donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2007-12-05 09:41 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2007-12-05 09:41 pm
Whisky And Rain
Title: Whisky And Rain
Pairing/Warning/Rating: none, rated G
Word Count: 819
Beta:_medley_
Summary: A mourning Jack isn't sure what to feel
Pairing/Warning/Rating: none, rated G
Word Count: 819
Beta:
_medley_Summary: A mourning Jack isn't sure what to feel
The weather matched Jack’s mood, overcast and grey, as he stared down at the gravestone. It wasn’t the first lover’s grave he’d stood over, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it hurt. It always hurt.
The sky rumbled. He looked up, expecting to see rain or lightning. Either would have felt right. Just like Mother Nature he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry, or explode, or both. But she, like him, did nothing. Jack closed his eyes and stood there, waiting for the weather to make up its mind, maybe that would give him a clue as to what he should do and how he should feel.
With a jolt he realized he wasn’t alone anymore, there was another man walking towards the grave. The intruder gave him a long, assessing look as he approached.
“Am I disturbing you?” He asked politely, gesturing at the headstone with the bouquet in his hand.
“No, no, any friend of...” but Jack trailed off, biting back the sob in his throat.
The other man nodded his thanks, rested a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder for a moment and then placed the flowers in front of the tombstone. Reaching into his coat he pulled out a silver flask, raising it to the tombstone. “Nos morituri te salutamus.” His voice thick with emotion. Then he looked over at Jack. “It means...”
“We who are about to die salute you, I know.” Jack interrupted, not caring how cold his voice might have sounded. His eyes narrowed as he studied the other man tip back the flask. Tall, only an inch or so shorter than himself, and not a young man, he could see grey mixed generously in with the blond hair. Not anyone he recognized, but that didn’t mean anything, he hadn’t always been the most attentive of friends. He watched the other man take several long sips before the flask was offered to him.
“Single Malt. GlenFarclas, 105 cask strength.” The man said, shrugging slightly. “Seemed appropriate.”
Jack snorted. “That it does.” But he eyed the other man carefully. “Expensive stuff.”
“He deserves the best,” there was a touch of self-recrimination in the other man’s voice that Jack couldn’t ignore.
“You did know him.” Jack winced a little at the accusatory tone that slipped out when he spoke, but the other man didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t take any offense at it. He merely gave Jack a long, deep look before offering the flask.
When Jack hesitated the other man made a show of taking several more sips. "Nothing in it that'll hurt you." He said carefully. "Just thought you might want to toast an old friend."
Jack smiled, relaxing slightly. Of course there wasn’t poison in the flask, it was rather silly of him to even have considered that it might be. Vigilance taken too far could be a bad thing he told himself, and in a rush of newfound determination he reached out and accepted the offered flask. It felt cold and heavy in his hand. The whisky was impossibly smooth, with the slightest hint of cloves and autumn. He savored its heady aroma and as he swallowed he felt the warmth seep through his body. “Thanks,” he said, handing the flask back.
They stood in a companionable silence for awhile, passing the flask back and forth, occasionally raising it to their fallen friend. They didn’t trade war stories, or spill secrets, just exchanged a knowing look or two and a half smile as they shared the moment together. Eventually, swirling the flask around the other man commented, “only a sip or so left.” He poured it into the ground by their feet. “Enjoy, old friend.”
Jack felt a drop of rain hit him on the cheek. He looked up at the dark clouds in the sky. “I guess Mother Nature decided to cry after all.” He said, quietly.
“Sorry?”
“Never mind, I was just commenting on the rain.”
“Oh, well. Time for me to be heading off.” He touched his forelock in a haphazard salute before turning.
“I didn’t catch your name." Jack called after him.
The man paused. “I didn’t give it,” he said as he walked away.
Jack watched him until he was swallowed by the mist and rain. Then he ran his fingers over the smooth arch of the stone. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, his voice cracking. “I should have... I wish... I...” Tears mixed with the rain on his face as he dropped to his knees and began to cry.
At the edge of the graveyard the stranger stood watching the crying man through a pair of binoculars. “That’s right, let it out. It’ll be okay. You’re going to fall asleep in a minute, probably wake up with a terrible cold, but it’s better than... it’s better this way.” With a shimmer he turned off his camouflage suit and walked into the night.
The sky rumbled. He looked up, expecting to see rain or lightning. Either would have felt right. Just like Mother Nature he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry, or explode, or both. But she, like him, did nothing. Jack closed his eyes and stood there, waiting for the weather to make up its mind, maybe that would give him a clue as to what he should do and how he should feel.
With a jolt he realized he wasn’t alone anymore, there was another man walking towards the grave. The intruder gave him a long, assessing look as he approached.
“Am I disturbing you?” He asked politely, gesturing at the headstone with the bouquet in his hand.
“No, no, any friend of...” but Jack trailed off, biting back the sob in his throat.
The other man nodded his thanks, rested a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder for a moment and then placed the flowers in front of the tombstone. Reaching into his coat he pulled out a silver flask, raising it to the tombstone. “Nos morituri te salutamus.” His voice thick with emotion. Then he looked over at Jack. “It means...”
“We who are about to die salute you, I know.” Jack interrupted, not caring how cold his voice might have sounded. His eyes narrowed as he studied the other man tip back the flask. Tall, only an inch or so shorter than himself, and not a young man, he could see grey mixed generously in with the blond hair. Not anyone he recognized, but that didn’t mean anything, he hadn’t always been the most attentive of friends. He watched the other man take several long sips before the flask was offered to him.
“Single Malt. GlenFarclas, 105 cask strength.” The man said, shrugging slightly. “Seemed appropriate.”
Jack snorted. “That it does.” But he eyed the other man carefully. “Expensive stuff.”
“He deserves the best,” there was a touch of self-recrimination in the other man’s voice that Jack couldn’t ignore.
“You did know him.” Jack winced a little at the accusatory tone that slipped out when he spoke, but the other man didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t take any offense at it. He merely gave Jack a long, deep look before offering the flask.
When Jack hesitated the other man made a show of taking several more sips. "Nothing in it that'll hurt you." He said carefully. "Just thought you might want to toast an old friend."
Jack smiled, relaxing slightly. Of course there wasn’t poison in the flask, it was rather silly of him to even have considered that it might be. Vigilance taken too far could be a bad thing he told himself, and in a rush of newfound determination he reached out and accepted the offered flask. It felt cold and heavy in his hand. The whisky was impossibly smooth, with the slightest hint of cloves and autumn. He savored its heady aroma and as he swallowed he felt the warmth seep through his body. “Thanks,” he said, handing the flask back.
They stood in a companionable silence for awhile, passing the flask back and forth, occasionally raising it to their fallen friend. They didn’t trade war stories, or spill secrets, just exchanged a knowing look or two and a half smile as they shared the moment together. Eventually, swirling the flask around the other man commented, “only a sip or so left.” He poured it into the ground by their feet. “Enjoy, old friend.”
Jack felt a drop of rain hit him on the cheek. He looked up at the dark clouds in the sky. “I guess Mother Nature decided to cry after all.” He said, quietly.
“Sorry?”
“Never mind, I was just commenting on the rain.”
“Oh, well. Time for me to be heading off.” He touched his forelock in a haphazard salute before turning.
“I didn’t catch your name." Jack called after him.
The man paused. “I didn’t give it,” he said as he walked away.
Jack watched him until he was swallowed by the mist and rain. Then he ran his fingers over the smooth arch of the stone. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, his voice cracking. “I should have... I wish... I...” Tears mixed with the rain on his face as he dropped to his knees and began to cry.
At the edge of the graveyard the stranger stood watching the crying man through a pair of binoculars. “That’s right, let it out. It’ll be okay. You’re going to fall asleep in a minute, probably wake up with a terrible cold, but it’s better than... it’s better this way.” With a shimmer he turned off his camouflage suit and walked into the night.
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What did you think of the miniseries?
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I love the way we have to 'fill in the gaps' too.
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and I see where the whisky went now. u haz a typo though - all forms of Scotch are definitely *whisky* not whiskey
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Bittersweet I like to think it's Inato in disgise having faked his own death. Becuase he's immortal too and knows he can't stay with Jakc forever.... But it cld just be older Jack making sure younger Jack is OK or something completly differen.t I love it when the author makes us work!!!
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See, the grave marker was for real!Jack. Who, after rather spectacularly outting himself a dance hall, was stripped of his wings in 1941 and basically created a new identity for himself, letting "Jack Harkness" die. Basically handing over that name and identity to our!Jack. And well, since he was out, he saw no reason to go back into the closet. This led him into the love of his life, the stranger.
When real!Jack knew he was dying of... something... he told his husband/partner/boyfriend person to try and find our!Jack so that our!Jack would know that he helped real!Jack face up to who he was and find true happiness.
*headdesk* I don't think I've ever fanficed someone else's work like that before. I feel like I should apologize.
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I enjoyed this - it's very atmospheric and sad and I love the line: like Mother Nature he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry, or explode, or both.
On the other hand, I really don't like it when there's no right answer for who the characters are. Which is just a personal thing, but it just really annoys me, because I want to know!
But yeah. Nicely done. :-)
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whomever you assumed it to be, you were right?
Yeah, but I spent the whole fic waiting for some sort of clue as to who it was, because it could have been anybody, and there weren't any clues, because it could have been anybody... It's OK. I know it's just me and my weird quirks. *g*
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Camouflage suits aren't ringing any bells with me, tbh. Are they supposed to?
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I made up the idea of the camouflage suit, but it was originally supposed to be a much older version Jack hiding behind it. The grave is the Doctor's and when the Doctor died Jack lost it completely and spiraled out of control and in a drunken rage destroyed the Tardis. Much later, finally sober and calmed down he regretted what he'd done but couldn't do anything about it. But eventually he was able to travel back in time (I hadn't quite decided how yet) and purposely got himself drunk and drugged so he'd have a small breakdown then and there and not the massive one later. Like I said, I majorily trimmed it down...
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