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

Jack Harkness' room :: Mid-2005 timewarp AU :: Milliways

Jack's room is mostly basic, it has to be said.

In fairness, he hasn't had much chance to make it his own - it has only been (ahem) somewhere private to go that is not the TARDIS for when he visits Milliways.

And since he is not Bound, for most of the time it stays empty, storing just some clean clothes and basic necessities (well - basic if you're Jack) and not much else.

There is this to be said for it, too:

The door may be locked, but it is not booby-trapped.

Lucky for some.

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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."

"Of course," Puck murmurs in a polite purr. Of courrrrse.

And, after leaning very slowly out the door, he disappears and reappears on the floor, looking this way and that.

He tilts his head.

"I cannot quite tell," he says.

"We may wish to look to our first door."

Havelock climbs out carefully after him, stretching out a little to get rid of the tenseness in his limbs. Flexible or not, curling up inside a tiny space is never exactly comfortable.

(Having a sword strapped to you and a faerie very nearly on top of you is even less so.)

"Yes," he says, heading past Puck and to where they first came in.

Much as they were lucky to find this place, not being able to see the various points of entry is not particularly soothing.

Puck, when next he appears, is abruptly ahead of Havelock once more, and listening cautiously at the door.

"... I think all is well," he says.

"But I should have thought they would amble past our ruse by now, poorly as we could conceal it."

Havelock joins him at the door, looking thoughtful.

"Out of sight, out of mind?" he suggests. "They certainly behave with some docility until the bloodlust is triggered."

By, for example, seeing a human. It's as good a working theory as any.

"Without direct cause, perhaps they are aimless enough to see no point in breaking through."

Puck sniffs-- inquisitive, not dismissive.

"Perhaps," he concedes.

"Their noses may not be so keen as mine; we may be lost to them." They were mostly mortals, although he supposes Hellebore may have made it into their ranks.

It feels a little over-optimistic, but he'll roll with it for now.

"I dislike trusting to hope, but it seems to be all we have, for the moment," Havelock observes grimly.

"I will check the other doors."

So saying, he stalks over to the next one, focused and tense.

Puck sighs, and opts to go fetch their provisions from the evil metal box.

He has no ulterior motive whatsoever.

(Although, in the spirit of pure and total honesty, there are a few items missing from Havelock's bag by the time he lays everything out on the bar counter.)

He hasn't really taken a moment to see if he has improved. When shifting himself yields no result, Puck turns his furrow-browed attention to a stray muffin.

It remains stubbornly muffinesque.

Havelock moves around the suite of rooms, silent and shadowlike, until he is reasonably satisfied that a) all doors are secure, and b) they are likely to remain so for the forseeable future.

Only then does he return to join Puck by the bar.

The muffin recieves a mildly perplexed glance, but who knows what fascination such foodstuffs may hold for the faerie? He understands that bread products are a deeply valued part of Dwarf cultural heritage - why not cake for the fae?

Puck shoots the mortal a swift and almost guilty glance; then he steps back from the counter.

"Is all well?" he asks, a trifle stiffly.

"So far," he says, resting his elbows on the counter with a faint sigh.

Under the brighter lights by the bar*, there are dark shadows under his eyes, and he stares at nothing for a moment before he visibly brings himself back to the situation at hand.

"Do you agree that staying here for the time being is the best course of action?" he asks, with an air of pinning down the vital points while he still can.

* Ambience is all very well, but nobody likes inaccurate cocktail-making.

Puck watches him carefully: his paleness, the darkness under his eyes.

"Yes," he says.

The decision, it seems, needs no thinking about.

Havelock nods, still leaning forward in a pose of relaxation, even without any of the attitude.

"Good," he says. "At the very least, we can see how long those creatures survive without nourishment."

Most of it being, you know, dead already.

"Yes," Puck agrees, He has moved slightly forward himself, craning his neck to peer into the basket for something more agreeable than the recalcitrant muffin.

Halfway through the motion, he glances sidelong at Havelock.

Havelock flicks his gaze sideways to meet Puck's.

In spite of how increasingly apparent his tiredness is, his eyes are still bright and sharp.

After a brief pause, he politely nudges the basket closer.

The fairy smiles, a faint flicker that swiftly vanishes.

It is replaced instead by a hesitant, almost caged expression. He has not moved.

Murmured:

"May I beg a boon of thee, Havelock?"

Havelock, very consciously, does not move either.

Denying that impulse is not easy.

"You may ask, certainly," he says, quiet and calm, and adds nothing as to whether he may grant it.

... He'd been hoping for something a little more open-ended than that, but one does what one can. Havelock is welcome to kill him if he likes.

(He's welcome to try, at any rate.)

Puck presses forward, quite swiftly even for him, and makes his very most earnest attempt at a kiss.

Havelock mostly thinks that adrenaline has a lot to answer for.

It may or may not account for the fact that he doesn't grab a knife, but does grab at Puck's wrists and pivot to pin him against the counter.

This may not be either as effective or discouraging as he originally planned.

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