for ambitious_woman The Bastille

[quitehomoerotic]

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.

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"I want you safe," Jack reiterated, as weak as his words were there was a force behind them as strong as he could manage, in intent if nothing else.

Her next words though were met with surprise. His wrist strap. He thought it gone. Never expected he'd see it again. He had thought that he was stuck here, doomed to live again through centuries he'd seen and hadn't. The world again from a different angle. But she had it.

But it wasn't that simple. He tried to shake his head, though it was more a movement of eyes if nothing else.

"I can't," he said, "I wouldn't manage a trip through the vortex like this and I don't know what would happen. It's too dangerous. Die and I'll wake up looking like the Jack that you know."

It was a lot for him to ask. Selfish really, and in truth he'd never want her to have to be put through doing such a thing. But he hurt. He hurt so much and he just wanted to be rid of it. He wanted to lie and to sleep and to feel like a man he once was.

"How can you even recognise me," he said. And he wondered it. Full of the beard as he was, and with such a mass of hair, body gaunt and drawn, eyes heavy and sunken, cheeks too. He wondered where in that was the man she met. The handsome man that acted like the world was his.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

She wanted to argue his point, but it hardly seemed fair to challenge the point. She was safe and would remain so. Some might think she was foolishly blind to the possibilities before her.

But it was rather that Reinette had long determined Jack to be worth that risk. She had no intent of leaving his side, no matter what disease still clung to him. It was something he would have to come to terms with.

Some might think that not safe at all.

But Reinette knew otherwise.

Her palm slipped through the water to rest against Jack's chest, careful not to apply too much pressure but to offer touch all the same.

"I know you Jack. I will always know you. I knew you even before I remembered you. We discussed this." There was a small, brief smile. "There is more to know than this."

Reinette closed her eyes then, and gathered herself. On many levels Jack was correct. The care he required was far beyond her skill, but she could think of no one she would allow to touch him. And she trusted his word that the wrist strap itself was no option either. He lived in that hole, in disease and darkness because of her.

Louis played his part, but there was no denying her own part in the story.

Her breath came broken.

"What do you need me to do?"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

The touch, in many ways, felt like a hot coal against his chest. He looked at her hand in the dirty water as though it were alien. But he made no attempt to shoo her away. He understood what her reaching out meant.

But as she spoke, he felt his eyes burn and dampen. Tears he wasn't aware he was any longer capable of crying.

"And now this is all you'll think when you think of me."

He continued to watch her still and she was agreeing to help. It was a thought alone that surprised him. He'd expected stubborn refusal. But here she was, giving him what he asked. But could he allow it? Could he honestly?

Even now, he couldn't. He couldn't have her be the one to have that on her. She wasn't Torchwood, she wasn't cut from the cloth that meant she should have to witness the harm and death of people she cared for. He wouldn't turn her into a murderer too.

"I need..." he said, stalling a little. "I need a room. A dark room, no light. A bed and some water. I need... my hair... I need to sleep."

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

"That is not true," Reinette settled on the words firmly, leaving little doubt. She was still careful to modulate the level of her voice.

"It is not all I think of you nor will it ever be. And while I am not one for promises I will promise you that. If only because I already know it to be true."

Her gaze remained soft, but clear.

"Do you understand?"

Reinette continued to watch Jack then, attempting to determine if the withdrawal of his request had to do with his own decision of a belief that she was incapable of handling what he might ask. But without doubt, she knew it was a topic she could not press.

"My room, Jack. It is the only one that would not have to be readied. I am not normally in residence this time of year and everything else is --"

She broke off then, feeling herself falling into an uncharacteristic ramble.

"You will have it. May I finish here first?"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack found it hard to believe Reinette. It wasn't that he expected she was anything less but truthful, but he couldn't see it himself. He could only imagine how he looked, and conceive of how bad he smelled. Surely he could see the parts of his body in the dirty water and the way in which she had to tend to him. It was unpleasant by every manner of the word.

It had to change her opinion of him. How could it not?

He didn't reply to her words, he merely ducked his head a little. Best for that than to lie, and he had no strength for that right now. And more than that, she deserved not to be lied to.

Her room, she said, and a large part of him wanted to protest. Where would she sleep? He could take a cupboard, it would surely be better than where he'd been. But no, a bed would be good, and truly he needed it. So he simply nodded.

"Yes," he said quietly, allowing her to continue, despite (and perhaps because of) the condition which he was in.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Reinette fell silent at Jack's soft acquiescence. She wanted him to rage. She wanted him to be angry, even if with her. She wanted anything but the air of defeat that fell about him.

Anything at all.

She worked to keep her features composed.

In contrast, the cleaning of his body was simple. There was little shyness between them, there never had been. And concern for him mentally made it all the more simple to ignore any comparisons between the Jack of then, and now.

More soap was added to the water to battle the stench and to clean the rest of his skin. With careful, precise hands more accustomed to etching and embroidery she worked around his open wounds. His hair was next. Shampooed once. Twice. And then once more before moving to the rest of the hair matted across his body.

He hardly moved as she cut away the impossibly long hair, long grey streaks falling behind the tub. Then the beard before she finished shaving away what scissors failed to manage. There hardly seemed any of him left. Smaller scissors cut away nails that had grown unchecked.

Les, and less of him still.

And yet still what not caused her deepest concern.

There was no way Reinette could spare him what came next. She did not have the strength to lift him from the tub. Instead she was forced to call upon two of her oldest, most trusted servants. Ones she was certain would not report to Louis. They helped her remove Jack to her bed. And then she dismissed them once more.

There Reinette was able to wipe away the last of the grime that lingered from the water away from his pale, damaged skin. Ointment was carefully applied to all of it. She covered him carefully, sitting to one side of the bed.

The sun was long set, and without any candles the room seemed impossibly dark.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

If there was anything that Jack Harkness had always been, it was proud. Proud of the way he looked and the way in which he presented himself. Though he might pretend otherwise he put a great deal of stock in what people thought of him. He had lived a considerable portion of his life trading on the way he looked and using it as a device much as anything else. His appearance was his most well constructed wall, one that could never truly be knocked down. The one he relied on the most.

Yet here it was crumbled at his feet

And he had nothing in him to conceal what was plan to see. He didn't even try.

So he allowed Reinette to finish her task, cleaning him and readying him. His hair cut away, barely any left but a tuft.

And then again came pain. Pain as he was taken from the bath to the bed and again cleaned. His body ached but there was something amazing about lying on a bed, even if the sheets were sore against his skin.

"You know they used to have posters up of me," he said, "where I lived. They called me the face of Boe. If only they could see me now."

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Reinette could not think of a single argument she could make, no matter how sound or true, that Jack would give any weight to. That there was a great deal more to him than that? That what he had done for her alone countered any poster he might be referring to? Well, she knew it would hardly register.

He might even scoff, could Jack find the energy.

Because were the positions reversed, she knew she would be at a loss as well.

Only look at her performance when Jack had the misfortune to witness her ill.

She make a great deal of her appearance. Of masks and expectations and none judged her as harshly as she did herself. Reinette might not be able to fully understand what Jack was struggling with. But she was fairly certain she could at least touch it.

And she touched him. Her fingers moving to lightly rest over Jack's own.

"You should try and rest."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

The touch was heightened; the brush of her fingers against his own. It felt sore, but he found that he didn't want to pull away from it. In fact his own fingers curled a little, just slightly around the shape of her hand.

"You should know," he said tiredly. "The necklace won't last. It'll wear out. By the morning I'll be worse. I don't want it to frighten you."

He looked then to her hand and back to her face, before adding, "Any more than I already do, that is."

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Frightened.

Privately Reinette considered the word.

She had been frightened when she first discovered where Jack had been kept for fourteen months. She was frightened, standing as she did alone in the cell that was all he knew.

"I am made of stronger stuff than that, Jack," she offered softly, her thumb just barely moving over his skin. It was the rare part of him that did not seem overly damaged or hold some sort of wound. "As are you."

She took particular care to meet Jack's gaze.

"Is there anything else I should know? Anything I might do?"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, we both say that don't we?" he said to her. It was in many ways more honest than he ever was. It was all fronts, and all pretence, and yes he was made of strong stuff, but not as strong as he would have people believe.

He looked back to their hands.

Anything she could do? He thought again about that what he'd asked her to do before withdrawing it. But still he couldn't help think it for the best. But there had to be another way. An easier way. A less brutal way.

He let out a breath. "An apothecary," he said, "get one to give you some poison. And give the poison to me."

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Say that, he said. Not were or are. It was a subtle difference Reinette knew they were both aware of. And that ultimately, Jack was correct. Such a fine show they put on. Most days, they even fell into believing it.

It only made moments like this all the more difficult.

There was a shallow intake of breath at his request. Jack had no way of knowing of the attempt to poison her while he was in the dark recesses of the Bastille. But it was a subtle, manipulative and all to common death in the world she inhabited.

"I know one," she finally answered, after another breath. "It is not far."

The conversation verged betwen the ridiculous and the dangerously real. Her hand remained on Jack's.

"I can be back. Before," she said softly. "Before it becomes worse."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack blinked his eyes slowly in an almost nod, and he let out a long sigh. "Good," he said. "Thank you."

But then the thought of her leaving? Of her going anywhere? It suddenly filled him with dread. Could he have gripped her hand then, he would.

"Send one of your men," he said, asking. "Stay here?" And it was a question as much as anything, a plea. He didn't want to be alone. He'd been alone so long.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

It was a fine, delicate line comprised by the thinnest of threads.

The idea of sending anyone else to manage such a task? The idea that it might be mishandled somehow, that Jack might somehow be asked to endure more pain than was truly necessary? Was difficult for her.

But at the same time she understood Jack's request. And could not help but admire the strength he still had to make it. A difficult bloodletting and she could hardly stand to face anyone, much less place themselves so soundly in their hands. To ask.

She wondered if he recognized his own bravery, or would somehow call it weakness in his mind. Reinette suspected the latter but knew better.

Reinette leaned down to press a whisper-light touch to his temple.

"All right Jack," she said then. "All right."

She straightened.

"I am going, but just down the hallway. I will be gone but moments."

And it was only that. Reinette's instructions were brisk and clear and stood for no argument. Soon she returned to the darkened room and took Jack's hand once more.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

There were many words Jack might have liked to have given to Reinette. Words of thanks and so many emotions. But the energy wasn't in him for it, and already he could feel that he was just that little weaker, the necklace waning in its power.

"Thank you," he said, because it was something at least.

He watched her as she stood and as she moved, and when she was gone from sight he let out a shaky breath. A breath that with it gave way to tired and relieved tears he'd been holding back. Tears because he was out of that hole, out of that hell, and he was thankful of that.

His eyes drifted closed and were still such when she returned. He only realised at all when her hand again touched his. His eyes flickered open again and a tear or two escaped along his cheek.

"Is it done?"

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

There was an odd sound at the back of her throat, ill-formed for a woman accustomed to being so articulate. She would not accept his thanks. She could not. Not when Louis was so directly involved in Jack's suffering, and thus in association her as well.

"Hush," was all she finally managed, her hand fully covering his own.

Reinette did not comment on Jack's tears. She was not certain if he was even aware of them. But it hurt to see. Two parts less, that much more of him gone. There was a part of her that wished to be angry. To rail at him, and to have Louis to direct even more anger still. She wanted to Jack to keep what little was still his own as his.

"Soon, now. I ordered all possible haste."

What they must think of her below stairs. She could not care.

And soon enough there was a knock at the door. Reinette moved to answer it, and a freshly brewed cup of tea and a small packet was placed in her hands. She said nothing, closed the door to Jack's side and proceeded to empty the packet into the dark, steaming liquid.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack's eyes closed again, and he couldn't honestly recall if he'd fallen asleep or not. His body was trying to cope and so was shutting down. Shutting down while it attempted to repair himself in ways that never really could.

And then he heard the door, an event that stirred him, his eyes open again, and he watched as Reinette prepared the drink.

"When I die," he said to her, "it'll be like before. It might take longer, but my body will heal itself and when I wake up I'll be myself again." He might still hurt, yes, might still be tired, but there would be no pain in his bones, and no feeling of being a shell of who he should be. It would feel better.

"You might want to go while it happens."

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Reinette recalled all too clearly how long she sat on the floor of Versailles, waiting for Jack to revive. Now he was implying this would be longer. Quite possibly a great deal longer. But she also remembered the force of her own reaction. As she recalled the time from before, when she was far younger. How the memory caused her to pull away.

Jack's expression as she did so.

"Or," she countered briskly, an edge of emotion to the single word. "I might not."

Reinette would not be leaving. And there was no one to make her do otherwise.

She focused on the small, precise actions required of her. Measuring out the poison. Stirring the tea. Carefully lifting Jack's head so she might offer it to him. She felt removed from herself. Not quite a part of what was happening.

"Belladonna, Jack. Nightshade. It can be done gently, if measured correctly."

Why that seemed so crucial she did not know.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack let out a breath. No point in attempting to argue, he knew. What good would that do? And so he didn't. He just blinked slowly.

"Yeah," he said, "I suppose you might not."

And there was very nearly a smile on his lips for just how stubborn he knew she was.

He helped her assist him in his movement (not that he had a great deal of choice in that), and he sipped down the tea with some difficulty. When done, he flicked his eyes towards her.

"It won't take long then," he said. And as much as he could? He squeezed her hand. It was barely anything really, but the intent was there under a movement of fingers.

"It'll be okay," he said.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Precisely Reinette fluffed the pillow beneath Jack's head and straightened the sheets about him. Not that it mattered, truly. But again it gave her something to manage. Something she might accomplish, however small.

She listened to Jack's words, a ghost of a smile on her features as well.

Her touch was light as her hand returned to his own, noting Jack's touch. he met it with gentle, careful pressure of her own.

It would be all right, he said.

"I imagine that it will."

They were not the sort to entertain any other option.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

He had been right, of course, when he had said it wouldn't take long. He was weak and tired already and before he closed his eyes he whispered to her gently, "Take the necklace off."

It seemed to wear it now would prove only counter productive to his efforts to kill himself.

And so he closed his eyes and waited. Waited it out for what he hoped would come and soon. And no, it took barely any time at all.

It was like sleep, at first; drifting out of consciousness to somewhere deeper. And then further than that as it took him. The gentle grip his hand held at all fell away as his hand dropped to the side.

And he was gone, and all that there was left to do, was wait. Wait as his body did the work and repaired itself. It would take all night to do so.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Reinette carefully removed the necklace from about Jack's abused chest, letting the chain pool on the small table that rested adjacent to the bed. It seemed much, much cooler to the touch.

And then she held his hand until Jack was gone.

It was far less abrupt than her previous two experiences, which only provided more time to think about just what was happeneing before her. And about Jack himself. His fingers eventually became ice in her own, and a glance told her there was no breath left. Just silence.

Sitting there, alone in the dark with Jack so silent only reminded her just how much of the day she still wore. That would have to be addressed, and before Jack woke. She would not let him do so alone.

Calling two maids Reinette retired to the bathroom in what was designed to be Louis' rooms when he visited. She suspected her own bath would have to be removed and replaced, which truthfully she could not mind.

There she removed her stained and ruined gown, ordering it to be burned. She scrubbed her skin with soap until it was painful and raw, favoring cleanliness over scented oils. Her hair would take some time, and it would have to be watched closely to make sure nothing from the hole took root. She could cut it, she supposed. Most women did to fit them under the elaborate wigs they favored. But Reinette counted her hair as one of her vanities, and selfishly would see it saved.

It was a ridiculous thought in that moment. She forced it aside.

Dressed for bed, Reinette once again ordered her staff away and returned to Jack. He had not moved. And he did not move. Not for hours, and hours still. The adrenaline that had coursed through her own veins slowly left her, even at the strange sight of Jack's body slowly repairing himself.

She was exhausted, and the practical side of her nature told her that she needed rest to be of any assistance to Jack. But at her core some part of her was completely unwilling to leave.

So she compromised. The bed was larger here, far more so. It allowed her to join Jack there, above the sheets to his below and still leave a respectful distance between him. She did not know if he could still feel pain in the state he was in, but Reinette refused to risk it. Only one hand remained touching his own.

And then she slept.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

It was a process.

The slow heal that his body needed. Nothing at first, and then the universe seemed to wake around him; it twisted time and reality and everything between to make him live again. Though it would take time. It was nothing visible at first, but then it started to show. It repaired the cuts and lesions on his skin, shrinking them away until it was as though they'd never been there to begin with.

His muscles were next, rebuilding and expanding. His body grew a little as though he were being inflated like a balloon. Bit by bit by bit, he filled out, bone covered by flesh and fat to shape his body back to something it ought to be.

It took hours in total, and there was nothing in him aware of it happening, nor anything in him aware of the sleeping woman at his side.

It continued through the night.

The tufts of hair on his head fell out and replaced themselves with fresh strands, growing quickly and somehow shaped in the style he held those 14 months ago, continuing until he had a full head of hair, just as it was.

And then his skin, the weak and pale pallor replaced with something slightly warmer. Not completely, of course, but more alive even when dead than he was while awake.

And as the new day was dawning. He woke.

Just a breath, and not a wrenching one as it often was, but a small intake, and his eyes opened.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

She slept, but lightly.

Even exhausted she could not completely abandon her thoughts of the man that repaired himself next to her. Several times through the night Reinette awoke, her eyes immediately settling onto Jack in the dark.

She saw small moments of the story as they were spun together. Each time she woke some small portion of the Jack she knew had returned.

The final time Reinette awoke it was to an intake of breath that was not her own, somehow soft and quiet. Her hand remained in Jack's own, and at least for this small moment she seemed willing to wait.

Wait for him to fully wake, and come out of the moment.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

For a moment Jack did nothing but lie there. He kept his eyes n the ceiling and blinked another couple of times. There was clarity in his eyes now, he could see where before there'd just been a cloud. His mind too had been just as cloudy, and though he could recall the hours before he died, it was distant and dreamlike.

He tried to remember. And so he did, he remembered being taken, he remembered the bath, the remembered Reinette.

Reinette.

He felt it then, her hand still in his, and he was hit by a sudden awareness of how she'd seen him, of how he'd looked. And she was there, seeing him now.

And then, like he'd been plugged back in, his head turned swiftly towards hers.

"Reinette."

He spoke her name softly, and just breathed, just looked, he could see her now. And then, mere moments passed, and he sat up sharply (an act that still hurt every muscle he had, still repairing even though he'd been brought back), and he slipped his legs over the side and turned his back.

He couldn't bear her seeing him.