by Mara

Summary: Vicki and Henry’s movie night is derailed by overseas visitors.

by Mara

Summary: You just never know what the Rift is going to drop in Cardiff.

by Mara

Summary: Ever since the night they kissed, Bruce has kept an ear out for word of Captain Jack Harkness.

Story Notes:

This is a sequel to my fic “Part of Life’s Fascination.” It is for Psych_30 #26, Obsession and Fanfic100 #79, When? Thanks go to PurpleAllison for the betaread and catching a rather amusing mistake

In the DCU, this takes place no particular time. For TW, it takes place in a season 2 in which a certain office scene in “Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang” didn’t take place. ::coughs::

“Yo, Bats.”

“What is it, Oracle?” Bruce glanced up at the screen, where she was visible typing intently on a keyboard.

“These Torchwood folks keep an ace hacker on hand. She’s really very good.”

“Better than you?”

“Bite your tongue.”

“And how do you know it’s a woman?”

“Hmmph. Do I ask *you* how you know that the Flash is about to do something stupid? No, I do not.”

Bruce coughed into his hand. “Sorry.”

“She’s really good, but I think I’m going to be in soon. Just to give you a heads-up that I’m pretty sure they’re on to me.”

“Excuse me?” He stared at her, finally noticing her face was somewhat red.

“I said she was good.”

“Yes, I–” Shaking his head, Bruce reached for the cowl. “Never mind. Can we talk to them?”

Barbara stared at him. “Then why didn’t you just ask me to call them? I’m pretty sure I’ve got a phone number here.”

Bruce didn’t have an answer, so he didn’t respond.

She muttered something that he chose not to hear, then looked puzzled at something on the screen. “Huh, that’s never happened before.”

“What?”

“Their computer ace just sent me an IM and said hi.”

“Uh…”

Barbara waved a hand at him. “I’ll get back to you when I’ve got someone for you to talk to.”

And Bruce was left looking at a blank screen. He sighed heavily and turned back to his work.

* * * * *

It was half an hour before Barbara reappeared on the screen. “Ready?” she asked without any preamble.

“What have you been doing?” he asked, with a bit of a growl.

“Talking to Tosh.”

“Tosh?”

“Toshiko Sato. Torchwood’s computer ace. You wouldn’t believe how many similar problems we’ve got.”

“I’m sure.” Bruce rubbed his forehead through the cowl.

“Gimme a second and I’ll get her on the line to you.”

Bruce waited, then the screen cleared, showing a lovely Asian woman, frowning anxiously. “Batman?” she said, in the tone of someone who was, for example, staring at an urban legend.

“Ms. Sato, I need to speak to Captain Jack Harkness.” He was anxious to speak to Harkness alone, when he didn’t need to be Batman.

“He hasn’t…done anything wrong, has he?” she asked hesitantly.

Bruce pursed his lips. “Not that I *know* of.”

“Oh good.” She gave a smile that lit up her face, then turned away. “Jack! Batman wants to talk to you.”

Bruce couldn’t decide whether he wanted to grin at the muffled sounds he heard behind the woman or whether he was utterly aghast at how this Torchwood bunch worked.

Several other faces peered at the screen from behind Sato, looking curious and completely unafraid. Bruce decided to go with aghast, just as Jack Harkness stepped into view.

Harkness grinned that same grin that had unsettled Bruce a year previously. “Well, *hello*, tall, dark, and most likely handsome.”

Bruce scowled harder, fighting the blush that threatened to spread up from his chest and grateful for the cowl covering part of his face. “Captain Harkness. We meet again.”

Harkness’ eyebrows shot up. “Again? I’m fairly sure I would remember meeting you. Believe me, I clearly remember seeing Wonder Woman and I was at the back of a very large room.”

Bruce was taken aback. Of all the things he’d expected when he found Harkness again, this wasn’t even on the list. “We met in Gotham. Last spring, at a Memorial Day fundraiser.”

Harkness glanced off-screen in response to something mumbled at him. “No, Owen, I was not sneaking off to go to a party while you were up to your elbows in Weevil guts.” He turned back to Bruce. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never been to Gotham City. And at the end of last May, well, all of us remember exactly where I was then. I’m fairly sure all of Cardiff remembers.”

“But–”

“No, really, my entire team was busy. I don’t think I left for more than a few hours the entire end of the month. Trust me, they’d have noticed.” Although his expression didn’t change, Harkness sounded worried. “You’re sure it was me.”

“Absolutely.” There couldn’t possibly be two men who looked and sounded like *that* and went by the name Captain Jack Harkness.

For just an instant, Harkness chewed on his lip. “There is a possibility. Look, can we talk privately?” There was an uproar from behind him, and he turned away from the screen. His face was hidden, but his stance was very tense, maybe angry. “Not this again. Do you trust me or not?”

Batman couldn’t make out most of the words, but he heard a woman say “…not about trust, Jack, it’s…”

“Do. You. Trust. Me.”

Silence. “Fine,” a Welsh accent said. “Have your secrets, sir.”

“Ianto…” Harkness’ shoulders slumped a tiny amount, before he turned back. “Let me switch this to my office.” He held Batman’s eyes as he called, “And Tosh, no fair peeking. You know I’ll know.”

* * * * *

In a few moments, the screen shifted to what was presumably Harkness’ office. He looked…tired, Bruce thought, trying to get a good look at the desk or shelves. “Batman,” Harkness said, looking into the camera. “I need you to tell me about when we met.”

Bruce frowned. “I think I’m going to need an explanation first. The details are…complicated. They include some information that I believed you already had.”

Harkness leaned back in his seat, huffing out a laugh. “When is my life *not* complicated?” He seemed to be studying what he could see on his screen. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I used to do some traveling in time.”

Bruce waited.

“Right, I guess that’s not going to phase *you*. Well, the organization I worked for at the time wasn’t the most trustworthy. They…took two years of my memory.”

Bruce felt the blood drain out of his face and his fists clenched, looking for something or someone to hit. “Took?” he choked out.

Harkness nodded, his face that variety of still that tended to mean strong emotion in men. “I suspect that I might have met you during that period.”

For a long moment, Bruce looked at the man on the screen. He wanted to trust him because…he didn’t know why he wanted to trust him. And that scared the shit out of him.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, voice feeling scratchy. “If you don’t know my secrets, I don’t think I can reveal them to you. You…if it helps, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was…personal.”

It took a physical wrench to make himself lean forward and cut off the connection. And the look on Harkness’ face, the naked pain in the instant before the picture cut off…that was even worse.

Bruce ripped the cowl back off his head and put his head in his hands.

“Fuck,” he said, voice echoing in the empty Cave.

* * * * *

Bruce ruthlessly threw himself back into work, ignoring all questions or comments from any of his family. Keeping his mind from considering what he’d done was another matter, but as it happened, he’d had a *lot* of practice at ignoring uncomfortable thoughts.

Alfred only made one attempt to discuss the matter, but when Bruce actually *yelled* at him, Alfred chose to retreat with a sniff that managed to include disdain, annoyance, and a message that if he expected fresh chocolate chip cookies any time in the next *decade*, an apology might be in order.

Head banging slowly against the back of his chair, Bruce ran through curses in a dozen different languages.

* * * * *

A week later, Bruce was hunched over the keyboard, back early from patrol. Nightwing, Robin, and Batgirl had the city under control for the night, and Oracle had some intriguing new leads on Intergang’s latest inroads into Gotham.

Caught in the middle of a thought, it took Bruce a moment to recognize what the particular set of alarms ringing through the Cave meant. When the meaning penetrated his mind, however, his head shot up and he slapped the button that would alert Alfred and Oracle and place the Cave into lockdown as soon as Alfred was down the stairs.

Someone was trying to get through the security set up around Wayne Manor.

Knowing Alfred wouldn’t tarry, Bruce turned immediately to figuring out what was going on. What he found alarmed him: Whoever was trying to get in was good–they’d found and disarmed every single piece of Bruce Wayne’s excellent security system without triggering any alarms. They’d even–Bruce scowled–disarmed over half of *Batman’s* security precautions, and they’d come close to getting through the rest.

Every single camera and bug had been completely disabled or looped. Bruce cursed under his breath and Oracle chimed in. “Who the hell is this?” she asked. “Who would be attacking Bruce Wayne? Well, except Ra’s, and he never bothers to be sneaky.”

“We’ll know in a minute, I hope.” Bruce cursed again, but finally got some of the cameras working again. “Got it.” He copied the signal to Oracle.

His eyes flickered through the various camera images, finally finding the one with two hunched over figures scuttling through. “Huh,” Bruce said, feeling his adrenaline level ratchet down. Oracle was right and it wasn’t Ra’s with a few hundred ninjas, so that was a good thing. “Alert the others to stay on patrol,” he said, trying to get a good look at the faces on the two figures.

“You sure?”

“If I can’t handle two ordinary-looking humans by myself, there’s always Alfred.”

“My frying pan is always at your service,” Alfred said from behind him.

Laughing, Oracle said, “I’ll leave you to it, then. Just remember, whoever they are, they’ve got *damn* good tech. Call if you need me.”

“Mmm.”

“You’re welcome.”

Based on the camera view that was currently watching them, they were planning to approach the south veranda, presumably heading for the very steady-looking trellis. Standing, Bruce hit the button to end the lockdown of the Cave, and started to shed the suit.

“Master Bruce?”

“I think I’m going to try handling this as Bruce Wayne. Stay here.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Bruce stopped in his tracks.

“Bruce Wayne would certainly bring his butler along to confront these intruders.” Alfred’s look said that arguing would be a waste of time. “I thought I would bring the shotgun.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Bruce gave up. “Come along, then.”

*****

They reached the south veranda just ahead of the two intruders and Bruce waved Alfred over to the other side of the broad glass doors that were actually bullet-resistant polycarbonate thermoplastic.

A count of three, then Bruce flung open the door and turned on floodlights directly into the faces of the intruders.

The two men automatically flung their arms across their eyes.

“Oh hell,” said Captain Jack Harkness. “We’re screwed.”

“Ever the optimist,” said a muffled Welsh voice that Bruce recognized as the one Harkness had called Ianto. Oracle had come up with the name Ianto Jones for him.

“I think screwed is fairly accurate considering that I’ve caught you trespassing on my property,” Bruce said, caught between amusement and irritation.

“We have you covered,” Alfred said. “I’ll thank you to drop your weapons now.”

Through blinking and teary eyes, Harkness looked like he was going to lie about having a weapon, but instead he chose to very slowly and carefully pull a Webley from under his coat and drop it on the ground from between two fingers. Moving even more slowly, he pulled a weapon Bruce didn’t recognize and dropped it next to the Webley.

The other man pulled a similar unidentified weapon and dropped it on the ground, giving Harkness an annoyed look. “I said we should just call him,” Jones said, in a tone rather reminiscent of Alfred.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun.” Jones squinted into the light. “He thinks this is fun. Do you see what I have to deal with?”

Bruce was glad he was on the other side of the lights, because he found himself struggling not to smile. Forcing the smile down, he said, “Step forward away from the weapons. Hands up.”

The way they moved together showed they’d worked together for quite a while, Bruce decided, stepping forward after he’d dialed the lights down to something a little more tolerable. “Now you can tell me who you are and what the hell you’re doing here. You have five minutes to convince me not to call the cops.”

Harkness rubbed his eyes once, then looked at Bruce. “I know who you are.”

“I should hope so. I doubt you thought you were trying to break into Lex Luthor’s house.”

Jones’ lips twitched. “He’s got you there, Jack.”

“Not helping.”

“Do I ever?”

Harkness mock-glared at him.

“Hey!” Bruce said. “You’re down to four minutes.”

“Fine. You’re Bruce Wayne, also known as Batman. Happy now?”

He’d seen it coming a mile away (literally) and yet it was still a struggle not to jump. “Not particularly. Why in the world would you think that I’m Batman? Okay, we both live in Gotham City, but I’m pretty sure the guy who pumps gas at the corner of Markham and 23rd lives here too, and I doubt he’s Robin.”

Harkness grinned at him. “If you want to play games, I’m *very* good at games.”

I’m sure you are, Bruce absolutely didn’t say. “I don’t particularly. It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m still waiting to be convinced why I shouldn’t either shoot you or call the police. I give very generously to their charity every year, you know.”

“Nice to know you can get me arrested on two continents,” Jones said.

“Look, I’m still a bit jetlagged,” Harkness said, ignoring the quip. “If you want to stand around and argue about whether you’re Batman, that’s fine, but I think it would make things a hell of a lot easier if you could just admit that we’re right and we can all sit down somewhere more comfortable.”

It was a bizarre moment of déjà vu, Bruce thought, staring at Harkness’ too-handsome face. A split second in which to decide whether to trust him with the secret he’d spent so many years protecting. And…instinct said to do it. Hell, instinct said he should have done it a week previously.

“Alfred, put the rifle down. I think we could all use some coffee.”

Alfred shot him one unreadable glance, put the rifle down, and marched across the room, the line of his back saying there would be hell to pay later. Sighing, Bruce turned on the lights inside the room and waved the two men in.

Harkness strolled in, as comfortable as if he’d been invited for a late lunch and a game of tennis. Jones wasn’t quite as cool as he was pretending, Bruce decided, but he was taking his cues from Harkness.

Waving them at chairs, Bruce sat down in the seat nearest the rifle. Harkness smiled briefly, not missing the significance, and shed his coat, which he tossed carelessly onto the arm of the couch. He sat down, crossing his legs and looked relaxed. Jones perched next to him.

“Bruce Wayne, aka Batman,” Harkness said, “this is Ianto Jones. He’s indispensable to Torchwood operations.”

“Which is why you brought *me* to America and left Owen in charge.”

Harkness shrugged. “Would *you* bring Owen if you had a choice?”

Crossing his arms, Bruce cleared his throat. “If we could get back to the reason you’re here? And how you learned one of the most closely guarded secrets in the world?”

“Sorry,” Harkness said, looking entirely unrepentant. “It actually wasn’t all that difficult. Well, it wasn’t that difficult for Tosh. I suppose others might find it a bit of a challenge. She said something about correlating flights from Gotham City with appearances by Batman, plus a few dozen other variables.”

“She’s really quite dangerous with a few good databases,” Jones offered.

“I can tell.”

“I can’t believe nobody else has tried that. Mind you, I was surprised to find that *you* topped our list, but I never argue with the data.”

“Actually, that’s not true, sir,” Jones said. “You *always* argue with the data.” He smirked as both Harkness and Bruce glared at him.

“In *any* case,” Bruce said pointedly, “I am left with the question of what to do with you. I don’t exactly enjoy having trespassers who know my secret.”

Alfred chose that moment (and Bruce was sure it *was* a choice) to re-enter the room with a tray in hand. Distributing coffee and cookies gave everyone a few moments to regroup and somehow made the entire thing a bit more civilized.

Jones smiled up at Alfred. “Thank you, I do appreciate a man who knows how to make a proper cup of coffee.”

Alfred smiled back, and Bruce blinked. For some reason, Alfred was taking a liking to the younger man. Interesting. Perhaps…

“Alfred, maybe you’d like to take Mr. Jones on a bit of a tour of the…public parts of the mansion?”

The look Alfred gave him was even *more* unreadable, which was an impressive feat, but he said, “Of course, sir.”

Jones glanced at Harkness, but stood when he received a small nod in return. “I’d be delighted. Perhaps you could give me some tips. I seem to have a great deal of difficulty keeping my team organized, what with the constant alien invasions and such. I suspect you have some experience with that.”

“Indeed I do.”

The two men marched out of the room, somehow managing to look remarkably alike, and Bruce stared after them with some alarm. When he looked at his remaining intruder, Harkness had a similar look on his face.

“I’m not sure that was the wisest thing to do,” Harkness said.

“I’m beginning to think you might be right.” Bruce shook his head, dismissing those concerns for the more immediate ones. “However, I *still* haven’t gotten an explanation for your presence.”

For the first time, Harkness showed signs of anger, in the fist that clenched momentarily and a twitch in his jaw. “Why do you *think* I’m here? You’re the first clue I have to what I might have done in those two years.”

Bruce looked down into his cup.

“Look at me.” Harkness’ voice was raw. Unwillingly, Bruce looked up. “You would do the same.”

“Yes.” It hadn’t been a question, but it deserved an honest answer.

With unsteady hands, Harkness put his cup down, leaning forward to stare into Bruce’s eyes. “Do you want me to beg? Because I will.”

The vision that flashed through Bruce’s mind was…unsettling. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

Harkness seemed to have an idea of what Bruce was thinking, at least if the brief grin was any guide. “Tell me?”

“You came to a Wayne Foundation fundraiser last year and followed me around.” Bruce scratched the back of his neck, remembering the annoying feeling of being watched. “We tried to figure out who you were, but couldn’t find any record of you. This annoyed me.”

Bruce looked at the man sitting in front of him, remembering. “Finally I confronted you, asking you what you wanted.”

“And…?” Jack said when Bruce paused.

“You kissed me. Then you said you’d always wanted to kiss Batman and you disappeared.”

There was a long pause as Jack stared at him, handsome face almost slack with astonishment. In an instant, he started to laugh, a full-bodied roar of amusement that left him hunched over.

Bruce flushed, annoyed at being mocked. “I’m glad to have provided you such amusement.”

Jack trailed off, pulling himself back upright. “Sorry. Believe me, I wasn’t laughing at *you*. It’s just…I may not remember what I did during those two years, but it sounds like something I would have done. After all, I stopped being a con man because of a pair of brown eyes and a set of big ears.”

“Jack, what are you talking about?”

Jack stared at him. “What did you call me?”

“I…” Bruce trailed off.

That damn grin spread across Jack’s face. “I’d say I made an impression. And I may not know why I was in Gotham, but believe me, if I kissed you, it was because I was attracted to you.” His eyes did a swift appraisal. “In fact, I’m surprised that a kiss was all I did. Hell, I’m surprised I left.”

From the heat he could feel coming off his face, Bruce suspected he was red as a tomato. He took a moment to bring his autonomic functions back under control. “It was just a kiss.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jack looked completely unconvinced. “So, I kissed you, vanished, and…you’ve been looking for me for the last year.”

It sounds bizarre when put that way, just as when Alfred had said it. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to know how you knew my identity–it *is* a rather closely guarded secret. But I would assume that you no longer know the answer to that.”

Shrugging, Jack said, “I probably found it in Time Agency files, but it could have been revealed any time in the next few centuries. I doubt you’ve got a leak to worry about.”

“Oh.” Now that Bruce thought about it, that was a very anticlimactic answer to the question. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

“So really, why have you been looking for me?”

“What?”

Jack was reclining again, but somehow he didn’t look nearly as relaxed. In fact, he reminded Bruce of one of Selina’s cats. The large ones. When they were waiting for dinner to arrive. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I told you–”

“You’re probably a damn good liar under normal circumstances, but you’re bad when it comes to your personal life. Has anyone ever pointed that out?”

Bruce couldn’t help it. “It’s been noted on a few occasions.”

“I’m sure it has.” Jack put his arms over his head and stretched, deepening his similarity to the larger cats. Bruce couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted, and Jack was grinning again when Bruce managed to drag his eyes back to Jack’s face. “C’mon, it’s just the two of us now.”

Bruce swallowed. “I wanted to ask why you’d kissed me.”

Sobering, Jack met his gaze. “I can’t say for sure, but you are one of the most handsome men I’ve met, so I can take a damn good guess.”

Bruce suppressed another flush.

“Was it unpleasant?”

Bruce was silent for a long moment. “No, it wasn’t unpleasant,” he finally said through a throat that threatened to close.

“Were you interested in repeating it?”

Unsure how to answer that, Bruce just watched Jack slide off the couch and take three steps to kneel in front of him.

“Bruce?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I think I was. Am.”

Agonizingly slowly, Jack put his hands on Bruce’s head and pulled him close, until their lips were millimeters apart.

The memory of their kiss was so vivid in Bruce’s mind that he found himself angry that Jack couldn’t remember it. He grabbed Jack’s shoulders and pulled him in tight, kissing him as if he could force him to remember. It was…well, Jack was definitely the man Bruce remembered, as he found himself leaning against the back of the couch with no memory of how he’d gotten there.

After an endless kiss, Jack pulled back. “How far did you want to take this?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, forced into complete honesty. “I’m not sure why I’ve been obsessed with finding you.”

“It’s the jawline,” Jack said with a grin. “Gets ‘em every time.” The smile faded away. “I don’t really know you, but I want to. I wouldn’t have come if I weren’t fascinated you, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman.”

Bruce tried to remember the last time he’d done something on impulse and when he failed, said, “To hell with it.” Grabbing Jack, he pushed the two of them to standing.

“I love a man who can push me around.”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce took a handful of Jack’s shirt and dragged the unresisting man out the door toward the stairs.

* * * * *

They were through the door to Bruce’s bedroom in a flash, and Bruce took a moment to lock the door just before Jack pushed Bruce against the carved wood of the door.

Jack’s body was hard in all the right places as he leaned against him, cradling his head in warm hands. Bruce let his hands roam, as he’d spent the entire past year wishing he’d done the last time. Jack obviously approved, moaning into his mouth more than once as Bruce skimmed hips and back and shoulders.

Bruce was sure he was supposed to be thinking about something else, but the most coherent thought he could manage was “Clothing. Off.”

He wasn’t even sure if he’d articulated the thought, but Jack was obviously on the same wavelength, as Bruce felt Jack’s hands unbuttoning his pajamas.

A small part of Bruce’s brain wondered idly why having someone else unbutton your shirt was so hot. But the sensation of hands tracing up and down his chest quickly banished that question.

Bruce unbuttoned Jack’s shirt quickly, yanking up the undershirt as swiftly as possible. Bare chest to bare chest was even better, and Bruce’s skin felt overheated as he ran his hands up Jack’s back to hold him in place.

“Not leaving this time,” Jack mumbled into his mouth. Bruce froze, and Jack pulled back, looking serious. “I…was a different person then. You’re not the only person I’ve abandoned.”

Bruce looked him in the eyes. “I don’t trust easily,” he said.

“Neither do I. Kind of a failing of the job, isn’t it?” Jack gave him that sexy grin.

Bruce swallowed. “Yes, it is.” Then he gave in and took Jack’s hand, tugging him toward the bed. Jack followed, toppling next to him with a look of glee that was contagious. Bruce found himself grinning like an idiot as they rolled back and forth, fighting to be on top.

When Jack suddenly dropped onto his back, only near-perfect reflexes kept Bruce from falling over. He found himself hovering over Jack, and slowly lowered himself down, catching Jack in a long kiss, then pushing himself up again.

Down, kiss, then up. Jack’s hands rested gently on Bruce’s biceps, feeling the flex and release. Down, kiss, rub against him, then up.

“Who know,” Jack said, his voice catching, “that I had such a kink for muscles?”

Bruce just lowered himself as slowly as he could, feeling the pleasure burn through his entire body like a wave that crested in his groin. Jack leaned his head back, eyes drifting closed, and Bruce took the opportunity to kiss and lick his neck, enjoying the faint smell of cologne and the taste of fresh sweat. Jack’s hands clenched and he said, “Nnngh.”

“I’ll assume that’s a good thing,” Bruce said into Jack’s ear.

Laughing, Jack slid his hands up to cup Bruce’s face. “Yes, that’s a good thing.” In a sudden move, he wrapped his legs around Bruce’s waist and lifted his lower body.

The feeling of their dicks touching, even through pants and pajamas, was enough to make Bruce groan and he lowered himself out of the pushup until he was pressing Jack into the bed. “Still too much clothing,” he managed to say.

With a little slithering and a lot of groping, they were finally naked. Bruce felt goosebumps all over his body and tugged Jack up the bed until they could pull the blanket over themselves.

“Cozy,” Jack said, nibbling on his ear and stroking up and down his side.

Bruce couldn’t reply, each of Jack’s movements making him catch his breath. How long had it been since he’d let someone touch him this way? When had he and Selina last…? But this was definitely not the time to think about Selina, as Jack’s hand slid down, focusing his attention.

Against his will, he tensed, and Jack stopped, bringing his hand up to gently stroke Bruce’s chest. “Okay there?”

“Sorry, this is kind of a bad time to have second thoughts.” Bruce’s face felt feverish.

“Not the worst.”

“Pretty close.” Bruce managed a grin.

“Tell me.” Jack sounded calm enough to wait all night, although certain portions of his body proved it was a lie.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

Jack ran a thumb across Bruce’s lower lip, considering him. “When was the last time you truly let go?”

“I…” Bruce closed his eyes.

“You don’t always have to be on top, you know.”

“That’s not–”

“Uh-huh, pull the other one, it’s got bells on.” Jack ghosted his lips over Bruce’s ear, delicately tracing the outline with the tip of his tongue. “I understand, you know. We’re not that different. Fate of the world, too much responsibility–”

“Amateur psychoanalysis,” Bruce said with a snort.

“True.” Jack’s shrug somehow turned into a full body rub. “But it doesn’t make it any less important that you occasionally relax.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the guys.”

“And gals.”

That made Bruce laugh.

“Hey, when it comes to pleasure, I’m equal opportunity.”

“I can’t make any promises. About anything.”

“Neither can I.” Jack turned Bruce’s head to face him, looking very serious in the bright moonlight. “But that has nothing to do with right here, right now. You and me.”

“I’ve also never been good at staying in the now.” Bruce smiled a little at the vast understatement.

Jack gently stroked Bruce’s cheek, strong calloused fingers leaving a trail of warmth. “Will you let me teach you?” he asked.

Bruce’s entire body thrummed an answer. “Yes.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: “Jack wondered why this never got any easier.”

Notes: For Azarsuerte. Although I’m not sure it’s anything like what she wanted. Thanks to Xandri for the beta and my flist for help with terminology.

Continuity: AU for the end of 2.13: “Exit Wounds.” There’s only one change, but it’s probably not what you think.

As tears rolled down his cheeks, Jack wondered why this never got any easier. He’d seen so many of his people die, at the hands of Weevils and Germans and Daleks and lunatics…and it never got any easier.

He held Gwen and Ianto close, reassuring himself they were there, and they were alive.

Lost in thought, it took him a long moment to recognize the sound that intruded on their grief. “Your mobile, Gwen,” he said gently, letting go, so she could find it.

“Oh!” She scrabbled in her pocket. “Rhys! I haven’t called him!” She blinked through bleary eyes at the screen, then answered the phone. “Andy? Is everything all right?”

Jack frowned as Gwen’s knees buckled and she grabbed the desk for support. “Gwen?”

But she was listening to the phone. “Oh my god. No. No no no.” More tears rolled down her face and the phone slid from her fingers as she staggered backward.

Jack grabbed the phone off the ground as Ianto lunged for Gwen, keeping her from tripping over anything. “This is Jack Harkness. What’s going on?”

“Captain Harkness? I’m calling about Rhys.” The constable hesitated. “He’s dead.”

“Fuck.” Jack was beyond tears at this point. “What happened?”

“It was those things Gwen called Weevils. They were trying to get into the station and Rhys was helping to close the door. One just…reached in and that was it.” In the background, several people were shouting in Welsh. “Bloody hell. Look, I’ve got to go. We’ve still got no senior officers. Tell Gwen…well, tell her I’m sorry.”

“I will.” Jack stared at Gwen, held in Ianto’s arms, her body convulsed nearly in half as she sobbed.

“And…”

“What?”

“Take care of her.”

Closing his eyes, Jack swallowed. “I will.” Although he wanted very dearly to throw the mobile across the Hub and hear it smash into a thousand pieces, he didn’t, putting it carefully down on the nearest desk.

Ianto looked up at Jack, wanting a denial of what he’d guessed. Jack shook his head and saw Ianto flinch, holding Gwen tighter. They slid to the ground in a graceless heap, and Jack knelt down beside them.

“Shhhh,” he said. “We’re here.”

Gwen stared up at them, her eyes wide and red. “He’s dead. Rhys is dead.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She struggled in Ianto’s arms and he let her go. “Sorry won’t cut it, Jack. Rhys is dead.” She made it to her feet and stared down at them. “He…oh god.” She covered her face, then without warning, ran down the stairs and away from them.

Jack stood, took a few steps, then paused in unaccustomed indecision, wondering if taking care of her meant leaving her to grieve, or keeping a close eye on her. He felt Ianto come up behind him, and he turned to look at him.

“Go,” Ianto said, chin up and mouth tight in that way that meant he wouldn’t stand for any argument.

“I’m not sure.”

“She needs you right now.” Ianto paused, pursing his lips. “She needs you,” he said again, sounding like he’d made a decision.

He didn’t mean… “Ianto?”

“She doesn’t love me the way she does you. I can’t help her right now. You can.”

Jack stepped forward, cupping Ianto’s face in his hands so he could get a good look at him. Ianto’s eyes were red but his face was full of understanding. “You’re a good man, Ianto Jones,” Jack said, needing to say *something*.

Ianto kissed him gently on the lips. “Now go, before she does something rash. I’m going to go get something stronger than tea.”

Jack thought about making a joke about that, but decided that right now, nothing would be funny. He nodded, stroked Ianto’s cheek, and jogged in the same direction Gwen had taken, trying to think where she might go and what he would do when he found her.

* * * * *

Gwen was crouched at the end of a dingy and half-lit corridor near the morgue, her hair tumbled around her face. She was easy to track at the end, ragged breathing echoing off the crumbling concrete, and Jack hesitated as he neared her.

Head slowly lifting, she gave Jack a look of loathing he’d last seen directed at a cannibal, and he stopped in his tracks. “You,” she said. “You did this. You brought *them*.” She nearly spat the word. “And they killed Tosh and Owen and Rhys.”

Kneeling down a few feet away, he waited.

She sat up straighter, voice rising. “You and your fucking brother and fucking secrets and fucking past and the fucking Rift! You…” She trailed off, chest heaving as she tried to speak and sob at the same time. “It’s all your fault.”

“I’m sorry.” He wanted to hold her, but clenched his fists instead.

“Why do you care? You wanted Rhys gone anyway, because you were jealous.”

Jack blinked. “No.”

“You tried to break us up a dozen times. Don’t deny it.”

“No, Gwen.” He crawled closer, shaking his head in confusion at her misinterpretation. “That’s not…I *was* jealous, jealous of what you had with Rhys, but I wanted you to be happy.”

She laughed, a cracked sound a millimeter away from hysterics. “Piss off, Jack.”

Shaking his head, he scooted closer again. “Not until I’m sure you won’t do something crazy.”

“Like what? Go chase aliens for a living?” She laughed again, and this time it *was* hysterics.

Jack lunged forward the last few feet and grabbed her before she banged her head against the concrete wall, pulling her against him. She struggled for a moment, but all the crying had left her weak, and he succeeded in pulling her into his arms.

Her body shook and he gently shushed her, as if he held a half-sleeping baby. It could have been minutes or hours that they sat there–Jack’s time sense was easily turned off by repetition–but gradually she stilled in his arms.

“It’s so cliché…but I keep hoping this is a nightmare. And I’ll wake up.” The tears were gone, replaced with a defeat that didn’t sound like Gwen at all.

Jack tightened his hold on her.

“But it’s not a dream.”

“No.”

“What do I do now?”

Jack wished he had a good answer. He *should*. He’d done this…more times than he could count, or wanted to count. “You keep going.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” He held her, breathing in the scent of smoke and sweat and fear that had surrounded her all through this terrible day, and wishing he could fix things. “You just do. Because it’s that or give up. And I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you.”

With a strength he didn’t think she had at the moment, Gwen pushed herself out of his arms, sprawling back on the concrete. “What the–? Was Owen right? Is Ianto just your bit on the side?”

He rubbed his face. “I love all of you. You know that. And Ianto sent me here.”

She stared at him, and the sight of her face, with the burst blood vessels that reddened her eyes, made his heart ache. “You’re mad, both of you.”

“It’s been noted before.” Sighing, he shifted his legs, trying to find a position that didn’t lead to a cramp. “I’m here to do what I can to help.”

“Just…go away. The sight of you reminds me.” She shivered.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Yes. Go.” She shivered harder, her teeth chattering.

Shaking his head, Jack slid forward and put his arms around her again, waiting to see what happened. She almost flung herself against him, her body shuddering, and he tried to decide if this was clinical shock that needed medical treatment.

“What do you need?”

Gwen didn’t speak for a very long time, and the shudders gradually slowed. “Hold me,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Remind me that I’m alive. Oh god, that sounds daft.”

She buried her head in her hands, and he gently pried them off. “No, it doesn’t. Believe me, it doesn’t. Why do you think–never mind.”

Leaning forward, he kissed her. This wasn’t what he’d wanted, not this way, but…she tasted of salt and pain and she was infinitely precious to him. They all were. And Ianto thought it was a good idea, or at least not a catastrophically bad idea.

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes widening further, then she nearly tackled him to the ground. Although the adrenalin of being alive wanted…well, wanted a lot, Jack restricted himself to holding and kissing.

Gwen rolled away, staring at him. “What are we doing?”

“Don’t ask that. That way lies…” Jack shrugged. “Well, more madness than we have already.” He kissed her gently again. “Come on. The floor is cold.”

Kneeling, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms.

* * * * *

Gwen’s tears started again as they lay in Jack’s bed, under a pile of blankets, but as she dampened his chest, he could tell they were already tears of healing. “I’m going to miss them too,” he said eventually.

“Even Rhys?”

“Even Rhys, the big lug.”

“Jack?”

It was a struggle, but he didn’t tense up. “Yes?”

“This can’t…I mean, I don’t–”

“I know. You don’t have to say it.” He held her close, tucking her head under his chin. “But if you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

She was quiet for a long time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: The title says it all, I think.

Note: Written for Thecomingnight’s fandom_stocking.

Roy leaned his head against his palm and considered the other man. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” Ianto said mournfully into his mediocre beer.

“Huh.”

“And it’s not like he can even *help it*.”

“Are you sure? Because Dick…” Roy waved a hand, helpless to explain his lover and his lover’s background with anything less than diagrams, a flowchart, and an entire novel with extensive footnotes. “I mean, it’s more that everyone *else* does it, but still…”

“I’m pretty sure.” Ianto sighed, swirling his glass.

“Flirts with everyone. Yeah, sounds familiar.”

Ianto looked up. “Oh, that’s not the problem. It’s that he flirts with everyone and every*thing*. Last week, he was flirting with a creature that had *tentacles.*”

Roy waved to the bartender for something stronger to drink. He had a feeling they were going to need it.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Jack Harkness can sometimes be a very slow learner.

Written for the 2008 Remix Challenge

Original Story: A Lesson Finally Learned by Xwingace

Spoilers: Minor spoilers for season 2, up to “Adam.”

Actions have consequences.

Mother, staring at Jack, had a frown he rarely saw aimed at him. “What did you think you were doing, taking Gray with you on the ride down the falls?”

Jack peered out of the corner of his eyes at his entirely unharmed brother and thought about shrugging, but for some reason his mother always got annoyed when he did that.

“I thought it would be fun,” he said finally.

The frown deepened. “I’ve warned you again and again about making that ride. You could both have been killed.”

Jack couldn’t help wrinkling his forehead. “But we weren’t.”

His mother sighed heavily and continued bandaging his leg.

Actions have consequences.

Mr. Auger, dean of mathematics, peered over his computer screen with a look of polite interest. “Might I ask what you were doing instead of studying for your fractal geometry exam?”

An image of climbing over rocks and dunes and laughing and Asok’s face very close to his.

“Ah,” Jack said, shuffling his feet. “Well, nothing really. I guess I thought I knew it better than I really did.” He smiled shyly, peering through his lashes to check the effect of his act. Normally he wouldn’t push it this far, but he just couldn’t get in trouble again so soon.

Mr. Auger sighed, but his expression softened. “Just try not to do it again. I know you youngsters always have something better to be doing, but someday you’ll be in the real world.”

Jack held back his triumphant grin.

Waving his hand, Mr. Auger pointed at the door. “Go. Do try to stay out of my office for a few weeks, please.”

Actions have consequences.

There was a war, Jack knew. But it was no more real than the stories his mother told him at bedtime when he was younger than Gray.

But then there was noise and running and screams and Gray’s hand in his and the beating of his heart, so loud that it almost drowned everything else out.

And then there was Father lying on the ground, blood already darkening on his chest, and the sounds of Mother’s wails.

Standing on a small ridge a year later, Jack looked critically at the group of young men and women arrayed in front of him. They could kill a lot of the enemy if they put their minds to it…and they would, if he had anything to say about it.

“You’ve all seen what the enemy brought to our world,” he said with no preamble. “You’ve seen what will happen if we sit back and do nothing. And we will die. So I say we take the fight to them! Take it to them and make them pay for what they did to us.”

The simple words, so heartfelt, so sincere, worked all too well.

Of the thirty-eight teenagers who followed the man who would become Jack Harkness into the hell of war…only seven survived, and three were so psychologically damaged they might never recover.

Actions have consequences.

Jack joined the Time Agency mostly out of surprise at still being alive. He didn’t *care* what the consequences of his actions were, but the Agency did, so he learned how to predict, how to prevent, and how to shape.

As a Time Agent, Jack watched civilizations rise and fall. He nudged and pushed and bribed and killed (when necessary) and laughed and cried and spied.

He figured, in fact, he’d learned every lesson he could possibly need in his life.

Jack grinned with transparent glee at his partner as they reappeared back at the Agency. “You think they’ll figure out that we changed everything back for the third time?”

John grinned back. “That bunch of wankers? Nah.”

“We probably shouldn’t have left the donkey, though.”

“But just imagine the look on their faces!”

John smacked Jack on the back as they strolled down the low-lit hallway toward their debriefing, and for a moment Jack had a memory, a memory of another friend and a battlefield…

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” Jack looked at John.

“Coming? They won’t wait long before they come to get us. And I have some plans for after.”

“Yeah. I’m coming.” Jack shrugged, unsure what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

Actions have consequences.

“Are you my mummy?”

Jack swallowed, following the two strangers who’d appeared and made him face up to what he’d done.

This was *his* fault. These people with gas masks where their faces should be. This kid with the one phrase. He’d gone too far with this con and now people were dying.

The Doctor and Rose showed him that his mistakes could be fixed, that consequences don’t have to be final, and Jack embraced their life with gusto, an immediate convert.

Actions have consequences.

Riding on the back of the most phallic symbol he’d ever seen, the wind trying to blow him off it, Jack considered that he might just possibly have learned the lesson too late.

But even if this was his final act, Jack couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. If he died, he died knowing that just once he did the right thing.

As he hitched the bomb to his ship, his beloved Chula ship, Jack imagined everyone he ever let down, wished he could show them what he was doing, what he was willing to do.

Drink in hand, Jack prepared for the end.

All of which is why the sound of the TARDIS was simultaneously thrilling and startling and…a bit of a letdown.

Actions have consequences.

Jack learned a lot while traveling with the Doctor and Rose.

Leaving enemies alive means they can nearly kill you again and again and again. Traveling with the Doctor means never staying in one place for too long. Daleks are mean and conscienceless and utterly fucking insane.

Actions have consequences.

Jack opened his eyes, gasping once for breath before he realized he wasn’t in any pain. Automatically he patted himself, shocked to find all his limbs present and accounted for.

Slowly raising his head from the deck of Station 5, he looked around, bewildered. Then some instinct made him take off at a dead run for the 500th floor.

How he knew, he could never explain to himself, but the sound of the TARDIS dematerializing wasn’t precisely a shock. But it still made him double over, the feeling of loss like a gut punch.

Actions have consequences.

The Cyberman invasion wasn’t his fault. Jack knew that. He hadn’t been on the need-to-know list, out there in Cardiff guarding the Rift. The ghosts turning into evil monsters intent on cutting up humanity to further their race…he didn’t know about what Torchwood London was doing.

But as Jack helplessly shot at the creatures and their long-bladed machines, the knowledge that he did nothing wrong was a small comfort. If there’s one thing he learned from the Doctor, it’s that doing nothing is never a viable option.

It’s Owen, pacing him down a hallway, trying to find and free Cybermen captives, who saw the Dalek first. “Shit!”

For a long moment, Jack couldn’t move when faced with one of his worst nightmares…literally. It’s only Owen grabbing him by the wrist and bodily pulling him down a hallway before the thing turns that saved Jack from finding out if his immortality can handle total disintegration.

“What the fuck was that?” Owen yelped as they run down twisty corridors.

“More bad news.”

“I could have guessed that, mate. Care to give me a little more detail?”

“Did you ever get around to reading the files on Daleks?”

Owen tripped over his own feet. “We’ve got Daleks *and* Cybermen?”

“Yes.” Jack grabbed his arm and dashed down a hallway that looks likely to lead to the cafeteria, a possible location for large numbers of prisoners.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Actions have consequences.

Jack spent so long waiting to find the Doctor, that it’s a shock to find that the TARDIS is no longer home. It’s not just the Doctor’s regeneration, it’s that what the Doctor can give him is no longer what he needs.

He’ll always love the Doctor, but he now understands the love can never be reciprocated.

And besides, everything Jack has done…it’s changed him. He belongs in Cardiff. He belongs with his team. He belongs with Ianto.

There are things that only he can do, problems only he can solve, paradoxes only he can sort.

Actions have consequences.

Captain Jack Harkness is immortal, or the nearest thing to it. He’s going to do a lot of things over his lifetime–his actions will resonate through the centuries.

And Jack will live to face the consequences of his actions…whether he likes it or not.

–end–