[Makebelieve] Fic: Five Hundred Years Gone - Torchwood/being Human - jack/ianto, george/mitchell - FRM

[makebelieve archive]

Five Hundred Years Gone
by PEJA

Fandom: Torchwood/Being Human
Universe: Phoenix Fire - This is an Open Universe, so write me a story back
in this one
Genre: slash
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Mitchell/George
Portrayed by John Barrowman/Gareth David-Lloyd,
Rating: FRM
Summary: Another post CoE fic. Ianto survives, but he has changed in the
last 500 years without Jack. Can Jack and Ianto reclaim what they once had?
Warning: angst, AU
First a shout out thank you to all the kind folks who helped me out with
Ianto's age. You're all great.
General thanks to all of you folks who are requesting short fics and improvs
in the various fandoms. You're keeping the words flowing.
Comm/List Written for: http://community.livejournal.com/cardiff_tales
Permission to archive to WWOMB: Y
Author's websites:
ttp://peja.dreamwidth.org
http://peja.insanejournal.com
http://peja1956.livejournal.com
http://www.squidge.org/peja/cgi-bin/viewuser.php?uid=1
Disclaimer. Dr Who and Torchwood do not belong to me. no money made in this
Acknowledgments/Notes: The Idea of Ianto being resurected because of the
virus he was infected with intrigued me. The rest is just cuz I like dark
themes and creatures of the night.



London
The day after the 456 are defeated

In an attempt to calm the tensions of an angry population, the surviving
government officials secretly covered up the real cause of so many deaths
and decreed the bodies of the victims in Thames House bequarantined and
secretly autopsied before they were cremated.

Unwisely, they also refused to allow Jack's daughter, Alice, to claim
Stephen's body, citing family history and the method of his passing as the
reason. Which easily translated into they wanted to dissect and study the
body of an innocent boy who had already given his life without his consent
in hopes of discovering what might lead to the question of Jack's
immortality.

When Jack learned of this final outrage against his family, his fury knew no
end. Tight-fisted, he stalked into Thames House, violently shrugging off
anyone who tried to stop his progress through the government halls and his
voice low and sharp spoken through drawn lips, demanded to see the Prime
Minister.

Jack wasn't fooled by the nervous "He's out for the day," from the prim,
middle-aged receptionist.  He simply narrowed his blue eyes slightly and
smiled a dangerous smile before pushing past her. He burst into the Prime
Minister's offices, coat tails flopping like a comic book version of a
heroic vigilante.

The ill-fated politician quickly discovered just how dangerous a man Jack
really was when pushed.

He had been the picture of serenity, lips curved in a mock smile that never
quite reached his narrowed eyes.  In soft, almost melodic tones, smiling the
smile of a angel from heaven, he described unimagined horrors he would
inflict on the man before him, hinted that Torchwood's arsenals held things
that made God tremble as he added, "You see, I am a patient man with nothing
left to lose." He grinned then, making it quite clear that he would have no
qualms about using these weapons on those who had dared oppose his desires.

If he had raised his voice, perhaps the pallid politician would have
attempted to bluster his way around the man towering over him for all the
world like some great avenging angel, but Jack Harkness' quite spoken words
and eyes ablaze with the very fires of hell had the man sweating a tsunami.

Jack's dead were released to him with haste. Along with a vehicle to
transport the bodies wherever he wanted.

Jack was no fool. He took careful pains to check the SUV for bugs and GPS,
removing any he found, then setting up a perception device that intercepted
and blocked any unfound transmission devices.  He would take no chances of
his kin being recovered by those he now considered his enemy.

On the endless drive back to Cardiff, Jack's thoughts focused on the bodies
in the back of his SUV.

First on Ianto.

His precious Ianto.

Lost to him forever.

And he had only himself to blame.

His own arrogance. His carelessness.

His fault.

In his vanity he had ignored the fragility of human life. Forgotten that men
died so easily. Like delicate sugar-spun figurines, crumbled with a careless
flick of a finger.

And Stephen.

He had sacrificed his grandson for the ten percent.

The children had not been worth the loss. Not worth Stephen's precious life.
If only he had thought it out, realized the end result....But he'd not seen
the cost in the heat of the moment and now he was alone.

Alone.

Twice damned by the very God that had damned him with immortality.

Soulless.

God forgive him.

For Jack never would forgive himself.

Or Alice, for that matter. Why should she?

He, himself, had judged his actions and found himself responsible for too
many deaths. Judge, Jury. Executioner. He imprisoned his grief inside his
mind, never releasing it. Thedagger thrust of loss was his ever-lasting
punishment. He would not allow himself the luxury of grief. He would not
allow even one single tear, not one blessed morsel of internal forgiveness.
Oh, no, not him. He would bear his guilt through eternity.

But first he had to get his precious cargo back to where they would rest in
tranquility.

Drowning in his never-ending guilt, his eternal grief, Jack drove onward.
Always onward, with only one goal in mind. Only one end in sight.

He had to get them home.


Several hours later
Cardiff
In the deep bowels of Torchwood 3

Home.

A place of peace.

A place of safety.

So long ago.

Only five days gone.

He shuddered.

Once upon a time in a land far away....

Five days gone, his soul ripped asunder from the inside.

His piece of mind assassinated.

His body bled agony like none other.

His silent screams echoed in his ears.

He was dead.

He was undead.

Alive.

Unalive.

Still he survived.

He always survived.

No matter how much he prayed he wouldn't.

And surviving, Jack had done the only thing he had left in this life to do.
He brought his kin home.

Home to the Hub. Home to the only place he knew his loved ones would be
allowed to rest in peace. A peace they deserved more than any other living
soul on this inhuman planet.

Jack had known that the Hub would survive the assassin's bomb. In the last
seconds, waiting for the bomb inside him to pulverize his being, he'd
activated the protective seals and perception filters and cutting of the
central hub from the rest of the complex. He knew from past experience the
safe guards could easily withstand the force of a simple explosion. The Hub
had been built to stand firm under alien attack using alien artifacts and
his own 25th century science. The enhanced perception filters could easily
hide the inner corridors and vaults that spiraled out from the central hub,
concealing them from prying government thieves out to plunder Torchwood's
resources. Any snooping officials who took the destruction of this base of
operation as an opportunity to infiltrate Torchwood security would be doomed
to disappointment. Their attempts of theft would go no farther than that
unsecured section of the complex where he'd died that last horrific death.

Died in a kaleidoscope of searing, unfathomable horror.

And maybe, just maybe, he uttered a prayer that this time he would receive
the blessing of a final death.

Breaking away from his silent contemplations, Jack eased the SUV through the
concealed entrance that led onto the Torchwood wharfs and parked. For a long
moment he just sat there, staring out into the dimly lit tunnels with his
fingers curled so tightly around the wheel that they lost all circulation.

Memories of his disintegrating death swept over him and Jack shuddered,
wrapping his arms around his waist as he re-lived the searing heat, the
unspeakable sensation of his bodyexploding i nto a wet mist of pink. Once
more he tasted the morbid ecstasy of doubt and wonder. Once more he knew the
horror of feeling his body dissolving, scattering in a fiery ball.

Caught up in the horror of the euphoric nightmare spinning out in his head,
Jack scrambled out of he SUB and fell to his knees, vomiting up an empty
stomach until his ribs ached and his head throbbed.  Exhausted by the
memories, the emotions cascading through his mind, he rolled onto his side
in a fetal ball and closed his eyes, rocking himself in an attempt the calm
the terrors that assailed him.

Jack lost track of time as he lie there. He could have laid on the cold,
graying boards for mere moments or it could have been hours. He neither knew
or cared. The memories held him in a tight hold.

He came back to himself only when the cold damp seeped deep into his bones,
demanding he get up, finish what he had come to do.

He staggered clumsily to his feet. On unsteady legs, he made his way to the
boathouse he'd shown Ian months ago and grabbed a waiting trolley, steering
it toward the waiting SVU with grim determination.

His hand trembled as he wrenched open the SUV doors. The vision of  those
two heavy duty black scrim PVC body bags slapped him in the face. An insult
to the lives so recently lost.  What they represented careened past his
tightly restrained emotions, diving deep and brutal into the center of his
gut.

Lips pressed into a tight line as he grabbed one webbing handle and pulling
the bag containing Stephen's body closer. For a moment he stared at the
bleak package, then with a curt nod and a grim "Man up, Harkness.", he
quickly pulled open the zip and peeled back the edges. His gaze roamed the
angelic perfection of his grandson's features.

Grimly, he lifted Stephen's body from the bag. The boy was so light in his
arms. Jack laid his precious burden tenderly on the trolley. His hands
lingered a moment and his throat tightened. Gritting his teeth against the
howl that warred against its captivity, he drew back fisted hands.

He turned back to the SUV, bundling the body bag and stuffing it into the
far back of the SUV before he freed Ianto's body from its morbid wrap. A
whimper sounded in his ears as Ianto's head tumbled onto his shoulder. "My
precious boy." slipped from his lips. "Please, God, I don't want to be
alone."

Only the silence of the grave spoke back to him as he laid Ianto's body next
to the boy's.

Jack's legs trembled under him, threatening to bring him down. He leaned
heavily on the trolley push bar, breathing deeply until the weakness passed.
He had done this. This death was his to bear. No mercy, Jack Harkness. Claim
your work.

He nodded in response to his internal judge. His fault. His.

He drew a deep breath and began to push the trolley deeper into Torchwood.

This deep in the bowels of the complex, his footsteps echoed in the
abandoned corridors, the sharp click click click of heel to flooring
accompanied by theoccasional scrunch scrunch scrunch of glass crushing under
his firm step.

His bleek gaze never strayed from  the corridor ahead. His only thought was
on the next step. The next turn. He would not allow himself to reflect on
the man and boy lying on the trolley. If he did, he feared he would never
move again.

His robotic steps lead him to the unlit morgue, then wavered, slowing to a
stop. His diamond bight glance swept the darkness and he swallowed through
the tightness lodged in his throat. "Oh, God," he croaked, wrapping his mind
around the reality of what he was doing. "Oh, my God..."

Grinding his teeth, he moved to a computer console and activated the inner
workings that had gone into sleep mode with the locking down of the central
hub.  He spent a moment running a quick overview of the complex, checking
the cells and dark storage corridors, making sure all the automated systems
were up and running. Once he walked out of the Hub, the automated system
alone would govern the working sections of the base.  Would keep Ianto's
body from its natural progression to dust.

Jack could not accept that final natural life's blow. Would not accept
Ianto's beauty lost forever in death.

The lights suddenly came up, along with the soft usual background hum.  His
fingers flew over the keyboard. The soft hum gathered speed and a morgue bed
slid out from the wall.

Jack crossed to the trolley and lifted Stephen into his arms then carried
him to the gently glowing slab. He laid the body down, combing through his
blond hair with shaking fingers. "I am so very sorry, Stephen." He leaned
over, pressing a kiss to the boy's cool forehead. "So very sorry."