Captain Jack Harkness (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quitehomoerotic) wrote2010-07-06 06:50 pm
quitehomoerotic) wrote2010-07-06 06:50 pm
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ambitious_woman: Time for a party
Follows this.
It had been five days since Reinette woke up. She was doing much better now, her health had picked up considerably and she had more colour in her cheeks than Jack thought he'd ever seen her with.
Still, he knew, time ticked on, and the better she became the more restless too. That, and as time passed yet more and more questions were raised as to her identity. Jack could deal with them, of course, but he much preferred that he didn't have to.
Of course, he wanted to take her home. And home, of course, he meant 1752. But that was hardly that simple, and turning up to take her back there now felt cruel. Jack could be cruel, of course. He'd been cruel on many occasions. But he didn't want to be, not to her, not after everything. So he needed an alternative.
Luckily, an alternative presented itself.
So it was with an idea fully formed and a oversized set of bags in hand that he walked into Reinette's hospital room, a grin painted on his lips.
"Bonsoir," he said. "How about a trip?"
It had been five days since Reinette woke up. She was doing much better now, her health had picked up considerably and she had more colour in her cheeks than Jack thought he'd ever seen her with.
Still, he knew, time ticked on, and the better she became the more restless too. That, and as time passed yet more and more questions were raised as to her identity. Jack could deal with them, of course, but he much preferred that he didn't have to.
Of course, he wanted to take her home. And home, of course, he meant 1752. But that was hardly that simple, and turning up to take her back there now felt cruel. Jack could be cruel, of course. He'd been cruel on many occasions. But he didn't want to be, not to her, not after everything. So he needed an alternative.
Luckily, an alternative presented itself.
So it was with an idea fully formed and a oversized set of bags in hand that he walked into Reinette's hospital room, a grin painted on his lips.
"Bonsoir," he said. "How about a trip?"
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What he'd tried so hard (and failed before) to keep her from, he was again thrusting right in her face. The rooms were full of paintings and writings and people talking about things that would happen both to her and her country, and he was placing her in the eye of the storm.
He turned from where he'd been and tried to find Reinette, only to spot her with an unappealing man lips locked to hers. He walked over as she left him in a way that seemed to dispatch him in no uncertain terms, and he put a hand to her shoulder.
"Getting the party started early are we?" He paused only a moment. "And by the way, we should go, I'm an idiot. We should really go."
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Casanova would be so disappointed. On so very many levels.
Jack's words registered.
Her mouth softening into something that was hardly a readable expression at all, Reinette turned to face her friend. She considered the painting behind him. The conversation that hummed in the call. And what she had so recently discovered.
It was not that she was hiding it from him. Hardly that. But the right time had yet to present itself. That might be now. She looked up at him.
"It is all right Jack. I know."
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But it didn't for even a moment enter his mind that she may have discovered more. And so the confusion was worn all over his face.
"Know?" he asked, frowning. "What do you mean you know?" he very nearly demanded. "Know what?"
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The scope of that carried many meanings. She knew enough that she understood. Enough to follow why Jack might wish for them to leave. But also enough in that she did not wish to learn more. That there was ony so much she wished to take in.
"I know Jack." Reinette signed, her gaze briefly flickering to the portrait behind them.
"It was on your television, one of the afternoons you were away." He often slipped away. To get provisions or clothes or perhaps to any other unknown reason. "I know I should have turned it off. But I could not. It was hardly thorough." Her eyes were shadowed, understanding there. "But I know."
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He took the smallest of steps backwards, almost a stumble, and he dropped his head down and shook it before lifting it only to repeat the action again. For a long moment, he couldn't make eye contact with her; he merely looked away, his eyes settled on a blank spot on the wall.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, and finally turning his eyes towards hers. "I'm sorry." His hands moved then to his hips.
"I should have thought. I should have been more careful."
Whatever she knew. Whatever she'd learned? She didn't need to. That sort of knowledge could weigh heavily upon a person.
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Reinette was calculated enough then that when she took a step forward she brought her fingers up to touch one of the few expanses of skin left by his current costume. Her fingertips just brushed the top of his wrist.
"And what are you sorry for, Jack? That my country chose to tear itself apart from the inside out? That too many people died?" There was a heavy sadness in her words that neither discounted nor dwealt in them. "We are not the first."
"I mean what I said outside, Jack. She survived. She is still here, and she is still beautiful. And you allowed me to see that. Do not be sorry."
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Ought he apologise more? And if he did then what good would that do? Would there really be any point? It felt like empty words at this stage. What was done was done, and even time couldn't undo that.
Again, his glance fell towards hers.
"Why didn't you say something?" he said, his voice a half whisper. But he didn't really expect an answer. He shook his head.
And right at that moment, a waiter appeared, thrust a tray between them and asked "Vol au vents?"
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She had no doubt it would be addressed again. But she did not think it would be now.
Reinette looked back up at Jack, taking him in. From the outside of her vision she caught sight of her unfortunate companion from mere moments before.
"Casanova would be most offended to see himself represented in such a manner."
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Luckily, her words caught his attention, and he followed her gaze to the man who had been so familiar with her such a short while ago.
"Casanova? He thinks he's Casanova?" He swung his head back towards her. For a moment, he was deep in thought. History running through his head. Venice... Paris... (a very condensed history). It dawned on him.
"Wait you know him, don't you?!"
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Her smile was wide, with something sly about it.
"I do know him, yes. I count him as a dear friend and like to think that he counts me one as well. We share a great many interests."
That smile grew, tilted towards Jack.
"I should introduce you sometime."
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"And yes you should," he said. "The greatest lover in history, people call him." Beat. "They obviously just haven't met me."
He turned his head, looking back at the costumed man.
"It'd be an interesting notch on the bed post." And of course, that was little more than teasing. If Jack had ever seen people in such a way (he hadn't), he certainly didn't now.
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"Giac is a great deal more than that," Reinette added, her own gaze on the portly Casanova from before. "As are you Jack. You would like each other I think."
There was another small smile.
"And he might wish you to be an interesting notch on his own."
She was teasin, of course. Which Jack would know. Her gaze narrowed again, thoughtful.
"I believe that woman over there is supposed to be me."
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His gaze again turned to her. "Oh he'd need a new bedpost after I was done with him."
He let out a light laugh and then turned to look in the direction of the woman to which Reinette was referring.
He tilted his head. "Huh," he said, thoughtfully. "I think you're right." Beat. "You've got better boobs."
With a smirk, he looked back to her. "Lets go say hello," he said, and grabbed her hand, tugging her over in the woman's direction.
"Ah, Madame..."
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"In any case, I do know that I have not been kissed by Casanova until this evening. Giac will be quite disappointed that he missed the occasion, I think."
She was still, all the while, shrewdly studying the woman she supposed to be her. At the moment she was completely abusing her fan, and speaking an unforgivable about of gibberish with it.
Only --
"Boobs, Jack? Really?" Honestly, between him and the glasses. "I am glad your recollection of them is so firm, because I am not all that certain you will be seeing them again. Ever."
Of course, any stance she would have continued to take was ended by Jack all but dragging her across the ballroom floor. They other woman stared at their arrival, clearly waiting on something.
Was.
Did she expect Reinette to curtsy?
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He laughed again, and as he stepped over with her hand in his.
"Firm too," he said, deliberately twisting her words. "And really, can't a guy give a compliment these days?" He shot her a wink as he came to stand in front of the couple.
"Ahh the Marquis of Pompadour!" he said, overly amused. "A pair of Pompadours!"
The woman gave a look at Reinette, appraising. She didn't look too impressed.
Jack turned his head to the man beside the woman. He wore a military coat of the age, blue with a strange striped pattern about it.
"And who are you supposed to be?"
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If the other woman was unimpressed, Reinette was doubly so. She continued to eye the other woman critically. She was young, younger than Reinette herself she suspected. But a heavy hand with the cosmetics made her appear twice her age.
"I really hope you are not expecting me to show deference. I once removed every single chair in a room other than my own, simply so no one could insult me by sitting. I am certainly not going to curtsy to a stranger now."
Costumed ball or not, Reinette had certain standards.
The woman's male companion laughed nervously, attempting to cover the silence.
"Jacques," he announced, reaching to shake Jack's hand. "Alchemist and friend to the Lady Pompadour. Some thing me a figment of history my I am putting in an appearance this evening to prove just how real I am."
Reinette's teeth caught her lower lip and effectively captured her smile, holding it close.
"Oh, Jack," she said softly.
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But the words that were spoken? Oh they shook him in an entirely new way.
Mouth a little agape, Jack stared at the man as though he'd just solved the meaning of life. He stared at his hand and back to his face, and belatedly reached his own to shake. His expression stayed the same though, and he stood there agape.
"Jacques?" he asked, looking at the man and back to Reinette before back again. "... Alchemist...."
He gave the man another look over. This time, he noticed a rather large leather cuff on one wrist, almost like an archers brace.
He glanced to his own wrist.
And back to Reinette.
And again to the man.
"Yeah..." he said. "Oh yeah, you're real alright." And slowly. Eventually. He started to smile.
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All of her attention was reserved for Jack. And his rather priceless reaction. Reinette could not help but smile as she took it in. This was one she would wish to recall, she was certain of it.
At first she was not certain how he would react. After all, this was the man with timelines to protect. That for a while she was certain was so ready to run he was certain not to remain for long. Six months ago she had resigned herself to never seeing him again.
But he Jack was, an undeniable part of her life. It felt right. Undeniably right. But did he feel the same? At the very moment he smiled.
Reinette brought herself close to Jack, so she was nearly pressed against his side and her breath was a single word in his ear.
A name, said in the French fashion.
His own.
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And he, Jack Harkness the tourist who hid behind a tree, he was a part of history once again. A myth or confusion wrapped around French history and the life of one Madame de Pompadour.
He found himself laughing.
The woman, interrupting the moment, spoke up. "And the pair of you, who have you come as?"
Jack again, laughed. And he looked to Reinette, smirking.
He whispered. "I think we've come in the wrong clothes."
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"We are ourselves," she answered coolly. "We do not come as anyone other than that."
Her attention was already once again on Jack, Reinette's hand moving to rest on his arm. She was oddly happy. Happier than this ridiculous playacting about her should account for.
"I think, Jack, that you are right. What shall we do about it?"
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To be able to look at someone and share a story without a word ever needing to be said? Well that was exactly what was happening.
"You know, Madame," he said, over emphasising the word, "I think you're right."
He turned his head and looked around before back to the confused looking pair staring at them.
"If you'll excuse us," he said, and turned away, moving Reinette with him. He leaned in, and he whispered.
"Meet me in that room over there in five minutes."
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Even so, did that woman truly think she was her?
Her face tilted up towards Jack's profile to catch and register his words, and after a brief smile of agreement she moved to wait for him in the designated room. It was all the conversation that was required.
The room was not as simple to reach as it might initially seem. It was obviously marked off from the guests, but not everyone had her knowledge of the building. What she counted as her home. It took a few more steps, and two extra corridors -- but she arrived.
Reinette pulled a breath.
An alcove she had ordered reworked mere months before not stood completely altered. It was very nearly gone, sacrificed to changing architecture. The walls the rugs and the furnishings were all different than she knew as well.
But at one end of it? A stone bust of herself.
One she had yet to stand for.
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But he'd soon change that.
He opened the strap on his wrist, and with a button push or two, he was gone.
It wasn't a long journey. Just a nip here and a shower there, oh and a quick trip back to Versailles along the way. But before long, he was back in the building. And this time?
This time? He was Captain Jack Harkness.
He arrived back in the same bathroom, barely moments since he'd gone. But this time he stood in his clothes. The makeup was cleaned from his face, and so was the scent from his skin. The wig had been removed from his head and his hair redone in his usual style; and wearing his coat, he stood tall.
There was also another item. A rather large item with too many trappings for him to consider natural. It was wrapped in a large sheath of fabric. A present from 1752.
Taking it, he slipped back out and made his way to the room in secret. Really, when he truly wanted to be, he was quite good at hiding.
Stepping in, he latched the door closed quietly behind him and with a grin on his face he stepped over to Reinette.
"Hey," he said. "Got you a little something."
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But Jack?
Jack was Jack again. In a way she had not seen in far too long. And perhaps, she thought? Perhaps he was no different than that morning she chose to take her walk. But the sudden shift? From courtly frippery to everything that was not?
For a moment she held silent.
There was that odd, old feeling of inequality then. Before it was always that sense of how much more he knew. But now? Here was was at utter ease in his own skin, so sure. While she was in a still hideously imagined shade of blue. Staring at a woman in stone she did not know.
But there it was still. Jack. As Jack. Pulling herself from her thoughts Reinette met his gaze and smiled warmly.
"Little Jack? I never would have thought to hear you refer to yourself so."
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Stepping over he set the heavy load down beside him on the floor (and really, it was heavy, how the hell did she manage that? And what the hell was that thing on the hips?). He took another step, close now, and another, closer still. Standing over, domineering in a way he hadn't in a while.
"Oh Reinette," he whispered, leaning his head down towards hers. "There's nothing about me that's small."
He tilted his head in towards hers, his breath against her cheek, and he remained there for a moment before drawing back.
He winked and glanced to the load.
"Thought you might want to slip into something more comfortable. You know I think I saw this one in a painting out there."
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