[MEME] And then there were children.

[eelseason]

Stolen from the internet.

Leave a comment and I will come up with the hypothetical kid between any of my muses (List BTR) (List Epic) and any of yours (assuming I know them at least well enough to pretend that I know them well enough to write them). Terms of parent-child relationship are left to the management. Children may be biological and natural, in-vitro, adopted, surrogate, changechildren, left on a doorstep in a handbasket, or pretty much whatever needs to happen. Any requests for children parented by john_thane will incur a karmic penality. Memes are not intended to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease. This contract is not canonicity-binding.

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(frozen comment)

[eelseason]

That was enough on the subject until sometime in icy November when Jack came to with a memory of noise and impact and the shock of shattered glass glistening on the back of his hands and the overwhelming tang of blood in the air, until something came through a Rift and sheared one of Torchwood's SUVs clean in half and overturned the other and Jack only survived because he didn't stay dead.

He tore off the seatbelt and didn't make the rounds in time – most of his team was unconscious, one already dead, one too close to dying. This time, and it wasn't uncommon, was it?, all he could do was see to the survivors and put the paperwork through.

And then, almost at midnight, he found himself still in his bloodstained clothing outside the door to Rachel's room.

He didn't quite knock. His hand hit the door and just stayed there, resting on the pressed wood, feeling the artificially smooth varnish that wasn't smooth or cold enough for any of the fixtures in the morgue. That one hit was enough to alert Rachel that he was there and after a moment the door pulled open, leaving his hand to drop to his side through the open air.

Rachel took a breath to greet him and stepped back, aghast. A moment later she had both hands on his shoulders and was pulling him in, demanding "What happened?"

"Accident," was the first thing Jack thought of to say, and then she was easing the coat off his shoulders, sucking in breath at the sight of his bloodsoaked shirt. He couldn't quite remember what happened. Probably something went through him, probably his ribs were crushed against the dashboard, probably his head snapped forward and cut itself open when the windshield crumpled in, all he ever remembered was coming to when it was over and it never mattered if he'd been dead.

"This is – a lot of blood, Jack," Rachel said, looking up at him like she was concerned he'll fall down. "You need, like, an ambulance or something. I could drive you – I know some guy here who'd let me use his car–"

Jack shook his head. "Rachel, I heal."

She wasn't listening. "You're covered in blood. God. Hang on – I have a first aid kit, they make us all keep one–"

"Rachel..."

"I mean–" she crossed the room, grabbing a white box from under the desk. "I don't know if it'll be any good, probably just little bandages, and – what happened? Like, how bad is it? You should sit down. I can–"

Jack crossed after her and caught her wrist, relieving her of the first aid kit and trying to push comprehension down her eyes.

"I heal."

The moment hiccuped, half a beat between them before she answered, quietly. "Everyone else?"

He let go of her wrist, dragging a hand through his hair. It's a mess, he realized – probably bloody, probably still with pebbles of shatterproof glass hiding by the scalp.

"Two dead," he answered. "Then cuts and bruises. Two dead."