The Wayfarer

Evan

I recently did a marathon of Torchwood from first episode through Children of Earth. Needless to say, like a good many people, I adore Captain Jack Harkness. He's an absolute blast of a character. So my brain latched on like a pit bull and started concocting things. This is the result. Some things aren't incredibly detailed as I need to research some stuff before (if) I lay them out. I'm not going for nit-pick proof accuracy or "absolute canon". Let's face it, when you're dealing with Whovian based characters and stories, reality is rather... maleable anyway. So, I'm really just posting this up here for the hell of it. ;-) Anyone going all mental, arm-wavy and nitpicky will be ignored pretty much. Actual critique for the crafting of the thing, is another matter altogether. If you find glaring errors in the grammar and punctuation, I won't smack you for pointing them out. Mostly, just enjoy the ride. So far I'm having fun with it. That's essentially what it's here for: FUN.

Oh, and if same-sex relationships bother you, WTH are you doing reading Torchwood fanfic, fool? DUH! LMAO! So I don't wanna hear it! :-p That being said, here we go!

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Sister Abigail Ignatius glided along the hall, drawn by a faint sound, a soft whimper. She carefully opened the door and peered into her charge’s room. The  five-year-old boy tossed and turned, a soft, strangely lonely sound escaping him.

Poor thing, she thought as she stepped inside and sat on the edge of the bed. Her voice was soft. “Evan?” She very gently brushed the dark curls from his damp brow. “Evan?”

He jerked awake with a sobbing gasp. “Oh! No….” He drew his knees up, hugging them.

“Evan, are you ill?” She felt his forehead, a look of concern on her face.

He looked at her as if he didn’t recognize her at first. “Sister Abi…. N… no. I’m not sick. I just… I had a very sad dream.” He  wiped away the tears on his cheeks with apparent frustration.

“Ah, I see” She smoothed his curls. I wish we didn’t have to move him again, she thought. It must be stressing him horribly. “Tell me?”

“I… I don’t remember,” he lied, voice barely a whisper. He knew a nun wouldn’t deal well with what he’d seen. It was naughty in her religion. He held his breath for a moment. “Sister? Did I… do something wrong?”

“Oh, no, dear. You did nothing wrong.”

“Then why didn’t Ben and Annie want to keep me?”

“Evan, they love you very much.” She pulled him into a hug. “But we had to move you to keep all of you safe.”

“Oh….” He tried to look like he understood even though he didn’t. He could feel that the old nun was very worried for him and he didn’t want her to be worried. She had taken care of him from time to time, he knew. His young memory was dim in many places, but she seemed to be a beacon in those times, holding him and soothing him.

“Here,”  she coaxed. “Lie back down, Evan. You need to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.

He did as she asked, settling back into the bedding. It was only when she was gone that he began to drift off again. As he fell asleep a name passed his lips in a faint whisper.

“Jack….”

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Jack Harkness cursed under his breath as the Weevil he was chasing shimmied his way down a sewage grate a half block away from him. It was a fast little bugger, not as bulky as most of the Weevils he’d seen. He had to wonder why the stupid things still hung around on Earth. There had been enough chaotic things going on in the last few decades that a good number of alien races had decided to give this particular speck of spinning rock a wide berth. Still, there were enough to keep him and his current Torchwood team busy.