There Once Was a Man Who Could Never Die

[alifetime]

Who: Jack Harkness and you!
What: In all the madness going around, Jack is trying to help those he can while not losing himself in the ghosts that cluster around him.
When: From 17-28
Warnings: Jack Harkness is a warning in and of himself. That said, Jack hasn't always led a pleasant life. Mentions of blood, gore, hauntings, death, trauma, etc. Can switch to brackets or prose to suit your prefs!



[March 17-22]

He barely glanced at the group of men in the mirror he passed, paid even less attention to the rose petals that drifted from their mouths. It wasn't that Jack didn't remember them, he did. It wasn't that he couldn't look them in the eyes. He could.

It was that he knew they weren't real. They were people he had been laughing with in the moments before the faeries had come. The dead man who lurked at their edges was disregarded along with them when he caught their image again in the polished tabletop. The boyfriend if he remembered rightly. Yeah, he remembered them. He had done what he needed to, what saved all of them. It was he did. It was what he always did.

They were growing stronger, every hour or every day. Jack had the bad feeling that things were going to get worse before they got any better. Those he had met in this place where the ones he hunted now: Thea, Clara, Harry, and the Doctor, but he wasn't going to turn down anyone if they needed him.

Anything to distract him from the long dead that were waiting in the shadows. Movie star smile fixed in place, he headed for the figure down the hall.


[March 23-28]

It wasn't just the name of 'Jack' that he heard following him down the hallways, echoing through the rooms, but the multitude of names that had been his over the years. His brother trailed along behind him, trying to touch his hand and hold on... the same hand that had let go of him long ago. A pack of small children waited up ahead of him, clustered together as if they were the sole survivors when they had really been a sacrifice.

He fell into one of the chairs by the fireplace, chin propped on a curled hand as he watched them come closer. Gray was first, of course he was. His own little brother who's hand he let slip from his own. Behind him came the children, those that Earth had sacrificed. He counted off all eleven of them that had been taken. Clement McDonald wasn't there. Their little hands went through his as they tried to touch him and pull him along.

"I had to. The Indonesian flu would have mutated and killed twenty-five million people. They thought I wouldn't care, that I was cold enough to be able to do it."

Estelle Cole lifted a hand and waved to him.

"All you wanted was to spend the rest of your life with me," he told her. To a watcher, he must have looked like a madman talking to empty air by the check-in desk. "It was what... 1935? It was the Astoria Ballroom. You were so beautiful. We said we would be together until we died. Then I saw you again in 2007, and you thought I was my son. You kept my picture all those years."

Near her lurked another man, one that Jack could never deny. Someone he had loved enough to tell things to that he wouldn't another for at least a few decades.

"It was 1927, and you stole my visa. It all ended so badly."

Its only his name that Angelo whispered, holding out a hand to him.

"Then you thought I was the Devil because I couldn't die. How many times did you let that crowd kill me? Shouldn't I be haunting you instead of you me?"

The old man limped around the corner, Jack sighing heavily. He tried to smile and failed badly.

"It was 1898. Hello, Anthony. You're looking much older. I keep going on, I keep living on. And everyone else just dies."

Comments

[alifetime]

Jack's eyes moved to her, to the ghosts and back. A small measure of relief was apparent on his face in that she was more solid, more real than they were.

"I would always welcome your company, Thea," he said quietly. "Seems from the network that I'm not the only one being followed around by my past. Wanna talk about it? I know you're never supposed to say this to a lady, but you don't look so hot."

He opened his arms to her if she wanted to be closer. His greatcoat was big enough for both of them. For once, it wasn't a sexual desire but a want for something that wasn't ghostly sliding over his skin.

A wink meant to be sly but looking a little more tired than anything was about the best he could give her right now.

"If you don't want to talk about that, tell me about your life some. Or I can tell you about the aliens. Maybe how I ended up bedding my two executions after a last meal of four hypervodkas."

A laugh was trying to work its way into his voice, wanting to make it cheerful enough to drown out the whispers of his name from people long gone.

[usedtoit]

For once, she wasn't even offended by that. She knew she looked like a wreck, slumming it in pajama shorts and a t-shirt, dark circles and without makeup. At least her hair always looked nice. She eyed him and his open arms for a moment, like she was gauging it. But she'd always been one for hugs and physical comforts, so it wasn't but a couple of seconds before she was sliding out of her chair and curling up with him on his, letting herself be wrapped up in his arms and his coat.

People who saw might make assumptions, but growing up as a Queen meant she'd been living with the public's assumptions for a long time, and she couldn't bring herself to care anymore. He was warm and she felt better in his presence and with his company. Safe, almost.

She rested her head against him and looked up to where Sara was loitering beside his chair.

"I don't wanna talk about it yet," she said. She would eventually, maybe. Internalizing things never really worked for her. "Let's talk about the aliens. Or my life. I mean, it's not very interesting, not near as interesting as aliens and executions sound."

[alifetime]

Jack's coat was warm if nothing else, smelling of him with the taints of coffee and spent gunpowder. He tucked the edges of its around her and held her like he would a child in need of comfort.

"Then don't. I've got you. I promise."

His cheek rested gently against her hair, arms surrounding her as best he could to keep Thea in a warm cocoon of safety. His own ghosts might keep pressing ever closer, but her voice kept a line to sanity in place.

"Oh that. Well, you know how points of view can differ? They did that time. They felt I was robbing a tomb. I felt I was getting back an artifact that could change time instead. More for the common good, you see? Wasn't my fault they buried their leader with an amulet that could be used by a greedy second in command to rewrite their culture's entire history."

A low laugh growled through his chest, fingertips touching lightly against her back.

"Tell me about your life then, Thea Queen. If I have to be Malcolm Merlyn someday, I should know the details," he teased gently.

[usedtoit]

She was suddenly glad that her head was ducked, that he couldn't see her face, because she was finding it increasingly difficult to not cry. His promise left her feeling aching and bitter, aware that he said and did all the things Malcolm should've said and done. If Jack Harkness and Malcolm Merlyn were the same person, she would've given anything for this version to be her dad instead.

Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears any longer, his words had her laughing, and she had to fight to keep it from sounding hysterical. Jesus, she was a wreck, a mess of almost-tears and and soft laughter and heartache and guilt. She turned her head, put her face in his chest, listened at the way his words rumbled.

"Sometimes your life doesn't even sound real," she said, and was pleased to find that she sounded marginally steadier than she felt.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking, trying to remember the parts of her life that were happy. It was hard to find them through all the tragic. "The Queens were a multi-billion dollar family. So were the Merlyns." She'd let him realize the implications of that himself. She grew up rich and privileged. That part wasn't hard to figure out. "I own and manage a club called Verdant. Ollie was the one who started it but I guess he wasn't cut out for business management."

[alifetime]

"My life is a very long story that I'll tell you some day, Thea, but not today. Not when I've got too many reminders of it staring me in the face."

His heartbeat was steady beneath his shirt, a pony-engine that didn't and couldn't give up. Jack's fingertips were gentle against her hair, drawing through the back of to try and calm her just as he had Ianto whenever he got wound up.

"It's all right, Thea. Easy," he murmured against his head, a shade above a whisper. "I've got you."

Her words made the shades clustered about less real even if he could hear the hurt in them. Whatever had happened to her had been bad, really bad given what little information he had gotten.

"What happened?" he asked in that same quiet voice. "Plenty of money, own a nightclub. What came next?"

And, he had to wonder, what or who was it that had driven Thea to this state.

[usedtoit]

"I like long stories. I'm holding you to that." She'd been interested in hearing his stories from the start, but he had his ghosts, too, and she wasn't going to ask him to talk about them. That wasn't fair.

She realized that she didn't need to calm down, she needed to let go. And he had her, he said so, so maybe it was okay for her to be weak this time. Just this once. She was tired of wearing her brave face.

So she pulled herself up smaller against him, curled her fingers into the fabric of his coat. She didn't cry loudly, didn't actually make a sound at all, but she stopped trying to hold back the tears and just let them fall instead. They wet her cheeks, and probably his shirt, too, but she'd apologize for that later.

"My--" She wanted to say 'dad', because Robert Queen had always been her dad. But that would probably sound confusing. "My step-dad died in a boat wreck when I was a kid. We thought Ollie did, too, but he came back. I watched my mom get murdered. My other brother died before I ever learned he was my brother, which was Malcolm's fault. A lot of things are Malcolm's fault." She paused and pulled in a breath that was shakier than she wanted it to be. "I wish I had happy things to tell you."

[alifetime]

"Mine would take a long time to tell. Would probably require dinner or good leisurely breakfast."

If there was one thing that Jack's six foot tall frame was good for, it was supporting others. In all manner of ways. Thankfully none of those came into his mind. Her tears wouldn't be the first ones his shirt had dried or her fingers the first that anchored themselves in his greatcoat. His arm shifted, cradling her more against his chest as if to defend her.

He listened quietly, letting her get the hurt out. His fingers continued to slow slide through his hair.

"I generally don't like happy stories because they're dull, because I don't understand them. But I wish your story could have been happy just because it's yours. That's a lot of tragedy to pile on anyone, especially a kid like you. I don't know how you've stayed sane."

A gentle kiss was pressed to the top of her head.

"At least Malcolm didn't make a mistake with you. There's some truth to kids being the best thing about some parents."

[usedtoit]

"How about breakfast for dinner? Since it's our only option."

She felt like a child cradled against his chest, warm and safe and protected. It wasn't unlike the way Robert had comforted her after a nightmare or the way Ollie had hugged her and reassured her any time it felt like everything was going so wrong. It also wasn't totally unlike the way Roy used to wrap her up and kiss her head and let her cling to his shirt.

"Sometimes I don't know that I have stayed sane," she said quietly. After all, she was seeing the ghost of the friend she had no memory of killing. She was weighted down by confusion and guilt and anger and it all felt jumbled and cluttered.

Crying was helping, though. Talking was helping. Jack was helping. Maybe Oliver would've been the more logical choice to turn to for this, but she found herself having a harder time with showing weakness around Ollie after learning just how strong he was. She felt like she had to try to match him stride for stride now. But she didn't feel that way with Jack.

"Ollie says that Malcolm wasn't always bad. But it's hard to see him as anything besides a murderer and a liar."

[alifetime]

"You're what, Thea... twenty? Twenty-one?"

Him laughing might have been an odd counterpoint to her tears, but it was honestly meant and full of good humor.

"Oh, Thea, you're sane. I was only kidding about that. We all go a little mad sometimes, when reality doesn't make sense or the world pushes us too hard and too fast. A little broken maybe, just like the rest of us."

His laughter fell off to a few small chufflings as he held her, the chest under her cheek expanding with a deep breath that he slowly released.

"I don't know what happened there besides what you've told me. My first instinct is to take your side, but I've seen too often how a different point of view can change a situation completely."

Jack sighed against her hair.

"Thea, I've been called a monster for the things I've done. A murderer, a liar, a thief... most anything. Once upon a time, I had to allow creatures to steal away a little girl while her mother screamed and begged me not to. Her fiancé was already lying dead a few feet behind us. She lost her daughter and her husband-to-be because I had to sacrifice one little girl the faeries had chosen to save scores of lives. To her, I'm a monster. A murderer. A liar. I said I would help, and I couldn't. I hurt that woman in a way that nothing can ever make better."

[usedtoit]

"Twenty," she said, emphasizing it. Not quite legal drinking age, not that that had ever stopped her before. "I just turned twenty. In January."

His words were oddly comforting, even though she felt that maybe they shouldn't be. Being called broken seemed like maybe it should be considered an insult, but it felt too accurate. She felt like she'd been a little bit broken for a long time but she wasn't sure how to fix herself. But it was the 'like the rest of us' that eased her the most. She wasn't alone. Everybody had their ghosts, literally and figuratively.

Even the idea that he might not take her side left her unsettled, made her curl up tighter. It was fair, she guessed, but she hated it.

"Malcolm Merlyn destroyed an entire part of the city and killed hundreds of people doing it, including his son, my brother. He manipulated me and lied to me and it's his fault that I have Sara's ghost, it's his fault that I'm-- like this." Her voice had started to give way to a bitter anger. "So I don't care what his reasons are, I will never forgive him."

She opened her eyes, immediately seeing Sara's ghostly figure standing off to the side. She lifted a hand to wipe her face, maybe make herself look a little bit less wrecked then she forced her gaze up, tilting her head back to look up at him. "I don't think you're a monster," she said quietly. Monsters didn't comfort upset, falling apart girls they'd known for less than a month.

[alifetime]

"Twenty. That was a long time ago for me, and sometimes when you get to my age, you forget what it was like being yours."

When he felt her draw closer into him, he pulled himself a little more securely around her. She felt broken to him, but a lot of people did. A lot of broken things washed up on Jack's shores and he took care of them as best he could. As best he was able.

"You don't have to forgive him, Thea," Jack murmured quietly. A hand pulled away long enough to fish a handkerchief from his pocket and press it gently against her cheek as she looked up. The smile he wore was kind, patient.

"What you do have to do is stop hating. Hate never really serves a purpose except to eat at a person. I can hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes. It stops a person in time, Thea. You can't go on with hate like that."

He chased one last tear with the handkerchief and touched a fingertip to the curve of her cheek. "You're better than that hate. You're Thea. That makes you unique, special, powerful. You are not Malcolm Merlyn, Oliver Queen or anyone else. What they've done shouldn't and can't rule who you are. Who you will be. Whoever this Sara is that you're seeing, if it wasn't your fault, would she know that?"

[usedtoit]

She let out a quiet laugh. It was maybe a little thick with tears, but it was genuine. "You don't look a day over twenty-five, Jack."

Her lips pulled in a small smile at the handkerchief. It seemed silly and old fashioned and she didn't even think people carried around handkerchiefs anymore. But if they suited anybody, it was Jack.

The smile was quick to fade though as she listened to his words. She hated Malcolm Merlyn. She hated him more than she thought she hated anything else. Maybe even more than she hated Slade Wilson. And she felt so tightly wound around it that she wasn't sure she could separate herself from it. It had become such a part of her in such a short amount of time, she didn't know if she could shake it.

She blinked away tears, still looking up at him. "I don't know if I can," she said quietly. "Sara was my friend. Malcolm gave me a drug that made me follow orders without remembering them. He made me kill Sara and I didn't know about it for months." She searched his face, gauging his reaction, and added, "I don't know how to not hate him."

[alifetime]

"I found a grey hair last year."

Jack's hands cupped her face in them. The gentle smile he had never faded. She reminded him some of Alice, his real daughter. Even had some of the same features. But he'd never really been there for her due to who he was, what he did and what he was. None of those would make for a good relationship.

"You look at yourself one day and say 'I don't want to be this anymore'. You realize that you're destroying yourself and those around you by holding onto that hate. That you make him more important than he is and rules you more. Hate is just as much a tool for manipulation as love is."

He tapped a fingertip to her nose as if she were a small child in his lap instead of a fully grown one.

"You're too pretty to hate someone. Puts lines on your face."

[usedtoit]

"I'll believe it when I see it."

She lifted a hand, bringing it up to curl long, slim fingers around one of his wrists, like she needed to be anchored to him. And maybe she did. She felt like she needed something stronger and better than her to hold onto, something that resembled hope and let her believe that maybe it would all be okay. And Jack was just that for her.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," she said, and it was punctuated by a slight sniffle. He had her laughing just a moment later, though, like he always did. He was so much better at cheering her up than her brother was.

"Impossible. Queens don't get lines."