Let Be (Crossover with Torchwood)    The House Fan Fiction Archive	
Home

 Quicksearch
 Search Engine
 Random Story

 Upload Story

      	

  Let Be (Crossover with Torchwood) 
 by Topaz Eyes	

 A/N: Spoilers for Torchwood 2 x 13, "Exit Wounds" and House 4 x 16,
"Wilson's Heart." This story is partially based on the haunting Torchwood
vid Let Go by .

~~~~~

Captain Jack Harkness stood on the sidewalk outside the bar, deciding
whether he wanted to go in. He certainly deserved this--it had been an
exhausting few days. The American CIA had called Torchwood in to assist
with what turned out to be an attempted Weevil infestation in Princeton,
New Jersey. Jack and Ianto Jones had flown across the pond from the Hub in
Cardiff to rein them in. The operation was now done, despite a few close
calls, so it was time to relax. 

For Jack, that meant exploring the Princeton nightlife, such as it was.
Mingle with the locals, was his motto. You learned more things that way.
It was too bad Ianto decided not to accompany him though, because he would
have liked having his company tonight (among other things). But Ianto had
preferred to stay behind at the FBI field office to finish RetConning the
agents. He'd said he'd meet Jack at their hotel afterwards. 

Ultimately, Jack's wandering had led him to this bar in the lower downtown
section of Princeton. Sharrie's. Intriguing name. Sounded like an
interesting place. He may as well go in, check it out and have a drink.

Upon entering he looked around, surveying the layout and the exits; it was
a habit borne from more than a century of avoiding (and causing) bar
fights. It had the look, but not the cozy feel, of a traditional
pub--perhaps because of the surly bartender. From the guy's forearms, he
had to be a walking tattoo. 

At eight-thirty in the evening, Sharrie's was only half-full. There was
one man sitting at the bar, his whole body seemingly curled around the
glass in his hands as if it were the only thing left to hold onto. Jack
raised an appreciative eyebrow. The man was about six feet tall--in jeans
and a gray sweatshirt with red printing on the front. Short brown hair,
Greek nose, thick eyebrows, and long, elegant hands--attractive in a
preppy sort of way. Though on closer examination, he hadn't slept in days,
judging by the purple shadows under his eyes. Still--

"Hi." Jack stepped up to the man and grinned in full-charm mode. "Is this
seat taken?"

The man looked at him, frowning as he tried to focus. "Go ahead." He
turned back to nursing his empty glass.

Jack slid onto a stool beside the forlorn drinker and ordered tonic water.
The bartender scowled when he set it down, then withdrew to wipe out beer
glasses with a dish towel.

"Captain Jack Harkness." Jack held out his hand to the man. "You?"

The man stared down at it for a minute before shaking it. "Wilson. James."

"Pleased to meet you, Wilson James."

The drinker furrowed his eyebrows in puzzlement, then grinned. "Oh, I get
it, it's the other way around! But I'm used to being called by my last
name, not my first."

Jack sipped his tonic, amused. "So you work in a private school?"

"Hospital, actually. Head of Oncology, Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching
Hospital. Just--a habit we're used to."

James looked at him, smirked, then wobbled precariously on his stool.

"Whoa there, big guy. Don't fall off." Jack reached out to steady him, and
looked around. "Want to move to a table?"

"Are--are you trying to pick me up?" James glanced over to where Jack was
pointing, at a small, round table in the corner. 

James looked adorably confused. Jack sipped his tonic water thoughtfully.
Anonymous sex was a good way to ignore pain temporarily, and he could
charm anyone into it if he tried. Except James looked like he needed a
friend tonight, not a lay.

"No. But do you want me to?" He waggled his eyebrows.

James shook his head in amusement, then tried to slide off the stool, only
to fall heavily into Jack; he hauled him up to standing and they lurched
to the table. 

"I'm a lightweight," James said, chuckling as Jack pushed him into a
chair. "That's what House says."

Jack grinned, thinking of Ianto, who would stagger after only three drinks
of ale; of Toshiko, sipping champagne at the Ritz in 1941 during the
London Blitz.

"Hey, get me another Maker's Mark?"

Jack strode back to the bar to fetch another whiskey on the rocks and
tonic water. The bartender watched him and snorted after Jack turned back
to the table. 

He sat down, his back to the wall, and surveyed the bar again. It was
starting to fill up, the buzz of chatting bees getting louder. James
studied him, his head swaying slightly.

"Now that's a nice greatcoat! God, it's gorgeous! Where'd you get it?" 

Jack looked down and brushed its wool fondly. "It's an heirloom."

"It's perfect on you. You look like you stepped out of Twelve O'Clock
High."

Jack grinned. "Yeah? I know a bit about that era."

James peered at him. "Are you sure you're not Gregory Peck? 'Cause you
sorta look like him."

He stared at James' well-manicured hand, sobering slightly as he thought
of the Captain reaching for his own. "I'm positive."

"'Cause that would be so great." James sipped his whiskey. "I always
wanted to meet him. I always liked the 1940s, y'know? Films were films
then. Like Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca."

Jack nodded, seeing himself dancing with Rose Tyler on top of Big Ben.
Meeting the Doctor, the TARDIS--leaving his con man life behind. Fond
times.

"'Course, House would tell me to pull my head out of my ass and live in
the present."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Who's House?"

"My supposed best friend." James smirked and doodled in the condensation
left on the table. "Did you know he killed my girlfriend?"

"Oh, God." Jack blinked, taken aback.

"Well, he didn't kill her directly," James amended, his mouth twisting
wryly. "But he caused her death. May as well be the same thing." He sat
back, his head against the wall, and laughed

Jack heard the tinge of desperate giddiness that would surely lead into
familiar self-recrimination. He studied James carefully. "What happened?"
he said, as gently as the background noise would allow.

James shrugged, thinking for a minute. "House--he got drunk. Here,
actually. In this stupid dive." James giggled, waving his hand around the
bar. "He called me for a ride home. I was on call. He got Amber instead."
James shifted his gaze to the table. "She drove here to pick him up. But
he decided to take the bus."

James looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Jack set his glass down
and slid his hand towards him.

"She followed him. God, Amber--They were on the bus--there was a garbage
truck--I didn't even know she'd been hurt--"

Jack took his hand and squeezed it gently.

James sighed heavily, not seeming to notice. "She'd taken amantadine just
before the crash. A flu drug. A stupid flu drug! But her kidneys were
injured. The drug damaged her heart and--she died."

"I'm sorry."

James' mouth quirked as he withdrew his hand from Jack's clasp. "I came
here because this was the last place she was, before she--before she--"
James looked down at the table.

Jack thought of how often he'd stared at the spot in the Hub where Tosh
had sat, slumped in a pool of blood. "I know," he murmured.

"He tried to save her," James added, his eyes glassy. "House. He tried.
Hell, I asked! He figured it out, but--it didn't matter."

He fell silent, his gaze darting all around the room. Jack looked down at
the table, at the swirls James had drawn.

"A toast," Jack said, raising his glass, and James looked up. "To missing
loved ones."

James raised his and downed the remaining whiskey in one. He slammed the
tumbler on the table. The resounding thud of glass on glass startled the
customers sitting beside them.

"You know what's the most pathetic 'bout all this? You're a stranger. I've
known you what? Maybe half an hour? And you've listened to me more than
he's ever done."

Jack gazed at him steadily. "And yet you're still friends with him?"

James looked away. "It's complicated."

An image of John Hart blurred before Jack's eyes. "Yeah. I hear that."

James shoved himself away from the table and stood up to stagger to the
bar, pulling his car keys out of his jeans pocket. Jack also rose,
alarmed, and followed closely behind.

"'Nother whiskey and whatever my friend's drinking," he called to the
bartender.

The bartender shook his head. "No way. You've had enough, buddy." He
grabbed the car keys out of James' grasp. "Go home."

James stumbled behind the bartender, protesting. "You took my keys!"

The bartender headed toward an old-fangled cash register tray behind the
bar. "Yeah, well, I ain't lettin' you drive, bud. Take a cab. Bus stop's
outside. Pick up your keys tomorrow."

James' face darkened as he raised his fist. "You took my KEYS! You fucking
ASSHOLE--"

The bartender stopped. "What did you say?"

Jack jumped between them and seized James' forearm. "Hey, hey, it's okay!"
He addressed the bartender. "I'll make sure he gets home." He beckoned for
James' keys.

The bartender leered. "Yeah, I bet you will." He threw the keys at Jack
and turned away. "Fucking faggots," he added under his breath.

Jack froze, but decided to let it slide. He had to get this guy home
safely, and calling Ianto to bail him out of gaol was not a good plan.
Instead, he half-dragged, half-carried James to his car.

After Jack poured James into the passenger side of his Volvo, they drove
back to his condo in silence. Thankfully the Volvo had GPS in it, so
finding the condo wasn't a problem, except the fifteen-minute crosstown
drive was out of his way. He'd have to take a cab back to the hotel. Or
call Ianto to pick him up.

James' condo was on street level. It took him three tries to insert the
key in the lock, James guffawing each time as the key jabbed into the
wood. Jack waited patiently, thinking he'd stay long enough to make sure
James was okay on his own. The poor guy was so close to breaking. Jack
knew that feeling, too.

"D'you wanna drink?" James lurched unsteadily into the living room.

"I'm good, thanks." He dropped his greatcoat on the armchair closest to
him.

"You sure?" James tripped towards the kitchen.

Jack stood in the middle of the room and looked around at the muted walls,
the tasteful furniture; at the pictures of James and an attractive blond
woman, who had to be Amber, on the mantel and oak end tables. One appeared
to be on a boat. Both of them looked happy, smiling, alive--a vision of
himself with his little brother Gray, running on the dunes in the Boeshane
Peninsula, flared briefly like a dream.

He also noted a black laptop with a thin coat of dust on the coffee table.

James came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a tea towel. "I was
going to propose to Amber after I got home that night from being on call,"
he said conversationally, "but I suppose I don't need her engagement ring
now." Jack followed his gaze to the small velvet box sitting beside the
laptop. "The ring's already sized. Do you think the store will take it
back?"

A picture of Gwen's wedding to Rhys, her radiant gap-toothed smile, the
diamond flashing on her finger. "They should if you let them know why," he
said carefully.

"Or maybe I should make House pay for it." James laughed at that. "Like
that will ever happen." He dropped the tea towel that he'd been wringing
in his hands to the floor.

Jack didn't know what to say--he simply watched James, who now stood
forlornly in the middle of the room. James' voice grew sober. "What do I
do, Jack? What the hell do I do about House?"

Jack stared at a whorl of carpet, thinking of Rose who had condemned him
to eternal life.

Of the Doctor who had abandoned him.

Of Ianto, Owen, Toshiko and John, who had all betrayed him--

Of Gray. 

He looked straight into James' face. "You forgive him," he replied softly.

James cackled, a bitter, mirthless laugh. "Forgive him? You don't even
know everything he's done to me!"

"No, I don't."

James folded his arms, staring at the floor. "He's cost me--he's cost me
everything."

Jack stepped in front of him. "It doesn't matter." He put a hand on his
shoulder. "If you love him, you forgive him. You let it go. And you both
move on."

James gazed at him, his eyes bleak. "I've forgiven him too many times
already. He killed my--my happiness! Why should I let it go this time?"

Jack blinked rapidly, remembering Gray's face twisted with hate as he
stood over his grave; as he stood over Gray's body in the cryo-storage box
at the Hub. "Because--I've been there," he replied, his own voice husky.
"And the pain is not worth holding onto."

"I can't." James turned away, fists clenched at his sides. "Not for this.
I--I don't have it in me anymore." His voice hitched; he stared at the
ceiling and shook his head. Tension rippled through his arms and back.

"You'll find it again, James," Jack replied gently. "If you wait long
enough--if you dig deep enough--it'll come." He turned James around to
face him again. "Just give it time."

James slumped all at once and as he did, Jack pulled him into a tight
embrace. He held James, supporting his weight; James leaned his forehead
on Jack's shoulder and clutched his arms with a death-like grip. Jack felt
the violent trembling course through his body. 

"I hate him, Jack," he whispered. "I HATE him."

"I know," Jack murmured against his hair. "I know."

"How do I live with what he--?"

He remembered Owen shooting him in the head to open the Rift; Owen lying
dead, on the metal autopsy table in the Hub; holding him tightly in his
arms. "You learn."

He felt, rather than heard, James' dry sobs against his shoulder. 

When James finally stopped shaking, Jack guided him onto the sofa. James
curled up obediently and closed his eyes. Jack removed his shoes and
pulled the blanket up to cover him, noticing peach satin wadded
underneath. When he shook it out, he realized it was Amber's peignoir. He
placed it beside James, and fought back tears as James tucked it under his
chin; as Tosh's farewell message ran through his mind.

Jack smoothed his hair, thinking of the vial of RetCon in his pocket.
Would it be a blessing to wipe himself and the last few hours from James'
memory? But James still had to live tomorrow, with the pain of his
friendship with this House person. He had to hope the amount of alcohol
James had consumed, was enough to make all this a blur.

He rose and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Amber
was everywhere, he thought, looking around. In the soft mauve towels, in
the pots of makeup and bottles of lotions. House was everywhere too,
judging by the weight of James' grief. God, but he knew that feeling. He
sighed and studied himself in the mirror.

He heard the click of a key turning in the lock and the squeak of hinges,
followed by a voice. Strong, feminine, and more than a little concerned.

"Wilson? Wilson, where are you, are you here?" 

Jack heard a brief silence, followed by a relieved, "Oh, thank God. Where
were you tonight? I was so worried, even House didn't know where you'd
gone."

There was no other way out of the bathroom except through the door. But
he'd been in worse places. Jack went out, ready to turn on the charm
again.

"I think he's passed out for the night," Jack said equably.

The woman startled and jumped up from where she was kneeling next to
James.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

She was petite, fiery, and so damned attractive with the way her dark
curls fell around her shoulders. Any other place and time he'd... instead
he nodded toward the sofa. "I found him at a bar," he said. "He was drunk.
I brought him home."

She narrowed her eyes. "Which bar?"

"I think it was called Sharrie's."

"Oh, God," she said softly, turning back towards James. "Wilson, you
idiot! You're just as bad as House is!" She knelt beside him and touched
his shoulder. James frowned, but didn't wake.

"He's okay. He just needs to sleep it off." He picked up his greatcoat off
the armchair and gestured at the door. "I should be going now."

He strode toward the door but stopped when she spoke.

"Wait. Who--who are you again?"

"Cap--" Jack stopped, and smiled sadly. "I'm a friend."

The gorgeous woman looked at him skeptically, but she didn't press the
matter. "Do you need a ride? I can call you a cab--"

"Thanks, but I'm fine." He gazed at her. "Take care of him," he added
gently.

Her face softened. "I will. Whoever you are--thank you."

"My pleasure."

Jack stood at the door for a moment as he donned his greatcoat, watching
her as she smoothed James' hair. He was in good hands now, he decided.
Feeling relieved, he let himself out.

Outside, Jack stared up at the stars shining through the breaks in the
clouds. He'd had enough betrayals over two thousand years to figure it
out. He hoped James would learn too. Silently he wished James and House
luck. Then he pulled out his mobile phone and punched in a number.

At least he still had this to hold onto.

"Hi, Ianto? Can you pick me up?"  
   Please post a comment on this story.  


Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the
ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House
(and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property
of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I
am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive
no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement
nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the
show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.