Captain Jack Harkness (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quitehomoerotic) wrote2009-11-26 04:28 am
quitehomoerotic) wrote2009-11-26 04:28 am
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ambitious_woman Back to Earth, 1750
There's something about Earth.
Out of all the places out there, all the little planets in the sky, Earth just has something special. He wanted to go back, and he hated that he wanted to go back. He'd ran away from there for a reason; he couldn't cope with it any more. It wasn't like he was even born there, sure he spent over a hundred years there, kicking his heels, saving the place on countless occasions, but it shouldn't matter so much to him! But there he was, sitting on some dirty transporter, wondering about getting back.
He couldn't go back though. He couldn't go back to there and then and the people he left and the people that left him. He'd ran so far across that planet to get away from the things that hurt, but it was just too small. Impossibly small and those troubles were right behind him, peering down from him from above. Guilt weighing down on him that he just couldn't escape.
So he stayed away. He stayed away and kept quiet. Frequented corners of dingy bars and found solace in the bottom of a bottle.
But it wasn't what he wanted, and pretend as he might that he was okay with wallowing, he wasn't. He wanted to be doing something, anything, and that damn feeling that Earth was where he should be just wouldn't quite go away.
That's when he realised; he had only one option. Go back. But not now.
It's also when he realised that he had to fix what had been broken for over a hundred years. He had to get himself back in the game.
Out in space and with the resources on the various ships he'd found himself travelling on, it was surprisingly easy to happen upon the little components and tools he might need. He'd never found them on Earth, but then he never did have that sort of luck. It took a while, but he got there, bit by bit amassing what he needed until finally he could sit down and with care take apart his vortex manipulator and put it back together again with new and renewed working technology.
He could go anywhere.
But where? Earth, of course. But not a place he'd been, not a time he'd been. Somewhere new, but somewhere that would be enough to comfort him in knowing he was 'home'. So he didn't make a decision as such, he just put in some parameters to avoid (Cardiff being the biggest), and he pressed the button and hoped for the best.
When he arrived, without even needing to check he knew he was on Earth. It had that smell, that slight mix of something in the air that always seemed to be there, no matter where or when you were. Good, he thought, good. This was good. He didn't check when or where he was, that could come later. For now he'd explore (and he'd forgotten how nice that could be).
So that's what led him to walking around a vast (and likely very private) garden, lined with intricate designs of flowers and plants. French, he suspected. That was okay, he hadn't been to France in a long time.
Maybe he'd enjoy this.
Out of all the places out there, all the little planets in the sky, Earth just has something special. He wanted to go back, and he hated that he wanted to go back. He'd ran away from there for a reason; he couldn't cope with it any more. It wasn't like he was even born there, sure he spent over a hundred years there, kicking his heels, saving the place on countless occasions, but it shouldn't matter so much to him! But there he was, sitting on some dirty transporter, wondering about getting back.
He couldn't go back though. He couldn't go back to there and then and the people he left and the people that left him. He'd ran so far across that planet to get away from the things that hurt, but it was just too small. Impossibly small and those troubles were right behind him, peering down from him from above. Guilt weighing down on him that he just couldn't escape.
So he stayed away. He stayed away and kept quiet. Frequented corners of dingy bars and found solace in the bottom of a bottle.
But it wasn't what he wanted, and pretend as he might that he was okay with wallowing, he wasn't. He wanted to be doing something, anything, and that damn feeling that Earth was where he should be just wouldn't quite go away.
That's when he realised; he had only one option. Go back. But not now.
It's also when he realised that he had to fix what had been broken for over a hundred years. He had to get himself back in the game.
Out in space and with the resources on the various ships he'd found himself travelling on, it was surprisingly easy to happen upon the little components and tools he might need. He'd never found them on Earth, but then he never did have that sort of luck. It took a while, but he got there, bit by bit amassing what he needed until finally he could sit down and with care take apart his vortex manipulator and put it back together again with new and renewed working technology.
He could go anywhere.
But where? Earth, of course. But not a place he'd been, not a time he'd been. Somewhere new, but somewhere that would be enough to comfort him in knowing he was 'home'. So he didn't make a decision as such, he just put in some parameters to avoid (Cardiff being the biggest), and he pressed the button and hoped for the best.
When he arrived, without even needing to check he knew he was on Earth. It had that smell, that slight mix of something in the air that always seemed to be there, no matter where or when you were. Good, he thought, good. This was good. He didn't check when or where he was, that could come later. For now he'd explore (and he'd forgotten how nice that could be).
So that's what led him to walking around a vast (and likely very private) garden, lined with intricate designs of flowers and plants. French, he suspected. That was okay, he hadn't been to France in a long time.
Maybe he'd enjoy this.
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He let out a half laugh as he looked at her, and his lip curved into an almost smile, though he really had no cause for it.
"Why do you think I'm here?" he whispered. And then quieter, "I'm always running."
He regarded her again, and just in her face, in the way she held herself, he could imagine why the Doctor would be intrigued. Or was he just trying to attach a reason to his own intrigue?
"Besides," he said, "if you know the Doctor," and he knew that she did, "I think you'd know that anyone he travels with, gets used to the running."
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Instead Reinette sat in repose, as close to a state of unfeeling as she could manage. Through the years, she had nearly perfected it. The last time -- the night of the Yew Tree Ball -- had been her greatest lesson.
"Some of us are not allowed that liberty."
Something different between them, then. It was good, she thought. He was far too close as it stood.
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"Well maybe you're better off that way. Maybe everybody is." He regretted his words as soon as they were spoken. He didn't mean them, not at all really. He was just tired and sore and he wondered so much why the Doctor hadn't come back again.
He shook his head, regretful, and sighed.
"I really shouldn't be here," he said again, seemingly reminding himself of the fact as much as her.
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"The Doctor could not. You should not."
Reinette remained still, watching him.
"Yet here you are."
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He raises a hand and rubbed it over his face, catching sight of the elaborate sleeve on the coat he was wearing. A costume, a disguise. And all he'd intended to do was glide by, not participate, not play old games.
But like she said, here he was.
Honesty, like before, wasn't something he thought to give easily, but then before he could even stop himself, he spoke something far far too honest. A reason for being here? A reason for not leaving already? Just a reason?
"I don't have anywhere to go."
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Her eyes refused to break his gaze, containing far more gravitas than the rest of her person where Reinette finally spoke. Her smile was one of watercolors rather than bold oils, but it was there.
Music continued to echo softly from the ballroom.
"I am aware that the path is slow and at times rather formal. But you are somewhere, Jack." Again, she spoke is name in the French way.
"And you are welcome to remain a while, if you would like. There is only one rule."
He would understand.
"We do not wait."
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Almost in spite of himself he found he couldn't help but smile as she spoke his name. He wondered what his voice sounded like to her ear. Wondered who he sounded like.
Part of him (a large part) voiced reluctance inside his head. A voice telling himself to do the right thing and turn and leave. Not to meddle in a timeline that wasn't his. In a place that practically screamed he shouldn't be.
But where would he go? Would it be any better?
He breathed out deeply and nodded.
"A while. I'll stay a while. And no," he shook his head, insisting, "trust me, I'm done with waiting."
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"How promising."
She offered her hand.
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He reached his own hand out, and took hold of hers in a gentle but secure grip.
"Careful," he said with a smile that was more real than he'd have expected.
"Who knows what you'll start."
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But the idea of a challenge was promising. And distracting from her own life. Jack would provide both, Reinette was certain of it.
"Or what I might finish."
She led him from the room.
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Maybe she'd be interesting for a while. Maybe he'd have a good time again.
Her words made him smirk and he smiled over at her with a glint in his eye.
"Oh now you're talking," he said as he followed her from the room.
He stepped up close to her, and leaned in to whisper in her ear as they walked. "So, you're gonna have to give me a few lessons here. Few of the who's and why's and how's."
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There was a humor in her tone that eschewed anything more overt. True, they were close. She could feel his warmth through the fabric of her gown and she imagined he would wear his scent to her own room that evening. A mere consequence of so much time spent together. But it was no more than than. And no less either. She could like this man, Reinette thought. She could like him a great deal.
For all that, to the passing observer they were well within one another's pockets. There would be talk for certain.
"Lessons that extensive will require time. I do believe I shall have to take you home with me."
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He winked and let out a slight laugh, shifting his position to lay a hand on the small of her back. A gesture for some that would appear utterly intimate, but for him was second nature.
Glancing across the room he could see eyes on them, and eyes that shifted away when their noticing was noticed. He smirked. He liked that. People were gossiping already? Good. Well, they did disappear off to a room together.
"Oh is that so?" he grinned back at her, his breath breathed warm against her skin. "Now that I will look forward to." His voice was merely teasing. To the uneducated it might appear to be flirting. He suspected she knew better.
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No. That was not precisely true. But they were speaking of her with curiosity again. Disapproval. A great many were obviously offended. And Louis? Well, she would face him later.
But there was no more pity in their gazes. And she could not help but be anything but glad for it.
Reinette turned slightly, allowing the palm of one hand to rest against his chest. Her fingers curled slightly. Intimately.
This was a game, she knew. But she could do no less than fully engage in it.
"Did you know I am a great patroness of the arts?" She smiled warmly. "I have taken a great many of them under my care. At some point you must give me a full demonstration of your skill."
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He took a step in closer, in what little space there was left between them, and smoothed his hand back and forth over her back. An idle, almost unconscious movement.
"Well a demonstration like that could take up a considerable amount of your time. Sure you're ready for that now?"
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She remained utterly still under the spell it cast, watching how it worked its way across his already attractive features. She sensed others were lost in it as well. Much like an actor speaking his lines to a rapt audience.
Only this was genuine. That is what held her. That is what she wanted to gather up close and keep for herself. That moment of genuine warmth. It was a rare thing in the court of Versailles. The cold, drafty hallways seem ill conceived to support it.
Reinette felt herself smile up at him and for once she could not say what she looked like.
"I pride my self on being extremely thorough, as I am sure you will find."
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"I wouldn't imagine you'd settle for anything less," he smiled.
Again his eyes shifted and caught sight of gazes levelled in their direction. It amused him how little had to be done to fuel a fire. And here he was thinking the French were up on this sort of thing. Well, he didn't want to disappoint them.
Reaching over, he touched his hand to her arm and slipped it along to catch her hand, gripping it gently. He lifted it to his lips and placed a soft kiss to the back of her fingers. His eyes, all the time, were open and focussed on hers, and even when his mouth wasn't visible, his smirk could be seen in the crinkle of his eyes.
"Jeanne-Antoinette," he whispered, "I think we'll be the talk of the town, tomorrow."
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How remarkable. Her cheeks flushed with awareness of it, though to the room that watched them with rapt attention it looked very much like a blush. Madame de Pompadour, abandoned mistress to a king was, was blushing. And they could not look away.
"Why wait for tomorrow, when we have tonight?"
Her gaze slipped to where his mouth brushed her hand and she felt unallowed laughter sit warmly in her chest.
"I believe, Monsieur Harkness, the time has come for us to retire for the evening."
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"Something tells me," he smiled, "we're going to get on very well."
He looked to the door and back to her. It was a movement that was entirely unnecesarry, and in such obvious it was for the display to others in the room, not the pair of them. It was writing a story for people to whisper into ears. It was amusing to ink people's pens and let them write the story themselves.
He had no doubt they would.
"Best offer I've had all night," he said, removing his hand from atop hers and gesturing an arm out in the direction of the door. He spoke her language (and not the French) well enough to understand they weren't suggesting anything that would demand a different level of intimacy, or at least the level the people in the room expected would occur.
"Lead the way."
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They were still being watched.
Without thought or hesitation she guided him into a shadowed alcove, pressing her body against his own with ease.
No, not with ease. But with a skilled, practiced imitation of it. Men did not like to think of the awkward manner in which bodies were more inclined to meet than not. Nor did they wish to be distracted by the numerous difficulties. But Reinette long learned to use her knowledge and training as a dancer to meet such challenges, and overcome then. What might be difficult or uncomfortable for her seemed the easiest of embraces for them. It was what she knew. What she was trained to be.
She lifted her mouth to his and encouraged him to open his own to her, and then met him in a slow, easy rhythm. The fingers of one hand threaded through the hair that sat just at the collar of his coat.
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So his attention remained rapt on Reinette beside him, barely a breath away, even as they walked.
He could see what she was doing, even as she was doing it, and he barely concealed the smirk beneath his lips. He'd show it later, of course, wide and proud, but not now, not to shatter an illusion.
Her touch was responded to by a curl of his own hand around her waist. Fingers pressed into fabric to make their presence known, subtle in their demand, but noticeable.
Her lips though, even though they ought to have been expected, were not. Not immediately. And it was perhaps a mark of the man and how long he had gone without such a gesture. For barely a second he was frozen without response. Barely perceptible to most, but the trained would know. She would know.
His recovery though, was swift, and he moved into the kiss as though he'd been the one to demand it in the first place. His free hand caught around her cheek and held, palm curved around her face, and his lips met hers with a practised talent (and he easily recognised the talent in her too).
It was strange, to kiss again. Strange but nice, in a way he might not have expected. He didn't pull back; he brushed a thumb against her cheek, and his lips against hers curved into a smile.
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She had not kissed anyone since kissing Louis goodbye. And even then, it was an entirely different matter. A little lost and mostly lonely being replaced with something fresh and unassuming. A long, languorous stretch in one's warm bed.
He was extremely good at this, Reinette thought idly. The women -- and men -- of France had best beware.
Reinette pulled precisely a breath away, so that when she spoke her mouth still moved over his own in a whispered caress. There was the faint, faraway sound of a door closing.
"We had an audience."
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When she broke the kiss his lips very nearly followed hers to claim them back. A testament, were any needed, to just how good she was at this.
His eyes opened slowly and he looked over her and to the door that had been closed behind them.
"So we did," he whispered back, lips curved up into a smile. His hand, still on her cheek, held in place, and his thumb gently stroked back and forth; a tender gesture, and a wholly intimate yet entirely natural one.
He looked at her a moment, that half smile on his face and he shifted his thumb from her cheek to brush over her lips.
"Jeanne-Antoinette, I do believe we might have caused a stir," he smiled again and gently leaned in to press his lips to hers once more. But this kiss was not like the last, it was soft and showed the measure of the man for who he really was behind the painted image. It wasn't long, just a short kiss, and as he pulled back he smiled at her.
Smiled at her, with his smile steadily widening until he pinched her at the waist and started laughing.
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Simple, yes. But so very good.
She wondered at the stories held in the texture of his fingers, what was caught up between the ridges and valleys there.
Contentedly she met him for a second kiss, and felt herself smile at Jack in return. Caused a stir, indeed. She was not ready to imagine the scene the next time they appeared socially. She was just about to ponder the question aloud when Reinette felt something sharp at her waist.
She pulled back, attempting to look stern but all she managed was a single choked breath of air. Of course he had ferreted out one of her most sensitive patches of skin.
"Did you just pinch me?"
Only of course she was laughing as well.
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"So what if I did?" he asked, his grin wide and pleased.
He stepped closer, closing the distance she'd put in between them and he wiggled his fingers faux-menacingly in her direction.
"I'm a delicate innocent little thing," he said with a tone and a grin that said anything but, "you took advantage of me. You naughty, naughty woman, you."
He laughed again, and caught her again at the waist, pinching his fingers in the spot that seemed to cause such reaction before.
"I think it's only fair I get my revenge."
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