Astra's actionfigures in Action

My first "White Collar" fanfiction! This was bound to be to happen. Can't wait for Thursday and the 6th season to start. In the meantime, enjoy - hopefully!

Title: Hands
Author: dieastra
Beta: Thank you Beth for all the hard work and tardisjournal for some additional suggestions!
Rating: T
Category: Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, June, Peter, Diana
Word Count: 3.532
Spoilers last episode of season 5

Summary: After having been released from his kidnappers, Neal has to learn to accept some changes in his life.

Notes: Another one of those "What happened to Neal after the season 5 finale" stories. Still I hope I found a different approach.

*****

Hands

Neal looked down at his hands. He always had liked to be busy. All those years behind bars, where he only could sit and stare at the walls, waiting for the day to be over. It had almost driven him crazy.

His hands had been his tools, they had done so many things. Sketched on paper. Painted canvas. Forged Whiskey. Chiselled a block of marble. Swung swords and billiard cues. Flipped a hat around. Picked locks. Opened safes. Grabbed briefcases from pockets and watches from wrists. Slipped out of countless handcuffs. They had hugged Peter, clapped his shoulder, taught him how to mix drinks. They had taken oaths he had not intended to keep, and also a few he actually had meant to keep, until circumstances prevented it. They also had opened many wine bottles, held even more countless women, stroked them tenderly, cooked meals for them. They had typed away on a keyboard, written FBI reports, and they even had punched a face and shot a gun once or twice. And if they hadn’t been busy with any of that, they liked to fiddle with a pen at least. Always keeping busy.

Even when he had been “retired” to that island – yeah, didn’t last long, that – he had not just sat down and relaxed. He had still liked to paint, and maybe one day he might even have started on some original work. And his hands had sculpted that sand castle of the New York skyline. The view from his apartment window.

But now all of this was in the past. Now his fingers looked and felt like useless claws. “They” had done their best to ensure that he’d never use them again properly. Every single finger broken, some even two or three times. The doctors had done what they could, but his days as con man were officially over. His fingers were stiff now, and hurt occasionally. Some of the fractures hadn’t healed properly. He was able to get by in his daily life, but ever so often he was reminded of his limitations. Every single task took twice as long as it should have.

And to this day he didn’t know who “they” were. So he couldn’t even plan any revenge. The man (or woman?) behind his kidnapping had been careful to never show their face. And they had known what they were doing, grabbing Neal at a time when nobody would miss him. Neal had spent months as a prisoner – again – trying to survive, doing what they wanted. Waiting for Peter to come and find him. Again. Only, Peter never came. And Neal continued to suffer.

Oh, they had been careful to not damage his eyes or his hands. They needed him to forge all kinds of stuff for them. He was valuable. The rest of his body, not so much. But they had been careful to not inflict any permanent damage. Nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own. Neal had soon stopped to count all the marks on his body. He’d tried to resist, at first, hoping against hope that in a few hours some people would storm through the door, shouting “FBI! Put your weapons down!”

More than once he had wished he had told Peter about the man following him. Things might have been different then.

But the longer he waited, and the more they “insisted”, the more his resistance crumbled. Especially when they got out the electric wires.

He’d tried a new tactic then, pretending to work willingly, while trying to hide hints in his work. Hints for Peter to pick up on. Sometimes they caught him doing it, which resulted in another beating, sometimes they didn’t. But it made no difference, Peter still didn’t come.

And they had known him so well. They had kept him in a room that had nothing he could work with, to try to get out on his own.

The room was absolutely bare. He slept on the naked concrete. He got only food that needed no cutting, no knife. Of course not. But he did not even have a bowl for his “personal needs” which he could have smashed onto the head of one of his captors. He had to wait for the few times a day when someone would accompany him to the toilet. Standing right next to him with a gun in his back actually. He’d tried to not let the humiliation get to him, acting nonchalant instead – hey, he was Neal Caffrey, always a smile on his lips!

His world also had become very quiet. Nobody ever talked to him. The only noise was the grunting of the men who beat him, and his own moans when he couldn’t suppress them any longer. Sometimes, when he was alone in his cell, he talked loudly to himself, just to hear his voice.

He’d completely lost track of time. The room they kept him in had no window. He knew no day, no night. They amused themselves with startling him awake at irregular hours, which soon left him exhausted and confused. All he knew was that he had been here for a long time already, and that this was what the rest of his life would be like.

That’s when he stopped doing anything at all. They beat him – he didn’t care. They threatened to kill him – he didn’t care. He stopped eating entirely and lost quite some weight until they realized he was serious, he wanted out of this, one way or the other.

Surprisingly, they didn’t just kill him. Sometimes he wished they had. Instead they dropped him off at some street corner far away from home, almost as good as new, except for that last gift they had left him with.

They had taken the most important thing from him, the ultimate punishment. As far as Neal was concerned, his life was over.

It had been a long and excruciating walk home. He had no money, no phone, and he didn’t dare ask a police officer for help, as he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later.

He had collapsed at June’s front door. Having not eaten anything in days took its toll, and that’s when the frenzy of activity had set in. He was poked and prodded by doctors and almost wished himself back into the quiet of his cell sometimes. He hadn’t been his own man then, and he wasn’t his own man now. He had to suffer countless interrogations from the FBI, even though he was not able to tell them much. He had been unconscious on the trip; he might have been in another city for all he knew. And his kidnappers had been careful to never show their faces or even talk to him to avoid him identifying their voices. All of his instructions had been in writing. And they had made sure he did not keep any of those notes.

( Finally he was released from the hospital... )

Also posted at fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10798745/1/

Also posted at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2555972

Title: Total Recall
Author: dieastra
Beta: Thank you bloodsong13t for the quick beta!
Rating: T
Characters: Malcolm Merlyn, Jack Harkness
Word Count: 1.694
Notes: A fix it / AU for Bloodsong 13’s story “Blood for Blood”. You can read it here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10642212/1/Blood-for-Blood-Execution but as the name says, it is quite bloody, so be warned! In short, Malcolm Merlyn was caught by Talia al Ghul and tortured (forcing Thea to do the actual knife-cutting in a twisted way to hurt both of them) and then left hung in chains to bleed out like a pig. Obviously, I couldn’t let him die in that cruel way, so here is what happened next!

Summary: After the events in “Blood for Blood” Malcolm Merlyn awakes from what he thought to be his certain death. Then a stranger turns up, bringing a message from the future.

<----<<< <----<<< <----<<<

The first time he awoke it was like awakening from a nightmare, only the nightmare continued. He tried to sit up but couldn’t as a weight was bearing down on him. He tried to take a deep breath but dirt was getting into his mouth and nose. He frantically spit it out, he thrashed, he choked, and soon lost conscious again.

The second time he awoke, he found that last time he had had the instinct to bring up his hands and cover his face with them, so at least this time he wouldn’t choke to death again within seconds. Again? What the -? He pushed the thought away for now and tentatively tried to open his eyes. It did not make a difference, it was still pitch black and there was still dirt above him.

His heartbeat stopped for a second. He was buried alive. A deep fear he never before had known came over him. Of all the cruel ways to die, this must be the worst. But wait a minute – how was he even still alive? He clearly remembered his own death. The way the curare took over his body, unable for him to move a muscle. Unable to scream as well when Talia al Ghul forced Thea to use the knife on him. Just as well, he didn’t want his daughter to suffer any more than necessary but it did not make any difference, in the end she had realized that paralyzation did not mean he was not able to feel every single cut she administered. He’d never forget the look of horror on her face as the knife fell from her hands and she stumbled away, retching. And it was all his fault that the girl had been put through all of this. Some father he was.

After they had put him into the chains again he had tried to give her strength, he wanted her to live on without an unbearable guilt. He had no idea whether it had worked or not but it had been all he could do before dying from blood loss.

And now here he was and he was still alive. How was that possible?

One thing was for sure, he needed to get out. He tried to think what he had read about people being caught in an avalanche, how you could dig yourself out of the snow. But snow would pack solid, you were able to make a cave for yourself to breathe. The dirt above him was loose, the more he dug at it, the more it fell down.

Still, lying back and waiting for death was no option, so he kept at it, as futile as it seemed, and he slowly made progress. He tried to shove the dirt from above him under himself, raising himself up that way. He had no idea how many more times he died and woke up again when he started to see some light. He finally had reached the surface of his want-to-be grave. He never before had been so relieved to see the sun.

He crawled away a few feet and then collapsed on his back. His lungs heaved for air, his heartbeat took a long time to slow down from the adrenalin, and he was just grateful to lie there, in the middle of nowhere apparently, with no immediate threat. Doing absolutely nothing than being happy to have survived. Again.

He could hear cars in the distance. There must be a road. But wait – the noise was getting louder. The car came straight towards him. He looked around, for a tree, a bush, anything to be able to hide, but there was nothing. And he had nothing to fight with. He was as helpless as a newborn baby. Oh how he longed for his bow in that minute! It was like a second limb for him and he felt crippled without it.

All he had left were his fists and legs, and he would make sure to use them properly in a fight. When the car stopped in front of him, he was standing tall and proud and ready for whatever would happen next.

Or so he thought.

A man in a business suit got out of the car, holding up his hands to show he had no weapons. Malcolm did not relax at all but the man kept his distance.

“Mr. Merlyn, I presume?” The man cleared his throat when he got no answer. “Ah, well, I’m sorry. You must be very confused, but I don’t have any answers to your questions. I was only paid to bring the car here and then leave again. So, mission accomplished.”

With that he threw the car key towards Malcolm, who caught it in a reflex. Still too stunned to say anything, he just watched as the man opened the trunk, got out a small bike, waved good-bye and left just like that.

Malcolm sat down on the driver seat and noticed a netbook on the passenger seat. He opened the lid but before he could push any buttons, a programme was opening by itself.

And then his own face stared at him from the screen. It was the most creepy thing he had ever experienced. The man wore his hair differently but other than that he could be his long lost twin.

Malcolm did not know anything about a twin. Rebecca and Tommy had been his small family, and both were dead now. Thea was the only one left, and he needed to go and make sure she was safe.

Strangely, the man on the screen just looked at him, as if waiting for him to stop thinking and actually pay attention.

“Who are you?” he finally asked.

The man on the screen chuckled. “As cliché as it may sound – I’m you, in a nutshell.”

“But how is it possible to talk with myself in a live chat?”

“This isn’t a live chat. It is a pre-recorded one sided conversation, put into a video. See, I have been in your shoes many many years ago. I remember every single question I asked – you will ask – and so I know which answers to give. It’s a bit – complicated.”

Malcolm was stunned to say the least.

“If you know everything that happened to me, then it would have been nice if you actually sent the man a bit earlier, to help with digging me out!”

The man on the screen who had not given a name yet went serious.

“I couldn’t. Everything needs to happen exactly as it already has happened. If we change one single detail, who knows what it would do to the world as you know it, the universe even. The beat of the wings of a butterfly and all that. Trust me.”

And Malcolm felt that he indeed could trust this strange man. There was something about him that said he was speaking the truth, as strange as it sounded. And if you couldn’t trust yourself, who else could you ever trust?

“So, if you are me, and speaking from the future apparently, how come you’re not looking older?”

“How come you are still alive, even though you already bled to death once and choked on dirt how many more times? And while we’re at it – how come you were looking like an older brother to Tommy, but not like a father?”

Malcolm stayed silent as he had no answer. He always had put it down to his good genes. Or Nanda Parbat, that strange place. But clearly there must be more to this story.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I – you – had a different life before. One in which you were a hero in fact, and helped people. Then things… happened… that brought you onto this dark path. I am not proud of what I have done but it did make sense in light of what happened. I needed to forget everything, just wanted to go away from it all, and so I retconned myself. Retcon is a drug that makes you forget. I had aimed to only forget a few years, but apparently the dose was too strong, so I forgot completely about this whole identity. My name’s Jack Harkness by the way. Oh yeah, and you can’t die. Or rather, you can die but you won’t stay dead. No matter what.”

“So how come you remember again now who you are? Were? Will be? My, this is complicated.” Malcolm groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“See the little pill box next to the netbook? It’s a pill that can reverse the effects of the Retcon. Once you take it, you will remember everything. But be prepared, with all the good will also come all the bad, and there is no going back this time. So choose the right moment. But, obviously, one day you have to take the pill. If you don’t, I won’t be here, and I won’t be able to send help, and it would take you days to get out of this desert by foot. Days Thea does not have to be honest. She needs you.”

Thea. Right. Here he was chatting away and she might be still in danger.

“How many more years with her do you give me?”

“It’s not about what I am willing to grant you. You’ll know when the time comes. To be completely open to you, you won’t see her grow old with grandchildren. You’ll have to leave long before that. When she starts noticing that she is getting older but you are not. Do you understand?”

“I promise I’ll take it. But now I really need to go.”

The man that had called himself Jack Harkness smiled. “That’s fine with me. She’s a great girl. And with that I’m saying good-bye. Good luck!”

The screen went dark. Malcolm started the motor. He turned the car around and went back the direction the man had come from, figuring that he must hit a road there somewhere. And then his GPS signal hopefully would pick up and tell him where the heck he was.

They had gone out of their ways to make sure nobody would ever find him again. For Talia al Ghul and the others, Malcolm Merlyn was dead, and he intended to leave it that way. It would make it easier to protect Thea. She deserved a father that was truly there for her.

He’d keep the pill with him wherever he went, in that little pendant he wore around his neck.

And one day a new adventure would begin.

The End


Also published at Fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10709096/1/

Also published at Archive of our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2344649

Since my muse is working overhours at the moment, I am going to need a fanfiction masterlist.

White Collar

Hands FF.net AO3
After having been released from his kidnappers, Neal has to learn to accept some changes in his life.

Arrow

Caught FF.net AO3
My take on the final confrontation between Malcolm Merlyn and Oliver Queen. Secrets and hidden identities are revealed but actually it is all pure speculation based on some spoilerous promotion pictures.

Heart in the right place FF.net AO3
Set after the finale of season 1. My take on how Malcolm Merlyn would be able to survive that last fight.

The Lives and Deaths of Malcolm Merlyn FF.net AO3
Set after the finale of season 1 of "Arrow", spoilers for "Torchwood" including season 4
How could Malcolm Merlyn survive that last fight with Oliver? Because he’s actually the immortal Jack Harkness. Now Malcolm thinks about the mess that is his life. Memories of the past arise – good and bad ones. This story has five chapters.


How I met my father FF.net AO3
Just a little missing scene about the finale of season 2. How exactly did Thea and Malcolm meet in the end?

There is also a 2nd chapter by Bloodsong13T here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10364982/1/How-I-Met-My-Father-continued

and a third chapter by him here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10364982/2/How-I-Met-My-Father-chapter-2

Total Recall FF.net AO3
After the events in “Blood for Blood” Malcolm Merlyn awakes from what he thought to be his certain death. Then a stranger turns up, bringing a message from the future.


Torchwood

Which present should I buy for her?
Rhys does not know which gift to get. I made it a bit of a riddle. I hid 22 titles of Christmas songs in this story. There is a list of them at the end so you can check if you found everything. Enjoy!

There's room even in the smallest hut FF.net AO3
This is the English translation of my German poem: Platz ist in der kleinsten Hütte

Doctor Who

Who am I anyway? FF.net AO3
After the regeneration, the Twelvth Doctor tries to find something suitable to wear in his wardrobe, while thinking about the past and trying to find out about his new character. And he owes Clara an explanation or two.

Stargate

Lost
Jack must come to terms with the fact that his former life is gone.

Cold
A cold night on a cold planet brings back memories – bad and good ones.

It's better to give than to receive FF.net AO3
What to do with an unwanted present?

Yellow World (Jack and the Simpsons) FF.net AO3
Jack is pulled into his favourite TV-Show. Sam, Daniel and Teal’c desperately try to get him out…

Caught FF.net AO3
What Jack really was feeling when encountering Ba’al again

The unexpected guest
The first Christmas without Janet. Nobody is in the mood to celebrate. But then some Christmas spirit sneaks up in the end.

Watched from above FF.net AO3
Christmas, seen through the eyes of the man who has the most stress during these days

I got printed! For the second time even. Each year our local newspaper asks for Christmas stories for the Christmas special edition. A few years ago I already rewrote one of my fanfictions, and now I did it again. I had to shorten it considerably as they only allow one page of text max. You can read the original fanfiction in English here: Which present should I buy for her?

It's the one where Rhys ponders which gift to buy for Gwen. I put the titles of many Christmas songs into the text, so it is also a riddle, see if you can find them all! It just occured to me that I never uploaded the German version to my LJ, you will have to wait for next Christmas for that to happen now.

And here is the story in our newspaper. They even put a nice matching pic in it!

I wrote this poem for the advent calendar in our German forum. It’s a funny story about how the Torchwood team celebrates Christmas this year – with a few obstacles. International friends, please see the English translation here: There’s room in the smallest hut – English translation



Platz ist in der kleinsten Hütte

Teil 1 – Die Planung

Beim Frühstück sitzen Ianto, Gwen, Tosh und Jack.
Sie haben großen Hunger und putzen alles weg.
Üblich ist, während sie so zechen,
dass sie dabei alles Wichtige besprechen.

Heute ist das Thema klar,
dem Ende nähert sich das Jahr.
Und darum, ohne lang rumzueiern –
wo könnte man diesmal Weihnachten feiern?

„Seit ich eine Leiche bin,
steht mir nach Feiern nicht der Sinn!“,
sagt Owen und fängt an zu schmolln.
Die anderen wissen nicht, was sie sagen solln.

„Und wieso schaut ihr mich nun an?
Ich war erst im letzten Jahr dran!“,
meint Tosh und beißt getrost
in ihren Marmeladentoast.

(  Jack hebt entschuldigend die Hände… )

Tweeted at 16.12.2013: https://twitter.com/dieastra/status/413005896008998912

Also published at FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9933478/1/

Also published at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1087217

Title: The Lives and Deaths of Malcolm Merlyn
Author: dieastra
Beta: Many thanks again to tardisjournal
Rating: T
Characters: Malcolm Merlyn (Jack Harkness), Gwen Cooper
Word Count: 1.149
Spoilers: Set after the finale of season 1 of "Arrow", spoilers for "Torchwood" including season 4

Summary: How could Malcolm Merlyn survive that last fight with Oliver? Because he’s actually the immortal Jack Harkness. Now Malcolm thinks about the mess that is his life. Memories of the past arise – good and bad ones. This is just a short chapter but it is my favourite.

Notes: Others have done “Malcolm used to be Jack” before and while reading their works I got inspired to try my hand at it

Link to chapter 1

Link to chapter 2

Link to chapter 3


Chapter 4

Then something incredible happened. On one day in July, the people of Earth suddenly stopped dying. Soon the press was calling this day "Miracle Day". A lot of scientists tried to find out what exactly had happened and how to reverse it, but Malcolm was the only one who had an idea where to search. Since he had been so busy with other things recently, he had totally forgotten about the money he had long ago sent anonymously. Something must have gone horribly wrong there.

He tried to make contact with the three families, but all attempts led to nothing. They had covered their traces well. Then he was forced to switch back to his old persona of Jack Harkness after the word "Torchwood" started to turn up in CIA searches. Something had to be done to protect his secret but it was not easy. Too many years had gone by since he last had been Jack and it took a while to be comfortable in this role again. And the fact that, in a sick joke of the universe, he had become mortal again, didn't help much.

He contemplated using this one chance to die for the last time, to end his life and just be done with all the struggles, but in the end he couldn't. His work in the Glades was not finished yet, and Ra's al Ghul was counting on him. So Malcolm aka Jack went along and pretended to know nothing about what happened.

( He found Gwen and Rhys again in their hideout in Wales... )


Link to chapter 5

Also posted at FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9694788/4/

Also posted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/970765/chapters/2027271

My other two "Arrow" fanfictions:

"Caught"

"Heart in the right place"

A question to all my British friends: What would you call the thing the Seventh Doctor wore? Like in this picture: http://www.nerdist.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/seventh-doctor-217x300.jpg

I'd like to use the correct word for a fanfiction. In Germany (or at least in my childhood days in Eastern Germany) we called that a Westover and only once I learned/learnt English I realized that this is exactly what it is doing - a Vest that you put over a shirt. I just googled and found that another word for it is Pullunder which again is something you pull on under your jacket to keep warm.

When I put that into the dictionary, I get "Slipover". Which sounds - hm. Never heard it before. So please, enlighten me, what is the name of that woolen thing without sleeves and buttons which you just pull over your head? Are people even still wearing this?

Personally, I adore my fleece cardigans. Never go anywhere without one.

Title: The Lives and Deaths of Malcolm Merlyn
Author: dieastra
Beta: Many thanks again to tardisjournal who worked on this despite circumstances and emergencies out of her control
Rating: T
Characters: Malcolm Merlyn, Jack Harkness, Ra's al Ghul
Word Count: 1.997
Spoilers: Set after the finale of season 1 of "Arrow", spoilers for "Torchwood" including season 4

Summary: How could Malcolm Merlyn survive that last fight with Oliver? Because he’s actually the immortal Jack Harkness. Now Malcolm thinks about the mess that is his life. Memories of the past arise – good and bad ones. This chapter shows how everything is actually connected.

Notes: Others have done “Malcolm used to be Jack” before and while reading their works I got inspired to try my hand at it

Link to chapter 1

Chapter 2

His phone beeps. He glances at the caller ID. Probably just another press guy who wants a statement about what had happened today. How did they even get his number? Clearly one of his employees is not as loyal towards his boss as he should be. For a moment, Malcolm considers taking the opportunity to tell his version of the story. The people need some perspective. Couldn’t they see that what he had done is only for the best? A fresh new start. Just a few more years, and the city will be blooming and rising. It really is regrettable that he won’t be around to see this.

Holding his broken wrist close to his body, he awkwardly gets out a suitcase and starts to pack up, one-handed, some things he wants to take with him. Other stuff will have to be left behind. Like Rebecca’s ring. Wherever he will be going, he cannot risk being recognized because he carries a sentimental memory of his past. It is a hard decision but one that needs to be made. Maybe one day he will be able to come back for it.

Before he met Rebecca, he had been merely existing, feeling all cold and uncaring. And he figured he would have to live like this for the next ten thousand years or so. Thus he also had become a drinker. Whenever he felt too sorry for himself, only a hypervodka could make him forget for a while, and often it didn’t end at the first one.

( But after about 200 years of hopping through space and time... )
Link to chapter 3


Also posted at FF.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9694788/2/

Also posted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/970765/chapters/1939723

My other two "Arrow" fanfictions:

"Caught"

"Heart in the right place"

Title: Heart in the right place
Author: dieastra
Beta: Many thanks to tardisjournal
Rating: T
Characters: Oliver Queen, Malcolm Merlyn
Word Count: 964
Spoilers: Set after the season finale, so if you haven't seen that yet, don't read it!
Notes: I am not ready to let Malcolm Merlyn go yet. So here is my fix-it for the end of the finale. I got the idea from something the producers said in an interview.

Summary: My take on how Malcolm Merlyn would be able to survive that last fight.

<----<<< <----<<< <----<<<

The arrow through his chest was one of only a few things which had ever really surprised him in his life. Up until then he had had the upper hand in this fight with Oliver Queen, who had turned out to be The Hood, much to his surprise. And now Malcolm Merlyn was forced to realize that he had underestimated the kid. Badly.

Apparently Oliver was willing to sacrifice himself just to take him down. Malcolm had held him in a choke hold from behind, slowly pressing the air out of him. He had been so sure of himself, that he even took the time to give a final speech.

“Don’t struggle. It’s over. There was never any doubt in the outcome. Don’t worry. Your mother and sister will be joining you in death.”

It sounded flat even to his ears. For months now he had imagined how this last, final fight would go, and now it was here it was almost – anticlimactic. It had been too easy to overwhelm The Hood, and that he now knew it was Oliver did not make any difference.

In a few seconds everything would have been over, when he suddenly, and very unexpectedly, felt fire explode in his chest. Oliver had picked up a stray arrow which was lying around on the ground, and stabbed it right through his own, and subsequently Malcolm’s, chest.

( Malcolm had to let go of him and heavily fell down on his back )

Also published at Fanfiction.net: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9320292/1/

Also published at Archive of our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/814734

Tweeted at 27.05.2013: https://twitter.com/dieastra/status/339105306514706432

So, I was searching my writing mojo all those past months, and now I have finally found it! First with the "Arrow" story I wrote just two days ago, and now I even did a commentfic.

tardisjournal did this wonderful drabble called Last Call which you have to read first, otherwise you would not understand mine.

After that last line, I couldn't help myself adding a bit more to the story. Here we go:

*******

Jack threw the water into the next plant pot and put the glass on an empty table. Without a last glance he walked out of the door. Coming here had been a mistake. He didn’t actually remember consciously making the decision, but somehow he had ended up in this of all bars.

It had been almost a week now, and sometimes he wondered how things would be different if he had Ianto allowed to stay. In the weeks before his betrayal came to light, Jack had had the feeling that there could develop more between the two of them. More than his usual office flirts.

But after that awful day he had felt used, he wasn’t able to tell anymore whether Ianto’s little attentions had been genuine, or just a diversion. So he had made the hot-headed decision to retcon Ianto and get rid of him for good. Out of the base, out of his life.

Only, it didn’t work that way. He couldn’t stop thinking about the “what if”.

The only consolation he had was that at least Ianto was safe now. No alien trouble would befall him in this bar, as long as Torchwood was watching. He would live a happy life, not knowing anything different.

And Jack would need to find something to distract him from events he couldn’t alter anymore.

Sometimes he wished he could retcon himself.