Title: The Battle March / Torn and Frayed
Author: nao-asakura, aka SuperMiss
A/N: Set early in S2. No precise spoiler.
This fanfiction is dedicated to my lovely friend, Clara.
Something glittered briefly in the dark alley before him. A blade. The man – not a man – they were chasing actually had the ability to grow blades from under his skin.
"You think you're what, Wolverine?" said Jack with a laugh, addressing the shadows. He was about to add a joke about how he'd like all his villains in yellow tights, when the man suddenly lashed at him.
The blade, sharp as new, went all the way through his lower abdomen as if it had only encountered butter. Jack couldn't tell what was worse – apart from being skewered like a piece of meat – to hear his own entrails rip, or to know that the back of his coat was going to be wrecked. Once again.
A second later, his whole team was on his back. All he could do was grunt his approval, and they fired at the alien who lacked tights to match his blades. He collapsed bonelessly on the ground, the blade swiftly retracting under the skin of his forearm, allowing Jack to fall on his knees.
A blur, and then Gwen was by his side, asking him if he was all right. And of course he was, he always was, even if at the moment he was focused on breathing through the pain.
Ianto helped him to the SUV without a word, but his whole body showed his disapproval. It was like a cloud of thoughts above his head, frightened, confused thoughts. You shouldn't have run to face danger as if you were alone; you should have waited for us. But Ianto would never say anything aloud, he was too polite for that.
They had disposed of the body, classified the file. No one would ever have trouble again with that walking cutlery. Jack knew he should feel satisfied, happy even, to have walked away from death unscathed once again, but he couldn't. Not before everything was repaired.
It was childish, and he knew it. Maybe he could pretend he wasn't thinking straight, he thought. Not dying hurt a lot, and even now that the pain was long gone, he could still feel the blade entering his body, as if everything hadn't quite come back in place yet. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to get rid of these unpleasant memories, but he knew from experience that they never really went away, and time only dulled them a little. There still were vivid images assaulting him at night; images of his past deaths.
Everyone had gone home by then, leaving him alone in the dark HUD, like almost every night. The hidden cave beyond the vault was a home to him; he had battles to fight, and the eternity to do so.
But for now, he had some sewing to do. It was not the first time, and it surely wouldn't be the last. The coat was mortal, unless himself, but he just couldn't let it go. Everything would wither and die around him – people, cities, entire worlds would die – the coat had to stay.
Jack heard a sound behind him, but he didn't bother to turn and look who it was. From the lightness of the footfalls, he knew it was Gwen.
"Forgotten something?" he asked, without raising his head from his task.
"I..." Gwen came closer and looked above his shoulder at the torn coat. The little stitches were neat, invisible in the heavy wool of the coat. "I thought you may need help."
"I don't."
Gwen made a face and said nothing.
"You can stay if you want. I'll tell you how I got this beauty..."
A/N: I wrote this in 2008. Lost it, found it again and decided to finish it.
The title comes from two songs. I just couldn't decide.