august wintercompanions fic: psychic password (nineteen brown snow contentment)
title: upward mobility
author: phinnia
rating: r-ish
prompt: nineteen/brown/snow/contentment
pairing: jack/eleventh doctor
spoilers: small ones for 'a good man goes to war'.
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel i, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
warnings: mentions of pregnant!jack
nineteen
He'd always kept a punishing tally in the back of his mind - ticking up all the ways he died. It was never more glaring than those first few months after the 456. He tried to mix it up a little - getting beaten to death, dying of exposure, drinking the worst rotgut he could lay his hands on, a half-step evolved from drain cleaner - because he'd already discovered he couldn't die from alcohol poisoning, his liver just healed too fast.
His mouth was a lot bigger in his new post-attempting-not-to-give-a-damn existence - apparently he did still care, he just hid it well enough, and he was always willing to speak up for those who were too afraid or too beaten down to speak for themselves - and as a result he had to start another total - the number of places he was barred from.
That total was at nineteen when the Doctor showed up.
brown
The first thing he noticed - from across the room - was the eyes. That was how he was sure it was the Doctor.
The last Doctor's eyes were a beautiful warm brown. This new Doctor's eyes were a sort of greyish-green-hazel colour that seemed to change depending on the angle you looked at them from. They were beautiful too, and he spent a long moment staring into the depths of his drink, remembering leather and blue eyes and big ears, pinstripes and trainers and lost chances. So many lost chances.
"Buy me a drink, Jack?" His voice was different too - lighter, somehow - but still the same concern, the same uncertain geeky-sexy quality, the same soft pitch and roll to it - and now Jack was crying, tears running down his cheekbones and dropping into his hypervodka, and the Doctor gathered him up into his arms like one would an exhausted child and rocked him against his chest, against the stark reality of those two hearts, and if he hadn't been sure it was the Doctor before he would have had to admit it now. The Doctor was the sort of man that could hold you in a spaceport bar - even this spaceport bar - and damn the consequences.
"Still want that drink?" Jack eventually asked in a shaky voice, sliding over to his own barstool.
"Maybe just one. Then the TARDIS is parked right outside. You look like you could use some sleep."
Jack protested - sleep was one of his worst enemies these days, something he'd desperately tried to avoid - but he was hushed by the Doctor's finger on his lips. "Sssh. We'll sort it. Don't worry."
snow
That was how Jack's second life with the Doctor began. He thought of it as a new life, even though he hadn't properly 'died' - it began more like a chameleon or a snake sloughing off an outgrown skin. This new Doctor was everything he'd loved about the last two and more to find out besides; he was more tactile which was definitely a plus, although Jack was definitely grateful for his long coat most of the time. This Doctor, like his predecessors, was still oblivious.
Or so he'd thought.
He was taking a walk in the snow (to be truthful, as a substitute for a cold shower - the TARDIS never seemed to mind supplying them, but he was getting bored, not to mention chillblains on his arse) when he felt something - several somethings - cold and wet hit him in the back of the head and start to drip slowly down the back of his neck.
He turned around slowly, a smile threatening on the horizon. "Doctor! Fancy meeting you here. Haven't seen you since ... oh, breakfast."
The Doctor grinned, his hands deep in the pockets of his tweed jacket. "Indeed. You're covered in snow, Jack."
"I am at that." Jack knelt down and scooped up a handful of snow. "How did that happen, Doctor?"
No answer, just a grin -- and another tossed snowball. Jack laughed and threw another back, snickering as the Doctor shook the fallen snow out of his floppy black hair like a dog. The Time Lord hit him flat in the arse with another snowball - Jack dived through a snowbank and tackled the Doctor around the knees, bringing him down with the weight of his own larger, more muscular frame.
The Doctor laughed again, rolling them down a small hill. One hand was petting Jack's soaking hair away from his face, the other arm was wrapped around Jack's hips.
"My Jack." he whispered.
"Doctor?" Jack could hardly bring himself to breathe, The Doctor's lips were so close - he was so achingly hard - if he wasn't living this, he would never have believed it -
And then the Doctor kissed him, and he was absolutely lost.
contentment
TARDIS night, some time later. They drifted leisurely in the Time Vortex; the ship was calm, cool and silent.
A thin cry cut the air.
The Doctor woke, as Time Lords do, all at once - without preamble; he tucked the blankets closer around Jack, then leaned over the tiny blue cot next to their shared bed and whispered at its occupant as he rearranged the baby's own blankets and diapers. "Hush now, we don't want to wake Mummy, do we? Of course we don't. Sssh-ssh-ssh. There we go, that was terribly uncomfortable, I'm sure. Well, it's understandable, no one likes being wet."
"Mummy?" Jack murmured sleepily, one eyebrow climbing above the duvet. "Hate to break it to you, Doc, just because I carried him for ten and a half months, I still zip up my pants on the same side as you do."
"I'm aware." The Doctor laughed, slipping his arms around Jack's waist. "We'll have to work out some better nomenclature. 'Daddy' and 'Daddy' is too confusing." He nuzzled Jack's throat. "You look absolutely amazing, by the way, for being one week postpartum. You are amazing. Strong and resilient and handsome and -"
"Stop, stop, you're making me blush..." Pause. "Why'd you stop?"
"Courageous and brave and kind ... and ...delicious ... and unbearably sexy ..."
"Oooh, Doctor, is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket?"
"I don't have any pockets. But I am definitely pleased to see you."
author: phinnia
rating: r-ish
prompt: nineteen/brown/snow/contentment
pairing: jack/eleventh doctor
spoilers: small ones for 'a good man goes to war'.
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel i, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
warnings: mentions of pregnant!jack
nineteen
He'd always kept a punishing tally in the back of his mind - ticking up all the ways he died. It was never more glaring than those first few months after the 456. He tried to mix it up a little - getting beaten to death, dying of exposure, drinking the worst rotgut he could lay his hands on, a half-step evolved from drain cleaner - because he'd already discovered he couldn't die from alcohol poisoning, his liver just healed too fast.
His mouth was a lot bigger in his new post-attempting-not-to-give-a-damn existence - apparently he did still care, he just hid it well enough, and he was always willing to speak up for those who were too afraid or too beaten down to speak for themselves - and as a result he had to start another total - the number of places he was barred from.
That total was at nineteen when the Doctor showed up.
brown
The first thing he noticed - from across the room - was the eyes. That was how he was sure it was the Doctor.
The last Doctor's eyes were a beautiful warm brown. This new Doctor's eyes were a sort of greyish-green-hazel colour that seemed to change depending on the angle you looked at them from. They were beautiful too, and he spent a long moment staring into the depths of his drink, remembering leather and blue eyes and big ears, pinstripes and trainers and lost chances. So many lost chances.
"Buy me a drink, Jack?" His voice was different too - lighter, somehow - but still the same concern, the same uncertain geeky-sexy quality, the same soft pitch and roll to it - and now Jack was crying, tears running down his cheekbones and dropping into his hypervodka, and the Doctor gathered him up into his arms like one would an exhausted child and rocked him against his chest, against the stark reality of those two hearts, and if he hadn't been sure it was the Doctor before he would have had to admit it now. The Doctor was the sort of man that could hold you in a spaceport bar - even this spaceport bar - and damn the consequences.
"Still want that drink?" Jack eventually asked in a shaky voice, sliding over to his own barstool.
"Maybe just one. Then the TARDIS is parked right outside. You look like you could use some sleep."
Jack protested - sleep was one of his worst enemies these days, something he'd desperately tried to avoid - but he was hushed by the Doctor's finger on his lips. "Sssh. We'll sort it. Don't worry."
snow
That was how Jack's second life with the Doctor began. He thought of it as a new life, even though he hadn't properly 'died' - it began more like a chameleon or a snake sloughing off an outgrown skin. This new Doctor was everything he'd loved about the last two and more to find out besides; he was more tactile which was definitely a plus, although Jack was definitely grateful for his long coat most of the time. This Doctor, like his predecessors, was still oblivious.
Or so he'd thought.
He was taking a walk in the snow (to be truthful, as a substitute for a cold shower - the TARDIS never seemed to mind supplying them, but he was getting bored, not to mention chillblains on his arse) when he felt something - several somethings - cold and wet hit him in the back of the head and start to drip slowly down the back of his neck.
He turned around slowly, a smile threatening on the horizon. "Doctor! Fancy meeting you here. Haven't seen you since ... oh, breakfast."
The Doctor grinned, his hands deep in the pockets of his tweed jacket. "Indeed. You're covered in snow, Jack."
"I am at that." Jack knelt down and scooped up a handful of snow. "How did that happen, Doctor?"
No answer, just a grin -- and another tossed snowball. Jack laughed and threw another back, snickering as the Doctor shook the fallen snow out of his floppy black hair like a dog. The Time Lord hit him flat in the arse with another snowball - Jack dived through a snowbank and tackled the Doctor around the knees, bringing him down with the weight of his own larger, more muscular frame.
The Doctor laughed again, rolling them down a small hill. One hand was petting Jack's soaking hair away from his face, the other arm was wrapped around Jack's hips.
"My Jack." he whispered.
"Doctor?" Jack could hardly bring himself to breathe, The Doctor's lips were so close - he was so achingly hard - if he wasn't living this, he would never have believed it -
And then the Doctor kissed him, and he was absolutely lost.
contentment
TARDIS night, some time later. They drifted leisurely in the Time Vortex; the ship was calm, cool and silent.
A thin cry cut the air.
The Doctor woke, as Time Lords do, all at once - without preamble; he tucked the blankets closer around Jack, then leaned over the tiny blue cot next to their shared bed and whispered at its occupant as he rearranged the baby's own blankets and diapers. "Hush now, we don't want to wake Mummy, do we? Of course we don't. Sssh-ssh-ssh. There we go, that was terribly uncomfortable, I'm sure. Well, it's understandable, no one likes being wet."
"Mummy?" Jack murmured sleepily, one eyebrow climbing above the duvet. "Hate to break it to you, Doc, just because I carried him for ten and a half months, I still zip up my pants on the same side as you do."
"I'm aware." The Doctor laughed, slipping his arms around Jack's waist. "We'll have to work out some better nomenclature. 'Daddy' and 'Daddy' is too confusing." He nuzzled Jack's throat. "You look absolutely amazing, by the way, for being one week postpartum. You are amazing. Strong and resilient and handsome and -"
"Stop, stop, you're making me blush..." Pause. "Why'd you stop?"
"Courageous and brave and kind ... and ...delicious ... and unbearably sexy ..."
"Oooh, Doctor, is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket?"
"I don't have any pockets. But I am definitely pleased to see you."