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My Immortal. Chapter 2.
I can’t believe that it’s been more than a month since I posted the last chapter - guess that’s what happens when RL is *busy*. Will try my very best to write faster from now on.
Afraid that there is a lot of set-up in this part (i.e. a fair bit of Torchwood-ness), and for some reason the prose kept being awkward, sorry. However, on the plus side Buffy finally shows up! :) (For those of you not familiar with Torchwood, it might be helpful to watch this flashback about how Jack was recruited and how he became the leader of Torchwood Three. No real spoilers for the rest of the show.)
HUGE thank you’s to my wonderful, wonderful beta,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh, who really helped knock this chapter into shape! Previous parts here.
Pairing: Buffy/Immortal!Jack (well, they're getting there...)
Rating: PG-13
Setting: March 2004 (post-Chosen/pre-S1 of TW)
Spoilers: S2 of TW (eventually)
Wordcount: 4300
Chapter 2
Alex: This place - it’s yours. Torchwood Three. My gift to you Jack, for a century of service as field operative. Give this place a purpose - before it’s too late. Please.
~
Spike: So, uh...you heard from Buffy lately?
Andrew: Yeah. Of course, uh...she's in Rome. Dawn's in school there. Italian school.
Spike: Well. Rome, eh? Never pegged her for the expatriate show.
Andrew: Yeah. She was rounding slayers up in Europe, decided she liked it there, I guess.
Cardiff, early morning Friday 26th of March 2004
Cold, leftover pizza really wasn’t his ideal breakfast, but Jack couldn’t be bothered going out and buying some actual food - and besides, deRossi’s really were quite extraordinarily good for a pizza place.
Settling down in his chair he switched on BBC News 24 on his screen, absentmindedly listening to the headlines as he flicked through the paperwork that he’d spent the last week ignoring.
Budgets, employee reviews, case files that needed completing and archiving, Rift statistics, weevil number monitoring, overdue quarterly reviews for the government... he was always behind on his paperwork. It was probably his subconscious rebelling at one of the outwardly attributes of his responsibilities - an ever-present dread at being in charge of this place; of having people rely on him and trust him to keep them safe and alive through the dangers they faced daily; of trying to do something good and not really knowing how... Monitoring the Rift and dealing with what came through it was crucial to the planet’s safety, and yet the job by its very nature consisted of deceit, ruthlessness, violence and meaningless death.
Despite Torchwood becoming his main home during the last century, he had never forgotten that for him it was also a means to an end - and had never, ever wanted the place to be his. How could he give it a purpose when he struggled to find one himself?
Then a live report caught his attention, and he looked up at the blandly attractive female presenter on the screen.
“...and we’re just now getting reports that there has been a meteor crash south of Rome - it has not yet been established whether there were any casualties, or why astronomers had not picked up on this.”
For a few seconds Jack sat completely still, wrestling with himself, but then he leapt down the stairs, making Tosh jump where she was sitting at her workstation, already busy.
“Tosh - what have I told you about coming in to work early? It’s very inconsiderate the way you always grab all the best equipment!”
Thankfully she was beginning to come to grips with his sense of humour, and didn’t apologise profusely the way she would have half a year previously. Instead she shot him a calculating look.
“What do you want?”
He grinned. “I want you to you check out a ‘meteor crash’ south of Rome, using everything at our disposal.”
“And what will you be doing?” she asked archly.
“I will be standing here glowering in a employer-like fashion,” he replied cheekily.
She shook her head, but was unable to hide a smile as she in moments brought up streaming satellite imagery, easily bypassing security codes and other obstacles, before trying to see if what-ever-it-was had left behind a trail that could be analysed.
The crash site looked inconspicuous enough - a wide, steaming crater, apparently empty except for a few minor bits of debris - when suddenly there was a glimpse of something.
Before he could even ask her to go back and pause it, she had brought up a freeze-frame of the image and Jack couldn't help but gasp.
It was a Ettian ship - its elongated, irregular tetrahedron shape and dark purple colour easily recognisable even though the front was pretty badly bashed. But if the invisibility generator still worked - more or less anyway - there was a good chance that the engines might still be functioning. In which case...
He had to grasp onto Tosh’s chair for support as it hit him - if he could fix the ship, he could leave. With a ship like that, he could be three galaxies away in under a week - oh he knew just the place to get his vortex manipulator fixed... and then he would finally be free again.
‘He’s coming - the one you’re looking for. But the century will turn twice before you find each other again.’
Those had been The Girl’s words. Little slip of a thing, completely out of place in the dirty tavern where he’d been trying to drown his sorrows, but so calm and selfpossessed that it still freaked him out. And she’d had that look in her eyes when she’d foretold his future - the one that reminded him much too forcefully of Dru. As much as he’d tried not to, he still believed - there was no denying the gift of a true Seer.
And now - now might be the right moment... twice the century had turned, like she’d said. Maybe this was the point - the opportunity he’d been waiting for - the time when he’d be able to take up his quest again?
He smiled to himself as he thought that for almost anyone else this particular race meant certain death, considering the radiation expelled by the engines - but he'd learned long ago that any sort of radiation just rolled off him as though it didn't exist.
Then he abruptly realised what this meant for the people who'd have been sent to investigate, and he ran off to his office as fast as he could, throwing a swift - but genuine - ‘thank you’ over his shoulder to Tosh.
Moments later he was on the phone to the British branch of UNIT, telling them that they had to talk their Italian counterparts out of going near the ship.
“Do I need to remind you that this is a UNIT matter, Captain? And one in a foreign country none the less. Torchwood’s input or assistance will not be needed.”
The General’s voice was clipped and hostile, the man not bothering to hide his displeasure in any way. Jack swore silently. UNIT was happy enough to utilise Torchwood’s resources when necessary, but resented interference - especially from Torchwood Three. On the other hand, his distancing from Torchwood One might just work to his advantage this time...
“Look - I’m a friend of the Doctor’s,” he said, and there was a momentary pause on the other end of the line. Smiling, he continued. “Yes - that Doctor. And although I’m not quite in his league, I have a few talents of my own - including a fair amount of knowledge of this species and their ships. The most important thing being that their engines emit a huge amount of radiation - it’s contained and hidden by the shields, but if anyone gets too close they’ll get sick very, very quickly. Trust me, it’s not pretty and your suits will make next to no difference. And if someone actually gets inside and presses the wrong button you could have a Chernobyl on your hands!”
“But you would know which buttons to avoid?”
There was an unmistakable edge to the General’s voice, and Jack couldn’t help but smirk.
“Oh I know what all the little buttons do - could probably fly the thing blindfolded. See Ettian ships are based on the common triple-layered micro-differentiated base system, but they have their own gamma-wave interstellar HighPhoton engines and the most amazing navigation abilities. Absolutely gorgeous, to be honest.”
“Well... you seem to know what you’re talking about at least.” Grudging respect was creeping in, and Jack almost sighed in relief.
“Yes I do. Please let me check it out, I’m only trying to help you avoid a disaster. Hey - I’ll even strip it down for you if there’s anything useful left. I do owe you a few favours after all.”
Finally - after some discussions with Italian UNIT - the thing was settled, and Jack was informed that there would be a plane waiting for him in London, along with all the necessary papers.
Slowly he replaced the handset and leaned back in the chair - it was of course hugely unlikely that he could get the spacecraft to work, but if nothing else he'd managed to save a lot of lives - and got himself something approximating a holiday for the first time in over four years...
The location of the crash suddenly registered in earnest, and his smile deepened. It would be hard work to keep his identities separate, but the thought of going to Rome and not visit his other home... not indulge in his beautiful house and servants and all the luxury at his fingertips... no, that was impossible. And he’d not be Captain Jack Harkness there anyway. He was being furnished with a nice alias and cover story, so even if his cover was blown, he wouldn’t be rumbled - British UNIT was as keen to keep Torchwood a secret from the rest of UNIT as he was.
Looking down into the Hub, it sank in that he would actually be going away - for a couple of weeks at least, probably more. How would his team cope without him? Then he smiled bitterly. As if his presence, or lack thereof, had ever made any lasting difference... And it wasn’t like they knew how special he was.
No, they’d do fine without him, of course they would. Besides, he’d only be a phone call away.
Rome, Tuesday 30th of March (morning)
Slowly driving back to the city from the crash site in his borrowed UNIT Jeep, Jack was tired and still disappointed: the Ettian ship had crashed because the engines had blown up, and there was no hope of repair. The crew had died when exposed to the oxygen-laced atmosphere, which meant that there would be no rescue forthcoming - Ettians didn’t waste resources on the dead.
But apart from the engines the ship was mostly intact - the shield thankfully holding and containing the radiation. The invisibility generator had - much to his dismay - sustained more damage than he’d thought, and he had spent the last three days fixing it as best he could. It was finally stabilised now which would make life a lot easier, and hopefully he’d not have to ret-con anyone else... It was time consuming and under the circumstances tricky - he’d done 24 people so far, and sincerely hoped that he was finished now.
He still had the whole ship to strip however, and he was beginning to regret his promise - the job could easily take more than a month, and thanks to the still significant radiation he couldn’t even get any help. At least Torchwood seemed to be holding up just fine in his absence - Suzie was just as competent a leader as he’d always known her to be, which was very reassuring.
Seeing the sun peeping over the horizon, he knew he didn’t have to go back just yet - it wasn’t like he needed sleep - but the thought of a proper continental breakfast, with fresh orange juice and home-made pastries, served in the garden, was too tempting.
As he hummed along to the opening bars of an early morning radio show, he thought to himself that if he was going to stay for a while he could at least have one small party. He missed parties, having been almost allergic to them since the Millennium. But The Immortal’s house was as different from the Hub as was possible... He could spend the morning sending out invitations and calling on a few old friends, since he really needed a break from the cramped spaceship. Also it would give the servants something to do, other than look after him - surely they could rustle up a little shindig in 4 days.
Yes, a party was just the thing. And after all, wasn’t that why this alias existed? So he had a place to escape to - somewhere not steeped in aliens and death and pain.
Later the same morning
Buffy rather liked café breakfasts. She didn’t indulge in them often, but sometimes it was just what she needed. Like today when she had a meeting to get to and had been forced to get up early. Or early for her at least - Dawn had thrown an alarm clock at her as she’d left for school and finished off the cereal for good measure... So café breakfast it was. There was also the fact that cafés inevitably made her feel very European and cosmopolitan - plus they always had gorgeous waiters. ‘Dating’ was so far off the chart that she didn’t even think about it, but enjoying random pieces of eye candy was not something she was averse to.
This particular morning her croissant had long since been reduced to a few lonely crumbs on a plate, and she was slowly sipping the last of her coffee, thinking that she really ought to get going since she was running late by now, when a shadow fell across her table. She looked up and saw a tall, dark haired man standing by the table, flashing a wide flawless grin at her as he pulled off his sunglasses.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt your privacy, but... you look like you could do with a friend.”
“I do?” she asked stupidly, trying not to be overawed by his quite unfeasibly good looks and perfectly tailored clothes. He looked like some matinee idol who’d stepped into real life - a Forties Hollywood movie star, right down to the accent.
“Call it a sixth sense,” he smiled, and then indicated the chair opposite her. “Do you mind?”
“I... guess not,” she replied, still thrown. It wasn’t that guys didn’t try to chat her up on a fairly regular basis, but there was something about this one that was... different.
A waiter sidled up, and the stranger ordered an espresso in fluent Italian - and then, to her surprise, leisurely let his eyes follow the youngster’s retreating back.
“I’m sorry - but did you just check out his ass?” she asked, belatedly realising that this was a rather rude question, but the lingering stare had been so blatant that she couldn’t help herself. The stranger caught her eyes and chuckled.
“M-hm. Italian waiters - couldn’t you just eat them up? They’re dangerous though, because they’re very addictive - you keep just wanting one more, and before you know it you can’t show your face in a single café in town without some guy declaring how you broke his heart.”
He shrugged, smiling wryly. “Ten years later of course they were all married and overweight, which almost broke my heart - not the marriage bit, the weight thing. Such a waste, and very inconsiderate towards the wives. Anyway - I’ve sworn off them for good now.”
Buffy wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not, but at least she had managed to establish that he was far from ordinary. Maybe he even meant the ‘friendship’ thing... and wasn’t every woman supposed to have a (male) gay best friend these days? All she had was Andrew, and he didn’t count. But this guy - he wasn’t effeminate at all, but his orientation would certainly explain his style...
“So, you’re gay?” she asked, and he looked at her, surprised.
“What gave you that idea?”
“Um... because you said you... sleep with guys like him?”
She indicated the waiter who had returned with the espresso, and the stranger drawled out a lazy “Grazie”, holding the waiter’s eyes for a little longer than entirely necessary. The young man smiled back, dark eyes promising and inviting.
Turning back to his cup, her new friend shook his head. “See? Addiction. Very bad. But, no, I’m not ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ or... anything you can put in a neat little labelled box.”
Amusement danced in his eyes, as though the notions of sexual orientation were sweetly old-fashioned concepts and he found it endearing that she still used such quaint expressions. “I thought that that was widely known... Oh - but I never introduced myself!”
Putting down the cup he held out his hand. “Sorry for being so impolite - I’m The Immortal.”
For a moment that seemed endless she could only stare at him. He had looked so human, so normal - except for the charm and the looks and the... OK, so he’d been too good to be true. Figured.
As though in a daze she reached out and grasped his hand, and, as if to spite her, it felt warm and alive and not at all wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing-y.
“You’re a demon,” she said, deciding to get it over with and just move on. She hoped he was a nice demon, and not one she’d have to kill.
He let go of her hand and shook his head, eyes narrowing as though he was trying to figure her out - and then suddenly glanced behind her.
She frowned, and he swiftly caught her eyes again. “Sorry - football results on the back of a newspaper. Where was I? Oh yes, you asked if I was a demon. I’m not. Really, really not. Just immortal. You’ve never heard of me?”
She shook her head, and he looked a little put out. “Guess it has been a while since I was in town last... and I presume you’re not exactly a local girl. So tell me - who are you?”
“I’m Buffy - Buffy Summers.”
“Buffy...” He considered this, picking up his drink. “Unusual name. I like it!”
He really was impossibly charming, blue eyes twinkling at her over the edge of the cup. And, despite herself, she couldn’t help but being drawn in, even though she knew that if she was attracted to him, the chances of him being evil were rather overwhelming. Although... maybe third time lucky? (Not that she was going to date him, obviously, but...) She could get Andrew to do some research - it might even get him to shut up about that stupid meteor crash and his inane theories about government conspiracies covering up martians - at least for a little while.
Then her cellphone rang, and she found herself reminded - somewhat sharply - that she was late for her meeting. Again she wondered at the illogical fact that there being lots of Slayers had brought with it more work for her, not less. She sighed, and studied the man at the other side of the table. Giving him her phone number would imply so much more than she was ready to give, so what to do...
“Look - I’m sorry, but I have to run. But it was nice... really nice... meeting you! Maybe we’ll run into each other again?”
He appeared to hesitate for a moment, but then reached inside his jacket, bringing out an elegant card.
“OK - this is just a spur-of-the-moment thing, but I’m throwing a party on Friday, and you’re more than welcome to come along. These are my details - if you have any questions, just call. I’m... not home much, but my servants will be happy to tell you anything you might want to know.”
“Um... thank you,” she replied, surprised and unsure how to respond. He had servants? So he wasn’t just handsome, charming and immortal, but also rich - this was verging dangerously close to fairy tale territory. But she still took the card and put it in her purse - fairy tales were few and far between. In her head there were lots of conflicting voices, some (that sounded suspiciously like Willow) telling her to get out and have some fun, others telling her that she was insane for being drawn in by yet another otherworldly creature... (Xander this time, and no mistake)
Yet she couldn’t help smiling back as he said good-bye. (He had dimples. No man - immortal or not - had the right to be that effortlessly adorable.) It was only as she was walking down the road a little later - her Slayer reflexes coming in very handy when trying to dodge the traffic - that she began wondering why he had targeted her in the first place... If there was anything she’d learned in her life, it was that someone called ‘The Immortal’ wouldn’t just sit down and chat up a Slayer because she looked like she needed a friend.
***
Jack watched as the young woman walked down the street, yet again wondering why he could never help himself. He was only here to work, dammit - pull a spaceship apart as quickly as possible so he could get back to Torchwood. But... the intriguing Miss Summers was clearly something special - tiny and delicate, elfin even, but with a quiet self-assurance that one didn’t come across every day - or even every decade. Buffy. An unusual name for an unusual girl.
When he was sure that she was gone for good, he got up and quietly walked over to a different table, causing the nondescript man already sitting there to look up over his newspaper. Jack smiled.
“I hope you’ll pardon me for interrupting, but I have a few questions - most specifically: Who is Buffy Summers that she warrants her own Private Eye?”
The man looked at him as if he was insane, but Jack just kept smiling and sat down, leisurely taking another sip of his espresso.
“Oh you’re good - excellent even - only as it happens I can spot people like you a mile off. Also your camera isn’t as invisible as you think.”
He reached over the table and pulled the compact digital camera out of the stunned man’s pocket.
“Cute model. But - despite my poster boy looks - I don’t like having my picture taken.”
Swiftly he deleted all the photos, then handed it back. “Also notice how I didn’t break it - I’m a very reasonable guy, and I don’t believe in taking out my frustration on inanimate objects!”
The detective was now staring at him, brain clearly working in overdrive trying to work out how to deal with the situation. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“So talk or... I’ll make you talk! What’s special about her?”
There was now a visible struggle within the other man.
“I can’t...”
“Oh yes you can. Because if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you’ll wake up in a gondola in Venice in a monkey suit with the last three years of your life wiped from your memory! That is, of course, the pleasant option. I am The Immortal, as I’m sure you overheard - look me up if you’re curious. Until then, take my word for it that I can do anything I like. So you might as well talk, because I’ll get my answers one way or another. What’s the deal with Buffy?”
Jack’s smile turned frosty as he held the other man’s eyes. Often he hated himself for being the sort of man for whom intimidation was as natural as breathing, but it really did come in handy. Thankfully this man appeared smart enough to recognise when the game was up.
“She is a Slayer.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “A Slayer? Really?”
He’d never met a Slayer before. Heard of them of course, but Slayers were rare and precious, and usually only found in troublesome spots - which suddenly made him frown. What was going on in Rome to warrant the Slayer being there? Surely his servants would have told him of any imminent danger - but then on the other hand they might think that he already knew.
“Why is she here?” he asked, and the detective seemed surprised. “She lives here - has done for more than half a year now. She... she shares a flat with her sister, not far from here.”
“So... the one and only Slayer in the world decides to move to Rome for no particular reason? You’re are going to have to do a lot better I’m afraid.”
And all he’d wanted was to talk to the cute lonely girl... he sighed, then noticed that the other man was staring at him, puzzled.
“One Slayer? There are six here in Rome alone.”
“Six Slayers?” This was too impossible for words, and yet the man couldn’t be lying - no one was stupid enough to lie about something like that. Jack looked at the detective, eyes narrowing.
“Who do you work for?”
A slight hesitation, then dropped eyes. “I... I don’t know.”
“Really?” Jack quirked an eyebrow - this was getting ridiculous.
“Honestly! I just make my reports of what Miss Summers does, and who she sees, that is all. I was told that my employer only wants to protect her.”
“Hmm...” Jack finished off his espresso as he turned the situation over in his mind. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Slayers didn’t need protecting. Something was up.
He got a few more details out of the reluctant detective, but knew that he had to be on his way - and he had enough information now to continue any research himself.
“Look, I’d... appreciate it if you will keep my name out of your reports - at least until I figure out what’s going on.” He reached into his pocket for another card, then found a pen and scribbled his mobile phone number on it, before pulling out a handsome number of notes from his wallet and handing both card and money over.
“Here are my details. If you need to talk to me - call anytime. Especially if you find out who you’re working for. I’m not so sure their motives are benign.”
It was only as he walked towards the house of the Riithan Clan that it occurred to him that he’d invited a Slayer to a party where most of the guests were demons.
He grinned. This could turn out - interesting.
Chapter 3.
(A/N: No offence meant to Italian waiters!)
Afraid that there is a lot of set-up in this part (i.e. a fair bit of Torchwood-ness), and for some reason the prose kept being awkward, sorry. However, on the plus side Buffy finally shows up! :) (For those of you not familiar with Torchwood, it might be helpful to watch this flashback about how Jack was recruited and how he became the leader of Torchwood Three. No real spoilers for the rest of the show.)
HUGE thank you’s to my wonderful, wonderful beta,
kathyh, who really helped knock this chapter into shape! Previous parts here.Pairing: Buffy/Immortal!Jack (well, they're getting there...)
Rating: PG-13
Setting: March 2004 (post-Chosen/pre-S1 of TW)
Spoilers: S2 of TW (eventually)
Wordcount: 4300
Chapter 2
Alex: This place - it’s yours. Torchwood Three. My gift to you Jack, for a century of service as field operative. Give this place a purpose - before it’s too late. Please.
~
Spike: So, uh...you heard from Buffy lately?
Andrew: Yeah. Of course, uh...she's in Rome. Dawn's in school there. Italian school.
Spike: Well. Rome, eh? Never pegged her for the expatriate show.
Andrew: Yeah. She was rounding slayers up in Europe, decided she liked it there, I guess.
Cardiff, early morning Friday 26th of March 2004
Cold, leftover pizza really wasn’t his ideal breakfast, but Jack couldn’t be bothered going out and buying some actual food - and besides, deRossi’s really were quite extraordinarily good for a pizza place.
Settling down in his chair he switched on BBC News 24 on his screen, absentmindedly listening to the headlines as he flicked through the paperwork that he’d spent the last week ignoring.
Budgets, employee reviews, case files that needed completing and archiving, Rift statistics, weevil number monitoring, overdue quarterly reviews for the government... he was always behind on his paperwork. It was probably his subconscious rebelling at one of the outwardly attributes of his responsibilities - an ever-present dread at being in charge of this place; of having people rely on him and trust him to keep them safe and alive through the dangers they faced daily; of trying to do something good and not really knowing how... Monitoring the Rift and dealing with what came through it was crucial to the planet’s safety, and yet the job by its very nature consisted of deceit, ruthlessness, violence and meaningless death.
Despite Torchwood becoming his main home during the last century, he had never forgotten that for him it was also a means to an end - and had never, ever wanted the place to be his. How could he give it a purpose when he struggled to find one himself?
Then a live report caught his attention, and he looked up at the blandly attractive female presenter on the screen.
“...and we’re just now getting reports that there has been a meteor crash south of Rome - it has not yet been established whether there were any casualties, or why astronomers had not picked up on this.”
For a few seconds Jack sat completely still, wrestling with himself, but then he leapt down the stairs, making Tosh jump where she was sitting at her workstation, already busy.
“Tosh - what have I told you about coming in to work early? It’s very inconsiderate the way you always grab all the best equipment!”
Thankfully she was beginning to come to grips with his sense of humour, and didn’t apologise profusely the way she would have half a year previously. Instead she shot him a calculating look.
“What do you want?”
He grinned. “I want you to you check out a ‘meteor crash’ south of Rome, using everything at our disposal.”
“And what will you be doing?” she asked archly.
“I will be standing here glowering in a employer-like fashion,” he replied cheekily.
She shook her head, but was unable to hide a smile as she in moments brought up streaming satellite imagery, easily bypassing security codes and other obstacles, before trying to see if what-ever-it-was had left behind a trail that could be analysed.
The crash site looked inconspicuous enough - a wide, steaming crater, apparently empty except for a few minor bits of debris - when suddenly there was a glimpse of something.
Before he could even ask her to go back and pause it, she had brought up a freeze-frame of the image and Jack couldn't help but gasp.
It was a Ettian ship - its elongated, irregular tetrahedron shape and dark purple colour easily recognisable even though the front was pretty badly bashed. But if the invisibility generator still worked - more or less anyway - there was a good chance that the engines might still be functioning. In which case...
He had to grasp onto Tosh’s chair for support as it hit him - if he could fix the ship, he could leave. With a ship like that, he could be three galaxies away in under a week - oh he knew just the place to get his vortex manipulator fixed... and then he would finally be free again.
‘He’s coming - the one you’re looking for. But the century will turn twice before you find each other again.’
Those had been The Girl’s words. Little slip of a thing, completely out of place in the dirty tavern where he’d been trying to drown his sorrows, but so calm and selfpossessed that it still freaked him out. And she’d had that look in her eyes when she’d foretold his future - the one that reminded him much too forcefully of Dru. As much as he’d tried not to, he still believed - there was no denying the gift of a true Seer.
And now - now might be the right moment... twice the century had turned, like she’d said. Maybe this was the point - the opportunity he’d been waiting for - the time when he’d be able to take up his quest again?
He smiled to himself as he thought that for almost anyone else this particular race meant certain death, considering the radiation expelled by the engines - but he'd learned long ago that any sort of radiation just rolled off him as though it didn't exist.
Then he abruptly realised what this meant for the people who'd have been sent to investigate, and he ran off to his office as fast as he could, throwing a swift - but genuine - ‘thank you’ over his shoulder to Tosh.
Moments later he was on the phone to the British branch of UNIT, telling them that they had to talk their Italian counterparts out of going near the ship.
“Do I need to remind you that this is a UNIT matter, Captain? And one in a foreign country none the less. Torchwood’s input or assistance will not be needed.”
The General’s voice was clipped and hostile, the man not bothering to hide his displeasure in any way. Jack swore silently. UNIT was happy enough to utilise Torchwood’s resources when necessary, but resented interference - especially from Torchwood Three. On the other hand, his distancing from Torchwood One might just work to his advantage this time...
“Look - I’m a friend of the Doctor’s,” he said, and there was a momentary pause on the other end of the line. Smiling, he continued. “Yes - that Doctor. And although I’m not quite in his league, I have a few talents of my own - including a fair amount of knowledge of this species and their ships. The most important thing being that their engines emit a huge amount of radiation - it’s contained and hidden by the shields, but if anyone gets too close they’ll get sick very, very quickly. Trust me, it’s not pretty and your suits will make next to no difference. And if someone actually gets inside and presses the wrong button you could have a Chernobyl on your hands!”
“But you would know which buttons to avoid?”
There was an unmistakable edge to the General’s voice, and Jack couldn’t help but smirk.
“Oh I know what all the little buttons do - could probably fly the thing blindfolded. See Ettian ships are based on the common triple-layered micro-differentiated base system, but they have their own gamma-wave interstellar HighPhoton engines and the most amazing navigation abilities. Absolutely gorgeous, to be honest.”
“Well... you seem to know what you’re talking about at least.” Grudging respect was creeping in, and Jack almost sighed in relief.
“Yes I do. Please let me check it out, I’m only trying to help you avoid a disaster. Hey - I’ll even strip it down for you if there’s anything useful left. I do owe you a few favours after all.”
Finally - after some discussions with Italian UNIT - the thing was settled, and Jack was informed that there would be a plane waiting for him in London, along with all the necessary papers.
Slowly he replaced the handset and leaned back in the chair - it was of course hugely unlikely that he could get the spacecraft to work, but if nothing else he'd managed to save a lot of lives - and got himself something approximating a holiday for the first time in over four years...
The location of the crash suddenly registered in earnest, and his smile deepened. It would be hard work to keep his identities separate, but the thought of going to Rome and not visit his other home... not indulge in his beautiful house and servants and all the luxury at his fingertips... no, that was impossible. And he’d not be Captain Jack Harkness there anyway. He was being furnished with a nice alias and cover story, so even if his cover was blown, he wouldn’t be rumbled - British UNIT was as keen to keep Torchwood a secret from the rest of UNIT as he was.
Looking down into the Hub, it sank in that he would actually be going away - for a couple of weeks at least, probably more. How would his team cope without him? Then he smiled bitterly. As if his presence, or lack thereof, had ever made any lasting difference... And it wasn’t like they knew how special he was.
No, they’d do fine without him, of course they would. Besides, he’d only be a phone call away.
Rome, Tuesday 30th of March (morning)
Slowly driving back to the city from the crash site in his borrowed UNIT Jeep, Jack was tired and still disappointed: the Ettian ship had crashed because the engines had blown up, and there was no hope of repair. The crew had died when exposed to the oxygen-laced atmosphere, which meant that there would be no rescue forthcoming - Ettians didn’t waste resources on the dead.
But apart from the engines the ship was mostly intact - the shield thankfully holding and containing the radiation. The invisibility generator had - much to his dismay - sustained more damage than he’d thought, and he had spent the last three days fixing it as best he could. It was finally stabilised now which would make life a lot easier, and hopefully he’d not have to ret-con anyone else... It was time consuming and under the circumstances tricky - he’d done 24 people so far, and sincerely hoped that he was finished now.
He still had the whole ship to strip however, and he was beginning to regret his promise - the job could easily take more than a month, and thanks to the still significant radiation he couldn’t even get any help. At least Torchwood seemed to be holding up just fine in his absence - Suzie was just as competent a leader as he’d always known her to be, which was very reassuring.
Seeing the sun peeping over the horizon, he knew he didn’t have to go back just yet - it wasn’t like he needed sleep - but the thought of a proper continental breakfast, with fresh orange juice and home-made pastries, served in the garden, was too tempting.
As he hummed along to the opening bars of an early morning radio show, he thought to himself that if he was going to stay for a while he could at least have one small party. He missed parties, having been almost allergic to them since the Millennium. But The Immortal’s house was as different from the Hub as was possible... He could spend the morning sending out invitations and calling on a few old friends, since he really needed a break from the cramped spaceship. Also it would give the servants something to do, other than look after him - surely they could rustle up a little shindig in 4 days.
Yes, a party was just the thing. And after all, wasn’t that why this alias existed? So he had a place to escape to - somewhere not steeped in aliens and death and pain.
Later the same morning
Buffy rather liked café breakfasts. She didn’t indulge in them often, but sometimes it was just what she needed. Like today when she had a meeting to get to and had been forced to get up early. Or early for her at least - Dawn had thrown an alarm clock at her as she’d left for school and finished off the cereal for good measure... So café breakfast it was. There was also the fact that cafés inevitably made her feel very European and cosmopolitan - plus they always had gorgeous waiters. ‘Dating’ was so far off the chart that she didn’t even think about it, but enjoying random pieces of eye candy was not something she was averse to.
This particular morning her croissant had long since been reduced to a few lonely crumbs on a plate, and she was slowly sipping the last of her coffee, thinking that she really ought to get going since she was running late by now, when a shadow fell across her table. She looked up and saw a tall, dark haired man standing by the table, flashing a wide flawless grin at her as he pulled off his sunglasses.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt your privacy, but... you look like you could do with a friend.”
“I do?” she asked stupidly, trying not to be overawed by his quite unfeasibly good looks and perfectly tailored clothes. He looked like some matinee idol who’d stepped into real life - a Forties Hollywood movie star, right down to the accent.
“Call it a sixth sense,” he smiled, and then indicated the chair opposite her. “Do you mind?”
“I... guess not,” she replied, still thrown. It wasn’t that guys didn’t try to chat her up on a fairly regular basis, but there was something about this one that was... different.
A waiter sidled up, and the stranger ordered an espresso in fluent Italian - and then, to her surprise, leisurely let his eyes follow the youngster’s retreating back.
“I’m sorry - but did you just check out his ass?” she asked, belatedly realising that this was a rather rude question, but the lingering stare had been so blatant that she couldn’t help herself. The stranger caught her eyes and chuckled.
“M-hm. Italian waiters - couldn’t you just eat them up? They’re dangerous though, because they’re very addictive - you keep just wanting one more, and before you know it you can’t show your face in a single café in town without some guy declaring how you broke his heart.”
He shrugged, smiling wryly. “Ten years later of course they were all married and overweight, which almost broke my heart - not the marriage bit, the weight thing. Such a waste, and very inconsiderate towards the wives. Anyway - I’ve sworn off them for good now.”
Buffy wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not, but at least she had managed to establish that he was far from ordinary. Maybe he even meant the ‘friendship’ thing... and wasn’t every woman supposed to have a (male) gay best friend these days? All she had was Andrew, and he didn’t count. But this guy - he wasn’t effeminate at all, but his orientation would certainly explain his style...
“So, you’re gay?” she asked, and he looked at her, surprised.
“What gave you that idea?”
“Um... because you said you... sleep with guys like him?”
She indicated the waiter who had returned with the espresso, and the stranger drawled out a lazy “Grazie”, holding the waiter’s eyes for a little longer than entirely necessary. The young man smiled back, dark eyes promising and inviting.
Turning back to his cup, her new friend shook his head. “See? Addiction. Very bad. But, no, I’m not ‘gay’ or ‘straight’ or... anything you can put in a neat little labelled box.”
Amusement danced in his eyes, as though the notions of sexual orientation were sweetly old-fashioned concepts and he found it endearing that she still used such quaint expressions. “I thought that that was widely known... Oh - but I never introduced myself!”
Putting down the cup he held out his hand. “Sorry for being so impolite - I’m The Immortal.”
For a moment that seemed endless she could only stare at him. He had looked so human, so normal - except for the charm and the looks and the... OK, so he’d been too good to be true. Figured.
As though in a daze she reached out and grasped his hand, and, as if to spite her, it felt warm and alive and not at all wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing-y.
“You’re a demon,” she said, deciding to get it over with and just move on. She hoped he was a nice demon, and not one she’d have to kill.
He let go of her hand and shook his head, eyes narrowing as though he was trying to figure her out - and then suddenly glanced behind her.
She frowned, and he swiftly caught her eyes again. “Sorry - football results on the back of a newspaper. Where was I? Oh yes, you asked if I was a demon. I’m not. Really, really not. Just immortal. You’ve never heard of me?”
She shook her head, and he looked a little put out. “Guess it has been a while since I was in town last... and I presume you’re not exactly a local girl. So tell me - who are you?”
“I’m Buffy - Buffy Summers.”
“Buffy...” He considered this, picking up his drink. “Unusual name. I like it!”
He really was impossibly charming, blue eyes twinkling at her over the edge of the cup. And, despite herself, she couldn’t help but being drawn in, even though she knew that if she was attracted to him, the chances of him being evil were rather overwhelming. Although... maybe third time lucky? (Not that she was going to date him, obviously, but...) She could get Andrew to do some research - it might even get him to shut up about that stupid meteor crash and his inane theories about government conspiracies covering up martians - at least for a little while.
Then her cellphone rang, and she found herself reminded - somewhat sharply - that she was late for her meeting. Again she wondered at the illogical fact that there being lots of Slayers had brought with it more work for her, not less. She sighed, and studied the man at the other side of the table. Giving him her phone number would imply so much more than she was ready to give, so what to do...
“Look - I’m sorry, but I have to run. But it was nice... really nice... meeting you! Maybe we’ll run into each other again?”
He appeared to hesitate for a moment, but then reached inside his jacket, bringing out an elegant card.
“OK - this is just a spur-of-the-moment thing, but I’m throwing a party on Friday, and you’re more than welcome to come along. These are my details - if you have any questions, just call. I’m... not home much, but my servants will be happy to tell you anything you might want to know.”
“Um... thank you,” she replied, surprised and unsure how to respond. He had servants? So he wasn’t just handsome, charming and immortal, but also rich - this was verging dangerously close to fairy tale territory. But she still took the card and put it in her purse - fairy tales were few and far between. In her head there were lots of conflicting voices, some (that sounded suspiciously like Willow) telling her to get out and have some fun, others telling her that she was insane for being drawn in by yet another otherworldly creature... (Xander this time, and no mistake)
Yet she couldn’t help smiling back as he said good-bye. (He had dimples. No man - immortal or not - had the right to be that effortlessly adorable.) It was only as she was walking down the road a little later - her Slayer reflexes coming in very handy when trying to dodge the traffic - that she began wondering why he had targeted her in the first place... If there was anything she’d learned in her life, it was that someone called ‘The Immortal’ wouldn’t just sit down and chat up a Slayer because she looked like she needed a friend.
Jack watched as the young woman walked down the street, yet again wondering why he could never help himself. He was only here to work, dammit - pull a spaceship apart as quickly as possible so he could get back to Torchwood. But... the intriguing Miss Summers was clearly something special - tiny and delicate, elfin even, but with a quiet self-assurance that one didn’t come across every day - or even every decade. Buffy. An unusual name for an unusual girl.
When he was sure that she was gone for good, he got up and quietly walked over to a different table, causing the nondescript man already sitting there to look up over his newspaper. Jack smiled.
“I hope you’ll pardon me for interrupting, but I have a few questions - most specifically: Who is Buffy Summers that she warrants her own Private Eye?”
The man looked at him as if he was insane, but Jack just kept smiling and sat down, leisurely taking another sip of his espresso.
“Oh you’re good - excellent even - only as it happens I can spot people like you a mile off. Also your camera isn’t as invisible as you think.”
He reached over the table and pulled the compact digital camera out of the stunned man’s pocket.
“Cute model. But - despite my poster boy looks - I don’t like having my picture taken.”
Swiftly he deleted all the photos, then handed it back. “Also notice how I didn’t break it - I’m a very reasonable guy, and I don’t believe in taking out my frustration on inanimate objects!”
The detective was now staring at him, brain clearly working in overdrive trying to work out how to deal with the situation. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“So talk or... I’ll make you talk! What’s special about her?”
There was now a visible struggle within the other man.
“I can’t...”
“Oh yes you can. Because if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you’ll wake up in a gondola in Venice in a monkey suit with the last three years of your life wiped from your memory! That is, of course, the pleasant option. I am The Immortal, as I’m sure you overheard - look me up if you’re curious. Until then, take my word for it that I can do anything I like. So you might as well talk, because I’ll get my answers one way or another. What’s the deal with Buffy?”
Jack’s smile turned frosty as he held the other man’s eyes. Often he hated himself for being the sort of man for whom intimidation was as natural as breathing, but it really did come in handy. Thankfully this man appeared smart enough to recognise when the game was up.
“She is a Slayer.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “A Slayer? Really?”
He’d never met a Slayer before. Heard of them of course, but Slayers were rare and precious, and usually only found in troublesome spots - which suddenly made him frown. What was going on in Rome to warrant the Slayer being there? Surely his servants would have told him of any imminent danger - but then on the other hand they might think that he already knew.
“Why is she here?” he asked, and the detective seemed surprised. “She lives here - has done for more than half a year now. She... she shares a flat with her sister, not far from here.”
“So... the one and only Slayer in the world decides to move to Rome for no particular reason? You’re are going to have to do a lot better I’m afraid.”
And all he’d wanted was to talk to the cute lonely girl... he sighed, then noticed that the other man was staring at him, puzzled.
“One Slayer? There are six here in Rome alone.”
“Six Slayers?” This was too impossible for words, and yet the man couldn’t be lying - no one was stupid enough to lie about something like that. Jack looked at the detective, eyes narrowing.
“Who do you work for?”
A slight hesitation, then dropped eyes. “I... I don’t know.”
“Really?” Jack quirked an eyebrow - this was getting ridiculous.
“Honestly! I just make my reports of what Miss Summers does, and who she sees, that is all. I was told that my employer only wants to protect her.”
“Hmm...” Jack finished off his espresso as he turned the situation over in his mind. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Slayers didn’t need protecting. Something was up.
He got a few more details out of the reluctant detective, but knew that he had to be on his way - and he had enough information now to continue any research himself.
“Look, I’d... appreciate it if you will keep my name out of your reports - at least until I figure out what’s going on.” He reached into his pocket for another card, then found a pen and scribbled his mobile phone number on it, before pulling out a handsome number of notes from his wallet and handing both card and money over.
“Here are my details. If you need to talk to me - call anytime. Especially if you find out who you’re working for. I’m not so sure their motives are benign.”
It was only as he walked towards the house of the Riithan Clan that it occurred to him that he’d invited a Slayer to a party where most of the guests were demons.
He grinned. This could turn out - interesting.
Chapter 3.
(A/N: No offence meant to Italian waiters!)
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I also love the Willow and Xander voices she hears. Spot on.
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Buffy is My Girl! <3
I also love the Willow and Xander voices she hears. Spot on.
She knows them well... :)