James Goss - Almost Perfect

‘What’s unique about Jack?’ asked Ianto. ‘We need something we can trace him by.’

‘Oh, you can’t track smugness,’ said Gwen.

Jack was pressed up against the wall, Brendan wrapped around him. He was wearing a drowsy, dreamy smile. ‘What are we doing now, fellas?’ he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Jon moved across the room, and threw an arm around Jack’s shoulder, drawing him close. ‘Oh, it’s all good, soldier.’

Jack blinked, slowly. ‘Why… Why am I here?’

Brendan laughed, gently in his ear. ‘You’ve forgotten! Oh, that’s great.’

‘We are very distracting,’ said Jon.

‘And haven’t you done well?’ said Brendan, admiringly.

‘What?’ murmured Jack. ‘What have I done?’

‘Provided us with a lot of much-needed power,’ said Jon. ‘You could call it a jump start.’

‘Please don’t,’ sighed Brendan. He started to kiss Jack’s neck. Jack laughed, slowly. ‘Listen, babe, we’ve got to go for a few hours. And you’re pretty much spent. So we’re going to leave you here.’

‘You’ll like this bit,’ said Jon. ‘Spread out your hands.’

And Jack spread out his hands, feeling the two of them wrapped round him, and he smiled, happily. None of it felt real. He looked at the wall, all neat, white plaster, and then watched, dreamily, as it changed, spreading with a blood-red stain which moved around his figure. And then rippled. And the pounding, the pounding that had been in his head for so long he couldn’t remember… oh, it got louder.

‘It’s the wall,’ said Brendan, pressing in on him. ‘Try and move your hands.’

Jack couldn’t. He managed to lift his left hand, just slightly, but the wall shifted. He struggled, and the wall just wrapped itself further round his arm. He turned, almost alarmed, but still giggly. ‘What is this?’

‘It’s the wall,’ said Jon. ‘We built a temple, after all.’

Brendan pulled close, kissing Jack and running a hand through his hair. ‘We built it out of our believers.’

And then he broke away from Jack, laughing as they pushed him into the wall. As it wrapped round his head and his body, so warm and horrible and strange, he realised that something very bad had happened. And he tried to scream. But as he opened his mouth, the wall just poured in. All warm and pulsing and red.

Ianto stumbled through central Cardiff. The streets were eerily empty, bathed in the watered-down light of winter. Buses were still running, with exhausted drivers barely lifting their eyes from the road. Shops were open, but the music was muted. The streets were full of rubbish, coke cans and chip wrappers and bottles and even the odd person, slumped in a doorway.

‘I’m so tired,’ he thought. ‘I’m so tired I could just sleep.’

He carried on walking, though. Down along St Mary Street, which was still crowded with clubbers, milling around in an exhausted, desultory way. He checked his watch, puzzled. It was either early or late. He couldn’t work it out. It was almost like they’d left the clubs and not bothered to go home, just stayed on the street. Standing fairly still, staggering from side to side, a little. Almost like they were still dancing.

Every now and then a bottle would drop to the ground, and he’d hear it rolling a little.

He made his way through the crowd, finding the fish bar.

Bren caught his look, so old, so tired. ‘Oh, we don’t close while there’s business, luv,’ she said. ‘Patrick’s still out the back.’ Her look wasn’t approving. ‘Don’t distract him. He’s got nuggets, hasn’t he?’

‘But he’s OK?’ asked Ianto.

Bren didn’t even blink. ‘Of course. Why shouldn’t he be?’

Ianto swept through to the back of the shop, where Patrick stood, emptying an enormous sack of frozen chicken nuggets into a deep fat fryer. He turned and smiled at her.

‘It’s been a long night,’ he said.

‘A really long night,’ Ianto agreed.

‘And then you turn up,’ Patrick sighed. ‘Frankly, all I want is a nice bacon roll and a cup of tea and to go to bed.’

‘Me too.’

‘Really?’ Patrick raised an eyebrow, amused. ‘Beautiful women normally play harder to get.’

‘Oh,’ sighed Ianto. ‘I didn’t mean anything, really.’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ Patrick smirked, and wiped his hands down on his apron. ‘Anyway, guardian angel, I’m still alive. Which I guess means that we get to have that date.’

‘Oh,’ said Ianto. ‘That’s a good point.’

‘So. When I finish work tomorrow?’ he looked at Ianto, almost pleadingly.

‘Of course,’ said Ianto, a bit too quickly.

‘Meaning?’

‘Thank you for calling me beautiful,’ Ianto said. His phone rang.

It was Gwen. She was excited.

‘Right,’ said Ianto. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes, promise.’

He hung up and turned back to Patrick. ‘Got to go. Sorry. You going to put your nuggets on, or what?’

The mewling woke him briefly

‘Hey,’ Jack said

‘You’re alive?’ asked the mewling, amazed ‘Always’ he said, and he found that funny briefly ‘Stop laughing! Stop! Please!’ cried the mewling. ‘You’ve been laughing for ten minutes. Please stop.’

OK, maybe he’d found it funny for a bit too long there He wasn’t really sure

But he was Captain Jack, he was a fun guy to be with Fungi to be with. Was that ever funny? I guess it is now Laugh again He contemplated opening an eye, then decided it was too much like hard Actually, really needed to pee Should do something about that at some point soon So, back to opening an eye

Coming back to life was always a struggle – maybe one day he just wouldn’t be bothered and that would finally be it Good thing/Bad thing?

Really need to pee, can’t ignore it any more The mewling started again

Eye open, finally, wince, that’s really, really bright… Ride it out, Harkness, let’s see where we Oh

Not good

‘Hey!’ he said to the mewling. ‘It’s Eric isn’t it?’

The DJ from the night before looked up (down?) at him. He was making an effort to stop crying, sniffing bravely like a child.

‘Yeah.’

‘Hi! Captain Jack Harkness!’ Jack loved his back-up personality. Always there, glowing away faintly, lighting the way to the fire escape. ‘I would shake you by the hand, but if I’ve still got one, I certainly can’t move it.’

‘Can you help us?’

‘Again, I’d shrug if I could. I’ve got a good track record. How long have we been here?’

‘Eight hours, I think. You’ve not moved for four.’

‘Good watch, kid.’

‘I’ve nothing else to do but count.’

‘Hey, there’s a copy of Metro in my coat pocket. I’d hand it over to you if I could move and if I had any clothes.’

‘Thanks,’ said Eric. ‘I could leave you a message in the I Saw You column. “I saw you embedded in a wall, Tuesday. You looked back. Drink?”’

Jack laughed.

Eric looked at him sharply. Jack stopped laughing.

‘How long was I laughing this time?’

‘Eighty-seven seconds.’

‘Close to mania. Curious.’

‘And irritating.’

‘Says crying man.’

‘Hey, I’m in a lot of pain.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Can you? It’s just that I can’t move.’

‘I can see that.’

‘I can’t feel my legs.’

‘That’s cos you’ve not got any.’

Pause. That was tactless.

More mewling. Some screaming.

‘I mean, not that I can see. Stop crying. It’s the wall – they’re embedded in the wall behind you. Who knows. Probably all there. All fine. Looks worse than it is – seems to be concrete, but it’s alive and breathing and… smells quite meaty. God knows, I mean, I’m sure it’s all fine. I’m probably in a worse state.’