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World War 2 London. One of Jack's favourite destinations, despite, ya know... all the bombs and shit. He's just parked his little old spaceship on the top of some dark building (it's definitely not the best era for visibility) and steps out to breathe in the not-so-fresh air. He immediately regrets his choice of parking space because the escape staircase down the side of his chosen building is particularly rickety - but after all, what's life without a little daring? He'll be moving it for the con tomorrow anyway. Tonight is for fun.
God, he's missed this place. Walking down the streets, coat billowing out behind him, he feels like one of the locals. Nobody gives him a second glance as he strides over the cobbles - well, not for looking out of place, anyway. He gets second glances for other reasons whether he likes it or not. (Okay, he likes it.)
He stumbles upon a little pub on the corner of a junction and thinks Perfect. There's a warm glow to it and a buzz of conversation spills into the street - along with the only laughter for quite a way around. Alcohol always seems to do that, no matter where in the cosmos. He'd visited Earth pre-brew once and it was, quite simply, miserable - so much so that he may have given a sample and tutorial to some passing tribesperson... and then gotten off with them. Technically they came onto him, but Jack has never been one to deny the people.
The place is crowded but manageable. He makes his way to the bar and orders a large vodka to kick off the night.
"A large is never as big as you think it'll be, right?" a guy calls from a short distance down. An attractive guy, Jack notes quickly. He's turned away from a group of people he's probably meant to be conversing with, fingering the rim of his own glass of clear liquid and smirking in the most taunting way Jack has ever seen. Whether he called across because of the similar accent or taste in drink Jack can't quite tell, but he's happy to move down to this dark, handsome stranger.
As Jack moves, a man stood beside his new friend turns towards the voice, presuming he was the one being spoken to. The smirk slips and Vodka Man mutters something that looks like "I wasn't talking to you" and Jack is about to back off because there's obvious tension between these two and he doesn't want to start a fight, but The Acquaintance must ask who he was talking to because the smirk is back in place and Vodka Man waves him over, extending a hand when he reaches them.
"My name's Sergeant James Barnes, and this is my colleague Steve Rogers."
Jack shakes James' hand - he has a strong, steady grip and beautiful long fingers and man this guy is pressing all of Jack's buttons - then Steve turns around and shit. Jack hadn't been able to gauge anything other than the guy's height and physique when his back was turned but his face is a stunner as well - his expression is adorable, a combination of hurt at the term 'colleague' and a genuine innocence that Jack could never hope to replicate.
"Hi," Jack says. "Captain Jack Harkness." Steve gives a tight smile and shakes his hand - also an incredible grip; Jack is going to need to go and freshen up after this conversation - but his body is angled towards James and the man definitely has his full attention now.
James, however, refuses to give him any of his. "Captain, you say?" he continues, eyes twinkling.
Steve makes a small noise of protest and Jack thinks he hears him mutter, "I'm a captain too."
"I do say. And you're right about the vodka," Jack adds, raising his glass and giving a winning smile. James raises his as well and they drain their glasses, eyes locked. They grin at each other for a moment after their glasses hit the bar before James turns to the barmaid and signals for another two. Jack smirks. "Two larges is more like it. But you should try hypervodka - you'd love it."
"What's that and why haven't I heard of it before?" James smirks.
"It's in development in Russia as we speak. Technically speaking I shouldn't have tried any, but it just so happened that I knew what the right people liked." He drops a quick wink.
James flushes a little which Jack finds absolutely adorable. "What landed you in Russia?" he asks from under his lashes. He hands Jack his next glass while Steve hovers, fretting.
"Well, unlike your good friend here, I'm not an army captain. I'm a traveller. I get all over the place."
"So you have a ship?" James asks, tone heavy with suggestion.
Jack smiles to himself. God, this guy was almost as incorrigible as he was. "Yeah. Maybe you'll get to see it later."
Steve cracks. "Excuse me!" he says loudly in the direction of the bartender, leaning between them to signal for his own drink.
It's very difficult to suppress giggles at such a tactless display of overaffection. Steve may be a genius on the battlefield, but it seems he can strut across the field of flirtation no better than a baby giraffe.
They finish this round and James immediately orders another. Even by Jack's standards this is impressive, and he raises his eyebrows. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Sergeant Barnes?" he teases.
"Well you've got to be easier to get drunk than this guy" - he jerks a thumb at Steve - "ever since he beefed up, he's like a fucking sponge. Can't get him anywhere near tipsy."
"I bet I could." Jack looks Steve up and down. Damn.
"I can get drunk!" Steve protests emphatically. James snorts at him, but that only prompts Steve to pout and call for a whole bottle of vodka. James finally turns to look at him, actually surprised at this effort. He raises his eyebrows as if to say, seriously? You want to go this extreme? After a beat when Steve's stubborn pout doesn't relent, James shrugs and says, "It's going on your tab."
The drinks keep coming for longer than Jack cares to keep track of, Steve's tenfold in volume. It gets to a point where Steve is stood on a table and a whole group of people - who James introduces collectively as 'The Commandos' - are constantly passing him drinks and he keeps downing them and downing them without so much as a wobble and Jack has to say it's one of the most impressive things he's ever seen (not the most, mind you; that had involved a lot less drink and a lot more nakedness. About the same number of people though).
James turns out to be a rather affectionate but giggly drunk, and he and Jack spend hours by the bar swapping stories of war and adventure whilst steadily getting closer and closer to each other as well as more and more drunk. Despite their outrageous flirting, and increasing levels of contact, things don't get any further than that. Jack knows a lifelong crush - maybe even love, and possibly still a love that is believed to be unrequited on both sides even though it clearly isn't - when he sees it and is happy not to come between that and just enjoy his night. Granted, given the chance he would get both of them into bed, hopefully together - maybe he could set them up and just leave them to it... But he doesn't.
It gets to the point where James can't stand up without the support of both Jack and the bar, so when he lurches forward with the aim of Steve's table but the destination of the floor, Steve hops down, still apparently stone-cold sober, and picks his friend up gently, draping one of James' arms over his shoulder and hooking his own arm around his friend's waist. James nuzzles vaguely at Steve's chest and mutters something about being able to take another drink. Steve laughs softly and there's no denying that that in his eyes right there is love.
He suddenly remembers himself and looks up, meeting Jack's gaze with an earnestness that wasn't there at the start of the evening. "Thanks for looking after him," he says with a humbleness that cannot possibly be standard for a twentysomething American soldier. This guy just isn't real; that is the only logical conclusion Jack can come up with at this intoxication level.
Jack shrugs off the thanks and smiles. "It was nothing."
Steve smiles back. "See you back home, Captain."
Jack grins and salutes. "Captain."
Steve's smile widens and he gives a dainty nod before turning towards the door. James seems to register movement and quickly twists round as much as he can to give Jack a big goofy grin and a wave. Jack grins back and gives a big thumbs up before waving at the retreating pair with a distinctly swelled heart. Those two are gonna do well together, he can tell.
***
Back to Earth, he figures. He hasn't visited in a while. He'll find the first pub he can and get hammered, just like he used to in the good old days.
He sets his wrist strap to some time in the 21st century. He likes that century. In fact, everyone seems to, though he can't work out why.
He ends up ends up in America - New York, to go by the look of it. An NY Times paper that he picks up strolling down the busy street says 2014. As good a year as any, Jack supposes. It's late on a summer's evening and the sun is almost set as he follows the familiar raucous to a pub.
He squeezes through the crowd, joining the back of a group of guys desperately calling for drinks at the poor bartenders from left, right and centre. Oh, to have to shove for a drink again. This was going to be fun.
He's about to roll up his sleeves and get his elbows out when a hand on his shoulder turns him round and he finds himself face to face with someone familiar. His frankly dashing features are framed by shoulder-length dark hair and just the right amount of stubble. Jack can't quite place him, but it seems the other guy can't place him either.
"Sorry, I thought..." he starts. Man, this is bugging Jack. He knows this guy. "Hang on -" The mystery man looks over his own shoulder and calls, "Steve! Do we know this guy?"
Steve steps out from between all the bodies and casually slips his arm around the other man's waist (who returns the motion seemingly subconsciously) with that innocent curiosity on his face and it slots into place in Jack's mind. "Steve! Captain!" he grins.
Steve is grinning back. "Captain."
It clicks for James as well, eventually. "That's right, Captain Jack." His face splits into an indulgent grin and Jack wonders how he misplaced that wonderfully tempting face.
But they all pause over the same thought. It's 2014. Jack knows his excuse, but how the hell are these guys alive? Let alone looking exactly the same as the did 70 years ago?
Jack figures he'll start with his explanation. "Ah... so I'm an immortal time travelling alien. What're your excuses?"
The other two men look at each other, shrug in apparent acceptance of this story - a lot has gone on in terms of aliens on Earth fairly recently to them, Jack seems to recall - and smirk at the ridiculousness of this situation. Jack joins them in that.
"Well," Steve begins. "I was frozen in the Arctic for the best part of 70 years. My supersoldier DNA let me unfreeze again," he explains, with a self-conscious duck of his head.
"Supersoldier, huh?" Jack hadn't been expecting that, but he's impressed and he grins. The stamina that guy must have...
"Yeah, ditto," James chimes in. Jack widens his eyes the little further they can go. "Only I was trained as a Soviet assassin and brainwashed for the 70 years he was under."
They stand there for a long moment, letting all of this information sink in. Nobody really knows what to say, especially since their last and only encounter consisted of lots of alcohol consumption and flirting and not much else (although Jack is happy to see that they seem to have resolved the whole undeclared love thing).
"Ooh!" Jack reaches into his coat pocket on a moment of inspiration, pulls out a bottle and hands it to James. "This isn't from Russia, it's actually from some distant planet that I forget the name of - your very own hypervodka. Might work even on that supersoldier metabolism of yours," he adds with a wink.
James' grin is positively predatory as turns to Steve. "Oh we are getting smashed tonight."