Disclaimer: Still not mine, except for playing now and then.
5. Christmas Day, 1994
Three years later, Mycroft is awaiting Christmas Day with unbecoming impatience. He almost snaps at Harkness for being late (but thankfully retains enough control not to).
Mycroft's horizons have been unpleasantly broadened as of late. The universe is, if not vaster than he had previously known, certainly more populated.
He would be less bothered by the knowledge if he wasn't too intelligent to believe that a closed borders policy could ever possibly work.
Aliens aren't just real. They are to be interacted with.
This is adding a level of complexity he could do without to his already extremely complex and well-planned efforts to entrench himself adequately in the administration and control of his nation's internal and external affairs (never mind that he is perfectly capable of handling the complication – he is a genius after all: but he could do without the added stress).
Really, were common immigrants and terrorists not enough? He did not need to be informed about the presence of various aliens on his planet. (Well. He wasn't informed, per se. He was simply allowed to work himself into a position where deducing the truth was so easy as to be inevitable.)
Of course, he doesn't know much – there is an unsurprising lack of concrete information to be had on the topic, not that Mycroft disapproves, mind; all his knowledge is actually just suppositions. He has his deductions, very detailed conclusions he can draw quite easily, and they are obviously right, but…
Somehow, he knows that Jack Harkness has the answers he wants.
(It makes a disturbing amount of sense, after all.)
He trusts Jack. He's known him all his life-
(Four days, he reminds himself with slight shock. Four days are not a lifetime. Four days are barely enough to qualify him as an acquaintance. And yet… and yet.)
He needs answers.
(He needs answers, it's an almost physical ache. His deductions are not enough. Even though they are quite detailed and, of course, right.)
He is definitely impatient for Christmas Day to arrive.
Harkness is surprisingly cagey. (Or maybe not so surprisingly. The man never changes, it's as if time has no grip on him – he can't be entirely human; clearly he is long experienced in secrecy, concealment and misdirection.) There is a lot of 'What do you think?' and 'Isn't it obvious?' and 'Oh, you know,' but very few answers in the conversation Mycroft is attempting to have.
He is so frustrated he is almost tempted to get up from his desk and pace.
The only saving grace is that he can tell Jack, too, is growing nervous, feeling cornered, exasperated, perhaps even annoyed: even with how good the man is at masking his expressions it is plain to see if one can observe. Mycroft can be thoroughly stubborn if it's worth it and is perfectly willing to share his frustration with the infuriating man, so he keeps pushing.
"You seem to know all you need to know already," says Harkness pointedly when Mycroft has almost (almost) pushed him far enough.
"I don't," he counters, finding his calm as his opponent loses his.
"Well, I don't know what you want from me!... If it's proof you're after I'm not-"
"I need an explanation that accounts for all the facts." Mycroft's words are clipped. "Not necessarily one supported by instantly visible evidence, but at least somewhat coherent. Can you provide it?"
The man smiles easily. "Sure. But only if you let me buy you a drink afterwards." He even winks. He's good.
Mycroft is far from stupid however and has long since deduced that there has to be a way to control who knows, since it'd be impossible to control their tongues. Killing every witness is Hollywood-style nonsense, of course: a terribly impractical solution. Memory modification is the likeliest option.
Ironic that it was Jack himself who taught him how to pretend he's drinking... (Pity he can't taste the whiskey, though. He can tell it's good quality.)
Once the changeless man concedes defeat, Mycroft relaxes enough (he has a source of information now, a relatively trustworthy one: the uncertain ground has turned into a simple field of study – everything is under control again) to start offering his own conclusions as facts.
The man's twitching reactions confirm them one by one. Mycroft doesn't bother to hide how pleased he is. Except for…
"That creature you were looking for, that day in Mummy's garden. Was it alien?"
Jack drains his glass. "Yes."
Mycroft's face darken and he firms his lips.
Harkness regards him thoughtfully for a long moment. "I don't understand why you're so upset," he says eventually.
"I was wrong all along!" says Mycroft, his mood sour. How is that not upsetting?
"Not wrong. Just… misinformed. And impressive as all hell."
Harkness is sincere, but Mycroft is only partially mollified.
Also, he can't help but notice that the man has not, in fact, answered most of his questions (just the ones he couldn't avoid), or even confirmed anything Mycroft didn't already know (except for a few relatively minor details). Not really. He's letting Mycroft show off (which, yes, he likes to do, he'll admit that much) so he doesn't have to speak too much himself. It is a practice Mycroft himself is very familiar with and uses liberally, but having it turned against himself is profoundly irritating.
That man is infuriating.