Captain Jack Harkness (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
captgreatcoat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ten_fwd2014-06-18 12:04 am
captgreatcoat) wrote in ten_fwd2014-06-18 12:04 am
Entry tags:
First entrance
[Torchwood Three, Cardiff, during episode 1.07, Greeks Bearing Gifts.]
Tosh is going to have to learn to believe in humanity herself. Nobody can instill that faith. However hard she's going to find it to learn, at least it won't be as hard -- or as costly -- as Jack's own lesson.
He shoves his hands into his coat pockets as he strides across Roald Dahl Plass, the breeze bringing the smell of the ocean in off the bay, ruffling in his hair and at the hem of his vintage RAF greatcoat.
Until suddenly, it isn't.
Jack's footsteps pause in mid-stride and he spins, hand going automatically to his holster to draw the Webley. The dim, warm light of the plaza at night is gone, just like the salt air and that playful little breeze. The sound of running water from the tower, the shape of the Millennium Centre with its hybrid verse spelled out in windows across its front.
Instead, he's in a bar.
A bar.
"What the hell?"
Tosh is going to have to learn to believe in humanity herself. Nobody can instill that faith. However hard she's going to find it to learn, at least it won't be as hard -- or as costly -- as Jack's own lesson.
He shoves his hands into his coat pockets as he strides across Roald Dahl Plass, the breeze bringing the smell of the ocean in off the bay, ruffling in his hair and at the hem of his vintage RAF greatcoat.
Until suddenly, it isn't.
Jack's footsteps pause in mid-stride and he spins, hand going automatically to his holster to draw the Webley. The dim, warm light of the plaza at night is gone, just like the salt air and that playful little breeze. The sound of running water from the tower, the shape of the Millennium Centre with its hybrid verse spelled out in windows across its front.
Instead, he's in a bar.
A bar.
"What the hell?"
no subject
Either Bab's'll figure out a way to come get her, or she'll just have to start all over. Again. Which is a tiring thought, but not one that's gonna keep her down for long. "Mind, I'm not exactly thrilled to be used to prove a point: I got a life and a job back home and this is gonna be hell to explain to my friends -- but it could be worse. Nobody's even pointed a gun at me."
Her smile is sparkling, all good fun and teasing. "'Cept you, Captain. Anyway, here's what I know: you're right about it bein' a spaceship. We're currently aboard the USS Enterprise, commanded by Captain Jean-Luc Picard, which is seems some folks know and others have never heard of."
She peers at him over the brim of her martini glass. "Sound familiar to you?"
no subject
"But at least I know how to make an entrance. I only point my gun at the best-looking girls." She's got a hell of a smile, and he's returning it with one of his own, sly and teasing and threatening to burst into a grin at any moment.
Besides. It did turn out to be quite the conversation-starter, and as conversations go, it could get a lot worse than this one with Zinda Blake.
"Enterprise." He glances around, thoughtful for a moment. "The name's familiar, but I can't place it."
no subject
She's grinning to beat the band, though, over the rim of her martini glass, before sipping it with a shake of her head. "It wasn't somethin' I knew, either, but from what I can tell, there are folks here from Earth after my time who say it's a whole lot like some science fiction show that used to be on the TV. If it is, it's nothing I've been able to catch up with, yet."
Well, shoot. Sixty-odd years takes a heck of a lot of catching up, and she doesn't have time for everything.
no subject
For Jack, it's a game he's played in full awareness that is just what it is for a very long time.
But it's what she says next that interests him, because he's not been paying overmuch attention to science-fiction TV shows himself. He prefers classic books if he's looking for a bit of futuristic escapism.
(Because that's not entirely escapism for him, ever.)
That's not even the really interesting part, though, and the look he gives her is appraising, even if his voice is casual.
"So what's a resistance pilot doing 'catching up' on old TV shows?"
no subject
It's actually not so bad, getting used to a different time period. Things have changed plenty, sure, but you don't worm your way into the Blackhawks without being quick and smart and adaptable and -- most of all -- resilient. "So I'm still a little behind on things like TV shows -- except for the moon landing. You can bet I watched that the first night I could."
no subject
Yeah.
He can see that. Of course she did. She's a pilot.
"It made good watching," he agrees, watching her, taking a moment to admire her profile.
Jack's so mixed up in time and space that he barely even knows which time he should really feel like he belongs to now, after so long stranded in a world and time that weren't his. He's had a long time to live in them, to watch the years pass, to become really familiar with things he'd only learned enough about to dip into and out of.
"So how did that happen? Winding up sixty years in a different time?"
no subject
She's not shutting him down, or anything, but it's nothing she particularly feels much like talking about, either, so she just shrugs it off and tips the rest of her martini down her throat before setting the glass back down and motioning to the bartender for another. "So what's your story, good-lookin'? You always walk into a room with a gun drawn, or are we just a special case?"
no subject
Were it of any real import to their situation, he'd push her. But curious as her hinted-at story makes him, he'd be one of the first people to understand how one bad day can leave you in that sort of a mess.
"Depends on the room," he says, with a little lean in like he's sharing a secret with her. "When I've just been hurled off Earth and wound up in some unknown bar? Hell, yes."