Timeloop
Pt 1
The day is hot. It always is on Tuesday 27th July of the 21st century. At exactly 2.45 in the afternoon the first indications of grey cloud roll over the sky. By three it will be spitting with rain. By 3.18 it's a downpour, and the muggy heat won't let off for another two days despite it. Jack Harkness knows this, because he's lived this day – those times and that rain – countless times by now.
He is on the flat open rooftop of a five storey block of flats, sitting in a deckchair, looking at the world below, doing his absolute best not to count off and predict the coming circuit of traffic like a child reciting his memorised times-tables. Yellow car, red car, pickup truck, bicycle, bicycle and here will come the fed-ex van... oh wait, no, it's a blue car then the van...
He closes his eyes and tries to snap out of it.
Time ticks on, and the grey clouds collect above them like clockwork. So it's 2.45, then.
"John, we're gonna have to move soon. That Anderson woman comes back from her one-and-a-half week holiday at 4 o'clock." He says to his partner, who is lounging in another deckchair beside him on the roof of their stolen apartment.
John takes a long drag on his cigarette. At least, Jack calls it a cigarette. To be honest he has no idea what he's smoking, but it sure as hell doesn't smell like nicotine. Doesn't smell like anything else he was familiar with either. But by this point, after knowing the man for five years, he wouldn't put it past him to smoke even the grime off the tiles of the roof.
"4.08." John says with a smug little smirk.
"What?" Jack sighs and creaks out of his deckchair to get a better view of the world below. Blue car, green car, convertible. That guy crossing the road with a bundle of newspapers almost gets hit by a taxi. He drops the papers and curses something in what sounds like Spanish. Like he does every Tuesday 27th July at 2.46 in the afternoon.
"She arrives at 4.08. Remember that time when she chased us out? It was 4.08. After the street-repairs fire up." John chuckles to himself and takes another long drag. "Plenty of time. Sit back down, eyecandy, don't stress."
"Don't be so pedantic. You know what I mean." Jack mutters. Oh lord, he thinks, we sound like a bickering couple.
John seems to catch on to his train of thought – he seems to be practically able to read his mind nowadays- and he flicks his cigarette butt off the edge of the building. He then gets up, walks behind him and links his arms around his waist, the shorter man resting his chin against Jack's back.
"Plenty of time for a quickie. Or a not-so-quickie." He purrs.
"Not in the mood." Jack says shortly, scowling down at the crowded streets below.
"Well now, you really are the wife." John smirks. "Got a 'headache'?"
Jack ignores him.
Blue car. White car. Van. Motorbike. Truck. It's 2.57pm Tuesday the 27th today, rolling on as ever. Tomorrow it will be 9.15am Monday the 12th of the same month. Start the new cycle.
He would kill for a Wednesday the 28th, but it's been five years since he saw one.
Five years ago, back in the relative normalcy of the Timeagency headquarters, Jack was a completely different man. For one, his identity of 'Jack Harkness' was fairly new, and he was desperately trying to make it stick. Hell, he was fairly new: he had been recruited only two years ago, a model from the tiny peninsula colony of Boeshane with limited (and rather ill-fated) military experience, but with enough passion and enough of a keen spark of intelligence that he could charm and blag his way through what he half-knew about the Time-Agency, and learn quick enough to fill in what he didn't know until he was shown as a pretty impressive candidate. Some of the agents had been fooled by his act – mainly those calling the cards higher up – but the majority at the ground level saw right through it, so that, even after two years on the job, he was still the Rookie. His old birth-name hadn't exactly helped his self image, so at the first chance he got he hijacked some other poor bastard's name when he was briefly down on Earth 1940s. He knew he'd use it again.
Unfortunately, the man beside him in the meeting at that moment was one of the timeagents who weren't fooled by his initial blagging charm. Then again, very little did fool him – he'd been a Timeagent for a long time by now. He was dressed in the trophies of a life skipping from timeline to timeline. He had a long faded blue Napoleonic military coat that was almost falling to pieces from wear and tear, and had a pair of holsters from the 'cowboy' era of Earth's 19thc America, although his guns were modern and unnecessarily high-calibre, in Jack's opinion.
"You're teaming me up with Junior?"
The man said, his voice flat with disapproval, his accent different to Jack's – a mark of a more metropolitan colony closer to Alpha Centuri, maybe even Earth itself, though he had never asked if he was from the original homeworld. The man took a long drag of his cigarette, and Jack began to wonder if that was actually nicotine or not. The smell made his head fuzzy.
"Jack." Jack corrected automatically.
The man gave him a look and Jack shrank back slightly, but tilted his chin up in defiance, refusing to be intimidated.
"He needs someone to take him under a wing, Hart." The boss behind the desk said: Samson Collins: the head of their particular division and the guy who had decided that Jack had enough talent to give him a go.
"And since when did I sign up to be babysitter for little Junior?" John Hart replied, cocking an eyebrow.
"Jack." Jack said automatically.
"Funny. It didn't credit you as 'Jack' in that underwear catalogue Boe-boy." John replied with a little smirk. "Not that I didn't mind researching. But seriously, you can choose a fake name out of all of the fake names in the galaxy and you go for something boring like 'Jack?' Why not something cool like 'Tybolt' or 'Thor' or 'Achilles' or something? 'Jack', feh. You're either 'Junior' or 'Rookie' to me, take your pick."
Jack glared at him. "Not Junior. I was sick of that name before I was even a kid."
"Rookie then." John repeated stubbornly, and flicked the butt of his cigarette at him, automatically reaching for another. Jack resisted the urge to punch him right in his stupid face.
"Gentlemen, please." Collins said, irritation leaking into his voice. John gave him an 'innocent' little look and chuckled. He ignored him. "The long and short of the matter is that Harkness is trained up enough by this point to join the core team, but he can't get by without a partner to show him the ropes of how we work in this sector. Hart, you've got enough experience that you can be useful to him; Harkness has enough talent and balls that he can keep you in line. You're together – like it or not."
He sat back and studied them for any further protests. He got none. Jack avoided his gaze and looked down to his boss' hands. Collins' shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing hairy wrists and his Vortex Maipulator – a faded red leather one which had oil stains down one side. Jack's own wrist-strap still felt a little awkward around his wrist – the leather still stiff and new – but it had quickly become Jack's most prized possession. He certainly didn't want to lose it just because he didn't make friends with a chain-smoking know-it-all who was already too old for the bleached-blonde haircut he was currently sporting.
"Alright." Collins said firmly with a nod. He then leant forward to ruffle through some papers. "The mission this time is going to take place in 1998 on Earth. We've got word that a lot of lost pieces of art and historical items have been turning up in private collectors' coffers, good as new. Some guy's also been having a huge winning streak at the betting races the past week in that time period. Naturally we figure they're connected – some guy's working time travel for his own gain, I reckon. I want you two to go down there and dig around, see if you can track the guy on a winning streak and get a name from him as to who's been feeding him numbers. He'll no doubt lead you to the guy who's been dealing the 'lost' artefacts."
"And once we find him?" Jack asked.
"You arrest him and bring him here and we'll get some answers out of him. If he's lucky we'll dump him back in his timeline, you know the drill." Collins replied.
" 'If he's lucky'." John smirked. "Alright. Rookie, we'll meet back Monday at 9 and get going. Bring your gun." John said, stretching. He flicked the butt of his cigarette away and Collins reached a foot out to stamp on in before it set fire to the carpet. "See you later, boss, have a good weekend." He then gave a vague wave and departed.
Once John was gone Jack looked back to Collins and there was a pause. He opened his mouth to speak and Collins held up a hand to shut him up, knowing what he planned to say. There was another pause and then Jack spoke anyway.
"You can't be serious. Look, I don't wanna judge here or jump the gun, but with all the rumours I've been getting about this guy, are you sure that I should team up with him? Hell, are you sure he should be on this mission? I mean, he's supposed to have been put through rehab how many times?"
"Nine." Collins said casually, as if it was no big thing.
"Nine?" Jack exclaimed. He thought that they fired people after one unsuccessful attempt.
"Well he has been with us since he was 17." Collin said with a shrug. Jack gave him a look and he looked cooly back, his voice hardening a little with firmness. "I have you know that as of now he's off the needles and lines and he's actually sober most of the time, why the hell do you think he's smoking so much instead? Now you listen to me, Harkness, that man's a damn good Timeagent. What's more is that he's your superior. You could learn a lot from him and if you pay attention you'll become a top agent. John Hart is my business. Your business is to take the orders you're given and not ask pointless questions, do you understand?"
Jack paused, staring at him levelly, and then nodded. "Fine."
"You're damn right 'fine.' Now go on, you've got your weekend free. I'll see you bright and early on Monday." He said, giving him a smile afterwards to show there were no hard feelings. Jack nodded and got up, glancing over his shoulder before leaving, closing the door behind him.
Monday morning soon rolled around and Jack was stunned to find that John was actually on time. The Timeagent looked a little worse for wear – he was in his unwashed default outfit and had bags under his eyes and another cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth, but he had a grin on his face.
"Hellooo eyecandy." He announced. "Ready Rookie?"
"Yeah, yeah." Jack said, checking his gun over for the last time before slipping it in his own holster on his belt. He had gone for a standard practical outfit – black trousers and a black semi-armoured waistcoat over a tight white t-shirt.
"Bulletproof? Cute." John smirked. "and that's 'yeah yeah sir.'"
"'Yeah yeah' suck it." Jack replied with a huff.
"Gladly." John countered with a grin and a wink. Jack couldn't help but smirk back, but otherwise tried to ignore him. "So the boss has clocked the date as Monday 12th July 1997. Got it entered?"
John nodded, flicking open his wrist strap and typing the date on the vortex manipulator. He pressed a button and with a spark he was gone. Jack soon followed suit.
With a cracking static sound that always made Jack's ears buzz, Jack arrived in an alleyway behind what looked like a cafe. The buildings were high with tan brick, and he could hear the main road. The sky was a glorious blue, and it was summery with the sun beating down, though mercifully there was a slight cooling breeze. John was leant on a dumpster, waiting for him, trying to relight his cigarette, which had extinguished in the journey.
"Do you ever quit that?"
Jack asked irritably, shaking his head to free the buzzing from his ears and walking a little down the alleyway to investigate their surroundings outside it.
"What? Gimmie a break, I only started a few weeks ago. Making up for lost time, aren't I?" John replied with a little smirk.
"From what I heard, you've had plenty of activity with harder stuff to make up for it." Jack muttered.
John stepped up to him and jabbed him in the chest, shoving him back against a wall.
"That is none of your business Rookie." He said, meeting him hard in the eyes. He then tilted his head and gave another infuriatingly amused smile. Jack noticed that John seemed to take everything as a joke, even when he was threatening people. It was unsettling.
"Now, I think our first stop is the horses don't you? Let's find out 'lucky' better." John said, patting Jack condescendingly on the chest and then striding off to the main street, making no effort to conceal his guns. Jack was forced to follow, hoping that they wouldn't get arrested.
The racetrack was on the edge of town, and John managed to hail a taxi to take them there so that he needn't bother trying to figure out the route. Jack paid with the small amount of contemporary currency they had been given, looking curiously at the long-dead faces of the leaders and historical figures on them before he handed the notes over. John seemed uninterested and made a quick step towards the track, squeezing through the doors with the growing throng of spectators. Jack hurried to keep up with him, his longer legs soon bringing him up-to stride.
"Don't tell me, you bet too?" he asked cynically.
"Only in the highest of stakes." John replied with a grin. "Ponies and their midget riders don't interest me. You?"
"Only if I know I'm gonna win." Jack admitted, smirking.
"Good strategy, if a little dull." John said studying the faces of the crowd, seeking out anyone suspicious or over-confident. "Ok, Rookie..." he said, quickly getting down to business, "You start asking around for anyone who's been on a winning streak lately. Head down the front; I figure he'll want to see his victories as clearly as possible so he can bask in it like a smug git. I'll go ask the betting booths for who's been winning. We meet back here in half an hour max – got it?"
"Got it." Jack said .
They soon parted ways, Jack pushing through the crowd and taking on a spot near the white fencing that separated the crowd from the track. He lingered around, watching and thinking who to talk to first. There was a whole plethora of people, male and female, shifting about and talking loudly among themselves. He found his eyes lingering on a few of the better looking ones, his mind idly wondering what perfume a certain woman wore or how a certain man would taste after the sweat and excitement of the race. Their clothes and mannerisms were intriguing and he heard a few turns of phrase dot around that were archaic to him. He had always found it captivating how each individual person –regardless of place, species or time - carried themselves and sounded. He could appreciate them each for their own little merits and inadequacies, just as people, and engage with them on a personal genuine level and make them feel like a million dollars, no matter who they were. He just loved people in general, and always wanted to find out and drink in as much about each individual as possible. He supposed that this fixation, and his talent for effortlessly charming them because of it, might have been one of the reasons why the Timeagency were so keen to take him on. Certainly there had to be some decent reason for it: a model from an unimportant backwater colony was hardly the best CV setup for an applicant to an interplanetary Time-travelling organisation.
He soon settled on a man near the front. He was in his early 50s, rotund and rough, his face tanned and thickly lined and his hair greying, but an enthusiastic warm smile on his face and a twinkle of genuine and knowledgeable excitement in his eyes that told Jack that he must be a regular to the track. Jack sauntered up to him, casually standing next to him and looking out as the racehorses were paraded around and called out for the crowd to inspect.
"Pretty nice animals." Jack commented lightly, loud enough to make it obvious that it was an open statement inviting a conversation in. The man glanced briefly at him and then nodded, rocking back on his heels a little.
"Aye, they're fantastic creatures. But they do no justice unless they're running – that's when they're really magnificent." He said with a nod. "You been to the races before Mr...?"
Jack smiled and turned to him. "Jack Harkness. And who are you?"
Jack asked, his voice lilting in a subtle flirt at the end as he offered his hand to the man. The man didn't appear like he quite knew how to take the flirt, a slightly nervous look crossing his face before being politely hidden away. He shook Jack's hand, his palm rough.
"Peter Dodd." He said, his voice friendly. "So, are you a horse man?"
Jack smiled looking him directly in the eyes, curiously drinking him in. "Nice to meet you, Peter Dodd. And me? To be honest, not much. Not an awful lot of horses where I come from."
"Is that America? I'm just guessing by your accent..." He said, wary of offending him.
"Yeah. Sure. Not a lot of horses where I live in America." Jack said with a vague nod. Everyone seemed to assume that he was American. He had gotten bored of being annoyed by it by this point. He made a mental note to actually study up on the country one day, so that he could have a proper cover story about where he lived and its culture.
"So it's your first time?"
"Yeah. I'm with a friend here, actually. He's more of the betting man." Jack said casually. "In fact, he's got me on some goose chase trying to find a guy who's got some magic trick or whatever for picking winning horses. You know, like a winning streak. D'you know of any guys like that?"
Peter raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, shrugging. "Your mate'll not get far with a strategy like that, if you don't mind me saying, and that guy's not going to give up his secret easily either." He said.
"Still, I try to humour him." Jack said with a laugh. "C'mon, who do I talk to?"
Peter regarded him a moment and then slipped his hands in his pockets. He eventually conceded.
"Well, alright. If you want to pick winners, the current word on the grapevine is that a man named Arthur Chapman has been on the streak of a lifetime this past week. I don't know who the hell he's praying to, but it's sure working. He's a short man, ginger, wears a flat cap. You can't miss him."
Jack nodded.
"Thanks a lot. What exactly does this Arthur guy do anyway? For a living I mean."
Peter scratched his chin. "As I understand it he's got a little storage company. Y'know those warehouses kitted out so people who are moving or whatever can dump their crap there for safekeeping. I heard he's doing well for himself – got a new client who's a bit of a bigwig. He's not taking any more customers than him nowadays, so he must be pretty flashy. Now he's winning constantly on the races. They say that it don't rain but it pours, and I suppose that applies to good luck as well as bad." He laughed
Jack nodded thoughtfully. He then glanced about and patted his companion on the shoulder.
"Well thanks a lot of the info, Peter. I should get back to my friend and let him know that. You enjoy the race, k?"
Peter nodded. "Aye, take care of yourself."
Jack smiled and headed back, pushing through the crowd back to the betting booths. He noticed John leant against the wall, observing various members of the crowd with a hungry look in his eyes and a rather lewd smirk on his face. Jack gave him a wave and he straightened up, walking over.
"Well?"
"I spoke to a regular. Apparently the guy's name is Arthur Chapman. Kinda short, red-haired, flat cap. Owns a modest storage company but nowadays he's only working for one big client. Soon as the client gets established with him, he starts winning races." Jack reported.
John nodded. "I got pretty much the same info. So it looks like the bigwig's feeding him numbers in exchange for exclusivity and secrecy in storing his contraband."
"That's how I figured it." Jack agreed.
"Good work, Rookie. Now let's see if we can find the little slimeball." John said cheerfully. "We'll wait 'til the end of the race and drag him to someone more 'discreet'. See if we can't get a name outta him."
Jack hesitated. As he did there was a buzz and a cheer as the first race started.
"Look, I don't wanna criticise, but if we go straight after him and interrogate the guy, won't that alert his client?" Jack practically shouted over the now deafening cheers. "If we just collar this Chapman guy his employer'll run for it. He'll either get wind that something's up or Chapman'll tell him he was caught. There's no way his client doesn't know about the Time-Agency if he's pulling a job like this."
"He won't tell if we point a gun to his head." John snorted. "People are pretty easy to persuade with a gun barrel between their teeth."
"Yeah, but afterwards he'll not hide what happened either, even if he doesn't directly tell him. Why don't we skip Chapman and go straight to the source? We know who Chapman is now, we can tail him and break into the warehouse. Then we wait for the time-thief to show himself at one of the auctions for the stolen items. They're of great value, he'll be sure to want to oversee it in person. Then that's when we catch him." Jack explained.
John stared at him, mulling it over in his mind. The thunder of hooves died down and another roar of cheers and cries of disappointment overwhelmed them. Finally he nodded.
"You're not just a pretty face, are you Rookie?"
Jack grinned. "You bet your ass I'm not."
"Alright. We go with your plan. Now keep your eyes peeled for Chapman and we'll tail him."
It wasn't until the end of the races that the crowd started moving about, torn up betting tickets scattering the ground like confetti. Midway through the race, John had separated from Jack in order to widen their viewpoint. By the end of the race he rejoined him, a couple of bottles of beer in his hands. Jack gave them a pointed look.
" 'Split up' huh? So this is why?" He reached out for the second beer and John drew his hand back so it was out of his reach, giving him an amused look of offense at his presumption.
"There's perks to taking up surveillance at the bar." He chuckled, and took a long almost unending gulp from one bottle of beer. "Besides, I found him."
Once he'd finished the bottle he passed the empty glass to Jack. Jack glared at him and intentionally dropped it.
"oops." He said flatly. John grinned at his stubbornness. "Ok, so where did you find him?" Jack asked.
John brought the second bottle up to his lips and raised his eyebrows, nodding forwards into the crowd. Sure enough, a short man with patchy red hair picked his way through the crowd, a grin on his face. Jack nodded and went ahead to follow him, John tailing him as he finished off his beer.
Sure, enough, Chapman weaved in and out of the growing crowd and out into the street, closely followed by the timeagents a few paces behind. Jack tried to look inconspicuous, and prayed that he wouldn't get into a car. It seemed that it paid off, for 10 minutes walking later they reached an industrial estate. Without the cover of the crowd, Jack took to trying to hide behind walls, but John didn't bother – either confident that Chapman wouldn't turn around, or eager to have an excuse to use his more violent option of interrogation. Chapman, once he reached a modest warehouse in red brick, slipped inside using a keycard and out of sight.
"Least we know which one it is." Jack said, relaxing once Chapman was inside.
"Doesn't get us any bloody closer to getting him though, does it?" John said, stepping back to eye the warehouse. "Well look, I'll try set up some surveillance to check when the little rat scurries home, then we'll break in tomorrow night and see what we can find. Got it Rookie?"
Jack nodded. "And your surveillance is...?"
John grinned and reached into his pockets, withdrawing a set of three tiny wireless cameras.
"Always be prepared." He winked.
Jack smirked in approval. "Need a hand?"
He stepped towards the door, keeping an eye out for Chapman or any employees and bent slightly, clasping his hands palm-upwards in a makeshift step. "C'mon shorty, I'll give you a lift."
"Ha bloody ha." John snorted, putting a foot up and grabbing Jack's shoulders. Jack heaved him up and he balanced, attaching one of the sticky-backed cameras to the above corner of the doorframe, and angling it so that it faced the door and the immediate area around it. He hopped down and opened his wrist strap, checking the live video feed before slapping Jack's backside with a grin, making his partner flinch.
"Ok babe, time for the back entrance." He grinned.
"I bet that's what you say to all your dates." Jack joked.
"Ooh so this is a date?"
"You wish." Jack snorted and snatched a camera off him, striding ahead of him around to the back of the building, keeping alert.
John followed closely, the lewd grin on his face again. "Lead all you like, I love watching you leave."
"Stop looking at my ass."
"You're the one who chose to wear those cute trousers."
"Keep with the workplace harassment and my 'cute' little boot'll kick your ass." Jack said, trying to sound annoyed and fight the urge to smile.
"What's the purpose of going to work if there's no sexual harassment? It's like the whole point." John smirked.
Jack rolled his eyes and checked around before reaching up and fixating the camera to the back door. They then retreated and placed the third camera by the gate entrance to the industrial estate.
"They all working?" Jack asked.
"Like clockwork." John said, looking smug.
"Excellent." Jack smiled. "Right, we better try find a hotel if we've gotta wait. Come on, I'll try find one nearby."
With one last glance at the warehouse Jack headed back with his new partner to scout out a place to crash for the night, a fluttering excitement in the pit of his stomach for what was to come. His first proper mission on the field, and breaking an entering at that – it was what he was dreaming for. As far as he was concerned, so long as they were working, there was no hurry at all. He was determined that this mission would go completely in their favour – he needed a shining example of his abilities to show off. Maybe then he wouldn't be the rookie anymore. As far as he could see, the only obstacle to that was the man lighting up a new cigarette beside him, and he had already surprised Jack in how useful he could be when he chose to.
"So. One room or two?" John asked with a mischievous smirk.
"Two." Jack said shortly.
"It'd look less suspicious with one room – we could be a couple. Cheaper too." John persuaded.
Jack gave him a look. "Two rooms."
John pouted, but conceded, looking thoughtful as he took a long drag on his cigarette. "We'll see. Suit yourself."
Jack sighed and shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in a little smile. Successful or not, this mission was going to be interesting.