Actions

Work Header

Old Friends

Work Text:

“Captain Jack Harkness,” the man in the old fashioned braces said, standing up from the kitchen table, extending a hand.

This Harkness had what Remy thought of as an old-fashioned handshake - firm, natural, and able to learn the broad outlines of everything about you from the meeting of palms.

“Remy le Beau,” Remy said. For a minute he thought this Harkness would kiss his hand, but the Captain released it.

“Charmed,” Harkness said, and gracefully looked him over.

Logan eyed them over his coffee. Interested. Not angry. After a greeting like that, Remy would have expected a little growl, at least. Odd.

“So this is your old friend?” Remy pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, sprawled himself in it, and let his knee brush Logan’s thigh, just saying hello.

“We met during the Great War,” Logan said. He believes this Harkness, but he doesn’t trust him.

Still, Remy could recognize truth when he heard it, and deception was nowhere in the soldier’s countenance, as Logan and Harkness dropped back into remember-whens.

Remy let the conversation drift over his head, registering the quiet tick of the old fashioned kitchen clock, an antique worth thousands - the money he could make if he cleaned this place out. Remy sighed for lost opportunities.

Everything was in its place, Remy found, with a rapid glance around the room. The fruit in the bowl had changed, there was less pasta in the jar on the counter, but the kitchen had altered not at all since he had left two weeks ago.

Remy restrained himself from going over the house inch by inch to make certain everything was as he left it. Certainly, he worried about security, but more, Remy needed to catalogue change, the need of a wild creature to note a predator's spoor, or where prey had been incautious. Call it a need to own his surroundings - as much as one could own anything.

Harkness was the source of the few anomalies - a wool coat draped over his seat back, a World War II vintage pistol on a gun belt of some kind to one side of the table.

For now, Remy would have to content himself with waiting for Logan to finish his conversation with this man who looked too comfortable to be leaving. Luckily, Logan hadn’t been raised to lavish hospitality on guests, and Remy would be able to get his lover upstairs later without any trouble, for a very personal greeting.

Remy fingered through the item he had in his hand. “Pretty. Yours?” he said, holding up the wallet to display the photograph of Jack and a young man, arms around each other.

“Hey!” Jack said, hand going to the inside pocket of the coat he was half sitting on. Then he grinned. “Remy le Beau, I like you.”