." With a glance at Jack, he ruffled his son's hair. "Run on back to the hall, there's a good boy."
Ianto nodded, looking from one man to the other before squeezing between them and starting to run again. He called over his shoulder, "Goodbye, Jack," and then he was out of sight round the corner.
Hywel looked up at Jack. "And my mother is getting worried about you," he said with a half-smile. "You've been gone for ages."
"Sorry. I just needed some air." Jack sat down again, gesturing for Hywel to join him. "The kid's grown a lot since the last photo you sent me."
"That's what they do." Stretching his legs out in front of him, Hywel closed his eyes. "And they do it fast."
"Don't you just," Jack muttered, watching some of the tension ease in his friend's face. "Isn't he a bit young to be at a funeral?"
Hywel shrugged. "His mother thought it was important. And I'm not sure he really understands it all, anyway."
"He understands." Jack had seen intelligence in those wide, innocent eyes, of a child who watched and listened and waited. No child growing up within Torchwood could be otherwise. When he said as much to Hywel, the other man laughed bitterly.
"I guess not. Maybe that's why-" He broke off, biting his lip.
"Why what?" Some of the coldness that had drained away from Jack's heart began to creep back. Hywel's face was still and calm and he didn't open his eyes as he spoke.
"That's why Vanessa's taking him away. Taking herself away as well." When he opened his eyes, there was a challenge there that Jack couldn't meet. "She's leaving me, Jack."
Surprised but not shocked, Jack shook his head.
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"Where will she go?"
Hywel closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the bench. "UNIT have opened an archive centre in Newport. It's far enough to be away from me, but close enough that I can still see Ianto."
"And it's the kind of work that doesn't require her to be retconned."
"She's always been the practical one." There was little bitterness in Hywel's voice, just a weary resignation. "I guess sometimes Torchwood drives you apart and sometimes it brings you together." He turned his face to Jack; he looked tired. "At least she's letting me see Ianto."
"It's important," Jack said absently. Some of his thoughts must have bled into his tone of voice, because Hywel opened his eyes, sitting up and reaching for Jack's hand.
"It's not your fault, Jack. I swear. You haven't even been in the country for most of the time we've been married."
Jack shook his head, glancing down at their entwined fingers. "It's never as simple as being someone's fault or not. Life is always messier than that."
"True. But she's not citing you in the divorce, in case you were worried. And she's got no reason to."
"Yeah, that's really the first thing I thought of." Pulling away, Jack got to his feet, not sure where he was going, just feeling the need to move.
"I should get back to Mam," Hywel said, standing up as well. "Can't have both of us disappearing on her." There was a slight hesitation, and for a moment it was eight years ago, that moment of choice all over again. The pain and hope and sorrow and love in Hywel's face was too much for Jack and he looked away, hating himself for a coward and bracing himself for the worst.
Instead, there was a soft sound, somewhere between a sob and a sigh of acceptance. Then the gravel crunched as Hywel walked away. Jack pushed his hands into his pockets, flexing his fingers in an attempt to restore the blood flow. The wind was still tugging at the branches and leaves, lifting the hem of his coat so that it billowed out behind him. Among the rustling, though, there was an alien sound, something that didn't quite belong.
He turned, peering into the shadows of the undergrowth next to the path.
"Who's there?"
"Damn." The word was followed by more elaborate and very familiar swearing, and Jack went across to help Jock Goody disentangle himself from a bush. At seventy-five, Jock still had the upright bearing and keen expression of a military man, although his bright blue eyes were watery now and his hair had gone to grey. It had to be ten years since they'd last seen each other, but Jack could still see the efficient soldier who'd recruited him to Torchwood all those years ago.
"Do you always hide in the bushes at funerals?" Jack asked, a hand on Jock's elbow as he brushed the last leaf away.
"I wasn't hiding." Jock stiffened. "But you didn't look like you wanted to be disturbed."
Stepping back a little and letting go, Jack kicked at the leaves on the path. "Boy, did you read that one wrong."
"No, I don't think I did." Closing the distance again, Jock put a hand on Jack's arm. "There's too much history here for you to leave it at that. I might be an old man, but I've still got eyes."
Jack laughed. "Old man? I've got fifty years on you, at least."
"At least? I don't suppose you'd like to be more specific?"
"No."
"Can't blame me for trying." Jock's eyes twinkled. "But we don't all get to sit back and watch time pass us by, Jack. Some of us are caught up in it and there's not a bloody thing we can do."
"You think I don't know that?" The words came tumbling out, and Jack realised he was starting to shout. He didn't care. "Today, of all days, you think I don't know that? That I'm standing here, watching and waiting while Hugh's-" He broke off, turning away.
When he spoke, Jock's reply was gentle, as though speaking to a child. "Hugh's dead, Jack."
The bubble burst. The coldness flooded out, replaced by pure, hot anguish, burning through Jack as the tears, at last, began to fall. He gripped the back of the bench so hard that his hand hurt and he felt his legs give way beneath him. He was crying for Hugh, for what he'd lost, for what he was going to lose and for the damn waste of it all. Jock's hand gripped his shoulder, a lifeline to a drowning man but Jack didn't think he had the strength to hold onto it. He cried until his chest hurt and black spots appeared behind his eyes.
Eventually though, the floods rolled back, and Jack found he was kneeling on the ground, one hand on the bench, the other wrapped in Jock's. The old man was leaning at an uncomfortable angle, trying to hold onto Jack without falling over. He gave Jack a gentle smile as he got to his feet.
"I think you needed that," he said dryly.
Accepting the offered handkerchief, Jack wiped his face carefully, managing to smile back. "Could be."
"I also think there's a woman in that hall who needs comforting a hell of a lot more than you do. Have you even said two words to her today?"
Accepting the rebuke, Jack shook his head, starting to move back onto the path. "I guess I've got some catching up to do."
"I guess you have." Stepping a little stiffly, Jock followed him, accepting the offered arm for support along the uneven surface. "When are you leaving again?"
"Two days. There's still a lot to do out there."
"There's a lot to do here."
"Not yet," Jack said, shaking his head. "I can't. And time is the one luxury I have."
"I suppose so." They walked in silence for a while, just the sound of the gravel crunching beneath their feet. At the door of the hall, Jock released him, giving him a final, stern look. "But I expect to see you before my funeral, not at it. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir." Jack clicked his heels together and saluted, making Jock smile and shake his head.
"You're out of practice."
"I'll work on it."
They went into the hall, seeing Marion turn to them, her eyes lighting up as she saw Jack and filling with fresh tears. Jock gave Jack's arm a final squeeze.
"You've got a lot to do," he said again. "Better get to it."
Jack nodded, clasping Jock's hand in a final thank you and farewell, then he crossed the hall to take Marion's outstretched hands.
Epilogue
Los Angeles Airport, January 14th 1986
The airport lounge was uncomfortably hot and Jack wished he'd put his coat in his suitcase. There was a two hour wait for his plane and he spent half an hour wandering round, looking at the shops and trying not to stare at the passers-by. After a certain amount of time in his job, it was hard not see everyone as a potential threat.
Eventually, he found himself a seat, not nearly as close to the corner as he would have liked but with a fairly good view of most of the lounge. He settled himself down to watch the world go by. After another half an hour, he decided that wherever the world was passing, it was somewhere other than this airport. It was going to be another long hour.
A small, green ball bounced off Jack's foot. He bent to retrieve it, looking around for the owner.
"Sore wa watashi no desu!"1
The speaker was small and slight, with dark eyes and black hair pulled into bunches. She pointed to the ball and repeated, in English this time,
"That's mine."
"Oh." Jack turned it in his hand, sensing rather than seeing the intelligent, appraising look he was getting from the girl. He guessed that she was about ten years old. "Would you like it back?"
She nodded, her eyes widening even further as he added,
"Honto? Honto desu ka?"2
"Yes. Please." She giggled. "You speak Japanese."
"So do you." He threw her the ball, which she caught with both hands.
"I'm from Japan," she said.
"But you speak English."
"We're going to live in England." She fidgeted, toying with the ball. "We're going to live with my Grandmother and Grandfather."
"Are you looking forward to it?"
She shrugged. "I will have to make new friends. I don't like making new friends."
"It's never easy." He paused for a moment, considering, then held out his hand. The girl looked at it for a time, then shifted the ball to under her left arm, slipping her right hand into his.
Jack smiled. "I'm Jack. Pleased to meet you."
"Watashi no namae wa Toshiko desu"3
"How old are you, Toshiko?"
"I am ten years and ten months old."
"Really?" There was something about the way she said the words that caught Jack's attention. "How many months is that altogether?" he asked.
"One hundred and thirty."
"How many weeks?"
She thought for a minute. "Five hundred and sixty."
"How many days?"
This time, the pause was longer and Jack saw her lips move silently. "Three thousand, nine hundred and fifty five."
He had no idea whether it was the right answer or not. It didn't really matter. "How many hours is that?"
The answer took even longer to arrive, but Jack wasn't interested in the timing. "Ninety-four thousand, nine hundred and twenty two. To now."
"That's very impressive maths," he said and the girl smiled.
"I like maths." She stepped closer, her earlier nervousness gone. "I can do more if you want me to."
"Maybe another time." Looking round, Jack tried to see if there were any worried or irate parents searching the crowded lounge. "Are you all on your own here?"
"Mum and Dad are around." She looked over her shoulder, then back, frowning. "I should probably go and find them."
"You probably should. Hang on." Fishing in a pocket, Jack found one of his small, discreet cards. "Give them this."
After a moment's hesitation, she took the card, looking closely at it. "What is it?"
"It's for when you're older. Go on now." He made a shooing gesture and she took half a step away.
"Goodbye, Jack."
"Sayonara, Toshiko."
She ran off, weaving through the crowds of people and Jack watched her go. Then he smiled, deciding that the airport wasn't nearly as boring as he'd thought it was. Humming a little to himself, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and folded his coat over his arm. Somewhere in this eternal waiting room was a cup of coffee with his name on it. Getting to his feet, Jack set out to find it.
Translations (I hope!):
1. That's mine!
2. Really? Is that true?
3. My name is Toshiko
Author:
jadesfire2808Rating: G
Word Count: ~3,200
Warnings/Spoilers: None.
Betas:
crystalshard and miss_zedem who rightly agree that the present tense is not for me. ;) Much appreciated, thanks.With extra thanks to
xwingace for language help. Remaining mistakes are my own.Summary: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1&4
The Wandering Years 1: New York (or: Wonderful Town)
The Wandering Years 2: San Francisco (or: Where I Left My Heart)
The Wandering Years 3: Las Vegas (or: Viva!) Part 1
The Wandering Years 3: Las Vegas (or: Viva!) Part 2
The Wandering Years 4: Cardiff (or: Going to the Chapel)
The Wandering Years 5: Vancouver (or: Old Friends)
Cardiff, January 12th 1986
Jack didn't cry. He hadn't cried at all; not on the endless plane journeys, nor on the long drive from the airport nor during the interminable wait at the house. Now, standing at the graveside, he still couldn't cry, the knot in his chest strangling all feelings.
Marion was crying, steadily and quietly, weeping into her handkerchief. She leaned against him although he didn't know whether it was for her support or his. When the minister finished and closed the service book, Jack found he couldn't move. His legs were stiff, the numbness spreading from his heart throughout his body, rooting him to the spot. Sensing his paralysis, Hywel stepped forwards, taking his mother's arm and leading her away, heading the line to drop a handful of damp mud onto the casket. Jack didn't join the others as they filed past, each clump of earth landing with a dull thud and echoing in his mind. All he could do was stand and stare down into the hole, dry-eyed and motionless.
His friend was not there. Literally. His body rested in a vault, deep in the depths of the Hub while the wooden box in front of Jack was weighted with sandbags. He wondered what future generations would make of it, the strange, unique practice of burying bags of sand or stones while the bodies were preserved in cold storage. He didn't know what to make of it himself.
Someone touched his arm, barely a brush through the layers of wool and cotton, the coat, jacket and shirt that insulated him from the world outside but did nothing to ease the chill in his soul.
"Jack?" Hywel stood next to him, running a hand down his arm, lacing their cold fingers together. "It's time to go."
Jack nodded, allowing himself to be led away, leaving half his heart behind.
People were milling around at the wake, some crying, some laughing, all waiting for their chance to pay their respects, forming an uncharacteristically disorganised queue to embrace Marion, speak to Hywel and share in their grief. Jack sat alone at a table in the corner, cradling his drink and not meeting anyone's eye. He didn't know most of the Torchwood staff anymore, the old faces long since gone. He did see Mike, lurking in another corner, nursing a drink that matched Jack's own. Just for a moment, their eyes met and Mike lifted his glass, a silent salute to their missing mutual friend.
After a while, Hywel tapped his glass, calling for silence. The dull ringing made Jack look up, his breath catching as, just for a moment, he saw the father in the son. The speech was short and gracious, no gushing tributes or overblown eulogies that would have induced red-faced cringing. At the toast, Jack raised his glass with the others, knocking it back in a single, burning gulp that made him gasp.
"To Hugh Jones."
When the grief-stricken atmosphere began to overwhelm him, Jack sought refuge outside, realising as he did so this was the same hall they'd used for Hywel's wedding reception. Mike joined him, along with the other smokers, but this time Jack turned down the offer of a cigarette.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "They don't seem to have done you any harm."
"You know me," Jack said, the trace of a smile curling his lips. "Clean living all the way."
"Or the devil looks after his own."
"Could be."
After a few more minutes of desultory conversation, Jack wandered away from the hall into the gardens. The bench that he'd shared with Hugh years ago was still there, mossy and darkened with age. He sat, brushing a hand over the damp wood and settling against the uncomfortable slats.
There were still no tears, nothing but the empty hole at the core of his being that felt like it could never be filled again. He could still hear Hugh's voice in his head, still remember his face so clearly and for a moment it seemed impossible that the image should remain just a memory. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last conversation they'd had, only to find that it was drowned out by the remembrance of another phone call, barely three days ago.
Jack looked up from his desk as Zoë called his name.
"It's Wales for you."
"Great, thanks." Grinning, Jack took the phone. "Hugh! I thought you weren't talking to me, it's been that long. Finally balance the budget so you can afford long distance?"
"Jack."
It wasn't Hugh. "Hywel?"
"Jack, I-"
The tone of voice was enough to make Jack's knees buckle and he sat hard on the edge of the desk. "Hywel, what's going on?"
"Jack, it's Dad."
Jack looked up, jerked out of the reminiscence by the sound of running footsteps coming down the path towards him. He stood in time to catch hold of the boy before he went flying over a tree root, so startled by Jack's presence in this deserted place that he forgot to look where he was going. Swinging the child round, Jack set him on his feet, checking he was alright. The boy was panting, coughing a little as he looked back at Jack without fear and with just a hint of curiosity. Releasing his grip, Jack shifted away, still crouched on his haunches so that their eyes were level.
"Hello."
"'lo." The boy coughed again, trying to catch his breath. He was apparently unworried by Jack's scrutiny, reaching up to loosen the smart tie that someone had made him wear. Already knowing the answer, Jack asked,
"What's your name, then?"
"Ianto."
"Nice to meet you, Ianto. I'm Jack." The offered hand was studied, then shaken and Jack stood, stretching his legs and gesturing to the bench. "Do you want to sit down for a while?"
The boy shrugged. "'kay."
His feet didn't reach the ground, and he swung them absently as they sat side by side. He looked sideways at Jack.
"Did you know my granddad?
"Yes. For a very long time."
Ianto considered this for a moment. "How long?"
"Years."
"How many years?"
"More than you've been alive."
This clearly wasn't satisfactory because the boy wasn't giving up. "For more than my Dad's been alive?"
"Almost."
"But," Ianto wrinkled his nose in thought, "you don't look old like Grandma does."
"Don't let her hear you say that."
Somewhere in the distance, Jack heard another voice, calling Ianto's name.
"That's Dad." Ianto jumped down from the bench. "He's looking for me."
"I'm sure he is." Jack raised his voice. "Over here, Hywel." He got to his feet as well, in time to see Hywel hurrying down the path towards them.
"There you are, Ianto. Your mother's getting worried." With a glance at Jack, he ruffled his son's hair. "Run on back to the hall, there's a good boy."
Ianto nodded, looking from one man to the other before squeezing between them and starting to run again. He called over his shoulder, "Goodbye, Jack," and then he was out of sight round the corner.
Hywel looked up at Jack. "And my mother is getting worried about you," he said with a half-smile. "You've been gone for ages."
"Sorry. I just needed some air." Jack sat down again, gesturing for Hywel to join him. "The kid's grown a lot since the last photo you sent me."
"That's what they do." Stretching his legs out in front of him, Hywel closed his eyes. "And they do it fast."
"Don't you just," Jack muttered, watching some of the tension ease in his friend's face. "Isn't he a bit young to be at a funeral?"
Hywel shrugged. "His mother thought it was important. And I'm not sure he really understands it all, anyway."
"He understands." Jack had seen intelligence in those wide, innocent eyes, of a child who watched and listened and waited. No child growing up within Torchwood could be otherwise. When he said as much to Hywel, the other man laughed bitterly.
"I guess not. Maybe that's why-" He broke off, biting his lip.
"Why what?" Some of the coldness that had drained away from Jack's heart began to creep back. Hywel's face was still and calm and he didn't open his eyes as he spoke.
"That's why Vanessa's taking him away. Taking herself away as well." When he opened his eyes, there was a challenge there that Jack couldn't meet. "She's leaving me, Jack."
Surprised but not shocked, Jack shook his head.
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"Where will she go?"
Hywel closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the bench. "UNIT have opened an archive centre in Newport. It's far enough to be away from me, but close enough that I can still see Ianto."
"And it's the kind of work that doesn't require her to be retconned."
"She's always been the practical one." There was little bitterness in Hywel's voice, just a weary resignation. "I guess sometimes Torchwood drives you apart and sometimes it brings you together." He turned his face to Jack; he looked tired. "At least she's letting me see Ianto."
"It's important," Jack said absently. Some of his thoughts must have bled into his tone of voice, because Hywel opened his eyes, sitting up and reaching for Jack's hand.
"It's not your fault, Jack. I swear. You haven't even been in the country for most of the time we've been married."
Jack shook his head, glancing down at their entwined fingers. "It's never as simple as being someone's fault or not. Life is always messier than that."
"True. But she's not citing you in the divorce, in case you were worried. And she's got no reason to."
"Yeah, that's really the first thing I thought of." Pulling away, Jack got to his feet, not sure where he was going, just feeling the need to move.
"I should get back to Mam," Hywel said, standing up as well. "Can't have both of us disappearing on her." There was a slight hesitation, and for a moment it was eight years ago, that moment of choice all over again. The pain and hope and sorrow and love in Hywel's face was too much for Jack and he looked away, hating himself for a coward and bracing himself for the worst.
Instead, there was a soft sound, somewhere between a sob and a sigh of acceptance. Then the gravel crunched as Hywel walked away. Jack pushed his hands into his pockets, flexing his fingers in an attempt to restore the blood flow. The wind was still tugging at the branches and leaves, lifting the hem of his coat so that it billowed out behind him. Among the rustling, though, there was an alien sound, something that didn't quite belong.
He turned, peering into the shadows of the undergrowth next to the path.
"Who's there?"
"Damn." The word was followed by more elaborate and very familiar swearing, and Jack went across to help Jock Goody disentangle himself from a bush. At seventy-five, Jock still had the upright bearing and keen expression of a military man, although his bright blue eyes were watery now and his hair had gone to grey. It had to be ten years since they'd last seen each other, but Jack could still see the efficient soldier who'd recruited him to Torchwood all those years ago.
"Do you always hide in the bushes at funerals?" Jack asked, a hand on Jock's elbow as he brushed the last leaf away.
"I wasn't hiding." Jock stiffened. "But you didn't look like you wanted to be disturbed."
Stepping back a little and letting go, Jack kicked at the leaves on the path. "Boy, did you read that one wrong."
"No, I don't think I did." Closing the distance again, Jock put a hand on Jack's arm. "There's too much history here for you to leave it at that. I might be an old man, but I've still got eyes."
Jack laughed. "Old man? I've got fifty years on you, at least."
"At least? I don't suppose you'd like to be more specific?"
"No."
"Can't blame me for trying." Jock's eyes twinkled. "But we don't all get to sit back and watch time pass us by, Jack. Some of us are caught up in it and there's not a bloody thing we can do."
"You think I don't know that?" The words came tumbling out, and Jack realised he was starting to shout. He didn't care. "Today, of all days, you think I don't know that? That I'm standing here, watching and waiting while Hugh's-" He broke off, turning away.
When he spoke, Jock's reply was gentle, as though speaking to a child. "Hugh's dead, Jack."
The bubble burst. The coldness flooded out, replaced by pure, hot anguish, burning through Jack as the tears, at last, began to fall. He gripped the back of the bench so hard that his hand hurt and he felt his legs give way beneath him. He was crying for Hugh, for what he'd lost, for what he was going to lose and for the damn waste of it all. Jock's hand gripped his shoulder, a lifeline to a drowning man but Jack didn't think he had the strength to hold onto it. He cried until his chest hurt and black spots appeared behind his eyes.
Eventually though, the floods rolled back, and Jack found he was kneeling on the ground, one hand on the bench, the other wrapped in Jock's. The old man was leaning at an uncomfortable angle, trying to hold onto Jack without falling over. He gave Jack a gentle smile as he got to his feet.
"I think you needed that," he said dryly.
Accepting the offered handkerchief, Jack wiped his face carefully, managing to smile back. "Could be."
"I also think there's a woman in that hall who needs comforting a hell of a lot more than you do. Have you even said two words to her today?"
Accepting the rebuke, Jack shook his head, starting to move back onto the path. "I guess I've got some catching up to do."
"I guess you have." Stepping a little stiffly, Jock followed him, accepting the offered arm for support along the uneven surface. "When are you leaving again?"
"Two days. There's still a lot to do out there."
"There's a lot to do here."
"Not yet," Jack said, shaking his head. "I can't. And time is the one luxury I have."
"I suppose so." They walked in silence for a while, just the sound of the gravel crunching beneath their feet. At the door of the hall, Jock released him, giving him a final, stern look. "But I expect to see you before my funeral, not at it. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir." Jack clicked his heels together and saluted, making Jock smile and shake his head.
"You're out of practice."
"I'll work on it."
They went into the hall, seeing Marion turn to them, her eyes lighting up as she saw Jack and filling with fresh tears. Jock gave Jack's arm a final squeeze.
"You've got a lot to do," he said again. "Better get to it."
Jack nodded, clasping Jock's hand in a final thank you and farewell, then he crossed the hall to take Marion's outstretched hands.
Epilogue
Los Angeles Airport, January 14th 1986
The airport lounge was uncomfortably hot and Jack wished he'd put his coat in his suitcase. There was a two hour wait for his plane and he spent half an hour wandering round, looking at the shops and trying not to stare at the passers-by. After a certain amount of time in his job, it was hard not see everyone as a potential threat.
Eventually, he found himself a seat, not nearly as close to the corner as he would have liked but with a fairly good view of most of the lounge. He settled himself down to watch the world go by. After another half an hour, he decided that wherever the world was passing, it was somewhere other than this airport. It was going to be another long hour.
A small, green ball bounced off Jack's foot. He bent to retrieve it, looking around for the owner.
"Sore wa watashi no desu!"1
The speaker was small and slight, with dark eyes and black hair pulled into bunches. She pointed to the ball and repeated, in English this time,
"That's mine."
"Oh." Jack turned it in his hand, sensing rather than seeing the intelligent, appraising look he was getting from the girl. He guessed that she was about ten years old. "Would you like it back?"
She nodded, her eyes widening even further as he added,
"Honto? Honto desu ka?"2
"Yes. Please." She giggled. "You speak Japanese."
"So do you." He threw her the ball, which she caught with both hands.
"I'm from Japan," she said.
"But you speak English."
"We're going to live in England." She fidgeted, toying with the ball. "We're going to live with my Grandmother and Grandfather."
"Are you looking forward to it?"
She shrugged. "I will have to make new friends. I don't like making new friends."
"It's never easy." He paused for a moment, considering, then held out his hand. The girl looked at it for a time, then shifted the ball to under her left arm, slipping her right hand into his.
Jack smiled. "I'm Jack. Pleased to meet you."
"Watashi no namae wa Toshiko desu"3
"How old are you, Toshiko?"
"I am ten years and ten months old."
"Really?" There was something about the way she said the words that caught Jack's attention. "How many months is that altogether?" he asked.
"One hundred and thirty."
"How many weeks?"
She thought for a minute. "Five hundred and sixty."
"How many days?"
This time, the pause was longer and Jack saw her lips move silently. "Three thousand, nine hundred and fifty five."
He had no idea whether it was the right answer or not. It didn't really matter. "How many hours is that?"
The answer took even longer to arrive, but Jack wasn't interested in the timing. "Ninety-four thousand, nine hundred and twenty two. To now."
"That's very impressive maths," he said and the girl smiled.
"I like maths." She stepped closer, her earlier nervousness gone. "I can do more if you want me to."
"Maybe another time." Looking round, Jack tried to see if there were any worried or irate parents searching the crowded lounge. "Are you all on your own here?"
"Mum and Dad are around." She looked over her shoulder, then back, frowning. "I should probably go and find them."
"You probably should. Hang on." Fishing in a pocket, Jack found one of his small, discreet cards. "Give them this."
After a moment's hesitation, she took the card, looking closely at it. "What is it?"
"It's for when you're older. Go on now." He made a shooing gesture and she took half a step away.
"Goodbye, Jack."
"Sayonara, Toshiko."
She ran off, weaving through the crowds of people and Jack watched her go. Then he smiled, deciding that the airport wasn't nearly as boring as he'd thought it was. Humming a little to himself, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and folded his coat over his arm. Somewhere in this eternal waiting room was a cup of coffee with his name on it. Getting to his feet, Jack set out to find it.
Translations (I hope!):
1. That's mine!
2. Really? Is that true?
3. My name is Toshiko
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-07 08:00 am (UTC)was drowned out by the remembrance of another other phone call, barely three days ago. <-- should that be, of another phone call, because another other phone call sounds awkward to me.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww... Jack meeting Ianto for the first time, what a bittersweet meeting.
*snicker!!!!* at this:
"Do you always hide in the bushes at funerals?" Jack asked, a hand on Jock's elbow as he brushed the last leaf away.
Great ending... guess the card would help her either with paying for university later, or get her into a good/great one/help him recruit her later if she lives up to the potential he sees in her?
Argh!!!!! No fair, I've finished the fic! Post more Jack!fic right now!!!! *pout*
*grin*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-07 08:27 am (UTC)I ummed and ahed about putting Ianto in, and fought hard not too make it too sickly or creepy (ditto with Tosh) - glad it worked :) And don't worry! There's two more stories to go in this series and I've got some more up my sleeve...
I'll be posting about the continuing stories in a couple of days, so you'll get all the chances you want to give me ideas. More ideas. ;D
Ta muchly as ever!