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fandomweekly2019-10-27 01:22 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2019-10-27 01:22 pm
Entry tags:
[#029] THIS IS NOT THE END (TORCHWOOD)
Theme Prompt: #029 - Ghosts
Title: This is not the end
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: M (language) / Spoilers for Episode 2.6 & 2.7
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jack has once chance to cheat death and save a life.
Jack doesn't wait for the others to approve of his plan. He doesn't even hang around long enough for them to respectfully finalise preparations for Owen's body to be forever ensconced in Torchwood's morgue. As soon as the body is out of the boot of the car and on a trolley, being stoically wheeled inside, Jack is back in the SUV and pulling out of the underground car park. The others must assume it's grief and that he can't bear to be there to watch Owen finally laid to rest. They're only partly correct.
It's the words Ianto said to him all those months ago that gnaw at him. That's the thing about gloves, sir. They come in pairs. Could there really be two resurrection gauntlets? It took an empathic connection to make the first one work, reaching from the living to the dead to pull them back into life. He'd had no joy getting it to work, but this time would be different. Jack wanted it more than anything. Owen didn't die here tonight. But where to find the second glove? The first one had been at the bottom of Cardiff Bay, well out of harm's reach. Only one person in this city might know where the second one lay.
Jack's hunch had been right. The girl with the tarot cards had given him the location, but also a warning not to use it. Her predictions had been right before, but his time he ignored her. Whatever the consequences, he could live with them.
St Mary's Church on the outskirts of town had been derelict and abandoned for years. Even the diocese had given up on it, the cost of rectifying termite damage and heavy ground subsidence more than it could stomach, Jack recalled reading in the newspapers.
When the people found out what the glove could do, they built the church on top of it, the girl told him. Not literally, he hoped. Churches tended to go more for storing their precious relics in sacramental boxes than burying them underneath the foundations. That should make it easier to find. He'd unearth every flagstone if he had to.
What he hadn't banked on was the church playing host to a nest of weevils. There must have been two dozen or more, risking living aboveground instead of down in the depths of Cardiff's sewers. Did the power of the glove draw them here, or was it just coincidence? Overhead something flapped and sent a shower of dust and cobwebs down on his head. There was no belfry in this modest little church, but it was home to bats nonetheless and they hadn't taken kindly to his arrival. They were the least of his worries as he froze, expecting the weevils to awaken en masse at the disturbance.
They continued to slumber and Jack slowly let out the breath he'd been holding. They must be used to the sound. Creepy creatures cohabiting in this creepy old church. There wasn't an inch of floor they didn't cover, sprawled in all directions. Jack could see his destination - an altar of collected clutter, broken bicycles, metal cans and unloved dolls. He knew the glove was at the heart of the pile of worshipper offerings. He only had to get there.
Tiptoeing between the creatures was a tricky affair, and unearthing the ornamental box containing the glove even more so. He almost got away with it until a clattering can tumbled from the altar, waking them. It was a mad dash to extract the box and himself, no longer worrying about the amount of noise he made. Getting out of there alive was all that mattered. The glove worked best on the newly deceased and any delay might make it harder for Jack to bring Owen's life-force back.
He ducked and weaved but it was no use. That many weevils meant Jack was a dead man. When he finally resurrected, covered in blood and torn clothing, they'd mercifully gone back to sleep. He grabbed the glove and bolted silently for the SUV.
He was halfway back to the hub when the silence inside the car was interrupted.
'The others won't let you use it, assuming you even can,' the familiar voice said. He chanced a look sideways and found Suzie lounged back in the passenger seat, slipping the glove onto her hand with practised ease.
Suzie knows. She knows the price Jack will have to pay for using the glove to resurrect the dead. A life for a life, as the old saying goes. That's was how it worked. She'd figured out its secret and taken it to her grave. At least until she'd set in motion the chain of events post mortem that would see the team eventually lead to use the glove on her, giving her that second chance at life - a new start far away from the clutches of Torchwood. And she'd very nearly succeeded.
This was different though. Jack knew what he was going in for. He had more life than anyone, immortal as he was. Even if the glove tried to do the same thing to him, chanelling his life into Owen, it would be okay. Jack's immortality would be enough to sustain them both.
'It's not their decision,' he replied, not even stopping to consider it was a ghost he was talking to.
'Oh, so it's okay to bring Owen back, but not me?'
Jack gritted his teeth. 'You tried to kill Gwen.'
'And you killed me instead, but that's okay. Such a fucking hypocrite.'
When Jack turned to give her a lecture, he found her gone. The glove was resting on the seat just where he'd left it. He let out a shuddering breath. She'd never been there to begin with. Just your guilty conscience talking, Jack. That's all, he tried to reassure himself. Owen had died trying to do the right thing. It wasn't his time. That had to make what Jack was about to do okay.
Title: This is not the end
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: M (language) / Spoilers for Episode 2.6 & 2.7
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jack has once chance to cheat death and save a life.
Jack doesn't wait for the others to approve of his plan. He doesn't even hang around long enough for them to respectfully finalise preparations for Owen's body to be forever ensconced in Torchwood's morgue. As soon as the body is out of the boot of the car and on a trolley, being stoically wheeled inside, Jack is back in the SUV and pulling out of the underground car park. The others must assume it's grief and that he can't bear to be there to watch Owen finally laid to rest. They're only partly correct.
It's the words Ianto said to him all those months ago that gnaw at him. That's the thing about gloves, sir. They come in pairs. Could there really be two resurrection gauntlets? It took an empathic connection to make the first one work, reaching from the living to the dead to pull them back into life. He'd had no joy getting it to work, but this time would be different. Jack wanted it more than anything. Owen didn't die here tonight. But where to find the second glove? The first one had been at the bottom of Cardiff Bay, well out of harm's reach. Only one person in this city might know where the second one lay.
Jack's hunch had been right. The girl with the tarot cards had given him the location, but also a warning not to use it. Her predictions had been right before, but his time he ignored her. Whatever the consequences, he could live with them.
St Mary's Church on the outskirts of town had been derelict and abandoned for years. Even the diocese had given up on it, the cost of rectifying termite damage and heavy ground subsidence more than it could stomach, Jack recalled reading in the newspapers.
When the people found out what the glove could do, they built the church on top of it, the girl told him. Not literally, he hoped. Churches tended to go more for storing their precious relics in sacramental boxes than burying them underneath the foundations. That should make it easier to find. He'd unearth every flagstone if he had to.
What he hadn't banked on was the church playing host to a nest of weevils. There must have been two dozen or more, risking living aboveground instead of down in the depths of Cardiff's sewers. Did the power of the glove draw them here, or was it just coincidence? Overhead something flapped and sent a shower of dust and cobwebs down on his head. There was no belfry in this modest little church, but it was home to bats nonetheless and they hadn't taken kindly to his arrival. They were the least of his worries as he froze, expecting the weevils to awaken en masse at the disturbance.
They continued to slumber and Jack slowly let out the breath he'd been holding. They must be used to the sound. Creepy creatures cohabiting in this creepy old church. There wasn't an inch of floor they didn't cover, sprawled in all directions. Jack could see his destination - an altar of collected clutter, broken bicycles, metal cans and unloved dolls. He knew the glove was at the heart of the pile of worshipper offerings. He only had to get there.
Tiptoeing between the creatures was a tricky affair, and unearthing the ornamental box containing the glove even more so. He almost got away with it until a clattering can tumbled from the altar, waking them. It was a mad dash to extract the box and himself, no longer worrying about the amount of noise he made. Getting out of there alive was all that mattered. The glove worked best on the newly deceased and any delay might make it harder for Jack to bring Owen's life-force back.
He ducked and weaved but it was no use. That many weevils meant Jack was a dead man. When he finally resurrected, covered in blood and torn clothing, they'd mercifully gone back to sleep. He grabbed the glove and bolted silently for the SUV.
He was halfway back to the hub when the silence inside the car was interrupted.
'The others won't let you use it, assuming you even can,' the familiar voice said. He chanced a look sideways and found Suzie lounged back in the passenger seat, slipping the glove onto her hand with practised ease.
Suzie knows. She knows the price Jack will have to pay for using the glove to resurrect the dead. A life for a life, as the old saying goes. That's was how it worked. She'd figured out its secret and taken it to her grave. At least until she'd set in motion the chain of events post mortem that would see the team eventually lead to use the glove on her, giving her that second chance at life - a new start far away from the clutches of Torchwood. And she'd very nearly succeeded.
This was different though. Jack knew what he was going in for. He had more life than anyone, immortal as he was. Even if the glove tried to do the same thing to him, chanelling his life into Owen, it would be okay. Jack's immortality would be enough to sustain them both.
'It's not their decision,' he replied, not even stopping to consider it was a ghost he was talking to.
'Oh, so it's okay to bring Owen back, but not me?'
Jack gritted his teeth. 'You tried to kill Gwen.'
'And you killed me instead, but that's okay. Such a fucking hypocrite.'
When Jack turned to give her a lecture, he found her gone. The glove was resting on the seat just where he'd left it. He let out a shuddering breath. She'd never been there to begin with. Just your guilty conscience talking, Jack. That's all, he tried to reassure himself. Owen had died trying to do the right thing. It wasn't his time. That had to make what Jack was about to do okay.