![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fic_promptly's Author's choice, author's choice, How many people can say they crash their own funeral? . Set in the universe of the "Shrouded" comic strip story featured in Torchwood Magazine, thus, there will be spoilers. WARNING: implied canon character death.
The Time Agency had sent them to collect a few things that had fallen into the hands of Torchwood, or at least a Torchwood that differed vastly from the one in their world. If anyone knew about the inner workings of Torchwood-3, Ianto had that know-how and he did not mind using it.
They'd spent the night combing the wreckage of the Hub -- after neutralizing the security detail placed around the site; Mairwyn knew how to put a human out with a few well-placed jabs -- picking up what alien tech had survived. Ianto found himself having a hard time focusing on their work; he paused often, lifting his night vision goggles and gazing across the wreckage.
"Credit for your thoughts?" Mairwyn asked.
"Just thinking: I died three days ago," Ianto replied.
Mairwyn stepped over a chunk of concrete and came to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Technically yes, but still, you're alive. That man was you and yet he wasn't you," she said, reassuring him.
"Still got the same genetics, knew the same people," he said. "Never did get the chance to say goodbye."
Mairwyn looked at him with a thoughtful frown, then nodded. "Your family's still your family, but I thought there wasn't a lot of love lost when you made your decision?" she asked.
"There wasn't and ...there was," he admitted. "My niece and nephew..."
"Suppose we could swing by their home, let you have a look to see them," Mairwyn said.
"Too close: they might see me and get confused," he said.
"What about the funeral?" she offered.
"Easier to hide in plain sight: public place, lots of people. Lots of trees in the cemetery; plenty of places to watch the proceedings," Ianto said.
"Funny idea of a date, but let's do it, once we're done here," Mairwyn said, lowering her goggles.
* * * *
Llandaff Cemetery the following morning, and the funeral procession had just arrived, bringing a contingent of the Jones family, Rhiannon with Micha and David clinging to her hands as the pallbearers carried the coffin to the gravesite. Ianto stepped behind a branching oak tree, Mairwyn at his side. He felt his shoulders tense as a familiar tall man in a long grey-blue coat emerged from one of the cars in the procession, helping a brunette woman in a black suit from the rear seat.
Jack Harkness and Gwen Cooper. He had not seen them in seven years standard, though only two had passed here on earth. The benefits of time travel: he had put distance, physical and chronological, between him and them. He had almost forgotten how good Jack looked, and he felt a whisper of that former pleasure he had known, just looking at his former superior. The memories came back, unwelcome but not something he would push away just yet: the time he first read Jack's name in the Torchwood files, the first time he had read about his exploits, the fall of Torchwood London and his subsequent joining Torchwood Cardiff (partly to keep with the organization, partly to find a place to hide the Cyber-conversion unit that kept Lisa alive), his initial attraction to Jack (you would have to have senses of cast iron not to feel some level attraction to the man), working as the Torchwood tea boy (and tending to Lisa as much as he could), the night Lisa got loose and wrecked havoc on the place, killing Jack in the process -- and then Jack's subsequent resurrection. Unbeknown to the rest of the team, Jack had let Ianto beat up on him as a way to vent his anger over how it had all gone down, a session that had ended with the two of them on a table in the armory in a much different clinch.
And then Jack had disappeared, leaving the team to figure out where to go from there: Ianto had dim memories of silvery spheres in the sky and a mad trek across parts of Asia. Later Jack returned, as if nothing had happened, and yet Ianto had seen another side to him, a haunted side which hid from the team and opened only to him. This had drawn them closer. And yet, he knew, as close as they had grown, time would drive a wedge between them: Jack would go on living and he, Ianto, would age and fade. With the kind of lifetime Jack had ahead of him, Ianto registered as a blip on the timeline. Then Mairwyn had opened his eyes, showing him what kind of future he had to look forward to with an immortal.
At this distance, he could barely make out the words Jack spoke as an elegy over the grave: likely some eloquent things about how he (Ianto) had applied himself to his job with conviction and whatnot. But any mention of love? Not likely. Jack could not even choke out the words to him while he lived.
He felt Mairwyn reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Had enough?" she whispered.
"Yes, I think I'm done here," he said.
"Not everyone can say they've crashed their own funeral," she said, smirking.
"Hard to believe there's a world where I said no..." he said, letting her lead him away. He looked to the vortex manipulator at his wrist and keyed it on, pressing a few buttons to bring up the time/space coordinates for Time Agency headquarters....
fic_promptly's Author's choice, author's choice, How many people can say they crash their own funeral? . Set in the universe of the "Shrouded" comic strip story featured in Torchwood Magazine, thus, there will be spoilers. WARNING: implied canon character death.The Time Agency had sent them to collect a few things that had fallen into the hands of Torchwood, or at least a Torchwood that differed vastly from the one in their world. If anyone knew about the inner workings of Torchwood-3, Ianto had that know-how and he did not mind using it.
They'd spent the night combing the wreckage of the Hub -- after neutralizing the security detail placed around the site; Mairwyn knew how to put a human out with a few well-placed jabs -- picking up what alien tech had survived. Ianto found himself having a hard time focusing on their work; he paused often, lifting his night vision goggles and gazing across the wreckage.
"Credit for your thoughts?" Mairwyn asked.
"Just thinking: I died three days ago," Ianto replied.
Mairwyn stepped over a chunk of concrete and came to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Technically yes, but still, you're alive. That man was you and yet he wasn't you," she said, reassuring him.
"Still got the same genetics, knew the same people," he said. "Never did get the chance to say goodbye."
Mairwyn looked at him with a thoughtful frown, then nodded. "Your family's still your family, but I thought there wasn't a lot of love lost when you made your decision?" she asked.
"There wasn't and ...there was," he admitted. "My niece and nephew..."
"Suppose we could swing by their home, let you have a look to see them," Mairwyn said.
"Too close: they might see me and get confused," he said.
"What about the funeral?" she offered.
"Easier to hide in plain sight: public place, lots of people. Lots of trees in the cemetery; plenty of places to watch the proceedings," Ianto said.
"Funny idea of a date, but let's do it, once we're done here," Mairwyn said, lowering her goggles.
* * * *
Llandaff Cemetery the following morning, and the funeral procession had just arrived, bringing a contingent of the Jones family, Rhiannon with Micha and David clinging to her hands as the pallbearers carried the coffin to the gravesite. Ianto stepped behind a branching oak tree, Mairwyn at his side. He felt his shoulders tense as a familiar tall man in a long grey-blue coat emerged from one of the cars in the procession, helping a brunette woman in a black suit from the rear seat.
Jack Harkness and Gwen Cooper. He had not seen them in seven years standard, though only two had passed here on earth. The benefits of time travel: he had put distance, physical and chronological, between him and them. He had almost forgotten how good Jack looked, and he felt a whisper of that former pleasure he had known, just looking at his former superior. The memories came back, unwelcome but not something he would push away just yet: the time he first read Jack's name in the Torchwood files, the first time he had read about his exploits, the fall of Torchwood London and his subsequent joining Torchwood Cardiff (partly to keep with the organization, partly to find a place to hide the Cyber-conversion unit that kept Lisa alive), his initial attraction to Jack (you would have to have senses of cast iron not to feel some level attraction to the man), working as the Torchwood tea boy (and tending to Lisa as much as he could), the night Lisa got loose and wrecked havoc on the place, killing Jack in the process -- and then Jack's subsequent resurrection. Unbeknown to the rest of the team, Jack had let Ianto beat up on him as a way to vent his anger over how it had all gone down, a session that had ended with the two of them on a table in the armory in a much different clinch.
And then Jack had disappeared, leaving the team to figure out where to go from there: Ianto had dim memories of silvery spheres in the sky and a mad trek across parts of Asia. Later Jack returned, as if nothing had happened, and yet Ianto had seen another side to him, a haunted side which hid from the team and opened only to him. This had drawn them closer. And yet, he knew, as close as they had grown, time would drive a wedge between them: Jack would go on living and he, Ianto, would age and fade. With the kind of lifetime Jack had ahead of him, Ianto registered as a blip on the timeline. Then Mairwyn had opened his eyes, showing him what kind of future he had to look forward to with an immortal.
At this distance, he could barely make out the words Jack spoke as an elegy over the grave: likely some eloquent things about how he (Ianto) had applied himself to his job with conviction and whatnot. But any mention of love? Not likely. Jack could not even choke out the words to him while he lived.
He felt Mairwyn reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder. "Had enough?" she whispered.
"Yes, I think I'm done here," he said.
"Not everyone can say they've crashed their own funeral," she said, smirking.
"Hard to believe there's a world where I said no..." he said, letting her lead him away. He looked to the vortex manipulator at his wrist and keyed it on, pressing a few buttons to bring up the time/space coordinates for Time Agency headquarters....
