[Torchwood/Boardwalk Empire/Yami no Matsuei] "Dying Day (Response)" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for the Team Albany RP, inspired by This Fic. Featuring the TA universe version of Kazutaka Muraki and Jack Harkness.
Harkness brought Mudgett the news, one afternoon as Mudgett dressed for an evening on the town, seeking company for the night.
"You heard the word?" Harkness said, the usual mocking glint in his pale eyes dimmed, a harbinger more ominous than the black crepe band on the man's left sleeve.
"What word?" Mudgett asked, as Hyacinthe helped adjust his master's evening jacket over the taller man's shoulders.
Harkness drew a long breath, his gaze straying to the dark corners of the room. "Doyle is dead."
Mudgett turned to look at the messenger, not believing it. "One of his absurd tricks? If he needs my attention and expertise..."
Harkness shook his head. "No tricks: he's gone," he replied with grim finality.
What felt like a cold hand closed around Mudgett's heart. "How did it... happen?" he asked. Harkness went on to relate the details, words that in Mudgett's ears, seemed to echo from the depths of a well.
"Guess you won't be stitching him up and you won't be filing any more records of his misadventures," Harkness said, dryly, but the words caught in his throat.
"No, it would appear," Mudget said, turning back to his mirror, leaning his hands on the edge of his bureau. He should feel triumphant, that someone had eliminated the rival for his one-time fiancee's affections. Instead, he felt a hollowness, worse than the hunger of which his darkness often reminded him.
He bowed his head, then shifted, feeling his glass eye loosen in his socket. A convenient distraction, he thought, and he reached for the white eye patch on the bureau top, pretending he merely needed to swap it for his glass eye. Hyacinthe reached to put a hand on his shoulder, but Mudgett stepped aside, gently waving him off.
"I suppose you expected a day like this would come," Harkness said. "And if I'm not mistaken, you wanted to have a hand in it."
"Harkness, please, this is not the time nor the place for your jests," Mudgett said, looking up at Harkness's reflection in the mirror.
"I can be quiet," Harkness said, lowering his voice. "You want me to hang around still, or would you rather I left you to your evening engagement."
Mudgett shook his head slowly, tiredly. "I think that tonight will be a night in after all," he said.
"Couldn't have better company, unless you'd rather that I got out of your hair," Harkness said, starting for the door.
"No. Stay. Hyacinthe?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Go on ahead and cancel my reservation at Babette's," Mudgett ordered, and by way of the mirror, he saw his young companion slip away.
Harkness watched Hyacinthe as he went out the door. "Don't tell me that you and Doyle were...?"
Mudgett darted a glare at Harkness. "No, you fool. I hated him, particularly when I learned that she and he had a bit on the side."
Harkness chuckled. "I figured you'd had the bit on the side with him and you hated him for getting involved with the lady. Fairly common knowledge you gents liked to spar with wits, I figured a different kind of sparring went on but you weren't letting on, though at least you got the truth off your chest."
"Like lancing a boil," Mudgett said, turning back to the mirror. He could think of no better image, that a troublesome element had been removed, and yet he found it brought no relief.
"Looks like you could use some medicine of your own, Doc," Harkness said, approaching and putting a hand on Mudgett's waist. For once, he did not try and push Harkness away, and yet he did not reach for him, not now, not just yet, letting the hand stay there, the man's warmth sinking into him...
Harkness brought Mudgett the news, one afternoon as Mudgett dressed for an evening on the town, seeking company for the night.
"You heard the word?" Harkness said, the usual mocking glint in his pale eyes dimmed, a harbinger more ominous than the black crepe band on the man's left sleeve.
"What word?" Mudgett asked, as Hyacinthe helped adjust his master's evening jacket over the taller man's shoulders.
Harkness drew a long breath, his gaze straying to the dark corners of the room. "Doyle is dead."
Mudgett turned to look at the messenger, not believing it. "One of his absurd tricks? If he needs my attention and expertise..."
Harkness shook his head. "No tricks: he's gone," he replied with grim finality.
What felt like a cold hand closed around Mudgett's heart. "How did it... happen?" he asked. Harkness went on to relate the details, words that in Mudgett's ears, seemed to echo from the depths of a well.
"Guess you won't be stitching him up and you won't be filing any more records of his misadventures," Harkness said, dryly, but the words caught in his throat.
"No, it would appear," Mudget said, turning back to his mirror, leaning his hands on the edge of his bureau. He should feel triumphant, that someone had eliminated the rival for his one-time fiancee's affections. Instead, he felt a hollowness, worse than the hunger of which his darkness often reminded him.
He bowed his head, then shifted, feeling his glass eye loosen in his socket. A convenient distraction, he thought, and he reached for the white eye patch on the bureau top, pretending he merely needed to swap it for his glass eye. Hyacinthe reached to put a hand on his shoulder, but Mudgett stepped aside, gently waving him off.
"I suppose you expected a day like this would come," Harkness said. "And if I'm not mistaken, you wanted to have a hand in it."
"Harkness, please, this is not the time nor the place for your jests," Mudgett said, looking up at Harkness's reflection in the mirror.
"I can be quiet," Harkness said, lowering his voice. "You want me to hang around still, or would you rather I left you to your evening engagement."
Mudgett shook his head slowly, tiredly. "I think that tonight will be a night in after all," he said.
"Couldn't have better company, unless you'd rather that I got out of your hair," Harkness said, starting for the door.
"No. Stay. Hyacinthe?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Go on ahead and cancel my reservation at Babette's," Mudgett ordered, and by way of the mirror, he saw his young companion slip away.
Harkness watched Hyacinthe as he went out the door. "Don't tell me that you and Doyle were...?"
Mudgett darted a glare at Harkness. "No, you fool. I hated him, particularly when I learned that she and he had a bit on the side."
Harkness chuckled. "I figured you'd had the bit on the side with him and you hated him for getting involved with the lady. Fairly common knowledge you gents liked to spar with wits, I figured a different kind of sparring went on but you weren't letting on, though at least you got the truth off your chest."
"Like lancing a boil," Mudgett said, turning back to the mirror. He could think of no better image, that a troublesome element had been removed, and yet he found it brought no relief.
"Looks like you could use some medicine of your own, Doc," Harkness said, approaching and putting a hand on Mudgett's waist. For once, he did not try and push Harkness away, and yet he did not reach for him, not now, not just yet, letting the hand stay there, the man's warmth sinking into him...