othercaptjack | Jack Harkness' room :: Mid-2005 timewarp AU

Havelock shrugs.

"It was too fast for any normal infection. I had barely taken my eyes off you both before he... changed."

His tone is mildly and almost unconsciously apologetic.

(He should have known not to look away. Then again, isn't hindsight always perfect like that?)

Meanwhile, he continues examining the dead flesh before him. The wound can't be more than a few hours old, he thinks. Promising, that neither of them have yet showed symptoms.

Puck draws near him from the side, not quite behind him and certainly not out of his peripheral vision. He touches Havelock's shoulder very lightly with his fingertips.

"If," he says, very patiently, "it is a curse, I think you ought not to go too near-- nor linger long."

Havelock looks at him sharply, but after a moment he nods slowly, and stands up again.

Of the two of them, he is willing to concede that Puck is likely to know more about curses.

"Perhaps not."

... Ah. There's a look to remind him why he has been wary of this fellow.

Puck withdraws with every outward showing of decorum. (Although to be fair, he looks rather like decorum was once described to him and he decided to emulate it on a dare.)

"Besides," he says, "I have yet found only but little repast. You do sup and drink, do you not?"

Havelock quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Naturally," he says. Then he glances around the room, listening to the sudden quiet.

"Let's make the most of the time we have to search. I don't hear anything else approaching for the moment."

Puck smiles.

And, sniffing the air curiously as he goes, he slips over to a covered basket on the table and reveals a quantity of muffins and scones.

It is such a pity the zombies have possession of the meat.

Indeed.

Havelock hunts in silence - swift, methodical, and just this side of twitchy as he keeps an ear out for any other danger. Apart from anything else, he needs to remain focused, or the lack of sleep will start to catch up with him.

He finds a bag under one of the cabinets, and fills that with whatever he can find that is practical to take away - apples, bread, various cans (once he studies the label and figures out what the ringpull is) - then looks over to see how Puck is getting on.

Puck has eaten two scones and one muffin, and slides the basket down the table towards Havelock. (He adds a pair of knives to it first.)

Next up: some slightly suspect cheese.

Havelock packs them away with a nod- and also with a very slight upturn to the corners of his mouth for the addition of the knives.

It's good to know Puck's priorities are roughly in line with his.

From Puck's side of the kitchen, there comes an audible intake of breath.

The fairy is next to a metal door, reverently holding a newly opened bottle of milk. (He seems, luckily, to have given the cheese a miss.)

Havelock is vaguely bemused by the sight, and pauses a moment to take it in. Of all things, he had not expected milk to be a major distraction to the urgency of their situation.

But it is, if nothing else, rather disarming.

Puck, when he catches Havelock looking, gives a slightly wary glower and takes a long drink.

"They've more, if you care for any."

He's not sharing.

Havelock shakes his head, still more than a little entertained.

"No thank you."

He has quite enough gathered, if the effort with which he hauls the bag onto his shoulder is any indication.

It should last them for a while.

Puck drains half the jug before he reluctantly places it back in the mysterious cold box.

Then, after a moment's hesitation, he pulls a full jug out, conveys it to his basket, and picks up the whole thing.

Glancing to Havelock, he arches his eyebrows.

"Shall we be able to return as we came?"

Havelock narrows his eyes at the cage.

"It might be close," he allows. "But it might also be unwise for one of us to remain here alone in case we are attached. This room is not secure."

They'll just have to sit around the bags.

And each other.

He is tempted to laugh at the preposterousness of it all.

"And our spoils, conveyed upstairs, cannot remove themselves from their conveyance."

He smiles at nothing in particular, though it looks a little more like a smirk. "Well. Set you down your burden first, and then perhaps we may decide which of us two shall fumble over which."

Havelock obeys, pushing the fruits of their search as far back inside the dumbwaiter as he can, then reaching for the second basket, which Puck carries.

Once inside, the space looks... cramped.

"Perhaps I had better fit myself in first," he says, after a moments doubtful consideration. "As I am rather the taller."

Puck stops himself from laughing by dint of much effort.

"Yes," he agrees. "Rather."

Havelock just rolls his eyes tolerantly and climbs up into the cage once more.

The space is tight as predicted; but Havelock folds long limbs up with both efficiency and patience, sitting up against one wall, and leaving as much space as will be allowed by the length of his legs.

Once settled, he peers out expectantly.

It's still not much.

And Havelock's got to allow it really is funny, how Puck who hates him (or something like it) now continually finds himself shut up in small metal closets with him--

Er.

He'd nearly forgotten how much he doesn't like that part.

With great delicacy, and trying unsuccessfully to pretend Havelock isn't there at all, Puck climbs in as well-- only by this time, the food and the assassin occupy nearly all of the floor space, and when he first clambers in the basket handle digs into his hip so he has to move, and the entire tableau, once he has settled in, is cramped and ridiculous and he's more or less sitting on Havelock's feet.

"Charming," he decides.

"Entirely."

Havelock's voice is desert-dry, but he shifts a little so Puck's position isn't quite as uncomfortable (and completely coincidentally so the faerie has that slightest extra space to breathe). Then he reaches out for the controls once more to set the cage in motion, and pulls the doors shut.

The ascent is not a particular improvement on the descent.

Puck hums to himself absently (the tune is enchanting, but in a sideways, meandering sort of way that quickly perplexes) to take his mind off the creaking.

It takes a moment, but Havelock does eventually shake his head slightly, as if uncertain, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness.

(And, let's be honest; in general.)

He's suspicious, of course - but he always is. And he knows he is also very tired. It's going to become a problem soon, in fact - hopefully the rooms above have remained secure.

He leans his head back against the cold mesh of the cage, and keeps breathing evenly.

When he thinks on it, that's how he marked the time before: the mortal's breaths. And how much closer they are now than even they were then.

The fairy quiets gradually, until by the time the little metal cage begins to slow, he is making no sound at all.

Havelock's eyes blink open as soon as the motion of the cage changes - not that he was going to sleep, he doesn't sleep when the situation is less than secure. He reaches for the catch of the door, even though it won't open while still moving, and rests his hand there for the moment.

He can't see properly in the darkness again. It's a little more troubling that last time, for some reason, even though (or because, perhaps - it would make sense in many ways) he can feel the weight of the faerie close by.

The cage rattles to a halt, but Havelock pauses before opening the door.

"Be careful when getting out," he says, very soft. "If anything has broken through the doors in our absence, it may be hard to tell."

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