| Date: 12 January 2008
Characters: Jack Harkness, Jack Harkness Location: library Link to IJ: thread #31699 |
 After he'd finished eating, he'd gone to claim a room.He walked around the hotel for a bit before he took a room, getting a feel for the layout of the place and looking out all the windows. In the end he'd settled on a room at the very end of the hall, on the top floor. He locked the windows and door, and content that he was as secure as he was going to make himself, took a shower and a nap. He woke up stiff, groggy and nauseated. He took a leak, another shower, and a moment to appreciate the water's heat (and pressure). Clean and more awake, Jack went back downstairs. A quick trip through the kitchen to grab a package of crackers, and he headed out of the hotel and into the town. He stopped to open the crackers and glance at the sky. He snorted softly, and started walking again. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew when he'd found it. The library. He finished eating his crackers just as he found it. He dropped the generic cellophane wrapper into the rubbish bin, pushed the door open and walked in. Ten minutes later he was in a chair, stack of books at his side and another open in front of him and thinking he'd kill for a decent computer. Five minutes after that he glanced up and looked into his own face. "Shit, this just keeps getting better." |
 Better's one word for it.Not one that Jack would choose to use to describe this particular situation, headed for a retreat to do some quiet thinking, and finding himself face-to-face with another incarnation of himself. He was pretty sure that it wasn't the same incarnation of himself he'd met a few days earlier. This one looked...younger. Just marginally. Not quite as handsome, obviously, he'd grown into his looks with time, but definitely younger. Younger and more tired. "That's one way of putting it," he said, freeing a hand from a pocket and holding it out. "Captain Jack Harkness, twenty first century Cardiff. And you'd be...?" |
| He put his book aside to take the hand, but didn't bother getting up. It was more work than he was interested in expending just at the moment. He'd work on it. "The same, early twentieth, and London. Do you know a man named Ianto Jones?" |
| "Right hand man," he confirmed, eyes narrowing a little when Jack didn't get up. Could be that whole tired thing went deeper than it looked, and so he shook the hand, released it, and retreated to a chair opposite, dropping into it with a soft sigh. "You've met him?" |
| He tracked the older version of himself while he moved to sit in the other chair. He nodded. "Second person I met here. Apparently you've been sleeping with him for the past couple of years. Where does that fit him in your time-line, or does it?" |
| Wait. Sleeping with him? With Ianto? He just about managed not to gape at that, or spend too long on the mental images, and shook his head dumbly. |
| "Gettin' a little slow in our old age, are we?" he drawled. There wasn't any real heat in it, not even a lot of sarcasm, in spite of his faint smirk. |
| "Apparently not, if we're gonna be sleeping with Ianto," Jack retorted, dropping his head back against the chairback. Sleeping with Ianto. Well, shit. |
| He watched Jack's reaction curiously. "Why is this fucking with you?" he asked, rough and blunt. |
| Good question. It wasn't like he never slept with Torchwood employees, just Ianto was, well, Ianto. Flirtatious as hell and with a wicked sense of humour, but locked down so tight that Jack didn't know a single thing about the man outside work. Didn't even trust the personal file. And besides, there was Brant. Not that they'd ever discussed anything like sexual fidelity, but right then, he kind of didn't want anyone that wasn't Brant. "Kind of involved with someone right now," he admitted, watching Jack carefully. "You?" Because if he couldn't ask himself about his sex life, who could he ask? |
| "Congratulations. Should I send flowers?" His voice was dry as hell, but there was (a little) real humor somewhere in there. "What are you asking, if I'm involved or if I'm sleeping with Ianto Jones?" |
| "Depends which planet you're planning on sending flowers from and the species." He'd still got some very vivid memories of the nightseyes from Galbeldin Minor, and he wasn't looking to relive those, more so not with Brant. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, glanced at Jack's posture, and thought hard. "If you're early twentieth and sleeping with Ianto Jones, I need to know about that for definite. How early twentieth?" |
| Jack was tense, and when Jack looked at him more directly - even in that glance - he got more tense. He lifted one knee up, taking the pressure off the back, and instinctively guarding his stomach. His expression also got a whole hell of a lot harder. "I'm not sleeping with Jones," he said, flatly. "1906. When in the twenty-first are you?" There was a hint of demand in that. Not that he needed to know, but that if he was giving up anything, even as inane as the year, he was getting something back. And the year wasn't inane, not when he was giving it to himself. |
| 1906. Shit, he'd got very, very clear memories of 1906. The earthquake hadn't been the only thing that rocked his world. Even if he hadn't had those memories, Jack's body language told him everything he needed to know. He exhaled slowly, and leaned forwards, hands resting on his knees. "Two thousand seven. How far along?" |
| He responded to the lean forward, even from a reasonable distance, by leaning back. He wanted no question about being within reach, especially of himself. He didn't know what had changed in the past century and change, but he was willing to bet his ability to be ruthless was rock-fucking-solid. "I'm don't exactly know," he admitted, after a pause. "When was the last time you died?" |
| "Two days ago." And he'd spent the time since proving to Brant that he was very very much alive. Leaning back wasn't going to be an acceptable reaction, but he didn't push, just waited patiently. "Look, I don't know if you're my timeline, or any of the other guys here who are some version of me, but we've got at least two proofs that you come through it okay." No promises on the offspring, but without know which divergence of reality Jack came from, he couldn't even guess the species. 1905 had been a hell of a year. Stonehenge at midsummer had probably been a mistake, and midwinter, but he couldn't regret midwinter. Even if it had been damn cold, there were plenty of ways to keep warm. |
| "I'm pregnant by god knows what, stuck in 1906, on earth, and I can't die. A century later, I'm still sitting on the rift. I think it's a fairly safe bet that okay isn't the word you're looking for." He sounded way, way more tired than angry. There was even a faint snort of self-depreciating humor. His emotions were pretty obviously all over the place, but then so was his biology, and that included his brain chemistry. He didn't really have the energy to maintain any of it, though, and he was still Jack. "You sound pretty okay with it now." There was a reason for that remark. If Jack wasn't freaked the hell out by it, or him, he was going to actually be able to think about letting go of at least some of his paranoia. And maybe even some of the general fear. |
| "I never said that you're okay now." He cracked a grin, moving out of his chair to get closer, squatting by the arm. Seemed that life had been trying to pound the hell out of this version of him, and he didn't remember feeling too great in 1906 himself. "I said that it looks like you're gonna be okay." Steadying himself on the arm of Jack's chair, he looked him straight in the eye. "Trust me. Been there, done that." The tone was a lot less flippant than his words. |
| He didn't move when Jack did, but there was a flash of something hot, and steely in his eyes, even while he was returning that grin. Not challenge, but a warning echoed in the super soft growl at the back of his throat, and coil of tension in his muscles. There was not a single solitary thing threatening about it. It wasn't aggressive, it was defensive and preemptive. Fight or flight and fleeing was better than fighting, by a whole hell of a lot, as far as he was concerned. At least right now. Even that faded, eased off and banked when Jack stayed down and at eye level with him. "We've got no way of knowing if we're from the same universe," he said, but it wasn't a challenge or a dismissal. It was the opening. "Tell me what happened to you." |
| "Druids," Jack said succinctly, intonation making it clear that he wasn't just talking about the bearded guys in white robes. "Midwinter at Stonehenge, it was one hell of a party. Six weeks later I'm puking my guts up every morning, afternoon, evening, and let's not forget the middle of the night, that one was fun." Because even a guy who didn't sleep got exhausted when he had a little parasite latched onto his energy. |
| He laughed - low, quiet and suddenly with some warmth - and his shoulders dropped a little. "That sounds about right," he agreed, with a quick, tired smile. "Well, wrong but accurate. How long have you been here?" |
| He wondered briefly if his own body language was as easy for others to read as Jack's was to him, and then mentally filed it under 'not important right now'. "You too, huh?" Which brought Jack closer to his own reality, though there was no guarantee it wouldn't diverge at some point later. "Couple of weeks, now, got to admit that I don't have much idea how to get back, but there are a few people been back and forth." |
| It was a little hard to tell. Jack certainly thought it was easy enough to read, but Jack wasn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box all the time, and it probably didn't matter much at the moment. "Yeah, Ianto didn't seem to have any idea what was going on. He did say the Doctor was here, though. If anyone's going to be able to figure out how to get out of here, it's going to be him." |
| "Sounds like you met a different Ianto to the one I did." Because no matter how much Ianto had slid around questions, Jack was pretty sure that her knew more than he'd been saying - and Ianto was one of the ones who'd been back and forth. Though, Christ, if he'd been able to ask the Doctor's advice and help when he'd been pregnant..."More than one version of the Doctor, too. Met any yet?" |
| "What makes you say that?" he asked, pushing just a little. Asking the Doctor's advice was damned appealing, but just as daunting. Kind of like whey he wasn't asking Jack for details. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to know. Fear was easier sometimes than certainty. If the Doctor didn't have advice, or couldn't do anything about it, he wasn't sure he was just going to end up feeling that much more trapped, alone, and all around worse. Inevitability was damned scary. tHe shook his head, very slightly. "I haven't seen him yet. How many versions are there here?" |
| Good question. Damn good question. He'd heard tell of a few, but only met up with one. "One you'll know, but he's not met you yet. Me. Us. Jack." He rolled his eyes, trying to fit vocabulary around a concept that it wasn't intended for. "Kinda lost track of how many others." And he wasn't the least bit ashamed of that. He'd been making very good use of his time. At least, as far as he was concerned. "Jack." He spoke low, quiet and sincere. "I don't know how this is gonna affect the baby. Time doesn't pass here. At all." |
| The tension was back. Every damn bit of it and then some. The short hair at the nape of his neck stood up, and under all those layers the hair along his arms did the same thing. "Do you get hit often?" he asked, artificially casual and curious. He actually looked like he was going to throw up. It wasn't like he wanted a kid - of any kind. It sure as hell wasn't that he wanted to be pregnant. It was that he for damned sure did not want to spend eternity pregnant, or waiting on a dead fetus to be rejected. And more honestly than he'd ever be with himself, he'd already thought about it. His questions to Ianto had had a reason. And no matter how hard he pretended or wished otherwise, he was just nowhere near callous enough not to care at all. No where near. |
| "Frequently," he responded, just as soberly. Shit, Jack looked like he'd just been told the kid had died - and possibly, in a way, that was what he'd said. "Jack," he repeated, trying hard to keep rein on his own worry for the man, and sure, he was running the risk of getting hit, but he'd survive that, or anything, apparently. "Jack, I'm sorry, but you can't ignore that. I carried to term, and we were both fine," eventually, "but you need to talk to someone who knows more than I do about time travel and causality. I know, believe me, I know how you feel about talking to the doctor, but you need to do it." |
| "I can see why," he said, slow, serious and steady. He didn't hit Jack. He didn't lash out, he just stayed wound tight, with his jaw set. He felt marginally better at hearing that they'd both ended up fine, at least in that time-line. He really, really hadn't expected that. Not by a long shot. "I'm not ignoring it." Well, that wasn't exactly a lie, but it was a long way from the truth. "I know what one of the versions looks like. You feel up to describing the other one, or should I ask someone else?" |
| "Big nose, big ears, leather jacket, grin that you want to punch or kiss the hell out of. Or both." |
| "Yeah, that's the one I know." |
| He nodded. "Thought it might be, somehow. Little parasite using you as a punching bag yet?" |
| He blinked a couple of times as he tried to get his brain to shift gears. "Yeah, it is. You want to tell how long there was between mid-winter fun and not being knocked up anymore?" |
| Not a pleasant time, and he was very carefully not thinking at all about the 'birth'. "Six months. Solstice to solstice, six months." Almost to the day. |
| He was carefully not thinking about the birth, either. "Okay," he said, simply. "And you're fine?" |
| "I'm fine," he repeated firmly. "Still, you know, can't stay dead, but sometimes that comes in handy." His legs were beginning to protest squatting, too, but that could wait. |
| "Which sounds like I'm in for a fun time." He quirked a vague smile. "I'll go find the Doctor." |
| "Don't try and bullshit me, Jack. I've been you." |
| "About which part?" he asked carefully. |
| "Any of it." He regarded Jack steadily. "And because I've been you, you know damn well that I've got enough self-regard and determination that if you don't go and find the Doctor, I'm perfectly capable of locking you up until I can bring him to you." |
| "Look. I don't want to ask for help," he admitted. "I want to be stuck here even less. I get that it's not just about me. I'll find him." He wanted to go home. He wanted to go all the way home. He wanted to den up and curl up and wait for this entire mess to be over with. |
| After a moment's hesitation when he wondered quite how weird it was to want to hug someone who was technically himself, he slid an arm around Jack's shoulders, rocking forwards so he was kneeling rather than squatting. "Now that I'll believe." He was still resolved to check in with the Doctor next time he saw him, though. "You're gonna be fine. How much longer d'you have, roughly?" |
| He could not have been more startled by the hug than if. Well, than if he'd ended up pregnant. Didn't mean he couldn't deal with either one, though. He tensed up for a second, then returned the hug, shifting his weight forward and down to do it. "Six months?" he repeated, while he thought. Not that it took much. "Little less than a month." |
| Less than a month. Nodding, he squeezed gently, and then sat back on his heels, hand sliding across Jack's back as he moved. "If I've got it right, that gives you the cramps, the backache and the hunger that goes right along with not keeping anything down?" Sure, it sounded like a miserable list of side effects, but he'd got a reason for asking. |
| He told himself he shouldn't trust Jack enough to be this close. Then Jack rubbed his back and he stopped giving a shit about trust and groaned. It wasn't sure as hell wasn't a sexual response, but it felt too damned good not to respond. "That sounds about right," he agreed. "Nostalgic?" He. Was teasing, apparently. |
| Nostalgic definitely wasn't the word, but he recognised the noise and remembered distinctly the pressure that caused it. "No, but since I found out what the hell it was that inovulated me after giving birth," (not really an accuracte description but as close as he was going to give to a guy who still had to go through it), "I had the chance to do a little research." Hand on the arm of the chair, he pushed up to his feet. "And, if you'll let me, I can do something about the backache at least." |
| He let Jack go, and braced his forearms on his own knees and looked up, with his eyebrow up. "I'll make a deal with you," he offered. "You don't offer me too much insight on what's going to be involved in this thing getting out, and I'll let you do something about the back-ache. It's a win-win." He grinned, though. Win and win for him, anyway. |
| "Deal," he agreed, and not just because he could hardly remember details of the whole extraction process and would prefer not to. "Can you lie down, or is the pressure wrong right now?" If it was, he could work with Jack sitting, but lying would be easier for them both. |
| He blinked, because they were in the library, but he shrugged and stood. "I can lie down. Floor or table? And if anyone comes near me - shoot them." |
| "There's..." He paused, checked, and then looked back with a grin, offering his arm to Jack in an exaggeratedly courtly gesture. "Nice long chaise." Which is going to be a lot more comfortable for Jack than either of the unpadded options. He slipped his coat down his arms, folded it, and laid it over the back of his chair, revealing the shoulder holster strapped firmly in place. "Trust me, I'm not gonna let anyone except the Doctor get close to you. Shooting or not." |
| He looked over at Jack and cocked his eyebrow up at the offer of his arm, but the mocking was ... better natured. "Whatever works." That was really all it was about. He wasn't completely trusting himself, but it was a hell of a lot more than he was willing to extend to anyone else. He had to concede, albeit silently, that the chaise looked a lot more pleasant than the floor. He took his coat off as he went over, paused to fold it but didn't put it down. Instead he lay down with it in the crook of his elbow and used it to position himself. Jack at his back made him tense up, made his back hurt, made him grit his teeth, made his head hurt. He realized all that before the chain reaction cycled and fed back, exhaled hard, and just made himself stop and finish settling in. "Involvement's good for you," he noted. |
| "Call it habit," he observed wryly, following across. Didn't miss that tension, either, but if Jack had gone through the same kind of experiences he had for his first forty years or so living linear - and not aging - he wouldn't be trusting anyone, either. Come to that, just a few days ago he'd not been trusting anyone. Hell, shot another version of himself through distrust. All things told, Brant had a lot to answer for in how much he'd opened up and relaxed around people. Some people. He settled his hands flat on Jack's back, over his shirt, not moving yet, just letting Jack get used to the contact. The warmth. "Might be able to suggest a few things that could get you eating, too." |
| At least Jack hadn't shot anyone he'd met here. Yet. Hopefully the trend would continue. Not something he'd bet on, but it would be nice to avoid it. Of course, it would be nice to get the hell out of here, too. He tensed up at the hands against his back, but managed to stop before it went too far, and reverse it back to near neutral. His back was still a wreck, but even lying down was stretching some of that back out. "I am all ears." |
| Chuckling at that claim, he started with the rub, not too light, not too heavy. "You're not - little parasite there," he leaned gently on what seemed the appropriate area, not hard enough to disturb the thing, "pretty much is." Which didn't answer Jack's question, but also, did. One eye on the door and one on Jack, he slid his fingers delicately under the braces to smooth the length of Jack's spine. "You sing, right?" |
| The lean over him, and then the press up the length of his spine was almost directly countering the pull and pressure that his parasite was exerting and just felt good. He stayed quiet, mostly because he didn't want to draw attention, and he was keeping an ear out for the sound of anything that might be threatening, but he was definitely enjoying it. "I hope you don't mean literally," he murmured. "And sure, I sing. How's that help the not puking thing?" |
| "Not literally," he assured Jack, keeping up the steady strokes of his hands, thumbs following along to rub small circles through tensed, overworked muscles. "It's just," shit, he was having to fight really hard not to refer to that parasite as 'she', "evolved for sound, communicates in sound, and you're throwing up because it's restless. Same for the not sleeping." Vicious circle, though, a guy didn't generally feel much like singing when his throat was raw from vomiting. "So, you sing, s- it senses that, gets the vibrations, settles down - and you get to keep food down long enough to benefit from it." |
| He half swallowed his appreciative groan, and pried his eyes open long enough to look over his shoulder at Jack. "Are you having a problem, there?" Yeah, he was teasing. He let his eyes close again, before he went on. "What the hell. I'll give it a shot, but if I end up in a mental institution," He stopped there but, did not add 'again', "I'm blaming you." |
| "Test it out while you're here," he advised. "I'm pretty sure that they don't have a mental institution to lock us up in." Otherwise about 80% of the people he'd met would be in there. The other 20% would either be running scared or paying their two bits to come watch. |
| "I'll give it a try, and I was mostly cracking about the asylum," he murmured. He kept relaxing, and if he wasn't careful he was going to fall asleep. |
| "Been there, done that, too," he said softly. Jesus, felt like this version of him had pretty much forgotten how to relax, no wonder he wasn't sleeping. Guts twisted up and spasming with tension would disturb the proto-Druid, and that would feed back...shit, no, he didn't envy human women their ability to carry a child. Not one bit. Half-smile twitching at his lips, he began to sing under his breath. |
| He didn't usually let himself focus consciously on the... thing inside him. He didn't want to be attatched, he didn't have the energy, he was just all instinctive protective reaction and prickly response. When Jack started singing though, there was no way not o be aware of the gut deep, pun intended, way the thing settled. Nothing obvious, but just relaxation and stillness and ease that spread outward. He sighed, very softly. "I'm sold," he murmured, eyelashes fluttering. |
| "You wander down the lane and far away..." Theory proved. He just wished he'd ever known about it himself, when it could have been useful, but hell, if it could help Jack, it was kind of liking helping himself. He could feel the sudden still and release of tension under his hands, even through layers of clothing, and he paused his massage, still singing, to reach out and grab a cushion, tucking it by Jack's head for easy grabbing. |
| He startled at the thing near his head, turned toward it to find out what the fuck it was, eyes opening. Then he realized it was pretty much the anthesis of a threat, grabbed it and yawned. "It's good to know I'm going to be a decent guy when I'm done being a paranoid bastard," he said, as his eyes closed again. "I promise not to wake up and shoot anyone, if you need to get back to the involvement." He was passing out. Not just falling asleep but so fucking lethargic and relaxed he could not move and his speech was slurred. |
| Pausing to say thanks would interrupt the singing, and besides, he figured that continuing with the singing worked as better thanks. Nowhere else he had to be, and he was pretty sure that Brant would understand even if they had arranged to meet up. Which they hadn't. Wasn't like the town was big enough that he couldn't find Brant as and when he needed to - as long as Brant was still there. And that was a thought that he was firmly not thinking about. His hands stilled on Jack's back, and he leaned down, lightly kissing Jack's cheek before moving away to retrieve his coat. He didn't have anything better to use as a blanket, but he wasn't about to let cold wake Jack up form what looked like a desperately needed sleep, so he gently draped his coat over Jack's shoulders and retreated to a chair, still singing. Some time sitting and reading wouldn't do him any harm, and he'd be able to make sure that Jack didn't need to wake up and shoot anyone. |