And he could see it, something in her eyes that told Jack he'd derailed her, and even if that was only for a moment, a mere fleeting flash before she seemed to deftly recover, he was pleased with himself.

He hadn't travelled like this in a long time. Flitting between time and place at the push of a button. The last time he had he'd adhered to strict rules in his mind. Fitting in was one of them. Sure, he broke those rules on more than one occasion because what are rules for if not to be broken, but he kept to a code. Fitting in: wearing dress of the period being of primary importance.

But here all that fell to the wayside, and he found himself, in many a way, still copying the man he built his character around for over a hundred years. It ought to infuriate him, he was annoyed with him, abandoned again when he needed him most.

But it didn't, and purely for the reason that he didn't even notice. Had no idea at all how time had turned him into a mimic.

He took her hand, but twisted it in his own to shift the greeting from a handshake to something else. Holding it palm up he took his own step towards her, though there was barely room to, and he lifted the upturned hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

"So," he said with the start of a smile, "don't suppose you could tell a guy exactly where he is."