Jack's slowly starting to play - it's been an interesting process getting him to start to move, he's been a little shell-shocked to say the least. Going from being in the middle of a dogfight in 1941 to being in the middle of 2007 with nothing but your aircraft has been a little like tying a concrete aircraft tie-down around each ankle. No matter how much he's tried he wasn't able to move.

Now that he is, and we've looked around, we see there are a number of Jacks, and other characters from Torchwood. Just so's it's not left to question, Jack's not affiliated with any particular writing communities, or groups or whatever. He's just someone who's somehow thanks to a certain stitch_intime ended up somewhere, he doesn't know where.

"Keep formation," came the instruction. He'd been watching George, watching him for future promotion, but aware the man still had a way to go. But he knew the question would be asked.

His eyes scanned the blue dome above, again out of habit and his head turned to look back over his wing, toward Wales. They didn't see the Messerchmitts come at them, the two flights coming from their blind spot, from the south - the place they'd least expect.

Yeah, that’s when they catch you, when you least expect it.

Before he'd even thought it his voice had cried out over the radio, warning his men, the formations breaking up and the airmen under his command automatically following the training they'd just completed. Giving directions, calling out to the younger airmen, banking his own aircraft into an impossibly tight turn and watching over his shoulder as the aircraft on his tail stalled out.

He straightened up, the Messerschmitt on the tail of another Spitfire coming around into his sights. He twisted again, bringing his guns into play, the enemy's fuel tank exploding and the pilot bailing out. His head spun around, quickly assessing the situation, trying to locate the others. He could see all but one of the enemy, two chasing down another of his squadron. He yanked the controls, throwing his weight into getting his plane banked over, bringing the nose around until one of the others was almost within his sights. Finger pressed the trigger on the guns, the rattle sounding in his ears as he watched the tracers draw the lines toward the black and white cross. Without even waiting he threw his shoulder into bringing his guns to line up on a third plane, a canon sounding as his thumb pressed down and the tail disintegrating.

His hollers were heard by all in the squadron, the men having scrambled for home, fuel reserves dictating their actions. "All the way home, Captain!" came one of the men's calls, he wasn't sure who as he was having difficulty hearing. Unsure why his head turned, looking from side to side. Smoke was pouring from one wing, and as he tried to figure out where his plane had been hit there was a strange line of holes suddenly appearing in his canopy, his head automatically ducking down. The radio went dead. His head rose again, eyes quickly darting outside, squinting as he tried to see through the shattered canopy and plumes of smoke. Hands and feet are frantically working on controls, the aircraft behaving strangely, his stomach telling him things weren't right. It wasn't a spin, there was not dragging on his arms, but he couldn't control the plane. Frantically his thumb pressed the radio button, his voice calling out a mayday as he strained to see where he was going down so he could give them some idea of where to find him...


********

Iblis looked up at the dogfight. It was chaos as planes dived and swooped. The squadron of Spitfires had been surprised by two flights of Messerschmitts, but one of the Spitfires had managed to shoot down three of the enemy. It was that one that Iblis concentrated on. He showed no surprised when smoke started pouring from the engine. Turning, he walked away as if he had never been there.

The Spitfire was landing and then taxied. A few bullet holes had chewed the tail and wings, but it was in otherwise fully working condition. It finally came to a stop by Iblis, who smiled up as the pilot pulled back the canopy and unclipped his mask. "It's so good to see you again, Captain Harkness."

The air raid over, the dancing was continuing, and we were sitting up in the balcony, watching the people below twirl and prance. I needed to know.

“Why did you make me kiss her goodbye?”

He looked at me, deep belief in his eyes. “I just think you should live every night like it’s your last. Make tonight the best night of your life!”

It was becoming an ache, the growing need to touch him. And when he told me to make this the best night of my life? I nearly reached out.

“You’re alive, right here, right now. Your men are fine.”

There it is again, something in his voice. His words. Like he knows something. His voice repeats over and over in my head, You’re alive, right here, right now… His mouth, his lips…

“What are you trying to say?”

Please, tell me it’s what I want to hear!

And then it splinters.

“Go to her.”

Her? NO! Confusion. But I can’t tell you.

“Go to your woman and … lose yourself in her.”

I look away, anywhere but at him for a moment. Suck it up, Captain! Stop fooling yourself.

“Maybe I should.”

“Yeah.”

“Is Toshiko your woman?”

Please, no.

“No. There’s no-one.”

The pain in his eyes as he looks up. It’s pain, don’t mistake it for longing, that’s just what you want… look away.

“Go to her…”

He can’t make it any clearer, can he? I stand and walk away, trying not to stumble, one foot after the other.

MAKE TONIGHT THE BEST NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE!

Every step an effort, only possible through sheer will power.

NO. THERE'S NO-ONE.

Else.

GO TO HIM. LOSE YOURSELF IN HIM.

Steps falter, but shoulders remain stiff and unturned…

*******************

Footnote:
In case it doesn't come across properly this is to explain what is being used here.
This scene is quoted directly from episode 12 'Captain Jack Harkness'
- Comments in italics are Jack Harkness' thoughts.
- Comments in SMALL FONT CAPS are 'whispers' he's hearing. Yes, Iblis Bilis!

George was telling another of his tales, a damsel in distress.

"An' I say 'Look luv, it's rainin' bombs 'n fire so get down that cellar.' An' she says 'I can't. There's rats down there.'" We were laughing when suddenly Toshiko was there, asking who was the best navigator.

"Er, Tim. 'e can't fly for toffee but at least when he goes down he'll know exactly where he is," George informed her, laughing at his own joke as the rather retiring younger lad tried not to look too embarrassed. They moved away to another table, Toshiko seeming intent on asking him something and George continued the ribald ribbing. "I'll give the public school boy a fortnight."

James moved closer, standing where Toshiko had been just a few moments earlier, next to my elbow. I looked across at young Tim and Toshiko. "Ahh, that boy's come a long way in five weeks. As long as you boys remember your training you'll be alright." Turning to face James I smiled broadly, suddenly extremely pleased he was there. "Glad you came," I told him happily, giving his shoulder a firm pat. "Shall we sit down?" We moved to a table, George following us and proceeding to ask James some question.

"You er, must have seen some action," he said pointedly to the other Captain.

"Let's just say the enemy comes in many guises," James replied, something about his comment seeming to carry a different message. As I studied his face George continued. "Yeah, I can't wait to get up there and give Jerry whatfor." Before I knew it he was reciting figures I didn't feel were necessary there and then. "How many'd you kill in the Battle of Britain, sir? Twenty six, wasn't it?"

I shook my head, trying to sidestep. "Ah, you've heard that story countless times George..." but he seemed to be on a heading that wasn't able to be turned.

"No-one's as fast as him. He hasn't lost a man yet." I hoped having my head down hid the stab of pain I felt as the memory of a young man's eyes being shot out of his head filled my vision for a split second.

"Care for a drink, Captain?" I asked, deciding it was time to really drag the conversation in another direction.

"I'll just have water, thanks." I couldn't hide my surprise. "Alright." By the time I was heading for the bar the memory was buried again and I leaned on the countertop looking for the bar tender.

I crossed the room, heading toward the bar and where some of the men were standing. I joined them, offering to buy a round of drinks. They were good men. I silently corrected myself. Most were just boys in mens' uniforms.

"So who was he?" George asked, appearing to want to make amends for his behaviour on the dance floor with the strangers. He'd glanced toward the doorway the man and woman had gone through, hurriedly.

"A Captain James Harper, from the 71st," I told him with a smile. "Just as well he seems to have a good sense of humor, taking that fist on the chin from you and not looking to return the favor," I added, giving George a look that told him just how close it might have come.

George, to his credit, looked suitably chagrined and was given an elbow in the side from Harry. A few good-hearted taunts later and they were all laughing. Sipping my drink I looked over my shoulder, toward the door they'd gone through and wondered if, and when they might be back.

It was like a small voice in my head, telling me to make sure I got his name. He told me to go first.

“Captain Jack Harkness, Hundred and Thirty Third squadron,” I replied.

“Look this way please!” came this voice - a call from the manager, holding a camera and pointing it at us. The flash was a little blinding, and I blinked for a moment, my eyes for a split second seeing a strange silouhette as I looked at the man whose hand I was shaking.

“Ah, one more for the records, ah, I insist.” The manager came and stood between us, looking back toward the camera. We all turned and posed, the flash triggering again. After thanking us the manager moved away, and the other man went to take his leave.

“I should be heading out…”

“But I didn’t catch your names.”

He looked at the woman, who immediately answered. “Toshiko Sato,” she told me, and I looked back to him.

“I’m Captain James Harper, Seventy First,” he announced, shaking my hand.

“Seventy First? That’s where I’m hoping to be posted next!” This must be why I’d felt the strange urge to speak with him, to find out who he was. “What’s your poison?” I wanted to get to know him better. They were a fine squadron.

“Maybe later, my friend and I were in the middle of something.”

I felt I’d hid the disappointment well. After all I’d done it most of my adult life. “Sure.”

But as I walked away there was again something telling me I had to speak to him again…