Disclaimer: I still don't own this show and never will. That's obvious ... It's not my story either. Thank again to Leulade for her permission and to JolinarJackson for beta-reading the translation ;-)
Author: Leulade.
Original Title: « Le complexe de Dieu. »
Spoiler: Season 1 and 2 basically.
Pairing: Janto.
Summary: If you're an unconditional fan of Jack Harkness, don't read this. If you're sensitive about blasphemy, don't read either. You've been warned. Angst, humor and teeth-grinding. To be read not too literally! One-Shot.
Rating: M
Author's note(Leulade): « I just wanted to unwind a bit. I love Torchwood and I'm a fervent supporter of Jack/Ianto but sometimes Jack annoys me to no end so I've wanted to have a little fun. Please don't take this story too seriously. Humor, angst, teeth-grinding. To be read not too literally.
Above all, please, no beating the author ! »
°°o°° The God-Complex °°o°°
Hello Jack,
We're your colleagues, not your disciples, and despite what you think you're no messiah! Well, of course you're immortal and it's true that this resuscitating capacity might give you ideas but I'll have you know that it takes more than you'd think to be God. I'm sure you dream to be crucified between too thieves while offering one of those trademark flights of lyricism with your usual volubility. But no, you can't, the idea's already owned, I'm sorry for you. Someone already registered a patent but you still can find something else, you're not stupid at least …
You never second-guess yourself, even when we're fucking. I'm sure that each time you come inside me, you have the feeling that you're granting me a great honor. That I receive the divine nectar. I wonder how you didn't ask me to bow down at your feet yet. Coming to think of it, it might be the reason why I find myself on my knees so often to blow you. I think that one day, you're going to raise your hands and sing something like "All that's coming from me is blessed" while your sperm spurts in my mouth.
You've treated Owen like Lazare and you've played with fire, resuscitating him too. But no luck for our colleague, there can be only one God. So you've managed to do a botched work and you've turned him into a sort of living dead, a sad and unhappy zombie. What comforts me is that he died heroically, definitely as a hero, one thing that's never happening to you.
Poor Owen! I still hear you throwing him an absolutely biblical "I forgive you" and I still see him falling in your arms, crying, while you give him absolution and reassure him of your forgiveness despite the fact that he opened the Rift without your sacrosanct consent.
And Tosh … so sweet, so nice. Well, I admit you got her out of that hole. It's a good thing that you've done, but this was because you needed her. Don't delude yourself, you didn't do that out of the kindness of your heart. And yet, she was so grateful, really like Mary of Bethany! I'm sure she'd have anointed your feet with perfume and dried them with her hair if you'd have asked her. Fortunately, you didn't think about it.
You know what, Jack? This woman was a real human being, I loved her a lot.
And Gwen … You must have had so much fun playing cat and mouse with her. Well … until the day she'd had enough and made her choice. I was laughing so fucking hard when I saw your face while you found out in the Hub that she was engaged to Rhys!
Jack Harkness standing there, flabbergasted. What a sight!
I spotted you spending a long time sitting at your desk, thoughtful and certainly wondering how it was possible. She had chosen another man instead of you? There was someone this world able to make her do that?
That's called a cold shower, Jack. Well, in this case, a freezing shower. You'll have to get over it some time, that's real life for you, Captain, you don't always get what you want. I'm the living proof.
Tell me Jack, have you ever thought about writing your own Bible? You could title it "The World perceived by Harkness." or the "New New Testament", it could be rather cool, maybe more modern, avant-gardist even. Then you could give out your holy word and your greatly spiritual depth thoughts like: "A cock in the hand is worth two in the bush.", "I'm a sex god." or "I've got a bunch of bananas in my trousers."
You'd have your own Commandments:
"-You shall fuck like you breathe.
-You shall retcon the nuisances.
-You shall turn your colleagues into zombies.
-You shall cheat on your lovers.
-You shall disappear when you wish to."
And those intended for us, your poor disciples:
"-I am the Immortal, your God.
-You shall adore and worship me.
-You shall work seven days a week for Torchwood without complaints.
-You shall polish the Hub.
-You shall monitor the Rift.
-You shall make coffee relentlessly.
-You shall present your ass when I want it."
You can conjugate the verb "to retcon" at all tenses: I retcon, I retconned, I will retcon, etc … Well, a good way to get rid of those who bother you. You really have to think yourself as a god to take over the right of erasing pieces of life from people's memories.
I could mention that mission with which you feel vested: protecting the Earth against alien threats. That's generous from someone who isn't even from this planet! What a self-sacrifice! Coming to think of it, I don't really see much what you'd do elsewhere, even your beloved Doctor wasn't mistaken.
What does it feel to have so much power in your hands? To have the power over life and death, over stealing people's memories, over being above nations and governments as you enjoy repeating it, over being above society's laws and thinking you deserve so much consideration and privileges? How does it feel to think you're infallible?
How does it feel to sacrifice a little girl, even to save the Earth? A sense of duty done? Pain? Or a feeling of incredible power?
Okay, maybe I'm a bit unfair to you now, you really had to do it. Still I wonder whether it was all guts or indifference. I don't know why but I don't see you all that much eaten up by remorse. You must only feel as though you did your duty.
Ah! I still have some things to say! Do you know the common phrase saying "You'll wear mirrors out if you keep looking at yourself in it"? One more thing you're well aware of, it's your beauty. True, you have a handsome face, gorgeous eyes, a jaw you can be proud of and a ravishing smile. And you're sexy as hell.
Well, good for me.
It's not surprising that you've finally developed this God-complex. After all it's not your fault that you didn't get the modesty needed to resist it, this skill isn't available to anyone. Not everyone can be humble.
Ah vanity, vanity!
And this satisfaction you show non-stop. This leniency … I still see you looking down at me while I cleaned the mess that was the Hub with my black plastic bag after Lisa's death. Really fucking symbolic of what you are. You won't ever put you hands in shit, right? We'll never see you carrying a trash bag, that would be a blot on the landscape.
And you allowed yourself the luxury of forgiving me for my betrayal. My God! -or rather, My Jack!- How you must've felt magnanimous and great! At the time, didn't you feel something floating above your head? Like an aureole for example?
Paternalistic, condescending, self-centered and full of yourself, you think you're irresistible. Well, what pisses me off is that you are, yes, I have to admit. It must be caused by those bloody 51st century's pheromones. You enjoy it and they're bloody useful to you as you live with your cock ahead. Sex, sex, sex … in the end, sorry but I've had my fill of it.
Have you so little self-confidence that you feel you have to flirt non-stop, to test your charm, to drag about you sexual prowess and tell us about your frolics with anything that moves; men, women, aliens? Well, "with anything that moves", maybe not. I'm sure you're capable of screwing a lamppost or a tree trunk. By the way, you've certainly already done it.
And despite all this, Harkness, I love you. That's dumb. I'm a moron but I'm in love with you. You've killed the woman I loved, you fuck me when you want it, you shamelessly cheat on me. All right, I admit that I have a great time too. Well, one thing I can concede about deity is that you shag like a god.
I'd do anything for you. I'd die for you. Yeah, I know, I'm pathetic but I'm addicted. You're my drug, you fascinate me. I love you, I hate you, I love you.
Can't be helped, love isn't controllable.
One day, it will be the end of me, rather early than late. We don't grow old at Torchwood. I think that if I'm a little lucky, I'll die in your arms. Here is a thought that would inflate your ego. You're already well aware of your value.
I wonder whether in billions of years, you'll still be big-headed?
ooo0ooo
End.
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Hope you liked it as much as I did!
Review and tell your most honest thoughts ;-) Bye and til next time! xoxo