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More Torchwood fanfiction, this one just a small ficlet, just a little over 300 words.
Title: Promise
Author: Aisalynn
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Owen
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for season two's Adam, Reset and Dead Man Walking
Summary: There was something driving him to do this, though he didn't know what.
He wasn’t sure why he had to do it. Wasn’t sure why he would disregard his better judgment, and what he knew his team would want, just for a chance, a possibility.
Thirty seconds.
Parts of his mind told him he was being rash, stupid. After what happened with Suzie and Gwen, only an idiot would attempt it again. He wasn’t even sure if he could make the glove work for him, so removed from death as he was. He’d tried before. It didn’t work. He couldn’t reach it, couldn’t let enough of himself go into the cold dark to bring life back.
Maybe he just didn’t have enough mortality in him to give up, to sacrifice.
He tried to tell himself it wasn’t worth it. That Owen wouldn’t have wanted it this way, and bringing him back for so short of time wasn’t worth fighting off a hundred weevils in an old abandoned church. (Death by weevil really was one of his least favorite ways of dying.)
But he knew, even if all he accomplished here was that he got to hear Owen complain for thirty seconds, it was worth it.
He wasn’t sure what it was, but something was driving him to do this. It was there, on the edge of his conscious, like a dream he’d woken up from, but couldn’t remember.
Save a life, save hundreds…It’s never enough.
If he thought hard enough the reason would suddenly come into focus: brief glimpses of a darkened room, broken expressions on pale faces, softly muttered words floating through his mind before disappearing.
Who will save me?
Leaving him only with this feeling, like there was something making him try, whatever the cost. Something like…
Jack placed a comforting hand on Owen’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as bent down.
“I will.”
Something like a promise.
Thirty seconds.
Parts of his mind told him he was being rash, stupid. After what happened with Suzie and Gwen, only an idiot would attempt it again. He wasn’t even sure if he could make the glove work for him, so removed from death as he was. He’d tried before. It didn’t work. He couldn’t reach it, couldn’t let enough of himself go into the cold dark to bring life back.
Maybe he just didn’t have enough mortality in him to give up, to sacrifice.
He tried to tell himself it wasn’t worth it. That Owen wouldn’t have wanted it this way, and bringing him back for so short of time wasn’t worth fighting off a hundred weevils in an old abandoned church. (Death by weevil really was one of his least favorite ways of dying.)
But he knew, even if all he accomplished here was that he got to hear Owen complain for thirty seconds, it was worth it.
He wasn’t sure what it was, but something was driving him to do this. It was there, on the edge of his conscious, like a dream he’d woken up from, but couldn’t remember.
Save a life, save hundreds…It’s never enough.
If he thought hard enough the reason would suddenly come into focus: brief glimpses of a darkened room, broken expressions on pale faces, softly muttered words floating through his mind before disappearing.
Who will save me?
Leaving him only with this feeling, like there was something making him try, whatever the cost. Something like…
Jack placed a comforting hand on Owen’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as bent down.
“I will.”
Something like a promise.
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