"THAT KIND OF MAN," Torchwood/Burn Notice, for black_dress_lex

Dec 09, 2008 22:36

Title: That Kind of Man
Author: Alizarin_NYC
Fandom: Torchwood, Burn Notice
Rating: NC17-lite
Pairing: Jack Harkness / Michael Westen
Spoilers: Not really, but developments include S2 of both shows
Word count: ~4200
Written for: black_dress_lex sponsored by the wonderful scribblinlenore. She said we could be late! She said!

Summary: “Captain Jack Harkness,” he said, extending his hand to Michael Westen. “At least that’s what my luggage tag tells me.”



Captain Jack Harkness hated Miami.

At least, he thought he did. All he really knew was that his name was Captain Jack Harkness and that he had very white skin that burned easily in the Miami sun. He also knew he didn’t have the right clothes for the climate, so he probably wasn’t from Miami.

He had no idea where he hailed from, or who he was, aside from being a particularly handsome chap. He was apparently the sort of person who said chap.

He was living off of a credit card in a sleazy fleabag motel that had dying palm trees in the parking lot and sheets that smelled like bleach. None of it was familiar. The man behind the desk at the motel office had no idea when he’d arrived, how long he’d been staying there, or if he’d had any guests. He idly scratched his belly through his white tank top and shrugged. Jack was afraid to check out in case someone came back for him. Like they’d forgotten him behind and would come searching for him, relieved to find him right where they’d left him.

Jack was standing in line at the Stop n’ Shop one afternoon, buying some rather unfamiliar looking items, and some slightly more reassuring fruit and cheese, when he noticed an older red-headed woman staring at him, hip cocked, cigarette dangling from her fingers. He immediately perked up. He was apparently someone with a highly charged sex drive and a preference for pretty much anything. He lifted an eyebrow in her direction.

She called him honey. It turned out she was less interested in stripping him down and reliving her college years and more interested in talking his ears off. She mothered him, standing in the parking lot and cooing over him. He was generous with his smiles.

“You remind me of my sons. Both of them, actually. You’re earnest, like Nate. And Michael, now he’s the suave one, you could be suave if you cleaned up a little. You’re not trying to grow a beard are you?”

“No ma’am, I just keep forgetting to shave.” Personal hygiene hadn’t been on the top of Jack’s list ever since he woke up and had no idea who he was.

“Well, you pay more attention to that,” she said. Madeline, she said her name was. “Good looking man like you? Should be taking advantage of your looks.”

“I have to admit,” Jack said, leaning in to entrust her with his secret, “I’ve been having a sort of problem.”

“Problems are a sort of family specialty,” she confided with a wink. “Tell me everything, honey.”

***

Jack met Madeline and her son Michael in a beachside bar, music blaring, bikinis skimming by on roller blades and drinks with little umbrellas in them.

“Ma, how many times do I have to tell you not to talk to strangers?” The man had a whiny, nasal voice and he was chiding his mother as Jack approached.

“Oh, Michael, he’s perfectly nice. You can’t live your life looking over your shoulder - or maybe you can, but the rest of us can’t. You worry too much. Jack, hello!” She waved him over and glared at her son. A brawny man in a Hawaiian shirt was also at their table, leaning back, as casual as Michael was tightly wound. He waved his beer bottle in greeting. Three empties sat sentry around a plate of half-eaten buffalo wings.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” he said, extending his hand to Michael Westen. “At least that’s what my luggage tag tells me.”

Michael shook his hand slowly, his grip firm, his eyes behind the sunglasses unreadable.

“My associate, Sam,” Michael said, indicating the other guy.

“Buffalo wing hands,” Sam said, holding up a greasy hand in lieu of a shake. “I hear you’ve got a serious case of amnesia. Have you been to a hospital?”

“No,” Jack said, sitting down on a chair next to Madeline and taking a swig of the water she offered him. She beamed at him, encouraging. “I don’t know if this will sound crazy or not, but I feel that that would be dangerous for some reason. I did call around to see if there were any missing person reports on me, but that didn’t go over so well, of course. Police want to know why you think someone would miss you.” He tried out a boyish grin on Sam.

“We can help you Captain Harkness,” Michael said. “But you have to be perfectly honest with us. That’s the only way this will work out. And whatever you find out, we will also find out. We’re discreet, but we try to operate within the law.”

“I understand. I don’t think I have anything to hide,” Jack tried turning the smile on Michael. He couldn’t see that it made any difference. “Nothing would make me happier than to sort all this out and go home. I have a feeling I have a family somewhere, people who do care. They’re just not in Miami, it seems.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. These guys were all business, he could be too.

“Honey, do you want a margarita?” Madeline was leaning over him and waving down a waitress at the same time. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“A beer,” Jack said. “Please. And thanks.”

“Have a wing,” Sam said, mouth already full, “And start at the beginning. Everything you remember. Don’t leave anything out.”

Jack took a deep breath.

They easily digested the shortlist of facts: motel room, luggage tag, clean clothes, credit card. What was not so well-received was the longer list of Jack’s assorted hunches and intuitions. That he was older than he seemed, that he knew things he shouldn’t know, that dangerous people might be looking for him… all the things he’d tried to grab onto, images on the cusp of his brain, names on the tip of his tongue.

***

Later that night, Michael told Jack a few things about himself. Few being the operative word.

“One thing you want to do first, is be seen by the people who know about these kinds of things, in public, as if you know exactly who you are,” Michael confided in a lengthy monologue that had logic Jack could hardly follow, and that seemed to go on and on. Michael had pulled him aside outside of the bar away from Sam and Madeline. “Let them see you, see who flinches.”

“Why would anyone flinch?”

“From what you’ve told me, you’re a known commodity, someone probably wanted you to lose your memory. No head wound, it’s likely chemically induced. I’m thinking you saw too much, but were too valuable to kill.” Michael tossed a piece of chewing gum in his mouth. Jack was sweating underneath his long-sleeved white button down. He really wasn’t from Miami, and whoever he was, he hadn’t packed well for the trip.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit melodramatic?” Jack gazed longingly at Michael’s sidearm. He seemed to be taking a case of strange amnesia with all the seriousness of a state secret.

“No. I don’t do melodrama.” Michael replaced the ubiquitous sunglasses and slipped off, giving Jack a business card with a club name on it.

Jack showed up at 11 p.m. sharp, as Michael had told him, having nothing better to do. What was it about Miami and music? Dance beats pumped his blood along faster in his veins and again, the familiar nagging started at the back of his neck. He’d been to a club, some club, somewhere, looking for someone, fighting for him, fighting him, bloodying his face, this man he loved - not like a lover, not like a son, but something in between, like someone he’d saved once and must save again.

Jack shook his head, smiled a big smile at the nearest group of scantily-clad near-teens and floated toward Michael on the bubbles of their giggles.

“Nice threads,” Michael drawled.

“Thanks for noticing,” Jack said. He’d left the beach bar and gone to something called an “outlet” to pick up a loose linen shirt and some lightweight pants. They felt strange on his frame, as if he were used to wearing things that weighed him down. He’d shaved, too, and felt the light touch of Michael’s glance over his jaw before it flickered away to the bartender. “I’ll have a whiskey,” Jack said, leaning in to drop the words in Michael’s ear over the din.

“You don’t seem to be unsure about what you like,” Michael said. The bartender didn’t keep Michael waiting and Jack felt a tingle of pleasure as the cold glass melted into the heat of his palm. Michael didn’t know the half of it. Jack wasn’t unsure about what he liked, at all. He may not know the details of his life, but other body parts were less confused. There was a slight shift in the air and Michael’s expression changed, as if he could sense what Jack was thinking.

“I have a sense of what things taste like, like something I remember, but it’s not connected with any memories,” Jack said. He took a long swallow of whiskey then swirled it around. It felt familiar. “Sort of the opposite of Proust.”

“Right,” Michael said. “Must be reassuring to remember French literature but not who you are.”

“You’ll set me straight,” Jack said. “Maybe you could tell me a little bit about yourself. Talking about me is getting pretty boring.”

“I’m a fairly boring guy, actually,” Michael said, obviously lying. Jack smirked at him. Silence took up a seat at the bar between them and Jack kept slowly drinking whiskey while Michael fidgeted and ordered another martini. His eyes kept darting to each entrance and exit, quickly covering the faces in between. Jack admired the skill he had in keeping a relaxed stance when he was clearly anything but relaxed.

“I’m a former spy,” Michael finally said. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The man of steel was cracking under the pressure of silence or Jack’s charm, one of the two, and Jack pressed his advantage by turning slightly so that his knuckles brushed the tips of Michael’s fingers where they gripped the martini stem. “I was burned. It’s the equivalent of being fired, only you don’t get to know who fucked you over and you’re stuck in place pretty much for forever - I can’t leave Miami, I can’t do my job, I can’t get on with my life.”

“Trapped in amber,” Jack said.

“Exactly. And I’m too young to be fossilized.”

“Far too young.”

“So I use my skills. Keep things sharp. People are trying to use me, play games with me. I hate that part of it. It’s part of the parcel that the skills I have are in high demand by unsavory characters. No offense intended.”

“None taken.”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except maybe because I think you’ll understand. My intuition is rarely wrong.”

Jack smiled. “You do seem to know what you’re doing.” Whatever I am, Jack thought to himself, I am a very reassuring fellow. I’m either a spy myself or a salesman. Either way I’m a helluva seducer.

Jack’s self-satisfied reverie was interrupted by a hail of gunfire. The glass bottles above the bar exploded into shrapnel and Michael was shouting something in his ear. Jack felt himself shoved to the ground and screaming babes were howling and diving onto the banquettes. Nearly a dozen men in suits came barreling in from all sides. Jack was momentarily confused and then suddenly his vision cleared. He felt a strange sense of triumph, adrenaline rushed in and his body was jerking with it. It was almost pleasurable.

He was the kind of man who loved a firefight, apparently.

Michael had his gun out and was blasting back; he took out three suits before two others trained their guns on them. Michael put the gun down and a thug swept in and kicked it out of his hand.

“Ow,” he said. “Where are your manners?”

“Michael,” a woman’s voice said from behind the guns. “We don’t want you, so please don’t get in our way.”

One of the gorgeous gals in evening wear had risen from her banquette. The rest remained cowering and whimpering. She had red hair and creamy skin. Her legs went up to the roof under a champagne colored silk dress. Jack’s jaw dropped of its own accord. How had he missed that one?

“Captain Harkness, please come with me,” she said. The goons kept their guns on him, so clearly he was someone who posed some kind of threat. “Don’t try anything or we’ll have to use your new friend here as incentive to cooperate.”

“Love you, too, Carla,” Michael said.

“I’m offended Michael, you didn’t recognize me.”

“It’s the hair. Oh, and the skin. I’m not used to seeing so much of it. Nice, though.” Michael kept up the patter and Jack felt a sinking feeling as he saw him reach for another weapon he had hidden in his sock.

“Don’t be difficult, Michael. You don’t want to be involved.”

Michael shrugged, bringing the gun out at the same time. “Nothing better to do.” He fired, but missed. The uber-goon with the brutal kick put a boot into Michael’s skull. Jack winced and rolled away, several suited soldiers grabbed him under the arms and he felt the prick of a needle in his neck.

***

Jack opened his eyes.

Michael was sitting across from him, tied firmly - legs and arms - to a metal chair. It seemed Jack was similarly tied and that blood flow was soon going to be a problem.

“Michael,” Jack hissed. His voice echoed. They were in a big warehouse, suitably non-descript. “Hey. James Bond. Wake up.” Michael’s eyelids fluttered and he groaned. The boot had split the skin above his eyebrow and his head lolled from side to side before snapping up.

“Tell me about Carla,” Jack said quietly. “What does she want - how might someone like me be her type?”

“She’s ruthless,” Michael said, clearing his throat and wincing. “Sexy siren. Secretive. One step ahead of me all the damn time. She could be working for herself, or for any government, anarchist, terrorist. But she calls the shots, plays by her own rules. I don’t know her endgame.”

“So when you said you were being used, this is what you meant?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. I’m not nearly as impressed with you now.”

“Thanks.”

“But I will say, you do look pretty good tied up.”

“Either I took a boot to my head, or you’re flirting with me in a life or death situation.”

“I find when you think in terms of either-or you tend to miss a lot of the good stuff in the middle.”

“I hate to interrupt this adorable little scene,” Carla said, a metal door clanging shut behind her and the sound of her stilettos clicking on the pavement as she leisurely approached them. “But you’re making me all jealous.”

“Honey, that’s so sweet of you,” Jack said. “I really love the BDSM scene you’re into. We have a great future ahead of us.”

“I certainly hope so. You’re a very valuable commodity, Jack Harkness. I want you playing for my team.”

“I swing both ways, so that won’t be a problem.” Jack tried his winning smile again. It didn’t seem to work in Miami, although he had a strange feeling he was someone who relied on charm a lot.

Michael gaped at him. “You’re a little bit crazy, you know that?”

“Now, now, Michael,” Carla crooned. “There’s plenty of room for you. I think. At any rate, I haven’t quite decided to kill you yet.”

“I’m comforted.”

Carla pulled a gun from the waistband of some very tight jeans. Her dark red hair was now pulled up and her face, beautiful though it was, was frightening. Jack clamped his mouth shut on his smart remarks and wondered if he was going to die not knowing who he was.

“First, before I recruit you, I need to know if I’ve heard right.” She leveled the gun at Jack’s head.

“Whoa, lady, whatever you want. I don’t remember who I am, so I’m kind of at a disadvantage here.” Jack squirmed in the chair. Michael was shouting, spitting nonsense, cursing at Carla; he was clearly of the mind that she wasn’t one to make idle threats.

“Let’s see just what you are,” she said. She turned to Michael. “Since I probably will kill you, I’ll let you watch. It’ll be fun.”

Jack heard Michael’s scream of denial and was oddly touched by it. Carla turned around again, the gun now incredibly close, and the sound of the shot was deafening.

His whole life flashed before his eyes.

His whole life flashed before his eyes.

He was old, centuries old. He’d fought, he’d fucked, and he’d traveled in time. He’d met the Doctor, THE Doctor, and Rose Tyler and Martha Jones and Donna Noble. He’d ridden to the end of the world on the back of a time machine and he’d died.

He’d died a lot.

He’d saved the world. He’d been trapped aboard the Valiant, at the mercy of the Master. He’d worked for Torchwood, he’d won team members and lost them. He’d known Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper. He loved Gwen and Ianto, but not in the same way. He dealt with aliens on a daily basis. Other lifeforms. Clones. Spaceships. The apocalypse. He’d been buried alive. He’d died.

***

Jack opened his eyes.

Michael was sitting across from him, tied firmly - legs and arms - to a metal chair. It seemed Jack was similarly tied and that blood flow was soon going to be a problem.

Michael and Carla were staring at him.

“I’m back, baby,” Jack said.

***

Nine and a half hours later, Jack and Michael were still in the same small broom closet that had been converted into a handy cell by Carla and her goons. Michael kept looking at Jack like he was some sort of alien being and Jack figured that wouldn’t be too far off. Every couple of hours there was a bathroom break and the surly guards - three of them - kept their weapons handy. Aside from flushing himself into the sewer system, there was no means of escape that Jack could see and double-oh-seven wasn’t offering any ideas either.

“So,” Jack said, casually. “Guess I can’t die, huh?”

“What are you?” Michael asked, for the thirtieth time.

“That’s the thirtieth time you’ve asked that. I can’t really tell you about me, I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand. But I think we have to come up with a plan to get out of here.”

“I have a plan,” Michael said, “Why don’t you play dead and I’ll call the guards and then knock them out… oh wait. They already know your big secret.”

“Yeah, that’s unfortunate. I try to keep it on the down low.” Jack scooted a little closer to Michael. The man was still giving off a powerful masculinity and a surly spy charisma that Jack found very appealing. And he wasn’t getting any younger sitting in the broom closet waiting for Carla’s next move.

Jack unbuttoned the top button on his bloodied, grime-streaked shirt. Once his chest was suitably exposed, he looked to see if there was any reaction. “Hot in here,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” Michael said. A few minutes later Michael was stripping off his suit jacket and carefully folding it.

“Wouldn’t want to wrinkle it,” Jack said and tried his 100-watt grin. Michael grinned back.

“Old habits. My mom tried to teach me, but it was the spy game that really cleaned up my act. I can break and enter, make a sandwich, steal a flat screen and not leave a single stray hair or fingerprint.”

“Probably not a crumb, either. You’d make a great Santa Claus.”

“Yeah. If Miami had snow.” Michael was now unbuttoning his top shirt buttons, and Jack was finally thinking they were getting somewhere interesting when things got interesting.

A blast sprayed concrete over their heads like hot gray snow and they were deafened by gunfire, and blinded by explosions. Something big was going down. And someone on the other side of the broom closet door kicked it in, nearly braining Jack in the process.

A tall, willowy woman stood opposite them, a gun bigger than her waist slung from one shoulder. She wore five-inch heels, short-shorts and a halter top and had long, light brown hair.

“Get up off your arse, Michael. I’m tired of doing all the heavy lifting around here.”

Michael looked up and said one word. “Fee.”

***

Jack had a hell of a time deciding who to go home with. They were all covered in dirt, grime, explosive powder and blood. Fiona was a temptation Jack could hardly resist. She didn’t seem to be immune to his charms at all. In fact, she was giving him a run for his money in the charm department. They flirted all the way back to civilization in her car while Michael rolled his eyes non-stop.

“I often save Michael at the last minute,” Fiona said.

“If that’s so, then why were we held captive for ten hours?” Michael was tough to please. “How did you find us, anyway?”

“If you’d listen to me, Michael, I’d finish the story.” She had started off the story with a long saga about her interrupted shopping day, which was the source of Michael’s bad mood. Eventually she got around to telling them about Sam’s phone call, saying he’d spotted Carla and couldn’t reach Michael, and they’d gone to Michael’s apartment to eat the last of his yogurt for breakfast before getting a tip-off from a gun-runner who’d recently bagged a big sale at a certain warehouse to a certain redhead.

“They never saw me coming,” Fiona finished. “Carla got away, but that, as they say, is the end of that.”

“My head hurts,” Jack said. “Who’s up for a hot shower?”

***

In the end, he chose Michael. Fiona would have been fast and furious, all heat and no flame, she would have fucked him to fuck with Michael. Jack was the sort of person who could pick up on these things. After all, he’d been playing the game for a really long time.

Instead, it was Michael who intrigued him the most. Jack was the kind of guy who liked a challenge, apparently.

He trailed Michael back to his apartment. He used the phone to let Gwen and Ianto know that the rift anomaly had swept him up and dumped him in Miami, and that he was fine. He also thanked them for the memories. He’d explain that one later.

Michael left to go take a shower and Jack, naturally, followed him. Michael had worked up quite a steam when Jack stepped inside the bathroom.

“Uh, hello?” Michael poked his head out from behind the shower curtain. “A little privacy?”

“I don’t think so,” Jack said, shrugging out of his dirty shirt. “You didn’t solve my case, so you kind of owe me.”

“Oh really. That’s rich. Look, I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

But Jack thought it was an excellent idea. He took off his trousers to show Michael just what an excellent idea he thought it was. Michael protested and threw up his hands and nearly shouted for help, but Jack knew the power of charm and he gently shushed Michael, pulled his hands down and stepped into the shower with him. He kissed him, not too hard, but fairly demanding, and began to massage Michael’s shoulders under the hot water. The guy had enough tension to be employed by Torchwood.

Then he dropped to his knees and Michael was pretty much done complaining.

Jack gave him the best blowjob he had in his arsenal, complete with well-practiced suction and gentle, soapy fingers behind his balls. Michael came with his hands clenched in Jack’s hair and Jack swallowed greedily. He stood up and smiled, finally seeing the smirk come off of Michael’s face. The guy was practically slack-jawed.

“I thought I owed you,” Michael said.

“We were getting to that part,” Jack said. He kissed him again, pressed him against the tile and rubbed off slowly on his hip, enjoying Michael’s hands on his ass, urging him on.

Once they were clean and dry, Michael started to get dressed and Jack stopped him. “My flight to London isn’t until tomorrow, so I figure we have lazy sex all afternoon, dinner at sunset, hit the clubs - hopefully with less gunfire this time - and then have a couple more rounds of boozy sex before I head out to the airport.”

“If you kill me with sex, I won’t come back from the dead,” Michael said, pulling off the sock he’d just put on.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “I’ll be gentle. I’m that kind of guy.”

.

challenges/ficathons/fests, alizarin's crossovers, alizarin's burn notice fic, alizarin's torchwood fic

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