Fic: Time; past (1/9 - complete)
title: Time; past
author: mimarie
characters Rose Tyler/Jack Harkness, The Doctor (ninth)
rating: NC-17 overall - adult themes and language
spoilers/warnings: nothing but DW S1
word count: c.5,800 (/c. 37,300)
summary: He won’t remember talking to her, buying her a drink, laughing, dancing, flirting. He won’t remember anything he said...
notes: Once upon a time, what seems like a very long time ago, I posted a short fic called Time; present (which you really need to read first, because otherwise this will make very little sense). At the time a few nice people asked for a sequel, and I, being oh-so young *cough* and naïve, said ‘yeah, of course - coming right up...’
Huge thanks to my wonderful betas aeshna-uk and jwaneeta, and to mallory_x and text_life for reading very early versions of this and heaping on the encouragement. This was canon-compliant when I started writing it, but has become slightly AU since Torchwood S1 aired - and as I’m all out of retcon we’ll be sticking with that ‘slightly AU’ theme here.
Claimed for the 100_situations challenge. 17 - Play
part one: Time; present
part two:
Time; past
(1/9)
Jack’s walking away.
Outside the bar the world is dark and wet, fat raindrops glowing orange in the streetlights and drowning the polystyrene trays that litter the flowerbeds, running into her eyes and down the back of her neck. Even with the carrier bag over her knees, Rose is soon soaked through. But it doesn’t matter and she doesn’t move, because she can see all the way up to the turning for the Exhibition Centre from here, and she couldn’t do anything else, but she can watch him go.
He doesn’t look back. Past the wine bar and the takeaways, the pub and the mini-market on the corner, neon flickers rippling in the shining pavements as he passes; tall, dark and handsome, wet cotton clinging. But wet clothes are de rigeur on a rainy autumn night, and no one looks at him. Not the assortment of Klingons, not the well-wrapped shoppers dodging bag-wielding fans, not tired parents dragging children painted metallic and furry, or that blue woman tree-thing from Farscape - no one but her.
The blue woman’s skin-paint is running. It’s dripping all over her trainers, turning to silver under the glow of the takeaway lights. One of the Klingons has taken pity on her and let her under his umbrella. It’s huge and rainbow striped and it doesn’t go with his pac-a-mac, but then neither do his collection of carrier bags. The rest of the Klingons are huddling underneath too. One of them has a tray of chips and the others are arguing about the bus fare home - she can hear them - and not paying any attention to the tall man in the combats. He’s just another bloke, so why would they?
He’s not just another bloke though; he’s Jack. And when she gets home - home to that little blue box, home to the two of them - he’s not going to remember having met her here. He won’t remember talking to her, buying her a drink, laughing, dancing, flirting. He won’t remember anything he said...
He’d have his arm around her now, talking as they walked. Laughing and making her laugh, making her nerves disappear - making her blush before he tugged her into that darkened shop doorway to kiss her. No more holding back, and no teasing. Squashed into a damp corner with water dripping off his hair and running down her face. He’d laugh when she moaned about his hands being so cold, and then he’d kiss her again, out under the streetlights, in the rain as they walked back to his room together, getting soaked through - together - and then -
There’s still time to run after him. He’d wait while she rang the Doctor back. She could tell him she’s staying with that friend tonight.
Yeah, you have fun too. And say ‘hi’ to Jack for me, I’ll see you both in the morning. Don’t work too hard...
Only she won’t. She knew she wouldn’t. And she can’t tell Jack either - there’s nothing he can do, so what’s the point in upsetting him? She might not be able to help, but she can save him some grief.
That, and watch him go.
The bag has slipped sideways now and there’s water in her boots, but she’s not going anywhere before he’s out of sight. It won’t be long; he’ll turn at the college, and then the Doctor will be here, and -
“Amazing. You do know that the human race was using a rudimentary form of umbrella more than five millennia before anyone set foot on this damp little island, don’t you? Just because you can drip dry, it doesn’t mean you have to.”
He can talk; his nose is dripping - and his ears too - shiny black leather and waterlogged eyebrows twitching as he shakes his head at her. And then a hand emerges from a deep pocket, extended in offering. She doesn’t take it though, she’s too busy staring.
“Doctor, I know this might be a silly question, but... why are you glowing?”
“You think this is good, wait ‘til you see Cap’n Miranda; he did the sump. Come on.”
*
“See, I told you we’d cleared up. Hang on a minute...” There’s a clank as the Doctor shoves the bucket and mop to one side, sidestepping a heap of Tupperware boxes to take the bags before helping her out of his jacket. “Go on then, it’ll only get cold if you hang around here, clutterin’ the place up. And you’d better give him a shout on your way past the bathroom. I told him, he’ll only make it worse scrubbing it, but does he listen? He’s been at your bubble bath, too: looks like an island, smells like a fruit salad. All he needs now is a bloody grass skirt. I don’t know what it is with you lot and smelling like fruit, but -”
“So I take it you two’ve had a good day.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Aren’t you gone yet? What’re you waiting for, Christmas?”
That’ll be a yes then. Although, as Jack’s wrist-strap computer is dangling off the console by a tangle of wires it looks like they haven’t finished yet. But they have definitely been cleaning. It’s the path of green-stained newspaper leading from the doors past the console and along the corridor to the kitchen and the loo that gives it away. Pair of bloody men.
So, nothing new there then. It’s good to be home.
*
The kitchen table is littered with paper and stray chips; elbows, salt and the vinegar bottle vying for formica with polystyrene pots of curry sauce and scalding tea in large, chipped mugs. They’re laughing at her rats-tails and hastily re-wiped clown-eyes, the over-sized blue pyjamas and the way Jack’s fluorescent-green hands and arms are clashing with his Hawaiian shirt, while the Doctor explains in incomprehensible detail how something moving sequentially between six dimensions gets caught in the moving parts. The chain of events leading from that to the three feet of moss he managed to grow in a six-inch hole is mind-bendingly tenuous, and he’s brandishing a chip like a screwdriver while Jack competes with him for noise, arguing with his conclusions.
Jack always has to argue. He only does it to wind the Doctor up and they both know it, but he’s enjoying himself; stealing the last bite of fishcake from her fingers to mop his plate and mimicking the Time Lord’s actions. It’s irresistible, familiar - safe. They’re still laughing as the Doctor throws chips at them, trying to put Jack off his re-enactment of the moment her mother appeared at the door with a catering-sized jar of mayonnaise she couldn’t open.
“Bloody cheek, looks nothing like me. And you can leave the ears out of it, all right? Do you ever shut up? Give it a rest or I’ll tell her what you said to her. Thank you. Yes. Eat your chips and shut your gob. So, did you have a good day? Come on, Rose, now he’s got his mouth full for a bit you can get a word in edgeways. Any aliens?”
“What? Yes - it was fun, lots of people. No, I don’t think any of them were actually alien…”
She’s dry and comfortable, so relaxed now that it’s an effort to force herself to focus. Has Jack’s mouth always been this fascinating? Hard not to stare, it’s so mobile. The tip of his tongue; lapping sauce from his fingers...
“Rose? Anyone home?” There’s a sudden green palm moving in her line of sight, blocking her view of Jack’s thumb disappearing to the knuckle between -
“Uh-huh. Sorry, what was that?” How many times have they tried to wash that green stuff off? And did she see what? Zips? Yeah there were, and plenty of bad breath. Why? Biting and chewing, licking his lips and... Hang on, who’s got signed photos in his bedroom?
“... sure if you ask him nicely he’d give you one. No. Pretend I didn’t say that, will you?” Groaning, the Doctor scowls at Jack. “And you can put it away too, thank you very much. Hel-lo, Rose?”
“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t get any pictures, but did you see where I put that bag?”
Whatever she said it must’ve been funny, Jack’s grinning into his mug, and the Doctor is... Oh. It’s just Jack then. What’s going on? Did she miss something?
“Right.” The Doctor’s chair clatters loudly against the cabinet, the sudden movement rattling his fork off the table. “If we’re getting out of here before your mother decides she wants to play happy families again, someone ought to do something productive. You in there now, Rose? Think you can concentrate long enough to clean this mess up? And Jack, if I can drag you away from your audience? As soon as you’ve thought of a suitable inscription, of course.”
The rapid clang of the bin lid might drown out his footsteps, but the chorus in her head is just getting into full swing. Starts with damn, ends in bugger, plenty of space to insert assorted expletives...
“Hey.” A gaudy hand under her nose; Jack’s smiling at her. “Come on, come tell us about your day. Who’d you go for a drink with? You’ve got to give me something here - you know he’s only going to be jealous if he realises you want me as badly as he does. Although -” He’s grinning, tugging her suddenly to her feet. “- if you were wondering, I’m not complaining.”
It isn’t that smile, not like earlier in the bar. Not the same thing at all. She’s slow tonight - it must be inhaling all that testosterone. That, and being held like this, big, blue eyes smiling down at her... But since when is getting a hug off Jack awkward? She’s got to pull herself together. Just give him a peck on the cheek and push him at the washing up -
“Are you okay, Rose? You’ve been quiet since you got back.”
“It’s nothing, really, I just ended up having a drink with someone. Someone I used to know. It was just weird seeing him. It’s not important, I’m fine, honest.”
“Yeah?” He’s smiling again, pulling the hand he’s holding to his lips. “You should’ve called earlier, I wouldn’t have minded sneaking out for a quiet drink. I could’ve rescued you before he branded me. I mean, look - I can’t even take you out and ravish you now, just in case I scare the locals.”
Glowing green fingers wriggle under her nose and there’s the crisis averted. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. He’ll go off and flirt the Doctor back out from under the console and they’ll all be laughing again by bed time - because it never happened. Nothing happened. Nothing worth spoiling Jack’s peace of mind with - let alone ruin the day the two of them had together. If her brain was working properly there’d probably be a joke about little green men in there somewhere. It’s even on his face, like colour-blind freckles all up across his forehead, and standing out in his hair too. It’s longer, now. It suits him, but his face is just the same...
Is that it? The only difference between him then and him now is an inch or so of soft dark hair?
“Are you sure you’re okay? Don’t get me wrong - this is very nice - but you look a bit...”
Not again.
“I’m fine. I was just... Your hair looks good like this.”
“We aim to please. I’m still not so sure about it.”
Of course he’s not. And that’s not a smug grin either.
“You wouldn’t want it any shorter, would you?”
“Hell no, I’ve had enough of that. Unless you go for the military look? I wondered what you see in him, although I don’t think those ears are standard issue. And don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine. I’ll get my ass chewed off for being worth looking at, and then you can come sweep him off his feet - one sugar in mine, okay? Do you want me to tell him about your friend?”
That’s better, a little bit of distance. It’s so much easier to breathe when she’s not inhaling all that warm, clean skin. Now if only he’ll go, there’ll be time to head-butt the table into unconsciousness before the kettle boils.
“Nah, you’re all right. Unless you think it’ll save your bum from the nasty man?”
“And who says that isn’t the best bit? I should look this good more often. Is it the green? Suits me, don’t you think.”
Any excuse. Look at him, fluttering his eyelashes and yes, another little twirl - that’s it; show off the bum. Now go on bugger off... No, hang on -
“Jack, what are you doing? Turn it back on, I can’t see - oh my god...”
Who needs lights when they’ve got Cap’n Miranda? Or at least his outlying areas: Bare feet with glow-worm toes, arms spread wide, his hands are waving like his shirt has sprouted radioactive palm leaves, and she can’t see the smirk but she can hear it.
“So what do you think? Is this or isn’t this a good look for me? Be honest - am I pulling like this?”
“Well...”
“Come on, honey - you’ve got to use a little imagination here, just think what I could do with this in bed.” His voice comes from a black hole outlined in constellations of chartreuse stars, and then the darkness retreats a little as one large green palm floats nearer, tentatively patting her hair before finding her cheek, a shining forearm trailing ghostly smears. “And thanks to mister ‘I’m sure I told you hot water would only make it worse’ through there, it’s pretty much everywhere. You want to see?”
Ignoring her faint protest, his fingers are already flickering in front of her nose, uncovering an upside-down green triangle. It looks like a giant ‘play’ button. Either that or he needs a badge with ‘this way please’ on it. She’s just about to tell him so when it spreads lower, brightening as it widens to become an oblique rectangle, one hand reflecting dully off a silvered button at its lower edge as the other reaches for her again.
“And it’s worse lower down. It gets really hot working under the console, so I had a bath, ‘cos you never know, y’know? But now… Hell, I don’t know how deep this stuff goes - he says it won’t kill me, but it’s like that mood ring you had; I get lucky in the next day or so and someone’s in for fireworks. Look at this, it’s all the way -”
“No. Really - that’s enough. There’s such a thing as too much information, you know.”
“Damn. So you’re not planning on lighting my rocket tonight, then, baby?”
“You get worse. You do know that, don’t you.”
“Only for you. Come on, give me a whirl at least -” There’s skin against her cheek, a pattern of stars resolving into an ear, a green collarbone and shoulder flexing as he’s tugging her into another hug or... nope, that’s a waltz; round the kitchen and one two three, one two three, and -
“Ow!”
“Sorry.”
Yes, it probably was the table. Is he surprised? Yes, it probably would help if he turned the lights back on. That’s better. Yeah, his chest is still pretty green - and his stomach - but it’s more pastel really, not so much glowing, more... well, just not so bad, not really. Okay, well he can show her later. No - she didn’t mean like that, just the safe bits. And no, really, she’s sure - it’s kind of him to offer, but it doesn’t need kissing better, thanks. He’ll only expect the favour returned when he gets his bum chewed. He should go now while he can still save himself. No, please - at least if she does the washing up she’ll know it’s been done properly - go on, see if she cares...
It was a nice try, but it’s not going to work with him in this mood.
He doesn’t deserve her, he’s quite insistent about it - in fact, he says, it’s a good job she loves him, or he’d probably die lonely in a pile of unwashed dishes. And then there’s that smile again, and another hug. And then, just in case they were feeling neglected, one more kiss for each of her poor, hard-working hands. He’s persistent, she’ll give him that, and it’s not like she’s encouraging him, she’s only touching him. He touches her all the time and -
Oh, but that feels good. He must have shaved when he had a shower. Soft and freshly-peeled smooth...
“Now that’s nice.” He’s almost purring, rubbing his jaw into her palm like a contented cat, a sly arm curling around her waist. “Are you offering? Because if you can reach round a bit further I’ve got this itch about halfway up that’s been really… No, under - that’s it. It’s my skin that itches, not my shirt. Down a bit, left... Oh yeah, little bit harder, down a bit, bit more... Yes. There - that’s perfect. Useful and beautiful, what more could I need?”
Sighing as he grins and wriggles, his lips brush her forehead with a low, appreciative murmur, and then a deeper sigh ruffles her hair. It’s all right, he’s up close but that’s okay. It’s nothing, not really - just another hug and another friendly little kiss. He’ll be gone in a minute and then she can relax, maybe even remember how to breathe. It feels so familiar, but… of course it is. She’s home, and this is Jack. Her friend Jack, right? It’s just her friend’s arm around her waist. Her friend Jack’s hand on her face. Jack’s broad angles tight against her stomach and thighs. Blue eyes, warm and close and his breath on her cheek...
It’s brief, affectionate - barely more than a peck on the lips - and then he’s stepping away, soft smile twisting rapidly into a smirk as her cheeks catch fire.
It’s not her fault, she didn’t start this. He just had to... Oh damn, but at least he can’t hear her heart racing. And now he’s laughing. Laughing at her? Oh no, even if she can’t explain why this is entirely his fault, he’s not getting away with that.
“You think that’s funny, do you?”
“Oh yeah, have you seen yourself? You’re so cute when you blush.” Great, now even his dimples have got dimples. “I could kiss that better if you want, or should I go get him? Hey, ow, there’s no need to... Don’t you think you’re cute? Sweet? How about adorable?” Stumbling backwards, hands raised, he’s still laughing as she backs him into the wall, aiming for as many of his ticklish spots as she can reach.
“You know what you are?”
“Where d’you want me to start? Sexy? Gorgeous? Witty? No, I know; fantastic. Hey, c’mon....” He’s the picture of injured innocence, trying to look superior, but spoiling it with all the squirming. And it’s not like he’s making any real effort to get away. “How about overdressed? Okay. Enough, please, that’s enough. Stop, Rose - please, breathing here...”
He’s just too good to tease. And wonderfully ticklish, not to mention… yeah, well, normal levels of improbability seem to have been achieved again, so the sooner she gets him out of the door -
“You love it, don’t you. Go on - go and do some work, make yourself useful. I haven’t got time to stroke your ego. You have got to be the most annoying man I’ve ever met. You’re irritating, self-satisfied, self-obsessed...”
“Now that’s not fair, I think about plenty of other people. You for a start, and the Doctor. I think about him all the time.”
“And don’t we know it.”
“What’s the matter, jealous?”
“Oh, get over yourself.” She could’ve lost this so easily. She could’ve been stupid and selfish and lost all of this for just a few hours - for one night - and maybe she couldn’t give Jack his past back, but he’s here and now and -
How the hell can he pout while he’s grinning like that?
“You are - you’re jealous. And you know what else? You’re blushing again.” Pulling her close, his grin tickles her ear as the whisper slides gently down her spine. “You look good all hot and flushed, is it something I said? More to the point, if I said it again could I get a look at your chest too?”
That speculative eyebrow is evil. And he hasn’t let go either. Bloody man and his bloody mouth and his face and his ... skin an’ all. And she was worried about him?
No, whatever’s going to happen to the man she met, whatever happens between then and now, however many memories they’ll steal or nights with random bodies in random bars he’ll lose, he’s going to end up here. Right here and now: grinning, teasing her - happy. Belly full of chips and tea - and half her fishcake - a mouthful of off-colour (and occasionally luminous) suggestions, and an irate Time Lord waiting for him to go and get just a little bit greener.
“Rose? You sure? If there’s anywhere you need kissed...”
Bloody man all the same. Bloody man and his bloody mouth - making her think stuff, making her blush, standing there grinning...
“I mean, I’d feel awful if I thought I’d missed anything important.”
Big, blue eyes blinking innocently, he’s wearing such an ingenuous smile as he steps closer that her heart is simply bleeding from all the sincerity - but he’s not getting her this time. She knows this game, although he may actually be cheating by starting without a warning shot of alcohol. Not that there are any rules - apart from the unwritten obvious: no hot liquids or ice-lollies (ice-cream excepted, but only on worlds with a beach); no teeth or nails without due care and attention (or a ten-second warning, or prior arrangement, or, failing that, cheating); one fall or one submission decides who gets to make the tea, or change the DVD, or retrieve the Toblerone from the console room without the Doctor noticing, or whatever other essential task the winner wants to get out of. Pleading to be let up to go pee is an automatic forfeit and if the winner is still smirking when the loser gets back, he or she simply starts again. Unless of course the Doctor’s come in by then, in which case throwing cushions at each other over his head takes effect, at least until he starts muttering about evolution and then...
Well, at least she’s wearing trousers, so that’s half his advantage gone already. Not that he’s actually got a remote control to hand, but it’s nice to know that she’s safe in one direction.
He can’t win this; he does know that, doesn’t he? She’s been in town today, he might have been all over the universe, but he can’t imagine he’s got anything on the West End on a Saturday. Yes, really. A swift poke in the ribs and he yelps and jumps back - he can smirk all he likes, he just hasn’t - and another. Elbows tightening, he’s backing away now - he really hasn’t got - one more, right armpit, feint to the left and then jab - just hasn’t got a chance.
“Bully.” It’s such a pitiful whine, although it’s amazing he can speak at all, really, round that grin. “Pick on someone your own size. You play too rough. I’m going to have bruises.”
“Aw, poor baby. You want me to kiss you better?”
“I should be so lucky.”
“You’re right - you should.”
“You’re such a spoilsport.”
“And you’re pouting.”
“I am not.”
“You are too.”
“I don’t pout. I’m a man - I have manly lips. I... I moue.”
And snigger, but that’s neither here nor there, right?
“Yes, Jack, of course you did. And it was a very manly moo - I’m sure the bulls were very impressed - but all the same...”
“Oh, ha ha, that’s very funny.”
“I thought so. Thanks.”
“What’s that on your shoulder?”
“Oh come off it.”
“Seriously, Rose - there’s something... Look, let me -”
“’S’okay. I’m sure it’s not going to bite. Unless it’s your wit of course, but... No, what am I thinking? You’d never have spotted something that small.”
“That was low.” Smirking appreciatively, hands spread wide, he steps casually closer. “Rose? I mean, really, you’re better than that. Right? Look at you; classy, gorgeous woman, all ready for bed, teasing and tormenting me. All alone, with me. You’re only wearing your pyjamas and here I am, big, strong man that I am - anything could happen...”
“Have you been talking to my mum?”
“Damn. It was a good line; I had to steal it. But you know your mom, Rose - she was very willing to share...”
“Jack - oh god - you didn’t.”
It’s all he needed - and she fell for it? One second of shock and then there are hands and fingers and possibly even elbows - definitely arms, and - yup, that’s a thigh; knee at the bottom, bum at the top, better keep him the right way round, can’t have him getting confused now and grabbing the wrong -
“Oi!”
“Sorry, slipped.”
Which is all very well, but just because he can undo it one-handed while accidentally-on-purpose groping her is no excuse to try and pull the damn thing off. Not just to prove a point. And just because he’s bigger, and taller, and really, really close...
Backed into the corner, the scrape of warm skin up her back is distracting her from her efforts to grasp both sides of the clasp with one hand and fend him off with the other, gasping for air between squeaks and sniggers and the strangled noise of broken concentration.
“Wuss. What’s the matter, mister big strong man, are they sensitive? Give in now and you could spare yourself the humiliation of having to beg me to stop.”
“How’re you planning to do that? Bounce me into submission?”
“You wish.”
“Damned right. Hey, if I rub you ‘til you’re shiny all over do I get a genie?”
Agile fingertips dance over her spine making her wriggle and arch. A soft grunt of effort and he pushes back, holding her against the wall with the weight of his body as he finally captures that elusive hand, broad fingers tightening around her wrists, gripping her carefully as she wriggles again, matching grin for grin, raised eyebrow for eyebrow, one hip for the hipbone that’s digging into her stomach. This is just so unfair. He always does this.
“Do you give in?”
“No.”
Smug git, there’s got to be a way to wriggle...
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you give in? Or no, you’re not sure?”
Just because he’s taller, and stronger, and bonier - and where does he keep all those hands? Nope, there’s only one thing left - if she can get the angle, a bit harder, just grind into the point of that bloody hipbone and he has to buckle first...
The pained grunt she was hoping for sounds more like a groan - although she could be mistaken; she’s never been too good at formica-ese. The strangled ‘unfair’ probably wasn’t intended for the table either, although his grimace could still pass for a grin in a dim light. So much so that by the time he’s standing somewhere near upright again she’s still blushing.
No, no - of course it’s not his fault, he is only a man; it’s only natural that she’d have that effect on him when she tried to stop him stealing her bra. ‘Course it is.
“Come on, Rose, be fair - you haven’t even left me any camouflage this time. I’m not that fond of the sofa cushions, y’know? And anyway, it is your fault - you just shouldn’t be so... you know.”
Tailing off into rounded waves, he tugs vaguely at the hem of his shirt before realising it’s still hanging open and then tries to tug and button at the same time. His grin is so rueful, so un-Jack-like, that she can’t help but smile back, poking him in the shoulder and sticking her tongue out. Another shrug and another mismatched button or two, and then he returns the gesture, the air filling with assorted ‘no, you first’ noises until eventually the grin reasserts itself in full - if still somewhat sheepish - force and he reaches for her hand.
“You’re really important to me, you know that, right? Both of you. Although his superior being-ness doesn’t need to know I said that. A little uncertainty might be good for that overdeveloped ego of his.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Gee, thanks. But, Rose...” And then he shrugs again, the smile slipping before it can reach his eyes. “You’re right, I should go and make myself useful - earn my keep. But - you know I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to, don’t you? I mean...” A sigh then, and tentative fingers are weaving through hers, cautiously pulling her closer until she gives in and turns the self-conscious contact into the hug he’s obviously been looking for, a cheekbone shifting against her ear. “Just go easy on me. I’m only human. If you start pressing too many buttons you’re going to have an explosion on your hands. Or somewhere. Depends what you’re doing at the time, I guess.”
If a comment ever deserved a thump that was it, but it’s no fun if he’s just going to smile at her.
Bloody man.
She could fancy him from a distance and never want to get any closer if it was just the smile, but it’s like he doesn’t even know he’s using it. Not like earlier. Not since she’s known him, not really - apart from when he’s sneaking the end of her fishcake, or a hug last thing at night. And he knows that she knows then. It’s just not the same.
Bloody man - he was so much easier to deal with when he was trying to con her. Or even about an hour ago, when he didn’t know her and all he wanted was to get her into bed...
“So... you don’t mind being stuck here then? You’re happy. I mean... with how all this turned out?”
“What’s not to be happy about? Good food, good company, a working passage on a multi-phased, dimensionally-relative Time Ship with her own swimming pool, and a beautiful woman in my arms... Even if she doesn’t want me.”
Oh that’s bad, even for Jack. But really, that’s good - right? Because if he’s happy here, and he’s here now then --
“Really? Doesn’t she?”
“I didn’t think so. Why, do you think she does?”
“Maybe you should ask her.”
“Yeah?” It’s such a nonchalant shrug, but she can’t miss the way his grip tightens. “Maybe I should.”
“Couldn’t hurt, could it?”
“It might. She’s important to me. She saved my life. And she’s a good friend, but we’re from different times and we have different ideas about things. I don’t think I’d be very good for her either. If I tell her quite how much I want to sleep with her then she might think I’m offering something I’m not, and I don’t want to hurt her.”
She should probably breathe. If she was sure that pile of text, subtext and Jack’s own patented sub-basement-text wouldn’t topple over on her she probably would. He looks so open - just a smile and a clear gaze as he strokes her cheek, the quiet twinkle no more than a whisper of intent before his mouth finds hers; gently, and so softly that, if she couldn’t feel her heart racing his, she’d hardly believe he just kissed her at all.
And then he sighs.
“Rose, sweetheart, I really have thought about this a lot, and for both our sakes, I don’t think I should say anything to her. I might upset her. And if we did go to bed together and I wasn’t after the same things as her then she might never talk to me again. I don’t want to lose her. It’s too big a risk.”
Another sigh, and she’s trying to think how to put this without making herself sound entirely too easy when he nods, his jaw tightening.
“So I figure I’m going to stick to stealing her underwear out of the laundry. That, and jerking off while I watch her on the cameras I’ve hidden in the shower and her bedroom. And I couldn’t get through the day without sneaking into her room to look in her bottom drawer, and then when she bends over in one of those little - hey, that hurt...”
“What, that?”
“Yes. Rose -”
“Good. It was meant to.” Bloody man and his bloody filthy bloody mind. It’s all his fault, he’s such a bloody -
“What’s the matter, you don’t mind me watching you, do you? I only keep the good stuff - the blurry bits go on Break, they don’t mind, just so long as they get to see your cute little - ow - hey - Rose...”
- sneaky bloody teasing tormenting bloody sniggering bloody man, with his hands and his mouth and his bloody... self and all, such a bloody -
“Stop it. No - don’t... Rose, no, I didn’t mean it - I haven’t - No - not there...”
- bloody bloody man with all his squirmy bloody ticklish, giggling bloody gorgeous little whimpery noises... Rules? He wants to talk about rules?
“Okay - Rose, please - I surrender. You win, they’re all yours - honest. Just let go now, okay? Please, Rose - they’re attached.”
Really? She never would have guessed.
So, he’s quite finished, has he? Thanks. Yes, maybe he should sit down. Yeah? Well that’s very kind of him, she doesn’t mind if she does. No, she’s sure, thanks; the lap will be just fine. But if he could stop wriggling... Thanks. And just move... yes, those. Yes. They are his hands. Yes, it is a bit surprising. Because her buttons never used to undo themselves, that’s why. No, she doesn’t know how they did it. Well if he doesn’t know either, there’s not a lot of hope for them, is there. Maybe she should just go...? No. She didn’t think so. Yes, that’s fine. Really, they’re just fine there. Her bum’s feeling much warmer now, thanks. No, not there. Or there. Because she doesn’t want to fall off, all right? Now, if he’s quite comfortable, maybe he could stop being such a stupid grinning git and bring that mouth back -
Yeah. Just like that.
next (2/9)
author: mimarie
characters Rose Tyler/Jack Harkness, The Doctor (ninth)
rating: NC-17 overall - adult themes and language
spoilers/warnings: nothing but DW S1
word count: c.5,800 (/c. 37,300)
summary: He won’t remember talking to her, buying her a drink, laughing, dancing, flirting. He won’t remember anything he said...
notes: Once upon a time, what seems like a very long time ago, I posted a short fic called Time; present (which you really need to read first, because otherwise this will make very little sense). At the time a few nice people asked for a sequel, and I, being oh-so young *cough* and naïve, said ‘yeah, of course - coming right up...’
Huge thanks to my wonderful betas aeshna-uk and jwaneeta, and to mallory_x and text_life for reading very early versions of this and heaping on the encouragement. This was canon-compliant when I started writing it, but has become slightly AU since Torchwood S1 aired - and as I’m all out of retcon we’ll be sticking with that ‘slightly AU’ theme here.
Claimed for the 100_situations challenge. 17 - Play
part one: Time; present
part two:
Time; past
(1/9)
Jack’s walking away.
Outside the bar the world is dark and wet, fat raindrops glowing orange in the streetlights and drowning the polystyrene trays that litter the flowerbeds, running into her eyes and down the back of her neck. Even with the carrier bag over her knees, Rose is soon soaked through. But it doesn’t matter and she doesn’t move, because she can see all the way up to the turning for the Exhibition Centre from here, and she couldn’t do anything else, but she can watch him go.
He doesn’t look back. Past the wine bar and the takeaways, the pub and the mini-market on the corner, neon flickers rippling in the shining pavements as he passes; tall, dark and handsome, wet cotton clinging. But wet clothes are de rigeur on a rainy autumn night, and no one looks at him. Not the assortment of Klingons, not the well-wrapped shoppers dodging bag-wielding fans, not tired parents dragging children painted metallic and furry, or that blue woman tree-thing from Farscape - no one but her.
The blue woman’s skin-paint is running. It’s dripping all over her trainers, turning to silver under the glow of the takeaway lights. One of the Klingons has taken pity on her and let her under his umbrella. It’s huge and rainbow striped and it doesn’t go with his pac-a-mac, but then neither do his collection of carrier bags. The rest of the Klingons are huddling underneath too. One of them has a tray of chips and the others are arguing about the bus fare home - she can hear them - and not paying any attention to the tall man in the combats. He’s just another bloke, so why would they?
He’s not just another bloke though; he’s Jack. And when she gets home - home to that little blue box, home to the two of them - he’s not going to remember having met her here. He won’t remember talking to her, buying her a drink, laughing, dancing, flirting. He won’t remember anything he said...
He’d have his arm around her now, talking as they walked. Laughing and making her laugh, making her nerves disappear - making her blush before he tugged her into that darkened shop doorway to kiss her. No more holding back, and no teasing. Squashed into a damp corner with water dripping off his hair and running down her face. He’d laugh when she moaned about his hands being so cold, and then he’d kiss her again, out under the streetlights, in the rain as they walked back to his room together, getting soaked through - together - and then -
There’s still time to run after him. He’d wait while she rang the Doctor back. She could tell him she’s staying with that friend tonight.
Yeah, you have fun too. And say ‘hi’ to Jack for me, I’ll see you both in the morning. Don’t work too hard...
Only she won’t. She knew she wouldn’t. And she can’t tell Jack either - there’s nothing he can do, so what’s the point in upsetting him? She might not be able to help, but she can save him some grief.
That, and watch him go.
The bag has slipped sideways now and there’s water in her boots, but she’s not going anywhere before he’s out of sight. It won’t be long; he’ll turn at the college, and then the Doctor will be here, and -
“Amazing. You do know that the human race was using a rudimentary form of umbrella more than five millennia before anyone set foot on this damp little island, don’t you? Just because you can drip dry, it doesn’t mean you have to.”
He can talk; his nose is dripping - and his ears too - shiny black leather and waterlogged eyebrows twitching as he shakes his head at her. And then a hand emerges from a deep pocket, extended in offering. She doesn’t take it though, she’s too busy staring.
“Doctor, I know this might be a silly question, but... why are you glowing?”
“You think this is good, wait ‘til you see Cap’n Miranda; he did the sump. Come on.”
*
“See, I told you we’d cleared up. Hang on a minute...” There’s a clank as the Doctor shoves the bucket and mop to one side, sidestepping a heap of Tupperware boxes to take the bags before helping her out of his jacket. “Go on then, it’ll only get cold if you hang around here, clutterin’ the place up. And you’d better give him a shout on your way past the bathroom. I told him, he’ll only make it worse scrubbing it, but does he listen? He’s been at your bubble bath, too: looks like an island, smells like a fruit salad. All he needs now is a bloody grass skirt. I don’t know what it is with you lot and smelling like fruit, but -”
“So I take it you two’ve had a good day.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Aren’t you gone yet? What’re you waiting for, Christmas?”
That’ll be a yes then. Although, as Jack’s wrist-strap computer is dangling off the console by a tangle of wires it looks like they haven’t finished yet. But they have definitely been cleaning. It’s the path of green-stained newspaper leading from the doors past the console and along the corridor to the kitchen and the loo that gives it away. Pair of bloody men.
So, nothing new there then. It’s good to be home.
*
The kitchen table is littered with paper and stray chips; elbows, salt and the vinegar bottle vying for formica with polystyrene pots of curry sauce and scalding tea in large, chipped mugs. They’re laughing at her rats-tails and hastily re-wiped clown-eyes, the over-sized blue pyjamas and the way Jack’s fluorescent-green hands and arms are clashing with his Hawaiian shirt, while the Doctor explains in incomprehensible detail how something moving sequentially between six dimensions gets caught in the moving parts. The chain of events leading from that to the three feet of moss he managed to grow in a six-inch hole is mind-bendingly tenuous, and he’s brandishing a chip like a screwdriver while Jack competes with him for noise, arguing with his conclusions.
Jack always has to argue. He only does it to wind the Doctor up and they both know it, but he’s enjoying himself; stealing the last bite of fishcake from her fingers to mop his plate and mimicking the Time Lord’s actions. It’s irresistible, familiar - safe. They’re still laughing as the Doctor throws chips at them, trying to put Jack off his re-enactment of the moment her mother appeared at the door with a catering-sized jar of mayonnaise she couldn’t open.
“Bloody cheek, looks nothing like me. And you can leave the ears out of it, all right? Do you ever shut up? Give it a rest or I’ll tell her what you said to her. Thank you. Yes. Eat your chips and shut your gob. So, did you have a good day? Come on, Rose, now he’s got his mouth full for a bit you can get a word in edgeways. Any aliens?”
“What? Yes - it was fun, lots of people. No, I don’t think any of them were actually alien…”
She’s dry and comfortable, so relaxed now that it’s an effort to force herself to focus. Has Jack’s mouth always been this fascinating? Hard not to stare, it’s so mobile. The tip of his tongue; lapping sauce from his fingers...
“Rose? Anyone home?” There’s a sudden green palm moving in her line of sight, blocking her view of Jack’s thumb disappearing to the knuckle between -
“Uh-huh. Sorry, what was that?” How many times have they tried to wash that green stuff off? And did she see what? Zips? Yeah there were, and plenty of bad breath. Why? Biting and chewing, licking his lips and... Hang on, who’s got signed photos in his bedroom?
“... sure if you ask him nicely he’d give you one. No. Pretend I didn’t say that, will you?” Groaning, the Doctor scowls at Jack. “And you can put it away too, thank you very much. Hel-lo, Rose?”
“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t get any pictures, but did you see where I put that bag?”
Whatever she said it must’ve been funny, Jack’s grinning into his mug, and the Doctor is... Oh. It’s just Jack then. What’s going on? Did she miss something?
“Right.” The Doctor’s chair clatters loudly against the cabinet, the sudden movement rattling his fork off the table. “If we’re getting out of here before your mother decides she wants to play happy families again, someone ought to do something productive. You in there now, Rose? Think you can concentrate long enough to clean this mess up? And Jack, if I can drag you away from your audience? As soon as you’ve thought of a suitable inscription, of course.”
The rapid clang of the bin lid might drown out his footsteps, but the chorus in her head is just getting into full swing. Starts with damn, ends in bugger, plenty of space to insert assorted expletives...
“Hey.” A gaudy hand under her nose; Jack’s smiling at her. “Come on, come tell us about your day. Who’d you go for a drink with? You’ve got to give me something here - you know he’s only going to be jealous if he realises you want me as badly as he does. Although -” He’s grinning, tugging her suddenly to her feet. “- if you were wondering, I’m not complaining.”
It isn’t that smile, not like earlier in the bar. Not the same thing at all. She’s slow tonight - it must be inhaling all that testosterone. That, and being held like this, big, blue eyes smiling down at her... But since when is getting a hug off Jack awkward? She’s got to pull herself together. Just give him a peck on the cheek and push him at the washing up -
“Are you okay, Rose? You’ve been quiet since you got back.”
“It’s nothing, really, I just ended up having a drink with someone. Someone I used to know. It was just weird seeing him. It’s not important, I’m fine, honest.”
“Yeah?” He’s smiling again, pulling the hand he’s holding to his lips. “You should’ve called earlier, I wouldn’t have minded sneaking out for a quiet drink. I could’ve rescued you before he branded me. I mean, look - I can’t even take you out and ravish you now, just in case I scare the locals.”
Glowing green fingers wriggle under her nose and there’s the crisis averted. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. He’ll go off and flirt the Doctor back out from under the console and they’ll all be laughing again by bed time - because it never happened. Nothing happened. Nothing worth spoiling Jack’s peace of mind with - let alone ruin the day the two of them had together. If her brain was working properly there’d probably be a joke about little green men in there somewhere. It’s even on his face, like colour-blind freckles all up across his forehead, and standing out in his hair too. It’s longer, now. It suits him, but his face is just the same...
Is that it? The only difference between him then and him now is an inch or so of soft dark hair?
“Are you sure you’re okay? Don’t get me wrong - this is very nice - but you look a bit...”
Not again.
“I’m fine. I was just... Your hair looks good like this.”
“We aim to please. I’m still not so sure about it.”
Of course he’s not. And that’s not a smug grin either.
“You wouldn’t want it any shorter, would you?”
“Hell no, I’ve had enough of that. Unless you go for the military look? I wondered what you see in him, although I don’t think those ears are standard issue. And don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine. I’ll get my ass chewed off for being worth looking at, and then you can come sweep him off his feet - one sugar in mine, okay? Do you want me to tell him about your friend?”
That’s better, a little bit of distance. It’s so much easier to breathe when she’s not inhaling all that warm, clean skin. Now if only he’ll go, there’ll be time to head-butt the table into unconsciousness before the kettle boils.
“Nah, you’re all right. Unless you think it’ll save your bum from the nasty man?”
“And who says that isn’t the best bit? I should look this good more often. Is it the green? Suits me, don’t you think.”
Any excuse. Look at him, fluttering his eyelashes and yes, another little twirl - that’s it; show off the bum. Now go on bugger off... No, hang on -
“Jack, what are you doing? Turn it back on, I can’t see - oh my god...”
Who needs lights when they’ve got Cap’n Miranda? Or at least his outlying areas: Bare feet with glow-worm toes, arms spread wide, his hands are waving like his shirt has sprouted radioactive palm leaves, and she can’t see the smirk but she can hear it.
“So what do you think? Is this or isn’t this a good look for me? Be honest - am I pulling like this?”
“Well...”
“Come on, honey - you’ve got to use a little imagination here, just think what I could do with this in bed.” His voice comes from a black hole outlined in constellations of chartreuse stars, and then the darkness retreats a little as one large green palm floats nearer, tentatively patting her hair before finding her cheek, a shining forearm trailing ghostly smears. “And thanks to mister ‘I’m sure I told you hot water would only make it worse’ through there, it’s pretty much everywhere. You want to see?”
Ignoring her faint protest, his fingers are already flickering in front of her nose, uncovering an upside-down green triangle. It looks like a giant ‘play’ button. Either that or he needs a badge with ‘this way please’ on it. She’s just about to tell him so when it spreads lower, brightening as it widens to become an oblique rectangle, one hand reflecting dully off a silvered button at its lower edge as the other reaches for her again.
“And it’s worse lower down. It gets really hot working under the console, so I had a bath, ‘cos you never know, y’know? But now… Hell, I don’t know how deep this stuff goes - he says it won’t kill me, but it’s like that mood ring you had; I get lucky in the next day or so and someone’s in for fireworks. Look at this, it’s all the way -”
“No. Really - that’s enough. There’s such a thing as too much information, you know.”
“Damn. So you’re not planning on lighting my rocket tonight, then, baby?”
“You get worse. You do know that, don’t you.”
“Only for you. Come on, give me a whirl at least -” There’s skin against her cheek, a pattern of stars resolving into an ear, a green collarbone and shoulder flexing as he’s tugging her into another hug or... nope, that’s a waltz; round the kitchen and one two three, one two three, and -
“Ow!”
“Sorry.”
Yes, it probably was the table. Is he surprised? Yes, it probably would help if he turned the lights back on. That’s better. Yeah, his chest is still pretty green - and his stomach - but it’s more pastel really, not so much glowing, more... well, just not so bad, not really. Okay, well he can show her later. No - she didn’t mean like that, just the safe bits. And no, really, she’s sure - it’s kind of him to offer, but it doesn’t need kissing better, thanks. He’ll only expect the favour returned when he gets his bum chewed. He should go now while he can still save himself. No, please - at least if she does the washing up she’ll know it’s been done properly - go on, see if she cares...
It was a nice try, but it’s not going to work with him in this mood.
He doesn’t deserve her, he’s quite insistent about it - in fact, he says, it’s a good job she loves him, or he’d probably die lonely in a pile of unwashed dishes. And then there’s that smile again, and another hug. And then, just in case they were feeling neglected, one more kiss for each of her poor, hard-working hands. He’s persistent, she’ll give him that, and it’s not like she’s encouraging him, she’s only touching him. He touches her all the time and -
Oh, but that feels good. He must have shaved when he had a shower. Soft and freshly-peeled smooth...
“Now that’s nice.” He’s almost purring, rubbing his jaw into her palm like a contented cat, a sly arm curling around her waist. “Are you offering? Because if you can reach round a bit further I’ve got this itch about halfway up that’s been really… No, under - that’s it. It’s my skin that itches, not my shirt. Down a bit, left... Oh yeah, little bit harder, down a bit, bit more... Yes. There - that’s perfect. Useful and beautiful, what more could I need?”
Sighing as he grins and wriggles, his lips brush her forehead with a low, appreciative murmur, and then a deeper sigh ruffles her hair. It’s all right, he’s up close but that’s okay. It’s nothing, not really - just another hug and another friendly little kiss. He’ll be gone in a minute and then she can relax, maybe even remember how to breathe. It feels so familiar, but… of course it is. She’s home, and this is Jack. Her friend Jack, right? It’s just her friend’s arm around her waist. Her friend Jack’s hand on her face. Jack’s broad angles tight against her stomach and thighs. Blue eyes, warm and close and his breath on her cheek...
It’s brief, affectionate - barely more than a peck on the lips - and then he’s stepping away, soft smile twisting rapidly into a smirk as her cheeks catch fire.
It’s not her fault, she didn’t start this. He just had to... Oh damn, but at least he can’t hear her heart racing. And now he’s laughing. Laughing at her? Oh no, even if she can’t explain why this is entirely his fault, he’s not getting away with that.
“You think that’s funny, do you?”
“Oh yeah, have you seen yourself? You’re so cute when you blush.” Great, now even his dimples have got dimples. “I could kiss that better if you want, or should I go get him? Hey, ow, there’s no need to... Don’t you think you’re cute? Sweet? How about adorable?” Stumbling backwards, hands raised, he’s still laughing as she backs him into the wall, aiming for as many of his ticklish spots as she can reach.
“You know what you are?”
“Where d’you want me to start? Sexy? Gorgeous? Witty? No, I know; fantastic. Hey, c’mon....” He’s the picture of injured innocence, trying to look superior, but spoiling it with all the squirming. And it’s not like he’s making any real effort to get away. “How about overdressed? Okay. Enough, please, that’s enough. Stop, Rose - please, breathing here...”
He’s just too good to tease. And wonderfully ticklish, not to mention… yeah, well, normal levels of improbability seem to have been achieved again, so the sooner she gets him out of the door -
“You love it, don’t you. Go on - go and do some work, make yourself useful. I haven’t got time to stroke your ego. You have got to be the most annoying man I’ve ever met. You’re irritating, self-satisfied, self-obsessed...”
“Now that’s not fair, I think about plenty of other people. You for a start, and the Doctor. I think about him all the time.”
“And don’t we know it.”
“What’s the matter, jealous?”
“Oh, get over yourself.” She could’ve lost this so easily. She could’ve been stupid and selfish and lost all of this for just a few hours - for one night - and maybe she couldn’t give Jack his past back, but he’s here and now and -
How the hell can he pout while he’s grinning like that?
“You are - you’re jealous. And you know what else? You’re blushing again.” Pulling her close, his grin tickles her ear as the whisper slides gently down her spine. “You look good all hot and flushed, is it something I said? More to the point, if I said it again could I get a look at your chest too?”
That speculative eyebrow is evil. And he hasn’t let go either. Bloody man and his bloody mouth and his face and his ... skin an’ all. And she was worried about him?
No, whatever’s going to happen to the man she met, whatever happens between then and now, however many memories they’ll steal or nights with random bodies in random bars he’ll lose, he’s going to end up here. Right here and now: grinning, teasing her - happy. Belly full of chips and tea - and half her fishcake - a mouthful of off-colour (and occasionally luminous) suggestions, and an irate Time Lord waiting for him to go and get just a little bit greener.
“Rose? You sure? If there’s anywhere you need kissed...”
Bloody man all the same. Bloody man and his bloody mouth - making her think stuff, making her blush, standing there grinning...
“I mean, I’d feel awful if I thought I’d missed anything important.”
Big, blue eyes blinking innocently, he’s wearing such an ingenuous smile as he steps closer that her heart is simply bleeding from all the sincerity - but he’s not getting her this time. She knows this game, although he may actually be cheating by starting without a warning shot of alcohol. Not that there are any rules - apart from the unwritten obvious: no hot liquids or ice-lollies (ice-cream excepted, but only on worlds with a beach); no teeth or nails without due care and attention (or a ten-second warning, or prior arrangement, or, failing that, cheating); one fall or one submission decides who gets to make the tea, or change the DVD, or retrieve the Toblerone from the console room without the Doctor noticing, or whatever other essential task the winner wants to get out of. Pleading to be let up to go pee is an automatic forfeit and if the winner is still smirking when the loser gets back, he or she simply starts again. Unless of course the Doctor’s come in by then, in which case throwing cushions at each other over his head takes effect, at least until he starts muttering about evolution and then...
Well, at least she’s wearing trousers, so that’s half his advantage gone already. Not that he’s actually got a remote control to hand, but it’s nice to know that she’s safe in one direction.
He can’t win this; he does know that, doesn’t he? She’s been in town today, he might have been all over the universe, but he can’t imagine he’s got anything on the West End on a Saturday. Yes, really. A swift poke in the ribs and he yelps and jumps back - he can smirk all he likes, he just hasn’t - and another. Elbows tightening, he’s backing away now - he really hasn’t got - one more, right armpit, feint to the left and then jab - just hasn’t got a chance.
“Bully.” It’s such a pitiful whine, although it’s amazing he can speak at all, really, round that grin. “Pick on someone your own size. You play too rough. I’m going to have bruises.”
“Aw, poor baby. You want me to kiss you better?”
“I should be so lucky.”
“You’re right - you should.”
“You’re such a spoilsport.”
“And you’re pouting.”
“I am not.”
“You are too.”
“I don’t pout. I’m a man - I have manly lips. I... I moue.”
And snigger, but that’s neither here nor there, right?
“Yes, Jack, of course you did. And it was a very manly moo - I’m sure the bulls were very impressed - but all the same...”
“Oh, ha ha, that’s very funny.”
“I thought so. Thanks.”
“What’s that on your shoulder?”
“Oh come off it.”
“Seriously, Rose - there’s something... Look, let me -”
“’S’okay. I’m sure it’s not going to bite. Unless it’s your wit of course, but... No, what am I thinking? You’d never have spotted something that small.”
“That was low.” Smirking appreciatively, hands spread wide, he steps casually closer. “Rose? I mean, really, you’re better than that. Right? Look at you; classy, gorgeous woman, all ready for bed, teasing and tormenting me. All alone, with me. You’re only wearing your pyjamas and here I am, big, strong man that I am - anything could happen...”
“Have you been talking to my mum?”
“Damn. It was a good line; I had to steal it. But you know your mom, Rose - she was very willing to share...”
“Jack - oh god - you didn’t.”
It’s all he needed - and she fell for it? One second of shock and then there are hands and fingers and possibly even elbows - definitely arms, and - yup, that’s a thigh; knee at the bottom, bum at the top, better keep him the right way round, can’t have him getting confused now and grabbing the wrong -
“Oi!”
“Sorry, slipped.”
Which is all very well, but just because he can undo it one-handed while accidentally-on-purpose groping her is no excuse to try and pull the damn thing off. Not just to prove a point. And just because he’s bigger, and taller, and really, really close...
Backed into the corner, the scrape of warm skin up her back is distracting her from her efforts to grasp both sides of the clasp with one hand and fend him off with the other, gasping for air between squeaks and sniggers and the strangled noise of broken concentration.
“Wuss. What’s the matter, mister big strong man, are they sensitive? Give in now and you could spare yourself the humiliation of having to beg me to stop.”
“How’re you planning to do that? Bounce me into submission?”
“You wish.”
“Damned right. Hey, if I rub you ‘til you’re shiny all over do I get a genie?”
Agile fingertips dance over her spine making her wriggle and arch. A soft grunt of effort and he pushes back, holding her against the wall with the weight of his body as he finally captures that elusive hand, broad fingers tightening around her wrists, gripping her carefully as she wriggles again, matching grin for grin, raised eyebrow for eyebrow, one hip for the hipbone that’s digging into her stomach. This is just so unfair. He always does this.
“Do you give in?”
“No.”
Smug git, there’s got to be a way to wriggle...
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you give in? Or no, you’re not sure?”
Just because he’s taller, and stronger, and bonier - and where does he keep all those hands? Nope, there’s only one thing left - if she can get the angle, a bit harder, just grind into the point of that bloody hipbone and he has to buckle first...
The pained grunt she was hoping for sounds more like a groan - although she could be mistaken; she’s never been too good at formica-ese. The strangled ‘unfair’ probably wasn’t intended for the table either, although his grimace could still pass for a grin in a dim light. So much so that by the time he’s standing somewhere near upright again she’s still blushing.
No, no - of course it’s not his fault, he is only a man; it’s only natural that she’d have that effect on him when she tried to stop him stealing her bra. ‘Course it is.
“Come on, Rose, be fair - you haven’t even left me any camouflage this time. I’m not that fond of the sofa cushions, y’know? And anyway, it is your fault - you just shouldn’t be so... you know.”
Tailing off into rounded waves, he tugs vaguely at the hem of his shirt before realising it’s still hanging open and then tries to tug and button at the same time. His grin is so rueful, so un-Jack-like, that she can’t help but smile back, poking him in the shoulder and sticking her tongue out. Another shrug and another mismatched button or two, and then he returns the gesture, the air filling with assorted ‘no, you first’ noises until eventually the grin reasserts itself in full - if still somewhat sheepish - force and he reaches for her hand.
“You’re really important to me, you know that, right? Both of you. Although his superior being-ness doesn’t need to know I said that. A little uncertainty might be good for that overdeveloped ego of his.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Gee, thanks. But, Rose...” And then he shrugs again, the smile slipping before it can reach his eyes. “You’re right, I should go and make myself useful - earn my keep. But - you know I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to, don’t you? I mean...” A sigh then, and tentative fingers are weaving through hers, cautiously pulling her closer until she gives in and turns the self-conscious contact into the hug he’s obviously been looking for, a cheekbone shifting against her ear. “Just go easy on me. I’m only human. If you start pressing too many buttons you’re going to have an explosion on your hands. Or somewhere. Depends what you’re doing at the time, I guess.”
If a comment ever deserved a thump that was it, but it’s no fun if he’s just going to smile at her.
Bloody man.
She could fancy him from a distance and never want to get any closer if it was just the smile, but it’s like he doesn’t even know he’s using it. Not like earlier. Not since she’s known him, not really - apart from when he’s sneaking the end of her fishcake, or a hug last thing at night. And he knows that she knows then. It’s just not the same.
Bloody man - he was so much easier to deal with when he was trying to con her. Or even about an hour ago, when he didn’t know her and all he wanted was to get her into bed...
“So... you don’t mind being stuck here then? You’re happy. I mean... with how all this turned out?”
“What’s not to be happy about? Good food, good company, a working passage on a multi-phased, dimensionally-relative Time Ship with her own swimming pool, and a beautiful woman in my arms... Even if she doesn’t want me.”
Oh that’s bad, even for Jack. But really, that’s good - right? Because if he’s happy here, and he’s here now then --
“Really? Doesn’t she?”
“I didn’t think so. Why, do you think she does?”
“Maybe you should ask her.”
“Yeah?” It’s such a nonchalant shrug, but she can’t miss the way his grip tightens. “Maybe I should.”
“Couldn’t hurt, could it?”
“It might. She’s important to me. She saved my life. And she’s a good friend, but we’re from different times and we have different ideas about things. I don’t think I’d be very good for her either. If I tell her quite how much I want to sleep with her then she might think I’m offering something I’m not, and I don’t want to hurt her.”
She should probably breathe. If she was sure that pile of text, subtext and Jack’s own patented sub-basement-text wouldn’t topple over on her she probably would. He looks so open - just a smile and a clear gaze as he strokes her cheek, the quiet twinkle no more than a whisper of intent before his mouth finds hers; gently, and so softly that, if she couldn’t feel her heart racing his, she’d hardly believe he just kissed her at all.
And then he sighs.
“Rose, sweetheart, I really have thought about this a lot, and for both our sakes, I don’t think I should say anything to her. I might upset her. And if we did go to bed together and I wasn’t after the same things as her then she might never talk to me again. I don’t want to lose her. It’s too big a risk.”
Another sigh, and she’s trying to think how to put this without making herself sound entirely too easy when he nods, his jaw tightening.
“So I figure I’m going to stick to stealing her underwear out of the laundry. That, and jerking off while I watch her on the cameras I’ve hidden in the shower and her bedroom. And I couldn’t get through the day without sneaking into her room to look in her bottom drawer, and then when she bends over in one of those little - hey, that hurt...”
“What, that?”
“Yes. Rose -”
“Good. It was meant to.” Bloody man and his bloody filthy bloody mind. It’s all his fault, he’s such a bloody -
“What’s the matter, you don’t mind me watching you, do you? I only keep the good stuff - the blurry bits go on Break, they don’t mind, just so long as they get to see your cute little - ow - hey - Rose...”
- sneaky bloody teasing tormenting bloody sniggering bloody man, with his hands and his mouth and his bloody... self and all, such a bloody -
“Stop it. No - don’t... Rose, no, I didn’t mean it - I haven’t - No - not there...”
- bloody bloody man with all his squirmy bloody ticklish, giggling bloody gorgeous little whimpery noises... Rules? He wants to talk about rules?
“Okay - Rose, please - I surrender. You win, they’re all yours - honest. Just let go now, okay? Please, Rose - they’re attached.”
Really? She never would have guessed.
So, he’s quite finished, has he? Thanks. Yes, maybe he should sit down. Yeah? Well that’s very kind of him, she doesn’t mind if she does. No, she’s sure, thanks; the lap will be just fine. But if he could stop wriggling... Thanks. And just move... yes, those. Yes. They are his hands. Yes, it is a bit surprising. Because her buttons never used to undo themselves, that’s why. No, she doesn’t know how they did it. Well if he doesn’t know either, there’s not a lot of hope for them, is there. Maybe she should just go...? No. She didn’t think so. Yes, that’s fine. Really, they’re just fine there. Her bum’s feeling much warmer now, thanks. No, not there. Or there. Because she doesn’t want to fall off, all right? Now, if he’s quite comfortable, maybe he could stop being such a stupid grinning git and bring that mouth back -
Yeah. Just like that.
next (2/9)