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| 1: Prologue |
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“Jack?” “Doctor?” “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “I know that look.
I’ve seen that look on faces in every corner of the galaxy. Not that the galaxy has corners, so why I use
that expression I have no idea. Unless
you count that angular little niche just outside…” “What look?” “Look? Oh yes, the look.
Like you’ve put down an entire planet and can’t remember where you left
it.” “You mean… Okay, I
guess I… I think I’m a little…homesick.” “It doesn’t look like homesickness. That’s almost impersonal by comparison. It looks more like a who sickness. A not-having-who sickness.” “I’m fine.
Really. I’ll get over it.” “Yes,” the Doctor virtually sang, smiling kindly and knowing
better. “Of course you will.” … It suited Jack to dismiss it at first, the concept of a
not-having-who sickness. But his heart evidently knew that the Doctor
was right, and the knowledge gradually rippled throughout his being. It was a niggle that became an inkling that
grew to a suspicion and finally developed into a gut-wrenching certainty. He was missing a who more than a home. He thought long and hard and eventually surmised that the
present emotional dive was a side effect of his condition improving exponentially.
In his year-and-a-half on the TARDIS he’d had what he considered to be
the necessary attention by the right kind of doctor: he’d experienced some
painfully intensive, typically oddball therapy, thrown a few punches, absorbed a
hatful of long overdue explanations, and received many suitably earnest
apologies. Everything had come together
to help his heart mend and his confusion fade. He’d also been reassured that, despite his intense fears to the contrary, he wasn’t
some kind of spiritual black hole. On the madcap days when adventure was all and there were monsters to be faced and lives to be saved, Jack could exist in the moment and be satisfied with his rôle. But when it was quiet he had time to stare at this creature before him (whose countenance was pretty enough despite lacking a certain…character) and see beyond the superficial. It took time arriving, the courage to admit to himself that this wasn’t his doctor with an unfamiliar face, but a new doctor, an entirely different man, who merely shared a few memories. It wasn’t what Jack had expected and it wasn’t enough. Therefore, when life aboard the TARDIS was tranquil, when he felt wholly welcome but not entirely necessary, Jack’s thoughts drifted away from the Doctor and inexorably toward Cardiff, where he was unquestionably needed. Cardiff, Torchwood, his team, his friends. One individual monopolised his thoughts. The right kind of Archivist. It took time arriving, the courage to admit it all to
himself, but once it was admitted,
that’s when the sense of loss threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn’t, however, until a trip to seventeenth century
Venice and a visit to a newly fashionable coffee house that his mourning became
undeniable and unbearable.
Aggressive. The Doctor found
himself offering bewildered consolation and attempting to pick through furious, choked and
broken statements on the brutality of a common aroma and how it could rend a
man’s heart. … “Jack.” “Doctor?” “I’m taking you home.” “No.” “No?” the Doctor repeated curiously as his hand remained
poised over the TARDIS console’s pertinent lever. “Take me…” The briefest pause for thought and, decision made, the crushing, oppressive weight he’d unconsciously borne for months began to lift from Jack’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and pictured the face that haunted far too many of his dreams; for a split second memories were almost tangible and happiness very nearly real. “Why do I get the distinct impression you’ve remembered where you left that planet?” The Doctor’s grin was unbearably smug – nothing new there – but Jack wiped it from his face with a chaste goodbye kiss that reminded them of a previous, far more traumatic parting. For decades Jack had wanted to wind time back to that moment in his past; the realisation that he was, at last, looking forward to the future brought forth a beaming smile that contrasted quite stunningly with the tears that filled his eyes. “Take me,” he sighed, “to Ianto. Ianto Jones.”
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