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My Immortal. Epilogue.
Before you ask: Yes, there will be a sequel! Just... give me a little while to catch my breath.
Also, would you mind keeping the comments free from CoE spoilers? Thank you! :)
Finally, enormous gratitude to my amazing beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh, who not only fixes my mistakes, but who also puts me back on the right track when I veer off.
And for anyone who’s catching up (or wants to read, now this is no longer a WIP) previous chapters can be found here.
Summary: Captain Jack *is* The Immortal.
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Word count: 2000 words approx.
Feedback: A line - an essay - anything’s welcome!
Epilogue
Jack: Just gotta ask. The Battle of Canary Wharf. I saw the list of the dead. It said Rose Tyler.
Cardiff. Monday 31st of July, 2006. Morning.
“Your coffee, Sir.”
And with immaculate precision a mug was placed in from of him. Jack smiled deeply with pleasure and looked up at the young man standing by his side.
“Thank you, Ianto.”
A brief incline of the head was the only response before the other moved on with his tray - even Vittore couldn’t have bettered the polite servility.
Sipping his drink, Jack smiled. His own butler at Torchwood, who’d have thought?
Certainly not Suzie...
“I know that he’s very pretty, Jack, but he was stalking you. I thought you were going to wipe his mind and throw him out of town if he didn’t stop!”
“True. But that was before he caught a pterodactyl.”
It was only once in a blue moon that he got to see Suzie speechless, so he had relished the sight immensely, before taking her arm and showing off their new pet.
Looking through the Hub he could see her now, busy trying to somehow tame the beast. Which left him to admire his newest acquisition as he silently and efficiently moved around.
To Jack’s surprise - and, if he was honest, somewhat disappointment - the flirting had ceased the second Ianto had turned up for work. Which meant that Jack had (maybe) only been a means to an end - and why would Ianto Jones want to come here?
Well... why was he here himself? Why were any of them here? Torchwood guaranteed death and misery, and yet once you knew what was out there, it was impossible to live in the normal world. At least Ianto had no illusions...
Also, since Jack hadn’t hired the boy for his looks, it might be prudent not to pursue him too eagerly - not to mention the ‘he-just-lost-his-girlfriend-in-hugely-traumatic-circumstances’ part. Jack didn’t want to appear insensitive.
Still, there could be no harm in low-level flirting, right? Just making sure that if Ianto ever felt the need for a pleasurable distraction, he’d know where to find it. (Although so far he had shown none of Owen’s tendency to drink and shag his way out of heartbreak, which, quite frankly, was a relief.) And it’d help keep the boy in his mind - Ianto had in no time at all mastered a butler’s eternal art of disappearing into the background, and Jack had more than a century’s worth of practice in taking the ‘help’ for granted.
As he drained the mug a document of some sort was placed before him. Looking up he saw Ianto already moving away - heading down to the archives as far as he could tell.
Frowning he looked more closely at the cover, then nodded softly.
The official list of the dead for the Canary Wharf Battle. They’d be lucky if they saw their Mr Jones at all for the rest of the day.
Letting the sheets of paper sift through his hands he quickly found the page. And there she was: Lisa Hallet. Just a few names above Yvonne Hartman...
How often had he warned her? Telling her in no uncertain terms that they were messing with something they didn’t understand and that it could destroy them?
Being proved right was no consolation, the thousands of names in the report were far too painful for that. Absentmindedly he glanced through the pages upon pages of names... so many ordinary people caught up in the slaughter. And then he froze.
Rose Tyler.
And right above was her mother’s name...
No, it had to be a coincidence. There were probably lots of Rose Tylers in London. Hands stuttering on the keyboard he brought up her official file - but it had the same information. As did Jackie’s.
Every single thing he tried, every contact or number he could think of... it all pointed towards the same impossible, yet inescapable, conclusion.
Resting his head in hands he fought against sudden nausea.
His Rose, killed by cybermen. Killed, he hoped. The thought of her having been converted... No, he couldn’t begin to come to terms with the idea. Death was difficult enough without having to contemplate.... that.
Cybermen were going straight to the top of his personal hate-list. He’d waited so long - so fucking long - and now she’d been stolen from him, just when he could almost touch freedom again. He’d died for her...
Unbidden he recalled another golden girl, not as innocent but certainly as brave - another one who’d danced with him as he pretended to be more than he was.
Where was she now? Was she still alive? Her weapons would have been useless against the steel...
With sudden urgency (although he knew it was a survival instinct, turning to those who might be saved when others were lost) he looked through his desk drawers until he found his Immortal mobile. A swift battery change later and he was pulling on his coat, slipping the phone into his pocket as he headed for the invisible lift.
“Going out,” he said, Tosh giving him an absent smile, absorbed as she was in her work. Owen (still on his coffee break) opened his mouth to ask for something, and then closed it again when seeing Jack’s face. The man apparently did have a spark of self-preservation - who’d have thought. Suzie didn’t even look up.
Emerging onto the Plass, Jack barely noticed the grey sky and low hanging clouds over the Bay. Making his way out along the pier, he pulled out the phone, taking in a whole pile of missed calls and messages - all from Buffy.
What could they be? Anger at his deception? Or news? He wasn’t sure he could cope with bad news... much less happy ones.
And there was the whole Schrödinger’s Vampire situation to consider too. He’d avoided any contact - had resisted even the tiniest peek at anything related to her world - because that way he wouldn’t know for sure that her vampires were dust. Could fool himself into thinking that maybe one or other (or both? That might change her view on threesomes) had made it out alive, and that she was now happily settled in Slayer-vampire-y bliss...
He still didn’t want to know, which meant that conversation would be tricky. On the plus side he was good at talking.
Choosing the most recent call (it was a UK number - had she moved? Maybe... maybe she just travelled more these days) he pressed return and lifted the phone to his ear, waiting.
After a few rings - result.
There was the tiniest pause, then he heard a tentatively hopeful “Immortal?”, and closed his eyes in relief. She was OK.
“Yes, it’s me. Buffy-”
“Where are you? What have you been doing? What-”
“Buffy! Please... just...”
He stopped and swallowed, unable to rid himself of the image of the ruin that had once been Torchwood One.
“...tell me about heaven?”
There was another pause, then softly...
“Did you lose someone?”
Relief at her instinctive understanding flooded through him in waves. He’d missed that so much.
“Yes,” he whispered, tears finally burning behind his eyelids.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy said, somewhat helplessly, because there was never anything that could be said at times like these.
“Thank you,” he replied - then realised that maybe this was why he’d called.
“No really. Not just for this, for... for everything. Not just all the fun parts. But... for showing me that there are people out there who can do this job without compromises - who can come out whole.”
(Unlike himself or his brilliant, but hopelessly damaged, team.)
For what seemed like the millionth time he wished that things were different. Or more precisely that he was different. That he had anything to offer someone like her...
Which of course he didn’t.
“Immortal-” she began, but he cut her off.
“Buffy, can you promise me something?”
He could quite clearly picture the unsure frown on her face.
“Um, sure. What?”
“Get out. You’ve done more than your share, get out before it takes everything away. You can’t trust the future to provide, live now. Oh, and don’t die again until you’re old and grey and surrounded by cute grandchildren. Please? For me?”
Before she could respond he ended the call.
***
London, the new Council.
The sudden disconnect made Buffy pull the phone away from her ear and stare at it, waiting for a moment to see if he’d call back, then tried to return the call - neither approach getting any results.
Of ‘Unexpected Calls Out Of The Blue’ this one came pretty high on the list. Although when seeing who the caller was, she’d half expected a cheeky: “So tell me, Princess, what are you wearing?”
But no such luck.
Looking up she saw Dawn studying her, with ‘Go on - tell!’ written all over her face.
“Um... that was The Immortal,” she said, and Dawn looked impatient.
“I got that. And...?”
“I... don’t know. He sounded...” She turned the phone over in her hands.
“Well if it was anyone else, I’d have said they sounded suicidal. But with him...” she sighed.
“He lost someone he loves, but obviously he can’t actually talk about it, because that would mean opening up to someone, instead of curling up into a ball of broody angst. And OK, I’ve been there, done that, but I got over it, y’know? What is it with men - especially the immortal variety - that they can’t see that sharing helps?”
Dawn shrugged her slim shoulders. “I don’t think they can help it. They haven’t got logical minds.”
Trying to suppress a smile, Buffy shook her head.
“You are wise beyond your years.”
“Pft! Once you’ve got a few millennia of being a shiny ball of energy under your belt, life is pretty straightforward. Seriously, he didn’t say anything?”
“No... If only I could speak to him face to face - sometimes he slips up and says more than he means to.”
“We could try a locator spell... again...” Dawn said uncertainly, and Buffy sighed.
“Because we haven’t set enough maps on fire yet. No, there’s no point. I... guess I’ll just have to leave him to it, whatever it is. And anyway...” she smiled wryly, “it’s not like I haven’t got my hands full already!”
Then one of the secretaries opened the door, inquiring after Dawn’s latest translation, and her little sister’s attention was abruptly diverted.
Turning her eyes back to the phone, since that was the nearest thing she had to her elusive ex-lover, Buffy softly shook her head.
“Good luck, my Immortal. I hope one day you find what you need, whatever that might be.”
***
After switching off the phone, Jack stood still for a moment. Then, before he could change his mind, he hurled it out into the Bay, watching it hit the water and then vanish, causing barely a ripple in the choppy water.
He wouldn’t need it again.
His waiting was nearly at an end, although his planned escape would no longer include the reunion he had most longed for. At least everything else was ready - he even had his own ‘Doctor-detector’ now. And Suzie had proven herself a more than capable leader - all he had to do was wait for that elusive blue box...
As he stood there the first few drops began to fall, the clouds finally fulfilling their promise, and he pulled the coat closer as the rain swiftly intensified.
It was cold and wet and dark. Yesterday, today, tomorrow - always the same. But Jack had long ago stopped hoping that it might kill him.
The End
Author’s Notes: Now, before you start shouting at me (I didn’t fix anything, I just made it worse), please allow me to explain...
First and foremost, I always wanted this fic to fit in seamlessly with canon (both sets), and BtVS/AtS very obligingly ended in 2004, allowing me to set the entire story pre-S1 of Torchwood. Which means that my aim was always to bring Jack up to where we first meet him [again] in ‘Everything Changes’. For those of you not very familiar with Torchwood, S1 is (most of the time) relentlessly bleak, and Jack is depressed, withdrawn and grimly ruthless. (obfreak’s excellent Behind Blue Eyes sums him up perfectly - I can’t count the number of times I’ve watched it.) Now in the light of this there is obviously a slight problem with giving Jack a fabulous alias with every luxury that money can buy and a fling with Buffy on top. So, I tried my best to weave the two sides together, which, unfortunately, meant that despite all the fun, Buffy could never give Jack any lasting support. (Partly because he refused it, of course, since like a good immortal hero he is incapable of opening up to anyone emotionally.)
Oh and I totally think the reason he hires Gwen is because he sees in her a lot of the moral certainty that Buffy has - something to combat his own cynicism.
Anyway, if you want to know what happens next - watch Torchwood! ;) (And the last three episodes of S3 of DW, which are set between S1 & 2 of TW.) I kinda mean that - the sequel will be more of an interconnected series of one-shots (rather than one long story, like this was), filling in blanks throughout the series, up to, and including, Children of Earth.
And thank you all SO MUCH for reading, and sticking with this near-endless behemoth of a fic! (ETA: Again - PLEASE NO CoE SPOILERS IN COMMENTS! If you have any questions, please send me a message or e-mail (elisi at livejournal dot com) or something. Thank you.)
Also, would you mind keeping the comments free from CoE spoilers? Thank you! :)
Finally, enormous gratitude to my amazing beta
kathyh, who not only fixes my mistakes, but who also puts me back on the right track when I veer off.And for anyone who’s catching up (or wants to read, now this is no longer a WIP) previous chapters can be found here.
Summary: Captain Jack *is* The Immortal.
Pairing: Buffy/Jack.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: S2 of Torchwood.
Word count: 2000 words approx.
Feedback: A line - an essay - anything’s welcome!
Jack: Just gotta ask. The Battle of Canary Wharf. I saw the list of the dead. It said Rose Tyler.
Cardiff. Monday 31st of July, 2006. Morning.
“Your coffee, Sir.”
And with immaculate precision a mug was placed in from of him. Jack smiled deeply with pleasure and looked up at the young man standing by his side.
“Thank you, Ianto.”
A brief incline of the head was the only response before the other moved on with his tray - even Vittore couldn’t have bettered the polite servility.
Sipping his drink, Jack smiled. His own butler at Torchwood, who’d have thought?
Certainly not Suzie...
“I know that he’s very pretty, Jack, but he was stalking you. I thought you were going to wipe his mind and throw him out of town if he didn’t stop!”
“True. But that was before he caught a pterodactyl.”
It was only once in a blue moon that he got to see Suzie speechless, so he had relished the sight immensely, before taking her arm and showing off their new pet.
Looking through the Hub he could see her now, busy trying to somehow tame the beast. Which left him to admire his newest acquisition as he silently and efficiently moved around.
To Jack’s surprise - and, if he was honest, somewhat disappointment - the flirting had ceased the second Ianto had turned up for work. Which meant that Jack had (maybe) only been a means to an end - and why would Ianto Jones want to come here?
Well... why was he here himself? Why were any of them here? Torchwood guaranteed death and misery, and yet once you knew what was out there, it was impossible to live in the normal world. At least Ianto had no illusions...
Also, since Jack hadn’t hired the boy for his looks, it might be prudent not to pursue him too eagerly - not to mention the ‘he-just-lost-his-girlfriend-in-hugely-traumatic-circumstances’ part. Jack didn’t want to appear insensitive.
Still, there could be no harm in low-level flirting, right? Just making sure that if Ianto ever felt the need for a pleasurable distraction, he’d know where to find it. (Although so far he had shown none of Owen’s tendency to drink and shag his way out of heartbreak, which, quite frankly, was a relief.) And it’d help keep the boy in his mind - Ianto had in no time at all mastered a butler’s eternal art of disappearing into the background, and Jack had more than a century’s worth of practice in taking the ‘help’ for granted.
As he drained the mug a document of some sort was placed before him. Looking up he saw Ianto already moving away - heading down to the archives as far as he could tell.
Frowning he looked more closely at the cover, then nodded softly.
The official list of the dead for the Canary Wharf Battle. They’d be lucky if they saw their Mr Jones at all for the rest of the day.
Letting the sheets of paper sift through his hands he quickly found the page. And there she was: Lisa Hallet. Just a few names above Yvonne Hartman...
How often had he warned her? Telling her in no uncertain terms that they were messing with something they didn’t understand and that it could destroy them?
Being proved right was no consolation, the thousands of names in the report were far too painful for that. Absentmindedly he glanced through the pages upon pages of names... so many ordinary people caught up in the slaughter. And then he froze.
Rose Tyler.
And right above was her mother’s name...
No, it had to be a coincidence. There were probably lots of Rose Tylers in London. Hands stuttering on the keyboard he brought up her official file - but it had the same information. As did Jackie’s.
Every single thing he tried, every contact or number he could think of... it all pointed towards the same impossible, yet inescapable, conclusion.
Resting his head in hands he fought against sudden nausea.
His Rose, killed by cybermen. Killed, he hoped. The thought of her having been converted... No, he couldn’t begin to come to terms with the idea. Death was difficult enough without having to contemplate.... that.
Cybermen were going straight to the top of his personal hate-list. He’d waited so long - so fucking long - and now she’d been stolen from him, just when he could almost touch freedom again. He’d died for her...
Unbidden he recalled another golden girl, not as innocent but certainly as brave - another one who’d danced with him as he pretended to be more than he was.
Where was she now? Was she still alive? Her weapons would have been useless against the steel...
With sudden urgency (although he knew it was a survival instinct, turning to those who might be saved when others were lost) he looked through his desk drawers until he found his Immortal mobile. A swift battery change later and he was pulling on his coat, slipping the phone into his pocket as he headed for the invisible lift.
“Going out,” he said, Tosh giving him an absent smile, absorbed as she was in her work. Owen (still on his coffee break) opened his mouth to ask for something, and then closed it again when seeing Jack’s face. The man apparently did have a spark of self-preservation - who’d have thought. Suzie didn’t even look up.
Emerging onto the Plass, Jack barely noticed the grey sky and low hanging clouds over the Bay. Making his way out along the pier, he pulled out the phone, taking in a whole pile of missed calls and messages - all from Buffy.
What could they be? Anger at his deception? Or news? He wasn’t sure he could cope with bad news... much less happy ones.
And there was the whole Schrödinger’s Vampire situation to consider too. He’d avoided any contact - had resisted even the tiniest peek at anything related to her world - because that way he wouldn’t know for sure that her vampires were dust. Could fool himself into thinking that maybe one or other (or both? That might change her view on threesomes) had made it out alive, and that she was now happily settled in Slayer-vampire-y bliss...
He still didn’t want to know, which meant that conversation would be tricky. On the plus side he was good at talking.
Choosing the most recent call (it was a UK number - had she moved? Maybe... maybe she just travelled more these days) he pressed return and lifted the phone to his ear, waiting.
After a few rings - result.
There was the tiniest pause, then he heard a tentatively hopeful “Immortal?”, and closed his eyes in relief. She was OK.
“Yes, it’s me. Buffy-”
“Where are you? What have you been doing? What-”
“Buffy! Please... just...”
He stopped and swallowed, unable to rid himself of the image of the ruin that had once been Torchwood One.
“...tell me about heaven?”
There was another pause, then softly...
“Did you lose someone?”
Relief at her instinctive understanding flooded through him in waves. He’d missed that so much.
“Yes,” he whispered, tears finally burning behind his eyelids.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy said, somewhat helplessly, because there was never anything that could be said at times like these.
“Thank you,” he replied - then realised that maybe this was why he’d called.
“No really. Not just for this, for... for everything. Not just all the fun parts. But... for showing me that there are people out there who can do this job without compromises - who can come out whole.”
(Unlike himself or his brilliant, but hopelessly damaged, team.)
For what seemed like the millionth time he wished that things were different. Or more precisely that he was different. That he had anything to offer someone like her...
Which of course he didn’t.
“Immortal-” she began, but he cut her off.
“Buffy, can you promise me something?”
He could quite clearly picture the unsure frown on her face.
“Um, sure. What?”
“Get out. You’ve done more than your share, get out before it takes everything away. You can’t trust the future to provide, live now. Oh, and don’t die again until you’re old and grey and surrounded by cute grandchildren. Please? For me?”
Before she could respond he ended the call.
London, the new Council.
The sudden disconnect made Buffy pull the phone away from her ear and stare at it, waiting for a moment to see if he’d call back, then tried to return the call - neither approach getting any results.
Of ‘Unexpected Calls Out Of The Blue’ this one came pretty high on the list. Although when seeing who the caller was, she’d half expected a cheeky: “So tell me, Princess, what are you wearing?”
But no such luck.
Looking up she saw Dawn studying her, with ‘Go on - tell!’ written all over her face.
“Um... that was The Immortal,” she said, and Dawn looked impatient.
“I got that. And...?”
“I... don’t know. He sounded...” She turned the phone over in her hands.
“Well if it was anyone else, I’d have said they sounded suicidal. But with him...” she sighed.
“He lost someone he loves, but obviously he can’t actually talk about it, because that would mean opening up to someone, instead of curling up into a ball of broody angst. And OK, I’ve been there, done that, but I got over it, y’know? What is it with men - especially the immortal variety - that they can’t see that sharing helps?”
Dawn shrugged her slim shoulders. “I don’t think they can help it. They haven’t got logical minds.”
Trying to suppress a smile, Buffy shook her head.
“You are wise beyond your years.”
“Pft! Once you’ve got a few millennia of being a shiny ball of energy under your belt, life is pretty straightforward. Seriously, he didn’t say anything?”
“No... If only I could speak to him face to face - sometimes he slips up and says more than he means to.”
“We could try a locator spell... again...” Dawn said uncertainly, and Buffy sighed.
“Because we haven’t set enough maps on fire yet. No, there’s no point. I... guess I’ll just have to leave him to it, whatever it is. And anyway...” she smiled wryly, “it’s not like I haven’t got my hands full already!”
Then one of the secretaries opened the door, inquiring after Dawn’s latest translation, and her little sister’s attention was abruptly diverted.
Turning her eyes back to the phone, since that was the nearest thing she had to her elusive ex-lover, Buffy softly shook her head.
“Good luck, my Immortal. I hope one day you find what you need, whatever that might be.”
After switching off the phone, Jack stood still for a moment. Then, before he could change his mind, he hurled it out into the Bay, watching it hit the water and then vanish, causing barely a ripple in the choppy water.
He wouldn’t need it again.
His waiting was nearly at an end, although his planned escape would no longer include the reunion he had most longed for. At least everything else was ready - he even had his own ‘Doctor-detector’ now. And Suzie had proven herself a more than capable leader - all he had to do was wait for that elusive blue box...
As he stood there the first few drops began to fall, the clouds finally fulfilling their promise, and he pulled the coat closer as the rain swiftly intensified.
It was cold and wet and dark. Yesterday, today, tomorrow - always the same. But Jack had long ago stopped hoping that it might kill him.
Author’s Notes: Now, before you start shouting at me (I didn’t fix anything, I just made it worse), please allow me to explain...
First and foremost, I always wanted this fic to fit in seamlessly with canon (both sets), and BtVS/AtS very obligingly ended in 2004, allowing me to set the entire story pre-S1 of Torchwood. Which means that my aim was always to bring Jack up to where we first meet him [again] in ‘Everything Changes’. For those of you not very familiar with Torchwood, S1 is (most of the time) relentlessly bleak, and Jack is depressed, withdrawn and grimly ruthless. (
obfreak’s excellent Behind Blue Eyes sums him up perfectly - I can’t count the number of times I’ve watched it.) Now in the light of this there is obviously a slight problem with giving Jack a fabulous alias with every luxury that money can buy and a fling with Buffy on top. So, I tried my best to weave the two sides together, which, unfortunately, meant that despite all the fun, Buffy could never give Jack any lasting support. (Partly because he refused it, of course, since like a good immortal hero he is incapable of opening up to anyone emotionally.)Oh and I totally think the reason he hires Gwen is because he sees in her a lot of the moral certainty that Buffy has - something to combat his own cynicism.
Anyway, if you want to know what happens next - watch Torchwood! ;) (And the last three episodes of S3 of DW, which are set between S1 & 2 of TW.) I kinda mean that - the sequel will be more of an interconnected series of one-shots (rather than one long story, like this was), filling in blanks throughout the series, up to, and including, Children of Earth.
And thank you all SO MUCH for reading, and sticking with this near-endless behemoth of a fic! (ETA: Again - PLEASE NO CoE SPOILERS IN COMMENTS! If you have any questions, please send me a message or e-mail (elisi at livejournal dot com) or something. Thank you.)
no subject
Told you I read quickly.
I really enjoyed this ending. It needed to be bittersweet. I waaaaaaaaaas hoping he'd be able to tell her a little more about who he was. But I understand why he didn't. Anyway. I really enjoyed this! I'll check out the sequels tomorrow but will have to see how Torchwoody it gets. I might be commenting a bunch of questions at ya.
no subject
Told you I read quickly.
:D :D :D It was Christmas in my inbox!
I really enjoyed this ending. It needed to be bittersweet.
He is a closed-off, depressed shell of a person in S1 of Torchwood. It needed to be bittersweet. (And I really liked the circular nature of the story - the last line echoes the first.)
I waaaaaaaaaas hoping he'd be able to tell her a little more about who he was. But I understand why he didn't.
That's what the sequel is for!
Anyway. I really enjoyed this! I'll check out the sequels tomorrow but will have to see how Torchwoody it gets. I might be commenting a bunch of questions at ya.
As long as you know the basics (& major plot points) you should probably be OK. Also, you might like to read this first, as the crazy crack-fic nature of it fits better with the main story:
The Immortal's (sweet) Revenge.
It's basically an AU scenario - what if Jack had personally taken the demon head to LA? Extremely silly, but... I rather loved writing it. ;)
ETA: It's fairly short. Also I'll get to the rest of your comments later. Busy day ahead...
no subject
no subject
Fantastic
(Anonymous) 2015-09-28 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)Jack, I could imagine him needing to have a place to just let himself feel free from time to time as he waits for the Doctor to show up again with the answers he needs. He must feel like he's in prison from time to time. The loneliness must get overwhelming for him. Being the Immortal and having that time with Buffy would be just what he needed to refuel himself.
You did a really good job here. Honestly I can't find a single negative or constructive criticism to give. I just loved it!
Thank you for an entertaining time.
Kathleen
WolfHoundLove1@gmail.com
Re: Fantastic
I so loved this story and hated to see it come to an end.
I'm just thrilled to pieces that you liked it. I loved writing it, and every person that reads it makes me happy.
When Jack threw his "Immortal " phone into the water it broke my heart.
Yes, that was rather my intention. Although - as I say in my notes - I needed him to be in that very bad place for it to fit with S1 of Torchwood. Poor Jack.
Someday I would hope that they would come across each other in Cardiff. I'm not going to hold my breath for that though. I'd love for Buffy to finally have the mystery of him solved. She never lets things go really and I can imagine her still wanting answers. ..or is that me wanting them for her?
Oh, they're there! I just realised that I never added a link for the sequel... Although I shall give you the link for the Master Post as there are other bits & pieces that you might like, such as what happened during The Year That Never Was. (The banners are links.) And you are pretty spot-on with your 'run across each other in Cardiff' btw. :)
In any case this was a wonderful story. The writing was great. You captured Buffy through and through.
Thank you again!!! I adore Buffy (BtVS was mt first fandom), and I loved giving her all the good things.
Jack, I could imagine him needing to have a place to just let himself feel free from time to time as he waits for the Doctor to show up again with the answers he needs. He must feel like he's in prison from time to time. The loneliness must get overwhelming for him. Being the Immortal and having that time with Buffy would be just what he needed to refuel himself.
Yes, this. They were exactly what each other needed, so I did my darnedest to make them fit - and I did! I was so pleased to be able to make the canons fit. No one can say this didn't happen, because it could.
You did a really good job here. Honestly I can't find a single negative or constructive criticism to give. I just loved it!
Thank you for an entertaining time.
And now I'm just an incoherent, blushing mess. Can't say how much you've made my day/week/month. Hope you enjoy the sequel!