He was exposing himself, however minutely, Reinette recognized. A dance measure in degrees, and finely at that. There was a rawness withing him that she both recognized and understood. It spoke to something within herself.

Jack. Jark Harkness.

She repeated the name within her mind and found it somewhat lacking. It did not tell the story as she saw it. And Reinette was accustomed to seeing a great deal.

"I live in a world where men inhabit my fireplace and clockwork echos at my heels. Things that no one seems to witness, excepting myself. Yet I know that they are real, which I took great steps to prove."

Briefly her hand brushed over his own, in a manner so subtle as to might be an accident. Yes, he was standing there. As was she.

"I do not need my imagination to place you here because you already are. I see you plainly. Whatever you might wish to imagine away, I will not do it for you."