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Description
Broken Strings - A Torchwood Fanfiction
The German Blitz...a fated meeting in a pub somewhere in the middle of London
****************

Prologue
_____________

London 1941, a young man leans against the railings of a bridge. Just one little move separates him from salvation; one little step to end his nightmare but he doesn’t jump.

He just stares down into the dark and shallow void right in front of his eyes.
He doesn’t care that the German Blitz is taking its toll on the area around him.
He doesn’t care about the German air raid; there is no shelter for him.
He can’t smell the stench of death and destruction anymore.

“Listen. The minstrels sing,
In the departed villages…”

He raises his bottle to the sound of bombs detonating all around him; his face now sports a sarcastic shadow of what may once have been an honest smile.

“…The nightingale,
Dust in the buried wood, flies on the grains of her wings
And spells on the winds of the dead his winter's tale.”

Dylan fits, Dylan is right for this occasion and the man drinks.
Drinks for his lost friends; drinks for his lost love and drinks again for his lost life…
He can’t stop the burning flow of alcohol; he won’t stop it.
He drinks until oblivion; hoping never to regain consciousness again...

Day one: Strange encounters
_____________________________

A man is striding through the centre of London.
He knows his destination. It is almost midnight when he finds the pub he is looking for.
He straightens his collar and walks in; wearing his brand-new uniform and along with it a completely new identity.

Captain Jack Harkness; he likes this name. It has a certain ring to it.
Way better than his last one. As much as he enjoyed Pompeji; Gaius Quintus Pulcher just lacks a certain something. He loves the fashion of ancient times; togas and tunics can be quite revealing and those Romans used to have fabulous legs.

But still, he thinks, this uniform must be one of his favourite costumes so far. Captain Jack Harkness is a hero of course, a decorated man and brilliant in combat situations of... course.

He died a few days ago which is unfortunate for him but very convenient for Jack, well... this Jack who has taken, or better, borrowed the captain’s identity until the first time agents would eventually show up.

This pub is nothing out of the ordinary but it has certain charms to it. People in here don't automatically stare or condemn you as soon as you do anything the majority of the population in this time would regard as an obscene or perverted act; this place is just what he needs.

Jack is feeling great. The forties are fun if you’re just here on visit; nobody wants to waste any time so everybody is pretty straightforward with his wishes and getting nightly company in this doomed times isn't really a big challenge. Not, that it ever had been for a man like him.

It is his third night in London and he is going to celebrate it with some of his new-found friends. He definitely won’t leave the pub all on his own, not tonight.

Jack is too busy greeting people he hardly knows and drinking to their health so he doesn’t notice the astonished pair of eyes that has been following him ever since he entered the room.

******************
The young man almost drops his glass when he sees him.
This can’t be; his eyes must be playing a cruel trick to his alcohol-infused mind.

It must be somebody else who just looks exactly like him. He refuses to believe that the man currently leaning on the counter is the man he knows so well and yet none at all.

But… that hair…those eyes…this laugh… even their damn coats are almost identical. They are too similar… Still there is something different about this man he can’t fathom and he definitely knows that he isn’t going to.

He drowns the contents of his glass and orders a new drink. Life is cruel and merciless and it has found just another way to torture him even more than before.

******************

Jack has been feeling watched for some time but hasn’t really paid attention to it.
Now eyes have never been something Jack is feeling uncomfortable with.
He is used to eyes following him wherever he goes; he blames it on his charisma.

But something is different about this night and it has made him curious.
Jack is currently trying to chat up a cute soldier right next to him but he looks up from time to time to and throws a quick glance over the room; it is then when their eyes meet.

It can’t be any longer than just a few moments.
But even that is enough for those eyes to burn into the very core of his soul.
These eyes are special and they are holding a strange attraction to him, they look old…maybe too old for the face they belong to. They are not filled with admiration for his dashing looks like those of the others he’s encountered before but maybe that’s the attraction…or not?

The look those eyes are holding surprises Jack. First a look of utter disbelief, then recognition and finally resignation before the other man finishes his drink and turns to the barman to order a new one.

This is new; Jack is sure he doesn’t know this man.
He surely would have remembered a cute face like that.
So why this reaction?

Jack can’t help watching; the other man seems to be drinking alone.
He is dressed like the other people in this cramped space but something about him doesn’t look right. Not that the young man isn’t looking alright; on the contrary; he is definitely Jack’s type …in a pretty standoffish kind of way.

The expression on his face is hard but Jack can also detect a hint of sadness behind the cold façade. He looks so lost…enraptured of this world but there is also a fire deep down inside. Jack can feel it and there is nothing more he wants than to touch it.

Jack is intrigued by this mysterious man, so intrigued that he neglects the cute soldier next to him and doesn’t even notice the rather obvious invitation to spend the night together from his previous object of desire. What does snap him back into reality is the resounding slap against his face resulting from his recent change of behaviour towards the man he is currently supposed to talk to. When Jack recovers enough to look into his direction again the place at the bar is deserted.

He makes up his mind and asks the barman about that man but he just shakes his head.
“Oh he’s a regular customer. But if I were you I wouldn’t mess with this lad my friend. He doesn’t look like it but he’s got one hell of a right hook if you ask me. You should have seen the last guy who tried to hit on him…not nice but at least he had the decency to fight outside of my pub. Do yourself a favour and try someone else; he’s definitely not what you’re looking for.”

So he has been right; there is something smouldering behind the fragile exterior and should God damn him if he wouldn’t get to see it. Jack had never been afraid of challenges and he knows he will definitely take on this one. He has been hooked and wouldn’t let go of this man again; he would come back sooner or later.

******************

The young man is staggering on his way through the streets. Damn alcohol. His fingers are shakily clutching a bottle of booze and he takes another gulp of that godforsaken liquid.

Tears are threatening to make their way down his face as long suppressed memories force their way up to the surface of his consciousness. Memories of the attack, memories of blood and memories of the Toclafane…

He takes a few more gulps to block the biting air of January along with the straining pain in his chest and continues his way back to his shelter as the world continues to reel around him.
“Jack.”

TBC

Description
Broken Strings - A Torchwood Fanfiction
The German Blitz...a fated meeting in a pub somewhere in the middle of London
****************

Prologue
_____________

London 1941, a young man leans against the railings of a bridge. Just one little move separates him from salvation; one little step to end his nightmare but he doesn’t jump.

He just stares down into the dark and shallow void right in front of his eyes.
He doesn’t care that the German Blitz is taking its toll on the area around him.
He doesn’t care about the German air raid; there is no shelter for him.
He can’t smell the stench of death and destruction anymore.

“Listen. The minstrels sing,
In the departed villages…”

He raises his bottle to the sound of bombs detonating all around him; his face now sports a sarcastic shadow of what may once have been an honest smile.

“…The nightingale,
Dust in the buried wood, flies on the grains of her wings
And spells on the winds of the dead his winter's tale.”

Dylan fits, Dylan is right for this occasion and the man drinks.
Drinks for his lost friends; drinks for his lost love and drinks again for his lost life…
He can’t stop the burning flow of alcohol; he won’t stop it.
He drinks until oblivion; hoping never to regain consciousness again...

Day one: Strange encounters
_____________________________

A man is striding through the centre of London.
He knows his destination. It is almost midnight when he finds the pub he is looking for.
He straightens his collar and walks in; wearing his brand-new uniform and along with it a completely new identity.

Captain Jack Harkness; he likes this name. It has a certain ring to it.
Way better than his last one. As much as he enjoyed Pompeji; Gaius Quintus Pulcher just lacks a certain something. He loves the fashion of ancient times; togas and tunics can be quite revealing and those Romans used to have fabulous legs.

But still, he thinks, this uniform must be one of his favourite costumes so far. Captain Jack Harkness is a hero of course, a decorated man and brilliant in combat situations of... course.

He died a few days ago which is unfortunate for him but very convenient for Jack, well... this Jack who has taken, or better, borrowed the captain’s identity until the first time agents would eventually show up.

This pub is nothing out of the ordinary but it has certain charms to it. People in here don't automatically stare or condemn you as soon as you do anything the majority of the population in this time would regard as an obscene or perverted act; this place is just what he needs.

Jack is feeling great. The forties are fun if you’re just here on visit; nobody wants to waste any time so everybody is pretty straightforward with his wishes and getting nightly company in this doomed times isn't really a big challenge. Not, that it ever had been for a man like him.

It is his third night in London and he is going to celebrate it with some of his new-found friends. He definitely won’t leave the pub all on his own, not tonight.

Jack is too busy greeting people he hardly knows and drinking to their health so he doesn’t notice the astonished pair of eyes that has been following him ever since he entered the room.

******************
The young man almost drops his glass when he sees him.
This can’t be; his eyes must be playing a cruel trick to his alcohol-infused mind.

It must be somebody else who just looks exactly like him. He refuses to believe that the man currently leaning on the counter is the man he knows so well and yet none at all.

But… that hair…those eyes…this laugh… even their damn coats are almost identical. They are too similar… Still there is something different about this man he can’t fathom and he definitely knows that he isn’t going to.

He drowns the contents of his glass and orders a new drink. Life is cruel and merciless and it has found just another way to torture him even more than before.

******************

Jack has been feeling watched for some time but hasn’t really paid attention to it.
Now eyes have never been something Jack is feeling uncomfortable with.
He is used to eyes following him wherever he goes; he blames it on his charisma.

But something is different about this night and it has made him curious.
Jack is currently trying to chat up a cute soldier right next to him but he looks up from time to time to and throws a quick glance over the room; it is then when their eyes meet.

It can’t be any longer than just a few moments.
But even that is enough for those eyes to burn into the very core of his soul.
These eyes are special and they are holding a strange attraction to him, they look old…maybe too old for the face they belong to. They are not filled with admiration for his dashing looks like those of the others he’s encountered before but maybe that’s the attraction…or not?

The look those eyes are holding surprises Jack. First a look of utter disbelief, then recognition and finally resignation before the other man finishes his drink and turns to the barman to order a new one.

This is new; Jack is sure he doesn’t know this man.
He surely would have remembered a cute face like that.
So why this reaction?

Jack can’t help watching; the other man seems to be drinking alone.
He is dressed like the other people in this cramped space but something about him doesn’t look right. Not that the young man isn’t looking alright; on the contrary; he is definitely Jack’s type …in a pretty standoffish kind of way.

The expression on his face is hard but Jack can also detect a hint of sadness behind the cold façade. He looks so lost…enraptured of this world but there is also a fire deep down inside. Jack can feel it and there is nothing more he wants than to touch it.

Jack is intrigued by this mysterious man, so intrigued that he neglects the cute soldier next to him and doesn’t even notice the rather obvious invitation to spend the night together from his previous object of desire. What does snap him back into reality is the resounding slap against his face resulting from his recent change of behaviour towards the man he is currently supposed to talk to. When Jack recovers enough to look into his direction again the place at the bar is deserted.

He makes up his mind and asks the barman about that man but he just shakes his head.
“Oh he’s a regular customer. But if I were you I wouldn’t mess with this lad my friend. He doesn’t look like it but he’s got one hell of a right hook if you ask me. You should have seen the last guy who tried to hit on him…not nice but at least he had the decency to fight outside of my pub. Do yourself a favour and try someone else; he’s definitely not what you’re looking for.”

So he has been right; there is something smouldering behind the fragile exterior and should God damn him if he wouldn’t get to see it. Jack had never been afraid of challenges and he knows he will definitely take on this one. He has been hooked and wouldn’t let go of this man again; he would come back sooner or later.

******************

The young man is staggering on his way through the streets. Damn alcohol. His fingers are shakily clutching a bottle of booze and he takes another gulp of that godforsaken liquid.

Tears are threatening to make their way down his face as long suppressed memories force their way up to the surface of his consciousness. Memories of the attack, memories of blood and memories of the Toclafane…

He takes a few more gulps to block the biting air of January along with the straining pain in his chest and continues his way back to his shelter as the world continues to reel around him.
“Jack.”

TBC