Memories
If there was one thing that Jack Harkness had acquired thanks to his travels through time and space, it was a fondness for the peculiar and the strange. The things that didn't quite fit— the things that stood out in a room not because they were pretty, or mysterious, but because they just felt off. Like they didn't belong there.
Just like he felt, every day of every week of every month of every year. The man without a home, a muddied past and a future that stretched on further than any eye could see.
It was that fondness that drew him, each night, to the bar in downtown Manhattan run by a couple from overseas.
"What I'll never understand, Rory," one of the other patrons said through the haze of cigarette smoke that clouded most of the room, "is why you let your wife handle running the place while you're out here, busting your ass serving us drinks."
"Because she's the brains," Rory answered, with the weary smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "and having money is better than being broke."
Jack knew that smile. He'd seen it in mirrors several times, and on the face of a good friend.
" 'Specially when Luciano comes around, no doubt," another man spoke up, exhaling a slow, rolling breath of smoke before continuing. "You paid up yet? I'd hate to see this place get torched."
Rory just shrugged as he placed another round of shots down on the table.
"Amy told me she'd 'Had a nice chat with Charlie,' and that they'd worked something out. That's good enough for me."
"She calls him 'Charlie'?" Another man broke in with a surprised stare. "Your wife's got a bigger pair on her than most guys I know, Pond. You sure she doesn't actually have one?"
Jack tensed at the barb, ready to get up and give the asshole to his right a lesson in manners. But Rory caught his eye and gave him the slightest shake of the head, and Jack stopped cold in sheer surprise. It was a soldier's look, through and through. Rory Pond suddenly looked years older, and that one glance showed Jack scars that ran deeper than any mark on his skin possibly could have.
"I'm sure," Rory said neutrally, biting back a sigh as he finished serving the next round of drinks and began walking back to the bar.
A burst of raucous laughter cut through the smoke as some of the more inebriated patrons dug deep enough for a joke to find it, but the sound died as quickly as it had come.
The rest of the night passed quickly, and soon enough the bar was almost empty. Empty, except for the immortal man in the corner and the man at the bar who might as well have been. Jack got to his feet and stretched with a groan, walking over to the bar and taking a seat on a stool to the left of Rory. He was about to break the silence when Amy walked out of the back room and into the bar proper, looking beat. She saw Jack and smiled, flashing the sincere grin she only showed her favorite customers.
"Hey, Jack," she greeted him, before walking over and taking a seat on the stool next to him. "How're you holding up?"
Jack smiled in turn at the usual question, and shrugged.
"Fine," he replied. "Still single. You?"
"Still married," Amy answered, while accepting an offered beer from her husband.
"And that's still a shame," Jack finished, his smile shifting into a smirk. "I'm sure we could work something out, though. You game, Rory?"
Rory choked visibly for a moment at the implication of the question, and Amy snorted with surprised humor into her beer at the unexpected deviation from their typical joke.
"Afraid not, Captain," Amy said after a moment, regaining her composure. "That one's all mine."
Jack thought about pressing the point, but decided against it and took a lowball of whiskey from Rory instead.
"Thanks," he said, taking a small sip. "And if Luciano's thugs ever give you trouble, just let me know. I'll take care of it."
"Appreciate the offer," Amy said, "but don't worry about that. I've got it sorted."
"Fair enough," Jack said, "and I believe you. Just thought I'd put it on the table."
The quiet space between them lingered for a few more moments, until Jack decided to drop the bomb at last.
"So," he began, "what time are you two really from?"
Amy and Rory only stiffened at the question for a moment, but that was all the confirmation Jack needed that his theory was correct.
"What?" Rory asked, doing what Jack thought was a remarkably good job at faking confusion. "What sort of a question is that?"
Jack took another long sip of his whiskey, reached into his jacket, and pulled out his Vortex Manipulator.
The shift in the room's atmosphere was immediate and palpable. The Ponds stared at Jack, their gazes equal parts concerned and intensely curious.
"Where did you get one of those?" Amy asked him, and Jack grinned.
"Thought so," he said, as he laid the device out on the polished wood of the bar. "See, anyone else wouldn't even know what that thing was. But you asked me where I got it, which tells me you know exactly what a Vortex Manipulator is— and what it does.
"So, like I said," he finished, "what time are you two really from?"
The couple shared a loaded glance, and Rory was the one to break the silence.
"The twenty-first century," he admitted, before arching a curious eyebrow. "How'd you know?"
"You skip around as much as I do," Jack answered, leaning back slightly, "and you start picking up on the signs. The people who don't act like they hope things are going to change… the people who know they will, because they've seen it with their own eyes, and they're just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. That's how I figured you two out.
"That," Jack finished with a sad smile, "and you seem like just the kind of people The Doctor would love having around. Did he leave you behind, too?"
Amy shook her head, her eyes clouding over with the look of a memory she'd been trying to forget.
"No," she said at last, blinking and looking at Jack with a level of pure empathy he never thought he'd see from anyone. "We left him behind. I'd imagine it still hurts about the same, though."
Jack paused, finishing his whiskey and setting the glass back down on the bar while he waited in vain for the burning liquid to ease the ache in his chest. The one wound that would never quite heal.
"So," he broached at last, "what's your story? If you don't mind, I'd love to hear it."
"It's not exactly short," Rory said, and Jack laughed.
"Rory, my friend," he said expansively, "I have all the time in the world."
Rory smiled, poured another round, and Amy began the tale.
"It all started," she began, "when a raggedy man fell out of the sky in a broken blue box, and asked for something to eat. In exchange, he gave me some of the best years of my life…"
Through the night and into the morning, the three travelers talked, laughed and shed more than a few tears as they reminisced about the Time Lord who had changed each of their lives so greatly.
And somewhere on the outer edge of the solar system, a TARDIS was orbiting a dying star, siphoning its energy as it went around and around. And sitting alone in the main room of that TARDIS, as he listened in through a link courtesy of Jack's Vortex Manipulator, The Doctor smiled a sad, proud smile.
They would be all right without him, after all.
…
…
A/N: So, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed it! I've always wanted to write Captain Jack, and I hope I did him justice. Ditto to the Ponds, as well.