“You shouldn’t be here.”
Wash slowly raised his head. It still hurt. Dark hair and a long, darker jacket were all he could see in the dimness of this backwater moon bar. The smooth voice and moreover the military style of the coat made him wary. There were worse things crisp suits blue hands River was right but the Alliance proper would be bad enough.
“A man can’t drink?” He gripped the table edge, tensing. Time to move on. Run. Run.
The other man set down a glass of water on the table and invited himself to sit. Closer, his features resolved themselves into something Kaylee would’ve adored – a pretty face, a strong chin, an easy smile – but with an intensity about the eyes that was unsettling. Wash knew it well, from looking in mirrors of late. Voice even, the man had no expression as he replied.
“Not in this gose-pile of a bar. You, Hoban Washburn, shouldn’t be in this ‘verse. You were dead.” Jack Harkness took a sip of water.
“It’s not fun, is it? Been there, done that,” he dismissed, continuing.
“Two birds with one stone, Wash. River Tam and Alliance corruption. You’re Torchwood’s key to both.”