First entrance

[captgreatcoat]

[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?"

Comments

[captgreatcoat]

He doesn't fail to notice the way she re-crosses her legs. Any guy with a pulse would, and for all the things Jack might or might not be, he's definitely that.

"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."

[zerocharliexray]

"I bet you say that to all the gals back home."

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.

[captgreatcoat]

"Only the ones worth saying it to," he says, because she clearly doesn't mind the flirtation, even if she can see straight through it. That has its own sort of fun, too, talking to a girl who knows it's a game but plays it anyway.

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?"

[zerocharliexray]

She shrugs, toying with the stem of her martini glass, spinning it 'round and 'round in the small puddle of condensation it's leaving on the bartop. "You how you leave for a week and when you come back there's a pile of things for you to take care of or watch or read? Well, take that, times sixty years, and you got my life. My to-do list would probably fill this whole damn bar if I wrote it down."

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."

[captgreatcoat]

"That's a hell of a to-do list," he agrees, though he laughs, heartily, at the thought of her catching up on the moon landing as soon as she found out about it and could.

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?"

[zerocharliexray]

"One real bad day."

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?"

[captgreatcoat]

He knows how to recognize a deflection of something someone doesn't particularly want to talk about. Hell, he should, he's practically the king of them himself, much to the annoyance of his team back at Torchwood. Gwen being the notable exception there, since she's managed to find a way of worming in past his defenses.

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."