Bluebirds
'But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime;
O' let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer time'
-W.H. Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening
000
00
0
Jack returned to reality, his subconscious surrendering control and allowing him safe passage back across the black waters of dreams he could not remember. He often woke violently from his dreams, his brain forcing him out and away from the from the grip of nightmares like an emergency eject button on a crashing aircraft. Tonight the return to his waking life was gentle. The air around him was soft and warm and the small space of his bed felt secure and familiar.
He let his hands drift up to his face, beginning the methodical inspection that had become a habit since his resurrection, a ritual that he repeated every day of all the years that followed. His fingers traced the bridge of his nose, moving to feel the texture of the skin of his cheeks before travelling across his hair line. As always, there was no change. Jack's palms continued to move down his neck and over his chest and shoulders, searching. In all the years of repeated inspection he had noticed almost no difference in his physical state. Small injuries resolved themselves quickly, larger ones in a matter of days depending on the circumstances. Some mornings Jack would think he felt a slight aging of the skin around his eyes and mouth, or would notice a single hair that looked a little lighter than the rest in the mirror. He wasn't sure that even these minute changes weren't a just a fiction, a lie invented to keep him sane when confronted with the disturbing stasis of his body.
He was midway through the usual check-up when he felt it; a raised area of skin on the Venus mound of his left thumb, like a wedding band inserted under his skin. Jack's eyes widened in the dark, the index finger of his right hand tracing the raised skin again and again before he sprang for the light switch.
Visual inspection confirmed it. The colour of his skin was un-altered, but the ring was faintly visible as he held his hand up in front of his eyes.
Jack shook his head, glancing around the room as if he expected to be suddenly somewhere else. A brief consultation of his wrist strap confirmed that it was still Thursday morning, just as expected. As if on cue, the strap beeped a short alert code, starling Jack out of his stupor. He tapped the panel of the strap reflexively, hoping it had malfunctioned. The wrist strap beeped again, the same sequence of tones ringing out defiantly. Sighing in disbelief, Jack silenced the alarm and lay back down.
"Wow."
000
Owen was reading a text message from Gwen and grinning to himself as he jogged down the med bay stairs, nearly colliding with Jack who was rummaging through the storage lockers, tearing the room apart.
"Watch it!" Owen shouted, trying not to spill his take-away coffee as Jack twisted out of the way, hands disappearing into his pockets.
"Have you seen my comms headset? I think I left it in here somewhere." Jack said, turning his back to Owen and continuing to rifle through the room.
"No. Why would it be in the cabinets?" Owen looked up from his phone to glance at Jack, irritated by the mounting evidence suggesting that he was the only sane member of the institute.
Jack shrugged and abandoned his search. "Let me know if you find it." He called over his shoulder as he left the room.
Owen narrowed his eyes as he stared after him, noticing the distinct noise of a shaking pill bottle, rattling in time with Jack's footsteps as he ran up the stairs. He took something, Owen thought to himself, making a half-hearted inspection of the contents of the cabinets that Jack had left open.
Despite being mainly used for autopsy, the Torchwood med bay had an intimidating and completely unsorted pharmacy of substances from the past, present, and future. When Owen saw a small glass bottle with a hand written label declaring the contents 'essence of mouse ear' sitting next to an overturned glowing vial marked with alien glyphs he sighed, abandoning all hope of being able to figure out what Jack might have taken by way of inventory or category.
Owen had been involved in a quiet battle of wills with Ianto over the sorting of these cabinets for over a year now. Owen's claims that they were archival materials and therefore Ianto's responsibility had been met with a complete lack of cooperation from the man whose job title should read Glorified Secretary in Owen's estimation. Last time Owen had revisited the issue, Ianto had said nothing in response, but had immediately begun to substitute Owen's coffee with instant in every round of hot drinks served to the team. The argument was currently a sleeping giant, largely situated under the title of 'not worth the fight'. As low as he might sit in Owen's esteem, he had to admit that Ianto Jones was one of the most stubborn men he had ever met, directing what little power he had for maximum impact.
Owen shook his head and shut the cabinet. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what Jack was up to anyway- everyone at Torchwood was a little bit batshit in his opinion, and he often thought it was best to leave them to it. When a second cyberwoman -or whatever- sprang out of the archives and attacked everyone, then would be time to intervene. In the meantime, Owen was making progress with a new singularity scalpel upgrade and had a lunch date lined up with Gwen, a date that he doubted would actually involve lunch. Owen smiled to himself as he re-read the text message. He didn't need any further distractions right now, things being as interesting as they were.
000
"See you tomorrow."
Jack waved goodbye to Gwen and Owen through the window of the meeting room and pretended to look busy. Tosh had already left, thanking Jack profusely for the early mark, dressed for going out and wobbling on the heels of last season's knee high boots. Jack hoped she would manage to pick up a human this time, rather than the aggressive aliens she seemed to draw to her like a magnet. He had told her she looked beautiful and sent her on her way, resisting the urge to tell her to 'be careful'.
"Are you sure you don't want help with those forms?" Ianto asked from the doorway, his jacket over his arm and car keys in hand.
"I could have a quick look before I go."
Jack shook his head and tried his best to sound normal.
"No, it won't take me long. We've all been working crazy hours; you should get out of here for a while."
Seeing Ianto hesitating, Jack got up and delivered a quick kiss to his temple and a lingering squeeze to his arse.
"I've missed you.' He said into Ianto's ear "We should break out that stop watch of yours again soon. First free moment next week?"
Ianto smiled and pulled Jack against him, close enough that he could feel Jack's heartbeat vibrating against his sternum. Startled, Ianto threaded his arm up between them and pressed his hand against Jack's chest.
"Are you alright?' he asked frowning as Jack's heart pounded against his palm.
"Yeah,' Jack said, quickly taking Ianto's hand off his chest. 'Just in a hurry to get this paperwork done. I'm a little tired- I might have an early night."
"Okay…' Ianto said uncertainly. 'Next week then."
"Make sure to wear that suit!" Jack called after him, letting the artifice drop and abandoning his paperwork as he heard the cog door close behind Ianto.
Everyone was gone. It was time to make a decision, and act on it as fast as possible before the team arrived back in the morning. He could feel the time leaking away as he moved quickly down the gantries to his office.
Jack considered the bottles he had assembled from the disused pharmacy, lining them up next to his revolver on the desk. He didn't have access to the 51st century treatment that he needed, but these three substances in combination might do the job- and the revolver would certainly would finish it if they failed.
Or do nothing, Jack reminded himself of the unlikely third option, just let this play out.
He dragged his hands across his face, wishing for an interruption to relieve him of the requirement of decision making. He wished for a rift alarm, or an escaped weevil, anything to postpone the torment of responsibility.
The revolver would be quicker, but it would also be unpredictable. A shot to the head would bring a swift end to Jack's situation, but he might require medical intervention after he revived, and that kind of attention was something he wished to avoid at all costs. The drug cocktail may or may not work, but it would definitely make him sick. Possibly so sick that he would die; the same eventual result as the revolver. The drugs might work though, and if they did, no one would need to be burdened with the knowledge of what had taken place.
One day maybe he would tell someone. More probably, he would keep the experience locked inside himself, adding more weight to the over-balanced scale of guilt that he would never unload.
Drugs, Jack decided.
His hand was steady as he reached for the bottles, measuring out imprecise quantities of each and crushing them with his pen knife. This was the kind of cold decision-making that he was used to, but tonight he felt particularly detached. He couldn't see any alternative- the timing being what it was, with huge events just on the horizon and rift activity higher than ever. Jack sighed and scraped the powder into his hand. His wrist strap beeped its alarm again and he mashed at the buttons until it stopped. Licking the powder off his palm, he winced at the bitterness and slid the pill bottles into his desk drawer. Making his way down to his room, he waited.
Next Chapter to follow shortly. Thanks for reading!