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My Immortal 2. Chapter 2.
I can't believe I'm actually posting this. I can't remember anything, ever being more difficult to write than this. (They. Would. Not. Shut. Up! *kicks characters*) The rest of the chapters should come a LOT quicker (I have lovely drafts!), although most of them will be a lot more stand alone-ish. Anyway - I sincerely hope you'll think this was worth waiting for...
Index post for the whole ‘verse here. And the first chapter of this sequel (with Important Notes) here. (A couple of pictures for those unfamiliar with Torchwood: The Hub and the conference room.) Oh and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moscow_watcher - if you like, you can have this as birthday fic. :)
Summary: The Immortal is Captain Jack Harkness. This is what happened next.
Setting: This chapter - 2008 (during S2 of TW, between ‘Adrift’ and ‘Fragments’). Picks up immediately after the end of the last chapter.
Spoilers: All of Torchwood aired so far, up to and including, Children of Earth (eventually).
Rating: PG-13. (Some swearing.)
Genre: FitB, character study, BtVS/AtS/Doctor Who/Torchwood crossover.
Pairings/characters: Jack/Ianto, Buffy/Spike, Torchwood team.
Word count: 5800 words approx.
Thank you's: To my *brilliant* betakathyh!
Disclaimer: Joss and RTD own these characters, I'm just playing with them.
Chapter 2
Jack: These people, this planet, all the beauty you could never see. That's what I come back for.
~
Ianto: Coming here gave me meaning again. (Looks up at Jack) You.
~
‘No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.’
Heraclitus
With more satisfaction than he’d thought possible, Spike watched The Immortal’s body fall down on the floor.
Finally.
(A hundred years of hurt/Never stopped me dreaming...)
Maybe he should take a picture? Angel would appreciate that...
He didn’t get any further in his thoughts, however, since a fist came out of absolutely nowhere (bloody human senses, they were less than useless) and he found himself sprawled on the floor, staring up into the barrel of a gun, held by a furious Ianto.
“If you touch him again,” the young Welshman said, voice eerily calm, yet bristling with anger, “-no, if you so much as look at him wrong - I will kill you!”
Spike blinked, trying to ignore the sharp ache from the blow that was now throbbing on his cheekbone, and studied The Immortal’s incensed young lover distractedly, trying to work out why the words seemed familiar.
Then he smiled, turning his head.
“Hey Buffy - do you remember? That’s almost exactly what I told you after Mr Wooden Principal tried to stake me!”
He looked back up at Ianto, pointing a finger at him.
”I like you kid! If you ever feel like getting away from tall, dark and poncy there, come see me! I can get you a better job like that-”
Ianto however was slowly lowering the gun, muttering something about everyone being insane, and Spike picked himself off the floor, belatedly realising that the other Torchwood people were all very silent.
Turning to Buffy - wondering why she’d not answered yet - proved another mistake. This time the fist was small and familiar, and hit him straight on the nose - although at least she left him standing.
Blinking in pain he tried to focus on her blazing eyes.
“For crying out loud woman, what was that for?”
And now his nose was bleeding. Brilliant.
“For killing him, you moron?”
“He’s immortal! And I warned him-”
“Oh no you don’t!” Buffy’s face was not to be messed with. “You are going to apologise! First to his friends, and then to him when he wakes up!”
Spike loved Buffy. It was one of the fundamental truths of his life. But he wasn’t blind to her flaws, and sometimes...
“What? No fucking way am I ever apologising!”
“Spike...”
“No. Not now, not ever. He’s had this coming for more than a hundred years! Hell, he bleedin’ asked for it!”
Buffy, however, was just shaking her head silently.
“I can’t believe you. You know how much it hurts to come back from death-”
“Oh boo hoo, poor ickle Immortal. Should be used to it by now, then, shouldn’t he?”
“Spike!”
He sighed. Women.
“You never let me kill anything anymore...”
“Oh we are so not having this argument right now.”
She looked somewhere between furious and mortified, but when he tried to speak up again, she cut him off.
“Fine. You know what, why don’t you ask them to set that weevil thing free? Then you can fulfil that death wish you’ve clearly not got rid of yet! Oh! I just remembered - they have a vampire in storage. I’m sure it’d be delighted to sire you - would that make you happy?”
Oh crap. He’d well and truly shaken the hornets’ nest this time.
“Buffy...”
She buried her head in her hands and then ignored him to look around at the others.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to... Oh God, what you must think. I swear he’s not...”
Gwen smiled, and laid a hand on Buffy’s arm.
“Oh don’t worry. We’re used to emotions running high.”
Ianto, now sitting by The Immortal’s side, cradling his head, didn’t say a word, just glared daggers.
“Thanks,” Buffy smiled uncertainly, then turned to Spike.
“You’re not off the hook. We’ll finish this later.”
Then she stepped forwards to The Immortal’s side, kneeling down.
“Never thought I’d see this again,” she said softly, and, after a look at Ianto to make sure that it was OK, gently brushed The Immortal’s hair away from his forehead. Spike stepped back, frustrated, watching as Ianto studied Buffy.
“You’ve seen this before?” Ianto asked quietly.
“Oh yeah,” Buffy replied, for a moment resting her hand on The Immortal’s chest. “Not the sort of thing you forget.”
Spike, glumly focussed on the spectacle in front of him, nearly jumped when a handful of tissues were held out to him. Looking up he saw Owen, the dead doctor, watching him with a curious expression.
With a mumbled ‘thanks’ he held the tissues up to his nose, finally able to stem the tide of blood more effectively, and Owen leaned against the wall next to him companionably.
“Don’t worry about Jack - most of us have threatened to kill him at one time or another. Except me, who actually did it. ‘Sanctimonious bastard’ hits it pretty well on the head.”
Spike raised an eyebrow.
“I’m in good company then?”
Owen shrugged.
“Dunno. I didn’t know he was immortal when I killed him.”
This made Spike study the other man properly for the first time.
“Huh. Did the boy in the suit threaten to shoot you too?”
The doctor shook his head.
“He’d already shot me the day before - in the shoulder mind you. But then it all got a bit complicated...” His eyes narrowed, studying the scene in front of them.
“Not that our Mr Jones hasn’t held a gun to Jack’s head himself.”
Spike tilted his head, by now thoroughly intrigued. Owen sniffed.
“Can’t work for Torchwood without being completely screwed up one way or another. Although Jack is obviously more screwed up than all of us together.”
As Spike tried to work his head around all this new information, The Immortal gasped back into life, and their conversation was interrupted.
***
When the world came rushing back (why did it have to hurt so much?) Jack felt strong young arms holding him, and grasped onto them gratefully. He could do this forever, as long as he had arms to come back to...
Then he looked up, catching Buffy’s eyes, and for an endless moment allowed himself to drown in the recognition he saw there.
***
‘Welcome back, Immortal’ Buffy thought, even as she wondered how he still, after all these years, could make her heart feel like it was breaking.
For an endless moment they held each other’s eyes, and she knew that he remembered the first time. The understanding they’d shared. The moment that had tipped her world sideways...
He was such a contradiction; so ruthless and unyielding (she had no doubt that he’d actually mindwipe his team if he thought it necessary), and yet-
What had her name been, that demon girl that he’d been given... Venus, that was it. An innocent girl, caught up in bigger events, and he still - more than half a century later - grieved her untimely death during World War 2.
Part of her wanted to just grab him and run away into another fantasy world. Disappear, because she knew that they could. He had the power to go wherever he wanted, to be whoever he wanted...
The thought stalled her; and she broke the eye contact, stepping back and letting Ianto help him to his feet.
Because there was an invisible gulf all of a sudden. She had tried to tell herself that it was because they’d both moved on from their too-brief affair, but there was more to it. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t hers anymore, it was that her Immortal - the man she had known so well - had been put aside, and ‘Jack’ was the man in front of her now. In many aspects the two men overlapped, but she still felt the differences keenly.
The Immortal had been an integral part of her world, woven into legends and myths, a perfect blend of history and fairy tale made flesh.
But this man in a soldier’s uniform was something else. Although the uniform was aged, he was still much too real for her; too much part of all the stuff she had to deal with every day.
But then that’s what he’d told her, wasn’t it? That being The Immortal was an escape from... well, this. Torchwood.
The Immortal, after a quick private word with Ianto, looked around and then caught sight of Spike at the back, a large bruise now blossoming on his cheek and a wad of red-stained tissues held to his nose.
Buffy felt a momentary pang of guilt, but was distracted by The Immortal’s wolfish grin, which was after a moment interrupted when he started rolling his shoulders, bending his neck this way and that.
“Oooh, stiff. What did you do?”
A second’s pause, then Spike replied.
“Broke your neck.”
The Immortal nodded slowly, rubbing his right shoulder.
“Thought that might be it. Thank you. That’s more consideration than I’d expected.”
Spike removed the tissues from his face, and Owen quietly took them off him as Spike did a very long double take.
“...I’m sorry?”
“Well, to choose a completely random example, your delightful lookalike threw me off a roof.”
A beat.
“Must have been a tall roof.”
“It was. Plus I landed on a bench which broke my spine.”
Spike’s eyebrows went up.
“Huh. Buffy broke mine once by throwing an organ on top of me. Spent weeks in a wheelchair before I was better.”
Buffy, suddenly glimpsing the horrifying potential of a Spike/Immortal friendship, tried to laugh as she looked around the Torchwood people who were watching the exchange as if it were a tennis match.
“It was a... really long time ago. And he was evil then. I-”
”A couple of weeks in a wheel chair after a broken spine?” Owen cut in, studying Spike with blank disbelief.
“Vampire constitution,” Spike sighed, “bloody marvellous thing. Don’t mind telling you - being human is a downgrade and a half, physically.”
“Don’t knock it mate,” Owen said, holding up his left hand where two fingers were bandaged.
“Broke these after I died. Won’t ever heal. No biological functions at all.”
Spike studied him levelly.
“Try being a ghost. No biology whatsoever.”
There was another of those ‘What did he just say?” moments, and Spike looked around at the disbelieving faces around him.
“I swear, honest to the deity of your choice, that I was a real ghost for about six months in 2003.”
“But- but how?”
“Long story, although it began when I burned to death saving the world...”
He abruptly turned to The Immortal.
“Burnin’ - now why didn’t I think of that? Can I kill you again, on account of the first time bein’ so easy an’ all?”
The Immortal’s eyes began to shimmer in the way that Buffy knew (and rather dreaded).
“If you want to kill me again, you’ll have to let me kiss you again.”
Before Spike could reply, Ianto cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, but I actually came to say that afternoon tea is served in the conference room. Maybe you could continue the conversation there?”
Buffy decided that Ianto was probably her new favourite person.
***
Not much later Ianto had managed to get everyone seated around the large oval table, and by the magic of tea (or possibly Spike’s somewhat calmer attitude) everyone was beginning to relax, and chatter filled the bright room.
Jack was of course sitting at the head of the table, with Spike and Buffy at the other end, and the rest of the team seated in between - apart from Ianto himself who was trying his best to melt into the walls as he carefully studied their guests, half-listening in on the various conversations.
Gwen was curious about what being a Slayer entailed - especially how Buffy balanced her fighting with her marriage - and the two women were bonding with great speed, comparing notes on worried husbands; with timely interjections from Jack that made both women roll their eyes in unison.
Tosh and Owen on the other hand were trying to get to grips with all the various transformations Spike had been through, and Ianto could tell that they were probably mere seconds away from running away and fetching every scanning equipment they could find.
Having ascertained that all the discussions were utterly uninteresting Ianto tuned them out. The only thing he was interested in was Buffy...
Getting a chance to meet one of Jack’s exes was like gold dust. Captain John had been like Jack in a mirror, darkly. Part of a past that Jack wanted gone. (And seeing another man with the same face was still painfully unsettling.)
But Buffy... Buffy was something else.
To say that Ianto was deeply intrigued by Buffy Summers would have been an understatement. If he’d ever had to invent a perfect girlfriend for Jack, someone like Buffy would have been it: Blonde, beautiful, smart, charming, self-assured, chatty - plus of course with her own brand of superpowers. Someone entirely the opposite of himself...
And yet her first words upon seeing Ianto hadn’t been surprise, but rather confirmation - as if Ianto was precisely whom she’d expected to see Jack with. Of course Jack’s love of suits was hardly a secret, but bizarrely it had come across as a private joke of some sort.
Also, Buffy wasn’t possessive. She was clearly fond of Jack, but there were no hard feelings lurking under the surface; not even a hint of a problematic parting that needed bridging, which was interesting, and quite unusual as far as Ianto knew. Plus, she had known Jack in a different place and with a different name. ‘Intriguing’ barely began covering it. If only he could think of a way of getting her alone...
Belatedly he realised that the conversations had shifted, and that Buffy and Jack were now talking - no, not talking, arguing.
“All just labels, Buffy, I’ve told you that before!” Jack said, somewhat overbearingly, but the lady in question didn’t look at all convinced. Jack bit his lip, and surveyed his team musingly.
“OK. I’d say that everyone in this room originally identified as straight. Well apart from me, obviously. Now, hold a hand up if you’ve kissed someone of the same sex!”
Every single person apart from Buffy raised their hand. Jack smirked.
“Now keep your hand raised if you’ve also slept with someone of the same sex. And liked it.”
Only Gwen lowered her hand.
Buffy’s eyes widened, and she shook her head at Jack.
“Oh my God... Are you like... contagious?”
Jack pulled a face.
“Well clearly not, or you’d not have objected so vocally to a simple threesome.”
At this Buffy’s face abruptly closed down.
“We do not talk about that pretty soldier boy you macked on, remember?”
“Pilot, Buffy,” Jack gently admonished, and then couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.
“Mmmm, Ermanno Mancini. I pulled a few strings when I got back - he’s now training to be an astronaut. Always wanted to see the stars...”
Owen made a dismissive sound, breaking Jack’s reverie.
“So that’s it - you want to get ahead in the world, screw bloody Captain Jack?”
Spike shot him an appreciative look, and Jack sighed.
“Didn’t sleep with him, sadly. Although if he ever comes to this country, I’ll have that threesome, come what may!”
He turned and grinned at Ianto, who could only blink in shock as everyone turned to look at him. Lowering his coffee cup he opened his mouth in order to attempt some kind of response, but Jack anticipated this, shooting him one of those private looks that always threatened to undo him.
“Trust me. Have I ever steered you wrong?”
On one level this question was so utterly ridiculous as to be laughable, and yet the immediacy of the memories it evoked - and the possibilities suddenly opened - caused him to immediately to close his mouth.
“See?” Jack turned to Buffy. “Ianto is open-minded.”
“And I’m not?” she shot back.
“Buffy - you married a Victorian poet.”
“How the hell-?” Spike asked, incredulous, and Jack looked at him with pity.
But then the phone rang and Ianto left to answer it, missing the remainder of the conversation.
The phone call turned out to be... interesting. And one that most definitely demanded Jack’s attention. Thanking all his lucky stars, Ianto went back to the conference room, smoothing out his pleasure and covering it with impersonal concern.
“Sir, it’s...” he hesitated, considered their guests, “the Government. It would seem that someone finally read the letter you sent regarding ATMOS.”
Ianto waited, as he saw the other Torchwood members mentally wince as they remembered Jack’s reaction to hacking into UNIT’s report on the incident - the way it had taken almost a week before he’d stopped randomly shouting: “Sontarans! They nearly let Sontarans murder the whole planet!” and how - after everyone had repeatedly pointed out to him that running off to London and literally banging people’s heads together wouldn’t do much good - he had spent most of the following week working on one of the most irate and wrathful letters Ianto had ever seen, the gist of which had been: ‘What did I tell you, you idiotic, imbecile morons? Are you going to listen next time, or are you just going to let the aliens waltz in and kill everyone? Again?’
That same glint of righteous fury reappeared in Jack’s eyes, and he squared his shoulders.
“Better take it.”
Casting a glance at Buffy and Spike, he stopped momentarily.
“By the way - do you ever have problems with Whitehall?”
“I don’t think so,” Buffy said, a little thrown, and Jack smiled grimly. “I bet your Giles can do the politeness thing. Doesn’t work for me I’m afraid.”
He left, and Spike, whose interest was now piqued, turned to Owen.
“You know what the deal was with ATMOS? Had our magical department turn them upside down and inside out, ‘cause we were worried ‘bout something mystical, but we turned up zilch.”
As Owen with great relish began relaying yet more highly classified information - and Tosh simultaneously said, “You have a magical department?” - Ianto politely caught Buffy’s attention.
“Excuse me - but would you like me to have a look at the stain?”
She looked up, smiling.
“...I’d forgotten about that. Thank you, yes.”
“Please follow me.”
He led her out into the kitchen, generally the best place for these things, and - when she handed him the coat - had a closer look. It was clearly very new, and a delicate shade of off-white. The blueish tint it now had stood out rather sharply, but he’d seen worse.
“Oh yes, I think I can get that out.”
“Do you have anything that gets blood out?” she asked hopefully, and he paused.
“Not completely, no. With Jack I just tend to have lots of spare clothes around.”
Reaching for the first bottle, she caught his eyes and smiled wickedly.
“So, now we are alone, let’s do the gossiping thing, yeah? You tell me all about ‘Captain Jack Harkness’ and I’ll tell you everything about The Immortal - deal?”
“You speak of them as if they’re different people,” he said lightly, but instead of laughing, Buffy’s face turned speculative, and she crossed her arms and leaned against the worktop.
“I think they are. Kinda. I mean, of course he’s just him, but still he’s... different.”
“What do you mean ‘different’?” Ianto asked carefully, as he applied the dissolvent.
“Just...” she looked around, hesitated. “It’s so dark down here. He must be suffocating from lack of sunlight. Although this place does explain why he was so comfortable in the catacombs, I guess...”
At Ianto’s look she explained further.
“When I think about him I always remember the sun. Everything was so bright and... magical when he was around.”
Ianto stared, only belatedly realising that he’d let his mouth fall open. Trying to regain his equilibrium, he half-coughed coughing and asked:
”Do you... want to elaborate on that?”
“Oh yeah.” She smiled, somewhat wistfully. “The Immortal... The Immortal is basically a Living Legend. No one knows who or what he is, or where he came from, and he’s pretty much everyone’s friend - but he still has this reputation of being scarily powerful, and trust me, that doesn’t come from nowhere. You see - he always wins!”
Ianto studied her gravely.
“He always wins?”
She nodded.
“Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? I totally thought he might be evil when we first met, but then... OK, this sounds completely macabre, but we ended up bonding over coming back from the dead.”
At the look on Ianto’s face, she smiled wryly.
“I’ve died. Twice. Well the first time I drowned and one of my friends brought me back with CPR. But the second time... the second time I was dead dead, for a few months, until my friends brought me back with magic. I can’t imagine how The Immortal copes with doing that over and over and over again. Waking up and knowing that it’ll never be over. That the fight keeps going on and you can’t stop.”
She shuddered, but then - hearing Spike’s voice - began smiling.
“Although that’s what led me to Spike. Living was... so unbelievably hard, and I didn’t know how to cope. And I was sure that I hated him, but even so the only time I felt anything other than pain was when-”
She bit her lip, obviously feeling that she’d shared too much, but Ianto had to hold onto the work top to steady himself as the words sank in. Taking a deep calming breath he hoped that his voice wasn’t too shaky. And even so he couldn’t find the right words.
“I never thought anyone else- that anyone-”
She tilted her head, eyes full of understanding.
“You too, huh?”
He nodded, feeling that he probably needed to give her some kind of explanation.
“I... lost my fiancée. She... Jack killed her. She wasn’t human anymore, but... she was the one thing I had lived for. He destroyed her, and still... still I went to him to forget.”
She reached out, laid her hand on top of his.
“Hey, I understand. And honestly, I think that immortal sex gods should be available on the NHS for all cases of depression and loss. Even if you sometimes hate them.”
“Would be nice,” he said, trying to steady his voice, and she smiled.
“It’ll get better. Trust me.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely, and she shrugged.
“Hey, people like us have got to stick together. And go on - spill the beans. Who is he really? Do you know where he’s from?”
He thought for a moment.
“Well, I know that the real Captain Jack Harkness was an RAF pilot during the second world war, who was shot down by the Germans and our Jack stole his name. As for who he is and where he’s from...”
He let the sentence hang and Buffy studied him expectantly.
“He’s a time traveller from the 51st Century. Accidentally got stuck on Earth in the 19th Century, and then lived through the 20th before he could get away again.”
(But he’s here for good now, he wanted to add. Because of me. Us.)
Buffy became very thoughtful, her eyes unfocussing.
“That... that makes a lot of sense. Huh.”
Figured that she’d take it in her stride, not even blinking. And she hadn’t asked about the immortality...
“He was originally a ‘Time Agent’ - I’m not quite sure what that entailed, but it was something not entirely unlike what we do. Just with time travel.”
“Hey kids!” The American vowels broke their quiet little scene, “having fun gossiping?”
“Yes we are!” Buffy answered immediately. “And why did you never say that you were from the future? That explains so much!”
Jack watched her, that impenetrable look in his eyes once more.
“Not part of that world.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to Ianto.
“See? He’s all... compartmentalised. A different face for everyone.”
Seeing that Jack’s face had gone completely blank, she reached out, patting his arm.
“Hey I don’t blame you. And remember, I dated Angel! Comparatively you’re an oversharer.”
He smiled again, and took her hand.
“I was actually wondering if I could have a word in private?”
“Um, sure,” she said, and Ianto confirmed that he’d be a few more minutes working on the coat. It would take a good while to process what he’d been told.
***
Once in ‘Jack’s’ office, Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to say or do. Bonding with Ianto had been easy, but this... She didn’t know how to deal with the man in front of her.
But when he sat down in his chair, she shoved some papers aside and made herself comfortable on the desk. Just like in Rome. Except his office in Rome was large and spacious, furnished with priceless antiques, and the sun always seemed to shine, lighting up the beautiful portrait on the wall. This place was dark and cramped and worn down.
“You seem to be doing better...” She finally said, and he nodded.
“I am. I... found my hero. He couldn’t fix me, but I know what I am now, and why.”
She wondered how long he’d wanted to share that information, and smiled.
“I’m glad. And... what are you then?”
He tilted his head.
“Have you ever tried to do a locator spell to find me?”
“A few times...”
He leaned forwards, curious.
“What happened?”
“They always went kablooey - the map burned every time. Well more like blew up.”
He chuckled.
“I thought that might be the case. You see, I’m a fact. A fixed point in time and space. Trying to find me with a spell would be like... trying to locate pi!”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I shall look for pie next time instead then? Seriously though - you’re OK?”
“I’m OK. And I’ve got Torchwood and my team and my mission. Finally learning to appreciate what I’ve got - not quite like your happily ever after, but it’s... enough. More than I deserve, probably.”
She laughed, and somewhere had visions of green grass on the other side of a fence.
“You think Spike and I are ‘happily ever after’? Oh god you should have seen us 4 years ago... Let’s just say that he didn’t respond very well to the transition to humanity. I have no idea how many times I almost walked out. I still get the urge now on a bad day. He was a vampire for so long, he... forgot how to be human...”
And there it was, the painful undercurrent that they’d yet to banish - it was far too easy to see only what had been lost, and forget the gains... No one had ever told her that Happily Ever After would be so much work. But really, she shouldn’t be crying on The Immortal’s shoulder over her marital problems - not that he’d mind, but she had made her choice, and she would never regret it.
(Love ... give ... forgive. Risk the pain. It is your nature. Love will bring you to your gift.)
Great, now she was getting lost in her mind. She shrugged, knowing that he’d understand.
“Basically we’re the most dysfunctional thing, like, ever.”
The Immortal raised an eyebrow.
”Did he call you a monster and hold a gun to your head?”
“No...”
“Still ahead.”
She couldn’t help smiling then.
“I’ve missed conversations like this.”
“Me too...”
He reached out, took her hand and just held it for a long moment.
"I can't explain what it means, seeing you again. I-"
He swallowed against some strong emotion, and for a second she was frozen with fear that he was going to declare his undying love for her...
But then he slowly looked up, catching her eyes, and she felt the tug of some strong memory that she couldn’t quite place.
"Sorry. It’s too complicated. And it doesn’t matter anyway, not now. But I am happy that you’re happy. More than you can imagine.”
She marvelled at how he could be simultaneously opening his heart, and the same time be excessively evasive and secretive.
“And...” he continued, “I never got to say thank you. For everything.”
Watching him she remembered glorious sunlit days and nights bathed in silver; kisses and caresses that chased away the dark shadows in her mind; gentle words bearing understanding, not judgement - and she leaned forward and kissed him as if the world was ending. (Which it might very well be, for all she knew.)
Her Immortal... Her very own Immortal, who’d only ever been on loan.
***
It wasn’t until that evening, long after they’d said their proper goodbyes and were on the train back to London, that Buffy was able to place the look that had been in his eyes.
It had said: ‘Every night I save you.’
She wondered what had happened to him. What on earth could have made that particular look enter his eyes.
When Spike interrupted her thoughts with a cutting remark about how anyone who kept a pterodactyl the size of a small car as a pet clearly had something to make up for, she shot him a look so fierce it shut him up for a whole fifteen minutes.
***
“Owen?”
The doctor in question held a bundle of blood stained tissues aloft with a triumphant smile, which Jack more than matched.
“Excellent. Now, lets go work some DNA magic - you’ve still got the blood sample from Capt John I take it?”
Owen nodded and set off towards the medical bay.
“You really think...” Gwen began, and Jack nodded, eyes bright.
“Could be.”
As the computer screen flashed up a little later, confirming the relationship between the two samples, Jack almost did a little victory dance.
“What did I say? Spatial genetic multiplicity! Three thousand years is nothing!”
Owen looked less impressed.
“You mean Mr Former Vampire is going to be a daddy? That’ll turn out well.”
“Oh he’ll be brilliant,” Jack cooed, already imagining Buffy surrounded by scores of adorably gorgeous children. “Used to be a poet, like I said. All the gruffness is just a facade - at heart he’s a romantic through and through. And it’s exactly what she needs... Now, let’s have a look and see what Mothercare has in the way of old fashioned prams.”
They left him to it.
***
A week later.
It was late, and the Hub was dark since everyone had gone home. Well, everyone except Ianto and Jack.
Jack, smiling, walked towards his office where he found his ‘butler’ engaged in the very un-butlery position of sitting in Jack’s chair with his feet on Jack’s desk, absorbed in a book.
It wasn’t until Jack saw the cover that his mood suddenly darkened.
“Ianto... Can I ask where you found that book?”
The young man made a great show of being torn out of his reading.
“What? Oh sorry. Fascinating stuff, this. If I didn’t know better I’d say it was a guide to 51st Century morality and attitudes... But that would be ridiculous.”
Leaning forward with one hand on the desk and another on the back of the chair Jack swivelled the chair round so he was face to face with Ianto.
“How did you find it?”
Ianto’s face was still perfectly calm.
“Turns out that if you google ‘The Immortal’ the only thing you get is a sponsored link to Amazon for this book. It’s... very strange. Almost as if someone didn’t want to be found.”
“Someone doesn’t.”
“But how do you do it?” Ianto was now tilting his head, studying Jack intently. “It’s not that it’s hidden, there is quite literally nothing on the whole internet about ‘The Immortal’.”
“Intelligent virus,” Jack replied. “Set it loose back when the internet was in its infancy. It goes around eating anything to do with that life. I check up on it occasionally, but it seems to be doing fine.”
“Clever.”
“Thank you.”
“Although...” Ianto hesitated. “I found a chat forum on a site called ‘Demons Demons Demons’... I tried to ask if anyone knew anything about someone called The Immortal, but the only one who knew anything was all cloak-and-daggers. Before the page deleted itself, that is.”
“What was his name?” Jack asked slowly.
“Called himself ‘RomeWatcher’ I think...”
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“Get out of my chair. I need to terrify a nerd.”
Seconds later he’d brought up his Immortal e-mail account, located Andrew’s current e-mail address, and started writing.
Andrew Wells.
Is this really how you repay me for all I’ve done for you?
(The space ship was a decoy, but it *was* alien, from the planet Raxicoricofallapatorious. I can send you photos of it, if you like, from after it was dredged out of the Thames.)
However. If I *ever* find you talking about me *anywhere*, online or not, I will take you on a tour of The Room of Pain, giving you a *personal* demonstration of each implement.
This e-mail will self-destruct. If you try to find me, I will delete your whole hardrive, understood?
The Immortal
x
“A kiss?” Ianto asked, and Jack grinned.
“Just a little something to either freak him out, or keep the flame alive.”
Ianto lifted an eyebrow.
“Should I ask?”
“What makes you think I’ll answer?”
“Because you’re an inveterate showoff.”
With a wolfish grin, Jack went on to prove the truth of this statement.
He didn’t answer the question, however, and Ianto wondered if he’d ever find out anything more about Jack’s elusive alias, beyond what basic information he’d seen fit to share. The book had been no help at all, filled as it was with tall tales and ridiculous fabrications, and Ianto despaired at ever managing to uncover more than a snippet of the man he had built his life around.
But then Jack’s past came back to haunt them all, leaving a deadly and bloody trail, and for a while Ianto lost all interest in knowing more.
Chapter 3.
Index post for the whole ‘verse here. And the first chapter of this sequel (with Important Notes) here. (A couple of pictures for those unfamiliar with Torchwood: The Hub and the conference room.) Oh and
moscow_watcher - if you like, you can have this as birthday fic. :)Summary: The Immortal is Captain Jack Harkness. This is what happened next.
Setting: This chapter - 2008 (during S2 of TW, between ‘Adrift’ and ‘Fragments’). Picks up immediately after the end of the last chapter.
Spoilers: All of Torchwood aired so far, up to and including, Children of Earth (eventually).
Rating: PG-13. (Some swearing.)
Genre: FitB, character study, BtVS/AtS/Doctor Who/Torchwood crossover.
Pairings/characters: Jack/Ianto, Buffy/Spike, Torchwood team.
Word count: 5800 words approx.
Thank you's: To my *brilliant* beta
kathyh!Disclaimer: Joss and RTD own these characters, I'm just playing with them.
Chapter 2
Jack: These people, this planet, all the beauty you could never see. That's what I come back for.
~
Ianto: Coming here gave me meaning again. (Looks up at Jack) You.
~
‘No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.’
Heraclitus
With more satisfaction than he’d thought possible, Spike watched The Immortal’s body fall down on the floor.
Finally.
(A hundred years of hurt/Never stopped me dreaming...)
Maybe he should take a picture? Angel would appreciate that...
He didn’t get any further in his thoughts, however, since a fist came out of absolutely nowhere (bloody human senses, they were less than useless) and he found himself sprawled on the floor, staring up into the barrel of a gun, held by a furious Ianto.
“If you touch him again,” the young Welshman said, voice eerily calm, yet bristling with anger, “-no, if you so much as look at him wrong - I will kill you!”
Spike blinked, trying to ignore the sharp ache from the blow that was now throbbing on his cheekbone, and studied The Immortal’s incensed young lover distractedly, trying to work out why the words seemed familiar.
Then he smiled, turning his head.
“Hey Buffy - do you remember? That’s almost exactly what I told you after Mr Wooden Principal tried to stake me!”
He looked back up at Ianto, pointing a finger at him.
”I like you kid! If you ever feel like getting away from tall, dark and poncy there, come see me! I can get you a better job like that-”
Ianto however was slowly lowering the gun, muttering something about everyone being insane, and Spike picked himself off the floor, belatedly realising that the other Torchwood people were all very silent.
Turning to Buffy - wondering why she’d not answered yet - proved another mistake. This time the fist was small and familiar, and hit him straight on the nose - although at least she left him standing.
Blinking in pain he tried to focus on her blazing eyes.
“For crying out loud woman, what was that for?”
And now his nose was bleeding. Brilliant.
“For killing him, you moron?”
“He’s immortal! And I warned him-”
“Oh no you don’t!” Buffy’s face was not to be messed with. “You are going to apologise! First to his friends, and then to him when he wakes up!”
Spike loved Buffy. It was one of the fundamental truths of his life. But he wasn’t blind to her flaws, and sometimes...
“What? No fucking way am I ever apologising!”
“Spike...”
“No. Not now, not ever. He’s had this coming for more than a hundred years! Hell, he bleedin’ asked for it!”
Buffy, however, was just shaking her head silently.
“I can’t believe you. You know how much it hurts to come back from death-”
“Oh boo hoo, poor ickle Immortal. Should be used to it by now, then, shouldn’t he?”
“Spike!”
He sighed. Women.
“You never let me kill anything anymore...”
“Oh we are so not having this argument right now.”
She looked somewhere between furious and mortified, but when he tried to speak up again, she cut him off.
“Fine. You know what, why don’t you ask them to set that weevil thing free? Then you can fulfil that death wish you’ve clearly not got rid of yet! Oh! I just remembered - they have a vampire in storage. I’m sure it’d be delighted to sire you - would that make you happy?”
Oh crap. He’d well and truly shaken the hornets’ nest this time.
“Buffy...”
She buried her head in her hands and then ignored him to look around at the others.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to... Oh God, what you must think. I swear he’s not...”
Gwen smiled, and laid a hand on Buffy’s arm.
“Oh don’t worry. We’re used to emotions running high.”
Ianto, now sitting by The Immortal’s side, cradling his head, didn’t say a word, just glared daggers.
“Thanks,” Buffy smiled uncertainly, then turned to Spike.
“You’re not off the hook. We’ll finish this later.”
Then she stepped forwards to The Immortal’s side, kneeling down.
“Never thought I’d see this again,” she said softly, and, after a look at Ianto to make sure that it was OK, gently brushed The Immortal’s hair away from his forehead. Spike stepped back, frustrated, watching as Ianto studied Buffy.
“You’ve seen this before?” Ianto asked quietly.
“Oh yeah,” Buffy replied, for a moment resting her hand on The Immortal’s chest. “Not the sort of thing you forget.”
Spike, glumly focussed on the spectacle in front of him, nearly jumped when a handful of tissues were held out to him. Looking up he saw Owen, the dead doctor, watching him with a curious expression.
With a mumbled ‘thanks’ he held the tissues up to his nose, finally able to stem the tide of blood more effectively, and Owen leaned against the wall next to him companionably.
“Don’t worry about Jack - most of us have threatened to kill him at one time or another. Except me, who actually did it. ‘Sanctimonious bastard’ hits it pretty well on the head.”
Spike raised an eyebrow.
“I’m in good company then?”
Owen shrugged.
“Dunno. I didn’t know he was immortal when I killed him.”
This made Spike study the other man properly for the first time.
“Huh. Did the boy in the suit threaten to shoot you too?”
The doctor shook his head.
“He’d already shot me the day before - in the shoulder mind you. But then it all got a bit complicated...” His eyes narrowed, studying the scene in front of them.
“Not that our Mr Jones hasn’t held a gun to Jack’s head himself.”
Spike tilted his head, by now thoroughly intrigued. Owen sniffed.
“Can’t work for Torchwood without being completely screwed up one way or another. Although Jack is obviously more screwed up than all of us together.”
As Spike tried to work his head around all this new information, The Immortal gasped back into life, and their conversation was interrupted.
When the world came rushing back (why did it have to hurt so much?) Jack felt strong young arms holding him, and grasped onto them gratefully. He could do this forever, as long as he had arms to come back to...
Then he looked up, catching Buffy’s eyes, and for an endless moment allowed himself to drown in the recognition he saw there.
‘Welcome back, Immortal’ Buffy thought, even as she wondered how he still, after all these years, could make her heart feel like it was breaking.
For an endless moment they held each other’s eyes, and she knew that he remembered the first time. The understanding they’d shared. The moment that had tipped her world sideways...
He was such a contradiction; so ruthless and unyielding (she had no doubt that he’d actually mindwipe his team if he thought it necessary), and yet-
What had her name been, that demon girl that he’d been given... Venus, that was it. An innocent girl, caught up in bigger events, and he still - more than half a century later - grieved her untimely death during World War 2.
Part of her wanted to just grab him and run away into another fantasy world. Disappear, because she knew that they could. He had the power to go wherever he wanted, to be whoever he wanted...
The thought stalled her; and she broke the eye contact, stepping back and letting Ianto help him to his feet.
Because there was an invisible gulf all of a sudden. She had tried to tell herself that it was because they’d both moved on from their too-brief affair, but there was more to it. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t hers anymore, it was that her Immortal - the man she had known so well - had been put aside, and ‘Jack’ was the man in front of her now. In many aspects the two men overlapped, but she still felt the differences keenly.
The Immortal had been an integral part of her world, woven into legends and myths, a perfect blend of history and fairy tale made flesh.
But this man in a soldier’s uniform was something else. Although the uniform was aged, he was still much too real for her; too much part of all the stuff she had to deal with every day.
But then that’s what he’d told her, wasn’t it? That being The Immortal was an escape from... well, this. Torchwood.
The Immortal, after a quick private word with Ianto, looked around and then caught sight of Spike at the back, a large bruise now blossoming on his cheek and a wad of red-stained tissues held to his nose.
Buffy felt a momentary pang of guilt, but was distracted by The Immortal’s wolfish grin, which was after a moment interrupted when he started rolling his shoulders, bending his neck this way and that.
“Oooh, stiff. What did you do?”
A second’s pause, then Spike replied.
“Broke your neck.”
The Immortal nodded slowly, rubbing his right shoulder.
“Thought that might be it. Thank you. That’s more consideration than I’d expected.”
Spike removed the tissues from his face, and Owen quietly took them off him as Spike did a very long double take.
“...I’m sorry?”
“Well, to choose a completely random example, your delightful lookalike threw me off a roof.”
A beat.
“Must have been a tall roof.”
“It was. Plus I landed on a bench which broke my spine.”
Spike’s eyebrows went up.
“Huh. Buffy broke mine once by throwing an organ on top of me. Spent weeks in a wheelchair before I was better.”
Buffy, suddenly glimpsing the horrifying potential of a Spike/Immortal friendship, tried to laugh as she looked around the Torchwood people who were watching the exchange as if it were a tennis match.
“It was a... really long time ago. And he was evil then. I-”
”A couple of weeks in a wheel chair after a broken spine?” Owen cut in, studying Spike with blank disbelief.
“Vampire constitution,” Spike sighed, “bloody marvellous thing. Don’t mind telling you - being human is a downgrade and a half, physically.”
“Don’t knock it mate,” Owen said, holding up his left hand where two fingers were bandaged.
“Broke these after I died. Won’t ever heal. No biological functions at all.”
Spike studied him levelly.
“Try being a ghost. No biology whatsoever.”
There was another of those ‘What did he just say?” moments, and Spike looked around at the disbelieving faces around him.
“I swear, honest to the deity of your choice, that I was a real ghost for about six months in 2003.”
“But- but how?”
“Long story, although it began when I burned to death saving the world...”
He abruptly turned to The Immortal.
“Burnin’ - now why didn’t I think of that? Can I kill you again, on account of the first time bein’ so easy an’ all?”
The Immortal’s eyes began to shimmer in the way that Buffy knew (and rather dreaded).
“If you want to kill me again, you’ll have to let me kiss you again.”
Before Spike could reply, Ianto cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, but I actually came to say that afternoon tea is served in the conference room. Maybe you could continue the conversation there?”
Buffy decided that Ianto was probably her new favourite person.
Not much later Ianto had managed to get everyone seated around the large oval table, and by the magic of tea (or possibly Spike’s somewhat calmer attitude) everyone was beginning to relax, and chatter filled the bright room.
Jack was of course sitting at the head of the table, with Spike and Buffy at the other end, and the rest of the team seated in between - apart from Ianto himself who was trying his best to melt into the walls as he carefully studied their guests, half-listening in on the various conversations.
Gwen was curious about what being a Slayer entailed - especially how Buffy balanced her fighting with her marriage - and the two women were bonding with great speed, comparing notes on worried husbands; with timely interjections from Jack that made both women roll their eyes in unison.
Tosh and Owen on the other hand were trying to get to grips with all the various transformations Spike had been through, and Ianto could tell that they were probably mere seconds away from running away and fetching every scanning equipment they could find.
Having ascertained that all the discussions were utterly uninteresting Ianto tuned them out. The only thing he was interested in was Buffy...
Getting a chance to meet one of Jack’s exes was like gold dust. Captain John had been like Jack in a mirror, darkly. Part of a past that Jack wanted gone. (And seeing another man with the same face was still painfully unsettling.)
But Buffy... Buffy was something else.
To say that Ianto was deeply intrigued by Buffy Summers would have been an understatement. If he’d ever had to invent a perfect girlfriend for Jack, someone like Buffy would have been it: Blonde, beautiful, smart, charming, self-assured, chatty - plus of course with her own brand of superpowers. Someone entirely the opposite of himself...
And yet her first words upon seeing Ianto hadn’t been surprise, but rather confirmation - as if Ianto was precisely whom she’d expected to see Jack with. Of course Jack’s love of suits was hardly a secret, but bizarrely it had come across as a private joke of some sort.
Also, Buffy wasn’t possessive. She was clearly fond of Jack, but there were no hard feelings lurking under the surface; not even a hint of a problematic parting that needed bridging, which was interesting, and quite unusual as far as Ianto knew. Plus, she had known Jack in a different place and with a different name. ‘Intriguing’ barely began covering it. If only he could think of a way of getting her alone...
Belatedly he realised that the conversations had shifted, and that Buffy and Jack were now talking - no, not talking, arguing.
“All just labels, Buffy, I’ve told you that before!” Jack said, somewhat overbearingly, but the lady in question didn’t look at all convinced. Jack bit his lip, and surveyed his team musingly.
“OK. I’d say that everyone in this room originally identified as straight. Well apart from me, obviously. Now, hold a hand up if you’ve kissed someone of the same sex!”
Every single person apart from Buffy raised their hand. Jack smirked.
“Now keep your hand raised if you’ve also slept with someone of the same sex. And liked it.”
Only Gwen lowered her hand.
Buffy’s eyes widened, and she shook her head at Jack.
“Oh my God... Are you like... contagious?”
Jack pulled a face.
“Well clearly not, or you’d not have objected so vocally to a simple threesome.”
At this Buffy’s face abruptly closed down.
“We do not talk about that pretty soldier boy you macked on, remember?”
“Pilot, Buffy,” Jack gently admonished, and then couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.
“Mmmm, Ermanno Mancini. I pulled a few strings when I got back - he’s now training to be an astronaut. Always wanted to see the stars...”
Owen made a dismissive sound, breaking Jack’s reverie.
“So that’s it - you want to get ahead in the world, screw bloody Captain Jack?”
Spike shot him an appreciative look, and Jack sighed.
“Didn’t sleep with him, sadly. Although if he ever comes to this country, I’ll have that threesome, come what may!”
He turned and grinned at Ianto, who could only blink in shock as everyone turned to look at him. Lowering his coffee cup he opened his mouth in order to attempt some kind of response, but Jack anticipated this, shooting him one of those private looks that always threatened to undo him.
“Trust me. Have I ever steered you wrong?”
On one level this question was so utterly ridiculous as to be laughable, and yet the immediacy of the memories it evoked - and the possibilities suddenly opened - caused him to immediately to close his mouth.
“See?” Jack turned to Buffy. “Ianto is open-minded.”
“And I’m not?” she shot back.
“Buffy - you married a Victorian poet.”
“How the hell-?” Spike asked, incredulous, and Jack looked at him with pity.
But then the phone rang and Ianto left to answer it, missing the remainder of the conversation.
The phone call turned out to be... interesting. And one that most definitely demanded Jack’s attention. Thanking all his lucky stars, Ianto went back to the conference room, smoothing out his pleasure and covering it with impersonal concern.
“Sir, it’s...” he hesitated, considered their guests, “the Government. It would seem that someone finally read the letter you sent regarding ATMOS.”
Ianto waited, as he saw the other Torchwood members mentally wince as they remembered Jack’s reaction to hacking into UNIT’s report on the incident - the way it had taken almost a week before he’d stopped randomly shouting: “Sontarans! They nearly let Sontarans murder the whole planet!” and how - after everyone had repeatedly pointed out to him that running off to London and literally banging people’s heads together wouldn’t do much good - he had spent most of the following week working on one of the most irate and wrathful letters Ianto had ever seen, the gist of which had been: ‘What did I tell you, you idiotic, imbecile morons? Are you going to listen next time, or are you just going to let the aliens waltz in and kill everyone? Again?’
That same glint of righteous fury reappeared in Jack’s eyes, and he squared his shoulders.
“Better take it.”
Casting a glance at Buffy and Spike, he stopped momentarily.
“By the way - do you ever have problems with Whitehall?”
“I don’t think so,” Buffy said, a little thrown, and Jack smiled grimly. “I bet your Giles can do the politeness thing. Doesn’t work for me I’m afraid.”
He left, and Spike, whose interest was now piqued, turned to Owen.
“You know what the deal was with ATMOS? Had our magical department turn them upside down and inside out, ‘cause we were worried ‘bout something mystical, but we turned up zilch.”
As Owen with great relish began relaying yet more highly classified information - and Tosh simultaneously said, “You have a magical department?” - Ianto politely caught Buffy’s attention.
“Excuse me - but would you like me to have a look at the stain?”
She looked up, smiling.
“...I’d forgotten about that. Thank you, yes.”
“Please follow me.”
He led her out into the kitchen, generally the best place for these things, and - when she handed him the coat - had a closer look. It was clearly very new, and a delicate shade of off-white. The blueish tint it now had stood out rather sharply, but he’d seen worse.
“Oh yes, I think I can get that out.”
“Do you have anything that gets blood out?” she asked hopefully, and he paused.
“Not completely, no. With Jack I just tend to have lots of spare clothes around.”
Reaching for the first bottle, she caught his eyes and smiled wickedly.
“So, now we are alone, let’s do the gossiping thing, yeah? You tell me all about ‘Captain Jack Harkness’ and I’ll tell you everything about The Immortal - deal?”
“You speak of them as if they’re different people,” he said lightly, but instead of laughing, Buffy’s face turned speculative, and she crossed her arms and leaned against the worktop.
“I think they are. Kinda. I mean, of course he’s just him, but still he’s... different.”
“What do you mean ‘different’?” Ianto asked carefully, as he applied the dissolvent.
“Just...” she looked around, hesitated. “It’s so dark down here. He must be suffocating from lack of sunlight. Although this place does explain why he was so comfortable in the catacombs, I guess...”
At Ianto’s look she explained further.
“When I think about him I always remember the sun. Everything was so bright and... magical when he was around.”
Ianto stared, only belatedly realising that he’d let his mouth fall open. Trying to regain his equilibrium, he half-coughed coughing and asked:
”Do you... want to elaborate on that?”
“Oh yeah.” She smiled, somewhat wistfully. “The Immortal... The Immortal is basically a Living Legend. No one knows who or what he is, or where he came from, and he’s pretty much everyone’s friend - but he still has this reputation of being scarily powerful, and trust me, that doesn’t come from nowhere. You see - he always wins!”
Ianto studied her gravely.
“He always wins?”
She nodded.
“Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? I totally thought he might be evil when we first met, but then... OK, this sounds completely macabre, but we ended up bonding over coming back from the dead.”
At the look on Ianto’s face, she smiled wryly.
“I’ve died. Twice. Well the first time I drowned and one of my friends brought me back with CPR. But the second time... the second time I was dead dead, for a few months, until my friends brought me back with magic. I can’t imagine how The Immortal copes with doing that over and over and over again. Waking up and knowing that it’ll never be over. That the fight keeps going on and you can’t stop.”
She shuddered, but then - hearing Spike’s voice - began smiling.
“Although that’s what led me to Spike. Living was... so unbelievably hard, and I didn’t know how to cope. And I was sure that I hated him, but even so the only time I felt anything other than pain was when-”
She bit her lip, obviously feeling that she’d shared too much, but Ianto had to hold onto the work top to steady himself as the words sank in. Taking a deep calming breath he hoped that his voice wasn’t too shaky. And even so he couldn’t find the right words.
“I never thought anyone else- that anyone-”
She tilted her head, eyes full of understanding.
“You too, huh?”
He nodded, feeling that he probably needed to give her some kind of explanation.
“I... lost my fiancée. She... Jack killed her. She wasn’t human anymore, but... she was the one thing I had lived for. He destroyed her, and still... still I went to him to forget.”
She reached out, laid her hand on top of his.
“Hey, I understand. And honestly, I think that immortal sex gods should be available on the NHS for all cases of depression and loss. Even if you sometimes hate them.”
“Would be nice,” he said, trying to steady his voice, and she smiled.
“It’ll get better. Trust me.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely, and she shrugged.
“Hey, people like us have got to stick together. And go on - spill the beans. Who is he really? Do you know where he’s from?”
He thought for a moment.
“Well, I know that the real Captain Jack Harkness was an RAF pilot during the second world war, who was shot down by the Germans and our Jack stole his name. As for who he is and where he’s from...”
He let the sentence hang and Buffy studied him expectantly.
“He’s a time traveller from the 51st Century. Accidentally got stuck on Earth in the 19th Century, and then lived through the 20th before he could get away again.”
(But he’s here for good now, he wanted to add. Because of me. Us.)
Buffy became very thoughtful, her eyes unfocussing.
“That... that makes a lot of sense. Huh.”
Figured that she’d take it in her stride, not even blinking. And she hadn’t asked about the immortality...
“He was originally a ‘Time Agent’ - I’m not quite sure what that entailed, but it was something not entirely unlike what we do. Just with time travel.”
“Hey kids!” The American vowels broke their quiet little scene, “having fun gossiping?”
“Yes we are!” Buffy answered immediately. “And why did you never say that you were from the future? That explains so much!”
Jack watched her, that impenetrable look in his eyes once more.
“Not part of that world.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to Ianto.
“See? He’s all... compartmentalised. A different face for everyone.”
Seeing that Jack’s face had gone completely blank, she reached out, patting his arm.
“Hey I don’t blame you. And remember, I dated Angel! Comparatively you’re an oversharer.”
He smiled again, and took her hand.
“I was actually wondering if I could have a word in private?”
“Um, sure,” she said, and Ianto confirmed that he’d be a few more minutes working on the coat. It would take a good while to process what he’d been told.
Once in ‘Jack’s’ office, Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to say or do. Bonding with Ianto had been easy, but this... She didn’t know how to deal with the man in front of her.
But when he sat down in his chair, she shoved some papers aside and made herself comfortable on the desk. Just like in Rome. Except his office in Rome was large and spacious, furnished with priceless antiques, and the sun always seemed to shine, lighting up the beautiful portrait on the wall. This place was dark and cramped and worn down.
“You seem to be doing better...” She finally said, and he nodded.
“I am. I... found my hero. He couldn’t fix me, but I know what I am now, and why.”
She wondered how long he’d wanted to share that information, and smiled.
“I’m glad. And... what are you then?”
He tilted his head.
“Have you ever tried to do a locator spell to find me?”
“A few times...”
He leaned forwards, curious.
“What happened?”
“They always went kablooey - the map burned every time. Well more like blew up.”
He chuckled.
“I thought that might be the case. You see, I’m a fact. A fixed point in time and space. Trying to find me with a spell would be like... trying to locate pi!”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I shall look for pie next time instead then? Seriously though - you’re OK?”
“I’m OK. And I’ve got Torchwood and my team and my mission. Finally learning to appreciate what I’ve got - not quite like your happily ever after, but it’s... enough. More than I deserve, probably.”
She laughed, and somewhere had visions of green grass on the other side of a fence.
“You think Spike and I are ‘happily ever after’? Oh god you should have seen us 4 years ago... Let’s just say that he didn’t respond very well to the transition to humanity. I have no idea how many times I almost walked out. I still get the urge now on a bad day. He was a vampire for so long, he... forgot how to be human...”
And there it was, the painful undercurrent that they’d yet to banish - it was far too easy to see only what had been lost, and forget the gains... No one had ever told her that Happily Ever After would be so much work. But really, she shouldn’t be crying on The Immortal’s shoulder over her marital problems - not that he’d mind, but she had made her choice, and she would never regret it.
(Love ... give ... forgive. Risk the pain. It is your nature. Love will bring you to your gift.)
Great, now she was getting lost in her mind. She shrugged, knowing that he’d understand.
“Basically we’re the most dysfunctional thing, like, ever.”
The Immortal raised an eyebrow.
”Did he call you a monster and hold a gun to your head?”
“No...”
“Still ahead.”
She couldn’t help smiling then.
“I’ve missed conversations like this.”
“Me too...”
He reached out, took her hand and just held it for a long moment.
"I can't explain what it means, seeing you again. I-"
He swallowed against some strong emotion, and for a second she was frozen with fear that he was going to declare his undying love for her...
But then he slowly looked up, catching her eyes, and she felt the tug of some strong memory that she couldn’t quite place.
"Sorry. It’s too complicated. And it doesn’t matter anyway, not now. But I am happy that you’re happy. More than you can imagine.”
She marvelled at how he could be simultaneously opening his heart, and the same time be excessively evasive and secretive.
“And...” he continued, “I never got to say thank you. For everything.”
Watching him she remembered glorious sunlit days and nights bathed in silver; kisses and caresses that chased away the dark shadows in her mind; gentle words bearing understanding, not judgement - and she leaned forward and kissed him as if the world was ending. (Which it might very well be, for all she knew.)
Her Immortal... Her very own Immortal, who’d only ever been on loan.
It wasn’t until that evening, long after they’d said their proper goodbyes and were on the train back to London, that Buffy was able to place the look that had been in his eyes.
It had said: ‘Every night I save you.’
She wondered what had happened to him. What on earth could have made that particular look enter his eyes.
When Spike interrupted her thoughts with a cutting remark about how anyone who kept a pterodactyl the size of a small car as a pet clearly had something to make up for, she shot him a look so fierce it shut him up for a whole fifteen minutes.
“Owen?”
The doctor in question held a bundle of blood stained tissues aloft with a triumphant smile, which Jack more than matched.
“Excellent. Now, lets go work some DNA magic - you’ve still got the blood sample from Capt John I take it?”
Owen nodded and set off towards the medical bay.
“You really think...” Gwen began, and Jack nodded, eyes bright.
“Could be.”
As the computer screen flashed up a little later, confirming the relationship between the two samples, Jack almost did a little victory dance.
“What did I say? Spatial genetic multiplicity! Three thousand years is nothing!”
Owen looked less impressed.
“You mean Mr Former Vampire is going to be a daddy? That’ll turn out well.”
“Oh he’ll be brilliant,” Jack cooed, already imagining Buffy surrounded by scores of adorably gorgeous children. “Used to be a poet, like I said. All the gruffness is just a facade - at heart he’s a romantic through and through. And it’s exactly what she needs... Now, let’s have a look and see what Mothercare has in the way of old fashioned prams.”
They left him to it.
A week later.
It was late, and the Hub was dark since everyone had gone home. Well, everyone except Ianto and Jack.
Jack, smiling, walked towards his office where he found his ‘butler’ engaged in the very un-butlery position of sitting in Jack’s chair with his feet on Jack’s desk, absorbed in a book.
It wasn’t until Jack saw the cover that his mood suddenly darkened.
“Ianto... Can I ask where you found that book?”
The young man made a great show of being torn out of his reading.
“What? Oh sorry. Fascinating stuff, this. If I didn’t know better I’d say it was a guide to 51st Century morality and attitudes... But that would be ridiculous.”
Leaning forward with one hand on the desk and another on the back of the chair Jack swivelled the chair round so he was face to face with Ianto.
“How did you find it?”
Ianto’s face was still perfectly calm.
“Turns out that if you google ‘The Immortal’ the only thing you get is a sponsored link to Amazon for this book. It’s... very strange. Almost as if someone didn’t want to be found.”
“Someone doesn’t.”
“But how do you do it?” Ianto was now tilting his head, studying Jack intently. “It’s not that it’s hidden, there is quite literally nothing on the whole internet about ‘The Immortal’.”
“Intelligent virus,” Jack replied. “Set it loose back when the internet was in its infancy. It goes around eating anything to do with that life. I check up on it occasionally, but it seems to be doing fine.”
“Clever.”
“Thank you.”
“Although...” Ianto hesitated. “I found a chat forum on a site called ‘Demons Demons Demons’... I tried to ask if anyone knew anything about someone called The Immortal, but the only one who knew anything was all cloak-and-daggers. Before the page deleted itself, that is.”
“What was his name?” Jack asked slowly.
“Called himself ‘RomeWatcher’ I think...”
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“Get out of my chair. I need to terrify a nerd.”
Seconds later he’d brought up his Immortal e-mail account, located Andrew’s current e-mail address, and started writing.
Andrew Wells.
Is this really how you repay me for all I’ve done for you?
(The space ship was a decoy, but it *was* alien, from the planet Raxicoricofallapatorious. I can send you photos of it, if you like, from after it was dredged out of the Thames.)
However. If I *ever* find you talking about me *anywhere*, online or not, I will take you on a tour of The Room of Pain, giving you a *personal* demonstration of each implement.
This e-mail will self-destruct. If you try to find me, I will delete your whole hardrive, understood?
The Immortal
x
“A kiss?” Ianto asked, and Jack grinned.
“Just a little something to either freak him out, or keep the flame alive.”
Ianto lifted an eyebrow.
“Should I ask?”
“What makes you think I’ll answer?”
“Because you’re an inveterate showoff.”
With a wolfish grin, Jack went on to prove the truth of this statement.
He didn’t answer the question, however, and Ianto wondered if he’d ever find out anything more about Jack’s elusive alias, beyond what basic information he’d seen fit to share. The book had been no help at all, filled as it was with tall tales and ridiculous fabrications, and Ianto despaired at ever managing to uncover more than a snippet of the man he had built his life around.
But then Jack’s past came back to haunt them all, leaving a deadly and bloody trail, and for a while Ianto lost all interest in knowing more.
Chapter 3.
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-
Oh! I just remembered - they have a vampire in storage. I’m sure it’d be delighted to sire you - would that make you happy?”
So their relationship isn't immediately/automatically perfect because he Shanshued?
-
Oh crap. He’d well and truly shaken the hornets’ nest this time.
That's so Spike. Love it.
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he held the tissues up to his nose
So he's out of the habit of licking his own nose blood, then? Good for him!
-
“Burnin’ - now why didn’t I think of that? Can I kill you again, on account of the first time bein’ so easy an’ all?”
The Immortal’s eyes began to shimmer in the way that Buffy knew (and rather dreaded).
“If you want to kill me again, you’ll have to let me kiss you again.”
LOL. I mean. I kinda think Spike saw that coming. Maybe he doesn't mind? Ahaha.
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“OK. I’d say that everyone in this room originally identified as straight. Well apart from me, obviously. Now, hold a hand up if you’ve kissed someone of the same sex!”
Every single person apart from Buffy raised their hand. Jack smirked.
“Now keep your hand raised if you’ve also slept with someone of the same sex. And liked it.”
I know you aren't fond of the comics, but Satsu comes to mind. Buffy has it in her, too.
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“Buffy - you married a Victorian poet.”
“How the hell-?” Spike asked, incredulous, and Jack looked at him with pity.
Omgggg. Haha. Jack so has the upper hand. Poor Spike. He's going to get a complex.
-
“Yes we are!” Buffy answered immediately. “And why did you never say that you were from the future? That explains so much!”
LOL. He must have figured she'd take it okay, no?
-
she felt the tug of some strong memory that she couldn’t quite place.
Hmmmm...
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“Oh he’ll be brilliant,” Jack cooed, already imagining Buffy surrounded by scores of adorably gorgeous children. “Used to be a poet, like I said. All the gruffness is just a facade - at heart he’s a romantic through and through. And it’s exactly what she needs..
Preach, Jack!
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“Get out of my chair. I need to terrify a nerd.”
LOL. Andrew is never not hilarious and Jack is great at interacting him with in particularly entertaining ways.
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But then Jack’s past came back to haunt them all, leaving a deadly and bloody trail, and for a while Ianto lost all interest in knowing more.
Seeee, from my perspective, it's hard to tell whether this is story foreshadowing or a reference to events on the show. ALAS. I shall see.
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Rather. ;)
So their relationship isn't immediately/automatically perfect because he Shanshued?
Ooooooh no. The shanshu makes a 'normal' relationship possible, but that doesn't mean it's been plain sailing.
That's so Spike. Love it.
He knows when he's blown it.
So he's out of the habit of licking his own nose blood, then? Good for him!
Well he's not a vampire anymore. So it doesn't taste quite the same.
LOL. I mean. I kinda think Spike saw that coming. Maybe he doesn't mind? Ahaha.
Well.... ;)
I know you aren't fond of the comics, but Satsu comes to mind. Buffy has it in her, too.
Considering how wildly OOC she is in the comics, I'm not taking anything in them as a guide to the character. (Doesn't mean she never would, but... Meh.)
Omgggg. Haha. Jack so has the upper hand. Poor Spike. He's going to get a complex.
He had one already. But now he might need a therapist.
LOL. He must have figured she'd take it okay, no?
Pretty much. She's more annoyed about the lying than the truth she's uncovered.
Hmmmm...
'Every night I save you.' Also, in the little extra fic snippet (when the Master talks to Jack after he's killed Illyria, Jack says 'I made a promise to a lady' - which is of course what Spike says when he faces Doc. They overlap in that, and in having seen Buffy dead at their feet, and being helpless to stop it.
Preach, Jack!
He does like the sound of his own voice...
LOL. Andrew is never not hilarious and Jack is great at interacting him with in particularly entertaining ways.
It was the gift that kept giving!
Seeee, from my perspective, it's hard to tell whether this is story foreshadowing or a reference to events on the show. ALAS. I shall see.
Events on the show! Not that it's important, really.
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