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- Thursday, 18 January 1941 -
“Hey, you doing okay, buddy?”
Gray looked up, startled by the appearance of the man in front of him. He'd been well briefed—time, place, best method—and that was in two days. He was goddamn lucky all he'd done was break a finger dodging that stupid jeep that tried to run him down...
He'd crossed paths with him early, and he was the most beautiful man Gray had ever seen.
“Yeah. Nothin' to worry about here.” he assured him with his best friendly smile, gesturing with his badly bruised hand. “Just waiting for the medic to splint this.”
“Hell's bells—how'd you do that?”
“Some cockamamie private tried to run me over, if you can believe that.”
“You're puttin' me on.”
“Took a nosedive to avoid death by stupidity, landed wrong on my meathook.”
“Well, then, I'll shake your good hand while you wait for the doc.”
“Oh, I'm--”
“Hey, if you glare any harder at the nurses, you're gonna scorch their hair.” the other man laughed. “I'm supposed to be sitting down anyway. Messed my back up a bit bailing over Kent.”
“...okay, then. Captain Peter Harper.”
“Captain Jack Harkness—always nice to meet another American.”
* * * * *
- Friday, 19 January 1941 -
“So you're heading back out?”
“Day after tomorrow—just a training exercise. Nothing to worry about.”
Gray nodded, the blaster in his holster burning through leather and skin. Even the poison capsule he'd changed it out for scalded him every time he put his hand in his pocket. A whole afternoon in the sick bay, getting his finger set and keeping Jack company while he was put through his paces for medical clearance...
They'd talked a lot. Too much—the hit had to happen tomorrow.
“I thought about what you said yesterday.” Jack interjected. The fear, the bleak resignation talk of battle brought was gone. There was something else in his eyes, just as fearful...but bright, gleaming like firelight on a pool of blood, warm and beautiful.
“Yeah? Which part, the hare brained mess they call football over here? Or the food poisoning waiting in the mess tonight?” Gray quipped.
Jack laughed at that, blue eyes sparkling. He couldn't let himself look too far, too deep. It made him feel like he was falling.
“What you said about that girl I've been spending time with, Nancy.” Jack finally explained.
“Yeah? Gonna see her at that dance tomorrow?”
“Well...you said it, right? Live every moment like your last? So...I figure...”
Gray's fingers burned. He looked down, and found Jack's hand in his.
“...make the most of now.”
His hand was warm with the blood in his veins that had to spill as their fingers slotted together. His pupils were dilating—the ones that would grow milky and opaque when the body turned cold. He was drawing close, and his breath was so warm and sweet, feathering across Gray's face...
Gray jerked his hand out of Jack's, grabbed his jaw with his good hand, and kissed him. Branded him with lips and tongue, branded himself with the way Jack trembled and sank into him, shaking like a leaf as they kissed behind a dirty pub in the middle of the night and Gray trembled with the enormity of touching something so good and honest and pure that he had no right to sully.
The light he was about to snuff out.
He kissed him, and kept kissing him until Jack all but jumped away, hearing the footfall of a corporal around the corner long before Gray did—before Gray should have.
* * * * *
- Saturday, 20 January 1941 -
“You can't save him, you know.”
“Save who?”
“The pretty captain with the blue eyes. You can't save him.”
“...I'm done helping you broads. Come near me again and I'll kill you both.”
That was two hours ago. Gray stood in front of a potted plant in one corner, the poison capsule in his hand. He stared at it, glittering golden amber—easy to dissolve in a snifter of brandy. It would be painless. He wouldn't suffer.
It didn't have to hurt.
The hand on his shoulder should have startled him. It didn't.
Turning, Gray found himself face to face with Jack, that bright and hopeful fear in his eyes again. The band was playing, those warm fingers were in his again...
It was like breathing. Like coming home.
The poison slid from his palm and into the planter. Their arms came around each other. The band played, and they drifted together.
Jack trembled. Gray squeezed his hand, curled an arm tight around his shoulder, and pressed his cheek to his.
By the time the song was over, and Gray's mouth was on his again, the two women from earlier in the night were watching them. The Japanese codebreaker who told him he couldn't save the captain was smirking knowingly.
And Jack was no longer trembling.
* * * * *
- Sunday, 21 January 1941 -
Gray couldn't breathe. Neither could the three Time Agents that had come to drug him, but that was only because they were dead.
Word had already reached him. Something went sideways during training exercises—the Agency's doing. Covering up Gray's mistake.
“You were given an assignment, Agent Thane.”
“And I didn't do it. Just—he's a good man. He didn't have to die.”
“He did, and he's going to. Just like all the others.”
“The others?...what others? What do you mean?”
“We do this every time—hold him down, girls.”
“It's those two years, isn't it? You do this when I won't kill someone?! How many people does two years consist of? Let go of me—no! NO!”
“I said hold him—damn it! Get the syringe, I'm not mixing another batch of the intravenous Retcon just for--”
He snapped their necks. All of them—they would have killed him or worse, wiped his memory. Of Jack, of those girls from the dance...they'd already taken so many from him.
He didn't want to kill Jack. He didn't want to kill the agents, especially not the women, but it was just like the invaders all over again. Death was the easy part, death was the mercy—it was living that was hell.
When the switch flipped, killing was like breathing.
Gray shut his eyes, then opened them and stumbled over to the mirror in his room. He stared at his reflection, hard as he could, stared into his own eyes.
They had the same eyes. They were the one thing he couldn't forget. The one thing he kept, the one thing no one could take away from him. Not torture, not death, and not the fucking Agency.
...Javic.
“Javic Piotr Thane.”
He wrapped his mouth around it carefully, let it cut his tongue and swallowed the blood.
The brother who cared. The brother who tried to save him, his hand pulled, wrenched from Gray's grasp.
Out there, somewhere. Looking for him, waiting to be found by him.
Jack. Javic.
Two men that looked out for him. Two people that cared...where no one else did.
Lifting his arm, Gray tugged back his sleeve and flipped open his vortex manipulator. Changing records wouldn't be hard in this archaic period, and he still had the Chula ship full of those stupid nanogenes...
Gray would vanish. Captain Jack Harkness would live.
And he would find a way to make sure that everyone, Time Agency or not, paid for the death of one good man.
“Hey, you doing okay, buddy?”
Gray looked up, startled by the appearance of the man in front of him. He'd been well briefed—time, place, best method—and that was in two days. He was goddamn lucky all he'd done was break a finger dodging that stupid jeep that tried to run him down...
He'd crossed paths with him early, and he was the most beautiful man Gray had ever seen.
“Yeah. Nothin' to worry about here.” he assured him with his best friendly smile, gesturing with his badly bruised hand. “Just waiting for the medic to splint this.”
“Hell's bells—how'd you do that?”
“Some cockamamie private tried to run me over, if you can believe that.”
“You're puttin' me on.”
“Took a nosedive to avoid death by stupidity, landed wrong on my meathook.”
“Well, then, I'll shake your good hand while you wait for the doc.”
“Oh, I'm--”
“Hey, if you glare any harder at the nurses, you're gonna scorch their hair.” the other man laughed. “I'm supposed to be sitting down anyway. Messed my back up a bit bailing over Kent.”
“...okay, then. Captain Peter Harper.”
“Captain Jack Harkness—always nice to meet another American.”
- Friday, 19 January 1941 -
“So you're heading back out?”
“Day after tomorrow—just a training exercise. Nothing to worry about.”
Gray nodded, the blaster in his holster burning through leather and skin. Even the poison capsule he'd changed it out for scalded him every time he put his hand in his pocket. A whole afternoon in the sick bay, getting his finger set and keeping Jack company while he was put through his paces for medical clearance...
They'd talked a lot. Too much—the hit had to happen tomorrow.
“I thought about what you said yesterday.” Jack interjected. The fear, the bleak resignation talk of battle brought was gone. There was something else in his eyes, just as fearful...but bright, gleaming like firelight on a pool of blood, warm and beautiful.
“Yeah? Which part, the hare brained mess they call football over here? Or the food poisoning waiting in the mess tonight?” Gray quipped.
Jack laughed at that, blue eyes sparkling. He couldn't let himself look too far, too deep. It made him feel like he was falling.
“What you said about that girl I've been spending time with, Nancy.” Jack finally explained.
“Yeah? Gonna see her at that dance tomorrow?”
“Well...you said it, right? Live every moment like your last? So...I figure...”
Gray's fingers burned. He looked down, and found Jack's hand in his.
“...make the most of now.”
His hand was warm with the blood in his veins that had to spill as their fingers slotted together. His pupils were dilating—the ones that would grow milky and opaque when the body turned cold. He was drawing close, and his breath was so warm and sweet, feathering across Gray's face...
Gray jerked his hand out of Jack's, grabbed his jaw with his good hand, and kissed him. Branded him with lips and tongue, branded himself with the way Jack trembled and sank into him, shaking like a leaf as they kissed behind a dirty pub in the middle of the night and Gray trembled with the enormity of touching something so good and honest and pure that he had no right to sully.
The light he was about to snuff out.
He kissed him, and kept kissing him until Jack all but jumped away, hearing the footfall of a corporal around the corner long before Gray did—before Gray should have.
- Saturday, 20 January 1941 -
“You can't save him, you know.”
“Save who?”
“The pretty captain with the blue eyes. You can't save him.”
“...I'm done helping you broads. Come near me again and I'll kill you both.”
That was two hours ago. Gray stood in front of a potted plant in one corner, the poison capsule in his hand. He stared at it, glittering golden amber—easy to dissolve in a snifter of brandy. It would be painless. He wouldn't suffer.
It didn't have to hurt.
The hand on his shoulder should have startled him. It didn't.
Turning, Gray found himself face to face with Jack, that bright and hopeful fear in his eyes again. The band was playing, those warm fingers were in his again...
It was like breathing. Like coming home.
The poison slid from his palm and into the planter. Their arms came around each other. The band played, and they drifted together.
Jack trembled. Gray squeezed his hand, curled an arm tight around his shoulder, and pressed his cheek to his.
By the time the song was over, and Gray's mouth was on his again, the two women from earlier in the night were watching them. The Japanese codebreaker who told him he couldn't save the captain was smirking knowingly.
And Jack was no longer trembling.
- Sunday, 21 January 1941 -
Gray couldn't breathe. Neither could the three Time Agents that had come to drug him, but that was only because they were dead.
Word had already reached him. Something went sideways during training exercises—the Agency's doing. Covering up Gray's mistake.
“You were given an assignment, Agent Thane.”
“And I didn't do it. Just—he's a good man. He didn't have to die.”
“He did, and he's going to. Just like all the others.”
“The others?...what others? What do you mean?”
“We do this every time—hold him down, girls.”
“It's those two years, isn't it? You do this when I won't kill someone?! How many people does two years consist of? Let go of me—no! NO!”
“I said hold him—damn it! Get the syringe, I'm not mixing another batch of the intravenous Retcon just for--”
He snapped their necks. All of them—they would have killed him or worse, wiped his memory. Of Jack, of those girls from the dance...they'd already taken so many from him.
He didn't want to kill Jack. He didn't want to kill the agents, especially not the women, but it was just like the invaders all over again. Death was the easy part, death was the mercy—it was living that was hell.
When the switch flipped, killing was like breathing.
Gray shut his eyes, then opened them and stumbled over to the mirror in his room. He stared at his reflection, hard as he could, stared into his own eyes.
They had the same eyes. They were the one thing he couldn't forget. The one thing he kept, the one thing no one could take away from him. Not torture, not death, and not the fucking Agency.
...Javic.
“Javic Piotr Thane.”
He wrapped his mouth around it carefully, let it cut his tongue and swallowed the blood.
The brother who cared. The brother who tried to save him, his hand pulled, wrenched from Gray's grasp.
Out there, somewhere. Looking for him, waiting to be found by him.
Jack. Javic.
Two men that looked out for him. Two people that cared...where no one else did.
Lifting his arm, Gray tugged back his sleeve and flipped open his vortex manipulator. Changing records wouldn't be hard in this archaic period, and he still had the Chula ship full of those stupid nanogenes...
Gray would vanish. Captain Jack Harkness would live.
And he would find a way to make sure that everyone, Time Agency or not, paid for the death of one good man.
