Author's Notes: Thanks as always to Prothrombintime for invaluable encouragement and feedback. Enjoy.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
October 19th, 2008
Jack spent the next several days walking the streets of London, refamiliarising himself with the vast, bustling city. As he'd expected, it had changed substantially in the almost seven decades since the fateful encounter in 1941 that had profoundly and irrevocably changed his life. The nights were long and mostly sleepless, his mind too active with countless unanswerable questions, and his newly fragile body not yet used to requiring time to recharge.
Alcohol helped, allowing him to drift into a numb stupor, temporarily shifting the relentless tumult of his thoughts into the background and providing an all-too-brief reprieve. He'd rapidly assembled a substantial DVD collection from a nearby entertainment store, and he spent his waking hours at night watching everything from old classics to contemporary science-fiction. When staring at the television screen lost its appeal, he turned to the small collection of worn hard-cover classics he'd also acquired. He'd bought them from a quaint second-hand book store he stumbled upon on his second day of strolling around the city.
He'd tried visiting various pubs and clubs in the area, always taking refuge in a dark corner, sitting alone and drinking as he enviously watched ordinary people living their blissfully ignorant lives. He'd been approached several times, but he'd refused each time, brusquely waving the person away no matter how attractive he found them. He'd briefly considered finding one or more willing bodies to lose himself in for a few hours, but the thought of a meaningless, forgettable encounter was strangely unappealing, almost bordering on repulsive. Instead, he found himself longing for the familiarity and comfort of a friend and lover... someone who knew him well... someone who he trusted and could talk to... someone who accepted him despite his flaws and misdeeds. It had been such a long time since he'd had someone special in his life... a close friend and companion... someone he could truly trust.
When the confines of his hotel room became unbearable, he retreated to the building's rooftop, spending hours gazing out over the immense city. It was so different to Cardiff, the only place he'd begrudgingly begun to think of as his home, and now the one place on the planet he could never return to.
Sometimes he'd gaze up at the stars, his heart heavy with longing as he wondered if he'd ever travel amongst them again... if he'd have one more chance to experience the majestic beauty of the galaxy before his life reached an end. He'd waited for so very long to find the right version of the Doctor, the century turning twice in the process. He couldn't understand why he wasn't with the Doctor instead of facing a self-imposed exile on Earth. The recording had simply said he'd had his reasons for returning, but he couldn't imagine anything or anyone luring him away from his dream of leaving Earth to roam time and space with the Doctor again, embarking on one fantastic adventure after another. Something fundamental had clearly changed, but without the responsibilities of Torchwood to draw him back, he was bewildered as to what could have caused him to choose such a dramatically different path.
He wondered if he would meet the Doctor again someday, and then have the means to travel the stars once more. In the meantime he was Earth-bound. He'd have to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his mortal life. The possibilities were endless, but everything felt horribly wrong. He was alone, disillusioned and confused. He simply didn't know what to do, or even what he wanted.
Several times he'd sat in the chair by the bed, clutching his Webley and wondering if the solution to his troubles wasn't right there in the palms of his hands. He'd already lived several lifetimes, and he wasn't sure if he had the strength to live one more. He'd seen more wonders and horrors than most people could begin to imagine. He'd experienced breathtaking pleasure, and he'd endured unspeakable suffering and loss. He'd loved several times, even if it had never lasted, and he'd even tried marriage once.
He considered that perhaps he'd lived enough... that there was nothing left for him. He wasn't sure if he could imagine anything in the world that could give him meaning again.
###
It was on the fourth day of his new reality that Jack found himself wandering around Canary Wharf. He'd bought himself a cup of coffee at an expensive, upmarket coffee shop, hesitantly taking a small sip as he negotiated the streets overrun with towering office buildings. The coffee was quite respectable – hot and strong, just the way he liked it – yet he felt an inexplicable stab of disappointment that intensified into a strange sense of soul-deep longing. It was the same odd sensation he'd experienced every time he'd tasted coffee since awakening in the hotel room. It was as if he instinctively knew that no matter how good the coffee was, it would ultimately disappoint him. Something elusive and indefinable was missing.
It was with trepidation that he slowly approached the site where the towering monolith of Torchwood One had once stood. He'd never trusted Torchwood's leadership, and Yvonne Hartman had been merely the latest in a long line of arrogant, self-righteous, morally questionable leaders. Even so, he'd been shocked to learn from his holographic message that Hartman's ignorance and blind devotion to Queen and Country had very nearly brought about the destruction of the entire planet. Ironically, it was Torchwood's supposed number one enemy who had saved the world, as Jack knew the enigmatic time traveller had done countless times before.
Over eight hundred souls had been lost as a result of Hartman's misdeeds. Jack hadn't been close to anyone at Torchwood London, preferring to keep his distance, but he was appalled by the staggering and unnecessary loss of life. All that now remained of the once great Torchwood Institute was the Cardiff branch and the crumbling remains of Torchwood House in Scotland. Torchwood Four was long gone in another set of tragic circumstances, and the Torchwood Two office in Glasgow had been closed down just before the turn of the century. The final remnants of Torchwood would probably be swallowed up by UNIT at some point in the near future, and a large part of him was relieved he wouldn't be there to see that happen.
The site was now an expanse of lush parkland interspersed with pockets of colourful gardens; a small green oasis in a jungle of towers of glass and steel. The Crown had decreed that the site was never to be developed for commercial use again – it would remain as a shrine to the lost lives, an ongoing warning to the powers that be of the dangers of meddling in things far beyond human understanding. A scarce few knew the truth, while the world at large attributed the destruction to a random terrorist attack.
It was with a heavy heart that Jack walked over to a bench at the north-west corner of the park and sat down. He continued to sip at his coffee as he idly observed the surroundings. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to visit the former Torchwood site. He supposed it was out of a sense of macabre curiosity, or perhaps the need to see proof of Torchwood's downfall with his own eyes. Shuddering violently at the thought of both the Daleks and Cybermen battling for supremacy over the planet, he tried to distract himself by turning his attention to the people nearby.
His eyes eventually settled on a young man sitting alone on one of the benches at the other side of the park. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with short, dark brown hair that was a startling contrast to his pale skin. Although sitting down, he appeared to be tall, lithe, and long-limbed. Dressed in casual attire, he was undeniably good-looking, although somewhat unremarkable at a glance, and yet Jack found he couldn't tear his eyes away. The man was almost huddled at the end of the bench, staring into the distance, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, and looking utterly lost. In fact, he had the appearance of being every bit as lost as Jack himself.
Jack watched the young man for several more minutes. Mentally shaking himself, he rose to his feet and walked away, anxious to leave behind the tranquil location that sent shivers of unease trembling down his spine.
###
After another restless night, Jack set off into the city again the following morning. He wandered aimlessly all morning, but by early afternoon he found himself in the vicinity of Canary Wharf once more. The lost young man had remained in his thoughts, and he found himself wondering if he'd be in the park again, despite the likelihood being wildly improbable. It was a foolhardy notion, but he couldn't resist the temptation of having just a quick look.
He entered the park, tugging ineffectively at his jacket as a gust of cold wind blew over him. He missed his beloved greatcoat, but his pre-retconned self had apparently decided it would be an unwelcome reminder of the past. He supposed he must have left it behind in Cardiff.
Rounding a dense patch of tall shrubs, he abruptly came to a halt. To his astonishment, the young man was sitting on the same bench again, almost as if he hadn't moved since Jack had seen him the day before. The man's clothes were different but similar, and he still looked every bit as lost. After pausing indecisively for a moment, Jack slowly made his way over to the bench, wondering how in the world he was going to make the other man's acquaintance, but determined to do so.
"May I?" he asked, standing at the opposite end of the bench and gesturing towards it.
The man glanced up, apparently pulled from deep contemplation. He didn't meet Jack's eyes, but he nodded distractedly before quickly looking away again.
Jack sat down cautiously, keeping a respectable distance between them. He took a moment to surreptitiously study the young man more closely. Pale and thin, with youthful, boyish features, he was nonetheless strikingly handsome with high cheekbones, a smallish button-shaped nose, and pinkish, down-turned lips. Thick, dark eyebrows accentuated the glimpse Jack had caught of expressive blue eyes, and neatly groomed sideburns contrasted with smooth, clean-shaven skin. An almost overwhelming wave of déjà vu struck Jack, and he looked away, taken by surprise with the intensity of the unexpected sensation.
"I knew some of the people who died here," he murmured after he'd regained his composure, keeping his eyes fixed on a row of neatly trimmed shrubs in the distance. "In the attack," he added.
He waited a few moments, then hazarded a glance at the young man. He was now looking directly at Jack, his eyes slightly wide, and seeming to notice him properly for the first time. He just stared blankly at Jack for a long moment, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.
"My... er... my girlfriend. She died here," he eventually muttered, his voice soft and tremulous. "Some other people I knew died here too."
Jack was startled to discover the man had a Welsh accent, his voice deep and melodious, with beautiful rolling vowels. Something about the man's sad voice pulled at his heart in a way he was entirely unable to describe or quantify.
"I'm very sorry," he said, feeling genuine compassion for the young man. Like all of the victim's friends and loved ones, he'd never know the truth of how his girlfriend had actually perished.
The young man just nodded slightly in acknowledgement. He continued to look at Jack, his stoic features slowly giving way to an expression of uncertain curiosity. "This will sound weird, but have we met before?"
"No," Jack replied automatically, belatedly realising he couldn't actually be sure they hadn't. Given the man's accent, it was at least within the realms of possibility they had crossed paths before. "I'm sure I'd remember if we had," he added, cringing inwardly at his unfortunate chose of words.
The man just nodded again. Deciding to take the initiative, Jack held out his hand. "I'm... James... James Huntley."
The man looked down at Jack's proffered hand before finally extending his own and giving Jack's a quick but firm shake. "Evans... Dylan Evans."
Jack smiled at Dylan, who continued to look at him curiously. "Nice to meet you, Dylan Evans. So, I was thinking of getting some coffee. There's a half-decent place just nearby." He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the coffee shop he'd visited the day before. "Feel like joining me? I could use the company."
A flicker of suspicion passed over the younger man's features, but just when Jack thought he was going to refuse, his expression slowly cleared.
"All right," he said, giving Jack a small but seemingly genuine smile. The subtle gesture had the startling effect of transforming Dylan's face into something quite beautiful, and Jack wondered if he was being fanciful in thinking his heart had started beating just a little bit faster.
"Great." Jack stood up and waited for the other man to do the same, then smiled at him again. "Let's go and get some coffee."