Fic: Go Gently (Ten/Jack: PG)
Title: Go Gently
Author: IamJabberwok
Pairing: Ten/Jack (you don’t know how much willpower it took not to put “Ten/Universe, Non-con”)
Warnings: character...regeneration? Spoilers for EOT. Reckless abandonment of cannon. Abuse of an overused literary reference.
Summary: The Doctor in the aftermath
In an instant, the Timelords are gone. The Doctor isn’t sure what he had expected (it all happened so fast at the end that he barely had time to form expectations anyway), but it wasn’t this. There is no thunderclap, no great wave of suffering, no long, agonizing fade. They are simply gone, as if they never were there in the first place. There isn’t even an echo of their cries in the back of his mind.
He should be grateful, but the Doctor has never been very good at doing what he should. He wishes he could rejoice in that small mercy, the freedom from pain, but instead it burns--hurts so much more deeply than a head full of dying screams would have hurt--to be denied that penance. He is numb when he should be bursting with agony, empty when he should be full. He falls to his knees amidst the shattered glass and even the splinters pressing into his skin don’t hurt the way they should.
In the periphery of his consciousness, he knows Wilf is standing in that damned radiation chamber, his hand pressing to the glass. He’s too good to die, but too compassionate to ask for release, and so he’s simply waiting patiently for the Doctor to notice him. Wilf is a rare sort of person, a genuine kind soul. After all that has already happened, though, it seems so unjust that the Universe, in her infinite cruelty, is demanding yet more sacrifice. The emptiness inside the Doctor’s hearts seems to echo inside his empty head and he has to scream and rage to fill the silence. Wilf, wise kind Wilf, understands and waits.
And, of course, the Doctor eventually pushes the button. What else could he possibly do?
Radiation poisoning hurts the way the banishment of Gallifrey should have hurt. For a moment, the Doctor basks in the pain, welcomes it. It puts him at peace, and finally, after spending so long running and raging against the dying light, he’s ready. Of course, the Universe denies him even this little mercy, and the death goes on and on. He does not simply regenerate. It seems the process can’t begin until enough of his cells have died (He distantly acknowledges a pang of regret that the Master is gone again. He would have been fascinated by this whole process.) He finds himself with eons of time for saying goodbyes and isn’t quite sure what to do with it. Thinking of Donna, he visits his companions as a gesture of gratitude to her, to Wilf.
One by one he jumps in to their lives for a last brief instant. He manages to find moments where he can be of some use, saying goodbye in the only way he knows how. It is very hard to leave the estate when Rose goes away, but his cells are dying much more quickly now. His body is failing fast and if he doesn’t get back to the Tardis soon he’ll have to regenerate in the middle of the street on New Years Eve, and that seems a little gauche. He forces himself to walk forward. Step by agonizing step. The Tardis is ridiculously far away.
He is almost completely positive that he isn’t going to make it. A horrible stabbing pain deep inside his belly sends him to the ground. White hot agony slices all the way to his toes. The tips of his fingers are tingling and he thinks this is it and tries to come up with some meaningful last words. Somehow, “I’m Sorry” seems woefully inadequate.
Suddenly, as if help has descended from the sky itself, he feels a strong pair of arms pick him up. Distantly through the pain and the pins and needles he registers a certain sense of factness and knows that it’s Jack, an older Jack than the one he just left behind. He can’t fathom how he could have possibly gotten here, but as he feels himself being carried inside the Tardis he can’t find it in himself to care all that much.
Jack lays him down on the jump seat with surprising tenderness. The Doctor grips his wrist, hoping the squeeze somehow relates his infinite gratitude. He can’t seem to form the proper words. The pain is crowding out the empty spaces Gallifrey left behind, and any lasting echos are silenced by Jack’s factness. Jack is here beside him holding his hand. The Doctor can’t remember the last time someone held his hand while he regenerated and the overwhelming gratitude after so much pain and loss brings tears to his eyes. As they spill down his cheek, Jack leans in and (really it’s such a very Jack thing to do the Doctor nearly laughs) kisses them away.
The tears purge his soul. The Doctor has just enough brainpower left to marvel at Jack’s wisdom. He does not offer smothering comfort. He does not waste his time filling the air with meaningless words. He simply sits and supports the Doctor while he empties himself.
The simple act of purging the holes the Timewar left behind drains the Doctor of his last reserves of energy. Silently, Jack’s arms close around him as his skin starts to glow and shimmer. He tries to pull away, to warn Jack with his voice but it isn’t allowed. Instead, Jack cups his face in both hands and presses a kiss to his forehead in benediction.
“Go Gently,” He says. The Doctor wraps his arms around Jack’s neck and presses a kiss to his lips. He feels Jack pull back for half an instant in surprise, then he surges forward, and the Doctor is enfolded into Jack’s arms. His body overheats and he can’t tell if it’s the regeneration or just Jack. He feels he is on the verge of something momentous. He pulls back to stare at Jack in wonder, opens his mouth without any idea of what might come out and then...
...light.
Author: IamJabberwok
Pairing: Ten/Jack (you don’t know how much willpower it took not to put “Ten/Universe, Non-con”)
Warnings: character...regeneration? Spoilers for EOT. Reckless abandonment of cannon. Abuse of an overused literary reference.
Summary: The Doctor in the aftermath
In an instant, the Timelords are gone. The Doctor isn’t sure what he had expected (it all happened so fast at the end that he barely had time to form expectations anyway), but it wasn’t this. There is no thunderclap, no great wave of suffering, no long, agonizing fade. They are simply gone, as if they never were there in the first place. There isn’t even an echo of their cries in the back of his mind.
He should be grateful, but the Doctor has never been very good at doing what he should. He wishes he could rejoice in that small mercy, the freedom from pain, but instead it burns--hurts so much more deeply than a head full of dying screams would have hurt--to be denied that penance. He is numb when he should be bursting with agony, empty when he should be full. He falls to his knees amidst the shattered glass and even the splinters pressing into his skin don’t hurt the way they should.
In the periphery of his consciousness, he knows Wilf is standing in that damned radiation chamber, his hand pressing to the glass. He’s too good to die, but too compassionate to ask for release, and so he’s simply waiting patiently for the Doctor to notice him. Wilf is a rare sort of person, a genuine kind soul. After all that has already happened, though, it seems so unjust that the Universe, in her infinite cruelty, is demanding yet more sacrifice. The emptiness inside the Doctor’s hearts seems to echo inside his empty head and he has to scream and rage to fill the silence. Wilf, wise kind Wilf, understands and waits.
And, of course, the Doctor eventually pushes the button. What else could he possibly do?
Radiation poisoning hurts the way the banishment of Gallifrey should have hurt. For a moment, the Doctor basks in the pain, welcomes it. It puts him at peace, and finally, after spending so long running and raging against the dying light, he’s ready. Of course, the Universe denies him even this little mercy, and the death goes on and on. He does not simply regenerate. It seems the process can’t begin until enough of his cells have died (He distantly acknowledges a pang of regret that the Master is gone again. He would have been fascinated by this whole process.) He finds himself with eons of time for saying goodbyes and isn’t quite sure what to do with it. Thinking of Donna, he visits his companions as a gesture of gratitude to her, to Wilf.
One by one he jumps in to their lives for a last brief instant. He manages to find moments where he can be of some use, saying goodbye in the only way he knows how. It is very hard to leave the estate when Rose goes away, but his cells are dying much more quickly now. His body is failing fast and if he doesn’t get back to the Tardis soon he’ll have to regenerate in the middle of the street on New Years Eve, and that seems a little gauche. He forces himself to walk forward. Step by agonizing step. The Tardis is ridiculously far away.
He is almost completely positive that he isn’t going to make it. A horrible stabbing pain deep inside his belly sends him to the ground. White hot agony slices all the way to his toes. The tips of his fingers are tingling and he thinks this is it and tries to come up with some meaningful last words. Somehow, “I’m Sorry” seems woefully inadequate.
Suddenly, as if help has descended from the sky itself, he feels a strong pair of arms pick him up. Distantly through the pain and the pins and needles he registers a certain sense of factness and knows that it’s Jack, an older Jack than the one he just left behind. He can’t fathom how he could have possibly gotten here, but as he feels himself being carried inside the Tardis he can’t find it in himself to care all that much.
Jack lays him down on the jump seat with surprising tenderness. The Doctor grips his wrist, hoping the squeeze somehow relates his infinite gratitude. He can’t seem to form the proper words. The pain is crowding out the empty spaces Gallifrey left behind, and any lasting echos are silenced by Jack’s factness. Jack is here beside him holding his hand. The Doctor can’t remember the last time someone held his hand while he regenerated and the overwhelming gratitude after so much pain and loss brings tears to his eyes. As they spill down his cheek, Jack leans in and (really it’s such a very Jack thing to do the Doctor nearly laughs) kisses them away.
The tears purge his soul. The Doctor has just enough brainpower left to marvel at Jack’s wisdom. He does not offer smothering comfort. He does not waste his time filling the air with meaningless words. He simply sits and supports the Doctor while he empties himself.
The simple act of purging the holes the Timewar left behind drains the Doctor of his last reserves of energy. Silently, Jack’s arms close around him as his skin starts to glow and shimmer. He tries to pull away, to warn Jack with his voice but it isn’t allowed. Instead, Jack cups his face in both hands and presses a kiss to his forehead in benediction.
“Go Gently,” He says. The Doctor wraps his arms around Jack’s neck and presses a kiss to his lips. He feels Jack pull back for half an instant in surprise, then he surges forward, and the Doctor is enfolded into Jack’s arms. His body overheats and he can’t tell if it’s the regeneration or just Jack. He feels he is on the verge of something momentous. He pulls back to stare at Jack in wonder, opens his mouth without any idea of what might come out and then...
...light.