[Doctor Who] "The Question That Scratches in Her Mind" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for < lj user="comment_fic">'s Any, any, "Does it hurt?" "Dying? Not at all... Quicker and easier than falling asleep."(From Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows) Featuring Jack Harkness and Rose Tyler. Possibly set during the events of "The Stolen Earth/Journey's End"
Rose wouldn't let herself think the usual things that came to people's mind when they reunited with an old friend, when she saw Jack again for the first time in three years. They had both changed, but in some ways Jack looked as though he had changed more: a few more laugh lines, and he had put on a few pounds -- just the right amount in just the right places -- and if she looked hard enough, she could spot the odd grey hair over his ears. It gave the rascal a dignity and even a little military grandeur, but not enough to mute or muffle the roguish charm he carried so well.
"So where've you been all this time?" she asked, as they lounged on a couch in one of the rooms of the TARDIS. Almost felt like old times.
He raised an eyebrow at her as his arm slid behind her, along the top of the back of the couch. " 'All this time'? You say that like we've been parted for twenty years instead of three."
"Looks like it's been a bit more than three for you," she said, looking him up and down. "You wear it well."
"That's because it has been a while for me," he admitted, a thoughtfulness softening his pale eyes.
"Been traveling a lot since the Game Station?" she asked.
"On the slow path," Jack admitted. "Tried to catch up again with you and the Doctor we'd met, so I headed to Earth. But my vortex manipulator overshot: wound up in Cardiff, 1879."
"Happened to us, wanted to go to Venice at Christmas, 1859: ended up in Cardiff, met Charles Dickens, with a bunch of ghosts," Rose replied.
"Ooh, you got his autograph?" Jack asked, pale eyes snapping.
"The Doctor might've," she said. "But don't let me keep you from your story."
"I wasn't so lucky: dropped into a back alley and then my vortex manipulator burned out. Had to take the slow path after that, worked for Torchwood after they picked me up and I found out they had eyes on the Doctor. I figured it was fair to pool the resources, lend them my talents as it suited me."
"So what do you mean by the slow path?"
"Following time the usual way," Jack said, tilting his hand forward, as if at an invisible horizon. "All in a straight line, no skipping back to find a prequel, no peeking ahead in the story."
"Must've got boring for you. How'd you manage?"
"Maybe a bit: you know I make it my business to find a good time wherever I go. Besides: things got interesting after you went all Bad Wolf and pulled me back from the dead."
She looked up at him. "Interesting how?" she asked, knowing what he meant: she seen him die on the Dalek Ship, saw him return from the dead, ready to fight another day.
"You saw my little stunt: found out a long time ago that death doesn't stick for long," Jack replied. "Somehow that also translates to me aging at the rate of a lazy glacier, too. Not that I mind that," he added, jauntily, preening a bit, even.
"But you said you'd been taking the slow path: how old are you now?" she asked.
He cocked his head, closing one eye as he made the calculations. "Two thousand, one hundred and sixty.... five, give or take a few decades," he replied. "I had a little side trip with a psycho ex and my even more psycho brother. It's a long story." And from the weirded out look in his eye, not one that he wanted to tell any time soon.
"Must be hard, going through all the scrapes you get into. I'll bet you've had more than your share of... dying and coming back."
"You got that right: every time I think I've died in every way imaginable, someone comes up with something new, or I cross paths with someone who's read the Evil Overlord's List a few times too many."
"So ...what's it like?" she asked, carefully.
"Dying?"
"Yeah. Does it hurt?"
"Hardly. Comes quicker and easier than a deep sleep. It's gotten so I'm almost used to it. It's coming back that's the hard part. One minute, everything's going grey around the edges of your field of vision and you can feel your body powering everything down before the brain finishes putting up the chairs and putting out the lights before it locks the door. Then the next moment wham! The lights are blazing again, the air is rushing back into your lungs, your heart is hammering from the last of the adrenalin, and wherever you got whacked hurts like the devil. I stopped wishing painful deaths on people who've crossed me bad: these days, I almost wish them the bad luck of never dying at all."
"Oooh, remind me never to get on the bad side with you," she said, half mischievous, half leery.
"Naah, takes a lot to do that: hurting someone I care about, that'd earn my wrath," Jack said.
"Well, any friend of yours is a friend of mine," Rose replied.
"You'd love my team: not as many of them as there were, but you'd like 'em." he said.
"Maybe I'll meet 'em or some version of them, in my world," she mused.
Rose wouldn't let herself think the usual things that came to people's mind when they reunited with an old friend, when she saw Jack again for the first time in three years. They had both changed, but in some ways Jack looked as though he had changed more: a few more laugh lines, and he had put on a few pounds -- just the right amount in just the right places -- and if she looked hard enough, she could spot the odd grey hair over his ears. It gave the rascal a dignity and even a little military grandeur, but not enough to mute or muffle the roguish charm he carried so well.
"So where've you been all this time?" she asked, as they lounged on a couch in one of the rooms of the TARDIS. Almost felt like old times.
He raised an eyebrow at her as his arm slid behind her, along the top of the back of the couch. " 'All this time'? You say that like we've been parted for twenty years instead of three."
"Looks like it's been a bit more than three for you," she said, looking him up and down. "You wear it well."
"That's because it has been a while for me," he admitted, a thoughtfulness softening his pale eyes.
"Been traveling a lot since the Game Station?" she asked.
"On the slow path," Jack admitted. "Tried to catch up again with you and the Doctor we'd met, so I headed to Earth. But my vortex manipulator overshot: wound up in Cardiff, 1879."
"Happened to us, wanted to go to Venice at Christmas, 1859: ended up in Cardiff, met Charles Dickens, with a bunch of ghosts," Rose replied.
"Ooh, you got his autograph?" Jack asked, pale eyes snapping.
"The Doctor might've," she said. "But don't let me keep you from your story."
"I wasn't so lucky: dropped into a back alley and then my vortex manipulator burned out. Had to take the slow path after that, worked for Torchwood after they picked me up and I found out they had eyes on the Doctor. I figured it was fair to pool the resources, lend them my talents as it suited me."
"So what do you mean by the slow path?"
"Following time the usual way," Jack said, tilting his hand forward, as if at an invisible horizon. "All in a straight line, no skipping back to find a prequel, no peeking ahead in the story."
"Must've got boring for you. How'd you manage?"
"Maybe a bit: you know I make it my business to find a good time wherever I go. Besides: things got interesting after you went all Bad Wolf and pulled me back from the dead."
She looked up at him. "Interesting how?" she asked, knowing what he meant: she seen him die on the Dalek Ship, saw him return from the dead, ready to fight another day.
"You saw my little stunt: found out a long time ago that death doesn't stick for long," Jack replied. "Somehow that also translates to me aging at the rate of a lazy glacier, too. Not that I mind that," he added, jauntily, preening a bit, even.
"But you said you'd been taking the slow path: how old are you now?" she asked.
He cocked his head, closing one eye as he made the calculations. "Two thousand, one hundred and sixty.... five, give or take a few decades," he replied. "I had a little side trip with a psycho ex and my even more psycho brother. It's a long story." And from the weirded out look in his eye, not one that he wanted to tell any time soon.
"Must be hard, going through all the scrapes you get into. I'll bet you've had more than your share of... dying and coming back."
"You got that right: every time I think I've died in every way imaginable, someone comes up with something new, or I cross paths with someone who's read the Evil Overlord's List a few times too many."
"So ...what's it like?" she asked, carefully.
"Dying?"
"Yeah. Does it hurt?"
"Hardly. Comes quicker and easier than a deep sleep. It's gotten so I'm almost used to it. It's coming back that's the hard part. One minute, everything's going grey around the edges of your field of vision and you can feel your body powering everything down before the brain finishes putting up the chairs and putting out the lights before it locks the door. Then the next moment wham! The lights are blazing again, the air is rushing back into your lungs, your heart is hammering from the last of the adrenalin, and wherever you got whacked hurts like the devil. I stopped wishing painful deaths on people who've crossed me bad: these days, I almost wish them the bad luck of never dying at all."
"Oooh, remind me never to get on the bad side with you," she said, half mischievous, half leery.
"Naah, takes a lot to do that: hurting someone I care about, that'd earn my wrath," Jack said.
"Well, any friend of yours is a friend of mine," Rose replied.
"You'd love my team: not as many of them as there were, but you'd like 'em." he said.
"Maybe I'll meet 'em or some version of them, in my world," she mused.