Doctor Who - Rhythm - One Shot
I'm not part of some Doctor Who community on Livejournal, and thus have nowhere to post notice of this story too. So I'm just going to post it amidst my Merlin fic and see if anyone finds it and reads it.
One of my all time favorite Doctor Who characters was Jake Simmonds, and even before I saw the deleted scene where he admitted Ricky was his boyfriend, I already pegged him. And I was listening to Sum 41 during NaNoWriMo last month and got inspired to write this. So I took a break from my novel and wrote this, but I waited to post it because it was NaNo and I was supposed to be focused on that, not my fanfics.
Anyway, enough from me. If you've found this page, I hope you enjoy the story.
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Rhythm
In the end, Mickey returns to his original Earth, but his life feels dull without Jake Simmonds. Then one night in a club, fate buys him another round. Mickey/DoctorUniverse!Jake
So, going from the episodes Rise of the Cybermen and Age of Steel, we can assume Jake/Ricky as a pairing, but that doesn't really come into play here. So there's hinted one-sided Mickey/Jake and then pre-slash Mickey/Jake-from-the-normal-universe.
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It had been routine. Most of the cybermen were destroyed by now and all Torchwood was doing was getting rid of the stragglers. There had been an old factory where locals had said they kept hearing screaming, like when people are tortured or turned into cybers. Mickey and Jake led a team of four others to check it out. What they found was a colony of cybermen that was slowly making new members, multiplying their numbers. There were forty cybermen in the small factory, with twenty empty cyber-suits hanging on the walls.
Killing cybermen had become the simplest of tasks. Point and shoot. Point and shoot. As long as they didn't get a shot in first, you were fine. They should have known that with forty cybers, one would get a shot in. Mickey heard Jake shout to him a moment before he was there, right beside Mickey, jumping in the way of the attack. The rest of the team had taken out the remaining cybermen, including the one that shot Jake, while Mickey had dropped to his knees next to Jake and fallen apart.
He couldn't lose Jake. He just couldn't.
Jake looked so scared, his face frozen in the fear for his friend even in death. It was that expression that had been burned into Mickey's mind. He had to force himself to remember the times when Jake had laughed, smiled, joked about. It was really hard; harder than it should have been. He had a little easier of a time remembering the day Jake had cried for Ricky, shortly after he and Mickey had teamed up. It had been the first time Jake had truly opened up to him, the first time Jake really trusted him with everything. And while it had made Mickey feel wonderful to have that trust, remembering Jake's tears now just hurt him. He wanted to remember Jake as he was meant to be: happy.
It got to the point that every time Mickey shut his eyes, all he saw was Jake's frightened face. His chest ached with every blink, with every memory. So when Rose said they were heading back to their original timeline to help the Doctor, he'd jumped at the chance to escape a Jake-less world. He told Jack he was staying because his granddad was still alive in this, his original timeline, but that wasn't the truth. His granddad was alive, but Mickey just couldn't stay in Jake's world without Jake.
Mickey had always been able to adapt. His entire life he'd been able to get used to anything life threw at him. He even got used to living in another world and became a better person for it. Yet, back in his original world, Mickey wasn't sure what to do with himself. He got a part-time job at a grocery mart while he tried to figure out where his life was headed. Then he got a job in one of the branches of Torchwood in this world, indirectly helping Captain Jack and his team or even the UNIT when he got the chance. But during the nights, when there was no work to be done, Mickey would close his eyes and see Jake's frightened face. He couldn't escape it, couldn't adapt to life without Jake anymore. After living in a van with him, and then living at Torchwood with him; after seeing him every day and spending time with him every day, Mickey couldn't get used to life without him. He was drowning in the emptiness, and no one was pulling him out.
That was how he'd ended up in this place. It was a bar where bands that were trying to make it big signed up to play and the crowd was your pass or fail judge. Mickey had been there once or twice before his life was flipped upside down, but never since. He was nursing the beer in front of him, not even sure he actually wanted it, when the unthinkable happened.
Another guy, dressed in black punk clothes, slid into the seat next to Mickey and tapped the bar top to catch the bartender's attention during a break in the preprogrammed music. The bands would start playing in five minutes.
"I just need one more shot, Jimmy," a familiar voice joked, sounding just a tad bit tipsy. Mickey's head shot up and to the left to stare in shock at the familiar face of Jake Simmonds.
"I think you've had enough," the bartender, apparently 'Jimmy', told Jake soundly.
Jake shook his head with what was definitely a giggle. "Come on," he prodded, leaning forward. "I can' get up there and perform without one more." His eyes flicked to Mickey beside him for about a half a second before his attention was back on the bartender.
Jimmy regarded him sternly for about four seconds before giving in and pouring Jake a shot of some alcoholic beverage. Mickey wasn't paying attention to the drink itself. He was watching Jake's hand as he expertly grabbed the small glass. He was watching Jake's adam's apple as he tossed the drink back and swallowed. He was watching Jake's face as he let out a loud breath and then sighed with a large smile.
"Excellent as always, Jimmy," Jake complimented lightly with a nod toward the bartender before he slid back off his seat and away from the bar, leaving the empty glass in his stead. Mickey watched him as he approached the right side of the stage, where three other people were standing, dressed similarly to Jake. They must be his band, Mickey thought absently.
One of the club managers was talking to them for a moment and they all nodded, so the manager lifted the mic in his hand to his mouth and said, "Alright everybody, it's that moment you've all been waiting for. It's the time of the night where you get to be the judges and decide the fate of a few people's lives." The crowd gathered cheered. "The first group up tonight is a band that's never played here before. Everyone give a warm welcome to…The Preachers!"
Mickey nearly slipped and knocked his head against the bar in his surprise. He instead simply set his head carefully on the cool wooden surface and let out a short chuckle. "Some things never change," he murmured into the wood. "The gospel truth…"
The Preachers were good. They were a lot Punk with a little Rock and Roll and Alternative thrown in. All three of the songs they played had lyrics that really got you down in the soul, even if you didn't relate to it. Mickey watched as the crowd cheered and danced to the beat, and some people even began to sing along once they'd heard the chorus a few times. And then there was Jake on the stage. He played the guitar and sang backup vocals and didn't seem even the slightest bit drunk in the spotlight. His hair was spiked, his clothes were black, sweat was dripping down his face from the heat of the lights and the adrenaline pumping through his veins at the fast pace of the songs. He looked happy, exhilarated.
And for that moment, Mickey couldn't remember what Jake looked like scared.
Then the session ended to the cheers of the crowd, and yet the disappointed boos that there weren't any more songs from the Preachers to be played. The band was swarmed by people as soon as they were off stage and Jake was blocked from view. Mickey turned back to his beer and frowned at it. He'd forgotten to drink it during the set and now it was warm. As if sensing his thoughts, Jimmy grabbed the warm drink and replaced it with a cold one without a word.
"Thanks," Mickey said anyway, pulling the glass closer and taking a half-hearted sip of the liquid.
Then suddenly Jake was on the seat next to him again, his expression open and happy. He linked his fingers on the bar top and bounced his hands impatiently. "Gimme a beer, Jimmy," he ordered with a smile.
Jimmy shook his head with a good-natured smile on his face but got Jake the drink anyway. "You drink too much, kid," he chastised lightly.
Jake laughed once and looked at his hands. "Only when I'm nervous or celebrating," he corrected in a slightly softer tone of voice before lifting his eyes to Jimmy's face again as the drink he'd ordered was set in front of him. "Thanks."
Someone down the bar called Jimmy down while another band ("The Killer Wasps") set up on stage and began to play. They were O.K., but they were not The Preachers. A girl walked by the bar on her way out and tapped Jake on the shoulder. He turned to her and gave a moderately pleasant smile.
"You guys were amazing!" the girl, about eighteen years old looking and wearing a shirt that covered practically nothing, gushed with a blush high on her cheeks. "I'm definitely a fan of yours now!"
"Thanks," Jake said with an amiable nod. "Thanks a lot."
The girl let out a squee before hurrying from the club. Jake chuckled to himself and turned back to his drink. He kept tapping his fingers on the sides of the glass in a rhythm Mickey didn't recognize and letting out long breaths of air. It was something Mickey had learned about Jake in the other world that clued him in: This Jake was nervous. Mickey took a gulp of his beer and let it out with a soft sigh. It was good to know the two Jake's were similar in some respects.
"You've got a good sound," Mickey said conversationally, barely glancing to Jake before looking straight ahead again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jake relax a bit.
"Thanks," he said again. "We've been working on this band for years now. I'm glad you like it."
Mickey gave him a smile and a nod. "Yea. I do."
They lapsed into silence once again, each staring at the wall of the bar instead of at each other. Jake started tapping on his glass again and Mickey gripped the handle of his glass a little tighter as he gulped down another mouthful of beer. Jake had barely touched his drink.
"Hey, you-" Jake cut himself off even as he turned to face Mickey more. At the stop, Mickey turned his head and gave Jake his full attention. Jake shook his head once. "You wanna hang out later? My bandmates and me always go to this place downtown on Saturdays and, well," he let out a half-snort, "it's Saturday."
Mickey felt the smile creeping onto his face. "That sounds good. Sure," he agreed with a nod.
Jake's face split into a wide grin that Mickey had only ever caught in glances from the Jake of the other world. "Good. Really good." He turned to his drink for a moment before turning sideways again, his mouth open to speak. "My name's Drake. Drake Simmonds. What's yours?"
Mickey took a moment to process the new name. Drake. Not Jake. Drake. It was like Mickey and Ricky. He shut his eyes and let out a single, soft chuckle. Opening his eyes, Mickey lifted his glass and gave a sort of salute to Drake with it. "Mickey. Mickey Smith."
Drake nodded and lifted his glass to touch Mickey's before they both moved to drink. "It's nice to meet you, Mickey Smith."
Fin.