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My Immortal: Outtakes.
I was already planning out this fic when S2 of TW was airing, and some of the Jack flashbacks caused me a bit of bother. So I wrote out stuff that would explain some of the awkwardness, but in the end culled it from the main story since it really wasn't important, except for me and my extreme need for making both canons fit together. But I thought that maybe some of you might be curious, so here's two snippets that almost made it into the main story (at the beginning of chapter 2).
This first bit is trying to reconcile the penniless Jack of 1899 with the very wealthy Immortal, and also to see the scene with The Girl through Buffy-verse eyes. Will make no sense unless you've seen the Jack flashbacks from 'Fragments'
“It’s good money Captain - how else are you going to earn?”
Mrs Holroyd held out the envelope with another mission, the look on her face smugly superior.
Jack took the envelope from her hand, stared at it, turned it around and almost barked a laugh at how she so totally had the wrong end of the stick. She was trying to ensnare him with money? He had more money than she could ever guess at - house, carriages, servants, luxury untold... Except of course for the unfortunate fact that it was all very far away.
He’d brought plenty of money with him when he came back to Cardiff, but there was a problem with immortality - it made him careless. Six deaths in half a year, and although it only took a few minutes to come back, the world was full of unscrupulous people more than willing to rob a dead man... At least no one had stolen the coat yet.
In a way it was a good thing, he supposed - the penniless existence he was now living was as far from his ‘Immortal’ alias as was possible. And sure he’d do pretty much anything for cash at the moment, but working for this particular xenophobic dominatrix type wasn’t really high on the list. He’d had enough of working for organisations he couldn’t trust. All he needed was to find the Doctor before they did... And there were worse things than being poor.
Throwing down the envelope he strode out of the office without a backwards glance.
***
“Can I read your cards?”
The girl was small - much too young to be in a back street tavern - so he curbed the almost automatic ‘I don’t do magic’ on the tip of his tongue and instead politely declined. No need to take his issues out on her.
Ignoring his rejection as though never uttered she sat down, throwing away the clutter on the table like she owned the place. Feeling a little unsettled he declined again, which caused her to look at him - and suddenly he felt a terrible sense of deja vu... It was the same look that had been in Dru’s eyes; that look that made him feel suddenly naked - and not in the good way. This girl wasn’t crazy though, but she was still a Seer, no doubt about it. And she probably wasn’t ‘little’ either...
He tried his best to laugh it off, to pretend that he didn’t believe, silently telling himself that he was just being paranoid - but it was no use. She just looked, and he knew her words were truth as he repeated them:
“You mean I have to wait a hundred years to find him?”
He really, really hated magic - or whatever the hell that talent was. Then he added, as hopelessness slowly and inevitably sank into him.
“What’ll I do in the meantime?”
What would he do?
He could go back to Rome of course; have fun, party, enjoy his money - but what kinda life was that? No purpose, no aim as such, and that world to deal with - the one full of magic, that he had to tread so very carefully amongst.
He could of course go elsewhere, but there was Torchwood to consider, and the British Empire stretched very far at this point in time - the thought of creating a third alias did not appeal to him.
And viewed in century-long terms Torchwood might not be such a bad partner... he didn’t like their methods or attitudes, but they were government and would be able to issue him with proper papers free of charge and hassle. And they had technology... most of which they didn’t understand since it was alien. The thought of actual, real technology made him ache with longing - they probably wouldn’t trust him with it for a long time, but he had yet to meet a safe on this planet that he couldn’t open... he might even be able to stop them accidentally blowing something up. At least he should be able to get the most basic functions of the wriststrap back.
He could maybe even get himself into the army, earn his Captain’s stripes for real - there were wars coming up, and knowing his way around a particle gun wouldn’t be much use in this age.
It would mean sucking it up to the vicious ladies, whom he had no doubt would make him feel his place - but such was life. At least they were easy on the eyes...
The second bit was me trying to flesh out Torchwood a little more - and I also thought it unlikely that Jack had managed for 4-5 years without a doctor, so invented an OC. But since he would not appear in the rest of the story at all, I decided to drop the whole thing. It's *possible* that Jack had other people working at Torchwood in 2004 beside Suzie and Tosh, so I just leave it up to people's imaginations. But here is James (as my doctor was called), if you're curious. He was brilliant, but at the same time influenced Jack's subsequent recruiting of Owen.
As a rule, Jack wasn’t too fond of slime. With a shudder of disgust he dropped the dead alien on the autopsy table and wondered why the Rift had seen fit to throw five pale-green, weirdly disjointed and vaguely fishy-like creatures at them in the space of less than a week. He seriously hoped there wouldn’t be any more - there were limits to how many times he could cope with getting covered in smelly, sticky goo.
Suzie - still dry, because he was a gentleman - was carefully cleaning the weapon this one had been carrying, already trying to work out how it functioned. Tosh was busy with her own work, even as she kept an eye on the news - there had been a meteor crash in the early hours of the morning somewhere in Italy and Jack was curious.
All of which left the man he needed...
“OK - where is my doctor? James!”
A few moments later the man in question appeared, all charming lopsided grin and unruly blond hair, but Jack wasn’t having any of it.
“Autopsy. Now.”
James looked petulant. “What - again? That’s the fifth one - I know them inside out by now.”
“And this one might just be the odd one out who is pregnant or who’s going to mutate or... something else. For all we know it could be a shape-shifter. Just do the job I hired you for - if you want to try for a Nobel Prize do it on your own time!"
"But Jack, I think I’m really near a real break-through. You know how I had this whole theory about mutating genes, linked to-"
Jack glared at him through the slime, and James fell silent. Amazing how - despite being almost 30 - the man could resemble an excited school boy half that age. Always full of brilliant ideas and thinking that 'real' work was just an unfortunate interference that one had to avoid as much as possible.
"I," Jack said with emphasis, "am going to have a shower."
He walked off with as much dignity as his squelching boots could give him.
As he stood under the hot water a little later, he yet again wondered what to do about James - or if there was any point trying. After taking over Torchwood Three Jack had known that he needed new staff - a doctor especially, since he could do pretty much everything else himself - but he’d been too numb to go out and find someone, so instead he’d asked UNIT if they could lend him someone. Three days later James had turned up, asking for official and permanent transfer. Jack had happily obliged, even if he'd been somewhat puzzled - James was without a doubt a genius, and one who could have had a very distinguished career at UNIT.
After a while the reason became clear - James liked doing his own thing, forever busy with countless different projects, most of whom were illegal and/or downright dangerous. Reigning him in was fraught, because it was obvious that James had never had a single moment of bad luck in his entire life - he was born gifted and handsome in a happy family, and despite what they saw on a daily basis at TW still thought that the world was his oyster. Another few years and he’d have found a cure for cancer. Or got himself killed.
Probably both a the same time.
This first bit is trying to reconcile the penniless Jack of 1899 with the very wealthy Immortal, and also to see the scene with The Girl through Buffy-verse eyes. Will make no sense unless you've seen the Jack flashbacks from 'Fragments'
“It’s good money Captain - how else are you going to earn?”
Mrs Holroyd held out the envelope with another mission, the look on her face smugly superior.
Jack took the envelope from her hand, stared at it, turned it around and almost barked a laugh at how she so totally had the wrong end of the stick. She was trying to ensnare him with money? He had more money than she could ever guess at - house, carriages, servants, luxury untold... Except of course for the unfortunate fact that it was all very far away.
He’d brought plenty of money with him when he came back to Cardiff, but there was a problem with immortality - it made him careless. Six deaths in half a year, and although it only took a few minutes to come back, the world was full of unscrupulous people more than willing to rob a dead man... At least no one had stolen the coat yet.
In a way it was a good thing, he supposed - the penniless existence he was now living was as far from his ‘Immortal’ alias as was possible. And sure he’d do pretty much anything for cash at the moment, but working for this particular xenophobic dominatrix type wasn’t really high on the list. He’d had enough of working for organisations he couldn’t trust. All he needed was to find the Doctor before they did... And there were worse things than being poor.
Throwing down the envelope he strode out of the office without a backwards glance.
***
“Can I read your cards?”
The girl was small - much too young to be in a back street tavern - so he curbed the almost automatic ‘I don’t do magic’ on the tip of his tongue and instead politely declined. No need to take his issues out on her.
Ignoring his rejection as though never uttered she sat down, throwing away the clutter on the table like she owned the place. Feeling a little unsettled he declined again, which caused her to look at him - and suddenly he felt a terrible sense of deja vu... It was the same look that had been in Dru’s eyes; that look that made him feel suddenly naked - and not in the good way. This girl wasn’t crazy though, but she was still a Seer, no doubt about it. And she probably wasn’t ‘little’ either...
He tried his best to laugh it off, to pretend that he didn’t believe, silently telling himself that he was just being paranoid - but it was no use. She just looked, and he knew her words were truth as he repeated them:
“You mean I have to wait a hundred years to find him?”
He really, really hated magic - or whatever the hell that talent was. Then he added, as hopelessness slowly and inevitably sank into him.
“What’ll I do in the meantime?”
What would he do?
He could go back to Rome of course; have fun, party, enjoy his money - but what kinda life was that? No purpose, no aim as such, and that world to deal with - the one full of magic, that he had to tread so very carefully amongst.
He could of course go elsewhere, but there was Torchwood to consider, and the British Empire stretched very far at this point in time - the thought of creating a third alias did not appeal to him.
And viewed in century-long terms Torchwood might not be such a bad partner... he didn’t like their methods or attitudes, but they were government and would be able to issue him with proper papers free of charge and hassle. And they had technology... most of which they didn’t understand since it was alien. The thought of actual, real technology made him ache with longing - they probably wouldn’t trust him with it for a long time, but he had yet to meet a safe on this planet that he couldn’t open... he might even be able to stop them accidentally blowing something up. At least he should be able to get the most basic functions of the wriststrap back.
He could maybe even get himself into the army, earn his Captain’s stripes for real - there were wars coming up, and knowing his way around a particle gun wouldn’t be much use in this age.
It would mean sucking it up to the vicious ladies, whom he had no doubt would make him feel his place - but such was life. At least they were easy on the eyes...
The second bit was me trying to flesh out Torchwood a little more - and I also thought it unlikely that Jack had managed for 4-5 years without a doctor, so invented an OC. But since he would not appear in the rest of the story at all, I decided to drop the whole thing. It's *possible* that Jack had other people working at Torchwood in 2004 beside Suzie and Tosh, so I just leave it up to people's imaginations. But here is James (as my doctor was called), if you're curious. He was brilliant, but at the same time influenced Jack's subsequent recruiting of Owen.
As a rule, Jack wasn’t too fond of slime. With a shudder of disgust he dropped the dead alien on the autopsy table and wondered why the Rift had seen fit to throw five pale-green, weirdly disjointed and vaguely fishy-like creatures at them in the space of less than a week. He seriously hoped there wouldn’t be any more - there were limits to how many times he could cope with getting covered in smelly, sticky goo.
Suzie - still dry, because he was a gentleman - was carefully cleaning the weapon this one had been carrying, already trying to work out how it functioned. Tosh was busy with her own work, even as she kept an eye on the news - there had been a meteor crash in the early hours of the morning somewhere in Italy and Jack was curious.
All of which left the man he needed...
“OK - where is my doctor? James!”
A few moments later the man in question appeared, all charming lopsided grin and unruly blond hair, but Jack wasn’t having any of it.
“Autopsy. Now.”
James looked petulant. “What - again? That’s the fifth one - I know them inside out by now.”
“And this one might just be the odd one out who is pregnant or who’s going to mutate or... something else. For all we know it could be a shape-shifter. Just do the job I hired you for - if you want to try for a Nobel Prize do it on your own time!"
"But Jack, I think I’m really near a real break-through. You know how I had this whole theory about mutating genes, linked to-"
Jack glared at him through the slime, and James fell silent. Amazing how - despite being almost 30 - the man could resemble an excited school boy half that age. Always full of brilliant ideas and thinking that 'real' work was just an unfortunate interference that one had to avoid as much as possible.
"I," Jack said with emphasis, "am going to have a shower."
He walked off with as much dignity as his squelching boots could give him.
As he stood under the hot water a little later, he yet again wondered what to do about James - or if there was any point trying. After taking over Torchwood Three Jack had known that he needed new staff - a doctor especially, since he could do pretty much everything else himself - but he’d been too numb to go out and find someone, so instead he’d asked UNIT if they could lend him someone. Three days later James had turned up, asking for official and permanent transfer. Jack had happily obliged, even if he'd been somewhat puzzled - James was without a doubt a genius, and one who could have had a very distinguished career at UNIT.
After a while the reason became clear - James liked doing his own thing, forever busy with countless different projects, most of whom were illegal and/or downright dangerous. Reigning him in was fraught, because it was obvious that James had never had a single moment of bad luck in his entire life - he was born gifted and handsome in a happy family, and despite what they saw on a daily basis at TW still thought that the world was his oyster. Another few years and he’d have found a cure for cancer. Or got himself killed.
Probably both a the same time.
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