BTBD Challenge 82 - Lost for words

[m_findlow]

Title: Lost for words.
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 738 words
Content notes: Pre-canon
Author notes: Written for Challenge 82 - Speechless at beattheblackdog
Summary: The nights are long and there's little to pass the time.

'Have you every been this cold, Jack?' Gunnery Sergeant Davies asked him.

He'd barely been awake when the question came to him. He couldn't bring himself to answer. Even with his greatcoat collar turned up high, scarf tucked in underneath, and his balaclava bunched around the rest of his face, there was no keeping out the cold. His boots were sodden along with the bottom half of his britches, and double socks did nothing to keep out the damp.

He felt speechles. Talking was too much effort. The chill in the air made his teeth ache and his throat sore. He wasn't sure he could get a sound out even if he tried. For now, he was just grateful Davies still had energy left for talking. The cold would be the death of many men tonight. Way things were going, he'd be among them, the only difference being that he'd revive in the morning, ready to face another long day in the trenches.

'D'you know what I miss most since they moved us from northern France?'

Jack let his eyes slip shut in the darkness, ignoring the pap, pap, pap sound of distant gunfire. He tried to make a sound, but nothing came out but raspy breath.

'Jam,' Davies replied. 'Strawberry jam. Remember when rations had jam? A few spoonfuls of oatmeal, a tiny bit of butter and loads of jam.'

Just the thought of it made Jack's mouth water, swallowing it down, feeling the ache in his belly where food should be. There was nothing but hard bread and even harder cheese now. A little bit of bully beef when the captains needed to boost morale. The Germans had damaged rail supply lines weeks ago. No extra troops, no letters from home, and most importantly no munitions or food.

'You know what the first thing is I'm going to do when we get back home, Jack?'

Jack huddled tighter, no longer able to feel his hands and feet, a welcome reprieve from the cold and the ache.

'I'm going to march into the village, walk right through the door of the general store and tell Mrs Wilkins I want a can of jam and a spoon. I'll give her a shilling, and then I'll eat it right there in the store. I don't care if I make myself sick, I'll eat that whole can. She'll be bloody horrified.'

Jack remembered when he and Lucy had gone picking blackberries, back before the war. He'd eaten so many he too had felt sick afterwards. He remembered the way her laugh tinkled like little bells, the way her golden hair shone in the sunlight, and the bright purple colour of her tongue when she poked it out at him, having eaten more than her own share of succulent berries.

She slapped him playfully. 'Stop eating them, Jack. We won't have enough left for jam.'

'How much jam you planning on making?' he said, scoffing a few more and grinning, juice spilling down his chin.

'A lot less now than I was. You're the one who'll complain when there's none left to have with your bread.'

'Maybe you can treat me with something else sweet, instead,' he said, leaning in for a kiss.

If he imagined hard enough, he could almost taste them now, slowly sliding down into sleep and dreams of Lucy and those sweet lips.  

 

The horn woke him. Morning role call and rations as the two officers clambered along the trench, doling out the meager provisions.

'Harkness?'

He croaked out a response, hearing the hard lump of bread land in the tin next to him.

'Davies? Davies,' the corporal repeated, checking his list.

Jack cast a look to his right, knowing what he'd see. Davies was so pale. 'He's,' Jack couldn't say the rest.

'Deceased, corporal,' the lieutenant declared. 'Mark it and get the medic to remove the corpse.'

'As you were sergeant,' the lieutenant nodded at Jack.

Jack slumped back against the mud wall. He was sick of war, sick of being cold and wet, and sick of watching good young men die.

The lieutenant stopped and looked back at Jack. 'Anything we can get you, son?'

'Jam,' he replied, leaning his head back, staring up at the bleak sky overhead.

The lieutenant put a reassuring hand in his shoulder. 'I'll see what we can do.'

He wanted to say thank you but couldn't find the words.