“So…Captain…” Rassilon says, as he pours another drink for Jack from the white stone jug in his hand, reaching across the Doctor’s unconscious body to hand the refilled cup to the Time Agent, “… Benjamin Pond set you onto an opportunity for employment at a museum on some dismal, decadent satellite. And what did you do there?”
Jack Harkness smiles a cat’s smile, and takes the small stone cup he’s been nursing, and drains it down.
“I think I already told you,” Jack says, keeping his grin on, “…but for the sake of argument, I’ll say it again. I worked there as a guard; I flirted with everything, everyone, trying to find out more about him. Then one day he shows up and murders the desk clerk. Wham bam, thank you ma’am. Bastard did it right in front of me, almost pleading for me to stop with those damn eyes of his. What would you have done? I don’t know. But me? I followed him all the way here. There was a strange painting of a cliff near this building we’re in now… an old Earth- sorry, don’t you guys call her Sol III?- food dispenser was standing there, right on the painted cliff. That painting was strange- the whole cliff made of bones and flesh. Pretty place. I could almost hear the crunch underfoot. It gave the illusion of a rose-covered outcropping from a distance. All is vanity, I guess. By the way…” he adds, blinking his bright blue-grey eyes, “… that was it. You said you’d give me something?” With a cough and a hand to his throat, he settles back, anxious for a reply.
Rassilon smirks and sticks a hand in his robes; his fingers curl around something. He brings out his hand from the folds of his clothing, only to find what he expected: Jack Harkness clutching his own neck, with a hand straining, open-palmed, to grasp empty air.
“I’m getting to that…” the Time Lord murmurs, drawing the white pyramid out of his long sleeve and cocking his pitch black head of hair slightly to the left. Before he speaks again, he watches the Time Agent’s body as it slides to the floor. “It was good for you, I trust?”