Disclaimer: However much I WISH I owned Torchwood and/or knew the Doctor and Captain Jack, I don't. So don't sue me, please.
A/N: Ok, so we find out at the end of "Something Barrowed" that Jack was married. In "Small Worlds," we find out that he was in love with a woman named Estelle. I put two and two together (even if they were the wrong two...). This WILL be a crossover with Doctor Who (Tenth Doctor, of course...), and set in season 3 of Torchwood. Since I've looked and can't find who's replacing Tosh and Owen in season 3, I'm going to put Captain Jon Hart and Martha Jones in there for now. ;) Happy reading!
Something Old and Something New
Captain Jack Harkness kept his eyes closed this time, breathing very shallowly. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed and laid there long enough, Death would finally give up the ghost, so-to-speak, and break off the stalemate. Maybe he should remove the bullet...maybe. The lead poisoning would've been fatal, of course, but he had been surprised before at what he could live through...
What a way to die... he thought. Shot for cheating at poker.
Complete consciousness now forced its way into his mind. The sound of people in the street outside the alleyway echoed and re-echoed, bouncing around Jack's head like a madmen off of padded walls. He squeezed his eyes tighter, willing the pain to go away. It wasn't fair: if he couldn't die like everybody else, then he at least shouldn't have to have headaches and sickness like everybody else.
Now, of course, the pain returned. At first just an annoying itch somewhere in the vicinity of his belly button, then a dull throb. As he took a deeper breath in, sharp pain shot lightning and fire all the way up to his throat and down through his knees. With great resolve and a lot of swearing at Death and Fate, Jack opened his eyes, bit his lip, and sat up. Immediately his head began to swim, and he closed his eyes again to keep himself from vomiting. When he was ready he carefully, very carefully, stood up, pulled his coat over his front, and gingerly staggered out into April 10, 1942.
At least they had the decency to shoot me somewhere private, he thought with a bitter smirk, and early in the morning. 3 o'clock, to be a bit more precise. The poker standoff had lasted 4 hours between him and a man known only as Roy.
Several minutes later, Jack was in front of 3 Privy Street. He stood, considering the door for a while. Then a sharp stab reminded him of why he was standing outside the building in the first place and he entered without knocking. He shut the door quietly behind him and even took off his boots to try to tiptoe down the hallway, but as soon as his foot landed on the floor, a light flicked on in the next room and a voice whisper his name hoarsely. Jack whipped around, staring wildly around the room.
"Estelle!" he whispered back. "You scared the shit out of me!"
"Don't swear, Jack," she admonished, flicking out the light again and waiting until her eyes adjusted to try to find her way.
"Sorry," he apologized to the dark.
"No, you're not. Come on, then." He felt her arm slide around his elbow, gently guiding him to the last room down the hall. Hers. She made sure the door was closed and a towel pushed up to the crack under the doorway before turning on the light. "Why are you so late? And—bloody hell, you're bleeding!"
"Don't swear, Estelle," he tried to tease, flashing a debonair smile at her. "Sorry I'm late. I got caught up in a poker game." Her shocked face dropped and in its place were pursed lips and hard eyes. She put her fists on her hips.
"You got stabbed for a poker game?"
"Shot, actually." She sighed.
"What do I need to get?"
"Gauze, iodine, maybe tweezers."
"Maybe tweezers? You'll need to get the bullet out somehow." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll get the tweezers." Quietly she snuck out of the door, past her mother's room, and out of sight.