[Who-niverse/Real Person Fic] "First Impressions" (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for Any, any, Dear sir, you are without any doubt a rogue, a rascal, a villain, a thief, a scoundrel, and a mean, dirty, stinking, sniveling, sneaking, pimping, pocket-picking, thrice double damn no good son of a bitch. Featuring Jack Harkness/Jane Austen pre-het. I've been nursing this especially cracky pairing for some time. Particularly since I once joked that Jane got the inspiration for Wickham in "Pride and Prejudice" from an encounter with a certain ex-Time Agent.
Jane was the last person to order who invited whom to their dances and who they kept on the guest list -- having peculiar people kept the gathering from growing too dull -- but even she held exceptions that proved the rule. That included the people whom Mrs. _____ had invited to her summer dance, particularly from among the garrison stationed in the town: most of the officers were proper gentlemen, who quitted themselves in a manner befitting the military, but even the best selected group of men was likely to harbor one less than savory individual.
That role applied to a tall, dark fellow with blue-green eyes and a grin for which the very word "roguish" had likely been coined. His air and the way in which he carried himself seemed more befitting a highwayman in some horrid novel than a proper gentleman of the British Army. And as Jane watched him dancing with some of the younger ladies, she had the uneasy feeling that not a few might be finding their prospects damaged, if not ruined at the hands of the roguish fellow.
"You're watching that tall, swarthy fellow rather closely, dear Jane: has he caught your fancy even from here?" Mrs. ____ said, joining her on a settee at the edge of the dance floor.
"He is excellent to watch: he dances quite well, but perhaps he dances too well," Jane said. "The young ladies show a bit more interest in him than is truly proper. Who *is* he?"
"He calls himself Captain Jack Harkness: he claims to be from the former colonies," Mrs. ____ replied.
"A Royalist returned to the homeland?" Jane asked.
"Perhaps, though he seems more interested in adventure than in politicking," Mrs. _____ noted.
A squeal of delighted horror rose from the dance floor: Captain Harkness had somehow got ahold of one girl's bottle of sal volatile and was holding it up, threatening to ransom it for the price of the price of a kiss. One girl, clearly the offended girl's sister, tried to snatch it from his fingers, though he held it well out of reach, while the other argued with her that a kiss was a small price to pay for a small item. Half of the men in the crowd laughed at the sight, while the other half chided Harkness for his guile, though the censure seemed half-hearted and half in jest.
It was not the matter of the kiss that disgruntled Jane, but the way in which the man used the poor girl's innocence and eagerness, though the girl had, at least, a sister who would not stand for such misuse.
"I think I shall take the night air, the room feels close," Jane said, rising.
"Shall I take a turn with you?" Mrs. ______ offered.
"No, though I appreciate the offer: I think the moon and the stars will be company enough," Jane said, heading out by way of the garden doors and emerging onto the terrace.
The night sky seemed enough of a cover for her disgruntled composure. But already, her fertile mind had started to form an idea, as oyster might form a pearl when a grain of sand intruded on its tender flesh: her current novel needed some new element, a character who would balance out the leading man, a shadow to his kindling light.
"If I'm not mistaken, things were getting too hot for you to handle in there," a cocky voice said behind her.
Jane turned to look up and found the incorrigible Captain Harkness standing behind her, thankfully at a respectful distance.
"If that is what they call it in the former colonies, when someone has misused a young lady and filched one of her personal effects, then I suppose that I did find the climate to be not to my liking," Jane replied, crisply. But her tone did not discourage the rascal.
"Oooh, them be fightin' words," he said, the grin broadening. "Why don't yah come right out and tell me what you really think of me, Miss Austen."
"And who told you my name?" she replied.
"Our esteemed hostess: I saw you flounce out and I felt it was my duty to see what had caused that flounce," Captain Harkness said.
"For that and for your insistence at prying into my affairs, as well as your lack of shame on the dance floor, I shall tell you what I think," she said, turning completely toward him and looking up into his face. "I think, dear sir, that you are without any doubt a rogue, a rascal, a villain, a thief, a scoundrel, and a pick-pocketing son of --" she stopped herself form using the word that wanted to escape her lips, *though she had heard her brothers use it regarding men who had dishonored their posts. It might fit, but even she would not stoop to such language, even if it applied.
Even this kind of misuse did not discourage the rascal. "Now, doesn't that feel better to get that out in the air where it belongs?" he said.
At least he owned up to his misbehavior, even if he had no sense of shame toward it. "I do not know if it feels better, but it is better to be honest in regard to one's misdoings and ones regard for the same," she replied.
"So does that make me an honest rogue in your eyes?" he asked.
"Perhaps, though I would not afford you the luxury of such a compliment," she replied. *"Now, if you disport yourself as a true gentleman and allow me to return to the dance?"
"I could escort you back, if milady Jane would allow," he replied, proffering her one arm.
She did not take it. "Thank you, but I cannot accept the offer," she replied, and re-entered the house. She had the inkling of an idea, an incorrigible rogue, a wicked man, who was not above playing with the heart of a young lady, particularly the silly sort who would accept such attentions as proper ones, even when it lead them down a path that could end in ruin and loss of honor...
Jane was the last person to order who invited whom to their dances and who they kept on the guest list -- having peculiar people kept the gathering from growing too dull -- but even she held exceptions that proved the rule. That included the people whom Mrs. _____ had invited to her summer dance, particularly from among the garrison stationed in the town: most of the officers were proper gentlemen, who quitted themselves in a manner befitting the military, but even the best selected group of men was likely to harbor one less than savory individual.
That role applied to a tall, dark fellow with blue-green eyes and a grin for which the very word "roguish" had likely been coined. His air and the way in which he carried himself seemed more befitting a highwayman in some horrid novel than a proper gentleman of the British Army. And as Jane watched him dancing with some of the younger ladies, she had the uneasy feeling that not a few might be finding their prospects damaged, if not ruined at the hands of the roguish fellow.
"You're watching that tall, swarthy fellow rather closely, dear Jane: has he caught your fancy even from here?" Mrs. ____ said, joining her on a settee at the edge of the dance floor.
"He is excellent to watch: he dances quite well, but perhaps he dances too well," Jane said. "The young ladies show a bit more interest in him than is truly proper. Who *is* he?"
"He calls himself Captain Jack Harkness: he claims to be from the former colonies," Mrs. ____ replied.
"A Royalist returned to the homeland?" Jane asked.
"Perhaps, though he seems more interested in adventure than in politicking," Mrs. _____ noted.
A squeal of delighted horror rose from the dance floor: Captain Harkness had somehow got ahold of one girl's bottle of sal volatile and was holding it up, threatening to ransom it for the price of the price of a kiss. One girl, clearly the offended girl's sister, tried to snatch it from his fingers, though he held it well out of reach, while the other argued with her that a kiss was a small price to pay for a small item. Half of the men in the crowd laughed at the sight, while the other half chided Harkness for his guile, though the censure seemed half-hearted and half in jest.
It was not the matter of the kiss that disgruntled Jane, but the way in which the man used the poor girl's innocence and eagerness, though the girl had, at least, a sister who would not stand for such misuse.
"I think I shall take the night air, the room feels close," Jane said, rising.
"Shall I take a turn with you?" Mrs. ______ offered.
"No, though I appreciate the offer: I think the moon and the stars will be company enough," Jane said, heading out by way of the garden doors and emerging onto the terrace.
The night sky seemed enough of a cover for her disgruntled composure. But already, her fertile mind had started to form an idea, as oyster might form a pearl when a grain of sand intruded on its tender flesh: her current novel needed some new element, a character who would balance out the leading man, a shadow to his kindling light.
"If I'm not mistaken, things were getting too hot for you to handle in there," a cocky voice said behind her.
Jane turned to look up and found the incorrigible Captain Harkness standing behind her, thankfully at a respectful distance.
"If that is what they call it in the former colonies, when someone has misused a young lady and filched one of her personal effects, then I suppose that I did find the climate to be not to my liking," Jane replied, crisply. But her tone did not discourage the rascal.
"Oooh, them be fightin' words," he said, the grin broadening. "Why don't yah come right out and tell me what you really think of me, Miss Austen."
"And who told you my name?" she replied.
"Our esteemed hostess: I saw you flounce out and I felt it was my duty to see what had caused that flounce," Captain Harkness said.
"For that and for your insistence at prying into my affairs, as well as your lack of shame on the dance floor, I shall tell you what I think," she said, turning completely toward him and looking up into his face. "I think, dear sir, that you are without any doubt a rogue, a rascal, a villain, a thief, a scoundrel, and a pick-pocketing son of --" she stopped herself form using the word that wanted to escape her lips, *though she had heard her brothers use it regarding men who had dishonored their posts. It might fit, but even she would not stoop to such language, even if it applied.
Even this kind of misuse did not discourage the rascal. "Now, doesn't that feel better to get that out in the air where it belongs?" he said.
At least he owned up to his misbehavior, even if he had no sense of shame toward it. "I do not know if it feels better, but it is better to be honest in regard to one's misdoings and ones regard for the same," she replied.
"So does that make me an honest rogue in your eyes?" he asked.
"Perhaps, though I would not afford you the luxury of such a compliment," she replied. *"Now, if you disport yourself as a true gentleman and allow me to return to the dance?"
"I could escort you back, if milady Jane would allow," he replied, proffering her one arm.
She did not take it. "Thank you, but I cannot accept the offer," she replied, and re-entered the house. She had the inkling of an idea, an incorrigible rogue, a wicked man, who was not above playing with the heart of a young lady, particularly the silly sort who would accept such attentions as proper ones, even when it lead them down a path that could end in ruin and loss of honor...