Title: The Angel of Death (6/?)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, others

Rating: Starts PG. That's all I know.

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: Far in the future, Jack meets someone he never expected to see again

Author's Note: I don’t know where this came from. I really don’t.

Author’s Note: http://www.flyingclippers.com/panam.html.

Part One is here; Part Two is here; Part Three is here; Part Four is here; Part Five is here


Ianto’s eyebrow hit an all-time high. “This is the best Freeman’s Dream can offer?”

“The Free Men have very basic needs,” Jack explained, managing to keep a straight face. “A thermal scoop to dig for minerals, a skimmer to bring them to the Store to be sold, and a place to spend the money. This is the place to spend the money.”

“I see.” Ianto sipped at his drink and made a face. “And the twenty-fifth century Giakkian horse opera décor is meant to inspire thoughts of the wild and woolly American West, I suppose?”

Jack gave him a mock-affronted look. “Hey! I’ll have you know the Giakki spent serious time and money researching human history just to create an authentic atmosphere for those entervids.”

“Yes, I can see that. The posters of the flying boats inviting us to visit Havana and the hologram of the Native American couple singing about some sort of a contraption with a fringe on top while being chased by a cavalry troop straight out of a Remington lithograph absolutely scream American West.”

Jack grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”

He looked around. Mulligan’s was showing its age. It hadn’t been much of a prize in the early days, but the red velvet curtains had faded to an uncertain ashes of roses and the wood underfoot had so much asteroid dust ground into it that it resembled an earthen floor. The food was still decent and the booze not too watered down, but everything else seemed to be sliding into abject disrepair. He would need to have a talk with Younger Mulligan, maybe pour a little bit more cash into the place. Mulligan was too valuable as a listening post to lose its reputation as the place to go to raise hell while on a flush bender.

“You own this place, don't you?” Ianto whispered.

“Nah. Too much trouble. I did lend the original Mulligan the cash for the startup, so they treat me as a sort of silent partner.”

“And you take information in payment instead of cash.”

“Oh, you're very good, mister.” A disturbance near the door caught his attention. “Heads up. Showtime.”

He watched as Ianto's body language changed, going from casual friendly to subtly possessive. One of Ianto's hands, until now loosely wrapped around the beer mug, came to rest near Jack's, close enough to imply Ianto had the right to penetrate into Jack's personal space. At the same time, Ianto shifted slightly in Jack's direction, opening his own body to Jack but blocking anyone else from entering their mutual space. Jack had to hand it to him; he had the proxemics down pat. Even the most casual of observers would come to the conclusion that these two men were passionately, if discreetly, involved in each other.

The disturbance at the door dissolved into a group of men, all wearing black leather and side arms, surrounding another man wearing an open djellaba over black leather trousers. Jack caught Ianto’s faint snort and chuckled.

“Lucken Espinosa.” He whispered. “Arabella’s husband and chief of Security Enforcement.”

Ianto nodded. “Tosh showed me pictures. Does he think he looks attractive in that fake desert robe?”

“The aggressively heterosexuals around him think he does,” Jack said blandly. “And that’s all that matters to Lucken.”

Espinosa strutted in, looking about as if bored, but Jack could see his eyes flicker towards them time and time again. Finally Espinosa made a show of having spotted them and moved towards their table, trailed by his bodyguards.

“Jack.”

“Lucken.” Jack pointed to the chair opposite him. “Care for a drink?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, not tonight.” Espinosa’s eyes slid sideways. “We have new settlers to… settle.”

Jack nearly snorted. All the work in the Station was done by the Techs and their Servos. “Then may I introduce my travelling companion?” He was proud of the fact that his voice did not hitch or quiver. “Ianto Jones.”

“Mr. Espinosa,” Ianto nodded but did not stand.

“Welcome to Freeman’s Dream, Jones.”

“Thank you. It’s an interesting place.”

“That it is.” Espinosa’s chest puffed with pride, as if he had built it all with his bare hands. “Good economic opportunities to be had. You might want to consider settling here once you part company with this old reprobate.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for a future date.” He smiled at Jack. “A very future date.”

“Are you suggesting that I am inconstant, Lucken?” Jack asked.

“Rumor has it,” Espinosa said with an offensive grin, “that you change partners…”

He was cut off by a bellow from the doorway. Jack didn’t even glance in its direction. He had been expecting something of the sort. It would be just like Lucken to engineer an idiot show to prove something or other.

“Harkness!”

Jack turned his head slowly. Hoyner Gantry was a half-ton of alcohol and drugs wrapped in a barely human form. He was one of the original Free Men. He came into the Station only once or twice a Common year, and only to stock up on supplies and get raging drunk; rumour had it that his hoard rivaled a dragon’s. Jack the only one left that knew anything about Gantry’s past, and that made Gantry blind with rage.

“Hoyner. Still alive, I see,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m going to beat the tar out of you, Harkness!” Gantry stomped over to the table. “I’m going to take back some of what’s mine.”

“Exactly what did I take of yours, Hoyner?”

“You know! You damn well know! Get up or I’ll beat you into the ground right there.” Hoyner leaned over, jaw sticking out pugnaciously. “Get up!”

Jack sighed wearily and started to push his chair back, but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. He looked inquiringly at Ianto.

“Please let me.” Ianto rose in a single fluid motion. “You shouldn’t have to bother with minor inconveniences.”

“Inconvenience, am I?” Gantry roared. “Get out of the way, boy, or I’ll beat you into the ground. Into the ground, you hear me?”

“You’re probably being heard by the Coalition’s deep satellites, although the decoders wouldn’t make much sense out of all the braying.” Ianto shrugged. “Not that it matters. You don’t have anything interesting to say and you’re repeating all the boring bits. Now. Go away and let us finish our supper in peace, all right?”

This time Gantry’s roar was more the sound of a maddened elephant than a human being. He pulled a telescoping baton out of his jacket pocket and whipped it to one side, pressing the button to release the metal rod inside. Jack kept his seat by sheer force of will. Gantry was notorious all over Freeman’s Dream for his use of the baton, but he was no threat to Ianto; the angels’ training made them damn near invincible in hand-to-hand combat, and he had made sure to supplement it with a full range of dirty tricks. Still, Jack found it difficult to stay still and watch Ianto put himself in danger.

Gantry twirled the baton overhead, then assumed a hanging guard position. Ianto waited, arms loosely at his side. Gantry went into another twirling exhibition, then abruptly launched the baton towards Ianto’s head. Ianto’s hand snapped out and caught the rod. A sharp tug on it sent the surprised Gantry stumbling forward. Ianto twisted and kicked, connecting a solid blow to Gantry’s rib cage. Jack winced as he heard Gentry’s bones crack. Another tug and Gantry was sprawled on the floor, moaning, while Ianto stood above him, baton in hand.

It had taken less than a minute.

Jack grinned at a stunned Espinosa. “Did I mention I stole him right out of the Lalande army’s advanced reconnaissance and infiltration training program?”