They Who Mourn
Jul. 13th, 2009 01:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fic_of_forkWord Count: 1415
Summary: After the invasion of the 456, two friends talk.
Warnings: Extreme spoilers for Torchwood "Children of Earth," and the Torchwood season 2 episode, "Meat." Some swearing implied.
Rating: PG
Characters: Ten, Mike
Genre: metaphysical navel gazing
Author's Note: I mentioned spoilers for Children of Earth, right?
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, Bernice Summerfield, or any of its characters, and I'm receiving no profit from this beyond the joy of writing.
“How's Jack?” the Doctor asked Mike, as he sat down in the vinyl seat in the booth they claimed in the all-night diner in Brooklyn.
Mike rubbed his head, hoping to clear some of the disorientation and fog that happened whenever he used his time ring. “Nobody's seen him. Losing Tosh and Owen was hard enough, but...I think he just needs some time to get his head on straight.” Mike saw the look on the Doctor's face to know that the Doctor understood.
“Ianto's family's taking it hard. I visited with them after and volunteered to do the funeral. His brother in law, especially, is having a rough time. God, it always unnerves me to see men like him cry.”
“And how are you doing?” the Doctor quietly asked, after sipping his coffee.
Mike wiped a tear away from his eye. He reached inside of his coat and brought out a little leather case. Flipping it open, he showed the Doctor an ID badge with his picture and Torchwood's logo emblazoned across it “I'll be fine. We always are. Pick up the pieces and keep going, you know what I mean? No clue what Gwen's going to do. She's kind of in charge now.”
“I didn't know,” the Doctor said, taken aback. "I'm so sorry, Mike."
“Jack approached me after the time with the alien they found being cut apart in the warehouse. He said he wanted to expand Torchwood's vision slightly, that they needed people to be on the aliens' side, too. You know how it goes, some young alien out for a thrill means no harm, has a few beers too many, and winds up in a laboratory. That sort of thing. Or someone to talk to, relay messages back home, if they get in trouble. They're glad to make use of me in Cardiff as an auxiliary bishop, but that's not the main reason why I was appointed there.”
The Doctor pointed up at the sky. “They don't care?”
“Your folks back home? Nope. I'm working for their interests, too. Of course, when the 'blank page' order was given, an assassin sneaked onto Gallifrey using Nekkistani tech, and a few new bullet holes appeared on a wall in the Citadel. Some aren't too thrilled about that, but they don't blame me.”
“Are you all right?” the Doctor interrupted.
“Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Not the first time I've been shot at, you know? I was in 'Nam. The Time Lord who took the bullet for me has a new body, and the assassin got his mind wiped back before puberty, though. It's never a good idea to take pot-shots at the guy who raised the Castellan's wife.”
“I reckon not...”
Mike was silent for a moment, then laid his head on the back of the seat. “What the hell am I doing?” Mike said. “I've been a priest for almost thirty-five years, and it hasn't made one damn bit of difference. All those millions of children...their lives meant nothing. Children. Innocents. Hell, my religion doesn't really believe children are capable of serious sin. The Time Lord who got shot saving my life—how the hell can I face him after this? How many humans would've done the same for him?”
“Probably quite a few,” the Doctor responded. “Come on. You, above all, should know how incredibly petty, bitchy, and pompous Time Lords can be. They can be every bit as awful as humans—perhaps worse. You just don't see it as much.”
“No,” Mike said. “Humanity's different. You've said it yourself—we find something new and destroy it. What's our lasting legacy on the universe? Conquest, disease, and destruction. Okay, if you were getting bitten by a mosquito, what would your first instinct be?”
The Doctor shrugged. “I guess I'd secrete more B vitamin compounds into my blood so the little beasties would leave me alone. And some antihistamines to take care of the itch.”
“That's what every other Time Lord I've asked says. Me? I'd squash it. So would the humans I've asked. Martha made the comment once that the Master treated Earth the way he did only because humans had been violent to him first. I have to wonder how many other races out there do the same.”
“Malacandra is a fictional planet,” the Doctor said, “and as I kept telling Jack—that's C. S. Lewis, by the way—there are plenty of races out there that make humans look like angels. Humanity hardly has a monopoly on original sin. You keep idealizing the Time Lords, but I'm sure Maggie knows all about how they treat those who're the least bit different.” There was more than a hint of bitterness in the Doctor's voice.
“Not all of them--”
“And not all humans are bad, either. Look, what do you keep telling me about evil?” The Doctor rummaged around in a pocket and brought out a small medal of St. Michael that Mike had given him the last time they met at the diner. Mike was silent, but looked away. “You keep telling me that evil's real and that I'm attracting attention. Be that as it may, I can't imagine the attention you attract.”
“Did you ever wonder about just walking away from it all? I can't imagine being a Time Lord is any easier.”
The Doctor was silent for a long time. “I wouldn't have chosen any differently,” he finally said.
"Some days the burden's just too great, you know?"
"Look what they did to the bloke you're supposed to be acting in the person of," was the Doctor's quiet answer.
"I suppose you were there and are going to tell me that it didn't happen like that?" Mike muttered. He looked at his watch and sighed. Suddenly, Mike looked his age. "I should get going. Thanks for listening to me whine."
“It was my pleasure," the Doctor said with a faint smile. "Do you need a lift?” the Doctor asked, motioning toward his TARDIS.
“Thanks, but I need to stick around here,” Mike answered. “Lot of pieces to help put back together.” Mike reached into his jacket and handed the Doctor a CD in a case. “By the way, can you help us out with something? Gwen and I worked out a message—encrypted using standard Time Agent methods—to be broadcast on whatever frequency we can. It's to Jack, just to let him know that we care and that we still love him. And if you happen to see him--he could use a lot of love right now.”
The Doctor took the CD and safely tucked it into a pocket in his coat. “Of course,” he said solemnly.
They stood in silence, both enjoying the cooler night air, when they heard the sound of cracking gum behind them. The waitress--the one who always seemed to be working when they were there--stood awkwardly.
"I'm real sorry to bother," she said while fidgeting from foot to foot. "But I kinda need to talk to Father. Guess we've never been introduced, although I always see you guys in here. I'm Annie. Annie Sutherland."
Mike shook her hand. "I'm Mike Dahl, and this is the Doctor."
"Oh my God!" Annie exclaimed. "And that's the blue box you've always got with you? Tell me to go screw, if I'm being rude, but can I just stick my head inside? I've heard it's bigger on the inside, and I don't believe it."
"Certainly!" the Doctor said with a wry grin. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stood aside, as golden light from the inside spilled over the parking lot.
True to her word, Annie only put her head inside the door. "Holy shi--" she began, but stopped herself in front of Mike.
"So what can I help you with?" Mike asked her, snapping her out of her daze.
"Oh right. Overheard you guys talking about all that stuff with the 456. Some asshole was trying to take my sister's kid, and I kicked him. Hard. Where it counts, and I feel awful about it."
"Tell you what," Mike said. "Got someplace private we can go to talk about it?"
The Doctor winked at Mike and ducked inside. By the time Mike and Annie had crossed the parking lot, the blue box had disappeared.
Summary: After the invasion of the 456, two friends talk.
Warnings: Extreme spoilers for Torchwood "Children of Earth," and the Torchwood season 2 episode, "Meat." Some swearing implied.
Rating: PG
Characters: Ten, Mike
Genre: metaphysical navel gazing
Author's Note: I mentioned spoilers for Children of Earth, right?
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood, Bernice Summerfield, or any of its characters, and I'm receiving no profit from this beyond the joy of writing.
“How's Jack?” the Doctor asked Mike, as he sat down in the vinyl seat in the booth they claimed in the all-night diner in Brooklyn.
Mike rubbed his head, hoping to clear some of the disorientation and fog that happened whenever he used his time ring. “Nobody's seen him. Losing Tosh and Owen was hard enough, but...I think he just needs some time to get his head on straight.” Mike saw the look on the Doctor's face to know that the Doctor understood.
“Ianto's family's taking it hard. I visited with them after and volunteered to do the funeral. His brother in law, especially, is having a rough time. God, it always unnerves me to see men like him cry.”
“And how are you doing?” the Doctor quietly asked, after sipping his coffee.
Mike wiped a tear away from his eye. He reached inside of his coat and brought out a little leather case. Flipping it open, he showed the Doctor an ID badge with his picture and Torchwood's logo emblazoned across it “I'll be fine. We always are. Pick up the pieces and keep going, you know what I mean? No clue what Gwen's going to do. She's kind of in charge now.”
“I didn't know,” the Doctor said, taken aback. "I'm so sorry, Mike."
“Jack approached me after the time with the alien they found being cut apart in the warehouse. He said he wanted to expand Torchwood's vision slightly, that they needed people to be on the aliens' side, too. You know how it goes, some young alien out for a thrill means no harm, has a few beers too many, and winds up in a laboratory. That sort of thing. Or someone to talk to, relay messages back home, if they get in trouble. They're glad to make use of me in Cardiff as an auxiliary bishop, but that's not the main reason why I was appointed there.”
The Doctor pointed up at the sky. “They don't care?”
“Your folks back home? Nope. I'm working for their interests, too. Of course, when the 'blank page' order was given, an assassin sneaked onto Gallifrey using Nekkistani tech, and a few new bullet holes appeared on a wall in the Citadel. Some aren't too thrilled about that, but they don't blame me.”
“Are you all right?” the Doctor interrupted.
“Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Not the first time I've been shot at, you know? I was in 'Nam. The Time Lord who took the bullet for me has a new body, and the assassin got his mind wiped back before puberty, though. It's never a good idea to take pot-shots at the guy who raised the Castellan's wife.”
“I reckon not...”
Mike was silent for a moment, then laid his head on the back of the seat. “What the hell am I doing?” Mike said. “I've been a priest for almost thirty-five years, and it hasn't made one damn bit of difference. All those millions of children...their lives meant nothing. Children. Innocents. Hell, my religion doesn't really believe children are capable of serious sin. The Time Lord who got shot saving my life—how the hell can I face him after this? How many humans would've done the same for him?”
“Probably quite a few,” the Doctor responded. “Come on. You, above all, should know how incredibly petty, bitchy, and pompous Time Lords can be. They can be every bit as awful as humans—perhaps worse. You just don't see it as much.”
“No,” Mike said. “Humanity's different. You've said it yourself—we find something new and destroy it. What's our lasting legacy on the universe? Conquest, disease, and destruction. Okay, if you were getting bitten by a mosquito, what would your first instinct be?”
The Doctor shrugged. “I guess I'd secrete more B vitamin compounds into my blood so the little beasties would leave me alone. And some antihistamines to take care of the itch.”
“That's what every other Time Lord I've asked says. Me? I'd squash it. So would the humans I've asked. Martha made the comment once that the Master treated Earth the way he did only because humans had been violent to him first. I have to wonder how many other races out there do the same.”
“Malacandra is a fictional planet,” the Doctor said, “and as I kept telling Jack—that's C. S. Lewis, by the way—there are plenty of races out there that make humans look like angels. Humanity hardly has a monopoly on original sin. You keep idealizing the Time Lords, but I'm sure Maggie knows all about how they treat those who're the least bit different.” There was more than a hint of bitterness in the Doctor's voice.
“Not all of them--”
“And not all humans are bad, either. Look, what do you keep telling me about evil?” The Doctor rummaged around in a pocket and brought out a small medal of St. Michael that Mike had given him the last time they met at the diner. Mike was silent, but looked away. “You keep telling me that evil's real and that I'm attracting attention. Be that as it may, I can't imagine the attention you attract.”
“Did you ever wonder about just walking away from it all? I can't imagine being a Time Lord is any easier.”
The Doctor was silent for a long time. “I wouldn't have chosen any differently,” he finally said.
"Some days the burden's just too great, you know?"
"Look what they did to the bloke you're supposed to be acting in the person of," was the Doctor's quiet answer.
"I suppose you were there and are going to tell me that it didn't happen like that?" Mike muttered. He looked at his watch and sighed. Suddenly, Mike looked his age. "I should get going. Thanks for listening to me whine."
“It was my pleasure," the Doctor said with a faint smile. "Do you need a lift?” the Doctor asked, motioning toward his TARDIS.
“Thanks, but I need to stick around here,” Mike answered. “Lot of pieces to help put back together.” Mike reached into his jacket and handed the Doctor a CD in a case. “By the way, can you help us out with something? Gwen and I worked out a message—encrypted using standard Time Agent methods—to be broadcast on whatever frequency we can. It's to Jack, just to let him know that we care and that we still love him. And if you happen to see him--he could use a lot of love right now.”
The Doctor took the CD and safely tucked it into a pocket in his coat. “Of course,” he said solemnly.
They stood in silence, both enjoying the cooler night air, when they heard the sound of cracking gum behind them. The waitress--the one who always seemed to be working when they were there--stood awkwardly.
"I'm real sorry to bother," she said while fidgeting from foot to foot. "But I kinda need to talk to Father. Guess we've never been introduced, although I always see you guys in here. I'm Annie. Annie Sutherland."
Mike shook her hand. "I'm Mike Dahl, and this is the Doctor."
"Oh my God!" Annie exclaimed. "And that's the blue box you've always got with you? Tell me to go screw, if I'm being rude, but can I just stick my head inside? I've heard it's bigger on the inside, and I don't believe it."
"Certainly!" the Doctor said with a wry grin. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stood aside, as golden light from the inside spilled over the parking lot.
True to her word, Annie only put her head inside the door. "Holy shi--" she began, but stopped herself in front of Mike.
"So what can I help you with?" Mike asked her, snapping her out of her daze.
"Oh right. Overheard you guys talking about all that stuff with the 456. Some asshole was trying to take my sister's kid, and I kicked him. Hard. Where it counts, and I feel awful about it."
"Tell you what," Mike said. "Got someplace private we can go to talk about it?"
The Doctor winked at Mike and ducked inside. By the time Mike and Annie had crossed the parking lot, the blue box had disappeared.
