~ by Sarah Levesque
[Characters from BBC’s Doctor Who]
“Look. At. Her,” Jack said to the bartender.
Obligingly, the bartender looked at the unfamiliar girl being eyed by his regular customer. It seemed that she was giving people orders, as men and women talked to her briefly and then left.
“I like a bossy woman,” Jack continued. The bartender turned his back and rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming next.
“There’s something about her… something different,” Jack mused.
The bartender snorted. “You always say that.”
“No, really, this time. Something… alien? Definitely not of this century, anyway. I’m gonna find out what.” He slid off his barstool and sauntered up to the girl. Flashing her an infectious smile, he introduced himself. “Hi. I’m Captain Jack Harkness. Care to join me for a drink?”
The woman looked at him, disdainfully, “No.”
“No?” Jack grinned wider. Taking the chair across from her, he spun it around and straddled it in one quick movement. “I like a woman who knows her mind. I’d also like to change it. Why ‘no’?”
“I didn’t come here to start a relationship.”
Jack shrugged, unphased. “Not everyone does. What are you here for? Business, it seems, but why here?”
“My business is none of yours.”
He noted that her voice was still flat, and her eyes still bored, but he pressed on anyway, still smiling encouragingly. Few people, indeed, had ever resisted that smile – and none for long.
“Maybe it isn’t, maybe it is, or maybe I just want it to be.” Making eye contact with the bartender, he ordered a second round for himself and a drink for the woman.
“I never got your name,” he said conversationally.
“I never gave it,” she returned.
Jack’s grin grew. “Ooh, I like that! Can’t be too careful these days, hmm? Or do you not want to get attached again so soon?”
“Call it what you will.”
“If you don’t tell me your name, I’ll need to give you one.” She still looked bored. This was challenging, but Jack loved a challenge. “How about Enigmatic Eugenia?”
“Eugenia?” she echoed. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in decades.”
Jack raised an eyebrow and decided to be daring. “It did go quite out of fashion around World War II. Even before that, it wasn’t all that popular, and it won’t come back for another century or so if I remember correctly.”
The woman gave him an appraising glance. Jack thought that he may have broken through and wondered briefly why this had worked.
“I don’t know what to make of you – and I’ve seen quite a lot,” she told him in her direct manner.
Jack flashed his big grin again, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not quite sure what to make of you either – and I’ll bet I’ve been around a lot more! Let’s see if we can’t figure each other out.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” she questioned.
“Come back to my place, and I’ll show you.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Men; you’re so predictable.”
“Oh, I’m not your average man – at least not for this century.” He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “I’ve got a few secrets up my sleeve.”
“Not from this century, hmm?” she replied in kind, still keeping a businesslike tone. “Perhaps we have something in common. Which century are you from?”
“I’ll tell you back at my place. There are many things I’m happy to discuss in public places – this isn’t one of them.”
“I see,” she said. “Let me tell you now, I’m not planning to follow your lead.”
Victory! “I’d never expect you to.”
“I’m a monogamous sort of person,” she continued matter-of-factly.
Jack laughed. “Is that so? Well, I’m not, so I hope that’s not a deal-breaker.”
He stood up, laying out cash for their drinks. “Come on, we can take my car. I kinda like the 21st century, though cars were more fun when they first came out.
“Perhaps,” Ashildr answered him, rising gracefully. He was the first person to raise her curiosity this high in centuries. And if he tried anything… well, she was fully confident she could take care of herself. After all, she had been practicing Kempo daily for decades. “In any case, I have my own car.”
“Then follow mine.” He offered her his arm, and she took it, unconcerned that such a familiar gesture was not done in this century. “Red Lambo,” he continued. “License plate is recognizable enough.” He pointed to it as they passed, on their way to her nondescript silver BMW. The Lamborghini was quite gaudy, and his license plate read CAPJACK.
Ashildr inwardly shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?” she thought. “Still, this should be the most interesting evening I’ve had in a long time,” and she followed him out of the parking lot.