(no subject)
Dec. 8th, 2006 01:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anotherusedpageWarnings for slash. Heh, I think this is my first on-screen kiss of the month, and I don't quite believe the pairing myself, and I wrote it....
He struggles with the clothing. It’s been a while since he’s had to attempt doublet and hose unaided, and he can’t remember how to get the seams to line up, or whether wrinkles at the ankles are fashionable or just slovenly. The high collars irritate him, but he’s something of a fan of a style of dress which shows off men’s legs and arses. It’s only a shame it had to come at a point in history when women were covered almost head to toe. Both kinds of body on display would suit him better; still, he’ll settle for what he can get. Sixteenth century women’s clothing has its advantages, too. Technically speaking, seventeenth century, he reminds himself. It won’t feel like the century’s changed until the old queen is dead. But the sixteen hundreds are now merrily on their way, and the world hasn’t ended yet.
Whatever century, women’s clothing now has its distinct advantages. Easy access. Certainly easier access than men’s. He’s not even sure he can access his own right this moment. Still, he thinks he’s mostly presentable. It will have to do.
He steps out of the time machine and onto the streets of renaissance London.
*
Something’s wrong. Time’s out of joint. Again. He shakes his head. This was supposed to have been a pleasure trip.
He wonders whether it’s his business to resolve, and decides that every time has its own heroes. If it looks like it’s him or nothing, he’ll step in. But he hopes that for once, someone else will take the initiative, and leave him to get on with his morally dubious dealings in peace. He doesn’t want to play the hero.
*
He recognises the blond American with a shock.
‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ he says.
Rojhaz blinks at him.
‘Nor you,’ he says. Jack’s head swims.
‘Do… they know?’
Rojhaz shakes his head, heavy blond braids swinging about his face.
‘Much is unknown,’ he says. ‘You too.’
‘No, no one knows what I’m up to. But I’m just… passing through. I know what I’m doing. I won’t break time,’ Jack says. ‘But you! You shouldn’t be here.’
‘Said that already.’ Rojhaz sounds amused, though his face is as stony as ever.
Jack shakes his head in irritation.
‘Can’t you drop the act?’ he says.
‘Better not,’ Rojhaz says.
‘If it’s supposed to be damage limitation, it’s not working!’ Jack says. Rojhaz shrugs. Jack’s skin prickles with the wrongness of the situation, of the whole world.
‘I’ve got a time machine,’ he says. ‘I could get you out.’
‘Can’t. Must protect Virginia.’
‘There’s not must about it! This is not your world. It’s not your time!’
‘Every time needs heroes,’ Rojhaz says. Jack rolls his eyes.
‘You can’t just waltz right in and expect to save the world,’ he says. ‘That’s so like you! Send in the bloody troops without thinking through the consequences.’
Rojhaz shakes his head.
‘Not like that,’ he says.
‘And the identity is just damn well exploitative,’ Jack mutters. ‘Or at least in pretty poor taste. You can’t represent what you have destroyed.’
‘Who else will represent, if not me?’ He lowers his voice. ‘I am America. They are America too.’ Jack shakes his head. ‘Besides, not me who destroyed,’ Rojhaz insists. ‘What I represent… destroyed what I now represent.’ He frowns. Jack half-smiles.
‘Yeah, that’s the kind of double-think that arises from this kind of situation,’ he says. ‘Let me get you out before it gets any more convoluted.
Rojhaz shakes his head. The feathers in his hair dance.
‘See how it plays out,’ he says. ‘You, you should not be here. Leave, before you get drawn in.’ Jack nods. It’s good advice. He’ll find another century to take his break in.
*
Dumb American. Dumb blond American, he thinks to himself, over and over again, as the time-machine streaks away from the seventeenth century. Going in guns blazing. Protect the innocent. Of course. What else could he do? It’s in his identity, it’s who he is.
He tries not to worry too much about the consequences. The world didn’t end in 1602, he’s reasonably sure he’d have noticed. And his staying could only have added to the confusion.
It takes a long time for the wrongness of that world to get out from under his skin.
*
‘Wasn’t expecting to see you again,’ Jack says, some time in the future.
‘It’d take more than a little time singularity,’ the dumb blond American says. ‘A part of the Dream is to find the way home. What sort of an all American hero would I be if I couldn’t even manage that?’
‘Ugh,’ Jack says, with feeling. Rogers leans close, and grips his shoulders.
‘You’re wrong about what I represent,’ he says.
‘Blond-haired blue-eyed hero boy? Army captain, comes in guns a-blazing? Protector of the great American Dream?’
‘All those things,’ Rogers says. ‘But not… not those who killed the ones who came before. Not the politicians and the grime and the war against terror. Not… not the hegemony. And I can prove it.’
And he leans in, and kisses Jack full on the lips.
After a moment, Jack pulls away, grinning.
‘Trying to play the minority card?’ he says. ‘First as a Native American, and now – shock horror! – as a gay.
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I know.’
Jack finds himself thinking about super-heroes and hidden identities, and the American Dream, and the problems of masculinity, and the loneliness of being out of your own time. Captain America’s always had a secret identity or two under that stupid star-spangled cape of his. And Steve Rogers is, mostly, just a man. Putting sexuality on and off like a costume, like putting on doublets and hose to fit in with the fashions of the seventeenth century.
And then he shakes his head, and stops thinking, and gets on with it, because after all it’s not every day that you get to have it off with a real life all American superhero. Even if you are Captain Jack Harkness.
**
Fandom: Marvell Comics, mostly 1602
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it. Mainly nicked from Neil Gaiman, although Joe Simons, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby had something to do with it. Jack, as ever, belongs to Russel T.
A/N: This one's forleighwoosey. I don't know mainstream continuity too well, hence the 1602verse.
He struggles with the clothing. It’s been a while since he’s had to attempt doublet and hose unaided, and he can’t remember how to get the seams to line up, or whether wrinkles at the ankles are fashionable or just slovenly. The high collars irritate him, but he’s something of a fan of a style of dress which shows off men’s legs and arses. It’s only a shame it had to come at a point in history when women were covered almost head to toe. Both kinds of body on display would suit him better; still, he’ll settle for what he can get. Sixteenth century women’s clothing has its advantages, too. Technically speaking, seventeenth century, he reminds himself. It won’t feel like the century’s changed until the old queen is dead. But the sixteen hundreds are now merrily on their way, and the world hasn’t ended yet.
Whatever century, women’s clothing now has its distinct advantages. Easy access. Certainly easier access than men’s. He’s not even sure he can access his own right this moment. Still, he thinks he’s mostly presentable. It will have to do.
He steps out of the time machine and onto the streets of renaissance London.
*
Something’s wrong. Time’s out of joint. Again. He shakes his head. This was supposed to have been a pleasure trip.
He wonders whether it’s his business to resolve, and decides that every time has its own heroes. If it looks like it’s him or nothing, he’ll step in. But he hopes that for once, someone else will take the initiative, and leave him to get on with his morally dubious dealings in peace. He doesn’t want to play the hero.
*
He recognises the blond American with a shock.
‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ he says.
Rojhaz blinks at him.
‘Nor you,’ he says. Jack’s head swims.
‘Do… they know?’
Rojhaz shakes his head, heavy blond braids swinging about his face.
‘Much is unknown,’ he says. ‘You too.’
‘No, no one knows what I’m up to. But I’m just… passing through. I know what I’m doing. I won’t break time,’ Jack says. ‘But you! You shouldn’t be here.’
‘Said that already.’ Rojhaz sounds amused, though his face is as stony as ever.
Jack shakes his head in irritation.
‘Can’t you drop the act?’ he says.
‘Better not,’ Rojhaz says.
‘If it’s supposed to be damage limitation, it’s not working!’ Jack says. Rojhaz shrugs. Jack’s skin prickles with the wrongness of the situation, of the whole world.
‘I’ve got a time machine,’ he says. ‘I could get you out.’
‘Can’t. Must protect Virginia.’
‘There’s not must about it! This is not your world. It’s not your time!’
‘Every time needs heroes,’ Rojhaz says. Jack rolls his eyes.
‘You can’t just waltz right in and expect to save the world,’ he says. ‘That’s so like you! Send in the bloody troops without thinking through the consequences.’
Rojhaz shakes his head.
‘Not like that,’ he says.
‘And the identity is just damn well exploitative,’ Jack mutters. ‘Or at least in pretty poor taste. You can’t represent what you have destroyed.’
‘Who else will represent, if not me?’ He lowers his voice. ‘I am America. They are America too.’ Jack shakes his head. ‘Besides, not me who destroyed,’ Rojhaz insists. ‘What I represent… destroyed what I now represent.’ He frowns. Jack half-smiles.
‘Yeah, that’s the kind of double-think that arises from this kind of situation,’ he says. ‘Let me get you out before it gets any more convoluted.
Rojhaz shakes his head. The feathers in his hair dance.
‘See how it plays out,’ he says. ‘You, you should not be here. Leave, before you get drawn in.’ Jack nods. It’s good advice. He’ll find another century to take his break in.
*
Dumb American. Dumb blond American, he thinks to himself, over and over again, as the time-machine streaks away from the seventeenth century. Going in guns blazing. Protect the innocent. Of course. What else could he do? It’s in his identity, it’s who he is.
He tries not to worry too much about the consequences. The world didn’t end in 1602, he’s reasonably sure he’d have noticed. And his staying could only have added to the confusion.
It takes a long time for the wrongness of that world to get out from under his skin.
*
‘Wasn’t expecting to see you again,’ Jack says, some time in the future.
‘It’d take more than a little time singularity,’ the dumb blond American says. ‘A part of the Dream is to find the way home. What sort of an all American hero would I be if I couldn’t even manage that?’
‘Ugh,’ Jack says, with feeling. Rogers leans close, and grips his shoulders.
‘You’re wrong about what I represent,’ he says.
‘Blond-haired blue-eyed hero boy? Army captain, comes in guns a-blazing? Protector of the great American Dream?’
‘All those things,’ Rogers says. ‘But not… not those who killed the ones who came before. Not the politicians and the grime and the war against terror. Not… not the hegemony. And I can prove it.’
And he leans in, and kisses Jack full on the lips.
After a moment, Jack pulls away, grinning.
‘Trying to play the minority card?’ he says. ‘First as a Native American, and now – shock horror! – as a gay.
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I know.’
Jack finds himself thinking about super-heroes and hidden identities, and the American Dream, and the problems of masculinity, and the loneliness of being out of your own time. Captain America’s always had a secret identity or two under that stupid star-spangled cape of his. And Steve Rogers is, mostly, just a man. Putting sexuality on and off like a costume, like putting on doublets and hose to fit in with the fashions of the seventeenth century.
And then he shakes his head, and stops thinking, and gets on with it, because after all it’s not every day that you get to have it off with a real life all American superhero. Even if you are Captain Jack Harkness.
**
Fandom: Marvell Comics, mostly 1602
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it. Mainly nicked from Neil Gaiman, although Joe Simons, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby had something to do with it. Jack, as ever, belongs to Russel T.
A/N: This one's for
leighwoosey. I don't know mainstream continuity too well, hence the 1602verse.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 05:01 pm (UTC)What would you like in return?
no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 05:25 pm (UTC)In return for the book... I don't know.
A promise that you'd give Purple Monkey shelter if ever he was lost in Oggsford? He is a very good little Monkey and no trouble at all. You can ask Laurie.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 07:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 07:46 pm (UTC)But thank you!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-09 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 04:19 pm (UTC)*falls in love with anotherusedpage*
*imagines that anotherusedpage is really a kitten*
*falls in love with kitten*
*implodes*
no subject
Date: 2006-12-08 04:31 pm (UTC)You are wonderful. All American! Heheh. I need to read 1602 again.