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Title: Milliways
Author:
silkendreammaid

Rating: MA15
Disclaimer: I do not own and never will, Torchwood or the characters within
Warnings: yes, probably, but i don't know how to hide the words, so consider this a warning

Characters: Jack Harkness, Tenth Doctor

Notes: written for the redisourcolour challenge 16: Apocalypse. Prompts are "nonplus, mucilaginous, table-lamp" and the phrase "What we need, is a (insert item of choice here)."  There's a more fuller note at the end of the fic.

Author's Notes: Written at work as i've got to pack and fly out tomorrow. Mum's not going to be here next week so i need to get there to say good-bye. Which has probably affected this fic more than i planned...

Summary: Jack has been left in the dark for a long time.


 



 

Milliways

 

When the light appeared the man in the corner turned his head away from it. His eyes watered and hurt and he whimpered softly, his hands lifting to cover them.

 “Sorry, Jack my boy,” a cheery voice told him. “Should’ve thought of that, shouldn’t I. But it’s much better now, isn’t it. What with the light and all.” Footsteps almost danced close to him. “Pretty boring place you’ve got here actually. Being in the dark probably made it look better. How long have you been stuck here, then? TARDIS seems to think it’s been some years since the last earthquake. But you would have been okay, all asleep in your tank.” A hand slapped at a metal door on a featureless wall.

 “You know these things are built to last. Hundreds, no, thousands of years. Nigh on indestructible. It was a good choice of yours to be put into one of these.” The footsteps and voice stopped for a moment. “Did I ever tell you how proud I was of you for doing what you did?” There was a rustle of material as if shoulders had been shrugged. “Probably not. You were already frozen and sleeping when I heard, but I was proud, yes, I was proud. Martha – you remember Martha, she called me and told me all about it. Sacrificing yourself like that. Getting put in here to stop the Rift from doing any more damage.” There was a small tsk-ing sound.

 “Mind you it was rather clever of you to figure that closing the Rift like that, by using you and all that Vortex energy inside you that it would make everything return to normal. All that Rift energy swirling around and spreading and upsetting the natural ways of life. People should die when they’re due, don’t you think.” The tsk-ing sound came again and suddenly a hand landed on his head and patted him.

 “Except you, of course. The universe’s impossible thing. So – anyway, how …oooh.” The sound of a drawer sliding out of the wall brought the voice to a stop. The man in the corner turned his head and peeked through his fingers.

 The long brown coat was vaguely familiar as was the unruly brown hair above it. He watched as the man peered and poked in the drawer that had been his bed for far longer than he could remember.

 “It’s all dried up.” The newcomer sounded quite nonplussed. “You must have been out for a while then, Jack. The fluid in these units is quite viscous and heavy. Rather mucilaginous and nasty really but very good for keeping the skin from drying out.” The brown haired man walked over and squatted down in front of him.
 
“So, Jack. You never said. How long have you been awake? Since the last earthquake?” Brown eyes suddenly narrowed. “Or much longer? It’s been nearly two hundred years since the Earth tilted. How long ago did you wake up Jack. How long have you been stuck down here in the darkness?”

 For the first time the newcomer studied the man in the corner thoroughly. He was huddled amongst the debris of decades, possibly centuries. Naked and so very thin, his hair was unkempt and matted. There was little recognition in the blue eyes that kept blinking in the light. He was holding a piece of metal in one hand and something that glistened unpleasantly in the other. 

“It’s the Doctor, Jack. It’s me. You remember me, don’t you.”

 Jack shifted slightly, stretching out and placing the piece of metal that had once been the cover of a table lamp against his upper thigh. The metal edge pressed against the bleeding ruin of his leg. His voice was rusty and cracked.

“What we need is another slice."



 
Author's Note:  Being in Aust - and not being bothered enough to look - i know  nothing about Miracle day other than suddenly no-one can die. So - I've written this fic using the premise that Jack gets put into very long term cryo to stop the Rift from doing whatever it was doing that was keeping everyone alive (which is probably not the real reason either). I do recall reading somewhere a long time ago that Jack was put in cryo to control the Rift but i can't remember where i read that. One of the wiki sites, i think... anyway, this assumes that at some point of Jack's long sleep he gets revived and due to earthquakes, earth tilting he is trapped there...

 

 

.

 

 

.


(no subject)

Date: 2011-05-25 10:39 am (UTC)
usakiwigirl: Naked man with coloured lights (Default)
From: [personal profile] usakiwigirl
Ow, this one hurts. I have no idea if you are even close to the premise of Miracle Day, and it doesn't really matter. The idea that this could happen is plausible enough. Poor Jack. And the doctor sounds exactly right. He cares - but there is just the right amount of slightly clueless callousness behind it, to the fact that Jack would be suffering the whole time.

This is painfully brilliant.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-05-25 02:51 pm (UTC)
badly_knitted: (Sad Jack)
From: [personal profile] badly_knitted
Bleak and heartbreaking. Poor Jack, alone down there in the dark for who knows how long, living and dying and reviving endlessly, only to die of starvation or dehydration again and again. And then the Doctor shows up, all cheerful, barely even noticing Jack's physical condition...

I just want to whisk Jack away and find him a Ianto to look after him and make him better again.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-05-26 01:25 pm (UTC)
aviv_b_artwork: (Default)
From: [personal profile] aviv_b_artwork
Ouch! As much as I hate to say it, you have the Doctor spot on. He is at best indiffferent to Jack's ability to die, at worst he thinks he's 'wrong.'

(no subject)

Date: 2011-05-27 04:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jolinarjackson.livejournal.com
Man, that was heavy. But a really interesting idea. About the story you read about Jack being used as some kind of power source - I think it's the Torchwood novel Twilight Streets.

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