So. I kind of sort of helped 51stcenturyfox to hijack a thread over at unfeathered's journal which has spawned a ficlet. Just over 700 words, Jack and John Hart, Gen. More or less.

Now polished, headered and posted to torchwood_decaf



Title: With the Right Incentive (anything is possible)
Rating: PG-13
People: Jack, John Hart
Genre: Gen. More or less
Spoilers: CHILDREN OF EARTH DAY ONE & DAY TWO

Summary: A very long distance phone call, Torchwood-style.

Notes:

Like so many of us (okay, not me, because I'm slow) unfeathered was wondering about Jack's wrist-strap and what happened to it after the explosion. I got talking to 51stcenturyfox about it and we came up with an explanation:

Me: [...] My personal guess is that it's like his coat and that he's had it long enough for the magic to wear off on it so it can't die either.

51stcenturyfox: It's TORCHWOOD! That theory is absolutely as good as any! It might turn up in the rubble. That would be excellent. I'm sure it could have a homing device put in. :D Oh yes. Before John left, Jack put a homing device in both of them so he could keep track of the ex. John rings him after this is all over and gives him the back coordinates. Fixed! AND it survived Jack's cling to the TARDIS through the vortex. A bomb is nothin'. Okay. I'm happy now. I like the strap!

Which is pretty much like handing me a plot bunny and the following occured. The original, dialogue only version is here, and this is the dialogue with the surrounding narrative.

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With the Right Incentive (anything is possible)

John was getting as sentimental as Jack, setting his comm to the ring ring tone that Earthers were so fond of. He let the sound go on for a few more seconds, just to listen to it, then opened the channel.

"Tallulah van Hardcore."

Somehow, even over thousands of lightyears, Jack managed to get that sarcastic smile of his into his voice. "You know, I'm not sure she'd like you taking her name in vain."

Probably not, but that wasn't the point. Jack Harkness, calling him. Who would have thought it? "Finally decided to chuck it all in and come over to the dark side?" John said, matching Jack's sarcasm tone for tone. "We have guns. And cookies." Well. He'd had cookies, past tense. But Jack didn't need to know that.

"It's not your cookies I'm interested in. And how the hell do you have cookies?"

"Scout master." In the pause, John could hear – actually hear - Jack rolling his eyes. How the hell did he do that? John leaned back in his chair, trying to convey just how unimpressed and uninterested he was in this conversation. Because whatever it was Jack was peddling this time, he wasn't interested. At all. Not a bit of it. "Well you asked."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, I'm remembering why it's a bad idea to ask you to explain anything. Listen, I need a favour."

Those words always sounded so good, and the smile on John's face was the one that tended to make carnivores nervous. "That's going to cost you."

"Doesn't it always? What do you want?"

Interesting. Impatience, abruptness, and getting right to the point with no quibbling. This was going to be worth his time, at least. "If I say anything involving poodles, you're just going to say no, right?"

"John..."

It had been worth a try, and John knew that tone of voice. It was the one that meant Jack had a gun in one hand and wouldn't hesitate to use it. Holding up his own hands in mock-surrender, John said, "Okay, okay. Since you mentioned her, I'll take Tallulah's current whereabouts and call it quits. She owes me a drink. And a-"

"See, there you go, telling me things I don't need to know again. Locate that homing chip for me and they're yours."

John raised an eyebrow, because there was no way in hell Jack thought he'd get away that easily. "Now that's just not fair. How come you get yours first? Story of our relationship, that is." Sitting up, he started flicking through channels, scanning for the signal. Of course, being thousands of lightyears away was making that rather tricky, but he wanted to be ready in case this favour was for real.

"Just find the homing chip, would you? We had some trouble at the Hub and it's lost in the rubble." Okay, so now Jack's voice sounded like he had guns in both hands. Rubble definitely meant serious, and probably deadly so.

"Really? So we're talking about a pretty big favour then." Which he wasn't going to get unless the damn computer located the homing signal soon. The first time in decades that Jack Harkness actually wanted something from him and John was being blocked by the damn computer. He put a hand over the mike and thumped it.

"John..."

"Nope, that's going to cost you more."

"What do you want?"

"Make me an offer." Give me five seconds. There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as though Jack was thinking, although John knew he must have already anticipated this, and knew what he was willing to put on the table. In the silence, John could hear Jack breathing, slow and steady, as measured and calculating as ever. Mercifully, before he could get too distracted by that sound and all the other times and places he'd heard it, the console lit up like a supernova, and numbers scrolled across the screen. As if that wasn't enough to make John's day, Jack started to speak, in that low purr that he knew would hit John in all the right places.

"When I said we had some trouble, what I really mean is that I got blown up into tiny pieces. As was everything I was wearing. Every piece of cloth, just incinerated. When I came round, and once the screaming agony had passed? I was chained to the wall. And there was a camera."

It wasn't a difficult decision. Shifting in his chair, John hit a button on the console.

"Done. Sending you the co-ordinates now. Opening video uplink."