Title: The Ghosts of You and Me (Random Harvest)
Chapter 1 of 14
Words Total: 23,000
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairings: Jack/Ianto (in different ways), Owen/Tosh, Jack/Gwen
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Tosh Sato, Gray Harkness and others
Rating: PG-14
Spoilers: None
Warnings: some sexual content/references
Summary: This is based on the film Random Harvest which is set between the World Wars. I have updated it to the 21st century. Jack Harkness loses his memory and finds Ianto Jones and is happy but events tear them apart. Can Ianto regain Jack's love and find true happiness again?
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters as they belong to Russell T Davies and the BBC but I do get to play with them. I also do not own Random Harvest which is an MGM film based on the book by James Hilton. This is purely for entertainment purposes only.
Chapter 1
They found him on the corner of Queen Street, just down from the Castle, huddled in a doorway. His arms were hugging his legs as he rocked back and forth, babbling incoherently. He was dressed in black trousers, blue shirt, red braces and a grey greatcoat which the police described as somewhat unusual. His hair was dark brown and spiked up as was the fashion. He had piercing blue eyes, blue like the ocean, but they appeared to have no depth to them and they just stared into space as he rocked, talking to himself.
The previous night had been Bonfire Night; there had been a big display at the castle, with noise and lights all around, bangs and that fizzing noise that fireworks make before they explode. During the night many people had walked past and ignored him. In the morning the shopkeeper found him and couldn't move him on so he phoned the police.
Sergeant Andy Davidson tried to get the man to talk or to even respond to his presence. 'Come on, Sir, you can't stay here. One drink too many last night was it?' he asked, but the man didn't even acknowledge his presence. The Sergeant sent for back up and he and the constable put him in the van. By now the man was screaming and thrashing about in the cage so much the Sergeant worried that he would hurt himself. Once in the station they found the man had no ID. Obviously he'd been robbed while unable to defend himself, so they had no idea who this man was and it didn't appear that he was going to tell them anytime soon.
'He just sat there and babbled,' Andy said to the MO who came to examine him. 'He's clean and I can't smell drink on him but he's obviously suffered some sort of trauma.'
'No one's been reported missing then,' the Doctor said.
'Not that we can establish but he might not be missed yet. We can't keep him here, not like this. I think he needs to be in somewhere where people can keep an eye on him. He got a bit violent in the van, didn't like being in the cage one little bit,' Andy explained.
'I'll contact Providence Park,' the Doctor said, 'and get someone to put him in there. It'll be better than putting him on some ward in the Heath, not so anonymous.'
And so the man ended up in the psychiatric hospital in the old workhouse building, around which the massive new Heath Hospital had been built. Over the weeks he'd become calmer but he didn't talk at all; often all he did was stare out of the window. Sometimes he ate sparingly and at other times ravenously. He wouldn't watch the television but he loved listening to music, especially the old music of the 1940s and then he would hum along to Glenn Miller or Tommy Dorsey. They called him John Smith as they had no idea what else to call him.
Three months into his stay, he spoke his first words, only single words at first and then a little more, just enough to make himself understood, but he still said nothing about who he was.
'You're doing much better, Smithy,' Doctor Tanizaki said. 'It's been four months since you came here and we've got some visitors who would like to see you. Mr and Mrs Cameron have a son who is missing and we think you could be him.'
'My parents?' Smithy asked hesitantly. He still found it difficult to form sentences and he rarely looked anyone in the eye when he did speak. The Doctor noted that his hands were shaking at the prospect of meeting the couple who could be his parents.
He waited in a room; the wait seemed to last for ever until the door was opened. Smithy knew immediately, as soon as he saw the woman cry into her husband's chest, that he was not the man they wanted to see.
The next evening he left that place. Reception had been empty; usually the door was locked but he found it was open and simply walked out. It was foggy and the grass was damp as he walked across it. He'd put his greatcoat on to keep warm. He walked for a while, all the time speaking quietly to himself.
'I'm alright, thank you. Coat's very warm, thanks. I like to walk.' He walked down a long straight road, past houses and a small industrial estate. It was quiet and the fog made it seem darker than it should be. Then, out of the darkness, a horn blasted and the street was filled with people and cars. He panicked and ducked down a side street. There was a corner shop and he went inside just to get away. Behind the counter a youth stared at him as he stood there, looking at the shelves.
'Are you going to buy anything?' the youth asked.
He didn't notice the door open behind him. 'Evening, Jase,' he heard a voice say. It was a nice voice but Smithy remained staring at the shelves, not daring to turn around.
'I don't think he knows what he wants. What can I get you?'
'Just some gum please. It helps keep the vocal cords loose.'
'Right here you are. Oi you! Are you going to buy anything, because if you aren't, get out!' Jase shouted.
Smithy pushed open the door, walked for a bit and then found his legs were shaking too much to continue. He found himself sitting on a nearby bench. He knew he was breathing hard. He should go back; it was the only thing to do and then he felt someone sit next to him on the cold bench.
'Are you alright?' Can I help you? I thought you looked a little stressed so I followed you. You look tired.' Smithy looked at the man from the shop sitting next to him. He had a kind face.
Ianto Jones wondered what the hell he was doing. He was due back at the pub. Owen would be cursing him as they'd been planning a quick drink before that night's performance; that was how Owen liked to lubricate his vocal cords, but Ianto was struck by the sadness in the other man's eyes and somehow couldn't just leave him there. He noticed that his hands were buried deep into what looked like a services greatcoat. Ianto wondered if the man had been in Iraq or the Gulf or Ireland even.
'You look cold,' he said. 'How about you come with me to the pub for a drink to warm you up?' He put his arm through the arm of the other man and they walked to the Red Dragon nearby. Smithy wasn't sure what to do so he simply went along with the suggestion. The bar was busy but not crowded. Ianto looked around for Owen.
'Hey, Ianto,' a woman's voice shouted. 'Over here. Owen said to tell you that he'd see you there. Tosh has phoned.'
'I'm just getting a drink,' Ianto shouted back. 'That's Linda,' he explained to the bemused Smithy. 'She plays Mrs Johnson, the lead in the play I'm doing. I play her son, or one of them. I go insane every night on stage and end up shooting my brother - and then I'm shot!' Smithy looked at him with fear in his eyes.
'Sorry, that was a bit insensitive of me.' Ianto realised that they were close to the hospital and he wondered if that was where the man could have come from. Ianto had done some research on mental trauma for his role and knew that what was referred to as the local loony bin, was nearby. Ianto had been brought up not so far away himself, on the other side of the city, in Splott.
'Have a brandy, it'll warm you up,' he said and ordered the drink with his pint.
'Drop of the good stuff that,' the landlord said. 'It'll put hairs on your chest.' Ianto led him to a booth in the corner and Smithy swallowed the drink down quickly.
'Look,' Ianto said. 'I've got to get to the theatre soon.' He saw that the man's hand was shaking and put his over it. 'Sorry, it seems a bit churlish of me to just buy you a drink and then leave you like this.'
'I'll be alright,' Smithy said. Ianto noticed the slight American accent.
'I'm not so sure about that,' he replied, aware of the wariness in the other man's eyes. He looked so sad, Ianto thought. 'Oh God, why am I such a sucker for a good looking man with sad eyes?'
'Listen, you could come to the show. You don't have to watch; you could just stay in my dressing room and listen to the songs.' He thought perhaps that the subject matter might not be a good idea if he was right about where the man had come from. He should call the police but for some reason he didn't want to. He didn't even know the man's name and hadn't introduced himself either, yet here he was inviting him to go with him to the theatre. It was undoubtedly a strange decision. Ianto didn't wait for an answer but grabbed the man by the elbow and hailed a taxi outside.
Once inside the dressing room in Cardiff's New Theatre, Ianto sat the other man down and began to get ready. Smithy sat there watching while Ianto prepared.
'We'll have a chat, shall we?' he said as he got dressed. 'I know it looks a bit strange dressing like this but we start off as schoolboys.'
Ianto continued to talk as Smithy considered the young man in front of him. He felt something he couldn't identify. The young man kept smiling at him as he dressed, not bothering to hide his body as he did so. He talked about the role he was playing in a musical called Blood Brothers. Smithy had no idea what it was about. They were a touring company apparently and they only had one place to go after this week. Smithy noticed the man's kind eyes were bluey grey in colour. He was smoothing down his hair which was rather reluctant to conform at that moment. He had good legs and strong calves, Smithy noticed, and then he realised that he'd been staring at his arse, clad in shorts, and that the young man had stopped talking
'Sorry, what did you say?' he asked.
'Oh it doesn't matter. I think I know where you're from,' Ianto replied.
'But's that the problem,' Smithy said. 'I don't know where I'm from. I've lost my memory. I don't even know who I am.'