Word Count: 3622
As alluded to in 1996, Jack Harkness made the acquaintance of Oscar Wilde. Was he out to kill him or to save him?
Mainly because I adore the idea of Jack meeting Oscar Wilde. The fic itself is well-written. It does a good job of portraying the sad circumstances of Wilde's life. You understand the empathy that Jack has for him, not just because he's a famous writer, but because he's so tragically doomed.
“Oh, yes? My verses, my prose, are remembered, are coveted? Oh, what a thing, to influence men’s minds!” He peered at Jack curiously. “I’ve had my palm read, but you, sir, really do not compare. What manner of sibyl are you?” Jack did not immediately answer, and Wilde looked out the window again. “Before my mother’s death, I had a premonition I’d seen her, dressed for going out. I asked her to stay but–Ah! You knew that already!” Jack moved uncomfortably to the far wall, aware of the seconds ticking by. “I could see it in how your eyes changed. Most extraordinary.”