Jack Harkness crossover fic - Miles To Go (1/2or3)
Delayed due to technical difficulties. Now that I am reunited with my laptop - and all the files therein - I present my entry to the Jack Harkness Crossover Ficathon.
Title: Miles to Go - part 1
Author: Très Méchante
Summary: Jack discovers that getting lost is really the only way to be found. This is a crossover fic introducing Jack Harkness into the Angel universe.
Rating: FRT/FRA (somewhere between Teen and Adult)
Warnings: gratuitous references to pop culture, naughty words and innuendo, slash (not particularly graphic), a rather dark Jack
Spoilers: Pretty vague references only.
Disclaimer: If you recognize the characters, they are so not mine. They slipped through an inter-dimensional portal into my mind and were subjected to the perverse whims of my muse - but they really seemed to enjoy it. Please don't sue.
Notes: This is for scribewraith, who wanted Angel crossover - Wes, Lindsey, Lilah, Lorne (anyone) - Jack ends up at Caritas (Lorne's bar).
Set post-Parting of the Ways in the DWverse and somewhere between S2/S3 in the Angelverse.
It was supposed to be a crack fic, something along the lines of “A lawyer, a demon hunter and a time traveler walk into a bar…” However, my muse took a sharp left turn and this story is the result.
==== == ====
“Hold on, now…slow down, baby. Not so fast.” Jack Harkness blinked the sweat from his eyes as he panted softly with exertion. “Just take it easy, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that.”
Jack licked the sweat from his upper lip. Every muscle in his body screamed under the strain of staying in control. Bracing himself with one foot on the console, he pulled back the lever, pulling harder when it resisted.
Temporal controls were never intended to be set manually, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And he was very desperate. Of course, it helped that he had a natural feel for time travel and mechanics. His ship responded to his every command and he always arrived when he intended - to the second, although trying to do this manually may be a little less precise.
The com crackled to life, distracting him briefly. The interference was heavy, however, and he could barely make out the words.
“…read me? Jack…lay…con…”
Jack frowned. Lay con? Ah, relay beacon.
“…peat…lock…spond…”
“Brilliant idea, Mitchell,” he grunted. “But with most of the wiring fried, there’s no way to lock the transponder to the relay beacon.”
Setting the last of the controls, Jack strapped himself back into his seat, fingers clumsy on the harness as sweat slicked his skin. He felt like he was being roasted alive, which was probably pretty close to the truth given his proximity to the sun.
*Please, God, let this work.*
Reaching to his left, he hit the execute button and then braced himself. Trying to use the sun's energy to power his make-shift time ship was either extremely brilliant or - oh fuck - the ship began an uncontrolled roll.
He watched with an oddly detached feeling as his ship began to phase out, even as the sun's gravitational pull began pulling it apart.
Huh. It worked. Needs a bit of tweaking, though. I wonder--
Jack never got to finish wondering as his ship seemed to wink out of existence.
--- - ---
Awareness was instantaneous. Unfortunately so was the pain. Jack cautiously opened his eyes. Shouldn't have done that, he thought, closing them quickly. The dim light coming through the cracks in the hull was just enough to make him wish he hadn't regained consciousness.
Jack forced his eyes open once more, this time just slits.
Okay, I can do this. First things first. Inventory - arms, legs, two each. Check. Head? He winced at the throbbing. Oh, yeah, still there. He systematically checked for injuries and was both surprised and confused when nothing obviously major was found.
"Now for the acid test," he muttered, struggling to open the harness. "Just great. Survive the crash and then die because I can't open the fucking harness."
Just then the buckle released, causing his knuckles to smack into something. "Shit, that hurt."
He made his way on shaky legs to the hatch, stepping over and around debris as he went. Jack hesitated to open the hatch.
What if there's no oxygen? Be a shame to survive the crash and then suffocate. Of course, if the ship suddenly blows up, I'm dead anyway.
"No guts, no glory," he told himself. He took a steadying breath, pushed open the doorway and promptly fell about 10 feet.
"Well, hey, it's raining men!" exclaimed a voice somewhere to his left. "Oh, never mind. It's just a drizzle."
Jack rolled to his side, trying to look around. He was barely able to focus on the speaker. All he saw was a tall figure walking toward him. Jack's eyes widened in shock as red eyes and horns came into focus.
Oh shit. I’ve gone to hell.
- - ---- - ---
“Come on, Cutie. Open your eyes.”
Jack frowned slightly. Who? What? Cutie?
He felt a series of light taps on his cheek. Knock it off. “Stop...don’t.”
“Well, let the bells ring out and the banners fly. He’s alive.”
Jack forced his eyes open, wondering about the owner of the obnoxiously cheerful voice. He looked up to see blood red eyes and horns. “Oh God. I really am in Hell.”
“Close enough, Cupcake. You’re in L.A.” said the green man sitting on the side of the bed.
“Ellay?”
The green man laughed. “That’s L and A, Sweetie. Los Angeles. The City of Angels.”
Jack pondered that for a moment. “I get it. This is Earth, right?”
“The one and only. That’s some bump to the head you got,” he said. “Where did you think you were? The moon or something.”
Jack looked around the room and grinned slightly. “Well, the décor does sort of remind me a bit of the pleasure domes of Szymon.”
“Szymon? Never heard of it. Where - hey, did you just compare my bedroom to a brothel?” the man frowned, but his eyes gleamed with what Jack hoped with good humor.
“So, you’re room, huh? Did you at least buy me a drink first?”
“You are a cheeky one, aren’t you? No drink I’m afraid. You did drop by rather unexpectedly.” He paused and tilted his head toward the hole in the ceiling.
Jack looked up, then shifted up on the bed to lean against the headboard, noting he was only partially dressed. He bestowed his best, cockiest smile on his host. “Well, then, obviously introductions are in order. Jack. Jack Harkness.” Jack held out his hand.
A green hand was placed in his. “Krevlornsworth of the Deathwok Clan. But most folks simply refer to me as The Host.”
Jack frowned. “Host? As in…a symbiotic life form?”
The Host laughed. “Somebody’s been watching too many Stargate marathons.”
“What’s a star gate marathon?”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” The Host peered more closely at Jack. “Uh, say, Jack…you are kidding, right?”
“So, Host, exactly what kind of host are you?”
The Host took a deep breath. And then another one. “This could take a little while.”
In truth it took a long while. Four days, to be precise.
Jack had trouble with the whole concept of demons and magic, until his encounter with a pair of chaos demons in the back lane convinced him otherwise. For his part, The Host had been unwilling to accept the whole time-space travel thing, making repeated references to someone called Spaceman Spiff. That is, until he’d gotten a good look inside Jack’s ship. Then he started talking about Klaatu and singing something about calling occupants of interplanetary crafts. All of which confused Jack no end.
The ship had been freed from the bedroom ceiling and now languished in a rooftop storage area, moved there by a group of large heavily armored demons. Jack still grinned at hearing the largest being referred to as Skip.
Jack maneuvered a keg of something vaguely beer-like into position behind the bar. He hooked it up to the dispenser and wiped his hands, looking around to see what else needed doing.
For the past four weeks, Jack had been working at the bar Caritas, doing odd jobs in exchange for room and board with The Host - or Lorne to his friends.
When he wasn’t in the bar, he was working on his ship, trying to get it functional enough to jump far enough ahead in time so he could get components for a more thorough repair. Early 21st century Earth had neither the technology nor the mathematics to be of much help.
In the meantime, life wasn’t so bad.
“Fill me up, Buttercup.”
Jack laughed and turned to see the Lorne holding out an empty glass. “Another?” asked Jack. “You’re going to get hammered, you know.”
“Sweetie, I could drink this stuff all night and not even get a buzz. Human alcohol just doesn’t pack much of a punch - even the way you mix ‘em.”
“That’s only because you’ve never had a double hypervodka martini. Guaranteed to put a twist in your horns.”
Jack poured The Host his drink and moved down the bar to greet one of the regulars. He frowned when he realized The Host hadn’t gone back to working the crowd.
“Something wrong, Boss?”
“Lorne.”
“Huh?”
“I really hate being called ‘Boss’.”
“Gotcha. Lorne it is. Sorry, Boss.”
“You are such a brat. I’d turn you over my knee, but somehow I don’t think you’d take it as punishment,” Lorne smirked. He indicated a small crowd at the other end of the bar. “Your fans await.”
Jack winked at Lorne and headed off to serve the newcomers.
Lorne watched Jack as the evening wore on. The regulars had accepted Jack as one of their own, mostly because talking to Jack, just being in his company, seemed to have a calming effect. Lorne decided that Jack was a chameleon, becoming whatever was needed, shifting from flirt to sympathetic ear to good ol’ boy to tough guy and back to flirt effortlessly.
It certainly leant credence to the human’s story about being some sort of time agent. Although they’d only talked about it the one time, Lorne still shuddered at what hadn’t been said.
>>
Jack took a sip of the purple drink with the orange and green swirls. “Smooth,” he coughed.
Lorne grinned. “My personal stock. I don’t share that with just anyone, Toots.”
“I’m honored,” wheezed Jack.
“So, this time agency thing is what? Like the CIA or something?”
“Not quite. Officially, well, officially it doesn’t actually exist. It’s just a rumor.” Jack took another sip of his drink, barely flinching at the sting of it. “I really can’t tell you too much about it.”
Lorne snorted. “Because then you’d have to kill me. Yeah, I hear that a lot.”
Jack laughed. “Something like that. Anyway, its mandate is mostly researching history and keeping time meddlers from causing trouble. And if the agents do their job right, no one ever knows.”
Lorne took a healthy swallow of his own drink and pondered the man across from him. They were sitting at the bar having their traditional nightcap. Everything was quiet, the patrons were long gone and Caritas was locked up tight.
Lorne picked up on something in Jack’s tone. “So, where do you fit into all this? You’re smart, but - and no offence, Sweet Thing - but I don’t see you as a researcher. And somehow I don’t see you as a time traveling traffic cop.”
“Look, Lorne…”
“Yeah, yeah have to kill me. Tell me what you can then - give me something. I’m trying to understand all this. I’m not asking for stock tips, here - although it you have any suggestions, my portfolio could use a boost.” Lorne attempted to smile innocently.
“No stock tips, I’m afraid. At least nothing you could take advantage of in this century. Or maybe even in this reality.” Jack’s grin faded. “Are you familiar with the term ‘black ops’?”
Lorne stopped joking. “Shit.”
“That about covers it.” Jack looked undecided for a long moment before finally nodding to himself. “I am - was - am very good at what I do. I can become who or what I have to be to get the job done. I’m…a problem solver.”
Lorne felt his heart stop. He knew ‘problem solvers’ - assassins, enforcers, and most of them employed by a certain law firm.
Jack stared at Lorne with dead eyes. “Right now I’m what you might call freelance - working on solving a personal problem, actually.” His smile was not pleasant. “The agency took something from me. I want it back.”
As Lorne watched, Jack blinked and was once again the congenial human who charmed everyone he met.
<<
Who is the real Jack Harkness? Lorne couldn’t help but wonder whether even Jack knows. That was probably the more disturbing question. Lorne had noticed almost from the start that there was a dark aura under all the charm. In fact, Lorne had tried to read Jack, convincing him to sing privately a few times, but could never quite get a clear picture. It was rather like trying to watch television with a snowy picture, he thought.
On the other hand, it was pleasant to simply listen to him sing. Jack had a beautiful voice, especially when he crooned the old standards. So far, Lorne had been able to coax him into singing publicly once or twice a week. And he was selfish enough to hope Jack would be around for a long time
--- - ---
Six weeks and a bit since his arrival, and Jack could feel despair nipping at him. The ship was barely ready to fly, assuming he could synthesize a fuel replacement, but time travel was another issue entirely. Damage to the delta circuits meant everything had to be recalibrated - a time consuming project, even with his wrist-comp.
Since the night had been unusually quiet, Lorne had let him go early. He quickly approached the rooftop workroom, mind already working on the problem at hand. Sliding the key in the lock, Jack paused when he realized the door was already unlocked. The faint sound of scurrying came from inside. Damn. He palmed his mini-blaster and gently pushed open the door.
~TBC~
This is either 2 parts, or 2 parts + epilogue.
icon by cheesygirl
Title: Miles to Go - part 1
Author: Très Méchante
Summary: Jack discovers that getting lost is really the only way to be found. This is a crossover fic introducing Jack Harkness into the Angel universe.
Rating: FRT/FRA (somewhere between Teen and Adult)
Warnings: gratuitous references to pop culture, naughty words and innuendo, slash (not particularly graphic), a rather dark Jack
Spoilers: Pretty vague references only.
Disclaimer: If you recognize the characters, they are so not mine. They slipped through an inter-dimensional portal into my mind and were subjected to the perverse whims of my muse - but they really seemed to enjoy it. Please don't sue.
Notes: This is for scribewraith, who wanted Angel crossover - Wes, Lindsey, Lilah, Lorne (anyone) - Jack ends up at Caritas (Lorne's bar).
Set post-Parting of the Ways in the DWverse and somewhere between S2/S3 in the Angelverse.
It was supposed to be a crack fic, something along the lines of “A lawyer, a demon hunter and a time traveler walk into a bar…” However, my muse took a sharp left turn and this story is the result.
==== == ====
“Hold on, now…slow down, baby. Not so fast.” Jack Harkness blinked the sweat from his eyes as he panted softly with exertion. “Just take it easy, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that.”
Jack licked the sweat from his upper lip. Every muscle in his body screamed under the strain of staying in control. Bracing himself with one foot on the console, he pulled back the lever, pulling harder when it resisted.
Temporal controls were never intended to be set manually, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And he was very desperate. Of course, it helped that he had a natural feel for time travel and mechanics. His ship responded to his every command and he always arrived when he intended - to the second, although trying to do this manually may be a little less precise.
The com crackled to life, distracting him briefly. The interference was heavy, however, and he could barely make out the words.
“…read me? Jack…lay…con…”
Jack frowned. Lay con? Ah, relay beacon.
“…peat…lock…spond…”
“Brilliant idea, Mitchell,” he grunted. “But with most of the wiring fried, there’s no way to lock the transponder to the relay beacon.”
Setting the last of the controls, Jack strapped himself back into his seat, fingers clumsy on the harness as sweat slicked his skin. He felt like he was being roasted alive, which was probably pretty close to the truth given his proximity to the sun.
*Please, God, let this work.*
Reaching to his left, he hit the execute button and then braced himself. Trying to use the sun's energy to power his make-shift time ship was either extremely brilliant or - oh fuck - the ship began an uncontrolled roll.
He watched with an oddly detached feeling as his ship began to phase out, even as the sun's gravitational pull began pulling it apart.
Huh. It worked. Needs a bit of tweaking, though. I wonder--
Jack never got to finish wondering as his ship seemed to wink out of existence.
--- - ---
Awareness was instantaneous. Unfortunately so was the pain. Jack cautiously opened his eyes. Shouldn't have done that, he thought, closing them quickly. The dim light coming through the cracks in the hull was just enough to make him wish he hadn't regained consciousness.
Jack forced his eyes open once more, this time just slits.
Okay, I can do this. First things first. Inventory - arms, legs, two each. Check. Head? He winced at the throbbing. Oh, yeah, still there. He systematically checked for injuries and was both surprised and confused when nothing obviously major was found.
"Now for the acid test," he muttered, struggling to open the harness. "Just great. Survive the crash and then die because I can't open the fucking harness."
Just then the buckle released, causing his knuckles to smack into something. "Shit, that hurt."
He made his way on shaky legs to the hatch, stepping over and around debris as he went. Jack hesitated to open the hatch.
What if there's no oxygen? Be a shame to survive the crash and then suffocate. Of course, if the ship suddenly blows up, I'm dead anyway.
"No guts, no glory," he told himself. He took a steadying breath, pushed open the doorway and promptly fell about 10 feet.
"Well, hey, it's raining men!" exclaimed a voice somewhere to his left. "Oh, never mind. It's just a drizzle."
Jack rolled to his side, trying to look around. He was barely able to focus on the speaker. All he saw was a tall figure walking toward him. Jack's eyes widened in shock as red eyes and horns came into focus.
Oh shit. I’ve gone to hell.
- - ---- - ---
“Come on, Cutie. Open your eyes.”
Jack frowned slightly. Who? What? Cutie?
He felt a series of light taps on his cheek. Knock it off. “Stop...don’t.”
“Well, let the bells ring out and the banners fly. He’s alive.”
Jack forced his eyes open, wondering about the owner of the obnoxiously cheerful voice. He looked up to see blood red eyes and horns. “Oh God. I really am in Hell.”
“Close enough, Cupcake. You’re in L.A.” said the green man sitting on the side of the bed.
“Ellay?”
The green man laughed. “That’s L and A, Sweetie. Los Angeles. The City of Angels.”
Jack pondered that for a moment. “I get it. This is Earth, right?”
“The one and only. That’s some bump to the head you got,” he said. “Where did you think you were? The moon or something.”
Jack looked around the room and grinned slightly. “Well, the décor does sort of remind me a bit of the pleasure domes of Szymon.”
“Szymon? Never heard of it. Where - hey, did you just compare my bedroom to a brothel?” the man frowned, but his eyes gleamed with what Jack hoped with good humor.
“So, you’re room, huh? Did you at least buy me a drink first?”
“You are a cheeky one, aren’t you? No drink I’m afraid. You did drop by rather unexpectedly.” He paused and tilted his head toward the hole in the ceiling.
Jack looked up, then shifted up on the bed to lean against the headboard, noting he was only partially dressed. He bestowed his best, cockiest smile on his host. “Well, then, obviously introductions are in order. Jack. Jack Harkness.” Jack held out his hand.
A green hand was placed in his. “Krevlornsworth of the Deathwok Clan. But most folks simply refer to me as The Host.”
Jack frowned. “Host? As in…a symbiotic life form?”
The Host laughed. “Somebody’s been watching too many Stargate marathons.”
“What’s a star gate marathon?”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” The Host peered more closely at Jack. “Uh, say, Jack…you are kidding, right?”
“So, Host, exactly what kind of host are you?”
The Host took a deep breath. And then another one. “This could take a little while.”
In truth it took a long while. Four days, to be precise.
Jack had trouble with the whole concept of demons and magic, until his encounter with a pair of chaos demons in the back lane convinced him otherwise. For his part, The Host had been unwilling to accept the whole time-space travel thing, making repeated references to someone called Spaceman Spiff. That is, until he’d gotten a good look inside Jack’s ship. Then he started talking about Klaatu and singing something about calling occupants of interplanetary crafts. All of which confused Jack no end.
The ship had been freed from the bedroom ceiling and now languished in a rooftop storage area, moved there by a group of large heavily armored demons. Jack still grinned at hearing the largest being referred to as Skip.
Jack maneuvered a keg of something vaguely beer-like into position behind the bar. He hooked it up to the dispenser and wiped his hands, looking around to see what else needed doing.
For the past four weeks, Jack had been working at the bar Caritas, doing odd jobs in exchange for room and board with The Host - or Lorne to his friends.
When he wasn’t in the bar, he was working on his ship, trying to get it functional enough to jump far enough ahead in time so he could get components for a more thorough repair. Early 21st century Earth had neither the technology nor the mathematics to be of much help.
In the meantime, life wasn’t so bad.
“Fill me up, Buttercup.”
Jack laughed and turned to see the Lorne holding out an empty glass. “Another?” asked Jack. “You’re going to get hammered, you know.”
“Sweetie, I could drink this stuff all night and not even get a buzz. Human alcohol just doesn’t pack much of a punch - even the way you mix ‘em.”
“That’s only because you’ve never had a double hypervodka martini. Guaranteed to put a twist in your horns.”
Jack poured The Host his drink and moved down the bar to greet one of the regulars. He frowned when he realized The Host hadn’t gone back to working the crowd.
“Something wrong, Boss?”
“Lorne.”
“Huh?”
“I really hate being called ‘Boss’.”
“Gotcha. Lorne it is. Sorry, Boss.”
“You are such a brat. I’d turn you over my knee, but somehow I don’t think you’d take it as punishment,” Lorne smirked. He indicated a small crowd at the other end of the bar. “Your fans await.”
Jack winked at Lorne and headed off to serve the newcomers.
Lorne watched Jack as the evening wore on. The regulars had accepted Jack as one of their own, mostly because talking to Jack, just being in his company, seemed to have a calming effect. Lorne decided that Jack was a chameleon, becoming whatever was needed, shifting from flirt to sympathetic ear to good ol’ boy to tough guy and back to flirt effortlessly.
It certainly leant credence to the human’s story about being some sort of time agent. Although they’d only talked about it the one time, Lorne still shuddered at what hadn’t been said.
>>
Jack took a sip of the purple drink with the orange and green swirls. “Smooth,” he coughed.
Lorne grinned. “My personal stock. I don’t share that with just anyone, Toots.”
“I’m honored,” wheezed Jack.
“So, this time agency thing is what? Like the CIA or something?”
“Not quite. Officially, well, officially it doesn’t actually exist. It’s just a rumor.” Jack took another sip of his drink, barely flinching at the sting of it. “I really can’t tell you too much about it.”
Lorne snorted. “Because then you’d have to kill me. Yeah, I hear that a lot.”
Jack laughed. “Something like that. Anyway, its mandate is mostly researching history and keeping time meddlers from causing trouble. And if the agents do their job right, no one ever knows.”
Lorne took a healthy swallow of his own drink and pondered the man across from him. They were sitting at the bar having their traditional nightcap. Everything was quiet, the patrons were long gone and Caritas was locked up tight.
Lorne picked up on something in Jack’s tone. “So, where do you fit into all this? You’re smart, but - and no offence, Sweet Thing - but I don’t see you as a researcher. And somehow I don’t see you as a time traveling traffic cop.”
“Look, Lorne…”
“Yeah, yeah have to kill me. Tell me what you can then - give me something. I’m trying to understand all this. I’m not asking for stock tips, here - although it you have any suggestions, my portfolio could use a boost.” Lorne attempted to smile innocently.
“No stock tips, I’m afraid. At least nothing you could take advantage of in this century. Or maybe even in this reality.” Jack’s grin faded. “Are you familiar with the term ‘black ops’?”
Lorne stopped joking. “Shit.”
“That about covers it.” Jack looked undecided for a long moment before finally nodding to himself. “I am - was - am very good at what I do. I can become who or what I have to be to get the job done. I’m…a problem solver.”
Lorne felt his heart stop. He knew ‘problem solvers’ - assassins, enforcers, and most of them employed by a certain law firm.
Jack stared at Lorne with dead eyes. “Right now I’m what you might call freelance - working on solving a personal problem, actually.” His smile was not pleasant. “The agency took something from me. I want it back.”
As Lorne watched, Jack blinked and was once again the congenial human who charmed everyone he met.
<<
Who is the real Jack Harkness? Lorne couldn’t help but wonder whether even Jack knows. That was probably the more disturbing question. Lorne had noticed almost from the start that there was a dark aura under all the charm. In fact, Lorne had tried to read Jack, convincing him to sing privately a few times, but could never quite get a clear picture. It was rather like trying to watch television with a snowy picture, he thought.
On the other hand, it was pleasant to simply listen to him sing. Jack had a beautiful voice, especially when he crooned the old standards. So far, Lorne had been able to coax him into singing publicly once or twice a week. And he was selfish enough to hope Jack would be around for a long time
--- - ---
Six weeks and a bit since his arrival, and Jack could feel despair nipping at him. The ship was barely ready to fly, assuming he could synthesize a fuel replacement, but time travel was another issue entirely. Damage to the delta circuits meant everything had to be recalibrated - a time consuming project, even with his wrist-comp.
Since the night had been unusually quiet, Lorne had let him go early. He quickly approached the rooftop workroom, mind already working on the problem at hand. Sliding the key in the lock, Jack paused when he realized the door was already unlocked. The faint sound of scurrying came from inside. Damn. He palmed his mini-blaster and gently pushed open the door.
~TBC~
This is either 2 parts, or 2 parts + epilogue.
icon by cheesygirl