Gift for pippnfrodo Part 2
To: pippnfrodo
From: azriona
Title: Left Behind (2/2)
Characters and/or Pairings: Rose, Jack, Pete’s World crew, Rose/Jack and Rose/Jack/Nine implied
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After a hundred and fifty years, Jack Harkness is used to saying goodbye. He’s just getting the hang of saying hello.
Notes: Thanks to wendymr for the beta.
Word Count: 13K and change
Left Behind (1/2)
Left Behind (Part Two)
5. A Perfect Day, Adequately So.
When Jack woke up in the morning, it was to the sound of the shower going in the next room. No matter how early he woke up, Rose woke first. Sometimes he wondered if she slept at all, because she usually sat up reading as he fell asleep at night, watching her until his eyes were so heavy they slid closed before he could think to prop them open.
“I’m not going to disappear,” Rose told him every night for three months running.
“Not taking the chance,” he replied each time, and every morning for three months running, he woke to find the bed empty and the shower going full speed, he couldn’t help the quick sense of loss. As if there was anything he had to lose, anyway.
Jack glanced at the clock before he went to join Rose, and the time it showed him took him by surprise.
“Morning,” said Rose. He never had to announce himself. She always knew.
“Late start this morning,” said Jack, shucking the pajama bottoms into the laundry basket. He wouldn’t have worn them at all, but every night, they appeared on the bed waiting for him. Jack wasn’t stupid.
Rose didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m not going into work today.”
Jack opened the shower door; Rose’s back was to him. “The super secret project behind the one locked door my keycard can’t open doesn’t require your presence today?” He could have said it mockingly; instead, he opted for flip. Flip was always a good tone, when he didn’t know what else to say. This happened less and less with other people, but as his strange arrangement with Rose continued, he found himself being far too carefully casual with her than he normally would have been.
“I gave everyone the day off,” said Rose. She reached to flick a switch on the wall, and the shower turned into a rainstorm, with water falling from the ceiling. Drenched, with water flowing over his nose and around his ears and down his back, Jack’s world was reduced to trying to breathe underwater.
An entire day off…it was a novel concept. In the three months since Jack had started working at Torchwood, Rose had gone in every day for a few hours at the very least, and fourteen-hour stretches at the very most. Repeated attempts on Jack’s part to learn what she worked on behind the locked doors had so far been fruitless.
Jack didn’t think it had anything to do with Torchwood not trusting him. When he and Rose had gone in the first day, he’d been greeted by name and had his hand shaken by nearly every employee, each wearing a large smile and looking as though they were honestly glad to see him. The medical staff, though clearly curious about his particulars, were seemingly content to merely quiz him and ask to take his temperature or blood pressure during the lunch hour. Once this information was received, they would titter to themselves, much like a group of children unpacking their Christmas stockings, and race off down the corridors.
Jack had never seen a friendlier, more accommodating group of government employees. It unnerved him. Of course, this Torchwood had never really had the same outlook on alien life. Far from claiming alien artifacts and technology to be the sole property of Torchwood and using it for their own ends, its employees strove to protect that technology from human abuse. This was the Torchwood Jack had always tried to become. Somewhere in the bowels of its London Headquarters, Jack supposed Ianto Jones still worked amongst the files, living with Lisa and wondering what was missing from his life.
Or not. Maybe Ianto was happier here. Maybe Katie Harper still lived. Maybe Tosh’s mother hadn’t been used to blackmail her daughter. Maybe Gwen was still a copper.
Or maybe Susie had gone ballistic and killed them all. Anything was possible, Jack supposed. He thought about looking them up whenever he logged into his Torchwood account, and then forgot about it until he was already logged out.
When the water flow switched back to the regular shower heads, Jack shook the excess water from his hair and reached for the loofah. He started scrubbing Rose’s back, and she lifted her hair to give him better access.
“So what are you doing instead?”
“I thought we’d go to see my parents for lunch. You haven’t really had much of a chance to get to know them.”
Her voice was too casual. Jack wasn’t sure he trusted it.
“And there’s this movie I’ve been wanting to see.”
“Where do you hear about movies?” asked Jack. “You barely have time to eat dinner most nights.”
“People talk,” said Rose, stung, and Jack started lathering himself. Rose turned in the water to rinse herself off. “There’s a Chinese restaurant near the theater.”
“Thai food,” said Jack longingly. “I miss Thai food.”
“Can’t have everything,” said Rose reasonably, and leaned over to give him a brief kiss.
No, reflected Jack as he watched Rose leave the shower. Water still clung to the small of her back, streaming down from her wet hair. No one could have everything. But sometimes, it felt like he almost did.
*
Jack would have known exactly what to make of Pete Tyler, had the man been anyone other than Rose’s father. For some reason, this relationship - tenuous as it was, given the different dimensions - made understanding the man that much more difficult.
Jack didn’t like not knowing where he stood with someone else. Either he was a scoundrel, or he was a pretty decent bloke. He was very seldom anywhere in between, and he was rarely much worse or better. The Doctor, as Jack had really known him, in black leather and denim, considered Jack a scoundrel of the very highest order, but liked him anyway. Rose was on the other side of the fence. It made a nice dichotomy.
Jackie Tyler clearly categorized Jack as a scoundrel. Every time she saw him, she greeted him exactly the same way.
“Rose!” cried out Jackie, so very clearly pleased to see her daughter. Jack would have thought Rose long-lost, the way Jackie always greeted her with near-tears and a bear hug, holding on tight as if Rose might fade into thin air the moment Jackie released her grip. True to form, Jackie looked up from her daughter’s shoulder to see Jack standing just behind. “And you, too, Captain. Very nice of you to join us.”
“It was kind of you to invite me,” said Jack politely. He wondered if Jackie had missed the memo about the sleeping arrangements in Rose’s flat.
Pete Tyler certainly had not.
“Jackie, let Rose breathe once in a while,” said Pete Tyler, entering the entryway. “Oh, hello there, Jack.”
It was casual, friendly, nothing that Jack wouldn’t have expected from the father of a school chum. Jack resisted the urge to stand at attention.
“Hello, sir.”
“Did Barrows find you the other day? He said he needed some sort of military expertise, and I thought you’d be just the man.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack, remembering the little analyst from the 32nd floor who had come to him all in a dither three days before. “He found some kind of cache left over from the second war, and he was absolutely convinced they were alien in origin.”
“Oh, no work today, please,” said Jackie, finally letting go of Rose. “I just want a lovely lunch with my favorite people, and I don’t want to hear anything alien at the table. Is that too much to ask?”
Favorite people? wondered Jack, but Rose didn’t look at him. Pete did.
“Here, Jack, I’ve got something in the study, perhaps you could give me a hand…”
“Don’t be clever with me, Peter Alan Tyler,” Jackie scolded him. “No going into the study for secret work talks. We’re going to go out into the garden and watch Tony play with his new swing set and we’re going to discuss perfectly normal non-alien things, and we are going to be happy and enjoy ourselves.”
“Or else,” Rose muttered to Jack, and he grinned at her before he caught Pete’s intense stare at him, and wiped the smile from his face.
Tony was already fast at play on the swing set, and from the state of his muddy knees, had been for some time. A nanny watched him climb up the steps and then hurtle down the slide at breakneck speed either on his stomach, his back, his knees, or his shoulders. Jack had the idea that Tony abhorred the idea of going down the slide while sitting up.
“Tony, please, sit down when you’re on the slide,” Jackie called out to her son. Jack suppressed a smile. Tony ignored her, and slid down face-first on his stomach.
“Hi, Rose! Hi, Jack!” yelled Tony. He flung himself across the lawn, locked his arms around Rose’s knees in a giant squeeze, before bestowing the same muddy Tony-print on Jack’s trousers.
“Did you see my swings?” Tony asked eagerly. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind how Tony felt about him. Tony belonged to the fabled few who thought Jack walked on water.
“They’re great,” said Jack.
Tony didn’t answer; he merely flashed a lopsided grin at Jack and raced back to play.
“Nice set,” said Rose admiringly.
“An investment,” said Pete. “He’ll be able to use it for the next ten years. As well as any other children who come along.”
Jackie slapped his arm lightly. “Don’t be greedy. Tony was enough of a late surprise. No one here is having any more children, thank you!”
Pete eyed Rose’s stomach, and then locked eyes on Jack.
“Very wise, sir,” said Jack.
There were four lawn chairs arranged in a semi-circle near the swings. Jack’s strategy was to let Pete and Jackie sit next to each other, and then Rose sit as a buffer between him and them. This would have worked, if anyone had been playing along, which they weren’t, because when everyone had sat, the only seat left was on the end, next to Pete. Jack sat on the edge of his seat, and waited for someone to open the conversation.
No one said anything.
“Oh, come on!” said Jackie finally. “There must be something we can talk about that has nothing to do with Torchwood!”
Pete turned to Jack. “So, Jack, you never said. Are you a footie man?”
Jack didn’t know it was possible to choke on nothing.
“Football?” prompted Pete. “There’s a game on the telly.”
“No television!” shrieked Jackie.
“I love footie,” said Jack finally, not caring how Pete would interpret it.
“Good man, let’s go,” said Pete, and Jack obediently followed back into the house.
As it turned out, Pete hadn’t been taking the mickey out of Jack; Man United was playing Arsenal. Jack didn’t particularly care for footie (footsie was another thing altogether), but as far as sport-watching companions went, when Pete brought out the bottles of beer and flopped down on the sofa next to Jack, he didn’t think he could go far wrong.
“So,” said Pete during one of the passing runs, “thought about that offer of a new mattress yet?”
Jack swallowed the beer, but it was a hard thing. “Er - no, sir.”
“That mattress you’re on can’t be any good for your backs,” said Pete. “And I’m sure it’s seen more than its share of action. I’d be happy to buy you something springier.”
Pete took a swig of beer. Jack would have done the same, but he didn’t think he’d be able to swallow.
“I’ll mention it to her, sir,” said Jack.
Honestly, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t ever talked to a girl’s father before. Or even that the girl’s father could fire him or have him locked away at a moment’s notice.
“Run, you bloody bastards!” Pete yelled at the telly.
It might have had to do with the casualness of it. Even in the 51st century, fathers tended to be overprotective of their daughters. The one thing Jack couldn’t figure was how Pete felt about the possibility that Jack was sleeping with Rose - which he wasn’t, except in the literal sense of the word. Jackie clearly was not impressed. Tony would have adopted him if possible. Pete was…non-opinionated.
Jack didn’t like not knowing what someone thought of him. Pete Tyler’s opinion was a mystery. It rankled.
“Bloody wankers,” grumbled Pete as United scored. He glared at Jack. “You’re not a Manchester hooligan, are you?”
“Bluebirds,” said Jack. “They don’t exist here.”
“Ah,” said Pete. “As long as you’re not United.”
“No, sir,” said Jack, thinking of Northern accents, and wondered if it wasn’t a clue. He’d always had the impression that Jackie Tyler hadn’t cared for the Doctor, and vice versa. The story might have ended well, but first impressions were always strongest.
Of course it wasn’t a clue. This Pete Tyler had never met Jack’s Doctor. It was just an odd coincidence. That was all.
*
The game wasn’t half over when Jackie called them into lunch by marching into the room, unplugging the telly from the wall, and marching back out again, all without saying a word. She let Tony do the talking for her, as he raced in and landed with a slam right on Jack’s gonads.
“Careful,” said Pete mildly. “I have grandchildren in there.”
Tony peered at Jack’s stomach with intense curiosity. “Really?”
“He’s being figurative,” said Jack. Tony wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck.
“Mummy says lunch is ready,” he said.
“Give me a minute,” said Jack.
Pete picked Tony up and tossed the boy over his shoulder. Tony screeched with glee. “Whenever you’re able,” Pete told Jack, and headed back outside, where lunch would be served.
By the time Jack joined them, Tony was already plowing his way through a plate of sandwiches, fruit, and some unidentifiable pile of brown-flavored sticks that this dimension considered to be the finest sort of lunchtime snack ever invented. Nearly everyone Jack had met loved the stuff. He thought it tasted slightly better than kitty litter.
Funnily enough, with food in front of them, the conversation flowed. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, Tony put in with some ripping remarks, and once in a while, Jack would see Rose grinning at him in the same easy, comfortable way as a lifetime before. He even made Jackie laugh once.
He’d barely finished his sandwich when Tony dragged him from the table and out to inspect the new swing set. Jack held Tony as the boy worked his way across the monkey bars, attempted to hang upside-down and flip back to the ground, and then congratulated him on his successful descent on the slide while sitting backwards and holding his feet in midair, without tumbling head over heels.
It wasn’t until later, when he was heading back to the swing set after a quick stop in the loo, that he overheard the conversation in the study.
“I just think-“
“It doesn’t matter what you think, Pete,” said Rose, and she sounded irritable. “It’s my project, and if I want to stop, I will. Admit it, no one at Torchwood really liked the idea of it anyway.”
“That was before this new thing with the stars.” Pete’s voice was much calmer. “Now, with what the astronomers are telling us - it’s not good, Rose. And we don’t have the kind of technology we need to inspect it any further.”
“I thought Jack was helping with that.”
Jack gave up all pretense and put his ear next to the door.
“Just because you can drive a car, Rose, doesn’t mean you can put one together without blueprints. He was never a rocket scientist. If it existed already, he might be able to fix it or fly it. He doesn’t know how to create it from scratch.”
“He’s not useless!”
Thank you, Rose, thought Jack, feeling his chest constrict.
“I didn’t say he was. He’s been a tremendous asset to Torchwood in the last few months. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”
Thank you, Pete, thought Jack, with some amount of surprise. He almost felt guilty listening in now.
“If you want to stop work on the project, Rose, that’s your decision,” Pete continued. “I just want to make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
“What would be the wrong ones?” asked Rose coolly.
“Do you love him?” asked Pete bluntly.
Jack held his breath.
“Yes,” said Rose. “And I love Jack, too, Dad. And Jack’s here, and the Doctor isn’t, and you know - I have to let him go. I can’t keep racing after him like some stupid teenage girl who doesn’t know when the relationship is over.”
“Love the one you’re with?” said Pete, almost cruelly.
There was a pause. “I loved Jack long before he turned up in Wales,” said Rose, and Jack could practically feel the anger through the door. It helped ease the way his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. “I might have loved the Doctor longer, but that’s only because I met the Doctor first. Don’t you dare imply that I love Jack any less because of some stupid quirk of the timeline.”
Jack rested his forehead against the door. He exhaled slowly, and wished his heart would slow down, to let the moment last a little longer.
“The cannon-“
“Doesn’t work,” said Rose. “I don’t think it ever will. We need an exact match of the vortex power in our old world, and you know that Mickey and Mum and I didn’t exactly pack for this situation.”
“But Jack-“
“He didn’t really pack, either,” said Rose. “And I’m not going to leave him behind, Pete. I’m not.”
“Rose,” said Pete. “Does he love you? The way you love him?”
“Yes,” whispered Jack.
“I hope he does,” said Rose, and Jack wondered how she didn’t know. Why didn’t they ever know?
Footsteps down the hall - someone was coming, and he could tell that it wasn’t Tony.
“I wish you’d reconsider,” said Pete. “The cannon - it’s important.”
“It’s yours,” said Rose. “Not mine. Not anymore.”
The footsteps were closer. Jack stepped away from the door and took some steps so that it wasn’t immediately obvious that he’d been eavesdropping. Just as he was far enough away that he could no longer hear the conversation, Jackie Tyler appeared.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “I thought you were with Tony?”
“Loo,” said Jack. “I’m heading back now.”
“Good,” said Jackie. She took a breath. “You’re good with him. Tony. I mean. He likes you.”
“I like him,” said Jack. “He reminds me of my grandson.”
Jackie blinked. “Grandson?”
“Steven. He has that same sort of energy Tony has. He jumped off the monkey bars when he was five and broke his arm, and it took weeks before he understood why flying wasn’t an option.”
Jackie glanced out the window, automatically thinking of Tony trying the same trick.
“You don’t look old enough to be a grandfather,” said Jackie, scanning the garden for her son.
“I don’t look old enough for a lot of things,” said Jack. “I’d better go out and catch Tony. Excuse me, Mrs. Tyler.”
“Jackie,” said Jackie quickly. “My name’s Jackie. Mrs. Tyler - I wasn’t Mrs. Tyler very long at first. And I don’t know - I’m not used to being Mrs. Tyler here just yet. You call me Jackie.”
Jack’s heart was doing it again - the ferocious pounding that sent the blood rushing through his ears. “Thanks, Jackie.”
“And stop calling Pete ‘sir’,” added Jackie, sounding more like she did when she spoke to her family. “It makes his head swell, and he already steals enough of the pillows as it is.”
Jack grinned, and before he could help it, said, “Like father, like daughter, I guess.”
Jackie’s eyes narrowed. Jack swallowed.
“I’ll go out to Tony now,” he said, and started to slip away.
“Jack-”
He turned around. Jackie looked thoughtful. And only a little bit troubled.
“I - that is - oh -!” Jackie, halfway between flustered and frustrated, gave up. “I don’t care how many grandchildren you have, Jack Harkness. I’m not old enough to be a grandmother yet.”
Jack grinned. “Jackie Tyler, I wouldn’t dare without your permission anyway.”
He ran before she could say another word - or worse, throw something at his head. As it was, when Rose came out to join them at the swing set, he half wondered if she would bear a message from her mother.
“Rose!” yelled Tony as the swing carried him nearly parallel with the overhead bars. “Watch!”
“I’m watching!” Rose called, and grinned at Jack, her hands in her pockets. “Having fun?”
“Yeah, actually,” said Jack.
“Higher!”
Jack pushed Tony higher. “You?”
“Yeah,” said Rose, and slipped her hand into his. “I haven’t had a day off since - well, I guess since Tony was born.”
“That project must be important,” said Jack. Rose glanced at him, but her expression didn’t change.
“It was,” she said finally. “To other people. Not to me, not anymore.” She reached up to give him a kiss.
“Ew!” yelled Tony, delighted. “Kissing!”
“Don’t knock the kissing,” said Jack lightly, and grabbed hold of the swing’s chains to slow Tony down. Tony jumped off the swing as it lowered, and fell on all fours onto the grass, giggling. Rose reached down with one hand, and Jack with the other, and they pulled him up between them.
“Kissing’s icky,” said Tony.
“Oh?” said Rose, and gave Tony a loud kiss on the top of his head. Tony squirmed and kicked out his legs while his older sister and Jack swung him between them back up to the house.
Jack, Tony, Rose, all in a line walking up to a house. It was easy to pretend Tony wasn’t Rose’s brother, that Rose wasn’t only Jack’s bedmate. That there wasn’t a reason for Pete or Jackie to make veiled comments about grandchildren. Jack let himself wallow in the dream for a moment, and by the time they reached the house, and Tony had let go of their hands to race ahead, the dream had done its purpose, and Jack felt content for the first time in months.
“Stay for dinner,” said Jackie.
“I’m sorry, Mum, we’ve already bought tickets,” said Rose, which was a lie but Jack played along. The movie, as it turned out, was sold out, but the Chinese restaurant had dishes that were close enough to Thai food that Jack ordered additional meals to take home. They meandered through the various private gardens on their way back to the little flat near Canary Wharf, which didn’t seem all that cold or impersonal with the lights of London shining through the open windows.
“I’m too full to sleep,” said Rose, almost regretfully.
“So much for being hungry twenty minutes after eating Chinese,” said Jack. He tossed the extra meals into the fridge, considerably less bare than it had been on his arrival.
They switched on the telly, flipping until they found reruns of Fawlty Towers. The light flickered; Rose moved as if she were in a silent film with the speed too slow - sitting on the other end of the couch, then closer, then snuggled up under his arm, by his side, laughing at Basil’s antics and cover-ups and failures.
It was while Basil was falling around the hotel lobby, his employees popping in and out of doors and various guests becoming more and more confused or annoyed, that Rose reached up to kiss him. She moved over him, pushing up with her hands on either side of his chest, and his hands on her sides helped her balance.
He knew it wasn’t just a kiss - not just the way that she kissed him, in a way she hadn’t since long ago days on the TARDIS, but the fact that she kissed him, and for the first time, he didn’t feel the unspoken, unseen presence in the room of a man who wasn’t there.
Canned laughter rose from the telly in the flickering blue light. Rose sat up, pulled off her shirt, and kissed him again.
Maybe she really was going to stay. Maybe he finally believed she would. Jack wasn’t sure, and it didn’t really matter.
He pulled Rose down on top of him, and kissed her.
Maybe it was the day. Maybe it was the television. But now, It was her hands on his chest, and his hands on her back, and her fingers on his skin, and his legs parting hers, just the two of them, no one else to see or speak or touch or kiss, and for once, Jack didn’t feel the loss of it.
6. Pay no attention to the absent man behind the invisible curtain.
“We’re late,” Rose told him, but she didn’t pick up her pace, and Jack had no wish to point this out.
“He’ll wait,” he said, and weaved his fingers with hers. No one on the pavement seemed to notice them holding hands; Rose didn’t even take much note of it. She had reached for his hand as they left the flat for lunch, and he had let her take it, as if they did this every day.
“It’s rude,” Rose insisted. “I’ve never been late for lunch. Never.”
“First time for everything,” said Jack, and thought of that morning with a grin. “And a second. And a third.”
“Jack!” Rose shoved her shoulder against his. “Lucky there wasn’t a third, we’d never make lunch at all.”
“We would have, but it would have been called dinner instead.”
Rose shoved him again. “Please behave yourself. Mickey’s sort of…”
“Innocent?”
“Protective,” said Rose.
Mickey had already claimed a table on the pavement outside the pub, and had clearly been waiting long enough to not only order a drink, but consume half of it. He raised his hand to make sure they saw him, and stood when Rose approached the table.
“I’m sorry, Mickey,” she apologized, and leaned in to give his cheek a kiss. “We were….delayed.”
“Happens,” said Mickey, and reached for Jack’s hand. He held it uncharacteristically tightly, and Jack caught a very cautionary look in the other man’s eyes. For a moment, Jack caught a reflection of the blue sky in Mickey’s eyes, and remembered that once, long before he’d known her in any form, Rose had belonged to the man on the other side of the table. “Harkness.”
“Smith,” said Jack. There might be a world where Rose still belonged to Mickey Smith. Lucky he hadn’t woken up there, he thought, and wondered if there wasn’t a Jack Harkness dying under its ground still.
World treating you right, Rose?” continued Mickey, still holding onto Jack’s hand.
“Couldn’t be better,” said Rose, and Mickey let go of Jack’s hand. “You haven’t been waiting long?”
“Long enough,” said Jack, seeing Mickey’s glass. He had the sudden idea that disappearing for a moment or two wouldn’t be amiss. “What are you drinking? I can get you another.”
The pub was crowded inside; there was some sort of game going on the telly - another football match, Jack thought, but he wasn’t sure. It didn’t take long to catch the barman’s eye, but by the time the drinks and chips had appeared, Jack wasn’t all that sure he’d find Mickey and Rose still waiting for him outside.
A fluke, Jack had told himself a thousand times that day already. The previous night was a fluke of passion, not happening again. But in the morning, he woke to see Rose’s head lying on the pillows next to him, and empty air behind him, empty sheets behind her. Better still, they made love in the blue morning night with only the Sunday morning silence in the background. And having done it once before, Jack didn’t imagine the feel of other hands on his hips, other legs nestled between his, other breath on the back of his neck.
He wasn’t sure what Rose was telling Mickey while Jack purchased their drinks - but he wouldn’t have been one bit surprised to return and find her in tears, having suddenly realized what it was they had done. Or maybe the two of them gone, Mickey all too willing to help Rose escape from the mistake she’d only just now realized she had made.
Jack didn’t think it was a mistake. It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt…right. Or if not right, at least it didn’t feel wrong. They weren’t sneaking under anyone’s noses, or behind anyone’s back, and they weren’t teenagers trying to fit in a good time before their parents came home. He and Rose were two grown adults, and if they wanted to be lovers, just them, then it wasn’t as though there was anyone’s permission that needed granting.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Mickey and Rose laughing together at the table. Rose’s eyes lit up as he set the chips in front of her.
“I’m starved,” she said happily, and dug in.
“Lunch at Jackie’s, lunch with me,” said Mickey. “Doesn’t he feed you in between?”
Jack stole one of the chips. “Only if she behaves.”
Rose stole the chip back. “Are you talking to my mum about me again?”
“Again?” echoed Jack, frowning.
“We never stopped, so I don’t think ‘again’ qualifies,” said Mickey dryly. “And no, I was talking to Pete. He says you asked for a reassignment.”
“So what if I did?” challenged Rose. “I’m allowed. Anyone’s allowed.”
“Rose, it’s your project,” said Mickey crossly. “You’re the one who initiated it. Without you, it’ll never work.”
“It wasn’t working in the first place,” said Rose icily. “And I’m tired of beating my head against a wall that isn’t going to budge.”
“Rose-“
“Can we please have a nice lunch together? Please? Just me and my best friend and my best mate and talk about - I don’t know - the weather or something that has nothing to do with work?” Rose’s voice sounded strained. Jack wondered if he qualified as friend or mate, and which he would rather be.
Mickey might have wondered the same thing; his eyes locked on Jack’s for a moment, and then he shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do.”
“Weather’s been great lately,” said Mickey gamely, without any enthusiasm.
“Nice clouds,” added Jack, stealing another chip.
“Tsunami in Japan last week,” continued Mickey.
Rose crossed her arms and frowned at them.
“I heard,” said Jack.
“Nothing to do with the tidal forces being put out of balance by the sudden disappearance of stars in the right quadrant of the universe, of course,” said Mickey.
Rose groaned, and her head hit the table.
“A thousand and one tabloids can’t all be right,” reasoned Jack.
“Stop helping him,” muttered Rose to the table.
“Well, they’re also saying Elton John is gay,” said Mickey.
“Isn’t he?”
“Not in this universe.”
“Well, that explains a lot,” said Jack. “So that’s how many stars so far, a dozen?”
“So far.” Mickey took a swig of his drink.
“Alien?” asked Jack.
“No doubt.”
“We really shouldn’t be discussing this in public,” said Rose to the table.
“It’s in the papers, Rose,” said Mickey. “And anyone, no one in London believes anything the tabloids say.”
Rose lifted her head and glared at them defiantly. “They’re all lightyears away,” she said. “Nothing that’s making those stars disappear can hurt us. Not for ages.”
Jack watched her strain to believe it.
“No,” agreed Mickey, and he didn’t even try to believe what he said. “They can’t hurt us. We’re completely safe. We don’t need any help.”
The conversation stalled; Jack didn’t know what lay in Rose’s laboratory, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that Mickey did - and was very likely part of it, as well. Nor was it hard to figure out that Mickey didn’t think too much of Rose abandoning the project.
“I need another drink,” said Rose, and she nearly flew from the table into the pub.
Mickey fell back in his chair, and sighed. “Bloody hell. Bloody fucking hell.”
“It’s true?” asked Jack abruptly, and Mickey rubbed his eyes.
“It’s true,” he admitted sourly. “And they’re getting progressively closer to Earth, the stars that are disappearing. We can’t do more than track them. We don’t know why they’re disappearing. We don’t have the technology to do anything more than watch. We need-“ Mickey cut himself off, and drowned the rest of what he would have said in his drink.
“It’s me,” said Jack finally.
Mickey slammed his drink down on the table. “What, mate? You’re making the stars burn out?”
“I don’t know what’s making the stars burn out,” said Jack shortly. “I mean, Rose is quitting because of me.”
Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t-“
“I don’t even know what she’s trying to do,” said Jack, a little annoyed that Mickey would assume he had any power over Rose at all. “I wouldn’t ask her to stop doing something she cared about. And she cared about that project, whatever it was. Is. You know that.”
Mickey crossed his arms and stared at him. “I don’t know you. I only met you the once.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Jack, hard. “Whatever Rose does, she does on her own.”
“Not on her own, mate,” said Mickey. “Not since you turned up.” He paused. “Her heart hasn’t been in it, either. Not since you turned up.”
Jack went back to his drink.
“It’s not you,” said Mickey.
You just said she’s stopped caring since I turned up. If it wasn't for me, she’d have spent this weekend locked in the laboratory, trying to stop whatever is destroying the stars.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” said Mickey. “And that’s what I’m saying now. It’s not you.”
Jack had no idea what Mickey meant, and Rose returned before he could ask.
*
In the deep dark of their room, with the curtains wide open to the London skyline, they made love under cool sheets clinging to their skin. It was careful and easy and came without guilt or words, and Jack looked - he looked hard, and he didn’t see Rose fight to love him. She didn’t even have to try. She simply loved.
“We could go to Egypt.” Jack wasn’t sure what made him say it; something about the stillness of the room, the way the curtains didn’t move in the moonlight. Rose’s breath had finally evened out, but her hand stayed on his arm, fingers curled around his bicep.
“I thought you didn’t want to go?”
“Never went before. And if your project is finished-“
“Yours isn’t,” said Rose, and she nestled into the crook of his shoulder.
“You want to stay?” Even Jack could hear the surprise in his voice. Rose pushed herself up a little; he could see the lines of her face, but little else.
“You want to go?” Quiet. Curious. Worried?
“Rose Tyler, domesticated?”
Rose shook her head, and lay back down. “Just because I’m not a little girl looking over the rainbow doesn’t mean I’m domesticated, Jack Harkness. Anyway, you’re the one who made dinner tonight.”
Jack chuckled. “Jack Harkness, domesticated?”
“Would it be so awful?” asked Rose. “Stuck here with me?”
There was something in her voice - something careful, something asking what she wasn’t going to say.
“I wouldn’t call it stuck,” said Jack finally, not sure if it was the answer she needed, and knowing by the way her body remained stiff that she still wanted more. “Anyway, I’m with you. Doesn’t feel stuck, if you’re here.”
Rose’s body relaxed, and her leg slipped in between his as she hugged him closer.
The shadows from the window created deep pockets in the corners of the room. Jack watched them deepen and change as the night wore on, and the lights of London flickered on and off. They were big enough to hide in, but Jack couldn’t feel anyone watching, only Rose’s even breath on his chest as she lay sleeping, her hold never once loosening.
It’s not you, Mickey had told him.
I have to let him go, Rose had told Pete.
Jack watched the shadows in the corners deepen, and waited for morning to break.
*
The bed was empty when Jack came out of the shower, but he could smell the coffee brewing from the kitchen. Jack closed his eyes, breathed in the scent, and opened the drawer in his bedside table. He pulled on a pair of jeans for the sake of the windows, put the object pulled from the drawer in a pocket, and went in search of Rose. It didn’t take long - she was watching the sunrise, holding her own mug of tea.
“I don’t usually get to see the sun rise,” she said.
“You’re up early enough,” said Jack, pouring his coffee.
“The lab doesn’t have windows.”
“What will you do now, if you’re not going back to the project?”
He watched her; Rose wrapped her fingers around the mug. “I don’t know. Pete’ll find me something. Maybe I can help you?”
Jack shook his head. “There’s barely enough work for me.”
Rose shrugged. “Something will come up.”
Jack stood behind her and reached for her hand. “Here.”
He put the object from the drawer in her hand and closed her fingers. Rose opened them and looked up at him.
“Jack-“
“This will help,” he said.
“A ring? You’re not asking me-“
He closed her hands again. “No. This is the ring I was buried with. It’s what was emitting that Vortex signal that led you to me. The Vortex from our old world, Rose.”
Rose’s breath caught. “But-“
“This will make the cannon work,” said Jack.
“How do you know-?“
“Doesn’t matter,” said Jack firmly.
Rose’s fingers tightened around the ring. “I don’t need the cannon anymore.”
“Maybe not,” acknowledged Jack. “But disappearing stars are bigger than just you, Rose, and they’re a hell of a lot bigger than me. We might not need him - but this world does.”
Rose looked up at him, eyes wet. “Jack - I-”
“Use it to find him, Rose. Find out what’s going wrong. He’s the only one who can fix it.”
Rose’s fingers tightened around the ring. “The Doctor.”
Jack nodded. “It might take a few tries, but this can get you started.”
“I thought we were fine,” insisted Rose. “I thought last night - we’re fine. Aren’t we? Just us?”
Jack kissed her forehead. “We are fine. We’re better than fine. We’re stuck here with each other, and it’s fantastic.”
Rose choked back a laugh, and hugged him. “I might - Jack, if I go - I might not be able to -”
The morning light obliterated the shadows in the corners. “I know, but you’ll be with him. The thing I hated most about being left behind before was not knowing if you were okay. If you’re with him - you’re okay.”
Rose sighed into his chest. “Come with me.”
“Two Jack Harknesses? The world would explode by the sheer force of us,” Jack kidded her gently, and felt her lips turn up in a smile.
“It doesn’t have to be me. Jake can go.”
“No, Rose. You.”
“Mickey can do it - the Doctor knows he can trust him.”
“It has to be you, Rose.”
Rose shook her head. “I can’t leave you again.”
Jack thought of immortality, of one day holding Rose as the breath left her body, seeing her white skin under a sheet among rows of bodies in a cold room, leaving her beneath a slab of concrete bearing her name as he walked away. “It’s okay. I’ll be all right.”
Rose turned her face up. “I’ll come back.”
Words. Jack kissed her, and hoped it made up for his inability to believe her.
*
Three weeks later
“I’m coming back,” said Rose again, for the thousandth time. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“Just try not to jump the other Jack Harkness when you see him,” said Jack with a grin. Rose laughed, and pocketed the ring.
“What if he offers?” asked Rose.
“You’re taken,” said Jack firmly.
“And how!”
“Oh, get a room!” groaned Mickey from the controls. “Rose, are you going or do I have to shove lover-boy here in a closet?”
“I have never in my life been in the closet and I don’t intend to start,” said Jack. “Unless you’re offering, Mickey?”
“Sod off,” said Mickey.
“I’ll be back,” Rose told Jack again, as if she were afraid he might have forgotten, or if it would take repeated reminding to make him believe it.
“I know,” said Jack. And for some reason - maybe the look in Rose’s eyes, maybe the whites of her knuckles as she clutched the gun, maybe the leap in his chest as he finally said the words he’d been avoiding for weeks - he did.
7. Epilogue. Or Prologue. Depends on how you look at it.
The sound of the TARDIS had completely faded away when Rose spoke.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
He hoped the lopsided grin covered the sudden thudding of his (single) heart. “Ah - Tony’s not actually yours, is he?”
“I think you’ll like this surprise better,” said Rose, and she grinned.
From: azriona
Title: Left Behind (2/2)
Characters and/or Pairings: Rose, Jack, Pete’s World crew, Rose/Jack and Rose/Jack/Nine implied
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After a hundred and fifty years, Jack Harkness is used to saying goodbye. He’s just getting the hang of saying hello.
Notes: Thanks to wendymr for the beta.
Word Count: 13K and change
Left Behind (1/2)
Left Behind (Part Two)
5. A Perfect Day, Adequately So.
When Jack woke up in the morning, it was to the sound of the shower going in the next room. No matter how early he woke up, Rose woke first. Sometimes he wondered if she slept at all, because she usually sat up reading as he fell asleep at night, watching her until his eyes were so heavy they slid closed before he could think to prop them open.
“I’m not going to disappear,” Rose told him every night for three months running.
“Not taking the chance,” he replied each time, and every morning for three months running, he woke to find the bed empty and the shower going full speed, he couldn’t help the quick sense of loss. As if there was anything he had to lose, anyway.
Jack glanced at the clock before he went to join Rose, and the time it showed him took him by surprise.
“Morning,” said Rose. He never had to announce himself. She always knew.
“Late start this morning,” said Jack, shucking the pajama bottoms into the laundry basket. He wouldn’t have worn them at all, but every night, they appeared on the bed waiting for him. Jack wasn’t stupid.
Rose didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m not going into work today.”
Jack opened the shower door; Rose’s back was to him. “The super secret project behind the one locked door my keycard can’t open doesn’t require your presence today?” He could have said it mockingly; instead, he opted for flip. Flip was always a good tone, when he didn’t know what else to say. This happened less and less with other people, but as his strange arrangement with Rose continued, he found himself being far too carefully casual with her than he normally would have been.
“I gave everyone the day off,” said Rose. She reached to flick a switch on the wall, and the shower turned into a rainstorm, with water falling from the ceiling. Drenched, with water flowing over his nose and around his ears and down his back, Jack’s world was reduced to trying to breathe underwater.
An entire day off…it was a novel concept. In the three months since Jack had started working at Torchwood, Rose had gone in every day for a few hours at the very least, and fourteen-hour stretches at the very most. Repeated attempts on Jack’s part to learn what she worked on behind the locked doors had so far been fruitless.
Jack didn’t think it had anything to do with Torchwood not trusting him. When he and Rose had gone in the first day, he’d been greeted by name and had his hand shaken by nearly every employee, each wearing a large smile and looking as though they were honestly glad to see him. The medical staff, though clearly curious about his particulars, were seemingly content to merely quiz him and ask to take his temperature or blood pressure during the lunch hour. Once this information was received, they would titter to themselves, much like a group of children unpacking their Christmas stockings, and race off down the corridors.
Jack had never seen a friendlier, more accommodating group of government employees. It unnerved him. Of course, this Torchwood had never really had the same outlook on alien life. Far from claiming alien artifacts and technology to be the sole property of Torchwood and using it for their own ends, its employees strove to protect that technology from human abuse. This was the Torchwood Jack had always tried to become. Somewhere in the bowels of its London Headquarters, Jack supposed Ianto Jones still worked amongst the files, living with Lisa and wondering what was missing from his life.
Or not. Maybe Ianto was happier here. Maybe Katie Harper still lived. Maybe Tosh’s mother hadn’t been used to blackmail her daughter. Maybe Gwen was still a copper.
Or maybe Susie had gone ballistic and killed them all. Anything was possible, Jack supposed. He thought about looking them up whenever he logged into his Torchwood account, and then forgot about it until he was already logged out.
When the water flow switched back to the regular shower heads, Jack shook the excess water from his hair and reached for the loofah. He started scrubbing Rose’s back, and she lifted her hair to give him better access.
“So what are you doing instead?”
“I thought we’d go to see my parents for lunch. You haven’t really had much of a chance to get to know them.”
Her voice was too casual. Jack wasn’t sure he trusted it.
“And there’s this movie I’ve been wanting to see.”
“Where do you hear about movies?” asked Jack. “You barely have time to eat dinner most nights.”
“People talk,” said Rose, stung, and Jack started lathering himself. Rose turned in the water to rinse herself off. “There’s a Chinese restaurant near the theater.”
“Thai food,” said Jack longingly. “I miss Thai food.”
“Can’t have everything,” said Rose reasonably, and leaned over to give him a brief kiss.
No, reflected Jack as he watched Rose leave the shower. Water still clung to the small of her back, streaming down from her wet hair. No one could have everything. But sometimes, it felt like he almost did.
*
Jack would have known exactly what to make of Pete Tyler, had the man been anyone other than Rose’s father. For some reason, this relationship - tenuous as it was, given the different dimensions - made understanding the man that much more difficult.
Jack didn’t like not knowing where he stood with someone else. Either he was a scoundrel, or he was a pretty decent bloke. He was very seldom anywhere in between, and he was rarely much worse or better. The Doctor, as Jack had really known him, in black leather and denim, considered Jack a scoundrel of the very highest order, but liked him anyway. Rose was on the other side of the fence. It made a nice dichotomy.
Jackie Tyler clearly categorized Jack as a scoundrel. Every time she saw him, she greeted him exactly the same way.
“Rose!” cried out Jackie, so very clearly pleased to see her daughter. Jack would have thought Rose long-lost, the way Jackie always greeted her with near-tears and a bear hug, holding on tight as if Rose might fade into thin air the moment Jackie released her grip. True to form, Jackie looked up from her daughter’s shoulder to see Jack standing just behind. “And you, too, Captain. Very nice of you to join us.”
“It was kind of you to invite me,” said Jack politely. He wondered if Jackie had missed the memo about the sleeping arrangements in Rose’s flat.
Pete Tyler certainly had not.
“Jackie, let Rose breathe once in a while,” said Pete Tyler, entering the entryway. “Oh, hello there, Jack.”
It was casual, friendly, nothing that Jack wouldn’t have expected from the father of a school chum. Jack resisted the urge to stand at attention.
“Hello, sir.”
“Did Barrows find you the other day? He said he needed some sort of military expertise, and I thought you’d be just the man.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack, remembering the little analyst from the 32nd floor who had come to him all in a dither three days before. “He found some kind of cache left over from the second war, and he was absolutely convinced they were alien in origin.”
“Oh, no work today, please,” said Jackie, finally letting go of Rose. “I just want a lovely lunch with my favorite people, and I don’t want to hear anything alien at the table. Is that too much to ask?”
Favorite people? wondered Jack, but Rose didn’t look at him. Pete did.
“Here, Jack, I’ve got something in the study, perhaps you could give me a hand…”
“Don’t be clever with me, Peter Alan Tyler,” Jackie scolded him. “No going into the study for secret work talks. We’re going to go out into the garden and watch Tony play with his new swing set and we’re going to discuss perfectly normal non-alien things, and we are going to be happy and enjoy ourselves.”
“Or else,” Rose muttered to Jack, and he grinned at her before he caught Pete’s intense stare at him, and wiped the smile from his face.
Tony was already fast at play on the swing set, and from the state of his muddy knees, had been for some time. A nanny watched him climb up the steps and then hurtle down the slide at breakneck speed either on his stomach, his back, his knees, or his shoulders. Jack had the idea that Tony abhorred the idea of going down the slide while sitting up.
“Tony, please, sit down when you’re on the slide,” Jackie called out to her son. Jack suppressed a smile. Tony ignored her, and slid down face-first on his stomach.
“Hi, Rose! Hi, Jack!” yelled Tony. He flung himself across the lawn, locked his arms around Rose’s knees in a giant squeeze, before bestowing the same muddy Tony-print on Jack’s trousers.
“Did you see my swings?” Tony asked eagerly. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind how Tony felt about him. Tony belonged to the fabled few who thought Jack walked on water.
“They’re great,” said Jack.
Tony didn’t answer; he merely flashed a lopsided grin at Jack and raced back to play.
“Nice set,” said Rose admiringly.
“An investment,” said Pete. “He’ll be able to use it for the next ten years. As well as any other children who come along.”
Jackie slapped his arm lightly. “Don’t be greedy. Tony was enough of a late surprise. No one here is having any more children, thank you!”
Pete eyed Rose’s stomach, and then locked eyes on Jack.
“Very wise, sir,” said Jack.
There were four lawn chairs arranged in a semi-circle near the swings. Jack’s strategy was to let Pete and Jackie sit next to each other, and then Rose sit as a buffer between him and them. This would have worked, if anyone had been playing along, which they weren’t, because when everyone had sat, the only seat left was on the end, next to Pete. Jack sat on the edge of his seat, and waited for someone to open the conversation.
No one said anything.
“Oh, come on!” said Jackie finally. “There must be something we can talk about that has nothing to do with Torchwood!”
Pete turned to Jack. “So, Jack, you never said. Are you a footie man?”
Jack didn’t know it was possible to choke on nothing.
“Football?” prompted Pete. “There’s a game on the telly.”
“No television!” shrieked Jackie.
“I love footie,” said Jack finally, not caring how Pete would interpret it.
“Good man, let’s go,” said Pete, and Jack obediently followed back into the house.
As it turned out, Pete hadn’t been taking the mickey out of Jack; Man United was playing Arsenal. Jack didn’t particularly care for footie (footsie was another thing altogether), but as far as sport-watching companions went, when Pete brought out the bottles of beer and flopped down on the sofa next to Jack, he didn’t think he could go far wrong.
“So,” said Pete during one of the passing runs, “thought about that offer of a new mattress yet?”
Jack swallowed the beer, but it was a hard thing. “Er - no, sir.”
“That mattress you’re on can’t be any good for your backs,” said Pete. “And I’m sure it’s seen more than its share of action. I’d be happy to buy you something springier.”
Pete took a swig of beer. Jack would have done the same, but he didn’t think he’d be able to swallow.
“I’ll mention it to her, sir,” said Jack.
Honestly, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t ever talked to a girl’s father before. Or even that the girl’s father could fire him or have him locked away at a moment’s notice.
“Run, you bloody bastards!” Pete yelled at the telly.
It might have had to do with the casualness of it. Even in the 51st century, fathers tended to be overprotective of their daughters. The one thing Jack couldn’t figure was how Pete felt about the possibility that Jack was sleeping with Rose - which he wasn’t, except in the literal sense of the word. Jackie clearly was not impressed. Tony would have adopted him if possible. Pete was…non-opinionated.
Jack didn’t like not knowing what someone thought of him. Pete Tyler’s opinion was a mystery. It rankled.
“Bloody wankers,” grumbled Pete as United scored. He glared at Jack. “You’re not a Manchester hooligan, are you?”
“Bluebirds,” said Jack. “They don’t exist here.”
“Ah,” said Pete. “As long as you’re not United.”
“No, sir,” said Jack, thinking of Northern accents, and wondered if it wasn’t a clue. He’d always had the impression that Jackie Tyler hadn’t cared for the Doctor, and vice versa. The story might have ended well, but first impressions were always strongest.
Of course it wasn’t a clue. This Pete Tyler had never met Jack’s Doctor. It was just an odd coincidence. That was all.
*
The game wasn’t half over when Jackie called them into lunch by marching into the room, unplugging the telly from the wall, and marching back out again, all without saying a word. She let Tony do the talking for her, as he raced in and landed with a slam right on Jack’s gonads.
“Careful,” said Pete mildly. “I have grandchildren in there.”
Tony peered at Jack’s stomach with intense curiosity. “Really?”
“He’s being figurative,” said Jack. Tony wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck.
“Mummy says lunch is ready,” he said.
“Give me a minute,” said Jack.
Pete picked Tony up and tossed the boy over his shoulder. Tony screeched with glee. “Whenever you’re able,” Pete told Jack, and headed back outside, where lunch would be served.
By the time Jack joined them, Tony was already plowing his way through a plate of sandwiches, fruit, and some unidentifiable pile of brown-flavored sticks that this dimension considered to be the finest sort of lunchtime snack ever invented. Nearly everyone Jack had met loved the stuff. He thought it tasted slightly better than kitty litter.
Funnily enough, with food in front of them, the conversation flowed. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, Tony put in with some ripping remarks, and once in a while, Jack would see Rose grinning at him in the same easy, comfortable way as a lifetime before. He even made Jackie laugh once.
He’d barely finished his sandwich when Tony dragged him from the table and out to inspect the new swing set. Jack held Tony as the boy worked his way across the monkey bars, attempted to hang upside-down and flip back to the ground, and then congratulated him on his successful descent on the slide while sitting backwards and holding his feet in midair, without tumbling head over heels.
It wasn’t until later, when he was heading back to the swing set after a quick stop in the loo, that he overheard the conversation in the study.
“I just think-“
“It doesn’t matter what you think, Pete,” said Rose, and she sounded irritable. “It’s my project, and if I want to stop, I will. Admit it, no one at Torchwood really liked the idea of it anyway.”
“That was before this new thing with the stars.” Pete’s voice was much calmer. “Now, with what the astronomers are telling us - it’s not good, Rose. And we don’t have the kind of technology we need to inspect it any further.”
“I thought Jack was helping with that.”
Jack gave up all pretense and put his ear next to the door.
“Just because you can drive a car, Rose, doesn’t mean you can put one together without blueprints. He was never a rocket scientist. If it existed already, he might be able to fix it or fly it. He doesn’t know how to create it from scratch.”
“He’s not useless!”
Thank you, Rose, thought Jack, feeling his chest constrict.
“I didn’t say he was. He’s been a tremendous asset to Torchwood in the last few months. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”
Thank you, Pete, thought Jack, with some amount of surprise. He almost felt guilty listening in now.
“If you want to stop work on the project, Rose, that’s your decision,” Pete continued. “I just want to make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
“What would be the wrong ones?” asked Rose coolly.
“Do you love him?” asked Pete bluntly.
Jack held his breath.
“Yes,” said Rose. “And I love Jack, too, Dad. And Jack’s here, and the Doctor isn’t, and you know - I have to let him go. I can’t keep racing after him like some stupid teenage girl who doesn’t know when the relationship is over.”
“Love the one you’re with?” said Pete, almost cruelly.
There was a pause. “I loved Jack long before he turned up in Wales,” said Rose, and Jack could practically feel the anger through the door. It helped ease the way his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. “I might have loved the Doctor longer, but that’s only because I met the Doctor first. Don’t you dare imply that I love Jack any less because of some stupid quirk of the timeline.”
Jack rested his forehead against the door. He exhaled slowly, and wished his heart would slow down, to let the moment last a little longer.
“The cannon-“
“Doesn’t work,” said Rose. “I don’t think it ever will. We need an exact match of the vortex power in our old world, and you know that Mickey and Mum and I didn’t exactly pack for this situation.”
“But Jack-“
“He didn’t really pack, either,” said Rose. “And I’m not going to leave him behind, Pete. I’m not.”
“Rose,” said Pete. “Does he love you? The way you love him?”
“Yes,” whispered Jack.
“I hope he does,” said Rose, and Jack wondered how she didn’t know. Why didn’t they ever know?
Footsteps down the hall - someone was coming, and he could tell that it wasn’t Tony.
“I wish you’d reconsider,” said Pete. “The cannon - it’s important.”
“It’s yours,” said Rose. “Not mine. Not anymore.”
The footsteps were closer. Jack stepped away from the door and took some steps so that it wasn’t immediately obvious that he’d been eavesdropping. Just as he was far enough away that he could no longer hear the conversation, Jackie Tyler appeared.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “I thought you were with Tony?”
“Loo,” said Jack. “I’m heading back now.”
“Good,” said Jackie. She took a breath. “You’re good with him. Tony. I mean. He likes you.”
“I like him,” said Jack. “He reminds me of my grandson.”
Jackie blinked. “Grandson?”
“Steven. He has that same sort of energy Tony has. He jumped off the monkey bars when he was five and broke his arm, and it took weeks before he understood why flying wasn’t an option.”
Jackie glanced out the window, automatically thinking of Tony trying the same trick.
“You don’t look old enough to be a grandfather,” said Jackie, scanning the garden for her son.
“I don’t look old enough for a lot of things,” said Jack. “I’d better go out and catch Tony. Excuse me, Mrs. Tyler.”
“Jackie,” said Jackie quickly. “My name’s Jackie. Mrs. Tyler - I wasn’t Mrs. Tyler very long at first. And I don’t know - I’m not used to being Mrs. Tyler here just yet. You call me Jackie.”
Jack’s heart was doing it again - the ferocious pounding that sent the blood rushing through his ears. “Thanks, Jackie.”
“And stop calling Pete ‘sir’,” added Jackie, sounding more like she did when she spoke to her family. “It makes his head swell, and he already steals enough of the pillows as it is.”
Jack grinned, and before he could help it, said, “Like father, like daughter, I guess.”
Jackie’s eyes narrowed. Jack swallowed.
“I’ll go out to Tony now,” he said, and started to slip away.
“Jack-”
He turned around. Jackie looked thoughtful. And only a little bit troubled.
“I - that is - oh -!” Jackie, halfway between flustered and frustrated, gave up. “I don’t care how many grandchildren you have, Jack Harkness. I’m not old enough to be a grandmother yet.”
Jack grinned. “Jackie Tyler, I wouldn’t dare without your permission anyway.”
He ran before she could say another word - or worse, throw something at his head. As it was, when Rose came out to join them at the swing set, he half wondered if she would bear a message from her mother.
“Rose!” yelled Tony as the swing carried him nearly parallel with the overhead bars. “Watch!”
“I’m watching!” Rose called, and grinned at Jack, her hands in her pockets. “Having fun?”
“Yeah, actually,” said Jack.
“Higher!”
Jack pushed Tony higher. “You?”
“Yeah,” said Rose, and slipped her hand into his. “I haven’t had a day off since - well, I guess since Tony was born.”
“That project must be important,” said Jack. Rose glanced at him, but her expression didn’t change.
“It was,” she said finally. “To other people. Not to me, not anymore.” She reached up to give him a kiss.
“Ew!” yelled Tony, delighted. “Kissing!”
“Don’t knock the kissing,” said Jack lightly, and grabbed hold of the swing’s chains to slow Tony down. Tony jumped off the swing as it lowered, and fell on all fours onto the grass, giggling. Rose reached down with one hand, and Jack with the other, and they pulled him up between them.
“Kissing’s icky,” said Tony.
“Oh?” said Rose, and gave Tony a loud kiss on the top of his head. Tony squirmed and kicked out his legs while his older sister and Jack swung him between them back up to the house.
Jack, Tony, Rose, all in a line walking up to a house. It was easy to pretend Tony wasn’t Rose’s brother, that Rose wasn’t only Jack’s bedmate. That there wasn’t a reason for Pete or Jackie to make veiled comments about grandchildren. Jack let himself wallow in the dream for a moment, and by the time they reached the house, and Tony had let go of their hands to race ahead, the dream had done its purpose, and Jack felt content for the first time in months.
“Stay for dinner,” said Jackie.
“I’m sorry, Mum, we’ve already bought tickets,” said Rose, which was a lie but Jack played along. The movie, as it turned out, was sold out, but the Chinese restaurant had dishes that were close enough to Thai food that Jack ordered additional meals to take home. They meandered through the various private gardens on their way back to the little flat near Canary Wharf, which didn’t seem all that cold or impersonal with the lights of London shining through the open windows.
“I’m too full to sleep,” said Rose, almost regretfully.
“So much for being hungry twenty minutes after eating Chinese,” said Jack. He tossed the extra meals into the fridge, considerably less bare than it had been on his arrival.
They switched on the telly, flipping until they found reruns of Fawlty Towers. The light flickered; Rose moved as if she were in a silent film with the speed too slow - sitting on the other end of the couch, then closer, then snuggled up under his arm, by his side, laughing at Basil’s antics and cover-ups and failures.
It was while Basil was falling around the hotel lobby, his employees popping in and out of doors and various guests becoming more and more confused or annoyed, that Rose reached up to kiss him. She moved over him, pushing up with her hands on either side of his chest, and his hands on her sides helped her balance.
He knew it wasn’t just a kiss - not just the way that she kissed him, in a way she hadn’t since long ago days on the TARDIS, but the fact that she kissed him, and for the first time, he didn’t feel the unspoken, unseen presence in the room of a man who wasn’t there.
Canned laughter rose from the telly in the flickering blue light. Rose sat up, pulled off her shirt, and kissed him again.
Maybe she really was going to stay. Maybe he finally believed she would. Jack wasn’t sure, and it didn’t really matter.
He pulled Rose down on top of him, and kissed her.
Maybe it was the day. Maybe it was the television. But now, It was her hands on his chest, and his hands on her back, and her fingers on his skin, and his legs parting hers, just the two of them, no one else to see or speak or touch or kiss, and for once, Jack didn’t feel the loss of it.
6. Pay no attention to the absent man behind the invisible curtain.
“We’re late,” Rose told him, but she didn’t pick up her pace, and Jack had no wish to point this out.
“He’ll wait,” he said, and weaved his fingers with hers. No one on the pavement seemed to notice them holding hands; Rose didn’t even take much note of it. She had reached for his hand as they left the flat for lunch, and he had let her take it, as if they did this every day.
“It’s rude,” Rose insisted. “I’ve never been late for lunch. Never.”
“First time for everything,” said Jack, and thought of that morning with a grin. “And a second. And a third.”
“Jack!” Rose shoved her shoulder against his. “Lucky there wasn’t a third, we’d never make lunch at all.”
“We would have, but it would have been called dinner instead.”
Rose shoved him again. “Please behave yourself. Mickey’s sort of…”
“Innocent?”
“Protective,” said Rose.
Mickey had already claimed a table on the pavement outside the pub, and had clearly been waiting long enough to not only order a drink, but consume half of it. He raised his hand to make sure they saw him, and stood when Rose approached the table.
“I’m sorry, Mickey,” she apologized, and leaned in to give his cheek a kiss. “We were….delayed.”
“Happens,” said Mickey, and reached for Jack’s hand. He held it uncharacteristically tightly, and Jack caught a very cautionary look in the other man’s eyes. For a moment, Jack caught a reflection of the blue sky in Mickey’s eyes, and remembered that once, long before he’d known her in any form, Rose had belonged to the man on the other side of the table. “Harkness.”
“Smith,” said Jack. There might be a world where Rose still belonged to Mickey Smith. Lucky he hadn’t woken up there, he thought, and wondered if there wasn’t a Jack Harkness dying under its ground still.
World treating you right, Rose?” continued Mickey, still holding onto Jack’s hand.
“Couldn’t be better,” said Rose, and Mickey let go of Jack’s hand. “You haven’t been waiting long?”
“Long enough,” said Jack, seeing Mickey’s glass. He had the sudden idea that disappearing for a moment or two wouldn’t be amiss. “What are you drinking? I can get you another.”
The pub was crowded inside; there was some sort of game going on the telly - another football match, Jack thought, but he wasn’t sure. It didn’t take long to catch the barman’s eye, but by the time the drinks and chips had appeared, Jack wasn’t all that sure he’d find Mickey and Rose still waiting for him outside.
A fluke, Jack had told himself a thousand times that day already. The previous night was a fluke of passion, not happening again. But in the morning, he woke to see Rose’s head lying on the pillows next to him, and empty air behind him, empty sheets behind her. Better still, they made love in the blue morning night with only the Sunday morning silence in the background. And having done it once before, Jack didn’t imagine the feel of other hands on his hips, other legs nestled between his, other breath on the back of his neck.
He wasn’t sure what Rose was telling Mickey while Jack purchased their drinks - but he wouldn’t have been one bit surprised to return and find her in tears, having suddenly realized what it was they had done. Or maybe the two of them gone, Mickey all too willing to help Rose escape from the mistake she’d only just now realized she had made.
Jack didn’t think it was a mistake. It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt…right. Or if not right, at least it didn’t feel wrong. They weren’t sneaking under anyone’s noses, or behind anyone’s back, and they weren’t teenagers trying to fit in a good time before their parents came home. He and Rose were two grown adults, and if they wanted to be lovers, just them, then it wasn’t as though there was anyone’s permission that needed granting.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Mickey and Rose laughing together at the table. Rose’s eyes lit up as he set the chips in front of her.
“I’m starved,” she said happily, and dug in.
“Lunch at Jackie’s, lunch with me,” said Mickey. “Doesn’t he feed you in between?”
Jack stole one of the chips. “Only if she behaves.”
Rose stole the chip back. “Are you talking to my mum about me again?”
“Again?” echoed Jack, frowning.
“We never stopped, so I don’t think ‘again’ qualifies,” said Mickey dryly. “And no, I was talking to Pete. He says you asked for a reassignment.”
“So what if I did?” challenged Rose. “I’m allowed. Anyone’s allowed.”
“Rose, it’s your project,” said Mickey crossly. “You’re the one who initiated it. Without you, it’ll never work.”
“It wasn’t working in the first place,” said Rose icily. “And I’m tired of beating my head against a wall that isn’t going to budge.”
“Rose-“
“Can we please have a nice lunch together? Please? Just me and my best friend and my best mate and talk about - I don’t know - the weather or something that has nothing to do with work?” Rose’s voice sounded strained. Jack wondered if he qualified as friend or mate, and which he would rather be.
Mickey might have wondered the same thing; his eyes locked on Jack’s for a moment, and then he shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do.”
“Weather’s been great lately,” said Mickey gamely, without any enthusiasm.
“Nice clouds,” added Jack, stealing another chip.
“Tsunami in Japan last week,” continued Mickey.
Rose crossed her arms and frowned at them.
“I heard,” said Jack.
“Nothing to do with the tidal forces being put out of balance by the sudden disappearance of stars in the right quadrant of the universe, of course,” said Mickey.
Rose groaned, and her head hit the table.
“A thousand and one tabloids can’t all be right,” reasoned Jack.
“Stop helping him,” muttered Rose to the table.
“Well, they’re also saying Elton John is gay,” said Mickey.
“Isn’t he?”
“Not in this universe.”
“Well, that explains a lot,” said Jack. “So that’s how many stars so far, a dozen?”
“So far.” Mickey took a swig of his drink.
“Alien?” asked Jack.
“No doubt.”
“We really shouldn’t be discussing this in public,” said Rose to the table.
“It’s in the papers, Rose,” said Mickey. “And anyone, no one in London believes anything the tabloids say.”
Rose lifted her head and glared at them defiantly. “They’re all lightyears away,” she said. “Nothing that’s making those stars disappear can hurt us. Not for ages.”
Jack watched her strain to believe it.
“No,” agreed Mickey, and he didn’t even try to believe what he said. “They can’t hurt us. We’re completely safe. We don’t need any help.”
The conversation stalled; Jack didn’t know what lay in Rose’s laboratory, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that Mickey did - and was very likely part of it, as well. Nor was it hard to figure out that Mickey didn’t think too much of Rose abandoning the project.
“I need another drink,” said Rose, and she nearly flew from the table into the pub.
Mickey fell back in his chair, and sighed. “Bloody hell. Bloody fucking hell.”
“It’s true?” asked Jack abruptly, and Mickey rubbed his eyes.
“It’s true,” he admitted sourly. “And they’re getting progressively closer to Earth, the stars that are disappearing. We can’t do more than track them. We don’t know why they’re disappearing. We don’t have the technology to do anything more than watch. We need-“ Mickey cut himself off, and drowned the rest of what he would have said in his drink.
“It’s me,” said Jack finally.
Mickey slammed his drink down on the table. “What, mate? You’re making the stars burn out?”
“I don’t know what’s making the stars burn out,” said Jack shortly. “I mean, Rose is quitting because of me.”
Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t-“
“I don’t even know what she’s trying to do,” said Jack, a little annoyed that Mickey would assume he had any power over Rose at all. “I wouldn’t ask her to stop doing something she cared about. And she cared about that project, whatever it was. Is. You know that.”
Mickey crossed his arms and stared at him. “I don’t know you. I only met you the once.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Jack, hard. “Whatever Rose does, she does on her own.”
“Not on her own, mate,” said Mickey. “Not since you turned up.” He paused. “Her heart hasn’t been in it, either. Not since you turned up.”
Jack went back to his drink.
“It’s not you,” said Mickey.
You just said she’s stopped caring since I turned up. If it wasn't for me, she’d have spent this weekend locked in the laboratory, trying to stop whatever is destroying the stars.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” said Mickey. “And that’s what I’m saying now. It’s not you.”
Jack had no idea what Mickey meant, and Rose returned before he could ask.
*
In the deep dark of their room, with the curtains wide open to the London skyline, they made love under cool sheets clinging to their skin. It was careful and easy and came without guilt or words, and Jack looked - he looked hard, and he didn’t see Rose fight to love him. She didn’t even have to try. She simply loved.
“We could go to Egypt.” Jack wasn’t sure what made him say it; something about the stillness of the room, the way the curtains didn’t move in the moonlight. Rose’s breath had finally evened out, but her hand stayed on his arm, fingers curled around his bicep.
“I thought you didn’t want to go?”
“Never went before. And if your project is finished-“
“Yours isn’t,” said Rose, and she nestled into the crook of his shoulder.
“You want to stay?” Even Jack could hear the surprise in his voice. Rose pushed herself up a little; he could see the lines of her face, but little else.
“You want to go?” Quiet. Curious. Worried?
“Rose Tyler, domesticated?”
Rose shook her head, and lay back down. “Just because I’m not a little girl looking over the rainbow doesn’t mean I’m domesticated, Jack Harkness. Anyway, you’re the one who made dinner tonight.”
Jack chuckled. “Jack Harkness, domesticated?”
“Would it be so awful?” asked Rose. “Stuck here with me?”
There was something in her voice - something careful, something asking what she wasn’t going to say.
“I wouldn’t call it stuck,” said Jack finally, not sure if it was the answer she needed, and knowing by the way her body remained stiff that she still wanted more. “Anyway, I’m with you. Doesn’t feel stuck, if you’re here.”
Rose’s body relaxed, and her leg slipped in between his as she hugged him closer.
The shadows from the window created deep pockets in the corners of the room. Jack watched them deepen and change as the night wore on, and the lights of London flickered on and off. They were big enough to hide in, but Jack couldn’t feel anyone watching, only Rose’s even breath on his chest as she lay sleeping, her hold never once loosening.
It’s not you, Mickey had told him.
I have to let him go, Rose had told Pete.
Jack watched the shadows in the corners deepen, and waited for morning to break.
*
The bed was empty when Jack came out of the shower, but he could smell the coffee brewing from the kitchen. Jack closed his eyes, breathed in the scent, and opened the drawer in his bedside table. He pulled on a pair of jeans for the sake of the windows, put the object pulled from the drawer in a pocket, and went in search of Rose. It didn’t take long - she was watching the sunrise, holding her own mug of tea.
“I don’t usually get to see the sun rise,” she said.
“You’re up early enough,” said Jack, pouring his coffee.
“The lab doesn’t have windows.”
“What will you do now, if you’re not going back to the project?”
He watched her; Rose wrapped her fingers around the mug. “I don’t know. Pete’ll find me something. Maybe I can help you?”
Jack shook his head. “There’s barely enough work for me.”
Rose shrugged. “Something will come up.”
Jack stood behind her and reached for her hand. “Here.”
He put the object from the drawer in her hand and closed her fingers. Rose opened them and looked up at him.
“Jack-“
“This will help,” he said.
“A ring? You’re not asking me-“
He closed her hands again. “No. This is the ring I was buried with. It’s what was emitting that Vortex signal that led you to me. The Vortex from our old world, Rose.”
Rose’s breath caught. “But-“
“This will make the cannon work,” said Jack.
“How do you know-?“
“Doesn’t matter,” said Jack firmly.
Rose’s fingers tightened around the ring. “I don’t need the cannon anymore.”
“Maybe not,” acknowledged Jack. “But disappearing stars are bigger than just you, Rose, and they’re a hell of a lot bigger than me. We might not need him - but this world does.”
Rose looked up at him, eyes wet. “Jack - I-”
“Use it to find him, Rose. Find out what’s going wrong. He’s the only one who can fix it.”
Rose’s fingers tightened around the ring. “The Doctor.”
Jack nodded. “It might take a few tries, but this can get you started.”
“I thought we were fine,” insisted Rose. “I thought last night - we’re fine. Aren’t we? Just us?”
Jack kissed her forehead. “We are fine. We’re better than fine. We’re stuck here with each other, and it’s fantastic.”
Rose choked back a laugh, and hugged him. “I might - Jack, if I go - I might not be able to -”
The morning light obliterated the shadows in the corners. “I know, but you’ll be with him. The thing I hated most about being left behind before was not knowing if you were okay. If you’re with him - you’re okay.”
Rose sighed into his chest. “Come with me.”
“Two Jack Harknesses? The world would explode by the sheer force of us,” Jack kidded her gently, and felt her lips turn up in a smile.
“It doesn’t have to be me. Jake can go.”
“No, Rose. You.”
“Mickey can do it - the Doctor knows he can trust him.”
“It has to be you, Rose.”
Rose shook her head. “I can’t leave you again.”
Jack thought of immortality, of one day holding Rose as the breath left her body, seeing her white skin under a sheet among rows of bodies in a cold room, leaving her beneath a slab of concrete bearing her name as he walked away. “It’s okay. I’ll be all right.”
Rose turned her face up. “I’ll come back.”
Words. Jack kissed her, and hoped it made up for his inability to believe her.
*
Three weeks later
“I’m coming back,” said Rose again, for the thousandth time. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“Just try not to jump the other Jack Harkness when you see him,” said Jack with a grin. Rose laughed, and pocketed the ring.
“What if he offers?” asked Rose.
“You’re taken,” said Jack firmly.
“And how!”
“Oh, get a room!” groaned Mickey from the controls. “Rose, are you going or do I have to shove lover-boy here in a closet?”
“I have never in my life been in the closet and I don’t intend to start,” said Jack. “Unless you’re offering, Mickey?”
“Sod off,” said Mickey.
“I’ll be back,” Rose told Jack again, as if she were afraid he might have forgotten, or if it would take repeated reminding to make him believe it.
“I know,” said Jack. And for some reason - maybe the look in Rose’s eyes, maybe the whites of her knuckles as she clutched the gun, maybe the leap in his chest as he finally said the words he’d been avoiding for weeks - he did.
7. Epilogue. Or Prologue. Depends on how you look at it.
The sound of the TARDIS had completely faded away when Rose spoke.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
He hoped the lopsided grin covered the sudden thudding of his (single) heart. “Ah - Tony’s not actually yours, is he?”
“I think you’ll like this surprise better,” said Rose, and she grinned.