A/N: Hello! Sorry this is later than I intended but my Grandparents made an impromptu Easter visit and I've been busy with general family type stuff! Hope you are all having lovely Easters and that the Easter bunny has paid you all a visit ;) I've tried to end this one on a happy note so I hope you enjoy it! Hannah xxx
Since Tosh and Owen… since they… since they both died last week, I've been thinking a great deal about how much of my life so far has been shrouded by death and misery and disaster. I guess I've thought similarly before, but have always dismissed the notions as me just feeling a little down and melancholic after something 'not-so-terrific' has happened, but in such a depressing and unhappy time as this I've begun to truly evaluate everything. Initially I considered the idea that ever since I joined Torchwood my life has had an erratic scattering of severe lows throughout, that I'd been well and truly living the stereotypical risk and accident fuelled life of a Torchwood employee which of course is all true – but looking back further, I've realised that this extends way past the years of my life spent in this career.
Almost from as far back in my life as I can remember, there has been unhappiness filtering through, disrupting happy memories and spoiling special moments. When I was five years old my Great Grandmother passed away. It hadn't come as a dramatic shock to my parents as she was 97 and had been diagnosed with terminal cancer the year before and the Doctor's had given her only five months left to live, so effectively she'd been living on borrowed time for the previous six and the pair of them had been waiting for the inevitable. I think that Rhiannon – being eleven – might have had an idea of what was going on, probably understood what my parents had actually meant when they told us about her illness and what the implications would be, and certainly understood fully what her death meant – that we wouldn't ever see her again. But I, at just five years old, remember sitting there feeling so utterly confused by it all, being told that a woman who I had perhaps only seen eight or nine times in my entire life was 'no longer with us'. It wasn't until I was older and after looking through old photographs and after hearing more stories about her life as a young girl and her career as a nurse, that I grew to feel regret for being so young when she died. Grew to miss her little quirks and the way she would offer us Werther's original sweets and tissues and baby tea, and grew to feel jealous that Rhiannon had had more time with her.
Only a few years later, when I was eight and Rhiannon was fourteen, Mam died in a traffic accident at just 37 years old. Some idiot boy racer had had one too many over the limit and drastically swerved in the middle of the dual carriage way as his clumsy feet worked the pedals, she herself was driving back from an meal out with some of her girlfriends that Dad had insisted that she go to as she hadn't had a proper break from looking after the two of us in ages. I think he always blamed himself, for persuading her to go… the guilt made him bitter and angry and resentful, and I think that's why he… maybe it's the reason for all those times when he wasn't all that nice to either Rhiannon or me… Anyway, Mam's death affected me so much more than that of my Great Grandmother's. I was older, by three years, and certainly old enough now to fully understand what death really meant – but it wasn't merely that, she was my Mother, my Mam. The woman who had carried me for nine months, the woman who every day for 8 years without fail had made me breakfast and kissed me goodnight and told me that she loved me while I wiped away wet peach lipstick kisses from my cheeks; the woman who smelt like roses and who always wore soft fluffy jumpers perfect for cuddles in and had the most soothing, lilting Welsh voice; the woman who had always known what to say to me to make me feel better or cheer me up, who gave me unconditional care and affection… and she was gone. Just like that, in a flash, taken from us. I cried for days, felt lonely and empty and lost for weeks and twice a year on her birthday and the anniversary of her death, I feel exactly the same – like only half a person.
After Mam's death, there was a great deal of unhappiness in our household. Dad became… depressed and it was frightening seeing the one remaining parental, authoritative figure in our family fall to pieces right in front of us. But later, when the angry bursts and rages came, I almost longed for the days when he was depressed. He felt so responsible for Mam's death, and I don't think he ever fully got over the shock of it all, and somewhere along the line he lost sight of what was right, he started to take things out on Rhiannon and I – mainly I because I was smaller and far less likely to stand up to him than my feisty older sister – in his violent tempers. In my teenage years I resented him for it, and even when he died when I was eighteen years old and just about to leave my hometown for good to go to University, I was almost still too angry with him to feel sad. But deep down there was a part of me which mourned the loss of my old Dad, the one during my happy childhood years who had taught me how to play chess and taken Rhi and I on bike rides and picnics. And now that I'm older I just wish that I had repaired our relationship before he had that heart attack, wish that I'd come to feel sorrier for him earlier and that I would have been able to forgive him before he passed, and more than anything I wish that I hadn't allowed Dad's death to get in the way of my relationship with Rhiannon.
University was, on the whole, a relatively positive time in my life perhaps a little too much drinking and not quite enough actual studying – but that's relatively normal. To be honest, I actually had a pretty good streak for four or five years or so, my first couple of years with Torchwood one in London were highly enjoyable and although it wasn't the most action packed job in the world I was interested in the research I was doing and proud to be one of many vital cogs in the overall 'machine' as it were, and I'd even found a girlfriend who I adored… and then… well, I've written about Lisa and that day of the battle of Canary Wharf more times than I can remember, and each time I come to write about it all, every though and feeling from that day comes flashing back to me and the memories feel just as vivid – all the screaming and crying, the evil metal monster roaming through our building, the desperate search to find Lisa and the utter heart break when I eventually did, the fight to get into Torchwood three, the secrecy of hiding her and the eventual disaster of her murderous rampage and death. Prior to Tosh and Owen, I guess I'd have to say that Lisa's death had been the worst to get through out of them all, as not only did I have to come to terms with the fact that my beloved girlfriend had died, that I was at least partly responsible for her death and the death of two innocent people, but I also had to face up to the betrayal that I had committed against my friends and against Torchwood three and to the fact that I had put all their lives in danger and that they might never forgive me for any of it.
…And then now… just over one week on… and although I still feel completely broken and lost and empty without them here, and though I still can't say for certain whether or not Torchwood will ever become what it once was again, thinking about all of this has given me a tiny glimpse of hope that this feeling will eventually shift and that, though I will always miss them bitterly and feel as if a tiny part of myself is absent, things will get better. Because looking back on my life, a life filled with such sorrow and death and disaster, I've realised that after each major catastrophe I have found a way to keep carrying on, to move on and, not forget what's happened, but learned to live normally and find happiness once again in spite of whatever troubling times I have been through. That, jumbled together with these unhappy times, there has been so many happy moments in my life and so many joyous events that have still happened regardless of past sorrow because melancholy and delight are two sides of the same coin and neither can truly be felt and understood without the presence of the other; and this gives me hope to hold onto in these dark times, that I will be able to feel happy again.
And today in itself has only confirmed that there might just perhaps be a light at the end of a very long tunnel. Jack is, for all intents and purposes, back. Well, I guess the three of us are really, but it was him who took command and rallied us into it and got us back to work and beginning the process of 'carrying on'.
For the first two days we dressed as normal, woke as normal and tried to converse as normal but we quickly gave up trying and for the past six mornings, neither Jack nor I had been up, if not awake, much before noon. I had woken to the sensation of being enveloped by the large, warm, well built up arms of my Captain with my large, swamping duvet draping over the two of us and blocking out the unhappy world around us. We would stay there, just holding each other not wanting to leave the comfort of the bed and face the reality that our whole world had been torn apart and turn upside down and then eventually, when realisation had begun to creep in even in this place of private solace, we would get up and mindlessly occupy ourselves with mundane little, meaningless activities around my apartment, or watch mindless daytime television – anything to try and take our minds away from the great loss we had just faced, but of course none of it worked.
But today there was none of this moping around, wasting the day wallowing in misery, Jack saw to it that we were up and out of bed by quarter to six as we would have been on any other day, and that – though I was a little confused by his sudden keenness to actually make a 'go' of the day – we had both eaten breakfast and were both showered and shaved and presentable – an ready to be out of the door by half six.
"Jack?" I asked, drowsy and confused, with a voice thick and groggy from sleep, as the infernal beeping noise of our lately neglected alarm clock blared next to my ear.
But he didn't say anything, just smiled at me in a strangely perky manner and threw back the covers as he leapt eagerly out of bed.
"Jack?" I asked again. "What's going on?"
He smiled again, "We're going into work today" He sighed, trying to sound convincingly positive and reassuring. "We've spent too much time in this apartment, too much time neglecting the rift and too much time wallowing in sadness – we need to start getting back to normal, it's for the best."
I did my best to smile back at him, and put on as positive a front as he was managing, but in all honesty I was so puzzled by this sudden turnaround in atmosphere that I felt a little disorientated. Jack had still yet to open up to me about anything that had happened, about seeing his two close friends die, about cryogenically freezing his brother and about being buried alive for almost two thousand year - let alone talk to me at all about any plans for heading back to work. But if he was willing to make good of his word and 'start again from the end' as Jack had said on the day of their deaths. "Ok" I replied simply.
I felt a little out of sorts, what with my mind feeling as though it should still be tucked away in the depths of dreamless sleep and the fact that this change in mood had come about so suddenly and seemingly from nowhere, but Jack took charge reminding me about all the little things – buttering toast before the marmalade, tying my tie before putting on my jacket etc. And then we set off walking to work, him firmly grasping my hand but revealing no other outwardly signs of nerves for what we were about to do, with a determined stride.
Entering the hub was challenging; though I had vigilantly cleared up and re-organised the building to look as though nothing had ever happened, there was still a strong lingering sense about the place that tragedy had recently struck… the smell of sadness and death and lost love in the air… and looking over to the autopsy bay, or Tosh's station or the sink where there were still five coffee mugs soaking it was impossible not to remember what had happened, re-imagine Tosh lying there dying in Jack's arms, or picture what it must have been like for poor Owen in the nuclear power station, or recall the desperately sad message left in Tosh's final video. For five minutes, or maybe more, we just stood there, still holding hands, breathing in and out slowly with these images flashing back and forwards in our minds and, I can't speak for Jack, but I was determinedly concentrating on not crying.
After that, we split off – Jack to his office and I to my own desk – as if it were just an ordinary day, there was no need to discuss what work needed to be done as it was obvious to us both that we had such a great deal of paperwork to process that there was easily three hours' worth of work before we looked into rift activity over the past week or so. I sat down and cracked my knuckles before embarking upon the gruelling task of said 'paperwork'; but of course it wasn't just paperwork, it was documentation of the last living moments of two of my closest friends and I'm not ashamed to admit that I did in fact shed a few tears as I was writing it all up. By eleven Jack came over to my desk with equally large, sadness filled piles of paper that he had been working on all morning, like I had been, with equally reddened and tear stained eyes like mine and patted me on the shoulder.
"You all done?" He asked
"Yes… I think so; it all feels so… silent now doesn't it?" I replied.
He nodded and smiled sadly, "Indeed it does, but we just have to work forwards now – we have to carry on and make sure that we do them proud, make sure that they haven't died in vain – for us to just give up and stop trying"
"Of course, we have to carry on" I smiled sadly back
He nodded again "I've… I've called in Gwen as well. She… didn't sound brilliant over the phone, but she's coming"
"Good" I nodded back.
Gwen arrived about an hour later, looking just as shaken up as I felt and seeming to undergo just the same process of realisation of finality as she re-entered the hub for the first time after what had happened. Jack and I were waiting for her, with sad reassuring smiles – hopefully not tainted with too much sadness – plastered on our faces and open arms ready and waiting to envelop her in a much needed hug. She too found it tough going recounting every detail from that horrible, horrible day that we would all much rather had ended in a much different manner but when she was done with the harrowing task I made sure that I had a nice, warm cappuccino waiting for her (and two extra strong coffees for Jack and I) on her desk, of which she was highly grateful. I didn't tell either of them about how I'd accidentally made coffees for Toshiko and Owen as well… I stood there hovering over the sink for a full fifteen minutes, deliberating whether or not I should just pour them away, as I choked up thinking about our absent friends.
The afternoon was probably the hardest time of all though, the much neglected rift hadn't caused a great deal of damage over the days that we had been absent (at least nothing that the Cardiff City police couldn't attempt to tackle) but this afternoon it decided to make up for that - big time. The monitor began beeping at around three o'clock and we all groaned outwardly; rift alerts are never usually fun, there's always a great risk that something deadly or down right evil might emerge from the other side, but today there was the added complication that this was the first rift alert that we were t tackle in the absence of Tosh and Owen.
We traced it to the East side of town, and jumped into the SUV, all of us terrified and feeling sick to our stomachs with nerves and grief and mourning the fact that we no longer had to fight over who had to sit in the middle seat. When we arrived on the scene, and greeted that familiar sight of a ring of blue light flashing prominently, in the unfamiliar and lonely situation that we were in and would always be in from hence forth, and waited to face the demon on the other side. In this instance it turned out to be a Weevil – a Weevil infected with goodness knows what, I hope it isn't contagious – which in its slightly disadvantaged state was easy for just the three of us to capture, but I couldn't help wondering how we would have coped if it had been something larger and much more vicious.
We transported her home and brought her straight through to the, to Owen's, autopsy bay. None of us really knew what we were doing, as we attempted to assess its condition and diagnose what was wrong – in the end we settled for taking a blood sample and administering a double strength pain killer to the creature. There's no way that any of us could match Owen's level of technique or knowledge, and as we attempted to 'fill his shoes' I just knew that our efforts were futile, as no one - even a very good doctor – would be able to replace his level of precision, let alone amateurs like us.
Jack decided, after our disastrous attempts a medical analysis which had only reminded us further of the great losses we have all suffered, that it was high time for us to be heading back to our respective homes and Gwen and I both gladly agreed. I wasn't sure what to expect when Jack and I arrived back home, whether he'd want to talk about today, talk about what might happen tomorrow and what the future of Torchwood three was looking like, talk about Tosh and Owen… but perhaps the last thing that I could have been expecting him to say, was what he did indeed bring into conversation.
The second that I had unlocked my door and let us both in he had ravished me up against the wall of my sort of hallway and was kissing me to within an inch of my life, his tongue roaming hungrily throughout my mouth and his hands pulling me tighter and tighter against his body, as if trying to get as physically close to me as possible. At first I was far to shocked to do anything but remain there with my arms flailing slightly, but then as I realised fully what was going on I responded back just as eagerly – things have been, well we haven't been… as 'hands on' as normal, neither of us have really felt in the mood, but suddenly now we were both fired up and eager. He led me possessively through to the bedroom and proceeded to rip off his own clothing as I removed mine, and then the two of us continued things from where we had left off in the hallway.
"Well, that was unexpected" I said, a little out of breath as we both lay there clothes less in bed.
He laughed a little, "Good though I hope?"
"Naturally" I replied smiling. "Any particular reason for the urgency…?"
Now, if I'm not mistaken, I'm almost certain that I saw him blush for just a moment before he spoke again which would have been highly out of character… but I'm certain he did, anyway… "Well… I just… I just needed to feel you close to me for a bit. I felt guilty enough for Tosh and Owen… I, well I already felt so much sadness and grief for what happened, but going into work today and starting to carry on without them both made everything seem that bit more real… and I started thinking… I just couldn't bear it if I lost you now too. It's too much. And I just needed, really needed, to know that you were here, and not going anywhere" He admitted.
I stroked one hand lightly across his cheek, and laced my other hand with his, "I'm not going anywhere if you're not"
He smiled, "Good… and on that note, I was thinking…"
"You know it's never good when you get up to any of that…" I joked.
"Oh har-har… but yeah, I was thinking and, wel… how about I move in? Properly I mean? Because, well, I pretty much live here most of the time anyway and when we aren't here we're both at the hub – but it's nice coming here and having a place to get away from the hub, and besides, I need to keep an eye on you now" He suggested, almost nervously.
I was most surprised by his suggestion – not necessarily because it was the most 'outside of the box' idea that he could have come up with as it was true – he pretty much did live here now, but because it just seemed so random. "Ummm… well, yes, of course, yes" I replied smiling.
He let out a small sigh of what I can only assume was relief, "Excellent" He replied and quickly gave my nose a kiss.
We lay there for goodness knows how long, holding each other closely and making our plans with regards to moving Jack in (Although there isn't actually a great deal that needs to be done) and once that train of thought was exhausted, we finally started talking properly about Tosh and Owen. Not about their deaths as such, but about our favourite memories and quirks of the two of them – of the time that we all went out to the pub together and Owen had far too much to drink and the two of them woke up in the same bed, highly confused; the Christmas party which only Tosh really remembered, Owen's strange fear of Tintin and Tosh's love of algebra. It was nice, sad though as it's hard talking about the two of them in the past tense regardless of the fact that their deaths have just about sunk in now, but it was nice none the less - to pay a little spoken tribute to the two of them.
I was impressed by the sheer details of small events – like the songs that we had each sung during our Christmas karaoke session for example – that Jack had remembered after, well quite frankly, after living for such a gargantuan amount of time and this fact gave me the courage to actually brave asking him about it all.
"Jack…"
"Mmhhmm?"
"I was wondering, well, what actually happened with you and Gray and John and… being buried?" I asked nervously.
Jack paled slightly, and I was terrified that he was about to become either extremely angry, or extremely upset, very quickly, but he just took a deep breath and a moment to order his thoughts before going on to reply:
"Well, you already know that Gray was blackmailing John to help him into carrying out his revenge upon me for… for leaving him alone… to be savaged by those hateful creatures all those years ago?"
I nodded, encouraging him to carry on.
"Well, well Gray knew that I couldn't die and decided to use this against me" Jack swallowed, so I squeezed his hand tighter, "He took me two thousand years back in time and forced John to bury me alive – forever dying and reviving underneath metres and metres of earth, thankfully John tossed his ring into my grave which would give out a signal and act as a sort of beacon so that you could all find me in the future. I was found before the 21st Century though, way back in the Victorian era, and so Torchwood had to keep me in a capsule in the freezer – set to defrost for the present day so that I could come back and help you, and more importantly stop Gray from causing anymore disaster – and I suppose that the plan worked to a certain extent. I couldn't stop him before he got to Tosh, or before Owen was killed in the nuclear blast, but I did manage to find him in the cells before he got to you or Gwen. I told him that I forgave him, and then knocked him and out placed him inside the freezer himself – I don't know if I'll ever wake him up again, but I just couldn't kill him." Jack explained with watery eyes.
"Of course, he's still your brother no matter what he's done."
Jack nodded.
"… so… can I, can I ask…about what it was like, being buried for almost two thousand years? I mean, how have you remembered everything… do you remember everything? I…"
He cut me off then, "Of course you can ask" He smiled sadly, "It was… excruciatingly painful, agonisingly lengthy, and mind numbing dull. It would be impossible for me to try and recall how many times that I died and came back to life buried underneath there, but I can tell you what I was thinking of every time that I came around, and for every second that I was conscious: you. Torchwood, Myfanwy, Janet, John, Gwen, Owen, Tosh and you… especially you… because we've all had so many brilliant moments together and I was determined that when I eventually made it back to the present day that I wasn't going to have forgotten anything – so for nearly two thousand years (god it sounds ridiculous even talking about that many years!) I flooded my mind with everything I'd ever done."
"Wow" was all I could reply.
He laughed a little, "Yeah… I'm kind of impressed that it actually worked. Though I can tell you, you can't ever really imagine this" He said, stoking me arm, "Physical contact, real people and real voices… you've got no idea how wonderful it was to come back and see you all, see you… feel you"
I smiled, and then frowned for a second, "Then… well… then why were you quite… why didn't we…" I blushed, hoping he would understand what I was getting at.
He laughed, clearly understanding that I was referring to our lack of bedroom activity beyond cuddling, "Honestly? I was worried that you'd feel weird about it… because well, I'm over two thousand years old now – don't I freak you out a bit?" He asked slightly nervously.
It was my turn to laugh a little then as I replied "No more than before". It wasn't quite the whole truth, as initially I couldn't get my head around it, or understand how it would be possible for us to pick up form where we left off with him having spent so great a deal of time buried alive… and I still can't really come to terms with the length of time that he was gone, but speaking to him now it's clear that he's still the same Jack he always was.
"Oi!" He replied, elbowing me and grinning that oh so familiar Harkness grin, that I haven't seen in far too long.