Fic: Convergence (1/2)
Title: Convergence
Authors: Gillian Taylor (dark_aegis) and wmr (wendymr)
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness
Rated: Mature Audiences
Disclaimer: Not ours by any stretch of the imagination. We're just having fun with them
Summary: That which has been separated must be reunited.
Author's Notes: Written for yuki_suzaku - prompt will be shared at the end of the story - in the September 2009 (yes, 2009!) Support Stacie auction. We apologise profusely for the massive delay in writing this. Real life has been horrendous for myself over the past several months.
"Convergence"
by Gillian Taylor & WMR
Chapter 1: That Which Has Been Separated
She doesn’t exactly wake up and think ‘today I’m going to cause a minor disruption in time and space, fall through universes and find myself somewhere else’. That just isn’t the sort of thing she really thinks about any more. She’s more concerned with getting up, getting dressed, eating breakfast and heading off to work like everyone else on this planet.
She’s become - dare she say it? - domestic. She still sneers a little at the term - his influence, most likely, not that she’s seen him in ages. So here she is. Rose Tyler, living a life that’s only extraordinary in its ordinariness. She had a husband once. No children, though, but that’s all right. There were problems with the mixing of a human-like Time Lord with a Bad Wolf-infested human. Still, it’d been a good life, if a short one.
He’s been gone, what, ten years now? Something like that. The Doctor - her Doctor, not to be confused with the one with two hearts who’s somewhere on the other side of the dimensional walls - had loved her as best he could and hated what she’d been condemned to, but it wasn’t exactly his choice, now, was it? He was the one who got stuck with the consequences. Well, sort of.
Rose shakes her head, dismissing the thoughts. She loved him, yes, and she still misses him, but she’s slowly starting to learn how to get on with her life. She didn’t immediately try to cross the dimensional walls after he died. She didn’t throw herself off the nearest bridge or cliff - not that she’d stay dead, of course. Instead, she threw herself into her work and, when it became far too obvious that there was something strange with her lack of ageing, she moved on.
To a boring life, if she’s honest with herself. Sighing, she pulls on her clothes, grabs some toast, curses at the leaky tap in the kitchen sink - she’ll deal with that when she gets home - and heads out of her flat on her way to her position at the local chemist’s. It’s beneath her, this job. She knows it, but it’s the sort of job that keeps her under the radar.
It wouldn’t do for Torchwood to suddenly realise that there was a slightly-immortal human running about London. They’ve been getting rather, well, scary as of late. Better to avoid them, really. So she works at the chemist’s, smiling brightly at the people who stop in, asking for this or that, and trying her damndest not to care. It’s easier that way, really.
But this isn’t going to be one of her more typical days. She knows this the instant they walk inside. Though their clothes are ordinary enough, it’s the way they’re holding themselves like they’re military or secret services that triggers her alarm.
“Hasim, I’ll be back,” she says, looking at her manager. “Need to use the loo.”
Hasim nods absently, already looking at their new ‘customers’. She knows she can’t look like she’s running. That’d capture their attention faster than anything else. She’s just an employee, heading for the loo. That’s all. Nothing to see here, move along.
She’s opening the door that leads into the back of the shop when she’s spotted. She doesn’t freeze like they command, nor does she act like she doesn’t know just what they’re planning on doing. She does what she does best.
She runs.
Rose Tyler has forgotten a lot of things in her ninety-odd years of life, but this isn’t one of them. Running for her life is ingrained in her every pore. The adrenaline that courses through her system is an old friend and she grins maniacally as she reaches the door that leads to the outside world.
Torchwood’s bound to have this door watched, but there’s no other way out of the pharmacy besides going back the way she came. That’s not an option. So forward it is.
The door opens without a sound and she slips outside, closing it firmly behind her. Surprisingly, no-one is waiting on the other side of this particular door. There are no Torchwood agents aiming weapons at her, nor is there some sort of obstruction preventing her escape. She doesn’t take more than a moment to look around before she chooses a direction and continues running down the alley, narrowly avoiding tripping over a startled tabby cat on her way. She half-stumbles, misses her step and has to steady herself before she can regain her stride.
The usual shopping crowd moves through the street ahead of her. If she reaches them, she can lose herself amongst them. Torchwood won’t easily be able to follow her. She’s actually optimistic that she’ll make it, despite being slowed down by the cat.
Of course, that’s when the hand grabs her shoulder, spins her around and knocks her into the side of the building. Air whooshes out of her lungs at the impact and thousands of tiny abrasions appear where her skin rubs against the mortar.
Damn. If she hadn’t almost tripped, she’d have been safely out of here.
“You’re under arrest, Miss Tyler,” someone hisses into her ear.
“Who?” she asks. She probably shouldn’t pretend to be someone else, but she’s not going to make this easy for them. They’re the ones who went through the production of getting her. She just isn’t looking forward to the inevitable results.
Vaguely, she wonders if dissection is something she can come back from. Would her organs just re-grow?
“Don’t play with us, Miss Tyler. We know who you are.” The voice then recites her rights, as if she’s under arrest, playing the police officer to the utmost. Anyone who bothers to look down this alley will see nothing more interesting than a police officer taking a suspect into custody. Nothing illegal here.
Ha. Yeah, right.
“So what’re you arresting me for? Oooh, I know. Danger to the state? Terrorism?”
“Shut it,” the voice snaps. “Our scientists are looking forward to meeting you.”
With that comforting phrase to entertain her, the person - man, most likely, judging from the width and strength of the hands that are holding her - closes some handcuffs around her wrists and pulls her away from the wall. She’s surrounded now by several Torchwood agents and, just behind the shopping crowd, she can see one of the black vehicles that Torchwood tends to prefer waiting for her.
She doesn’t want to get into that vehicle. She knows what waits for her when she reaches her destination. A Torchwood jail cell, interrogation, torture - and the rest.
She doesn’t want to die - again.
Her skin starts to tingle, like she’s just walked into an electrical field. There’s a strange sound in her head. It sounds almost like... singing? Memories suddenly flood her mind. Recollections of a time when she knew all of time and space. A time when she foresaw this moment.
That which has been separated must be reunited.
She knows who she is. What she is. And, more importantly, what she can do. She stops in the middle of the alley, ignoring the sharp jabs of the weapons and the angry instructions of the men around her. “Sorry to disappoint you, boys,” the Bad Wolf says. “But I don’t think I’m going with you.”
Jack tosses back the remainder of the pale purple liquid in his glass, immediately signalling to the barman for another. It appears immediately; no surprise there, as he handed over enough credit chips for his tab to keep the entire bar in drinks.
That tab won’t go to waste. He’s going to drink himself to oblivion tonight.
He’s the only human in the place tonight, which is getting him several curious glances, all of which he ignores. Another time, maybe, he’d be deciding between seducing a Klabonax or a Vinvocci as tonight’s bed partner - or perhaps both of them. Tonight, though, he’s just not in the mood. Could be worse, though. He could have enough of a death-wish to move in on a Raxacoricofallapatorian or a Judoon - and there are some of both here. Wouldn’t be the first time, but he’s not into snuff tonight.
He drains his glass again. He’s about to flag down the barman again when a chill runs down his spine. There’s something here that doesn’t belong. Someone. And it wasn’t here just a second ago.
Automatically, he draws his blaster - discreetly, though; this bar’s got strict rules about weapons use and some of the toughest bouncers in the universe to enforce them. Even Craer’an bouncers don’t have the advantage against the kind of creature that can override the bar’s shields to teleport in here - something else that’s strictly forbidden. It was definitely a teleport. The sense of space being displaced the Doctor helped him to hone all those years ago has never let him down yet.
Exaggerating his movements, as if he really is as drunk as he should be given how much he’s had so far, he slides down from the barstool, pretending to head for the male facilities. The drunken act gives him the freedom to look around, apparently everywhere, but in particular towards the darkened corner of the bar where the displacement occurred.
A flash of pale gold catches his eye. There it is.
Six careful steps, and he’s right behind the creature. One hand seizes it around where he correctly guessed its neck to be - the sensation of human-like skin under his fingers surprises him - while the other presses his blaster to the thing’s head. “This isn’t a toy. One move and you can forget about trying to impress me.”
It - no, she - turns rigid, as he anticipated. But he doesn’t expect what happens next.
A voice he never thought he’d hear again gasps, every bit as incredulous, “Jack?”
Despite his shock, he has the presence of mind not to let her go, though he lowers his blaster. She doesn’t seem to notice. “If I’ve found you... this must be the other universe. Oh, god, Jack, I’m home!”
He forces himself not to respond to the excitement in her voice. Once, he would have. Not now. “Yes.”
She starts to turn around, oblivious to the grip he still has on her neck. Arms brush his body, and he realises that her hands seem to be tied behind her back. Interesting. “Stay where you are.”
“Jack, it’s really me!” she protests. “I swear.”
As if that’d make a difference. The Doctor’s little favourite, the one who didn’t get left behind. The one he would never have abandoned.
“How did you get here?” With his free hand, he opens his wrist computer and taps commands he knows by heart. There’s no responding alarm. “You’re not carrying a teleport.”
“Didn’t have one.” He can feel her shrug. “Not how I got here. Something pulled me over.”
Jack stores that one away for later. He’s got a lot of things to ask Ms Rose Tyler, not least of which is whether she can undo what she did to him. How she got to be here? Despite asking her the question, he’s really not interested in the answer. And anyway, now that the initial shock’s out of the way, he finds he’s not really surprised. It’s as if, somehow, he was expecting to see her one of these years.
He nudges her back, not exactly gently. “We’re attracting attention. Move.” He can sense her surprise at his attitude, but she’s obviously decided not to mention it, as she simply follows his instruction.
“Yeah, be better if we can talk in private,” she says, letting him guide her towards the door discreetly set in a corner of the bar. Once they’re in the darkened hallway beyond, she speaks again. “Have you seen the Doctor? Where is he?”
Always the Doctor. Always was, with her. Bile rises in his gorge; that’s the last name he wanted to hear right now. “Not since I saw you last.” The bastard never came. Not to help, not to explain, not even to see if Jack was okay.
She inhales sharply. “Not since then?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s busy scanning the doors as they pass, looking for a vacant room. The fourth one he comes to is available, and he digs for a couple of credits, dropping them in the slot in the door. Two hours; that should be enough.
These rooms are for the convenience of any of the bar’s patrons who want privacy and are prepared to pay for it. Between guests, they’re automatically cleaned and disinfected, ready for the next mating pair - or group.
He pushes Rose inside, then releases her, throwing off his greatcoat. The light automatically comes on, and his guess is confirmed. Her hands are cuffed behind her back. Her long hair is untidy, and her make-up - far less obtrusive than in years gone by - is rubbed off in parts. So, however she managed to get here, she’s on the run from someone. Interesting. Well, he might be prepared to help her - but not as easily as she’d expect. Not without seeing how far she’s prepared to go for it. How much she’ll plead.
He’s not her precious Doctor. And he’s certainly not the idiot she could always wrap around her little finger all those years ago. Not any more.
She’s staring at something. The bed, he realises as she slowly turns to look at him. “Jack... I thought you wanted to talk.”
“Oh, I do.” He leers at her. Strangely, she doesn’t shrink away. He’s obviously not making himself obvious enough. “Plenty of time for that, though. And maybe you owe me.” He takes her by the elbow and leads her, despite her resistance, to the bed. This ought to get the reaction he’s waiting for. Now, she’ll beg him to stop, to let her go. “All that flirting, teasing, back in the TARDIS. You knew damn well what you were doing. You were just lucky I was too much of a gentleman to make you put out. But I’m not that Jack Harkness any more, Rose Tyler. I haven’t been for a very long time.”
She stares at him again. Then, instead of the anger he expects, instead of spitting in his face as he deserves, she gives him a look full of compassion. “Oh, Jack. What happened to you?” She moves closer, and her shoulder shifts; he suspects she was about to reach for him, forgetting that her hands are cuffed. “Last time, I should have asked. I just never imagined I wouldn’t get the chance. I thought you died, did you know that? The Doctor never told me, but I thought you died on the Game Station.”
Incredulous, he stares back, bile rising again. “You mean your pet Doctor-clone hasn’t told you?”
“He wasn’t a clone.” She’s clearly reining back anger. And wasn’t? He’s dead? Makes sense, though; why wouldn’t the metacrisis go both ways? “And, no, he didn’t. But I didn’t ask. Which makes it my fault, not his.”
Still defending her precious Doctor. Of course. Why would he expect anything else? “What happened to me? You mean, apart from you turning me into an immortal freak who comes back to life every time I die?” She gasps, and her eyes widen. “What else? Oh, nothing, really. Only that I got my lover killed. Oh, and I murdered my own grandson in front of his mother because I had this crazy idea that it would save every other kid on the planet.”
“And did it?” Her voice is remarkably calm, considering her expression.
He looks away. “Yeah.” Not that it matters, not really. Even if he would do exactly the same thing again.
“Oh, Jack.” The compassion in her voice is almost his undoing, especially as she nudges him gently with her shoulder. “That’s horrible.” It is, and he’s a monster. Still a monster, even now. “I’m so sorry, Jack. For all of it. You should never have had to go through that alone. Any of it.”
Stunned, he stares at her, and so he’s still looking at her when she speaks again, and it’s as if he knows what she’s going to say before she says it. “I thought it was just me. I should have realised - that’s probably why I never asked him, and he never told me. Jack, I can’t die either. I’m more than ninety years old and look at me.”
He does. And she still doesn’t look a day over twenty-two. Though it’s when he really looks at her eyes that he notices the difference. It’s almost like looking in a mirror.
His anger melts away, as if it was never there. Yes, Rose made him immortal - but only because she didn’t want him dead. And he’d reconciled himself to that the last time he saw her. As the Doctor said, she didn’t know what she was doing. He’s been blaming Rose for Steven and Ianto, and she had nothing to do with them. All the 456’s fault. And he was taking it out on her, threatening her, intimidating her. Making her think he’d...
Well, he wouldn’t have. Of course he wouldn’t. Even he hasn’t sunk that far.
He turns her, reaches for the handcuffs and examines the lock. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were Torchwood-issue. Still, not a problem for his wrist computer; it might not be a sonic screwdriver, but it’s got a setting that will weaken locks.
It takes a few seconds, but then she’s free. He massages her wrists gently as she turns her head to thank him. He cuts her off. “Don’t thank me. I was a bastard to you.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, you were. But we’ve all been driven to extremes at one time or another.” As he drops her wrists, she turns fully to face him. “We’ve always been mates, Jack. And if friends can’t forgive each other...”
There’s a question in her voice. He answers it by reaching for her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her as tightly as he wanted to back when the Earth was stolen. She’s right: they should have had more time then. The Doctor stole that from both of them.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” she says against his shoulder. “If I knew how to undo it, I would.”
“I know. And I’m the one who should be apologising.” He pulls back so he can see her face, and something about her, about seeing her again and losing the bitter anger he’s nursed against her ever since the 456, makes him dip his head and kiss her, the way he always wanted to years ago.
Her lips instantly part under his, welcoming him and inviting him in. In seconds, they’re burning together, kissing and touching as if they’re never going to let go. Her hands are at his waist, his backside, his shoulders; his are roaming over every part of her he can reach. And her hips rub against his thighs, her stomach pressing against an erection that’s already rock-hard and eager.
He pulls back, breathing heavily. “Rose... I’d love to, believe me, but I don’t think you want where this is going.”
She reaches up and lays her palms either side of his face. “Don’t I? It’s been over ten years, Jack. I...” Need and frustration show in her voice and expression. Ten years? Was that when the other Doctor died? “And you’re wrong. I never deliberately teased you. I loved you, didn’t you know that? Loved both of you.”
It’s past tense. But it’s enough. He backs her towards the bed, until she tips onto the mattress and he comes down on top of her. She has his braces down and his shirt unbuttoned before he’s even kissing her again.
It’s fast and frenzied and completely mind-blowing, and he’s buried deep inside her as he brings her to her third climax. His own, immediately after, is explosive. She doesn’t stop touching him even after he withdraws from her, and he wants her again immediately.
Slower this time, though. If he has to get up and put more credits in the meter, that’s okay, much as he hates the idea of getting off the bed and leaving her.
When he’s finally inside her again, after he’s kissed and touched every inch of her body, she smiles up at him. “I was wrong. Not loved.”
“Huh?”
Her fingers trace his jaw. “Never stopped loving you, Jack. Either of you. Don’t think I ever will.”
His shattered heart aches. He can’t love her back, much as he wants to. Can’t let her love him, either. People who love him get hurt.
Yet he couldn’t leave her now if he tried. Later, he’ll have to. Once she’s asleep, he’ll slip quietly away, leaving her some credits so she can at least have somewhere safe to rest for a bit. And, somehow, he’ll get word to the Doctor that she’s here. That’s the best he can do for her.
He kisses her again, hiding the fact that he can’t answer her declaration, and drives hard into her.
And, somewhere in the background, a vaguely familiar sound registers, but he’s too focused on Rose to pay it any attention. It’s not important, not now. Only she is.
This wasn’t good. Isn’t good, even. Well, he says not good, but he means really, really, really not good. He holds onto the centre console with one hand while the other frantically tries to correct their course. The TARDIS is shaking - practically falling apart around him - and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
The usual things don’t work. Flipping the fast-return switch does nothing. Destination is unknown. Time? Unknown. He doesn’t know where she’s taking him, other than that she’s taking him there as quickly as she can.
It’s not right. This is not happening. He swore to himself, he promised, he would not let anything stop him. Yes, Adelaide Brooke chose a different path and maybe she was right for it, but this is not his time to die. It’s not. It can’t be. He’s the Doctor. Maybe not the Time Lord victorious, but he is not going to stand here (okay, barely) and let the TARDIS choose his moment, his death.
This. Isn’t. Going. To. Happen.
The TARDIS groans - screams - around him and shudders once more before it stops. The engines return to their normal ‘at ready’ pulse. The TARDIS is quiet once more.
Fine. He should figure out where she took him. But what if this is where everything ends? What if-
Someone knocks on the door. Once.
He jumps.
“Oi! You finished yet? Some of us need to use the loo, too!” The voice is a bit muffled through the door, but definitely understandable.
The loo? This bloke thinks the TARDIS is a loo? “She’s not a loo!” he grumbles as he hurries to the door.
“Hey, you in there! I’ve got to use the loo!” Three knocks.
He opens the door before whoever it is can knock again and stares at the rather large and definitely rather drunk bloke who is using the TARDIS to, apparently, remain upright. “This is not a loo,” he says, remaining where he is to try to block the man from pushing inside.
The man peers at the TARDIS. “It’s a cubicle, right?”
“No, she’s not. The loo’s over there,” he says, pointing in the appropriate direction. Well, not that he knows it’s the right direction but at least it seems to cause the man to leave his TARDIS alone.
He steps outside and firmly closes the door behind him. The last thing he wants is some drunkard wandering into his TARDIS and using it for - of all things - a loo. That’s insulting. His TARDIS - a loo!
His surroundings, though, confirm why that particular bloke was wandering about drunk. It’s a bar. A rather seedy-looking bar, if he’s to be honest. But why would his ship bring him here, of all places? Does she think he needs a drink?
Ha. Like that would solve the problem of having a death sentence hanging over his head. He doubts it’d even help make him forget what’s going to happen when someone knocks four times. He shakes his head and stops in the middle of the bar, extending his senses. There’s a reason the TARDIS brought him here. There’s something in the back of his mind, half-forgotten...
There’s something else here. It’s not the bar; that’s just the scenery. It’s a feeling, like something’s crawling up his spine. He’s hasn’t felt anything like this since... Jack. It’s got to be Jack.
But what’s the Captain doing out here? This isn’t Earth. He frowns and follows his senses, moving through the bar and into a back corridor. Jack’s close. He can feel it. But where-? Ah, yes, here. Behind this door. He feels strange, though. Something else is here. Something he hasn’t felt in-
No. He’s imagining things. He just feels Jack and that tends to throw his other senses out of alignment. He rests his hand on the door. He could open it, of course. It’d just take pulling out his sonic screwdriver and unlocking it. But does he really want to see what Jack’s up to? He knows what these rooms are for.
There’s a sound that makes him pause, his entire being straining to hear that sound again. It sounds like laughter. Her laughter, and that’s impossible. His hand is wrapped around his sonic screwdriver; he’s unlocking the door before he has the chance to even register the thought, and the door slides open.
***
Chapter 2: Must Be Reunited
x-posted to: dark_aegis & betterwiththree
Authors: Gillian Taylor (dark_aegis) and wmr (wendymr)
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness
Rated: Mature Audiences
Disclaimer: Not ours by any stretch of the imagination. We're just having fun with them
Summary: That which has been separated must be reunited.
Author's Notes: Written for yuki_suzaku - prompt will be shared at the end of the story - in the September 2009 (yes, 2009!) Support Stacie auction. We apologise profusely for the massive delay in writing this. Real life has been horrendous for myself over the past several months.
"Convergence"
by Gillian Taylor & WMR
Chapter 1: That Which Has Been Separated
She doesn’t exactly wake up and think ‘today I’m going to cause a minor disruption in time and space, fall through universes and find myself somewhere else’. That just isn’t the sort of thing she really thinks about any more. She’s more concerned with getting up, getting dressed, eating breakfast and heading off to work like everyone else on this planet.
She’s become - dare she say it? - domestic. She still sneers a little at the term - his influence, most likely, not that she’s seen him in ages. So here she is. Rose Tyler, living a life that’s only extraordinary in its ordinariness. She had a husband once. No children, though, but that’s all right. There were problems with the mixing of a human-like Time Lord with a Bad Wolf-infested human. Still, it’d been a good life, if a short one.
He’s been gone, what, ten years now? Something like that. The Doctor - her Doctor, not to be confused with the one with two hearts who’s somewhere on the other side of the dimensional walls - had loved her as best he could and hated what she’d been condemned to, but it wasn’t exactly his choice, now, was it? He was the one who got stuck with the consequences. Well, sort of.
Rose shakes her head, dismissing the thoughts. She loved him, yes, and she still misses him, but she’s slowly starting to learn how to get on with her life. She didn’t immediately try to cross the dimensional walls after he died. She didn’t throw herself off the nearest bridge or cliff - not that she’d stay dead, of course. Instead, she threw herself into her work and, when it became far too obvious that there was something strange with her lack of ageing, she moved on.
To a boring life, if she’s honest with herself. Sighing, she pulls on her clothes, grabs some toast, curses at the leaky tap in the kitchen sink - she’ll deal with that when she gets home - and heads out of her flat on her way to her position at the local chemist’s. It’s beneath her, this job. She knows it, but it’s the sort of job that keeps her under the radar.
It wouldn’t do for Torchwood to suddenly realise that there was a slightly-immortal human running about London. They’ve been getting rather, well, scary as of late. Better to avoid them, really. So she works at the chemist’s, smiling brightly at the people who stop in, asking for this or that, and trying her damndest not to care. It’s easier that way, really.
But this isn’t going to be one of her more typical days. She knows this the instant they walk inside. Though their clothes are ordinary enough, it’s the way they’re holding themselves like they’re military or secret services that triggers her alarm.
“Hasim, I’ll be back,” she says, looking at her manager. “Need to use the loo.”
Hasim nods absently, already looking at their new ‘customers’. She knows she can’t look like she’s running. That’d capture their attention faster than anything else. She’s just an employee, heading for the loo. That’s all. Nothing to see here, move along.
She’s opening the door that leads into the back of the shop when she’s spotted. She doesn’t freeze like they command, nor does she act like she doesn’t know just what they’re planning on doing. She does what she does best.
She runs.
Rose Tyler has forgotten a lot of things in her ninety-odd years of life, but this isn’t one of them. Running for her life is ingrained in her every pore. The adrenaline that courses through her system is an old friend and she grins maniacally as she reaches the door that leads to the outside world.
Torchwood’s bound to have this door watched, but there’s no other way out of the pharmacy besides going back the way she came. That’s not an option. So forward it is.
The door opens without a sound and she slips outside, closing it firmly behind her. Surprisingly, no-one is waiting on the other side of this particular door. There are no Torchwood agents aiming weapons at her, nor is there some sort of obstruction preventing her escape. She doesn’t take more than a moment to look around before she chooses a direction and continues running down the alley, narrowly avoiding tripping over a startled tabby cat on her way. She half-stumbles, misses her step and has to steady herself before she can regain her stride.
The usual shopping crowd moves through the street ahead of her. If she reaches them, she can lose herself amongst them. Torchwood won’t easily be able to follow her. She’s actually optimistic that she’ll make it, despite being slowed down by the cat.
Of course, that’s when the hand grabs her shoulder, spins her around and knocks her into the side of the building. Air whooshes out of her lungs at the impact and thousands of tiny abrasions appear where her skin rubs against the mortar.
Damn. If she hadn’t almost tripped, she’d have been safely out of here.
“You’re under arrest, Miss Tyler,” someone hisses into her ear.
“Who?” she asks. She probably shouldn’t pretend to be someone else, but she’s not going to make this easy for them. They’re the ones who went through the production of getting her. She just isn’t looking forward to the inevitable results.
Vaguely, she wonders if dissection is something she can come back from. Would her organs just re-grow?
“Don’t play with us, Miss Tyler. We know who you are.” The voice then recites her rights, as if she’s under arrest, playing the police officer to the utmost. Anyone who bothers to look down this alley will see nothing more interesting than a police officer taking a suspect into custody. Nothing illegal here.
Ha. Yeah, right.
“So what’re you arresting me for? Oooh, I know. Danger to the state? Terrorism?”
“Shut it,” the voice snaps. “Our scientists are looking forward to meeting you.”
With that comforting phrase to entertain her, the person - man, most likely, judging from the width and strength of the hands that are holding her - closes some handcuffs around her wrists and pulls her away from the wall. She’s surrounded now by several Torchwood agents and, just behind the shopping crowd, she can see one of the black vehicles that Torchwood tends to prefer waiting for her.
She doesn’t want to get into that vehicle. She knows what waits for her when she reaches her destination. A Torchwood jail cell, interrogation, torture - and the rest.
She doesn’t want to die - again.
Her skin starts to tingle, like she’s just walked into an electrical field. There’s a strange sound in her head. It sounds almost like... singing? Memories suddenly flood her mind. Recollections of a time when she knew all of time and space. A time when she foresaw this moment.
That which has been separated must be reunited.
She knows who she is. What she is. And, more importantly, what she can do. She stops in the middle of the alley, ignoring the sharp jabs of the weapons and the angry instructions of the men around her. “Sorry to disappoint you, boys,” the Bad Wolf says. “But I don’t think I’m going with you.”
Jack tosses back the remainder of the pale purple liquid in his glass, immediately signalling to the barman for another. It appears immediately; no surprise there, as he handed over enough credit chips for his tab to keep the entire bar in drinks.
That tab won’t go to waste. He’s going to drink himself to oblivion tonight.
He’s the only human in the place tonight, which is getting him several curious glances, all of which he ignores. Another time, maybe, he’d be deciding between seducing a Klabonax or a Vinvocci as tonight’s bed partner - or perhaps both of them. Tonight, though, he’s just not in the mood. Could be worse, though. He could have enough of a death-wish to move in on a Raxacoricofallapatorian or a Judoon - and there are some of both here. Wouldn’t be the first time, but he’s not into snuff tonight.
He drains his glass again. He’s about to flag down the barman again when a chill runs down his spine. There’s something here that doesn’t belong. Someone. And it wasn’t here just a second ago.
Automatically, he draws his blaster - discreetly, though; this bar’s got strict rules about weapons use and some of the toughest bouncers in the universe to enforce them. Even Craer’an bouncers don’t have the advantage against the kind of creature that can override the bar’s shields to teleport in here - something else that’s strictly forbidden. It was definitely a teleport. The sense of space being displaced the Doctor helped him to hone all those years ago has never let him down yet.
Exaggerating his movements, as if he really is as drunk as he should be given how much he’s had so far, he slides down from the barstool, pretending to head for the male facilities. The drunken act gives him the freedom to look around, apparently everywhere, but in particular towards the darkened corner of the bar where the displacement occurred.
A flash of pale gold catches his eye. There it is.
Six careful steps, and he’s right behind the creature. One hand seizes it around where he correctly guessed its neck to be - the sensation of human-like skin under his fingers surprises him - while the other presses his blaster to the thing’s head. “This isn’t a toy. One move and you can forget about trying to impress me.”
It - no, she - turns rigid, as he anticipated. But he doesn’t expect what happens next.
A voice he never thought he’d hear again gasps, every bit as incredulous, “Jack?”
Despite his shock, he has the presence of mind not to let her go, though he lowers his blaster. She doesn’t seem to notice. “If I’ve found you... this must be the other universe. Oh, god, Jack, I’m home!”
He forces himself not to respond to the excitement in her voice. Once, he would have. Not now. “Yes.”
She starts to turn around, oblivious to the grip he still has on her neck. Arms brush his body, and he realises that her hands seem to be tied behind her back. Interesting. “Stay where you are.”
“Jack, it’s really me!” she protests. “I swear.”
As if that’d make a difference. The Doctor’s little favourite, the one who didn’t get left behind. The one he would never have abandoned.
“How did you get here?” With his free hand, he opens his wrist computer and taps commands he knows by heart. There’s no responding alarm. “You’re not carrying a teleport.”
“Didn’t have one.” He can feel her shrug. “Not how I got here. Something pulled me over.”
Jack stores that one away for later. He’s got a lot of things to ask Ms Rose Tyler, not least of which is whether she can undo what she did to him. How she got to be here? Despite asking her the question, he’s really not interested in the answer. And anyway, now that the initial shock’s out of the way, he finds he’s not really surprised. It’s as if, somehow, he was expecting to see her one of these years.
He nudges her back, not exactly gently. “We’re attracting attention. Move.” He can sense her surprise at his attitude, but she’s obviously decided not to mention it, as she simply follows his instruction.
“Yeah, be better if we can talk in private,” she says, letting him guide her towards the door discreetly set in a corner of the bar. Once they’re in the darkened hallway beyond, she speaks again. “Have you seen the Doctor? Where is he?”
Always the Doctor. Always was, with her. Bile rises in his gorge; that’s the last name he wanted to hear right now. “Not since I saw you last.” The bastard never came. Not to help, not to explain, not even to see if Jack was okay.
She inhales sharply. “Not since then?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s busy scanning the doors as they pass, looking for a vacant room. The fourth one he comes to is available, and he digs for a couple of credits, dropping them in the slot in the door. Two hours; that should be enough.
These rooms are for the convenience of any of the bar’s patrons who want privacy and are prepared to pay for it. Between guests, they’re automatically cleaned and disinfected, ready for the next mating pair - or group.
He pushes Rose inside, then releases her, throwing off his greatcoat. The light automatically comes on, and his guess is confirmed. Her hands are cuffed behind her back. Her long hair is untidy, and her make-up - far less obtrusive than in years gone by - is rubbed off in parts. So, however she managed to get here, she’s on the run from someone. Interesting. Well, he might be prepared to help her - but not as easily as she’d expect. Not without seeing how far she’s prepared to go for it. How much she’ll plead.
He’s not her precious Doctor. And he’s certainly not the idiot she could always wrap around her little finger all those years ago. Not any more.
She’s staring at something. The bed, he realises as she slowly turns to look at him. “Jack... I thought you wanted to talk.”
“Oh, I do.” He leers at her. Strangely, she doesn’t shrink away. He’s obviously not making himself obvious enough. “Plenty of time for that, though. And maybe you owe me.” He takes her by the elbow and leads her, despite her resistance, to the bed. This ought to get the reaction he’s waiting for. Now, she’ll beg him to stop, to let her go. “All that flirting, teasing, back in the TARDIS. You knew damn well what you were doing. You were just lucky I was too much of a gentleman to make you put out. But I’m not that Jack Harkness any more, Rose Tyler. I haven’t been for a very long time.”
She stares at him again. Then, instead of the anger he expects, instead of spitting in his face as he deserves, she gives him a look full of compassion. “Oh, Jack. What happened to you?” She moves closer, and her shoulder shifts; he suspects she was about to reach for him, forgetting that her hands are cuffed. “Last time, I should have asked. I just never imagined I wouldn’t get the chance. I thought you died, did you know that? The Doctor never told me, but I thought you died on the Game Station.”
Incredulous, he stares back, bile rising again. “You mean your pet Doctor-clone hasn’t told you?”
“He wasn’t a clone.” She’s clearly reining back anger. And wasn’t? He’s dead? Makes sense, though; why wouldn’t the metacrisis go both ways? “And, no, he didn’t. But I didn’t ask. Which makes it my fault, not his.”
Still defending her precious Doctor. Of course. Why would he expect anything else? “What happened to me? You mean, apart from you turning me into an immortal freak who comes back to life every time I die?” She gasps, and her eyes widen. “What else? Oh, nothing, really. Only that I got my lover killed. Oh, and I murdered my own grandson in front of his mother because I had this crazy idea that it would save every other kid on the planet.”
“And did it?” Her voice is remarkably calm, considering her expression.
He looks away. “Yeah.” Not that it matters, not really. Even if he would do exactly the same thing again.
“Oh, Jack.” The compassion in her voice is almost his undoing, especially as she nudges him gently with her shoulder. “That’s horrible.” It is, and he’s a monster. Still a monster, even now. “I’m so sorry, Jack. For all of it. You should never have had to go through that alone. Any of it.”
Stunned, he stares at her, and so he’s still looking at her when she speaks again, and it’s as if he knows what she’s going to say before she says it. “I thought it was just me. I should have realised - that’s probably why I never asked him, and he never told me. Jack, I can’t die either. I’m more than ninety years old and look at me.”
He does. And she still doesn’t look a day over twenty-two. Though it’s when he really looks at her eyes that he notices the difference. It’s almost like looking in a mirror.
His anger melts away, as if it was never there. Yes, Rose made him immortal - but only because she didn’t want him dead. And he’d reconciled himself to that the last time he saw her. As the Doctor said, she didn’t know what she was doing. He’s been blaming Rose for Steven and Ianto, and she had nothing to do with them. All the 456’s fault. And he was taking it out on her, threatening her, intimidating her. Making her think he’d...
Well, he wouldn’t have. Of course he wouldn’t. Even he hasn’t sunk that far.
He turns her, reaches for the handcuffs and examines the lock. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were Torchwood-issue. Still, not a problem for his wrist computer; it might not be a sonic screwdriver, but it’s got a setting that will weaken locks.
It takes a few seconds, but then she’s free. He massages her wrists gently as she turns her head to thank him. He cuts her off. “Don’t thank me. I was a bastard to you.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, you were. But we’ve all been driven to extremes at one time or another.” As he drops her wrists, she turns fully to face him. “We’ve always been mates, Jack. And if friends can’t forgive each other...”
There’s a question in her voice. He answers it by reaching for her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her as tightly as he wanted to back when the Earth was stolen. She’s right: they should have had more time then. The Doctor stole that from both of them.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” she says against his shoulder. “If I knew how to undo it, I would.”
“I know. And I’m the one who should be apologising.” He pulls back so he can see her face, and something about her, about seeing her again and losing the bitter anger he’s nursed against her ever since the 456, makes him dip his head and kiss her, the way he always wanted to years ago.
Her lips instantly part under his, welcoming him and inviting him in. In seconds, they’re burning together, kissing and touching as if they’re never going to let go. Her hands are at his waist, his backside, his shoulders; his are roaming over every part of her he can reach. And her hips rub against his thighs, her stomach pressing against an erection that’s already rock-hard and eager.
He pulls back, breathing heavily. “Rose... I’d love to, believe me, but I don’t think you want where this is going.”
She reaches up and lays her palms either side of his face. “Don’t I? It’s been over ten years, Jack. I...” Need and frustration show in her voice and expression. Ten years? Was that when the other Doctor died? “And you’re wrong. I never deliberately teased you. I loved you, didn’t you know that? Loved both of you.”
It’s past tense. But it’s enough. He backs her towards the bed, until she tips onto the mattress and he comes down on top of her. She has his braces down and his shirt unbuttoned before he’s even kissing her again.
It’s fast and frenzied and completely mind-blowing, and he’s buried deep inside her as he brings her to her third climax. His own, immediately after, is explosive. She doesn’t stop touching him even after he withdraws from her, and he wants her again immediately.
Slower this time, though. If he has to get up and put more credits in the meter, that’s okay, much as he hates the idea of getting off the bed and leaving her.
When he’s finally inside her again, after he’s kissed and touched every inch of her body, she smiles up at him. “I was wrong. Not loved.”
“Huh?”
Her fingers trace his jaw. “Never stopped loving you, Jack. Either of you. Don’t think I ever will.”
His shattered heart aches. He can’t love her back, much as he wants to. Can’t let her love him, either. People who love him get hurt.
Yet he couldn’t leave her now if he tried. Later, he’ll have to. Once she’s asleep, he’ll slip quietly away, leaving her some credits so she can at least have somewhere safe to rest for a bit. And, somehow, he’ll get word to the Doctor that she’s here. That’s the best he can do for her.
He kisses her again, hiding the fact that he can’t answer her declaration, and drives hard into her.
And, somewhere in the background, a vaguely familiar sound registers, but he’s too focused on Rose to pay it any attention. It’s not important, not now. Only she is.
This wasn’t good. Isn’t good, even. Well, he says not good, but he means really, really, really not good. He holds onto the centre console with one hand while the other frantically tries to correct their course. The TARDIS is shaking - practically falling apart around him - and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
The usual things don’t work. Flipping the fast-return switch does nothing. Destination is unknown. Time? Unknown. He doesn’t know where she’s taking him, other than that she’s taking him there as quickly as she can.
It’s not right. This is not happening. He swore to himself, he promised, he would not let anything stop him. Yes, Adelaide Brooke chose a different path and maybe she was right for it, but this is not his time to die. It’s not. It can’t be. He’s the Doctor. Maybe not the Time Lord victorious, but he is not going to stand here (okay, barely) and let the TARDIS choose his moment, his death.
This. Isn’t. Going. To. Happen.
The TARDIS groans - screams - around him and shudders once more before it stops. The engines return to their normal ‘at ready’ pulse. The TARDIS is quiet once more.
Fine. He should figure out where she took him. But what if this is where everything ends? What if-
Someone knocks on the door. Once.
He jumps.
“Oi! You finished yet? Some of us need to use the loo, too!” The voice is a bit muffled through the door, but definitely understandable.
The loo? This bloke thinks the TARDIS is a loo? “She’s not a loo!” he grumbles as he hurries to the door.
“Hey, you in there! I’ve got to use the loo!” Three knocks.
He opens the door before whoever it is can knock again and stares at the rather large and definitely rather drunk bloke who is using the TARDIS to, apparently, remain upright. “This is not a loo,” he says, remaining where he is to try to block the man from pushing inside.
The man peers at the TARDIS. “It’s a cubicle, right?”
“No, she’s not. The loo’s over there,” he says, pointing in the appropriate direction. Well, not that he knows it’s the right direction but at least it seems to cause the man to leave his TARDIS alone.
He steps outside and firmly closes the door behind him. The last thing he wants is some drunkard wandering into his TARDIS and using it for - of all things - a loo. That’s insulting. His TARDIS - a loo!
His surroundings, though, confirm why that particular bloke was wandering about drunk. It’s a bar. A rather seedy-looking bar, if he’s to be honest. But why would his ship bring him here, of all places? Does she think he needs a drink?
Ha. Like that would solve the problem of having a death sentence hanging over his head. He doubts it’d even help make him forget what’s going to happen when someone knocks four times. He shakes his head and stops in the middle of the bar, extending his senses. There’s a reason the TARDIS brought him here. There’s something in the back of his mind, half-forgotten...
There’s something else here. It’s not the bar; that’s just the scenery. It’s a feeling, like something’s crawling up his spine. He’s hasn’t felt anything like this since... Jack. It’s got to be Jack.
But what’s the Captain doing out here? This isn’t Earth. He frowns and follows his senses, moving through the bar and into a back corridor. Jack’s close. He can feel it. But where-? Ah, yes, here. Behind this door. He feels strange, though. Something else is here. Something he hasn’t felt in-
No. He’s imagining things. He just feels Jack and that tends to throw his other senses out of alignment. He rests his hand on the door. He could open it, of course. It’d just take pulling out his sonic screwdriver and unlocking it. But does he really want to see what Jack’s up to? He knows what these rooms are for.
There’s a sound that makes him pause, his entire being straining to hear that sound again. It sounds like laughter. Her laughter, and that’s impossible. His hand is wrapped around his sonic screwdriver; he’s unlocking the door before he has the chance to even register the thought, and the door slides open.
***
Chapter 2: Must Be Reunited
x-posted to: dark_aegis & betterwiththree