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Title: Detained
Pairing: John Hart/Liz X
Rating: R
Length: 1,100
Spoilers: Doctor Who - The Beast Below
Summary:  Crossover bit of fun. John Hart meets his match. I think this happens to him ALL THE TIME.
A/N: I blame [livejournal.com profile] eleventy_kink  for the prompt.  They both like guns 'n shit. I don't even know.




He wasn't sure how they'd caught him -- biotagging perhaps? Infrared was so old hat -- but he'd been pinched. Bugger it. He stood behind a young girl, waiting to be sentenced. Cloaked figures in black stood a few metres away. Heavily armed. Well. No reason not to make a bit of conversation.

"What did you do, moppet? Off your parents?"

"No," the girl whispered. "I didn't revise. I failed French."

John Hart flinched. "Tough planet, or... pseudoplanetary transport. Hey, where were you going to actually use French?" he said, but a light came on and the girl shook her head at him and waited for the door before them to open before she disappeared behind it. She came out a scant few minutes later, holding a card and looking downcast.

"What's your sentence, then? Guillotine?"

"No. Grounding. No bubble dome for a whole month." She sniffled. Hart would have offered her a handkerchief, or grabbed her for use as a hostage, but the guards were armed and he wasn't, anymore. The door slid open again and the girl angled her head. "Go on."

The room was no bigger than a lift, he realised as he stepped in. The door snicked to a close behind him and a grinning figure in judge's gowns rose up on a dais against the wall.

"A clown?" Hart wondered aloud with a snicker. A voice intoned his name and his crime: John Hart. Captain. Non-resident. Confirm.

"Right," he said. "Magistrate. Sorry, didn't mean to laugh."

Crimes: Felony Theft. Treason.

"Yeah, yeah, no. Wait a minute, I'm not even a subject here. I can't be charged with tr-"

The clown's head slowly turned, revealing a grimacing visage and spit out a card, which Hart struggled to catch as it fluttered in the air.

Sentence: Death.

"But-" Hart didn't have time to finish his thought before he felt the floor shift. He gripped at a handrail and dangled as the floor fell away beneath him. He just had time to give the hideous clown two fingers before he lost his grip, plummeted downward and blacked out.

Hart awoke in a sitting position. Before opening his eyes, he tensed his muscles. He was shackled to a sturdy chair of some kind, by his wrists and ankles. He squinted and shook his head. Two guards stood sentry along the back wall, and another hooded figure, this time in red, approached. The figure turned, cape sweeping grandly, and waved off the guards.

Oh great, Hart thought. Executioners wanted witnesses, torturers didn't. Universal quirk. The cloaked figure stood in front of him, then reached out a finger and flicked it hard against his jacket.

"Smart jacket. Did you steal that too?"

"Bit overdramatic, the... capes." Hart fluttered his fingers. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I," said the figure, tossing back the hood to reveal lush dark curls, high cheekbones and lovely, delicious, kissable lips, Hart thought.

"I," she repeated, "am in charge here. You don't get to ask questions."

"Oh, hello. You're stunning," Hart paused and dropped his gaze, then brought it back up. Slowly. "But I've already been sentenced. Why am I being interrogated? Or is it torture time? If you're going to kill me, get on with it. There are rules."

"I rule. That means I make the rules."

Hart swallowed. "What... does that mean?"

"They call me Liz Ten. Ring a bell?"

Hart tilted his head. Yes, but... no. Couldn't be. Could it? There weren't posters up all over the joint but Liz Ten was legendary. And ruthless. He didn't know why he'd expected someone... much older. Had he overshot the jump? He looked at his wrist but his strap was missing. Fucking fantastic.

"Pay attention. You're in a private audience with Her Royal Highness. Queen regnant of the Commonwealth. And those jewels you were caught shoving into your filthy little pockets are a national treasure and copping them is a capital crime."

Hart was speechless. She quirked a brow at him.

"You are bio-tagged and bio-shackled. The wrist and leg irons are a formality. While you were unconscious, I had a look at this." The queen pulled something out of her cloak pocket... his wrist strap. "Seems you have certain talents which might be of use to the Crown."

"Oh, that I do. I'm known throughout the galaxy for things much more exciting than thievery," he licked his upper lip.

"That's encouraging, 'Captain', because I'd say you're terrible at thievery and worse at deference." Liz swung a pointed boot up and planted it on the chair between his legs, forcing his knees apart. She reached for her hips and lightning-quick, drew two sidearms. She cocked them and fired shots in two directions, making Hart jump in his chair from the twin report. He glanced to each side and saw two shattered plant pots.  She spun the weapons and slung them back into the holsters.

"Not bad, eh? But I understand you've got training in hand-to-hand, not to mention facility with all the weaponry we've divested you of. Your task is to train me on each of these. I fancy learning the retractable katana first. I'll spare your life, because I am merciful. You can reject my offer and spend time in the cells, which is highly unpleasant. You can defy me and get much worse than instant bioshackle shock, something we call 'belly of the beast', understood?"

John Hart definitely understood conditional reprieves. "Yes. Yes, your... Majesty."

Liz Ten pressed forward with her knee, into the centre of Hart's chest and clicked a button on the wrist strap before tucking into her pocket. "Good. Now defer."

The wrist shackles released with a sharp buzzing sound and Hart flexed his aching arms. Liz Ten pushed him back in the chair.

"I said, defer."

Hart's hands came up and wrapped around her calf, then stroked upward. He brought his lips to her knee and kissed it, then looked upward through his lashes.

"Fast learner." She removed her foot from the chair and strode away, the doors opening automatically.

A piece of card stock fluttered down from a slot in the wall, and when his leg shackles buzzed open, Hart bent to pick it up. He squinted at the tiny lettering.

Revised Sentence: Detention at Her Majesty's Pleasure. Span: Indefinite.


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