capeandcowllogs | live fast, die young

Entry tags:

live fast, die young

WHO:

fantasycliche, and their new guest star,

capnbeefcake.
WHERE: The streets of the City! With dragon encounter occurring in Some Dark Alley.
WHEN: Forward-dated to Monday night, June 13th.
WARNINGS: Gruesome violence. Also, it's Jack Harkness and Zevran.
SUMMARY: Certain secrets of immortality are uncovered. Via dragon attack.
FORMAT: Words.

Wonder of wonders: this time, Jack and Zevran's trip to the shooting range goes uneventfully, at least in the sense that no one gets bled on. Zevran learns a bit about handling guns (the literal type), innuendo is exchanged, and the proprietor comes within a hairsbreadth of telling the two of them not to grope each other in public. This means it's a good night. As far as Zevran is concerned, it's only going to get better once he takes Jack home. Learning new methods of inflicting death and violence, followed by what he is rather reasonably assuming will be excellent sex: what more could he ask for in a night?

Well, maybe he could ask for certain worries to stop nagging at the back of his mind. He can't quite shake the memory of his conversation with the Doctor after the whole...inexplicable singing incident. Oh, it would be nice to dismiss it all as a bad dream, but that's not very practical in the City. So he's left with the worry that the Doctor will have passed along to Jack the things Zevran let slip in their conversation. The man was simply so persistent, in that innocent, goofily beguiling way of his. Really, the only thing Zevran didn't admit was the assassin thing, and he's already told Jack that anyway. How much does Jack know now about his elf's depressing childhood? Does he pity him? Does Jack think him too pathetic and common to waste time on now?

No, no. Such thoughts are silly and unproductive and, well, useless, really. But Jack might note that Zevran is perhaps a little too eager to please tonight, especially when given moments to dwell in uncomfortable silence, and a little too quick to change the subject away from himself--moreso than usual. His adventures, at least those of the recent past, are fair game, though. "We found them both stripped to their undergarments when we reached the cells, of course. It was really a shame their equipment was stored so nearby."

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"Wish I could've been there," Jack replies wistfully. He pauses, then, and considers something. "Have I told you about the four hypervodkas and the executioners yet? Ooh, or the time on Dravidia with the girl from Raxacoricovarlonpatorius?" He gives a fond sigh. "That was fun."

"So are we going to your place, or mine?" He turns to grin at Zevran. "Because you know, we could actually try out those bunk beds, instead of having you bleed all over them this time."

"Raxa--did she say that frequently? What a nimble tongue she must have had. I think I would like to hear that one." Zevran is glad enough to get onto the topic of Jack's adventures instead of his own. At first, he's just as glad to discuss where they're going, too. "Your place sounds like a good enough adventure for tonight. Why don't we--" But he pauses as a thought occurs to him. "The Doctor will not be there, will he?" He looks rather sulky at the idea. Almost resentful. He'd been doing such a good job of not thinking about the things he'd told him, too.

"Well, there's also Raxicoricofallipatorius, but that's another planet entirely. Quite pretty, too. But I can tell you that later." He considers this for a moment or two, hands in pockets.

"I think he was taking apart the telly last time I saw him, so yes, he'll probably be there. But distracted." He quirks an eyebrow at Zevran, curious. "Why? If you're thinking of asking him to join in, he'll just give you a look and pretend like he doesn't understand you."

"I am well aware of that," Zevran mutters. "Shelves. He thought I was speaking of shelves! He must have told you, yes? We spoke not long ago. He is a grueling interrogator, for one who plays so charmingly at nonsense."

And then he's looking away from Jack, suddenly reluctant to meet his gaze. "It's not important. I am sure he told you all you needed to know, and is done with me for now."

"Oh, so you saw the sonic." A brief, serious look passes across his face, but it's gone just as quickly as it came. "Yeah, I know about the interrogation thing, too, he's done the exact same thing to me."

There's a bit of a lipquirk. "He doesn't tell me much, but he told me a little. He --doesn't share a lot of things. He's got good reason, of course he does. Someone who's 900 years old can't be expected to tell all his secrets, can he?" Now it's his turn to avoid the other's gaze, and he glances ahead instead, frowning to himself a bit. What's going to happen when he reaches the Doctor's age? He will, he knows it, but he's seen a lot in his life as it is. He's not going to think about the possibilities, though, he has, quite literally, forever to do so. Better to live for the moment, isn't it? It's what he's always said.

"Anyway. We don't have to go back there if you don't really want to," he continues, glad to have something at least to pull himself out of that train of thought.

"He...doesn't?" Zevran blinks at Jack. It's almost visible, the way the awkward burden lifts off his shoulders. On some level, maybe he knows that he shouldn't, but he can't shake the worry that if everything the Doctor pried out of him filtered on through to Jack, the other man would judge him. And that's the last thing he wants now that he has a friend here, one uncomplicated by the peculiarities that plague his other relationships in the City so far. Strange, though, how something seems to be bothering Jack, now. Zevran watches him intently for a moment, then shrugs it off and addresses the other issue at hand. "No, no, we must investigate the matter of the bunk beds. I--"

He stops, peering into the window of a store--the last spot of brightness in an increasingly dark street. The televisions there are flashing some terrible '90s show with even more terrible special effects, and Zevran is briefly staggered by how such effects can be accomplished. Perhaps they hold some key as to the matter of how a man named Sean Connery can be both a dragon and James Bond? He thinks he's made some progress in figuring that one out, but he needs to investigate further. "...you go on up ahead. I will catch up in a moment."

Jack has no grounds to judge, he wouldn't even dream of doing so. He's been in just as bad (or possibly worse) straits than Zevran, after all. He slows, though, when Zevran does, grinning when he sees what the elf is looking at. At some point he should really show him the vortex manipulator, he notes to himself, and then nods.

"Alright," he replies, and speeds up again. Sure, TV is interesting, but his is currently dismantled; and he hasn't spent enough time in the 1990s to appreciate any particularly terrible tv shows. He heads a bit of the way down the street towards a darkened alley. (Sure, it's not the safest place, but he and Zevran can take care of themselves quite comfortably. Usually.)

It's almost an abandoned alley, too. Almost. Except for the young woman loitering at the other end of it, counting through the cash she'd just picked up from some undoubtedly disreputable source. Not that that bothers Khisanth much. A meal is still a meal-- and hungry as she is, she has just barely enough presence of mind to recognize this woman as an expendable citizen. This is the sort no one misses. This is the sort she can survive on.

Eyes fixed on her meal, she doesn't even see Jack. She dives through the dark, black scales rendering her as good as invisible. Her wings fold to her sides as she enters the tight space of the alley, and all four legs extend to simultaneously strike and land. The young woman is dead in an instant, her neck snapped at the sheer force of the claws plowing into her side. And all Khisanth can see is fresh dinner, all she can smell is the blood already spilling. The pounding at her temples is almost overpowering, as it always is --

She wastes not a second before digging in. There's no thought given to any potential witnesses she may be sharing the alley with.

No one is expendable. That's what Jack would say, were he not sort of gaping at the dragon feasting on an ex-hooker. This was certainly not something he was expecting to see on his walk home. The darker parts of an alley were, of course, always an option, but dragons? Not so much.

He reacts purely on instinct (as any good soldier should), reaching in his pocket and going for his gun. The first shot he fires is a warning, aimed in the air and nowhere in the general direction of Khisanth. Maybe it would make her stop; though he could do nothing for the girl, he could at least not have her remains eaten by a dragon.

There's a disturbance. Guns. She's learned about guns. She's yet to feel the bite of a bullet, but she knows she doesn't relish trying it. And the disturbance -- gun. Maybe. But her meal is warm, the heart is beating its last as she tears off great chunks, entire limbs. She can't stop to think about strange noises sounding off behind her, no matter what they may be. Every bite lessens the blood beating at her temples, but it's not enough. Not yet. Not until she's done.

She ignores it, ignores Jack. It will be dealt with shortly, but not yet.

Jack rolls his eyes a little and fires off another shot into the air. At the very least, he can assume this dragon is reasonably intelligent (or very hungry), since the gunshots didn't startle it. Maybe speaking to it (her? him?) would help, he could at least then attempt reason.

"Hey," he says, stepping forward and holding his free hand up in the air. His voice is quiet and commanding, but loud enough to carry, even over the sounds of Khisanth's dinner. "I think you should really stop that," he continues. It's not exactly a request, but he's not pointing the gun at her, either. (Yet.) "Leave her alone."

Zevran's attitude is somewhat more pragmatic. That is to say: everyone is expendable; the world will go on without them all soon enough anyway, so why not hurry things along a little? But while you're at it, spare him and anyone whose company he enjoys for a little while longer, please. And...try to go easy on the innocents, maybe?

But he isn't thinking such philosophical thoughts at the moment. He's just watching the televisions showing Power Rangers (or associated knockoffs) fighting monsters that disappear when struck and trying to determine how this is done. Or at least he was when he heard the gunshots. That's still a rather new sound to him, but he knows by now that it's not usually a good thing. He immediately tears his attention away from the bad special effects and bolts for the alleyway--

--only to grind to a halt just around the corner, startled by recognition, by the juxtaposition of two elements of his life in the City that he simply didn't expect to meet.

But he doesn't let surprise dull his reactions overly much. "Jack, away from her!"

She eats fast. She always has. And so by the time the second shot is fired, by the time Jack starts speaking, she's able to devote a little more attention to him. There's still about half of her meal left to go, but she can think clearly enough to glance over her shoulder at the interloper. There's no recognition, only the knowledge that dinner has just doubled. He looks as though he wants to fight, after all, and so of course his death is necessary. It would be even if he were trying to escape. Witnesses couldn't be allowed.

Her attention, already divided between Jack and her meal, can't splinter any further at this point. So Zevran's appearance and shout of warning go unrecorded, and she swings her tail. It's heavy, destructive. She aims it right for Jack, trusting that her strike will do its job and break him. Break his neck, break him past running to escape -- she doesn't care. Either way, she won't be back for him until she finishes her first meal.

It's a dragon. There's a dragon, and there's Zevran, and though Zevran may know how to deal with dragons, Jack does not. However, he is definitely not going to let Zevran get eaten by a dragon. That would absolutely ruin any plans for future fun. He's torn between keeping his gun trained in the general direction of Khisanth and the appearance of Zev, and he hesitates. Just for a moment or two, but it is long enough for Khisanth to make her own decision; and long enough for Jack to chance a glance at Zevran, unaware of the tail headed his way.

So, then, he is caught entirely off-guard, thrown against the alley wall where he lands with a dull thud. The thing about humans is they're delicate, even those from the 51st century. Dragon tails are not something they stand up well to. So Jack -- or, more properly now, Jack's body, remains slumped against the wall. He might very well be just unconscious, but there's no sign of breath, no dazed movement or groan. He is, at least for the moment, quite dead.

Why isn't Jack moving out of the way? Why is he staying there? "Don't look at me, you bloody fool," Zevran starts to snap, his composure fraying, "just--"

Too late. Another man might run to Jack, check his pulse frantically, but Zevran knows death when he sees it, because half the time it's his work. He simply stares for a moment, shock warring in his mind with common sense. Distantly, he knows that Jack will probably return eventually, because that's how it works with imPorts. But probably and eventually aren't good enough. A second ago, Jack was here, and now he's dead, and it's that wretched dragon's fault.

(He's not supposed to care. He's supposed to just move on. That's what his training says. But he doesn't want to listen to his training right now, when he's feeling like he just lost a friend, and friends are frighteningly precious and rare to him.)

His gaze flashes back to Khisanth. "You stupid bitch, what have you done?" He doesn't have a weapon with him that's large enough to do her any damage, but he's sliding into a rough combat stance anyway. Something purple-blue-white sparks and glimmers in his right hand, and then he's holding a long dagger much like the one he left in his apartment. Oh, good. He doesn't spare himself the time for surprise. Instead he launches himself at the dragon. He'll go for the eyes, first, then the underside of her neck; there must be a weak point somewhere, he is good at finding weak points and sliding a blade into them.

She'd turned immediately back to her meal, she'd even had time for another two chunks (there's not much left of the woman at this point), before the voice sinks into her slowly returning mind. Zevran. That had been Zevran. She turns just in time to find his attack, and the instinct to fight back is far stronger than any building affection she'd been feeling. Especially in this fortress of a body, as impervious to silly emotions as it is to attack.

She grows, deep and menacing, but holds back the instinctive wash of acid. She'll fight, but there's no desire to kill him immediately. So she swipes a paw instead, looking to knock him harmlessly to the side. Which, come to think of it, is almost the exact same treatment she'd given (albiet much more fiercely) to the human. Who had that been? A friend of his?

Oh. This is awkward.

She's caught up to the situation in just a few seconds and collected her wits. "Zevran, what are you doing?"

What's a harmless swat to a dragon is still rather staggering to an elf. Zevran is sent thudding against the wall of the alleyway, his side bruising, the wind knocked out of him--but Khisanth pulled her punch, and so he's not really particularly injured, and certainly quite alive. For a moment, though, just a moment...he's not all that happy about that. His ally, or student, or whatever the dragon is, she just killed his friend. How does he cope with that? It would have been easier if she'd just killed him. But she didn't, so now he has to pick up the pieces. That is the worst--even if, okay, he is pretty grateful to not be dead.

He lifts his right arm, and after a second the dagger disappears from his hand again. He'll remember, later, that he can do that, but for now it's at the back of his mind. "I am not the one who just killed another imPort," he says rather bitterly. "Have you no thought for consequences at all? Have you..." He shakes his head in frustration. "He was my friend, and I've no idea when he'll come back! If he will!"

She's a little taken aback for a second, orange eyes widening. That had been an imPort? She tries to stay away from those. Her long neck snakes towards Jack's body, and for a second or two she studies the crumpled form. He is an imPort-- one she's spoken with, even. And a friend of Zevran's, on top of that. A close friend? She'd accidentally --

No. It's not her fault, she was only reacting.

In a second her attention is on Zevran again, head lifting and adopting the same imperious tilt she uses as a human.

"It was his fault. You ought to have kept a better eye on him, he attacked me." Hadn't he? She remembers the sound of a gun, but hadn't felt any pain... Hm, maybe guns do even less damage than arrows? She'll consider that later.

"I trust him not to be a fool," Zevran snaps defensively, despite the fact that he just called Jack a fool minutes ago. "At worst, a little too heroic." There's bitter sentiment in that remark. There's something appealing about heroic types, when they're smart about it--and until now, Jack had seemed smart about it. But attacking a dragon alone! How stupid!

But Jack's not here anymore to yell at. Khisanth is. "That is far more than I can say for you." He gestures angrily at the dead woman's mostly-eaten remains on the ground. "Are you mad? I've told you, this sort of mess will be noticed. By people like him!" He doesn't really know what he's getting at anymore. He's just angry and he has no idea how to express it except to rail miserably at the nearest target.

There's something wrong in her response to this. She knows that she's doing exactly as she should -- less, even. It would be entirely within her right to finish her meal and leave, without having to explain herself, and if she were feeling generous she might leave Zevran the body of his friend without consuming that, as well.

But... it doesn't feel right. And as uncomfortable as that makes her, she's willing to take a few seconds to work out just how it is she does want to react.

Khisanth sinks slowly to a crouch, head lowering until it's about on a level with Zevran's. She has no intention of turning into a human, but she'll at least grant the temporary illusion of equity. For her friend.

"They say he'll come back." She says it a little hesitantly, because she still doesn't entirely believe the truth of it.

Well, she should believe it. Granted, 'they' probably didn't figure it would be this soon, but they weren't talking about someone whose life had been messed with by a godlike being. There is silence for a moment or two, and then Jack stirs. His hand goes to his neck at first, there is a slightly audible curse, and he opens his eyes.

"Ow," is the first thing he says, directing a glare at Khisanth. "The last reptilian creatures I met didn't hurt nearly as much." He pushes himself up from the ground and shoots a lopsided grin at Zevran. "Dragon tails are painful, you neglected to mention that."

Some warning signal flashes at Zevran deep within his mind--this isn't how Khisanth should be acting. This isn't how he thought she'd act, in the past. Is she trying to trick him into something? Trying to placate him so she can launch an attack? But surely, if she wanted to attack, she would simply do it. He stares at her in confusion for a moment, then gives a sharp shake of his head. "They say many things. Perhaps he will come back, but--"

Wait. What's that noise?

Zevran twists around in surprise and blinks at Jack, suddenly fighting a rush of feelings: confusion, relief, fluttering gratitude for that grin. "...you..." He has to think of something to say. "Is this the way it is, with us? But I have heard days, a week." Quick, something smooth and confident that will show how totally with it he still is!

Ah. He flashes a shaky smile. "How unlike you, Jack; you are not a man to get things over with quickly."

That's-- well, completely unnatural, for one. Miraculous? Unbelievable? There's a pretty sizable list of things this is. Khisanth stares, for a few seconds doubting her own sight. But, no, the human is alive. She can hear his heart pumping again, if she listens closely. Somehow. Is that how it works in the City? But she'd heard something simliar to Zevran, of days and weeks...

She shakes her head, doglike, and straightens her neck to once again loom over the both of them. It's no longer just Zevran, she's under no obligation to lower herself at all -- metaphorically or otherwise.

"Welcome back." It's spoken sardonically, carefully so, as though this were an entirely anticipated turn of events. "Avoid interrupting another meal, and maybe you can stay on this plane a little longer this time."

"I've heard the same thing," Jack says with a bright smile, and proceeds to brush some invisible dirt off his coat. To Khisanth, though, he quirks an eyebrow, and the smile lessens some. "Avoid eating people in public and I'll see what I can do," he says evenly. "Even better, just don't eat people. There's plenty of other types of meat."

He rubs his neck again and rolls his shoulders, stretching. Coming back to life isn't exactly painless, but he didn't have time to notice that last time. He hesitates, just for a second, and walks over to Zevran. "I can't die, obviously." A beat. "I had planned on telling you eventually. It was -- my friend did something to me. Messed with the timeline."

He falls silent abruptly, glances away from Zevran. He'd just died and come back, wasn't he supposed to feel something? See something? A white light? This, this was just odd, and awkward, he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. "Don't tell anyone," he adds after an awkward pause, and rubs the back of his neck. "That should be obvious enough."

"You will not harm him again," Zevran tosses Khisanth's way, still shaken and angry enough to actually make demands of her instead of falling into his usual mode of bitter pretenses of servility.

With Jack, though...he hesitates, unsure what to make of this. He has that uncomfortable feeling of something heavy settling in his mind, something that will make him think if he doesn't find a way to brush it off. Thinking usually doesn't mean good things. "No. I will tell no one." He looks back at Khisanth, meaningfully. "Neither will you."

But he can't think of anything clever and light to say, after that. He looks away, gaze downcast.

Jack's suggestion is awfully close to an order. She's preparing to scoff, possibly deliver the good old standby of an idle threat -- when Zevran delivers an outright order. She should be angry. What right does an elf have to tell a dragon what to do and what not to do?

Her eyes narrow and there's a rumble of a growl, but she silences it before it can become more. It's... not so bad. It's not as though she had any interest in either attacking Jack again or spreading some secret she barely cares about. And, besides that, it's Zevran. Which is the justification for an awful lot of things lately, isn't it? Because she likes him. (Enough to allow him to order her around?)

"As though I had any interest in the affairs of mortals." She scoffs, to save dignity, and turns back to the remains. They're cold by now, but she sweeps the rest of them into her mouth nonetheless. She'll pick off the unwanted metal parts and worry at the bones in a less crowded location. One jump and a beat of her wings propels her into the air.

And even as she goes, she knows she'll be speaking to Zevran soon. One way or another, this feels like unfinished business.

Edited 2011-06-13 23:38 (UTC)

"I'm not exactly mortal," Jack points out helpfully, but she's off before he finishes his sentence. He sighs as Khisanth leaves, and glances awkwardly over at Zevren. What does one even do in this situation? Apologise? Zevran doesn't seem to be angry, but it's worth a try, at least.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," he tells Zevran, quietly. "It never exactly came up, and well --" A little shrug. He hates this, this awkwardness, still getting used to being involved in important and heavy things. Sure, there were the months with the Doctor, but he's been reasonably free and easy here, this is a bit of a change. "It's just as new to me as it is to you, in some ways. I wasn't exactly thinking about this the last time it happened." --Oh, look, another thing he hasn't mentioned. This is going to be fun.

"He's not--" Zevran starts to correct Khisanth, because the thought is pressing down on him too heavily for him to not start to blurt it out, but Jack beats him to it, and he falls into embarrassed silence. In fact, he's almost wishing Khisanth could have stayed. Yelling at a dragon would have been a decent distraction (and it's a little surprising that she left so easily--he just gave her an order, and she simply took it?). But no, now he has to actually unravel the implications of what just happened for the...thing...he has with Jack.

"I don't expect you to tell me everything," he says with a shrug, but it comes off too glib, and there's a certain disappointment in his eyes. He's not angry, no--but perhaps a little hurt that such a thing was kept from him. "There is much I have not told you," he adds, trying not to sound defensive. "But...nothing like this." The alleyway is starting to reek of blood and death, but that's nothing new to him. He tunes it out automatically. "The last time it happened? Now might be the time to explain yourself, Jack."

Oh, hell. He hates disappointing people. He didn't care about it before the Doctor -- he didn't care about much, really, before the Doctor. With one look that man can make you feel like the worst creature in existence, then five seconds later, it's back to best friends. So he falters, just a little, at the disappointment in Zevran's eyes, and clears his throat some.

"Yeah, of course," he replies, rallying to the challenge. Maybe with enough explanation he can make that look go away. "I told you a bit about it already, the TARDIS leaving, all that? It happened after we fought the Daleks. Nasty creatures bent on exterminating the entire universe. They, ah, killed me as I was trying to buy time for the Doctor to come up with a solution." He frowns a bit. "I don't remember much, aside from waking up and finding the TARDIS leaving. The Doctor tells me Rose did something, absorbed the time vortex or something and brought me back to life. It messed up the timeline. I'm a fact now," he continues, and if there's some bitterness there, he's surely allowed it.

"The TARDIS doesn't like facts. She knew it as soon as the Doctor did, as soon as it happened. That's why they left me."

In turn, as Jack falters, Zevran quickly looks away. This was all so much easier when he could pretend that he was special, that being able to seduce and kill better than anyone else he knew made him a precious object but never a full person. Now that he knows he's not precious and perhaps not an object at all, it's far more difficult. He has to care, now.

He wouldn't give it up again, not ever. Knowing that he may well die for it only makes what he has all the more valuable. So Jack, who can't die...can he ever have anything valuable?

And there, that was one of the things Zevran didn't want to think about. He pushes it away so that he can struggle to process Jack's explanation. It's full of all those words that make no sense to him, and he has to sound out the emotion in it to pull a meaning from the nonsense. "You are a hero and a fool, my friend," he says quietly, smiling faintly, although it makes him wonder: would he have done the same thing if it had come to that? He would have. He would have died holding off the darkspawn to buy time for the Warden. Does that make him a hero and a fool as well? What a strange thought.

The rest of what he says, though--that's bitter, and rightfully so. Zevran tries to comprehend it, to reconcile it with the man with the old eyes and the funny device to whom he spoke. "His woman, who is also his ship, didn't like what you had become, what you had been made to become. And they left you?" There's pain in his voice even though he's trying to hide it, because for all that Jack's story is bizarre and incomprehensible to him, this part is familiar enough. He's used to being considered expendable and easily abandoned, for any number of reasons (he is an assassin, an elf, the son of a whore, everything his society is taught to neglect and kick away). But that doesn't mean he likes it, and to hear of Jack being treated that way hurts almost as if he himself were abandoned.

And yet Jack still follows the Doctor, still loves him, so Zevran cannot bring himself to judge the man.

He nods at Zevran's first words, smiling ruefully. "I'm pretty sure I would have been better off as a coward, to be honest." He wouldn't have met Zevran, then, wouldn't have ended up here, would have died when the German bomb exploded back in London; but he's not going to let himself think about that. It's sappy, is what it is, and being sappy is being too attached.

This concept -- this attachment, is new, and he hasn't felt it for anyone aside from the Doctor before. It's an odd sort of camaraderie that he shares with Zevran, entirely unlike what he shares with the Doctor, and Jack is reasonably sure he'd like it to continue. All the same, he is not going to let this attachment happen. It's a harbinger of bad things, even the Doctor served to prove that point with his departure.

"They left me," he says with another nod, shoves his hands in his pockets. "Without an explanation, without anything aside from my gun, and then I was here." That's the part that rankles the most. They left him. He's supposed to be the one doing the leaving, not them.

Zevran wants it to continue, too. He's comfortable and happy with Jack, unworried about scorn and judgment and unpleasant attempts at reforming him, because they are both ordinary, dishonorable men with the same simple desire to live in the moment. Or at least, that's what he thought they were. Now he has to question that, wonder if Jack is above him, too good and too special for him.

Part of him wants to kiss Jack, here and now, rough enough to bruise. Not out of passion or relief or gratitude or even desire, no. Simply so that he can prove to both of them that they're still real people on the physical plane, flesh and blood creatures. Only spirits don't die. But what would that prove? Just that flesh and blood is all he knows, while Jack knows timelines and vortexes and facts, whatever those are.

All of this weighs on him in the instant before he speaks, unexpressed save for a certain stiffness to the way he holds his hold and sets his jaw. "But you have him again now that you're here, this Doctor of yours. He and his nine ages of wisdom. I will die, you know," he adds, defensive again. "Elves have not been immortal for a very long time, in my world. If you want, I will leave you to him."

He'd be willing to teach Zevran, if he could. If he had his ship, if he could get his manipulator to work, he'd take him across the universe and back. It's what he likes best, after all, travelling, free and with no obligations to anyone but himself and his companions. (He wouldn't say no to the kiss, either, if it happened. He needs it as much as Zevran does, right now, needs something to cling to, to prove to himself that he is really here.)

"I know," he says quietly. "He's here, yes, but he's not my Doctor, he's older. He's different. He's Amy and Rory's, and there's a part of him that's still mine, but -- he's not mine." There's a pause. "I don't know what happens to me, in his time. He won't tell me, I've figured it's bad just from how little he says." He trails off again, and when he speaks, his voice is firm and commanding, the soldier he used to be (still is), there again. "No. No, I -- I'm rather fond of you. I don't think I'd like to chance losing it." Whatever 'it' is, of course. He's hesitant to bring it up, maybe if he leaves it undefined it can remain as it is.

And even though it would be strange, impossibly so, Zevran would take that trip, to experience adventure without the constant worry of the threats and darkness that the future holds for him back in his world. Not just that, but most of all, to be with someone. He never had a real friend in his life until the Warden came along, and even she's something different, something untouchable by the people around her: she belongs to the ages, not to any of her companions, not even Alistair, some days.

It hurts when Jack talks about the Doctor because Zevran can empathize, at least a little. He doesn't think the Warden would leave him like that (would she? If she had to...), but she won't ever be his, either. The thought occurs to him, for the first time, that he would like Jack to be his: this handsome, charming, accepting, stupidly heroic man. He pushes the idea away just as fast. It's not exactly forbidden to the likes of him--possessiveness isn't love, after all--but it's dangerous and unproductive. All he should expect from Jack, from anyone, is a good time and a warm bed. Hasn't he learned that by now?

But he gave Jack the chance to toss him away, and the other man didn't take it. For now, he'll just be grateful for that, fiercely so, and not wonder why. Or think much at all, because there are other avenues still unexplored, like the way he doesn't know whether to envy or pity Jack for that immortality, like the way his stomach sinks at hearing those hints of what waits for Jack in his home. So he picks up his own charm and smiles, pretends that nothing troubles him. "I rather hoped you would say something like that. Shall we go, then? Whose place is closer, yours or mine? Let's not waste time."

"Let's go to yours," he says, voice a little clipped. Jack's is a little closer, but he's not about to chance going there. Not when he knows the Doctor is there, not like this. For once, he doesn't want to see the Doctor. At least not until he gets his head on straighter.

Thankfully, a distraction would help with that. Or, maybe, it would just take his mind off of dealing with things for a moment or two -- either way, he would be pleased with the result. "I need..." ....Never mind what he needs, he needs to forget about this right now, but he's not going to admit it. "--Whatever," he finishes abruptly, and turns to head towards the MAC. "Let's just go. There are better things to do than talk, right?"

Zevran leans in a little at that unfinished sentence. Jack needs something. Maybe he can provide it, at least a little. Maybe he can be needed, important to somebody for a short time. "Oh, yes. Most certainly. In fact, I might have a gag or two...as well as those handcuffs."

And he sets off for the MAC.

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