Fic: As Time Goes By
Yes, I’ve been writing again. Hope you like, it’s a bit silly to be honest. Comments are love, if you need to yell at me I'm over here, hiding in this corner.
Title: As Time Goes By
Words: About 3000
Spoilers: Set after Parting of the Ways
Rating: Only what you read into it
Summary: Of all the cities in all the worlds, of all time, it had to be here and now? Jack’s view on the 21st century.
Note 1: Thanks to my lovely betas ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
xwingace and neadods for corrections, suggestions and kindness. It took a very long while to write this and without you two and your unbelievable patience it would’ve never been what it is now. Thank you so much.
Note 2: This is a kind of sequel to We’ll always have Paris, but it makes sense without it as well I hope.
Disclaimer: I’m just playing with other and richer people’s things.
Fic Masterlist: Here.
Historians very early on decided that history can be a very annoying thing.
This is a fact every time traveller has probably experienced first hand already, for example while running from an angry mob of Vandals because one had the nerve to state that obviously the prejudices against them were all true. Also it would be helpful to know when it is safe to refuse to marry the princess and when to agree, even if that means entering into an engagement centuries before the invention of leg shaving (a common fear among travelling historians).
This kind of fear is one of the reasons why the Encyclopaedia Galactica dedicates two entire chapters of its 330th volume to Earth; one to mankind in general, and one specifically to the events of the 20th and 21st centuries.
It describes the achievements in art, science and technology of these years in great detail, expressing how vital and important this timespan was for mankind and its journey to the stars, starting a new era.
Critics find the entry a bit dull, but most agree that the time itself didn’t make the entry any more interesting.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy uses exactly 2 words to describe the Earth during the first thirty centuries its third most intelligent species (which is counted as the dominant one by simple virtue of it being of the sort to write things down) thought worth counting, and in fact a few centuries before and after as well: Mostly harmless.
It is of course obvious that this entry is far less useful than the information found in the Encyclopaedia, but a tourist has to make some compromises when travelling the galaxy. With its 500 volumes the Encyclopaedia isn’t the best travelling guide, and people hardly ever visit the 21st century (or Earth) anyway.
And even if Earth is visited, the Stone Age with its many princesses is much more fun for tourists using the Guide, even if the situation occasionally gets a bit hairy. 'Mostly harmless' is about the only thing a Hitchhiker will ever need to know when crashing, let’s say in 2006, on a damp little island its inhabitants tend to call Britain.
---
Jack Harkness discovered the usual way that carrying an edition of the Encyclopaedia perhaps wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Quite apart from the information it could have imparted, he could have used the volumes to build a shelter from the rain that was quickly soaking him.
He’d woken up lying drunk in a field and stared at the stars through the gaps in the clouds above without any idea how he had gotten here. Except for possibly keeping him slightly drier, he doubted that any book could help him, though. There was no practical reason why of all places in the universe he would be exactly where he was now, somewhere that his wrist computer had identified as 21st century Earth, Wales, before it short-circuited and left him alone with his curses.
That had been half a day ago and things hadn’t improved since then.
Apart from the fact that he had got hold of a bottle of vodka, this century was really getting to him. No space ships in the night sky. No sign of the Moon Colony. Not one bottle of Hyper Vodka to be had in the primitive stores. He was stranded. Again.
Waking up with an enormous hangover in some godforsaken place with no idea how he’d come to be in that situation was starting to become a painfully familiar experience. And getting angry or upset about it would do him exactly no good at all, except possibly give him a larger headache.
If all he’d learned in Paris was true the best way to deal with this kind of situation was to do exactly one thing and one thing only: Nothing.
Eventually, something would turn up and give him a chance at a ride out of here.
He shot the bottle in his hand an unfocused look of anger. He was so out of practice in drinking. Time was, he’d have finished his fourth bottle of stronger liquor than this and not even be halfway to pleasantly drunk. Whereas now... He closed his eyes, partly to stop the stars rotating above him, partly to gather what he knew about this century. There was a very long pause in his thoughts and he gave up on it when he realized that he hadn’t dozed off but was still trying to find things he knew for sure.
They had chips in the 21st century, he knew that. And he thought cows and rubbish dumps came into it somewhere. There was also a city named Cardiff he’d been to twice, but he hadn’t seen much of it. Rose had taken him to a Top Shop, the mayor had been an alien in disguise (which happened more often than one would think) and they’d had chips. The end.
He cursed his own hedonism for choosing the interesting times and places for his cons instead of something out-of-the-way like Cardiff in the 21st century. Cardiff.
He wasn’t even sure the Agency knew the place, but it was as good as any to go to find a way home. Wherever that was. Any other time, any other place he’d have known where to go to get free mead/wine/beer/hypervodka from a friendly and sometimes eight-legged host, but this?
So it was the 21st century versus Jack Harkness. No weapons, no time limit; a battle to the death.
For a moment he regretted flunking Early Human History at the Academy, but then he remembered the reason why he’d failed and wasn’t so sorry after all. Whatever his teacher had told the headmasters afterwards, it had been worth it for both of them.
But even without such a devoted teacher he would stand tall, find a way off this rock and back to the Hyper Vodka. He raised his fist into the night sky, certain to win this battle, and tried to get up. Clearly he had forgotten to inform his legs of his plan, because his head was rather surprised to find itself hitting the ground again. He closed his eyes.
There was time enough to defeat this freaking century tomorrow.
---
The world looked as bleak as Jack felt when he had gathered enough strength to open one eye.
It was this moment that he decided he’d had it with responsibility. Death by Dalek was just the most recent argument to drop this habit once and for all. No more Captain, no more conning, no more work, no more running for his life. He would take some time off the time-travelling business; get to know the century he’d crashed in a bit better. He had never bothered to do this before, but being stranded with absolutely no way to escape had changed his view on things extremely.
Like the hangover memories started to creep into his head while he trodded through the soft soil, reminding him that he had once before been a tourist to this century. It had been a short visit, the century duller and stranger than the Encyclopedia Galactica had claimed.
He wasn’t sure if it was the vodka or the memories that gave him headaches now.
---
“Wow.”
Some years ago, but still in Wales 2006 (time travel is weird that way) Cadet Jack Harkness -- currently on an unscheduled holiday-- peered into the huge black eyes of the creature in front of him.
“Just… wow.” he said again, hoping it would be enough to show how he impressed was.
Of all the creatures he had seen in the history books or the VR lectures, he had never felt so impressed before.
He had heard so much about these animals at the Academy, had seen the footprints they had left behind when they died out. While studying them from records he had never had the time to appreciate them as they should be. But now, on holiday in this marvellous century -truly the most interesting and important one he knew- he had finally the chance to experience them first hand.
He held out a hand and the placid beast licked it. His teacher was right. Nothing beat personal experience.
“Wow.” Jack hadn’t meant to whisper, but was still lost for words. Maybe it was better this way, he didn’t want to cause a paradox by babbling on his first travel through time.
Behind him his guide to this unique example of Earth fauna snorted and mumbled something resembling “Bloody city people,” but Jack ignored that outburst of hatred.
Jack didn’t notice the frown forming on his guide’s face when he continued “I’ve seen pictures, but this is marvellous!” He turned to the farmer.
“Does she give milk? Like, real milk?” The farmer very carefully shook his head, as if not to disturb his visitor “That’s Luke, my bull.”
Milk. Real milk came from these beasts. He'd always been fascinated by that ancient liquid still vital to any good tea. He'd been reading up on this sort of thing, and was pretty sure he could milk a cow. Maybe prove his personal theory what that cocktail of proteins really was.
"Nice cow, niiiice cow..."
He'd just noticed that the back end didn't match the pictures of the "Survival Skills for Primitive Eras" book when his guide started shouting to get away.
He never understood why the farmer was suddenly so eager to get rid of him.
---
He was a tourist, but he would still need a decent ride.
The black van he stole was hilariously primitive considering speed and safety, but at least it was more comfortable than walking and it would fit into this primitive century.
The men he stole it from were far from happy about him finding means of transport, of course, but their blaster shots were safely absorbed by the car’s energy shield.
He shifted a broken Sontaran scanner and a heap of cables off to the back, trying to find the Food Replicator and get a decent Martini out of it before he realized both probably hadn’t been invented yet.
He scratched his head. How could they live without the basics? Replicator technology was vital for space travel. Creating matter out of thin air, it was the solution to most of the problems that had hampered astronauts for centuries. It made life aboard a space ship possible. And it was capable of producing much more palatable food than was generally available in ninety-five percent of the galaxy.
He didn’t even dare to think of the life these people led without Martinis.
A quick search through the trunk (after disabling the homing beacon of course) led to more scanners and a half-eaten sandwich. He shook his head. How primitive.
He grinned when the radio played a traditional ballad of Earth and decided to take it as a good omen for his trip. This was going to be fun, he decided. The car was nothing compared to his Chula ship, but at least he wouldn’t have any trouble remembering where he had parked it.
At least that was what he thought before he discovered what a parking lot was.
---
He had no idea how he did it with a sublight vessel, but on his way through the countryside (far too much green for his taste; he missed the greys of his childhood) he was obviously going too fast.
Jack discovered quickly that laughing at policemen was a very bad idea and was followed by lots of primitive tests for alcohol and other drugs. When he flirted with the officer, stating he had an excellent bottom, they made him do their tests again. He was smart enough not to annoy them any further.
His slightly psychic paper was the only thing that spared him a night or more in prison, although Jack was pretty certain that the two guys now had a very low opinion of the King of Belgium.
---
“Wow,” he said again to anyone who cared to listen. He hadn’t ever considered them to be so big.
The 21st century was really full of surprises, to think he had almost missed one of the first monuments of mankind. Pity they didn’t offer guided tours yet.
”Horrible, isn’t it?” the student (because only students ever dressed that silly -- except for himself, of course) asked, clutching a protest banner with some rude sentence scribbled on it.
That and the disgusted look on the student’s face reminded Jack of his glorious times on Woodstock 69 in the vicinity of Ursa Major. Some things obviously never changed.
“Beautiful,” Jack said, stepping closer to the fence to get a better view.
He noticed that frowning was something the natives to this era seemed to do quite a lot. “You think landfills are beautiful?”
“Yes, yes, look at it!” Jack gestured towards the big piles of garbage, seagulls covering most free spaces.
“The amount of historical artefacts conserved for future generations, the plastic, the gas! It’ll be vital for the future of mankind and all you lot did was hide it so well under all that soil.”
He never noticed his audience growing. He didn’t mean to change history somehow, but the silly students didn’t seem to understand at all (some things really never changed –again, present speaker excepted). He had recited his professor of Ancient Artefacts quite perfectly, were they stupid?
“Sir, I think you should go” one of them said, but Jack ignored the grumbles growing in the crowd around him.
“Why? I haven’t even seen the good stuff, like the toxic waste, or the nuclear---”
He was hunted off the premises by an angry crowd of environmentalists.
---
He made a small detour and some inquiries because he couldn’t keep himself from searching for Algy. Somehow seeing an old friend would be a welcome change to all the strangers frowning at him, he was sure.
He found himself amidst an old fashioned war cemetery before he had a chance to realize what he was doing, asking for the gardener. The withered man looked nothing like the Algy he knew, but his eyes, his eyes were still the same. Jack’s legs became a bit shaky when Algy showed him a cross with his name on it. Algy would never know how fitting this fake grave was for a man like Jack Harkess.
“Jack’s grandson, huh?” Algy looked him up and down. “Almost as pretty as him.”
Jack laughed, but it was strangled, because he was reminded suddenly why he had always despised linear time so much. Age.
He kissed Algy, deeply, like he had done so many times before. It was nothing more than a memory of a life they had both left behind.
Algy broke the kiss, running a hand through his snow white hair before licking his lips and grinning shakily.
“Definitely a Harkness, yes.”
Jack refused the offer to get to know the grandchildren; he feared he wouldn’t be able to resist flirting with them, not even with Algy present.
He sent Algy on his way with one last slap on his backside.
---
When he finally reached Cardiff he decided that achievement was worth conning his way to some free beer.
He was surprised to be drunk under the table by mere students. He didn’t find that out immediately, however. He only realised it when he woke up in a rather shabby flat that wasn’t his own 2 days later. At least he thought it couldn’t be his flat. He would never have used a carpet that was so uncomfortable. He would never have a flat come to that, he added when he looked around and thought about all the money he would need to buy such useless things like sofas.
When the host offered a coffee without showing any hint of a hangover he decided to invent the Hyper Vodka a century too early, just to wipe that smug grin off the student’s face. He was still wondering where he might get the distiller and the appropriate amount of chicken when he realized that he had very probably misplaced his car.
---
When he opened the door to go out in search of his (by now beloved but still primitive) vehicle with that lovely and in every way hazardous combustion engine he literally bumped into two men in black suits. He was clearly losing his mind.
“Captain Jack Harkness?”
He just blinked at the official looking man, who fidgeted under his blank stare.
He tried to show his credentials as the King of Belgium again, but these guys had obviously received some sort of basic psychic training. Not Agents (he would’ve been on the floor by now, and not in a way he liked), but still a menace.
“I am a representative of the Torchwood Institute, would you please come with us?”
Maybe there was more to this century than he had thought. Maybe there was a way out of this time zone. “Why?”
“It’s not every day we get to track down time travellers from 1941, we might have a job offer for you.”
Work. Of course. But then he hadn’t much of a choice now they knew he was there. And the tourist thing was getting a bit dull. Of course he wouldn’t let these guys know that.
The Agents fidgeted under his well practiced “I don’t know what you mean,” but wouldn’t leave. He had planned to slam the door shut, but his host for the last two nights chose this moment of all to yell, “Harkness! What have you done to my kitchen?!” for everyone to hear.
Jack closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, weighing his options. Working for an organization able to track him down versus cleaning a stranger’s kitchen. The two men in suits knew as well as him what he would choose, but unlike them, he had no urge to grin.
“I’ll get my coat…” he looked back at the mess of a room "I'll get a coat."
Only on his way down the stairs the most interesting question crossed his mind. He asked it of his guards as he walked out the door, into yet another new life: “How did you find me?”
His two escorts gave him a look that told the trained eye they had suffered quite a lot to do so.
“You stole our car.”
“Oh.”
These guys were good.
crappy
