Birthday Fic for Sarkywoman
Title: Over the Edge
Pairing: John Hart/Ten, Jack/Ten, John/Jack
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Warnings: dark, non-con (in the next part)
Summary: John Hart knows how to make money out of other people's misery.
Note: I started this ages ago and nearly gave it up when Torchwood ret-coned Captain Hart's personality. For sarkywoman I will now finish it. These are only the first six pages, because I won't finish it within the livejournal wordlimit, becuase it was a good point for splitting the story, and because I haven't written much more yet and Sarky deserves to have something uploaded on her birthday.
“I need your help.”
Jack nearly snorted his drink out of his nose. That was a good one, really. Unfortunately, he had to assume that his old partner and former lover were completely serious about it.
“What’s it this time?” he asked. “We need to stop some catastrophe you caused? The world about to be blown apart if I don’t help you get some unfathomably valuable object?”
“No,” the other answered, ignoring his sarcasm. “I do indeed need your help to find some unfathomably valuable object, but the world has nothing to do with it. I won’t lie to you: This is about money. And fun.”
“Why should I help you?” After all, Jack didn’t owe him anything - the last private conversation they had ended with a broken spine. His. But at least he appreciated that the other was honest from the start, sparing them a lot of anger and running around.
Captain John Hart pursed his lips and leaned a little closer. Jack resisted the urge to lean back - the man was a psychopathic murderer, rapist and the pretty much most untrustworthy person he’d ever met, but he was also rather incredible when it came to sex, and the memory of all the hours they had spend in various creative positions in various creative places seemed to be trapped in his scent, in his smile. Jack told his libido to shut up.
“Isn’t this century unbelievably boring when it comes to fun?” John smirked, as if he’d read his mind.
“Why should I help you?” Jack repeated unimpressed, a carefully calculated hint of impatience in his voice. “And don’t even try to give me a reason that’s not one hundred percent selfish, because from that point on I will not believe a single word you say and this conversation is over.”
They were standing on the roof of a nine storey building and Jack didn’t for one second forget that he owed his dear old friend a ticket downwards the direct way. He hoped that John kept that in mind as well and remembered that he was the only one here who had anything to lose.
Even if what he would lose through such a fall was quite worthless anyway.
“I’m looking for something that’s scarce and priceless and, according to reliable sources, is most likely to be found on Earth in this era. Since this is your hunting ground I want your help to find it.”
“You can do whatever you like as long as you don’t endanger anyone,” Jack said graciously, drowning the rest of his drink. “But I’m certainly not going to be your assistant.”
“Oh, don’t be like that!” the other man protested. “It’s not like I’d expect you to work for free. You help me find it, I sell it and share the profit. Fifty percent. Think about it, Jack!”
“I don’t need to think about it,” Jack replied. “Because I know you. The moment you have what you wanted, you’ll kill me and run away.”
“Only I can’t kill you,” John reasoned. “You’d be back, you’d be pissed, you’d rip off my balls or something equally unpleasant. Anyway, it would damage our relationship.”
“More than me staying dead after you murdered me would?” Jack mused. John shrugged.
“Killing you would be more trouble than it’s worth. Besides, with this I will earn so much that I can effort sharing.”
There was a certain logic to that, Jack had to admit; him being immortal had shifted things between them, forced John to make long-term plans that went beyond the next killing - when it came to him, at least.
“I don’t need money,” he said.
“Oh, I forgot: You’re all noble and selfless now!”
“And extraordinarily well paid,” Jack added.
“Right. “ John nodded, took a step back and turned to look over the city. “But what about the excitement? Oh, I know, you have enough with Touch Wood, saving the world every five minutes, yadda, yadda, yadda. But is that really enough for you? A proper job, a pay check each month? Working for others?” He opened his arms wide, his intense stare turning to Jack’s face, that was kept carefully blank. “Think about the thrill of the chase! Leave your noble little life behind for a few days and be the guy I knew again! Do something bad, just for you! Just for fun!”
Jack’s face, he hoped, revealed nothing.
“I don’t need that anymore,” he said. “I already told you, the man you knew is gone, and you are not wanted here.” He frowned. “What is it you’re after, anyway?”
That damn, sexy smirk was back again.
“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘what’. More like a ‘who’.”
“Oh, I knew it!” exclaimed Jack. “You’re inviting me to hunting for humans in the city I’m trying to protect? I’m tempted to get you down from this roof the quickest way possible!”
John raised his hands.
“Hey, hey, calm down!” he said quickly. “It’s not about humans. It’s an alien. Possibly a threat to your city, or this planet. You’d do something good, if that makes you feel better about it.”
“What kind of alien?” Jack asked, wearily. The conversation had taken a turn he didn’t like and John, who had started as a slight annoyance, had suddenly become someone he might have to stop.
On the other hand Jack didn’t care much for most aliens that wandered through Cardiff, and he didn’t want to fight his old friend if he didn’t have to. Romantic reasons had nothing to do with it - the man was simply too unpleasant an enemy to bother.
John leant back, against the balustrade.
“Do you remember what an elemental is?” he asked.
“An elemental?” Jack frowned. More than a century had passed since he’d last heard the word in this context. “Elementals are just a myth, passed on in the agency,” he recalled. “They’re supposed to be beings that have…”
“That have no original time zone,” John finished when Jack stopped in mid-sentence. “Beings that never were born, and never will be. A pain for time agents because they belong nowhere. Fortunately they never bothered us, being just a myth and all.”
“I get the impression you’re about to tell me that they’re not.” Jack kept his voice clam, his hands from clenching. Not finishing the sentence had been a mistake but John had missed its meaning.
“There is at least one,” John nodded. “A time traveller, naturally. He seems to spend a lot of time on Earth. It would still mean travelling a bit since I wouldn’t expect him to show up in Cardiff of all places, but it’d do you good to get out of the city once in a while. You’re getting rusty.”
“How do you know about him?” Jack wanted to know, giving nothing away. “How do you know, in the first place, that it’s a male?” His heart was racing. He needed to control that, John was too much of a professional not to notice.
“Reliable sources,” John reminded him. “If you know what to look for you find his traces anywhere in the cosmos. But only very few people who’ve met him really know who and what he is, and that makes him a bit hard to track down. And chasing a time traveller is always a pain. So I decided to grab him when he comes here the next time.” He leaned closer to Jack again, and the head of Torchwood felt his breath on his face and didn’t imagine kissing him. With effort he stopped himself from grinding his teeth. “This is your territory and I could use you help,” John went on. “Just imagine how much he’d be worth! He’s a legend for most species, and apparently the only one there is. There are countless people out there who’d pay several fortunes to own him. Even dead he’d be priceless.”
“No,” said Jack.
John was still leaning against the balustrade. One quick movement and he’d be gone.
Jack’s finger’s itched.
“Don’t be like that,” John pouted.
“No,” Jack repeated, his voice hard.
“Well, if you don’t want to get rich, at least stay out of my way while I catch him on my own.”
“No.”
“Is that all you’re gonna say now?” John asked annoyed.
“No,” Jack said again. “You’re not going to hunt anyone here. You’re going to leave this planet right now and if I ever catch you here again, I’ll kill you.”
In a moment of wisdom the other man stepped away from the edge.
“Why so touchy?” he wanted to know. “There’s no reason to take this personally. After all I offered you to have a place in this for old time’s sake.”
“The old times are over,” Jack reminded him. “I’m a different man now, and this man is not going to let you go head-hunting on his planet. Is that understood? I won’t tolerate you attacking anyone on this world, alien or not.”
At least his words had an effect on John: He laughed.
“Captain Jack Harkness, protector of the Earth,” he said mockingly. And was hanging over the edge one second later, Jack pressing him down, further and further over the balustrade.
“You’re going to promise me that you won’t do it, right now,” he hissed. “And you’d better make me believe it, or I’ll make sure I won’t have to hunt you down later!”
John struggled but Jack was stronger, heavier. Five more centimetres and he was the only thing keeping the other man from falling. And in John’s eyes Jack could see fear, real, proper fear. Satisfying fear.
“Okay, okay, I won’t!” he hurried to say. “Promise! Now pull me back!”
Jack pushed further.
“I want you to be perfectly aware of what will happen if you break that promise!”
“I am!” he was assured. “Your planet, your rules. Won’t play here without your approval!”
It was pathetic, but it was what Jack had expected. He pulled the other back roughly when his hands itched to push. John stumbled away from the edge and it felt like a wasted chance.
But John would keep his promise, Jack knew. There was no excuse for murder here, except for a list so long he’d need days to point it all out. John got off on violence, murder, the exertion of power, but for all the risks he took, he remained a coward at heart, someone who’d risk the lives of others any day but would never endanger his own if he didn’t have to. Crossing Jack would mean certain death. He wouldn’t do it.
“Get away from here right now,” Jack ordered harshly, before John could regain his playful behaviour. He didn’t leave him time to answer, walked away immediately instead. Back into the building and down the stairs.
The moment the door fell shut behind him he fished for his cell phone.
-
A few weeks later Jack was standing on a different building, looking over the city below him, and grimaced. He didn’t hold much love for Cardiff at the moment, since it had killed him trice this day and only two deaths had been caused by alien. The other one had been caused by traffic. He’d been trying to reach the old warehouse where a group of evil janitors had imprisoned two very pissed semi-intelligent alien creatures before they could escape, had been stuck in a traffic jam and decided to run the last mile. Thanks to the traffic running smoothly on the other side of the road and Tosh distracting him by giving directions over his earpiece, he’d been run over by a bus. The driver never apologized, instead cursed him in surprisingly imaginative ways after he came back to life. At the warehouse the senior-janitor had tried to shoot him, missed, and accidentally opened the cage. After which one of those creatures had killed everyone inside the building, including Jack. It had been messy.
Shortly after that Owen and Gwen had finally shown up to eliminate the aliens, that were pretty much running amok at that point. But before they died one of them managed to bite off Jack’s hand and he had to kill himself to get it back.
In short, it had been what was universally knows as ‘one of those days’.
But it was almost over. The sun was setting, and Jack had come to the top of this building because he wanted to be on his own for a while. It was higher than the building where he had spoken to John weeks before, but it reminded him of that meeting and once again he wondered if he’d made a terribly mistake by letting him live.
John had complained about him having changed, and he was right. His former partner had no reason to be unhappy about it, though, since the old Jack would have killed him right there and then. Just to make sure.
And the new Jack for the first time in ages cursed the fact that the old Jack was gone.
The moment he’d been out of hearing range he’d tried to reach the Doctor through the cell phone Martha had left with him, but the thing had been shut off. Jack wasn’t exactly surprised - he knew the Doctor didn’t like to be available all the time. He also wasn’t exactly worried - not even when he tried again and again and the best thing he got was the mailbox. And he wasn’t surprised that the Doctor had never called him back; clearly the Time Lord had labelled checking his messages as ‘too domestic’.
Jack was confident in the Doctor’s ability to defend himself and the space-time continuum was a very large place to get lost in. There was little reason to worry, but when it came to the Doctor he liked to be sure. The guy showed up far too seldom for Jack to know if he was alright.
(Jack was aware that there might come a time when he waited for the Doctor for the rest of eternity and he never came.)
Maybe coming here hadn’t been the best idea. Jack wanted to relax, and he couldn’t while his thoughts kept wandering back to he-who-he-was-not-worried-about. Because he wasn’t. He just happened to remember that the guy who currently called himself John Hart was a sick, perverted bastard and knowing him to be after the Doctor was slightly unsettling.
But there was little he could do about that, and eventually his thoughts wandered elsewhere. Tosh was in Spain at the moment. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Jack had been bitten by the idea that at least once every five years every member of Torchwood should have a few days off. Gwen took that liberty far more often than the others, driven by her significant other. Technically Owen would be next but Jack didn’t feel comfortable with letting him out of sight for too long, dead, pissed and fragile as he was.
As for Ianto, he didn’t seem to have any life outside of Torchwood. Sometimes Jack was stuck by the vision that once he left the hub Friday evening he simply ceased to exist until he returned to work Monday morning. Naturally Jack was more that willing to help him expand his lifespan through the weekend.
In fact, they had a date planned for next Saturday. The classic version, since twenty-first-century-Ianto was far more comfortable if they had dinner before they had sex and Jack liked to indulge him if there was time.
John had been right though: sometimes he did miss the old days, when he had had no responsibility, no obligations and no paperwork. There were enough people in this century open to one-night-stands and meaningless fun, but it was frowned upon and Jack was tired of enjoying himself behind closed door so as not to embarrass his partners too much - if he found the time to do it all. He liked to give his team the weekend off, if he could, but the rift had so far failed to show any consideration to their working hours.
Without any particular reason Jack found himself thinking of the Doctor’s eyebrows. He shook his head with a little snort; what he felt for the Time Lord was mainly affection and simple, pure love. He’d been the first person in a long, long time (possibly forever) he had loved without desire.
Which was a complete lie, anyway. Of course he desired the Doctor. But the fact that he’d never have him didn’t play any part in their relationship, and that was a first. Jack loved him anyway. And if he should ever, for whatever obscure reason, get that chance to sleep with him, Jack wouldn’t do it. Probably. The entire idea appeared wrong to him; like blasphemy.
The sun was setting, almost gone. Its last rays painted the city below in warm colours but Jack didn’t feel ready to forgive her just yet. And tomorrow would probably differ little from today. Except tomorrow would be Wednesday. Who liked Wednesdays anyway? Not only did they mark the middle of the week, they also appeared to be the favoured day for shit to happen in Cardiff. Ergo: Tomorrow would probably be worse.
Three more days to next weekend…
Jack decided to stay until the last light had faded and then return to the hub and write a memo to Ianto that the damn light bulbs in the weevil-cells needed to be replaced.
His thoughts were interrupted by a distant wheezing sound that quickly got louder and turned into a low, rumbling thunder. To Jack it sounded distinctly like the engine of a spaceship.
A strong gush of wind nearly knocked him over. After ruining his hairstyle it stopped though, and one moment later a light appeared a few metres away, turning into a brightly lit rectangular shape hanging one metre above the ground in the thin air. Inside that shape appeared John Hart, who smirked a self-satisfied little smirk of self-satisfaction.
“Hey there!” he called. “Now what do you say to this?”
While Jack was glad for anything keeping his thoughts from wandering back to work he couldn’t exactly say he was happy to see the man.
“Looks like an invisible spaceship.” Well, technically it didn’t.
“Nice, isn’t it?” John asked proudly. “Careful, don’t run into the leg when you come over.”
Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to come over, but did so anyway. He even managed to avoid hitting anything.
“What do you want?” he wanted to know. “I thought I’d made myself clear last time.”
“Crystal,” John confirmed. “Don’t worry, I’m not here for hunting anyone. I merely wanted to show you my new ship. How long’s it been for you?”
The question caught Jack unaware, confused him for a second. He’d been out of regular time-travel for too long.
“About one month,” he said. Now he was closer, he could see that it had been longer for the other man: He had aged. Not much, but still visibly. In the fifty-first century people aged more slowly than they did in the twenty-first, got much older. What had been four weeks for Jack had been several years for John.
“I’ve had some more time,” John confirmed. “Long enough to miss you. Come inside!”
“I’d rather not,” Jack declined, knowing there was a high possibility of him not coming out again. “I’m not planning to leave here, and I’m not going to have sex with you!”
Which was almost a shame - John was sex on legs after all, and this century was so damn tame in bed. But Jack wasn’t going to let his guard down, something initial for sleeping with anyone - especially not when it came to a psychopathic murderer. The immoral sometimes wondered where the sex-appeal of those came from.
“I’m offering something much better,” John grinned, reached for Jack’s arm and pulled him inside with a strength that again and again managed to surprise him. Jack let it happen. He had his gun, after all, and his vortex manipulator. If John took him away from here, he could always come back.
“The moment you start the engines I’ll break your neck,” he promised.
The ship John wanted to show him was quite nice indeed. It was larger than Jack had thought and modern by fifty-sixth century standards; a good century for spacecraft. But Jack didn’t for one second believe that the former time agent had come just to show off, and even less because he’d missed him. He remained weary, alert, while trying not to show it. Apparently John was bored, and that always made him even more dangerous than he was anyway.
Maybe he thought it was time to pay Jack back for spoiling his fun the last time he’d been here. The immortal wasn’t keen on becoming the punching bag of another psychopath who liked to kill him just for fun.
“The ship’s not bad,” he said casually. “Where did you steal it?”
“Why this bad opinion of me?” John frowned in mock indignation. “I bought it.”
“Right…”
“Oh, but I did! I happened to get hold of quite a lot of money.”
“Even so, you’d never waste it on anything you could get for free.”
“Oh, you’re right, I didn’t buy it as such,” John finally admitted. “I received it as payment. It’s not that much of a difference.”
“Payment?” Now Jack frowned, and there wasn’t anything fake about it. “What for?”
“Certain favours. A once-in-a-lifetime chance. Something really special. And a lot of fun.”
Jack tried to figure out what someone living in a world of self-delusion might mean by that. He snorted.
“Don’ tell me you actually found someone willing to pay for sex with you.” Because he was never going to believe that!
“Not me,” John corrected.
Jack turned to look at him, his expression darkening.
“What do you mean? You’re having a brothel in here?”
“If it comes to that.” John shrugged. “But I’m selling other things as well. It’s earning me a fortune.”
Hadn’t he said something like that before? Jack had a very bad feeling about this. Whatever made John Hart so incredibly satisfied couldn’t be good.
“I can’t imagine you as a businessman.”
“Wasn’t planned like this, it just sort of happened. I thought: Why make a fortune once if you can make a fortune over and over again?”
Jack asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know:
“What are you selling?”
“I’ll show you.”
Jack would have preferred being told, but said nothing as he followed his former partner through the corridors of the ship. He never saw anyone else, which lead him to the conclusion that John was piloting the vessel on his own - it made sense: the less people around the less risk of getting a knife in the back. Being a sociopathic murderer often came with justified paranoia.
Eventually John stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor. It was locked, and the lock was a good one, Jack noticed. Whatever was in there had to be incredibly valuable.
He wondered if the lock served to keep others out, or to keep something in.
John keyed in a code and the door opened with a quiet hiss. What Jack noticed first was the temperature: It was surprisingly cold in here.
The view was obscured by a grey curtain hanging from the ceiling. John pushed it aside and Jack finally could see what had made this man so incredibly rich.
There was a bed on the far side of the room, surrounded by medical equipment. On the bed lay a man, motionless and hooked up to the machines, and with padded restraints binding his wrists and ankles to the frame of the bed. Half of his face was covered by the semi-transparent energy field of a fifty-sixth century oxygen mask but Jack recognized him anyway. His heart stopped, even though he’d known. Deep inside he’d known.
“I told you once that I wanted to find the last elemental,” John reminded him with pride in his voice. “And, well - I did.”
- tbc
Pairing: John Hart/Ten, Jack/Ten, John/Jack
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Warnings: dark, non-con (in the next part)
Summary: John Hart knows how to make money out of other people's misery.
Note: I started this ages ago and nearly gave it up when Torchwood ret-coned Captain Hart's personality. For sarkywoman I will now finish it. These are only the first six pages, because I won't finish it within the livejournal wordlimit, becuase it was a good point for splitting the story, and because I haven't written much more yet and Sarky deserves to have something uploaded on her birthday.
“I need your help.”
Jack nearly snorted his drink out of his nose. That was a good one, really. Unfortunately, he had to assume that his old partner and former lover were completely serious about it.
“What’s it this time?” he asked. “We need to stop some catastrophe you caused? The world about to be blown apart if I don’t help you get some unfathomably valuable object?”
“No,” the other answered, ignoring his sarcasm. “I do indeed need your help to find some unfathomably valuable object, but the world has nothing to do with it. I won’t lie to you: This is about money. And fun.”
“Why should I help you?” After all, Jack didn’t owe him anything - the last private conversation they had ended with a broken spine. His. But at least he appreciated that the other was honest from the start, sparing them a lot of anger and running around.
Captain John Hart pursed his lips and leaned a little closer. Jack resisted the urge to lean back - the man was a psychopathic murderer, rapist and the pretty much most untrustworthy person he’d ever met, but he was also rather incredible when it came to sex, and the memory of all the hours they had spend in various creative positions in various creative places seemed to be trapped in his scent, in his smile. Jack told his libido to shut up.
“Isn’t this century unbelievably boring when it comes to fun?” John smirked, as if he’d read his mind.
“Why should I help you?” Jack repeated unimpressed, a carefully calculated hint of impatience in his voice. “And don’t even try to give me a reason that’s not one hundred percent selfish, because from that point on I will not believe a single word you say and this conversation is over.”
They were standing on the roof of a nine storey building and Jack didn’t for one second forget that he owed his dear old friend a ticket downwards the direct way. He hoped that John kept that in mind as well and remembered that he was the only one here who had anything to lose.
Even if what he would lose through such a fall was quite worthless anyway.
“I’m looking for something that’s scarce and priceless and, according to reliable sources, is most likely to be found on Earth in this era. Since this is your hunting ground I want your help to find it.”
“You can do whatever you like as long as you don’t endanger anyone,” Jack said graciously, drowning the rest of his drink. “But I’m certainly not going to be your assistant.”
“Oh, don’t be like that!” the other man protested. “It’s not like I’d expect you to work for free. You help me find it, I sell it and share the profit. Fifty percent. Think about it, Jack!”
“I don’t need to think about it,” Jack replied. “Because I know you. The moment you have what you wanted, you’ll kill me and run away.”
“Only I can’t kill you,” John reasoned. “You’d be back, you’d be pissed, you’d rip off my balls or something equally unpleasant. Anyway, it would damage our relationship.”
“More than me staying dead after you murdered me would?” Jack mused. John shrugged.
“Killing you would be more trouble than it’s worth. Besides, with this I will earn so much that I can effort sharing.”
There was a certain logic to that, Jack had to admit; him being immortal had shifted things between them, forced John to make long-term plans that went beyond the next killing - when it came to him, at least.
“I don’t need money,” he said.
“Oh, I forgot: You’re all noble and selfless now!”
“And extraordinarily well paid,” Jack added.
“Right. “ John nodded, took a step back and turned to look over the city. “But what about the excitement? Oh, I know, you have enough with Touch Wood, saving the world every five minutes, yadda, yadda, yadda. But is that really enough for you? A proper job, a pay check each month? Working for others?” He opened his arms wide, his intense stare turning to Jack’s face, that was kept carefully blank. “Think about the thrill of the chase! Leave your noble little life behind for a few days and be the guy I knew again! Do something bad, just for you! Just for fun!”
Jack’s face, he hoped, revealed nothing.
“I don’t need that anymore,” he said. “I already told you, the man you knew is gone, and you are not wanted here.” He frowned. “What is it you’re after, anyway?”
That damn, sexy smirk was back again.
“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘what’. More like a ‘who’.”
“Oh, I knew it!” exclaimed Jack. “You’re inviting me to hunting for humans in the city I’m trying to protect? I’m tempted to get you down from this roof the quickest way possible!”
John raised his hands.
“Hey, hey, calm down!” he said quickly. “It’s not about humans. It’s an alien. Possibly a threat to your city, or this planet. You’d do something good, if that makes you feel better about it.”
“What kind of alien?” Jack asked, wearily. The conversation had taken a turn he didn’t like and John, who had started as a slight annoyance, had suddenly become someone he might have to stop.
On the other hand Jack didn’t care much for most aliens that wandered through Cardiff, and he didn’t want to fight his old friend if he didn’t have to. Romantic reasons had nothing to do with it - the man was simply too unpleasant an enemy to bother.
John leant back, against the balustrade.
“Do you remember what an elemental is?” he asked.
“An elemental?” Jack frowned. More than a century had passed since he’d last heard the word in this context. “Elementals are just a myth, passed on in the agency,” he recalled. “They’re supposed to be beings that have…”
“That have no original time zone,” John finished when Jack stopped in mid-sentence. “Beings that never were born, and never will be. A pain for time agents because they belong nowhere. Fortunately they never bothered us, being just a myth and all.”
“I get the impression you’re about to tell me that they’re not.” Jack kept his voice clam, his hands from clenching. Not finishing the sentence had been a mistake but John had missed its meaning.
“There is at least one,” John nodded. “A time traveller, naturally. He seems to spend a lot of time on Earth. It would still mean travelling a bit since I wouldn’t expect him to show up in Cardiff of all places, but it’d do you good to get out of the city once in a while. You’re getting rusty.”
“How do you know about him?” Jack wanted to know, giving nothing away. “How do you know, in the first place, that it’s a male?” His heart was racing. He needed to control that, John was too much of a professional not to notice.
“Reliable sources,” John reminded him. “If you know what to look for you find his traces anywhere in the cosmos. But only very few people who’ve met him really know who and what he is, and that makes him a bit hard to track down. And chasing a time traveller is always a pain. So I decided to grab him when he comes here the next time.” He leaned closer to Jack again, and the head of Torchwood felt his breath on his face and didn’t imagine kissing him. With effort he stopped himself from grinding his teeth. “This is your territory and I could use you help,” John went on. “Just imagine how much he’d be worth! He’s a legend for most species, and apparently the only one there is. There are countless people out there who’d pay several fortunes to own him. Even dead he’d be priceless.”
“No,” said Jack.
John was still leaning against the balustrade. One quick movement and he’d be gone.
Jack’s finger’s itched.
“Don’t be like that,” John pouted.
“No,” Jack repeated, his voice hard.
“Well, if you don’t want to get rich, at least stay out of my way while I catch him on my own.”
“No.”
“Is that all you’re gonna say now?” John asked annoyed.
“No,” Jack said again. “You’re not going to hunt anyone here. You’re going to leave this planet right now and if I ever catch you here again, I’ll kill you.”
In a moment of wisdom the other man stepped away from the edge.
“Why so touchy?” he wanted to know. “There’s no reason to take this personally. After all I offered you to have a place in this for old time’s sake.”
“The old times are over,” Jack reminded him. “I’m a different man now, and this man is not going to let you go head-hunting on his planet. Is that understood? I won’t tolerate you attacking anyone on this world, alien or not.”
At least his words had an effect on John: He laughed.
“Captain Jack Harkness, protector of the Earth,” he said mockingly. And was hanging over the edge one second later, Jack pressing him down, further and further over the balustrade.
“You’re going to promise me that you won’t do it, right now,” he hissed. “And you’d better make me believe it, or I’ll make sure I won’t have to hunt you down later!”
John struggled but Jack was stronger, heavier. Five more centimetres and he was the only thing keeping the other man from falling. And in John’s eyes Jack could see fear, real, proper fear. Satisfying fear.
“Okay, okay, I won’t!” he hurried to say. “Promise! Now pull me back!”
Jack pushed further.
“I want you to be perfectly aware of what will happen if you break that promise!”
“I am!” he was assured. “Your planet, your rules. Won’t play here without your approval!”
It was pathetic, but it was what Jack had expected. He pulled the other back roughly when his hands itched to push. John stumbled away from the edge and it felt like a wasted chance.
But John would keep his promise, Jack knew. There was no excuse for murder here, except for a list so long he’d need days to point it all out. John got off on violence, murder, the exertion of power, but for all the risks he took, he remained a coward at heart, someone who’d risk the lives of others any day but would never endanger his own if he didn’t have to. Crossing Jack would mean certain death. He wouldn’t do it.
“Get away from here right now,” Jack ordered harshly, before John could regain his playful behaviour. He didn’t leave him time to answer, walked away immediately instead. Back into the building and down the stairs.
The moment the door fell shut behind him he fished for his cell phone.
-
A few weeks later Jack was standing on a different building, looking over the city below him, and grimaced. He didn’t hold much love for Cardiff at the moment, since it had killed him trice this day and only two deaths had been caused by alien. The other one had been caused by traffic. He’d been trying to reach the old warehouse where a group of evil janitors had imprisoned two very pissed semi-intelligent alien creatures before they could escape, had been stuck in a traffic jam and decided to run the last mile. Thanks to the traffic running smoothly on the other side of the road and Tosh distracting him by giving directions over his earpiece, he’d been run over by a bus. The driver never apologized, instead cursed him in surprisingly imaginative ways after he came back to life. At the warehouse the senior-janitor had tried to shoot him, missed, and accidentally opened the cage. After which one of those creatures had killed everyone inside the building, including Jack. It had been messy.
Shortly after that Owen and Gwen had finally shown up to eliminate the aliens, that were pretty much running amok at that point. But before they died one of them managed to bite off Jack’s hand and he had to kill himself to get it back.
In short, it had been what was universally knows as ‘one of those days’.
But it was almost over. The sun was setting, and Jack had come to the top of this building because he wanted to be on his own for a while. It was higher than the building where he had spoken to John weeks before, but it reminded him of that meeting and once again he wondered if he’d made a terribly mistake by letting him live.
John had complained about him having changed, and he was right. His former partner had no reason to be unhappy about it, though, since the old Jack would have killed him right there and then. Just to make sure.
And the new Jack for the first time in ages cursed the fact that the old Jack was gone.
The moment he’d been out of hearing range he’d tried to reach the Doctor through the cell phone Martha had left with him, but the thing had been shut off. Jack wasn’t exactly surprised - he knew the Doctor didn’t like to be available all the time. He also wasn’t exactly worried - not even when he tried again and again and the best thing he got was the mailbox. And he wasn’t surprised that the Doctor had never called him back; clearly the Time Lord had labelled checking his messages as ‘too domestic’.
Jack was confident in the Doctor’s ability to defend himself and the space-time continuum was a very large place to get lost in. There was little reason to worry, but when it came to the Doctor he liked to be sure. The guy showed up far too seldom for Jack to know if he was alright.
(Jack was aware that there might come a time when he waited for the Doctor for the rest of eternity and he never came.)
Maybe coming here hadn’t been the best idea. Jack wanted to relax, and he couldn’t while his thoughts kept wandering back to he-who-he-was-not-worried-about. Because he wasn’t. He just happened to remember that the guy who currently called himself John Hart was a sick, perverted bastard and knowing him to be after the Doctor was slightly unsettling.
But there was little he could do about that, and eventually his thoughts wandered elsewhere. Tosh was in Spain at the moment. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Jack had been bitten by the idea that at least once every five years every member of Torchwood should have a few days off. Gwen took that liberty far more often than the others, driven by her significant other. Technically Owen would be next but Jack didn’t feel comfortable with letting him out of sight for too long, dead, pissed and fragile as he was.
As for Ianto, he didn’t seem to have any life outside of Torchwood. Sometimes Jack was stuck by the vision that once he left the hub Friday evening he simply ceased to exist until he returned to work Monday morning. Naturally Jack was more that willing to help him expand his lifespan through the weekend.
In fact, they had a date planned for next Saturday. The classic version, since twenty-first-century-Ianto was far more comfortable if they had dinner before they had sex and Jack liked to indulge him if there was time.
John had been right though: sometimes he did miss the old days, when he had had no responsibility, no obligations and no paperwork. There were enough people in this century open to one-night-stands and meaningless fun, but it was frowned upon and Jack was tired of enjoying himself behind closed door so as not to embarrass his partners too much - if he found the time to do it all. He liked to give his team the weekend off, if he could, but the rift had so far failed to show any consideration to their working hours.
Without any particular reason Jack found himself thinking of the Doctor’s eyebrows. He shook his head with a little snort; what he felt for the Time Lord was mainly affection and simple, pure love. He’d been the first person in a long, long time (possibly forever) he had loved without desire.
Which was a complete lie, anyway. Of course he desired the Doctor. But the fact that he’d never have him didn’t play any part in their relationship, and that was a first. Jack loved him anyway. And if he should ever, for whatever obscure reason, get that chance to sleep with him, Jack wouldn’t do it. Probably. The entire idea appeared wrong to him; like blasphemy.
The sun was setting, almost gone. Its last rays painted the city below in warm colours but Jack didn’t feel ready to forgive her just yet. And tomorrow would probably differ little from today. Except tomorrow would be Wednesday. Who liked Wednesdays anyway? Not only did they mark the middle of the week, they also appeared to be the favoured day for shit to happen in Cardiff. Ergo: Tomorrow would probably be worse.
Three more days to next weekend…
Jack decided to stay until the last light had faded and then return to the hub and write a memo to Ianto that the damn light bulbs in the weevil-cells needed to be replaced.
His thoughts were interrupted by a distant wheezing sound that quickly got louder and turned into a low, rumbling thunder. To Jack it sounded distinctly like the engine of a spaceship.
A strong gush of wind nearly knocked him over. After ruining his hairstyle it stopped though, and one moment later a light appeared a few metres away, turning into a brightly lit rectangular shape hanging one metre above the ground in the thin air. Inside that shape appeared John Hart, who smirked a self-satisfied little smirk of self-satisfaction.
“Hey there!” he called. “Now what do you say to this?”
While Jack was glad for anything keeping his thoughts from wandering back to work he couldn’t exactly say he was happy to see the man.
“Looks like an invisible spaceship.” Well, technically it didn’t.
“Nice, isn’t it?” John asked proudly. “Careful, don’t run into the leg when you come over.”
Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to come over, but did so anyway. He even managed to avoid hitting anything.
“What do you want?” he wanted to know. “I thought I’d made myself clear last time.”
“Crystal,” John confirmed. “Don’t worry, I’m not here for hunting anyone. I merely wanted to show you my new ship. How long’s it been for you?”
The question caught Jack unaware, confused him for a second. He’d been out of regular time-travel for too long.
“About one month,” he said. Now he was closer, he could see that it had been longer for the other man: He had aged. Not much, but still visibly. In the fifty-first century people aged more slowly than they did in the twenty-first, got much older. What had been four weeks for Jack had been several years for John.
“I’ve had some more time,” John confirmed. “Long enough to miss you. Come inside!”
“I’d rather not,” Jack declined, knowing there was a high possibility of him not coming out again. “I’m not planning to leave here, and I’m not going to have sex with you!”
Which was almost a shame - John was sex on legs after all, and this century was so damn tame in bed. But Jack wasn’t going to let his guard down, something initial for sleeping with anyone - especially not when it came to a psychopathic murderer. The immoral sometimes wondered where the sex-appeal of those came from.
“I’m offering something much better,” John grinned, reached for Jack’s arm and pulled him inside with a strength that again and again managed to surprise him. Jack let it happen. He had his gun, after all, and his vortex manipulator. If John took him away from here, he could always come back.
“The moment you start the engines I’ll break your neck,” he promised.
The ship John wanted to show him was quite nice indeed. It was larger than Jack had thought and modern by fifty-sixth century standards; a good century for spacecraft. But Jack didn’t for one second believe that the former time agent had come just to show off, and even less because he’d missed him. He remained weary, alert, while trying not to show it. Apparently John was bored, and that always made him even more dangerous than he was anyway.
Maybe he thought it was time to pay Jack back for spoiling his fun the last time he’d been here. The immortal wasn’t keen on becoming the punching bag of another psychopath who liked to kill him just for fun.
“The ship’s not bad,” he said casually. “Where did you steal it?”
“Why this bad opinion of me?” John frowned in mock indignation. “I bought it.”
“Right…”
“Oh, but I did! I happened to get hold of quite a lot of money.”
“Even so, you’d never waste it on anything you could get for free.”
“Oh, you’re right, I didn’t buy it as such,” John finally admitted. “I received it as payment. It’s not that much of a difference.”
“Payment?” Now Jack frowned, and there wasn’t anything fake about it. “What for?”
“Certain favours. A once-in-a-lifetime chance. Something really special. And a lot of fun.”
Jack tried to figure out what someone living in a world of self-delusion might mean by that. He snorted.
“Don’ tell me you actually found someone willing to pay for sex with you.” Because he was never going to believe that!
“Not me,” John corrected.
Jack turned to look at him, his expression darkening.
“What do you mean? You’re having a brothel in here?”
“If it comes to that.” John shrugged. “But I’m selling other things as well. It’s earning me a fortune.”
Hadn’t he said something like that before? Jack had a very bad feeling about this. Whatever made John Hart so incredibly satisfied couldn’t be good.
“I can’t imagine you as a businessman.”
“Wasn’t planned like this, it just sort of happened. I thought: Why make a fortune once if you can make a fortune over and over again?”
Jack asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know:
“What are you selling?”
“I’ll show you.”
Jack would have preferred being told, but said nothing as he followed his former partner through the corridors of the ship. He never saw anyone else, which lead him to the conclusion that John was piloting the vessel on his own - it made sense: the less people around the less risk of getting a knife in the back. Being a sociopathic murderer often came with justified paranoia.
Eventually John stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor. It was locked, and the lock was a good one, Jack noticed. Whatever was in there had to be incredibly valuable.
He wondered if the lock served to keep others out, or to keep something in.
John keyed in a code and the door opened with a quiet hiss. What Jack noticed first was the temperature: It was surprisingly cold in here.
The view was obscured by a grey curtain hanging from the ceiling. John pushed it aside and Jack finally could see what had made this man so incredibly rich.
There was a bed on the far side of the room, surrounded by medical equipment. On the bed lay a man, motionless and hooked up to the machines, and with padded restraints binding his wrists and ankles to the frame of the bed. Half of his face was covered by the semi-transparent energy field of a fifty-sixth century oxygen mask but Jack recognized him anyway. His heart stopped, even though he’d known. Deep inside he’d known.
“I told you once that I wanted to find the last elemental,” John reminded him with pride in his voice. “And, well - I did.”
- tbc