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51stcenturyfoxTitle: Reeled Back
Author: 51stCenturyFox
Pairing: Jack/John, John/Other
Rating: R
Wordcount: 950
Summary: The missing Time Agents find themselves back in the world, after a very long time in the loop.
click here for plain text on a white background
Took a look at my watch, it was quarter to six
Took a little time but I finally got it fixed.
We were rollin', reelin' and a-rockin'...
- Reelin' and Rockin' - Chuck Berry
For five years, time had ribboned in upon itself, just for them. But one day the ribbon unfurled, went taut again, and it was over.
Jack had never known a feeling quite like this, a wash of pure and straight relief. The next time he'd feel exactly this way, John would be there then too, standing with him in a clearing in a different system entirely.
It was over. They weren't going to spend the rest of their lives in a loop. It happens, a fact they had known when they'd realised what the problem was - why their vortex manipulators emitted a steady blink instead of a satisfying chirp and hum when they entered the coordinates.
They had tried it every two weeks, at first, at the same place, the same time they'd landed. This was logical. Then they became a bit frantic about it. Later, the attempts became rote and then rare and random. Jack would notice his arm begin to sweat and itch as the strap warmed under the heat of the suns, and remember they hadn't had a go in a while, and he'd tap in the sequence without glancing at the keys, holding his breath.
But then he would look and the readout was always the same. Blink. Blink. Blink.
Suddenly, it was over, and Jack stared back at John when they'd realised where they were - at Agency headquarters - and when it was - and he'd never seen that look on his partner's face before. He thought it must be shock.
Jack didn't realise he was wearing an identical expression.
Both Time Agents, as one might expect, were more than mildly fucked-up by the whole experience.
The debrief was lengthy. There were psych tests and examinations. During the isolation period they were kept away from the other agents and far, far away from the cadets. John was detoxed. The chemicals left him coughing and retching into the night. Jack heard him, down the corridor.
Jack escaped that, but he'd been eating poorly for quite a while. Deemed too thin, he was given vitamin injections.
They didn't speak to each other much, after years of not being able to speak to anyone else.
Jack had always liked to talk, tell stories, flirt. After an hour or two in the company of others on the ward, though, he'd check his watch and make an excuse, fake a yawn. He'd return to his room, dragging his fingertips against the cool steel doorframes as he walked.
He would stretch out on his bed, rest his face on the pillow, and think about what he was going to do next, what his next assignment might be like. He didn't consider leaving the Time Agency for a second; nothing would ever make him consider that, not even a stupid error like this. Subliminal messages interwoven with the hum of the air vents probably had something to do with that. Or maybe not.
John usually turned up for dinner, a chempouch strapped to his arm, his sculpted cheeks pale.
"Having a good time?” Jack asked him, after they’d silently gorged themselves on meat and vegetables which were absolutely fantastic… and not synth.
"That would be a very large no, gorgeous."
Weeks passed and Jack found himself in John's room, leaning against the closet door as he watched his former partner pack his black utility bag. John is unbelievably precise when it comes to his belongings. And his weapons.
"See you later, then, Boeshane."
"Yep."
"I'd like to say it's been fun, but..."
"Well."
"Yeah. Okay. Bye then, beautiful," John said huskily, his palm clapping Jack on the chest as he passed.
Jack nodded, as the door slammed.
A few days later Jack was on a long run at dusk. Pushing himself hard, he left the trail and ventured out among the trees and scrub, tipping his feet over rocks and feeling a burn in his thighs as he lengthened his stride. He finally slowed to a jog and started at a blur in the corner of his eye before he was shoved to the ground.
He was able to land just one hard and sloppy punch before a familiar mouth covered his.
"Dammit, don't come up behind me like that," Jack said, when he was able to catch his breath again.
"You know me."
"That was really a pathetic goodbye, earlier,” Jack said finally, as they lay on the grass later, stars shining bright overhead.
“I thought so too.”
"Again?"
"Mmmhmm."
John stepped into new temporary quarters with the envelope. New orders. System 922. He'd sat through the briefings earlier, bored stiff. Smugglers, harnessing unathorised vortex energy illegally in order to pass intel to terrorists for credits. Orders: No kill. Capture for rehab. It beat surveillance, but still. Boring.
He had a new partner, his Agent In Charge, Jordan something-or-other. Veteran. He'd been to the range with her and their skills were well-matched. Knives, lasers, old-school guns. He'd had five unscheduled years of practice.
As the haze cleared from their session they'd checked out the targets, satisfied. She'd carefully set her weapons down, ditched the ear cans on the concrete and grabbed him from behind when he turned. She roughly ran one hand up under his shirt, the other over the front of his trousers.
"Ya interested?"
Subtle, that. They were well-matched.
She’d commanded him down to the floor right there, which was the AIC’s privilege, he supposed. As spent shells, still hot, burned little grooves in his back, he squinted up at the swing of her straight black bob, the slant of her dark eyes.
They were the wrong colour, but he’d get used to that.
Well, I looked at my watch, it was 10:29,
I had to hold her hand; she was still holdin' mine
We were reelin', reelin' and a-rockin'
Author: 51stCenturyFox
Pairing: Jack/John, John/Other
Rating: R
Wordcount: 950
Summary: The missing Time Agents find themselves back in the world, after a very long time in the loop.
click here for plain text on a white background
Took a look at my watch, it was quarter to six
Took a little time but I finally got it fixed.
We were rollin', reelin' and a-rockin'...
- Reelin' and Rockin' - Chuck Berry
For five years, time had ribboned in upon itself, just for them. But one day the ribbon unfurled, went taut again, and it was over.
Jack had never known a feeling quite like this, a wash of pure and straight relief. The next time he'd feel exactly this way, John would be there then too, standing with him in a clearing in a different system entirely.
It was over. They weren't going to spend the rest of their lives in a loop. It happens, a fact they had known when they'd realised what the problem was - why their vortex manipulators emitted a steady blink instead of a satisfying chirp and hum when they entered the coordinates.
They had tried it every two weeks, at first, at the same place, the same time they'd landed. This was logical. Then they became a bit frantic about it. Later, the attempts became rote and then rare and random. Jack would notice his arm begin to sweat and itch as the strap warmed under the heat of the suns, and remember they hadn't had a go in a while, and he'd tap in the sequence without glancing at the keys, holding his breath.
But then he would look and the readout was always the same. Blink. Blink. Blink.
Suddenly, it was over, and Jack stared back at John when they'd realised where they were - at Agency headquarters - and when it was - and he'd never seen that look on his partner's face before. He thought it must be shock.
Jack didn't realise he was wearing an identical expression.
Both Time Agents, as one might expect, were more than mildly fucked-up by the whole experience.
The debrief was lengthy. There were psych tests and examinations. During the isolation period they were kept away from the other agents and far, far away from the cadets. John was detoxed. The chemicals left him coughing and retching into the night. Jack heard him, down the corridor.
Jack escaped that, but he'd been eating poorly for quite a while. Deemed too thin, he was given vitamin injections.
They didn't speak to each other much, after years of not being able to speak to anyone else.
Jack had always liked to talk, tell stories, flirt. After an hour or two in the company of others on the ward, though, he'd check his watch and make an excuse, fake a yawn. He'd return to his room, dragging his fingertips against the cool steel doorframes as he walked.
He would stretch out on his bed, rest his face on the pillow, and think about what he was going to do next, what his next assignment might be like. He didn't consider leaving the Time Agency for a second; nothing would ever make him consider that, not even a stupid error like this. Subliminal messages interwoven with the hum of the air vents probably had something to do with that. Or maybe not.
John usually turned up for dinner, a chempouch strapped to his arm, his sculpted cheeks pale.
"Having a good time?” Jack asked him, after they’d silently gorged themselves on meat and vegetables which were absolutely fantastic… and not synth.
"That would be a very large no, gorgeous."
Weeks passed and Jack found himself in John's room, leaning against the closet door as he watched his former partner pack his black utility bag. John is unbelievably precise when it comes to his belongings. And his weapons.
"See you later, then, Boeshane."
"Yep."
"I'd like to say it's been fun, but..."
"Well."
"Yeah. Okay. Bye then, beautiful," John said huskily, his palm clapping Jack on the chest as he passed.
Jack nodded, as the door slammed.
A few days later Jack was on a long run at dusk. Pushing himself hard, he left the trail and ventured out among the trees and scrub, tipping his feet over rocks and feeling a burn in his thighs as he lengthened his stride. He finally slowed to a jog and started at a blur in the corner of his eye before he was shoved to the ground.
He was able to land just one hard and sloppy punch before a familiar mouth covered his.
"Dammit, don't come up behind me like that," Jack said, when he was able to catch his breath again.
"You know me."
"That was really a pathetic goodbye, earlier,” Jack said finally, as they lay on the grass later, stars shining bright overhead.
“I thought so too.”
"Again?"
"Mmmhmm."
John stepped into new temporary quarters with the envelope. New orders. System 922. He'd sat through the briefings earlier, bored stiff. Smugglers, harnessing unathorised vortex energy illegally in order to pass intel to terrorists for credits. Orders: No kill. Capture for rehab. It beat surveillance, but still. Boring.
He had a new partner, his Agent In Charge, Jordan something-or-other. Veteran. He'd been to the range with her and their skills were well-matched. Knives, lasers, old-school guns. He'd had five unscheduled years of practice.
As the haze cleared from their session they'd checked out the targets, satisfied. She'd carefully set her weapons down, ditched the ear cans on the concrete and grabbed him from behind when he turned. She roughly ran one hand up under his shirt, the other over the front of his trousers.
"Ya interested?"
Subtle, that. They were well-matched.
She’d commanded him down to the floor right there, which was the AIC’s privilege, he supposed. As spent shells, still hot, burned little grooves in his back, he squinted up at the swing of her straight black bob, the slant of her dark eyes.
They were the wrong colour, but he’d get used to that.
Well, I looked at my watch, it was 10:29,
I had to hold her hand; she was still holdin' mine
We were reelin', reelin' and a-rockin'