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for ambitious_woman: Time for a party

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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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The unspoken truth was that in the past year Casanova had gone from unexpected distraction to a very loyal friend. She understood the traits that history had seemed to chose to focus on in regards to him, but that did not make them truly what mattered.

"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."

"Oh I'm sure he is," Jack said, somehow making that simple phrase sound overly suggestive. "And I'm sure we would."

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..."

"Perhaps he would," she agreed with Jack in a light fashion that still held some truth. She was certain that the two men together would be quite the interesting sight to observe.

"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?

"Oh don't you worry," Jack said, somewhat distracted, "I'm sure I can make it up to him."

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?"

Reinette wondered, them, if there would be an opportune time to hit him. It was far from her usual behavior, of course. But he was the one that taught her how to fight with pillows.

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.

The air could be cut with a knife, and as Reinette spoke the woman seemed to bristle with annoyance. Jack was only too glad the man spoke and broke the silence that had fallen between them all.

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.

Reinette really had little care for the woman nor her companion.

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.

As she moved in, Jack's head tilted towards hers. And there it was, just one word, his name, spoken how she had when she'd met him. And strangely? A confirmation for something.

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."

Reinette shot the younger girl a hard glance for interrupting the moment that passed between her and Jack. It was rare that the weight of his place in her history sat so well on his shoulders. Reinette wished to enjoy it.

"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?"

It was rare for two people to be able to get the level of understanding with one another that Jack felt he had with Reinette in this moment.

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."

Reinette was glad that Jack made their excuses, because should would have found it tempting not to even bother. Which really would not do. Just because they were obviously lacking did not mean she should lower herself to be. She was ever polite, even if coolly so.

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.

Jack slipped himself away from the room and to the bathrooms. He stepped inside and regarded himself in the mirror opposite. His reflection made him laugh. All painted face and clothes that weren't him. He'd done it wrong.

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."

Pulling her attention from the stone bust Reinette turned towards Jack's voice only to still again. The light was different, bright and artificial in a way she was coming to know. And of course she and the room were the barest acquaintances now.

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."

Silhouetted in the half light at the end of the room, Jack watched Reinette a few feet away. He watched, and he grinned.

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."

It was not an overly long moment, but it was defined none the less. Jack effectively eliminated any opportunity for Reinette to speak as he dominated the conversation. So she allowed her body to speak for her. Even as she could feel his breath warm on her cheek, the way he disturbed the smallest tendrils of her hair? Reinette did not yield. She did not give an modicum of space. She did not surrender a breath. She stood firm.

It was that way, between them.

As he pulled back, her smile finally altered herself to something more intricate and individual. Something with Jack wrapped up within the corners.

"They were your words Jack, not mine."

But? She could be distracted from his parcel no longer. She walked over to it, eyes gleaming as she withdrew a different gown.

"My own clothing."

"Your own clothing," Jack repeated back. "And your shoes, and a little... well this stuff that was in a bottle, I'm guessing perfume. Bit of jewellery there too. Really, I just took what was to hand." He grinned at her, and shot her another wink. In truth, he'd been somewhat more selective than that, but that hardly told such a colourful story.

"And how the hell do you wear those things, by the way," he asked, "they're heavy. And I'm a big boy."

He grinned at her as he stood, his hands clasped behind his back, rocking a little on his feet.

"How about you put it on and we make ourselves a bit of an entrance."

Jack's statement was accurate enough, the gown was heavy. But it was a full, reassuring weight that Reinette quite openly enjoyed holding in her arms. It occurred to her that she had not worn her own clothing since she ordered the dress that she wore to get Jack from the Bastille burned. The faint scent of lavender, kept in the trunks were in dresses were stored, wafted upwards.

Reinette smiled.

"I should just put it on, Jack. You suppose? Do you truly think it is so simple or are you waiting for me to ask?"

Privately Reinette suspected either was possible. Jack could be quite dimple and direct at times, in a most appealing well. But there was, of course, the old game between them as well.

In either case she began sorting things so that she might be dressed properly.

Slowly, Jack grinned at Reinette.

"You know I'm more accustomed to the opposite," he said, "but I'm sure I cam manage."

The dress, of course, was quite the item, huge and layered and with something that Jack thought reminded him of a torture contraption attached to the hips. Corsetry and underskirts and so many layers (which of course, he'd had experience with before).

Reaching down, he lifted the gown, pulling aside what he needed.

"Well then," he said, stepping closer and reaching his arm around to find the zip on the dress she wore.

"Lets see," he grinned and lowered the zip.

Reinette exhaled a warm sigh that could not quite be called a laugh at Jack's statement, the corner of her mouth tilted up in an all too knowing smile. There was still a great deal about Jack that remained a mystery. But there were some? That were understood.

"Truly?" There was a laugh then. "I am sure that you can. It is there, I think, Jack. Somewhere within you, the requisite skill."

And from the point onwards that Jack unzipped the gown? Reinette had a certain business on her mind. The business of redressing herself, of claiming her clothing and her name. Of reentering that room and showing certain guests just how it should be done.

She did not linger over familiar stockings on chemises, but rather treated them as the tools that they were. Jack had chosen a particularly favorite gown of hers. She could not be more pleased. And it was only when she stepped into the gown itself that Reinette hesitated. Smiling to herself as the familiar weight of satin and lace settled over her.

Reinette turned and presented her back and its lacings to Jack.

Jack reached out and assisted as required, his hands available to hold fabric and lift it where she might step into it as needed. She was, of course, an expert when it came to these layers. Layers, he knew being something so much more than mere fabric.

They were, as much as anything, who she was. Just as the coat he wore now once again could be said to be him.

He teased her a little as she dressed, and he smiled as he spoke. "You know it's pretty cruel to do that to a guy," he said, referring to Reinette's state of undress before covering herself once more.

She turned about, and he stepped forward, taking hold of the laces. He tugged firmly on the first, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Though those glasses?" he whispered, "you were right, they really don't capture you."

He tugged on the second, lacing it higher as he slipped one hand about her waist, his fingers flat against her stomach as he pulled another.

"You've got to admit," he said, shifting slightly so he whispered now in her other ear.

He tugged tightly again. "I even make this good."

Reinette had been particularly focused on the placement of the last of her silk stockings when Jack chose to teasingly point out her particular placement directly between one state of dress and another. She had chosen not to comment on it aloud. Merely instead to lift her head high enough to meet his gaze over her shoulder.

There was a smile. A shared glance. And an arched eyebrow she more than trusted Jack enough to translate.

Cruel, perhaps. But surely crueler still had I not allowed you see too me undressed at all.

He understood, she knew. And Reinette continued with her task at hand.

But at the first tug of her laces, and Jack's chosen subject? Her gaze narrowed.

"Really Jack, that really is not the point."

Yet afterwards, Reinette fell silent. She allowed herself to simply enjoy the moment. Jack's hand at her waist, warm enough to be self through the fabric. The song of silk against silk as he worked. That constant rush of pleasure edged with pain as the lacings were tightened and her armor was complete.

Reinette turned slowly then. Precise to the point that Jack's mouth nearly caught the line of her jaw as she did so. She took her time, enjoying herself still. The bodice of her gown, a testament to Jack's skill brushed against his chest with particular care.

"You have to admit. I make it look better."

"Oh Reinette," Jack said as he finished the last thread or two with tugs that were equally firm as the ones that went before, "that's always the point."

She turned, but his hand barely did, instead staying still as her body shifted, so that when she stopped, it had moved only to her waist, just above where the dress fanned out.

He made no move to step backwards.

His eyes glanced down, took in his own handiwork and the image of her in the gown.

"Oh no arguments from me there," he said.

"So," he grinned slowly. "Madame de Pompadour. Care to join me in the main hall?" He offered his hand towards hers, upturned, so that she might take it in quite a courtly handhold.

One day, Reinette thought to herself, she was going to fetch one of those glasses for the mere purpose of throwing it at his head. She would take great pleasure in it. The thought made her mouth life into a smile, small and private and completely unrelated to how they now stood.

"Such peaceful accord between us Jack. I feel I should note it somehow."

It was not, of course, that there was lack of accord or friendship between them. Hardly that. But there was competition as well. And that was almost ever present. There was something, though, about that particular evening that had dulled the edge. And yes, Reinette attributed it to the evening rather than the events of the past month. No, near two years. This was something else. This was them, versus the rest. Two different than everyone else that waited outside in the main ballroom.

Chin uptilted Reinette linked her hand into his own.

"Lead the way, Monsieur Harkness."

Jack ducked his head towards her, half bowing in an over the top gesture. He let out a brief laugh and started to move towards the door.

From just in the corner of his eye he noted her. He noted the way she carried herself and the way she moved. It seemed wholly difference in this gown, and this gown which made that which she'd been wearing before nothing short of a laughing stock. She looked, and was every inch, the woman she should be.

It struck him then, that phrase. The woman she should be.

Whatever that was or whatever it might be? She wore that now in the fabric that sat so elegantly on her frame.

Reaching the door, he opened it gently, and released Reinette's hand to step through and whisper to the elaborately dressed footman. He nodded, and gestured to another man, who held a trumped.

Jack took a step back.

"Madame," he said, "we have our entrance."

And ahead, the trumped sounded, and the man Jack had spoke to shouted out, announcing them as Madame de Pompadour and Captain Jack Harkness.

Exactly who they should be.

As long as they did not have their exit.

The thought came quickly, and unbidden, as their names -- their titles were announced in a clear, carrying tone. As the dull, muted tones of the crown silenced to observe their entrance, Reinette was left to the clarity of her own thoughts. There was nothing left to distract.

She was glad, she thought, to still be here. With Jack. Traveling. Experiencing. Learning, and even still learning him. But there was something about tonight that was different. Because for the first time in the strange world that Jack called his own? He had given her the gift of fully being able to be herself. Oh, not just in the privacy of his home. But to the world in its entirety. She could experience it as herself.

They were all looking, Reinette knew. Each and every one. It was as it was before, and as it was now. They should have, she thought, something to see.

So much that Reinette? The woman that was so aware of position and positioning? Of her place and the near constant effort required to maintain it? The fierce competitor that hid her sharper edges beneath powder and silk?

Placed one hand skillfully over her chest -- the one that Jack had put his talents too -- and rested it over her heart before sinking into the deepest of curtsies at Jack's feet. One Louis could not find fault with.

Thank you, the gesture said.

But silently, of course. So she could not be taken to task for it.

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