Captain Jackson Jefferies

Jonathan looked back and forth between Jackson and Jameson. Curiosity caused an eyebrow to raise and he wondered what the bone of contention was. Of course, it took but a moment to find out. He listened quietly as Jackson described his teapot, his coffee machine, his young Spanish friend; basically a lot of information about how wonderful he was. He nodded here and there, but was a bit baffled at the thought of a coffee machine.

“I have been to Italy, sir,” he commented, “and tried many different coffee drinks. Though, perhaps, the process is different in Spain. Do you mean you have a pot for making coffee as well?” Then he saw this espresso machine. His eyes widened, both impressed and horrified. “Surely all of this isn’t necessary for a simple cup of coffee.” The machine sputtered and coughed and then poured out a tiny, very dark cup of coffee. He took it from his host and cautiously looked it over. Then he, even more cautiously, took a sip. 

It was Jonathan’s turn to sputter and cough. He tried to speak, but it took a moment. “Gracious that’s bitter. Do you just drink it…straight?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jameson watching them from behind a newspaper. “And what about you, Mister Wyatt? Do you have any amazing inventions to show me? Or suspicious fluids you’d like me to drink?”

Jameson looked up from his paper with pursed lips. Then he shook the paper and neatly folded it on his desk. “I am not one for blowing my own horn,” he informed the magician. “Unlike my colleague, my interest lies in theory, creativity and pure innovation. I do not have any handy gadgets or a stack of patents.” He squinted. “But what of you? If this ability of yours is truly some ancient art form and not simply tricks, why isn’t everyone doing it? Where are all the other magicians?”

Jackson wasn’t fond of Jonathan’s attitude. Nor his colleague’s. He’d expected to be praised for his work, as usual. At least that’s what Gaston and Alejandro usually did. “Why do you always gotta talk about yourself like that?” he muttered as Jameson listed his attributes. 

His interest perked up when the chemist asked about other magicians. Since he still wasn’t sure of this stanger’s magic being genuine, he figured trying to get a rise out of Jonathan might reveal more tricks.  “Are you blind?” he sputtered. “They’re all over, in the streets, theatres, gambling halls... how else do you think I ran into that damned Fabien?”

He poured himself a drink and plopped into a chair. “I’m gonna stick with my thoughts that all magicians are swindlers with too much time on their hands. We don’t need more of them. Ain’t that right, Mister Strange?”

It had taken some negotiating, but Jackson had finally won over Maggie and was sharing an apartment with his colleague. Jameson still often visited his lover in her own quarters, leaving the place empty for Jackson to entertain guests of his own. But when the muse of inspiration struck, it was ideal for the two men to be able to work together undisturbed. 

Jackson had taken most of his smaller creations from the Safe Harbor and set them up on one side of the sitting room, leaving the opposite wall to Jameson’s organizational preferences. One afternoon, as a result of their frequent squabbles over space, the very drunk American had painted a line down the center of the room to divide it in half. The calmness with which his companion handled the situation had surprised Jackson, but then again, Jameson often worked outside of his predictions. 

While Jackson had nursed his hangover that evening, Jameson read up on storage techniques and the next day, two impressively large cabinets were installed and filled with all the experimental items they could possibly need. It was in one of these cabinets that Jackson was currently rummaging as Jonathan looked around the room.

“No mirrors here,” he teased and waved bottles in the air. “But we’ve got plenty of liquor. What’s your poison?”

Once he’d situated the stranger and his friend with a drink, Jackson shucked off his coat and light a cigarette, glancing with pride to the side of the room with his creations. 

The moment Jonathan walked in the room, he couldn’t help but remember how much life had changed since his younger years, or at least, his original younger years. There were no servants, no vestibules, no…cleanliness, well, at least on one side of the room. Though he knew this was partially his own problem to deal with. He was still getting used to men without hose. He smiled his lop-sided grin at the paint on the floor and could easily imagine the story behind it. Plus, it was plain to see that each side of the room was occupied by two very different people. He wasn’t sure what he expected from Jackson’s cabinet, but bottles of alcohol hadn’t crossed his mind.

He spared a glance at Jameson and said, “Are you having a drink as well, sir?”

Jameson sighed. “Why not?” Then he took a glass of scotch from Jackson and downed it in one gulp before slumping into a chair on his side of the room.

Jonathan stared at him in surprise for a moment and then turned back to Jackson to answer his question. “Well, brandy I suppose, if you have any. If not, the scotch will do.”

Jonathan, ever the conscientious Englishman, let his eye wander to the tea pot. “Is it electrical, sir?” he asked, trying to sound like he was up on all of the latest inventions. “Yet, I see no wires. Does it produce its own power somehow? Or perhaps you’ve done something like that Tesla fellow and managed to produce electricity without the wires?”

At the mention of Nikola Tesla’s name, Jameson’s head popped up and he gave a chuckle.

“That Tesla fellow?” Jackson’s look of surprise at Jonathan changed quickly to a glare at his colleague. “Did you put him up to this?” he spat.

The American swung back to his gentleman visitor. “I like to consider myself a true innovator, like Edison. My work may appear similar to Tesla’s,” he strangled the name through gritted teeth, “but I assure you it is quite different. Better, in fact.”

“The teapot has a self-heating coil, and a timer that goes off when the water has boiled. It’s useful. I even advanced my work to a coffee machine - have you tried espresso?" He tapped another machine nearby and smirked, then started it up.

“You see, my young Spanish friend insisted that we get coffee on our ship, and he helped me create...” he sailed off into an explanation of the machine and his collaboration with Alejandro. Within a few minutes, he snatched Jonathan’s glass of brandy and dumped the espresso in. “Alejandro and I created some tasty combinations,” he nodded at the cup before giving it back to Jonathan.

Captain Jefferies was certainly brash and surprising. Jonathan had never met another American before and he wondered if they were all this…familiar. They seemed to be moving in tandem, Jonathan moved behind Jackson, straightening every little wrinkle he caused, until the man finally seemed somewhat satisfied. Even then, he still refused to truly believe. Strange’s mouth opened to assure the pair that it was no trick, but the American plowed on. If only he knew what was on the other side of that little mirror. 

Still, he listened with interest as the engineer went on. He tried to disguise his enthusiasm, but he’d never been very good at it and this was just the sort of thing that had amazed him about this age. Now and then, he would punctuate Jackson’s speech with a “really?” here and a “you don’t say?” there. He was just about to comment further when the words were sucked from his mouth.

“Slight of hand?” he repeated in the place of the praise he was about to give. He huffed a bit. “How can you possibly explain…?” He sighed and shook his head. Things had been so much easier during the war with Buonaparte. People still believed then. Then a smile replaced the huffiness on his face. “Magic can be very useful, sir,” he announced. “If you have a ship to spare, I might like to try raising it myself. Then there’s always rain. I learned the hard way, a long time ago, from a dear friend, that rain can be a very powerful thing.” With that, heavy drops began to pour from the sky and Jonathan smiled a crooked grin. “Perhaps we should retire to your rooms and you can show me these marvelous gizmos of yours?”

The miraculous timing of the weather made Jackson wonder if Jonathan had a hand in such matters. But he was most certainly NOT going to admit that out loud. Change in the temperature or wind, the behavior of animals, the color of clouds - there were myriad ways that one could tell about oncoming weather. Jackson let himself laugh at Jonathan’s request to raise a ship and muttered as he turned to head to their residence. “Sir, I don’t think you’re strong enough to move a dinghy.”

It had taken some negotiating, but Jackson had finally won over Maggie and was sharing an apartment with his colleague. Jameson still often visited his lover in her own quarters, leaving the place empty for Jackson to entertain guests of his own. But when the muse of inspiration struck, it was ideal for the two men to be able to work together undisturbed. 

Jackson had taken most of his smaller creations from the Safe Harbor and set them up on one side of the sitting room, leaving the opposite wall to Jameson’s organizational preferences. One afternoon, as a result of their frequent squabbles over space, the very drunk American had painted a line down the center of the room to divide it in half. The calmness with which his companion handled the situation had surprised Jackson, but then again, Jameson often worked outside of his predictions. 

While Jackson had nursed his hangover that evening, Jameson read up on storage techniques and the next day, two impressively large cabinets were installed and filled with all the experimental items they could possibly need. It was in one of these cabinets that Jackson was currently rummaging as Jonathan looked around the room.

“No mirrors here,” he teased and waved bottles in the air. “But we’ve got plenty of liquor. What’s your poison?”

Once he’d situated the stranger and his friend with a drink, Jackson shucked off his coat and light a cigarette, glancing with pride to the side of the room with his creations. 

In the meantime, Jameson scarcely moved from his spot. If Jackson hadn’t really believed him, then Jameson hadn’t believed the man at all. For him, there was a reasonable, scientific explanation for everything. He was partly shocked and, frankly partly annoyed. Mystery was supposed to be his realm; not because it didn’t make sense, but because people simply didn’t understand most of what he did. How was he to compete with men who disappeared through mirrors? A part of him wanted an explanation, but another part of him knew he’d never get one he was satisfied with. “Yes,” he answered his colleague a bit hoarsely. “He seems to have vanished.” He refrained from adding, let’s go back to our rooms and be done with him.

Jonathan watched from the shadows as the larger man seemed to be trying his best to ignore what he’d just seen and the American trying to figure it out. He smiled to himself and then stepped over to them. “I’ve returned,” he announced dramatically. He fought back a chuckle at Jackson’s reaction and then offered the man a hand. “So, gentleman, what did you think of my demonstration?”

The American finally released Jonathan. He glanced at Jameson, knowing that if he admitted to believing in magic, he’d never hear the end of it from his colleague. “I’m still not convinced,”  he said sharply. “There are a lot of illusion tricks that one can do with a mirror.” 

“It did surprise me but...” he smiled at Jonathan, “that’s not the best you can do, right?” He patted his hand on the stranger’s shoulder and nodded at the tallest man in their group.

“My colleague Jameson and I work to create things that are useful. We make amazing machines that improve peoples lives.” Jackson talked with his hands, painting the impressive world of mechanical wonders before Jonathan’s eyes. “Why, Mister Wyatt even made a ship fly.” He grinned.

“So, um, Mister Wyatt is it? How come you to make the acquaintance of such a brash gentleman as Captain Jefferies?”

Jameson stole a glance at his walking companion. He noticed that the man’s speech patterns were a bit archaic and it was rather rare to be standing side by side with someone his own height. The man was rather skinny and haggard looking though and Jameson wondered when the last time it was he’d put anything in his belly besides drink.

“Well, we are both scientists and engineers, sir,” he answered.

“Ah, so colleagues then,” Jonathan said with a smile. “Best of friends and worst of enemies,” he added wistfully.

Jameson thought his words strange, but not altogether untrue. He started to answer when his companion let out an exclamation.

“This will do,” Jonathan announced and picked up a rather gaudy and tattered, though intact, mirror. He took it from the back alley ground and propped it up on a stack of wooden crates. As he studied it, he became aware that they were no longer alone. He ignored Jackson and his entourage for as long as he could. He knew the spell well enough, but it had been decades since he performed it last. And it hadn’t really ended well for him. That was a long time ago though and he found himself longing for magic again; for someone to share it with. 

Finally, he smirked and nodded in Captain Jefferie’s direction. “As you wish, sir.” Then he placed his hand on the mirror, closed his eyes, and felt himself being pulled through.

“Son of a bitch,” Jackson muttered as he stared at the empty space before him. He gathered himself quickly, turning to the crowd with a smile and exchanging monies before he sent them away. He pocketed the coins and brushed past Jameson. “Now then,” he said quietly, “let’s find where the bastard’s hiding.” He picked up the mirror and examined it, then set it aside and started kicking at the crates. There were no groans or exclamations from inside them. Jackson turned in a circle, now puzzled by Jonathan’s disappearance. “There’s gotta be some mechanism...”

He repeated his actions again, this time shoving crates out of the way and running up and down the alley, calling for the man. He finally huffed to a stop in front of his colleague. “He really disappeared,”  he exclaimed with astonishment.

Jameson watched the interaction between the two men with interest. He was surprised at Jackson’s enthusiasm, though. He’d never shown any interest in alchemy or any of that silliness, at least not to him. He’d always considered Jackson a serious scientist, though he was prone to working on projects like teapots and espresso machines. And though some of his ideas were a bit fantastical they were still very much in the “how can I get paid for this” frame of mind. He couldn’t imagine why Jackson would be asking these question unless to mock them man. So, Jameson sipped at his sherry and only pretended not to listen.

Jonathan Strange bristled, noticeably. While he was enthusiastic about his craft, he’d certainly never been called merry. His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed as the man’s mouth kept moving. Finally, he help up his finger and said, “Certainly, refilling your glass is simple.” The bartender noticed Jonathan’s finger and, as he came closer, Jonathan nodded towards their glasses. He gave a mild grin at the toast and, against his better judgement, found himself thinking the American was rather charming.

“Perhaps you think me a side street side show, Sir. I guarantee you I am nothing of the sort. There is magic and then there is magic,” he said with a smile. “Actually the street shows have nothing to do with magic and it is a shame they aren’t made to call it something else. What those people do is nothing more than trickery just as you said. It’s…” He glanced up, realizing that he’d gone off on a bit of a tangent. “I do apologize,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I get carried away sometimes…well, most of the time. To answer your question though; yes, magic is very real. I could show you if you like.”

“Perhaps this is not the best place for a demonstration,” he commented, noticing how crowded the bar had become. He stood and gave a small bow as he gestured toward Jonathan. “Would you escort our guest, Jameson?” He sensed that his friend was suspicious of his antics, but he hoped Jonathan didn’t noticed. 

As he watched the two men leave, he nudged a few of the patrons, elaborating his tale about the stranger who could do magic. For a few coins, they too could see these marvelous wonders. He quickly worked out wagers and gathered a nice size pool of money. Within a few minutes, a small crowd was following Jackson as he joined his colleague and their new acquaintance.

He gave Jonathan an encouraging smile. “I’m ready. What are you going to show me?” He noticed the man’s eye wander to the other patrons and  he waved them off. 

Still, he only shook his head and sipped at his brandy. “It’s Gaston, Jackson. He was probably drunk or drugged on some hallucinogenic berry. Who knows what really happened.” He followed his colleague’s gaze toward a man a little further down the bar. He leaned forward, looking rather serious, and hissed, “Why are you whispering?”

As Jonathan turned and rather shortly introduced himself, he realized almost immediately that he may have made a mistake. The two men were staring at him as if they had no idea what he was talking about. He gave them a polite, though highly embarrassed smile, apologized and was about to go back to his thoughts.

“No, please, no harm done,” Jameson insisted. “Perhaps you had insight on our current conversation. I, for one, wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

“Ah…well, what was it you were discussing?”

“Magic, I believe,” Jameson answered, trying not to sound like it was the most ridiculous conversation he’d ever had.

For a moment, Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat, threatening to build up and cause his head to explode. When it finally released, it was in a series of short, high pitched giggles.

Jameson, mistaking the man’s reaction for something like his own, nodded and said, “Yes, that was my thought as well.”

“Oh no, sir, you misunderstand me. In the area of magic, I have much insight indeed.” With a silly grin, he gave a small bow which almost caused him to topple from his barstool. Then he said, “What is it you wish to know?”

“Well, aren’t you merry?” Jackson hunched over, invading Jameson’s space so he could get closer to the other man. “Mister Strange, I’d like to know what sort of tricks are up your sleeve. Do you use playing cards? Perhaps you can tell me what I’m thinking?” He snickered. “Or better yet, maybe you can refill this glass?” He grinned as he got his wish and toasted the stranger.

The man seemed eager to speak with them, but Jackson’s suggestions had been brushed off, seemingly insignificant. He supposed this man considered himself as a serious magician, if there was such a thing. He exchanged glances with Jameson and then decided to get information that he was truly interested in.

He’d been alone for a very long time now. He’d outlived everyone he knew and had, long ago, accepted the fact that he was simply never going to die. What he didn’t know for sure was why. Oh, he had his suspicions. He’d delved into things, he knew now, that he never should have meddled with. The jury was still out though on whether this immortality had been meant as a reward or a punishment. To him, it had mostly been a torture, especially knowing there was nothing he could do about it. He’d tried everything, once he’d been left alone, yet he was still kicking and breathing.

Still, it wasn’t without its perks. He’d lived long enough to see some amazing things. The world may have lost its use for magic…again, but the marvels it had created in its stead simply amazed him. Flying ships, artificial beings; they were all so very wonderful. There was the occasional snag like legions of automatons trying to take over Britain, but hadn’t magic had its drawbacks too? Indeed it had and he’d seen the worst of them first hand.

As he sat and ruminated, accompanied by healthy amounts of alcohol, he began to realize that he wasn’t entirely alone. Two men had come in together, though they seemed an unlikely pair, and sat a few stools down from him. At first, he’d thought nothing of it, but he noticed now that they were talking in hushed tones, hardly touching their drinks, and sneaking glances at him now and then. He pursed his lips and sighed, determined to ignore whoever they were and whatever they wanted. When it became obvious that this strategy was never going to work, he simply spun around in his seat and said, “Jonathan Strange, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

He glanced down the bar and lowered his voice as he kept talking. “You don’t seriously think Maggie’s innocent? She is a gypsy, for crying out loud. Don’t they tell fortunes and shit? She’s got enough special potions that you have got to be suspicious.” He raised his eyebrow as his colleague responded.

He couldn’t help but glance again at the man down the bar. Maybe he was getting paranoid. But something about the stranger didn’t sit well with him.

Instead, Finn answered for him. “That’s Billy; the man who traded my brother for the map. Apparently, he’s nothing more than a swindler who’d already found the treasure and taken it for himself. We tracked him down to make him show us where the treasure was. Though, for your information, we didn’t do anything to him. He simply…passed out.”

“Jackson!” Jameson scolded as his old colleague raised his gun again.

“I haven’t got anything to say to you,” Maggie harrumphed in reply.  Jackson sighed.  His eyes drifted toward Gaston, who stood mostly behind the rest of the pirates.  The chef had barely acknowledged him and Jackson was just itching for attention.  “Well come on, Gatson, don’t you want to know how I did it?”

The chef’s gruff reply caused a small whine from Jackson.  “You’re pirates!  You like treasure!  Why is everyone so upset?”

Jackson gave Finnegan a hard stare, and then started to laugh.

“Retreat to the larger tunnel,” he yelled and, as he suspected, the ruffians followed right behind. He quickly turned on them and produced a small, baton looking object. Two of the men stopped and chuckled at him. He smiled proudly, gave the object a flick and it proceeded to unfold and lock in place. Then Jameson simply removed the sheath to reveal a full length sword. “En garde, gentlemen,” he said and then twirled between them, much as Maggie had, giving them both a blow as he went.

Meanwhile, a low groan came from Alejandro as he slowly regained consciousness. As he blinked in the dim light, trying to figure out what all the ruckus was about, he spotted Gaston scrambling to his feet and smashing his wine bottle over some man’s head. In a split second, he realized how dire their situation was as the now unconscious man pitched forward and landed on top of him. His squawk of fear was cut-off by a whoomping sound as the air was forced out of him. His arms had managed to stay free and he flailed them about, looking very much like someone trying to make a snow angel. His tiny, muffled cry of “Help me!” seemed to go unnoticed.

Flan looked up at Gaston’s hand and his wink and hesitated. Then he let the chef help him up and tried, desperately, not to picture the later and what the man had in mind. Though a part of him longed for whatever might happen, another was highly disturbed by the distraction. “Perhaps we should focus on surviving first,” he suggested, though he gave Gaston a bit of a smirk. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jackson sputtered.  He ran his hand over his trimmed chin, pondering the untamed look of most of the crew members.  “You all look terrible.  I’m glad I got out when I did,” he muttered.  He nodded toward Gaston and the body that he carried.  “What’d you do to that guy?”

Maggie had talked over Jackson’s questions, stomping up to him and demanding to know where he’d collected his riches.  She huffed when his attention turned to Gaston and smacked his face to get Jackson to look at her again.

“I said, where did you find this treasure?!”

Jackson scowled and rubbed his jaw.  His eyes flicked over to his comrade Jameson, who had a very cross look on his bearded face.  He lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Maggie’s face before making his snarky reply.

Nikola was also happy to be spending more time with his employer outside of work. He’d rarely had anyone to talk to who understood the subtle nuances of how his mind worked or how he saw the world. While the more mundane wasn’t where his thoughts usually drifted, he indulged Edison’s questions about Paris. Quite suddenly though, their conversation turned into something physical. 

He’d been waiting for this practically since the day they’d met, perhaps even before. Edison had been his hero and it wasn’t a stretch to admit that he’d done a bit of worshipping from afar. But now that Thomas seemed more receptive, the man’s concerns rang in Nikola’s ears. The last thing he wanted to do was risk their careers and reputations. When his employer protested his attempts at keeping things platonic, he finally sighed and rubbed his brow. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked.

He chuckled at the confession of sleeping nude and nodded. “Have it your way,” he teased; a jab at Thomas’ stubborn nature in the lab. He wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed now that it had turned into a discussion. It all felt very unscientific. After a moment, he stood and proceeded to slowly undress, his eyes never leaving Edison’s. As his tattoos were revealed, he watched as the other’s gaze crept along them. With a steadying breath, he unbuttoned his trousers and let them drop as well. Then he stepped closer again, his toned frame tensed.

He laid down and let Nikola move over him, stroking his hands down his broad back.  He met his lips and the feeling of their connection overwhelmed him.  He could sense how much the other man wanted and needed him.  “Although...” he started playfully, flipping the larger man over and straddling him, “you know I don’t like giving up control.”  He kissed Nikola with more force.  His hands ran over his partner’s toned torso and he followed with his mouth, nipping and licking along the ink patterns decorating his skin.

Thomas listened the noises Nikola made and noted the slight changes as he moved his mouth in different ways.  Perhaps they could make an experiment of their intimate time together.  He grinned against his partner’s skin as his mouth moved lower.  Test out different scenarios and collect data.  Repeating it many times to confirm the results... he let out small laugh against Nikola’s stomach and suddenly found himself on his back, with the stronger man’s arms caging him in and his eyes flaring.