for ambitious_woman The Bastille

Relaxed.

Relaxed was something Jack Harkness rarely felt. In fact the concept of relaxation seemed an alien one to him. But yet here he was, that was how he felt. The muscles in his body were looser than they'd felt in far too long, and pains that had held there through stress and worry had, at least for now, melted away to nothingness.

It was morning, and he opened his eyes to a world he'd come to find he liked. A place that while it was nowhere that he belonged, he'd been surprised to discover that there was a space for him. A welcoming space with a welcoming face. He wasn't sure if it was something he deserved but for once, for a time, he wasn't going to worry about that.

When he woke, beside him he saw Reinette sound asleep. It made him smile and he pressed a delicate and small kiss to the skin at her shoulder. He stayed there a moment, just smiling and watching, and he whispered to her, "I'll be right back."

And so he rose from the bed. His intent was to find food. He'd take a morning walk, just a short one in the pleasant summer morning that he could see filtering through beyond the window, and then he'd venture to the kitchens and procure themselves something.

His clothes were near, and he dressed in them, item by item and then his coat (as if he'd go anywhere without it), and out into the corridors and halls of Versailles he went.

He wasn't on his guard, of course, why should he be? Short of clockwork what need he worry about right now? And really, should he encounter clockwork, he'd merely turn it off. No, here he felt happy, he felt safe, and so that guard he had learnt to keep up, was down.

And so it was his downfall.

He found his way to the rear gardens, nodding politely to footmen on his way (people that usually he made no effort to even acknowledge). But they had noticed him. In fact they had noticed him long before he noticed them. They had been noticing him for quite some time. They had noticed him in gardens and they had noticed him behind closed doors. And Jack had no idea.

And he wasn't prepared.

Entirely unprepared for the troupe of guards that met him in the gardens. It was as though they had been waiting, as though they had sought him out (and they had, of course). And as strong as Jack could be, he was not prepared, and so he could do nothing when he was met with a blow to the head, and another blow that knocked him to the ground. Another and another until he felt metal shackles on his wrists held behind his back and a tear of fabric between his lips to quiet his shouts.

And he was taken away.

for best_served_hot The journey continues.

Had Jack Harkness ever been asked if he would freely work with the Master the question would have been met with a laugh, and would he have been told that he himself would have freed him from captivity and kept him from the authorities he'd have expected the person he was talking to were mad.

Yet here he was. He'd freed him, kept him, and he was attempting to work with him. It wasn't conventional of course, not by any definition of the word. But it was all Jack could do. If the universe had lost the Doctor then he had to be found, and given all avenues had been exhausted, the Master might be the only man that could find him.

And so there was searching. Searching on Earth that proved fruitful for nothing but death. Disjointed bits of information dug up by them both and processed through the mind of a crazy man. Events that seemed to be punctuated only by the fact Jack would get frequently killed.

He wondered if it would ever stop. If it would ever change or get better.

But then it did change. Something in the sky and something out of sight. A trace. And in a snap the vortex manipulator that sat on Jack's wrist was repaired and they were no longer on Earth but somewhere else. Somewhere in the sky. A ship of sorts, a great metal monstrosity with old and flickering lights. Heavy walls and heavy doors and corridors that looked long and foreboding (not that much could be much more foreboding than the man that stood at Jack's side).

He glanced ahead down a corridor and took a long and laboured breath.

"Right," he said, looking at the man beside him. "Want to explain where the hell we are?"