![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Face to Face
Right. I saw the finale of Doctor Who series three, and let's say right here, I was hugely disappointed. Maybe I'll rant in more detail later.
But I'm in denial about one specific thing at the moment (if you've seen it, I'm sure you can guess) so I've written a turnip (that's my word for a "canon is still canon but here's your get-out-of-jail-free card" sort of fic) to prop up what remains of the already wobbly Doctor Who/Torchwood canon.
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 833
Summary: Jack reminisces a little on something he just told the Doctor and Martha...
Warnings: Spoiler for DW Series 3 episode 13 - though only that one little thing.
By the way - this is now my canon. Apologies to those of you who disagree, no offence intended.
A/N: Oh yeah. And there's plenty of canon that defies the little revelation. It just doesn't work. RTD hasn't been keeping track of what he himself has written regarding the whole issue. Clearly he just threw the line in to round Jack off in DW and give the fans some closure on him - whether it makes any flipping sense or not. Which it doesn't. Gack. I'm not getting started on that. Have escapist denial fic instead.
Face to Face
(or Jack's Ego May Be Out Of Control, But He's Not That Big-Headed)
Jack shoves his hands in his pockets and heads for the paving stone lift, smiling to himself. The Face of Boe. He hasn’t thought of that in years. That had been quite a month.
~*~
Of course, it had been the media that had started the whole business. They’d thought it was hilarious to give a twenty year old Human boy from a backwater little planet the same nickname as a forty thousand year old Oroiodron who’d travelled the universe. They’d even gone so far as to arrange a meeting between the two – his mother had kept all the holographs, always been showing off the one of him with his arm resting on old Boe’s head, both of them smiling broadly for their audience (he’d had the nerve to tell Boe a few of his filthier jokes when he’d discovered the Oroiodron had a wicked sense of humour, but they were tactful enough to claim Boe’s grin was due to him enjoying the fresh air, and the few hours he was allowed to spend out of his tank each day).
Even if the whole set-up had just been to please the media, it had still been a brilliant day for Jack. He and Boe had talked for hours – though admittedly the Oroiodron hadn’t talked so much, more used his telepathy to show Jack what his youth had been.
Jack was sure he’d never forget those scenes of Boe’s home planet, with groups of Oroiodrons (such giants compared to humans) playing and living peacefully, running on three legs through fields bigger than Jack’s home city, four arms always moving in a complex visual language (since telepathy was reserved for use with close friends and family – and he’d felt truly honoured when he’d found that out).
Seeing inside someone’s head like that was a sure fire way of getting attached to them. He’d only just managed not to burst into tears when he’d hugged as much of old Boe as he could reach before they sealed him back up in his tank again. Boe had neatly stopped him from crying by giving him a compressed telepathic glimpse of some of the many places he’d visited (and letting him know how to explore the memories at his leisure later on) and then wishing the Time Agency’s newest recruit as much good luck as he could spare. And then he’d told him an outrageously dirty joke involving a Tlethan, a Karide and a Human going to a bar. Jack remembered laughing until his sides hurt, and only daring to tell a few others in the Time Agency the joke, it was so filthy.
The meeting had been reported with delight in the local sector (headlines had dredged up every old pun they could find – Two Faced; Face to Face; Not Just A Pretty Face!; Face Off and far too many more), he’d been recognised everywhere he went for the week remaining before he shipped out, and then he’d been gone from home for a year, as per Time Agency directives.
(When he’d gone back at last, he’d found the hype had vanished – mostly because two girls (twins) had made it into the Agency as well, barely eight months after him. The media was a fickle mistress, he discovered. But he didn’t much care. He didn’t want the adulation of an ignorant public any more – he’d had to torture and kill on his last mission, and when he cried for hours in his mother’s arms, all he could bear to tell her was that life in the Agency wasn’t as great as he’d expected. (He felt sorry for the two girls – never did find out what happened to them in the end.) She’d told him repeatedly that it didn’t matter what happened, she’d love him no matter what, and he’d sworn he’d keep trying to make her proud. From then on she’d played down his fame – less of the, “My son, the Time Agent…” and more of simply, “My son…” – and, to his great relief, he’d dropped off the radar with no further ado.
The next time he’d gone back, she was dead. It was a small comfort that she didn’t live to see him turn criminal.)
~*~
Reaching the paving stone, Jack pauses for a second, wondering if he should have mentioned the original Face of Boe to the Doctor and Martha. Then he shakes his head, laughing to himself – what does it matter? It’s not as if they can get mixed up between him and old Boe, is it? The difference in species would be a bit of a giveaway to start with!
Grinning to himself now, trying to remember how that joke went (it started “A Tlethan, a Karide and a Human walk into a bar. They each order a hypervodka…” but where did it go from there again?), Jack hops onto the lift and activates it.
If he’s lucky, the team will have been back from the Himalayas long enough for Ianto to make some coffee.
But I'm in denial about one specific thing at the moment (if you've seen it, I'm sure you can guess) so I've written a turnip (that's my word for a "canon is still canon but here's your get-out-of-jail-free card" sort of fic) to prop up what remains of the already wobbly Doctor Who/Torchwood canon.
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 833
Summary: Jack reminisces a little on something he just told the Doctor and Martha...
Warnings: Spoiler for DW Series 3 episode 13 - though only that one little thing.
By the way - this is now my canon. Apologies to those of you who disagree, no offence intended.
A/N: Oh yeah. And there's plenty of canon that defies the little revelation. It just doesn't work. RTD hasn't been keeping track of what he himself has written regarding the whole issue. Clearly he just threw the line in to round Jack off in DW and give the fans some closure on him - whether it makes any flipping sense or not. Which it doesn't. Gack. I'm not getting started on that. Have escapist denial fic instead.
Face to Face
(or Jack's Ego May Be Out Of Control, But He's Not That Big-Headed)
Jack shoves his hands in his pockets and heads for the paving stone lift, smiling to himself. The Face of Boe. He hasn’t thought of that in years. That had been quite a month.
Of course, it had been the media that had started the whole business. They’d thought it was hilarious to give a twenty year old Human boy from a backwater little planet the same nickname as a forty thousand year old Oroiodron who’d travelled the universe. They’d even gone so far as to arrange a meeting between the two – his mother had kept all the holographs, always been showing off the one of him with his arm resting on old Boe’s head, both of them smiling broadly for their audience (he’d had the nerve to tell Boe a few of his filthier jokes when he’d discovered the Oroiodron had a wicked sense of humour, but they were tactful enough to claim Boe’s grin was due to him enjoying the fresh air, and the few hours he was allowed to spend out of his tank each day).
Even if the whole set-up had just been to please the media, it had still been a brilliant day for Jack. He and Boe had talked for hours – though admittedly the Oroiodron hadn’t talked so much, more used his telepathy to show Jack what his youth had been.
Jack was sure he’d never forget those scenes of Boe’s home planet, with groups of Oroiodrons (such giants compared to humans) playing and living peacefully, running on three legs through fields bigger than Jack’s home city, four arms always moving in a complex visual language (since telepathy was reserved for use with close friends and family – and he’d felt truly honoured when he’d found that out).
Seeing inside someone’s head like that was a sure fire way of getting attached to them. He’d only just managed not to burst into tears when he’d hugged as much of old Boe as he could reach before they sealed him back up in his tank again. Boe had neatly stopped him from crying by giving him a compressed telepathic glimpse of some of the many places he’d visited (and letting him know how to explore the memories at his leisure later on) and then wishing the Time Agency’s newest recruit as much good luck as he could spare. And then he’d told him an outrageously dirty joke involving a Tlethan, a Karide and a Human going to a bar. Jack remembered laughing until his sides hurt, and only daring to tell a few others in the Time Agency the joke, it was so filthy.
The meeting had been reported with delight in the local sector (headlines had dredged up every old pun they could find – Two Faced; Face to Face; Not Just A Pretty Face!; Face Off and far too many more), he’d been recognised everywhere he went for the week remaining before he shipped out, and then he’d been gone from home for a year, as per Time Agency directives.
(When he’d gone back at last, he’d found the hype had vanished – mostly because two girls (twins) had made it into the Agency as well, barely eight months after him. The media was a fickle mistress, he discovered. But he didn’t much care. He didn’t want the adulation of an ignorant public any more – he’d had to torture and kill on his last mission, and when he cried for hours in his mother’s arms, all he could bear to tell her was that life in the Agency wasn’t as great as he’d expected. (He felt sorry for the two girls – never did find out what happened to them in the end.) She’d told him repeatedly that it didn’t matter what happened, she’d love him no matter what, and he’d sworn he’d keep trying to make her proud. From then on she’d played down his fame – less of the, “My son, the Time Agent…” and more of simply, “My son…” – and, to his great relief, he’d dropped off the radar with no further ado.
The next time he’d gone back, she was dead. It was a small comfort that she didn’t live to see him turn criminal.)
Reaching the paving stone, Jack pauses for a second, wondering if he should have mentioned the original Face of Boe to the Doctor and Martha. Then he shakes his head, laughing to himself – what does it matter? It’s not as if they can get mixed up between him and old Boe, is it? The difference in species would be a bit of a giveaway to start with!
Grinning to himself now, trying to remember how that joke went (it started “A Tlethan, a Karide and a Human walk into a bar. They each order a hypervodka…” but where did it go from there again?), Jack hops onto the lift and activates it.
If he’s lucky, the team will have been back from the Himalayas long enough for Ianto to make some coffee.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
Page 6 of 8