DW/TW Fic: Lost in Hell (1/1)

[lizzledpink]

Title: Lost in Hell
Author: lizzledpink 
Character(s): Jack Harkness
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A somewhat long time after the 456, Captain Jack Harkness is drunk. (Not long enough.) Oneshot.
Warnings: Language, dark!fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own, I only borrow.
A/N: Thanks after thanks to celuthea  for beta/britpicking.

:::

Lost in Hell

Sometimes, I wonder why the Doctor saves us. And then I remind myself that humans are good, most of the time. Productive. Stuff like that.

Still doesn’t help.

Nothing does, really.

I don’t call myself human anymore, because I’m not. No human lives as long as I do, in the first place, so there’s the lifespan already out the window. Physiologically, I suppose I’m maybe ninety-five percent human. But more important is what I’ve done. I don’t call Wales home; I don’t call the Boeshane Peninsula home. At one point or another I called one of them home, but now I’m lost again. Trying to find another life. Running away. Gwen said I couldn’t, but that’s just it. I can. I have all the fucking time in the world to run. Any time in the world, even. Any time, in any world, ever since I got my Vortex Manipulator fixed, with no thanks to a certain sonic screwdriver. Anywhere, anywhen. Isn’t that just grand? Glorious?

Yeah. Didn’t think so.

These days, I can’t be bothered to remember. I remember that last week, at some point, I was on Arxaecis, in dot six five eight dash three square, as they would call it. In human terms, that’s the year 6323.

I remember I got pissed and sat on the side of the street, and I saw people. Just people. Not necessarily human people, of course. I tend to avoid humans these days.

I can’t look at their faces.

And every time I see a child, it kills me.

Yes, I’m being melodramatic. Get the hell over it.

Point is, I remember that, because I told myself that’s what happened. But I don’t remember it. I don’t remember the people I saw, or the faces, or what anything looked or smelled like, or anything I heard.

It’s just noise. All I remember is what happened. I don’t remember the events themselves. I can only remember so much, and frankly there are things I want to remember far, far more than some street on some backwater planet with some people.

Do I want to remember? Don’t have a choice, but do I? I’m not sure.

Because I remember so well.

Faces. They’re everywhere. Toshiko, Owen. Steven. Ianto. I can’t forget them. I don’t know if I want to. Maybe it’d be nice to forget, to slip away from the pain. But I can’t do that. I’m not a coward.

A medal to the Doctor for making sure of that. I was better off, I really was, and then he made me this, and I’m so fucking noble that I won’t let myself forget. Instead, I’m just dwelling in this pain and what am I even doing anymore?

I never told them. I never told him. I never told him.

And I want to hate so, so many people. I want to hate everybody. And again, I don’t. I’d like to hate Gwen and Rhys, bless their hearts, for living. I’d like to hate the Doctor for changing me. I’d like to hate Ianto for daring to leave me, or Steven for existing, or Lucia for getting pregnant with Melissa, or Alice (my Melissa) in turn, or… There are too many people to list them all. I want to hate them.

I don’t. One way or another I love each and every one of them. I was once told that was my gift. I fall in love easily, and share that love easily, and supposedly, I’m a good man.

A good man who killed his own grandson, and is responsible for the death of countless individuals. Without me, maybe the 456 would never have happened. Maybe not, of course. Who knows. (I think the Doctor would, but I can hardly ask).

Almost certainly, without me, many lives in Cardiff would be saved. I’m a selfish, helpless fool. I stayed in Cardiff because I wanted to help, I told myself. But they didn’t need me, not really. Didn’t my return, after the Year That Never Was, teach me that? No, of course it didn’t. Torchwood didn’t need me, I needed – no, I wanted Torchwood. The Hub was home. My home. For years. For a lifetime, and longer, the Hub was a home.

So selfish. So very, very selfish. Without me, Gray would never have come there, at the very least, and Captain Hart. Who knows what else I’ve attracted over the years. I can’t know. I don’t know if I wish I did know.

I’d like to go back to Cardiff, but I don’t fit there anymore. I’ve done enough. I can’t go back. I can’t have a home. This old, how could I ever? I don’t change. I don’t age. The world dies around me, and I stay still.

The irony has occurred to me, yes. I understand the Doctor better than ever. Maybe we’d get along better now. Probably not. Still love him, anyway. Always will, I think.

I love so many people, because I can’t hate them. Just myself.

Do I want to die? The Doctor asked me that, back on Malcassairo.

I don’t know the answer. Is it worse, wandering like this, or better?

And look at me. I just wander from interstellar pub to pub, these days. Sometimes, I see beautiful things, and I actually smile. It’s a strange feeling when that happens. Foreign. Forbidden. Other times, just for the hell of it, for old time’s sake, or maybe because I’m so fucking noble, I save lives. Do what the Doctor does. Save a kid from burning in a building, return him to his mother, and then get out of there before anybody notices. Maybe I shouldn’t introduce myself as Jack Harkness anymore. Just “the Captain.”

Or not. Too cliché. I don’t know how those Time Lords gets away with it.

Could always pick a new name. New name, new person, new me. I’ve been Captain Jack Harkness for too long.

I’m probably too pissed to think of one. And I just don’t care. I don’t care enough to change that name. It’s worn out its welcome, but I’m keeping it anyway because I can’t be bothered to toss it out. Not yet, if ever.

Toshiko said Jack would be proud of what I’ve done with his name. Maybe. I don’t know. Like most things, I’m not certain. Everything’s so foggy when you see it through grief-tinted glasses. Right now, though… Doubt it. Really, really doubt it.

I should pull myself together. Find a new life, a new purpose. Go see Gwen and Rhys, maybe. But again, I’m selfish. Tomorrow, I’ll disappear to some other planet I don’t care about, and find something else to do. Somebody else’s life to ruin.

I think I’m tired of being a hero. And I’m not crazy enough to want to be a villain. And I can’t be an ordinary person, either.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

I’ve forgotten who I am. And I think I’ve also forgotten how to fall in love. It’s strange, because I usually do it so easily. Oh, I still flirt. Still eye up every remotely humanoid and attractive being that comes my way. I’m hardly going to stop appreciating what’s right in front of me.

But there’s a disconnect. I’m not really there. I can’t fall in love anymore, and that’s never happened before, not since I was a child. As if the rest of my eternal life wasn’t already confusing, now I’ve lost what was always a key part of me. I don’t know when I lost it, but it’s gone, and that scares me. So much.

I’m wandering through time and space, and I know exactly where I am.

I am completely lost.

Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll find myself again, out amongst the stars. Worst case scenario, it takes a few millennia. No matter. I’ve got so much time on my hands. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but at the very least, and I know this from experience, it’ll help them scar over. And then I’ll start again. Find a new home. Or something.

But right now, I’m sloshed, and I’m sitting at a bar, and I don’t particularly feel like moving.

There’s life. Cheers. Put it on my tab.

Today, yet again, I will do my best to drink myself away.

Wish me luck.