quitehomoerotic: (Duty calls)
"What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. It is always the same step, but you have to take it." - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, 'Wind, Sand and Stars'

[Authors note: So earlier today I told [livejournal.com profile] elevenwho to write me Jack and Eleven meeting and silly thing that she is she obliged and wrote this lovely story here. It prompted me to want to write the story from Jack's POV, so here it is. I highly recommend you read that wonderful piece before this one.]


The Starburst System was a group of planets on the edge of a nothing galaxy, in a nothing area of space, and a long way from anything that was anywhere. It was the perfect place for Jack to hide.

So he thought.

Starburst Minimus was the smallest of the four planets in the system. Unremarkable, really, but for something of a tourist spot; a rainbow waterfall caused by a refraction in the light and a crack in the o-zone that positioned directly above a range of mountains and a flowing river.

It was nice, and something he might once have spent hours just staring at; marvelling at the wonders of the universe. But not anymore. The universe had lost its shine.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t healing, that time wasn’t numbing the pain of the things he’d done. In fact he was even managing to smile sometimes. Things were looking better, but that said, he was still tired, still old, and trying to find himself a new place in the world.

Everything took time.

It was seven months since he’d met a man in a bar, ushered there by an old friend. Something changed in him that day. It wasn’t something he even truly recognised himself, but it had happened, like the flick of a switch. A realisation that he wasn’t hated, and that he could still live, even if it hurt to do so.

So he was trying to live.

He started to travel again; taking in parts of the universe, and even if right now they affected him little, he hoped that would change. He had hope, and that was something. In fact, it was quite a lot.

On his second day on Starburst Minimus, Jack had found a library. )


Word count: 1473
quitehomoerotic: (Thoughtful stare)
The Cardiff night rests heavily over the city. Clouds settle and the air holds a pressure that warns of something to come. A storm? Or something worse?

The streets around him are lit with lights that hold an orange hue that tinges the whole city, and somewhere off in the distance he can hear laughter as a group of drunken revellers stumble to their taxis and to find their way home. The people of the city; some of them with others, locked together in an embrace until the lines between their bodies blur. Some stand and argue, screaming and shouting until they walk in different directions, tears in their eyes. So many emotions but they share one common trait; they live, all of them, living.

But Jack stands apart.

The people move but they don't touch him. He stands in the middle of St Mary's Street, wedged between the doors of two darkened shops. Sleeping for the evening before their day will begin again. Nothing touches him now. No laughter, no sadness or joy. He doesn't live any more. He tells himself that way is safer. Safer for him and for everyone.

So why is he here?

Why after so long does he stand amongst the streets he knows so well? Amongst buildings he remembers from their foundations, watching as they changed, the old mingling with the knew as he stayed the same. Always the same.

He shouldn't be here now. He's told himself that. He knows that it's true and he wants to believe it, just as he wanted to believe he'd have the will and the strength to stay away. He walked away from this place with its streets and its people, that faint smell of hops in the background that drifted from the brewery, the salty air that blew in from the sea. All of it burned together in a memory, and a memory he's tried so desperately to push away.

But then there are times when he sits and he closes his eyes, and behind his lids he can see them. He sees things how they were. A complaint from Owen, Tosh tapping away at her keyboard, a wry smile from Ianto or Gwen laughing. He can see their smiles, hear their voices as though they're there. But when he opens his eyes, they're gone. And he's alone.

So he thinks maybe here, maybe among these streets and around these people, he'll be able to open his eyes and still hear it, still feel it. He shouldn't want to, of course, he should want to move on.

Rain starts to fall. Gentle drips that will give way to a shower and a flood. The warning that the clouds promised now being fulfilled. Splashes wet his hair and it dampens against his skin, sticking down against his forehead. His coat gets heavier under the weight of the water. But he notices none of it.

He realises then that the emptiness of the streets will never work. It never could. This city is nothing but a shell for him now. It had once been home. The people he loved (the people he loves) they're gone, and if they're not, he can't go back, they have to live their lives, and they can only do that if he's not there..

He pulls his coat around him, not because he cares about or even feels the cold, but because it's what he feels he should do, like a muscle memory and an echo of when he used to feel like a man. He takes a deep breath and for one more time he fills his lungs with the Cardiff air. It's fresh, he remembers that.

But that's all this is, a memory.

So he turns away, heads off down a road he's walked so many times, but this time the destination is different. He no longer knows where he's going. A clap of thunder rings out above him, but he pays it no attention. This city doesn't need him now.

He keeps walking. And he's gone.

Word count: 679
quitehomoerotic: (Serious : Fingers on lips)
It's just a book.

Just a leather bound book. A little bigger now than it was when it was new; expanded from all the pages dog eared and written on, the ink twisting and weighing down the pages. Notes jotted down over months and years. The corners fray a little and show its use. Well loved and well used.

Just a book and nothing more.

But no.

No, not nothing more. A diary. A glimpse into the mind of the writer. Snapshots of thought and an insight into the way they work. A portable and tangible piece of the mind. Tangible and readable and sitting on a table in sight.

He shouldn't read it and he knows that. He shouldn't, but it's so compelling sitting there. Like an itch waiting to be scratched.

He wonders if it would hurt. Just a few pages? Who would ever have to know? Nothing important, not to sit and examine it, just skim the surface of a page or two, and well, if his name should be spotted then why not read a little more? It's not that anyone would know that he had, and he'd done much worse in his past than read a few words on a page.

But he'd know. He'd know and he'd know things too that weren't offered to him. It would be wrong, and that's what he reminds himself as he tries not to scratch that itch. )

Word count: 688
quitehomoerotic: (Brooding)
A mattress lay in the centre of the room. A mattress, dirtied and old and stained with God knows what. The room had a faint whiff of something that was likely best not to investigate, and there was a constant drip from a leaky pipe in the corner.

"Here we are then."

Jack didn't even attempt to sound enthusiastic as he swung back the heavy metal door and locked it securely behind them. He was tired and worn and by now even this place looked vaguely appealing for rest.

The Master, however, was less than impressed. His face twisted in disgust and he piped up with sarcasm heavily heaped, "Oh the honeymoon suite! Really, Jack how charming of you!"

Jack simply glared. And so the Master continued.

"You might have put out a few flowers or some scented candles but I--"

"Stop it," Jack hissed.

"Oh someone's testy!" The Master smirked, he seemed more than a little pleased at the fact he'd riled Jack.

"You know we could have maybe even found somewhere half decent today. We could have made some headway on what we're actually trying to do. But no, you think a better way to spend time is blowing things up and drawing attention to us. If the government get hold of you what do you think they'll do, really? This isn't a game!"

But the Master was delighted. He just loved it when Jack was so frustrated because he knew (they both knew) there was not a thing he could do about it. )

Word count: 1128
quitehomoerotic: (Concerned)
He's 19 years old and sitting in a booth in a bar in Boeshane. It's not the place it used to be. Not the place he remembers from his childhood; the place where he'd hide in the sand dunes and play games with his father and brother. A lot has changed since then. Since the creatures came. He has had to grow up too soon.

He's been to war. By the age of seventeen he'd seen his friends killed in front of him. It was never what he expected his life would be. He always thought maybe he'd work in the clockwork factory with his dad, or if he was lucky he'd get to fly a ship. If he was really lucky. But he gave up on luck a long time ago.

And now, here he is, home again. But it doesn't feel like home any more, and he isn't sure what's left here for him.

He sits in the bar with a glass in his hand, and he looks into it and at the residue of dried wine on the rim as though the stains might tell him something. As though they might be able to guide him and tell him which path he should take.

He's been offered jobs since he got back. So many were pleased to see him return. The boy that left had become a man and he thinks he ought to be proud of that. )

Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word count: 1671
quitehomoerotic: (S3 : With Steven)

It's 5092 and you're twenty two years old when you pass out from the agency.

Passing out is very important. There are many agents that will never get that far. Many that won't even make it past the first few weeks of medicals and tests. That's all before the months of training and rigorous trials. And even that won't guarantee a place.

Passing out is a sign of achievement. It's a culmination of acquired knowledge and ability. It's when you become somebody. When you become a free spirit and when you cease to be free at all.

The first thing you get is the mark. A tattoo on your chest that brands you as one of 'them'. A code embedded into the skin forever that tells a story of who you are. That no matter what name you will wear (as you will wear many), that they can recognise you.

Next is what you wait for most. What you've seen and coveted as long as you can remember. As long as you've known of the agency; of what they plan to do and what they are capable of. You were the first to sign up and you're the first to be issued with yours. It's tastefully done, encased in a leather strap that buckles at the wrist (so it blends in across time, they say). You've had to study the manual for weeks and by the time you're given it you know its workings inside out. You know which buttons will send you where, and how to skip across a century in a heartbeat.

You vow to never take it off, as long as you live.


What is it? )

Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word count: 1303
quitehomoerotic: (General : Looking out of SUV window)
Okay, really? Ten noises I love? Isn't there a better question than that? Right, fine, I'll bite. Lets see.

1) The cog door in the Torchwood Hub as it rolls back. There's this little alarm and that sound and then the gears grind as it retracts. That thing has been there as long as the Hub has. It's almost as old as I am. But it still keeps going, through all the changes in the place, all the changes in the city, it still keeps rolling back and forth. It's a constant, just like I am. There's something nice about that, and just hearing it just makes me feel at home.

2) We've got this coffee machine in the Hub. I tell you what, all sorts of technology, alien artefacts and weaponry? Those I can operate with my eyes closed. But this thing? This thing I just can't get to grips with. I have no idea what Ianto does to it but damn does he make it work some magic. And that sound, the sound it makes when it's brewing coffee, I love that sound. And the coffee I get after it of course. (And the delivery boy isn't too bad either).

3) And while we're on the theme of the Hub, there's the sound of Myfanwy --that's our pterodactyl-- as she screeches around up near the roof. I mean, yeah, pretty ridiculous that we've got a pterodactyl, right? But she's part of the place now. Bit awkward at times, but Ianto usually knows how to sort her out. He's got a way with her.

4) So I guess, moving on from the Hub, but still Torchwood, there's my car. The Torchwood SUV. Oh I love that thing. Big beast of a car, half of the specifications were mine and sure, half of them will never be used --hasn't been much call for rocket boosters in central Cardiff-- but it's nice to know they're there. And there's the engines and that roar when you start them up. That noise is brilliant.  )

Word count: 910
quitehomoerotic: (Hero)
I've been roaming around
Always looking down at all I see
Painted faces, build the places I cant reach

You know that I could use somebody
You know that I could use somebody

Someone like you, And all you know, And how you speak
Countless lovers under cover of the street

You know that I could use somebody
You know that I could use somebody
Someone like you

Off in the night, while you live it up, I'm off to sleep
Waging wars to shape the poet and the beat
I hope it's gonna make you notice
I hope it's gonna make you notice
Someone like me
Someone like me
Someone like me, somebody




Why do you do it, Jack? )

Word count: 492
quitehomoerotic: (Ianto : Into the breach)
When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you



It's late evening and the Hub is in half darkness. Jack stands in the board room and stares down into the shadowed room below. )

Word count: 455
quitehomoerotic: (Secret smile)
The best of times is now.
What's left of Summer
But a faded rose?
The best of times is now.
As for tomorrow,
Well, who knows? Who knows? Who knows?
So hold this moment fast,
And live and love
As hard as you know how.
And make this moment last
Because the best of times is now,
Is now, is now.



Oh you complete--! Do you have any idea how long that took me? How many hours it's going to take to get it up and running again? )

Word count: 664
quitehomoerotic: (Hard stare)
Note: This is the third and final part of the story set in the alternate universe created in the Doctor Who episode 'Turn Left'. Part one is here, and part two is here. I had originally not planned to finish it until tomorrow, but here it is!


"You're not experimenting on him!"

Jack bursts into the room uninvited and unannounced with a flustered Private Jenkins following steps behind him.

"Sorry, Colonel," Jenkins breathes, trying to compose himself.

Jack had stormed from the morgue, not caring to wait for the countdown before barging past the second door and setting off an alarm. He'd slammed the trailer door shut and he strode along until he'd found the most officious looking room and proceeded on in.

"I mean it," he repeats with anger, "you stop what you're doing right now and you leave him alone."

Colonel Mace bristles and stands up from his desk, he's not used to being challenged. 'Captain, what is the meaning of this!?'  )


Word count for this part: 1057
Word count for the complete story: 3784
quitehomoerotic: (Sad not always so strong)
Note: This is part two of the story set in the alternate universe created in the Doctor Who episode 'Turn Left'. Part one is here.


The walk from the holding tent to the medical trailer is a quiet one. Jack is thankful for the military preposition not to make small talk. The walk isn't a short one and the security seems to increase the closer they get.

"Little extravagant to protect a dead guy, wouldn't you say?" Jack suggests to Colonel Mace, though he knows it isn't so simple. There are countless species and organisations that would like to get their hands on the Doctor, UNIT included. They aren't about to let him go, and that's a fact Jack is far from comfortable with.

At a desk at the bottom of the steps to the trailer Mace is approached by the soldier that collected Jack from the car. He speaks in whispered tones, but Jack makes sure he hears.

"Colonel, Sarah Jane Smith has arrived, she's currently with Captain Magambo. They're requesting your presence."

Mace glances his eyes cautiously towards Jack and back to the soldier beside him. He's less than happy with the idea of leaving him. Jack is a loose cannon, a fact they are well aware of, but needs must and he must do what he must do. )


Word count for this part: 1290
quitehomoerotic: (Serious : Stoic stare)
Note: This is set in the alternate universe created in the Doctor Who episode 'Turn Left', in the days immediately after the attack of the Racnoss. Character death is a main theme. It'll likely be in either 2 or 3 parts, but I wanted to post what I've got so far to make sure I end up writing the rest - hopefully over the next couple of nights or so.


It's the 27th December 2007 when the phone rings with a call he never wants to receive.

"Captain Harkness?"

"Yes."

"Colonel Mace here, UNIT. We've a matter we need to discuss with you."

Despite his many years of military training, Jack Harkness isn't a man inclined to do as he's told. He doesn't follow orders any more, not from anyone, and certainly not from UNIT. Torchwood One isn't long in the dust and he's still working hard to rebuild and reshape it in the name of a man who deserves it. But even with all that it takes no more than a few short words to take him swiftly from the Torchwood Hub in Cardiff to careering down the motorway in the SUV.

The journey is an unpleasant one; a cold chill runs down his spine as he drives in silence, eyes focussed on the road like a man possessed. The words of the phone conversation echo in his mind.

"I assume you're aware of the incident on Christmas Eve. Intelligence tells us you were associated with the Doctor."

The light fades quickly in the cold December afternoon, and the street lights turn orange as they flicker into life against the greying sky. The road ahead is lit by the headlights of the SUV. )


Word count for this part: 1437
quitehomoerotic: (Sad : Lonely)
Note: This is a little unusual and I'm not entirely sure it works, but I'm not sleeping and my mind is racing so I wanted to write something. I hope it works as intended!

He doesn't need anyone.

He runs when he hears the screams. He doesn't have to look to know that they're all dying. He can hear the tear of flesh as the beasts descend. They go but he's left behind. Left behind to clean up.

He doesn't need anyone.

He persuades his friend to join and he's there when they kill him. Watches as he dies. He screams for help but there's nothing he can do. He's left to carry on alone.

He doesn't need anyone... )


Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Word count: 826
quitehomoerotic: (General : Dying hurts)
Death is cold and empty and nothing. It's time frozen and dull and just waiting for something to happen.

Death is the release of an ache. It's a sharp ending, a betrayal of life unable to sustain.

Death is all consuming.

Until it ends.

The return starts like the ghost of a memory.

A consciousness and distant awareness.

Something. Somewhere.

The body responds with the fixing of wounds... )

Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word count: 237
quitehomoerotic: (Gwen : Stand behind stare)
The room was lavish and overdone, decorated with a gilt gold fabric that dramatically draped the room and accented with rare flowers shipped in from three different galaxies. There were hundreds of people; guests and staff, barely one that knew the other. It was the perfect place to run a job.

He was there dressed in the same robes as the other hired help, he blended in. Surprisingly enough he could be good at that when he so chose... )

Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Word Count: 1789
quitehomoerotic: (Coffee time)
This is the first ficlet for the 6 impossible things meme.

It's rather crackish, given the nature of the meme, and rather silly considering of course JACK LOVES COFFEE. But, here we go...

Jack secretly hates coffee as requested by [livejournal.com profile] hofficoffi

Jack Harkness was a seasoned liar. A professional, you might say... )

Word count: 496
quitehomoerotic: (S3 : Glance down)
Timeline: 3 days post the defeat of the Four-Five-Six


The sound of plates clattering against plates and the metallic clang of cutlery mixed with the voices and the distant hum of a song on the radio that provided a white noise soundtrack to the room around him. Two tables away a mother struggled to keep her children under control as they ran in circles around the room. The sound of a baby crying rose above the noise, an occasional wailing scream adding a beat to the activity in the room. Things were back to normal. The world carried on.

Jack turned his head and looked out of the window. The rain outside hit against the glass and the droplets against it were out of focus as he looked beyond them.  )


Muse: Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Words: 1,172
quitehomoerotic: (General : Looking out of SUV window)
“A hand in a jar?”

“Yeah.”

“A hand in a jar?!”

“There an echo in here? Yeah!”

“You disappear for two bloody weeks and you come back with a severed hand in a jar?!”

Continue... )

Words: 862
Characters: Jack Harkness, Suzie Costello

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Captain Jack Harkness

July 2011

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