eleventymod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eleventymod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
eleventyfest2013-09-15 09:16 am
eleventymod) wrote in eleventyfest2013-09-15 09:16 am
Fic: Shenanigans, for jjpor
Title: Shenanigans
By: ljgeoff
Recipient: JJPor
Rating: T
Character(s)/Ship(s): Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Canton Everett Delaware III, Jack Harkness
Summary: Canton wasn't expecting aliens when he walked into the bar.
Content Notes: None
Most men don’t expect their lives to change when they stagger already blind drunk into a New York dive. Canton Everett Delaware III wasn’t expecting anything more than oblivion. Oblivion would be sweet. There was a part of him that was playing with the idea of permanent.
He wasn’t watching the crowd but there was a man -- something about his profile nudged at Canton. Blinking through the swaths of cigarette smoke floating lazily between them, Canton prodded his bourbon-soaked memory.
A dark figure moved behind the seated man. Canton sprawled back in his chair, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting. Something about the tall dark figure wasn’t right. A long, thin arm lifted, six fingered with two thin, opposable thumbs. A greenish glow grew between the thing’s thumbs and the it smiled in evil anticipation. A yell stuck in Canton’s throat.
The sitting man, Canton was sure that he knew him, took a long slug from his drink, throwing it back with a flourish. Without pausing, he cocked his arm and winged the highball glass through the air. It sliced through the smoke and smacked into the thing’s skull with a meaty thud.
The man or thing, or alien, spun around and went down, the energy pulse flying wild and setting a wall poster afire. Patrons screamed, running for the exits. The sitting man stood, relaxed. Loose-jointed. He planted his knee in the middle of the alien’s face and then stood over the collapsed thing, limping and cursing under his breath.
Rory. Son-of-a-bitch. It was goddamned Rory.
Canton stood and whirled about, searching the dark corners of the bar. Yeah. There she was, her chair rocked back on two legs and her face all alight. Laughing. Goddamned Amy Pond laughing as her husband stood over a homicidal alien, nursing a busted knee.
A dark haired man in a coat gave Rory a sour look and flipped a five dollar bill into Amy’s open hand.
Canton stood, caught the bar as the room spun around him, and ran a palm over his thinning hair. He took three steps forward, watched Rory’s face turn from wary curiosity to recognition and, black spots filling his vision, slid gracelessly to the floor.
His last conscious thought was that he really loved Amy’s laugh.
Rory was used to the occasional drunk passed out on his couch. Amy tended to bring home strays.
Really, it was Amy’s friend Gloria, a third-sexed Indorian who had crash landed in Central Park back in ‘52, fallen in love with Greenwich and made New York zir home. Gloria was more than a little bit psi, so the strays zie brought home were alright. Hell, James was in his second year of medical at NYU. And then there’d been Jack.
Word had got out quick that the Doctor wasn’t seen in New York during a certain time period. The quiet life that Rory had envisioned had evaporated in just a few short months. He’d met Jack over the corpse of a Dalek that was amok in Chinatown. Between Torchwood, the MIB and an occasional Avenger, they’d been able to keep the city in one piece. More or less.
Now there was just the occasional intergalactic drug lord, gunrunner or kidnapper to deal with. Rory spent most of his days teaching at City U. Jack called him up when there was a little something that needed doing.
Or Amy called Jack when she was bored. Rory smiled, leaned back in the chair and watched Canton snore.
Amy breezed in with a bag of frozen peas and laid it gently on his knee. “Should’ve used your boot,” she said lightly, sitting on the arm of Rory’s easy chair.. “We won’t get a decent knee replacement for decades.”
“Would’ve fallen on my arse,” Rory groused. “I’m not as spry as I used to be.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Jack carried mugs of tea doubled up in his fists and set them on the side table.
Rory lifted his mug, taking a moment to inhale the fragrant steam before taking a long, slow sip. “I take it that your team collected the M’Ksh?”
Jack nodded. “Your plan to smoke him out was brilliant.”
“His plan!” Amy sputtered.
“Yep!” Jack pushed Canton’s feet off the couch and plopped himself down. Canton snorted but didn’t wake. “Had to be Rory’s plan.” He sipped his tea, blue eyes twinkling at Amy over the rim. “You would never have suggested we use him as bait.”
“And who won the bet?” Amy smiled and patted Rory on top of the head. “I had faith in him.” She followed the pat with a loud smooch.
“You two bet!” Rory turned to eye Amy. “What did you bet?”
“Oh, Rory, you’re so sweet when you’re indignant.” Amy bent and smooched him again.
“So who’s the sot?” Jack looked down at the sleeping drunk and tipped his head. “He’s kinda cute.”
“Canton Everett Delaware III, ex-FBI” Amy pronounced. “It’s been two years since he’s seen us.”
“And thirty-three years since we’ve seen him,” Rory added.
“But he recognized you, even in the state he was in,” Jack mused. “Good eye.”
Rory finished his tea and rearranged the peas.. “Ouch. I’m going to bed.” He motioned to Canton. “Throw a blanket on him, will you Jack?”
Amy grabbed the bag of peas and took Rory’s arm as he stood. “Come on, secret agent man. I’ll help you to bed.”
“I’m not the secret agent man,” Rory muttered. He gestured to Canton. “He is.”
Amy huffed in denial. “He didn’t take out the M’Ksh.”
“Hmph.” But he was pleased. “Tomorrow, I will sleep in,” Rory pronounced. “And in the afternoon, I have to tweak Monday’s lecture.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Jack. “It’s the sexual deviant lecture. Wanna come?”
“Ha!” Jack let out a surprised laugh and Rory grinned. Jack laughed a lot, but it was always just a bit too practiced. It was fun to get a real laugh out of him.
“Rory!” Amy’s face had a look of horror, “You’d let Jack loose on all of those poor, sweet nursing students?”
“The nursing students would win, no contest,” Rory shook his head. “I’ve never met a more competent, strong-willed group of women.”
Jack sighed. “What a way to go.”
Canton woke and slitted open his eyes. Living room, city street noise, the smell of coffee. Amy’s laugh.
Amy.
He sat up too suddenly and took a deep breath, swallowing nausea.
“Here, take a couple of these.”
The dark haired man from the bar was leaning against the archway that lead, Canton guessed, to the kitchen. “It’s five-point-five apple; the best.”
Why not? Canton lifted his hand and accepted the pills. They fizzed on his tongue with the taste of wintergreen.
“Jack Harkness,” the man held out a hand.
He was a bit much, but Canton could already feel the pills working. “Canton Delaware,” he supplied.
“I’m making pancakes,” came a call from the kitchen. “Who’s ready?” A face peered over the man’s shoulder. “Is he up?”
The eyes were Amy’s, but the face; Canton felt his jaw go slack. The red of her hair was faded and streaked with white, her face had softened and rounded, and laugh lines were etched into the corners of her eyes.
“Time travel,” Amy supplied. “It’s been over thirty years for us.”
Canton nodded, taking it in. “You should have looked me up sooner.”
Amy gave a small shake of the head. “Time lines. We really couldn’t.”
Canton looked around the apartment. It had the feel of years. “How long? How long have you been here.”
A new voice answered. “Since 1938,” Rory said. He wore sweat pants and was toweling his hair dry. Silver grey, his hair and the skin of his arms jiggled. “I just had my sixty-third birthday.”
“Isn’t that a bit arbitrary?” Jack quirked a brow. “I mean, you’re obviously not counting the Roman years, and, well, the dead years, don’t those get counted in reverse?”
“The wedding was a reset,” Rory waved his hand negligently.
Jack shook his head, looking surprisingly serious. “Every year counts.”
“Whoa!” Amy breezed into the room and captured Rory’s towel. “Way too heavy for a Saturday morning with pancakes!” She flipped the towel at Jack. “Come on, then! I went to market; there’s strawberries and cream, too.”
Jack’s smile was forced but then it relaxed as his eyes met Rory’s. “I made coffee,” he said. “Or do you want tea?”
“Coffee sounds good,” Rory replied.
Canton looked at both men; it was like they were talking some kind of code. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I take it we’re not under any threat of attack?”
“Nope! No more shenanigans.” Rory shoved his head through a navy t-shirt and then waved his hand, indicating their living space.. “A bit of a perception filter.”
“Whatever that is.” Canton stood up and bent back, stretching his spine. Ok, no imminent attack. The apple pills were amazing. Rory and Amy were old. There’s pancakes.
Rory met his eyes and clapped him on the back. “Let’s go.”
By: ljgeoff
Recipient: JJPor
Rating: T
Character(s)/Ship(s): Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Canton Everett Delaware III, Jack Harkness
Summary: Canton wasn't expecting aliens when he walked into the bar.
Content Notes: None
Most men don’t expect their lives to change when they stagger already blind drunk into a New York dive. Canton Everett Delaware III wasn’t expecting anything more than oblivion. Oblivion would be sweet. There was a part of him that was playing with the idea of permanent.
He wasn’t watching the crowd but there was a man -- something about his profile nudged at Canton. Blinking through the swaths of cigarette smoke floating lazily between them, Canton prodded his bourbon-soaked memory.
A dark figure moved behind the seated man. Canton sprawled back in his chair, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting. Something about the tall dark figure wasn’t right. A long, thin arm lifted, six fingered with two thin, opposable thumbs. A greenish glow grew between the thing’s thumbs and the it smiled in evil anticipation. A yell stuck in Canton’s throat.
The sitting man, Canton was sure that he knew him, took a long slug from his drink, throwing it back with a flourish. Without pausing, he cocked his arm and winged the highball glass through the air. It sliced through the smoke and smacked into the thing’s skull with a meaty thud.
The man or thing, or alien, spun around and went down, the energy pulse flying wild and setting a wall poster afire. Patrons screamed, running for the exits. The sitting man stood, relaxed. Loose-jointed. He planted his knee in the middle of the alien’s face and then stood over the collapsed thing, limping and cursing under his breath.
Rory. Son-of-a-bitch. It was goddamned Rory.
Canton stood and whirled about, searching the dark corners of the bar. Yeah. There she was, her chair rocked back on two legs and her face all alight. Laughing. Goddamned Amy Pond laughing as her husband stood over a homicidal alien, nursing a busted knee.
A dark haired man in a coat gave Rory a sour look and flipped a five dollar bill into Amy’s open hand.
Canton stood, caught the bar as the room spun around him, and ran a palm over his thinning hair. He took three steps forward, watched Rory’s face turn from wary curiosity to recognition and, black spots filling his vision, slid gracelessly to the floor.
His last conscious thought was that he really loved Amy’s laugh.
Rory was used to the occasional drunk passed out on his couch. Amy tended to bring home strays.
Really, it was Amy’s friend Gloria, a third-sexed Indorian who had crash landed in Central Park back in ‘52, fallen in love with Greenwich and made New York zir home. Gloria was more than a little bit psi, so the strays zie brought home were alright. Hell, James was in his second year of medical at NYU. And then there’d been Jack.
Word had got out quick that the Doctor wasn’t seen in New York during a certain time period. The quiet life that Rory had envisioned had evaporated in just a few short months. He’d met Jack over the corpse of a Dalek that was amok in Chinatown. Between Torchwood, the MIB and an occasional Avenger, they’d been able to keep the city in one piece. More or less.
Now there was just the occasional intergalactic drug lord, gunrunner or kidnapper to deal with. Rory spent most of his days teaching at City U. Jack called him up when there was a little something that needed doing.
Or Amy called Jack when she was bored. Rory smiled, leaned back in the chair and watched Canton snore.
Amy breezed in with a bag of frozen peas and laid it gently on his knee. “Should’ve used your boot,” she said lightly, sitting on the arm of Rory’s easy chair.. “We won’t get a decent knee replacement for decades.”
“Would’ve fallen on my arse,” Rory groused. “I’m not as spry as I used to be.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Jack carried mugs of tea doubled up in his fists and set them on the side table.
Rory lifted his mug, taking a moment to inhale the fragrant steam before taking a long, slow sip. “I take it that your team collected the M’Ksh?”
Jack nodded. “Your plan to smoke him out was brilliant.”
“His plan!” Amy sputtered.
“Yep!” Jack pushed Canton’s feet off the couch and plopped himself down. Canton snorted but didn’t wake. “Had to be Rory’s plan.” He sipped his tea, blue eyes twinkling at Amy over the rim. “You would never have suggested we use him as bait.”
“And who won the bet?” Amy smiled and patted Rory on top of the head. “I had faith in him.” She followed the pat with a loud smooch.
“You two bet!” Rory turned to eye Amy. “What did you bet?”
“Oh, Rory, you’re so sweet when you’re indignant.” Amy bent and smooched him again.
“So who’s the sot?” Jack looked down at the sleeping drunk and tipped his head. “He’s kinda cute.”
“Canton Everett Delaware III, ex-FBI” Amy pronounced. “It’s been two years since he’s seen us.”
“And thirty-three years since we’ve seen him,” Rory added.
“But he recognized you, even in the state he was in,” Jack mused. “Good eye.”
Rory finished his tea and rearranged the peas.. “Ouch. I’m going to bed.” He motioned to Canton. “Throw a blanket on him, will you Jack?”
Amy grabbed the bag of peas and took Rory’s arm as he stood. “Come on, secret agent man. I’ll help you to bed.”
“I’m not the secret agent man,” Rory muttered. He gestured to Canton. “He is.”
Amy huffed in denial. “He didn’t take out the M’Ksh.”
“Hmph.” But he was pleased. “Tomorrow, I will sleep in,” Rory pronounced. “And in the afternoon, I have to tweak Monday’s lecture.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Jack. “It’s the sexual deviant lecture. Wanna come?”
“Ha!” Jack let out a surprised laugh and Rory grinned. Jack laughed a lot, but it was always just a bit too practiced. It was fun to get a real laugh out of him.
“Rory!” Amy’s face had a look of horror, “You’d let Jack loose on all of those poor, sweet nursing students?”
“The nursing students would win, no contest,” Rory shook his head. “I’ve never met a more competent, strong-willed group of women.”
Jack sighed. “What a way to go.”
Canton woke and slitted open his eyes. Living room, city street noise, the smell of coffee. Amy’s laugh.
Amy.
He sat up too suddenly and took a deep breath, swallowing nausea.
“Here, take a couple of these.”
The dark haired man from the bar was leaning against the archway that lead, Canton guessed, to the kitchen. “It’s five-point-five apple; the best.”
Why not? Canton lifted his hand and accepted the pills. They fizzed on his tongue with the taste of wintergreen.
“Jack Harkness,” the man held out a hand.
He was a bit much, but Canton could already feel the pills working. “Canton Delaware,” he supplied.
“I’m making pancakes,” came a call from the kitchen. “Who’s ready?” A face peered over the man’s shoulder. “Is he up?”
The eyes were Amy’s, but the face; Canton felt his jaw go slack. The red of her hair was faded and streaked with white, her face had softened and rounded, and laugh lines were etched into the corners of her eyes.
“Time travel,” Amy supplied. “It’s been over thirty years for us.”
Canton nodded, taking it in. “You should have looked me up sooner.”
Amy gave a small shake of the head. “Time lines. We really couldn’t.”
Canton looked around the apartment. It had the feel of years. “How long? How long have you been here.”
A new voice answered. “Since 1938,” Rory said. He wore sweat pants and was toweling his hair dry. Silver grey, his hair and the skin of his arms jiggled. “I just had my sixty-third birthday.”
“Isn’t that a bit arbitrary?” Jack quirked a brow. “I mean, you’re obviously not counting the Roman years, and, well, the dead years, don’t those get counted in reverse?”
“The wedding was a reset,” Rory waved his hand negligently.
Jack shook his head, looking surprisingly serious. “Every year counts.”
“Whoa!” Amy breezed into the room and captured Rory’s towel. “Way too heavy for a Saturday morning with pancakes!” She flipped the towel at Jack. “Come on, then! I went to market; there’s strawberries and cream, too.”
Jack’s smile was forced but then it relaxed as his eyes met Rory’s. “I made coffee,” he said. “Or do you want tea?”
“Coffee sounds good,” Rory replied.
Canton looked at both men; it was like they were talking some kind of code. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I take it we’re not under any threat of attack?”
“Nope! No more shenanigans.” Rory shoved his head through a navy t-shirt and then waved his hand, indicating their living space.. “A bit of a perception filter.”
“Whatever that is.” Canton stood up and bent back, stretching his spine. Ok, no imminent attack. The apple pills were amazing. Rory and Amy were old. There’s pancakes.
Rory met his eyes and clapped him on the back. “Let’s go.”
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
So yes...more please. And thank you. And EEEEEEEE!!! And thank you.
*SQUISH*
no subject
Awwwww!
I love this interaction amongst them.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I giggled at the notion of Amy bringing home strays, and the portrayal of her friend Gloria :D It was such a clever idea that it was noticed pretty fast that the Doctor never showed up in New York during Amy's and Rory's lifetime, and that it created havoc and it became the Ponds' job to deal with it, along with Torchwood and the occasional help! The Ponds-and-Jack dialogue was just perfection, I loved the idea of Jack and Amy doing bets, and your casual mentions of the unconscious Canton on the couch. Also Jack found him cute :D I giggled at the Ponds' casual statement about the timey-wimeyness of their acquaintance with Canton, and Amy stating she'd help Rory to bed, haha. The part about the sexual deviant lecture was also delightful ;)
I loved the way you depicted Canton waking up. My, Amy had had quite the impression on him for a gay man, hadn't she? Also loved his astonishment at her aged face.
“Isn’t that a bit arbitrary?” Jack quirked a brow. “I mean, you’re obviously not counting the Roman years, and, well, the dead years, don’t those get counted in reverse?”
“The wedding was a reset,” Rory waved his hand negligently.
God, those lines were PERFECT. Jack /would/ be picky about year-counting with fellow—well, not fellow immortals, but fellow I-really-lived-damn-long people :D And your showing that his smile was forced was such subtle insight to the actual weight of the issue for him. Loved Amy's cheerful interruption. Years did nothing to her spirit. The ending was just lovely :D Brilliant job!
no subject