51stcenturyfox: (Jack With Head Tilt)
[personal profile] 51stcenturyfox
Title: Don't Speak 
Author: 51stcenturyfox
Pairing(s): Jack/Kathy Swanson
Rating: R
Length: 1,700 words
Warnings/Kinks: Silence (for [community profile] kink_bingo )
A/N:  Takes place a week or so after They Keep Killing Suzie. Look how cute they are.  Beta credit and smooches to [livejournal.com profile] neifile7 






Kathy knew. Even before she glanced at the caller ID display, she knew it had to be Torchwood.

"What's the problem this time? Locked out of your car? Shall I recite poetry or the phone number to a locksmith?"

"You know, Detective Swanson," Jack Harkness drawled, "if I didn't know better, I'd almost start to suspect you didn't like me or something."

"That's ridiculous," she replied.

"I know." Jack sounded incredulous.

"I mean that I don't dislike anyone, Captain," Kathy scolded. Gillian, sitting behind her desk, lifted her eyebrows, and Kathy shook her head. "Waste of time. I'm just tired of clearing up your organisation's little messes. Which lead to expenditures of time, personnel, budget..."

"Let me make that up to you."

She twisted the tight curl of the telephone cord in her fingers. "Hmm. Considering it. No, don't bother. I'll just nurse my sense of annoyance a while longer."

"Nurse a drink instead. Let me take you out to dinner," Jack offered. At her pause, he rushed forward. "Somewhere really nice. Come on, it's the least I can do."

"It is actually the very least," Kathy agreed.

"Half-eight?"

"You're not buttering me up merely to ask another favour, are you?" she asked.

"Moi?"

Kathy sighed. "Fine. Half-eight. Pick me up here. You're driving." She put the phone back in the receiver and glanced back at Gillian. "What?"

"I didn't say a word, ma'am."

*

"Well, this is nice," Kathy acknowledged, sweeping her eyes round the small dining area. "I expected a place with placemat menus and a pub quiz."

"I thought we could do that after," Jack said with a grin as he tugged off his greatcoat and the host pulled out Kathy's chair. She sat and smoothed her black skirt along her lap as he joined her.

"This isn't that kind of evening, Captain. You're watching me enjoy the expensive dinner you're paying for whilst explaining why you're going to stop stepping all over my constabulary's procedures, running up costly man-hours on my end to assist your team with various things when we're not dealing with a problem you caused, and-"

"Fine. We'll set up... rules of engagement. But could we eat before we talk shop? Talk about the... weather?" Jack leaned forward.

"It's Cardiff," Kathy pointed out. "It's either raining or looks like it'll rain tomorrow."

"That's uncharitable. London's no better."

"Technically..." Kathy paused as the waiter returned with wine and pulled out the cork, then offered a swirl of garnet in a large goblet to Jack. He sniffed it and nodded at her, but handed the glass back to their waiter and gestured her way.

"Do you want to approve this? I'm having water."

Kathy raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a strategic move."

"Nope. I just don't drink."

Kathy took the glass and gestured at the waiter to leave the bottle. He recited the specials and she ordered. "And a starter, I think."

"Now you're just taking advantage of my generosity."

"Absolutely. It's a business dinner -- I'm sure you're expensing it to the Crown," Kathy said, and had a sip of her wine. "All right. Let's get started, then. First off, quit poaching my staff."

"What?" Jack gave his head a quick shake: exaggerated disbelief. "I've hired one constable..."

"I see your people talking to Davidson. We spend money to train officers. We don't do that so you can just-"

"We're not hiring Andy Davidson. I promise you that."

Kathy paused. "All right, then. Anybody else?"

"No. Unless you're looking for a chall-"

"No," Kathy cut him off, then smiled. "I like what I do, thank you very much."

"You'd like working with me."

"I think the shine would wear off after a while, Captain."

"Jack. You can call me Jack."

"All right then, Jack. Again, no thank you." Kathy put down her fork and gestured at the last stuffed mushroom on her plate. "Fancy that?" Jack nodded and speared the morsel as their main courses arrived. They tucked into their steaks and the negotiation continued:

"...and the fourth point: lose my mobile number. No more calls at ungodly hours."

"Detective."

"I'm serious. Ring dispatch. They have a protocol for dealing with your... requests."

Jack sighed. "That's fine."

Kathy placed her napkin on the table and straightened her dessert spoon. "Why don't you just call in UNIT, anyway?"

"You know about UNIT?"

Kathy cast her eyes skyward and exhaled, exasperated. "I'm having crème brûlée."


"I'll just walk home from here," she said outside the restaurant, gesturing vaguely up the street. She tucked a stray plait behind her ear. "Good night."

"Could I drive you?" Jack asked, shrugging into his greatcoat.

"It's a nice evening and I'm ten minutes away. I feel like walking."

"It's about to rain."

"Cardiff," she said, and smiled, eyes searching the dark, clouded sky. The air held that warm, heavy charge it carries just before a heavy rainfall.

"Are you sure-"

"No thank you, really." She began to walk up the road, the sound of her heels on the pavement echoing as she strode away. Jack jogged a few steps to catch up.

"I'll walk with you, if that's all right."

"Fine. I won't stop you." They walked in silence for a block and a half.

"You know, Detective Swanson... Kathy, there are lot of reasons why the Constabulary should just let Torchwood... be Torchwood."

She slowed to a stroll. "It's just that you're not accountable. If something happens, the public ring us, not you."

Jack nodded, too fast. "Yeah. Yeah, I know, but we're not always able to-

Kathy continued, "And what happened to our suspect? The one connected to..." she gestured in the air, "Pilgrim. His family filed a missing person's report and next thing you know, he's in the morgue. The last time he was seen was being tucked into the back of a black SUV with you lot."

"He had a seizure, I told you. It was unfortunate, because we had him in a holding area with concrete floors, unsupervised and we assume he fell. He had a head injury and bled out."

"I don't actually believe you, Jack."

"Check the inquest report. We did one, and we turned the body over to your guys."

She stopped walking. "It's one of those things, isn't it? One of those expedient Torchwood things. He was due to be questioned on our end, arrested and booked. But a trial would have been a bit problematic for your organisation, wouldn't it? He might have said a lot of inconvenient things in court, under oath."

Jack, hands in pockets, looked skyward and kicked at a bit of gravel on the pavement beneath a bank of steps. "Kathy-"

She shook her head. "Just stop. Stop talking. Because every time you open your mouth, egregious lies fall out."

"But-"

Kathy put a finger to her own lips and then held it up and pressed it to his. "Stop. Don't say another word."

Jack stood and looked at her.

"This is my house," she said, and he glanced at the door and nodded, her finger moving against his mouth as he did. "Oh. Look at that. You can be quiet." She moved her finger away and dug into her shoulder bag, then pulled out a set of keys, just as a fat raindrop fell on her bare forearm. "Right, then."

She held the keys up and jingled them, then passed them to Jack and put a hand on her hip, waiting. He glanced at the sky and then at her and examined the keys, trying two before one clicked the tumbler. Her door swung open with a low creak, and Kathy walked in. Jack disengaged the key from the lock and followed her inside, then placed the keys on a small entry table as Kathy moved down the hall and into an adjoining room, where she switched on a lamp with a soft click.

Jack stood in the hallway for a moment, and then walked into Kathy's sitting room, where she was perched on a creamy sofa, pulling off her shoes. He opened his mouth to say something, but at her look, merely licked his lips.

"I said you should be quiet." Kathy stood and turned around, pointing behind her. "Give me a hand, please?" Jack walked over and, following her direction, unbuttoned her back skirt button with one hand, then pulled down the zip. "Thanks," Kathy said, softly, as Jack's other hand went to the side of her waist and gently crumpled the fabric of her black blouse, pulling it out of the skirt, which was starting to slip down the curve of her hips. She gave a slight shake and it shimmied down to pool at the edge of the sofa. Jack picked it up and laid it over the sofa's arm.

Kathy turned, and Jack focused on the row of trim buttons running down the front of her shirt. When he edged the cloth back to find ruched silk trimmed with lace -- the colour of a blood orange -- he grinned. Pulling the fabric over her shoulders, he bent to kiss her collarbone, inhale the faint scent of gardenias at the curve of her neck. Her fingers found his belt buckle and unfastened it, then slipped inside his trousers.

"Kathy," he whispered, and she wrapped a hand around his chin and gave him a warning look. No, it said, and he moved finally to kiss her.

"That's better," she laughed. "Put that lying mouth to good use." Jack started to protest, but she was smiling, so he smiled back instead. He dropped to sit on his heels, slid her knickers to the floor as she stepped out of them and slid back on the sofa as Jack parted her knees. He traced a slow, slick line upward along the inside of her thigh with his tongue and she slipped her fingertips into his dark shock of hair as her head fell backward on the cushions.

"Oh. Yes. That's much, much better," Kathy breathed.

*

Sometimes, Jack still called Detective Kathy Swanson when he said he wouldn't; late at night when the bedside light in her house shone. She'd come awake, blinking, book on her chest and answer her mobile.

And sometimes, she even let him speak.

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