STORIES

FIFTEEN

John woke sour, hung over, out of sorts thinking it was still early and that he could sleep some more – but no, he reached for his timepiece and it was already morning. Wil had not shown up in time for dinner the previous night and had not padded into the room and snuggled up with him in bed as he'd so hoped she would.

He swung his legs out from under the covers and put his bare feet on the cold floor. He'd drunk too much wine the night before during his dinner with Ecba. It had been an excellent vintage – from the very vines he'd seen the preceding day during their hike up the mountain.

You can't argue with someone who's chosen to live on the side of an active volcano, he thought to himself ruefully while he swallowed some lukewarm water from a flask sitting on his nightstand. He wondered how in the hell he and Wil had managed to miss that particularly critical and obvious piece of information. The Erasmii weren't going to leave their world and last night's meal was in truth a farewell dinner, meaning that the discussion was now officially over. Done. Finito.

John threw aside the blankets and looked around for his clothes. He was more than ready to leave this crazy place. He was in fact sick of it. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate their point of view – wait, no… scratch that. He definitely did not appreciate their point of view. For him, suicide was never an attractive option. It was never a viable alternative. In truth, he thought the planet's inhabitants were out of their freaking minds. There was a difference between being brave and being stupid, and the Erasmii had clearly taken up full-time residence in the latter category. The fact that they loved their home, the fact that they believed their gods and religion had guided them to this world, the fact that they were convinced they were where they were meant to be… those facts didn't matter to John one iota. These people, as nice as they'd been to him, were screwed. As was their planet.

And the fact that they hadn't listened to him? Well… as was sometimes said by a certain Captain he knew: que sera, sera.

John pulled on his pants and buttoned up the fly. Wil had been correct that day they first met, he thought warmly with a mischievous grin: he wasn't the kind of man who wore underwear. And where the hell is she, that woman who is almost always right, he wondered. Wil Beinert and her amazing TARDIS were now properly overdue. John repressed a shudder; he didn't like it when things didn't go according to plan. Plans were important and when they went sideways, well… it was in so many ways usually not a good sign. There was nothing left for the two of them on Erasmus and the place was starting to get depressing. The bleakness had hit him hard the previous day when Jaad and he were hiking. All those buildings and people and trees and birds and insects were all going to be a fading memory – and soon. Very soon. Even Ecba, damn it...

He walked over to his shirt, picked it up off the floor and shook it out before putting it on. That was when he remembered he'd left his coat outside. After returning from the hike he'd forgotten to fetch the tattered old garment from off the bench where he'd left it. Instead, Ecba and he had gone straight to the Halikaarn's opulent personal dining area. John's headache throbbed a bit as he recollected the endless glasses of wine. It really had been quite tasty… pity that whatever they hadn't managed to finish off would soon be obliterated along with the rest of the doomed planet. Maybe he could load a few cases of it onto the ship before they left… it might fetch a nice price, especially since it would be the last of its kind. It certainly had marketing potential.

John sighed as he pushed his feet into his leather boots and then looked around the room to make sure he'd not forgotten anything. Perhaps Wil had arrived and was in the visitors' mess eating breakfast, complaining once again about the lack of decent coffee, and waiting impatiently for him to show up. Maybe she had been quietly informed that he'd been out carousing the previous night and was allowing him to sleep in. He shook his head and frowned. That sure didn't sound like her but stranger things had happened. Or had they? They'd woken up next to each other every morning since she'd… what? Abducted him off The Doctor's TARDIS and like some kind of stray animal brought him home with her. He shrugged inwardly and felt the familiar shiver of arousal. He'd been surprised, but then again he hadn't – not really – to open up his eyes and see her smiling face. After all, she had been what he'd wanted and all things considered, he was pretty good at getting what he wanted. The fact that she had wanted him too just made it all the better.

And her want and his want had finally, exquisitely, culminated in several days of what Wil had tongue-in-cheek described as "some unfinished business" when they'd taken their leave of The Doctor and Jack. "Some unfinished business" perhaps, but business that John would unequivocally describe as some of the most amazing and satisfying sex he'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing. He inhaled sharply at the memory, an almost overwhelming thrill running down his spine and gripping the base of his abdomen. Of course, in his life, no one could ever come close to Jack Harkness as a lover, and John didn't doubt that in all likelihood Wil felt the same way – and if she did he'd be neither surprised nor insulted. Jack had a way of making you feel like you were the single most important person in the universe. Everything about him – the way he looked at you, the way he whispered to you, the way he caressed you, the way he loved you, was incomparable.

And yet… Wil had taken such astonishing delight in exploring him – in exploring every centimeter of his body and of his mind and of his soul. And she'd taken such pleasure in giving him pleasure with her hands, her lips, her body. But it worked both ways, and he loved the way she glowed with a brilliant radiance when he touched her. He delighted in exciting her, in repeatedly bringing her to climax. It left him breathless and he hungered for her more than he hungered for food.

As John Hart walked around the facility thinking about desire and sex and love and other extremely pleasant and pleasurable topics, he noticed there weren't any other guests in the official government visitors' compound. Not that this was too surprising – the hostel had begun to empty out almost immediately after their arrival and the delivery of the terrible news they'd brought for Erasmus. The usual Erasmii caretakers were there and the dining area was stocked, as always, with its typical smorgasbord. John poured himself a steaming mug of the local tea-like beverage and meandered outside. He found his coat, right where he'd left it, although someone had come by and nicely folded it for him. He sat his cup down on the bench, shrugged on the jacket, seated himself and continued to allow his mind to wander as his tea grew cold.

That's how Halikaarn Jaad found him a short time later. John was surprised to see him but cautiously kept his surprise to himself as he stood and the two men formally greeted each other. Ecba had a worried look about him.

"Your mate, Captain Hart. She has not returned?"

John shook his head, and then realized the gesture might not be sufficiently clear so he added, "No, not yet."

"We have had reports – from our long range space-bound telescopes – that there are numerous disturbances in the outer reaches of the solar system. Captain Hart… John… the invaders are coming."

A distinct sense of déjà vu descended. John shook his head in confusion and, frankly, disbelief. "No, it can't be. It's too soon."

"I'm sorry, John. There is no question of it. They are nearly here."

John Hart looked sadly at Halikaarn Jaad and decided he was telling the truth. Why would the man lie about such a thing?

"Oh crap," John muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry! An expression of dismay and despair."

Ecba nodded thoughtfully. "Oh crap, indeed. We do not have a means, John, to get you away from this planet to safety."

John Hart looked down at his right wrist. No leather wristband and no little blue button to press. Not that pressing the little blue button would do any good whatsoever; he was in a different fucking universe, for crying out loud… Why do I always get myself into situations like this, he wondered, and have I finally gotten into one too many?

He looked back up at Ecba and nodded in sullen agreement, "Oh crap, indeed."