Advent '10 Fic: (If I Were You) I’d Fall In Love With Me
Title: (If I Were You) I’d Fall In Love With Me
Author: heddychaa
Characters: Jack, OCs, cameo by a historical figure
Rating: PG
Genre: Vignette
Wordcount: ~954
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Torchwood's characters, concepts, and events belong to their respective owners, including but not limited to Russell T Davies, Steven Moffat, and the BBC.
Summary: It's the 1920s in London, and Jack Harkness finds himself the latest plaything of England's Bright Young Things.
A/N: Happy December! The second of 25 advent fics. This one is from a prompt by madder_rose: "Torchwood roaring twenties. Booze, short dresses, hijinks." Hope you like it, doll! I had a ton of fun researching/writing it, that's for sure. Title is from the song of the same name by The Knickerbockers. Thank you to azn_jack_fiend, _lullabelle_, and count_to_seven for the support and beta for all of this month's stories! :) And see you all again tomorrow!
(If I Were You) I’d Fall In Love With Me
“Didn’t I tell you?” Lottie coos, clinging to the crook of Jack’s elbow with both arms. “Didn’t I tell you that if I was the one to ask, then he’d come? Didn’t I?”
The light reflecting off the foiled walls, off the chandeliers and sequined curtains, is nearly blinding, and Jack’s eyes are watering from all the smoke. The disaffected man in a sharp tux Lottie’s talking to blows a big red-orange mouthful of it right into Jack’s face.
Jack, managing not to flinch or cough, just turns on his smile and looks down to Lottie, her cheek tilted and nuzzling into his shoulder. Her big brown eyes are rung in kohl, her hair slicked and fingerwaved to one side. He tells her: “Of course I did! What black-hearted man could say ‘no’ to a little drunken Kewpie doll like you?”
Lottie turns to the man in the tux. “A Kewpie doll!” she titters, then switches to bragging: “Jack just says the funniest things. I just knew you had to meet him, Archie.”
Archie half-closes his eyes and takes a long drag of his cigarette. Face in profile, perfectly bored-looking and refusing to look at Jack, he says, “Lottie, you always ‘just know’ I have to meet people.”
“Jack Harkness,” Jack tries, and earnestly puts out his hand.
Archie just exhales another mouthful of smoke in three round little puffs. “I’m sure,” he says, dripping disdain, and pointedly ignores Jack’s hand. “Is that uniform meant to be ironic?” His eyes flicker down Jack’s body, the sharp lines of his dress uniform.
Jack just laughs. He’s been to parties like this before with John, back when they were in the Agency. He knows how this game is played.
Lottie isn’t discouraged, either. “Oh, he always dresses like that. He’s so funny. I like to think it’s a part of his charm. He’s Torchwood, you see. My father’s the director in London, but Jack’s based in Cardiff. It’s top secret, you know, Torchwood?”
When Lottie says ‘top secret’, Jack taps the side of his nose conspiratorially and flashes Archie a naughty smirk.
“Cardiff! Who’d want to work in Cardiff?” Archie replies. He snatches a martini off the tray of a passing waiter and takes a long sip. But Jack can see it, the break in his veneer, the little glint in his eyes, regarding Jack over the rim of his glass.
“That’s just what I said!” Lottie replies. “I told him he could have a job in London if he wanted, I’d just have to put his name in with my father, but do you know he refused! He’s so odd!” She lets out a laugh at her own joke, the sound of it high and piercing over the background clammer of brass instruments and chatter and thumping feet.
“Hey, if you’d ever been down to Butetown late at night you’d know why I like it there so much,” Jack cuts in, flashing them both a lecherous grin. Archie’s eyelashes, long and black, flutter almost imperceptibly. Gotcha.
Suddenly, Lottie cranes her neck, rising up onto her toes. “Oh! Stephen!” she calls out with a jaunty little wave. “Yoo-hoo!”
A man, weaving through the crowd nearby, pauses to look and see who’s calling him.
“You just have to meet Stephen, Jack. He loves soldiers,” Lottie confides, and makes to turn Jack by his elbow and lead him over in the direction of the other man: skinny and androgynous and waiting for them with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other.
“Do I, now?” Jack says, absently, but he is looking over his shoulder at Archie, who watches them go with a half-suppressed look of disappointment. Jack breaks from Lottie’s grip and trots back to Archie’s side, tilting his mouth to Archie’s ear. “Find me later, won’t you?”
Cheek-to-cheek, Jack can hear Archie holding his breath, feel Archie smiling. When he pulls back though, it’s to that same bland look as before. “I don’t know,” Archie says, coy. “Maybe.”
Jack grins, half-bows, and turns on his heel to run and catch up with Lottie again.
When he arrives, Lottie tucks her arm in Jack’s as though he hadn’t gone, introducing, “Stephen, Captain Jack Harkness. Jack, Stephen Tennant.” She snatches the cigarette from Stephen’s hand and sucks on it. “Didn’t I tell you, Stephen? Didn’t I tell you how handsome Jack was? He’s American, you know. And such a nice jaw.”
Stephen assesses Jack without comment. Unlike Archie before, he looks genuinely bored, pouting a little. He has a boyish face coloured by a cheeky little dash of makeup, sandy hair styled just so, clothes at the height of fashion, ostentatious and affected. Big ears.
“I gotta tell you, Stephen,” Jack tells him with a grin, “You really oughta call up David Bowie and tell him to quit bogarting your look.”
Stephen’s nose twists momentarily and then the expression of confusion disappears. Wouldn’t do to look like one doesn’t know everybody.
“You see?” Lottie brags, lurching forward on her waist with exaggerated laughter. “I told you, didn’t I? Jack here always says the oddest things! Isn’t he just so odd, Stephen?”
“Oddest man I’ve ever met,” Stephen indulges her. He looks to the band, the glittering gold of the trombones and the sheen of dark wood of the standing bass, and then turns his eyes on Jack again. “Do you have a cigarette, Jack?” he asks. And doesn’t he just sound so sad.
Author: heddychaa
Characters: Jack, OCs, cameo by a historical figure
Rating: PG
Genre: Vignette
Wordcount: ~954
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Torchwood's characters, concepts, and events belong to their respective owners, including but not limited to Russell T Davies, Steven Moffat, and the BBC.
Summary: It's the 1920s in London, and Jack Harkness finds himself the latest plaything of England's Bright Young Things.
A/N: Happy December! The second of 25 advent fics. This one is from a prompt by madder_rose: "Torchwood roaring twenties. Booze, short dresses, hijinks." Hope you like it, doll! I had a ton of fun researching/writing it, that's for sure. Title is from the song of the same name by The Knickerbockers. Thank you to azn_jack_fiend, _lullabelle_, and count_to_seven for the support and beta for all of this month's stories! :) And see you all again tomorrow!
(If I Were You) I’d Fall In Love With Me
“Didn’t I tell you?” Lottie coos, clinging to the crook of Jack’s elbow with both arms. “Didn’t I tell you that if I was the one to ask, then he’d come? Didn’t I?”
The light reflecting off the foiled walls, off the chandeliers and sequined curtains, is nearly blinding, and Jack’s eyes are watering from all the smoke. The disaffected man in a sharp tux Lottie’s talking to blows a big red-orange mouthful of it right into Jack’s face.
Jack, managing not to flinch or cough, just turns on his smile and looks down to Lottie, her cheek tilted and nuzzling into his shoulder. Her big brown eyes are rung in kohl, her hair slicked and fingerwaved to one side. He tells her: “Of course I did! What black-hearted man could say ‘no’ to a little drunken Kewpie doll like you?”
Lottie turns to the man in the tux. “A Kewpie doll!” she titters, then switches to bragging: “Jack just says the funniest things. I just knew you had to meet him, Archie.”
Archie half-closes his eyes and takes a long drag of his cigarette. Face in profile, perfectly bored-looking and refusing to look at Jack, he says, “Lottie, you always ‘just know’ I have to meet people.”
“Jack Harkness,” Jack tries, and earnestly puts out his hand.
Archie just exhales another mouthful of smoke in three round little puffs. “I’m sure,” he says, dripping disdain, and pointedly ignores Jack’s hand. “Is that uniform meant to be ironic?” His eyes flicker down Jack’s body, the sharp lines of his dress uniform.
Jack just laughs. He’s been to parties like this before with John, back when they were in the Agency. He knows how this game is played.
Lottie isn’t discouraged, either. “Oh, he always dresses like that. He’s so funny. I like to think it’s a part of his charm. He’s Torchwood, you see. My father’s the director in London, but Jack’s based in Cardiff. It’s top secret, you know, Torchwood?”
When Lottie says ‘top secret’, Jack taps the side of his nose conspiratorially and flashes Archie a naughty smirk.
“Cardiff! Who’d want to work in Cardiff?” Archie replies. He snatches a martini off the tray of a passing waiter and takes a long sip. But Jack can see it, the break in his veneer, the little glint in his eyes, regarding Jack over the rim of his glass.
“That’s just what I said!” Lottie replies. “I told him he could have a job in London if he wanted, I’d just have to put his name in with my father, but do you know he refused! He’s so odd!” She lets out a laugh at her own joke, the sound of it high and piercing over the background clammer of brass instruments and chatter and thumping feet.
“Hey, if you’d ever been down to Butetown late at night you’d know why I like it there so much,” Jack cuts in, flashing them both a lecherous grin. Archie’s eyelashes, long and black, flutter almost imperceptibly. Gotcha.
Suddenly, Lottie cranes her neck, rising up onto her toes. “Oh! Stephen!” she calls out with a jaunty little wave. “Yoo-hoo!”
A man, weaving through the crowd nearby, pauses to look and see who’s calling him.
“You just have to meet Stephen, Jack. He loves soldiers,” Lottie confides, and makes to turn Jack by his elbow and lead him over in the direction of the other man: skinny and androgynous and waiting for them with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other.
“Do I, now?” Jack says, absently, but he is looking over his shoulder at Archie, who watches them go with a half-suppressed look of disappointment. Jack breaks from Lottie’s grip and trots back to Archie’s side, tilting his mouth to Archie’s ear. “Find me later, won’t you?”
Cheek-to-cheek, Jack can hear Archie holding his breath, feel Archie smiling. When he pulls back though, it’s to that same bland look as before. “I don’t know,” Archie says, coy. “Maybe.”
Jack grins, half-bows, and turns on his heel to run and catch up with Lottie again.
When he arrives, Lottie tucks her arm in Jack’s as though he hadn’t gone, introducing, “Stephen, Captain Jack Harkness. Jack, Stephen Tennant.” She snatches the cigarette from Stephen’s hand and sucks on it. “Didn’t I tell you, Stephen? Didn’t I tell you how handsome Jack was? He’s American, you know. And such a nice jaw.”
Stephen assesses Jack without comment. Unlike Archie before, he looks genuinely bored, pouting a little. He has a boyish face coloured by a cheeky little dash of makeup, sandy hair styled just so, clothes at the height of fashion, ostentatious and affected. Big ears.
“I gotta tell you, Stephen,” Jack tells him with a grin, “You really oughta call up David Bowie and tell him to quit bogarting your look.”
Stephen’s nose twists momentarily and then the expression of confusion disappears. Wouldn’t do to look like one doesn’t know everybody.
“You see?” Lottie brags, lurching forward on her waist with exaggerated laughter. “I told you, didn’t I? Jack here always says the oddest things! Isn’t he just so odd, Stephen?”
“Oddest man I’ve ever met,” Stephen indulges her. He looks to the band, the glittering gold of the trombones and the sheen of dark wood of the standing bass, and then turns his eyes on Jack again. “Do you have a cigarette, Jack?” he asks. And doesn’t he just sound so sad.