A Natural Disaster Ch 5
Title: A Natural Disaster
Disclaimer : Not mine
Rating : PG13
Spoilers : thru S2
Beta : commodoreschick ,
Summary : Nature is unpredictable. An AU story set in Pete's World after Doomsday. It's been two years since Rose said goodbye to the Doctor, but the universe laughs at impossible. Or does it?
Previous parts : Teaspoon
A Natural Disaster
Chapter 5
"You look like hell, Doc." The grizzled voice matched the salt and pepper stubble, hiding age lines deeply etched into his weathered face. The newcomer held his hand out as Max nuzzled a warm, wet nose into the rough, calloused palm.
"Fig'red I'd be findin' ya next to a spot o' trouble." The thick sarcasm directed at the pair went ignored.
Without waiting for a response he realized wasn't coming, the new arrival had already unfolded a well worn, military-issued shovel, colored in the same dull green as most old army surplus, and began his own assault on the stubborn flames. Worriedly snatching glances at the unrelenting man that continued to move with driven, frantic motions like an automated puppet, he decided against attempting more conversation and turned his focus to the widening blaze.
Eventually their combined efforts contained, then smothered the flames, finally extinguishing the fire, and leaving a smouldering blackened scar to mark its recent battle. As the last embers cooled to thin, wisps of smoke curling skyward, the tall figure faltered, appeared to teeter uncertainly for a moment, as a faraway gaze settled on his face.
The older man leapt immediately to his side, grasping the other around the waist, stumbling as he fought for balance under the sudden burden, using the last of his own energy reserves, and barely managing to keep them both upright. He heard a painful moan in answer to his own grunt of exertion.
"C'mon Doc, hang in there." he managed to gasp in between his own laboured panting, while settling his injured friend onto the unyielding ground, shaded by the lean-to. "We'll get ya fixed up righ' quick."
The only answer was a sharp intake of breath from the prone figure, as he watched the Doc's face turn an ashen grey under the sheen of sweat and dusty soot.
"Sep'rated shoulder looks like. For starters, think'n we may be need'n to worry 'bout shock." He muttered, gently removing the damp shirt, then scrambled over to a pack and began digging through, pulling out t-shirt, towel and finally, in triumph, a small bottle of whiskey.
"Know ya too well--" Shaking his head, he maneuvered back to the still form. "Doubt yer gonna be much 'elp, eh?" He directed towards Max, who was laying, head on paw, eyes darting between the two men.
It was early afternoon, the small camp had once again been restored, aside from the ugly, charred border stretching ruggedly away. Peering out at the calm, one could almost believe the earlier events where only a nightmare, until the nagging, throbbing ache brought it rushing back. He fought to sit up, grimacing as his entire right side screamed warningly in a breath catching protest against the sudden movement. Clenching his teeth against the wave of nauseousness that washed over him, he held himself still, trying to ease the discomfort. Footfalls alerted him to another's presence.
"Wonder'n jus' how long ye'd be nap'n."
Even though the voice directed at him was gruff, he couldn't stifle a chuckle, which brought another gasp from him. He bent quickly, his left arm clutching his right arm tightly to his ribs. A warm, steady hand settled on his left shoulder, "Easy there, Doc, ye'r in purty rough shape."
"So you're the figure in my nightmare?"
"Guess I mus' be. I'm not lik'n the feel'n 'ere. Not lik'n it a'tall." Max whined in response. "Le's get us all outta' 'ere."
"Never knew you to be this jumpy before, Nick."
Nick shook his head, his grey eyes mirroring the unease he was feeling in the pit of his stomach. Doc's eyes didn't waver, as he studied his friend's face, apprehension slowly creeping it's way into his mind. Whatever it was, Nick was seriously rattled, he hadn't seen his friend like this before, and he thought maybe the best course of action would be to follow the old man's advice.
"Suppose it wouldn't hurt for me to see a doctor." he stated, Nick's grip tightened briefly in agreement, then he busied himself with breaking camp.
++drwhodrwho++
Sam took another small sip of her drink, turning the glass around and around, staring mesmerised at the patterns of condensation trailing down the sides. She was beginning to believe she would finish what little liquid was left at the bottom before the silence was broken. Not daring to look up into the stubborn eyes of the Colonel-- she wouldn't give him the satisfaction, two could play his game, and over the years she had become an expert at it.
On the other hand, the Captain still stood rigidly, his back to her, and had managed not to even twitch in the last fifteen minutes. She kept her eyes off of him, afraid by looking at him she would burst into gigglish girly laughter at the idiocy of the situation. Sighing inwardly, she kept her face passive, wanting to scream at the imposing man across from her.
Jack was bored. Bored and definitely tired of standing in the same spot. He'd already studied every piece of furniture within his vision, most of it dark veneer, over polished as if someone was afraid of dust, or suffered from an even greater dread of boredom than he. He'd even counted the number of leaves on the three plants he was able to see from this angle, although what had most recently caught his interest were the titles on the spines of the books piled haphazardly on the corner shelf. It appeared someone had hurriedly shuffled them and not concerned themselves with stacking them neatly, or they had been interrupted in their perusal.
The few titles he was able to make out seemed to mostly be in reference with survival in the outdoors and natural disasters. More than a few of them shared the same author's name, Liam Richards. He was sure he'd heard the name before, but was unable to put a finger on it, silently wishing to step across and read the dustcover for a hint.
Sitting stiffly in the chair, he watched her like a hawk, waiting for a sign of surrender, of submission. Just like her mother he thought, she had been the most stubborn woman he'd known, well until now. He saw that stubborn set of the jaw, the squared shoulders and the refusal to acknowledge him, as she continued milking that damned drink. His had emptied quickly, and now he was reduced to following the trail of hers, while growing restless. Shame he hadn't thought to dismiss the Captain earlier, as it would have at least allowed him to save face. He let out a heavy sigh, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then leaned forward with a glint in his eye, remembering just why he'd earned the eagles on his uniform.
"Tomorrow. Oh eight hundred, room six twenty one, Hilton." He barked as he stood up, slamming the glass onto the desk with emphasis. Reclaiming his hat and briefcase, he turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door in his wake.
Jack dropped his shoulders in relief, letting his head recline back and stared at the ceiling, letting out a long overdue exhale. Hearing a muffled sound he turned and quickly stepped around the desk, seeing her head resting in her hands, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Raising her head towards him, instead of the tears he was expecting, she was stifling giggles, they both burst out in uncontrolled laughter, and collapsed into each other as the sound of the outer doors closing loudly reached them.
"Who was that?" Jack asked incredulously once he was able to speak again.
Sam sobered up quickly, giving him a sad resigned look.
"My father."
++drwhodrwho++
tbc
Disclaimer : Not mine
Rating : PG13
Spoilers : thru S2
Beta : commodoreschick ,
Summary : Nature is unpredictable. An AU story set in Pete's World after Doomsday. It's been two years since Rose said goodbye to the Doctor, but the universe laughs at impossible. Or does it?
Previous parts : Teaspoon
A Natural Disaster
Chapter 5
"You look like hell, Doc." The grizzled voice matched the salt and pepper stubble, hiding age lines deeply etched into his weathered face. The newcomer held his hand out as Max nuzzled a warm, wet nose into the rough, calloused palm.
"Fig'red I'd be findin' ya next to a spot o' trouble." The thick sarcasm directed at the pair went ignored.
Without waiting for a response he realized wasn't coming, the new arrival had already unfolded a well worn, military-issued shovel, colored in the same dull green as most old army surplus, and began his own assault on the stubborn flames. Worriedly snatching glances at the unrelenting man that continued to move with driven, frantic motions like an automated puppet, he decided against attempting more conversation and turned his focus to the widening blaze.
Eventually their combined efforts contained, then smothered the flames, finally extinguishing the fire, and leaving a smouldering blackened scar to mark its recent battle. As the last embers cooled to thin, wisps of smoke curling skyward, the tall figure faltered, appeared to teeter uncertainly for a moment, as a faraway gaze settled on his face.
The older man leapt immediately to his side, grasping the other around the waist, stumbling as he fought for balance under the sudden burden, using the last of his own energy reserves, and barely managing to keep them both upright. He heard a painful moan in answer to his own grunt of exertion.
"C'mon Doc, hang in there." he managed to gasp in between his own laboured panting, while settling his injured friend onto the unyielding ground, shaded by the lean-to. "We'll get ya fixed up righ' quick."
The only answer was a sharp intake of breath from the prone figure, as he watched the Doc's face turn an ashen grey under the sheen of sweat and dusty soot.
"Sep'rated shoulder looks like. For starters, think'n we may be need'n to worry 'bout shock." He muttered, gently removing the damp shirt, then scrambled over to a pack and began digging through, pulling out t-shirt, towel and finally, in triumph, a small bottle of whiskey.
"Know ya too well--" Shaking his head, he maneuvered back to the still form. "Doubt yer gonna be much 'elp, eh?" He directed towards Max, who was laying, head on paw, eyes darting between the two men.
It was early afternoon, the small camp had once again been restored, aside from the ugly, charred border stretching ruggedly away. Peering out at the calm, one could almost believe the earlier events where only a nightmare, until the nagging, throbbing ache brought it rushing back. He fought to sit up, grimacing as his entire right side screamed warningly in a breath catching protest against the sudden movement. Clenching his teeth against the wave of nauseousness that washed over him, he held himself still, trying to ease the discomfort. Footfalls alerted him to another's presence.
"Wonder'n jus' how long ye'd be nap'n."
Even though the voice directed at him was gruff, he couldn't stifle a chuckle, which brought another gasp from him. He bent quickly, his left arm clutching his right arm tightly to his ribs. A warm, steady hand settled on his left shoulder, "Easy there, Doc, ye'r in purty rough shape."
"So you're the figure in my nightmare?"
"Guess I mus' be. I'm not lik'n the feel'n 'ere. Not lik'n it a'tall." Max whined in response. "Le's get us all outta' 'ere."
"Never knew you to be this jumpy before, Nick."
Nick shook his head, his grey eyes mirroring the unease he was feeling in the pit of his stomach. Doc's eyes didn't waver, as he studied his friend's face, apprehension slowly creeping it's way into his mind. Whatever it was, Nick was seriously rattled, he hadn't seen his friend like this before, and he thought maybe the best course of action would be to follow the old man's advice.
"Suppose it wouldn't hurt for me to see a doctor." he stated, Nick's grip tightened briefly in agreement, then he busied himself with breaking camp.
++drwhodrwho++
Sam took another small sip of her drink, turning the glass around and around, staring mesmerised at the patterns of condensation trailing down the sides. She was beginning to believe she would finish what little liquid was left at the bottom before the silence was broken. Not daring to look up into the stubborn eyes of the Colonel-- she wouldn't give him the satisfaction, two could play his game, and over the years she had become an expert at it.
On the other hand, the Captain still stood rigidly, his back to her, and had managed not to even twitch in the last fifteen minutes. She kept her eyes off of him, afraid by looking at him she would burst into gigglish girly laughter at the idiocy of the situation. Sighing inwardly, she kept her face passive, wanting to scream at the imposing man across from her.
Jack was bored. Bored and definitely tired of standing in the same spot. He'd already studied every piece of furniture within his vision, most of it dark veneer, over polished as if someone was afraid of dust, or suffered from an even greater dread of boredom than he. He'd even counted the number of leaves on the three plants he was able to see from this angle, although what had most recently caught his interest were the titles on the spines of the books piled haphazardly on the corner shelf. It appeared someone had hurriedly shuffled them and not concerned themselves with stacking them neatly, or they had been interrupted in their perusal.
The few titles he was able to make out seemed to mostly be in reference with survival in the outdoors and natural disasters. More than a few of them shared the same author's name, Liam Richards. He was sure he'd heard the name before, but was unable to put a finger on it, silently wishing to step across and read the dustcover for a hint.
Sitting stiffly in the chair, he watched her like a hawk, waiting for a sign of surrender, of submission. Just like her mother he thought, she had been the most stubborn woman he'd known, well until now. He saw that stubborn set of the jaw, the squared shoulders and the refusal to acknowledge him, as she continued milking that damned drink. His had emptied quickly, and now he was reduced to following the trail of hers, while growing restless. Shame he hadn't thought to dismiss the Captain earlier, as it would have at least allowed him to save face. He let out a heavy sigh, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then leaned forward with a glint in his eye, remembering just why he'd earned the eagles on his uniform.
"Tomorrow. Oh eight hundred, room six twenty one, Hilton." He barked as he stood up, slamming the glass onto the desk with emphasis. Reclaiming his hat and briefcase, he turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door in his wake.
Jack dropped his shoulders in relief, letting his head recline back and stared at the ceiling, letting out a long overdue exhale. Hearing a muffled sound he turned and quickly stepped around the desk, seeing her head resting in her hands, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Raising her head towards him, instead of the tears he was expecting, she was stifling giggles, they both burst out in uncontrolled laughter, and collapsed into each other as the sound of the outer doors closing loudly reached them.
"Who was that?" Jack asked incredulously once he was able to speak again.
Sam sobered up quickly, giving him a sad resigned look.
"My father."
++drwhodrwho++
tbc